Disclaimer:
This is a work of fan fiction, and should be taken as such. Any similarity to actual persons or events, except as acknowledged below, is purely coincidental (or at least would be purely coincidental if there were really any such thing as pure coincidence).

The Gargoyles and Gargoyles characters are the property of Buena Vista/Disney. "Hurt Hawks" (the poem) is by Robinson Jeffers. A Time Of Omens is a novel by Katharine Kerr. Oreo cookies are made by Nabisco. The lyrics quoted are from "Mother Dawn," off Billy Idol's Cyberpunk album, and from "Where The Streets Have No Name," off U2's The Joshua Tree album. Sulzberger Tower and the Pupin telescope are the property of Columbia University. Laura, Jeremy Lowell, and Christopher Williams, you know who you are. The Cathedral of St. John the Divine is the property of the Almighty God. Voyager (the space shuttle) is the property of NASA. The AMA is the property of the AMA. Macbeth (the play) is by William Shakespeare. Jupiter's moons are the property of the planet Jupiter and the International Astronomical Union, and were discovered by Galileo Galilei. All streets and avenues mentioned are the property of New York City. (And if there's anyone we've neglected to mention, do please let us know.)

Apologies to Kellie Fay, author of the fanfic piece "Lost And Alone," who may or may not decide to accuse us of plagiarism. (Please don't. Honestly, we came up with this idea before yours was posted. I think you'll find they aren't too much alike.)

* Special Thanks *
This goes out to a woman we have never met: Diane Duane, who first showed us that there really is magic in Manhattan if you know where to look. We Support Our Local Wizard.

Chronology:
This fanfic takes place during the World Tour sequence, set back in Manhattan. Post-"Kingdom", and considerably pre-"Pendragon". (We began writing this before "Kingdom" aired, but managed to catch and correct most of the discrepancies. At least we hope so.)

Dedication:
For Sesh and the empty place next to the chair.
10/31/80 -- 3/23/96

11:20 p.m.
Somewhere in New Jersey

Rain pounded down on his car windshield, bounced and skittered on the hood, glittered in the headlight beams on the lonely road. Jeremy Lowell drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the dance beat thumping out of the Diskman CD player, sang the words under his breath along with the vocalist: "Reaching through the madness to the other side...where the sun is rising with her arms held wide...."

He broke off singing suddenly. "What the -- "

For a moment he thought he'd imagined it. Something large and dark fell across his line of sight, and landed with an audible thump on the road some distance in front of the car. A bird, he might have thought, only no bird that could fly was that big. Jeremy braked, hard, and felt the wheels almost skid on the rain-slick road before the car stopped. He fumbled for the door handle with one hand, unbuckling his seatbelt with the other, and stepped out into the rain.

A crumpled heap, about the size of a large dog, was lying in front of the fender. It couldn't be a dog, though -- it had fallen onto the road, and dogs were not noted for their tendency to fall out of the sky. And the leathery-looking curve of what could only be a wing had never belonged to any creature so prosaic as a dog.

Jeremy took a few hesitant steps toward the thing, then his eyes widened in shock and he broke into a run, dropping to one knee beside it.

He'd seen a face.

"Oh my God," he breathed; it was almost a prayer. He could see the face clearly now, slack, eyes closed. Not a human face, but decidedly not an animal's either. It was attached to a humanoid body, small and slender, clad only in a belt and a loincloth. And one of the arm/wings attached to the body was unmistakably broken.

Rain soaked Jeremy's hair and trickled down into his face, unnoticed.

-----
12:00 a.m.
Somewhere in Manhattan

Matt Bluestone turned into a bleak alley between two tenement buildings, grateful for the shelter the alley walls afforded from the wind and the rain. Out in the street, the red tail-lights of passing cars reflected against the shining pavement, forming speckles of red on the wet blacktop. Beyond the hazy glow of the streetlights and the city buildings, the night sky above Manhattan was thick and dark, the rain seeming to leap out of it. Lightning twitched up in the blackness, illuminating the lowering storm clouds. Thunder grumbled quietly, as though unwilling to bother even trying to compete with New York City for attention.

