...Love and War: Part Four (Three continued)
By Black Blade, a.k.a. Eddie of Clan Winslow
temporarily desalme@mint.net; blkblade@mailexcite.com

***NOTE: Gargoyles is a licensed trademark of Disney and Buena Vista.  All characters
save for Clan Winslow, the Outklaws, RC, Kiva, and Arin MacDuff are copyrighted by
the above fore mentioned companies.  All others are of my own twisted imagination and
creation, who apparently appeared out of nowhere and began talking to me
telepathically...uhh....  This is an unofficial fanfic and is not intended for infringement of
any kind.  Also, this fanfic takes place after The Journey, but I do not go any further in
The Goliath Chronicles and I totally ignore the Quarrymen, mainly because in my
opinion the world of animation already has a pro-human group (Friends of Humanity
from Marvel's X-Men) and I like to keep it that way.  Thank you very much. As for the
content of this piece, it does contain ADULT CONTENT.  It's mostly violence and
swearing (face it: teenagers do swear), but, to my current knowledge, I'm not going
to write about wild, maniacal sex (much to the Trio's chagrin.  Anyway, Broadway and
Angela promised to behave somewhat.) although I may--may--mention it.  Just a warning
for all you pro-censorship people out there--Remember the First Amendment!  My thanks
to my rookery sister and brother, Mercedes and Sam, for being editor and critique!***

***OOPS!  I want to apologise for any spamming of this text beforehand.  I have been
having comp probs (Damn 386's!) And...well...sorry for any inconvenience.--BB***

KIVA: Previously, on Gargoyles...uh, should I really say that, considering that this is a
continuation and not an actual part...?  Okay, I shut up now.

***
Chapter Three
Eyrie Building
Two nights after Arin and Brooklyn's disappearance
8:00 pm

     Yep, Broadway thought  to himself as the outraged Scotsman stormed up the stairs to
the courtyard.  Definitely Macbeth.
     "Any sign of them?" Macbeth demanded without any small talk.  He hadn't shaved
since Arin vanished, and already sported somewhat of a ragged moustache along with his
normally neat beard unkept.  Rings had formed around his eyes, and, as inconceivable as
it was, he appeared ten years older.
     Goliath shook his head, a solemn no.
     "Xanatos and Fox searched upstate last night, and we all scowered Manhattan each
night since," he then added, placing a friendly hand on Macbeth's shoulder. 
     "And I appreciate the help, Goliath," he thanked, staring out at the brightly-lit city. 
"But I can't help but think that Demona is involved."
     "Does she know you have a daughter?" Lexington questioned.  After Claw and RC left
for San Francisco, thanks to Xanatos' private jet, he really had nothing to do, although he
was tempted to go back to St. Damien's just to get together with Kiva.  Hell, maybe the
Black Sword could help them look for his missing brother.  Lexington pondered this, and
found his thinking about his new affiliation less and less frightened him.  Although none
of his clan knew about the blackened scar on his right palm in the shape of a dagger, it
was only a matter of time before he would encounter the Matriarchs' order, and he would
be helpless to defend.  Lex then noticed Macbeth say something to him.
     "Hmmm?" Lex snapped back into reality.
     "You worried me there for a moment, lad," Macbeth retorted.  "I don't think she
knows about Arin, no, but if she had a target for Brooklyn...."
     "That could be a possibility," Goliath's eyeridges shot up.  "Wait.  That time in
Paris...when Demona and Thailog--"
     "Blast!" Macbeth bellowed, smashing his fist on the table.  It smarted something
fierce, and he prayed that bitch could feel it.  "Yes, I did tell Domenique about Arin! 
Damn!" He closed his eyes and rubbed them.  "Perfect targets!  I should have warned her
about Demona the minute she met Brooklyn!"
     "Yes, but knowing Brooklyn--" Angela began, only to be silenced by her father.
     "He would have fought her," Goliath ad-libbed.  "And, quite possibly...." He decided
to trail off, not really going into grimmer speculation."
     "Goliath!"
     The lavender gargoyle whirled around to face Elisa, who stopped and caught her
breath.  Obviously she did not wait around for the elevator.
     "Derek has news," she gasped.  "One of the regular squatters, Al took a walk two
nights go around Central Park.  He saw Arin and Brooklyn there about midnight.  He said
he didn't really give it a second thought, but he did notice something bizarre."  She
sighed.  "A thick fog came in shortly after he arrived, and then it dispersed.  He
remembers seeing no one there afterwards."
     Goliath paled.
     "Oberon," he whispered.
     "My thoughts exactly," Elisa nodded slowly.
     "What are you talking about?" Macbeth demanded.
     "Things are definitely not as normal as you hoped they would be, friend," Goliath
groaned.
      "Lads!" Hudson shouted from the hallway.  "Gods blast ye! Lads, get yer arses in here
this second!"
     "It sounds urgent," Lex commented, racing inside, followed by Broadway and Angela.
     "He was watching CNN when I walked by," Elisa pointed out.
     "Blast it! Goliath, get yer arse in here!" Hudson screamed.
     "Goliath you'll want to see this!" Broadway echoed.
     The two humans and the gargoyle glanced momentarily at each other just before they
bolted into the TV room.  Hudson stood, his right hand clutching the remote, his left
gesturing wildly at the screen.  He was standing on his armchair, his eyes round and wide. 
Lex, Broadway, and Angela were staring transfixed at the screen.
     "Blast it! Ye missed it!" Hudson swore, sinking back into his chair.  "It was
somewhere in New England, 'bout some hapless gargoyle lad getting arrested by police!"
     "What?" Goliath goggled at the newswoman reading off the other day's events,
somewhat bewildered at something unbeknown to the three late-comers.
     "Matt went up to Maine to investigate a clan of gargoyles rumored to live up there." 
Elisa directed her gaze to Hudson.  "Was that it? Maine? I was half asleep when Matt told
me."
     "Aye, I think it was," Hudson scratched his balding scalp.
     "Damn," Macbeth groaned, although inwardly glad that it wasn't about a young
woman mauled to death by a frenzied she-demon.
     "Any luck on finding the lass?" Hudson then asked.  Macbeth shook his head.
     "No," he retorted flatly.
     "Then no word about Brooklyn, either," Hudson sighed.  "Blast."
     Just as Elisa left to go back on duty, a thump sounded outside in the courtyard.
     "Guys! Anybody here?!" Brooklyn shouted into the hallway.
     Macbeth was the first to bolt out of the TV room, his eyes lighting up with relief.
     "Brooklyn, where's Arin--" he stopped short, only to realize that the visitor was not
Brooklyn.  It looked like Brooklyn, but there was no way in hell it was Brooklyn.  For
starters, Brooklyn would never, under no circumstances, wear a Weird Al Yankovic "Bad
Hair Day"
tee-shirt.
     "Sorry, Pops, I ain't Brook."  Malibu shook his head.  "Who the hell are you, anyway?"
He glanced at Lex and Broadway for an explanation, with a "What the hell is going on?"
look in his inverted blue eyes.
     "Umm, Mal, this is MacDuff," Lex introduced, using Macbeth's common name. 
"Lennox MacDuff.  His daughter and Brooklyn disappeared two nights ago."
     "Oh," Mal raised an eyebrow.  "Well, sorry 'bout it, Pops, but I haven't seen Brooklyn
since we super-glued Burbank's ass to his armchair last week."  He held up a video tape. 
"Speaking of which, I had to fight the living lump tooth and nail for control of  the tube
tonight.  I wanted to see a segment on CNN, and Burbank wanted a rerun of Highlander." 
He pulled up his pant leg, exposing a nasty gash underneath a gauze bandage.  "The lump
actually comes to life when you threaten his viewing pleasures."
     "Get to the point, Mal," Goliath demanded.  He could never believe that any clone of
Brooklyn's could be so. . .so. . .so arrogant and sometimes even annoying.
     "Anyway, after the segment on cloned farm animals--" he wiggled his eyeridges, "-- I
totally on accident caught the national news, including a tidbit you'd really enjoy,
Goliath."  He tossed the tape to Clan Manhattan's leader, who caught it with one hand.
     "I rewound it a little too far ," Mal then revealed once Hudson savagely thrusted the
tape into the VCR and stabbed at the"play' button,  and Fang's backside came into view,
standing over the toilet.  Goliath groaned. Not this again.

***
Mason Farmstead
8:30 p.m.

     "--As this unbelievable story of what may become the biggest civil rights case since
the Dred Scott case one-hundred and forty years ago this year, unravels, WVII channel 8
will be there covering it.  This is Jennifer McNeil for Eyewitness News."
     "Holy shit," Eddie whispered, snapping of the VCR.  She, like the rest of Clan
Winslow, save for Ben and Elly, of course, were standing in her loft, wearing nothing but
their underwear.  She herself was donned in a black Lycra sports bra and black ladies'
boxers.
     "Colt's really bringing this up good," Pippen replied, hiking up the strap of her
undershirt.
     "You can say that again," Bob agreed, picking the wedge of his plaid boxers.
     Avaon, wearing only his kilt, swiveled his head to face Mercedes,  blushing somewhat
and looking up at a point on the ceiling.
     "And what is the point of this 'Underwear Open'?" He questioned innocently.
     Mercedes adjusted her own dark blue sports bra and shrugged.
     "It's the time of the year where both Clan Winslow and the Outklaws together in
friendly competition. . ." Mercedes thought for something else to explain it.
     ". . .That usually ends up with either Eddie and Mauser getting into a fight, 'Monika
and Mauser heading out to the clubhouse, the Outklaws stealing the Green Boxers, or the
Outklaws stealing someone's bra."  Alexis shrugged as well.  "Sometimes all of the
above."
     "The original idea was to play a full game of golf in nothing but drawers," Sam
snapped the elastic of his oversized Donald Duck boxer shorts.  "Whoever wins, their
team gets the Green Boxers, in parody of the Green Jacket."  Seeing that he had
completely lost the newcomer, Sam sighed and picked up his Shannara book.
     "Then the new rules came into being," Pippen grinned evilly.
     "You don't want to know, Avaon," Eddie assured.  "And, as far as Elly and Ben are
concerned, we are heading out to the swimming hole, maybe go over to Colt's buddy
Wentworth in Waterville, to go swimming.  They don't exactly approve of the Underwear
Open."
     With that in mind, the young ones of Clan Winslow leapt out through the loft door and
glided down to the old Chevy pickup.  Jumping into the driver's seat Eddie turned the
ignition as everyone else piled into the dump bed, save for Mercedes and Avaon, who
joined her in the cab. 
With a collective whoop, they took off in an oily backfire of dark smoke.

