Story #6
Description:  Demona's latest attempt to destroy humanity links Lexington's mind to that of an autistic savant.  The clan must search for a cure, and Lexington must search for himself.

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 any episodes after "Hunter's Moon, Part Three", for the most part.  Not because I don't like them, because I LOVE them, but because they and my universe conflict so badly that letting anything besides the first two seasons exist would make my stories unintelligible in terms of my plotline.  Finally, this story contains mature subject matter (language and intended sexual reference), so read at your own volition.  However, reader discretion is advised.
Autism is a disorder that medical science does not entirely understand.  My use of it in this story may not be entirely accurate, but every attempt has been made to make this story as factual as possible.

HISTORIAN'S NOTE:  This story begins two nights after "The Savant, Part I"  BEFORE YOU READ THIS STORY, READ PART ONE OF THE SERIES, "CONVERGENCE".

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For Christi, who's been one of my biggest influences, my best friends, my pickiest editors, and who is, as far as I know, the only Texan with seagulls in her eyes.

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In a room without windows, in the company of shadows,
You know THEY won't forget you, they'll take you in.
Emotionally shattered, don't ask if it mattered,
Don't let it upset you, just start again.

In a world under glass, you can watch the world pass
And nobody can touch you, you think you are safe.
But the wind can blow cold in the depths of your soul
Where you think nothing can hurt you till it is too late.

Run till you drop; do you know how to stop?
All the people walk right past you, you waved good-bye.
They all merely smiled, for you looked like a child
Never thought that they'd upset you, they saw you cry.

So take advice; don't question the experts.
Don't think twice, you just might listen.
Run and hide, to the corners of your mind, alone,
Like a nobody nowhere.

Reprinted from "Nobody Nowhere - The Extraordinary Autobiography of an Autistic"
Written by Donna Williams.

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LEXINGTON:  "What is wrong with me?"
"Convergence"

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

DEMONA:  "Duo menstis decere unus mens!"
(Show Lexington and J.D. being linked, "Convergence")
"Convergence"

LEXINGTON: "I'm the ultimate prodigy."
(Show Lexington playing the piano, "Convergence")
"Convergence"

SHELDON:  "If I were a gambling woman, I'd swear he was autistic."
(Show Lexington twirling around in a circle, "Convergence")
SHELDON:  "But there's no way he can be."
"Convergence"

J.D.:  "I couldn't help it.  I turned to stone."
"Convergence"

CHRISTINE: "When you live with autism, there's no such thing as out of character"
"Convergence"

OPHELIA:  "It's funny how you don't realize what something means to you until it's taken away."
(Show Ophelia standing near Lexington, "Convergence")
"Convergence"

GOLIATH:  "We are going to find out what Demona did to Lexington.  And we are going to make her undo it."
"Convergence"

WHITBOURNE:  "Delilah, does ye think I'm a wimp?"
"Convergence"

WHITBOURNE:  "We doesn't even live together."
(Show Whitbourne and Delilah kissing, "Lady Delilah's Lover")
"Heart of a Saturday Night"

WHITBOURNE:  "We'll find a woman for ye yet, Bonnie."
"Lady Delilah's Lover"

LEXINGTON:  "Found a woman, Bonnie?"
BONAVISTA:  "Maybe."
(Show Kennedy and Bonavista laughing, "Convergence")
"Take These Broken Wings"

LEXINGTON:  "I don't know who I am."
"Convergence"

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Prologue

  And The Band Played On

Castle Wyvern
November 17, 1997
8:34 p.m., EST

 A wise man once said that waiting can be one of the most damning, vexing things you  can go through.  Ask a fisherman's wife, waiting for news on her husband who was caught out in an Atlantic northeastern gale and doesn't know if he's still in the land of the living or gone to join the ranks of the men in the bottomless deep.  Put the question to a mother, whose son has been in a car accident and is lying in a hospital bed, comatose, and isn't sure wheteher he'll ever wake or be forever condemned to lie in an unnatural sleep.  They'll both tell you that waiting for news on a loved one, to put it lightly, is a time of half-sick worry and fear.
 Brooklyn, waiting for the psychiatrist to tell the clan what had happened to Lexington, was beginning to understand what that entailed.
 This night, two nights after Lexington's episode in the music store which had finally set him on the course of strangeness, Brooklyn and Carbonear were sitting on the castle parapets, staring out at the city.  They were apart...Brooklyn was sitting quietly, his hair hanging down over his face in bangs as he brooded.  Carbonear was looking at him worridly, silent, trying to offer support to her lover in his time of need.
 She gently took Hawthorne's pendant into her hand, and sighed.  "As soon as she knows anything, she said she'd be comin' up to tell us."  she tried to reassure.
 "I know."  Brooklyn replied.  "I just...I'm worried, Carb.  It's so frustrating, not knowing if he's all right, or what's wrong with him.  I've never seen anyone act the way he is."
 Carbonear nodded, and quietly took Brooklyn's hand.  "Bye, I'm sure everything'll be fine."
 She gave him a small kiss, meant to reassure.  He smiled, and gripped her hand...a reminder that despite all that had happened over the last couple of nights, he was still deeply in love with her.
 At that moment, Whitbourne and Delilah walked out from the castle.  Delilah had come to visit Whitbourne, and had heard all about Lexington.  They had gone down to see him.
 "How is he?"  Brooklyn asked, turning around.
 Whitbourne sighed.  "Brooklyn, my son, he's still after actin' as weird as ever."
 "He was just down there rubbing his eyes and staring into the lights."  Delilah continued.  "And the doctor was on the phone with somebody named Langille."
 Brooklyn's features twisted in anger.  "What did Demona do to him?" he asked.  He settled his back against the wall, and sighed.  The question was still up in the air; the other night's visit to Demona's house had given very few answers and little satisfaction.  The clan, unprepared to make an assault against Demona in her own home, had been forced to concede the so-called attack.  Meaning Demona still had the Grimoire of Gaulois, and meaning that an answer to what had happened between Lexington and that kid at the museum still wasn't available to them.
 Whitbourne rubbed his hands over his eyes.  "Sweet mother of frigg." he mumbled.  "Is anyone else after bein' as sleepy as I am, or is it just me?"
 Nobody replied.  Brookyn started brooding again, looking about ready to tackle Demona himself if the solution wasn't found soon.  Carbonear sat with him, trying to act as a buffer.  Whitbourne cleared his throat, and looked at Delilah.
 "Does ye want to go watch TV?" he asked Delilah.  "There ain't much we can do here, me girl."
 Delilah looked at Brooklyn and Carbonear, and nodded.  "Let's go." she replied.
 They turned, and walked into the castle.  The entire structure had an air of confusion about it, as if what had happened to Lexington had brought a standstill to the normal hustle and bustle.  They passed Angela and Broadway in the hall, on their way to the den, but only small, pleasant nods were exchanged.
 "So you have no clue what's wrong."  Delilah began.
 "Nope."  Whitbourne replied.  "This is all confusing for everybody.  Lex is cuttin' notches in the beam left and right, and nobody has a sweet blessed clue what he's doin'.  The doctor says it's like he's got...autism, I think she called it...but she don't know for sure."
 "Autism..." Delilah frowned, sounding out the word.  "Never heard of it."
 "Neither did I till the doctor started mentioning it.  Goliath's been after reading every book he can find on it.  He was sayin' last night that Lex was after actin' like a lot of autistic people he'd read about."
 They turned into the TV room, where Bronx was lying on the couch.  Whitbourne gave the dog a swat on the rump, which sent Bronx grudgingly off the sofa.  Whitbourne plopped comfortably onto the sofa, and took Delilah into his arms as she sat down with him.
 "This is after scarin' us all, me girl."  he mumbled.

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The Eyrie Building
8:45 p.m., EST

 "Thanks very much, Dr. Langille...okay...bye."  Beth Sheldon stated into the phone, and hung up.  She looked out from her desk.  Lexington was on the floor, drawing bright colorful pictures with the Crayolas.  Ophelia was with him, silently handing him any crayons he asked for.  As soon as the female gargoyle realized she was off the phone, she looked up questioningly.
 "He said the same thing he did last night."  Sheldon replied, responding to the unspoken question.  "That it sounds almost exactly like some cases of autism he's treated before."
 "So he's autistic."  Ophelia prompted.  Sheldon shook her head.
 "There's no way he could have just developed it overnight, though." she frowned, taking a drink from a bottle of water on the desk.  "I don't understand this at all."
 Ophelia looked downcast, and turned back to stare at Lexington.  He took the red crayon, and stared at it.  As they both watched, he broke a piece off, and started softly rubbing the crayon, marvelling in the waxy feel and greasy texture.
 He's associating with an inanimate object, Sheldon thought.  My Christ, but combined with everything else he's doing, you can't help but think 'autism'.  How much more do you need?
 An explanation, the stubborn part of her insisted.  How did he become autistic in the course of two days?  You know that's impossible.  A medically astronomical improbability.  To put it bluntly, there's no possible way.
 Then what do you think it is, Dr. Sheldon? she asked herself.  And the skeptic fell silent.
 Lexington put the crayon in his mouth, and chewed it a bit before spitting it out.  Once he discovered the red one tasted bad, he tried the green one, the blue one and the purple one.  Finally, Ophelia took the crayons off of him, after repeated attempts to get him to try to stop eating them.  He stared obliviously at her, barely even registering her presence...but he did stop eating the crayons, at least.
 She allowed a brief smile...Ophelia had been down here all night and the night before.  She simply refused to leave Lexington's side.  Sheldon would be naive to think that concern was the only motive...she wasn't stupid, and she knew heartsickness when she saw it...but the odd thing was, Ophelia didn't look like she knew that was what it was at times.  Whatever.  It wasn't Sheldon's place to pry.
 Sheldon sighed.  "If I didn't know it took place over the course of two days, then, I'd say autism without even a second thought.  But..."
 Ophelia nodded, and sighed.  "There's a bit of a more complicated story than we've been telling you."  she sighed smally.
 Sheldon looked up.  "What?"
 Ophelia winced.  "Dr. Sheldon...you wouldn't happen to believe in magic, would you?"

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Levin Residential Building
8:52 p.m., EST

 Over a cup of Sanka instant coffee and generic sugar donuts from the supermarket, Christine and Thomas LeJeune were sitting at the kitchen table.  J.D. was in his bedroom, playing the piano.  At least he's not running around pretending he's a gargoyle anymore, Chrsitine thought, looking at the empty spot where a lamp had once stood, smashed when J.D. had tried to 'glide' and ran around the room with his arms spread.
 "Did Matt tell you anything?"  Thomas asked.
 "I couldn't get a hold of him."  Christine replied.  Two nights ago, after J.D's outburst, Matt had called and asked if J.D. was acting strangely.  While Christine had been a bit unfazed by the question, since there were bigger things on her mind, she couldn't help but shake the feeling that Matt was privy to a little information Christine could have used.
 Over the last couple of nights, since J.D.'s frenzy in the bathroom, he had been acting very oddly.  He slept throughout the entire day...as soon as the sun came up in the morning, to bed he went.  Christine hadn't been able to check with Dr. Langille about it yesterday, since it had been Sunday, but she had called today.  As she told the doctor about J.D.'s sudden nocturnalism, she had ended up telling him about some of the other things that weren't adding up.  His sudden obsession with gargoyles.  His insistance that he WAS a gargoyle.  His repeated efforts to glide around his bedroom, more often ending up in a sore behind when he jumped off the bed and spread his arms.  And the development of a new personality, whom J.D. called Lexington.  Langille had said that it was just typical autism.
 But that reassurance did little to reassure Christine LeJeune.  After all, mothers have a second sense about their children, and something told her that J.D. was NOT fine.  Matt wasn't being any help, and he and Cornelia weren't telling her anything to confirm her suspicions.
 "I'm going to run some errands tomorrow."  Christine stated suddenly.  "When I get a chance, I'm going to run down to the Met and find out just what went on that night."
 "What?"  Thomas blinked.  "Hon, they've been saying the same thing since the robbery.  A thief broke in, and accidentally hit a gas main.  There was a very small explosion."
 "Right."  Christine looked at him.  "And after that, our son begins acting very weird and develops a strange obsession with gargoyles.  I want to check it out, Tom.  Just for peace of mind."
 Thomas looked at her gently.  "I never said don't go.  I'm just saying that maybe it's just a phase.  He's autistic, Christine, and he has obsessions that go in and out like the tide."
 "Yeah."  Christine agreed.  'You're probably right.  I just want to check to make sure."
 She got up, and walked to the sink, setting her coffee cup on the counter and listening to the distant music from J.D's piano.  Thomas walked up behind her, and gave her a hug.
 "You wanna go out?" he asked.  "Mrs. Trevino would probably take J.D. and Crystal for a couple of hours."
 Christine smiled.  "Gloria loves our kids." she agreed.  "Maybe."
 She gave her husband a kiss, and walked towards the bedrooms to check on her children.