Skirting a puddle, Matt caught his reflection in the still water, and paused to adjust his glasses. They were real prescription glasses -- anything else would be a dead giveaway -- but they were weak enough that he could still see, thank goodness. Matt rumpled his red hair, trying to make himself look more disreputable. The jacket he wore, a short flashy leather job with plenty of zippers and buckles, should be disguise enough, he thought with disgust.

Outside the alley, a passing car slowed with a squeal of brakes, and two bright beams of sudden light sliced into the alley, catching Matt right in the eyes. Momentarily blinded, he shaded his eyes with a cupped hand, trying to regain his bearings. The tactic made him nervous; it was almost as if they were trying to confuse him, as if they didn't trust him. Matt quickly put the thought aside. Any doubt or hesitation on his part could blow the whole deal.

The car headlights caught the falling drops of rain, turning them crystal and silver, as the doors of the black sedan opened and Hicks and Doran got out. Hicks wore jeans and an ordinary raincoat, Doran slacks and an oxford shirt, his tie loosened, his jacket collar turned up against the rain. Matt thought they looked incredibly ordinary, and wondered how they'd started down the path they had chosen.

Doran huddled into his cheap sport jacket, tucking his hands into his pockets as he and Hicks stepped across the beams of the headlights.

"Evening, gentlemen," drawled Matt in his best laconic tone.

"Let's get this over with," Doran said shortly, stepping forward. He gestured toward Bluestone's jacket. "May I?"

"Be my guest," Matt said easily, raising his arms as Doran patted him down, searching for a wire or some other standard listening device. He wasn't going to find one; Matt wasn't that stupid. The recording device in Matt's shoe couldn't be found unless the searcher knew exactly what to look for. And if Doran had known that much, well, then the game would have been up in any case.

"He's clean," Doran finally said. "Do you have the money?"

"Ten thousand. As agreed." As he reached under the lapel of his jacket, Matt saw Hicks and Doran stiffen. Lightning flickered in the narrow piece of sky above the alley. "Easy," Matt added, and slowly pulled out a bulging manila envelope. Hicks reached out for it eagerly, a hungry look on his face, but Matt held it up just out of his reach. "Ah-ah-ah," he admonished, enjoying Hicks's exasperation. "First I see the goods."

Matt noticed Doran eyeing him for a moment, before reaching under the sport coat and pulling out a second manila envelope, this one flat. Hicks was not going to be a problem, Matt decided, but he had better watch Doran. Very carefully.

Drops of rain began to stain the surface of the envelope in Doran's hand. "Access codes to every secure computer database in the department," he said, sounding smug.

Hicks, who had been watching the rooftop, started. "What was that?"

Matt knew better than to take his eyes off Doran. He saw the other glance up, then shrug. "Relax, Hicks."

"A pleasure doing business with you," Matt said, accepting the flat envelope from Doran with one hand and passing over the bulging envelope with the other. With an inward sigh of relief, Matt tucked the computer codes under his jacket and turned to leave the alley.

A voice spoke behind him. "Just a moment...Detective Bluestone."

And Doran's hand closed over his wrist. As he turned to meet the other man's eyes, Matt felt his heartbeat thudding rapidly, and he began to sort through his options.

"Bluestone?" Hicks said, confused. "I thought his name was Gallagher."

Doran turned on his partner angrily. "You idiot! He's working with Internal Affairs!"

Matt took the opportunity. With his free hand, he formed a fist and aimed a tidy straight-armed punch at Hicks. It caught Hicks in the nose, and Matt watched with some satisfaction as the man staggered back. As Matt turned, shifting his weight to knock Doran off his feet, he saw Doran's free hand go up, clutching something dark that glinted in the rain.

The hand came down, and darts of light filled Matt's vision as the pistol butt struck the back of his head. He felt himself sinking to his knees, felt the alley whirling about him. Don't pass out now, Bluestone....

