Lady Delilah's Lover
A "Gargoyles" Fan Fiction Story by Dylan P. Blacquiere (pblacqui@cycor.ca)

Story #3
Description:  Whitbourne, Bonavista and Malibu compete for the love of
Delilah, but a mysterious organization and an old enemy of the clan may
throw an unwanted twist in the proceedings...

AUTHOR'S NOTE : With some exceptions, none of the characters used in the
story are mine.  "Gargoyles" characters belong to Walt Disney/Buena Vista
Television.  This is an unofficial story, not sanctioned in any way by
Disney.  Also, I have decided that in this, and in every future story, I am
ignoring the existance of "The Goliath Chronicles".  Not because I don't
like that series, because I LOVE it, but because it and my universe
conflict so badly that letting the third season exist would make my stories
unintelligible in terms of my plotline.  Finally, this story would get a PG
rating for some language and mature subject matter.

HISTORIAN'S NOTE:  This story takes place two and a half months after
"Immortal Beloved".  I would suggest that you read "Immortal Beloved", and
"Shadowplay, Parts One to Six", before reading this story...but most
definitely read "Immortal Beloved."
Also, there is a reference to Calico Laganthorpe's well-written story
"Oblivion".  It's subtle, but it's there.

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WHITBOURNE:  "I gots to find a woman for me, first!"
"Immortal Beloved"

WHITBOURNE:  (voice over)  "Previously, on 'Gargoyles', bye..."

THAILOG:  "Meet...Delilah."
(Show Delilah, from "The Reckoning")
"The Reckoning"

LEXINGTON:  "They're clones!  Of us!"
"The Reckoning"

OWEN:  "May I present the best geneticist on the planet."
(Show Dr. Sevarius, with the robotic mosquito, from "The Reckoning")
"Metamorphosis"

CARBONEAR:  "I mean, face it, Whitbourne's a champ of a guy, but he
couldn't lead his way out of a paper bag."
"One Ring To Rule Them All"

WHITBOURNE:  "Would ye like to dance?"
DELILAH:  "No."
WHITBOURNE:  "I'm sorry.  I MEANT to say 'ye looks fat in those pants.' "
"Immortal Beloved"

LEXINGTON: "He's doing it again..."
"Turf"

MATT:  "Elisa...what does 'Bras d'Or' mean?"
"Immortal Beloved"

SEVARIUS:  "When they say bioengineering is a growth industry...they're not
kidding."
"The Reckoning"

BROOKLYN:  "I think you're lucky the two of us aren't related."
"Immortal Beloved"

WHITBOURNE:  "Well, I'll be damned.  First I'se twins, now I'se triplets."
"Immortal Beloved"

CARBONEAR: "Watch out, Manhattan..."
WHITBOURNE:  "Here comes Clan Newfie!"
"From Darkness To Light"

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Prologue

          Second Impressions

Ste-Agnes-de-Dundee, Quebec
April 29, 1997
8:23 p.m., Eastern Daylight Time

     "Mr. LaFontaine."  came the knock at the door.
     Jean-Francois LaFontaine looked up from his desk, coming face to face
with his chief geneticist.
     "Yes, Dr. Raybur?"  he asked.
     Charlotte Raybur, a fairly short woman with wavy blonde hair, slapped
a clipboard down on LaFontaine's desk.  "The latest test results are in. 
Failure."
     LaFontaine scowled, and slammed his fist down on the desk.  "Merde!" 
he swore.  "How hard can it be to clone one stupid gargoyle!"
     Raybur shrugged.  "According to our research, it's impossible.  It was
a problem with the transfer DNA again.  They kept forming the wrong protein
chains during replication, and the entire mitosial process went awry."
     LaFontaine cracked his knuckles.  "It's all right.  How far did the
subject get before termination?"
     "The accelerated aging process brought him to about an age of six
human years.  And then, Delta, as he was affectionately known by the staff,
essentially got flushed."
     "Hmm."  LaFontaine shrugged.  "Has work begun on the next subject?'
     "We're about to take scrapings from one of the Newfoundland rock
fragments."  Raybur sighed, referring to the remains of seven gargoyles
which had been found smashed in an abandoned church in St. John's,
Newfoundland.  "After we isolate the genetic sequence, we're going to begin
with subject Epsilon."
     LaFontaine began drumming his fingers.  "But you don't expect the
tests to work."
     Raybur shook her head.  "Not unless we can get our hands on someone
who has already done it."
     LaFontaine frowned.  "Anyway, that'll be all, Dr. Raybur.  If there's
any development, keep me informed."
     Raybur nodded, and walked out, closing the door, which was emblazoned
with the symbol of a golden arm rising from the water, carrying a
spear...the symbol of the organization of Bras d'Or.
     LaFontaine sighed, and picked up the clipboard.
     Then, a flash of insight came to him.
     He wheeled the swivel chair over to the computer, and patched into the
Canadian Security and Intelligence Service.  At the search prompt, he
entered "gargoyles'...and then "genetic research."
     In Ottawa, the query was processed throughout the intelligence net,
and then flashed back to Bras d'Or headquarters.  The search result
consisted of one name...a very extensive file.
     LaFontaine paled.  He'd heard of this guy.  He was notorious for
having no sense of morals, and for not caring about the consequences of his
actions...as long as his own life wasn't endangered and the money was high.
     But he WAS good.  In fact, one of the best.
     LaFontaine clicked the file, and began to read.
     "Sevarius, Anton B.  Born in 1957 in Debrecen, Hungary..."

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*****

Castle Wyvern, New York City
8:30 p.m., EDT

     "Professor Plum, in the library, with the candlestick."  Lexington
grinned.  He laced his hands behind his head in a self satisfied smirk.
     "Wrong."  Brooklyn smiled, setting down the cards.  "Try Colonel
Mustard, in the conservatory with the rope, Sherlock."
     "WHAT?"  Lexington nearly screamed, cursing.  "I hate this game!"
     Brooklyn sighed, and began to pack up the "Clue" board.  "It gets kind
of dull."
     Broadway and Angela were sitting snuggled on the couch, flicking
absently across the television.  "Seinfeld" came on, and they settled down
to watch it.  Ophelia and Carbonear where in the corner, reading magazines.
     Lexington frowned.  "Where are Whitbourne and Bonavista, anyway?"
     "Bonavista's up in the smoke hole...and Goliath is with Whitbourne,
giving him a fighting lesson.  He got the bejesus kicked out of him again
last night."  Broadway commented wryly.
     Brooklyn nodded...it seemed that the only time Whitbourne was ever
useful in a fight was when he went "ballistic", as Lexington put it.  And
that was never, becuase of his general good-naturedness.
     Carbonear looked up from her 'Rolling Stone' magazine.  "You knows
what I thinks...he's just a pussy."
     "Carb!"  Ophelia frowned.  "He's clan.  You can't insult him like
that."
     "Look, ye doesn't know him like I do.  He won't even go outside if
it's too cold, and he's after running away if someone chases him with a
butter knife."
     Brooklyn grinned...that image came naturally to his mind.  "Oh well. 
Goliath said he was gong to take the two of them on patrol tomorrow night,
for a little extra practise."
     Brooklyn had been reinstated as second in command of the clan less
than two weeks after his suicide attempt in February.  Goliath had watched
him struggle to get his life back on track, and had decided that he was
doing sufficiently well to merit responsibility in the clan.  As well, Dr.
Mosier, the chief of staff at the infirmary, had concurred that he was no
longer a "mild, acute manic depressive" and had taken him off of the
lithium pills.  He was also doing quite well coping with his loss...five
and a half months after Hawthorne's death in November, it could almost be
said that he was back to normal.  There were some bad nights, when he moped
around slightly, but they were the exception to the rule.
     He set the Clue game aside, and went to sit next to Carbonear.  The
two seemed to be growing a little closer together, as well...not anywhere
near mates yet, or even admitting to be in love...but they were slowly
moving closer.  Brooklyn was still missing Hawthorne, who had now been dead
for five and a half months, but he was improving.
     "I'd pay to be a fly on the wall for that lesson."  Angela muttered.

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*****

     Whitbourne growled, and charged his attacker, who instantly crouched,
and flipped the Newfoundlander effortlessly over his shoulder.  Whitbourne
let out a disgraceful squawk, and landed on his behind on the mat, almost,
but not quite bouncing.
     Goliath, sighing and rolling his eyes, spun around, and offered a
hand.  "Are you all right?"  he asked.
     "Great lesson."  Whitbourne muttered, standing.  "Ye has to forgive me
if I doesn't quite see the educational value of knocking me flat on my ass,
bye..."
     Goliath shook his head.  "The educational value,"  he growled, "is
learning how to defend yourself so I don't knock you 'flat on your ass.' "
     Whitbourne rubbed his sore behind, grimacing.  "Look, supposes we
calls it quits for tonight?  I'se getting incredibly sore."
     "Fine.  I must go over to Elisa's anyway.  You are improving,
Whitbourne, it's just..."
     "It's just, I'm a drinker, not a fighter."  Whitbourne sighed.  "You
really thinks I'se learnin?"
     "Yes."  Goliath sighed.  "You are."
     At that instant, Hudson walked into the gym, which Xanatos had agreed
to let Goliath use for Whitbourne's training.
     "Hello, lads."  Hudson greeted.  "Goliath, I was wondering if you
wanted to come to the Labyrinth with me.  Talon wants me to bring over some
supplies for him...he's got extra tenants this month, and he doesn't want
to impose on Elisa's thin paycheque."
     Goliath shook his head.  "I can't.  I had promised Elisa I would meet
her at her apartment.  We were to plan our vacation."  The two had been
toying with the idea of asking Xanatos to let them stay at his upstate
retreat, Xanadu, for a weekend, and Goliath had finally asked.  Xanatos had
testily agreed, muttering something about running a travel agency for
freaking gargoyles.  They planned to go in a month or so.
     "Vacation?"
     "To Xanadu, yes."  Goliath frowned.  "What of it?"
     "Nothing.  I guess that's why her paycheque is so thin."
     Hudson sighed.  "None of the younger ones wanted to come, either...but
I haven't asked Bonavista yet."
     "Why not?"  Whitbourne asked.
     "Cause I couldn't find him."  Hudson clarified.  "Would you like to
come?"
     "I guess so.  Who's Talon?"
     "Elisa's brother.  You met him at the Valentine's party."  Goliath
reminded him.
     "Oh, him!"  Whitbourne nodded.  "Yeah, I'll go."
     "Excellent."  Hudson grinned.  "Now, come on with me to the kitchen. 
You're going to have to help me carry a few things."

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*****

Brooklyn Heights, Brooklyn
8:54 p.m, EDT

     The phone rang, and was quickly picked up.
     "Hello?"  the man said, sitting in his office chair.
     "Dr. Anton Sevarius, I presume?"
     "And just who wants to know?"  Sevarius rubbed his eyes tiredly.  He
looked out the window, at MacBeth Manor, the oddly named estate of his
nextdoor neighbour, Lennox MacDuff.
     "Jean-Francois LaFontaine, head of the Magical Investigations Bureau
of the Canadian Security and Intelligence Service.  Or, as you may or may
not have heard us referred to, Bras d'Or."
     "I haven't."  Sevarius snapped, tapping his fingers on the desk. 
"Spare me the introductions.  I'm a very busy man."
     The caller chuckled.  "I know.  That's why I'm calling you."
     There was a pause.  "Anton, how would you like to make quite a lot of
money?"
     Sevarius stopped the impatient drumming on his desk.  "I'm listening."
     "I'm sending out a researcher tomorrow, and I want you to meet her at
JFK International.  I also want you to assist her for a while on a research
project....one which ties directly to an old assignment of yours, according
to your CSIS file."
     "My CSIS file?"  Sevarius gasped.  "Just who the hell are you..."
     "I told you.  I'm not getting you in trouble, although I could with
the things in this file.  However, extortion was never one of my fortes.  I
prefer to be upfront with my goals."
     He coughed.  "Anton, how would you like to show somebody how to clone
a gargoyle?"

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*****

     "Get your hands out of that."  Hudson snapped, looking crossly at
Bonavista.  The green gargoyle had a chocolate bar, meant for the Mutates
and their tenants, stuffed in his mouth.
     Bonavista swallowed it, and frowned.  "Sorry."
     Hudson and Whitbourne had accidentally ran into Bonavista on their way
to the kitchen.  He had been snacking on the supplies, and Hudson had given
him a scolding before asking him if he wanted to come.  Bonavista had
obliged, and agreed to go and grace the Labyrinth with his presence.
     Whitbourne watched as Bonavista snuck two more cookies, and sighed. 
"So we's just dropping this stuff off, and packing right home, right?"
     "Aye."  Hudson replied.  "Unless you want to stay and visit for a
while."
     Whitbourne made a face, and resettled his own grocery bags.  "I likes
most of the people that lives there, except for Fang.  He always tells
these stupid Newfie jokes.  Buddy what taught him those..."
     Bonavista's expression suddenly turned guilty, fortunately unnoticed
by the others.
     They arrived in the alleyway where the entrance to the Labyrinth was
located.  Upon landing, they lifted the air grate, and dropped inside.
     "Well, this place is after being nice and homey."  Bonavista commented
dryly, looking around the damp subway tunnel.
     "What were ye expecting?  The Waldorf-Astoria?"  Hudson replied. 
Bonavista gave him a blank look.
     Hudson ahemmed, and shifted the weight of the plastic bag full of
groceries from the perpetually overstocked Xanatos kitchen.  He began
proceeding along the tunnel, with the two Newfoundland gargoyles following.
     They arrived at the door, which was open, and walked right in.  Upon
their arrival inside, they were greeted by Burbank and Claw.
     Hudson stopped, visibly unnerved by the sight of Burbank, but he
regained his composure.  "Hello."  he greeted simply.
     "Are these the supplies?"  Burbank asked.  Hudson nodded, and Burbank
and Claw began to eagerly recieve the bags. 
     "There would have been more, but Bonnie was after eating them all." 
Whitbourne called.  Claw turned around, a cookie in his mouth.
     "Oh, for the love of..."  Hudson swore.  Bonavista burst out laughing.
     Claw beckoned for the three newcomers to follow him, deeper into the
Labyrinth.  They did so, and immediately came upon a room full to the brim
with people.  Claw walked towards the kitchen, and Burbank went to rejoin
his clan of clones.
     Bonavista looked around.  "So, what is we doing?  Staying here for a
while?"
     "Yeah, we might as well.  You know, we should have brought that
bodhran for Claw.  He was after wanting it.  By the Jesus, but he can play
that thing."  Whitbourne grinned, a note of genuine respect twinkling in
his eye.
     Bonavista shrugged, and began to walk over to where the clones of Clan
Manhattan were sitting.
     "Where's ye off to?"  Whitbourne asked.
     "I wants to visit these buddies.  I never really got the chance to
talk to them yet."  Bonavista replied.  He walked over, and immediately
began a conversation with the clones.  It was one-sided...the clones were
still fairly shy, at first...but Bonavista managed to get them talking.
     Whitbourne sighed, and walked over.  Burbank, Hollywood, Brentwood and
Malibu were seated there, but there was one missing.  However, he couldn't
for the life of him remember what Delilah looked like...he'd only ever met
her once, and had been hopelessly drunk at the time.  It was a miracle he
even remembered her name, and that was only because he had asked Brooklyn
when he had finally woken up from his stupor.
     "Hello."  he greeted, sitting down.  "Where's that Delilah to?"
     Brentwood ahemmed.  "She's with Talon and Maggie, helping to organize
the food stores."
     Malibu nodded.  "She should come out soon."
     Bonavista grinned.  He had only seen her once, too, but he had a more
sober impression of her.  According to him, Delilah was spectacular.
     Whitbourne shrugged.  "Well, maybe I'll go in to meet her after."
     "You don't have to."  Hollywood pointed out.  "Here she comes now."
     Everyone turned...and Whitbourne's jaw dropped.  Bonavista was staring
at her, the standard look of male lust in his eyes.
     Delilah walked out of the tunnels, and waved.  She looked curiously at
the two Newfoundlanders. 
     My Jesus, what a piece, Whitbourne thought, standing up nervously. 
"Uh, hi.  Me name's Whitbourne."
     "I'm Delilah."  she greeted, and Whitbourne blinked.  Only then did he
realize how much she looked and sounded like Elisa Maza. 
     Then, she frowned.  "And I remember you.  You were the one acting like
a fool at that party in February."
     Whitbourne groaned.  Just his luck to have screwed his chances, and
not even remember doing it.
     Bonavista gave an elegant bow, discreetly giving Whitbourne a very
smug look.  "Hello, me girl.  They calls me Bonavista."
     "Hi."  she nodded, a little more warmly.
     She sat down, next to Malibu.  Whitbourne was helplessly staring at
her, and she knew it.  She seemed to delight in this, teasing him ever so
slightly.  She shifted her leg, and Whitbourne nearly swooned.
     The others were chuckling at Whitbourne's discomfort, (except for
Malibu, who looked vaguely uncomfortable with the way Whitbourne was
behaving.) but he didn't even notice.  As sure as he knew his own name, he
suddenly knew one thing. 
     He was head over heels in love.

