The Pure and the Profane
Christine Morgan
Author's Note: The characters of Gargoyles are the property of Disney
and used without their creators' knowledge or permission. This story is for
mature readers only due to sexual content of a potentially disturbing
nature.
From the "Credit Where Credit is Due" department --
Chas Yale -- created by Christi Smith-Hayden
Athens, Inc -- created by Ryan "Proteus" Stout
Dedicated to the charter members of the Jericho Fan Club. Enjoy, ladies!
"Bounty hunters," he said as the blonde woman and the tall man
were ushered into his office. He spoke the words not accusingly, but with
guarded interest and faint contempt.
The blonde woman picked up on that contempt, and her eyes
narrowed. "You have a problem with that?"
"Not if it gets me what I want, dear lady. Not if it gets me what I
want."
"And we can deliver," the tall man said, sparing a bemused
glance at the bassinet in the corner of the office as he sat. "If the price is
right."
Jon Canmore looked them over critically. Judge Halverson,
looked tough, capable, and mean. His lined face and visible scars bespoke
a long life of hardship and violence. The mechanical hand jutting from the
stump of his right arm added just the right insanely villainous touch.
Inge Runolf, the woman with the arrogant Nordic features, was if
anything more of a daunting figure than Halverson. It had been Canmore's
observation that every woman (not, admittedly, that there were many with
whom he did business) who came into the office were instantly charmed
by the cooing and gurgling coming from the bassinet. But young Bryce
might as well have been a decorative urn, for all the interest she showed.
Canmore minutely adjusted his desk blotter. "And how right
would the price have to be?"
"Depends," Halverson said. "I hear you've got a special request."
"Well, do understand that I would accept and pay handsomely
for _any_ gargoyle. But, yes, there is one in particular that I would prefer
to obtain at this time. A special request, as you said, but not my own." He
smiled tightly, humorlessly. "I'll hunt _that_ demon myself, and not for
mere money."
"It's not _mere_ money," Runolf said. "You haven't heard our
price yet."
"What I fail to grasp, however," Canmore said, rising and
moving to the window, looking out on the expansive courtyard of the
Anvil Corporation, where a vast but shallow fishpond surrounded a single
statue of a massive hammer-wielding giant, "is why, if you do know the
whereabouts of these creatures, you have not smashed them while they
sleep!" His hands clenched on the windowsill.
Halverson raised his own hand -- Canmore knew this not because
he saw it, but because he heard the unsettling click and whir of the gears
as mechanical fingers moved. "A gargoyle did this to me, and sure, he's
never going to be one of my favorite people. But I'm not against all gargs
because of it."
Canmore turned to face him. "Why not?" he demanded.
"Well ... a man did _this_ to me." Halverson traced a scar that
ran from his scalp to the hinge of his jaw. "And I didn't go on a revenge
spree against all mankind over it. So I like to think of it as keeping things
in perspective."
"No one is paying us to kill gargoyles," Runolf added, relaxing
into her chair with the deceptive coiled energy of a lioness. "At the
moment, anyway."
"Paying." The word tasted bad in Canmore's mouth. "Do you
think the Quarrymen are getting paid? They pay _me_ for the privilege of
wearing the hood, carrying the hammer!"
"So, what you're saying is that _you_ get paid," she said dryly.
He tried to wither her with a look, having had more than his fill
of uppity women lately, but she only met his gaze with a slight
challenging smile.
"We're not here to discuss whether 'tis nobler in mind to bash
gargs for revenge or for cash," Halverson cut in. "You want a garg for
your big rally. Seventy-five grand. Plus twenty-five more if we can bring
in the one you want."
"A hundred thousand dollars?" Canmore said. "For something
you should be doing as a service to your race?"
Runolf muttered something in German, and grinned at
Halverson. Then she sent that grin Canmore's way as well. "As a service
to our race, we could do as you suggested and smash them while they
sleep. You want one whole, intact, for entertainment purposes. If you
really want only to eradicate them, why the showmanship?"
"Very well, a hundred thousand!" He slapped the desktop. "But
he'd better be not so much as chipped!"
"So, which one do you want?" Halverson asked.
He looked sourly at the two of them. "I should send you after the
big one, Goliath. Make you earn every penny of that money! But I've
recently made a ... political arrangement, I suppose you could say ... with
a person who harbors a grievance against another of his clan." He
withdrew an enlarged photograph and slid it over to them.
Halverson took it, studied it carefully. "You want the male or the
female?"
* *
"Who gave them a permit to hold a rally?" Elisa Maza demanded
furiously.
"Nobody knew it was Quarrymen," Rick Alvarez said, giving a
token tap to the brakes as they careened around a corner. "They claimed it
was a youth group prayer meeting." He then rolled his lead foot down on
the gas pedal again, and the Fairlane sprang forward with a protesting
scream audible even over the warbling siren.
"Why do I let you drive my car?" Elisa clung to the Jesus-handle,
which was what Derrek had always called the handle just above the
passenger window. "You race stock cars in a previous life?"
"Captain doesn't want you driving until you're medically
cleared."
"I was shot almost a month ago! I'm fine!"
"And you see the doc tomorrow, so until then, I drive while we're
on duty," Rick said, red light racing in pulses over his face.
"Surprised she doesn't make you drive me home, too," Elisa
grumbled.
"Anytime, Maza, you know that." He took his eyes off the road
long enough to wink, and she grabbed for the Jesus-handle again.
The radio crackled. "GTF 5, you there?"
Elisa picked it up. "Here, Richards. Go ahead."
In the background, she could hear an oceanic roar of crowd-
noise, excited and malevolent.
"We've got a real ugly situation here," Richards reported. "Just
my luck to track these runaway cult-kids into a hammerhead shindig."
"Gripe about it later. What've you got?"
He hesitated. "You're not going to like it, Maza."
"When it comes to Quarrymen, I never do. Hit me."
"They've got a live one. A gargoyle."
"What?!"
"Got him chained on a big stone pedestal in the middle of the
rally."
"Can't you go any faster?" Elisa barked at Rick, who obliged by
stamping on the gas hard enough to press her back into her seat.
"Richards, describe him!"
"How the hell should I know for gargoyles? He's big, he's strong
enough to put those chains to the test --"
"Color!"
"Can't tell. The lighting sucks in here."
"Take it east, we're almost there," Rick said, whomping over a
barricade, past a ticket kiosk, and into the stadium parking lot. Six yelling
guys in blue outfits with flashlights appeared, but the Fairlane sped on by.
Elisa wasted precious seconds wrestling with her seatbelt
because her hands were shaking so badly. How could this have happened?
She'd just been at the castle earlier tonight, and everyone was fine, safe
and fine. So how had the Quarrymen done this?
She leaped out of the car, and only then realized how late it was.
The eastern half of the sky was already a fine pinkish gold, and the air had
the pearly timeless quality of impending dawn.
"Police! Back off!" Rick hollered as the six guys with flashlights
converged on them.
Elisa vaulted over a turnstile, earning herself a stab of pain in her
not-yet-healed shoulder, and pounded up a long curving ramp. She could
hear the crowd-noise again, not coming through the radio this time but
reverberating through the concrete dome with its walkways and
refreshment booths and abandoned souvenir stands.
How long since there had been an actual sports event held here?
she thought as she ran. Now it was only RV shows and home shows and
kids' fairs and the occasional concert, the shell rented out to any yahoo
that could come up with the money to do it.
She burst through the first set of metal doors she came to. Rows
of hard plastic seats sloped down to the waist-high rail separating them
from the twelve-foot drop to the stadium floor.
The seats themselves were largely empty, because the crowd was
swarming below. A forest of anti-gargoyle signs bobbed and waved, their
sentiments echoed in banners that hung from the rails. Spotlights raced
and looped, strobe lights flashed, casting everything into chaos.
A huge stage had been put up in the center of the stadium. Ranks
of Quarrymen stood upon it, legs braced wide apart, hammers held stiffly
in front of them, the symbol on their chests glinting gold.
In the middle of the stage were three stone pedestals, two smaller
ones flanking the taller, the sort of setup where Olympic athletes might
stand to be awarded their medals. But there were no clean-cut gymnasts or
swimmers to be seen.
The smaller two pedestals were heaped with chunks of broken
masonry and Elisa knew instantly that they were the remains of statues.
Warm-ups for the main event.
The main event was chained to the tallest pedestal, tearing at the
chains that held him.
Elisa allowed herself one blessed gasp of relief that it wasn't
Goliath, before the horror set in.
* *
"Think he's ugly now?" the stocky man next to Margot asked
with stupid cunning, bouncing a paint-filled water balloon on his palm. He
didn't wait for a reply but hurled it, and it splatted squarely on the
monster's face. "Now, _that's_ ugly!"
* *
"Broadway!" Elisa's voice was drowned in the crowd.
She spied a clear path, cordoned off by more Quarryman
sentinels. And a figure coming up that path, his face hidden, but with a
triple slash scoring the front of his hood.
Canmore!
Bile-black loathing surged up in Elisa's throat.
Broadway tugged at the chains, but they held. A bellow of pure
outrage burst from his throat, his eyes flaring white. In the crazy light,
covered with streaks and splatters of paint, he looked like he'd been flayed
alive.
Canmore mounted the steps. Two more Quarrymen came
forward bearing a hammer on a cushion between them.
Elisa hadn't been twiddling her thumbs all this while. She was
running, following the curve of a row of seats, headed for the clear path
that was a third of the dome, now a quarter, now a fifth away from her.
State-of-the-art sound systems amplified Canmore as he began
his typical rant against the gargoyles. Spotlights positioned beneath him
shone up at an angle, bathing him in nearly blinding godlike radiance.
Elisa reached the rail, looked down at the rows of Quarrymen,
and climbed over. She held on, legs dangling, and then let go.
"And they call us murderers!" Canmore said, incredulous and
indignant. "Is it murder to slay a beast? To vanquish a monster?"
"NO!!!" screamed the crowd.
"Even if it was ..." Canmore paused expectantly.
The speakers filled with a new sound. The spotlights swung away
from him, and now there was a statue atop that tallest pedestal.
Elisa charged toward the stage. One Quarryman finally noticed
her, but his glove skimmed over her jacket and she was past.
"Even if it was," Canmore said, and now his voice had dropped
to a warm, conspiratorial level, "is it murder to break a stone?" He lifted
the hammer high.
The crowd moved forward in one tidal, greedy lunge. Elisa
reached the stairs, plunged between two of the sentinel Quarryman, kicked
out at a third that tried to block her path, and then was seized from behind
and wrestled down.
Canmore stopped with the hammer at the top of its arc and
looked down. Although she couldn't see his face, she knew from the way
he held his head that he was savoring the moment, savoring her
helplessness as she struggled with the Quarrymen.
"Don't," she pleaded, not too proud to beg for her friend's life.
"You're too late," Canmore said.
The hammer fell.
The sparking head struck Broadway at the juncture of shoulder
and neck. Deep cracks split the stone, glowing electric-blue from within.
Elisa shrieked and found strength in some untapped reserve,
flinging Quarrymen off her as easily as if they'd been paper dolls. She
threw herself at Canmore just as he brought the hammer down again.
The blow shattered Broadway. Chunks of stone fell on the dais.
His head ricocheted into the crowd, and an immediate riot broke out for
possession of it, like concert fans when their idol tosses a piece of
clothing.
A three-taloned fist smacked into Elisa's chest hard enough to
knock the breath out of her. She caught it reflexively, and just as
reflexively, spun and socked it squarely against Canmore's temple.
He went down hard. His hammer sailed into the crowd as well,
dropping four people before coming to rest at the feet of a woman who
Elisa was stunned to recognize as Margot Yale.
Quarrymen charged at Elisa. Still clutching the severed stone fist,
she jumped over Canmore's sprawled body and off the far side of the
stage. Her feet shot out from under her.
The sight of their fallen leader had pushed the crowd over the
line into frenzied panic. Some were trying to reach the stage, others were
trying to retreat.
A man's hand descended through the crush of bodies. Elisa saw
the dark skin, the police academy ring.
Rick Alvarez hauled her upright and shielded her while she got
her breath back. He bent and lifted the bunting that surrounded the stage,
scanning the darkness beneath.
"Okay, under here!"
She followed him into the hidey-hole and crouched there,
listening to the stampeding and cries of rage and pain. Rick drew his gun,
but Elisa didn't. She couldn't. She curled herself around the stone fist and
tried to hold back hot tears.
Broadway. Sweet, bumbling, good-hearted Broadway. She didn't
want to believe it even though she'd seen it close up, even though she held
proof of it in her hands.
"How did they get him?" she asked plaintively, looking to Rick
though he wasn't going to have any answers either. "Their last postcard
was from Cairo! And ... if they got him, where's Elektra?"
