Immortal Beloved
A "Gargoyles" Fan Fiction Story by Dylan P. Blacquiere (pblacqui@cycor.ca)

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 existence of "The Goliath Chronicles".  Not because I don't
like that series, because I LOVE it, but because it and my universe
conflict so badly that letting the third season exist would make my stories
unintelligible in terms of my plotline.  Finally, this story would get a PG
rating for some language and mature subject matter.
My thanks go out to Christi Smith Hayden, who edited this fanfic, and to
Ryan Stout, a.k.a. Proteus, who generously wordwrapped it for me.

HISTORIAN'S NOTE:  This story takes place after "Shadowplay, Parts One to
Six".  BEFORE YOU READ THIS FANFIC, READ "SHADOWPLAY, PARTS ONE TO SIX", AS
THIS IS A DIRECT SEQUEL.

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BROOKLYN:  "You're my immortal beloved."
"And In The Darkness Bind Them"

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

HAWTHORNE: "I want you to look out for him.  Help him to get over this."
(Show Hawthorne turning to stone, "From Darkness To Light")
"From Darkness To Light"

BROOKLYN:  "Your pendant..."
HAWTHORNE:  "It's a gift, Brook.  Take it and remember me."
"From Darkness To Light"

BROOKLYN:  "I'll never stop loving you."
(Show Brooklyn and Hawthorne kissing the final time, "From Darkness To
Light)
"From Darkness To Light"

BROADWAY:  "He's heartbroken."
"From Darkness To Light"

CARBONEAR:  "I wants ye to know that I'se here for ye.  That whatever
happens, you can count on me as a friend."
"From Darkness To Light"

CARBONEAR:  "I feels the two of us is destined to be together...not him and
Hawthorne."
"One Ring To Rule Them All"

OPHELIA:  "I'll stay.  Not permanently, but until I make up my mind whether
I'm staying for good or not."
"From Darkness To Light"

CARBONEAR:  "Watch out, Manhattan..."
WHITBOURNE:  "Here comes Clan Newfie!"
(Show the drunk scene, "One Ring To Rule Them All")
"From Darkness To Light"

BROOKLYN:  "LEAVE ME ALONE!"
"From Darkness To Light"

BROOKLYN:  "I miss her."
"From Darkness To Light"

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Prologue

          Brooklyn Unloved

     It was with great relief that Brooklyn realized that Hawthorne's
death, that the months of agony and loneliness he spent afterwards, and
that any obstacles which stood in the way of his and Hawthorne's love, were
all the products of his imagination.  What had seemed to happen,
Hawthorne's death and his depression afterwards, was all the imaginings of
his fear struck mind in the seconds it took Hawthorne to walk across the
tower, towards her fate.
     The way it REALLY happened, to his pleasure, was that just seconds
before Ariel cast the spell which would have turned Hawthorne to stone
forever, he suddenly stopped.  Seconds before disaster, he realized that
the spell wasn't necessary, and that the Forbidding was impenetrable after
all.  Hawthorne's death would have been needless.  It was a good thing
Ariel hadn't gone through with it.
     Hawthorne ran back, and caught Brooklyn in a tearful embrace. 
Everyone was delirious with joy, but most of all, Brooklyn and Hawthorne
were happy.  Finally, they could spend the rest of their lives together.
     And they did.  After a long courtship, Hawthorne and Brooklyn
officially became mates on December 31, 1996...New Year's Eve.  Amid the
festivities, during which Whitbourne and Carbonear defied all expectations
and pronounced themselves to be in love, Brooklyn had popped the question,
and Hawthorne had eagerly accepted.  They had gone up and made love, and
during the proceedings, Hawthorne had cried.  When Brooklyn asked what was
wrong, she replied that she was just so happy she felt she had to either
cry or explode. 
     On May 19, 1997, Hawthorne discovered that she was pregnant.  Brooklyn
had done the immediate and proper thing...threw a party.  The bash was a
huge success, with the only mar being that Brooklyn had gotten utterly and
totally drunk, and attempted to dance with Elisa.  He had stepped on her
foot, twisting her ankle, but other than that, the night went off without a
hitch.
     The egg was laid nine months later, on March 5, 1998.  Brooklyn and
Hawthorne would frequently spend their nights staring at their unborn
child's shell, marveling at each other and at the prospects of the new
phase of their relationship...parenthood.
     As Broadway and Angela, Lexington and Ophelia and Whitbourne and
Carbonear became prospective parents as well, the clan had unanimously
decided to mix the old traditions with the new.  Even though every member
of the clan would share the responsibility of raising the children, they
would also recognize their own.  Although Hudson had grumbled a bit, saying
that "the loss of tradition was appalling," Angela gently pointed out that
Goliath had acknowledged her, and it had strengthened the bond she felt
with her father and her clan.  Hudson had agreed, and the matter was
dropped.
     Finally, on July 21, 2008, Brooklyn and Hawthorne's egg hatched.  It
was a beautiful baby boy, who had inherited Brooklyn's distinct beak, but
Hawthorne's handsome face.  The rest of the clan said simply that the baby
was the most beautiful child any of them had ever seen.
     It was Brooklyn who had suggested the baby's name.  As soon as the
name 'Whistler' had passed his lips, he realized that he had never said
anything that had felt so perfectly right in his life.  The result was
electrifying.  Hawthorne had emphatically nodded, her eyes tearful, and
pronounced that that Whistler would be the child's name.  She had later
told Brooklyn that naming the baby Whistler was one of the most sensitive
and thoughtful things anyone had ever done for her.
     As time went on, Whistler grew up to be a happy, energetic child. 
Later on, when he began to realize that he was the only boy in a clutch of
girls, he reacted in the typical way...disgust.  Proximity forced him to
accept Katherine (Broadway and Angela's daughter), Avery (Lexington and
Ophelia's child), and Victoria (Whitbourne and Carbonear's rambunctious
progeny, who dominated the little clique with an iron fist) as his friends,
but his gender made them his rivals....especially with the self-proclaimed
leader, Victoria.  He had a wonderful game he would play with
Victoria...seeing who could make the other cry first.  But before either
Whistler or Victoria could gain a definite lead, either Brooklyn or
Whitbourne would be there to separate them.  One night, after a
particularly nasty scene where Whistler had ripped out a clump of
Victoria's brown hair, Brooklyn had complained that Whistler was giving him
premature ulcers.  Hawthorne had laughed, and reminded him that boys will
be boys.
     The night of Whistler's first flying lesson came and went without a
hitch.  Before Brooklyn even realized how fast time was slipping away,
Whistler was all grown up, and showing a definite interest in Victoria. 
The two courted for a while...and then became mates. Soon, Victoria was
pregnant, and it slowly sank in to Brooklyn's mind that he was to be a
grandfather.  He was leader of the clan, now...Hudson having passed on
several years before, Goliath stepping down and allowing Brooklyn to take
his place.  Avery became his second in command.  Whistler and Victoria had
their baby, deciding to name the baby girl Kerry.  At the hatching,
Brooklyn turned to Hawthorne, smiling gently.
     "I love you."  he reminded her, taking her hand.
     Oddly, she didn't respond.  As Brooklyn watched, the rookery vanished. 
Whistler, Victoria, Avery, Katherine and Kerry faded away like wisps of
smoke.  He watched his clanmates grow younger, back to the age they had
been so long ago, when he and Hawthorne had first met.
     The second Hawthorne reverted to her former age, she began to turn to
stone.  Brooklyn screamed, and tried in vain to stop it.  He watched
Hawthorne die again, and screamed, and screamed, and screamed...

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Castle Wyvern, New York City
February 11, 1997

     ...and with a cry, Brooklyn bolted awake in terror.
     He glanced around, his heart pounding like a jackhammer in his chest. 
He was in the TV room, lying on the couch, the TV on but showing nothing
but static.  He sat up, and realized he was soaked in sweat. 
     He must have fallen asleep, he concluded.  Dimly, he remembered
watching a rerun of "The X-Files", and falling asleep halfway through it. 
During his slumber, he'd had the nightmare again.
     He got up, groaning, and stretched.  He shut off the TV, and walked
out of the room. 
     Brooklyn frowned, remembering the dream.  It had been so real, so
tangible...and so heartbreaking.
     The dream had started about two weeks after Hawthorne's untimely death
in the autumn.  It was very painful, a bitter reminder of the life he could
have had if only he and Hawthorne could have found a way to beat the
goddamned prophecy.  But they hadn't, and Hawthorne had died.  She had
accepted it, but that hadn't made it feel any less painful.
     With a sigh, Brooklyn headed for the kitchen.  He flicked on the
light, at first surprised that neither Broadway nor Bonavista was there. 
Then, he remembered that the entire clan had gone out on patrol, save him,
who had been left to guard the castle.  Some job I did, he thought
ruefully.  I spent the whole night curled up on the couch, fell asleep, and
had a nightmare.
     He opened the fridge door almost mechanically, and his hand reached
for a bottle of beer.  But he hesitated, and drew back, grabbing a bottle
of Coke instead.  Alcohol probably wouldn't help with the pain.  Nothing
would.
     With a sigh, he twisted off the bottle cap with his talons, and drank. 
He usually loved the fizzy taste Coke left him with.  But tonight, like for
the past three months, there was no pleasure to be had in a bottle of pop. 
Or anything else, for that matter.
     Hawthorne's death had left him reeling.  He couldn't accept it, no
matter how hard he tried to.  Everyone had patiently stuck by his side over
the last three months, offering support, patience, and a sympathetic ear. 
But he had refused them all.  His grief was just too much.  He didn't cry
anymore, but he did zone out.  He would become so caught up in his inner
turmoil that he would ignore the world.  Once, Goliath had tried to talk to
him, and had to snap his fingers for almost a full minute to even get his
attention.  And while Goliath had talked, Brooklyn began to think about
Hawthorne again, and had drifted away once more.
     Brooklyn downed the Coke, and left the kitchen, leaving the empty
bottle on the counter.  He glanced at the clock...2:07 a.m.  The clan would
be back from patrol soon.
     Brooklyn shuffled slowly out into the hall.  He opened the door to the
library, and stared quietly at the rows upon rows of books for a few
minutes.  Finally, he walked in, heading for the desk.
     He opened the drawer, and took out a diary and a pen.  He had been
keeping the small journal for two months now, writing down what he felt he
wanted to write about.  It wasn't the best place to keep a diary...anybody
could open the drawer and see it, but Brooklyn didn't mind. 
     He opened it, and began to read some of the scattered entries
throughout the book.

     December 18, 1996

     Tonight, I began to wonder what would happen if it had been me to die
instead of Hawthorne.  While I questioned this, I began to realize that
maybe I have.  When she died, it was like my soul died too...but not in the
way it was when I was subverted.  Even though I can't remember how that
felt during THAT, I know that they aren't the same at all.  It's almost as
if all my feelings are just locked away.  And the funny thing is, I don't
care.  I feel like an emotionless drone.  And while I realize that should
scare me, it doesn't.

     December 25, 1996

     It's Christmas.  Everyone went out of their way to make sure I was
included, and to make sure I had a good time.  I didn't.  We had a little
Christmas party, and I stood there, watching the others have fun.  They
tried to include me, but I wouldn't have it.  I'm not one of them anymore. 
I don't deserve to enjoy myself.
     Elisa bought me a Christmas present...a little snow globe with an
angel inside it.  I thanked her, took it outside, and smashed it.  I don't
care.  It was too beautiful, and I can't have a beautiful thing without it
being taken away from me anyway.  I would have destroyed it sooner or
later.  I haven't told her, and I don't plan on it.  If she asks about the
globe, I'll say that it's beautiful.  Just another little deception in my
tangled web.

     January 8, 1997

     Last night, I went out gliding, and didn't make it back before the sun
rose.  I roosted for the day on a church.  When I awoke tonight, the choir
was practicing.  I sat there for a while, listening to them sing.  It was
the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.
     When I got back to the castle, I began to sing the hymn I heard to
Hawthorne...or at least, her statue.  It must have been my imagination, but
I could almost hear somebody singing with me, in a harmony that sounded
remarkably like her voice.  I broke down, and cried.  I do that an awful
lot lately.  I guess that's what being unloved does to you.


     Brooklyn frowned.  The melancholy entries summed up exactly how he
felt.  Life was empty, he was empty.  He had loved Hawthorne, her death had
left a vacuum that nothing save sadness and depression could fill. 
Brooklyn dimly realized that he was giving in to the grief...and he
welcomed that revelation.  Without Hawthorne, it seemed life was nothing.
     Once or twice over the past few months, Brooklyn had seriously began
to contemplate suicide.  The idea had simply come to him, as he sat out by
the statue, that maybe he didn't have to be separated from her...that he
could join her.  That life didn't have to be empty.  He had almost
deliriously prepared to do the deed, but then Carbonear had heard him
mention it, and talked him out of it.
     Brooklyn sighed, and set the diary back in the desk.  No, there was
nothing to write about tonight.
     He left the library, shutting the door behind him.  As he walked, he
heard Bronx padding behind him, looking for a snack.  He smiled, and
scratched the dog behind the ears.  But he didn't return to the kitchen. 
He walked outside, into the still February air.  He shivered...it was still
cold out, and for some odd reason, only he and the Newfoundlanders were
bothered by it.  There were snow banks littering the courtyard, all of them
broken by the tracks Alexander left when he went out to play in the snow.
     Hawthorne's statue was standing where it always did, on the tower
parapets.  She was still holding up the silvery Ring, she was still smiling
that half-contented smile.  She was half covered in snow.  Brooklyn frowned
at the apparent travesty, and lightly brushed off the wet snow.  As he did
so, he felt the icy chill of the stone, and suddenly felt the tears come to
his eyes.  It seemed so wrong to see the woman he had loved standing there,
frozen in stone as cold as ice.
     "My immortal beloved..."  he whispered.
     He felt a tear roll down, as he always did when he saw Hawthorne's
statue.  The grief was a dull ache in his chest that he didn't believe he
could ever truly recover from.  And he almost didn't want to.  He had been
so depressed over the past three months that he almost couldn't remember
how being truly happy actually felt.
     He miserably caressed Hawthorne's chilled face, and was aware of a
presence behind him.  He spun around.
     Bronx was there, a frown on his face.  The expression was one along
the lines of "Um, hello, I need to be fed, what could possibly be so
important to keep you from that?", but then he saw the statue, and he
whined.  Even though Bronx had never known Hawthorne, never seen her as she
once had been...laughing, lively and lovely...he nuzzled up against the
statue's stone leg, and began to whimper. 
     Brooklyn smiled.  "You would have liked her, boy."  he explained,
scratching Bronx's ear. 
     He looked towards the sky.  There was no sign of the others returning
yet, so for the time, he had the castle to himself.  The Xanatos' were fast
asleep, Alex had settled for the night (hard to believe he'll be a year old
in a few months, Brooklyn thought) and Owen had retired as well.  Xanatos
had a very important meeting with some construction company in the morning
about buying some huge bridge between Prince Edward Island and New
Brunswick, which he was making a very big deal over.  Brooklyn wondered if
he would think it was so important if he lost someone he loved.
     He sighed.  What a horrible thing to think.
     He touched the statue again, this time kissing it, almost as if she
was alive.  It wasn't as bad as that time in November when he had spent an
entire week pretending she hadn't died.  He had finally realized the
futility of that, and stopped it.  But it was one of the deepest clues he
had given to how deep his depression really was.
     With a sigh, he settled down, sitting next to Hawthorne in the snow,
waiting for the sunrise.