     "Late, as usual," Mauser sighed, checking his watch.  "Leave it to a woman to be late. 
Hey, Mag!"
     The large tan gargoyle stood straight when he heard his name.
     "Why don't you just mate with that bitch? Get it over with?" Maus chuckled.  "Maybe
give her a sense of timing."
     "Aw, lay off Eddie," Magnum retorted.
     "Riiiight," the dark green male snorted.
     "Hey, guys, I see a truck!" Wes shouted from his tree watch.  He jumped down and
bolted to his fearless leader.  "It may be Eddie and the others."
     "Then again, it could be that state trooper in the Dodge Ram," Smith pointed out.
     A backfire shot out, and Claymore, dressed in nothing but a pair of Barney
tighty-whiteys, smirked.
     "It's Eddie," he retorted.
     Chaz, inspecting the clubs, leaned up against a golfcart.
     "Y'know, every year, it's always the Underwear Open," he began, as Smith and
Wesson hummed "Battle Hymn of the Republic."  "Every year, we all don nothing but
our skivvies and embarrass in front off any human who dares to pass us.  This year, we
are without one of our most dear and trusted comrades, who, by the way, is getting so
much media publicity, if he ever comes out of jail, chicks, both human and gargoyle, will
be throwing their bodies at his feet.  Next year, if the bastard gets shipped to some
laboratory at Nellis Air Force Base for being confused for a Martian, I propose that in
place of the Underwear Open, we initiate the First Annual Colt's Ride 100, a motor
vehicle race from Skowhegan to Augusta and back again.  All in favor?"
     Silence.  A cricket chirped.  Someone coughed.  The truck in the distance backfired
again.
     "Chaz," Mauser walked up to his friend and placed a hand on his shoulder.  "You are
the only crack driver of the entire bunch.  The same with Eddie.  Now, it wouldn't make
much sense if you raced Eddie, would it? Now if it was me, that would be a different
story, but, as the fates would have it, I am the Killer of Transmissions.  Case in point, our
Beetle."
     Mag grabbed the nine-iron, aimed, and struck the grass, sending a high-speed divot
that slammed into the back of the Outklaw leader's head.
     "Hail, O' Destroyer of Volkswagens!" he shouted, angered.
     The old Chevy squealed to a stop as it pulled up behind the clubhouse.  Clan Winslow
all bailed out, and Eddie purposefully strode up to Magnum without so much as a word,
grabbed him by the side of his head, and frenched him passionately.
     May the best woman win," she grinned evilly.  Turning to face Mauser, she retorted to
his slightly surprised expression with "Well, you didn't expect me to do that to you, did
you?  Speaking of which, where's Monika?"
     "I'm here," the dark pink gargoyle glided from beyond the  tree line west of the Pine
Acres Country Club.  Unlike her friends, she was fully dressed in a black halter top and
cut-off 
faded blue jeans.
     "Sorry, Monika," Wes beamed.  "You can't wear that to play."
     "Ah," she grinned as well.  "The classic 'I'll show you mine if you'll show me your's',
eh?"
With that, Monika stripped off her shirt and pants, exposing a strapless bra and matching
lacy 
panties.
     Mag glanced at Eddie, then at her boxers.
     "Why can't you wear something like that?" he whined.
     "'Cuz I don't have the figure," she retorted flatly.  "Are we going to play or what?"
     "Yeah, same rules apply, as usual: two competitors to a hole--"
     "That really sounded good, Maus," Smith giggled.
     "--and a par eight to each hole."
     Chaz did a quick head count of the males and chuckled.
     "And now, on to the game!"  Mauser held his hand out to Monika.  "My wood."
     Monika pulled out the club, scratched her head, then threw her arms around his neck
and passionately kissed him.
     "Not that wood!" Mauser snorted, taking the club.  "Ball--golf ball, that is."
     Monika pouted, handing him a florescent green golf ball.
     "Let the games begin!" The dark green gargoyle yodeled, then swung back and teed
off.

     Mauser glanced at his watch after the fifth hole and sighed.
     So far, Eddie's group was four above par, six ahead of the Outklaws.
     Of course, after a unanimous vote, they decided to throw out the fifth hole mainly
because Alexis and Clay were already beyond the eight par limit and now trying to kill
each other with well-
aimed golf balls, divots, or actual golf clubs.  Already the number three driver from the
Outklaws' set was ruined.
     "Onto the next hole!" Mauser shouted, bored.
     "Bring in the next virgin!" Smith cried, only to be smacked in the head by an airborne
divot launched by Eddie's pitching wedge.
     Leaving the two opponents to their quasi-fencing melee, the rest of the gargoyles
headed to the sixth hole, a course whose green was actually two-hundred and fifteen feet
away on a small island in the middle of a pond...or, more accurately, a twelve foot wide
moat surrounding a plot of land.  Avaon and Smith were picked to attempt the course,
although both Mauser and Eddie knew from past experiences the hole was going to be
thrown out as well for loss of golf balls.
     As Avaon was about to tee off, Smith hiked up his drooping glow-in-the-dark "Spank
Me
Please" boxers and walked up behind the adopted clansman as if watching his form.
     "How do we know," he smirked, selecting a number one wood, "that you aren't
wearing underwear underneath the skirt?"
     Avaon stopped his stroke midway and turned to face his challenger, his eyes a bright
lavender.
     "First off," Avaon snarled in his strange Scot accent, "I do not wear 'underwear'."
     "Oh, really?" the white gargoyle sneered, and with his trusty numero uno wood, he
swiftly lifted the back edge of Avaon's kilt, then, as quickly as he did so, he dropped the
club.
     "I am scarred for life," he muttered, as the sage gargoyle's number three swung around
and caught Smith by the chin, he recoiling back in pain as he spat blood and a molar.
     "And second, I only agreed to this degrading game because I thought it would be fun
to compete with different gargoyles other than my own rookery brothers.  But all I see is
perpetual fighting and disgusting sexual mockery!  As much as the lot of you hate to
admit it, you're all from the same clan!  Why don't you act like it?"  The newcomer took a
breath.
     Eddie and Mercedes clapped.
     "Because," Mauser pointed directly to Eddie, "she cannot ingest the fact she has no
leadership skills whatsoever.  She couldn't lead that ragtag clan of hers out of a paper
bag, let alone anything else."
     Eddie growled, her eyes flaring red.
     "Eddie," Avaon warned, trying to keep his own cool.  "What do you feel about
Mauser?"
     "What do you know about leadership?" She snarled at the taller gargoyle with the
goatee. 
"You have forgotten the clan's creed, if you dare call yourself and the lot of you
gargoyles."
     "What, 'We ain't inbred--much'?"
     "No," her voice trembled in anger.  "'Gargoyles protect'.  If you haven't forgotten
already,
we did come to your help when that new female attacked you guys a couple of nights
ago."
     "She's right, Maus," Monika whispered, just before he raised a hand.
     "This is our fight, Monika," he ordered.  "Stay out of this.
     "You didn't have to help us, bitch," he retorted to Eddie.  "We had it all under
control."
     "Sure you did," Eddie's eyes, for the moment, returned to normal and rolled upward,
then
burned red again.  "Magnum whipped in the gonads, you cradling bruised ribs, Beavis
and
Butt-head certainly didn't know how to handle themselves, Clay a hell of a lot smaller
and
definitely less skilled in fighting than her, Chaz and his wounded pride the only one able
to
actually fight, 
she had your asses whupped.  You went into battle without a strategy because you
underestimated her.  I know this may flatter you, but I mean it when I know you can think
of an
excellent 
battle plan against an opponent much better than you as individuals.  You should have
known
that when she wounded Mag.  Right then, you should have used group tactics.  But you
didn't.  
You knew Mag is your best fighter, and you should have figured out if she beats him, she
would
wipe the floor with the rest of you individually.  But then again, you underestimated her."
     "And you pulled a rifle on her," Mauser added, his eyes becoming brighter.
     "First off, as I said before, she had your asses whupped. Second, she pulled back when
Ben grazed her. No casualties, her wound healed, our wounds healed, everything's fine
and
dandy."
     "Still," Mag whispered, "you used a firearm."
     "Where in the rulebooks does it say that gargoyles can't use firearms?" she demanded.
"And since when did gargoyles have a rulebook? In my short and insignificant life, I've
only
heard one rule for us. And I don't feel like repeating myself."
     "We didn't have a gun; all we had was the improvisions you saw us use, everything
from
Clay's knife to the Beetle hubcap." Mauser snapped. "We aren't fortunate to have the
resources
you spoiled brats have."
     "Spoiled...?" Eddie heaved a breath. "Listen, you dishonorable shithead, you and your
boys have pillaged, begged, and stole for a living. You never once could ask for help
from us;
you know damn well Elly would have welcomed you with open arms. But you wanted to
be
men; you wanted to support yourselves by any means possible. Honor meant nothing to
you as
long as you got what you want."
     "Eddie," Mag whimpered, "you don't mean that." She had hurt him by calling his
brothers
dishonorable, but she did have a point.
     "It's a dog-eat-dog world, Ed. We can't live in the past, and we can't get caught. We
can't
rely on an elderly human to care for our every need, and you shouldn't either."
     "She does thy best she can," The green female suddenly pulled back from the
tongue-lashing. It wasn't fair that Elly was so old, when just a couple of decades ago she
was an
energetic farmer. Now, as true as Mauser had said, Elly was getting slower, older, her
joints
complaining and acting up worse than ever. Elly was Clan Winslow's rookery mother;
she took
care of them since they hatched without anyone but her, her late husband Richard, and
Ben, the
supposedly only surviving gargoyle from the first and second generation in New England,
let
alone Maine.
     She backed off, her head hanging. She suddenly felt conscious of herself, and carried
herself like a wounded dog.
     "Let's just finish this game." Her voice was soft, contrasting greatly with her usual
tone.
     No one really paid much attention to the road, and all of the gargoyles participating
in the Underwear Open never saw the Mazda Prot‚g‚ with rental plates parked on the side
of the
road. If anyone did, and decided to investigate, they would have noticed the glint of the
dome
light off the lens of the binoculars observing them, along with the boyish face of the red-
head
investigator.
     "I don't get it, Hacker," he whispered into the cellphone. "What does the Illuminati
possibly want about gargoyles?"
     "Definitely not to prove their existence," the voice on the other end chuckled.
"Actually,
that young man busted for OUI caught the attention of the bosses, and he wanted to know
more
about the rinky-dink clan up there. He wouldn't tell me any more than that, though. What
are
they doing now?"
     "Playing golf in their underwear."
     "Seriously."
     "I'm dead serious, Hacker; my guess is the oldest one may be equivalent to twenty-five
years, tops. No elders, nothing. I count--thirteen, a rather big clan--"
     "Not really, Bluestone," Hacker interrupted. "You're judging by New York standards.
The
clan in Ichimura, Japan, numbers in at about thirty. The smallest is the London one,
which
doesn't actually count as a clan."
     "How many clans does the Illuminati know about?"
     Some are pretty private, like your Manhattan clan. Others are rather open with human
relations, like Ichimura. Otherwise, besides New York, Japan, London, and now Maine,
There's
one confirmed in Oregon, eh--" There was a shuffling of papers on the other end. "--
Suislaw
National Park, one in New Orleans, one in Jamaica, Guatemala, Stewart Islands New
Zealand,
rumors of some in Alaska, Siberia, the Republic of Congo, the list goes on." Hacker
paused.
"Really, Bluestone, we suspect there is at least a thousand gargoyles alive today in the
world.
Maybe ten-thousand. It's difficult to estimate, mainly because they tend to be reclusive
toward
humans. Take your Heavy Metal-clad golfers. 1958. Before that time, there were sixteen
miniclans in Maine, one for each county. It was confirmed at that time there was over
four
hundred gargoyles in this backwater state. It seems coincidental that it was around the
time of
the segregation/integration battles between the whites and the African-Americans. Some
of the
Maine denizens needed something to hate, being the low black community back then, so
they
turned to the gargoyles. Killed the entire clan. So we believed until now. What you are
looking
at now Bluestone is what's left of the largest clan in the world to present, the Clan
Kennebec
miniclan. They hatched roughly around and after the time of the xenophobia. They grew
up with
human ways."
     "Fascinating," Matt breathed. "And Goliath thought his clan was the last one left."
     "Most of these clans think the same thing about themselves. Apparently, they were
sentient when humans were still walking on all fours naked. They once numbered in the
millions, but since humans began climbing the evolutionary ladder, they've been dying
off."
     "What?"
     "Females lay one egg each every twenty years. Three to four eggs in their lifetime, if
they're lucky. It takes ten years for the eggs to hatch. Their reproduction systems are
flawed.
They're an evolutionary dead-end. The species saxum diluculus, sub-species sapien.
Doomed to
die out by the end of the next millennium. Sad, isn't it?"
     "How did you get all this information?" Matt demanded, putting down his binoculars.
He
suddenly felt sick to his stomach.
     "The Illuminati has many scientists in its ranks. They know of all kinds of paranormal
and out-of-the-ordinary occurances all around the world and beyond for the past nine-
hundred
years. Gargoyles are probably the most normal of the information. I'll tell you why we're
on this
assignment, good buddy: the Illuminati are trying to save the gargoyles from extinction.
Simple as that. Without gargoyles, this world may take a cataclysmic and catastrophic
step
backward."
     "Wow," Matt ran his hand through his hair. "That's deep."
     "That's what I said." Hacker agreed. "Listen, I've got to check back in with the boss. I'll
talk to you in a few."
     "See you, Hacker," he shoved his cell phone back into his pocket. His mind swirled
with
the new and frightfully disturbing information. Elisa will have to know, of course, and
Goliath.
     Boy, did he hate to be the bringer of bad news.
     His attention turned back to the golf game. It was beginning to get foggy; the
gargoyles
were bound to call the game off soon.
     Then again, they were playing in their underwear.