The world went dark.

-----
Hicks held one hand to his bleeding nose, his voice coming out sounding clogged. "Bud we chegged hib! He wasd't wearig a wire!"

"Because he knew that's the first thing we'd look for, micro-brain. He's probably got some sort of recording device on him. We better find it, and get rid of our buddy here, before his backup shows."

Sprawled at their feet on the wet cement, the red-haired cop stirred, groaning.

Doran leveled his gun at Bluestone. He didn't like having to kill a fellow cop...but then, he'd done a lot of things he didn't like, lately.

"Nighty-night, Detective Bluestone."

Lightning flared in the sky above them -- and then Doran could have sworn that the lightning brought the impossible creature that dropped suddenly from the rooftops to the pavement.

It was taller than a man, close to seven feet, with an eight-foot wingspan, horns growing out of its head, and eyes that glowed as though lit by some terrifying fire within. Doran stared at it in horror, his jaw working soundlessly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a very old fear was clawing its way to the surface: this was the devil himself, finally come to collect him for all of his recent sins.

-----
Rain was hitting him in the face. Matt opened his eyes and saw Doran standing over him, the barrel of his automatic aimed at Matt's head. Still dazed, Matt frantically tried to gather enough of his wits and strength to roll sideways.

And then the gargoyle dropped out of nowhere, landing with a thud opposite Doran, who froze, shock and dread leaping to his face. As Matt struggled to sit up, holding his throbbing head with one hand and wondering if he were hallucinating, the rusty-colored gargoyle reached out a paw, plucked the gun from Doran's nerveless grasp, and crumpled the automatic as if it had been made of thin tinfoil. Through the lingering haze, Matt recognized the gargoyle as the one called Brooklyn.

As Brooklyn reached out and lifted Doran off the ground by the scruff of his jacket, Hicks let out a cry and stumbled backwards, falling into a row of garbage cans with a loud clatter. Staggering to his feet, Hicks ran for the mouth of the alley.

Oh no you don't, thought Matt grimly. He stretched out a leg, and Hicks tripped, fell heavily to the pavement, and lay still.

Matt managed to get to his feet, watching in astonishment as Brooklyn hurled Doran against the alley wall. Doran struck the wall hard and fell to the floor in a heap, unconscious either from the impact or from fright.

"Nighty-night," said Brooklyn with grim satisfaction. The blaze faded from the beak-faced gargoyle's eyes, and it turned to Matt. "You all right?"

The fact that Brooklyn had just saved his life swept across Matt's mind, but all he could manage was to say weakly, "Brooklyn, what are you doing here?"

"I followed you from the station," the gargoyle said matter-of-factly. "Figured you might need some help. Guess I was right."

It had never occurred to Matt that any of these strange beings would bother to look after him, actually follow him on an assignment in case he needed assistance. He knew Goliath used to do that with Elisa. Used to... He violently put the thought down. Matt suddenly realized how convenient these beings could be for a cop.

"Oh," he said lamely. "Listen, you'd better get out of here before anyone else shows. I'd have a tough time explaining you."

A small grin lightened the long lines of the gargoyle's face. "Right." Brooklyn looked down at the unconscious men. "Who were they anyway? Computer hackers?"

"Cops," Matt said, faintly surprised at how bitter he sounded. "Betraying their own kind for a profit."

A kind of understanding flickered in the gargoyle's face. There seemed to be nothing left to say, so Brooklyn turned toward the brick wall of one of the tenement buildings that formed the alley.

"Brooklyn -- "

The gargoyle turned back, one eyebrow ridge raised curiously.

"Thanks for the help."

A tug around the edges of Brooklyn's mouth, not exactly a smile, made Matt glad he'd spoken. "You're Elisa's partner," the gargoyle said. "We all have to look after each other more carefully, now...."

Brooklyn began climbing the side of the building, each claw-hold sounding like the thud of a power-driver. Standing in the rain, watching the gargoyle climb the brick wall, Matt remembered that Goliath, their leader, was missing along with Elisa. And Brooklyn had taken time out of his nightly patrol to watch over him, Elisa's partner. He was beginning to realize exactly what it meant to have the loyalty of a gargoyle.