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*****

     "Do you want something?"  Maggie asked, pointing to the little
kitchen.
     Hudson nodded.  "I am a bit hungry."
     "Good.  Derek, go get him something to eat."  Maggie commanded, with a
sardonic smile.  Talon groaned, and stood up, walking over to the kitchen. 
     "You can see who wears the pants in this place."  Maggie commented,
earning her a dirty look from Talon, who returned with a box of cookies.
     Hudson took a snack, and bit into the cookie.  "So, how is it going?" 
he asked.
     "Pretty good, actually."  Talon sighed.  "There's a lot more people
than there used to be, but other than that, things are pretty quiet."
     "And how's Fang?"  Hudson asked.  The news that he had been let out of
the cage still did not sit well with him, even though it turned out the
thug had been instrumental in helping to defeat the Forbidding last year.
     "He's fine."  Maggie sighed.  "Still annoying, still obnoxious, but
he's staying out of trouble, at least."
     "The thing that surprised me was that he was an English major."  Talon
frowned.  "I just found out last month that he had gone to Columbia
University for a year in a BA program.  He dropped out later, after getting
caught up with the wrong people.  But who would have thought...Fang had the
potential to be a scholar."
     Hudson snorted.  "Scholar."
     "So who were those two you brought with you?"  Maggie asked.  "I saw
them at that party you invited us to, but that was about it."
     "Whitbourne and Bonavista.  They joined our clan after that incident
with the subversion.  They're from Newfoundland, one of those islands in
Canada."
     "That's probably where Fang got all of those stupid jokes from.  The
Newfie jokes, he calls them."  Maggie frowned.
     "Hmm."  Talon grunted. 
     Hudson stood up.  "We shouldn't stay that long.  Thanks for the
hospitality."
     "Thanks for the food."  Talon grinned.  "There's a lot of hungry
people out there that could use it.  We have enough for most of them, but
still..."
     Hudson nodded.  "Goodbye, lass."  Maggie waved.
    
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*****

     "So you're from Newfoundland?"  Delilah asked. 
     "Uh huh."  Whitbourne nodded weakly.  He kept resisting the urge to
let his gaze slide downward from her face, toward her breasts.  Somehow, he
doubted that she would take that sort of attention very well.
     Bonavista was clearly enjoying every second of his friend's
discomfort.  He whispered something in Hollywood's ear, and Broadway's
clone grinned wildly.
     Bonavista ahemmed.  "Oh, Whitbourne..."
     "What?"  Whitbourne asked, turning hastily away from Delilah. 
     "Wasn't ye saying something about your little date with Owen?'
     "My what?"  Whitbourne scowled.
     Bonavista nudged Delilah in the ribs.  "Ye has to forgive him.  He
doesn't want it widely known that he's madly in love with Owen Burnett..."
     "You shagger!"  Whitbourne screeched.  He turned to Delilah.  "I'm
not...I'm..."
     Bonavista was laughing.  "He told me after I let him out of the
closet..."
     Whitbourne's cheeks were flaming.  "I'm not..."
     Delilah had a twinkle in her eye.  'It's okay.  You can tell us."
     Whitbourne, fuming, stomped off in a huff.  His eyes were aglow. 
     Bonavista stopped laughing.  "It ain't true."  he told Delilah.
     "I know that."  Delilah replied.  "Good enough for him, though.  He
was taking things too seriously."
     Bonavista blinked...it hadn't even crossed his mind that Whitbourne's
sense of humor seemed to have abandoned him.
     Hudson came out of the kitchen, and beckoned to Bonavista. 
     "That's me cue."  he sighed.  "I'll see ye later." 
     He walked over to where Hudson and Whitbourne were standing, and
waved.  The clones waved back, and Whitbourne, Hudson and Bonavista walked
out, leaving the Labyrinth.
    
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*****
    
     The clones scattered after that...but Delilah went to the very edge of
the Labryinth.  There, in the darkest recesses of the complex, was HER
place...somewhere she consdered her own.
     There was one, however, whom she allowed to share it with her.
     Malibu peeked his head in shyly, and walked in. 
     "Hi."  he said meekly.
     Malibu was the shyest of the clones, and arguably the most sensitive. 
However, he felt something special for Delilah, and often found himself
inexorably drawn to her.
     "Hi, Mal."  Delilah greeted, patting the floor next to her.  Malibu
eagerly walked in, and sat down.
     "Something was bothering me."  Malibu admitted.  Delilah looked at him
with concern.
     "What?"  she asked.
     "It was nothing serious.  It's just...the way you were acting around
that Whitbourne guy.  The one who looks like me."
     Delilah frowned.  "I was only joking with him, Mal.  If you mean my
flirting, then it was just a joke."
     Malibu closed his eyes.  Delilah had to feel some admiration for
him...he was very protective of her.  Although Delilah considered the two
of them to be best friends, and that was it, she knew Malibu's feelings
about her.  She respected them...she just didn't feel the same way back.
     Malibu hugged his legs close to his chest.  "I just...it just kind of
bothered me, that's all.  I'm not angry, and I know I have no right to run
your life..."
     "Malibu..."  Delilah shushed him, "it was all a game.  There was
nothing serious, and we all knew that.  He just didn't have a sense of
humor, that's all."
     He sighed.  "I know, Delilah.  It just made me feel a little uneasy,
that's all."
     He smiled, and looked at her eyes.  "Do you want to do something?"
     "Like..."
     "Well, we could play some cards, if you wanted..."
     Delilah grinned, and patted Malibu on the hand.  "I think I'd like
that."  she agreed.
     The two stood up, and walked towards the common area.

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*****

Castle Wyvern
11:34 p.m, EDT    

     "Have you seen Witless around?"  Bonavista asked.  Broadway and
Angela, who were sitting on the couch, looked up.
     "Nope."  Broadway replied.  He cuddled Angela in closer as the two
continued watching "Philadelphia".
     Bonavista swore, and walked out of the projection room.
     Whitbourne hadn't said a word on the way back from the Labyrinth, and
had quickly made himself scarce upon their return to the castle.  Bonavista
was beginning to suspect that his good-natured ribbing in the Labyrinth had
seriously hurt Whitbourne's feelings.
     He passed by the kitchen, where Lexington and Ophelia were sharing a
dish of ice cream, and headed towards the smoke hole.  There, at last, was
Whitbourne, sitting in a chair, absently smoking a cigarette, and staring
out the window.
     "Hey, Witless!"  Bonavista greeted.  Whitbourne made no reply.
     Bonavista frowned.  "Mind if I joins ye?"  Whitbourne turned, and
pointed at another chair.
     "Be my guest."  he stated.
     Bonavista ahemmed.  "Look, if ye's mad about us kidding around in the
Labyrinth..."
     There was a chuckle.  "I'se not mad at ye, Bonnie.  I was a little
pissed off at first, I supposes, but I'm not mad no more."
     He turned around.  "Bye, I'm mad at meself, though.  I blew that
meeting so bad."
     "How?"  Bonavista asked.
     Whitbourne crushed out his cigarette.  "She thinks I'm an idiot."
     "She always did."
     Whitbourne gave him an exasperated look.  "Look, bye.  I'm pissed off
at meself the same."
     "Why?"  Bonavista asked.  He sat down.  "Whitbourne, ye's acted like
an idiot around lots of others before, but it never bothered ye none."
     "This time's different."  Whitbourne sighed.  "I was never after being
in love with anybody before."
     Bonavista stared incredulously at him.  Then, he slowly began to
laugh.
     "What's so damn funny, my son?"
     Bonavista kept chuckling.  "This is so typical, Witless.  Ye sees a
woman ye wants to get naked, and ye considers that love."
     Whitbourne looked appalled.  "Bonavista, my son, if ye's after valuing
your life, you'll shut the frigg up."
     Bonavista stopped laughing.  "All right.  I'se sorry.  Excuse I.  But
listen...it was the exact same thing a few years ago, with Carbonear, and
then after that, it was that piece ye saw in the mall."
     Whitbourne rolled his eyes.  "Aw, for Christ, Bonnie..."
     "And ye even told me that after ye and Carb...you know, did it, there
wasn't any interest no more.  What makes ye think this time's different?"
     "Because,"  Whitbourne frowned, "this time I just knows it."
     Bonavista nodded his head, and smiled knowingly.
     "And her getting naked was the farthest thing from my mind.  Well..." 
Whitbourne reconsidered that statement, revising upward his desire to see
that event.
     Bonavista suddenly looked shocked.  He groaned.  "Aw, Christ.  Ye's
seriously going to do something about this, ain't ye?" 
     Whitbourne nodded.  "Why in the hell does ye think I'se up here?  I'se
working out a plan, Bonnie.  And when I'm through, she's gonna be after
dyin' to be at my side."
     "Ye's got a long way to go.  I thinks right now she'd rather die than
be at your side."
     "Oh, man, ye's funny, Bonnie.  Ye's a real laugh riot, I swear.  Aw,
God, somebody stop me laughing, before I kills myself from giggling so
hard."  Whitbourne muttered sarcastically.
     He fished out another cigarette.  "She is some piece, though, ain't
she?"
     Bonavista nodded.  "Oh, yes, man!"
     Whitbourne smiled.  "I'm gonna try.  Heaven help me, Bonnie, but I'se
gonna try."
     "Go for it, if ye wants to."  Bonnie shrugged.  "I'se just saying,
it's probably not gonna end no happier than your other flings."
     Whitbourne sighed.  "Well, if it don't, it don't.  And if it do..."
     "If it do, what?"
     "If it do,"  Whitbourne continued, lighting the cigarette, "then I'll
be a very happy man."
     Bonavista got up, looking at the clock on the wall.  "All right then. 
I'se going to watch TV, I guess.  They's a hockey game on, I thinks."
     "Is Montreal playing?"  Whitbourne asked.  The Montreal Canadiens were
his favorite team, and there was nothing he liked more than to watch a
Canadiens/Islanders game with Hudson (who was a diehard New York fan).
     "Nope.  I thinks it's L.A. and Anaheim tonight." 
     "Frigg it, then."  Whitbourne dismissed with a wave of his hand.  "I
hates the Mighty Ducks."
     Bonavista shrugged, and walked out of the smoke-hole.  As he did, he
thought back to Whitbourne's words. 
     She is some piece, though, ain't she?
     "She certainly is."  Bonavista agreed, muttering aloud.  "In fact, I
don't think I'd mind getting after her meself."
     After all, he had just as much of a chance with her as
Whitbourne...and he rather liked her as well.  And even if Whitbourne
wanted her, well, so did he, in a way.  Besides, a little competition never
hurt
     He walked off, the beginnings of his own plan formulating in his mind.

***************************************************************************
*****

Brooklyn Heights
April 30, 1997
1:30 a.m, EDT

     Sevarius groaned, and tapped the key again. The amount of files he had
on gargoyle cloning was staggering.
     Project: Thailog.  Project: Delilah.  Project:  Burbank.  There was
even a clone of that ugly gargoyle dog...Yonkers, or whatever the hell its
name was...that had failed to get past its first mitosial division. 
     He glanced at the clock, noting that it was one-thirty in the morning. 
He had been quite succinctly told that he was to meet the Bras d'Or
researcher at JFK promptly at eight o'clock, with all of his files on
cloning procedures ready.  It was a huge undertaking...but one million
dollars was nothing to sneeze at.
     That's probably why the Canadian government is bankrupt, Sevarius
thought.  They spent all their money getting people like me to do the work
they want kept secret.
     But alas, he wasn't an economist.  As long as he got paid, that was
all the economic training he really needed.
     He saved the files on a disk, deciding to keep a few backup copies. 
He might be able to make a tidy profit by selling these things to Bras
d'Or.  Or anyone else.  He could certainly make an offer to Ms. Destine
when he went back to work at Nightstone.  He had called there earlier, and
left a message that he would need some time off, to visit his sister in
Chicago.  The lie had come easily.
     Profit, he grinned.  What a beautiful word.
     He supressed a yawn, and got quickly back to work.

***************************************************************************
***************************************************************************
***************************************************************************
***************

Chapter One

          Menage A Quatre

Castle Wyvern
7:06 p.m., EDT

     "OK.  Well, it won't be that complicated of a birthday party."  Fox
Xanatos sighed, jotting down point notes.  "Us, the gargoyles...and that's
about it."
     David sighed.  "And thankfully, he's too young to be into Barney or
anything heretic like that.  He doesn't have that many kids his age to play
with yet, so there won't be any children around.  Next year, though..."
     Fox suddenly picked up Alexander, who was sitting in the playpen,
tossing Gurg about and fussing.  He had a teething ring in his mouth...the
last of his teeth were coming in.
     "What a special occasion!"  Fox smiled, holding her son.  "Alex's
first birthday in two weeks!  Imagine!"
     "Birfday."  Alex repeated, spitting out the teething ring.  "Wif
cake."
     David chuckled.  Alex had been talking for quite some time now.  Owen
believed that the baby's fae heritage made him an early developer, but
David didn't really care.  Alex was a healthy, happy baby, and that was all
that really mattered.
     "Yes."  Owen called over, from where he was typing something on the
computer.  "With cake."
     David turned around to the picture window, and watched the sun descend
below the skyline.  There was the distant rumbling of sound above as the
gargoyles awoke, roaring into the night.  Alex heard the sounds as well,
and burbled happily.  "Gargles!"  he yelled, tugging on Fox's ear. 
"Gargles wakin' up!"
     Fox gently removed her earlobe from the deathgrip.  "Wakin' up, yes."