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The Eyrie Building
9:00 p.m., EST

 The masterpiece was finished.  Lexington held up the paper proudly, and stared at it.  It was a swirling montage of color, and a true work of art.  He showed it to Ophelia and the doctor, but they didn't even notice.  Ophelia was talking to the doctor about something that had the human staring at her in disbelief and vehemently shaking her head.
 Pay attention to me!  Lexington shouted mentally.  He snarled, and walked over to the two of them.  They looked at him, and started talking about him.  He didn't like the sound of their voices.  They were too loud and they weren't talking to him.  He started talking, just trying to drown them out, not caring if he made any sense at all.  After a while, they left the room, obviously deciding to continue their conversation somewhere where they could confer in peace.  Lexington didn't care.  They were leaving him alone, and they were out of 'his world'.  He could be alone.
 He felt the contact with J.D.'s mind, and realized he was playing the piano.  He was enjoying himself tremendously, so Lexington, of course, was suddenly happy, too.
 He began to dance.  Slowly, surely, he started moving around the room, losing himself in the music being played a hundred city blocks away.  It seemed like a good idea, so he did it.  Deep down, he could feel the part of him that was struggling to connect with 'the world'...what he now thought of as what he had once been, before being merged with J.D....screaming, trying to break free.  That part of him wanted to go and tell the others he was fine, and to reassure Ophelia.  For a brief moment, Lexington wanted to...but then he remembered that that would mean being in 'the world', and that was the last thing he wanted.  'The world' was too complicated.  Since that night at the museum, he didn't feel at home in 'the world' anymore.  It was too cold and distant, too separated from himself.  No, 'his world' was much better, and it was personal and safe.  Much more suited to him.  So that's where he would stay.
 He suppressed the part of him that wanted to rejoin 'the world', and started trying to kill it.  Not physically, but mentally.  He buried that part of himself deep within his mind, and shut it into a proverbial locked room.  And the part of him in 'his world' locked the door, and threw away the key.
 Oddly satisfied, Lexington continued to dance.

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 "No.  I'm sorry, but that's just impossible."  Sheldon stated.  "There's no such thing as magic."
 "And I suppose gargoyles are very high on your conventional credibility list."  Ophelia replied, exasperatedly.
 "Well..."  Sheldon muttered.  "Okay.  Let me see if I have this right.  You're telling me that at that museum robbery you were talking about, the thief was actually a gargoyle."  Ophelia nodded.
 "I don't have a problem with that."  Sheldon stated.  "But you're also saying that this gargoyle cast a magic spell on Lexington and an autistic kid."
 Again, Ophelia nodded.  She looked back through the door...Lexington had begun incoherently babbling, trying to drown them out, so Sheldon had suggested that they step outside to discuss what Ophelia was saying.
 "But..."
 "It's what happened.  Ask any of the gargoyles in the castle.  Ask Detective Elisa Maza, or Matt Bluestone or his fiance.  They'll all tell you the same story I did."
 Sheldon opened her mouth.  Closed it.  Opened it again.  Looking like a goldfish, she sighed.
 "There's no other explanation for him," she muttered sourly under her breath, "so why not magic?"
 "You don't have to believe me.  I'm just telling you because I thought it might help you determine what's wrong with him."
 Sheldon frowned, and looked at her.  "Okay.  Let's just assume for the sake of argument that your story is true.  He was perfectly normal, until he got a spell cast on him.  That spell was also cast on an autistic person at the same time."
 "Elisa told us that he had autism, yes."
 Sheldon looked through the slightly ajar door, and watched as Lexington danced slolwy around the room.
 "The scary thing is, it's starting to make sense." she muttered.
 Ophelia crossed her arms, and looked at the doctor.  "So can you help him out any more, now?"
 "I don't know."  Sheldon muttered.  "That might explain some things, if your story was true...maybe that magical spell of yours made him autistic.  I'd like to meet with that boy, if it's at all possible."
 She sighed.  "I don't know how you can stand there telling me that he was hit with a magic spell and make it all sound so sane."
 "Maybe the fact that I'm a gargoyle might have something to do with it."  Ophelia muttered.  She opened the door, and walked in, moving next to Lexington.  He didn't even acknowledge her presence; instead, he continued to dance around the room, to music only he could hear.
 A wave of bitterness and despair washed over Ophelia.  To see him like this...it broke her heart.  Once a close friend, once a gargoyle warrior...now a very confused person who couldn't communicate with the world outside of himself.
 Oh, Lexington, I'm so sorry, Ophelia thought.  She had to restrain herself from reaching out to touch him, to let him know she was there for him.
 Instead, she sat down in the chair next to the desk, folding her wings around herself.  She watched Lexington, feeling a pang of sorrow in her heart.

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 "Anything?"  Elisa asked.
 "Nothing."  Goliath replied, shutting the book and setting it aside on the table.  "Xanatos doesn't have any information on the Grimoire of Gaulois or what that spell might have actually done."
 Elisa nodded.  She had come to visit the gargoyles on her night off, and had ended up meeting with Goliath in the library as he searched in vain for answers.  But, Elisa thought, answers were hard to find when you weren't even sure of the right questions to ask.
 "Well, maybe we should go to Demona again."  Elisa frowned.
 "We will, but we have to do it on our terms."  Goliath cautioned.  "Last time, Demona was more than ready to take us on, and with the Grimoire and the laser cannon, there was no way we could have beaten her without unacceptable risks and causalties."
 "But Dominique Destine isn't that well prepared."  Elisa reminded him.  "Matt and I could go to Nightstone Unlimited during the day, and..."
 "No."  Goliath stated sternly.  "I don't want you endangering yourself during the day, when..."
 "Goliath, I'm not a helpless maiden in distress.  And besides, there isn't much Destine can do anyway.  I'll be fine."
 She sighed.  "But there's one lead we're forgetting."
 "What might that be?"
 "The kid.  J.D. LeJeune."  Elisa replied.  "We could talk to him and his family, and maybe that'll give us some clue as to what is going on.  Why Lexington is acting like the boy supposedly does, according to Matt."
 Goliath nodded...Matt Bluestone had said that Lexington was acting the same as J.D. in many respects...most notably his sudden musical abilities, but just as much the other odd personality traits.  Mechanical obsessions.  Social detachment.  Echoing what was said to him instead of giving a response.
 "Perhaps that would be a good idea."  Goliath agreed.  "But how..."
 "Matt and I will think of something."  Elisa assured.
 She sighed, and rubbed her eyes.  "Ever since this started, I feel tired enough to sleep a year."
 Goliath nodded, his own sleepy-looking eyes speaking volumes.  He stood up from the stool, and stretched.
 "Perhaps we should go to see how Lexington is doing."  Goliath sighed.

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 The castle's newest free-rein guest, meanwhile, was talking with her main connection.  About the same subject; even though she didn't know Lexington all that well, Kennedy was still unnerved by the effect the business was having on Bonavista.  And she, coincidentally, was telling him a tale that focused on the word which had been whispered sporadically around the castle since Saturday night.
 "Kerry says he sounds autistic."  Kennedy stated.  Kerry Woodworth, her fraternal twin brother, was a psychiatry student at NYU, and in between the times he wasn't babbling about the people he'd met (usually a Richard "Ricky" O'Neal, who, by Kerry's view was very odd) he often told Kennedy about the amazing stuff he learned in class.  Kennedy often joked that Kerry was so thrilled by psychiatry because he could relate to all the nuts, gentle ribbing which Kerry laughed off.
 Bonavista wasn't laughing, however.  "Autism." he muttered.  "Sweet mother of frigg, but this is gettin' so confusing.  What the Christ is autism, anyway?"
 "It's a mental disorder that leaves the victim unable to relate socially to the outside world."  Kennedy recited.  "That's what Kerry told me.  He said that Lex is showing all the signs of autism, and he should know...he did a research paper on autism his last semester last year."
 "So buddy's as close to an expert as we knows, is what ye's sayin'."
 "No."  Kennedy frowned.  "He's just a student too.  He doesn't know for sure.  But he said that 'my friend' was exhibiting classical autistic symptoms."
 "Funny how Dr. Sheldon can't pick up on that and she's after bein' a practising psychiatrist."  Bonavista muttered sourly.  He picked up a tangerine from the fruit dish on the kitchen table, and peeled it with his talons.
 "Well, still, Kerry's just guessing."  Kennedy sighed.  She looked at Bonavista.  "You're really worried, aren't you."
 "Yeah."  Bonavista replied.  "Lex is one of my best friends...I'se been livin' with him for over a year, now, and he's almost like family, me girl.  Of course I'se worried."
 "Well, I'm sure everything will work out."  Kennedy smiled.  She placed her hand on Bonavista's, and he blinked; it was the most personal physical contact they had shared since the kiss which had introduced them.  Kennedy was filled with an out of place feeling of closeness, that she almost thought might have been the beginnings of a crush.
 She dismissed that thought from her head; after all, he was a gargoyle, and while they were very good friends, it would be too strange to...
 Why are you even thinking about it? she asked herself, and the subject was dropped.
 Bonavista was just about to say something, when the kitchen phone rang.  Bonavista got up, and snaked his tail to the reciever.  Popping another piece of tangerine in his mouth, he gave the bottom of the reciever a little shove with his tail.  It fell off the hook, and plopped into his open hand.  Sucking the juice out of the fruit, he held the reciever up to his ear.
 "Hello?"  he asked.  "Bonavista...what?  Sweet frigg!  Yeah, I gots Kennedy up here...yeah, I'll bring her down too.  She's sure?...Uh huh.  We'll be right down, Ophelia.  G'bye."
 He hung up the phone.  "That was Ophelia down at the shrink's office."  he stated.  "She said that Dr. Sheldon's after deciding what to diagnose Lex as, and she's wantin' us all down there to tell us."
 Kennedy stood up.  "Mind if I come?"
 "Course not."  Bonavista told her.  "C'mon, me girl."