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Two Hours Later

     As the advanced stages of hypothermia set in, Whitbourne decided that
freezing to death wasn't all that bad.
     He smiled wistfully at Broadway.  "Broadway..." he chattered as his
life slipped way.  "It was nice knowing ye..."
     "Oh, grow up."  Broadway snapped.  "It's not that cold."
     Whitbourne snarled.  "My son, I thinks it's goddamned freezing.  I'll
never understand how ye can run around half-dressed like that in the middle
of the winter."
     Broadway looked at Whitbourne, who now sported the nickname "the
Eskimo."  Since December, he insisted going on patrol with at least a heavy
sweater, if not a parka.  He wore woolen mittens, a scarf and a toque. 
Broadway, who wasn't at all bothered by the cold, had to suppress a laugh.
     The Newfoundlanders had been taken on patrols for two months now.  At
first, they hadn't done that well, and Lexington had jokingly suggested
that someone should make badges which read 'Trainee' and have the Newfs
wear it.  But by and large, they improved, and by February were at least
able to be useful.  There WERE throwbacks...most namely Whitbourne, who
still couldn't quite grasp the concept of how to fight.  Whitbourne had
once tried to get in a fistfight with a mugger, and had gotten the living
daylights pounded out of him, but other than that...
     "How can you find it so cold here, when you lived in Newfoundland?  I
mean, Bonavista told me that winter in St. John's is twice as bad." 
Broadway asked.
     "We had the sense to stay INSIDE during the winter in St. John's,
bye." Whitbourne complained.  "At least then we..."
     Suddenly, a snowball whiffed through the air, striking Whitbourne in
the back of the head.  Whitbourne turned around angrily, and saw Angela
soar by.  Carbonear and Hudson were with her.
     "Who threw that?"  Whitbourne demanded.  Hudson smirked.
     "Oh, you frigger."  Whitbourne smiled.  "You wait till we gets back."
     "I wanted to hear you say 'threw', to see if it was as bad as her
'three'."  Hudson explained, pointing at Carbonear.  Broadway looked at her
questioningly.
     "Buddy stunned-arse here..."  Carbonear began, pointing back at
Hudson.
     "Buddy stunned-arse."  Angela laughed.
     "...seems to think that the Newfs is off when we says three." 
Carbonear finished.  Because of her accent, it came out sounding like
'tree', much like Whitbourne's 'trew dat'.
     "I tried telling him that Newfs can't say 'th' unless we tries really
hard."  Carbonear frowned.
     Ophelia and Lexington soared by as well, Lexington pausing to dump a
huge armful of snow onto Whitbourne's head.
     "Would ye's stop pickin on me?"  Whitbourne demanded, trying to shake
the snow off.  All he succeeded in doing was getting it down the back of
the sweater. 
     "Can't put up with us when you're not the instigator, huh."  Ophelia
smiled.  Whitbourne shivered as the melting snow dribbled down his sweater
onto his back.
     Goliath and Bonavista glided towards as well, coming from patrol on
the west side.  Goliath was basking in the crisp chill of the air, while
Bonavista was shivering.    
     "Oh good."  Bonavista stated when he saw Whitbourne.  "Someone I can
be miserable with."
     Goliath sighed.  "It was a very quiet night."
     "Aye.  All we had was a mugging on Tirty-Tird Street..."  Hudson
mocked.  Carbonear rolled her eyes.  Goliath chuckled. 
     Lexington swooped over.  "Are we going back to the castle now?"  he
asked.
     Goliath looked eastward, towards the lightening sky.  "Yes."  he
decided.  "Besides, I want to check on Brooklyn.  Perhaps his state of mind
improved somewhat."
     "I wouldn't be too hopeful."  Angela frowned sadly.  She had moved
next to Broadway.  "If he hasn't improved in three months, I doubt one
night will make it better."
     Goliath sighed.  "You are right, I suppose.  But I don't want to lose
faith."
     Lexington agreed.  "I can't stand to see him like that.  I mean, he
refuses to let us help.  The only person he really lets talk to him is
Carbonear."
     Carbonear looked back at the mention of her name.  "I has no idea why. 
He just thinks that because of...what I feel about him...that I might be
able to help him."
     It was no secret that Carbonear was in love with Brooklyn.  The
Newfoundlanders had explained some time ago about their parts in the quest
for the Ring.  Whitbourne had told of his part in the Newfoundland affair. 
The others had been mad, but it had blown over, and he was forgiven.  They
seemed to be more concerned about Brooklyn, and they were understanding
anyway.  They didn't even blame Woodstock...they simply chalked it up to
deceptions on the parts of the Servants of Twilight, and let it slide.
     But they had lingered a bit on Carbonear's confession of her feelings
towards Brooklyn.  Some of them already knew, of course...Ophelia being
one.  But the others had been kind of concerned that Carbonear was trying
to help Brooklyn along so she could have a chance at him.  She'd assured
them that that wasn't the case, and proved it by encouraging Brooklyn to
talk to the others.  After Brooklyn had told Goliath that Carbonear was
being one of the most helpful members of the clan, the matter was dropped.
     The Eyrie Building loomed ever closer, and the gargoyles prepared to
make their final descent.

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Castle Wyvern

     Carbonear sighed, and headed for the kitchen.  It was still a good
hour before dawn, but Christ, she was hungry.
     As she walked towards the door leading to the kitchen, she thought she
heard a voice.  She looked curiously towards the other side of the
courtyard, and saw Brooklyn, sitting on the ground.  Bronx was with him, as
was Hawthorne's statue.  With a start, she realized that he was singing.
     "There will be no consolation prize, this time the bone is broken
clean, no baptism, no reprise, and no sweet taste of victory.  All the
stars have fallen from the sky, and everything else in between, satellites
have closed their eyes, the moon is gone to sleep.  Unloved, unloved.  
Unloved, unloved."  he sang softly.  Carbonear walked slowly forward,
listening to his voice.  He noticed her, and stopped.
     "I wasn't aware you liked Jann Arden."  Carbonear stated, referring to
the singer of that song.
     Brooklyn sighed.  "It's just the way I feel right now."
     "Unloved." 
     Brooklyn nodded.  "She loved me, and I loved her.  And in the end, we
were both so close to having everything we ever wanted, but fate stepped in
and I lost her.  Like I always lose."
     Carbonear frowned, and sat down.  "Brooklyn..."
     "I do.  Ever since we woke up almost three years ago, I've been in
love three times.  Maggie, who didn't like me, Angela, who liked somebody
else, and Hawthorne, who died.  But this time, it's different.  I miss HER
so much...so much that it hurts every time I see her...but I miss the
feeling, too.  I miss being loved."
     You are loved, Carbonear wanted to scream.  The clan loves you as a
brother, as a friend...and I love you, for God's sakes.  I love you just as
much as Hawthorne did.
     But she couldn't.  All she could do was put one hand on his shoulder,
and try to offer silent support.
     Brooklyn smiled a bit at her touch, but returned to his melancholy
frown.  "I don't know if I'll ever get over this."  he admitted ruefully.
     Carbonear sighed.  "I'se been telling ye for three months that we's
here to help ye.  And ye has made progress..."
     Brooklyn laughed hollowly.
     "Don't laugh, Brook.  Remember just after she died?  You'd pretend she
was still here?  Remember December, when ye was talking about suicide?" 
Carbonear sighed.  "Now ye's finally starting to accept it.  Just a little
bit, perhaps, and it might not feel like it to ye.  But we all sees it. 
Little by little, ye's starting to come back to us."
     Brooklyn looked up.  "I wish I could tell her how much I loved her,
though.  There's so many things we left unsaid, undone...and I just wish so
much that I could have another chance.  I don't know if I can ever feel
better, because I don't have that oppurtunity.  There's so much more we
could have done, and because of that stupid Ring, we couldn't.  All the
time we had together we had that business hanging over us.  It's so unfair. 
And I know I won't ever love someone like that again."
     "You never knows."  Carbonear whispered.  "You never knows when
someone comes along that just changes your outlook on the whole life
business.  And even though you feels unloved right now, I can assure ye
that ye's not.  We's all clan, more or less...so we all has a special
relationship that none other has.  Even though Whitbourne and Bonavista and
I are new to that...more adopted members of your family, ye might say...we
feels that.  And we all feels it for ye, too.  Broadway and Lexington loves
ye like brothers.  In fact, I'd have to say to ye that you are the farthest
possible thing from being unloved."
     Brookyn gave her a curious look.  "What about you?"  he asked.
     Carbonear stammered.  "Uh...well, you knows how I feels about ye.  But
that's not important.  What's important is that ye realizes that you are
well loved.  And you knows that we wouldn't abandon you to the grief."
     She stood up.  "I'se gong in to get something to eat  You want
something?"
     "Uh, no thanks."  Brooklyn refused.  Carbonear smiled, and walked
away.
     "Carbonear?"  Brooklyn called over.
     Carbonear turned around.
     "Thanks."  he sighed.  "For being there for me the last few months." 
Brooklyn continued, a faint trace of a smile playing on his lips.
     Carbonear smirked.  "Don't mention it."  she replied.  She waved at
him, and walked back into the castle, towards the kitchen.
     Brooklyn watched her go, and his smile died.  He looked back at
Hawthorne's stone form, and sighed miserably.
    
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Chapter One

          Let The Games Begin         

The Eyrie Building
February 11, 1997

     The door opened, and another pleased investor walked out.
     "I'm very glad Strait Crossing agreed to partner with Xanatos
Enterprises."  David laughed, shaking his associate's hand.  "I've heard
you already have a new contract."
     Paul Gianella laughed.  "Yes.  It's our first non Canadian contract. 
We've been hired to upgrade the structure of the Tribourogh Bridge. 
Although it's not as big as the Prince Edward Island contract..."
     Xanatos caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his
eye...Owen Burnett, carrying a heavy box.  Gianella said good-bye, and Owen
showed him to the elevator.
     Curious, David walked over to the box.  He frowned at the address.
    
     Whitbourne and co.
     c/o David Xanatos
     The Eyrie Building, 157 Fourth Avenue
     New York, New York
     10023

     The return address shed some light...

     June Tibbo
     35 Tupper Street
     St. John's, Nfld.
     A1A 2T6

     ...but David was still curious as to who would be golly enough to send
the gargoyles mail.
     Whoever it was, however, must have paid a hell of a lot in postage. 
The parcel was huge, almost as big as David.  As Owen walked in, David
looked questioningly at it.
     "It was delivered earlier this morning."  Owen replied curtly. 
"Apparently addressed for Whitbourne."
     David raised an eyebrow, and knocked at the parcel.  "The return
address is from Newfoundland."
     "There was also a note written in magic marker on one side, reading
'Witless' stuff'.  My guess would be is that this is Whitbourne, Bonavista
and Carbonear's personal belongings from Newfoundland."  Owen concluded. 
"When they awake tonight, I'll ensure that Whitbourne gets them."
     David sighed.  He tapped the box, his curiousity having gotten the
best of him.  There was a rattle of stuff inside, and what sounded like a
clink of glass.  David thought about opening the box, but decided against
it.
     "Thank you, Owen.  Move this into my office, please?"  he asked.  Owen
nodded, and picked up the box with ease.
     David watched him lug the huge parcel into the office, and chuckled to
himself.

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

Temporary 23rd Precinct House

     Elisa zipped up her coat, and pulled on the leather goves.  She put on
the earmuffs, and began to walk outside.
     Just as she was about to walk outside, her partner, Matt Bluestone,
came flying down the stairs, obviously in a very good mood.  He was
carrying a folder in his hand...he hadn't been in last night, and had only
come to pick up a file.
     "Why are you so happy?"  Elisa asked, smiling as well.  Lately, she
found good moods infectious.
     Matt grinned, and held open the door for her.  "Come on.  I'll buy you
coffee."
     Elisa nodded, and walked out onto the street.  The roads were slushy,
and the streets not very busy at all.  Park Avenue was mostly deserted,
even though it was nine o'clock in the morning.  In fact, the traffic over
the entire city was subdued, apparently since New York motorists had
finallly gotten it into their heads that driving fast on slushy streets was
a bad thing.
     As the pair walked towards the Dunkin' Donuts just down the street,
Matt seemed to be walking on air.
     "I'll ask you again; why are you in such a good mood?  I mean, nights
off can be fun, I know, but..."  Elisa began, shivering in the chilly
February morning air.  Oh, but she hated winter.
     Matt looked at her.  "I met a woman last night."
     "And she lived to tell the tale?" 
     "Ha ha ha."  Matt rolled his eyes.  "I was at the library and I met
this girl.  She's an opthomologist.  Her name's Cornelia Stallman."
     Elisa nodded in understanding.  "So you think you have a chance with
her?"
     "I'm betting on it.  We've got a date for tomorrow afternoon.  Sunday
brunch.  And I'm meeting her tonight, too, for a little while.  Valentine's
Day shopping."
     Elisa grinned. "Brunch already?  You work pretty fast.  All my other
boyfriends waited at least a month before we started brunching."
     "Of course, you'll never get that far with the current one,
considering he's stone during the day.  But still...her wit, her eyes..I
think she might be the one, Elisa."
     "You'd think that.  But they usually aren't."
     "You never know."  Matt sighed as he opened the door to the coffee
shop.  The pair ordered a drink, and sat down.  Matt opened the folder, and
frowned.
     "What's that?"  Elisa asked as he took on a pensive expression.
     Matt sighed, and flipped up the corner of the paper to show a pyramid
symbol with an eye on it.  "Illuminati."  he whispered.  "They want to know
about this Richmond thing.  Since Xanatos and I are the only two who really
know what happened, with Silhouette and all that, they've been sending out
form letters asking for full disclosure."
     "Well, you do whatever you want with that.  I don't want to think
about Silhouette or subversion at all anymore."  she frowned.  "Life's been
too long getting back to normal."
     Elisa still had nightmares.  Broadway had finally explained to her
what had happened with the shooting incident, where she had shot Ophelia
while subverted.  She hadn't been in control of herself, from what she
understood...but she had nearly killed Ophelia.  And since Ophelia and
Lexington were now, from all outward apprearances, beginning to 'get to
know each other better', she could have not only killed Ophelia, but
destroyed Lexington...
     ...much like Brooklyn was now emotionally collapsed.
     She took a sip of her coffee.  "Let's not talk about it."  she
concluded, and with that, the subject was closed.
     Matt was reading the memo. "Elisa,"  he asked, "what does 'Bras d'Or'
mean?"
     "Bras d'Or?"  Elisa repeated.  "It sounds French.  Why?"
     "There's a note in the memo telling me to watch for a group of people
called 'Bras d'Or'.  Doesn't explain anything else."
     "You're awfully flippant about Illuminati info."  Elisa remarked
dryly.
     Matt shrugged.  "I have plausible deniability.  They don't tell me
anything important anyway.  Besides, we're in a practically deserted coffee
shop, where nobody else even knows what the Illuminati are."
     Elisa shrugged.  "I have to get going, Matt.  I'm going to the castle
tonight, and I want to get rested up."    
     She stood up, and took a dollar out of her wallet.  Laying it on the
table, she cheerily waved good-bye.  "Tell Cornelia I said hi."  Elisa
smiled, opening the door.  Matt grinned.
     "If I'm not too busy."  he smirked.