* *
"Quite a show," Judge Halverson remarked, looking around the
infirmary. Most of the human wreckage had been cleaned up, patched up,
and sent on its way.
"No deaths this time," Canmore said, wincing as the nurse
swabbed antiseptic on the side of his head. He already had a huge black
and purple goose-egg that resembled some sort of fungoid growth, the
skin split in three places.
"You came close," Inge Runolf pointed out. "If she'd swung a
little harder, you'd be talking to Saint Peter instead of us."
"He's probably better company. Shouldn't you two be out looking
for that she-witch?"
Halverson raised his eyebrows. "Thought your boys were
handling security."
"Don't start with me, Halverson, I want her found!"
Runolf snorted. "She's miles from here by now. It would have
been easy to escape when those bleating sheep stampeded out of here."
"Besides, she's the luckiest damn woman I've ever run across,"
Halverson said. "We've never been able to hold onto her for long."
Canmore waved them to silence as two of his loyal Quarrymen,
two who knew their place and their duty, ushered the Yale woman in. She
blanched when she saw his swollen face.
"Ah, my dear D.A!" Canmore rose and extended his hands. "I
trust tonight was all that you hoped it would be?"
She held out the sides of her blazer, splotched with paint, and
gestured to a bruise on her shin where his hammer had clipped her on the
rebound. "This isn't exactly what I had in mind!"
"You wanted that creature dead, and dead he is." Canmore
shrugged disarmingly, did his best to make a charming smile, when all the
while his head rang with the sounds of iron-clad hoofbeats along a
cobbled road. This was the sort of headache Zeus might have felt, he
thought, just before Athena leapt from his brow.
"I didn't expect you to make a circus, out of it!"
"Well, good heavens, you didn't think I was going to go to all
that trouble simply because you wanted revenge for your yacht, your
husband, and your emeralds!"
"I thought revenge was your stock-in-trade," she replied
haughtily.
He brought his battered face close to hers. "_My_ revenge, not
yours. If I did that, I'd be no better than those two!"
Halverson and Runolf glanced at each other with a matched set
of smirks that Canmore found most infuriating.
"What about the other one in the picture?" Ms. Yale demanded.
"The female?"
"You did only specify the male," Canmore said. "The ... fat
bastard, wasn't that your exact wording?"
"Yes," she snapped. "But you're right, all of those monsters
should be destroyed or locked up in a zoo someplace. They shouldn't be
out living among decent people, wrecking cars and tearing up the city
wherever they feel like it. Do they have any idea what all of that costs?
Who's going to pay for all of it? No insurance company on earth covers
damage done by an act of gargoyle!"
"Concern for the taxpayers," Runolf said to Halverson. "That's a
new one."
Canmore ignored them, and widened the charming smile. "Not to
mention, without a body to prove your husband's death, you can't very
well collect on his policies, can you?"
"That's beside the point," she said icily.
"Yes, I know, in seven years it will all be cleared up." He nodded
understandingly.
"I didn't come here to be baited by you, Canmore."
"Of course not. You came because we had a deal. I've followed
through on my end. Now, dear lady, it's up to you. If you think you can
manage, that is."
"I can manage. You'll have your ally in City Hall. I'll see that
your permits for your little late-night weenie roasts go through as planned,
and I'll do what I can whenever one of your lunatics gets himself arrested.
But I can't keep the police off your back entirely, you know. That Maza
woman is a bulldog."
"She has ... a rather distasteful personal leaning that will make
her a problem," Canmore agreed. "But, really, she is only one woman."
Ms. Yale sniffed. "So was Joan of Arc."
"Yes, and look what happened to her."
* *
Dusk came with slow languid stealth, easing across the city. The
shadows grew, stretched as if they were waking from a day's stone sleep,
met and melded.
Elisa waited with the wind in her hair, the wind cool on her tear-
damp cheeks.
They had no idea what sort of greeting was waiting for them.
Angela and Brooklyn had been captured by the sun in a pose of playful
intimacy, while Hudson seemed to look on indulgently and Goliath did the
same while trying to hide it. Lex was grinning, as if at some joke, and
even Bronx looked happy.
She wondered if Canmore knew that one hammerblow could
destroy an entire clan. He'd shattered Broadway, and that loss was going
to shatter the rest of them inside.
Xanatos and Fox had asked if she wanted them to stay, to be with
her while she told the clan, but this was something she had to do alone.
The time came. Stone cracked, muscles flexed, wings shifted.
"Elisa!" Goliath came toward her, then stopped as he read her
face. "Elisa, what's wrong?"
She'd spent the entire day trying to think of how she would tell
them, trying to find the words that would somehow make the terrible truth
more bearable. But there were no such words.
With shaking hands, she held out the fist. Grief closed her throat,
sent new tears coursing down. "It's Broadway, Goliath. He's ... he's dead."
* *
"Easiest hundred grand we ever made," Inge Runolf said, riffling
the bills with a fondness she usually only reserved for weapons.
Halverson grinned. "Hooray for Hollywood."
"Do you think they'll find out?"
"Canmore and Yale? I'm not worried about them."
"Neither am I, but we did just betray Demona."
He mulled that over. "You know, we probably should have asked
for more money."
* *
"It's not right that everything should be in his name," Jericho
said. "This is _your_ company!"
Demona waited until she had landed between the two dark-glass
and black-steel pyramidal skylights and caped her wings before replying.
"The only way I could salvage anything after Thailog's little prank was to
transfer ownership as fast as I could. Your identity, that of the mysterious
and unseen Jerry Destine, wasn't securely in place yet. He was the only
one I felt I could even remotely rely on."
"You trust him?"
She chuckled and reached to move a tumble of hair that had
blown over his eyes. "Trust a Sevarius? I may be crazy, but I'm not a
fool!"
"You're not crazy, either," he said.
"What am I, then?" She tipped her head to the side and smiled up
at him.
"Beautiful." He looked like he wished he could take the word
back, or at the very least the longing tone with which he'd said it, but
Demona only laughed softly and pretended to misunderstand.
"Let's go see how the good doctor is doing, shall we?" She
offered her arm and he took it, trying to disguise the shiver that went
through him as their skin slid against each other.
Feeling quite pleased with herself, Demona used her key card to
unlock the door and entered Nightstone Unlimited.
They found Gustav Sevarius in the cold and sterile moonscape of
his basement office, going through some personnel files with an
expression perhaps better suited to that of a coroner examining a corpse
dead by some novel method. Scientific detachment with a touch of morbid
interest.
Trust a Sevarius? No ... but she did have to admit Gustav and his
brother Anton were the only beings she'd ever met who held humanity in
even lower regard than she did herself. And that was admirable, in an evil
sort of way.
"Trouble with the staff?" Demona inquired, indicating the files.
"Merely reviewing their latest psychiatric profiles, the better to
adjust the subliminals."
"Anything I should be concerned about?"
"I don't anticipate any further instances of instability, no. All of
these reports show just what you wanted -- a content hive of drones, who
derive such satisfaction from their work that they'd never think to form a
union or make demands or be disloyal to the company."
"What I like about this," Demona said to Jericho, "is that
everyone benefits. The workers are happy, I don't have to put up with
their problems, and the doctor has all the test subjects he could ever
want."
"Speaking of tests, how are the clones?" Jericho asked.
"Slightly ahead of schedule, as a matter of fact," Sevarius said. "I
think I've finally found a way to crumble the last of that crude control
block Thailog programmed them with. It would have been easier, if I'd
had my brother's assistance." This last was aimed at Jericho, faintly
disapproving.
Jericho's chin jutted belligerently. "Your _brother_, if that's the
term you want to use for a computer ghost trapped in the body of a robot
only marginally more sophisticated than an inflatable doll, didn't listen to
me when I told him to get out before the whole place collapsed. He
bought his fate, Sevarius. Not me."
Demona winked at him, making him flush with pride.
"Yes, well," Sevarius said, unconcerned, "Anton had been deeply
involved with installing the genetic predispositions for obedience in the
clones. He would therefore have been helpful in amending their
programming."
"Can't you just smash through that control block of Thailog's?"
Demona demanded. "You've been fiddling around with subliminals and
hypnotics for months now!"
"Finesse, my lamb, finesse! And if not that, you might have at
least learned patience in the past thousand years. I could smash it, yes, but
that would in all likelihood leave them severely brain damaged, if not
dead."
"Can we see them?" Jericho asked.
Now Sevarius looked up in mild surprise. "Paying a visit to your
friends?"
"Hardly!" he scoffed. "But I spent weeks trying to train them,
and now you've had them strapped into chairs. I want to see how they're
doing physically. Having them loyal, or blindly obedient, is fine, but it
won't do us much good if they can't fight their way out of a paper sack!"
"It's merely a mental tune-up," Sevarius said, aggrieved. "They'll
be done in a few nights. I imagine even they aren't likely to forget the
training you've beat into them."
"We'll go down and take a look all the same," Demona said,
stroking Jericho's arm soothingly. "If that's all right with you ... doctor?"
"Very well." He stood and picked up his cane. "Shall we?"
The elevator took them down two more levels, to the labs where
some of the truly secret work of Nightstone Unlimited was done. It had
been here that Anton Sevarius had first come up with his humanity-
destroying chem/virus, another in a long list of spectacular ideas that
lacked something in the follow-through. Here that they had constructed
the mechsquitos (Anton's name, and Demona could have cheerfully
throttled him for it) that had collected the blood samples to make the
clones in the first place, though the actual clone lab had been located off-
site.
The security guard, one of the content drones they'd previously
been discussing, except that his programming had been a little more
severe to allow for his lack of reaction at the sight of Demona and Jericho,
buzzed them through the thick doors and into the dungeonlike room
beyond.
Rows of bulky things that looked like a cross between a dentist's
chair and a sarcophagus filled the room. Some were modified to fit the
gargoyle physique. All of the chairs were hooked up to countless
monitoring devices and tubes.
A few white-coated humans, Sevarius' elite staff of brainwashed
flunkies, were keeping an eye on the current subjects, whose heads were
enclosed in opaque bubbles with wires snaking medusally in all
directions.
Jericho stopped short. "Where's Hollywood?"
Demona's gaze skipped across the forms of the clones. Bearded
Burbank, Malibu with his distinctive beak that had required modifying
one of the helmets, wiry little Brentwood. The fourth chair in that row, its
padding pressed down where a large heavy body had once lain, was
empty.
"What the devil?" Sevarius said, his surprise genuine.
He spun to confront one of the workers, who placidly explained
that Judge Halverson and Inge Runolf had removed that subject from the
lab two nights previously.
* *
"That's a problem I'll have to address in the next series of
subliminals."
"I should hope so!" Demona practically shrieked.
Her rage was largely spent, at the expense of a goodly portion of
the furnishings of her outer office, but she still had enough to claw
Sevarius' spine out through his nose, and she was sorely tempted to do it.
She closed her eyes and wrapped her wings around herself in a
meditative posture. "How did it happen?"
"We made them too complacent. None of them would have
thought to question or report Halverson's actions, since we made it clear
to them that he was one of their superiors. Back when you were trying to
recruit that young sorceress --"
"_Don't_ remind me!"
"At any rate, he knew enough to manipulate the staff. He and his
cohort could have come in, done what they pleased, and walked right out
again with no one thinking anything of it."
"Why would they take Hollywood?" Jericho asked. "Why just
Hollywood, and not the others?"
"They must have had some reason. Let's see if we can find out,
shall we?" He went to the computer, and Jericho leaned over him while he
hacked into police records and news articles, searching for any references
to gargoyles within the past few days.
Demona watched them, the old human and the young gargoyle,
the two males in her life, and felt the last of her rage draining away.
But to her dismay it was replaced by a hollow and all-too-
familiar ache. "They betrayed me. I should have known better! They've
made a career of betraying everyone they've worked for -- Xanatos,
Sevarius, Athens Inc., and now me."
"We don't know that --" Jericho began, upset to see her upset.
"Yes, we do," Sevarius interrupted, and began reading aloud
from a police report of a Quarryman rally the previous night. An
undercover detective tracking two runaways had gotten pictures of the
gargoyle victim. Although the photos were blurry and the lighting was
terrible, there was no mistaking that shape.
"They took him ... to the Quarrymen?" Demona gasped,
unwilling to believe it even after seeing the pictures.
"They killed him!" Jericho drove his fist into his palm.
She might have expected her rage to return in all its bloodlust
and glory, but all she felt was a deepening of despair. "Betrayed me! Just
as everyone always does!"
