Aashlee:  Lost Soul
by Mary Pletsch
mpletsch@mustang.uwo.ca

Disclaimer:  Aashlee and Kichi are the products of my own imagination.  
All other gargoyles characters are the property of Buena Vista 
Television.  This story was written purely for personal enjoyment, and if 
I was making any money off of it, I wouldn't be keeping dust bunnies in 
my wallet.


                    AASHLEE:  LOST SOUL


     Midnight.  Rooftop of the Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto.

     They had lost her now.
     She stopped, motionless as a statue on the rooftop, listening for 
her pursuers, but only the normal sounds of the city met her ears.  Of 
her mysterious hunters, there was no sign.  She was safe for the 
moment--but only for the moment.  They would come after her again.  Of 
what would happen if they caught her, she had no doubt.  The scarring on 
her cheek was a graphic reminder.
     She fingered the medal on her chest, the one she now knew was called 
the Silver Star.  She had worn it all her life, though she could not say 
where it had come from.  It was her only tie to whatever roots she may 
have had.
        No, she could not remain in Toronto.  Safety was found in travel.
She spread her wings and launched herself into the darkness, her back to
the North Star as always.
        As she flew, odd memories flashed through her head.
Memories...no, more like the fragments of half-remembered dreams.  The
warmth of a hand on her shoulder as she learned to fly.  A human woman in
a grey uniform.  And clearest of all, the midnight sky through what seemed
to be the cockpit of an airplane, her childish hands guided by others on
the stick, and those other hands suddenly taking control and throwing the
aircraft into a wild roll.  The owner of the hands cried out, those words
she did not understand.  She recalled the earth and sky rotating wildly as
the dream memory faded out and left her spiralling into confusion, and the
words "Achtung Spitfeuer!" still echoed in her head.


        The same time.  Aerie Building, Manhattan, New York.

        Angela sighed, pacing back and forth on the parapets of the
castle.  Soon after she had gotten to New York, she had found herself
spending most of her time with Brooklyn.  She was fond of each member of
the trio, but Lexington's intense devotion to machinery and his
enthusiastic technobabble always confused her.  Broadway just didn't seem
to have that much to say to her.  Whenever she was around, he either had
his mouth too full to talk, or he was completely hypnotized by the
television.  Brooklyn, on the other hand, was determined to show her a
good time.
        If only they could agree on "a good time!"  Brooklyn was bored to
death by walks in the park and romantic movies, although he tried his best
to hide it.  His favourite rock groups gave her a headache at concerts,
and the way he drove his motorcycle made her close her eyes in fear.  He
was a very good friend, but she had to admit that they just weren't cut
out to be a couple.  How could she tell him without hurting his feelings?
How could she give such a good guy more painful memories, like the ones he
had of his short-lived infatuation with Demona and his ill-starred
attraction to Maggie?
        Broadway, passing by the window to the courtyard, paused when he
noticed her out in the night.  She looks so sad, he thought, I wonder if I
should say something.  He had always had a deep crush on her...but he
never knew what to say!  What if she thought he was stupid?  What if she
didn't laugh at his jokes?  He could never be as suave or as confident as
Brooklyn.
        He watched her as she studied the city lights below, wondering if
he should go to her.  He wanted to touch her, to make her smile.  But no,
she was Brooklyn's girl.  He would never hurt his rookery brother.  He
sighed and turned away.


        Two weeks later.  Streets of Manhattan, New York.

        It was her second night on the island the humans called Manhattan.
In some areas the streets were filled with people, even in the late hours
of the night.  She tried to avoid being seen by humans, but last night she
had eaten the last of the food in her backpack.  Hunger served only to
accent her natural daring.
        For travelling near humans, she preferred wheels to wings.  In a
nearby alley, she found what she was looking for--a lone motorcyclist.  He
was a tough looking character with numerous tattoos, powerful arms and a
hostile expression, the sort of human who made for a dangerous opponent.
However, the last thing he was expecting was an attack from above.  It was
a simple matter to glide down, pluck him off his bike, and drop him onto
the road before swooping onto the bike and grabbing the handlebars.  She
could hear him cursing behind her, and all she could do was laugh.
        In her mind she could hear a murmur in her ear, the voice of the
dream man in the cockpit of the airplane.  She could not make out
individual words, but she understood the gist, the vague recollection of
congratulations on a...mission will executed?  Why pick such a phrase?
Yet it seemed entirely appropriate from this man who had taught her how to
survive...if indeed he had, if this figure from her dreams had ever
existed at all.