***************************************************************************
*****

     Whitbourne yawned tiredly, and hopped off of the parapet.  The others
pretty much had the same idea in mind.
     Goliath cracked his knuckles, and put his hand to his mouth in a huge
yawn.  "Whitbourne, the two of us will go on patrol as soon as we have
something to eat..."
     "If it's all the same, could I skip out on that tonight?  I gots
somewhere I wants to go."  Whitbourne interrupted meekly.  The rest of the
clan's ears perked up...most noticeably Bonavista's. 
     Goliath frowned, and raised an eye ridge.  "I had planned on training
you a bit more in your combat skills tonight..."
     "Yeah, but, I kinda made plans."  Whitbourne shifted from foot to foot
impatiently.  Brooklyn stepped forward, looking curious.
     "What kind of plans?"  he asked.  Whitbourne could see that Brooklyn
was stepping into the second in command role at the moment.
     "Well, see, it's kinda like this."  Whitbourne stammered bashfully. 
"I kind of met a girl..."
     There were assorted murmurings.  Lexington put two fingers in his
mouth and whistled shrilly, but a warning glance from Hudson stopped that
fairly quickly.
     "A girl."  Goliath frowned, seeming to consider this.  Bonavista
seemed to have become very interested in the conversation.
     "Yes, my son.  A girl."  Whitbourne smiled, suddenly happy.
     Goliath sighed.  The thought crossed his mind to ask who the girl was,
but he reasoned that if Whitbourne wanted to tell, he would eventually. 
"All right.  We shall go on our patrol later on tonight, then.  You may go
out, but try to get back by eleven o'clock."
     Whitbourne nodded.  He hopped up onto the parapet, spread his wings,
and took off into the night.
     Hudson walked up to Goliath.  "Lad, ye didn't even ask who the lucky
lass was."
     Goliath nodded.  "If he wanted to, he would have told..."
     "I knows who it is.  It's Delilah."  Bonavista piped in.  Brooklyn,
Hudson and Goliath stared incredulously at him.
     "Delilah?"  Brooklyn murmured.  "The clone of Elisa and Demona?  THAT
Delilah?"
     "Well, how many Delilah's are there in this city, lad?"  Hudson shot
him a withering glance.
     Bonavista nodded.  "He was after telling me last night that he's kind
of interested in her."
     Goliath was groaning.  "Knowing Whitbourne..."
     Brooklyn shrugged.  "Well, it's his business.  Let's go get something
to eat.  I'm half starved."
     He, Goliath and Hudson turned, and began walking to the castle. 
Bonavista prepared to join them, but discreetly turned, and walked towards
the balcony.  He took off, in the direction Whitbourne had taken.

***************************************************************************
*****

The Labyrinth
7:39 p.m, EDT

     Whitbourne peered around, looking for Delilah.  He couldn't find her
in the common area.
     He sighed.  He couldn't get her face out of his mind.  Obviously a
sign that he was smitten over her.  He only hoped that if he ever found
her, he wouldn't blow his chances like he had the first two times he had
met her.
     "Has ye seen Delilah?'  he asked Claw, who was standing by the wall. 
The Mutate shrugged, and shook his head.
     "Well, thanks, bye."  Whitbourne muttered.  He began to walk towards
the farther reaches of the Labyrinth.  And there, he found her.
     She was sitting against the wall, thinking quietly.  As soon as she
caught a glimpse of him, he smiled.
     "Hi, Mal."  she greeted.  Whitbourne blinked.
     "My name's not Mal."  he replied.  Obviously, Delilah hadn't clearly
seen him.
     She did upon closer inspection.  Her eyes widened, and she stood up. 
"Whitbourne?"  she asked.  "What are you doing here?"
     "I came to visit.  There's not nothing wrong with that, is there?'
     Delilah sighed.  "I guess not..."
     Whitbourne frowned.  This wasn't looking good.
     "Um...so what are you at?"  he asked, trying to make conversation.
     "What?"  Delilah asked blankly.
     "What is ye doing?  What're you at?"  Whitbourne sighed, smiling.  "I
hates that.  Nobody has a sweet blessed clue what I says."
     "Mmm-hmm.  Whitbourne, why are you here?"  she asked, looking
uncomfortable.
     Whitbourne sat down on the floor.  "I told ye.  I'm here to..."
     "Why?"  Delilah asked.  "You didn't seem too sociable last night."
     "Now look.  I realize I didn't make that stunning of an impression
last night, but..."  Whitbourne began, but suddenly Bonavista walked in. 
Whitbourne frowned, and mentally began to curse.
     "Hello!"  Bonavista greeted cheerily.  "I thought I'd come here for a
visit."
     Delilah looked as if she were about to leave.  Whitbourne noticed
this, and rolled his eyes.  And at that precise second, the situation
degenerated further with Malibu's arrival.  He took one look at Bonavista
and Whitbourne, and his eyes widened.
     "What are you two doing here?"  he asked.  Whitbourne and Bonavista
turned, and frowned.
     "We's here for a visit."  Whitbourne replied.  Bonavista nodded.
     "Well, it was nice seeing you."  Delilah smiled.  She walked past
them.  "So, are you ready, Malibu?"
     "Ready for what?"  Malibu asked confusedly, but she shot him a wary
look.  Malibu got the message.
     "Oh.  Yeah, I'm ready."
     The two of them walked off.  Whitbourne stood up, and smacked his
forehead.
     "What was ye thinking?"  he hissed at Bonavista.  "Why is ye here?"
     "I gots just as much right to be here as ye."  Bonavista growled. 
     Whitbourne shrugged, but then his eyes widened in horror.  "Aw,
frigg."  he swore.  "Don't tell me ye wants to go after her too, now." 
     Bonavista looked away hurridly.  Whitbourne groaned.
     "I knew it!"  he muttered, "For God's sakes, Bonnie, ye knows how bad
I wants her!"
     "What difference do that make?"  Bonavista asked.  "My son, ye can't
expect me to step aside and just let ye get her, when there's just as much
chance she could decide to pick me.  And when was ye ever afraid of
competition?"
     Whitbourne opened his mouth, shut it, and opened it again.  Bonavista
crossed his arms, and smiled smugly.
     "Piss on ye, then."  Whitbourne snarled, and he stomped out of the
room.
     Bonavista watched him go.  "All's fair in love and war, bye."  There
was an unrepeatable phrase in response.

***************************************************************************
*****

Brooklyn Heights
7:52 p.m., EDT

     "So let's see what you've got here."  Charlotte Raybur sighed.  Anton
Sevarius watched as she sat behind the computer, and opened his files with
lightning quick speed.
     She had arrived in New York about twelve hours ago, but the two had
only just started getting to work.  Anton had taken her to dinner at some
place called Le Bistro Rouennesse, and it was there that she began to
realize what a creep he actually was.  She had known him less than a day,
and already he set her teeth on edge.
     "Where do you live?"  Sevarius asked.
     Raybur blinked.  "I'm originally from Drumheller, Alberta, but I moved
to Chateauguay, Quebec about three years ago.  It makes my commute to Bras
d'Or a lot easier."
     "I would imagine so.  Why is it called Bras d'Or, anyway?"
     Raybur dismissed the question.  "How did you do that?"
     "Do what?"
     "This."  She pointed at the screen.  "Your developmental schematics
show that you have the same problem we do, but that you compensate for it. 
See here?  At this phase of mitosis here, the chromosomes don't split up
normally, and the subject begins to degrade.  But in the next frame,
everything's back to normal."
     "Oh, that."  Sevarius grinned, looking very pleased with that.  "That,
Dr. Raybur, is the Sevarius Effect."
     "The Sevarius Effect?" 
     "Yes.  You see, here, during metaphase, the chromosomes are not
attached to the spindle fibers normally.  So they can't be pulled apart. 
This is because the cloning process is inherently unstable, unless you make
up for the inevitable degradation of the repair process.  I did it by
adding nutrients to the amniotic fluid, and providing...slight electrical
shocks."
     "How slight are we talking?"
     "A very high amount of electricity.  It's necessary, though.  This
degradation is caused by a breakdown in the nervous system which controls
cellular mitosis.  The electricity somehow restores that balance.  With a
combination of the technology and a little bit of luck, the specimen can be
saved.  It often isn't, but it can be.  I've had a very high success rate."
     "I can see that.  Six successful clones.  Where did you get the DNA?"
     "You didn't hear all the ruckus about gargoyles living in New York
City?"
     "Of course I heard.  CSIS and Bras d'Or have been monitoring that clan
since early 1994, when they first woke up.  In fact, we knew where they
spent their days during the time they and Xanatos had a falling out.  I
could press a button, and an extensive file on each one of them could show
up.  I'll admit, the information we have on the four new ones that joined
their clan is sketchy, but..."
     "Four new ones?" Sevarius blinked.  "Hmm.  That could be interesting."
     "Couldn't it."  Raybur rolled her eyes.  "All right.  Now I want you
to explain to me in great detail your entire cloning process, from genetic
extraction to the subject's completion."
     Sevarius grinned, and cracked his knuckles.  "Well, it's like this..."

***************************************************************************
*****

The Labyrinth
7:59 p.m., EDT

     "Why are they here?'  Malibu asked.
     "I don't know."  Delilah sighed.  She allowed a brief smile, but it
died very quickly.
     "I don't like them."  Malibu muttered.  "They seem to be bothering
you."
     "It's okay, Mal."  she smiled.  "I don't think they mean any harm.  I
don't mind Bonavista, but Whitbourne...well, neither of them seem to mean
any harm."
     Malibu sighed deeply.  "I just don't want to see you getting hurt,
that's all.  And if those two are hurting you, then..."
     He went silent, and stared at the wall.  Delilah watched him, and ran
a hand through her thick white hair. 
     She had to smile at Malibu's protectiveness.  He had sworn that he
would keep her safe from anything that threatened her...but had later taken
it upon himself to get rid of any annoyances, as well.  Usually, that only
entailed Hollywood and Brentwood, who delighted in playing stupid little
pranks on each other.  Delilah, despite the fact that those jokes usually
ended up giving her a headache, had to marvel in the way all of the clones
were now acting normal, almost.
     It was hard to reconcile the members of her clan now with the slow,
dull-witted drones she had seen in September.  They had been programmed
that way by Thailog, who had never intended to have them as anything more
than slaves, despite what he had told them about clans and loyalty.  And he
had also programmed her with some...interesting...parameters.  He had
designed her as a sexual plaything, a toy to use when he finally got tired
of Demona.  Fortunately, nothing very serious had ever happened, but it
could have.  Thanks to Goliath and his clan...and, oddly enough,
Demona...they were now free, able to learn, to grow...and to love.
     The concept of love, however, still confused Delilah.  She was
confronted with it every day...Maggie and Talon loved each other very much,
and all of the clones had more or less been exposed to the joy that the
couple's love brought the both of them...but Delilah was still a bit
confused.  The one time she and Thailog had made love (which love had
nothing to do with, she thought bitterly,) Thailog had told her of his love
for her, and then abused her and hurt her.  That left some conflicting
impressions, which slightly skewed her perceptions of the meaning of love. 
That was one reason she didn't love Malibu...her association of love was
with Thailog.  She still remembered the night she had had the talk with
Angela a few weeks after Thailog's death...how she had been so lost, and
frightened, and bereaved, unable to cope with Thailog's demise, still
believing that he had been the only one to love her.  Fortunately, with
Angela's help, those feelings had dulled over the months between...it had
been more than a half a year ago, she thought.  Her feelings about Thailog
and the confusion they had left her with were mostly resolved, but she
still didn't feel quite ready to commit herself to loving someone yet.
     Delilah sighed, and looked at Malibu.  "You don't have to worry, Mal. 
It's sweet of you to protect me so, but I think that they're harmless."
     She reached over and gave him a quick, non-commital peck on the cheek,
and got up.  Malibu's eyes lit up...not literally, but with a warm
twinkle...and he watched her go.

***************************************************************************
*****

     He bumped into her just outside the kitchen. 
     "Hey!"  he greeted, trying to salvage some sort of friendliness out of
the blown second and third impressions.
     Delilah's mouth twitched.  "Hey."  she greeted listlessly.  Whitbourne
frowned, and sighed.
     "Look.  What was I after doing wrong?"  he asked.  "I'm not like
offending ye with my presence, am I?"
     "No.  It's not that."  Delilah closed her eyes. 
     "Then what is it?"  Whitbourne asked.  "Is it my breath?  My accent? 
Why can't we at least be friends?"
     "It's you.  You take everything too seriously."  Delilah responded
tiredly.
     Whitbourne burst out laughing.
     "What's so funny?"
     "I has never, ever heard those words to describe me, me girl.  Never
in my frigging life."  Whitbourne chickled.  "Usually I'se the bye with the
incorrigible sense of humour."
     "Well, you don't come across that way with me."  Delilah sighed. 
"Once when I met you, you were too drunk to set any impression, and the
other times, you've been...well, odd."
     "I'm not odd."  Whitbourne frowned.
     "You see?  All I have to do is say something, and then you take it
literally.  Whitbourne, that's why you come across as so serious.  You
never lighten up."
     "What the frigg is this?  The Twilight Zone?"  Whitbourne slapped his
forehead.  "If ye wants me to, I'll bring Brooklyn and the others to be my
character witnesses..."
     Delilah laughed.  "Look.  Maybe I don't know you that well.  If you're
really as fun-loving and goofy as you say you are, then fine.  I'll take
your word for it."
     "That's better."  Whitbourne crossed his arms.  "Listen, does ye want
to do something?  You could come with me to the castle and we can play a
round of pool.  I knows Lexington and Ophelia is looking for new
challengers..."
     Delilah paled.  "I don't think that would be a good idea." 
     "Why not?  Come on, me girl!  It'll be a laugh!"
     "No."  Delilah sighed.  "I'd really rather not.  Maybe some other
time."
     "Oh."  Whitbourne sighed, looking suddenly crestfallen.  "Well, then. 
Sorry."
     Delilah gave him a brief smile, and turned away.  "I'll see you
later."  she called.
     "Same to ye."  Whitbourne replied.  He turned, and walked to the exit
to the Labyrinth, suddenly mad at Bonavista, at himself, at the world.