She thought she had power, she thought she had control, but if
so, why did everything keep falling apart? The Captain of the Guard had
betrayed her to the Vikings, letting them shatter her clan. Goliath had
betrayed her, joining the others in the Magus' spell rather than live to
avenge their clan and defend their eggs. MacBeth, Thailog, Xanatos,
every ally that she'd ever had, a line stretching back hundreds of years of
hope and willingness to try again, a belief that this time it might be
different, all for nothing! They all turned from her, went against her!
It wasn't until she felt Jericho grasp her by the shoulders that she
realized she had been sobbing aloud her litany of false hopes and
disappointments.
"Demona."
She looked up.
"I will never betray you," he said, his grip tightening until it was
just short of painful. "Never! You and I are --" he corrected himself
hastily, "-- different from everyone else."
Power and control, she thought. Oh, yes!
Calm now, she smiled at him.
"My Jericho," she crooned, sinking her fingers into the rough
scarlet of his hair.
She felt how he trembled as she drew him closer, drew his head
down. Her breasts pushed gently against his chest as she breathed.
Power and control.
"My son," she said, and kissed him maternally on the cheek
while she flicked her thumbs affectionately over his brow ridges. "Thank
you."
She turned then, toward Sevarius, letting her hip brush
accidentally, innocently, against the stiffness concealed beneath Jericho's
loincloth. Her fine young male was in turmoil. She could sense it, she
could all but smell it, and she relished it.
"We'll find them," she said, businesslike now as Jericho backed
swiftly away. "I have the two of you, my loyal friends, and together, we
will make them pay for their treachery."
"I'll get started right away," Jericho said with difficulty. "I'll go
right now!" He fumbled the door open and left in a rush.
Once he was gone, she closed her eyes again, this time not in
meditation but in warm remembrance. How strong he was, and how
tormented! He wanted her with every fiber of his being, yet dared not
make a move. How delicious!
"You're destroying that boy, you know," Sevarius said. "Playing
the deliberate Jocasta."
"And how does it concern a soulless, amoral old lizard like
yourself?" She said it almost fondly.
"Just making an observation, my lamb. Just making an
observation."
* *
Jericho used his key card to let himself into the room beneath the
pyramid skylights.
She had made this place for him, he knew. His own dark Avalon.
Instead of trees, soaring obsidian sculptures rose from crystalline
pools. Waterfalls cascaded over tiers of seal-sleek black stone.
Nightblooming flowers were confined in glossy urns, lending their scent
to the cool air.
She had sensed how he yearned for the land of his birth. Not to
recapture it, but to recreate it. An orderly place where fickle fae magic did
not change the landscape. Where he could come when the human world
got to be too much for him. So it was that she had given him this gift,
proving to him that she did not want him to forget his past, but to accept
it.
Dark Avalon. Silent but for the music of the falls.
His pulse was still racing, his flesh still aflame from her touch.
His memory burned with the sound of her voice caressing his name. He
imagined he could still feel her fingers in his hair, pulling his head down,
making him anticipate with dreadful longing her soul-searing kiss.
But of course there had been no such kiss, merely a motherly
peck on the cheek. Why would there be anything else? She cared for him
only as a mother to a son, and his desire for her was not only wrong, it
was catastrophic.
Even so, he could not put it from his mind.
He groaned softly, torn apart from within. He must have her or
die of madness, but if he approached her, if she learned the truth, she
would be horrified. She would send him away, and without her, he would
just as quickly die.
Oh, madness to be near her, unbearable torture to be away!
He stripped off his loincloth and waded into the deepest part of
the pool, toward the falls. There, he made himself stand beneath the icy
torrent until his skin prickled with gooseflesh.
When at last the chill subdued his lust, caged it once again like
the wild beast in his heart, he emerged from the pool.
He threw himself on the bank, which was carpeted not in grass
but in a padded fabric of soft velvety blue. He lay flat on his back, wings
outspread, staring up at the silver coin of the moon as it crept across the
skylight.
No other female had ever affected him like this. His youthful
affair with Tourmaline seemed far away and long ago, and empty in
comparison. Oh, she was finely shaped enough, and he hadn't objected to
dallying with her when they and their rookery siblings reached maturity.
But she'd shown her true colors after Angela left, dropping Jericho to
pursue Gabriel, then coming contritely back when Gabriel spurned her.
None of that for Jericho! He'd hated always being second to
Gabriel, and he certainly wasn't going to take Gabriel's reject as his mate!
He snarled up at the moon. Haughty Tourmaline! She could not
compare with Demona. Her green skin was not a fraction so lovely, her
long limbs not half as enticing.
None of his sisters could compare with Demona. If he'd had all
of them to choose from, unhindered by his brothers ... if each of his sisters
appeared before him now as bare as hatchday with arms and thighs spread
in welcome ... he would still choose a life of unrequited desires with
Demona.
And yet ...
Elektra ...?
She had been muchly on his mind since his return from Club
Gung-Ho, mostly as he puzzled over Hudson's final words to him.
Elektra? Cared for him?
If so, she'd given no sign of it on Avalon! No, she had always
stayed locked away like a princess in her tower. Her heart if sworn to
anybody sworn to the Magus, unthinkable as that was, and after his death
she had lived like a nun.
Still ... Elektra? He recalled her ivory-cream complexion, her
silken hair, and how there had always been something about her that set
her apart from her sisters. She was not unattractive. Indeed, she might
have even been beautiful if she'd not been so ... placid.
Whereas, if one were to describe Demona, placid might well be
the last word on the list! Hers was the beauty of the lightning storm, the
bonfire, the untamed west wind.
These thoughts were undoing the effect of the cold water,
reviving his need. His hand stole lower, but before he could give in to that
temptation, he plunged once more into the pool.
* *
"This came in the mail today," Owen Burnett said.
Goliath took it wordlessly.
"It's from Broadway, isn't it?" Angela's voice trembled on the
verge of tears. "He would have sent it just before ... just before ..."
She broke down, burying her face in her hands. Brooklyn put his
arms around her, and Hudson comfortingly stroked her hair, while Bronx
whined mournfully and crowded close against her legs.
When Goliath showed no signs of reading it aloud, Lex plucked
it from his fingers. "Tortuga. I think that's in the Caribbean. Dated eight
days ago."
"Why would Avalon send them to the Quarrymen? Why
someplace where they'd get killed?" Angela sobbed.
Goliath finally stirred, speaking with a deeper than usual rumble
that told the clan he, too, was barely holding it together. "Avalon sent us
many dangerous places as well, my daughter."
Brooklyn looked at Owen. "Hasn't there been any news about
Elektra?"
Owen shook his head. "Nothing."
"So she could be alive," Lex said hopefully.
"Pray that she isn't, if she's in the hands of the Quarrymen,"
Goliath said. "If they knew she was half-human ..."
He couldn't finish, but he didn't have to.
They all fell into a morose silence, lost in their own thoughts as
Owen made one of his unobtrusive exits.
The phone rang, and they all looked up. Midway through the
second ring, it cut off.
Lex, who had just started to rise, sat down again.
* *
Midway through the second ring, he saw someone coming and
had to hang up in a hurry.
He sidled around the phone booth into the shadows where
Elektra was beckoning anxiously. She reached out to him, and he put an
arm protectively around her.
"Is it them?" she hissed.
He peered around the corner at the approaching men. "I don't
think so."
The men stopped just outside the circle of a streetlight. They
spoke in low tones, and then money and a package exchanged hands.
"Drugs, I bet," Broadway growled.
Elektra held him back. "You cannot go out there!"
"I've busted up drug deals before."
"They are likely to be armed." Her hand went to her wing, grazed
by the fringes of a shotgun blast. "Have we not seen enough violence this
night? Please, Broadway, my friend, let us just make good our escape!
We've surely by now given Brendan time to lead those girls to safety!"
"I was going to call home ... ah, well, I guess I can do it next
time." He turned to her, touched her cheek and her brow. "Are you really
all right? When I saw you get shot ..."
"It stings, is all. And think not that I've forgotten how you saved
my life."
"You know I'm never going to let anyone hurt you."
"You are so kind and good, Broadway," she said wistfully. "I
wish ..."
"Wish what?"
The words rushed out of her in a sigh. "I wish Jericho were more
like you. He was always so brash, so quick-tempered, so rebellious."
He chuckled a little, trying to hide the bitterness. "I thought that
was what females liked. It sure worked for Brooklyn!"
"Not all females. I think many would prefer a gentle, loving
mate. Male. I mean, male."
"What about you, Elektra? What do you prefer?" He clasped her
hands in his, looked solemnly and earnestly into her pale eyes.
"I --"
"There they are!" Gunfire split the night, bullets spanging off of
a metal sign bolted to the brick wall beside them.
"We'll talk about it later!" Broadway shouted, as they ran for
their lives.
* *
"Mmm, my handsome boy," Dominique purred, running her
hand along Jericho's sun-warmed back. "You spent a difficult night in
your grotto, didn't you? All those cold showers. Did they help? Or did you
give in, thinking of me all the while?"
She rubbed the joining of wings and back, then circled to look up
at his face while her fingers danced across the breadth of his chest, the
powerful arms.
She leaned against him as she watched the sun creep toward the
horizon. Soon it was time, and she stepped away to give him space to
awaken and herself space to transform.
Her back first arched, then hunched, as her wings and tail burst
free. She had changed into her customary halter and loincloth before
coming up to the roof, so no human clothes or shoes confined her as her
body rearranged itself.
Jericho, no longer looking so much like Goliath now that his
coloring wasn't masked by grey stone skin, came to her at once. She knew
that her painful shapechanging bothered him, though she had gotten used
to it by now and even looked forward to it in an oddly masochistic sort of
way.
"I'm fine," she assured him before he could ask. "Just tired.
Exhausted. I've spent the entire day trying to track down Halverson and
Runolf."
"Sevarius says you need to get more sleep, and for once I agree
with him," Jericho said.
"For once, I do too," she smiled, and yawned. "After we eat, I
might take a nap. But I should warn you, when I sleep, I might as well be
made of stone. Nothing wakes me. A marching band could go through the
room and I wouldn't notice."
"Did you find the traitors? I'll go after them, bring them to you or
kill them for you, if that is your will. Anything you want."
"I know you would, my Jericho." She brushed her knuckles
against his brow. "But I'd rather you stayed here. They are bold, these
humans, fearless. They might try to come back, even though they must
know we'll have all the security systems changed. If they do come, and I'm
asleep, I might not be able to wake in time to stop them."
"They won't get past me," he promised.
"What would I do without you, Jericho?" She embraced him,
feeling his body tighten, feeling him hesitate before carefully putting his
arms around her waist.
She sighed and laid her head against his chest. "I am so proud of
you, Jericho! You've become more than I ever hoped."
"I want to be everything you want," he said, and she knew
without seeing that his eyes were half-lidded, that he was trying to catch
the scent of her hair. "Everything you need."
"Right now, I need food and sleep." She released him, managing
to seemingly accidentally stroke the tender inside joint of his wing as she
did so. "And I'm sure there are some needs of mine you couldn't ... or
wouldn't want to ... satisfy."
He stood taut as a bowstring, quivering, clearly not trusting
himself to speak. She pretended not to notice his discomfiture, and turned
her smug grin into another yawn.
"Yes, food and sleep," she said, starting for the door. She
paused, turned to look over her shoulder at him. "And if we don't hurry,
you might have to carry me to my bed."
"I'll be right down." He was more reciting the words than saying
them, and she saw how his fists were clenched, how the tip of his
gorgeous thick tail twitched uncontrollably.
"Take your time. I'll keep everything warm for you."
* *
By the Dragon, he was losing his mind!
Jericho dug his fingers into his hair, as if he could reach into the
brain beneath and tear out the terrible thoughts that consumed him.
Bad enough that he wanted her, but now he was even starting to
imagine that she felt the same way! Which was pure insanity! She loved
him, yes, but as a son! Only that, and no more.
He was the one at fault, the one so desperate for her that he
misread smoldering passion in her eyes and her manner. A passion that
was not there, that would never be there!
When he felt he had gotten his rampaging emotions under
control, he descended to the suite of rooms behind her office. She was
waiting for him, and now he could clearly see that there was nothing of
the seductress about her. He was ashamed of himself for even thinking he
had imagined it.
The hearty meal only served to make her more drowsy, and he
felt a new shame that he had spent the day resting while she had been
trying to find their enemies and avenge one of their clan.
She rose from her chair and stretched, sinuous, catlike. "I think
it's time for that nap."
"Sleep well," he said, averting his gaze because the sight of her
was fueling a new hunger that couldn't be met by food.
"Like a stone," she replied, and headed for the door that led to
her private bedroom.
He watched her go, watched her sweep the door closed behind
her. But she hadn't turned the latch all the way, which left the metal bar
protruding from the lock. That bar struck the doorjamb and caused the
door to rebound slightly.