        "It was sure nice of Xanatos to give us these bikes," said
Broadway, as they slipped their helmets on.
        "I wonder what put him in such a generous mood?" wondered Angela.
        "Hey, anything to keep Lex away from his car," replied Brooklyn.
        "Ha ha," said Lex sarcastically.  "Who suggested souping it up in
the first place?"
        "Yeah, well...are we going to waste the whole night talking in the
garage, or are we going to *ride*?"  Brooklyn hopped on his bike, gunned
the engine, and sped off into the darkness.  The other three were right
behind him.
        "C'mon, Ang!" Brooklyn yelled.  "Let's see what these things can
do!"
        "But don'tcha remember what Elisa told us about the rules of the
highway?" replied Broadway.
        "C'mon, we've taken bikes lots faster than this."
        "Yeah," answered Lexington, "and remember what happened?  I was
lucky to jump clear of the explosion."
        Just then another bike came up fast behind them, so quickly that
they could barely see it as it screamed right through the group.  Angela
caught a flash of pink hair and a denim jacket snapping in the breeze as
she jerked her bike out of the way.  "Maniac!" yelled Lex.  The taunting
laugh of the rider came back to them.
        "If that creep wants a race," muttered Brooklyn, "he's gonna get
one."  He pressed on the gas and his bike jumped ahead.
        "Brooklyn, don't!  You're going to get yourself killed!"  Angela's
cry was in vain.  Brooklyn sped off in pursuit of the other biker as the
other gargoyles came to a stop.  "What should we do?"
        "He'll never catch that guy," said Lex.  "I guess we'll meet up
with him later."
        "Don't worry, Anglea, he'll be all right," said Broadway.
        Just then the ring of an alarm split the night.


        Brooklyn hadn't been able to catch up to the other biker.  The guy
and his beautiful red Harley-Davidson had turned into a side street and
vanished before Brooklyn arrived.  He was considering turning around and
rejoining the others when he heard the alarm.  It was coming from only a
block away.  He parked his bike and climbed up the side of the nearest
building.  As he circled in the sky, he was the light of the streetlamps
flashing off shards of broken glass and the sides of a shiny red
motorcycle.  The light in a store below snapped on.  Seconds later, a
gargoyle silhouette was projected onto the bricks of the building across
the street.  "Demona," muttered Brooklyn.  A figure jumped out of the
shattered store window, carrying something in its arms.  Brooklyn swooped
down, catching the figure in the back and knocking it over.
        The thief rolled and pulled a pistol out of a holster, firing
three shots at Brooklyn as he turned in the air.  It turned to run, but
seeing him coming, turned to face him instead.  It fired another three
shots, then dropped the empty gun.  Brooklyn felt one of the bullets graze
his arm as he hit his assailant in the upper chest.  A pair of powerful
legs caught Brooklyn in midsection and sent him flying.  He somersaulted
in midair and delivered a powerful punch that connected squarely with the
enemy's jaw.  The figure staggered backwards and collapsed beneath the
streetlamp, unconscious.
        It was only then that Brooklyn got a clear look at his adversary,
and what he saw left him speechless.
        She was obviously not Demona.  She was quite young, a teenager.
At first he thought she was human, what with the clothes she wore--a denim
jacket, short denim cutoffs, and a pink halter top--but the back of the
jacket and shorts had been cut to make room for wings and tail.  Her skin
was creamy with the lightest hint of grey, and her face very closely
resembled that of a human.  She even wore makeup like a human, lipstick
and a concealer that could not quite disguise a pitted scarred patch on
her right cheek.  Her horns curved back over the hair, which was coloured
a shocking pink except for a single pale blue stripe running back from
each temple.  She looked like the human females at concerts, what with
that hair and the three silver studs in each ear.
        Brooklyn heard the others running up behind him.  Broadway bent
over to retrieve the pistol.  "Guns!" he said in disgust, crushing it.
"These humans never learn."
        Lexington examined the scattered items.  "Potato chips?  Canned
spaghetti?  This is what he was trying to steal?"
        "I thought there were shelters where homeless humans could get
food," said Angela.
        "Guys," Brooklyn said slowly, "I think you'd better take a look at
our thief."  He shook his head as they came closer and gasped at the sight
before them.  "What are we gonna do with her?"