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

The Eyrie Building
(Ten Hours Later)

     Elisa flashed the pass card at the guard.  As she stepped off of the
elevator, she took off her gloves and scarf, and pressed the buton for the
castle.  The elevator moved smoothly upwards.
     As she arrived on the castle, she began to walk towards the outer
parapets, pausing to put the gloves and scarf back on.  When she came out
on the roof, however, there was a large box obstructing her view.
     "What's this?'  she asked.
     David Xanatos stepped out from behind the box.  "It's addressed for
Whitbourne.  From Newfoundland."  he explained.
     Elisa nodded just as the sun set, and there was a cracking and
shattering sound from the parapets.  Half yawns, half roars punctauted the
dusk.
     "What is this?"  she heard Goliath ask.  She walked around the box,
and said hello.
     "It's a package.  For Whitbourne, it would seem."  Owen replied,
walking up from the tower.
     "Me?"  Whitbourne asked, hopping down.  He inspected the box, and
yelled in delight when he saw the magic marker on one side.
     "Byes, its our stuff!"  he shouted excitedly, tearing open the top of
the box.  Bonavista and Carbonear raced over, eagerly peering into it. 
Elisa was reminded of Brooklyn, Broadway and Lexington when they first
awoke in New York almost three years ago.  The naivete, as Xanatos often
said, was refreshing.
     The box was opened, and Whitbourne proudly hauled out a flag.  There
were four blue triangles piled up on top of one another, with two larger,
hollow red triangles and a yellow arrow between.
     "What's that?"  Angela asked.  It seemed to be the most commonly
repeated phrase.
     "It's the Newf flag."  Whitbourne explained.  "Let's take the rest of
the stuff in.  I'se freezing."
     Whitbourne, Bonavista and Carbonear picked up the box, and began to
haul it in.
     Eventually, they were in the den, and bringing the contents of the box
out one by one.
     The first thing Carbonear found was an envelope.  She opened it up,
reading aloud the letter inside.
     "Dear Witless."  she read.  Whitbourne rolled his eyes. 
     "We finally got around to mailing your junk, so ye's can't say we's
not after doin' anything good for ye.  Everyone put in a little gift,
too...Marsha's got her tapes and CDs that Bonnie's so fond of, and Oggie's
got one of his special surprises.  Personally, although I'se glad ye found
a place where ye can be among your own kind, I sort of wishes ye was back
here.  It gets kind of boring...and I thinks Loveless' car is looking too
well groomed, if ye knows what I mean.  Anyway, you take care.  Sincerely,
June Tibbo."  Carbonear continued.  She put the letter back in the
envelope, and set it aside.
     Whitbourne snorted.  "Loveless' car.  He'll smash it up the first
chance he gets."
     "Kind of like you did to Jason's Honda, right?"  Bonavista called
over, from where he was rooting through the box.
     "That's different."  Whitbourne crossed hs arms defensively.  "I was
just learning to drive."
     "You at the wheel of a car?"  Broadway laughed.  "Was there anything
left of St. John's?"
     "Barely."  Carbonear remarked.  Whitbourne shot her a dirty look, and
turned his attention back to the box.
     There was a framed photograph of Clan Newfie at a party.  There were
several tapes and CD's, most of which were labelled 'Marsha's Mix'.  There
was a poster proclaiming "Smoke Free!".  Among what seemed like the entire
conents of a department store's clothing department, there was a black and
blue track suit with a school emblem emblazoned on it.  There were books
and there were soccer balls.  And there was a bottle of a liquid. 
Bonavista unstoppered it, and smiled.
     "Oggie pulls through again."  he proclaimed.
     "Oggie?"  Goliath asked.
     "Here, has a drink."  Bonavsta offered.  Hesitantly, Goliath tasted
the stuff. 
     "It tastes very good."  he stated.  "What is it?"
     "Whiskey."  Whitbourne replied without even looking up.  Goliath
quickly stoppered up the bottle, and handed it back, with a guilty
expression.
     "So what's Oggie?"  Ophelia asked.
     "Father Kenny Ogden.  He's a priest where we lives to.  He's also one
of the best brewers in St. John's.  Throws wicked parties."  Carbonear
elaborated.
     "He's a priest, and he brews liquor?"  Lexington frowned.
     Bonavista nodded.  "He gots bottles of it in the church vestry."
     Whitbourne looked up.  "He's wicked.  One time, we went to one of his
sermons, and he was piss-loaded drunk.  Would have gotten away with it,
too, if he hadn't referred to the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost as Big
G, Junior and the Spook.  And if he hadn't given the Blessing of the Gifts
as 'Rub a dub dub, thanks for the grub.', and stuff like that."  Suddenly,
his mouth dropped.  "Oh, my."  he whispered.
     "What?"  Broadway asked.
     Whitbourne hauled out a guitar case.  Bonavista's eyes widened, and he
opened it, crowing wildy.  Whitbourne proceeded to haul out other
instruments too...another guitar, a small wooden accordion, a fiddle, a
little flute, and a big one sided drum.
     Bonavista took out his guitar, and played a few chords.  He laughed. 
"They sent it!"  he repeated.  "I can't believe they sent it"
     Carbonear opened the fiddle case, and inspected the strings.  "It came
through fine." she concluded.
     "Play us a reel, Carb.  Or a jig.  I wants to hear a jig."  Whitbourne
commanded.  Carbonear smiled, and broke into some tantalizing first few
chords.
     Lexington picked up the drum, and pat on it.
     "You needs the mallet."  Bonavista claimed, tossing it.  "What, you
hasn't ever seen a bodhran before?"
     Lexington shook his head.  Bonavista took the drum, and showed him how
to play it.
     "I'se not as good as Woody was.  He's the one what played the bodhran
and the tin whistle."  Bonavista sighed, looking at the flute.  "I guess
June got the head replaced."
     "Uh, where can we put this stuff?"  Carbonear asked, setting the
fiddle down.
     Xanatos shrugged.  "Well, there's storage rooms.  Or I..."
     "Wait.  I knows the perfect place."  Whitbourne decided.  "Help me
take this stuff up." 
     The Newfs all put the gear in the box, and hauled it upstairs.  The
others watched them go.
     "Well, then."  Elisa sighed, clapping her hands together.
     "There goes peace and quiet."  Broadway muttered.  "I just hope
Whitbourne can actually play that thing."
     Angela smiled.  "Well, then, are we going?"
     "Yeah."  Broadway sighed.  "We're going to play pool.  Is anyone else
coming?"
     Lexington and Ophelia nodded.  Broadway looked questioningly at
Brooklyn.
     "Uh, no.  I'm just going to the library."  Brooklyn sighed.
     Goliath frowned.  "Maybe you should go with them."  he stated.
     "It might do your spirit good to play a few games."  Hudson pointed
out.
     Brooklyn shook his head.  "I just don't want to.  Maybe later."
     He turned and walked away.  Hudson bit his lip, and walked after him.
     Elisa sighed.  "He's got to get over it sometime, Goliath.  He needs
time."
     Goliath shook his head.  "The question is, will he get over it before
his grief destroys him?"
     He turned, and watched the departing Hudson and Brooklyn.

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

     "I'll break."  Lexington insisted, picking up the cue.  He set down
the cue ball, and shot it, breaking up the other pool balls.
     "Nice break."  Angela grinned slyly.  "But not nearly good enough."
     She walked around, and calmly struck the ball.  It ricocheted,
bouncing around and sending the 6-ball rolling into a side pocket.  She and
Ophelia gave each other a high five, and Angela proceeded to her next shot.
     Lexington was enamored by the high five, however.  In the three months
Ophelia had taken up 'temporary' residence at the castle, due to her
indecisiveness over her future after the Silhouette incident, she had
picked up on the mannerisms of the clan.  In fact, she slipped into the
clan like into a well worn-shoe, adapting quickly to the life that was
radically different from Avalon.  Every time some one would ask her whether
she was staying for good or not, she still couldn't say, but Lexington
began to suspect more and more that the answer would eventually be yes.
     And that suited him just fine.
     The two had become almost inseparable friends since her decision. 
They did practically everything together.  The things he used to do with
Broadway and Brooklyn, he now did, albeit toned down, with Ophelia.  He
showed her all about computers, cards, games, the city...and she told him
tales of Avalon in return.  Lexington was enthralled by those stories, and
would often find himself doing anything for them, if only because it meant
he had more time with her.  He knew he was in love with her.  But although
she knew he felt that way, she inisited they take it slow.  A far better
cry than what she would previously say...no, but still not what Lexington
wanted.
     He sat there staring, lost in thought, when Broadway poked him on the
shoulder.
     "Lex...it's your turn."  Ophelia clarified.
     "Oh.  Right."  Lexington blinked.  He got up, and immediately sunk the
8-ball into the pocket.  Broadway, his partner, slapped his forehead. 
Angela and Ophelia exchanged victory glances.
     "You dolt!"  Broadway groaned. 
     "It's okay."  Angela smiled, walking over to Broadway.  "We already
knew you were both losers anyway."
     "Hey..."  Lexington protested.  Broadway frowned.
     "If I'm such a loser, then why do you put up with me?"  he frowned,
enfolding his wings around her.
     "I didn't say you were a loser in everything."  Angela frowned. 
Broadway suddenly blushed, and the two kissed.
     Lexington smiled coyly, and winked at Ophelia.  Ophelia winked back,
and the two of them began mocking the two lovebirds.  Broadway and Angela
didn't even notice, but instead continued on from where they had begun.
     Lexington grimaced.  "I think it's going to get a little hot and heavy
here in a second."
     Ophelia was already headed for the door.  Lexington followed.
     "Have fun."  Ophelia called back, as the door slowly closed.  There
was no reply.
     Broadway and Angela, who were following Lexington's prediction to the
letter, merely smiled, and carried on.

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

     "Brooklyn."  Hudson called out, as the two arrived in the library.
     "What?"  Brooklyn asked, turning around.
     Hudson sighed.  "I think...I think maybe you should start trying to
involve yourself in the clan some more."
     Brooklyn blinked.  "Why?"  he asked. 
     "Because you aren't making youself feel any better by just distancing
yourself from us.  I realize you need time to mourn, but three months..."
     Brooklyn crossed his arms.  "Oh.  Here it comes.  The speech on how I
should try to involve myself more with the clan to make myself feel
better."
     Hudson frowned.  "It's not a matter to be cynical about.  You've been
mired in depression for months.  The clan's starting to worry."
     Brooklyn sighed.  "I realize you mean well, but...I don't know.  It's
kind of hard to just bounce right back after the person I loved died.  I
need time, and I..."
     He looked away, bitterly.  "God, Hudson, why can't it just start
feeling better?"
     Hudson stepped forward, and clasped the young gargoyle's shoulders. 
"Brooklyn, I don't mean to imply that you shouldn't mourn her, but..."
     Brooklyn suddenly felt like crying again.  "I know!  I know!  But I
can't do it.  I can't make myself suddenly feel better, and pretend it
never happened.  Every time I try, there's always something to remind me of
her.  I see Goliath and Elisa, or Broadway and Angela, I see Whitbourne or
Carbonear or Bonavista or Ophelia, I see Hawthorne, and it all just comes
crashing back.  I can't push it out of my mind, all right?  So please stop
telling me to try."
     Hudson pat Brooklyn on the back, listening as Brooklyn began to sob
again. 
     "Why doesn't anything help?"  Brooklyn asked.  "Why can't I do it? 
Why can't I stop thinking about her?"
     "Because you're hurt."  Hudson whispered.  "Lad, I've had my share of
heartbreak over the years.  I've seen gargoyles such as yourself lose the
people they loved, be it accidents or sacrifices.  And I've seen them
suffer from depression, and I've seen them think they'll never recover. 
But Brooklyn, I promise you that somehow, you'll feel a little less pain
one night...and a little less the next, and so on...until you can finally
deal with it."
     "But it's not...it's not the same."  Brooklyn insisted.  "She was
everything...the person I saw myself spending the rest of my life with.  I
have dreams where it all turned out right, and it slips through my fingers. 
I lost her, and I'm just so..."
     Hudson sighed.  "We are here for ye.  We have been here for ye for
three months.  And we'll still be here for ye until you finally pull
through this."
     Brooklyn smiled.  "Thanks."  he stated.  He turned to leave.
     "I...I think I need to talk to Carbonear."  he explained, leaving. 
Hudson sighed.  Lately, it seemed that those two were connecting
somehow..that she was the only one who could adequately ease a bit of the
grief he was feeling.  Hudson was glad.  Perhaps, if she could make him
feel totally better...
     He blinked.  Now, in the midst of the lad's grief, was no time to
think of such things.
     He sighed, and left the library, headed in the direction of the TV
room.