***************************************************************************
*****

     Delilah sighed.  Why was Whitbourne so insistant?
     She frowned as she walked back to her place, which was deserted.  She
sat down on the cushions on the floor, and began to stare at the wall, lost
in thought. 
     There was something about him...
     She cracked her knuckles.  Whitbourne seemed to be so serious,
although she had heard stories from Fang and Talon, who knew him better
than she, that he was actually quite humorous, not often taking things all
that seriously, unless they were very important.  She found it hard to see
that, judging from his behavior around her, but she had found that males
usually acted differently around her anyway.  And there was a twinkle in
his eyes that suggested that Fang and Talon's judgement of his character
was the more accurate one.
     But there was something else about him, as well.  Delilah couldn't
explain it, but there was a feeling that she had whenever she was near him. 
That seemed to draw her closer, yet drive her away.  That told her that she
and Whitbourne were right for each other, yet that told her the entire
feeling of love was a sham, anyway.  Although that could be chalked up to
her experiences with Thailog, it was still to confusing to have one person
draw up such conflicting emotions. 
     She put her head in her hands, tiredly.  She didn't know what to
think.  Physically, there were no qualms...Whitbourne was very handsome, as
were both Bonavista and Malibu.  In fact, Malibu looked exactly the same as
Whitbourne.  Their skin color was even almost the same.  Whitbourne was a
lighter blue, and he had brown hair, compared to Malibu's green.  But
Delilah didn't place much stock in that fact.  Being a clone desensitized
one's attitude towards how much two people looked alike. 
     But Delilah was more interested in the feelings.  And even though she
liked the three of them, Whitbourne was the only one she held the
oxymoronic feeling for.  Malibu was too close a friend, and Bonavista was
just...there.
     Burbank walked into her room, with a look of concern.  "Delilah, do ye
want to come out?  Dinner is almost ready."
     Delilah nodded.  "In a minute, Burbank."
     Burbank nodded, and retreated.    Delilah stood up, and streched.
     I'm living in a menage a trois, she thought, making a connection to a
tasteless joke Fang had told once.  Except there's four instead of three. 
Quatre instead of trois.
     She sighed again.  "What am I going to do?"  she wondered.    

***************************************************************************
*****

23rd Precinct House
8:14 p.m., EDT

     "Matt, hurry up."  Elisa called.  She stared impatiently at the clock
on the wall...quarter after eight.
     "I'm coming."  Matt yelled back.  He turned back towards his desk,
reached for a cup of coffee, and stopped dead in his tracks.  There was a
very familiar man at the water cooler...
     Matt placed the face.  Martin Hacker.
     "Hacker!"  he called.  His former FBI partner looked up, and waved.
     "We need to talk, Matt."  he said simply.
     Matt frowned.  "About..."  Hacker raised his lapel, discreetly
pointing to the Illuminati pin.  Matt groaned, and waved Elisa on.  She
rolled her eyes, and stomped huffily down the stairs.
     Matt beckoned to the vacant interrogation room, one of the two new
ones added in when the city decided to make this building the permanent
home for the NYPD's 23'rd precinct.  It wasn't the clock tower, by any
means, but neither was it a squallid dump.
     Hacker demurely followed Matt into the room.  When Matt had shut the
door, Hacker's normally calm face began tightening...a sign Matt recognized
as stress.
     "What's wrong?"  he asked. 
     "I'm here to warn you, Matt.  Not just you, but your gargoyle friends. 
I realize this may sound odd, coming from the Society..."
     "Well, yeah, it does, Martin."  Matt frowned, crossing his arms.
     "...but believe me, no matter how your gargoyle friends feel about the
Illuminati, they'd rather us than Bras d'Or."
     "What the hell is Bras d'Or, anyway?"  Matt raised an eyebrow.  "I was
talking to Xanatos, and he said he's been getting warnings about them,
too."
     Martin sighed.  "Bras d'Or is a part of the Canadian Security and
Intelligence Service.  Officially, they're the Magical/Paranormal
Investigations Bureau, or the MIB for short."
     "I didn't think Canadians were into that sort of thing."  Matt smiled. 
"I was always brought up to believe that it was us Yanks that were rash and
impetuous."
     Martin allowed a small smile.  "You'd be surprised what the Canadian
government is hiding.  And most of what they know has been gathered by Bras
d'Or, the code name for the MIB.  In the space of the fifty years since
they've been formed, they've gathered almost as much information as the
IIluminati has in the past 1500.  And now, they've decided they want to
study gargoyles."
     Matt's eyes widened. "How do you know all this?"
     Martin dismissed the question with a wave of his hand.  "Double agents
and political intrigue.  It doesn't matter.  Matt, I know you're friends
with the gargoyles.  And I know they and you have no reason to trust the
Illuminati.  But I'm warning you as a friend, too.  The Illuminati doesn't
want to see the gargoyles in the hands of Bras d'Or.  Because whatever we
may have done to the gargoyles in the past, Bras d'Or does it a million
times worse.  And I know that Bras d'Or wouldn't have any hesitation in
arranging for 'little accidents' to befall the people who befriend the
gargoyles, in order to procure those people for study as well."
     Matt stared at Hacker.  "Why are you telling me this?  Is it because
the Society wants to procure the gargoyles for study themselves, and
doesn't want to see Bras d'Or get them first?"
     "No.  That's what I was afraid of, that you'd see it that way.  I'm
not exactly sure why.  All I was told was that it's because the Illuminati
wants the gargoyles to be aware of this.  I have my orders from higher up
to let you know.  You can take it with a grain of salt if you want, but the
Grandmaster wanted you to know.  So just tell the gargoyles to look out,
okay?"
     Matt nodded stupdly, and Hacker smiled.  "By the way, tell Cornelia I
said hi."
     "What?  How do you know her?"
     Hacker pointed at his glasses.  "She's my opthamologist, Matt.  And
patients and doctors do talk.  She likes you, Matt, I'll tell you that
much."
     "Oh.  Yeah, I like her too.  Thanks for the warning, Martin."
     Martin tipped his hat, still looking a bit stressed out.  He walked
away, and Matt sighed.

***************************************************************************
*****

Castle Wyvern
9:04 p.m, EDT

     Ophelia sighed, and walked slowly towards the library.  She was in the
middle of a Margaret Atwood novel, and she couldn't seem to put it down. 
The twentieth century had so many wonderful authors, and for a bibliophile
like her, that was heavenly.  With all the other wonders the twentieth
century held, she had to wonder how she could have ever considered leaving
it and returning to Avalon.
     She walked by the smoke hole, and heard a rather nasty word being
yelled.  She raised an eye ridge, and pressed her ear against the door.
     "...lying son of a bitch!  Ye knew that I was after wanting her!" 
     "Piss on ye, my son!  I doesn't see no sign on her neck that says
she's your property, or nothing..."
     Ophelia sighed.  Whitbourne and Bonavista were at it again.  Since the
two had returned from the Labyrinth, (not together; Ophelia suspected that
if they'd been gliding home together, one of them would have ended up dead)
they'd been at each others throats. 
     She opened the door, and frowned.  Bonavista and Whitbourne turned at
the intrusion, both with eyes aglow.
     "What in the name of Avalon are you two fighting about?"  she asked.
     Whitbourne pointed at Bonavista.  "Buddy here seems to think it's okay
to steal my girl..."
     "She's not your girl!"  Bonavista interrupted.  "All that ye told me
was that ye was after liking her!  She's still available..."
     "Frigg you.  I told ye in good faith that I was going to try and win
her..."
     Ophelia held up her hands.  "All right, all right.  Listen.  Who is
this girl that you're fighting over?"
     "Delilah."  they both said in unison.
     "Well, why don't you let her decide who she wants?"
     "We already knows.  She wants me..."  Bonavista began, but Whitbourne
shot him a dirty glance. 
     At that moment, Angela and Broadway walked by, talking and sharing a
chocolate bar.  They stopped by the door to the smoke hole, and watched
with passive interest.
     Whitbourne noticed them, and frowned.  "Broadway, my son,"  he began,
"if you tells your best friend that ye's after wanting a girl, and your
best friend goes out and tries to court the girl in question, what does
that make said best friend?"  he asked, his voice dripping with scorn upon
the words 'best friend'.
     Broadway frowned, and set the chocolate bar aside.  "I'm not Ann
Landers, Whitbourne."
     He sighed.  "I think I should have a talk with them.  No offense,
Ophelia, but I don't think you have quite enough testosterone to help,
here."
     "Enough what?"  Ophelia asked blankly.
     Angela sighed.  "Come on, Ophelia.  Let's go play a game of pool, or
something."
     The two girls left, leaving Whitbourne and Bonavista alone with
Broadway.  Broadway picked up the bar, and broke off a piece, popping it
into his mouth.
     "What's the problem, here?"  he asked.
     Bonavista rolled his eyes.  "I started talking to Delilah, and buddy
flipped...'
     "You..."
     "Whitbourne, shut up.  Go on."  Broadway frowned, looking at
Bonavista.
     Bonavista sighed.  "Last night, we went to the Labyrinth, and Witless
decided that he was in love with Delilah."
     Broadway looked at Whitbourne, smiling widely.  Whitbourne frowned.
     "Anyway,"  Bonavista continued, "last night, he told me that he wants
to go after her.  And he assumes that if I try to win her, too, then I'se
stabbing him in the back."
     Broadway looked again, at Whitbourne, who nodded.  Broadway rolled his
eyes. 
     "I'm living an episode of 'Men Behaving Badly'."  he muttered. 
"Whitbourne, Bonavista has just as much right to court Delilah as you do." 
     Whitboune's jaw dropped, and he looked incredulously at Broadway. 
Broadway shrugged, giving him a sympathetic look.
     Bonavista smiled smugly, and walked out of the smoke hole towards the
kitchen.  "I'm off to get me a snack, byes."  he crowed.
     Broadway looked at Whitbourne, who had crossed his arms.
     "Wonderful.  I gots enough problems trying to get Delilah to like me
without Bonnie trying to push himself in."  Whitbourne scowled.
     "Look, I went through the same thing.  Before this October, before
Brooklyn and Lexington met Hawthorne, Carbonear and Ophelia, there were
three of us fighting over Angela.  We tried to show off, tried to impress
her, but we didn't exactly endear ourselves to her.  But do you know what I
did?  That gave me an edge over Brooklyn and Lex?"
     "What?"  Whitboune asked, giving him his undivided attention.
     "I got romantic."  Broadway whispered.  "Girls love that sort of
thing.  Court her, Whitbourne.  Give her chocolates, and read her poetry,
and all that sort of stuff.  She'll be dazzled."
     "Does that work?"  Whitbourne frowned.  "I never really tried that
sort of thing before."
     "I got Angie, didn't I?"  Broadway smiled slyly.  "Look, trust me. 
You'll do a lot better with her if you're romantic.  I promise.  I have to
go; Angela and I are going to the park."
     Whitbourne sighed.  "All right.  I'll try." 
     He grinned.  "I already knows who else I needs to talk to, Broadway,
my son."

***************************************************************************
*****

Brooklyn Heights
9:12 p.m, EDT

     "Blast it!  Why won't it work?"  Sevarius yelled, slamming the
keyboard.
     GENETIC DETERIORATION.  IRREPARABLE SEQUENCING DAMAGE.  SUBJECT HAS
BEEN TERMINATED.
     Dr. Raybur sighed, and shut off the simulator.  "That's the question
we've been asking up in Quebec for the last two years."
     "But I don't understand it.  I'm doing things exactly the same as I
did with Thailog."  Sevarius groaned, not bothering to answer Raybur's
quizzical look.  "If this were real, instead of a simulator, we should have
protein chains froming by the dozens.  I'm using the electrical/nutrient
treatment, and everything, and it's just not working!  We should be seeing
successful cell division."
     "We aren't."
     "I can see that.  Look."  Sevarius sighed.  "From these results, the
entire cloning process is impossible.  But that's not true, because I've
created six viable specimens."
     Raybur sighed.  "Well, how do you propose we find out why they were
able to live, and anything else we create doesn't?"
     Sevarius considered the question.  "I don't know."
     He tapped his fingers together, and tapped a few buttons.  With a
whir, the computer screen showed a genetic map of Thailog. 
     "Wait a second."  Raybur frowned.  "Look."
     She pointed at the screen.  Sevarius blinked.  She was pointing at a
cytosine/guanine base connection.
     "What's the big deal?"  he asked.
     She typed a command, and the screen changed to show the results from
the simulated cloning experiment.  The cytosine/guanine bases had flaws,
and weren't properly bonding..    
     "That's it." she concluded.  "In these experiments, some of the bases
aren't connecting.  It's causing the protein chains to fail, and the
subject degrades."
     Sevarius grinned.  "Damn, but you ARE good."  he noted, with a trace
of genuine respect in his voice.
     "Tell that to Professor Hansen at the University of Calgary.  He said
I was a nut."
     "I've heard that a lot."  Sevarius smiled.  "Well, now that we know
what the problem is, how do you fix it?"
     Raybur frowned pensively.  "What I want to know is why the bases bond
in some specimens, like these six viable ones, and why they degrade in
others."
     Sevarius nodded.  "That would be a logical step."
     Raybur cracked her knuckles.  "Yes.  It would.  In any case, I think I
have a way to find out."
     Sevarius raised an eyebrow.  "And how might that be?"
     Raybur spun around on the chair.  "If we were to test one of your
successful clones, then we might be able to determine the causes.  Bras
d'Or ran a test a few months ago with degrading genetic material.  We could
copy the data, and run a test here.  If the DNA is damaged, then we could
see what the reconstruction patterns are in your clones.  If your clones
are as successful as we think they are, the DNA will reform.  We can then
isolate the gene that causes that, and splice that gene into our material
in Quebec."
     "Of course, if they aren't, then our unfortunate specimen will
perish."  Sevarius noted, distastefully chewing on a fingernail. 
     "We'll call it a martyr in the name of science."  Raybur smiled. 
"Every great advancement that benefits somebody leaves a few victims in its
wake, Anton.  Take Banting and Best.  History credits them with discovering
insulin.  If you go through the files at CSIS, though, you learn about the
prisoners who got prototype insulin tested on them, and went into toxic
shock.  Banting and Best used those results to improve their product.  So
will Sevarius and Raybur.  If we have to step on a few of your clones to
get results, we'll do it."
     Sevarius looked at her.  "You misunderstand me.  Personally, I don't
give a damn."
     He looked at the computer.  "However, there is one problem.  One of
the clones is dead, and I didn't keep tabs on the others.  They were
created as part of a deal."
     Raybur smiled.  "Leave that to me.  You know how the CIA always brags
that American security is impenatrable?" 
     "Yes..."
     "They know dick-all.  If your clones are anywhere in North America, I
can find them in an hour."
     "And say they're in Australia, or Antarctica?"
     Charlotte Raybur paused, and frowned.  "In that case, give me ninety
minutes."  she mumbled.  She typed a few figures into the computer, and
laughed.