***
     "FORE!!!"
     Smith swung with such force ball, tee, and divot flew into a wide and deep slice. The
tee
landed thirty feet away; the divot, one hundred, and the ball one-fifty, into the moat. 
     "Shit," he swore, a little muffled with his swollen cheek, storming off to the water's
edge.
     "What the hell?" Mauser whispered, noting the sudden change in weather. It was clear
a
minute before.
     "'If you don't like the weather in Maine--'" Mercedes quoted the infamous Maine
meteorology line.
     "I know," Mauser shrugged. "Ah, well, they predicted thunder-storms later tonight."
     "Great." Eddie groaned.
     Monika shot both of them a nasty look as she pushed up her bra. Wearing that was not
the brightest of choices, she soon found out. Not just Mauser, but all the Outklaws, and
Bob as
well, were perpetually staring at her cleavage. Even Magnum, who sworn himself to
Eddie,
stole shameful glances at her.
     "Avaon?" Smith suddenly yelled, as if his mouth was full of cotton balls. "Where are
you,
Scotty?"
     "Here, still!" He the sage-colored gargoyle shouted back from the now invisible green,
his voice betraying that he was still a little irked about the argument.
     "Wow, it got foggy fast," Pippen whispered.
     "That's it; game's called off for now!" Eddie ordered.
     "Hey!" Mauser protested.
     "We can't play if we can't see the ball," she retorted.
     "She's right, Maus," Wes shrugged.
     "I can't find the bridge!" Avaon cried.
     "Shit!" Eddie found she could no longer see anyone beyond five feet of her.
"Everyone!
Follow my voice and regroup to me!"
     "Keep talking!" Mag shouted.
     "'Long ago I wandered through my mind/ in the land of fairy tales and
stories/ lost in happiness I had no fears/ innocence and love was all I knew/ was it
illusion?'"
she sang somewhat off-tune as one by one all her rookery kin and Outklaws had tagged
her arm,
save for Avaon over on the green and Smith, who took a wrong turn and landed in the
moat.     
Only the curse that was shouted after the splash was not Smith's.
     For starters, it had a somewhat of a British accent.
     Second, it was feminine.
     Third, when the fog began to lift, it was revealed to be a nicely-shaped human female
wearing a wet Led Zeppelin tee-shirt and soaked jeans, accompanied by an equally-
drenched
copper red gargoyle with stringy true white hair, more white than Magnum's platinum
blond.
     "Jesus H. Christ!" She cursed again. "What the hell happened?!
     The new gargoyle blinked at the thirteen other gargoyles.
     "Where are we?" He demanded bluntly.
     "You came in from Avalon?" Avaon demanded excitedly, running across the bridge.
"Those were the mists of Avalon! But you are not one of my rookery kin."
     "Uh, yeah, we were sorta..." he wrung out his wet hair, "we sorta got picked up by old
man Oberon and dumped here, wherever 'here' is."

     "Waterville," Eddie shrugged.
     The woman gave a quick scan of the motley crew with a smirk.
     "Do you normally play golf in your skivvies?" she questioned.
     "No; usually we do it in the buff," Clay retorted, blocking a thrust of a nine-iron from
Alexis.

     "Waterville...New York?" the new gargoyle asked, somewhat hopeful.
     "Try Maine," Mauser snorted, amused.
     "Holy shit," the woman whistled.
     "Who are you?" Pippen demanded directly.
     "Brooklyn," the red gargoyle introduced. "And this is Arin MacDuff, a very good
friend
of mine."
     "Hi, Brooklyn!" Both clans waved in an Alcoholics Anonymous fashion. "Hi, Arin!"
     "We better get out of here fast," Arin whispered. "I think their family tree doesn't
branch,
if you know what I mean."
     "Oh, we ain't inbred--much!" Pippen retorted, giggling. As old as that joke was to the
rest of the group, she still found it hilarious.
     "Listen, I can't help but notice you guys came in the same way Avaon came five days
ago," Eddie pointed out. "Where are you from?"
     "Clan Manhattan," Brooklyn muttered, still dazed.
     "Manhattan?" Avaon grabbed him by the arms and stared him in the eyes. "Then...you
know Goliath?"
     "I'm his second-in-command, I should hope the hell I know him."
     "Then you know Angela, my rookery sister!" He cried. "Unless, of course, Avalon is
still
sending them to where they're needed."
     "Her...rookery brother...?" He raised an eyeridge.
     Abruptly, a flash shocked his mind. His hazel eyes widened.
     (my ultimate plan for the mortals would not be complete without the he--) A glimpse
of
Queen Titania flashed across his mind's eye, and, as quickly as it came, it vanished.
     He came to, Arin shaking him, calling out his name.
     "Brook!" She beckoned, an expression of worry lining her face. "Brook, what
happened?
You sort of blacked out there for a second."
     "Maybe it's all this excitement," he shrugged, yawning. "We've had a rough night."
     Eddie gave Brooklyn a quick look of pity, shaking her head.
     "You know, there's medications to help out with that," she jested. "So, there are other
clans besides ours? We thought we were the last ones."
     "'Ones'? Plural?" Arin studied each of the Maine-iac gargoyles.
     "Aye, Clan Winslow and the Outklaws," Avaon stated bluntly, almost spiteful.
"They're
the same clan, but no one is willing to accept it."
     "Damn straight we don't!" Mauser proclaimed.
     "I want to know why everyone's playing golf in their underwear," Brooklyn snorted
weakly, the right side of his brain pulsing with dull but tolerable pain. What was wrong
with
him?
     They all shrugged.
     "Mauser's idea," They exclaimed unanimously.
     "And we see you came prepared," Wes grinned. "In fact, I don't think we ever had
anyone
played in a loincloth before." He nodded toward Brooklyn's soaked garment.
     "I still propose we call off the game," Eddie stated. "If the weather doesn't have just
cause
to, then the weird circumstances does. Let's go back to the farmstead. We can collect our
thoughts there."
     "You don't by any chance have a phone?" Arin asked.
     "Do you think us that backwater?" Mercedes chortled. "It's the kind that you crank, but
we have one."
     Arin rolled her eyes as they trudged back to the clubhouse, Avaon asking numerous
questions about the princess and the Guardian and how they were and how his rookery
siblings
were doing. Brooklyn answered as truthfully as he could.
     When they got back into visual distance to the road, something mental poked the
copper
gargoyle arid indicated to the Mazda parked on the other side. He squinted at the still
figure in it.
     "Bluestone?" he whispered, unbelieving. The boyish face glanced up at him and stared
in
surprise as he struggled to get out of the car.
     "Shit!" Clay swore. "It's a goddamned pig!" He dove into the back of the Chevy truck
and
hid under a tarp.
     "Brooklyn, where the hell are you doing here?" Matt demanded.
     "I was about to ask you the same thing," Brooklyn yawned again. "But since you asked
first...remember when Elisa and Goliath were missing?"
     "You know him?" Mauser demanded.
     "He's a good friend of our clan," Brooklyn retorted.
     "Don't tell me you went...there?" Matt queried.
     "Yeah, you could say that."
     "Jesus, Brooklyn!" The human ran his hands through his cropped red hair. "You
wouldn't
believe the hysterics everyone's been in since you've been missing! Hi, you must be Arin,"
Matt
suddenly switched the subject, directing his nod toward the emerald-eyed woman.
"Anyway,
Elisa had everyone looking for you two for the past two days!"
     "We were only gone a couple of hours," Arin retorted.
     "Every hour on Avalon, a day passes in the real world," Brooklyn muttered. "That
explains why Princess Katherine was still alive. Aw, shit, I bet Macbeth has already had a
litter
of kittens by now!" Brooklyn slapped his forehead. "He s gonna kill me."
     "Not before he kills me first," Arin groaned. "You know how overprotective my da is.
And what you say is true...what is this with you and your brothers calling my da Macbeth,
anyway?" She then realized.
     Her friend sighed and replied with "That's what we knew him by when we first
encountered him. I seriously can't tell you anymore."
     "Geez, I should call Elisa," Matt pulled out his cell phone. "Or maybe Xanatos first, I
think Elisa's still on duty...they're all worried sick...." He tapped the sequence of numbers
and
waited for a ring.
     All he got was static covering a local country music station.
     "I must be out of range. But I was just talking to Hacker a few minutes ago." Matt
chewed on the antenna of the phone in nervous habit.
     Eddie studied the sky, sniffed, then retorted, "Ayuh, that explains it."
     "Explains what?" the New Yorkers demanded.
     "It's getting close to a t-storm, by dampness in the air. Also, low cloud coverage.
Interferes with cellular communication. Finally," she pointed to the radio tower's blinking
red
lights to the north, "WTVL never bothered to put a frequency jammer on top of their
transmitter
tower. You were probably listening to country and western, right?"
     "So my cell phone's useless."
     "Ayuh." Eddie vaulted into the driver's seat of the truck and started the engine. "You're
welcome to use our phone back at our home, crash there until the storm blows over, or
tomorrow
night, whichever is first. Mr.--ah--"
     "Bluestone. Detective Bluestone."
     "I told you he was a pig!" Clay shouted from the back as the rest of the gargoyles
except
Brooklyn climbed into the dump bed of the Chevy.
     "Detective Bluestone, you're welcome to follow along. I mean, if you're a friend of our
kind...." She shrugged, shifting the ancient vehicle into gear. "Just follow us. The roads
get tricky
once we connect with 137. Brook, Arin, you want to ride with us?"
     Arin noticed the dark green male and the dark pink female, Mauser and Monika, she
remembered, wasted no time and started getting hot and heavy in their own corner of the
back.
Eddie followed her gaze, slamming her fist on the roof of the cab.
     "Cut it out, you two!" She ordered. Mauser flipped her the bird and sat scowling with
his
arms over his chest.
     "No thanks; we'll ride with Matt," Brooklyn acknowledged.
     Eddie shrugged, and with a lurch, the ancient Chevy backfired and picked up speed on
route 104.