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

     With the click of the staple gun he'd filched from the office,
Bonavista attached the sign to the door.  He looked at his work, proud. 
     "Newfs only?"  Carbonear asked, reading the sign.  "Bonnie, that's
just frigging ignorant."
     Bonavista turned back.  "Ignorant?  We needs a space to ourselves, for
Christ.  And it's not like anyone'll miss it anyway.  Nobody's been up here
since we made it our smoke hole."
     As if to punctuate that fact, Whitbourne lit a cigarette, and took a
deep drag.  He offered it to Bonavista, who accepted the gift absently.
     Carbonear frowned.  "So, Witless, why did it take so long for the
stuff to get here?  You wrote back home asking for the stuff just a week
after we decided to stay."
     Whitbourne looked suddenly guilty as he took his smoke back.  "Well, I
started writing the letter a week after.  I finished it about a month ago. 
And I sent it three weeks past."
     "You only sent our letter three weeks ago?"  Bonavista choked.  "For
frigg, Witless!  We thought it was gone three months back!"
     "Well, they knew where we was to.  Xanatos told them when they took
Woodstock back.  And they's no better.  If they got the letter three weeks
ago, and they got off their arses, then we would have gotten the care
package 'bout two weeks ago.  So they's just as bad procrastinators as we
is."  Whitbourne defended himself.
     Carbonear smiled, and took a swig of the whiskey.  "Well, I'se writing
the thank you note."
     Bonavista smiled, and suddenly heard footsteps.  He looked outside,
and paled.
     "Frigg."  he swore.  "Owen's coming."
     "Lock the door, then!"  Whitbourne shouted, hurridly puffing on the
cigarette.  Bonavista shut the door, but Owen was suddenly there, blocking
his progess.  He frowned at the sight of Whitbourne's indulgence.
     "Give me the cigarettes.  Now."  Owen ordered, holding out his hand.
     Snarling, Whitbourne handed over the package.  "You has to wonder
what's the use.  I just gets Matt to buy me more."
     "Then I'll have to talk with Detective Bluestone."  Owen sighed.  He
calmy set the package of cigarettes down, and crushed them with his shoe. 
Whitbourne flinched as if struck.
     Owen handed him back the package and walked off.  As soon as he was
gone, Whitbourne hauled out another pack, and withdrew a cigarette.
     "The dummy pack worked, eh?"  Carbonear grinned.  Whitbourne nodded.
     "Frigg, you waits till April Fool.  That buddy's getting it so bad." 
he grinned, pulling out his lighter.
     There was a knock on the door, and Brooklyn walked in.
     "Uh, this is Newfs only,"  Bonavista reminded him.  Carbonear slapped
him on the side of the head.
     "C'mon in, bye!  What're you at?"  Whitbourne called, setting the
picture of Clan Newfie on a little table.
     "I...I was wondering if I could talk to Carbonear."  Brooklyn
stammered.  He looked around.  "What did you do?  Your smoke hole looks
so...homey."
     Indeed it did.  It reminded one of their old bell tower, in a
way...the Newfoundland flag hung on the wall, as did the ironic 'Smoke
Free' poster.  There was mess strewn about the floor...apparently
everything the Newfs owned now took its place in the corridor which they
had converted.  Even their musical instruments were piled up in a corner,
order amid chaos.
     Bonavista beamed.  "You likes it?" 
     "Yeah."  Brooklyn grinned.  "If it were a little bigger, it could be a
hangout for the whole clan."
     "Well, anyone's welcome here."  Carbonear stated, shooting a dirty
glance at Bonavista.  The green gargoyle sighed, and took off the 'Newfs
Only' sign.
     "What did you want to speak to me about?"  Carbonear asked.  Brooklyn
sighed.
     "Well, would you mind coming ouside for a while?  It's kind of
personal."  Brooklyn muttered, shifting his weight.
     Carbonear frowned, and nodded.  She and Brooklyn left the smoke-hole,
silently.
     Whitbourne and Bonavista shrugged, and went back to creating their
little slice of Newfoundland amidst New York.

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

     In the kitchen, Lexington and Ophelia were busily making a snack.  The
popcorn machine was on overdrive, spilling out kernels of popcorn at a
dizzying pace.  Ophelia grinned as she saw Lexington reach for the salt,
which somebody had put on a high shelf.
     "Do you want some help?"  she asked.
     "No."  Lexington replied, hopping up onto the counter.  "I got it."
     He leapt back down, and began to add a ton of salt to the popcorn.  As
an afterthought, he grabbed a beer from the fridge, and popped it open.
     "Lexington..."  Ophelia chided.
     "It's just one."  Lexington exclaimed.  "Besides, I don't get drunk as
easily anymore."
     Ophelia rolled her eyes, remembering back to her brief glimpse of the
absolutely pathetic sight she'd seen in Newfoundland three months ago. 
Lexington cavorting about the room, trying to get her to dance...she
shuddered whenever she thought about it.
     She grinned as he took a drink.  He caught her glance, and grinned
sheepishly.
     "So, what movie are we watching?"  Ophelia asked.
     "Independence Day.  I want to see that scene where the aliens blow up
the Eyrie Building again.  Xanatos was putting up with calls from investors
for weeks after that one."  Lexington said, referring to the now famous
scene where an alien ship, suspended over the Eyrie Building, destroyed New
York City.  The gargoyles had been slightly distressed at that scene, but
Lexington had been mesmerized.
     He shrugged.  "The tape's ready.  I just want to get the butter."
     Ophelia nodded, and took the bowl of popcorn.  She walked out, towards
the entertainment room, where the projector was set up.  Lexington grabbed
the dishful of butter, and walked out.
     Along the way, he bumped into Brooklyn and Carbonear, who were headed
outside.
     "Oh, hi!"  Lexington grinned, walking past.  Carbonear saw the opened
beer, and smiled.
     "Figures."  she mumbled.
     Lexington walked by, heading into the room.  Ophelia had pressed
'Play' and was sitting down comfortably.  Lexington set down the popcorn,
and had another drink.  He set his feet comfortably on the coffee table,
and began to veg.
     Ophelia suddenly looked at him.  "Lexington, I've been thinking." 
     "About what?"
     "About staying."  Ophelia sighed.  Lexington set his feet down, his
beer and the alien invasion forgotten.
     "You mean..."  he stammered, "you've decided?"
     Ophelia nodded.  "Yes.  I have."
     She sighed.  Lexington pressed 'Stop' on the projector, his full
undivided attention on her.
     "I've decided that I'm going to stay.  For good."  Ophelia revealed. 
"I think that the three months I spent here were some of the most wonderful
times in my life.  The real world is just so fascinating, that I don't
think I can leave." 
     Lexington's jaw dropped.  "You're staying?'
     "Yes.  I'm staying.  And it seems like it's the
most...right...decision I've ever made.  I just feel like I belong here."
     She glanced around, with a sense of wonder.  "Besides, there's no way
I could ever go home without being tempted to take some of you guys with
me."
     Lexington took a swig of beer.  "Well, then."  he stammered.  "That's
great!"
     Ophelia suddenly frowned.  "But this doesn't change anything.  Just
because I'm staying doesn't mean that I'm automatically going to throw
myself at your feet.  As it stands now, we're really great friends, and
that's all.  I know how you feel about me, and I'll admit, I feel a little
more special when I'm around you.  But if something is going to happen,
then we let it happen.  We don't try to hurry it along."
     Lexington nodded eagerly.  "Sure!"
     Ophelia smiled, and took his hand.  "I'm really excited about this!" 
she grinned.
     Lexington nodded again. 

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

     "So what did ye want to talk about?"  Carbonear asked.
     Brooklyn sighed.  "I don't know.  I just feel so confused.  On the one
hand, I'm starting to realize that maybe I am feeling a little bit better. 
On the other, I'm still feeling really depressed.  Maybe even more than
when she first died.  I don't know why."
     Carbonear raised an eyebrow.  "Maybe it's happening.  Maybe you're
finally starting to accept it."
     "No, no.  It's not that.  It's just...something feels different."
     "Brooklyn, I doesn't understand what ye's trying to say."
     Brooklyn sighed, and brushed a stray bang back from his face.  "I was
talking to Hudson, and he was telling me that maybe I should get involved
with the clan.  But I can't.  I can't see any of them and not start
thinking about her.  I was even mad at Elisa for a while, because she was
the one who told Hawthorne about what was going to happen.  Things are just
so confused."
     Carbonear nodded. 
     "Carbonear, why can't I start to accept it?  Why can't I do what
everyone wants me to, and move on?  I try, but I just can't do it.  No
matter how hard I try, I just can't."
     She sighed.  "Brook, maybe you needs to do other things.  Try to
immerse yourselve in other stuff, and remind yourself about how much more
there is to life than just reminiscing about the past and what might have
been."
     Brooklyn wrung his hands in frustration.  "But I CAN'T."  he moaned. 
"I try, and I catch a glimpse of her standing there, and the pain all comes
back.  There's nothing I can do.  There's no way I can beat this."
     "Well, ye's gonna prove yourself right with that attitude."  Carbonear
snapped.  "Look, take a night off.  Go do something you loves to do, with
nobody about, and nothing to remind you of Hawthorne.  Go see a movie.  Go
do whatever, but for God's sake go do it!  You'll never get better if you
just stays here lamenting about what ye doesn't have!"
     Brooklyn blinked.  "Please don't scream at me."
     "What?  Oh, sorry.  But Brooklyn, don't tell me it don't make sense,
because I knows it do.  It worked for me and Witless and Bonnie with
Woodstock.  It'll work for ye too."  Carbonear sighed.  She rubbed her eyes
tiredly.  "Oh, frigg.  I needs a nap or something.  I'se about to fall
asleep right here."
     Brooklyn grinned wryly.  "I'll try it.  I really don't think it'll
work, but I'll try."
     "That's the spirit.  Just you and yourself alone.  Trust me, it'll do
wonders.  Maybe once ye can deal with yourself without thinking of her,
you'll be ready to come back to the clan."
     "Maybe."  Brooklyn shrugged.  "I hope."
     He stood up fully erect, and spread his wings.  "I'm going out for a
bit.  Tell the others I'll be back before dawn."
     Carbonear nodded, and watched as he strode towards the parapets.
     "Brooklyn,"  she called after him.  He spun around, curiously.
     "Try to come back a little less gloomy.  Ye's got a face as long as
the Burin Peninsula."
     "The what?"  Brooklyn asked.
     "Nevermind, bye.  Just be on with ye."  Carbonear insisted.  Brooklyn
sighed, and leapt off of the roof, lofting into the chill night.
     Carbonear watched him go.  She looked heavenward.
     "God, please do him a favor tonight, and let things go grand for him
just this once?"  she asked.  Almost in response, a star overhead twinkled.

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

Chapter Two

          Dark Places Of The Heart

     They were singing.
     "Today, was gonna be the day, but they'll never throw it back to you. 
Oh, by now, you should have somehow realized what you're not to do." 
Whitbourne sang, playing along what his guitar.  Bonavista's guitar was
out, but he wasn't playing it.  Instead, he was singing very badly.
     "I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do, about you now..." 
he warbled, incredibly off-key.  Carbonear put her hands to her head as she
walked back into the smoke hole.
     "I don't believe that anybody sings the way ye does, that's for damn
sure."  she grumbled, sitting down.  Bonavista stuck out his tongue.
     "So what was Brooklyn after wanting?"  Whitbourne asked, setting the
guitar aside.
     "He was wondering if he should try to integrate himself in the clan
again.  I told him yes."  Carbonear muttered tiredly.  She rubbed her eyes. 
"But I thinks that maybe he's gonna come back a little bit better.  Maybe
he's finally starting to heal."
     "I hopes so."  Whitbourne nodded, suddenly solemn.  "He deserves a lot
better than what fate dealt him.  He's one of the greatest buddies I knows,
and he deserves a lot better than to mourn for three months because of what
happened."
     Carbonear sighed.  "He does.  Whitbourne, I hopes to God he comes out
all right.  Even though he was telling me that he's going to try to make
things better, I can still see that haunted look in his eyes.  Deep down,
he's still just as hurt as the night she died."
     Bonavista cracked his knuckles.  "Ye shouldn't worry, Carb.  If he
wants to, he'll come back.  I don't think he'll be so down forever."
     Then, he snapped his fingers.  "But maybe we can help him along."
     "What does ye mean?"
     "A party!"  Bonavista grinned.  "We can throw a party for him!  He'll
have to start feeling a bit better at that."
     Whitbourne frowned,  "He didn't seem too happy at the Christmas
party."
     "Oh, that was some party.  I means a Newfoundland party.  We can
play...Carb can show off her jigs and reels.  And they's plenty of drink to
be had."  Bonavista was very excited, now.  "We can have it tomorrow night,
or the night after.  Call it an early Valentine's Day party.  We can't have
one on Valentine's anyway; I knows Goliath and Elisa, and Broadway and
Angela is doing things on their own for Valentine's.  I knows it'll cheer
Brooklyn up."
     Carbonear sat up.  "That might be a good idea.  It certainly can't
hurt."
     She stood.  "So that's it, then.  We's going to have a party."
     "Damn straight."  Bonavista grinned.  He picked up his guitar.

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

St. Dunstan's Roman Catholic Church
(45 Minutes Later)

     Cornelia Stallman ran down the steps, towards the red haired man
standing there.  The strains of the choir behind her lofted up into the
night.
     She whipped out her credit card.  "Ready to go?"
     Matt held up his hands.  "Don't look at me.  I don't have to buy anything."
     Cornelia put her hands on her hips.  "Well, I do.  I have to pay the
layaway charge for the couch I'm getting my parents for their anniversary
on Thursday."
     "Valentine's Day?"  Matt whistled.  "Great day for an anniversary."
     "My parents seem to think so."  Cornelia smiled.  She glanced at her
watch.  "I'm lucky I could get out of choir practise early.  Told the
director I had to scrub in for a glaucoma operation."
     "That's nasty."  Matt grinned, as they began walking down the street. 
"My dad went through one of those."
     He looked up, and suddenly saw a gargoyle swoop overhead, and alight
on the chuch.  He frowned, hoping Cornelia hadn't seen...
     She hadn't.  Cornelia was talking about her plan to get them
reservations for Le Bistro Rouenesse for Wednesday.  Matt whistled with
relief.
     He glanced back quickly, watching as the gargoyle sat, listening to
the hymns arise from within.

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

     Brooklyn frowned, listening carefully to the song.  The choir had been
practising.  They sounded much better, he thought.
     He closed his eyes, and allowed his head to relax.  It ended up
rolling in time to each change in pitch.  The wind began to ruffle through
his hair.
     Brooklyn sighed bitterly as the memories came back.  This song was the
one the choir had been practising the night he'd been caught out by
sunrise.  The song he'd sang to Hawthorne when he returned.
     He hadn't meant to stop here.  He had been on his way to go to the
movies...the new James Bond flick was out, and the others had all seen it,
giving stellar reviews.  But along the way to the theatre, he'd heard the
lofting sounds of the choir, and had been called, like to a siren, by the
music.
     He stepped over to the stained glass window, pressing his ear against
the pane.   The way the church was set up provided perfect acoustics, and
Brooklyn could almost hear the singing as if he were sitting in the front
row.
     He sighed bitterly, suddenly feeling the tears rolling down again. 
     "Perfect."  he muttered.  "I promise I'm not going to think about her,
and what do I go and do?"
     He clenched his fists resolutely, and leapt off of the roof.  He
spread his wings, and soared off, towards the theatre.