        "Well, what else were we gonna do with her?" Brooklyn demanded.
        "To bring here here, to our castle, our home..." Goliath replied.
"Renegade gargoyles who harm humans or other gargoyles are immediately
banished, before they bring an entire clan to grief."
        "We don't know that she's a renegade, yet.  She's still out cold."
Brooklyn looked down at the silent form on the couch, who had lain
motionless for the last two hours.  It was he who had carried her back to
the castle while the others had taken care of the bikes.  ~I hope I didn't
hit her too hard...~  He watched the light glisten on that odd pink hair
and highlight the blue stripe.  He noticed her hand and a shiver ran down
his spine.  Five fingers.  ~Five talons, pink hair, so strange for a
gargoyle, but beautiful in her own way...beautiful...~  He shook his head;
he had suffered enough for letting his heart get away on him.  He turned
to Goliath.  "If we'd left her at the scene of the crime, and some humans
had found her, who knows what would have happened?"
        "Father, we had no choice."  Angela was supporting him.  "She
might have been discovered by Quarrymen.  You wouldn't wish that on
anyone."
        "Besides, this castle is so well hidden, it's not like she would
ever have been able to find it herself if she'd wanted to," added Brooklyn
sarcastically.
        "It seems to me the poor lass wanted only to have a decent meal,"
mused Hudson.
        "Yeah," said Broadway, "I can sympethize."
        Bronx sniffed the newcomer and settled into place at the side of
the couch.  When she moaned weakly, Goliath and Hudson came up to stand
behind Brooklyn.  Brooklyn leaned closer as the pale gargoyle opened her
eyes and pushed herself up on one shoulder.
        Her crystal blue eyes did not focus at first.  She blinked three
times and the world around her swam into view.  On seeing Brooklyn, she
gasped and jerked backwards against the couch, her eyes fixed in fear.
She fumbled for the pistol that was no longer there, then reached into her
jacket and withdrew a short knife--but she did not attack.  She just sat
there, holding the weapon defensively, staring at the gargoyles in front
of her.
        "Relax," said brooklyn in what he hoped was his most soothing
voice.  "I'm not going to hurt you."  The apprehension in her eyes brought
back painful memories of his first meeting with Maggie the Cat.  The young
gargoyle looked just as frightened as Maggie had.
        Then her expression changed.  "You," she whispered, her voice
filled with wonder.  "You...you're..like me.  You're like me!"  Her other
hand flew up, as if to touch him, but stopped and hung suspended in
midair.
        Brooklyn took her hand and gently guided it down to the couch.
She looked at it, then him, then finally at the company of gargoyles who
stood further back, watching her.  "You're all like me."  The knife
slipped from her hand.
        "Aye," replied Hudson.  "What is your name?"
        "I have no name," she answered.
        "And where is yer clan?"
        "Clan?" she repeated slowly.  "What's clan?"
        Hudson was shocked.  However, Goliath realized that "clan" was a
Scottish word, unfamiliar to the groups of foreign gargoyles he had met on
his travels from Avalon.  "He means the others," Goliath explained.  "Your
family.  Your friends."
        She bowed her head.  "Then I have no clan."
        "They are...gone?" Angela asked gently.  "There is no one left for
you?"
        "There never was anyone for me!" she cried, angry and bitter now.
She pulled away from Brooklyn and sat upright.  "I don't have a clan!  I
never *had* a clan!"  Her anger cooled abruptly.  "Until tonight, I never
knew there were others like me."
        The other gargoyles were horrified.  The concept of clan was an
integral part of their lives.  They had been shattered at the loss of so
many comrades in the massacre a thousand years ago, but to grow up never
knowing any clan at all...  Such a thing was beyond the scope of their
imaginations.  It was utterly alien to the gargoyle way of life.
        Just then Elisa walked into the room.  "Hey, guys, what's the big
attraction?"
        Goliath turned to her.  "It seems we have a lost soul here with us
tonight."
        "Where did she come from?" asked the surprised Elisa.
        "North," answered the young renegade.  "Canada."
        "Oh, that's specific," muttered Elisa to Goliath.  Addressing the
stranger, she asked, "What's the name of the place?"
        "Look, I don't know what it was called, okay?  Just one more
little town up in the snow, where all the people said I was a monster.
They'd shoot at me, and the children would cry, and their parents would
scream, and all I ever wanted was something to eat and a place to belong!
So I left.  Looking for something better and...why am I talking to a
human, anyway?"  Her eyes lit up in anger, and flickered to the rest of
the gargoyles.  They did not move, except for Goliath, who leaned
protectively towards Elisa in case the newcomer sprang.  Confused, the
light in her eyes died.  "Why isn't she afraid of me?" asked the
bewildered gargoyle.
        "Look, you're not the first gargoyle I've met," said Elisa.
        "Elisa is a friend.  We consider her a member of the clan,"
explained Goliath.
        The grey gargoyle paused, assimilating this.
        "Have ye anywher eto go, lass?" asked Hudson.
        "I was heading south.  Nowhere, really."
        "Then you are welcome to stay here with us, as long as you follow
the decisions of the clan," said Goliath.  The faintest shimmer of tears
appeared in her eyes as the other gargoyles began introducing themselves.
        "You really ought to choose a name," said Broadway, "so we know
what to call you."
        "I don't know what to pick," she replied.
        "Hey, take your time," said Lex, holding out a video game
controller.  "Wanna play Shadow Ninjas?"  She took it enthusiastically.
        Out of earshot, Elisa was talking to Brooklyn and Goliath.
Brooklyn realated the story of how he had met up with their new guest.  He
had barely finished when she called to him, challenging him to "Shadow
Ninjas."  "Are you sure you can trust her?" Elisa asked Goliath.
        "I don't know.  I doubt that she is a traitor or a spy, if that is
what you are asking.  Her reactions seem too genuine."
        "My concern is with her temper."
        "Elisa, if what she says is true, she's been an outcast all her
life.  The clothing, the face paint..."
        "What, you don't like girls who wear makeup?"
        "No, it's not that.  Elisa, she's spent her whole life trying
desperately to be a human!  She has no idea what she actually is! How can
we turn her away?"
        "That's not what I'm saying.  I'm saying be careful.  Yes, I see a
lost gargoyle girl, but I also see a renegade who's never followed
anybody's rules.  You might not be able to control her, Goliath."
        "I have to try, for her sake."
        "I understand, and I agree with you.  But Goliath...I've arrested
young people much like her, kids without family or guidance.  No matter
how sorry you feel for them, you can't help the fact that breaking the law
is wrong.  With all the ant-gargoyle hysteria, our little friend's crime
spree can't be allowed to continue."
        "We have all she will need.  And we will teach her not to steal."
        "I just hope she's willing to learn.  Some of those kids are--the
social workers straighten them out, and they go on to become good
citizens.  Some of them...some of them don't.  Goliath, don't blame
yourself if she's beyond redemption."