.***.
Castle Wyvern
10:30 p.m.

     "God, I'm so worried," Fox whispered, rubbing at her tattoo absently.
     "We all are, my dear," David gave his wife a loving, reassuring hug, then  a quick but
deep kiss.
     Pulling away, the red-head sank into one of the kitchen chairs and stared at her hands.
     "Just keep in mind, wherever she is, Brooklyn is with her," David reminded. I hope, he
added silently. "She's safe."
     "I don't know, David," Fox whimpered. "I have a funny feeling about this, like
something
happened."
     She jumped when the phone rang.
     "That's probably her now, Fox." He stood, patting her on the shoulder, hoping that
would
comfort her, as he answered the phone.
     "Hello?"
     "This is Nynex." The mechanical voice stated. "You have a collect call from--" It
paused,
and another recording took it's place, sounding a lot like his sister-in-law, only more
tinny.
"--Arin!"
     "Well I'm be damned," he muttered, a grin spreading across his face. Fox glanced up,
tears streaking her cheeks.
     "Do you accept the charges?"
     "Yes!" David burst out, laughing.
     "Thank you for using Nynex." There was a click, and Arin's real voice: "David? Is
Janine
or my da there? I tried da's place, but all I got was the answering machine."
     "Fox, it's Arin!"
     She blinked, disbelieved, as she took the receiver from her husband.
     "Arin?" she demanded, relief bubbling up to her exterior.
     

     Mal, rewinding his tape, glanced up at Goliath and the rest of the clan, awaiting a
response.
     "I don't believe it," Goliath muttered.
     "It was all over USA Today a couple of days ago," Mal brushed away a lock of black
hair
from his face. "Delilah caught it just before Fang threw it away. Brent wanted the
picture." He
rolled his inverted blue eyes. "I checked it out in an old atlas. Waterville's a dinky little
city
on the edge of civilization in Maine. Barely has a population of twenty thousand."
     "If there is one gargoyle up there," Lexington remarked quietly, "there must be an
entire
clan."
     "I think Matt was doing a little freelance investigating up there to prove there was...or
something like that," Broadway shrugged. "He wouldn't say any more about it."
     "Ack, lads, what does it matter that there's a clan up there or not when one of our
own's
missing?" Hudson questioned. "And the poor lass, hopefully she hasn't lost her wits about
the
situation."
     "She's Scot royalty," Macbeth retorted with pride, although edged with sadness. "She
doesn't lose her wits that easily."
     Abruptly, Fox and David ran into the room, Fox grasping onto the cordless phone.
     "Guys, have you seen--Len!" Fox gave her ex-stepfather a big hug, causing him to
demand what was going on.
     "It's Arin!" She screamed excitedly, thrusting the phone to the startled Scot.
     Macbeth accepted the phone with a shaking hand, brought it to his ear, and whispered,
"Arin?"
     "Da!" The voice on the other end was enthusiastic. "You'd never guess where Brook
and I
were!"
     "Where the blazes have you been?" he demanded at the same time.
     "Uh, wait." There was some muffled talking on the her end.
     "Macb--MacDuff, is Goliath there?" Brooklyn asked.
     "Aye, he is," Macbeth handed the phone to Goliath and revealed, "It's Brooklyn."
     "Brooklyn?" Goliath looked relieved. "Where are you?"
     "Goliath," Brooklyn's voice became serious, dead serious. "We were on Avalon."
     "What?"
     "Oberon called Arin. He didn't forget her, he just overlooked her. Goliath..." his tone
lowered to a whisper, "...Arin remembers nothing, but I do. She refused Oberon, and he
cursed
her, with what, I don't know."
     Goliath growled somewhat.
     "Goliath, put Fox on," his second-in-command suggested. The lavender gargoyle
raised
an eyeridge and passed the receiver to Fox.
     "Yes?"
     "Fox, we may have a situation on our hands," Brooklyn hissed. "We had a little run-in
with your current step-father."
     "Oh, damn," Fox whispered.
     "He cursed Arin with something, ummm...damn, now I can't remember! I think it's
high
time the truth comes out, for both Macbeth and Arin. Neither of them knows what's going
on.
Macbeth has no clue about Titania, and Arin has no clue about his past. He'll listen to you
better
than he'll listen to me; could you break it to him?"
     "I'll try, Brooklyn," Fox nodded.
     "Arin wants to talk to her father again. See you in a few."
     "See you, Brooklyn." Finally, the phone came back around to Macbeth.
     "Arin? Now, where are you, girl?"
     "Ummm..." There was a pause again, followed by more muted conversing--there were 
more people than just Brooklyn and Arin there, wherever "there" was--and Arin retorted,
"Winslow."
     "'Winslow?'" Macbeth raised an eyebrow. "Where's that?"
     "Near Waterville," her voice rose, like she was expecting an argument.
     "Waterville...New York?"
     He heard Brooklyn mutter, "Yeah, that's what I said."
     "'Waterville?'" Brooklyn's clone perked up. "Waterville, Maine?"
     Macbeth glared at Malibu, a silent command to shut up, and asked his daughter,
"Waterville...?"
     "Maine," she sighed.
     "Maine?!" His voice rose now. "How in blazes did you wind up in Maine?!"
     "I don't remember, Da," she whimpered.
     "Put Brooklyn on the line again."
     Muttering, then "Yeah?"
     "How in the blazes did you wind up in Maine?!" he repeated.
     "It's a very long story, sir," Brooklyn sighed. "For you, that is. For us, it should be
about
two or three in the morning, two nights ago."
     "What are you talking about?" he demanded. He knew Brooklyn to be no-nonsense
when
it came to cold, hard facts, but this was way beyond any rules of reasoning.
     "Fox will tell you; she's a little more apt to explain about our disappearance."
     He glanced at Fox, who mouthed, "I'll tell you when you get off the phone."
     "Fine, I'll settle for that," Macbeth groaned, defeated. "Where exactly are you?"
     Even more mumbling on the other end.
     "Okay," a strange female replied over the rustling of paper, probably maps. "You're in
Manhattan, right? Take I-95 north for about, oh, eight hours. Keep on the Interstate until
you
reach Exit 33 in Maine. That's the Oakland/Waterville exit. From there, follow route 137
east for
about fifteen, twenty miles...then it gets difficult...."
     "Who the blazes are you?" Macbeth demanded.
     "Eddie. Anyway, from there, there's a little diner called Al's. Take a right..."
     "I'm taking a jet," the Scot interrupted.
     "Oh," the new female silenced for a minute, in thought. "Um, can you get clearance at
Waterville Municipal Airport? Chaz can pick you up and bring you here."
     "All right..." Macbeth allowed this to sink in, although he wasn't really able to digest
what was given to him. "Will you put Arin back on?"
     "Da?" Arin greeted.
     "Who the hell was that?"
     "Oh, that's Eddie." her shrug was almost audible. "She and her clan found us."
     "We are going to have a long talk when you get home, young lady," he ordered. "Until
then, stay where you are. Tell this 'Chaz' lad to meet me at that airport--by the way, what
does he
look like?"
     "Da, you can't miss him," his daughter laughed shortly. "You'll know him when you
see
him. Well, I'm running up David's phone bill. See you in a couple of hours. Love you,
Da."
     "I love you too, Arin." And, with that, Macbeth hung up.
     "Now," he breathed deep, collecting his thoughts, "I don't suppose anyone will tell me
what is going on?"
     "I know nothing," Mal raised his hands and left the room.

***
Labyrinth
11:00 p.m.

     "So, where've you been, wise-ass?" Fang demanded as Malibu climbed down from the
grate.
     "Over at the castle," Mal retorted, holding up his tape. "I accidentally caught a
segment
on CNN that I thought Hudson would like to see."
     "Ah," Fang smirked. "'Old farts who spend their time staring at the television', right?"
     "Nope," Mal shook his head as he headed out to the common room. Technically, it
was
his turn tonight to help out with the squatters.
     Maggie smiled as he rounded to the serving table. At meal tones, this was busier than
Hell after the Heaven's Gate Cult, but tonight, as it approached midnight, there were
mostly card
players and late-night munchers. His job was to make sure no one got too rowdy, watch
for
weapons of any kind and, if any, confiscate them, and welcome any new faces into the
Labyrinth.
     He found it fascinating that all these humans, at least fifty here tonight, looked on the
mutates and the clones with nothing but mild curiosity; at most, surprise. It seemed the
poor
and homeless had less reason to hate as the richer folk. And that, in Mal's heart, seemed
to
make them more human.
     Al, a regular there since Talon founded the Labyrinth, sat across from Mal and pulled
out
a deck of cards.
     "Wanna play a little gin rummy, buddy?" Al grinned, and began shuffling.
     "Yeah, that'll pass the time," Mal returned the smile as the grey-haired man began
dealing.
     "Have you found a job yet?" he then asked, politely. Al had been searching for a job
for
as long as the clones had known him. He was somewhat downfallen when Al shook his
head.
     "No one wants to hire an old homeless guy." Al snorted. "I've got no  family, no home
save here, I'm almost to the point of retirement. And you?" He stared at Mal, then burst
out
laughing. "I'm sorry, buddy, but now I'm so used to you and your brothers--"
     "It's not a problem, Al," the blue gargoyle chuckled. "No problem at all."