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

Castle Wyvern

     "Goliath?"  Elisa mumbled, resting against his chest.  The two of them
were sitting quietly in the den, simply marvelling being in each others
presence.
     "Hmm?"  Goliath replied sleepily.
     "Ever since that thing with Silhouette, we've never had that much time
alone, have we."
     Goliath frowned, and shook his head.  "No, we haven't.  That's a
shame."
     Elisa looked up.  "Do you want to do something?"
     Goliath's expression took on a curious look.  "How so?"
     "I was thinking we could go on a little vacation together.  I've been
working overtime at the station the past couple of months, and Captain
Chavez has started pestering me about taking a break.  I haven't taken a
vacation since the world tour a year ago."
     Goliath frowned.  "Elisa, I truly love you, but nothing you could ever
say would make me get into that boat again."
     Elisa laughed, the sound of her mirth a warm addition to the silence
of the room. 
     "I don't mean anything that extreme."  she reassured him.  "I was
thinking the two of us maybe going to Xanatos' upstate retreat...that
Xanadu place.  I've only ever been there once, but it was beutiful.  And
it's close to Niagara Falls..."
     Goliath nodded.  "Perhaps.  I think I would like that.  I've heard
spectacular things about the waterfalls."
     "The honeymoon capital of the world."  Elisa agreed, closing her eyes. 
Goliath put a protective arm around her, savoring the moment.  He reached
down and kissed her, and she smiled, returning the favor.
     "I love you."  Goliath whispered.  Elisa's eyes opened dreamily, and
she repeated the same thing.
     In the hallway just before the den, however, a spy watched.

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

     That spy watched the scene, felt guilty for peeking, and turned away.
     Carbonear frowned, and headed towards the kitchen, wishing she could
somehow act on her feelings towards Brooklyn.  But she refused to do it
while he mourned for Hawthorne, and she wanted to help Brooklyn through the
lonliness first.  He knew how she felt; it was up to him to make his move.
     She almost felt guilty for loving him.  Before, during the search for
the Ring, she sometimes wondered what it would be like if Hawthorne were
removed from the picture.  Never once since her death had it crossed her
mind that her untimely demise made it easier for her...she'd thought of
Hawthorne as a great friend as well, and her loss, coupled with that of
Woodstock, had hurt her deeply.  But unlike Brooklyn, she could deal with
her grief.
     She only hoped he could learn how.
     As she walked into the kitchen, she was confonted by a pitiful
spectacle.  Fox Xanatos was futiley trying to feed Alexander.  She had what
looked like chewed up banana in her hair.
     "Alex, eat.  You wanted it."  Fox commanded, wiping the banana from
her hair.  Alex screamed.
     "No!"  Alex cried, fussing.  "No eat!"
     Carbonear smiled.
     "Fine.  I give up."  Fox growled.  She stood up, picking a piece of
banana from her shoulder. 
     "Baby troubles?"  Carbonear asked.
     "You might say that."  Fox frowned.  Carbonear was reminded of the
scowl she'd worn on her face in Atlanta, when Fox, 'under the influence'
had tried to kill her.  She'd been a little wary around the house whenever
she saw Fox at first, but had relaxed.  Her scowl, however, still gave her
chills.
     "I was about to put him to bed, when he decided he was hungry.  Then,
he decided he wasn't as soon as I cut up the bits of banana."  Fox
lamented, dumping the bananas in the garbage.  Carbonear smiled, and looked
at Alex, who was sticking his tongue out at his mother.
     "Does ye mind if I holds him?"  she asked suddenly.
     "Go right ahead."  Fox replied, setting the bowl in the dishwasher. 
"Be careful, though. He likes to chew on hair."
     Carbonear picked up Alex, who began to cry loudly, and pulled at
Carbonear's long white hair.
     "What a little jackeen ye is!"  Carbonear protested.  She removed her
locks from Alex's grasp, which seemed to settle him down.  "I bets raising
ye is an awful noggin to scrape."
     Fox blinked, and laughed.  "I'm sorry.  Even though you've been living
here for three months, I still can barely understand a word you say."
     Carbonear laughed.  "I just said 'What a rascally boy you are.  I bet
raising you is a very difficult matter.'  Me girl, we gots to teach ye to
talk Newf."
     Fox grinned.  "No thanks.  English is fine for me."
     "Fox, it's a well known fact that Newfoundlanders speaks closer to
normal English than anyone else do.  They's places on the Rock where the
language is the exact same as what Shakespeare was after talking." 
Carbonear pointed out.
     "Thank you."  Fox sighed.  "Now, whenever David quotes 'Romeo and
Juliet' to get me in the mood, all I'll picture will be Whitbourne and
Bonavista getting in a shoving match on the Capulets' balcony." 
     Carbonear shuddered.  "That is not a pretty picture."
     They both burst out laughing.  Carbonear set Alex down in the chair,
and her expression saddened.  "Fox, I needs to ask ye something."
     "What?"
     She sighed.  "I'm starting to wonder how I should deal with Brooklyn. 
I finally managed to get him to leave the castle, but I don't know if
that's enough.  He's really miserable, and I doesn't know if I can help
him."
     Fox looked up.  "I don't know if I can really say anything.  I mean,
on the one hand, it's normal to grieve after someone you loved dies.  On
the other hand, it's not normal to be so withdrawn three months later.  And
I've never had to really live through that situation before."
     Carbonear sighed.  "But what does ye think I should do?  The clan's
been after trying to console him since it happened, and he's still not
responding.  Tonight he was up to leaving, but I has my doubts as to
whether that'll truly help him or not."
     Fox stepped away from the dishwasher.  "Well, I can't really say. 
Other than keep trying to get through to him.  Eventually he'll come
around."
     Carbonear looked about, at the wall.  "Oh, Fox.  When, though?  By
Christ, at the rate he's going, he won't be talking like normal to anyone
until at least the turn of the century."
     Fox looked towards the window.  "Personally, I think you should give
him a little more credit than that."
     Carbonear looked around the huge kitchen, which looked more like a
restaurant's kitchen than one you would find in someone's home.  She sat
down in a chair, and began to tap a talon on the table.  The sound seemed
to send Alex drifting off to sleep.
     "But that's not all.  I'm starting to get a bit frustrated, too. 
Because I wants him to get better...but also because I wants to open up my
heart to him, and let him accept it.  Not be wishing for Hawthorne."
     Fox sighed.  "There's nothing I can really say to that.  I can't help
you."
     "You did, I thinks.  Just admitting how I feels out loud made it all
seem better.  A bit."
     Fox nodded, to make a reply.  But suddenly, the door to the kitchen
opened, and Whitbourne, Bonavista, Lexington and Ophelia barged in.  They
were talking amongst themselves, and Bonavista was scribbling notes on a
pad.
     "What're you buddies at?"  Carbonear asked.
     "Planning the party."  Lexington replied.  Bonavista and Whitbourne
had come in and told him and Ophelia of their plan to throw a party. 
Lexington and Ophelia had thereupon become involved in the planning.
     "Party?"  Fox asked, frowning.
     "Yes, Mrs. Xanatos.  Party.  Bonnie, ye's as stunned as an owl!  Ye
can't have the beer set up here!  We's having the party in the Great Hall,
so we wants the drinks as close to the guests as possible.  My God, if your
tawts were any farther aft..."  Whitbourne replied.
     "Whose idea was this?"  Fox whispered.
     "Bonnie's."
     "Have you brought this up with David?"  Fox asked, raising an eyebrow. 
Alexander woke up, regarding the scene very intently.
     Whitbourne and Bonavsta looked at each other.  "Well, no.  But we
knows he'll agree to it."
     They turned back to their bickering, making their plans.
     Carbonear looked apologetically at Fox.  "Well, see, we was planning a
party, kind of for Brooklyn.  To include him in the clan."
     Fox threw up her arms.  "Fine.  As long as the mess is cleaned up, I
don't care.  When they have a plan, let me and David know, though, okay?"
     She went to retrieve Alex, who had drifted away to sleep again.  Then,
she walked out of the room, to go put him to bed.
     Lexington opened the fridge.  "Okay.  We don't have that much beer. 
But there's some stronger stuff in the wine room."
     Carbonear, deciding to help out in the planning, went to open the
cupboard.  "They's lots of snacks up here, look."  she exclaimed.  "You
wants chips, and party mix, and stuff like that."
     "All right.  We gots the food taken care of, then."  Bonavista
pronounced, crossing off a box on his little checklist.  "We already gots a
location, entertainment...us, playing on the guitars and fiddle...and now
we needs the people."
     "The clan."  Ophelia shrugged.
     Boanvista made a face.  "No, no, no.  We needs lots of people  Who
else does we know?"
     "Maybe the Mutates might like to come."  Lexington implied.  "We
haven't seen a lot of them in a while."
     "All right.  We gots the clan, Elisa, Matt, Xanatos and Fox, and the
Mutates.  We'll not invite Owen."  Whitbourne frowned.
     "Yes, we will.  We can't just leave him out.  We'll invite him,
anyway.  See what he says."  Ophelia decided.  She hadn't told anyone about
her decision to stay permanently yet, instead opting to wait until everyone
was there.
     "All right.  Fine.  But if he spoils the party, guess who we's
blaming."  Whitbourne scowled.
     "Is there anything else we need to plan?"  Lexington asked.  Everyone
shook their heads.
     "Let's go inform Xanatos of this, then."  Carbonear stated. 
     The five of them left the room, checking over the list to see if
anything had been forgotten.

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

Paradise Cineplex Theatres

     They walked towards the theatre door, blissfully unaware.
     "So what are we watching?"  Melissa Squires asked her fiance.  She
twiddled her engagement ring happily. 
     Josh LeBreton, the fiance in question, looked towards her, and sighed. 
"I thought we'd see the James Bond one.  Sagittarius."
     "I've heard good things about that one."  Melissa replied. 
     "Thought you might like it."  Josh smiled, kissing her.  The two
planned to be married in a few weeks, and neither of them could be happier.
     The street wasn't all that busy.  There were people walking by, but
not very many.  Josh expected that would change as the night got darker. 
Monday night in Manhattan was always busy.  And besides that, the late show
didn't start for another hour, yet.
     As they passed an alleyway, there was suddenly a muffled coughing
sound.  Freezing in fear, Josh and Melissa looked around, hoping it was
just some drifter with the flu.  They weren't that crazy about diseases,
either...ever since that Richmond thing three months back, where both of
them had been infected with the illness at the supermarket, they were
almost fanatical in keeping their health up...but still, it was preferable
to the alternative.
     But the alternative it was.  A big man, dressed in winter clothes,
stepped out of the alleyway.  He had a couple of pals with him...both
nearly as large.  One of them didn't have a jacket, and was chattering
miserably, but the other two were all business.
     "How're you doing?"  the first man asked, showing off the glint of the
switchblade.  "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you folks to step into the
alley for a few minutes.  We're with the IRS."
     Josh and Melissa prepared to bolt, but the other muggers moved in
behind them.  There was nowhere to go.
     "What do you want?"  Josh asked.
     "You figure it out, Einstein."  the second mugger frowned.  "Let's go,
folks.  We don't want to detain you for too long."
     Nervously, the couple walked into the alleyway, not knowing what else
to do.  The first mugger distastefully wiped a bit of snow off of his
parka, and sighed.
     "Okay.  I want all of your money, jewelery, and valuables.  That
includes the lady's ring."  the first mugger explained patiently, waving
the closed switchblade.  "I really don't want to use this.  Oh, and we'll
take your jacket, too.  See, it's awful cold, and Jason here don't have a
coat."
     Josh started to unzip his coat, giving his fiance's hand a reassuring
squeeze.  But there was suddenly a roar from above.  The five people on the
ground looked up, just in time to see a red monster with glowing eyes jump
from the roof.
     "Jesus!"  the mugger swore.  He flicked on the blade, slashing.  The
blade nicked the creature's ear, drawing a bit of blood.  The gargoyle, in
turn, viciously punched the mugger, seding him flying back.  The other two
muggers fled in fear.
     The gargoyle turned to the couple.  "Are you all right?"  he asked,
touching his ear and frowning at the drop of blood.  Melissa fainted.  Josh
weakly nodded yes, and lowered her gently to the ground.
     Brooklyn frowned, and walked slowly over towards the unconscious
woman.  Josh, recalling the negative press exposure, instinctively moved in
front of her, and Brooklyn frowned.
     "I'm not going to hurt her."  Brooklyn sighed.  "If I was, why would I
have saved you from the mugger?  Honestly, I'm just going to help her out a
bit."
     Josh nodded dumbly, and watched as Brooklyn put her into a recovery
position.  As he did so, however, he noticed the engagement ring.
     "Fiance?"  Brooklyn asked.
     "Uh...yeah."  Josh replied. 
     The gargoyle nodded, and suddenly bowed his head, as if recalling a
painful memory.  "Do you love her?"  he asked.
     Josh blinked.  "Yeah..."
     "I'm going to tell you something.  Make sure you hold onto her.  Don't
let anything separate you.  Keep together, and be sure that you spend as
much time as you can with her, and let her know how you feel.  You never
know when you might lose her."
     Josh blinked.  Love advice from a red, beaked, gargoyle with wings?
     He nodded.  "Thanks..thanks for the advice."
     Brooklyn simply looked up, and walked over to the wall.
     "Thanks for your help."  Josh called as Brooklyn scaled the wall.
     Brooklyn didn't hear him.  He simply climbed up the wall, opened the
door on the roof, and went into the theatre.

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

     Brooklyn sat down miserably on the balcony, waiting for the movie to
start.  One image kept playing through his mind...the engagement ring,
sitting on that woman's finger.
     It was silly to be obsessing about it.  All he had seen was a couple
who had loved each other enough to pledge their lives together be in the
wrong place at the wrong time.  But that bothered him.  Because the same
thing had happened to him and Hawthorne.
     He looked around the theatre, which was deserted.  The movie didn't
start for another hour...Brooklyn had come early.  He was the only person
there.
     He reached for a chocolate bar...the balcony served as the theatre's
extra snack depository, so Brooklyn had his pick...and began to munch
pensively.  After one bite, he was full.  He couldn't even think about
eating.
     He put his hands to his head, and sobbed.  "Why?"  he muttered out
loud.  "Why can't I stop thinking about her?"
     She filled his mind...her eyes, her smile, her laugh.  At the echo of
her laugh, Brooklyn miserably remembered that he would never hear that
laugh again, and bowed over with grief again.  He sat there for a long
time, his eyes closed, simply lost in his memories of her.
     He had only known her for less than a week, yet he had loved her
enough that every fiber of his being yearned to hold her, to talk to her,
to love her.  But that could never be.
     A tear built up in the corner of his eye, etching a delicate path
towards his cheek.  He moaned softly, as the memories of their first kiss
rang back, of the special times they had shared.  The memories of his
immortal beloved.
     He got up, and left the balcony.  There was no way he could watch the
movie now.  The theatre was now one of the many places that reminded him of
her, because of a mugging he had stopped in an alleyway below.  He began to
wish he hadn't helped, just so he wouldn't feel the pain anymore.
     He sighed.  "Why can't I move on?"  he asked himself again, taking off
from the rooftop.  "Why?"
    