        "Another game?" asked the young gargoyle.
        "Can't," said Brooklyn.  "I gotta go patrol the city."
        "Patrol the city?"
        "Sure.  Wanna come?"
        "Okay."  The two gargoyles spread their wings and glided into the
night.  The newcomer struggled to keep in formation beside Brooklyn.
Formation flying was a difficult art, and she had never had anyone to
practise it with.  He did his best to match his position to hers.  It was
fifteen minutes into the flight that they heard the woman scream.
        "Keep behind me," Brooklyn warned.  "Just watch this time."
        Down below, a group of thugs were dragging a young woman from her
car.  "Nobody's gonna help you, girlie," whispered the leader.  "They know
better than to mess with us."
        "Leave her alone, creep!" growled Brooklyn as he swooped down and
knocked two of the thugs off their feet.  Suddenly, a pair of hands
grabbed his ankle and flung him to the ground.  He looked up to see a
high-powered laser weapon aimed at his head.  It was held by Glasses, Tony
Dracon's right-hand man.
        "Well, looks like we got a monster to roast," he laughed.  "Take a
good look, girlie.  Here's what happens to ya when ya cross Tony Dracon."
        A winged figure dropped down behind him, knocking him hard on the
head with folded hands.  The young renegade seized the weapon and fired
off two very accurate bursts.  One of Dracon's thugs was knocked off his
feet by a blast at the ground; the other wailed in pain, clutching a badly
bleeding leg.  The others ran away as Brooklyn grabbed the barrel of the
gun.  "No!  No more shooting."
        "Why not?" she snapped.  "This scum tried to kill you."
        The girl on the ground looked up in fear.  "Call the police,"
ordered Brooklyn, "and an ambulance.  C'mon, we've got to go."  The two
gargoyles fled the scene.
        They circled to a landing in Central Park.  brooklyn said, "That
was pretty good for a first time."
        "Why didn't you let me kill him?" she asked.
        "'Cause we don't do stuff like that.  The law says, you don't hurt
criminals more than you have to."
        "What law?"
        "Well, the law of the city."
        "You mean the *human* law.  We're not humans.  Why follow human
law?"
        Brooklyn sighed, realizing that his clan had demanded very similar
questions of Elisa when they had awakened in New York.  "Because it
protects the people who live in the city.  That's what gargoyles do.
Protect things.  And our job is to protect New York." 