-----
2:05 a.m.
120th Street, between Amsterdam and Columbus

Lexington blinked and opened his eyes, squinting into the light.

A blurry figure hovered in front of him, then sharpened into a young human with a thin face, tousled sandy hair, and glasses, looking apprehensive and somehow excited. The room around them was a small apartment, cluttered and messy. As his vision cleared, a set of narrow bars came into focus in front of him. A wire cage.

Lexington felt a growl rising in his throat. "Who are you?" he demanded, wincing inwardly as he heard his own voice, thin and trembling.

The human gasped, and an incredulous smile spread over his face. "Oh my god, this is incredible -- You actually talk! Whoa, wait, wait -- " The smile vanished into an expression of concern as Lexington struggled to rise. Agony stabbed through his wing, and he collapsed back to the bottom of the cage, biting back a howl of pain. "Careful, you're hurt," the human was saying. "I found you on the road, you fell right in front of my car...." He trailed off, staring at Lex with fascination. "Can you...can you really fly with those wings?"

"Not now, I can't," Lex muttered, craning his neck to try and look at the wing. It was definitely broken, he could feel that much. He tried to rise again, supporting himself on his other arm. The abused wing shrieked pain at him, and he sank back down with a groan.

"My name's Jeremy. I -- " The human broke off, and said almost in a whisper: "What are you?"

So now it starts, Lex thought grimly. "Cut the small talk," he snarled, fighting off his terror with anger. "Who put you up to this? Who are you working for?" He managed to pull himself into a sitting position as he spoke, bracing against the bars. "Did Xanatos send you?"

Jeremy backed off a little, raising his hands in a "surrender" gesture. "Hey, no, wait.... Nobody sent me. Relax, I-I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Then why'd you bring me here?" demanded Lexington. "What do you want?"

"You were hurt," Jeremy said, looking somewhat surprised by the question. "I couldn't just leave you there."

Lexington glared at him suspiciously.

"So, um...what should I call you?"

"My name," and he heard himself emphasize the word, "is Lexington."

"Is it...is it okay if I ask you stuff? I mean, you won't be offended?"

Lexington wavered. "You can ask," he said finally, as though to make it quite clear that he would not necessarily answer.

Jeremy hesitated, then blurted it out: "What planet are you from?"

Lexington blinked. "What...planet?"

Jeremy's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Planet. We call our planet Earth. What do you call your home world?"

Home was a word Lexington understood, at any rate...but what was the human talking about? Planets? Planets were wandering stars, everyone knew that. "We called our home Castle Wyvern," he said. "We don't live there anymore, though."

Jeremy frowned, and turned to point at a poster on the wall. It showed a dull grey desert landscape, under a night sky, and.... Lexington's eyes widened. The moon was rising over the grey desert, only it wasn't the moon. It was enormous, and brilliantly colored: blue, green, brown, swirls of white. And it was a crescent, only on the dark side of it there were lights. Like stars, or no, more like the tracery of the Manhattan skyline seen from above.

Lexington felt his jaw drop. From far above....

"This is our planet," Jeremy was saying. "From the surface of our moon. Does your planet have a moon?"

Lex's head spun. "From the moon? You've...you've been to the moon?"

The human looked even more confused -- and even a trifle hurt. "Well, sure. We're not that primitive. I mean, no, I haven't gone to the moon myself, but we've sent people there. So maybe our tech level isn't as high as yours, maybe we haven't got interplanetary travel like your people yet, but we will someday -- "

"What are you talking about? We don't have anything like that...." The young gargoyle's gaze went to the poster again, and wonder crept into his voice -- wonder, and a trace of longing. "That's a picture of -- of us? Of this world?"

Jeremy closed his eyes and shook his head, sharply. "Wait, wait a minute. If you didn't know that this is what Earth looks like, then -- " He broke off, then started again, his voice hushed. "Where are you from?"