***************************************************************************
***************************************************************************
***************************************************************************
***************

Chapter Two

          Guilderoy's Lament

The Labyrinth
10:56 p.m., EDT

     "What's on your mind?"  Maggie asked, pouring two cups of coffee.  She
set them down on the table.
     "Thank you."  Delilah sighed.  She took a sip of coffee.  "It's
Whitbourne and Bonavista.  They're confusing me."
     "Newfoundlanders are like that, from what I can gather."
     "No, no.  Them, personally.  The way they act around me."
     "How do they act around you?"  Maggie asked, sitting down. 
     "Well, not so much Bonavista.  But Whitbourne...he acts nervous, and
he tries to impress me.  He asked me to go to the castle with him earlier."
     Maggie's eyes twinkled.  "Sounds like he's got a crush on you."
     Delilah stared at her.  "Do...do you think?"  Maggie shrugged.
     "Nobody really knows how the male mind works, Delilah."  she admitted. 
"It's one of the great mysteries of the universe...what the hell are guys
thinking?"
     Delilah smiled.  "But...I don't want him to like me.  I wouldn't mind
it if we were friends, but I don't know..."
     She set the coffee down.  "I think I need to go."
     "Go where?"  Maggie asked. 
     "To get some air.  I'll be back soon, Maggie, but I just need to sort
something out."
     "Delilah, I'm sorry if I said something to upset you..."  Maggie
interjected, but Delilah shook her head.
     "It's not you.  There's just something I need to think about."

***************************************************************************
*****

Greenwich Apartment Complex
May 1, 1997
1:01 a.m, EDT

     Elisa stepped out of the elevator, and shifted the bags of groceries
around.  From somewhere up the hall, someone was blaring very loud music,
and it was distracting.  Whoever it was, the super would be calling them up
fairly soon.
     She frowned, and tried to concentrate.  She had planned on going out
on the beat tonight with Matt, but after his meeting with Hacker, he had
retreated up to files, and spent the night in research.  Elisa had ended up
staying out on patrol for an hour, and had called back, citing a quiet
night.  Captain Chavez had given her the rest of the night off, and she had
stopped in at the twenty-four hour supermarket for groceries on her way
back.
     It wasn't like Matt to keep to himself about Illuminati stuff. 
Usually he delighted in prattling on and...God, that music was so damn
loud!
     With a start, Elisa realized it was coming from her apartment.  She
gasped, and dashed to her door, fumbling the keys.

     "Oh, cause it hurts me so just to see you go around with someone new,
      And if I know you, you're doing that thing,
      Every day just doing that thing,
      I can't take you doing that thing you do!"

     She snarled.  She knew that voice that was singing along.
     The door swung open, and Elisa looked around.  There were CD's all
over the floor, and the soundtrack of "That Thing You Do!" was blaring full
blast on the player.  There was a bag of potato chips open, and the
skylight was ajar.  Amidst all the mess, sat Whitbourne, singing along to
the music.  He looked distracted, as if he had something else on his mind.
     "What the hell are you doing?"  Elisa yelled.  She shut the door,
hoping nobody had seen him.
     Whitbourne looked up, and turned the music off.  "Uh, hello, Elisa.  I
let meself in."
     "I can see that.  What are you doing here?  Why did you break into
my..."
     "I wasn't after breaking in.  Your skylight was wide open.  Well, I
opened it.  But it weren't locked."  Whitbourne frowned.
     "Still,"  Elisa sighed.  It was impossible to stay mad at him.  "Look. 
Why are you here?"
     Whitbourne frowned.  "Well, I wanted to ask ye something."
     "Ask me what?"  Elisa asked.  She set down the groceries, and began to
walk around, picking up the scattered CD's.  "And what did that question
have to do with the soundtrack from 'That Thing You Do'?"
     "I was after looking for romantic music, and I popped in the CD while
I was trying to find some.  I'se sorry I got your CD's in such a clobber,
Elisa..."
     "Romantic music?"  Elisa frowned.  "Why?"
     "Well, I was sitting here waiting for ye...I'se been here for an
hour...and it occured to me to look."
     Elisa shrugged.  "Nevermind.  You're here, anyway.  Do you want me to
get you something to eat?"
     Whitbourne nodded.  Elisa sighed, and pulled a package of hot dogs
from the shopping bag.
     "I don't like weiners."  Whitbourne frowned, seeing the hot dogs. 
Elisa scowled, and hauled out a can of soup.
     "So what did you want to ask me?"  she asked.
     Whitbourne blushed.  "Elisa...how does ye get romantic?"
     The can of soup dropped, and Elisa turned to stare incredulously at
the Newfoundlander. 
     "What?"
     "I means, what does a girl like for a buddy to do to let her know that
he loves her?"
     "Who are you in love with?"
     Whitbourne sighed.  "Delilah.  What?"  he asked, catching her
disbelieving look.
     "Delilah?"  she asked weakly.  Whitbourne nodded.
     "Whitbourne...do you know anything at all about her?"
     "She's a clone of ye and that De...De...De something or other..."
     "Demona."
     "Demona.  Yeah, that's it.  Anyways, what's wrong with that?  It's not
like she's exactly like ye, or anything..."
     Elisa sighed.  "You're right.  But why are you asking me?  I mean,
Angela, and Broadway...and Fox and Xanatos..."
     "Fox and Xanatos went out for dinner, and I was talking to Broadway. 
But then he and Angela went off to the park.  He said I should try to get
romantic with her, but I wants a girl's point of view.  I needs an edge
over Bonnie.  He wants her too.  Right proud as Guilderoy 'cause he thinks
he's after getting her."
     Elisa began to laugh.  It seemed like such a short time ago that she
had gone through all this with Broadway, Brooklyn and Lexington, smitten
with Angela.
     "Well, then..." she turned the stove on, and emptied the can of soup. 
"you want to know how to romance a girl."
     "Uh huh."  Whitbourne nodded.  "What is ye after liking a buddy to
do?"
     "Well,"  Elisa thought about it.  "I'm always partial to poetry.  I
really like when a guy stops, and reads romantic poems to me.  Goliath did
that once, and it was one of the most romantic nights we ever spent
together.  I still remember the poem...'The Lady of Shalott', by Tennyson."
     "So if I reads romantic poetry, then I stands a good chance with her?" 
Whitbourne asked.
     "Maybe.  You never know; Delilah might not like poetry.  But it
certainly can't hurt."
     Elisa sighed.  "The thing is, Delilah didn't develop normally.  Did
anyone ever tell you about Thailog?"
     "Probably."
     "Thailog created Delilah to use as a...a, well, a playmate, for the
lack of a better word.  I've talked to her a couple of times, and her idea
of what love is is twisted from that experience.  You have to take that
into account."
     "Elisa, me girl, I couldn't care if she was after being the
Antichrist.  I'd still be smitten over her just the same.  This is the
first time I've ever really been in love.  I mean, I wants her for her
body, true, but I wants her just as much or even more for HER."
     "Still, I think it's best if you knew that about her.  You have to be
sensitive to that sort of thing."
     Whitbourne sighed.  "All right.  I gots ye. Er...your soup's boiling
over."
     Elisa looked over.  "Merde!"  she cried helpfully, and she shut off
the burner.  She grinned sheepishly, and got out two bowls, ladling the
soup into them.  Whitbourne walked to the kitchen table, and sat down,
folding his wings.  Elisa carried over a bowl of soup, and the two sat
down.
     "How do you like it?"  Elisa asked as Whitbourne took a bite.
     Whitbourne made a face.  "Elisa, to tell ye the truth, I misses
Newfoundland cooking.  Carbonear's after teaching Broadway to cook toutins
and bannock and fishcakes and all that, but I still can't right stomach New
York stuff."
     "There's something else you could do.  Use your background.  I mean, I
don't know much about Newfoundland, but I'm sure there's lots of folklore
and that, right?"
     "Folklore?"
     "Yeah.  Tell her stories about Newfoundland.  Goliath tells me the
most wonderful stories about tenth century Scotland; about kings and queens
and bards and nobles and magic.  It's something we like to do. 
Newfoundland stories would probably work.  You just have to go slower with
Delilah, because she's confused."
     "She's got me confused, me girl."  Whitbourne sighed.  "First, she's
after teasing me, then she was after avoiding me, and then she was after
being nice but not wanting to do anything with me."
     Elisa frowned.  "Whitbourne, maybe you have to accept the fact that
she might not like you."
     Whitbourne pushed the soup bowl aside.  "Well, then, I'se gonna have
to change that."
     He stood up.  "Thanks for the soup and the advice, me girl.  I thinks
I'se gonna have to put it to use."
     Elisa sighed, and gathered up the dishes.  "Well, all I can say to you
is good luck."
     "Thanks."  Whitbourne smiled.
     "Oh, and one more thing."  Elisa called, turning towards the
dishwasher.
     "What?"
     "Don't ever let me catch you breaking into my apartment again."
     "I didn't..."  Whitbourne began correcting her, but he shrugged. 
"Fine."
     He hopped up onto the open skylight, and leapt out into the May sky.

***************************************************************************
*****

     By one of the staggering coincidences of life, Delilah showed up on
Elisa's skylight balcony five minutes after Whitbourne had left.  Elisa,
muttering and rolling her eyes, turned the dishwasher on and walked over.
     "Hello."  she greeted flatly.
     "Hi.  I was gliding around, and my wings began aching.  Do you mind if
I come in and rest for a minute?"  Delilah asked, brushing an ivory-white
lock away from her tan forehead.  Elisa was momentarily distracted by
hearing a near exact duplicate of her voice reflected back at her.  For a
brief instant, she was filled with a bitter loathing for Thailog, who had
used her DNA to create a sexual toy and then left that project to fend for
herself...
     "Sure.  Do you want anything?"  Elisa cut herself off in mid-thought,
gesturing towards the kitchen.  "Sorry if I seemed impatient, but I just
had another visit from Wh...a less discreet visitor."  She somehow didn't
think it would be best if Whitbourne was brought into the conversation,
given the delicate situation...at least, judging from what the
Newfoundlander had told her.
     "Well...if you don't mind, do you have any coffee?"
     Elisa shook her head, laughing.  "I'm no good at that.  Delilah, I
can't make a cup of coffee to save my life."
     Delilah smirked.  "Don't worry about it."
     She walked in, and looked questioningly at a chair.  "Be my guest." 
Elisa nodded, and Delilah sat down delicately, folding her wings.
     "There's something that's bothering me."  Delilah began, suddenly. 
Elisa sat down, wondering how she had ever become a gargoyle romance
counselor.
     "What?"
     "Well, I think there's three males who are in love with me.  And
there's so many confusing feelings..."
     "Hold on, hold on.  Three?"
     "Mmm-hmm.  Malibu, Whitbourne and Bonavista.  The thing is, Malibu is
too much of a friend to me, so I wouldn't feel right.  Whitbourne's nice
enough, but he seems...peculiar."
     "So, that leaves one..."
     "No, it's not that simple."  Delilah frowned.  Elisa, mildly surprised
she could articulate her emotions so well, considering her background, sat
back.
     "I mean, love...what is love, anyway?  The only love I ever knew was
Thailog, and I think I know enough that I know THAT was love in the loosest
sense of the word.  If even that."  Delilah said bitterly. 
     Elisa blinked, and Delilah continued.  "Malibu makes me feel special,
but he's my best friend.  I...it just wouldn't be right.  So he's the easy
one to figure out.  But Bonavista...well, he's really nice, but he seems
almost...cocky, without meaning to be."
     She sighed.  "And then there's Whitbourne."
     Elisa raised an eyebrow.  "What's with him?  You said he acted odd.."
     "I mean...I don't know what it is, but there's something about him. 
He acts serious, and sensitive around me, even though I have it on
reputation that's he's very fun loving and unpredictable..."
     "Oh, ho!  You don't know the half of it!"  Elisa laughed.  "I've got
some ice cream in the freezer, and girl talk always gives me a craving. 
You want some?"
     Delilah shook her head.  "I can't eat ice cream, Elisa.  My teeth
begin to ache.  Maggie says it's because I have hyp...hypersensitive teeth,
or something..."
     "Poor you."  Elisa frowned.  "Well, if you're sure you don't want
anything..."
     She walked over to the freezer, and grabbed a carton of butterscotch
ice cream.  Walking back, she grabbed a spoon, and began to dig in. 
Delilah smiled, and shook her head.
     "But there's something deep down inside him, and I don't know what it
is.  It feels like it's inviting me in, but driving me away at the same
time.  It's very peculiar.  There's something I like about him, but the
whole feeling of love confuses me so.  Thailog told me he loved me, and he
hurt me.  Maybe I'm just scared that they'll all hurt me too, and that's
why I feel so confused."
     Elisa shrugged.  "That would probably have something to do with it. 
But Malibu's your best friend, and I know Bonavista and Whitbourne would
never, never hurt you intentionally.  I've known them for almost half a
year now, and from what I've seen, despite their party-animal exteriors,
they're really nice people."
     Delilah nodded.  "I know that, but..."
     Suddenly, there was a swooping sound, and Whitbourne was on the
balcony.
     "Elisa, does ye have a book of poems I could..." he began, stepping
into the apartment.  He saw Elisa's guest, and paled.  "Oh.  Uh, hi."
     "What do you do, stalk me?"  Delilah asked angrily.  Whitbourne tugged
at the collar of his shirt nervously, and shuffled his feet.
     "I think this was just a coincidence."  Elisa reassured Delilah,
setting the ice cream aside.  "What do you want, Whitbourne?" 
     "Well, I was... after looking for something, but..."  he stammered. 
He turned away sadly.
     "If ye wants me to leave, then I'll shove off."  he murmered.
     Delilah looked at the crestfallen expression on his face, and sighed. 
"Don't go, Whitbourne.  I think there's something we need to talk about."
     Whitbourne turned.  "Here?"
     Elisa ahemmed.  "Well, if you guys want me to leave..."  she muttered,
not believeing she was offering to give up her apartment.
     "No.  We'll leave."  Delilah stated assertively.  She turned.  "Thank
you."  she nodded at Elisa.  Elisa shrugged, and smiled.
     Delilah beckoned for Whitbourne to follow her, and stepped out of the
apartment.  Looking amzingly like a puppy, Whitbourne followed, and took
off into the night.  Absently, Elisa shut the skylight, and latched it
closed.  She sat down on the couch, looking at the ice cream. 
     Almost automatically, she began to laugh, until tears were rolling
down her cheeks.

