.

Souls of the Night – Vol3

61.

"Hey, look," said one of the officers who had been assigned to bag up all the evidence and take it to the responsible precinct's evidence room after the higher-ranking investigators and the police photographer had gone through it. His colleague put away one of the last small number stands that had marked the position and arrangement of the blood splatters, small tufts of fur or autopsy tools lying around and looked at his partner, who was crouching in front of one of the cabinets at the edge of the room and pointing at a small something. The other man stood up with cracking knees and came over to him.

"What's that?" he asked.

"It looks like a big sewing needle."

"It's got coagulated blood on it, probably one of the pathologist's tools."

"But it's gold. All the other tools are silver."

"Oh, there's a regulation that all the tools here have to be silver?" the first one teased, earning an annoyed look.

"It didn't have a number. That means the colleagues overlooked it."

The first one pulled out his radio with an exasperated groan. "Shit, that means we have to call one of the detectives in charge, have the police photographer come back and-"

"I think I'll relieve you of that additional burden," they heard a voice say behind them. They both jumped up, but before they could focus their attention on the face of the man in the neatly fitting, starched suit, Owen Burnett had put them on freeze with a wave of his hand. He not only suspected, but knew, that Oberon or his spies currently had a WHOLE lot more to worry about than petty lawbreakers like him.

David Xanatos' private assistant, currently on more private business, stepped past the physically and mentally frozen officers, pulled out his handkerchief and picked the needle from the floor, examining it briefly in the cold overhead light.

Only the raising of a delicate blond eyebrow revealed that he realized it had been used. But only on a creature of the lowest relevance. The needle reeked of mutt and he would clean it thoroughly before locking it away in the vaults of the Eyrie Building with the other more valuable possessions. No matter what role this beast would play in the gamble for this world - it had to happen as it would.

After nudging the humans against their foreheads to remove the memory of himself and the needle, he disappeared again.

.

.

Gerald Parker was tall and muscular. Yet it was usually not difficult for him to move unnoticed when he wanted to remain unnoticed. It was not a rare gift among his peers, and if he encountered someone with similar abilities in stealth mode, they would detect him. But normal people, like the two policemen who had just left the building, didn't give him a glance and didn't interrupt the conversation about some movie about which they had divided opinions. And this despite the fact that he didn't really hide but just moved out of their way and leaned against the wall of the corridor.

He had used this ability many times before. So why hadn't his brother made use of the same skill? He could have escaped death. Now he - Gerard - had to pick up the pieces again. But all the grumbling was useless and Gerald thought he could imagine what had rattled his fraternal brother so much that he hadn't had the presence of mind to do anything other than die. Smoke, fire, death - AND then the target they should have first spied and then, if possible, killed also showed the strongest magical abilities.

Gerald, like most of the spectators behind the barrier tape, had simply stared as Nathaniel Sharif had emerged from the building, his lover in his arms. As a gargoyle. An orb absorbing flames and smoke around him and simply an incarnation of powerful energy and all-out elegance that no mortal could ever match. The sight had touched strands in Gerald that shouldn't have been there. After all, his energy signature belonged more to other powers. But Nathaniel Sharif, in those moments - so devoid of any natural emotion or regard for anything around him - had been as attractive to him as an insect lamp was to mosquitoes.

Gerald had understood that these wretched humans who had hired him and his brother - along with others - had no idea what they were up to. They had tried to fuck over GODS and had fallen deep. Basically, it was a lucky coincidence that only his foolish, impulsive brother had been killed - but Gerald himself had stayed out of the crossfire despite his position in the security pool at LeXa ltd and it would certainly remain undiscovered that he had personal connections to one of the deceased assassins. After all, they looked nothing alike and their LeXa ltd recruitment records didn't allow any conclusions to be drawn. They had been playing this game for a long time and were good at it. They seemed like friends at best - if at all.