     They talked for quite a while, until suddenly, a middle-aged woman dragging a young
child with her and leaning on a wooden staff stumbled to the table and gazed deep into
Mal's
eyes.
     "The woman at the door told me to sign in here," she whispered, pointing to Maggie
about fifty feet away, reading a story to a little girl who couldn't sleep.
     "That's Maggie. I'm Mal," he gave a reassuring grin to both the woman and child as he
pulled out the clipboard. "Just sign your name here, and Maggie will help you from
there."
     "Just my son," she hissed, her grey eyes bright but full of fear. "I must leave "
     Mal looked at her curiously.
     "You will be back later, then?"
     "I do not know," she whispered, giving the pen to her son. He deftly scrawled his
name
on the pad and put down the pen. He had to be no more than five. "Please, watch my son.
I know
you are acquaintances with a gargoyle named Lexington."
     "How-- "
     "Just listen to me, friend." She opened her coat slightly, revealing a black tattoo on her
left shoulder. "He knows my pursuers. He also knows my niece, Raquel. If anything
should
happen to me, get in contact with Lexington. He can get in touch with Raquel."
     "Sure, but--"
     "Please," she ordered softly, as she bent on one knee to look at eye level with her son.
"Now, remember, whatever happens to me, Tris, Aunt Diana will take care of you."
     "Yes, mother," the boy nodded.
     She planted a kiss on his forehead, put his hand around the staff, and left without so
much as a goodbye.
     "Do you think the cops are after her?" Al whispered as Mal got up to take--the clone
picked up the clipboard and was shocked to find neat, legible handwriting even he
couldn't
master as he read the boy's name--Tristan Morgan L‚ Fey over to Maggie.
     "I don't know, Al," he whispered. "I don't have a clue."
     Tristan gazed up at Mal.
     "Will you take care of this for me?" He handed Mal the staff. "I know your law of no
weapons, and this may classify as a weapon. As for my predicament, my mother told me
to tell
only Lexington," he then stated, and silenced.
     Mal blinked. None of his fellow clones even knew what 'predicament' meant, and this
kid
just used the word like it was everyday use, like "Gimme the ball" or "I gotta go to the
bathroom."
     As Maggie joined the two, and took Tristan's hand, Mal shook his head, confused.
     There was something unnatural about that kid.

***
Somewhere over Maine
1:00 a.m.

     "Thank you, Janine, for coming with me," Macbeth yawned, stretching in the co-
pilot's
chair in his tiny hover-jet as Fox piloted. "I don't think I would have made it all the way
without
dozing off."
     "It's no problem, Len; remember, she's also my sister." She cleared her throat. "Len,
we
really need to talk. About my mother. Something that will explain why Arin
disappeared."
     "Continue,"
     "I found this out just after Alexander was born...from what I understand, you know the
three Fates, or Weird Sisters, right?"
     Macbeth nodded, growing very solemn.
     Fox pondered over her next words.
     "Anastasia Reynard never existed," she finally remarked. "Just as Lennox MacDuff
never
existed. Both masks, hiding what was really underneath the skin.
     "Len, Mother was Titania."
     Macbeth stared at her out of the corner of his eye.
     "A thousand years ago, Oberon banished all his Children into the real world, including
his queen. During that time, she had many lovers, and even a few children. Her latest
guise was
that of Anastasia, who first married Hacylon Reynard, then got bored with him and
moved on to
something more exciting--" 
     "Me," the grey-haired man snorted. "Sounds like Anastasia, all right."
     "When the time came that Oberon called back his Children to Avalon, all returned,
save
for Puck, and Alexander, a newborn, but he had the potential for a Child's power. There
was a
battle, and in the end, Puck was cursed to remain in the real world, teaching Alexander.
That's
when I found out the truth about Mother, and that I also had the potential, but not the
training."
She sighed, beginning her descent. "I never really thought about Arin. Since she had no
clue, I
thought she was safe. Seems like I was wrong. Brooklyn told me the two of them were
brought
to Avalon to face Oberon's court. Apparently, Arin refused, and Oberon didn't want her to
refuse,
so..." another sigh, "...he cursed her, with what, I don't know. She must get her
stubbornest from
someone, I wonder who...."
     "Don't rub it in, Janine," Macbeth chortled with somewhat of a rueful tint. "If it was
anyone else telling me this, I would have said they were letting the scotch talk. But now,
I'm not
so sure." He remembered the time just before Alexander was born, when Domenique
Destine
waltzed into his life in Paris, stole his heart, and then stomped on it when she turned out
to be
his archnemesis, Demona, with the ability to walk around in broad daylight as a human.
And
then, even further back, was his pact with Demona and the Weird Sisters, one that made
him
shudder. 
     "Waterville Municipal, this is Macbeth One, license number 765237-Alpha-Romeo."
Fox
exclaimed into the radio. "Permission to land, over."
     "One minute, Macbeth One, license number 765237-Alpha-Romeo. We are
confirming
with your flight recorded...confirmed. You may use Public Access Runway 7. Permission
granted, Macbeth One, and welcome to Waterville.  Our runway may be a little slick; we
just
had a rain shower, just to warn you, over." 
     "Thank you, Control Tower, Macbeth One, over and out." She put down the handset.
"That must be the friendliest, not to mention quickest, confirmations I've ever
encountered."
     "You should go to Scotland," Macbeth grinned as they slowed speed and lowered the
landing gear. She was bringing it in at a conventional rolling stop, he noticed with a grim
smile.
He would have used the harrier option, but then again, his jet handled differently than the
planes
and helicopters Fox was used to. She was doing a fine job, never the less.
     As they came to a complete stop, Janine ran into the Control Tower to log in as
Macbeth
stretched his legs. He had gotten a power nap on the way up, and he felt better than he
had ever
since Arin and Brooklyn disappeared. Now, to find this "Chaz" lad....
     A figure cloaked in a black trench coat similar to Macbeth's padded toward the jet.
His
face was shadowed by a large desperado hat.
     "Mister MacDuff?" The figure called out.
     "Are you Chaz?" Macbeth demanded.
     "Ayuh. the truck's this way...."
     "Wait a second, lad. Janine!"
     The red-head jogged out back to the jet.
     "This is our escort, Chaz. Chaz, this is Arin's sister Fox."
     Chaz shook her outstretched hand and quickly pulled back, but not before she noticed
the
gray four-fingered hand.
     "You're a gargoyle?" She whispered.
     Chaz lifted his hat slightly in salute. He had no horns, but his eyeridge was prominent,
as
with the inhuman tone to his skin. Other than that, his face had normal human features,
including a thick moustache.
     "At your service, I am Winchester of the Outklaws," he greeted formally. "Now, if you
follow me to the truck, there is a woman dying to get home."
     The truck was an ancient Chevrolet full-size, complete with five speeds and a speed
clutch, Chaz was telling his passengers as he navigated KMD, as he called it, or, to
out-of-towners, Kennedy Memorial Drive. After a mile, he got onto a more residential
road,
then,
finally, a long country highway.
     "Mind if I smoke?" he questioned, putting a cigarette in his mouth. When both shook
their heads, he cracked open the window, pushed in the cigarette lighter, and, when it
popped
out, he lit the tip, puffing away. "Thanks. Anyway, as I was saying, we've got two clans
round
these parts, we Outklaws, who actually live in rural Waterville or Sidney--no one has
really paid
attention to the town lines-and Clan Winslow, who live up here. The way I see it, we're
both the
same clan, beat neither hot-headed leaders want to admit it, 'cuz they act like they hate
each
other's guts. Hold on," he down-shifted, riding the brake somewhat, as Fox checked the
speedometer. With a curse, she realized they were trucking at about eighty-five miles an
hour.
Of course, that was where the speedometer stopped.
     "Sorry 'bout that, folks." He flicked his thumb behind him. "That there grove is the
numero
uno place where staties like to watch for delinquents. Hell, that's where ol' Colt got
picked up."
     "Colt, the--" Macbeth snapped his fingers in recognition.
     "The drunk bastard whose so-called best friend, also drunk at the time, gave him the
keys
to his diesel truck, then had the nerve to tell the cops Colt stole it." Change eyes burned
white
momentarily. "Wentworth keeps on apologising, but he won't go forward and tell the feds
his
truck wasn't stolen, but that would ruin his pretty-boy image to the human race. Sorry,
folks.
Didn't mean to get personal. Hang on." He up-shifted again, taking a sharp corner at
about
seventy. He pointed to a yellow blur. "That there is Al's Drive-In, the best pizza joint this
side of
Boston, by the way."
     They drove for another five minutes before Chaz finally pulled into a long dirt
driveway,
laying patches of rubber on the road behind. Expertly throwing the vehicle into a
complete stop,
he jumped out, stamped out his cigarette, and went around to the other side to allow his
passengers out.
     "I see Chaz managed to bring you home in one piece," an elderly human woman in a
work shirt and dungarees opened the screen door. "I'm Elly Mason. You must be Arin's
father,
Mr. MacDuff. Come on in. The kids are downstairs, playing cards."
     Pleasant, hospitable woman, Macbeth smiled inwardly. Reminded him of the old
country. You don't see hospitality like that anymore.
     "This is Fox Xanatos, Arin's sister," he introduced the red-headed woman as they
entered
the large farmhouse.
     "Pleasure to meat you, ma'am," Elly nodded. "That old feller in the armchair watching
Letterman is Ben."
     The elderly gargoyle, a deep gold in color, waved slightly, never taking his eyes of the
tube.
     "Boy, doesn't he remind you of Hudson?" Fox whispered. Macbeth held back a
chuckle as
the human led them down to the dimly-lit cellar.
     "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Soda? Tea?" Elly offered as she led them
down the stairs. The two visitors noted fourteen figures divided into four groups. A single
lightbulb lit the room.
     "Yes, coffee would be nice for both of us, Mrs. Mason," Fox spoke up.
     "Just wait one minute," she smiled, as she headed back up the stairs. To the figures,
she
complained, "Honestly, you kids, I don't understand how you can see in such poor
lighting." She
flipped a switch, and the overhead light flared on, exposing the comfortable rumpus
room, and
the wincing and whining gargoyle denizens occupying it, playing various card games.
     "Elly, you ruined the mood!" The green female moaned, adjusting her visor.
     "Da!" Arin jumped up and gave her father a hug. To her, Only a few hours had passed,
instead of two days.
     "Arin, you're all right, lass, thank God!" he returned the hug, reluctant to let go.
     "Of course I am, Da," she retorted.
     "I'm sorry, sir," Brooklyn stood, laying his hand of Magic down on the table. "If I
would have 
known what was going to happen--"
     "Don't worry about it, Brooklyn; it's all in the past and there was nothing you could do
about it," Macbeth reassured.
     Brooklyn and Fox shot each other worried looks.
     "The two of you must be tired from your trip," Elly returned to the basement, handing
Macbeth and Fox each a steaming cup of coffee. "I have three spare bedrooms upstairs, if
you'd
like to spend the night here, get rested up before you have to head out."
     "We can't impose on you like that, Mrs. Mason," Macbeth shook his head. "We thank
you
for your kindness, and putting up with my daughter for the few hours she could. We must
get
back anyway; everyone is expecting us home soon."
     "Then I hope to see you again, Mr. MacDuff," Elly shook his hand, then Fox's.
"Finding
out there's more than just this clan left in the world really brightened my day. I hope
maybe one
night Brooklyn's clan could make it up here for a longer visit."
     "Or maybe your clan could come to our home," Brooklyn offered. "See New York and
the sights..."
     "Elly, can we go to New York?" Eddie pleaded.
        "When you're older," the human responded, and chuckled.
     