And in the thin wedge afforded him by the ajar door, he saw her
reach behind her back to unfasten her halter.
His breath caught in his throat, then turned into a faint moan as
she cast the halter aside, revealing the curve of her spine to him.
Next was her belt, but as it and her loincloth fell away, she
moved beyond his view. All he could see was her arm, idly tossing the
loincloth in the direction the halter had gone.
Jericho's fists closed on the table edge, his talons gouging the
wood. His mind would not free him from one single thought, that thought
being that Demona was nude on the other side of that door.
He heard the creak and rustle of her lying down on the bed, some
further rustlings as she got comfortable -- and the mental vision of how
she must look writhing against what he knew from a previous look were
black satin sheets was almost more than he could take.
He didn't know how long he sat there, but finally a cramping pain
in his clenched hands brought him to awareness.
The other room was quiet, the only sounds now being Demona's
slow, even breaths.
Jericho stood, meaning to leave the suite and protect the
building, as he'd promised. But first ... oh, but first ... just one look!
No! another part of him cried out. She's your _mother_!
Just one look. She'll never know.
He didn't consciously intend to cross the room, just as he didn't
consciously intend to push the door wider. Yet he did, helpless to stop
himself.
And there she was, on black satin just as he knew she would be.
Demona was sleeping on her stomach, her wings draped to either
side of her. One leg was bent and drawn slightly up to the side, gold
gleaming at her ankle. The other was straight, the taloned toes curled
toward the sole. Her tail lay along the cleft of her buttocks and the inside
of her thigh. One arm pillowed her head, face turned away from Jericho,
while the other arm was outflung, her fingers dangling at the edge of the
bed.
He stepped into the room, drinking in the sight of her.
She did not stir, sleeping as deeply as she'd told him. Like a
stone. Why, she probably wouldn't waken even if he --
Even if he what?
Even if he touched her?
A shudder went through him. Did he dare? Did he dare touch her
wing, lift it to see how much of her breast would be revealed?
"Demona," he whispered.
The pattern of her breathing did not change.
His hand went out, seemingly of its own volition, and his
fingertips rested lightly upon her supple calf. Higher, slowly, gently, to
the sensitive hollow at the back of her knee. And higher yet, her thigh like
warm suede.
Jericho closed his eyes for a moment, letting all of his sensory
input come through that one point of contact. He moved even higher, up
to the flawless hill of her buttock, moving onward to the small of her
back, then to caress between her wings.
Her wings flexed, a languid lazy butterfly movement, then folded
reflexively against her sides. Now he could see the bulge of her breast
where it pressed against the mattress.
He pushed his hand up some more, to the nape of her neck, to the
fire of her hair. His other hand moved down, skirting her wing, over her
shoulder, to slide low on her ribs.
She murmured in her sleep, as if lost in some pleasant dream,
and turned a bit. Just enough to allow him to work his hand under her, and
cup the full globe of her breast. He felt the nipple stiffening against his
palm and a jolt that was very nearly electric shot through his entire body.
He stroked her back again, more firmly this time, eliciting a
murmur from her.
Jericho felt as if he were spiralling down into complete madness,
but he was helpless to stop. He seized eagerly on the notion that he was
bringing her pleasure, albeit unknowing on her part. Yes, bringing her
pleasure, and pleasing Demona was his entire reason for living.
A scowl crossed his face as he wondered if she might be
dreaming of a lover. Of Goliath, perhaps. Goliath, who was unworthy of
such a glorious being as Demona. Let him have his human and his
perversity! Surely she would not dream of him, no. Not even in her
dreams did she still want Goliath. Or Thailog. Neither of them. She had
made that clear time and again, in countless ways. If she did dream, it was
most likely of some nameless lover who worshipped her in the manner she
deserved.
He kissed the tip of her wing, just below the cluster of tiny
talons, and moved his lips slowly down. Her legs shifted slowly,
restlessly. When he reached the joining of wing and back, a low moan
issued from her throat.
All rational thought and objection was behind Jericho now. His
senses were filled with Demona, with the sight and scent and taste and
feel of her. He nuzzled along her wing joints in a way he knew his rookery
sisters had enjoyed, and was rewarded by her sighs.
Her tail coiled lazily along the length of her leg. Jericho touched
the base of it, then wrapped his fingers around it and drew it through his
loosely-closed fist until he reached the very tip. He brought the tip to his
mouth and sucked it gently.
Demona gasped in her sleep and rolled over, wings tucked tight.
One arm fell across her waist, the other at her side. One knee was bent
and lay partly across her other leg.
Jericho's breath was driven from him at the sight of her exposed
beauty. Her breasts were magnificent, her hips marvelous, her thighs
perfection.
He bent over her and kissed her brow, her cheek, her slightly
parted lips. Still she slumbered, and his explorations grew more bold. He
caressed her breasts, suckled at them each in turn, relishing the taut
pebbly texture of her nipples under his tongue.
He ever-so-gingerly lifted her knee, parting her legs, revealing
the secret soft folds of flesh. Here was proof that she had not been
unaffected by his loving ministrations, here in the glisten of her body's
oils.
As he tugged at his belt buckle, a semblance of sanity returned to
him. He didn't intend to -- he couldn't mean to --
He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the sight of her although it
was seared into his memory so clearly it might as well have been painted
upon his eyelids.
There was still time, a part of his mind begged him, to stop this.
Still time to turn away, leave her room, close the door. She would never
know.
And then what? Go on, night after night half-insane from
wanting her? Until she realized the truth of his lustful yearnings and sent
him away?
If that was to be his fate anyway, better to fully earn it!
He ripped off his belt so fast that the buckle tore the leather, and
flung his loincloth from him. He climbed onto the bed. Moving as quickly
as he dared but as carefully as he could, he arranged her legs and knelt
between them, his breath now coming in short harsh bursts.
Poised to enter, he glanced swiftly up, wanting to see her
beautiful face in the moment that they became one.
Demona's eyes were open, shocked, staring into his.
"Jericho! What are you doing?"
He voiced a strangled, anguished cry, and buried himself in her.
She cried out as well and began to twist, to struggle. Jericho,
beyond madness now, held her down and pinned her wrists over her head,
all the while begging her to forgive him as he drove into her again and
again in steady, forceful thrusts.
He felt her mouth at his throat and knew she meant to savage him
with her teeth, and arched his neck to her willingly even as he quickened
his pace.
Yet her bite was only glancing, almost a nip. She was still
moving, but not fighting him.
No, she moved with him, moved to meet him, writhed in
delicious passion. She locked her ankles at the small of his back, her heel
talons pressing against the sensitive spots to either side of the base of his
tail, urging him to a different rhythm.
He released her wrists, but she did not rake his face with her
claws. Her arms went around him, unerringly bringing her fingers to the
inside joining of his wings.
Jericho reared up, rocking back on his heels and pulling her with
him, so that she was half-astride his lap, her own weight pressing her
down even more firmly onto him. He held her by the waist, helping her
ride him, kissing her fiercely.
He knew her climax in the telltale fire of her eyes and the sudden
frantic pace of her movements. His own was not far behind, roaring
through him with more intensity and power than he had ever experienced
or ever dreamed. He felt it might go on for hours, the unbearable ecstasy
threatening to steal his consciousness and his very soul.
Breathless and shuddering, they fell together on the bed, all
mingled wings and tails and limbs, nearly impossible to tell where her
skin ended and his began.
Until he rolled away from her with a shamed sob, and crouched
on the floor in a wretched heap.
* *
Demona let him suffer for a moment while she enjoyed the
aftershocks and the lazy seesawing glide of her senses returning to
normal.
It had taken him so long to muster the courage to come into the
bedroom that she very nearly _had_ fallen asleep, although that had never
been her intention. The sound of the door easing open had brought her
instantly out of her near-doze, but she hadn't given any sign.
Listening to him, watching him through slitted eyelids in the
mirror over the dresser, seeing him without the mask he tried to use to
hide his longing ... all of that had heightened her arousal before he even
dared touch her.
And what an unexpected treat to find that Jericho knew his way
around a female's body! Thailog had been ignorant and uncaring,
Brooklyn inexperienced and overeager, but Jericho clearly had a more
than good idea of what to do!
She'd originally intended to feign sleep the entire time, to let him
do whatever he would and see how far he would go. But when she saw
that he really meant to go through with it, to take her furtively while she
lay insensate, a sadistic urge had made her open her eyes and pretend
sudden, startled wakefulness.
Now she went to him, making no effort to cover herself although
the sheet would have been easy enough to use as a wrap, given that it was
untucked all the way around and crumpled in the middle of the bed.
He was on his knees, bent so that the forelock over his brow
nearly brushed the floor, one hand clamped tight over his face and the
other fisted in the carpet. His wings jerked with each tortured breath.
"Jericho," she said softly.
She touched his shoulder and he shied away.
"I thought you wanted a mother," she went on, though he cringed
at the word. "I should have seen the truth long before now."
She ran her hand down his sweat-slick back. "My Jericho, have I
ever been able to deny you anything? If this is what you want ... how can I
refuse?"
He raised his head and looked at her with haunted eyes. "It was
wrong," he choked, looking away again.
"Everything felt right to me," she said, playfully running her
fingers through his hair. "Though you could have asked first."
"I shouldn't have done it at all! I couldn't stop myself, even
though I knew it was wrong!"
"By whose standards? Human morality?" She knelt and lifted his
chin. "Why should we care what the humans think? By clan standards,
before, you would have had many mothers, many fathers, many brothers
and sisters. Nobody cared about ties of blood kinship. By clan standards,
I'm just a female of the older generation. And while that sort of thing
might have been unusual, it certainly wasn't unheard of."
"But ... but you brought me from Avalon because I'm your ..." he
couldn't get the word out.
Demona nodded to show she understood. "Angela thinks like a
human, and she's even converted the rest of the clan to thinking that way.
As for me, I wanted something that was mine, truly mine. Now I have it."
She held out her arms to him. "Don't I?"
Jericho took a deep breath, then came to her. "Now and forever!"
* *
"We still haven't found anything," Elisa said, dropping onto the
couch with a sigh. "The Quarrymen have been laying low ever since. No
sign of them, no Elektra, nothing."
"Alex and I haven't had much luck, either," Aiden volunteered
reluctantly. "But neither of us knew Elektra very well. She wasn't here
long enough. It might just be that we can't Seek her. She could be all right,
somewhere. If she escaped on the skiff, for instance, that would interfere
with our spells and the time delay might mean she just hasn't been able to
get back yet."
When none of the gargoyles reacted, Elisa glanced worriedly at
Aiden and saw that the young sorceress was concerned too. Rightfully so.
Ever since she'd brought the news of Broadway's death, Elisa had
expected Goliath's fury and tried to prepare for it. She remembered how
he'd been the time the Hunters had nearly killed Angela.
She would have preferred fury to this terrible grief and
melancholy. It hung over them like a listless dark cloud, a funeral drape
heavy as wet wool. None of the clan could stir themselves to patrol, or
even leave the castle. They went through the motions of their various
hobbies joylessly, monotonously.
Last night, she'd gotten Hudson to talk to her about it, the two of
them alone in the hall. It was too much like the slaughter of the rest of the
clan, he'd told her. A warrior expected to die in battle, or protecting a
loved one, but to be shattered without even having a chance to fight back
was the worst way to go.
And to have it made into a spectacle, a life and a clan ruined for
the entertainment of the enemy, was a thousand times worse than that.
Owen admitted himself discreetly. "A Mr. Chas Yale is here to
see you," he announced, ushering in a clean-cut young man in tan slacks
and a sport coat.
"Hi, Chas," Aiden said, looking a little puzzled when she saw
that his sister wasn't with him.
Chas greeted everyone politely, clearly still aware of his tenuous
position as one of the newest friends to the clan.
"Where's Birdie?" Elisa asked.
"That's what I'm here to talk to you about," he said unhappily.
"Birdie ... Birdie's in jail."
If nothing else, Elisa thought, that got a bit of a rise from the
clan.
"In jail?" Goliath rumbled. "Why?"
"Aunt Margot was over last night for dinner. She and Birdie,
well, exchanged words. Birdie accused her of being involved in what
happened at the rally. While they were arguing, Birdie let slip that she'd
dated Broadway a few times, and Aunt Margot lost it. There was a lot of
shouting, some ugly name-calling." He paused, shook his head.
"Do they usually put you in jail for that?" Brooklyn asked Elisa,
his voice not as dull as it had been.
"Depends. What else, Chas?"
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, chagrined. "Birdie's always
had a problem with impulse control. Her hand said go before her brain
could say no, and she slapped Aunt Margot."
"Go, Birdie!" Lex growled gleefully, the most response Elisa had
seen out of them in quite a while.