Well- it wasn't really just luck that at least he had come out of it unscathed, but also the fact that his brother kept throwing himself into trouble without thinking. Stupid thrill-seeker. Gerald looked through the peephole in the double doors into the room that the two policemen - the rearguard of half a unit - must have just emerged from - if the neon yellow sealing police tape was any indication. This was too easy, he didn't even need the sixth sense that behind those doors, in one of the metal drawers containing pull-out stretchers with the bodies, was his brother. With a cutter, Gerald cut the seal and wandered into the room, taking in the carefully untouched signs of some sort of incident - an overturned metal table on wheels, the shiny or partially brown-blooded autopsy tools scattered across the floor. The fact that this was the scene of some ongoing investigation did not frighten him. Nor did the very human stench of sheer panic and piss.

What made him frown was the tingling sensation on his skin. There had been a magical artifact here. With the emphasis on had been because an equally dominant energy signature - but pure Fey magic - was just as present but in the process of cooling down. Who had obtained an artifact and circumvented Oberon's laws? Gerald sighed. No, no! He wasn't a hotshot like his brother - he was the smarter one, the one who didn't mindlessly join the group most likely to die on the LeXa ltd premises, the one who didn't run through a Lasertag area with a loaded gun to tickle some gargoyle reaction out of Sharif. He would NOT chase after these ghosts. He would be crushed like an annoying fly under the thumbs of very powerful beings if he meddled. Of course, it was not impossible that other beings with whom he would have no choice but to obey would demand loyalty and participation, but for now he had to scrape together the pieces.

Gerald allowed his link to his brother to draw him to one of the lockers, opened the silver door and pulled out the bier. His eyes widened when he saw not a black body bag, but clean, already graying " fragments" of his brother. No head. A half-ripped torso as if someone had volunteered to replace the Thanksgiving turkey. An arm. Two legs. Oh, gooey organs in a white plastic bucket. On one of the legs by the big toe - ridiculously regulation - a tag. Gerald turned his head to read.

"John Doe - haha," he barked with a laugh.

But he couldn't get too carried away. Even stealth mode wouldn't do him any good if he did something as eye-catching as stealing a "corpse". So he did it quickly, slashing his palm with the cutter and smearing the blood over the torn wounds on the neck, arm and leg stumps, over the protruding ribs of the torso. Finally, he shoved his hand into the bucket and tipped it over so that the contents spilled over the table.

"Wakey wakey, rise and shine and smell the coffee," he merrily crooned as he pulled back his dripping hand and grinned as he watched the body parts take on color, begin to bleed even though all the blood had been washed away and drained. The body parts twitched as the open flesh blistered, began to bubble wetly and then coalesced with new rosy tissue. Bones snapped again before reassembling with cracks and groans, a breathless reversed death groan emanating from the mending body as lungs were restored to working order. Organs from the bucket snaked back into the torso and into the newly forming abdominal cavity before the skin grew back over it as if it had never been scratched. The body reared up on the stretcher as if hanging on invisible strings, tossing and turning arms and legs in a gruesome danse macabre that only made Gerad laugh. He had to film it next time and tease his brother about it. In the end, a long, suffering moan came from a new mouth cavity while a new, still rather unfinished head lolled back and forth disoriented.

Gerald helped his groaning naked brother to sit up.

"Mhmmm," he groaned and rubbed his neck as if it was just sore after a night of partying. "Did you bring me a coffee?"

"No, but underpants, John," Gerald chirped teasingly while his brother glared at him from newly formed eyes because Gerald pulled a fiery red thong out of his pants pocket.

"God, sometimes I hate you," he grumbled, sliding to the edge of the stretcher and putting the thing on anyway. He needed a coffee and he'd punch anyone at Starbucks in the face who looked at him the wrong way. Thong or no thong.

"What was it this time?" asked Gerard.

"Bah, hand grenade," spat his brother.

"Oh, we haven't had one of those for ages. Since the Second World War?"