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Holton Apartment Building
9:36 p.m., EST

 Cornelia Stallman sat on her fiance's couch, worridly watching TV.  Matt wasn't home; he was at work, but Cornelia had a set of keys to his apartment, and he had expressly told her that his place was hers, as far as he was concerned.  Besides; his apartment had better cable reception than hers.
 But there was little interest in watching TV right now.  Right now, she was trying to sort through the tangle of thoughts that yesterday's brunch had left her with.
 She had gone to a small retaurant with Christine LeJeune, her adopted sister, yesterday.  She and Christine had always been close, even though Christine was roughly ten years her senior, and at home, the two had been inseparable.  Cornelia had even been the maid of honor at Christine's wedding, and Christine was obviously going to be the maid of honor when she married Matt in February.  (Matt had picked out the best man, too; a guy he knew from work named John Morgan.  Cornelia had met him, and thought he was a very nice man)  So they had no qualms about sharing things that were worrying them.  Until yesterday.
 Christine had been worried about J.D.  While that was nothing terribly new, she had a new reason...apparently, J.D. had developed a very large obsession with gargoyles.  While Christine didn't mind gargoyles in the least (she had signed a petition last year calling for the city to disband the Quarrymen, and was an on-again off-again member of PIT), she did have a problem with her autistic son sleeping all day, and becoming convinced that he could glide.  Christine had said that she was living in fear that she would one day find J.D. standing on the roof, ready to jump, trying to fly.
 It was a matter of safety, Christine had stressed, with a mouthful of bagel in her mouth.  She was beginning to think that J.D's sudden fascination with gargoyles could possibly lead to him hurting himself, or worse.  Cornelia, sitting there and quietly nodding her head as she ate her Danish, had been filled with the compulsion to tell her what had really happened.  How, in reality, the story about a robber attacking the museum and hitting a gas main was a crock of hooey.  But just as she was about to say it, she had decided not to.  Telling Christine a tale of how J.D. had been blasted with a green beam of light, along with a gargoyle, would probably not do much to ease her mind.
 And now, she was debating that decision as she sat on the couch watching 'Melrose Place'.  In that she was now beginning to think that maybe it would be best to tell Cornelia what had really happened.
 Yeah, right, part of her insisted.  There's a laugh and a half.  After I tell her the story, we can have a chuckle together while she calls the men in the white lab coats to take me away to the psych ward at Manhattan General.
 But maybe she might believe you, another voice spoke up.  You never know; if she's worried enough, she'll accept anything.  And it is the truth.
 But what if she doesn't? she asked herself.
 But what if she does?
 Cornelia sighed, and stared at the phone.  She almost called Christine, but retracted her hand before it touched the reciever.  Instead, she turned her attention back to the good old boys and girls at Melrose Place, still stewing in her own thoughts.

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Queens
9:47 p.m, EST

 Somebody else was watching Melrose Place, too, but it was really only serving as background noise.  Demona didn't especially care for human television programs, but on occasion, she would turn it on, just to alleviate the incessant quiet of her large house.  Just a little distraction, to make it sound like there was more activity than there really was.
 Right now, Demona was...well, there was no other word to describe it besides loafing.  Lounging in a deck chair on the balcony, drinking gin and staring at the city.  She did it, infrequently...simple things like loafing and soaking in hot tubs were sometimes just as pleasant as killing humans, she often told herself...but still, it was relaxing.
 Her eyes were sore.  She had been poring over the Grimoire of Gaulois almost nonstop since the night she'd gotten it.  She'd taken it to work, today, and skipped out on filling out her affidavits for the District Attourney's office regarding a lawsuit against some corporation in Anaheim just to skim through it some more.  There were plenty of spells that could become potentially useful...
 ...an enchantment to cause massive storms that would surely kill everyone within five hundred miles of the area it was cast...
 ...a spell to alter the past, possibly useful in rewriting history to ensure that the human race went extinct in the time of Jesus Christ, or something...
 ...a spell that irrevocably drained a person's mind of all intelligence and would leave them a drooling vegetable, with absolutely no hope of recovery, for the rest of their lives...
 ...and there was even a geas that bound every person in the world's lives together, much like MacBeth's and her own, only the restriction was that when one died, all died.  For good. Demona wasn't too crazy about that one, as it might affect MacBeth and therefore bring about her own demise.  But regardless, there were plenty more where that came from.  And those weren't even the most dangerous.  One spell was designed, in modern terms, to cause a gravimetric fault that would rip the entire planet into pebbles.  Demona now knew that the Grimoire of Gaulois was more dangerous than the Grimorum Arcanorum had ever been.
 Sighing, she poured a tumbler full of gin, and settled her hand on a carton of orange juice next to the chair.  She hesitated, and drank it straight.
 Just because it's dangerous, she thought, doesn't mean that there isn't something I can do with a little less risk to myself.  I just have to look for it a little more, and I'll find the perfect means to rid the planet of those annoying little pests.
 She downed the gin, and set the glass aside, still staring quietly at the Manhattan skyline across the river.

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

The Eyrie Building
9:53 p.m, EST

 "He's autistic."  Sheldon sighed, looking at the clan of gargoyles (and two humans) in the room.  On the floor, Lexington was humming to himself, playing with a small porcelain figurine of a kitten with a ball of yarn.  "I still think it's medically impossible for him to have developed autism in the space of three days, but Ophelia has informed me that there might have been some...outside factors...in that."
 Ophelia turned to the rest of the clan, an unshed tear sitting in the corner of her eye.  She quickly wiped it away, hoping no one else had seen it.  "I told her about the robbery."  she explained.  "How Demona cast the spell on Lexington."
 The rest of the clan was beyond caring.  "Autistic..."  Broadway whispered, staring at his friend.  Lexington looked up, and past them...shuddering at Goliath, Angela and Elisa's hair, but otherwise completely oblivious to the fact that he wasn't alone in the room.
 "Is there anything we can do?"  Hudson asked.
 Sheldon shook her head.  "Medical science doesn't even completely understand what exactly autism is, let alone know how to cure it.  Anything short of...other magic...would be useless."
 "So you're saying that he's going to be like that the rest of his life?"  Brooklyn demanded, his eyes flaring.  His face was twisted in rage, sorrow and helplessness.
 "No."  Sheldon replied.  "I'm not saying that at all.  I'm saying he'll be autistic, but not mentally incompetent.  Autistic people can be helped to regain normal places in society, and I would go so far as to say that with a little help on your part, you could bring Lexington back to the point where you could almost safely call him 'normal'.  And there are times in his case where he has almost remarkable periods of coherency...as if he was perfectly normal.  They're brief, and few and far between, but they're there.  However, Lexington will most likely be autistic for the rest of his life, yes."
 She walked to the desk.  "Since Ophelia's been in here almost constantly for the past two nights, she knows a lot about Lexington's condition.  What I've done besides is taken some pamphlets I have on autism, and I had them copied.  I suggest you read up on the disorder, and learn how you're going to have to treat Lexington for the next while.  He's very sensitive to a lot of things like social contact that we all take for granted.  The pamphlets will help you deal with him, and get a general idea of some of the things he does.  And if you have any questions, come get me.  In the meantime, you can take Lexington with you.  He'll feel safe in the castle, and as long as you take it very easy on him for the next couple of nights, he should start to adjust."
 Sheldon handed out the pamphlets to all of the gargoyles.  Angela stared at the cover.  "Q & A : Autism" it read, and showed a cartoony picture of a little girl, playing with a teddy bear.  She opened it up, and flipped through it.
 "Question: why do autistic people repeat what you says at times?"  Whitbourne read aloud from the pamphlet.  "Answer: often times, what ye says to them is too complicated to understand, so they cannot respond.  However, since they has a need to respond to ye, they repeats what ye says.  Sweet mother of Christ..."
 "Thank you, doctor."  Goliath rumbled.  "Lexington...come with us."
 Lexington ignored him, and hummed.  Sheldon rolled her eyes at Goliath, and knelt.
 "Lexington, your friends want you to go with them to the castle."  she stated quietly.  Lexington stood up, and started trotting over towards the gargoyles, looking very intimidated.
 Goliath growled, and looked at Sheldon.  "Let's go."  he stated, and they headed to the elevator for the castle.
 As he walked out of the room, Lexington turned back, and made a brief eye contact with Sheldon.  Beth matched his gaze, and for an all too brief second, she could almost see the gratitude in that stare.
 Then Lexington turned away, and he was gone.

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

Castle Wyvern
10:14 p.m, EST

 "So what are we going to do?"  Elisa asked.  The entire clan, as well as Elisa, Kennedy, Delilah and the Xanatos', were gathered in the library.  Lexington was sitting quietly at the desk, drawing stick figures all over a dictionary, and reading out some of the words.  He was exhibiting mechanical obsessions, according to Sheldon's pamphlet.  Goliath had read through it, and was stunned as to the complexity of what had happened to Lexington.  Unable to understand social cues...unable to comprehend what was said to him...abandoning reality in favor of his own private little world...
 ...and the music.  Always, the music.
 "We have several options."  Goliath stated.  "We know that Lexington's autism isn't natural...there is no other explanation for it.  We know that the other victim of the spell was autistic, so therefore, we can deduce that Demona's spell at the museum several nights ago was what caused it."
 "You know what I think...we should go there and make her undo it."  Broadway muttered.  Brooklyn, Hudson, and oddly enough, Carbonear, all nodded in agreement.
 "That is what I think too."  Goliath replied.  "However, we will have to make utmost care to ensure that we do not become victims of Demona's evil ourselves."
 "I already talked to you about seeing her during the day."  Elisa noted.  "She can't do nearly as much in human form, and it's easier to ensure that there are witnesses."
 Goliath nodded.  "As well, I think we should consider meeting with this J.D. LeJeune's family.  Perhaps the spell affected him too, and perhaps we may find clues as to how to reverse it if we get them both together."
 "How's we gonna explain all this to buddy's family?"  Whitbourne asked, cuddling Delilah closer.  He looked at Lexington.
 "We'll think of something."  Goliath replied.  "But we should also remember Dr. Sheldon's words.  From now on, until we find a way to reverse the spell, everyone assumes care of Lexington.  We are going to protect him, but we are also going to encourage him to return to us.  If it does turn out that the spell cannot be undone, then we shall make every attempt to encourage Lexington to improve himself, and regain some of what has been taken from him."
 "All of my resources are at your disposal, Goliath."  Xanatos frowned.  "If there is anything Lexington needs, don't hesitate to ask."
 Goliath looked at him, feeling mildly touched.  "Thank you." he muttered.
 Ophelia stood up, and looked at Goliath.  "Goliath...with your permission, I'd like to stay with Lexington as much as possible.  He needs me, and I want to help him get through this."
 Everyone was silent for a second, and Goliath knew that everyone was thinking the same thing...speculating on Ophelia's motive.  "That is more than all right."  he said to Ophelia, shooting appraising glances at everyone in the clan.  "It can hardly hurt, and you have shown your concern for him since the incident began."
 "Thank you."  Ophelia replied, looking back at Lexington.
 "As for the rest of you...I cannot say much, other than try to be tolerant of Lexington's needs.  You may go.  Brooklyn, Hudson, I would like to speak with you in a few minutes regarding how we are going to approach the search for a cure."
 Brooklyn and Hudson nodded, and then everyone left.  Ophelia stayed right were she was, however, and walked over to Lexington.  Goliath watched, and walked over.
 "Ophelia..." he began.  She looked up.
 "You're wondering why, aren't you."  she stated casually.  "Why I want to look out for him when I was treating him so badly."
 "You weren't treating him badly.  Where would you get an idea like that?"  Goliath asked.  "The two of you are very good, close friends, and I never saw anything besides respect, trust, and amicability between you."
 "But Lexington wanted more, and I didn't give it to him."  Ophelia replied.  "He wanted me to love him, and I wouldn't.  I was too concerned with my own feelings...and I do feel something for him, but I never let it out..."
 She had begun to talk faster, almost stumbling over her words, and Goliath suspected that in a second she would either begin yelling or crying.  Impulsively, he took her shoulders, and hugged her.  She began to sob against his shoulder.
 "Why?"  she asked.  "Why did I have to leave it?  It's too late, and now he'll never know..."
 "He will know."  Goliath replied.  "You'll tell him.  It'll be the first thing you tell him once we cure him."
 "What if we don't?"  Ophelia asked.  "What if he's...autistic...for the rest of his life?"
 "Ophelia,"  Goliath whispered, trying to comfort her.  "He'll be fine..."
 She looked up at him resolutely.  "I'm going to stay with him." she stated matter-of-factly.  "I'm going to do everything I can to make sure he gets better.  I'm going to spend all my time with him, and I'm going to help him."
 Goliath looked at her, and nodded.  "He would...WILL...apreciate that.  He's lucky to have a friend like you."
 Ophelia made a small, ironic smile, and sighed.  She turned, and stared at Lexington.  Goliath let go of her, and stepped softly away.
 As he watched, Ophelia knelt besides Lexington, and began to talk to him.  he responded a bit to her presence, and started talking back to her, sometimes repeating what she had just said, sometimes not making any sense at all.  But sometimes, he acted almost like his old self, and he even said something that was funny enough to make them both burst out laughing.  He started drawing all over the dictionary again, and Ophelia just watched him, being there for him.   All too suddenly, Goliath was filled with a sense of helplessness.  Unable to aid Lexington's recovery, unable to do anything except watch as Lexington let the autism take control...
 Goliath sighed smally, turned, and left the library.