***

     "...so, Matt left after the storm blew over, and we while we waited, everyone pulled
out
some cards and we ended up playing Magic or Rage for the rest of the evening," Arin
explained
the details of the evening to her father as Chaz dropped them back at the airport.
     "Hey, Brook, Arin," Chaz called out. "Y'know, you're welcome here in both clans
anytime, whenever, even if you did crash our annual shindig."
     "Then until we meet again!" Brooklyn smiled.
     And another flare seized his mind.
     A much older Chaz, donning armor that reminded Brooklyn of something Thailog
wore,
stood next to him, wielding a large laser cannon.
     (we've got major problems here, kemosabe! they got maus, and eddie's on one of her
vengeance trips. we've gotta regroup--)
     And the vision died as suddenly as it came.
     What the hell was going on?
     Is this your gift, Titania? he demanded silently. I don't see the point in them! They're
random thoughts!
     (are they, brooklyn?)
     He stopped dead in his tracks.
     He had heard Titania's voice.
     (this is my gift, brooklyn. or rather, the first of many that will develop over the course
of
your life. this is your premonition and remonition, the ability to see certain events of the
past and
future. it is subtle, however, compared to your other gifts, once they emerge. learn to
control it,
and the others will follow. this is the only explanation i'll give. you're on your own now.
good
luck, my champion, and remember your visions.)
     There was nothing else there anymore.
     Except for Arin pulling at his arm.
     "You okay, bloke?" she queried. "You've been acting strange since we left Avalon."
     "You don't even remember leaving Avalon," he whispered.
     She shrugged.
     "True," she admitted. "But what is wrong with you?"
     "I think Titania cursed me, like Oberon cursed you," he replied.
     "Naw," Arin grinned. "Just remember; if you don't believe in elves, they can't hurt
you."
     He almost brought up the fact that Elisa at one time didn't believe in gargoyles either,
but
he bit his lip.
     They boarded the hover jet, and within ten minutes, they were on there way back
home.

* **
Wyvern Castle
4:15 a.m.

     Suddenly, Brooklyn felt uncomfortable about being around Broadway and Angela as
they
asked him questions, Angela the same Avaon asked earlier, Broadway about how he was
doing.
Out of the three, he had only told Broadway about his "gift". He had no clue why; it just
seemed
right.

     The sky lightened by the second, and the three finally ventured out into the courtyard.
     They were surprised to find Malibu conversing with Lexington about topics unknown
to
everyone but them.
     "You staying here for the day, Mal?" Brooklyn questioned.
     Mal nodded, not really hearing what he said.
     (I want to DIE!!! you'd understand if you had that bastard's genetics in your dna!!!)
     Brook actually had to press his hands to his temples. For some reason, that was the
strongest surge yet, and it hurt something fierce.
     "Brook?" Arin placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Listen, maybe you should try
some
chamomile tea. That's what Una used to take when she got headaches."
     "I'll be all right, Arin; nothing a little concrete cure-all won't fix," he smiled painfully.
"Trust me; I'll be all right."
     "I trust you," she whispered, hugging him lovingly--
     --could it be?!
     "Arin," he murmured softly, as the other gargoyles began assuming their positions on
the
turrets. "I need to say this to you, or else I'll explode." He cupped her chin in his hand and
gazed
deep into her sleepy, dreamy emerald eyes. "Arin, I think I've fallen for you."
     Not exactly the words he planned, but she got the meaning.
     "Brooklyn," she gasped, shocked. "I don't know what to say...."
     "You don't have to say anything."
     "I won't," she nodded, as though she was expecting something.
     And he knew what she was expecting, as he bent his head forward and gave her a true
kiss.
     It was quick, over in less than a second, but it had strong ties, the two of them knew
that.
     "Until tonight," he smiled.
     "Until tonight," she echoed, as she took on last look at him climbing onto his turret,
she
turned to go down to the guest quarters.     
     And found she could not move her legs.
     She stared down at her feet and screamed.
     "Brooklyn!" she shouted. "Brooklyn, help me! Please!"
     The entire clan and Malibu twisted their bodies to face the horrified woman, and
gasped.
     Macbeth bolted up the stone steps when he heard her scream, but as soon as he
reached
the courtyard, the reddened disk of the sun already peaked over the East River, flooding
the
morning with warm light.
     Eight statues of gargoyles stood, staring inward instead of the usual greeting the sun,
at
the ninth statue, that of a human woman, mouth and sightless eyes wide in terror.
     "Damn," Macbeth groaned, leaning against the doorjamb. "No hope for normality in
this
lifetime, I can clearly see that."
     But what about Arin? The initial shock finally dissipated and was replaced by fatherly
concern and fear. He stormed back downstairs, and after a brief fight with the Xanatos'
aide-de-camp, he dragged Owen back up to the courtyard.
     "I want an explanation," Macbeth ordered.
     "I don't know what you're taking about, sir," Own straightened his tie.
     "I think you do." The grey-bearded King of the Scots deftly grasped at Owen's left arm
and twisted it, pushing back the jacket sleeve to expose the stone arm. "And if my
daughter ends
up like your arm, I'll make it a priority to pull out my iron sword collection...."
     "All right!" Owen suddenly dematerialised into a grey mist, then reformed into Puck.
"I'll
go get the kid.
     "But I want to know how you know about me," He demanded as he began floating
down
the hallway.
     "I didn't become king of Scotland just by brawn alone. Janine told me the truth about
your queen, my ex-wife, and Arin and Janine's mother. She also told me Alexander was
being
tutored by a fae. And since you were the only other person in the building who also lives
there...."
     "Good deduction, Mr. Holmes," the Sidhe smirked, floating into the darkness of
Castle
Wyvern.

***
Epilogue

     Arin slept.
     She slept like she never did before.
     And she dreamed.
     She hadn't remembered her dreams in a few years.
     Ever since she went to London, she recalled.
     She was at Castle Wyvern, but not in Manhattan.
     In fact, the land was the rocky cliffs of Scotland, overlooking the North Sea.
     She was wandering amongst a sea of people wearing clothes from what appeared to be
from the Dark Ages.
     And there were gargoyles.
     At least a hundred!
     None of them she recognized.
     Wait.
     There.
     Three young gargoyles playing with a fourth, a hound, a game of Monkey in the
Middle.
     She walked--or, more appropriately, floated--over toward the three.
     It was Lexington, Broadway, and Brooklyn, with Bronx! But they were younger by the
lights in their eyes, the light of innocence.
     And suddenly tile scenario switched. It was Castle Wyvern, yes, but everything was in
black and white, like the movie Schiendler's List, and there was screaming.
     Oh, God, the screaming!
     The castle was being sacked!
     And realisation struck her as she felt the warm rays of the morning sun on her cheek
that
Castle Wyvern lost its main defense.
     She watched in horror as a blond-haired Viking wielding a battle mace stormed up
toward the parapets.
     She followed him, like a ghost.
     A short, stocky, bald man armed with a short sword stopped him.
     There was a fight, the short man trying to hold the Viking back from--
     --from destroying the gargoyles!
     Arin bolted forward, trying to grab the Viking's free arm--
     --and fell right through him.
     "Damn," she whispered, picking herself up. This is some sort of dream, of course. She
was as intangible as a spectre.
     "You can't affect it anyway," a familiar voice called from behind. "This is history, and
history cannot be changed."
     She spun around, facing a middle-aged human man with long white hair plaited in one
thick braid. He was perched on the turret next to her, wearing some sort of futuristic
space-age
armor combined with a bit of ancient simplicities: a metal armguard strapped to his left
arm, a
polished breast plate, and a blue loincloth. Strapped to his back was a dai-katana about
five feet
long. Something in his eyes looked familiar, as well as his voice.
     "But he's going to destroy--"
     "Yes; and that's history," he interrupted. "But look around you. Do you see anyone
familiar?"
     Arin studied the faces of all the gargoyles on that parapet just before the Viking
smashed
the stoned figures.
     "No," she whispered, shaking her head.
     "Princess Katherine called it a massacre. She was right, even if few human lives were
lost. All but seven gargoyles (and the eggs, of course, the Viking raiders failed to think of
that)
were destroyed."
     She snapped her fingers.
     "Goliath, Hudson, Lex, Brook, Broadway, Bronx and Angela, right?"
     "Six out of seven. Angela was still in the rookery at the time, one of thirty-six eggs.
The
seventh was Goliath's mate, his second-in-command at the time. She knew about the
massacre
ahead of time, and when her plan backfired, she hid." The man shrugged, leaping down
from his
perch. "Hakon, that dashingly brave Viking over there," he snorted as he pointed to the
blond-haired man swinging the mace sardonically, "was informed by our captain of the
guards to
lay beige to the castle in the morning, but do nothing to the gargoyles. However, Hakon
twisted
the deal and destroyed almost all the clan."
     "You said, 'our captain'. Where were you?"
     "Sleeping, in more ways than one."
     "I know you now!" She cried. "You're...somehow...Brooklyn!"
     He shook his head.
     "Yes and no. I'm a shadow of him, his sub-conscious that was awakened by your
mother.
I am what he may become in the future."
     "But you're human!"
     "Am I?" He walked closer to her. He was a good seven feet tall, lank but muscular.
     And he was handsome.
     "I'm meetly a shadow, Arin. It doesn't matter what we look like in dreams. I could
look
like a gargoyle, a human, or a Mae, but I'll still be only a shadow." He took hold of her
hands.
"Come. I need to show you something else."
     And the scene changed again. This time, they were on a cliff about a half-mile away
from
the castle. It was night, and Hudson, Broadway, Lexington, Brooklyn and Bronx were
confronting a white-haired young man in robes holding a large book.
     "That is the Magus," Brooklyn's shadow whispered. "He placed a spell on these
gargoyles, forcing them to be stone until the castle rose into the sky, because he thought
the
princess was dead by Goliath's hand. Goliath saved her, and brought her back, but the
spell was
cast, and the counter spell was destroyed by Hakon, so Goliath asked to cast the spell
on him."
     "What happened?"
     "Watch," with a wave of his hand, a thousand years whizzed pass, the castle now
choked
by vines. "This is five years ago, roughly the time when your father sent you to London."
     She saw two men inspecting the castle.
     One of them was her brother-in-law, David. The other was Owen.
     "Xanatos bought the castle, and transported it back to New York piece by piece. He
rebuilt it on top of his skyscraper, the Eyrie Building, after hearing the legend of the
Magus from
the Illuminati."
     "They exist?"
     "Of course, but I'm not hear to discuss the Illuminati." The shadow walked west,
beckoning her to follow. She did, and found herself in New York.
     "We awoke when the castle was finished. That was three years ago. We since moved
from Castle Wyvern when we found out Xanatos' true intentions, to the Clock Tower in
the
destroyed 23th prescient house, and back to Castle Wyvern when Xanatos repented."
     "You said earlier that you were what Brooklyn may become in the future "
     "Yes," he nodded.
     "What is the future?"
     "War."
     "May I see'?"
     He shook his head. "You don't want to witness it. No matter what, there will be war."
     "Show me."
     Her voice has a ring of authority to it.
     The shadow nodded reluctantly and raised his hand.
     They were now perched on top of the castle, looking out on a war-torn New York
City.
     "Bloody Hell," she whispered.
     "Good analogy, Arin," he whispered. "This is the Clone Wars. The year is 2028.
Sevarius
has created armies of unholy creatures in attempts to conquer the world. But there is
resistance."
     And, as he spoke, his form wavered. His skin reddened, becoming almost a deep
copper.
Great leathery wings sprouted from his back as a long, whip-like tail snaked behind him.
And
finally, his face grew longer, until it became a face Arin truly recognized.
     "What will the outcome of the war be?" She whispered.
     He shook his head, his long braid swinging over his shoulder.
     "I don't know; I can't see that far," he answered truthfully. "I should take you back
now--"
     "I want to see more," she ordered.
     She witnessed tears streaming from his eyes.
     "You're not going to like it," he warned.
     "I need to see more."
     Instead of the usual transitions, he picked her up gently and held her close as he leapt
off
the castle wall, gliding down to what used to be Greenwich Village.
     "It's Armageddon," she hissed in horror, glancing at a pile of smoldering dead.
     "If it isn't, it has to be pretty damn close," he agreed.