"Since the first," his brother corrected and stretched extensively, his taut muscles tensing and relaxing.

"You need a new cover," Gerald said and fished the People magazine out of his other trouser pocket where it had previously been. The dead man leafed through it as if it were a hairdresser's catalog with the latest trends.

"How about something black this time?" asked Gerard.

"I already didn't like my afro in the seventies," muttered his counterpart.

"Then go for something mixed. But don't make it as beefy as my cover again, that's too striking." His brother grumbled in reply, pausing at a picture of Ross Butler. He took another deep breath and let his features shift in that direction. His bone structure became more delicate, his body grew a little taller and leaner, his features a little younger and softer, but without the full lips and the skin a little more flawed, ears and nose a slightly different shape. His fingers tingled as his fingerprints changed. Finally, he lifted his petulant, now Asian-influenced gaze with the black eyes to his brother.

"Happy?"

Gerald shrugged his shoulders and raked his fingers trough the new black hair of his kin.

"That's good enough. Come on, let's brood over new names at dinner."

"I'm up for that." He ripped the unnecessary identification tag off his toe, took note of the name on it with a grunt that wasn't at all amused before tossing it to his brother, who pocketed it for his collection. Gerard Parker and the former John Thompson then made their way out.

.

.

"Lex, you're giving me a run for my money with your bitchy face. Relax, dude," Nashville muttered as he placed the huge plate of waffles on the table. Heather, one night after the events with Thailog, was back on top of her game and pulled the plate closer to her with a greedy grin. Before she started to protest, because Broadway begann to hand out the waffles she had claimed earlier and she only got 4.

"I'm relaxed!" I grumbled under the hatchling's heated negotiation, which focused on her dragon-given right to more waffles because she still had to grow.

"I just don't like that Alexander asked to talk to Nate right after we woke up. What does he have to talk to Nate about? If ... he turns him back into a human-"

"No, he doesn't want to. He can't," Flora assured him gently as she took the canister of milk from Ares that he had just tried to carry to the table.

"Don't start already now, Flo. It's only a gallon," he sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Better safe than sorry, love," Flora purred and led him to the table where he sat down next to his Rookery Sister. Angela and he exchanged warm glances, even though Ares' ears were still submissively flattened due to his general discomfort over his past actions. If it was up to me, he could be ashamed and grovel for a long time, but when Nathaniel wanted to be generous (one of the traits I loved about him) there was no way I was going to sabotage him.

"You're just grumpy because you can't stick to his butt for half an hour and he can't stick to yours," Tachi commented, radiating cool composure like her mother over her teacup.

"Sorry if it lingers a bit in me to have died yesterday and to have nearly lost him."

"Yu weren'd ded yesteday. I wuld hav sensd thad," Heather managed to mumble with her mouth so full she had half a waffle hanging out. The other adults at the table laughed fondly. The mood was calm, mellow but generally a little melancholy because Elisa had told us as soon as we woke up how many people had died in the attacks yesterday (because they had been attacks). 34 people were still in hospital with smoke inhalation, 52 additionally or exclusively had broken bones, wounds from broken glass or lacerations because they had fallen. Almost all of them would make a full recovery. 8 people were dead - two of them presumably assassins. Three more bodies, presumably related to the attacks at my company, had been recovered from the Brownstonehouse in addition to Thailog's remains. No Brentwood though - which made me uncomfortable. Although - I preferred this freak crawling through Manhattan alone and without a mastermind over Thailog. Brentwood was a servant without a master, a weapon without a holder - maybe - if we were all lucky, he'd just throw himself off the next roof at sunrise.