***************************************************************************
*****

Brooklyn Heights
1:59 a.m, EDT

     "Found 'em."  Charlotte Raybur reported absently.
     "I thought you said it would take you an hour."  Sevarius called over
from the TV.  He had retreated from the computer, and was watching a movie
on TV.  Charlotte had looked over once, and saw a woman doing some very
interesting things with a man, an egg beater, and a piece of french toast. 
Pervert, she screamed mentally at Sevarius.
     "Well, these clones of yours have been keeping to themsleves.  I had
to check around the World-Wide Web for a long time.  But I came upon a
homepage by a guy named Harold Farmer.  As of now, he's a sales clerk at a
downtown sporting goods store.  But six months ago, he was homeless, and
living in a place called the Labyrinth, a sort of homeless shelter in an
abandoned subway tunnel on the Lower East Side of Manhattan.  Apparently,
according to some of the documents, the place is run by a bunch of furry
pseudo-gargoyles known as the Mutates, who used to be human."
     Sevarius dropped the remote, and the TV shut off.  "WHAT?"  he asked.
     "I said..."
     "No, no.  I know what you said.  But...I haven't even thought about
them in months!  I created them.  When David Xanatos was a little less
scrupulous, he had me create them as part of a prelude to the cloning
experiment.  When the DNA we had extracted from Goliath was still producing
failed clones."
     Raybur blinked.  "If they're the prelude, then you've got the whole
symphony living there, Anton.  According to the information on the webpage,
there's five gargoyles who have been living there for approximately nine or
ten months.  And during the time they lived there, several gargoyles
visited who looked exactly like them, and the ones living there were
referred to as 'clones' several times."
     "That's them."  Sevarius laughed.  "We've got them."
     "Not yet, we don't.  If you created them, they might recognize you,
and I can't walk in and ask them to come with me."
     "The Mutates would gut me."  Sevarius mused.  "You're right; how do we
get them from there to here?"
     "Any suggestions?"  Raybur asked.
     "Well, I can't redirect any employees from Nightstone.  Dominique
Destine quite bluntly told me once that if I used her companies resources
for my own use, she'd personally castrate me."
     Wouldn't that be a shame, Raybur thought.  "Anything else?'
     "Well, we could hire a few Quarrymen, I suppose.  But I'd rather not. 
More often than not, they're inexperienced bumblers, and they're just as
likely to kill them if Castaway gets involved."
     "How do you feel about inside operatives?"
     "Huh?"
     Raybur smiled.  "I know someone on the Bras d'Or payroll who's really
good at this sort of thing.  We have to ship some equipment from Quebec to
New York, anyway; he can come in with the flight.  He's a bit eclectic, but
he's really good."
     "All right."  Sevarius shrugged.
     "Hand me the phone then.  I'll have to phone Director LaFontaine
first, and then I'll phone Mr. Dion."
    
***************************************************************************
*****

Moncton, New Brunswick
1:01 a.m, Atlantic Daylight Time

     A flashy black Camaro went sailing through the intersection, causing
more than a few people to look up.  Bainbridge Dion, the owner of the car,
took notice, and laughed.  He pressed the volume on the CD player, cranking
it up.
     "Sorry, I'm not home right now, I'm walking into spiderwebs, so leave
a message and I'll call you back."  he sang along, heading towards Dieppe. 
As he did so, the cellular phone rang.
     "A likely story, but leave a message and I'll call you back."  he
warbled, shutting off the player and picking up the phone.  "Hello?"
     "Bainbridge, this is..."
     "Charl!  How are you?"  Bainbridge greeted her.
     "Yeah, it's nice to hear from you, too, Bainbridge.  Listen; I just
talked with Director LaFontaine, and he wants you to get to Bras d'Or as
quickly as possible.  You've got an assignment."
     Bainbridge frowned.  "Assignment?"
     "Yeah.  LaFontaine will tell you all about it.  Just get to Bras d'Or
tonight.  I'll see you soon."
     Bainbridge nodded.  "Okay.  See you."  He hung up the phone, and
grinned.  He turned onto the ramp, crossing over into Dieppe and heading
onto the ramp towards Moncton Airport.

***************************************************************************
*****

The Earle Building, Manhattan
2:03 a.m, EDT

     The two gargoyles landed on the roof of a nearby building, and sat
down.
     "Nice night, isn't it?"  Whitbourne stammered, trying to make small
talk.
     "Uh huh."  Delilah replied.  "We need to talk."
     Whitbourne sat back against a ventilator shaft, and nodded.
     "I know how you feel about me."  Delilah muttered.  Whitbourne sighed,
and looked skyward.
     "And ye doesn't like me at all."  he concluded, closing his eyes.
     "Well, that's not true."  Delilah frowned.  "You seem like a nice
person.  And I'm sure we can be friends.  But I don't know if we should
become anything more."
     "Why not?"  Whitbourne asked suddenly.  "It could work out.  We could
be a great couple.  I means that, too.  You'se beautiful, and...and I can't
get ye out of me head."
     Delilah stammered.  "Whitbourne...it's not you, it's the feeling.  I
mean...do you know about my past?"
     "I'se heard bits and pieces."  Whitbourne sighed.
     "Well, I'm a clone.  I'm a mix between Demona and Elisa Maza.  And I
was originally nothing more than a toy to be used by a sick, twisted
person."
     "Is that that Thailog buddy I'se heard about?" Whitbourne asked.  "I
mean, I gots the lowdown on the other buddy's exploits back at the castle,
but I didn't hear all that much about him."
     "He's dead now."  Delilah stated bluntly.  "And nobody mourned him. 
Least of all me.  But..."
     She sighed.  "He told me he loved me.  But always when he wanted
something.  And that something was always me.  We only ever had sex once,
but we did...other things...."
     Whitbourne's undivided attention was on her, now.
     "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."  Delilah laughed.  There
was a tear rolling down her cheek.  "I've only really known you for a
couple of days.  But I guess you should know.  If you insist on loving me,
then you have to know me."
     She frowned.  "I was made more intelligent than the other clones.  We
all had the capability to learn...that's why I can speak normally now.  We
all can.  But Thailog kept some knowledge away from us.  We were told that
he was our master, and that what he said, we had to do.  The others were
trained to be warriors, to kill the 'real' versions of us.  I was made to
be like that, too, but I was also to be his consort.  His little secret
until he decided to get rid of Demona.  And whenever he felt the urge, we
would do things.  Things that I'm not proud of.  And he always said he
loved me."
     She looked at Whitbourne.  "Maybe that's why the way you've been
acting has me so defensive.  Because that's what I learned to associate
love with; Thailog."
     "I'se not like that."  Whitbourne stammered.  "I would never do that
to somebody.  I mean sure, I may fantasize about stuff like sex, and seeing
girls without no clothes on...and what guy doesn't, right?  But I guess
that's the difference between me and this Thailog buddy; I still sees the
person behind the gorgeous body.  I'd never use somebody as a plaything. 
And I'd respect the person, too."
     Delilah frowned, and looked down at herself.  "I hate the way I look." 
she admitted.  "Maybe if I wasn't so 'gorgeous', like you say I am, then I
wouldn't have been used."
     "No, no.  It weren't your fault.  You didn't ask to be the way ye is. 
And that was all in the past.  What matters now is what's goin' on now,
see?'  Whitbourne pointed out.  Delilah looked up at him, and smiled.
     Whitbourne looked down, and noticed a flower shop on the street below. 
It was a twenty-four-hour operation...at least, it was still open now.
     "You wait here.  I'll be back in a second."  Whitbourne told her, and
he spread his wings.  He dove off of the rooftop, and landed in the
alleyway behind the flower store.  It was probably not the smartest thing
to be doing...Goliath was always telling the naturally indiscreet
Newfoundlanders the need for caution in New York.  The 'gargoyle capital of
the world' was not very accepting, and while people didn't participate in
street marches and crusade against them on national TV anymore...and, as it
turned out, a city-wide poll showed that almost 30 percent of people
believed the gargoyle affair to be a pre-sweeps week ratings grabber...it
was still fairly dangerous.  However, Whitbourne had made up his mind.  And
if he was to follow Broadway and Elisa's advice and be romantic, he would
need to take some risks.
     He walked to the edge of the alleyway, and ducked into the service
entrance. 
     There, he made his way through the back rooms towards the main section
of the store, ducking behind the wall.  In there, there was one worker,
along with a couple who were looking through the store.  He snarled...he
recognized the man.  It was the former Servant of Twilight who had forced
him to betray the others in Newfoundland.  But he couldn't get mad...the
person wasn't a Servant anymore, and probably didn't even remember what it
was he had done.
     "So, I think we should buy Maude a gift basket, to make up for
housesitting while we were in ArubaaaaaAAAAAAAAHHH!"  the woman screamed,
dropping her purse.  She had caught a glimpse of Whitbourne.  "Oh, my God,
it's a gargoyle!  That's IT, Brendan, we're moving to Buffalo!"
     The couple fled the store, screaming.  The flower store attendant took
one look at Whitbourne, and began to hyperventilate.  Whitbourne resignedly
stepped out from where he had been hiding,
     "What...what do you want?"  she hissed.
     Whitbourne grinned.  "I...I needs to get some flowers.  What does ye
recommend?"
    
***************************************************************************
*****

     Delilah sighed.  Why was she doing this?  Why was she opening up to
Whitbourne?  Granted, he was nice, but why was she making excuses for him?
     She frowned.  She was starting to feel a little peculiar around him. 
Almost like a princess.  She liked the way she held him captivated, without
even doing anything.  She also knew that he wouldn't hurt her, or use her,
and that he was probably being honest when he told her he loved her.
     So does that mean you love him?  Delilah asked herself.  Does that
mean that you're willing to take that step?  DO you even love him?
     She didn't know.   The way he acted confused her, but deep down
inside, something seemed right about it.  Almost as if the way he was
acting was the most perfectly natural thing in the world.
     Suddenly he was back, looking intensely pleased with himself.  He held
a bouquet of flowers, and was grinning.
     "The clerk practically threw these at me.  Out of gratitude for
getting some annoying couple out of her store, I thinks."
     Delilah stared at them, and Whitbourne held them forward.
     "These is for ye."  he prompted gently.  Delilah looked up, and saw a
look of gentleness in Whitbourne's face.  She took the flowers, and plucked
a single rose out of the bouquet.
     "Thank you."  she said quietly.

***************************************************************************
*****

     Whitbourne felt his heart soar.  He didn't know why; all she had said
was thank you, but somehow, that seemed almost as good right now as having
her leap into his arms and never let go.
     He ahemmed, and thought back to his conversation with Elisa.  The two
tips rang through his mind; read her poetry, and use your background.
     "Uh, I wrote a poem for ye."  he muttered, bashfully, quickly
composing one in his head.  Delilah looked up, bemusedly.
     He smiled, and stepped back.  "I loves my dog, but I loves you best,
and I thinks of ye when I wears this vest."  he recited.  After it was
over, Delilah stared at him. 
     "And..."
     "And what?"
     "That's it?"
     "Uh, no."  Whitbourne stammered.  "They's more, but I hasn't composed
it yet."
     Delilah laughed, and looked at the flowers.  "Talon does this sort of
thing, too.  He gets flowers somehow, and he gives them to Maggie.  Then he
tries to act romantic.  He usually does a worse job of it than you do, if
that makes you feel any better."
     Whitbourne grinned, and whooped.  "Well, good!  I'se not the worst!"
     Delilah smiled, and set the flowers carefully on the ground.  "No, you
aren't."
     She frowned.  "Why, though?  Why do you feel you have to do this?  You
know how I feel, and how love has different meanings for the both of us. 
Whitbourne, I don't know if I'll ever love you."
     "It's the hope that keeps us romancers going."  Whitbourne nodded,
still in a great mood.  "From the way ye said that, now I knows that ye
doesn't know if ye won't, either."
     Delilah laughed.  "You're not easy to shake, I'll give you that much."
     "Mr. Persistant, that's I."  Whitbourne grinned.  "Now, about that
invitation I gave to ye earlier..."
     "Whitbourne..."
     "It still stands.  Ye can come back to the castle with me, and we can
do something.  Xanatos has got more movies then HBO do, and more cable
stations than the CRTC."
     "The what?"
     Whitbourne waved his hand.  "It's a Canadian thing.  So, what does ye
say?  We's got plenty of stuff to do, tons of food...c'mon!"
     "Not tonight.  Maybe some other time.  But yes, I think I'd like
that."  Delilah caved.  Whitbourne stopped in midsentence, and looked as if
he was about to start ranting and roaring in joy.
     "All right, then!"  he cried happily, smiling.  "I'll see ye soon!"
     Delilah smiled.  She looked at the flowers, and picked them up off of
the ground.
     "Thanks again for these."  she smiled.  Tentatively, she gave him a
small kiss on the cheek.  Whitbourne's heart skipped a beat, and he touched
the side of his face in disbelief after she had parted.
     "Goodbye."  she stated, hopping off the roof and heading for the
Labyrinth.  Whitbourne waved, and watched her go.

***************************************************************************
*****

     "YAHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!"   somebody screamed at the top of their
lungs.  The passers by on the street below looked up to the top of the
Earle Building, where the sound had originated from, and gaped in amazement
as a gargoyle leapt into the sky and soared away.  A few Quarrymen
catcalled, a few PIT people cheered.  Most people, who were by now becoming
used to the idea of gargoyles in the city, ignored it, and went on with
their lives.

***************************************************************************
*****

     There was one person who was not at all pleased to see the gargoyle so
happy.  That person watched from a nearby roof, and stared on in horror as
Delilah kissed Whitbourne, and as he took off back to the Eyrie Building. 
A few interesting ways of killing the blue gargoyle ran through his mind,
but they were quickly dismissed.
     The stranger looked nearby, and slammed his fist down into the ledge. 
     "Blood of a bitch!"  he swore  "That asshole!"
     He ran a green, four taloned hand through his dishwater blond hair,
and muttered a few words that would have made a Cape St. Mary's fisherman
blush, and would have sent the nearest priest scrambling for a confession
box.
     He hadn't meant to be spying.  About two hours ago, he had left the
castle...a special Wednesday late-night X-Files episode had been on, and,
since it was his absolute favorite show, it could not be missed...and gone
to the Labyrinth.  Maggie had told him that Delilah had gone out, to get
some air.  He had gone to look for her, to do essentially the same thing
Whitbourne had been doing.  But he had stumbled across the pair, seen the
bouquet, and went livid.  It had been all he could do to keep himself from
marching down to that rooftop and telling Whitbourne where to go.
     Bonavista sighed, and clenched his fists. 
     "Wait till I gets home.  I'll tell that idiot gommil right what I
thinks."  Bonavista swore.  Nevermind that he had been the one to say that
each had as much right to court her as the other.  That was when he had
been ahead.
     This time....
     Bonavista kicked a rock over the side of the building, and took off
towards the castle.  He cursed, swore and ranted the whole way.