        "And the people aren't afraid of you?" Aashlee asked.
        "Well, actually a lot of them are, and a lot of them don't like us
much."
        "So why risk your neck protecting them?  They don't like
monst...ah, gargoyles, and they don't like each other."
        A chill ran down his spine as he remembered how Demona had tried
to convince him to join her in her war against humanity.  What if Demona
had discovered this lost soul before him?  He had to explain it to his new
friend.  "Some of them do.  You just have to look for the good in
humanity--like Elisa, and her partner, Matt.  We work to protect the good
people from murderers and muggers and thieves, creeps like that."
        "Thieves...Brooklyn, I couldn't help it, I was so hungry..."
        "Hey, hey!  I don't mean you, I know...  Look, I'm sorry, I...
Great."
        She had turned away from him, but now was peeking back from behind
her wing.  There was a faint smile playing on her mouth despite the tear
tracing its way down her cheek.
        "I'm sorry," he whispered.
        She turned back to him.  "I don't know.  What's right?  What's
wrong?  What am I supposed to do with myself?  I don't belong anywhere."
        "You could belong here, with us," he suggested.  "I'll teach you.
I promise."  He hoped with all his heart that she could come to understand
the importance of a clan.
        She smiled at him.  Okay.  Brooklyn, you throw a mean left hook.
Meet many girls that way?"  She rubbed her jawline where he had hit her.
        "Oh...oh, no!  I'm sorry!"
        She reached for her shoulder and pulled a backpack off her back
that he had not noticed before.  She sat down on a nearby bench and
motioned for him to join her.  Pulling out a folder, she withdrew a piece
of paper and gave it to him.  "For you."
        He opened it up.  It was drawn in pencil crayon, a magnificent
vista of the Toronto skyline by night, the gleaming lights reflecting
in Lake Ontario.  "You drew this?"  She nodded shyly.  "It's beautiful."
        "Just something to do when I'm bored."  She slid the folder back
into the pack, accidentally knocking it over and spilling the contents
towards him.  Brooklyn leaned over to pick up the scattered items.
        "Dolls?" he asked.
        "I...they're mostly from when I was little."
        He examined one of them--a fashion doll of a fatherly-looking
older man, much similar to the ones he had seen human children playing
with...except for the modifications she had made, the wings, horns, tails
removed from action figures and toy animals and attached to the doll by
wire and glue.  He turned the other dolls over...a mother figure, a young
man, a baby.  All of them were adapted into gargoyle-like figures except
for one, a blond-haired Ken who sported a military-style uniform with
a pair of pilot's wings over his left breast pocket.  Brooklyn's attention
was riveted on the pseudo-gargoyle toys.  Even growing up alone, the clan
instinct was so strong that it had driven her to make a clan for herself,
if only symbolically.  He knew without a doubt that she could be redeemed.
        He touched her wrist and examined the doll that she clutched to
her chest, hiding it with her sleeve.  It was a rock-star doll with pink
hair, earrings, denim clothing, two white wings and back-curving horns.
It looked like her.  "Is this one you?"
        She nodded.  "Don't think I'm stupid, Brooklyn.  I hardly touch
them any more."
        "These were your clan when you were a hatchling.  Don't worry, I
understand.  It's natural for our kind to need a clan.  Did you give them
names?" 
        "Yes."
        "What did you call this one?"
        She looked up at him.  "Aashlee."
        "Are you Aashlee?"
        She smiled.  ~If I ever see the sunrise,~ thought Brooklyn, ~it
will never be as radiant as that smile.~