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

Chapter One

  A Room Without Windows

Parliament Hill, Ottawa, Ontario
November 18, 1997
11:46 a.m, EST

 Francis Deacon's day was shot as soon as he saw the man in the hallway.  Jet black, short cropped hair, a stylish casual suit, a pair of glasses that shaded over in bright light...
 Deacon sighed, and walked over to the director of the Magical/Paranormal Investigations Bureau...Bras d'Or...and sighed.  "Hello, Jean."
  "Hey, Frank."  Jean-Francois LaFontaine greeted back.  "Feel like going out for lunch?  I've got a car waiting outside."
 Deacon groaned, and nodded.  "Jean, I've told you enough times that I can't get any more money for...your department..."
 LaFontaine laughed.  "Frank, save the shop talk for the car!  So, how's the honorable Member of Parliament for Winnipeg Centre these days?  Jean Chretien still as windy in the caucus meetings as ever?"
 They made small talk as they stepped out of the Parliament Buildings (LaFontaine nearly bowled over Paul Martin as he walked by)  Jean asked how Francis' wife and kids were, to which Francis answered they were fine, thank you very much.  They walked over to a small, unobtrusive limosine parked just past the Eternal Flame.  As they got in the back, LaFontaine suddenly stared at Deacon with bloody blue murder in his eyes.
 "You're a liar, Frank."  LaFontaine accused.
 Deacon stared him down, unfazed.  "No, I'm a politician.  Jean, I got Bras d'Or a funding increase already.  We've got the Reform party, the Tories, the NDP and the Bloc Quebecois trying to make us look like monsters for cuts.  We have lobbyists and the Canadian Physicians Union and the Council for Canadians and that long winded bitch Maude Barlow down our backs accusing us of cutting Medicare for the sake of increasing CSIS' funding.  If I were to petition the Minister of Finance to allocate anything else to intelligence, then not only would he say no, but the word would leak out to my consituents that I cared more for Canadian intelligence than for their social programs.  That's not the way you get re-elected."
 "I don't give a damn about your re-election."  LaFontaine snarled.  Deacon noticed for the first time that they weren't alone in the back...a rather large man wearing a face covering ski mask was there as well.  It must have been a trick of the light, but where the mask didn't quite cover his face, the man's skin looked almost silver...
 "Bras d'Or needs more money if we're going to continue research."  LaFontaine continued.
 "What research might that be?  Trying to find the Fountain of Youth?  Or a magic wand that'll pop a rabbit out of your hat with a 'say hey and abracadabra'?  Jean, I know that I'm the secretary of state for intelligence, and that means I'm supposed to be commited to getting you funding, but frankly, all I see when I go over the files at CSIS headquarters concerning Bras d'Or is an episode of the X-Files that Canadian taxpayers shell out for."
 "Oh, piss off."  LaFontaine stated tiredly.  "You know what we're doing.  We've got Project Maissoneuve...Dr. Raybur is in the process of developing our first successful clone, from a specimen from Newfoundland, no less.  And Project Phaedra."
 "That's the big one."  the other man stated.  His voice was gravelly, and Deacon shifted uneasily as he spoke.  "We've got several leads as to the wheareabouts of the Phoenix Gate, the first integral part of Phaedra, but we need money to follow them up."
 "I've read the files on Phaedra."  Deacon replied.  "And from what they say, there haven't been any detailed records of the Phoenix Gate's appearence since 1924, in New York City.  There've been a couple of unconfirmed sightings since then...on top of the Eyrie Building in New York City two years ago just after Xanatos Enterprises' CEO's wedding, and in London, England, outside a curio shop in Soho a few months later.  You're asking me to petition for almost a million dollars for the sake of three sightings of a supposed time-travelling piece of metal in the last one hundred years."
 "You can be the one to tell that to the Prime Minister when the U.S. manages to get their hands on the Gate and gets the MacKenzie Pendant and the Phaedra Stone, then."  the man frowned.
 "Who are you, anyway?"  Deacon asked.  "Why are you wearing a ski mask?"
 The man took out a cigarette, and stuck it in the mouth hole of the ski mask.  It looked rather ridiculous, but Deacon didn't really want to say anything about it.
 "Just a concerned Canadian citizen."  he stated.  With the voice and the cigarette, Deacon was forcibly reminded of the cigarette-smoking man from 'The X-Files'.  "Do you really want to see the kind of power that the Phaedra Stone possesses in the hand of the Americans?  The stupid idiots still think that they have the best intelligence network in the world, and we've been ahead of them since long before the Cold War.  They'd probably wreck the thing anyway."
 Deacon looked at LaFontaine.  "I think you're all goddamned nuts."
 "One thought, Frank...Bras d'Or supplies your kickbacks."  LaFontaine smiled.  "Why do you think you have access to that bank account in the Caymans?  I'd hate to have that leaked to the CBC, Frank, but I did hear that there was a Reform party candidate looking for election in Winnipeg Centre..."
 Deacon looked at LaFontaine with an expression of shock.  "That's extortion!"  he accused.
 "That's democracy."  LaFontaine grinned cheerily.  He looked out the window.  "Why, lookie here!  Il Fornello!  It's a great little restaurant, Francis.  You wanna go in?  I'll even buy you an extra big helping of antipasto.  And over dinner, you can tell me how you're going to ask the Minister of Finance for more money for CSIS, and how you're going to allocate it to Bras d'Or."
 Francis Deacon suddenly found he couldn't say a word.

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

Nightstone Unlimited Headquarters, New York City
12:14 p.m, EST

 "You can't go in there!"
 "NYPD.  I have to talk to Ms. Destine."
 "But..."
 Dominique sighed, and picked up the phone.  Her door was slightly ajar, and she could hear the words from her assistant's office as if they were right next to her.  Elisa Maza's voice was as recognizable as a gargoyle would be visually distinct  in "A Chorus Line", and Dominique was filled with anger.
 "Send the detective in, Iris."  she muttered into the direct line to the assistant.  Almost immediately, the door burst open, and in charged Elisa Maza.
 "What did you do to Lexington?"  she demanded.
 Dominique got up from her chair, and calmly walked over to the detective.  "Maza, pissing me off in my own office is not a good idea."
 "But see, there's lots of witnesses."  Elisa smiled nastily, pointing to the office outside.  It was full of people, staring curiously at the scene there.  "And my entire precinct knows I'm here, and so does Goliath and his clan.  If anything happens to me, guess who they're coming after first?"
 "How nice to know you trust me."  Dominique muttered.  The assistant was looking in the office, wide-eyed...it was obviously she'd never seen anyone with the guts to take on Dominique Destine.  "I'm not going to try anything."
 "Good."  Elisa muttered, her eyes mistrustful and wary.  "Now tell me what you did to Lexington."
 "I have no idea."  Dominique replied.  "That's what I've told...our mutual acquaintances...when they barged into my house the other night, too.  I don't know."
 "Well, you've made him autistic.  That's what you've done."  Elisa spat.  "How do you reverse it?"
 "Autistic."  Dominique repeated.  "Oh, please.  Do you actually think I care?"  she replied, in a low whisper.  The assistant was long gone, and Dominique shut the door so the conversation could continue in semi-privacy.
 "Where's the book?"  Elisa asked.  "The Grimoire of Gaulois?"
 "I've hidden it."  Dominique frowned.  "Don't bother getting your gargoyle friends to look for it at my house, because it's not there.  And if that scrawny little pest is autistic now, so much the better.  Like a great man once said, Maza, I really don't give a damn."
 She walked back to her desk.  "I suggest you leave now, Maza.  You may have picked a good time to visit in that I cannot do anything I would like to do to you as a human, but as Dominique Destine, I can still file a police harassment suit.  Get out, now.  I'm not the one to usually hide behind lawyers, but then again, I hardly think you'd like to see me really nasty."
 "Demona, you..."
 "Get out.  Now."  Demona pointed.  "Or I could decide to pay you a visit when the sun goes down."
 Elisa snarled hatefully, and spun around.  She stalked out of the room, and slammed the door behind her.

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

Metropolitan Museum of Art
12:37 p.m., EST

 "And this is it.  The gallery."  Matthias Vanderaa stated.  "As you can see, the damage is quite extensive, but people are working on it..."
 Christine nodded.  The staircase which had been blown up was now repaired (albeit temporarily, with a wooden one until a suitable marble one could be fit in) and the holes and gouge marks in the wall and floor were mostly filled in.  The room was barren without the treasures that the explosion had destroyed, but othe than that, it looked fine.
 "Any word on who triggered the explosion?"  she asked, trying to keep her disbelief of that theory out of her voice.
 "The police have come on a few leads."  Vanderaa replied.  It was obvious he was lying...he had that look about him that he was itching to tell someone the real story, but couldn't quite work up the nerve to.
 "Aha."  Christine stated.  They walked out of the room, into the quiet, empty halls...the museum was closed until repairs were complete.  "Mr. Vanderaa, could you please tell me everything that went on that night?  What might have happened to my son?"
 "Uh..."  Vanderaa flustered.  "There is...no, no, there's nothing."
 "Mr. Vanderaa, something weird is going on with my son, and it's been going on ever since the night he came to this museum.  Will you please tell me what's going on?"  Christine snapped.  She suddenly lost all her patience, and the worry she was feeling over J.D. suddenly burst forth in the form of exasperation.
 Vanderaa looked very unnerved.  "Well...there was something..."

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

 Dreams in the darkness...
 In stone sleep, in a real slumber...it made no difference.  Both in sleep, Lexington and J.D. communed like no other living beings ever had...truly as one person.
 They talked to each other, mentally...sharing experiences, laughing and enjoying each other's 'company'.  J.D. was amazed at the level of sameness...although no he understood that he and Lexington were now one person, it still was wonderful that there was finally someone worthy and friendly enough to share in 'his world'.
 Isn't it great?  J.D. projected at Lexington.  'The world' is locked outside.  All there is in 'our world' is us.  Nothing can ever hurt us.  We're safe.
 Safe?  Lexington replied.  His mental voice projected a child like wonder at the situation, but also a bit of a fear.  'The world' doesn't want to leave me alone.  There's things in it that want me to stay there.
 Forget about them, J.D. laughed.
 How?
 Well...what I do when I want to shut 'the world' away is play the piano.
 Yes, yes, I know...I do that.  It's just sometimes there isn't a piano, and I feel so helpless.
 Then make the music in your head.
 How?
 Hmm...do you hum?
 Yes.
 That works.  If 'the world' keeps trying to push itself in, then just decide it doesn't exist, and it won't.  What isn't really there can't hurt you.
 There was suddenly a huge wave of gratitude in J.D.'s mind, and he smiled.
 Thank you, Lexington thought.