***************************************************************************
********

     He spent the rest of the night simply soaring over the city, staring
at the people below.  They were milling about, in their own private worlds,
not caring about the heartbroken denizen of the night which flew overhead. 
Somehow, Brooklyn liked that just fine.
     He landed in Central Park, and walked along one of the deserted paths. 
Local lore called it 'Lover's Lane', famous for the romantic setting. 
Brooklyn deliberately chose to walk upon it.
     He began his stroll, looking at the mementos a thousand pairs of
lovers had left behind.  Here a heart, chiseled into the sidewalk concrete. 
There, in the tree, "Kevin loves Krista", written for all eternity in the
bark. 
     He walked, wondering what it would have been like to walk here with
her.  Almost on cue, the grief welled up again, and Brooklyn clutched his
stomach.
     He looked at the tree again, and gasped in shock.  Written on the tree
was "Brooklyn loves Hawthorne".  He blinked, and heard laughing.
     There, sitting on the grass near the path, were Hawthorne and himself. 
Both were very much alive, looking out at the water of the pond.  That
Brooklyn said something, and Hawthorne burst out laughing.  The two lovers
kissed, and she rested on that Brooklyn's shoulder, marvelling into his
hazel-brown eyes.
     Brooklyn blinked again, and the apparitions were gone.  The
inscription on the tree was gone as well...Kevin loved Krista once more.
     Brooklyn sighed.  A hallucination.
     He sank slowly to his knees, too tired to cry, or do anything else but
feel the grief.  It washed over him in slow, throbbing, bitter waves,
mocking him in a way.  It was there instead of the woman he had loved.  A
hollow mockery.  A sham.
     He looked up, and saw the moon.  It's light reflected on the pond
nearby, casting a glimmering glow upon the surrounding land.  He got up,
and walked to the water, dipping one finger into the icy depths.  His
reflection rippled, and when it reformed, Hawthorne was standing behind
him.  He spun around, but no one was there.
     I'm seeing things, Brooklyn thought.
     He stood up, and walked back to the tree, tracing the inscription on
the tree once more.  Suddenly, the pain welled up again, this time in rage.
     "WHY DID YOU TAKE HER FROM ME?"  he screamed, towards the sky.  "HUH? 
WHY DID YOU TAKE HER AWAY FROM ME?"
     There was no reply. 
     "ANSWER ME!"  Brooklyn shrieked, nonsensically.  Finally, he realized
the futility, and collapsed to the ground, sobbing.
     "God, I miss you."  he whispered.  "I miss you so damn much, I wish I
was dead just to be with you."
     The only reply was the rustling of the wind in the bare trees.  It
began to snow.
     Brooklyn stayed there for a long time.  It was only much later that he
realized he had been weeping.

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

Castle Wyvern

     Broadway groaned, and got up.  Angela was asleep, smiling dreamily.
     Broadway smiled.  She looked so beautiful.
     He opened the door, smoothing out his very wrinkled loincloth.  They
had't gone THAT far...as Whitbourne would have said, he had made it to
third base and decided to stay there...but, to continue the metaphor, they
had at least gone into extra innings.
     He rubbed his eyes sleepily, and began to walk down the hall, suddenly
in need of a drink.  Instead, he ran into Whitbourne, Bonavista, Carbonear,
Lexington and Ophelia, opening the door to the smoke hole.
     Broadway smirked, and walked towards the door.
     "What are you doing?"  he asked once he had walked in.
     "What were you doing is a better question."  Lexington smirked, noting
Broadway's rumpled appearence.  Broadway blushed, and coughed nervously.
     "We're planning a party for the night after tomorrow."  Ophelia
pointed out.
     "A party?  For what?"  Broadway asked.
     "To cheer Brooklyn up a bit.  It's just a party, but it's for him. 
We's thinking about having it an early Valentine's Day party."  Whitbourne
elaborated.  Broadway whistled.  He had almost forgotten about Valentine's
Day on Thursday.  He had a very special surprise planned for Angela.
     Bonavista lit a cigarette.  "We's got everything planned.  Carb's
talking to Elisa, and she's gonna invite the Mutates and the clones over. 
Is they really clones of ye?" 
     "Uh, yeah."  Broadway mumbled.  "So we're having it Wednesday night?"
     "Yep.  Ye gots to tell Angela about it."  Carbonear frowned.  She got
up off of the chair she had been sitting in.  "I'se going outside for a
spell."
     She walked away.  Broadway took her seat, straddling in backwards.
     "So tell me what you've got planned."  he began.

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

     Carbonear came up the stairs, and knelt on the tower.  She looked at
the snowbank, and almost delightfully began to build a snowman.  What a
pity there was no one else up here.  She could use a good snowball fight.
     She was just about to finish the head when there was a swooping sound
from the other side of the castle.  Carbonear looked up, and saw Brooklyn
landing.
     "Hey, there!"  she called, waving her arm.
     Brooklyn looked up, and tentatively waved back.
     "Come on up here, my son!  I wants to talk with ye!"  Carbonear
yelled.  Brooklyn sighed, and scaled up the tower.
     "Nice snowman."  he remarked as he arrived.
     "Thought ye'd like it.  So how did it go?"
     "How did what go?"
     "Your night out!  What was ye after doing?"
     "Oh.  Uh, I went to a movie.  Sagittarius."  Brooklyn mumbled.
     Carbonear raised a brow ridge.  "Why does ye look as if something else
went on?"  she asked.
     "Nothing else went on."  Brooklyn protested.  "Really, everything's
fine.  I had a lot of fun."
     Carbonear beamed.  "See?  Now just what did I tell ye?  There's lots
more to life than grieving, my son.  Awful lots more."
     She grinned. "Oh...we's having an early Valentine's Day party on
Wednesday night.  Ye's invited."
     "Oh really?"  Brooklyn smiled.  "Who's idea was this, now?"
     "Bonnie's.  It'll be a blast.  We's playing a bit of music, and we's
trying to get the Mutates and these...clones...to come."  Carbonear winced. 
"Is there really a copy of ye?"
     Brooklyn made a face.  "Malibu looks like me.  That's about where the
resemblance stops."
     Carbonear shrugged.  "You buddies get involved in an awful lot of
strange stuff."
     "Tell me about it."
     Carbonear put a hand on his shoulder.  "But...ye had a good time.  Ye
didn't spend the whole night moping about."
     Brooklyn shook his head.
     "That's good then.  You want to come inside?  Everyone's at the smoke
hole.  I just came for a bit of air."
     "Yeah.  I'll be in in a minute.  You go on without me."
     Carbonear smiled, and gave him a hug.  Brooklyn patted her on the
back, and watched as she went back down the stairs, into the castle.
     Then, he sighed.

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

     With a swoop, he was down on the parapets, standing by her statue.
     He didn't look at it directly.  Instead, he stared off into space,
trying to formulate the words to say in his mind.
     Finally, he decided.  He cleared his throat.
     "I tried to move on tonight, and I couldn't."  he began.  "Every
little thing reminded me of you, and I just couldn't do it.  And that
hurts, beause maybe that means that there's no way I can ever get over you. 
I'm lying to my friends, telling them that I'm okay when I'm really not.  I
just wish everything would sort itself out."
     He worked up the courage to face the statue.  "I do want you to know,
though, that I'm going to try harder.  I won't ever forget about you, but
maybe it's time that I started trying to make things better for myself.  So
I'm going to try to move on.  I just thought that maybe I should be the one
to tell you."
     He touched Hawthorne's stone cheek, and felt his eyes water.  "But I
will always love you.  And I don't think either of us will ever forget
that."
     Oddly enough, this made him feel better.
     I'm actually dealing with this, he thought.  I'm actually doing all
right.
     He closed his eyes, and kissed the statue.  As always, the cold stone
seemed to mock him, but this time, he didn't care.
     At least, he didn't THINK he did.
     Brooklyn stood erect, and turned around.  With a small sigh, he
resolutely walked into the castle, preparing to go and join his friends.

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

Chapter Three

          Calm Before The Storm

Castle Wyvern
February 13, 1997

     Looking back on it, after all the later mess had happened, Carbonear
decided that Wednesday, February 13, 1997 was one of the happiest nights of
her life.  It was a truly wicked party, filled with music and merrymaking. 
Everyone who had been there...Brooklyn included...had had one of the best
times of their lives.  Carbonear would later look back on it; the calm
before the storm; and smile.
       The clan had taken on an even more celebratory mood with Ophelia's
announcement that she was staying for good.  Now, there was another reason
to celebrate.  Lexington and Ophelia were quite happy enough without having
their happiness imposed on everyone else, but everyone insisted that the
occasion be included in the party. 
     The night of the party, the gargoyles awoke with the standard cracking
of stone and the roaring into the night.  After that, everything was
nonstop.
     Goliath rubbed his eyes, trying to get the sleep out of them, when he
was nearly sent over the edge of the balcony by Whitbourne and Bonavista,
who had gone racing into the castle.  He smiled, briefly...getting used to
the Newfoundlanders was a difficult task, even after three months.  He
leapt onto the tower, and looked to Hudson.  The two of them had been told
about the plan, and had wholeheartedly agreed.  Goliath had smiled at
Hudson's eagerness.  Before, his attitude would probably have been
curmudgeonlike.  But he was easily influenced by the three Newfies'
energetic outlooks on life, and was looking forward to the party.  Goliath
supressed a mental image of Hudson drunk, trying not to laugh.
     As the sky began to darken, and the lights of the city came on, most
of the younger gargoyles had gone inside the castle.  Most of them planned
on showering, and helping with the setup.  Goliath planned to get cleaned
up, and then go and pick up Elisa, who was probably getting ready at her
own apartment.  Matt had to work for a while, so he would probably be late. 
And the Mutates and clones, who had accepted the invitation, would be
getting ready at the Labyrinth.
     He inhaled deeply, and watched as Hudson and Bronx went inside. 
Smiling, he made his way towards the castle.

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

     Murderous thoughts echoed throughout Lexington's mind.  He growled,
and tapped on the wall of the corridor.
     Finally, his patience snapped.  "Hurry up!"  he yelled, banging on the
door.  In response, Whitbourne turned on the water even higher, drowning
Lexington's protests out.  He began to sing in the shower.
     Lexington rolled his eyes.  Whitbourne had been in the shower for
about ten minutes now.  This was the only one Lexington could use, however,
since the other two showers in the castle were being waited for, as well. 
And one of them had been designated as the female's bathroom, so he had
been gently shooed out of that one when he had, in desparation, tried to go
shower in there.
     Inside the bathroom, Whitbourne fiddled with the taps again, and began
to sing louder.
     "Hurry up!"  Lexington yelled again.  "I have to meet Ophelia soon!"
     At that moment, Brooklyn walked by.  He had just stepped out of the
other shower, and his hair was still wet.  He was still trying to comb it.
     "What are you doing, Lex?"  Brooklyn asked.
     "Waiting for Witless to get out of the shower."  Lexington replied. 
"He's been in there for ten minutes."
     Brooklyn's mouth turned upwards into a smile.  He walked to the door,
and quietly turned the doorknob. Lexington had not even checked to see if
it had been locked.
     Brooklyn quietly stepped into the bathroom, wincing at Whitbourne's
off-key caterwauling.  The Newfoundlander, oblivious to the goings on,
continued to sing.
     Brooklyn walked up to the faucet, and turned on the hot water full
blast.
     There was a scream, and several swear words as Whitbourne was suddenly
doused in ice-cold water.  The water was shut off, and Whitbourne peeked
out of the shower, shivering.  Then he noticed that he wasn't alone.
     "You shagger!"  he yelled at Brooklyn, his eyes aglow.  "Aw, for
Christ!"
     "Cold?"  Brooklyn asked innocently.  Whitbourne politely gave him the
finger, and stepped out of the shower, grabbing his towel.
     As he stomped out of the bathroom, Lexington walked in.  "Thanks."  he
grinned.
     "I wouldn't be too thankful.  I'm going to do the same thing to you." 
Brooklyn frowned.  Lexington blinked.
     "I'm kidding."  Brooklyn stated, suddenly grinning.  Lexington laughed
as Brooklyn left.
     He watched his friend go, amazed at the turnaround in attitude.  Ever
since he came back from the movie on Monday night, he'd been almost his old
self again.  He'd been throwing himself into the clan...making wisecracks,
playing practical jokes both with and on Whitbourne, and generally just
having a good time.  They'd all been pleased with his improvement...but
none more so than Carbonear, who was positively glowing every time she saw
Brooklyn smiling.  Brooklyn, for the most part, acted as if nothing had
changed, as if he hadn't spent three months mired in grief and self pity. 
There were times when he seemed a little saddened, but that was to be
expected.
     Lexington smiled, and shut the door.  He turned on the water, and let
it heat up.  Then he undid his belt, and let his loincloth slip off.
     Just as he was about to step in the shower, however, he stepped away,
and locked the bathroom door.  Just in case.

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

     Half an hour later, everyone was cleaned up.
     Goliath was one of the last to shower, so by the time he was ready to
go and get Elisa, the others were in the Great Hall, getting everything set
up for the party. 
     Broadway and Bonavista walked in, carrying a CD player.  They waited
until Carbonear and Angela had set up a table, and set the player down. 
Broadway pressed the open button, and slipped in a CD.  The music blasted
throughout the room.

     "The world is a vampire, sent to drain,
      Secret destroyers, hold you up to the flames,
      And what do I get, for my pain?
      Betrayed desires, and a piece of the game."
    
     "Turn it up!"  Brooklyn yelled from across the room, where he was
taping up some Valentine's decorations.  Smashing Pumpkins was his absolute
favorite band, an opinion shared by all of the younger members of Clan
Manhattan.  Although Whitbourne and Carbonear were partial to Great Big
Sea, and Bonavista was nuts about the Tragically Hip, they really liked the
Pumpkins as well.
     Broadway complied, and began to dance with Angela.  Soon, the famous
part came on, and everybody started singing along.
    
     "Despite all my rage, I'm still just a rat in a cage,
      Despite all my rage, I'm still just a rat in a cage,
      And someone will say, what was lost it can never be saved,
      Despite all my rage, I'm still just a rat in a cage..."