"Scotland," Lexington said.

"Scotland a thousand years ago, maybe," Jeremy said with a short laugh. "I've got 'net-friends in Scotland, and they're not that far behind the times. I mean, you -- " He caught the look on Lex's face and stopped. "That's it, isn't it?" His eyes widened until they seemed nearly as big as Lexington's. "You did come from a thousand years ago...."

"I don't know what you're talking about -- " Lex started angrily.

Jeremy raised his hands again in that half-defensive, half-surrendering gesture. "Okay, wait, I'm sorry...but it's the only explanation. We landed on the moon almost thirty years ago. If you'd been around then, you'd have to know. And if you'd come from another planet, you'd have to know what a world looks like from space...."

Lexington's eyes were drawn back to the poster, that arid desert landscape with the odd foreshortened horizon, the pure black of the sky, the blazing glory of the world hanging there above them.

"...But you haven't, have you? You've never seen it before." The human was looking at him with an odd blend of confusion and sympathy. "You didn't know. You really didn't know."

"How did they get there?" Lexington murmured. "We've flown above the clouds, but no gargoyle ever flew high enough to touch the moon...."

"Gargoyle?" repeated Jeremy.

Lex caught himself and glared, furious at himself for letting his guard down and at the human for tricking him into doing it. You're not a guest here, Lex, you're a prisoner, no matter what he says. Don't give away too much.

Are you sure? This Jeremy seems friendly. Maybe he's like Elisa.

And maybe he's like The Pack. They seemed pretty friendly too, didn't they? And... and Elisa's gone. It's too risky. You can't trust him, you can't trust anyone, ever again. Too dangerous. Sorry, Jeremy, I can't risk it. I'm never trusting anyone again.

Jeremy seemed to take the hint. "Whatever. We used rockets to get to the moon, with a lunar module to land on the moon's surface and take off again. Here -- " He grabbed a volume off a cluttered bookshelf over an even more cluttered desk, and flipped through it until he found the page he wanted. "Here," he repeated, showing the picture.

Lex's eyes widened again. There was a diagram of the different parts of the rocket, a photograph of the thing taking off, another photo of the module on the lunar surface and a human-shaped thing that looked like a robot, or someone in body armor, planting a familiar-looking flag in the grey dirt. And even though the flag was not his own country, and the one holding the flag was not his own kind, Lexington's heart leaped at the sight. Someone from the earth had walked on the moon. Walked on the moon.

"It's beautiful," he whispered.

Jeremy grinned. "Yeah, isn't it? And here, hang on a sec -- " He turned his swivel chair to face the computer sitting on his desk, and began clicking rapidly with the mouse. "We've sent probes into space to take pictures of the rest of the solar system -- that's the other planets that circle around our sun -- "

Lexington frowned. "We go around the sun?"

Jeremy started to speak, stopped, then started again. "Yeah. Look, just take my word for it, okay? The Earth goes around the sun once a year, and it also spins around once a day. And there's about eight other planets that go around the sun, and we've sent probes, machines that can take pictures, out into space to look at them -- here, look -- " He moved aside to give Lexington a clear view of the screen. "That's from the Voyager fly-bys. It's Saturn, and some of its moons...."

-----
2:13 a.m.
The clock tower

Gusts of wind rattled against the clock-face, and rain beat against the tower. Alone except for Elisa's cat Cagney, Hudson sat in the worn armchair. The pattering of the rain had a cozy sound to it, and the soft glow of the reading lamp cast shadows up against the vast, cavernous stone walls of the clock's interior, reminding the old gargoyle of certain quiet evenings long ago, inside another stone fortress. Before his world turned upside down, before Castle Wyvern sat not on a cliff but on a tower of glass and steel.

Unable to concentrate, Hudson closed the worn copy of A Time Of Omens. Normally he enjoyed it, even though he still had difficulty deciphering unfamiliar words; in many ways, the story reminded him of home.