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

Castle Wyvern
6:48 p.m, EST

 A cracking of stone, and a sudden chorus of yawns and roars...same old, same old.
 The gargoyles awoke, but fell silent.  They were all staring at Lexington, not saying a word.
 The focus of their attentions looked around sleepily, and smiled.  Lexington hopped off of his parapet, and obliviously began to walk around the castle, humming.  He didn't even notice the looks the other gargoyles gave to each other, or the hushed whisperings that went throughout the air.
 "Look at the lad."  Hudson stated quietly to Goliath.
 "I'll never be able to get used to this."  Broadway whipered to Brooklyn.
 "Man, he's actin' weird..."  Whitbourne muttered.  Bonavista nodded.
 "How can we deal with this?"  Angela asked herself quietly.
 Ophelia spun around then, her eyes filled with anger and sadness.  "Why don't you stop staring at him?"  she demanded.  "Stop talking about him like he isn't even there!"
 "Me girl, we's just...we doesn't know how to deal with it..."  Whitbourne began, but Ophelia shot him an icy glance.
 She stepped off of her parapet, feeling the weight of their eyes upon her.  She didn't care.  Regardless of how the others were confused by it all, she was determined to help Lexington, come hell or high water.  She wasn't going to treat him like a freak for all he was autistic.
 "Lexington?"  she stated softly, in a tone of voice similar to that she had heard Dr. Sheldon use to him.  "Would you like to come and have somthing to eat?"
 Lexington walked around the castle's parapets, humming softly to himself, not paying attention.  He fell to his knees, and started brushing away the snow and tracing the outlines of the castle stones between his fingers.
 Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her.  She spun around, and saw Broadway and Angela standing there.
 "Lex, if you want, I could cook you some blintzes."  Broadway said quietly.
 "And then I could read to you, if you wanted."  Angela continued.
 Ophelia watched, amazed, as one by one, the clan walked forward, offering to help Lexington do things.  Brooklyn asked him if he wanted to watch TV.  Bonavista and Carbonear asked if he wanted to play a board game.  Whitbourne offered to get him something to drink, like a milk or a glass of juice, and Goliath, Hudson and Bronx all walked silently forward.  It was painfully obvious what they were doing.  To the untrained eye, it looked like they were simply offering to do things with Lexington.  But to Ophelia, it was a statement that they would be there for Lexington no matter what...and a statement to Ophelia that she wouldn't be alone in trying to reach out to Lexington and bring him back from the lonely place he had gone to.
 "Thanks."  Ophelia whispered, almost imperceptibly.
 Lexington looked up, and smiled.  He got up, and walked towards the door to the castle...painfully obvious that he had been gotten through to.  This battle had been won.
 But, Ophelia thought, the war won't be over until he's back for good.
 
*******************************************************************

 "You cast off; that's what you do to me!  You get rough...attack my self esteem!  It's not much...but it's the best I've got!  And I thought you saw the good in everyone...oh, you see the good in everyone..."  Broadway sang along with the CD player, as he flipped over a blintz in the frying pan.  He set it carefully on a plate, along with six others, and walked over with them to the kitchen table, where six hands eagerly reached out to take them.
 "What CD is this, my son?"  Bonavista asked, chewing on his blintz.
 "Sloan."  Broadway replied.  "They're a band up in Halifax, and Matt brought over their CD.  I'm thinking to hell with the Smashing Pumpkins, I'm starting to like Canadian music better."
 "Me too."  Brooklyn called over.  Bonavista had managed to convert him to the Tragically Hip, and the "Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness"  poster in the games room had been quietly taken down and replaced with a "Trouble At The Henhouse" poster.  And over the year, the night of the Grammy awards had gone by without so much as one peep, while when the clan had missed the Juno awards because of patrol, they had taped it.  The true north strong and free was well appreciated in Castle Wyvern.
 The clan was eating breakfast, listening to the portable CD player.  It wasn't very loud, though.  And even though the clan was acting as they had before Lexington's autism, it was clear to see that Sloan and the food were only masking their concern.  Not a minute went by when they all didn't at least look over once or twice out in the hallway.
 Lexington and Ophelia were out there.  Lexington had begun to feel uncomfortable with so many people around, and had started to panic.  Ophelia had managed to get him outside, where he was quietly eating his food.  He had a vague look in his eyes as if he was only there in body, not in mind.
 Ophelia was eating her own breakfast, trying to coax Lexington out into reality.  It was obvious that he didn't want to, but she wanted to make him see that the world wasn't all that bad.
 "So what do you want to do after breakfast, Lexington?"  she asked.  "Do you want to go use your computer?"
 "Do you want to go use your computer?"  Lexington repeated, confused.  He flicked a piece of his blintz across the hall.
 Ophelia sighed.  "Remember your computer, Lex?"
 "Yeah."  Lexington replied, looking straight ahead.
 "Well, you could go play a game if you wanted."  she prompted.
 Lexington turned around, looking shyly towards her shoulder.  "All right."  he muttered.
 Ophelia was suddenly gratified.  I'm getting through to him!  she thought.
 Her elation at his acceptance of breakfast out on the parapets was suddenly dwarfed by this newest development.  She had actually managed to hold a primitive conversation with him...the first one she had been able to since he had developed autism.  And while that was very heartening, she couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness.  Once, long ago, Lexington wouldn't have even thought twice about talking to her.  Now, every conversation was an effort, where he would struggle to make himself understood in a world he didn't understand himself.  Not for the first time, she felt tears of frustration and anger well in the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away unshed.
 Lexington set his barely touched blintz on his plate, and stood up.  He started walking down the hall, talking to himself.  Ophelia heard the name "J.D." come up more than once, and suddenly realized that he was seemingly having a converastion with himself.
 J.D.  The boy at the museum.  The clan had been unable to find out what he had to do with all of this, as their connection to the family, Matt Bluestone, hadn't talked to them lately.
 She got up, and followed Lexington down the hall.

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

 The hallway was fascinating.  All the stones!  He reached out his hand, and ran it along the coarse roughness of the millenium old walls, revelling in the sensations.
 He touched the floor.  The floor was rough, too, but in the middle of the hall, there was a carpet on the floor.  It wasn't rough.  It felt fuzzy and warm, and Lexington ran his hands over that for a while, marvelling in the texture.
 He touched his face.  His face wasn't rough, and it wasn't warm and fuzzy.  It was just smooth.  Lexington frowned...he wanted his skin to be one or the other, not smooth.  Smooth was boring.
 He turned around, and looked at Ophelia.  She was following him down the hallway.  She looked unhappy.  Lexington wanted to ask her why she was sad, when the world was so full of marvellous things like the walls and the floor.
 Touch them!  he wanted to scream.  Touch the wall!
 He almost stopped, and waited for her, but in the end decided not to.   She probably wouldn't understand, he told himself.  She's never been in 'our world'.  She wouldn't appreciate it.
 But another, smaller part of him desparately wanted to reach out to Ophelia, to take her out of 'the world' and pull her in.  He didn't understand why...she wanted him in 'the world', and wouldn't rest, it seemed, until he was out there again.  Nevermind he was happy where he was.  She wanted to deprive him of 'his world', of seeing everything as new as the day he had hatched.
 But all the same, he wanted her there.
 Not really understanding why he felt such a connection with her, he continued down the hall, touching the walls.

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

23rd Precinct House
7:23 p.m., EST
 
 "For Christ's sake!  What dumpster did you haul these coffee beans out of, Matt?"  John Morgan spat, grimacing.  He set the coffee mug aside.
 "It's not that bad."  Matt replied.  He took a deep sip, and shuddered.  "On second thought..."
 Matt turned to the arrest reports on his desk, reading up on some mysterious hate literature that had been surfacing around the Upper East Side.  As he flipped through the report, raising an eyebrow at the highlighted words 'Regnum Dei', the phone rang.
 "23rd Precinct Office, Detective Bluestone speaking." he answered automatically as he picked it up.
 "Matt?"
 Matt blinked.  "Christine?"  he asked, wondering why his future sister-in-law was calling him at work.  He was suddenly filled with a fear that Cornelia had gotten into an accident...
 "Yeah.  Matt, it's me.  We need to talk."
 "About what?"  Matt asked.  He mouthed 'sister-in-law' at Morgan, who nodded, and walked off to get a decent cup of coffee.
 "About J.D.  About the museum.  About gargoyles."
 Matt blinked, and for the first time, he realized that Christine sounded angry.  "Christine, I don't..."
 "I was talking to the curator at the Met, today.  He told me an interesting story.  That there wasn't a burglar, but that a female gargoyle had broken in.  That there were at least ten gargoyles running around.  So I called Cornelia at work, and she told me it was all true.  And that something very weird happened that night.  That J.D. and some gargoyle got hit with a strange light."
 "Christine...I was going to tell you..."
 "You lied to me!"  came the accusation.  "You called up and asked if there was anything wrong with J.D., and you mentioned gargoyles, but you didn't tell me why!  And that night, you let me think that J.D. was perfectly fine, but now my son is developing a strange obsession with gargoyles, sleeping all day, and nearly jumping out windows pretending he can glide!  And I find out there was a cover up, and you and my own sister were part of it!  You KNEW all along!"
 "Look."  Matt sighed, dropping his voice to a low whisper.  "I couldn't tell you today, because I was in New Jersey today."
 "What about the other..."
 "Calm down.  We're rational adults and we can discuss this like normal people."  Matt groaned.  "You're right...we should have told you.  But I...the gargoyles...after all that mess last year..."
 "Let's get something straight."  Christine sighed, sounding calmed down.  "I don't mind gargoyles.  But this isn't about just them.  This is about my son, too, and something's going on that involves them both.  J.D. is my son, Matt, and I don't care about the gargoyles if it means that I can't get to the bottom of what is happening to my children.  They come first."
 "Okay."  Matt sighed.  "Here's what I'm going to do.  I've talked to the gargoyles lately, and something odd's been going on there, too.  I can't really talk about it here.  There's a coffee shop right outside the precinct.  You know where that is?  On Park Avenue?"
 "Yeah..."
 "The Dunkin' Donuts.  Meet me there in forty-five minutes, and I'll explain everything.  I promise."
 A sigh.  "Matt...all right.  I'm sorry I yelled, but J.D.' s got me so worried...I..."
 "It's all right."  Matt reassured.  "I promise you I will tell you the whole story."

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

Levin Residential Building
7:29 p.m., EST

 "Okay."  Christine muttered.  "See you soon."
 J.D, drawing quietly at the kitchen table, looked at his mother as she hung up the phone.  Quizzically, he regarded her expression...she looked confused, instead of angry like she had been when she had started.  He registered that, failed to make any sort of connection, and went back to his picture.
 He was drawing himself.  He was flying high in an empty night sky, his olive green skin faintly reflecting the moonlight from a million stars above.  The body was that of a gargoyle, but the soul in the picture was both Lexington's and his own.
 The feelings were hard to believe.  One minute, he was happily in 'his world', sharing it with Lexington.  But the next, Lexington was trying to bring other people in.  People like Ophelia, who wanted to drive J.D. and Lexington apart.  He didn't understand why, but he felt a little hurt and betrayed that Lexington would try to abandon him.
 He set the pencil crayon down, and walked away.  His mother was pulling her coat on, getting ready to leave.  He didn't know, or care, where.  Lexington's emotions and his sense of connection with Ophelia were filling his head.  J.D. was angry with her, but he was also happy because of her.
 Strange, having two person's thoughts in one's head.

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

Castle Wyvern
7:34 p.m., EST

 They came into the nursery.  Alex was playing with his teddy bears, and looked up as Lexington and Ophelia walked in.
 "Wexinton?"  he asked, staring confusedly.  Lexington looked down, and smiled.
 "Hello." he stated, sitting down with Alex and grabbing the stuffed dog at his feet.  The gargoyle cradled the toy gently in his arms, and then held it in a crushing embrace.
 Ophelia followed, staring silently
 She watched as Lexington played quietly with the stuffed dog, humming a quiet tune.  The only words to leave his mouth were "Mr. Furley", which was stated with absolute love and trust.
 Alex looked quizzically at Ophelia, and then at Lexington.  He reached out to touch first the dog, then Lexington's arm.  The gargoyle bristled at the toddler's touch, and subtly inched away.
 "Not even you can touch him."  Ophelia sighed sadly.  Alex's brow furrowed, and his tiny hands softly brushed Lexington's arm once more.  This time, Lexington turned, and stared back at Alex.
 "Don't." he said, and that was that.
 Alex, ever eager to please, did as he was told.
 Owen walked in, with a tiny glass of orange juice.  He gave it to Alexander, and the watched as Lexington played with the toy.
 "He's autistic, I've heard."  Owen stated flatly.  Ophelia found his apparent lack of emotion infuriating.
 "Is there nothing you can do?"  she asked him.  "Can't Alex..."
 "No."  Owen replied.  "First of all, mixing magic is very dangerous.  The spell that was cast on Lexington is human in origin.  From the Grimoire of Gaulois.  If Alex or myself were to cast our decidedly fey magic on him, then the effects could be unpredictable at best.  Possibly deadly."
 He cleared his throat.  "And besides that, we don't know exactly what it is that has been done."
 Ophelia frowned, but then Lexington looked up.
 "Duo menstis decere unus mens."  Lexington recited.
 Owen blinked.  "What did you say?"
 Lexington obligingly repeated the odd sounding words, and Owen paled.
 "That's...that's the spell Demona cast!"  Ophelia cried excitedly, remembering.  "Those are the words!"
 "Translated, they mean 'two minds become one mind'." Owen stated.  "The spell..."
 He thought for a second.  "You said that the spell manifested in a green light.  A light which branched off and struck both Lexington and another boy."
 Ophelia nodded.  Suddenly, her eyes widened in understanding.