        "Where is he?" wondered Angela.
        "You mean Brooklyn?  Out touring the city with the new girl,"
answered Broadway.  Angela sighed and turned away.  He hastened to add,
"Don't worry about him.  Goliath sent Hudson to tail them.  If she tries
anything, he'll be right there."
        "It's not that, Broadway, it's...  Have you ever had something
really important to tell someone, but you just couldn't bring yourself to
say it?"
        "Yeah," said Broadway softly.  ~You have no idea.~


        In the twilight beforesunrise, Aashlee and Brooklyn stood together
on the parapets of the castle, awaiting the dawn of the new day.  Brooklyn
noticed a disturbed look on Aashlee's face and asked her what was wrong.
        "What if I wake up tonight to find that this has all been a
dream?" she said.  "It's too good.  It's too perfect.  I don't think I
could take it."
        He put his hands on her arms.  "Don't worry."
        Impulsively, she hugged him.  His arms slid down around her back
as he looked down at her, startled and a little nervous.  She was smiling,
and still holding on.  Relaxing, he wrapped his wings around her as the
morning light turned them to stone.


        A few weeks went by, and with every passing day Aashlee became
more and more a part of the clan.  She came to understand the rules and
the wisdom behind them:  to follow human law, to protect the castle, to
make every possible attempt to return to the Aerie Building before
sunrise.  Like Brooklyn, it was in her nature to push the limits as far as
she dared, but never did she prove to be the disciplinary nightmare that
Elisa had feared.
        They couldn't convert her entirely to gargoyle tradition.  She
refused to give up her denim clothing for a dress like Angela's.  She
insisted on carrying the knife and a new pistol she had taken off a thug--
though she learned not to use them unless she had to.  Aashlee was indeed
a fearless warrior.  At first Hudson worried that in a battle the young
renegade would look out only for herself.  His theory was disproven time
and agian--woe betide the criminal who dared threated a member of
Aashlee's adoptive clan.  Time gave her a place in the hearts of all the
gargoyles.
        Especially Brooklyn.  One night, Aashlee had gone over to Elisa's
with Angela to do some catalogue shopping, and Brooklyn was left alone on
the parapets looking out over the city.  He began thinking back through
his life.  ~I've never met a girl like her.~  There was his childhood
crush on a rookery sister who had perished in the Wyvern massacre, his
unfortunate infatuation with Demona soon after the Awakening, and, of
course, Maggie.  He realized why he had fallen for Maggie hardest of
all--she had needed someone's help so badly, and he desperately wanted to
be important to someone.  But Maggie had found her love and hero in Derek,
who had been through an experience similar to her own.  He wondered if
Maggie and he would have lasted as a couple.  She was so timid, while he
was a natural daredevil.  Like Aashlee.