Despite the warmth of the cat that purred in his lap, Hudson absently reached a claw down beside the arm of the chair. Touching only empty air, Hudson looked down at the space where Bronx used to lie at his feet on evenings like this. The sight of the bare stones brought with it a strange, unfamiliar surge of fear, a hard heavy weight in his belly. With all his years, he'd thought he'd outgrown feeling fear like that. It was not the sort of fear he'd felt when first faced with the lights and noise of this strange new world, or the apprehension that came from worrying about what your enemies were up to. It was a deep dread, as if he were facing some great impending loss. Hudson had seen many friends killed in battle, had often faced the advancing line of attackers knowing that many of his comrades would not survive the night, knowing that before the sun rose he himself might be counted among the fallen. But he had never feared loss the way he feared it now.

Usually Hudson was content to spend his nights in the clock tower, guarding their home. But lately he'd been feeling more and more restless, wanting to go out and search. Many nights he just paced, wondering at the thud of his old heart every time something that could possibly be Goliath's return stirred outside the clock tower -- a rush of wings that turned out to be pigeons, footsteps from below that approached and faded, never venturing up into the tower. The urge to be out doing something had grown steadily over the past several nights. Someone had to stay and watch over the fortress, though. And what if Goliath and Bronx and Elisa should come back here to find no one to greet them? What if the terrible force that had taken them away pursued them home, and they were in immediate need of reinforcements?

Hudson resisted the impulse to rise from his chair and pace. He'd paced the first night they had realized Goliath was truly missing, the first time in more years than he could count that he'd given in to such anxiety. Now it was becoming a habit.

Against the drumming of the rain came the sudden swoop of wings, and a bulky shadow appeared framed in the doorway leading out to the ledge. Lightning silhouetted the figure for a moment, then Broadway stepped inside and came down the stone steps to join Hudson.

"A wild night out there," Hudson said, then added, knowing it was useless because Broadway would have blurted it right out if he had learned anything, "Any luck, lad?"

"Nothing," Broadway said dejectedly, thumping down the last step.

There was another swoop of wings against a rumble of thunder, and Broadway's round face took on an eager look of hope.

"Maybe Brooklyn or Lexington had better luck, then, eh?" Hudson ran a claw gently along Cagney's back, and her purr grew louder.

Brooklyn's lean shape appeared in the doorway, and his expression was grim as he came down the stairs, shaking the rain off his wings.

Hudson watched the anticipation drain out of Broadway's face, and it depressed him. They needed that kind of hope.

"Sorry," said Brooklyn. "Same as usual. Lex back yet?"

Again Hudson felt that startling twitch of fear, almost panic. "No," he answered, forcing something like his usual slow calmness back into his voice as he watched alarm spring to Brooklyn's face. "But it's a while yet before dawn."

Brooklyn nodded, turned and went moodily back outside to the ledge. Hudson had been proud to see Brooklyn accept his new responsibility, but leadership still seemed to weigh heavily on the young gargoyle.

-----
Out on the ledge, Brooklyn perched on the stone balustrade, looking out over the lights of the Manhattan skyline glittering in the rain. Castle Wyvern rose there in the distance, higher than anything around it atop Xanatos's skyscraper, its stone towers suffused in a hazy glow from the exterior floodlights. A memory rose to the surface of his mind; a memory of that castle courtyard, long ago, when he and two of his rookery brothers, the stout blue one and the small yellow one, had raided the crates of provisions along with their watchdog, turning it into a game as if Vikings and betrayal and war didn't even exist.

Brooklyn wondered if he would ever feel that young again.

Lightning flickered again, catching the neo-classical outlines of a nearby building and turning its edge silver. The rain danced on the balustrade railing and pattered down to the street below, where two cops hurried into the shelter of the station house, their collars pulled up against the rain as they started another long shift. Brooklyn scanned the skies above the buildings, straining to catch a glimpse of a winged outline against the slanting rain. His gaze shifted towards the horizon, where the Hudson River wound its way beyond Manhattan and vanished into the distance.