"Yeah, go Birdie," Chas said. "It might not have been such a big
deal, but Aunt Margot tripped, and Mom's got this glass-topped dining
room table ..."
Angela winced.
"The final score was sixty-eight stitches, two pints of blood, a
new Valium prescription for Mom, a bottle of brandy for Dad, and Birdie
taken away on domestic violence charges," Chas finished.
"Oh, no!" Aiden cried. "Is she all right?"
"You know Birdie. She never takes anything seriously. She was
asking the cute cop if he was going to frisk her. She admitted the slap,
said the rest was an accident. I don't really know what's going to happen
next. I do know, though, that she was right about Aunt Margot. Some of
the things she said ... it's nothing that would stand up in court, but I got the
impression she's much more buddy-buddy with Castaway than she wants
the world to know."
* *
"We're going to have a lot of stories to tell when we get home,"
Brendan Vandermere said, settling comfortably onto the bench as
Broadway leaned on the pole. "Could write a book; make a TV show."
"Yeah, 'Tales from the Skiff'," Broadway joked.
Elektra smiled over at both of them, reserving most of the smile
for Broadway. Brendan wondered how long it was going to take her to
realize she was sweet on the fellow. Or, if, as his wife's niece would
doubtless phrase it, if Avalon was going to send Elektra to Clue City
anytime soon.
He pulled his coat tighter around him as the mist began to lower.
Thinking of Margot made his spirits sink.
Somehow, he didn't think Margot was going to like the new
Brendan, even if he did bring back not only the Vandermere emeralds but
the other assorted goodies and valuables he'd acquired on this trip.
Of course, come to think of it, she'd never liked the old Brendan
all that much either, unless her thinly-veiled scorn was her way of
showing affection.
Still, he knew he was never going to be able to go back to his old
life unchanged. He'd _lived_ more in the past weeks than in all the years
prior. Adventure, excitement, exotic places seen from a different angle
than the window of a four-star hotel. He'd accomplished things, made a
difference in peoples' lives, done things more important than making sure
he got invited to the right party and joined the right country club.
Not only _couldn't_ he go back to his old life easily, he wasn't all
that sure he even _wanted_ to! Sure, the first few days had been terrible,
trying to adjust not only to being in the company of gargoyles but on this
rickety skiff without his wallet or cellular phone. But after that, the
enforced roughing it turned out to be kind of fun.
Especially in Egypt ... he smiled to himself, envisioning the lush
verdant Nile Valley and the majestic stone monuments.
Over that image came another, of a face with a hell-bent-for-
leather grin and brown eyes full of fire and challenge, all of it framed in
chestnut hair under a battered fedora. He didn't even know her real name
(it being very unlikely that her mother had really named her Dakota).
Yes, Brendan thought, kind of fun. Especially in Egypt.
* *
"I know how we can find them," Jericho said.
"Who?" Demona asked, sprawled leisurely on the bank, the air
moving in cool currents over her.
"Halverson and Runolf." Jericho emerged from the pool, shaking
water from his wings and hair, and reclined beside her. He looked
hungrily at her, paler against the dark carpeting, her damp skin gleaming
in the moonlight.
"Oh, them." She walked her fingers up his arm and over his
chest. "I'd almost forgotten about them."
"They stole one of our clan, and offered you insult. I won't stand
by and let that happen."
"Mmm. All right, what's your idea?"
"The Quarrymen. Halverson and Runolf must have been paid
handsomely for their services, and it stands to reason that those who hired
them would know where they are."
"March into the lion's den?"
"Make them pay for Hollywood. He and the rest of the clones
might not be the best gargoyles, but they are gargoyles still, and he was
_ours_!" Jericho made a fist and glared at unseen foes. "The Quarrymen
can't think they can get away with it!"
"And maybe be rid of the Hunter, once and for all," Demona
mused. "We can't attack the Anvil Corporation; they'd be expecting that
and defended, because they know that I know where it is. But Canmore,
or Castaway, or whatever he's calling himself -- it doesn't matter because
he's just a Hunter like all the rest -- he thinks his private house is still a
secret from me. But I know better!"
"You do? How?"
"Do you remember the human called Nick?"
Jericho nodded. "He was with that band before Thailog took
over, and was a Quarryman until he came to work for you. Well, maybe
that's not the best way to put it. Before Sevarius brainwashed him and
made him a mindless slave."
"The amusing part is this: Nick's grandfather is one of the inner
circle of the Illuminati. He, concerned about his missing grandson,
approached Castaway to ask what had happened and Castaway was all too
eager to accommodate him. Invited the senior Mr. Diamant to his private
home to discuss things, doubtless hoping to get me on the Illuminati's bad
side. But what Castaway didn't know was that I've known Tybalt Diamant
for decades. He asked me to get his grandson out of the Quarrymen by
any means necessary, and made it well worth my while."
"Even though his grandson is ... how he is?"
Demona shrugged and smiled. "I send him a picture or a sound-
doctored videotape of his precious Nicky every so often, and the old fool's
none the wiser."
"So he, grateful, told you where to find the Hunter."
"Exactly." She curled herself around him. "And that's just what
we're going to do."
* *
"Who's going to say it this time?" Brendan chuckled as the mist
began to clear.
Broadway and Elektra glanced at each other, then in unison
chimed, "I wonder where Avalon's sent us now!"
Trees rose all around them, but there was something in the air
that struck them all familiar. A low but pervasive constant drone of traffic
noise.
"Smells like ... home!" Broadway said excitedly.
The last of the mist lifted away, showing them their
surroundings. They were in a deep overgrown ravine, an abandoned lot
with a tall brown-brick building on one side and land sloping ruggedly up
to an uninspired square stone block of a house on the other. Streams and
grey-water sewer outflows burbled into a bug-infested mucky place that
could almost be called a pond.
The sky overhead had the orangy quality only found in a big city,
where the millions of lights reflected off the haze of smog and fog and
cloud.
The skiff fetched up against a crumbled block of masonry
impaled by a rusted iron girder. Broadway and Brendan, with the
teamwork of much practice, secured and tied off the small boat, while
Elektra alertly scanned the area, trying to determine if there was any
immediate threat or any hints as to why they'd been sent here.
She saw one hint almost instantly. Two shapes against the sky,
glimpsed only briefly as they descended to the roof of the square stone
house.
"Jericho!" she whispered.
Broadway turned to her with dismay. "Jericho?"
"There!" She pointed. "I saw him, and a female that must be
Demona."
"You're sure it wasn't maybe Goliath and Angela?" he asked
without much hope.
"'Twas he, I swear! At last, our quest may be at an end!"
"If Demona's with him, that's not all that might be at an end."
Broadway caught her arm as she was about to climb from the skiff.
"Elektra, we've talked about this. If Demona figures out who you are, she
might try to kill you. We've got to be careful."
She nodded and let herself be drawn back aboard.
The three of them studied the house. It was a plain drab block,
enlivened only by some decorative stonework at the corners and eaves.
Built into the side of the hill, the front of it faced onto a street while the
back was a story lower, half a basement that gave access to a concrete
patio overlooking the vacant lot. The windows were all curtained and
shaded, and no lights shone anywhere that they could see.
"Are you really sure you saw --" Broadway began, then fell silent
as a figure moved into view on the roof. Demona. A large spiked mace
swung from her belt.
They all froze, thankful for the shadows and brush that concealed
them. Jericho came up behind her, wearing a glossy black breastplate. He
looked far different even in the short time since last Elektra had seen him.
Older. Harder.
The two of them spoke briefly, then retreated from sight.
"Okay, it's them all right," Broadway said. "What now?"
"I must talk to him," Elektra replied. "I've come all this way to
do just that, and I'd not leave it unfinished." She stole a look at Broadway,
who was still watching the house. "But what I'll say," she added under her
breath, "that, my dearest friend, I know not."
* *
"He's not here," Demona snarled in frustration.
"We haven't searched the entire house yet," Jericho said.
She shook her head angrily. "It won't matter. He's not here. I can
feel it."
"Maybe we can find something of use, anyway," Jericho
suggested. "Anything that can be used against the Quarrymen ..."
"Yes, all right. But quickly. It's too late to waste much time here.
This is the last place we'd want dawn to catch us. I'll find his office. You
look downstairs."
He stroked her cheek, and she nipped teasingly at his knuckles.
"Or we could ..." he let his voice trail off.
"Here?" She flicked her tail at him. "In the Hunter's own house?
Naughty boy!"
He swept her into a brief but fierce embrace, nuzzling her neck.
She writhed sensually against him, then firmly set him away.
"Like I said, we don't have much time. I certainly wouldn't want
dawn to catch us like _that_!"
He growled lightly at her, and she returned it, then they went
their separate ways.
Jericho went down the stairs, not bothering to turn on any lights.
His eyes were far better suited to the dark than any human, and lights
would only give away his position to any observers.
The bottom floor was taken up by one large room. Although it
couldn't properly be called a basement since it had a door leading out to
the back, it was nonetheless used as one. Sheet-shrouded furniture, a long
workbench where tools hung neatly on pegs, an alcove containing the
furnace and water heater, and little else.
Jericho pulled aside the curtain blocking the sliding glass door,
and looked out on the wooded tumble beyond. Something moved at the
edge of his vision, so he opened the door and stepped onto the patio,
peering down.
He saw nothing, but couldn't shake the feeling that someone was
hiding down there, hiding and watching him.
Someone in a hood, perhaps? Could the Hunter have divined
their coming, and gone to earth?
No, from all Demona had told him of that particular breed of
human, lurking in the dark didn't seem much the Hunter's style.
It must have been a bird he'd seen, nothing more.
He went back inside, closing the door and the curtain behind
him, and started poking through the cupboards that lined one wall.
In the third cupboard, he found a hammer.
Not just any hammer, but the blued-steel hammer of a
Quarryman. He'd never seen one close up, never seen a Quarryman close
up for that matter (and had he, there would have in short order been one
less Quarryman in the world). Fascinated by its cold, heavy menace, he
lifted it up.
He felt much as he did the first time Demona had shown him her
armory, let him handle the weapons. Such deadly potential, inert now,
waiting only for hands to set it in motion. Weapons not designed for
hunting, but for the sole purpose of doing grave harm to people. This one
was different, in that its sole purpose was in doing grave harm to
gargoyles.
His lip curled. He wanted to take that hammer and go on a spree
of destruction through the Hunter's house, letting his own tool be the
cause of the damage. And he wanted to finish by finding the man and
breaking open his skull with that selfsame hammer, paying back in one
strong blow all the suffering that family had inflicted on Demona over the
generations.
A shadow fell upon the curtain.
Jericho whirled, bringing up the hammer, but then he saw the
female shape. It was somewhat distorted by the folds of the cloth, but of
course it had to be Demona. She must have gone out a window rather than
take the stairs, for some reason.
Knowing she might be displeased to find him holding a hammer,
he set it swiftly on a table.
The door opened, and the curtain was moved aside.
"Jericho? Where are you, my brother?"
Surprised into speaking, he said, "Elektra?"
* *
Brendan Vandermere struggled up the side of the ravine, prickly
bushes tearing at his cuffs and reaching for his eyes.
He was just about to give it up as a lost cause when he saw a
rusty iron staircase, a fire escape that must have been taken intact from the
side of a building and propped in the gully. It creaked and groaned as he
climbed, but took him to the top a lot faster than scrambling through the
bushes would have done.
He didn't like this, didn't like any of it. Elektra might be
convinced this was all going to end peacefully, but Broadway wasn't at all
sure, and Brendan was inclined to agree with him. He wasn't about to sit
tight and let them get killed by this Demona creature. So what if it wasn't
his business, wasn't his fight? They were his friends.
Of course, that didn't mean he was fooling himself into believing
that his presence would make a difference if things did come to violence.
He was more fit now than he'd ever been in his life, thanks to their
adventures, but he still knew he was no match for a gargoyle in combat.
The fire escape, shedding flakes of rust, nonetheless held him all
the way up. He walked along a narrow alley between the brown-brick
building and a laundromat, and came out onto what was unmistakably a
New York City street.
At this hour, in this relatively quiet neighborhood, even the
muggers had gone to bed. The only person sharing the street with him was
a bag lady snoring in a doorway.
And there on the corner was just the thing he needed.
Brendan hurried to the pay phone, clutching an address book in
one hand. He slipped it out of its waterproof cover and flipped through
pages filled with Broadway's large, laborious sticklike printing until he
came to the X's.
* *
Jericho drew back, stunned, as his rookery sister came into the
basement. There was another gargoyle with her, and it gave him a very
bad moment thinking Hollywood had come back from the dead. Then he
realized it had to be the original, the blood donor from Goliath's clan.