        He heard a noise in the courtyard below him, and was startled out
of his reverie.  It was Angela, home again from Elisa's, walking in the
moonlight. A stab of guilt pierced his heart.  He was still as friendly as
possible to Angela, but he'd naturally been spending more time with
Aashlee, who liked noisy concerts, bike racing and action movies as much
as he did.  He was debating whether or not he should glide down and have a
heart-to-heart talk with Angela about his feelings for Aashlee, when he
noticed another figure moving out into the courtyard.  Broadway.
        "What'cha doing, Ang?" Broadway asked.
        "Nothing much," she repolied.
        "Is it Brooklyn?"
        "No, not really.  He's much more suited to Aashlee.  There's just
not much to do around here tonight."
        "Yeah," said Broadway, agreeing to both of her statements.  "Well,
we could go check out that new movie downtown.  It's about a play by 
Shakespeare--the guy who fouled up Macbeth's life history--and it would be
kinda boring to go alone."
        Angela was surprised to hear Broadway actually asking her to do
something, but it sounded like fun.  "Sure, I'd love to."
        Broadway could hardly believe that was all there was to it.
"Yeah?  Uh, great.  Ah, let's...let's go then."  They sprang into the air
together.
        Minutes later, Aashlee ran out onto the parapet, clothed in a
cotton dress that fell in waves to her knees and carrying a new denim
backpack.  "What do you think?" she asked, twirling around.  Brooklyn was
speechless.
        Then her eyes darkened and she looked out over the city, her gaze
focused on the far horizon.  Her girlish smile melted away as she stood
transfixed, lost in old thoughts and memories.
        "What is it?" Brooklyn asked.  "You can tell me, I'll always be
here for you.  I swear."  He took her hands, confident that she was the
girl for him.  He knew Angela would be fine, and he finally felt free to
tell Aashlee what was in his heart.
        "Brooklyn," she said, her voice a whisper, "if I had to leave New
York, would you come with me?"
        "What?  Leave??  Aash...why?  Where?"
        "If I had to go," she repeated, "would you come with me?"
        Brooklyn was torn from the bottom of his heart.  He loved her, but
he remembered his unfortunate attempt to run away.  He had learned the
hard way how much he needed his clan.
        "Aashlee, I love you, but I'm second-in-command here.  My clan
needs me, and I need them...and I need you too.  We all do.  You don't
ever have to leave us, not unless...  Do you really want to go?"
        "No, Brooklyn, I don't ever want to leave!  Living with the clan
is the best thing that's ever happened to me.  But sometimes...sometimes
things happen that are beyond my control."
        "Aash, if you're in trouble, all you gotta do is come to me.  Come
to any of us, and we'll help you.  That's what clan is all about."
        "Okay."  She smiled, and he held her close.  "I love you too."


        One week later.  Central Park.

        Their lips met in a kiss, and Brooklyn stared spellbound into
Aashlee's eyes.  They were curled up together on a bench in the park.  He
leaned to kiss her again when suddenly there was a snapping noise in the
darkness.  Aashlee's body went rigid; she pulled away from him and jumped
to her feet.
        Brooklyn listened intently.  Footsteps.  "Hey, it's just another
couple out for a walk in the moonlight."
        "No," she whispered harshly, her voice strangled.  "It's them!
Again!"
        She ran several steps and paused beneath a light, head high in the
direction of the sound and body tensed to fly or fight.  Brooklyn was
rising to hsi feet when the snarl of a machine gun split the night.
"Aashlee!" he cried, but she had dodged the bullets and taken cover behind
a nearby statue.  Six humans, dressed entirely in black and carrying
high-powered weapons, came bursting out of the shadows.
        Aashlee's pistol snapped and one of the attackers went down,
clutching his leg.  Aashlee's eyes were glowing bright red as she
zigzagged across the open area into the bushes.  Two of the enemy raked
the foliage with their guns.  Brooklyn pulled several decorative rocks out
of a nearby flower bed, crept up behind the machine gunners, and threw
them with all his might.  The gunners crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Aashlee descended like an avenging angel from a branch in one of the
trees.  Her pistol cracked twice and a man fell dead, but the two still
standing were on her as she landed.  Brooklyn came up from behind, pulled
one off, and flung him away.  Aashlee's knife made short work of the last
one.
        One of the machine gunners was starting to move.  Aashlee seized
his gun and raked the fallen soldiers with gunfire.  Soon there was no
more movement.  "Let's go," Aashlee muttered.
        Brooklyn was still shocked.  "I can't believe you just did that!"
he cried.  "We had them down!"  Since the Dracon incident she had never
used more force than was required.
        "I did it for you," she said softly.
        "What?"
        "I don't want them coming after you too.  I couldn't let them go
to tell their masters that there are now two Gargoyle Monsters on the
loose.  Their target is me.  Just me.  Only me.  And it's going to stay
that way."


        Four days later.  The railyards.