There were still a lot of blank spots in the investigation because none of the alleged perpetrators had been carrying IDs. But the body, which had disappeared from one of the forensic institutes and from which fingerprints had fortunately been taken in accordance with regulations, appeared to be that of Jim Miller. Andre Schoppenhauer - the rookie detective in the GTF - had told Elisa with almost laughable seriousness that the assistant who had wanted to start dissecting him had not only been his daughter, but had also insisted that no wild dog had dragged the body away, but that Jim Miller himself had turned into a wolf and run away. God, how I wished Miller's spawn was just a nutcase, having a schizoid episode because she'd realized her own father was lying on her table and only his remaining accomplices had dragged his body away. But neither thought was a good outlook. A: Either Miller and the dead guys at LeXa ltd still had living and very active allies. Or B: a werewolf-Miller was now loose in New York and blood-hungry for gargoyle butts - probably preferably mine but generally not picky.

I groaned loudly, suffering at the notions, and lowered my head to the police report that had coincidentally halted by me.

Brooklyn - just as grim as me but mostly because this was his resting face and it was his job as clan leader to look stern - grumbled out of brotherly solidarity with me and poured himself a coffee.

"It's a wonder there aren't more casualties considering the explosions and smoke."

"Yes... I guess. The company's excellent escape and rescue control system really paid off," I admitted with a sigh as I raised my head and handed the clipboard to Katana.

"The rapid arrival of the fire department and NYCEM was also exemplary," she added. Not since September 11th, but since the shitshow at The Granary, Katana was the person who liked to work most closely with these departments. Not only because she was a highly approachable person in dealing with officials and made the best impressions, but because these people had helped us shovel most of the clan free and helped save Nashville in the end.

"Nathaniel's absorption of fire and smoke also contributed to reducing both property damage and human losses. It's a tragedy - but considering all the variables, it could have been much worse." Goliath looked to me and I returned his smile. Nathaniel was my hero, our hero, many people's hero last night. There was so much to figure out, so many questions that arose not only about the circumstances but also about Nate.

As so often, seemingly appearing out of nowhere whenever anyone remotely thought of him, a portal opened and Alexander sauntered through, casual in jeans and a Hazbin Hotel T-shirt. And behind him, ears flattened and shoulders hunched as if the ceiling might fall on his head, Nate scurried through the portal, which Alex had probably just used as a shortcut between his rooms and the gargoyle kitchen. As Nate passed through, he looked around and watched the portal collapse in on itself in a bright green vortex. He shuddered and then turned back to us.

I grinned broadly. Going through a portal like that for the first time was really weird and a bit disorienting. Nate sat down between me and Heather, exchanging a kiss with me while Alex kissed his mates. Too noticeable to be accidental, Alex's hand rested briefly on Ares' flat stomach and when he pulled away from his mate, Ares was flushed red in the face. But the calm smile he showed was more relaxed than any of us had ever seen. I noticed Brooklyn and Goliath sharing glances, a little perplexed by gestures and reactions but not nosey enough to probe. There were more important things and I for one wouldn't get through a meal with that tension on my neck.

"Sooo ... what did you talk about?" I asked and yes, I was low and obvious and encroaching and I didn't care.

"What? I'm not allowed to enjoy breakfast with my clan before the more serious topics?" Alex asked provocatively, baring his teeth, which were too sharp and too long not to have been boosted by magic.

I raised one side of my brow- a stern look that didn't tolerate trickery or procrastination and had already done well twenty years ago to get the boy to tidy his room (by hand). He had a lot to clean up HERE in terms of openness and I knew he was aware of that. Where the others greeted David and Fox, who just strode into the kitchen and joined us at the table, and they also poured themselves coffee - clearly they were invited and should partake in whatever - I ignored them both and stared at Alexander so he knew I wouldn't be distracted.

Alex shrugged, glancing at Nathaniel, who slid one of his waffles over to Heather but had a mouthful of his own.

Then he sighed.