"Elektra, what are you doing here?"
She had changed, he saw. Her features had attained a maturity
brought on by life experience, making her no longer girlish. Her eyes now
met his forthrightly instead of ducking shyly away.
Her companion hung back, looking like he'd rather be anyplace
else. Jericho took one look at his hangdog expression, and understood
much in an instant.
"Avalon sent us to find you," Elektra said. "I was in the wrong to
advise you to leave, and sought to amend it."
"In the wrong?" he echoed incredulously. "Leaving Avalon was
the best thing that ever happened to me! You were right, Elektra, there
was nothing for me there!"
She twined her hands in the folds of her gown. "Nay, brother, not
so! There could have been much for you on Avalon."
"You know better than that, Elektra. I needed to find my place in
the world. Just like Angela. You didn't go chasing after her!"
"Angela was in good care," she said softly.
"And you think I'm not?" He crossed his arms defiantly over his
chest.
"I fear it, Jericho, yes."
"I don't need a nursemaid. I'm old enough to take care of
myself." Then, thinking of what Hudson had said, he added slyly, "Or was
there some _other_ reason you came after me, sister?"
Her cheeks colored, but she held his gaze silently.
His eyes swept over her, standing so prim and pale, so demure. A
week ago, even a few nights ago, he might have been tempted. But now,
more than ever, he knew he was Demona's. Body and soul.
"You haven't introduced me to your friend," he said.
"This is Broadway, of Goliath's clan. He joined me on my
quest."
Broadway mumbled an unhappy hello.
"Why, sister," Jericho chortled merrily. "There is a core of
cruelty in your heart I never suspected!"
"What mean you?" she demanded, drawing herself up in a
manner that could only be described as regal. "Cruelty?"
"Taking advantage of his feelings for you to enlist his aid? Tsk,
tsk, Elektra! How ruthless! Making _him_ help you find _me_! What
devious malice!"
As his words sank in, Elektra lost her regal stance. Her eyes flew
wide. "Broadway?" she queried, turning to him. "You ...?"
Now Broadway was the one blushing, but his voice was firm.
"We can talk about that later."
"Oh, Broadway!"
It all struck Jericho deliciously funny. He threw back his head
and laughed heartily. "You mean you _didn't_ know? All this while he's
followed you along like a puppy, and you didn't know? I stand corrected,
Elektra! I thought you cruel, when you're only blind!"
She whirled on him, and her eyes flashed orange. It crossed his
mind as odd that hers always did that, while the rest of their sisters and
Demona's as well were blood-red. But he didn't dwell on it, given how she
was stalking heatedly toward him.
"You laugh, brother? You, who are blind _and_ cruel, dare to
laugh at love? At me?"
"Elektra, don't, he's not worth it," Broadway said.
"Keep out of this," Jericho ordered. "What do you know of love,
anyway, Elektra? Did the Magus teach you? Did you learn it in a human's
bed?"
She flinched at the venom in his tone. "It was not like that!
Again, you mock what you know nothing about! Look what you've
become, Jericho! A killer, a weapon in Demona's hands, and now you
even lash out at your own clan!"
"Demona is my clan!"
"She doesn't know the meaning of the word," Broadway butted
in, despite the warning glare Jericho hurled his way. "She's using you!"
"Leave her, Jericho!" Elektra begged. "She's making you into a
monster, can you not see it? You have other clans that care for you --"
"What would you have me do, _sister_," he sneered. "Go
crawling back to Avalon to be second to Gabriel forever? Or grovel to
Goliath, who deserted us and regards us with shame?"
"They would gladly accept you, if you'd but give them the
chance!"
"If I forsake Demona, and allow myself to be corrupted as
Angela was! Protecting the humans that try to destroy us --"
Elektra briskly shook her head and waved both hands in a short,
sharp gesture of negation. It was eerily similar to the way Princess
Katherine had silenced squabbling hatchlings, and that similarity made it
work on Jericho, however briefly.
"Can you not see that I am trying to help you, Jericho? Why must
you be so hateful to me?"
"Because I neither want nor need anyone's help, and I am tired of
everyone else thinking they know what is best for me. You are not my
elder! And Goliath, who would rather sleep in stone a thousand years and
let his clan's eggs be carted away by humans ... he's not deserving of my
loyalty either."
"Jericho ... he is your father." She obviously intended the words
to have a far greater or different impact than they did.
"You think I don't know that?" he scoffed. "Father, indeed! How
long did Angela have to whine before he admitted it? Look at his clan,
who put so much stock in 'the gargoyle way!' Look at the now! Adopting
human morals, even taking human mates! And you'd have me join them?
Demona knows more about gargoyles than they ever will!"
"She knows more about murder and betrayal than they ever will,
also!"
"Now who's talking about things they know nothing of? You
don't know her! I grant you, she has known betrayal, because she's always
been betrayed!"
"Because those around her realize the truth!" Broadway flared.
"The truth?" Jericho's voice dripped scorn. "And what truth is
that?"
"She's crazy," Broadway said flatly. "She's not even evil; she's
just plain nuts."
"Take it back," Jericho offered politely. "Take it back, and I'll
spare your miserable fat life."
Broadway laughed. "Must've hit a nerve, if you're stooping to
cheap insults."
"Stop this, both of you!" Elektra commanded. "We did not come
here to fight!"
"Poor planning on your part, Princess," Demona said from the
top of the stairs. "Did you think I'd let you take what's mine away from me
again?"
* *
Elisa had just kissed Goliath goodnight when Fox burst into the
gargoyles' quarters without knocking. Although it was only almost dawn,
she was wearing a formfitting black bodysuit with red armor plating.
"Got your gun? Good. Let's go."
"Hunh? What?" Elisa floundered.
Goliath turned back, roused from his depression by the
excitement that was all but radiating off of Fox. "What is it?"
"We just got a call from Brendan Vandermere. He says Elektra
and Broadway need help."
"Isn't it a little late for that?" Goliath frowned.
"Prank call?" Elisa wondered bitterly.
"Owen thinks it's worth checking out," Fox said shortly. "Are
you coming or not?"
"If there's a chance to save Elektra ..." The first faint hope
glimmered in Goliath's eyes, and he took a step forward.
Fox planted her palm on his chest. "Not you. Sun's up any minute
now. Last thing we need is you turning to stone in the helicopter."
"I'll go," Elisa told him. "I'll find out what's going on. You go tell
the others."
"No," he decided. "I won't raise their hopes only to have them
dashed again. I'll keep this to myself, and if there's good news, you'll greet
us with it when we awaken."
* *
Princess!
When she'd heard Jericho's laughter rolling up from the cellar,
she'd gone instantly to see what he'd found. Before she'd reached the
cellar, she'd heard another voice, a female voice, and although she didn't
immediately recognize it, she could tell what it was saying.
Trying to convince Jericho to leave her!
And then she'd heard a third voice, one she knew. Broadway.
Goliath was behind this! Not content to have Angela all to himself, now
he meant to deny her Jericho as well!
When she'd reached the doorway and seen who awaited her
below, her heart went cold. Princess Katherine, wearing some sort of odd
leathery cloak that made it look almost as if she had caped wings. She was
otherwise all but unchanged, unaged! The same long silken brown hair,
the same fair complexion, the same wide-spaced eyes.
Princess Katherine, come to steal her son away again!
Then Broadway called Demona crazy, and Jericho sprang to her
defense, and blood would have flown if the princess hadn't intervened.
Saying they hadn't come to fight, how very touching!
"Poor planning on your part, Princess," Demona said from the
top of the stairs. "Did you think I'd let you take what's mine away from me
again?"
The princess spun in alarm as Demona leapt down the stairs, her
mace banging against her leg. When she landed and got another look, she
saw she'd been mistaken.
Not Katherine, but a young female gargoyle. A stranger with
ivory wings.
It didn't matter. It didn't change anything. They were still trying
to turn Jericho against her. They wanted her to be forever alone!
The female faced her, showing fear only in the nervous twitch of
her thin tail. "We do not wish to fight you, Demona."
"Of course you don't. That would be suicide." She touched the
handle of the mace meaningfully. "I won't let anyone come between me
and Jericho."
"No one ever will," he promised, coming to her side. "This is
Elektra, one of the more meddlesome of my rookery sisters."
She leaned her hip against his in an easy, intimate motion. It was
initially lost on the female, but Broadway reacted as if slapped.
"You two ...?" he said.
Jericho only grinned at him as if Broadway were the biggest dolt
on the planet.
Elektra looked back and forth between them, perplexed.
"But she's your mother," Broadway finished.
"Mother, leader, and mate," Jericho agreed, slipping a possessive
arm around Demona's shoulders.
"Now and forever," she added.
Elektra gasped harshly and stumbled back. Broadway caught her,
steadied her.
That would have been the moment to strike, but Demona let it
pass, enjoying herself hugely as she watched the young female grapple
with this new knowledge. A series of emotions crossed her face, from
shock to horror to revulsion.
"Let's get out of here," Broadway said, steering Elektra toward
the door. "They deserve each other."
She twisted in his grasp and stared accusingly at Jericho.
His grin faded a little. "Elektra, I ..."
"You can't go just yet," Demona interrupted.
"Why not?" Broadway asked warily, talons flexing in
anticipation of a fight.
"Because I learned something Hudson taught me," she replied
smugly.
"And what's that?" The poor thing knew he was being baited, but
was helpless to quit.
"How to wait," Demona said, and felt the first spasm of pain in
her spine as the new day began.
* *
Brendan saw the leading edge of the sun peek over the horizon
and uttered some words his wife would have been surprised that he knew.
Sunrise, and still no sign of them!
He started to run.
* *
Demona took a deep breath and opened her eyes.
She couldn't see well now, her human eyes unaccustomed to the
lack of light. But she could feel Jericho's coarsened skin beside her, and
paused to fondly caress his cheek. Then her fingers curled, nails
scratching at him. For a moment there, toward the end, it had almost
seemed like he was going to apologize to that insolent female!
The nerve of her! Coming here, trying to tempt Jericho away!
And Goliath sending Broadway along, knowing that Broadway was the
least offensive of his clan, the only one besides Bronx that Demona might
feel an ounce of hesitation about killing.
Well, Goliath was about to be proven wrong. She didn't want to
kill gargoyles, but she would do anything to keep Jericho by her side
where he belonged.
He wouldn't like it, though, she realized as she moved cautiously
forward, feeling her way toward where she remembered Broadway as
being.
But then ... they were in the Hunter's house!
Yes! She would tell him the Hunter came home unexpectedly!
Smashed Broadway and Elektra before she could kill him!
The best part was that the Hunter probably _would_ return, she
would catch him unawares, and that would be three birds with one ... ha,
ha ... stone!
Her blindly reaching fingers found a hard curved swell and
identified it as Broadway's substantial belly.
"You first, then," she whispered, unhooking the mace from her
belt. "If you'd just minded your own business, this never would have
happened."
She raised the mace high, and a hand closed around her wrist.
Demona cried out in surprise. She dropped the mace, missing
crushing her tender human foot by about two inches, and staggered back.
Something brushed her arm, something dry and rough like a huge
papery tongue. She cried out again, this time very nearly a scream, and
spun to attack it.
There was a heavy ripping sound and she was engulfed in the
thick curtains she'd just torn down. She fought her way free and stood,
panting and more frightened than she would admit, in the dim light that
came through the sliding glass door.
"Who's there?" she demanded shrilly.
When there was no answer, she decided that she had imagined
the hand. Something had just wrapped around her arm, a dangling cord
from the ceiling, perhaps.
She exhaled in a shaky laugh at herself. How very human of her,
to get a case of the willies in the dark spooky cellar!
Elektra stepped out from behind Broadway.
All Demona could do was stand there and blink.
Elektra waited calmly.
"You ... you're flesh!" Demona finally stammered. "That's
impossible!"
"I learned something in Innsbrook," Elektra said pleasantly,
coming toward her. "Though I did not know it at the time, and did not
think of it until now. If Richard Mosswell could deny the day, why not I?"
Demona shook her head, trying to make sense of this. "Deny the
... what?"
"Princess, you called me. Not far wrong, for she and I do have
one thing in common." Elektra extended her hands, and Demona saw with
clinical horror that they were not gargoyle hands at all. "Our father. I am
born of union between the prince and one of your sisters, Demona. And
my human blood, I now know, gives me the power to deny the day."
"Half human?" She wanted to disbelieve, _needed_ to disbelieve,
but the proof was right in front of her.
"Half human," Elektra confirmed. "And more than a match for
you now. By night, you could best me, but by day? I am unchanged. You
are weaker now, and unused to fighting in that frail human form."
She was not about to take that crap from a half-human hatchling!
With a feral hiss, she launched herself at Elektra.