***************************************************************************
***************************************************************************
***************************************************************************
***************

Chapter Three

          Friends, Lovers, Enemies

The Labyrinth
7:02 a.m., EDT

     She sat at the kitchen table, humming quietly to herself, fiddling
with the flower arrangement and smiling.  Talon walked in, saw her, and
cracked a smirk.
     "And where were you all night?"  he asked.
     "Out."  Delilah replied cryptically.  "You aren't upset, are you?'
     "Why would I be upset?"  he replied, opening the cupboard and sneaking
a box of cookies.  "Those are some lovely flowers.  Did Malibu give them to
you?"
     "No.  Whitbourne did."
     Talon nodded knowingly.  "Aha."
     "He's in love with me."  Delilah turned.  Talon nodded again.
     "He's WHAT?"  came a voice from the doorway.  Both Talon and Delilah
turned, and saw Malibu, staring in horror at Delilah.
     "Malibu..."  Delilah frowned.  Malibu walked over, and stared at the
flowers, in a simple vase with water.
     "I thought you said he wasn't bothering you."  Malibu protested
weakly.  His eyes began to glow.  "I'll make him leave you alone, Dee..."
     "No, Mal.  It's all right."  Delilah sighed.  Talon looked at the
door, and discreetly crept out to avoid the private conversation he sensed
ensuing.
     "What do you mean, it's all right?"  Malibu asked, visibly upset.
     Delilah frowned.  "Look, Malibu, I know how you feel about me.  But
we're too close for that.  You know that.  I've told you many times.  If we
were to fall in love, it would be like incest."
     Malibu sighed bitterly.  "I know what you've told me, but still..."
     "But what?  All I said was he loves me.  I didn't say I loved him."
     "Do you?"  Malibu asked.
     Delilah looked away.  "I don't know.  Now that I think about
it...there's something between us, but I don't know if it's love."
     Malibu roared, and punched the wall.  He stomped away.
     "Malibu, wait!"  Delilah called back.  But then, somewhere up above,
the sun rose, and Delilah and Malibu petrified in the traditional crackling
of stone.

***************************************************************************
*****

The Eyrie Building
6:50 p.m., EDT

     The humans stared at the scene in amazement.
     Elisa had to admit it; in the three years she had known the gargoyles,
this was the most awkward collection of poses she had seen them frozen in. 
Matt Bluestone was walking around, looking at the stone-frozen chaos. 
Xanatos, Fox and Owen were staring at it, silently.  Alexander crawled over
to the main event, and sat back.
     "No, Alex."  Fox frowned, scooping the baby up.  "I don't think you
want to be that close when they wake up."
     "What do you think happened?"  Matt asked.
     "I have no idea.  I think it has something to do with Delilah.  But,
then again, who can tell with those two?"  Elisa replied.
     The eleven gargoyles were, for once, in a cluster in the middle of the
courtyard, nowhere near the parapets.  Most of them...Brooklyn, Carbonear,
Ophelia, Lexington, Angela and Hudson...formed a circle around the others. 
Bronx had petrified in mid bark.  Goliath and Broadway were in the center
of that circle, having frozen while trying to stop the carnage.
     That consisted of Bonavista and Whitbourne.  Both were on the ground. 
Bonavista's fist was raised, preparing to nail Whitbourne in the eye.  Both
had been snarling; both looked absolutely enraged with the other.  Elisa
could see three scratches along Bonavista's face, and Whitbourne's shirt
was ripped open along the stomach.
     The sun set, and the scene began to move.  The gargoyles roared, but
Bonavista and Whitbourne didn't stop.  Instead, they continued right where
they had left off twelve hours before.
     Bonavista got in about one punch before Broadway and Goliath separated
them.  They were dragged apart, and held back.
     "Let me at 'im!"  Whitbourne screamed, his eyes aglow, his fangs
bared.  He twisted and sqiurmed, trying to break free of Goliath's hold on
him. "I'll teach that jealous son of a bitch..."
     "Please watch your language, Whitbourne.  There's children around." 
Xanatos frowned, glancing at Alexander, who had watched the scene in
fascination.  The two settled down, and Broadway and Goliath let go.
     Bonavista touched his face, mildly surprised to find the slashes gone. 
"Is ye happy, ye cheatin' oonshick jackeen?"
     "Oonshick jackeen, am I?  Look who's talkin, ye binicky omadhaun..."
     "At least those Newfoundland words won't offend the baby."  Brooklyn
commented dryly.
     Goliath growled, and both Newfoundlanders shut up.
     "That's enough, both of you!"  he commanded sternly.  "The two of you
go to the library until I come to get you.  We'll decide on what to do
about this then."
     Whitbourne snarled, and stomped into the castle.  Bonavista followed.
     "And if I arrive to find you two fighting...."  Goliath yelled. 
Bonavista and Whitbourne nodded, and left.
     Carbonear looked away, chuckling.  "Just like at home.  Ye mentions
women, those two comes to scuffling."
     Ophelia rolled her eyes.  "And all because of a bouquet of flowers."
     Matt sighed, and walked over to Goliath.  "There's something I have to
tell you."
     "What?"
     "Yesterday, I got a visit from Martin Hacker.  Of the Illuminati."
     Goliath growled at the reference, but nodded his head.
     "He gave me a warning.  To tell you guys to watch out for an
organziation called Bras d'Or."
     Xanatos perked up.  "What?"  he asked.
     Matt turned.  "You got the memo, too, I know."
     "I was told to keep my eyes open for any information about them almost
three months ago.  I've found nothing on them."
     "Well, I did a little research, and I found out who they are.  They're
a branch of the Canadian Security and Intelligence Service dedicated to the
acquisition and research of magical and paranormal artifacts and beings."
     "So what does that have to do with us?"  Lexington asked.
     Matt sighed.  "From what Hacker told me, gargoyles fit into that
definition.  He told me that Bras d'Or has become interested in gargoyle
research.  I tried to find out more, but data on them is scarce."
     "Is that what you were doing in research last night?"  Elisa asked. 
Matt nodded.
     The gargoyles began to talk nervously amongst themselves.
     "Do they know about us?"  Hudson asked.  Matt shrugged.
     "And they's Canadian?  I didn't think old Johnny Chretien was into
that kind of stuff."  Carbonear frowned.
     "I doubt Prime Minister Chretien knows that much about it."  Xanatos
mused.  "Organizations like that keep to themselves.  I know that President
Clinton knows next to nothing about the Illuminati.  Nothing, that is, that
they don't want him to know."
     Carbonear frowned, and looked at Brooklyn.
     "Don't look at me.  You're the Canuck."  Brooklyn told her.
     "Why would the Illuminati be warning us about them?"  Goliath asked. 
"I didn't think they were that interested in our welfare."
     "Hacker told me that he got his orders from the Grandmaster of the
Illuminati to tell me.  Other than that, I'm just as much in the dark as
you are."
     "It does sound a little odd."  Hudson agreed.
     Goliath shook his head.  "Thank you for the warning.  We shall keep
our eyes open."
     Matt nodded, and then his beeper went off.  He frowned.  "Crap."  he
swore.  "It's Cornelia.  I forgot to pick her up."
     "She's got you wrapped."  Broadway smiled, holding up his pinky
finger.  Matt laughed sarcastically, and waved goodbye.
     Once he had left, Owen looked at Xanatos.  "If you wish, sir, I can go
search through our records for any mention of Bras d'Or or CSIS."
     "Thank you, Owen.  Fox, dear, are you coming in?  I think it's going
to rain."  Xanatos asked, looking at the darkening sky.  Rainclouds looked
to be materializing overhead.  Fox nodded.
     Goliath sighed.  "I believe I have an engagement to keep in the
library." he sighed.
    
***************************************************************************
*****

     Bonavista snarled at Whitbourne, who snapped back in turn.  Goliath
watched in irate annoyance as the two former friends tried to restrain
themselves from lashing out at each other again.
     "Well?"  Goliath growled. his arms crossed, leaning back against the
wall..
     Bonavista sighed.  "I'se sorry I snapped, Witless.  I shouldn't have
gotten contrary like that just because I saw ye giving her flowers and a
kiss."
     "And I'se sorry I called ye a lying, backstabbing nipplehead.  Maybe
if we hadn't started screaming at each other, then the fight wouldn't have
happened."  Whitbourne returned, not sounding all that sincere.  Bonavista
rolled his eyes; but then again, he hadn't sounded very sorry, either.
     Goliath noted that, and sighed.  "Look.  I realize that this is a
normal thing.  When I was the same age as you, I got in endless fights with
my rookery brothers over mates.  But then, when the mating flight took
place, it all seemed to sort itself out."
     "The what?" Whitbourne asked.  Bonavista had a similar look of
confusion on his face.
     Goliath frowned, and threw up his hands.  "I'll explain it later.  But
regardless, there's no excuse for just arriving on the castle, ranting at
each other for four hours, and then getting into a fight at sunrise.  That
is just immaturity, and I don't want to see it happen again.  Am I
understood?"
     Whitbourne and Bonavista nodded.
     "While you are members of this clan, then you must learn to behave in
our ways.  I realize growing up as you did, in Newfoundland with totally
human influences may have affected your ideas of what acceptable behavior
is, but here, we do not fight amongst one another.  That is a serious
matter, and by all rights, I should punish you.  But I don't think that's
necessary.  You both appear to have learned your lesson.  But if this does
happen again, the two of you will be punished.  Am I understood?"
     Nods again.  Goliath sighed.
     "Good.  Bonavista, you come with me.  You're on patrol tonight."
     "But..."
     "No buts.  Whitbourne shall have it tomorrow.  And it will only be for
a few hours.  After that, you can do whatever you wish with the rest of the
night."
     Bonavista muttered something under his breath, and shot Whitbourne a
dirty look.  Whitbourne responded by raising his right hand, and politely
raising the middle talon.
     "What did I just say?"  Goliath muttered.  "Stop it, both of you."
     "Sorry.  If ye doesn't mind, I'se going to the Labyrinth, now.  After
I changes my shirt, of course."  Whitbourne muttered.  He stomped off.
     Bonavista looked at Goliath.  "What a little prick, eh?"
     Goliath rolled his eyes, and shot him a look which read 'give it up.'

***************************************************************************
*****

     Whitbourne rooted through the box of clothes, and pulled out his track
jacket.  He wrinkled his nose.  He didn't like it.  Maybe one of the others
might wear it...
     He set it aside, and pulled out another white T-shirt, almost the same
as the one Bonavista had torn.  With a sigh, he took the ripped one off,
and pulled the new one on, struggling as he forced his wings to go through
the holes in the back.  He pulled his tan cotton vest on over it, doing the
same thing with the wing holes.  He inspected his blue jeans, which were
clean, but the hole for his left knee spike was getting a little too big.
     He sighed.  "Aw, well.  It'll do for tonight."
     He left the smoke hole, and walked towards the bathroom.  There was
new carpeting...Brooklyn's suicide attempt had left the bathroom floor in
ruins, and workmen had spent hours getting the bloodstains out of the
floor.  The carpet couldn't be saved.  Whitbourne shuddered at the memory
of that night, where his friend had almost died by his own hand.  Even
though nobody really talked about it, and Brooklyn was feeling much, much
better, there were still lingering aftereffects on the clan.  Carbonear had
told him once that she's had a nightmare that they had arrived in the
bathroom too late, and she had spent an hour shuddering afterwards.
     Whitbourne shivered.  He himself was always careful not to step in the
spot they'd found him in.  A little personal taboo.
     Whitbourne stepped in front of the mirror, and took Xanatos' bottle of
cologne.  He put a little bit on his neck, and ran his hands under the
faucet, wetting his hair, conscious of keeping his appearence Just So.  He
inspected himself.
     "My God, but I'm a handsome frigger." he thought.  He raised his lip,
checking to see if his teeth were clean, which they were.  Stone sleep took
care of all the hygenics.  Even though the younger gargoyles all had a
fairly regular habit of showering, this was more just augmenting the
already present cleanliness.
     He stepped out of the bathrooom, and walked outside, taking off for
the Labyrinth.

***************************************************************************
*****

Brooklyn Heights
7:37 p.m., EDT

     "So, what is it you want me to do?"  Bainbridge asked, watching as
some haulers carried the delicate equipment into the room.  He and the Bras
d'Or equipment had flown in from Ste-Agnes-de-Dundee this afternoon, but
Charlotte and Sevarius had had to arrange for transportation from JFK
airport to Sevarius' mansion in Brooklyn Heights.
     "Don't touch that."  Sevarius snapped as Bainbridge fiddled with
something on a knick-knack shelf.  "That's a souvenir from Loch Ness."
     Charlotte rolled her eyes.  "Mr. Dion, we need you to go to a place
called the Labyrinth.  You brought all the necesary equipment, I expect?"
     "Don't worry, Charl.  You know me.  I'm always prepared.  I'm the best
specimen acquisition person Bras d'Or has."
     "Where is your stuff?"  Sevarius asked.
     "With the rest of the equipment."  Bainbridge explained.  "You can
tell me what all the genetics hardware is for over dinner."
     "Over dinner?"  Charlotte asked.
     "I made reservations for the three of us at Le Bistro Rouenesse for
nine o'clock.  If we want to get into Manhattan in time, we'd better
hurry."
     Charlotte looked at Sevarius, and shrugged.  "Fine."  she agreed.
     She leaned in closer to Bainbridge.  "But I'm not sitting anywhere
near him."  she whispered.