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

Dunkin' Donuts
7:59 p.m, EST

 After eating his second double chocolate donut, Matt looked up to see his future sister-in-law walk in.  She was early, but that wasn't a big problem.
 She walked over.  There was no sign of the evident anger that Matt had heard on the phone; just weariness.  She looked tired, as if she hadn't slept well in a couple of days.
 "Hi."  Christine LeJeune stated simply.  She sat down.
 "Cornelia's gonna be here in a few minutes."  Matt stated.  "I thought maybe it would be best if we both explained it together."
 Christine nodded.  They sat there waiting for Cornelia to show up, with no small talk passed between them.  Only an awkward silence.  Christine seemed intent on studying her shoes, and Matt passed the time looking around at some of the other patrons.  His attention was caught by a couple of middle aged man sitting in the corner, who were killing themselves laughing and drinking great gulps of black coffee.  He watched as one of them knocked over a container of napkins, and as the waitress walked over and told him to quiet down.
 Finally, Cornelia walked in.  She calmly ordered a coffee, and sat down, next to Christine.
 "I got your call."  she told Matt, stirring in some sugar.  She looked apologetically at Christine.
 "Start from the beginning.  What happened after you left our apartment?"  Christine asked, skipping any pleasantries.
 And so Matt and Cornelia told her everything.  From their first sighting of Demona in the museum, to taking J.D. to the hospital after the spell hit, to deciding not to tell her.  They spun the tale in low voices, but the shop wasn't crowded and no one was paying any attention anyway.  A few eyebrows were raised when Christine repeated "magic spell" a little too loudly, but no one took much notice.
 When they finished the explanation, Christine had a blank, disbelieving look on her face.  Matt assured her that he had known about the gargoyles since long before the clock tower explosion, but that was hardly the point.
 "You're telling me my son got hit with a magic spell of some kind."  Christine muttered numbly.  Cornelia and Matt hesitated, and nodded.
 "We didn't know what had happened, and we didn't want to worry you."  Cornelia apologized.
 "Worry me?"  Christine laughed hollowly.  "Sis, I've been worried sick for two straight days."
 She sighed, and took a sip of coffee.  "I'm not mad."  she said.  "But I'm hurt.  And dissappointed.  You tried to leave me in the dark about my son.  I've told you once already, Matt, I don't give a damn about the gargoyles or their concerns.  I'm worried about my son.  J.D. comes first.  And if you're going to be his uncle, then you have to start worrying about him too.  I understand your friendship with the...other guys..." she said this as the raucous man walked by, "...but I hope you can understand where I'm coming from.  My son matters the most to me, and those gargoyles don't even come close."
 She sighed.  "And I'm not going to even start with how crazy I think your story is.  I'm too tired to argue anymore."
 She clapped her hands together.  "So what are we going to do?"
 Matt frowned.  "I don't know."
 
*******************************************************************

Nightstone Unlimited Headquarters
8:25 p.m, EST

 Catacombs aren't exactly the word most people would use for the bowels of the headquarters of a multinational corporation, but they came the closest to an apt description of the room Demona found herself in now.  Dark, large, secretive...the only sounds were the echoes of any activity.  The room was condusive to silence.  A fitting place for a final repose...or a magical artifact.
 She hadn't been lying when she had told Detective Maza that the Grimoire was no longer in her home in Queens.  While Maza would undoubtedly believe otherwise, she had told the truth; the Grimoire was now safely stored in a vault deep beneath the city, in the sprawling maze of sub-basements below Nightstone.
 So now she stood there, in gargoyle form, double checking the security measures just in case someone figured it out.  She wasn't worried about her home...there wasn't anything in there of value at the moment.  Any really important artifacts, she kept here.
 Safe and sound.
 On the spur of the moment, she changed the access code to the vault where the Grimoire was kept.  No meaningful words or metaphors this time...she used a random string of letters and numbers that would be impossible to guess.  With a little snort of satisfaction, she entered the code, and watched as the word "LOCKED" appeared on the screen.
 She walked away, a tight frown upon her face.

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

Castle Wyvern
8:26 p.m, EST

 "Oh, that's just bullshit."  Whitbourne stated disbelivingly.  The other gargoyles, gathered in the library, had similar expressions of incredulity on their faces.
 "I'm not presuming to tell you exactly what the spell has done."  Owen sighed.  "But that's what Lexington said.  Ophelia has told me that those are the words Demona used when she cast the spell on Lexington.  Duo menstis decere unus mens.  Two minds become one mind."
 "That does sound familiar, lads."  Hudson frowned.  The others nodded in agreement.
 "But what does that mean, then?"  Carbonear asked.   "I mean, ye's makin' it sound like Lex is after..."
 Angela, however had clued in.  "Two minds become one mind...are you saying that Lexington's mind and the boy's mind have become one?"
 Owen nodded.  "It would seem that way."
 "And if that kid was autistic..."  Broadway interjected.
 "...then that's how Lex became autistic!"  Brooklyn nearly shouted, snapping his fingers.  "Their minds were linked, and the autistic kid and Lex are now like one person.  A person who's autistic."
 "So what, he ain't Lex anymore?"  Whitbourne asked.  He and Bonavista shared a look of awkward confusion.
 Owen shrugged.  "I can't say.  Personally, I would guess that if our scenario is correct, both Lexington's mind and the mind of the other boy have merged to become one, not be replaced by something completely different.  Lexington's mind is still there, but it is linked to the boy's.  If, of course, our guess is correct."
 Goliath stood up.  "This may merit consideration."  he mused.  "If that's indeed the case, then maybe we have put another piece in the puzzle."
 There was an excited buzz.  Whispers as people considered what this might mean.  Hushed murmerings as to where they should go from there.
 Suddenly, Carbonear spoke up.  "Uh...if that is what happened to Lex...what does we do about it?"
 The mumblings stopped.  Everyone looked first at Lexington (who had seemed to sense that something big was going on and was silent, however oblivious he was to the fact that he was the focus of attention) and then at Goliath.
 The leader of the clan, was, of course, silent.
 "Perhaps," he stated slowly, "it's time we visited the boy."

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

Levin Residential Building
8:32 p.m, EST

 I hate homework, Crystal LeJeune thought.  I really, really, do.
 Just starting out in grade one, of course, meant that the homework in question wasn't all that difficult.  Simple math facts.  But after almost a straight fifteen minutes of such high level mathematics as three plus two and one plus four, she was ready for a break.
 She quietly walked away from the kitchen table, and walked to the fridge.  After getting out the chocolate milk, she poured herself a glass.  Mommy would clean up the mess when she got home.
 Crystal looked over to the couch, where J.D. was sitting.  He was reading, or pretending to.  Crystal couldn't tell which.
 She turned her attention back to the chocolate milk for a second, and that was when she heard J.D. fall off the couch.
 Looking up, she saw J.D. looking expectantly out the window.  He seemed to be almost excited about something.
 "What is it?" Crystal asked.
 J.D. looked at her...not eye to eye, of course...and smiled.  "They're coming." he said.
 "Who's coming?"
 He wouldn't elaborate.  "Lexington says they're coming."

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

 The knowledge came easily.  One minute he was in a half-conscious state halfway between 'his world' and 'the world'; the next, one thought came slicing through the solitude.  Lexington's mind, which was constantly open to J.D's, sent one clean thought.
 My friends are coming.  Coming to our house.  My friends are coming to our house.
 Lexington's friends were, of course, the gargoyles.  Henceforth, they were J.D.'s friends as well.  But while the part of him that was Lexington yearned for them, longed to connect to them, for some reason J.D. didn't like them.
 In fact, he hated them.  They would undoubtedly try to break into 'his world', like all the others had done, and they would try to tear him and Lexington apart.  Or tear him and J.D. apart.  It all depended on your point of view.
 Whichever, he didn't want to be separated from the other one, and he didn't want the gargoyles in his house.
 But Lexington wanted them there.  And the fact that they were coming excited Lexington to no end.  So of course, J.D. was excited and happy too.
 But while he was excited and smiling on the outside, he was furious within.
 With this new anger within him, he stood, waiting, by the window.

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

Chapter Two

  In The Company Of Shadows

Castle Wyvern
8:41 p.m., EST

 It didn't take much effort to find the LeJeune's address.  Elisa had mentioned the boy's name, and more importantly, the names of his parents (via information provided by Matt).  While Xanatos' computer database quickly coughed up the address for the Levin Residential Building, all it really would have taken was a quick scan of the Manhattan phone book.  Regardless, the gargoyles soon had the address of J.D. LeJeune.
 They didn't just glide over, however.  Brooklyn first called Matt, to see if it was safe to show themselves to Christine LeJeune.  After getting no answer, he tried to call the precinct.  He was told that Matt wasn't in at the moment, would he care to try later?  Brooklyn told the anonymous person no, and and asked to speak to Elisa.  She got on the phone, and after deriding him for calling at work, she told him that Matt had gone to speak to Christine LeJeune.
 Speak of the devil, Brooklyn had thought.
 "Do you know why?" he had asked.
 "No."  Elisa had told him.  "Morgan mentioned that he had gone to talk to his sister-in-law, and that he sounded kind of tense.  As if he was expecting a big hassle."
 "Like say explaining what happened at the museum?"
 "How should I know?  Wait till he gets back.  I'll ask him if she knows about you guys, and then I'll call back."
 So in the meantime, the gargoyles discussed the newest development.  Lexington was quite content to play with the curtains in the library, running his hand along the silky smoothness...but he seemed to be concentrating on something else.
 "So if his mind is linked with that boy's, what are we going to do?"  Angela asked, repeating Carbonear's earlier question.
 "I don't know."  Goliath replied.  "This may not help us find a way to bring Lexington back, but at least we now have a clearer picture of what happened."
 Bonavista and Whitbourne, meanwhile, were playing a game of "Speed", passing the time until Elisa's call.
 "Sounds crazy, don't it?"  Bonavista asked, referring to Owen's linked minds theory.
 "Sure do, my son."  Whitbourne replied.  "Don't make no sense to me.  Quit goofin' around and play your damn card."
 Bonavista gave him the finger, and drew a card.  "Screw this." he muttered, and set his cards aside.  He instead started staring at Lexington all over again.  Whitbourne trotted off, in search of something else to do to pass the time.
 Ophelia was watching Lexington from the relative distance of the easy chair.  She felt a bit of contentment at the theory of what had happened to her friend, but still lost and confused more than anything else.  After all, what good was knowing what was wrong with someone when it gave you no clue as to how to fix it?
 She forced herself to look at the bright side.  They now had somewhat of a lead...perhaps the boy might lead to a clue as to how to bring Lexington back.
 She hoped so.  She was starting to lose all of her faith.
 Rubbing a bit of sleepyness out of her eyes, she tried to think back to when Lex had been normal, when they had been friends.  It was getting harder to do...her fond memories of Lexington as a laughing, funny friend were slowly being eclipsed by her current image of him as an autistic.  She didn't want that to happen, but it was happening just the same.
 Deep within, she had finally acknowledged the feelings that were making her feel so lost and frustrated and alone.  Some of the looks that the others gave her when she was with Lexington indicated they knew what it was too, but she had never been able to tell herself with any certainty what she was feeling.
 Now she knew.  She was mourning.  Mourning the passing of a close friend, who might have someday been a lover.  Grieving for Lexington.
 She sighed, and sat starng at the phone.  Goliath had stated that only four of them would be going to see the LeJeune's this time.  Goliath, of course, would be one of them.  Hudson, Brooklyn and Broadway had volunteered.  That was fine with her; she wanted to stay with Lexington.  She had said she was going to be there for him, and that was a promise she intended to keep.
 Watching as Lexington hummed, she retreated back into her own thoughts.