"All right. Down to business. I talked to Nate about what we're going to do now. About his being a Gargoyle and his abilities and why my mate was so hostile. I don't know all the background either - but enough. However, I explained everything to him first and foremost and let him decide how much he wants to share with you because it's about him, his body and his life. Everyone else is only affected in the second instance. We're honestly not sure if any of you can do anything at all, so it's questionable if it's not rather cruel to let you know because Gargoyles are always so eager to find solutions and fight and face the enemy. And all these approaches don't help here at all. But Nathanial will explain further," Alexander delegated and took the coffee cup that was in front of Ares and passed him the juice in return, at which his gargoyle-mate grumbled quietly and grouchily while Flora giggled. The fact that these three were so laid-back gave hope ... for whatever.

"Okayyyyy," Brooklyn muttered after a few seconds. And none of the gargoyles seemed to be able to decide if they should continue to stare at Nate until he spilled the beans or if they could stand not knowing even though it "affected them in the second instance."

Before I could grab Nate and shake him because the tension was getting to me, he had washed down his comfort waffle with tea and cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable.

"I ... Alex told me a few things. And ... I still don't get a lot of it but ... I know that it always caused me - us," his eyes flitted to me, "that it always multiplied trouble when I was too cowardly to communicate. I want to change, I have to keep changing so that ... Yes. And this isn't just about me but ... about more. About the safety of clan and clutch and castle and I don't know who else. But if we all already know what could happen - even if it's stressful and scary for everyone ... so I think it's decent that you know too. So that everyone can discuss possible arrangements together."

He took a deep breath, visibly stressed by his long speech, which he tried to deliver calmly and without stuttering. I was proud of him that he managed it so well. But I could just feel his inner worry and tension. I knew Nate well enough to recognize that he sometimes tried desperately to hide his unstable psyche under superficial composure and confidence. He cleared his throat and continued speaking.

"I don't want to be a burden to anyone, but it's not just about me. That's what the clan is all about, isn't it? So ... that not one person alone - And the thing is, my powers could cause bigger problems than anyone thought. Problems that will be beyond our control. So if you'd rather distance yourselves from the matter and the possible risk, I'd understand and-". I placed a hand on the back of Nathaniel's neck, applying light pressure that made him practically slump, causing the flaring anxiety and the bright white vapor that had begun to rise from his skin to figuratively and actually evaporate. It was a gesture that was supposed to provide support, calm the mind, convey safety and belonging. It worked among gargoyles and the fact that it worked on Nate and that he smiled gratefully at me for pulling him out of his mental turmoil was so fulfilling that I just had to kiss him.

"It's okay. Thank you for wanting to share this with us," I said after.

"It shows growth and respect for us that you want to open up despite your worries and concerns," Katana said with a proudly uplifting nod, my boyfriend almost preening in response.

"Yes, that's perfectly fine. We'll brainstorm together," Angela assured warmly.

"No one should be left alone with their problems," Heather confirmed with precocious wisdom.

"Yes, we'll stick together. No more of this distancing bull-" Tachi began just before Nash shoved a waffle into her beak so she wouldn't get a strike. Nathaniel chuckled good-naturedly at this, and although he radiated worried warmth, he didn't seem to be consumed with anxiety. Which was good, right? That was good. Nate was often a bundle of nerves so if whatever he'd learned from Alex hadn't melted him into a blue puddle of misery. Then it couldn't be that bad.

My friend took another deep breath to collect himself. Then he began with a "little detail" that was probably manageable for him.

"Okay. The reason Ares had wanted to hurt me was ... well, he actually had a good reason."

"And what would be the good reason to shoot my lover?" I growled sarcastically and Ares, who was sitting at such a richly laid table for the first time and had just discovered Poptarts for himself, mumbled something that sounded vaguely like sorry.

"Yeah- so. Alex confirmed that my fire and ... wind powers come from two entities I harbor inside me. Alex pulled one out of me so I could become human again. But that was never meant to be a permanent solution because it also weakened Alex. And Ares had an artifact on his arrow that he thought would block the entities inside me. Or the powers. So he had to hit me with it. Well, he believed he had to hit me with it. But then - well, I demanded those powers and the creature back. I invited them back into me so I could save Lex and everyone else. And now... well, giving them back doesn't work anymore. Because they're not as strong on their own as they are together and they always strive to be close to each other and they can only be close to each other in a host that was born to contain their presence. Can you follow me until here?" he asked with an inquiring look.