***************************************************************************
*****

The Labyrinth
7:59 p.m., EDT

     "What do you want?"  Malibu asked coldly.
     "I came to see Delilah."  Whitbourne frowned.  The clone was blocking
his way into the Labyrinth, and whenever Whitbourne tried to pass him,
Malibu would move so that he couldn't.
     "I don't think that's a good idea."  Malibu scowled.  But there was an
ahem from the tunnel.
     "I think I'll be the judge of what's good for me or not, Mal.  Hi,
Whitbourne.  You can come in.  Malibu's just being stubborn."  Delilah
greeted, emerging from the shadows.
     "Thank ye."  Whitbourne smiled, pushing his way past Malibu.  "How's
ye tonight?"
     "I'm fine."  Delilah replied.  "Thanks again for the flowers."
     Malibu snarled, and stomped angrily back into the Labyrinth.
     "What's with him?"  Whitbourne asked.
     "He's jealous."  Delilah muttered.  "He thinks that you and I..."
     She looked at him.  "We aren't, Whitbourne."  she muttered, sternly. 
But there was a trace of doubt in her eyes.
     Whitbourne raised his hands.  "I never said nothing."
     The two walked along the tunnels of the Labyrinth.  Whitbourne
actually began to relax, and his true, free-spirited personality began to
emerge.  He began telling a few stories of his life in Newfoundland,
exaggerating a bit, but mostly telling the truth.  After the first story,
Delilah was smiling.  After the second, she was laughing.
     "...and so, buddy picks me up by the scruff of the neck.  I was right
scared, and I dropped the bottle.  Buddy had never seen a gargoyle in his
life, but he weren't scared.  He just says to me 'You break that window, I
breaks your neck.'  And Jason and Bonavista and Woodstock standing by,
pissing themselves laughing."
     Delilah laughed, and wiped her eyes.  "Oh my.  You've certainly had an
interesting life."
     "It had it's moments, me girl.  I wouldn't leave what I gots here in
New York for nothin' in the world, but I kind of misses them old days." 
Whitbourne sighed.
     He looked at her.  "I gots another tale to tell.  It's got nothing to
do with me, but I remembered it this evening, and I think ye might like to
hear it.  It's a bit of Newfoundland folklore, almost a legend.  About the
Irish princess of Carbonear.  That's a town up on the Avalon Peninsula back
home, and one of me best friends is named after it, incidentally."
     "How did you get your name?"  Delilah asked.
     "Whitbourne's a town in Newfoundland, too.  And I swears it's just a
coincidence that they's a town called Witless Bay right close by." 
Whitbourne sighed.  "Does ye want to hear the story?"
     Delilah smiled.  "All right."
     Whitbourne sat back comfortably, and began to relate the tale. 
     "A long time ago, way back when, there was an Irish princess called
Sheila Ne Geira.  She was pining for a love, and wishing she could be after
finding a man who cared for her, but alas, there was none.  Then, one day,
an English pirate by the name of Gilbert Pike showed up in Ireland.  He saw
that Irish princess, and he decided that he wanted her for his own.
     "So, he did the only thing any self-respecting pirate would have done;
he kidnapped her.  He began making threats to her, saying that if she
wouldn't give in to his advances and all that willingly, then he'd force
her to...is ye all right?"
     "Yes.  I was just thinking of something.  That this Gilbert Pike
seemed an awful lot like Thailog."
     "If ye wants me to stop..."  Whitbourne frowned.
     Delilah blinked.  "No, no.  Go ahead.  I was just thinking, that's
all."
     Whitbourne shrugged.  "Anyways, like I was saying, he was pretty much
after making her life miserable.  But after a while, Sheila began to
sympathize with him.  He grew gentler towards her, and soon he realized
that he loved her.  Not just for her body, but for her spirit.  She began
to feel the same way, and the two, once captor and captive, became lovers
and friends.  And then, the Irish princess convinced her pirate courter to
give up his errant ways.  But because of the lifestyle he had led, they
couldn't return to Ireland or England.  So they set their sails eastward,
and sailed up to God's country.  Known in some circles as Newfoundland."
     Delilah smiled.
     "They settled in the town of Carbonear, and grew more deeply in love
by the day.  Eventually, they had a child, who was thought to be the first
white kid born in Newfoundland.   And to their dying day, they stayed
together, heedless of Pike's sordid past or Sheila's refined upbringing. 
They grew more deeply in love with each passing day.  They lived together,
and they died together, such was their love.
     "And they says that up by the west end of Carbonear, that they's a
tomb with all the names of the Pike family."  Whitbourne finished.  "And
that under that tomb is the ashes of Sheila Ne Geira and her pirate lover."
     Delilah was staring at him.  "That was beautiful."  she stated after a
moment's pause.
     "I first heard that story when I was a kid."  Whitbourne sighed. 
"Jason Doyle...that's the buddy that was after taking care of the four of
us when we was growing up...he knew a lot about Newf folklore.  And about
all the quaint customs we has back where I lives to. Like giving places
wierd names."
     "Wierd names?"
     Whitbourne made a face.  "Ye gots the wierdest place names in
Newfoundland.  Ye gots Come-by-Chance, ye gots Dildo, ye gots South Dildo,
Joe Batt's Arm, Right-in-the-Run Island..."
     The two sat and talked for hours.  Delilah seemed to be enthralled by
every word he said, and Whitbourne realized it.  He began spinning more
tales of his island home, making every one to be romantic. 
     After he had finished the last one, he and Delilah began to stare at
each other for a long time. 
     Slowly, he moved forward.  She made no move to stop him.  She looked a
little nervous, however, and Whitbourne's mind suddenly told him to slow
down.  But it was too late; he couldn't stop himself. 
     He took her hand, and began to trace the delicate contours of her
tendons along the top of it.  She closed her eyes, and began to smile. 
Whitbourne almost gasped, but began to regain his composure. 
     "Whitbourne, we're not..."  Delilah protested, but it wasn't very
heartfelt.  She began to look like she wanted it as much as Whitbourne did.
     Whitbourne leaned in closer, and she did the same.  The two of them
began to kiss, longly, fully.  They did so for a long time, savoring the
taste of each other's lips.
     I gots her, he thought, before letting his mind slip away in the
thrill of the moment.
     He and Delilah kissed again.
     "Does this mean ye's okay with this?"  he asked, breathlessly.
     Delilah nodded.  "I guess so.  It's like it just happened."
     They kissed for a longer time, unaware that Malibu was watching from
the shadows.  His eyes were aglow, but he made no movement forward. 
Instead, he stared, and began to grind his teeth.  He spun around, and
walked away.

***************************************************************************
*****

Castle Wyvern
11:06 p.m., EDT

     As Brooklyn walked towards the kitchen, suddenly craving something
loaded with chocolate, he passed by the smoke hole.  There was a rhythmic
banging against the door, and muffled music was playing from behind. 
Curious, he opened the door, and a soccer ball instantly slammed him in the
stomach.  He cried out, and began to breath shallowly.
     "Aw, Christ!  I'se sorry!"  Bonavista apologized, setting the ball
aside.  "If I'd a' known ye's was going to be after opening the door..."
     "It's all right."  Brooklyn sighed, catching his breath.  "What are
you doing kicking a soccer ball around, anyway?"
     Bonavista sighed.  "Well, I likes soccer.  But when I gets mad, then I
goes and kicks the ball around while I listens to the Tragically Hip.  It
releases tension for me."
     "And the thing with Delilah's got you tense."
     Bonavista began kicking the ball against the opposite wall, in time to
the music.  "No flies on you, my son."
     "Well, it's kind of obvious, the way you and Witless were brawling out
there.  And the way you were muttering to yourself the whole patrol."
     Bonavista nodded.  "But see, it's cause when it comes to women,
Witless always manages to beat me out.  Like when we was younger, about
thirteen human years, me, him and Woody was all interested in Carb.  Woody
was too shy to do nothing about it, but me and Witless began competing for
her affections, and she chose Witless.  It wasn't anything committal, but
the two of them started spending lots of time together.  He even made a
silly little promise to marry her.  But the point is, I got shut out. 
Nothing came of that relationship; but the point is, I knows I'se at that
age where it's time to settle down and find me a girlfriend.  Like
Broadway, and Lexington and ye do."
     "I don't have a girlfriend."  Brooklyn frowned.
     Bonavista stared at him, and shrugged.  "If ye says so.  But Witless
is shutting me out again, and I feels left out, and unimportant.  And last
night, when he was after giving her flowers and such, and she kissed him, I
just snapped.  I couldn't help it."
     Brooklyn sighed.  "So you think that Delilah's going to pick him."
     "It's pretty obvious."
     "Well, then, look somewhere else.  There's more gargoyles out there. 
There's clans on Avalon, and Vancouver Island..."
     "But I doesn't live in those places, now, does I, stunned arse."
     Brooklyn blinked, and Bonavista smiled.  "Sorry.  I gets testy when
I'se tense." he apologized.
     Brooklyn continued.  "And, you know, if you decided not to go after a
gargoyle, then there's always the humans.  Look at Goliath and Elisa, how
happy they are.  And it's been done before."
     Bonavista shrugged.  "I guess so."
     He kicked the ball again.  "But still, I wants to keep trying for
Delilah for now.  Cause ye never know, I might break the law of averages."
     He put his foot on the ball.  "If anyone asks where I'm to, tell them
I went out for a spell."
     Brooklyn nodded, and Bonavista left the smoke hole.  The red gargoyle
sighed, and shut off the CD player.  He turned, and watched the green
Newfoundlander disappear down the hall.

***************************************************************************
*****

The Labyrinth
11:40 p.m., EDT

     "I loves ye."  Whitbourne whispered.  "Ye knows that."
     "Yes."  Delilah sighed.  "And there's something I feel for you, too. 
It feels like it's so sudden, like I haven't known you for long enough, but
I can't help it.  There's just something about you."
     "So then...does ye want to give it a shot?"
     "What?"
     "You know...the two of us.  As a couple.  Does ye want to give it a
shot?  If ye doesn't, I understands..."
     "Whitbourne, it's just so soon.  We've only really known each other
for a couple of days.  And I don't exactly know what I'm feeling yet.  I
don't know if I really love you, or not."
     Whitbourne's face fell, and Delilah sighed.  She took his hand, and
clasped it firmly.
     "But there is something."  she continued.  "Something that I need time
to confront.  And when I do, maybe I'll have an answer for you."
     Whitbourne nodded.  "That seems fair enough."
     "Why do you sound so nervous?"
     "Because, me girl."  Whitbourne bit his lip.  "I keeps thinking that
if we don't go fast, then Bonnie or that other buddy Malibu might step in,
and I'd lose ye before I even got ye."
     "You don't have to worry.  Malibu's my best friend, and the feelings I
have for him are resolved.  He wants to go further, but I could never do
that with him.  And Bonavista...he's a great guy..."
     "That he is." Whitbourne concurred, suddenly wishing the two of them
hadn't fought.
     "...but...I don't know.  With you, I felt a little nervous around you
because of that feeling between the two of us.  It was driving me away and
pulling me towards you at the same time.  There's nothing like that with
Bonavista.  He's like Malibu...he's my friend, but that's as far as I can
picture myself going with him."
     Whitbourne's expression changed slightly, to one of relief.   Then, he
smiled bemusedly.  "So what, ye feels this thing between us, then, right?"
     Dellah nodded.  "It's hard to explain.  But yes, there's a feeling I
have when I'm around you.  Like I want to understand you, but like I don't
at the sane time."
     "Isn't that kind of a paradox?"
     Delilah shrugged, having to recall the meaning of the word.  "I guess
so.  But maybe, when that feeling clears up, and I know exactly what I
think, I'll be able to give you a better answer."
     Whitbourne smirked.  "Me girl, I knows the perfect answer."
     He kissed her again.  At first, she resisted, with the spontaneity of
the first time no longer present.   But eventually, she gave in, and
returned the favor.

***************************************************************************
*****

Fifth Avenue
11:46 p.m., EDT

     The two people looked around nervously.  Finally, they saw the
rendezvous point...a bright yellow U-Haul truck, and walked over.
     Inside, Bainbridge Dion was busily fiddling with a canister.  He
punched a number into a keypad on the side of it, and set it next to
several other containers.  As the two men he had hired walked over, he set
a blanket over the canisters, and waved.
     "Hey, boys."  he greeted.  "Chaz and Logan, right?"
     Chaz Pyne, one of the 'boys', nodded.  "And you're the guy who called
up on the phone at the shelter, right?"
     Bainbridge nodded.  "Mmm-hmm.  Bainbridge Dion.  Sorry if I sound
prying, or anything, but you two are homeless, right?"
     Logan Wiley groaned.  "What was your first clue, that you phoned us at
a homeless shelter?"  He remembered the call that had come into the Fifth
Street Mission.  Someone had called, looking for people who had heard of a
mysterious place called the Labyrinth.  Since both Chaz and Logan had lived
there until that time a year and a half ago, when they had helped Fang in
his attempted coup, they had come forward, and had been told to meet the
guy here.  No explanations had been given.
     Bainbridge smiled.  He reached for the dashboard, and pulled out two
slips of paper.  They were postdated cheques, with no name filled in, each
valued at five thousand dollars.  Chaz and Logan's eyes widened.
     "It's yours.  All I have to do is fill in the name, and then, on May
10, you can cash those."  Bainbridge explained.  "All YOU have to do is
give me a little help."
     "What exactly do you want?"  Chaz asked, reluctantly handing his
cheque back.
     "All you have to do is help me set these up around the Labyrinth." 
Bainbridge grinned.  He pulled the blanket off of the canisters.
     "What are those?"  Logan frowned.
     Bainbridge laughed.  "A guy doesn't give all his professional secrets
away, does he?  Anyway, that's half your job.  The other half is, after you
show me the exact entrance to the Labyrinth, and after these puppies do
their thing, I need the two of you to help me carry some stuff to the
truck.  That way, we'll be out of there quicker."
     Chaz sighed.  "Sounds simple enough.  All right.  I'm in."  Logan
nodded, too.
     "Good."  Bainbridge grinned.  He looked around.  "So where is the Labyrinth, anyway?  I
didn't get very specific directions."
     Logan looked around, trying to place the neighbourhood.  "I think it's
over this way."
     "Could you make sure?"
     "Yeah, it is."  Chaz agreed.  "It's about three alleys down."
     Bainbridge peered out throuugh the windshield, and sighed.  "Down that
way?"
     "Uh huh."
     "Okay.  Hop in, you two."  he stated, as he opened the door of the
truck.  Chaz and Logan obliged.  As they did so, they came upon several gas
masks.
     Logan suddenly looked at the canisters.  "That's not like poison gas,
is it?"
     Bainbridge frowned, surprised that the guy had almost figured out what
was in it.  "Not quite.  It's a sleeping gas.  Trust me, the people I'm
working for don't want these guys dead."
     "What guys?  Fang and the others?"
     "I don't know their names.  If they're gargoyles, I guess so.  But the
answer is no.  Nobody's going to get killed tonight, my friend."
     He smiled.  "All we've got tonight is a simple delivery."

***************************************************************************
***************************************************************************
***************************************************************************
***************

Chapter Four

          What Happened That Night         

The Labyrinth
11:52 p.m., EDT

     Bonavista slipped through an entrance to the Labyrinth other than the
one the conspirators were using, fortunately for him.  He fell to the
subway tunnel, and walked towards the main entrance. 
     Upon entering, he found Malibu, who was sitting on the floor, tearing
pieces of paper into small strips.  He looked up, saw Bonavista, and
growled ominously.
     "Holy mother of God, my son!"  Bonavista protested.  "Ease up!  What
has ye got, rabies or something?"
     Malibu threw down the strips of paper, and stood up.  "Isn't one of
you bad enough?"  he asked, distrustfully.
     "What's got ye so tense tonight?"  Bonavista asked.  Malibu snarled,
but relaxed somewhat.
     "Whitborne and Delilah were kissing."  he reported.  Bonavista said a
rather nasty word under his breath.
     "Is they still here?"  he asked.  Malibu nodded.
     "Let's go see them, then.  I wants to have a talk with Witless."

***************************************************************************
*****

     They heard them coming from a mile away.
     Whitbourne groaned to himself as Bonavista and Malibu walked in.  The
two newcomers saw how closely Whitbourne and Delilah were sitting together. 
Bonavista threw up his hands, and Malibu sighed.
     "What does you two want now, my lads?"  Whitbourne asked.
     "He told me what the two of ye was doing.  You know, sucking face?"
Bonavista retorted, crossing his arms.
     Delilah looked incredulously at Malibu.  "You were spying on us?"
     Malibu blinked.  "No..."
     "Watching what we were doing is spying, Mal."  Delilah frowned
crossly.  "I can't believe you'd be that jealous."
     "What frigging business is it of yours what we was doing?"  Whitbourne
growled.  "Christ, Bonnie, don't be after starting this again.  As far as
I'se concerned, this whole scuffle between us is over."
     "Well, I doesn't think it is..."
     "If that's the way ye wants it, my son..."
     "I wasn't spying, but you shouldn't have been..."
     "I thought we were friends, and friends trust..."
     The four of them began talking loudly, and the room became a clobber
of noise.  Bonavista and Whitbourne looked to be about inches away from
beginning another fight, and Delilah and Malibu were practically yelling at
each other.  The situation began to escalate by the time Brentwood walked
into the room.
     He frowned.  "Does anybody want a drink?"  he yelled.  "This is the
third time I've asked."
     The others gr