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

 It was very confusing.  There were so many separate emotions raging within him that it ws almost a maelstrom of feeling.  He longed for a piano to touch and to play it, knowing without a doubt that the music would help to sort out this kaliedescope of confusion.
 On the one hand, he knew that the people out in 'the world', the gargoyles, were planning to go to the other one's house.  To J.D.'s house.  A very small part of him wanted to go with them and make sure they found something useful.  The part of him that was trying to escape from 'his world' and get back into 'the world', the Lexington part, was screaming, trying to tell them everything, trying to find a way out.  Excitement that his friends might be taking one step closer raged within him, along with happiness, anxiety, and even a bit of relief.
 But the J.D. part, the part that wanted nothing to do with 'the world', was angry.  How dare they?  He knew that the other gargoyles would try to separate the two people, try to force them into 'the world'.  He didn't want that.  All he wanted to do was stay in 'his world', and not have to worry about anything else.  He felt angry and hurt, and he wanted his friends to stop.  And he was beginning to feel furious and hateful towards them.  How dare they, indeed?
 He looked at Ophelia, who seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.  For some reason, he felt absolutely no connection at all towards her...actually, he felt quite coldly towards her.  He could have cheerfully ignored her for the rest of her life.  She wanted him in 'the world', nevermind he didn't want to go.  How selfish.  But then again, what could you expect from someone who had never been in 'his world', and didn't understand how wonderful it was?
 What are you saying?  Lexington asked.  You love her!
 Do I?  J.D. replied.  Do I really?
 He shook his head, and turned to the wall.  Seemingly intent upon tracing the outlines of the castle wall again, he let himself stew in the new emotions.
 Who are you? he asked himself, calling Ophelia's face to mind without daring to look at her.  Why do I love you and hate you so much?

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

The Labyrinth
9:08 p.m., EST

 "You're cheating!"
 Silence.
 "Yes, you are, you cheating bastard.  I saw you float that card."
 More silence.
 "Don't you call me that."
 Talon and Maggie looked at each other.  "Don't you just love it when Fang and Claw play cards?"  Maggie remarked dryly.
 Talon grinned.  One could only imagine how vulgar Claw's signed replies were.  You only had to look at Malibu to determine that Claw's sign language vocabulary wasn't entirly squeaky clean.  It was one of Malibu's private jokes with Claw to learn dirty words and jokes to sign.  Brooklyn's clone was now well adjusted to the world of silence, which was good.
  The Labyrinth knew none of the confusion and nervousness that Castle Wyvern was mired in.  Nobody here was a victim of any magical spells which linked minds and made people autistic, of course, but nevertheless, the place was almost jovial.  Perhaps it was the season...Christmas was, of course, in just a little over a month.
 The denizens of the complex weren't entirely in the dark as to Lexington's problem.  Delilah, who visited the castle regularly to be with Whitbourne, had told stories of the smallish gargoyle's behavior.  Talon had talked to Elisa once, who had confirmed the report, but the news of this didn't really affect the people of the Labyrinth.  They weren't apathetic, by any means, but the event didn't directly affect them.  Besides that, there wasn't really anything anyone could do.
 Delilah, meanwhile, had her mind on something else to do with Castle Wyvern, but it didn't have much to do with Lexington.
 She was thinking about Whitbourne.  His worry over Lexington had affected her, so she perhaps cared a little bit more about Lexington than the others did, but she was also thinking about some other things.  Like Whitbourne's conviction that he was a wimp.
 He wasn't; he had played a major role in the rescue from Bras d'Or earlier in the year.  And like she had told him several days ago, she would have still loved him had he been an outrageous coward.  But something about what he was saying about himself had stirred up another kettle of fish.
 Wasn't she a wimp, too?
 Not conventionally, of course; she had been designed to be a warrior by Thailog (she thought that name with a fair amount of disgust)  But when it came to love...well, that was where her courage apparently crashed and burned.
 It had taken quite a bit of effort to fall in love with Whitbourne in the first place.  Associating love with Thailog wasn't condusive to a great love life, since to him, love had essentially meant a sexual toy, so it had taken a great effort to fall in love...honest to God love!...with the blue Newfoundlander.  But she had done it, and that had taken a lot of courage.
 Making love to him...oh, that had been worse at first.  Their first time, Whitbourne had almost stopped, sensing how uncomfortable it was making her, but like all things, she had gotten a little more accustomed, slowly, and then had realized that making love to Whitbourne was actually pleasurable.  Thailog's influence had ended there, too.
 But for some reason, things hadn't gone farther.  Whenever they talked about becoming mates, for some reason, the conversation always fizzled.  And more often than not, she was the reason.  It just made her uncomfortable, so she avoided it.  It was something she didn't entirely understand, so she didn't give it the appropriate merit.  Way back in June, when the conversation had come up for the first time, Whitbourne...well, he hadn't seemed scared of a commitment, like she heard some of the homeless women in the Labyrinth griping about when they discussed past loves, but he had seemingly recognized that they hadn't gone far enough in their relationship.  They didn't even live together, as he had said.
 So why don't you change that? she asked herself.
 She paled.  Live together?  Live in the same place as Whitbourne?
 The idea was appealing.  She loved Whitbourne, and the thought of being able to spend more time with him was achingly attractive.  But how?  That would mean either him leaving the castle, where all of his friends were...or her leaving the Labyrinth, the only real home she had ever known.
 Oh, what an unfair decision.
 And so, in the words of the Tragically Hip, she put it off again.  Deriding herself as a coward the whole while.

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

Levin Residential Building
9:29 p.m., EST

 The door opened, and in walked a very tired looking Christine LeJeune.  She set her keys down on the buffet near the door, and hung her coat up.  Stopping to stare in the mirror, she tried to think of any way to think of the story Matt and Cornelia had just told her as anything but insane.  She failed miserably.
 Suddenly, Crystal came out to the entryway.  "Mommy, Mommy!" she repeated, balefully.
 "What, hon?  Did you finish your homework?"
 Crystal shook her head.  "J.D. says they're coming."
 Something about that made her blood run cold.  "Who's coming?"
 Crystal shrugged.  "I dunno.  All he says is that Lexington says they're coming."
 Suddenly, the phone rang.  Raising an eyebrow, she went and picked up the reciever.

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

 Elisa had called a little while ago, to say that she had talked to Matt.  In fact, he had just talked to Christine about what he knew about the real story.  She had also said that she would drop by later to tell them what she had found out at Nightstone earlier in the day, but that Matt had told her that yes, Christine knew.
 So Goliath, Broadway, Brooklyn and Hudson had left the castle, and headed down towards the Lower East Side.  It was an uneventful trip, where Goliath explained about what Elisa had been doing at Nightstone.
 They arrived at the Levin Residential Building with surprisingly little fanfare.  Alighting on an adjacent roof, they decided to discuss strategy.
 "So what are we gonna do?" Broadway asked.  "Just knock on the window?"
 "Get real."  Brooklyn muttered, but Goliath nodded.
 "Elisa told us that J.D.'s mother knows about us, and apparently isn't afraid of us.  There aren't any other ways into the building anyway." he pointed out.
 Brooklyn shrugged, and leapt off the roof.  Elisa had given them directions from Matt as to which apartment was theirs, and had further said that Matt was calling Christine, to let her know about their visit.  He found a window open, with a woman looking out.  She saw, him, paled, and nervously waved him over.  The others followed.
 Brooklyn entered the LeJeune apartment, and was immediately struck by the normalcy.  It was small...the living room and dining room were essentially one and the same, and the kitchen immediately branched off from the dining room, but it was well decorated.  Lots of plants, and pictures...one of the most prominent of which was a photo of the boy Lexington had saved at the museum.  J.D. LeJeune.
 Goliath, Broadway and Hudson entered as well.  The woman who had waved them in looked nervous, but not frightened.  There was a small little girl, presumably her daughter, cowering behind her leg.
 "Um, hello." the woman stated, nervously.  "I'm Christine LeJeune."  Brooklyn awkwardly extended his hand, and was more than a little surprised when the woman gingerly took it.
 "I'm Brooklyn."  he stated.  "These are my friends, Broadway, Goliath, and Hudson."
 Christine gave a weak smile.  "Matt Bluestone just called me a while ago.  When he said that there were gargoyles coming to my apartment, I thought he was joking, considering we'd just talked a little while ago, but...but..."
 She stammered.  "Uh...can I get anyone anything?"
 "No thank you."  Goliath replied, stepping out to the forefront.  His wings were cloaked around himself in the familiar cape, and he made a slight bow.  "I presume Matt has told you about what happened at the museum."
 "Um...yes."  Christine replied.  "Crystal, honey, maybe you should go in to bed."
 Crystal nodded, and silently walked out of the room.
 "He said that there was a gargoyle who broke into the museum.  She stole a book, and then did something...a magic spell, Matt said...that made J.D...my son...and another gargoyle...well, he said it made a green light that hit both of their heads."
 "Everything the Bluestone lad told you was true, lass."  Hudson concurred.
 "Since then, however, our friend...Lexington, this other gargoyle...he's been acting peculiarly..."
 "Lexington!"  Christine shouted.  "J.D. is obssesed with a gargoyle named Lexington!  He's started to think he's a gargoyle, he's started to call himself Lexington, he behaves like he honestly believes he's a...what?"
 Goliath, Brooklyn, Broadway and Hudson were no longer looking at her.  They were looking at each other, their eyes wide.
 "Owen was right."  Broadway whispered.
 "Who's Owen?  What's going on?"
 The question was ignored.  "Is J.D. autistic?"  Brooklyn asked.
 "Yes..."  Christine replied, looking at the red gargoyle warily.
 "Mrs. LeJeune, our friend has repeatedly called himself J.D.  More importantly...since that night, Lexington has become autistic."  Goliath finished.
 Christine stared at him in awe.  "You...I...wha...I..."
 At that moment, the door to the bedrooms opened.  J.D. LeJeune walked out.  Everyone turned.  J.D. shuddered a bit at the sight of Goliath's black hair, but he regained his composure...and his previous expression of pure hatred.
 "Get out."  he hissed.  "Get out.  You aren't welcome here."
 "J.D..."  Christine began, but her voice had no authority.  J.D.'s eyes were wild.  He walked up to Brooklyn, and looked up, not making eye contact.
 "Get out!" he screamed.  He clenched his fists and started beating at Brooklyn's chest.  "Get out, get out, get out..."
 "What..."  Brooklyn began, but then J.D. went wild.
 "GET OUT!  GET OUT OF OUR HOUSE!  GET OUT OF OUR WORLD!"  J.D. screamed.  "LEAVE US ALONE!"
 He started wailing, and then he threw a vase at Broadway.  It missed, and hit the wall, shattering.
 "J.D.!"  Christine screamed.  Brooklyn almost reached out to grab him, but then remembered Lexington's reaction to being touched.  If their minds were the same...
 J.D. screamed, shrilly, and ran to the corner.