* *
Scrambling back into and out of the ravine would have taken five
times as long, so Brendan dashed around the block, approaching the
house from the front. He no longer had the street so much to himself;
there was a milkman's truck -- when was the last time he'd seen an honest-
to-God _milkman_? -- and a moving van, and a guy in a grey jogging suit
coming down the steps of a nearby apartment building.
Brendan forced himself to slow to a quick walk, not wanting to
attract attention by running but not wanting to dawdle either.
He reached the front door. Locked, of course, and here he was
with no way to get to the roof.
Steeling himself in case the occupants had an alarm system, he
drove his elbow through a narrow pane of glass beside the door and
started fumbling at the locks.
* *
Unused to fighting in that frail human form, she'd said, adding a
silent 'I hope!' as she saw Demona's face contort in fury.
The next thing Elektra knew, she and Demona were crashing
across the floor. Demona was a tigress, spitting and snarling and making
up in vigor what she lacked in strength. Her first blow sent Elektra's head
snapping back, and that very nearly ended the battle then and there. But
Elektra hurled Demona off and crouched, swinging her tail in a vicious
low swipe.
The tip of her tail, whip-thin, sliced a neat line in Demona's
thigh.
"First blood," Demona allowed, then feinted and Elektra fell for
it, so that her follow-up punch took Elektra just below the breastbone and
knocked the wind from her.
As Elektra gasped, Demona lashed out again and struck her once
on the brow ridge, once on the cheekbone.
"You're no gargoyle!" Demona mocked, punctuating it with a
kick that sent Elektra's knee sideways in a way no knee was ever meant to
bend.
Elektra couldn't suppress a shriek and fell, clutching her leg. She
swam in pain, drowned in it, and through that pulsing purple-black fog
saw Demona preparing to leap at her again.
She threw herself to her back and shot her good leg upward. Her
talons, dainty by gargoyle standards, gouged deep wounds in Demona's
stomach.
Demona landed hard, and for a moment they lay side by side,
each clasping her own particular sore spots and breathing hard, glaring at
each other with blazing eyes.
They crept slowly and warily away from each other. Elektra
found a table and used it to lever herself upright, testing her leg and
finding that it could scarcely bear her weight. And Demona -- already, the
tail-slash to her thigh had drawn closed and stopped bleeding. Soon the
rest would follow suit, and Demona would be good as new.
She lunged, and Demona clearly hadn't expected her to, for she
wasn't able to evade as Elektra slammed into her. Demona stumbled over
the handle of the mace she'd dropped, and down they both went. This
time, Elektra was on top. Her fist found Demona's chin by more luck than
aim, and now it was Demona's head that whacked into the floor.
Demona groaned, dazed, and Elektra made ready to punch her
again. Before that blow could land, Demona writhed like a bundle of
snakes and flung Elektra backward, then scrambled to her feet and
scooped up the fallen mace.
She raised it over Broadway's helpless stone form.
"Another move, and I'll do it!" Demona threatened.
Elektra froze.
"That's better!" She adjusted her grip on the mace, smiling
triumphantly.
Elektra glanced wildly around, saw the table she'd fetched up
against. Saw a strange-looking hammer upon the table.
She snatched it up and lifted it over Jericho. "If you put so much
as a chip upon him ..."
"You wouldn't," Demona sneered, but she had grown very pale,
and the sight of the hammer poised over Jericho's head seemed to fill her
with a deep unaccountable terror.
"Better he die today than live another night in your evil!"
They stared at each other for a long tense evaluating moment,
and each became aware of the dull whapping sound of rotors beating the
air. Coming closer.
The door at the top of the stairs banged open. Brendan
Vandermere appeared on the landing, surveyed the situation and the
deadly stand-off.
"The reinforcements have arrived," he announced pleasantly.
"That helicopter belongs to Xanatos."
"Retreat from him," Elektra ordered. Her arms wanted to shake
from the weight of the hammer, but she knew if she showed the slightest
weakness, Demona would shatter Broadway before her very eyes. Her
hands slipped a little, causing part of the handle to shift, and the next thing
she knew, the hammer came alive with crackling energy.
Demona lowered the mace and backed away, her eyes darting
like those of a trapped animal. The rotors were louder now, and a swift
shadow passed over the back of the house. Circling, seeking a place to
land.
With a frustrated howl, Demona threw the mace at Elektra.
She reacted without thought, throwing the hammer in return.
The two weapons met in midair and exploded, sending a hail of
fragments in all directions. Elektra shielded her eyes with a wing, but still
saw Demona dart out the glass door and into the vacant lot.
She bumped into the table again, landed on her bad knee, and
keened in renewed agony, fighting grimly through the encroaching
darkness that sought to carry her away.
"I've got you," Brendan said, supporting her as she crumpled to
the floor. "Help's here, and everything's going to be fine."
* *
The helicopter settled into the street. They were drawing a
crowd, no way around it, but at least this early it was a small crowd. They
had a lot to look at, though, with Xanatos in his powered armor and Fox
in her functional yet exotic battlesuit.
Elisa got out, with Aiden close behind her.
The house looked deceptively peaceful, deceptively ordinary,
except for the door standing ajar and the broken pane of glass.
A man came out, and Elisa nearly drew on him before she
realized who he was. Margot Yale's yuppie husband Brendan, practically
unrecognizable with a short beard and a scuffed brown leather bomber
jacket.
"Over here!" he called, beckoning.
"What's going on?" Elisa demanded, breaking into a run now that
she knew at least part of this crazy mission was genuine. "Where's
Elektra?"
"Basement. I'll show you. Demona, though ... she got away, and
she might still be around here."
Xanatos looked at Aiden, who nodded obediently. "I'll ward the
place, set up a glamour to distract the audience, and then scan for her."
Elisa left them to it, her heart pounding as she and Fox followed
Brendan into the house. She had to see for herself. The thought that it
might still be a trap surfaced briefly -- after all, she'd just seen Brendan's
wife at that murderous Quarryman rally a few days ago -- but she didn't
_feel_ it. Cop instinct.
Down the stairs, into the basement, and the first thing she saw
was Elektra standing on the concrete patio out back, face tipped toward
the sun. She turned, hearing them, and the second thing Elisa saw was the
bruises and scratches covering her face.
"Elisa!" Elektra lurched toward her, barely able to walk, and all
but fell into her arms, sobbing in relief.
"Elektra, thank God!" Elisa held her tightly.
It wasn't until she caught Fox's incredulous gape that the
awareness hit her -- she and Elektra were standing in a patch of morning
sunlight!
Elisa took her by the shoulders and set her at arm's length.
"Elektra ... what ... you're not stone!"
"A long story indeed. The need was great. Is Broadway going to
be all right?"
"Broadway --" She didn't know how to say it.
"He looks fine," Fox said, sounding stunned.
Elisa looked, and now she noticed the two large statues.
"Broadway?! He's alive? But that means ... that means it must have been
his clone I saw!" She laughed, probably inappropriately given that a
gargoyle had still died, but it wasn't Broadway!
Yes, that was Broadway, and the other one ... she had never met
him, but knew him all the same. Jericho. She could see the resemblance to
Goliath, but his face, his expression, were pure Demona.
Fox produced a first aid kit and the two of them patched up
Elektra while she told them her tale. She faltered often, and clearly left a
lot unsaid. Left a lot of painful, awful things unsaid, if Elisa was any
judge.
"And I am so tired, so very tired," Elektra finished. "I do not
think I can deny the day any longer!"
Elisa squeezed her hand. "That's okay, Elektra. We're here."
She smiled wearily, sighed, and moments later there were three
statues in the basement instead of only two.
* *
He was getting sick of these all-night meetings. Didn't his
associates understand how it upset Bryce's sleeping schedule? And he
wasn't about to leave his son with a nanny, not until he found someone he
could completely trust.
A nanny, or perhaps a wife. Yes, a like-minded wife who would
understand his mission. Not Brianna, certainly; she had been a healthy
little brood mare but her mind had all the depth and complexity of a teen
magazine.
A like-minded wife ...
Bryce wailed in his carseat. Jon tried to talk soothingly to him
while navigating the traffic -- too much traffic for this part of town this
early in the morning! Must be construction or something ...
Something. Definitely something.
He braked hard, making horns go off in a chain reaction behind
him. A surge of anger boiled through his veins.
"My house!" he said in a low, outraged tone.
But then he forced himself to get off the brakes and drive past as
if he'd never seen the place in his life, because he knew what would
happen if he stopped and demanded answers.
How had they found out? He'd been very careful and very clever
buying it, and made sure that nobody could link it to him! So what were
Maza and Xanatos doing? A helicopter, a moving van, those huge crates
... what was all this?
Fuming, he drove on, averting his face so they wouldn't be able
to recognize him if their glances happened to come his way.
* *
"Better stand back," Elisa told Brendan. "When they wake up,
it's going to be a mob scene up here."
He took her advice and moved well out of the way of the
gargoyles. "I'm sorry you all had to go through that. It must have been
terrible." He shook his head ruefully. "Margot right in the thick of it. I
should have expected something like this. She's always been afraid of the
gargoyles, hiding it by hating them. The yacht must have been the last
straw."
"You mean, your disappearance was the last straw," Elisa said.
He shot her a sidelong amused look. "That may have had
something to do with it, but I'm not going to delude myself. Margot's a
difficult woman to live with, and I haven't been the best husband."
"And now?" she prompted.
"Now?" He laughed. "Now that I'm friends with the creatures she
hates? Siding with the niece that put her in the hospital? Now that I'm not
the same man she married? Elisa, I have no idea what now."
Xanatos and Fox and Alex joined them, along with Owen and
Aiden, as sunset approached.
Several showers of stone later, seven gargoyles stretched and
moved.
Goliath turned at once. His searching eyes found Elisa, and she
pointed.
Broadway looked around, confused at waking someplace other
than where he'd gone to sleep, maybe confused that he'd woken up at all.
"Broadway!" Goliath's joyous roar made the castle shake, and he
plucked Broadway up as if he weighed no more than a feather.
Startled, ecstatic chaos followed as the clan swarmed around
Broadway and Elektra, embracing them, dizzying them with questions.
Bronx cavorted noisily around their feet.
When the most rambunctious of the hugging and backslapping
had gotten over with, when it was safe for humans to enter the mix
without getting inadvertently crushed, they did.
It took the better part of an hour for everything to settle down,
and then Angela asked the $64,000 question.
"What about Jericho?"
* *
Caged like a beast.
Jericho slouched sullenly against the back wall, well away from
the bars because he was in no hurry to earn another painful electrical
shock.
Something had gone wrong. He reasoned that it was the Hunter
who held him captive. The rest of the dungeon was empty but for himself,
so either Demona had escaped or was imprisoned elsewhere. He
wondered what had become of Elektra and her lovestruck companion.
A door opened with a hollow echoing boom.
Jericho didn't bother to come forward in his cage. He waited for
his captor to approach, frowning as he heard the distinctive click and
scrape of gargoyle talons on the stone floor.
"Well, well," he said sardonically. "The great Goliath himself!"
His tone masked his sudden unease. Things had gone more
wrong than he'd suspected if he was in the castle! Elektra and Broadway
must not have been alone. They must have had humans with them.
Demona had been able to escape, but he, locked in stone, had not.
Goliath's face was stern and hard, but his voice was tinged
deeply with sorrow. "Jericho. I wanted to meet you, but not like this. Not
as a prisoner."
"Yes, well, you'll excuse me if I don't shake hands."
"Why have you done all this?"
"Been loyal to my clan, you mean?" He flashed his teeth. "Isn't
that the gargoyle way?"
"I know you think I abandoned you and all your rookery brothers
and sisters, but I did it to save your lives. Your only chance was with the
princess."
"You could have come with us," Jericho pointed out. "But you
chose to stay, chose to sleep, because you couldn't handle the knowledge
that you'd failed your clan."
"If any failed our clan, it was Demona!" Goliath growled.
"If you had listened, not been so proud and stubborn and bent on
seizing all the glory for yourself, you would have taken the clan with you
and they would have survived." Jericho stood tall, half-spreading his
wings arrogantly. "Her plan would have worked. But for your pride!"
Goliath's eyes blazed, but then he got control of himself. "I am
trying to help you, Jericho."
"I want nothing from you, least of all your help," he said.
"You are my son."
"Since when has that mattered to a gargoyle?" Jericho mimed
surprise. "Oh, yes! It must have been right around the time you started
fucking a human!"
Pushed him too far, Jericho thought, expecting Goliath to rip him
out of the cage without bothering to open it first. Yet he felt no fear, only
a perverse satisfaction in observing the rage.