        The news of the massacre in Central Park had spread all over the
news.  Brooklyn was still trying to come to a decision about whether or
not to tell Goliath of his part in the incident, or of Aashlee's.  She had
begged him not to let the others know what she had done.  The snow was
falling into a thick blanket on the ground as they touched down together,
holding hands.
        Aashlee leaned against him as they sat side-by-side on a boxcar.
She snuggled close and kissed his beak; he put his arms around her and
kissed her back.  She responded by sliding her hands over the sensitive
spot under his wingbone.  Brooklyn abruptly pulled away.
        "What?" she asked.  "Am I doing something wrong?"
        "No, you're doing everything right.  That's why I've got to talk
to you now before I totally lose my head.  Aashlee, I've gotta ask you,
don't you trust me?"
        "More then anyone."  She looked confused.
        "Then why won't you tell me who those guys were?  We need to let
the rest of the clan know.  If you're in trouble, we're going to help
you."
        Her features hardened.  "Thanks, but it's my problem."
        "Aashlee, *your* problems are the *clan's* problems now.  That's
how it works."
        "Brooklyn, they're killers.  They scarred my face when they pushed
me off a ledge in the daytime.  My cheek hit concrete and got some of the
stone knocked off.  The sun set before they could crush me to gravel--but
those blows hurt a lot more once I was flesh.  It took me a long time to
heal from that one.  They've been after me for two years.  They are
murderous.  They'll hunt you too.  And I will *not* let any of you be hurt
by them!"
        "And *I* will not let then hurt *you* any more!"
        A noise behind them.  More footsteps.  "Aashlee..." he said
softly, to warn her.
        "I'm sorry, Brooklyn.  I love you."  Her fist connected squarely
with his jaw.


        He came around about an hour later.  The railyard was silent.
Brooklyn stumbled to his feet, climbed up onto a train, and jumped from
the top.  The snow had stopped falling, and as he looked down, he could
read the signs of the struggle.
        Two of the men still lay where they had fallen.  One was moaning,
and the other was either unconscious or dead.  There were several more
human tracks leaving the scene.
        There were also a pair of gargoyle tracks, and bright red blood in
a trail beside them.  Claws had left their imprint in the sides of one of
the railyard buildings, and a few scattered drops of blood were sprinkled
across the snow where they had fallen from a gargoyle in flight.  Then,
nothing.
        Still dazed, Brooklyn flew home.  He landed in the courtyard of
the Aerie Building and stepped inside.  Hudson was reading one of Robbin's
books, Lex was emailing a cyberspace acquaintance named Kichi, and Goliath
was perusing the newspaper.  "Is Aashlee here?" Brooklyn asked.
        "I thought she was with you," Hudson replied.
        Brooklyn decided to go out and wait on the parapets, hoping
against hope that Aashlee would return.  Walking alone on the outer walls
of the castle, he heard a noise in the courtyard below him.  Broadway and
Angela, holding one another, were kissing in the moonlight.  Brooklyn
turned away, his eyes filling with tears, as he finally realized the
magnitude of what he had lost.

        She didn't come back.
        Time cycled by, weeks blended into months, and grief faded into
the background like a landmark in the distance, often out of sight but
never truly gone.  The picture she had given him was yellowing at the
edges, and though it hurt him to see it, it also brought him a smile and a
happy memory--much like when he saw Angela and Broadway holding hands
together on the parapets, thinking that they were alone.  He could not
begrudge Broadway his happiness, nor Angela hers.  They were indeed made
for each other.
        What of the one made for him?  He couldn't think of her without
sending a prayer to whatever gods may have been listening, that they might
look after her in a way she had never permitted the clan to.  For a while
she had been part of the family, but in the end, she had chosen to face
her demons alone.
        The love he had given her had not been enough.  All he wanted was
for someone else to need him, and at this he had failed again.  For all
its beauty and wonder, love was more cruel than hatred; yet he would not
choose to forget her even if he could.  Here backpack sat at the foot of
the chest that held his things, waiting for her to reclaim it.
        Every night as he awakened, he prayed to see the visage of a
homeward looking angel.

                                THE END


AUTHOR'S NOTE:  I know what you're thinking..."What do you *mean*, "the
end?!"  If you don't like the ending as it stands, feel free to read
Aashlee 2:  "Homeward Looking Angels."  No hints now...okay, here's two:
The Illuminati Society and the Iron Clan of Bavaria.  Don't forget the
mystery man in the cockpit of the airplane!  In the meantime, any
questions or comments can be sent to mpletsch@mustang.uwo.ca