     Arin's attention turned to a battle cry of an enraged gargoyle, as she saw a deep purple
one swoop down to street level.
     "That's Thailog," Brooklyn's shadow revealed.
     "He looks a lot like Goliath."
     "Spell 'Goliath' backwards, keep the 'th'."
     "Thailog's a clone of Goliath, then?"
     "Yes. His is Sevarius' right-hand man. He leads the troops against us."
     There was a second, more feminine and shrill, shriek, as a female gargoyle hit the
ground
running after him. She was a dark tan, with dark brown hair streaked with silver, wearing
a dark
gray full-sleeve flak jacket, dark red armor pants, and a black trench coat. She had a taze
gun in
one hand and the other resting on the hilt of a broadsword.
     "Let's go, Arin," the shadow pleaded. "I've had enough of this hell."
     "Yes; let's," she whispered in agreement. "I'm sorry for badgering." She turned away
from
the battle. "Is this future embedded in stone?"
     "It changes with every decision," he shrugged. "Now, sleep, bright sun, and forget this
future."
     On command, the woman closed her eyes and vanished from sight.
     The sounds of fighting were over, as the shadow faced the combatants once more.
     The victor staggered over to him, bloody, but nothing stone sleep wouldn't cure.
     She sheathed her sword and threw her arms around the shadow, weary of fighting.
     "Let's go home, love," she whispered hoarsely, and all the shadows dissipated.

***
 Eyrie Building
8:00 p.m.

     "According to what me and the small fry figured out," Puck explained, interrupted by
Alexander sticking out his tongue at his teacher, then returning to his juice bottle, "Arin's
fine,
she's just--"
     "Curzt!" Alexander exclaimed.
     "Thank you, shrimp," the white-haired fan retorted sardonically. "Yes, as Alexander
blatantly pointed out, Big Daddy Oberon cursed your daughter because she refused to
join the
Gathering."
     "My entire existence is cursed, Puck," Macbeth muttered, helping himself to another
three fingers of brandy. "I can't even enjoy something so simple as love without it going
awry."
     "Hmmm, well," Puck got the idea the Scot was trying to get drunk. "Arin'll be fine
once
she comes out of stone sleep."
     "Garg!" The baby pointed out toward the parapets. He was the only one that noticed
the
sky darkening.
     "Gargoyles, faeries, I shouldn't have gone with that walk with my cousin Duncan that
day," Macbeth mumbled. "I wouldn't be in this blasted mess."
     "Garg!" Alexander struggled out of his highchair, then crawled out to the courtyard.
     "Oh, great, now I have to babysit not only the small fry but a drunk Scot," Puck rolled
his
eyes and went after Alexander.
     Macbeth stared at the glass, then at the brandy, then poured the remaining amount in
the
glass, and drank it in two gulps.
     "Aye, that's the ticket," he wheezed, then passed out on the table.

     "Mama!" Alexander crawled out to his mother, who was staring in horrific fascination
at
the statue of her half-sister.
     "Mama!" the baby repeated, clutching her pantleg for balance as he stood.
     "What, sweetheart?" she whispered.
     "Gang thoooothpht!" He sputtered.
     "I don't understand, sweetheart," she picked up the child and continued to stare at
Arin.
     Then, the twilight brought the creatures of the night to life.
     With a collective roar, the eight gargoyles awoke, shaking off the bits of stone that
remained clung to their hair, if they had hair.
     "What the hell happened?" Malibu demanded, examining Arin, who was still in stone
form.
     And then the statue moved.
     Brooklyn pushed his clone aside and watched as flakes of stone fell away.
     "Arin?" he whispered, and then her back exploded.
     Everyone dodged for cover, except for the copper gargoyle, who watched in horror as
two wings sprouted forth from her shoulder blades. A long, sinuous tail ripped from the
seat of
her jeans and as the stone fell in larger quantities, her feet becoming longer, shredding
her suede
boots.
     She screamed, her eyes wide and blazing red, as her pinky and ring fingers fused
together
on both hands, her fingers becoming talons.
     She closed her eyes and fainted forward, Brooklyn catching her before she could hit
the
ground.
     "Holy shit!" Mal cursed, rubbing his cheek. A shard of stone had hit him there,
creating a
long but shallow cut from ear to neck.
     Brooklyn was unable to speak. So this is what Oberon meant by never seeing the light
of
day!
     "Where's Macbeth?" Goliath demanded. He was surprised the man hadn't come up and
ranted them out yet.
     "Piss drunk and out cold," Puck replied with a smirk. "And the way he threatened me
this
morning, Oberon better not dare show his face around here for a while."
     "I don't believe this," Fox murmured as she lightly touched her half-sister's cheek. It
was
a light brown color, not unlike human skin which had been nicely tanned in sunny
California,
and still felt like flesh. And Arin's face was still her face, with the exception of the three
tiny
peaks on each eyeridge.
     Brooklyn was still in a state of shock. When she was human, she was comely,
handsomely pretty. Now she was drop-dead beautiful.
     "Arin?" he beckoned softly, gently touching her arm. "Arin, are you all right?"
     She stirred, moaned, and opened her eyes. They were the same emerald green.
     "I feel weird," she hissed.
     "You look weird," Mal interjected just before Lexington elbowed him in the gut.
     She gazed up at Brooklyn.
     "What happened?"

     "Oberon's curse," he answered softly. "It's going to be really strange the next few days,
but--"
     "What happened to me?" She lifted her hand and studied the alien structure of the
talons.
     "His spell turned you into a gargoyle, Arin," he whispered somewhat blatantly, then
mentally kicked himself. Did that sound cold!
     She sighed, her eyes brimming with tears.
     "I should have never left London," she snarled, breaking away from Brooklyn's hold
and
went to stand.
     She lost her balance and fell.
     Cursing, she stood again, her feet flat on the ground. That felt too odd.
     "Stand on your balls of your feet, and bend your knees a little. Get the feel of the
balance," Hudson instructed, trying to help.
     She did that, wobbling a little, then finally maintained her equilibrium.
     "Now, lass, walk toward us," he continued, shaking his head. When Puck turned Elisa
into a gargoyle, she could walk just as normally. But he had reverted her; maybe he could
have
Alexander revert Arin. 
     Brooklyn beat him to his inquiry.
     "Yeah, if it was my spell. Oberon's power is immense; the only flaw is that even he
can't
break his own spells." The fae shrugged. "Sorry."
     Arin took a couple of uneasy steps toward Fox.
     "Where's my da?" she demanded.
     "He needed sleep," Fox answered, a half-truth.
     "The truth, Janine," she ordered angrily.
     Fox sighed.
     "He thought he lost you, and he passed out drinking." She glanced away.
     Arin's face paled, her eyes appeared as though she was ready to cry.
     "I'm beginning to wish I never met you!" She screamed at Brooklyn, then, with an
uneasy
pace, she raced to the low wall, and jumped.
     "Shit!" Brooklyn charged after her.
     Closing his wings around him as he plummeted after her, he noticed her newly-forged
wings flailing helter-skelter.
     Good. That would slow her descent somewhat, just enough to catch her.
     He quickly overtook her, and, with a fluid motion, spread his wings, gripping a wind
current, and grabbed her arm. He didn't have enough lift left to glide back up to the
building.
     Emergency landing.
     Slamming his talons into the brickwork of the older part of the building, he scraped
downward, like nails across a chalkboard, until he caught a ledge.
     Climbing up onto the ledge, he pulled Arin up with him, grasped her shoulders, and
stared her deep in the eyes.
     "What the hell were you trying to do?" he demanded, on the verge of either anger or
tears.
     "I...I...." she was still in shock. The wind rushing up the side of the building howled in
their ears.
     'Arin, why did you do that?" He questioned, softly. "If you were having trouble
walking,
you sure as hell couldn't glide away."
     "I...I know...." she whimpered.
     "You weren't seriously considering...?"
     She shrugged, and added, "After Hudson gave me pointers on how to walk, it seemed
to
be like my curse was permanent."
     "I don't know anyway to sweeten this up, Arin, but when Oberon curses you, it's
usually
permanent."
     "I know," she mouthed. "But I don't know how I can live like this...."
     "I live like this," he grasped her hands with his, pulling her closer. "It isn't that bad."
     "Is it?" She whispered. "You've never seen the sun. I don't know if I could live with
perpetual night."
     "Arin, look up at the sky." Holding her close, he pointed up to the stars. The night was
unusually clear. "How many people can say they watch the stars come out? Or how about
the
moon?" He indicated the martian red moon rising over the East River. "Have you ever
paid
attention to the moon rising?"
     "There is a point to this," she snorted, hiding an inward smile.
     "Arin, no matter what you are, I love you. That will never change. I fell in love with
you
as a human. I mean, switch places with me for a minute. What if I was turned into a
human?"
     She thought about this, and nodded.
     "I would put up a big stink about it too. I would miss everything I was able to do as a
gargoyle, but it wouldn't matter, just as long as I was with you."
     "I get your point, I think."
     "Anyway, I have no clue how to reverse the curse, and neither does Puck, by the
sounds
of it. Maybe someday, your mother might be able to lift it...."
     Arin nodded again.
     "I hope so," she muttered. "I don't know what Da's going to do, though."
     "He ll have to accept it, I suppose."
     "I meant about us," she smirked. "I mean, when Titania changes me back, I'll still have
the same feelings for you. A human and a gargoyle? It's unheard of!"
     Brooklyn threw his head back and laughed.
     "What's so funny, bloke?"
     "Elisa and Goliath," he gasped. "Elisa and Goliath are...romantically involved."
     "No shit!" She grinned. "I suppose we could work around that, then."
     "But for now," Brooklyn pulled her closer once more. "How do you feel?"
     "For now, I'll try to accept it." She wrapped her arms around his neck as he hugged her
tight, scaling the wall back up to the castle.