     At this last part, there was a bursting noise as Carbonear opened a
bag of potato chips and dumped them into a big bowl.  She set them on the
table, next to the nachos.  Broadway turned the music down, and went into
the kitchen to get some more stuff for the party.
     Carbonear brought out another bag of chips, and dumped them in yet
another bowl.  As she turned, she saw Brooklyn nibbling on one of the other
snacks, and gave him a shocked look.
     "My son, ye gots to wait for the party."  she chided.  Brooklyn took
on a guilty look, and crunched the chips in his mouth very loudly. 
Carbonear burst out laughing.
     Whitbourne, meanwhile, had appointed himself bartender for the night. 
Since nobody had tried to stop him, he assumed that meant it was okay, and
was now sneaking drinks left and right.  Ophelia caught him, and gave him a
sarcastic look. 
     "What?"  he asked, making himself a Sex on the Beach. 
     "I can see where you'll be most of the night."  Ophelia smirked. 
Whitbourne smiled, and toasted her.
     "Damn straight."  he agreed, gulping down the drink.
     It took another half an hour, but finally, the party was all set up. 
The bar was open for business, the non-alcoholic drinks were ready, and all
the food was set up.  Broadway had cooked up some garlic fingers the night
before, and even before the party started, they were known to be a hit. 
Half of them were gone in the the twenty minutes after they had made their
first appearence, and Broadway was forced to declare them off limits until
the other guests arrived.  The music was loud, the Newfies' instruments for
their command performance later on were ready to go, and there were eight
gargoyles in the room, ready to party.
     The first to arrive were, of course, the Xanatos'.  Fox brought
Alexander for a brief visit before he was put to bed, and then left to do
the deed.  David, meanwhile, inspected the party setting, nodding his head
in approval.  The clan had been very forward about the intentions to have
the party, and while David was a little apprehensive about the alcohol, he
had agreed.  He didn't really relish the idea of having a clan of drunken
gargoyles running about, but the rest of the clan had promised that
Whitbourne and Bonavista would behave.
     "Nice party."  he smiled.
     "Thanks."  Bonavista called over from the snack table, where he was
snacking on a garlic finger. 
     Fox came back a few minutes later.  Owen followed.  At the sight of
him, Whitbourne and Bonavista rolled their eyes.
     Owen smiled in faint amusement at Whitbourne behind the bar.  "They're
letting you tend the drinks?"
     "Uh huh."  Whitbourne bristled.  "They's nothing wrong with that."
     "I never said there was.  Perhaps I can show you few recipes later on
as well."  Owen offered.  He walked away, leaving Whitbourne to scratch his
head in puzzlement.
     Hudson walked in, too.  Bronx had been left up in the TV room, after
the embarassment he had caused at the Christmas party.  Upon seeing the
Christmas tree, the gargoyle dog had immediately started barking at it, and
then proceeded to tear it apart.  After he had destroyed several ornaments,
as well as half of the boughs on the tree, Hudson had given in and led
Bronx up to the TV room and left him there.  Tonight, he hadn't even
bothered bringing him down at all.
     Upon his arrival, Hudson immediately made a beeline for the snack
table.  He ate another large portion of the garlic fingers, until Broadway
drove him away.
     The party was subdued, at first.  At eight-thirty, Goliath and Elisa
returned from her apartment, were Goliath had gone as the younger ones set
up the party.  They entered a Great Hall transformed, and immediately began
to schmooze.
     Elisa, who was wearing her traditional red coat, black shirt and blue
jeans, was impressed.  She walked around, laying a few CD's she had brought
from home next to the player.  Then, she walked over to Brooklyn, who was,
from the looks of things, enjoying himself tremendously.  He was sitting in
a chair, talking eagerly with Broadway and Angela.
     "Hi, guys!"  Elisa greeted.  The three gargoyles looked up, and
simultaneously waved.
     "The party hasn't really started yet."  Brooklyn apologized.  "We're
still waiting for Talon and the others to get here."
     Elisa shrugged.  "They said they'd be coming around nine.  At least,
that was the plan when I was talking to Derek today."
     Angela nodded.  "Well, once they get here, Whitbourne, Carbonear and
Bonavista are putting on a little command performance for us."
     "I would offer you some garlic fingers, but everyone else ate them
all."  Broadway muttered, disgustedly.
     Elisa laughed.  "They used to say that to me about you." 
     Angela poked Broadway in the gut, and he frowned.  "I can't help it. 
I like to eat, that's all."
     Elisa chuckled, and walked away.
     True to their word, the Mutates and the clones arrived at nine
o'clock.  The first to enter was Fang.  He walked in, whooping, with a case
of beer.  He set that down on the bar, and walked towards the snack table. 
Talon and Maggie came after, rolling their eyes.
     Hudson walked over, looking disdainfully at Fang.  "So tell me,"  he
asked, "how do you put up with him?" 
     "It's not easy."  Maggie sighed.  "He's a lot better since we let him
out of the cage after he helped you guys with Silhouette.  He behaves
himself, but he has this tendancy to...to..."  she frowned, searching for
the right words.
     "Piss people off."  Talon finished for her.  "Claw and the clones will
be here in a minute.  They really appreciated being invited."
     Hudson nodded.  "They're kind of...disconcerting to have about, but
that's not their fault.  How is their education going?"
     "Great!"  Talon beamed.  "They can talk normally now.  They were
really quick learners."
     At that precise moment, six winged shapes entered the hall.  Claw was
in the vanguard, followed by Delilah, Brentwood, Malibu, Hollywood, and
Burbank.  There was an awkward silence, with the only interruption being
the chords of "1979". 
     Finally, Malibu broke this silence.
     "Hi."  he stated meekly.
     Ophelia stepped forward, and shook his hand, a bit shaken by
Brentwood.  "Hi.  Welcome to our home."
     The clones smiled, and that seemed to relax everyone.  The partygoers
all went back to what they were doing before, making a conscious effort to
include the clones.
     Whitbourne stepped away from the bar, walking towards Malibu.  The
clone of Brooklyn turned, looked at him, back at Brooklyn, and back at
Whitbourne again, puzzled.
     "Are the two of you..."  he began.
     Whitbourne inspected Malibu.  "Well, I'll be damned."  he frowned. 
"First I'se twins, now I'se triplets."
     Broadway burst out laughing, joined by Angela and Brooklyn.  Malibu
chuckled, confused at first but then realizing what he meant.  Whitbourne
scowled.
     "I'm dead serious!"  he protested.  The others laughed harder.
     Brooklyn awkwardly put a hand on Malibu's shoulder.  "You'll have to
watch out for him."  he stated.  "He's the black sheep of the family."
     Malibu sniffed at the air.  "Why does he smell so funny?"
     "That's alcohol."  Angela explained.
     Whitbourne muttered something under his breath, and stomped huffily
back to the bar.  The four instigators laughed.
     Lexington, meanwhile, was standing at the snack bar, munching
thoughtfully on a tortilla chip.  He dipped it in the salsa, to the disgust
of Bonavista.
     "Man, how can ye eat that hot stuff?"  Bonavista demanded, lighting a
cigarette.  He got a warning look from Owen, and hastily put it out.
     "It's good."  Lexington replied, his mouth full.  "This stuff's just
mild."
     Ophelia walked over, confronted by people saying how great it was that
she was staying at every turn.  "Lex, that Brentwood guy..."
     "Clone."  Lexington replied.  "It's a really long story."
     "I know, I know.  Anyway, what do you think of the party?"
     "It's okay."  Lexington replied.  "It needs something, though.  I'm
going to the bar to get a drink.  You want something?'
     "Man, ye's turning into an alcoholic, my son."  Bonavista retorted,
his mouth full of chips.
     "I'm NOT."  Lexington replied testily. 
     "How old is ye, anyway?  I doubt ye's allowed to legally drink."
     "First of all, I'm seventeen human years old.  Second, you're only
eighteen, so you aren't allowed to legally drink either."
     "Um...well, that's different."  Bonavista mumbled, and the subject was
dropped.
     Lexington and Ophelia walked over to the bar.
     "We's closed."  Whitbourne told them as he prepared to leave.
     "What?"
     "I said we's closed for a bit.  Carb and Bonnie and I is going to play
our tunes for ye, so Owen's taking over.  He's gone to get the recipes for
drinks from the kitchen."  Whitbourne elaborated, his speech a little
slurred.
     "For God's sakes, Witless, it's only nine 'o' clock."  Lexington
frowned.  'You're drunk already!"
     "I am not drunk."  Whitbourne grimaced.  "When I starts singing
acapella, THEN I'se drunk."
     He left the bar, and went to get his guitar.  Bonavista and Carbonear,
seeing the cue, went to get their instruments as well.
     Everyone was silent as the Newfoundlanders walked to the middle of the
room.  Some chairs were brought, and the guitarists sat down.
     Bonavista cleared his throat.  "As we promised earlier, we Newfs is
going to play a few tunes for ye."
     "Well, in that case, I'm leaving."  Broadway called.  Everyone
laughed.
     "Laugh if you must,"  Carbonear jeered back, playing a chord on her
fiddle, "but we gots a reel for ye's that ye's might like to hear later on. 
But first, here's a little personal favorite.  Reminds us a bit of home,
and what ye has to put up with."
     Carbonear turned to Whitbourne and Bonavista.  "We's gonna play 'Rant
and Roar', byes, and then we breaks into 'Roger's Reel'.  Sound good?  I'll
play Woody's tin whistle part with the fiddle."
     "Sounds fine with me, me girl."  Whitbourne agreed.   He looked at
Bonavista, who nodded.
     "One, two, TREE, four..."  he counted, exaggerting his three.  Hudson
laughed, but then the music started.
     All three of them played a brief intro, and then the three began to
sing in counterpoint harmony.
    
     "Oh, we'll rant and we'll roar like true Newfoundlanders,
      We'll rant and we'll roar, on deck and below,
      Until we strikes bottom inside the two sunkers,
      When straight through the channel to Toslow we'll go."
    
     Carbonear broke into a brief fiddle solo, to the delight of the
others.  Whitbourne and Bonavista played accompaniment with the guitars. 
As soon as Carbonear finished, Whitbourne began to sing solo.
    
     "I'm a son of a sea cook, I'm a cook on a trader
      I can dance, I can sing, I can rig the main boom,
      I can handle a jigger, I cuts a fine figger,
        Whenever I gets in a boat standing room."
    
     Then, the harmony began again.

     "We'll rant and we'll roar like true Newfoundlanders,
      We'll rant and we'll roar, on deck and below,
      Until we strikes bottom inside the two sunkers,
      When straight through the channel to Toslow we'll go."

     At once, Carbonear started again, playing for a longer time.  Once she
had finished, Bonavista began to sing, surprisingly in tune for the first
time in his life.

     "Farewell and adieu to ye young maids of Whelan,
      Oh, Darin and Presque, Foxhole and Brule,
      I'm bound further westward, to the wall with the hole in,
      I can't marry all or it's yokie I'll be."
    