"Goliath, I know you're out there...somewhere," Brooklyn said softly into the rain, aching to have the older gargoyle's presence there, to have someone to turn to if Lexington didn't come back soon.

-----
3:38 a.m.
120th Street

"...and I got blown off course and wound up fighting the wind currents over some road, I didn't even know where I was. I think a car or something hit me. I don't remember anything after that." Lexington fell silent.

The young human whistled softly. "Man, you're lucky you weren't killed. Good thing I found you; I'd hate to think what could have happened if -- "

Jeremy paused and twisted around to look at the door. Footfalls could be heard outside the door, coming down a carpeted hallway by the sound of it.

"Oh, no, not now...." Jeremy turned back to look at Lex. "It's my roommate. Listen, I can't let him see you -- " He glanced about the room.

"Under the desk?" Lexington suggested.

Jeremy hesitated. "You'll be okay if I move you? I mean, I don't want to hurt your wing worse or anything...."

"Hurry! I'll be all right."

Jeremy picked up the cage with a grunt, careful not to jostle Lexington, and set it down on the floor, then slid it under the desk. A pile of clothes in various states of cleanliness sagged against one wall; he kicked them under the desk, around the cage, hiding it from sight.

A key clicked in the lock, and Christopher came in, shaking off an umbrella. "Freshman biology papers," he announced in tones of disgust. "Seventy-five of them, to be graded and handed back by next Tuesday. I hate grading freshman biology papers." He set his briefcase down on the floor as he spoke, and began taking off his raincoat.

"Evening, Chris," Jeremy said with a wave. "How's it going?"

"It's practically morning by now," Christopher said, sitting down on his bed with an audible sigh of relief and bending to remove his rain boots. "And don't call me Chris."

"Sorry," Jeremy said. "Christopher."

Christopher tugged at his boots in between phrases. "Finally finished the experimental part of the project. Still got to finish correlating the data." He set down his boots and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. "Man, that is the last time I ever pull an all-nighter without any decent coffee in the lab."

"Still raining out there?" Jeremy asked.

"Pouring. Gale-force winds.... It's a bad night to be out."

"Yeah, I bet it is...." said Jeremy thoughtfully, glancing at the concealed cage under his desk. A brief struggle of conscience was fought in his head; then, quickly, before he could change his mind: "Listen, Christopher? Can you keep a secret?"

-----
Someone was playing a radio too loudly in the next room, and Lexington could make out the words to the song that was playing: "I want to run...I want to hide...I want to tear down the walls that hold me inside...."

Yeah, thought Lexington. You and me both.

"Listen, Christopher?" came Jeremy's voice. "Can you keep a secret?"

Lex's jaw clenched. To lie here, broken and helpless, for humans to stare at.... His proud spirit ached at the thought, hurt worse than his ravaged wing. He had to get away from here somehow, he HAD to --

The pile of socks and shirts was shoved away from the cage, and Jeremy's voice was saying "Lexington, this is my roommate Christopher -- "

A dark-haired human was looking in at him, with an expression such as someone might wear while examining a small child's school project. It changed rapidly to one of utter shock.

Lexington's eyes ignited, and he roared -- the chilling, full-throated gargoyle battle scream that had struck terror into stouter hearts than Christopher's. "GET AWAY FROM ME!" He threw himself against the mesh bars, forgetting his injury, forgetting everything except the need to get away --

White-hot pain exploded in his wing, and the room spun about him, and everything went dark.

-----
Christopher had to swallow twice before he could speak. "It's hurt," he said in the hypercalm voice of one who is severely stunned. "I, I think its wing's broken.... Jeremy, what the bloody hell is this thing?"

"He says he's a gargoyle." Jeremy shrugged. "You know as much as I do. I found him on the road coming back from Jersey, he fell right in front of my car. I almost hit him."

"So it was hurt when you found it?" Christopher bent over the cage, peering at the unconscious creature's wing. "Yeah, it's definitely broken. Take a look -- that wing seems fine, and see how this one's bent there? Jeremy, help me get the cage open, I'm going to try to set it before the poor beast hurts itself worse."