Goliath, his eyes white flame, his fists clenched so tight that the
muscles stood out in sharp relief all the way up his arms and into his chest
and neck. But rather than vent his temper on the furnishings or occupant
of the dungeon, he stalked angrily out and slammed the door so hard that
it split in two.
"Well," Jericho said to himself, not wholly displeased.
He scratched a tally mark in the wall of his cell.
* *
"What you did today, Elektra," Broadway said hesitantly, "that
was really great. I never would have thought of it. Mosswell, and
everything."
"I knew she would never let us go, never let us live." She was
still shaken by it all. Most of a day's rest had mended her various aches
and pains, and her leg now worked as well as ever, but it would take far
longer to heal the wounds to her spirit. Only one thing seemed like a ray
of hope to her, and she decided best to address it now. "Broadway ... what
Jericho said ..."
He shuffled his talons and couldn't meet her gaze. "Uh ... well, I
do love you, Elektra, if that's what you mean. Sorry."
"Sorry? Sorry?!" Tears spilled down her cheeks. "I ne'er even
suspected!"
"Jeez, Elektra, you're the only one who didn't know," he blurted.
"But don't worry. I mean, I don't expect anything to happen."
"All this while, and I thought you considered me only a friend, so
I said nothing! I went on seeking Jericho, when your goodly love was
right before me?"
He paused. "Wait a minute. What are you saying exactly?"
"'Tis you that lives in my heart, Broadway, but I thought you did
not feel the same!" A storm of weeping overtook her. "I am such a fool!
Will you ever forgive me?"
"On one condition."
She looked up at him, chin quivering.
"Can ... can I kiss you?" he asked.
"I would like that very much," she whispered.
* *
"Hello, sister," Jericho said, smiling. "Did Goliath send you?"
Angela gave him a look as cold as his welcome was warm.
"Hardly. Our _father_ almost wouldn't let me talk to you at all."
"I see you wheedled him into it. Such an expert at twining clan
leaders around your little finger. Oh, and you brought a friend as well.
Brooklyn, was it?"
Brooklyn nodded curtly and stood back. "Don't mind me; I'm just
here to make sure you behave yourself."
Jericho laughed. "They wouldn't let you pay me a visit without a
bodyguard, hmm, Angela? You have nothing to fear from me. We're not
enemies."
"I'd hardly know that from the way you've been acting!" She
peered earnestly at him through the bars. "What's happened to you,
Jericho? You were never like this on Avalon!"
"I was Gabriel's doormat, you mean."
Angela ignored that. "I'm worried about you, brother."
"Appreciated, but unnecessary. As I told Elektra, I'm well able to
take care of myself. Like you, I found my place in the world."
"No, Jericho, you're wrong!"
"You made your choice, Angela! Why can't you leave me in
peace to make mine?"
"Because it's the wrong choice!" she cried, distraught. "Can't you
see that?"
"You'd have me betray her, turn from her, like you did," he said
scornfully.
"I never betrayed her! I only wanted to help her! She could have
come back to the clan! Don't you think I tried?"
"I'm sure you tried! That's what hurt her! You wanted her to give
up everything she's fought for, forget everything that's happened in the
past thousand years! You discount what she's suffered and blame her for
it! So don't tell me you've tried to help. You haven't even tried to
understand."
Brooklyn stepped forward. "Come on, Angela. Goliath was right.
There's no talking to this guy. Give him a few nights to simmer down."
"As if that'll make a difference," Jericho scoffed. "Such clever
words. I can see why they made you the second-in-command."
"Leave him alone!" Angela said hotly.
"I'm curious, sister, what _is_ the attraction? Did you choose him
for his status, or were you curious about the old saying?" Jericho looked
pointedly at Brooklyn's beak. "How does it go? 'As above, so below'?"
"Jericho!" Angela gasped. "Elektra was right; you have turned
hateful!"
"Don't mind Elektra. She's just jealous." Jericho grinned.
Angela's spine stiffened. "So it's true. Demona did seduce you!
Just like she did Brooklyn!"
"What?" Jericho said, very softly. He turned toward Brooklyn,
who looked rather uncomfortable at being pulled into this particular part
of the conversation. "You?" No longer softly, now he was shouting.
"YOU?!!"
"What can I say?" Brooklyn shrugged and insolently rubbed his
thumb along the side of his beak. "As above, so below."
"RRRRAAAAAARRGH!!!" Jericho's arm shot through the bars.
His shoulder socked into them, galvanizing him with electricity, but that
didn't stop his clutching talons from closing securely around Brooklyn's
throat.
Brooklyn's back arched as the current slammed into him. They
were joined in a sparking incandescent rictus while Angela screamed.
"Jericho, stop, you're killing him!" She fled to the door, grabbed
a broom, and returned, meaning to knock them apart with the wooden
handle. Just then, the cage shorted out with a final burst that tore the two
males apart. Jericho was thrown into the back wall of his cell and nearly
broke his ribs, while Brooklyn sailed across the room and collapsed in a
heap.
* *
"Goliath, you can't change him overnight," Elisa said. "From
what Elektra and Angela told us, this has been building up all his life, and
Demona set him off. I think Brooklyn's suggestion is best. Give him a
while to cool down."
Brooklyn tried to say something, but only a hoarse croak escaped
his throat. Jericho's talonmarks were nearly black against his skin. Angela
hung over him with a compress in hopes that it would help the swelling.
Angela herself was pale and drawn, her lips pressed together in a tight
line.
"I am so sorry to have brought all this upon your clan," Elektra
said. "Had I not --"
Goliath raised a hand. "_Our_ clan, Elektra. You are one of us.
And none of this is your fault."
Broadway put his arm around her and she leaned into him
gratefully.
"I may have better luck than the rest o' ye," Hudson said. "I've
dealt with the lad before."
"So had I. So had Elektra." Angela dipped the cloth into the ice
water and reapplied it to Brooklyn's neck. "For all the good that did us!"
"I'll come with you," Goliath declared.
"Now, that might not be such a ..." Hudson stopped with a sigh
when he saw the look in Goliath's eyes. "Aye, verra well, then."
"Count me in." Elisa started to rise.
"No!" Goliath said sharply.
"Hey, I can take it. I've been cussed at by people behind bars
before, you know."
"It's not you I'm worried about," he rumbled ominously,
clenching one fist.
* *
Some of the fun had gone out of the evening.
Jericho ached all over from being half-electrocuted, and he felt a
little bad about getting Angela upset. Was it her fault that she was
misguided? He shouldn't have taken it out on her, and resolved to
apologize should she ever pay him another visit.
That hadn't stopped him from adding another tally to the wall.
And after some consideration, a third. One for Angela, one for Brooklyn.
He was going to have to have a few words with Demona, though.
She'd never mentioned anything about Brooklyn! Yet he knew it wasn't a
lie. That just wasn't the sort of thing Angela would lie about, and
Brooklyn's guilt had been genuine.
Obviously, she had tried to win him over and he had thanked her
by leaving her. And for her own daughter, no less!
The door, such as it was after Goliath's impassioned exit, creaked
open again. Someone was giving it another try. Who would it be this time,
he wondered? Elektra, her eyes soulful and hurt? He hoped not. He didn't
know if he could face Elektra just now.
"Hudson!" He got to his feet, and stuck his hand through the
bars. "You're looking well!"
"Ye're looking like homemade hell, laddie," Hudson replied, and
quite startled Jericho by actually clasping his forearm. He hadn't expected
anyone to do that, not after he'd nearly throttled Brooklyn.
"It's been a busy night."
A large shadow loomed behind Hudson, and then Goliath came
into view. He did not speak, only gave Jericho a long, thoughtful look and
crossed his arms, listening, silent.
"Ye know why we're here," Hudson said.
Jericho nodded. "And you're wasting your breath. I'm her clan.
I'm all she has. The clones don't really count. She needs me, and I
wouldn't betray her for the wide world."
"Lad," Hudson said somberly, "haven't ye got it through yer skull
yet? _She's_ betrayed _ye_! She left ye to rot to spare her own hide."
A human came in just as Jericho was about to retort.
"Actually," the blond-haired man said, folding closed a cellular
phone and returning it to his inside jacket pocket, "she hasn't. She's
abducted Mr. and Mrs. Maza, and if we fail to cooperate, she'll transmit
the six different locations where we'll be able to find what's left of them."
Jericho smirked at Hudson. "You were saying?"
* *
"Did you have to tell us in front of him?" Goliath demanded.
"I thought you would want to know immediately," Owen replied
blandly. "She's agreed to meet us for a hostage exchange. Belvedere
Castle, 3:00 AM."
"Belvedere Castle again," Elisa said, trying to make light of it
while inside she was a roiling knot of dread. She'd always feared
something like this. She could take care of herself, but her parents
shouldn't be punished because of who their daughter chose as friends.
Goliath was watching her, and reached to cup her chin. "I won't
let anything happen to them," he promised.
"You're trading your son for my parents! She knew just what she
was doing when she put you in that position! What kind of a choice she
was forcing you to make!"
"It's no choice, my Elisa. Your parents are a part of this clan.
Jericho is not." His eyes flickered once, like lightning from a distant
storm. "And never will be. He's Demona's. She can have him."
"Father, no!" Angela cried. "You can't give up on him! He's not
beyond redemption!"
"Look at your mate!" Goliath thundered, thrusting a finger at
Brooklyn. "He nearly died tonight! I won't give that murderer another
chance!"
"He's my brother!"
"It doesn't matter. I've let you try to befriend Demona, but no
more. She does not want your friendship, Angela. She does not want your
love. She wants your soul. She's already got Jericho's; I won't see that
happen to you. From now on, you will stay away from both of them."
Angela's jaw firmed defiantly, but she didn't say another word.
* *
The shapes dwindled, retreating into the sky. Three gargoyles,
each bearing aloft a human.
"Good riddance," Demona said, and turned to Jericho with a
welcoming smile.
"I knew you wouldn't forsake me." He twined her in his arms and
wings. "Did you like the souvenir I gave Brooklyn? A pity the dawn will
heal those bruises!"
"I'm sure he won't forget them." She pressed herself against him,
reveling in his strength. "Now let's go home. There are a few hours yet
until sunrise, and I don't want to waste them!"
* *
"Elektra?"
"Yes, Broadway?"
"I know this is kind of sudden, and you're probably on the
rebound from Jericho and everything, but would you be my mate?"
"I thought you'd never ask!"
* *
Elisa found Goliath where she knew he would be, on the highest
tower, staring out over the city. She went up behind him and slid her arms
around his waist, resting her head between his wings.
"I've lost him," Goliath said softly. "And I never even knew
him."
"I know." There wasn't much else she could say, so she just held
him, and let that speak for her.
"Elisa ... there is something I must tell you." He turned, and
embraced her with a desperate protectiveness. "Jericho is a danger to
you."
"He's a danger to us all," she said.
"You most of all," he insisted. "You, and Hudson ... and our
child."
She looked up at him quizzically. "Excuse me? Do you know
something I don't?"
"Some time ago, Lexington and Aiden visited the future. A
future. One possible future. They kept it to themselves, but tonight they
couldn't keep it any longer. They felt they had to tell me, and they were
right to although I wish they hadn't."
"Is this something like that dream you had when we were coming
back from Avalon?"
"Yes and no. This was no trick of magic. It was not certain; the
future is never set. But there were indications ..."
She covered his mouth with her hand. "I'll be careful. We all
will. I'll watch out for Jericho, and we'll take the future as it comes."
* *
Clean white light streamed through the blinds and lay in vertical
stripes across the crisp white sheets.
Brendan Vandermere stepped into the room, carrying a bouquet.
He looked down at his sleeping wife, her arms swathed in bandages.
There were other flowers all over. A festive arrangement with a
bobbing helium-filled balloon emblazoned with a cheery "Get Well
Soon!" -- probably from her office; her secretary was notoriously perky. A
live blooming dahlia in a ceramic pot --that bespoke Brendan's
stepmother's handiwork, since Ginny thought giving cut flowers was cruel
to the plants.
His eye was caught by a particularly stunning bouquet of roses.
His mother had raised roses, and he wasn't sure but thought these might be
the kind called "English Lady," known for a discreet scent and creamy
color with blush-pink hearts. In a breathtaking Waterford vase.
Sent by Charles and Lois, no doubt. Brendan opened the white
envelope, curious to see how they apologized for their daughter's
behavior. There was something inside, something small and hard that
made a shifty noise.
The small card read only, "Call me. J.C."
Frowning, Brendan tipped the envelope and a fine gold chain ran
liquidly into his palm. A necklace, with a tiny diamond pendant.
A hammer.
He replaced it, closed the envelope, tucked it back amid the
roses.
Then he sat down beside her and took her hand, and began
waiting for her to wake up so he could find out if they still had a life
together.
* *
The End