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

Castle Wyvern
9:43 p.m., EST
(Two Minutes Ago)

 So there he lay, on the couch, watching as the people in 'the world' went about their business.
 They were all in the TV room, watching a movie of some kind.  The others were silent...waiting for the four who had gone to his and J.D.' s house to return.  Ophelia was there, but she wasn't trying to communicate with him...she was apparently just watching him, making sure he was all right.
 Lexington was lying on the couch, under a blanket, pretending to watch T.V. but really just lying there, feeling the warmth of the blanket.
 He decided he was taking up too much room.  So to answer that concern, he squinched up against the back of the couch.  He started smoothing out the covers.  There, that was better.
 No, it wasn't.  He was still taking up too much room.  He squinched himself up as tight as he could, nearly holding his breath, to take as little room on the couch as possible.  But it still wasn't good enough.  He got up, sounding frustrated.  The others were asking him what was wrong.  Wasn't it obvious?
 He wanted to get back to the piano.  The piano never asked stupid questions, and it never tried to force itself into 'his world'.  Much better company.
 <get out of here>
 He blinked.  That thought, clear as a bell, had come not from his own mind; it had come from J.D's.  The gargoyles were at his house, and for some reason, he wanted them gone
 No!  he screamed mentally.  No, no, J.D., you want them there, it's okay, they're my friends...
 <get out of here, get out, get out, you aren't welcome, make them go away, get out, get out, get OUT>
 The Lexington part of him was fighting to calm J.D. down, but J.D.'s anger and rage were spilling out to him as well.  The shared emotions, traversing the space of a hundred city blocks, were both being expressed, but there was no way to control them.  One second, Lexington was calm and collected; the next, he hated Brooklyn and Goliath and Broadway and Hudson with so much intensity that it nearly keeled him over.
 Something snapped, and Lexington started to panic.

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

 Bonavista hated Tuesday nights.  There usually weren't many great shows to watch on TV...the X-Files, of course, would not be on again till Friday, barring another Wednesday night special.  Tonight, he and Carbonear were watching a movie on HBO.  It was pretty dumb...Goldie Hawn, Bette Midler and Diane Keaton were getting revenge on old husbands.  Carbonear let out the occasional chuckle, but Bonavista thought it sucked.  Of course, there wasn't much else to do, not with no patrols scheduled until Goliath and the others got back from the LeJeune's.  The CD player was monopolized; Whitbourne was listening to his new Damhnait Doyle CD.  And he had tried calling Kennedy's place, with no answer.  She was studying for a chemistry test, he remembered Shawn telling him.
 And of course, there was Lexington.  They isn't all that much I can do, not with buddy autistic and me worried 'bout him, he thought.
 He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  "Wanna turn that down, Carb?" he asked.
 "Shag off."  Carbonear commanded.  She looked over at Lexington, who was squinching himself up on the couch, frowned, and became engrossed in the movie once more.
 "At least lend us a smoke, me girl."
 Carbonear looked at him.  "I quit, my son.  I ain't got none."
 "Bulls..." Bonavista began, but then Lexington cried out.  Everyone immediately looked over, and watched as Lexington started writhing and screaming.
 "They're my friends!" he screamed.  "They are welcome, I'm not going to hate them, shut up..."
 Ophelia tried in vain to calm him down.  Everyone else in the room watched in morbid fascination.
 "Oh, I hate them too!"  Lexington roared.  "I hate them, I hate them all, I hate the world, shut up!"
 "What the frigg is he.."  Whitbourne called over, taking of the headphones.
 "He's havin' a fit, bye!"  Carbonear called.  She leapt up off the chair, and knelt down next to Lexington.  He had calmed somewhat...now he was merely breathing a bit heavier and looking around the room warily.
 "Lex?"  Ophelia asked, almost shyly.  "Lex, what happened?"
 He didn't respond.  Bronx, who had been watching the entire episode from his vantage point beside the TV, walked over and whined.  He tried to nuzzle Lexington's hand, but the green gargoyle grimaced and recoiled.
 "Lex, bye..."  Whitbourne frowned.
 "Fuck off!"  Lexington screamed suddenly.  His face twisted in hate, anger and rage...and then softened.  It switched between bitter disgust at the people around him to a pleading, haunting look for help.
 Bonavista sighed.   "Guess it was just one of them bad spells..."
 "No."  Ophelia snapped.  "It wasn't just a bad spell.  He needs our help, Bonnie, and you saying that they're just 'bad spells' and forgetting about them aren't helping."
 Bonavista blinked.  Ophelia shot him a 'so there' kind of look, and went back to looking concernedly at Lexington.  "Lex..."
 "What do you want?"  Lexington asked, coldly.  His voice was acid.
 Ophelia frowned.  "What happened?"
 "Leave me alone."  Lexington growled.  "I hate you."
 Bonavista watched the concern on Ophelia's face melt into horror.  "What?"  Ophelia asked.
 "What?"  Lexington asked, mirroring her confusion.  Ophelia, forgetting herself, reached out to touch him.  He slapped her hand away.
 "I said I hate you."  he snarled.  His eyes rolled wildly in his head, and then he started to hum.  He said nothing else.
 Ophelia swallowed.  Her eyes brimmed with tears.  Slowly, she stood up, not saying a word.  She walked out of the room.  Carbonear, sensing a need to follow her, did so, calling her name.
 Bonavista watched all this, and turned back to Lexington.  The autistic gargoyle was silent once more, just staring ahead blankly into space.  His face showed no emotion whatsoever.
 Whitbourne sighed.  "What are we gonna do?  I doubts we can all take much more of this."
 "I knows, my son."  Bonavista replied.  "I knows."
 
*******************************************************************

Levin Residential Building
9:50 p.m, EST

 J.D. had been sent to his room.  He had calmed down somewhat, but he was so nervous and tense that Christine had elected to send him to bed for a little nap.  Not that he needed the sleep; he had slept all day again.  The four gargoyles had taken in J.D.'s outburst with astonishing familiarity...as if they had seen it before in the last couple of days.  They didn't understand why J.D. had decided he hated them, or why he had started spontaneously calming down and starting up again, but they let it slide.
 After she returned, Christine sat down, and at Goliath's request, she spun a tale.
 "That outburst...well, he's been having them all his life."  Christine began.  "He is autistic, and Dr. Langille said that sort of  thing is normal in cases like his, and that someday, with help, he'll grow out of it.  He almost has.  But after that museum...uh, incident...things have been getting wierder.  He's started insisting that he's really a gargoyle named Lexington.  He's started thinking he can glide, and that's scared me enough to bolt up the windows.  And he's taken to sleeping all day.  He tells us that he turns to stone, just like a gargoyle."
 Broadway's eyes widened.  "He just goes to bed and sleeps all day?"
 Christine nodded.  "At the crack of dawn.  And he sleeps through till sunset."
 Goliath, Brooklyn, Broadway and Hudson all looked at each other.
 "Who is this Lexington?  Matt said he was a gargoyle..."
 "He is a member of our clan."  Goliath noted.  Broadway got up, and walked towards the kitchen, intending to get an orange from the fruit dish.  He took one look at the fridge, and stopped dead in his tracks.
 "Uh, guys..." he muttered.
 Brooklyn got up, and walked to the kitchen.  When he got there, he found himself staring at Lexington's picture, drawn in Crayola's, stuck on the fridge door.  He took it down, and walked back into the living room with picture in tow.
 "That's Lexington."  Broadway stated, coming back, his orange forgotten.  Christine took the picture, looked at it, and nodded.
 "He walked around with that after he drew it, and told anyone who would listen 'That's me.  That's Lexington.' "
 She looked up.  "So what is going on?"
 Goliath sighed.  "We aren't entirely sure ourselves.  Lexington has become autistic, and refers to himself as J.D.  We think that the spell cast on Lexington and your son at the museum somehow linked their minds, causing the two to become one."
 Christine laughed with no humor.  "Under normal circumstances, I'd say that was a pretty dumb story.  But I don't know what to believe anymore."
 "I know the feeling, lass."  Hudson muttered sourly, looking at the picture.
 Broadway looked up.  "You know, maybe it might be a good idea to have J.D. and Lexington meet again."
 Goliath raised an eye ridge, staring at him quizzically.
 "We might get another clue as to how they're linked if we get them together, Goliath."  Brooklyn picked up the frey.  "See how far it goes."
 Goliath nodded, seeing the logic of this.  He looked at Christine, who was wide-eyed.
 "Would that be all right with you, Mrs. LeJeune?"  Goliath asked.
 "Um...I...as long as I could be there, I guess so..."  Christine stammered.  "I'll want to tell Thomas, too.  He's out playing poker tonight.  He doesn't know anything of what I've found out."
 "Say tomorrow night, then."  Brooklyn suggested.
 "Come to the Eyrie Building tomorrow night.  I'm assuming you know where that is."  Goliath continued.  Christine nodded.
 "Your husband may come along, but be sure to bring J.D.  And if any trouble should arise from this, then you can leave at anytime."
 He sighed, and offered one great hand to shake.  She slowly took it.
 "Good night, Mrs. LeJeune.  Thank you for your time and help."  Goliath said.  Brooklyn, Broadway and Hudson gave thank yous as well.  Christine remained silent as the gargoyles went back to the window, clambered out, and soared off into the night.
 She walked to the window, watching their silhouettes distance and vanish, heading northward.
 "Prozac, Prozac, my kingdom for some Prozac."  she muttered.

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

 From his bedroom, J.D. watched the gargoyles go away, too.  His face was locked in bitter hatred again.  He clenched his hand, and raked his fingernails along his face, leaving five long scratch marks along his cheek.
 "Go away."  J.D. muttered.  "Go away and leave us alone."
 
*******************************************************************

Castle Wyvern
10:02 p.m, EST

 It took Carbonear a while to find Ophelia.  She hadn't gone to any of her usual haunts...the library, the den or the games room.  Afetr nearly giving up on finding her, she looked out a window, and saw Ophelia there, on the parapets, staring out at the city.
 She walked out, and quietly stepped behind her friend.  Ophelia was totally silent, not registering anyone.
 "He wasn't after meanin' what he said."  Carbonear began.  Ophelia turned around, and gave a weak little smile.
 "I know."  she stated.  "I know he doesn't hate me.  But I guess...I..."
 She paused, looking for the right words to say.  Failing, she sighed.
 Carbonear sat down next to her, throwing her white hair back.  She looked out at the lights of the city.  "Nice night, ain't it."
 "Yes."  Ophelia replied.
 "Not nothin' at all like St. John's."  Carbonear continued.  "Frigg, me girl, I still catches myself lookin' at all these skyscrapers and tall buildings, and gets a little misty-eyed for home."
 "I do too."  Ophelia concurred. "Sometimes.  I'd like to visit Avalon sometime, but living here is wonderful too.  At least it used to be."
 Carbonear looked over to her.  "Remember that talk we had way back last year?  Back when we was in St. John's, in the middle of the Ring thing?  When ye was worried about hurtin' Lex's feelings and I was mopin' cause I was after thinkin' Brooklyn wasn't ever gonna love me?"
 "Uh huh."
 "Kinda like that.  'Cept now things has changed, ain't they?  Brooklyn and I loves each other so much it's like a fairy tale, and you..."
 Ophelia's brow furrowed, and she looked at Carbonear darkly.  "I what?"
 "Ye loves Lexington, and now ye's tryin' to figure out how ye feels about him to yourself.  Cause everybody knows except ye and Lex."
 Ophelia's jaw dropped, and Carbonear gave a merry laugh.  "Did ye honestly think we wasn't that observant?  Word gets around, me girl, but they way the two of ye acts around each other speaks louder than any gossip.  And of course, you wouldn't have been so hurt by Lex's outburst where he said he hated you if ye didn't feel somethin' for him."
 She moved a little closer to her.  "Ophelia, look.  I knows it's hard, havin' him autistic like that.  It's hard on all of us.  I doesn't know how to deal with it neither.  And...well, look!  Here I am doin' all the talkin' for you!  Why doesn't ye tell me how ye feels?"
 Ophelia swallowed, and stared blankly at her.
 "Tell me the truth.  Does ye love him?"
 A long, awkward silence.
 "Well?"
 "Yes."  Ophelia said.  "No.  I don't know..."
 Carbonear sighed.  "Ophelia, it's me, Carb.  Whatever ye tells me here stays between us.  Whatever ye tells me here tonight, I won't say to no one else.  And ye's hurting.  Not admittin' it to yourself is killin' ye inside just as