     "Hey, Pops."
     Mal jabbed at Macbeth's cheek. The man was out like a GE lightbulb.
     "Hey, Pops!"
     The Scotsman never moved.
     "Well, there's only one thing to do when they're this passed out, Lex."
     "What's that?" Lex smirked.
     Mal lifted the corner of Macbeth's jacket and pointed to the wallet bulge in his pants'
back pocket.
     "Take his money and leave him for dead."
     And then the blue gargoyle screamed as Macbeth awoke and grabbed his arm, twisting
it
back.
     "Argh! Run for the hills, Lex! It lives!" Mal shouted as Lex laughed hysterically.
     "You again!" Macbeth snarled, not the least bit amused. To Lexington, he asked,
"What
about Arin?"
     Lex quickly sobered up.
     "You might want to ask Goliath or Fox the details. I don't know if I even got them
straight."
     "I'll tell you, Pops, if you let go of my arm!"
     "That's it," the Scotsman picked Mal up by his shirt and stared him in the eyes. "Don't
call me 'Pops'!"
     "No prob." He whimpered.
     "Len," Fox beckoned, holding Alexander. "There has been a...change...."
     "Garg!" Alexander clapped.
     "Not now, sweetheart," she scolded.
     "What's happened to Arin?" He demanded.
     "She's...."
     "Garg!"
     "Alex! Len, let's go out to the courtyard so you can see for yourself." She seemed
hesitant.
     "What happened, Janine? Did Arin...."
     "She's awake, Len, but...." Instead of finishing, she took the man's hand and led him to
the courtyard.
     "What the blazes?!"
     The new gargoyle with Arin's features wobbly walked over to Macbeth.
     "Da, I know this is strange, but...." she lost her voice.
     "Arin?" He held onto her arm. "Are you all right?"
     "I'm fine, save for the fact I've got to relearn how to walk." She gazed up at his face.
"I'm
sorry, Da, I should have gone straight home that night...."
      "Damn," he sighed, stroking his beard in thought.
     "Da, please," She whispered. "Please, say something."
     "You want me to say something?" He laughed shortly. "What in blazes did this to
you?"
     "Oberon," Brooklyn retorted, taking a step towards them.
     "You stay out of this," Macbeth ordered. "I want only my daughter to answer."
     "I don't remember the gory details, Da, but it was Oberon. He said he neglected to call
me to the Gathering because Titania told him I was not aware of my...potential, like he
overlooked Fox. Da, Anastasia Reynard never really existed. Titania was masquerading
as a
human, or probably many different humans, when Oberon banished his children a
millennium
ago. Oberon...kidnaped...Brook and I that night. He tried to force me to join his Children,
but I
refused. I'm...remembering it now. He cursed me after I refused three times. And the next
thing I
remember, we were on the shore, and the Weird Sisters, as Brook called them, sent us
away.
You know the rest."
     "Janine told me of your mother earlier, but the rest is new to me," Macbeth nodded
slowly, turning to Brooklyn. "Now, why would the King and Queen of the Faeries have
an
interest with you?"
     Brooklyn shrugged, his hazel eyes perplexed.
     "No witnesses. I was there at the wrong time. I got cursed, too, for attempting to
interfere." His voice was low, soft, as downcast as his eyes and posture. "He sent me to
the
Abyss again, this time for what seemed to be an aeon. Then Titania cursed me."
     "How?" Angela whispered, a horrific curiosity welling inside not only her but
Lexington
and even Malibu. 
     "I...I don't think I can explain it..." he whispered. "It's like when I look someone
straight
in the eyes, I see something from the past...or the future, it seems. I don't know." He
shook his
head. 
     "It sounds more like a soothsaying gift to me, lad," Hudson stroked his beard.
     "Not unless you were the one who had it," the copper gargoyle mumbled. "And, so far,
the visions aren't always good." He began studying the masonry work of the ground.
"What
Titania said, this is just the beginning."
     Lex rubbed the palm of his right hand absentmindedly, fingering the raised blackened
tissue of the small dagger tattoo. He thought of RC, and shivered. Could Titania blast his
brother's mind open? He heard of cases where severe trauma victims awaken to find they
possess
abilities like telepathy, psychokinesis, and precognition. Could that have had happened
to Brooklyn?
     He decided to keep his revelation to himself.
     Bronx nuzzled his left hand, demanding attention. Absently, he patted the dogoyle's
head,
still deep in thought.
     Sensing Lex's attention was not entirely on him, Bronx padded over to Arin, staring up
at
her with an expression clearly stating, "Puppy want love!"
     Arin, her eyes shadowed with a brooding gaze, preoccupied by her situation, rubbed
behind his ears.  
     "What are we going to do?" She whispered to no one in particular.
     "What can we do?" Macbeth sighed. "We're talking about a being who may be the
closest
thing to a god in existence. If he's not omnipotent, he must be pretty damn close." He
heaved
another sigh and sat in a lawn chair nearby. Bronx saw an opportunity and, jumping, he
put this
front paws on Macbeth's lap and glanced up at him with a dopey happy look to his
beastly
face. Macbeth pushed him down and scratched his neck.
     Arin examined her hands, her feet, her wings, and sank against the wall.
     "This is going to take some getting-used-to," she finally accepted.
     "All we can do is hope Oberon will reconcile," David remarked.
     "We're talking about Oberon, David," Fox snarled. "You know, the guy that almost
tore
apart the entire castle to take Alexander?"
     "But you're mother talked him into allowing Alexander as well as Puck stay."
     "Mother is an enigma. She does what she pleases. Maybe she will convince him to
turn
Arin back, but I don't think we should hold our breaths."
     "So basically I should accept it, but not give up hope," Arin nodded, standing up
straight.
She lost her balance and fell again.
     And Brooklyn caught her, uprighting her.
     "But for now," he started to say, but she interrupted him.
     "But for now, will someone mind telling me how to glide?" She smirked with a little
humor. Walking carefully over to her father, she stared him deep into his eyes.
     "Da," she hissed. "What do you say about this?" 
     "I'm angry, yes, and somewhat perplexed at Oberon's decision, but you're still my
daughter," he replied, grasping her taloned hand. He stood, pulling her close for a hug.
"I'll
always love you, no matter what. Like you said, this will take some time to get used to. I
won't
give up hope for you, and if Oberon dares sets foot in this city, I'll personally scorch his
arse to
revert you."
     She giggled slightly.
     "I love you, Da," she whispered.
     "I love you too, Arin," he whispered, eyes brimming with tears.
     Goliath, finally getting over the initial shock, quietly joined the two.
     "But until the time comes," he stated, "she is welcome to roost here during the day,
with
the rest of the clan."
     "To tell you the truth, my friend," Macbeth smiled somewhat, "it's up to her. I knew
there
was going to be a time when I have to let go, but I didn't think it would be this soon."
     "I don't know yet," she bit her lip. "For now, I'll stay home." She smirked. "I guess
NYU
is out of the question."
     There was a small chuckle amongst the crowd.

***
10:00 pm, same evening

     Macbeth finally got a peaceful night sleep, at least as peaceful as one could when one
he
just found out his only daughter was transformed into a gargoyle.
     Arin stuck around long enough home to hear his soft snoring in his own bed. She put
down her book--The Chinese Agent, a Moorcock novel, even though it was a humorous
story,
not a fantastic world of horned horses and demon swords that drank souls, which, right
now was
a pleasant change--and climbed up to the roof.
     She stared up at the stars and the full moon, and saw what Brooklyn had meant. The
night sky was immensely beautiful when looking at it from a different point of view.
Although
she had grown to take the daylight for granted, she vowed silently not to do the same with
the
millions of suns shining their pale light upon her.
     And one other.
     "Are you ready?" Brooklyn whispered, afraid to break the silence of the clear night.
     She nodded solemnly, he taking her hands.
     "Remember," he hissed in her ear, "Currents are the only trick to it. Once you
mastered
that, you can do anything."
     She nodded again, spreading her wings clumsily.
     "You sure you want to do this?"
     "Might as well get it over with." she retorted, and jumped over the edge.
     He felt his heart jump into his throat just long enough to see her rise unsteadily in the
sky, she let loose a cry of triumph.
     He unfurled his own wings and joined her, grabbing her waist.
     "Not bad for the first time," he grinned. "You want to go back to the castle and try it
from
further up?"
     She shared his smile and nodded a third time, as he held her in his arms and headed
back
to Castle Wyvern.

THUS ENDS THE ...LOVE AND WAR TRILOGY. I hope you enjoyed my first attempt
as fan
fic. Any comments and/or criticisms can be sent to desalme@mint.net, for both my email
services are down momentarily. Sam (that's Mercedes little brother in true life, my
"adopted"
little bro) will forward them to me at school when I get that set up. Or, if you want to try
my new
post, it's blkblade@mailexcite.com, although I don't know how well that will work. 
Well, so
long, and thanks for all the fish! (insert Clan Winslow's theme song, "The Imperial
March"
played on kazoos, then switches over to Brooklyn, Lex, Broadway, Angela, and Hudson
dressed
up as Luke Skywalker, Chewbacca, Han Solo, Princess Leia, and Obi-wan Kenobi
respectively,
doing the Wayne's World parody of "Bohemian Rhapsody") ;-)

NEXT TIME, ON "LIFESTYLES OF THE STRANGE AND INSIDIOUS": depending on
which
one gets done first, it'll be either "Road Beers", a short story I have to retype from
Creative
Writing, dealing with the Outklaws chiefly, "Castaways on the Seas of Fate", an Avalon
story
with an Elric crossover (Okay, who DIDN'T see that coming?), or my next series,
"Gliding on
the Winds of Time: Part One", where two of my original characters from the magic
dimension
accidentally reintroduces the Phoenix Gate. Anyone of them, enjoy!

--"My Cosmic Song Goes On For Eternity!"--BB