     Once more, the chorus rang throughout the room, the guitars sounding
perfectly in tune with the quiet reelings of Carbonear's fiddle.  Then, the
music stopped, but the Newfs sang the chorus once more, their voices
echoing throughout the silent Great Hall.  Carbonear ended with a fiddle
solo, and there was a stunned silence throughout the room.
     Then, the applause started.  Everyone stood up, cheering and clapping. 
Carbonear, smiling widely, took a bow.  Whitbourne and Bonavista gave each
other high fives.
     "That was..."  Goliath began, clapping, but Carbonear cut him off with
the beginnings of a fiddle reel.  She didn't stop, either, taking center
stage and not giving it up.  The reel echoed throughout the hall.  Everyone
in the hall began to clap in time to the music, stomping their feet. 
Carbonear smiled, and played louder.
     Bonavista stood up.  "Everybody gots to dance!"  he yelled.  He ran
over, and pulled Broadway and Angela up to the floor.  Laughing
uncontrollably, they tried to dance. 
     "Oh, come on now.  Don't tell me ye doesn't know how to reel." 
Bonavista growled.  "Here, I'll show ye."
     He looked around, looking for a dance partner.  He found Elisa.
     "Oh, no."  Elisa balked.  "I'm not going to try."  Carbonear was
having a little trouble playing now, she was laughing so hard.
     Bonavista grabbed Elisa's hands, and wrapped his arms around her
waist.  They began to dance crazily, Elisa stumbling over Bonavista's large
feet.  Soon, though, an order began to emerge from the dance, and Bonavista
and Elisa found themselves reeling. 
     Carbonear switched songs, playing another reel.  Bonavista prepared to
take his partner around for another reel, when suddenly there was a tap at
his shoulder.  He spun around, and saw Claw.
     "What does ye want?"  he asked.  In response, Claw took Elisa, and
began to reel with her...three times as well as Bonavista had been doing. 
The gargoyles stared on in amazement, and the Mutates began whistling. 
Carbonear switched to a jig, and Claw subtly changed to the new dance
style.  He was jigging and reeling as if he'd been doing so all of his
life. 
     The music stopped, and there was applause...for both Carbonear and
Claw.  Claw smiled, and bowed to Elisa, who curtsied amusedly.
     "Where did you learn to dance like that?"  Fang asked Claw.
     Claw blushed, and went searching for a pen and paper.  When he found
some, he began to write hastily.  He gave the note to Fang, who read it
carefully.
     "I've been dancing like that since I was six years old,"  Fang read. 
"I grew up with that kind of music where I first lived."
     "Where did you live before?"  Maggie asked.
     Claw took back the paper, and wrote on it again.  He handed the paper
to Maggie.
     "Glace Bay, Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia."  Maggie read.
     "Ye's a Cape Bretoner?"  Bonavista asked incredulously.
     Claw nodded, and took back the paper.  "I lived there until I was
twenty, and moved to New York," he wrote.  "My gram taught me to dance."
     Talon whistled.  "We never knew this about you."
     "I also play the bodhran."  Claw wrote. 
     After that, the Newfs put their instruments away.  But their music had
livened the party.  The Smashing Pumpkins were taken out of the CD player,
one of Marsha Tibbo's mix tapes from Newfoundland was put in.  For the rest
of the night, the only music played was Atlantic Canadian fiddle music. 
Claw began teaching those who wanted to to dance.
     Brooklyn was his first student.  Despite his amazing tendancy to trip
over his tail, Brooklyn actually learned quite quickly.  He was soon
reeling well, and Claw sent him on his way.
     He walked over to Carbonear.  "You wanna dance?"  he asked, winking.
     Carbonear smiled.  "I thought ye'd never ask."
     They began to jig about the room, nearly colliding with Goliath, who
was trying to learn the dance.  He was failing miserably.
     "So what does ye think of the party?"  Carbonear asked.
     "It's great."  Brooklyn grinned.  "I'm really having a lot of fun."
     "That's great!  I knew ye'd come back to us sooner or later.  It just
took a little convincing, that's all."
     "Well, it really worked.  I'm having one of the best times of my
life."  Brooklyn laughed.  The jig on the player stopped, being replaced by
a more traditional slow song.  Brooklyn detached himself from Carbonear,
bowed, and began to waltz with her.  He watched as Broadway and Angela did
the same, as Lexington and Ophelia, and even Delilah and Malibu got into
the act.  Talon and Maggie got up to dance, as did David and Fox.  Goliath
excused himself from his reel teacher, Claw, and went to ask Elisa to
dance. 
     "Brooklyn,"  Carbonear asked, "can I ask ye something?"
     "What?"
     "Is ye really happy?"
     Brooklyn frowned, considering the question.  "I...I guess so.  I'm
still hurt about Hawthorne, but I think I'm really starting to accept it. 
At least, I hope so."
     "That's good to know."  Carbonear sighed.  "There was a few times when
we didn't think ye'd pull through."
     "I did."  Brooklyn grinned.  "What's Witless doing?"
     Carbonear looked towards the quite clearly drunk Whitbourne, who was
talking with Hollywood, Broadway's clone.  Several times, Whitbourne
pointed at the bar, where Owen was still bartending.  Seeing Whitbourne's
intoxication, the aide-de-camp had refused to relinquish his control of the
bar. 
     Carbonear sighed.  "Knowing Witless, it can't be that good.  Come on."
     The two stopped dancing, and approached the two conspirators. 
Whitbourne was totally smashed...he'd been drinking nonstop since he had
taken the instruments back to the smoke hole.
     "So, Hollywood..."  he slurred, waving his arms and pointing at Owen. 
"If buddy there asks what ye wants the drink for, you tell him to shag
off..no, tell him it's for me.  No, wait..."
     "Whitbourne."  Brooklyn frowned.  "Don't tell me you're trying to get
Hollywood to get you a drink."
     "Brooklyn!"  Whitbourne cried.  Hollywood looked at Brooklyn
pleadingly, begging him to get the clone away from the Newfoundlander.
     "Go up to the bar, and gets us a drink, my son!"  Whitbourne laughed.
     "Why can't you do it yourself?"
     "Cause that frigger Owen cut me off, that's why.  I has no idea why. 
I'se not drunk."  Whitbourne replied.  He peered through drunken eyes. 
"Carb, I wants ye..."
     "Wants me to what?"
     "No, no.  I wants ye."  Whitbourne frowned, as if she was stupid.  He
staggered off, cheerfully waving at Hudson as he walked by.  He stopped at
Delilah.
     "Does ye want to dance?"  he asked her.  Delilah, smelling the alcohol
reeking off of him, wrinkled her nose.
     "No, thank you."  she replied.
     Whitbourne blinked.  "Pardon me.  I MEANT to say 'ye looks fat in
those pants.' "
     She slapped him, and he obliviously stumbled over to the corner.
     "Don't worry, Hollywood."  Brooklyn smiled, noting the clone's
confused expression.  "He'll just find some quiet corner to pass out in."
     The music stopped, and Broadway moved to the center of the room.  He
held up his glass of beer, and called for everyone's attention.
     "I know we're all having a really fun time tonight, but it's time to
acknowledge the reasons we're here celebrating.  So, I'd like to make a
couple of toasts.  First of all, to one of our friends who's finally
feeling better after mourning a close friend.  He's been a long time
returning, so let's make sure he stays.  To Brooklyn.  May all the parties
you're at be this much fun."
     "To Brooklyn."  everyone agreed, taking drinks.
     "And to another good friend, who's recently told us that she's staying
with us for good after a long time imposing on our hospitality.  Much to
Lexington's delight, she's told us that she's joining our clan.  So, to
Ophelia.  May she teach my Angela how to behave herself."
     "You're in the doghouse for that one."  Angela muttered.  Everyone
laughed.
     "To Ophelia."  the partygoers clapped.
     After the toasts, the party hit full swing.  It didn't have much of a
Valentine specific atmosphere...just merrymaking in general.  They had
decided that since most of them were doing something special for
Valentine's Day the night after, it might be better not to spoil the mood. 
Whitbourne passed out contentedly in the corner, and Lexington and Claw
dragged him outside and threw him in the snow.  Matt arrived later on,
apologizing for not being able to attend earlier, but he was working a lot
later than expected.  Talon and Hudson both got raucously drunk, and began
trying to hypnotize each other.  Goliath and Elisa bowed out of the party,
and went to the den after a while for a little privacy.  Broadway and
Angela did the same, deciding that fun as the party was, they wanted a
little time alone.  Bonavista and Fang both ended the night a little tipsy,
with Bonavista providing an endless fountain of Newfie jokes.  The clones
relaxed, and began to enjoy themselves even more.  Ophelia and Lexington
spent the whole night dancing to the slower Maritime songs.  David and Fox
excused themselves to go to bed.  At three a.m, when Owen decided to shut
down the bar, the party was pretty much over.
     The guests left, thanking the clan for a truly wonderful party. 
Maggie had to help Talon walk, and Claw was forced to provide some support
to Fang.  The clones left with them, graciously thanking their hosts.  Matt
and Elisa left together, carpooling.  Owen began to help clear up the mess.
     By that time, all of the gargoyles were at least feeling a little
light headed.  The party had consumed fully half of the alcohol that had
been brought, mostly by Hudson, Talon and Whitbourne.  Hudson was passed
out on the floor, with an empty bottle of gin in one claw.  He was snoring
contentedly.  Whitbourne, who was soaking wet, was propped up against the
wall, fast asleep.
     The rest of the gargoyles, who ranged from slight blearyness
(Brooklyn, Carbonear, Goliath and Ophelia) to gleeful buzziness (Broadway,
Lexington, Angela and Bonavista) began the slow process of cleaning up.
     Brooklyn began to pick up chip bowls, walking towards the kitchen. 
Carbonear followed with the long empty plate of garlic fingers.  As he set
down the bowls on the counter, he noticed Carbonear staring at him.
     "Can I 'elp you, mademoiselle?"  he asked, in an exaggerated French
accent.  Carbonear blinked.
     "It's nothing, Brooklyn.  I was just amazed at how...HAPPY you look."
     "I was drinking, Carb."  Brooklyn smiled, as if that explained
everything.
     "No, that's not it.  It's just ye seems so happy, and it can't be
explained away with alcohol.  Brooklyn, ye's been glowing all night, and
it's just so good to see, that's all."  Carbonear grinned.
     Brooklyn looked away. "I still think about her.  But it's almost like
it's distant, now.  Like it was just an event.  I still miss her terribly,
but I don't feel so alone anymore.  You were right...throwing myself into
the clan really helped."
     He dumped out the few remaining chips into the trash bin, and sighed. 
"I had a really fun time tonight.  The most fun I've had in a very long
time."
     He looked deep into her eyes.
     "Thanks."  he sighed.
     "Thanks for what?"
     He shuffled his feet.  "For believing in me.  For not giving up faith
that I'd get over the grief.  Just for being there for me.  I don't know
what I would have done without you and the others."
     Carbonear swallowed.  "Well, It's like I was after telling ye time and
again.  I knows what ye's going through.  I knows how much it hurt, and I
knows how much ye was pining.  I didn't want to see you get destroyed by
that, so I wanted ye to come back to us."
     "For a while, I thought it was just because you wanted to get me
through with it so you could have me.  For a little while.  But now I
realize you were just trying to help." Brooklyn muttered.
     "The thought did cross my mind.  But I'se not that type of person. 
I'd never use someone's pain for me own advantage."  Carbonear frowned.  "I
does love ye, but I'se willing to wait for it.  Until we's both ready."
     Brooklyn smiled.  "Maybe someday."
     He set the bowl on the counter, and gave her one of the widest smiles
she'd ever seen from him.
     "Thanks again."  he grinned.  He turned, and went back to the Great
Hall to help clean up.  Carbonear watched him go.
     It was the last time she saw him smile for a long, long time.

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Chapter Four

          Orpheus Descending

     That morning, just after he turned to stone, the dreams began.
     Brooklyn faced towards the east, watching as the sun rose.  Like
always, he felt his muscles stiffen, saw the world dim slowly, and become
total blackness.  His consciousness slipped away, and he slept.
     But his dreams were far from peaceful.
    
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********

     He was in Clayoquot Sound.  The sun was up, but he was alive, somehow. 
He hadn't turned to stone.
     The cave he'd only ever seen once, with the members of Hawthorne's old
clan, was nearby.  The members of Clan Clayoquot were there, asleep in
stone, but they were clustered around one statue.  One with an enigmatic
smile, holding a Ring...
     Hawthorne.
     Brooklyn felt the world stop.  He watched as the stone members of Clan
Clayoquot, without changing back from stone, began to move.
     "Look at us."  Courtenay, one of the British Columbians hissed.
     Saanich, another one, began to moan.  "We've decided to become like
her.  Because we were her friends.  WE didn't abandon her to die at the
hands of some nine hundred year old prophecy."
     "What?"  Brooklyn asked.  "I didn't want her to die!"
     "Then why didn't you stop it?"  Courtenay asked.  "Why couldn't you
make the final sacrifice, and at least accept responsibility for what you
did, instead of leaving it to us?  We may not have known you that well, but
we know enough to know that this was all your fault."
     "It wasn't my fault!"  Brooklyn protested.  The sun set, but the
gargoyles did not come to life.  They went silent.
     "It wasn't my fault!"  Brooklyn yelled again, but then he was gone.

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********

     "Here, catch."
     He blinked.  For some odd reason, he was at Yankee Stadium, on the
pitcher's mound, in a Yankees uniform.  Broadway had called from home
plate, and a fast ball came hurtling towards him.  He caught it with ease,
and tossed it to the first baseman, Angela.
     "What happened?  Why are we playing baseball, Broadway?"  he asked.
     Broadway blinked in confusion.  "What did you call me?"  he asked. 
"Funny.  I haven't gone by that name in years.  It's always just been
Protector."
     Brooklyn raised one of his brow ridges.  He peered around the baseball
diamond, where Lexington, and Ophelia were playing the other two bases. 
Carbonear and Hawthorne were playing outfield.
     "As I recall, Leader,"  Broadway/Protector said, "none of us have gone
by our old names in a long, long time.  Hurry up, Leader.  The other team's
up at bat."
     At that second, Silhouette stepped up to the plate.  Carbonear/Savior
threw him the ball, and he took careful aim, preparing to pitch it.  But he
fumbled, and the ball went sailing awkwardly through the air.  Silhouette
hit it easily, and it went sailing, towards the fence. 
     "What kind of a pitch was that?"  Broadway/Protector yelled in
disgust.  "If Ringbearer doesn't catch it, we lose the game!  You screwed
us all up, Leader!"
     "CATCH IT, RINGBEARER!"  everyone else yelled.  The baseball streaked
downwards, and Hawthorne/Ringbearer caught it...
     ...but it bounced out of her glove, and landed on the ground. 
     "You're out!"  the umpire called, not at Silhouette, but at Hawthorne. 
"And if the pitcher messes up, you know what the penalty is."
     Hawthorne turned to stone again, and Brooklyn screamed.  His baseball
team threw down their gloves in disgust, and walked off of the field. 
     Brooklyn tried to protest, but the umpire walked over. "You can't argue with the ump, bush."  he growled, and he walked off.
     Brooklyn made a strangled sound, but then the dream shifted again.

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     The third dream was the worst of all.
     Brooklyn blinked, and found himself at the castle.  He was alone with
the statue of Hawthorne.  As he watched, it suddenly cracked, and Hawthorne
awoke with a crash of stone.
     Brooklyn cried out in joy, and ran towards her, only to have his face
connect with her clenched fist.
     He stumbled back, stunned.  Hawthorne was enraged.  Her eyes were
aglow, and she was advancing towards him menacingly.
     "You son of a bitch."  she accused.
     Brooklyn felt the air driven from his chest.  "Hawthorne, it's me! 
Brooklyn!"
     "I know perfectly well who you are."  Hawthorne hissed.  "And I know
what you are, too.  You're a cheating, lying asshole, Brooklyn.  Don't
think I don't know about her."
     "About who?"
     "Your little slut Carbonear, that's who.  I see how you want to be
around her all the time.  I saw you dancing with her at your little party. 
I know how you FEEL, Brooklyn."
     "I'm not in love with her!"  Brooklyn yelled.  "I danced with her as a
friend!"
     Hawthorne didn't want to listen.  "I may be dead, but I'm not BLIND,
Brooklyn.  I see how you're trying to forget about me.  What's the matter? 
Couldn't handle the promises you made?"
     She snarled, and punched him again.  He went reeling, towards the edge
of the parapet.
     "Oh, what flippant remarks they were.  'I'll never forget you,
Hawthorne.  I'll always love you.  You're my immortal beloved.'  But you
didn't mean any of it.  Instead, you're trying to move on from this, and
forget about me."
     "Hawthorne, please!  Let me explain!"  Brooklyn screamed.
     "Don't explain, Brooklyn.  I already know."  Hawthorne muttered.  "You
don't love me anymore.  You don't carry the pendant with you.  You've
forgotten all about me."
     "No, I haven't!  I keep the pendant in a safe place!  What do you want
me to do?  Kill myself with grief for another three months?"
     "No.  I want you to remember me.  But you're thinking of forgetting. 
You want to.  And that hussy Carbonear wants you to, too.  Well, go ahead. 
If you're happy with, her, go right ahead.  But I just want you to know
that you disgust me, Brooklyn.  I loved you.  I thought you loved me too."
     "I do!"  Brooklyn yelled, but with a savage kick, Hawthorne sent him
spinning off of the tower.  He landed in the courtyard with a thud.  As he
watched, his love-turned-attacker swooped down to face him again.
     "If you love me, why are you forgetting me?"  Hawthorne screamed
unhappily.  "Why are you trying to escape from me?  Why are you trying to
ignore me?  You were so sweet to me before...staying with me through the
night, remembering me in your every thought, word and action.  But then you
decided it would be better to forget about me, and you went to that party. 
You've proven it to me, Brooklyn.  You're a deceitful, lying, forgetting
prick."
     She shook her head sadly, advancing upon him.  Soon, he was backed up
against the castle parapets.  Behind him was only empty space.
     "You wanted me to move on!"  Brooklyn screamed desparately.  "That was
the last thing you said to me...to move onward!"
     "Maybe the Hawthorne you knew said that."  Hawthorne snapped.  "Maybe
I'm not even Hawthorne.  Maybe I'm just guilt you have for forgetting me
and letting me die in your memory.  But as far as I'm concerned, you forgot
about me.  And I'm going to make sure you remember.  Now and forever."
     She punched him one last time, and he went ov