"Yes?" said Goliath, a little confused.

"So my ... son-in-law tried to shoot Nathaniel and put others in mortal danger to help my boy?" Xanatos mused, running a hand through his gray beard, seemed to reflect on this for a moment and then turned to Fox. "And you thought Ares wouldn't fit in perfectly with the family. Did I sign for this when I bought the castle, including gargoyles back then, my dear?"

"Oh David, I would almost suspect you put something like that in as a clause yourself," she quipped back, winking to a bashful smiling Ares and gesturing for Nathaniel to continue.

"Repeat the last part. Why doesn't it work anymore to separate you from the entities, or at least one of them, and give you back your human body?" questioned Tachi.

Suddenly unable to just stay seated, my friend stood up, slid out of the bench and began to pace as he spoke, trying to give his flow of words a direction that was comprehensible. Bronx, who wasn't on rookery duty tonight, followed his back and forth with a pupil-less, almost disgruntled look.

"I'm kind of..." he looked somewhat perplexed at Alex. Who only smiled encouragingly, which wasn't really helpful at all. He sighed and continued" ... Too attached to them? Well, I guess they've been a part of me for a long time ... just not ... active? And when Alex turned me into a gargoyle for the first time, they became active. It - well, me and Alex still don't know where they came from and what stages they went through until they arrived in me or how to remove them. But the important thing is - the host - in other words ME - I have to want them to go and, well, they have to want to go. Everyone has seen what happens when you force one out of me with strong magic."

"Is that why you had those echoes?" I asked, chin in my hands because I just didn't know what to do with them. Now that Alex had, perhaps after a little research, confirmed Nathaniel's impression that there really were strange forces at work inside him, the whole thing took on a much more real, worrying quality. He wasn't alone inside himself, he was sharing his body with some kind of forces - these were not really his powers or a side effect of the magic. And Nathaniel couldn't be separated from them? Alex and Nate had been right - what were we supposed to do with this knowledge?

My friend bit his lower lip, unhappy and truly dejected by his new knowledge. "I suppose so. And that's why Alexander and Owen haven't been doing well the last few days, they've been ... juggling the one entity back and forth and still could barely contain it. They've both taken on hardships without me knowing anything about it. But like I said ... this is not something I or they could solve on their own. Everyone has a right to know."

"What are those creatures inside you? Are they children of Oberon?" Elisa asked and as soon as she said the last word, Nathaniel yelped because his HEAD burst into flames.

"OHohohohoh!" my friend shouted as he ran across the room to the kitchen counter, waving his wings and arms like an overdrawn cartoon character, to get his head under the faucet before the sprinklers went off or the eruption spread to his clothes. Heather laughed her squeaky child laugh and almost fell off her bench, which somehow made the situation much less threatening.

"Mhmmm, dinner and a show," Alexander stated dead-pan.

"Does that answer your question, Elisa?" Nashville inquired, where the others' mouths were mostly hanging open.

"Okay, we can assume the fire creature is at least not one of the children So what are they? Are they estranged offspring? Some kind of disembodied sprites?" Brooklyn probed in a low voice.

"Not descendants of anything, I'm afraid," answered Alexander. "On the contrary. They're nothing young, rather something very old. Our problem is that by now Oberon knows about the entities' renewed activity. Nathaniel's use of the abilities last night was too jarring to the magical world for him not to have sensed it. Nathaniel's energy signature is unmistakable, as is the increasing strength of the power living within him. And Oberon will not like that at all. It's possible that he's making plans to take action against the entities right now. Because they are powerful and because they are not under his control."

Thanks for reading, Q.T.