Jeremy unlatched the top of the cage and lifted it off, set it gently to one side. "Christopher, I don't think he's an animal. He talks -- you heard him talk, didn't you?"

"Parrots talk," Christopher said. "There's a first-aid kit under my bed, behind the shoes. Look, talking doesn't imply intelligence. Parrots aren't intelligent, they're just mimicking sounds."

Jeremy's voice came out muffled from under the bed. "Yeah, but he talked to me. He understood what I was saying and answered me. Look, just wait till he wakes up, you'll see." He emerged, holding out the first-aid kit in one hand and waving away dust with the other. "Here."

"Whatever. Thanks." Christopher looked down at the broken wing and hissed softly through his teeth. "Whatever it is, it's got bones. That's a nasty break. Jeremy, wanna give me a hand here?" Cautiously, curiously, he touched the creature's arm. Its skin felt tough, like an elephant's, but smoother. If marble could be warm and thrumming with life, it would feel something like this. Warm-blooded, then. Again, he noted that it was wearing some kind of...clothing. A leather belt and something like a loincloth.

Animals don't wear clothes, Christopher. Do you have the faintest idea what this thing is?

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. This was not the time for idle speculation. He reached for the surgical gauze Jeremy handed him, and began unrolling a strip.

-----
5:30 a.m.
The clock tower

The shifting light of the television screen flickered over Broadway's face, but he hardly seemed to be paying attention to it. He kept turning to look up at the clock face, where Brooklyn's silhouette was visible, still perched on the balustrade out in the dwindling rain. Hudson sat in the armchair nearby, casting a curious eye at the black-and-white movie. The plot seemed to involve a dank old castle so unrealistic it made Hudson snort, a wild-eyed scientist, a wisecracking hunchback, a series of nasty-looking electrical contraptions hooked up to a lifeless body, and a sharp-faced woman with a strange name...and a violin.

Footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs leading up from the station house. Hudson found himself turning as eagerly as Broadway toward the sound, although the footfalls were too deliberate to be Elisa's, too light to be Goliath's.

"Paperwork!" Matt grumbled in disgust, emerging at the top of the stairs in his habitual trenchcoat.

"Hello, Detective Bluestone," Hudson said. "Any news?"

Matt shook his head. "Sorry, Hudson. But we still have that APB out on Elisa."

"And what is this...Ay Pe Be?"

Sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, Broadway looked up and answered with quick confidence. "All-Points Bulletin. It means all the police in the area have a description of Elisa."

Matt laughed. "Broadway, I'm impressed."

Broadway looked pleased. "Saw it on Hill Street Blues," he said modestly.

Hudson rose from his chair, stretching. "It's time we got settled for the dawn." On the TV screen, the Late Late Late movie was ending with an overly-dramatic musical flourish, but Hudson needed no outside cues to tell him when dawn was approaching.

Brooklyn appeared in the clock-face doorway. "I'm worried about Lex. He knows that none of us are supposed to stay out all night without checking in."

"I'm worried as well, lad, but there's nothing to be done about it now. We'll search for him come nightfall."

"I never should have let him go off alone." Brooklyn turned away abruptly and returned to the ledge, not waiting for the others. He was already on his perch when Broadway and Hudson stepped outside, Matt following.

Beyond the towers of Manhattan, the eastern horizon was lightening. The rain had slowed and was now stopping entirely, leaving a soft peace in the wake of the storm. In the pre-dawn light, the city seemed unnaturally quiet.

"It's a big city," said Brooklyn quietly. "We can't search everywhere by ourselves. There's just not enough of us."

Broadway hopped up to his perch next to Brooklyn. "Four," he said gloomily. "And with Lex missing, we're down by one more."

The bulky gargoyle had spoken softly, almost under his breath, but Brooklyn turned on him fiercely, his eyes igniting for a moment. "We'll find him!" he snarled.

Startled, Broadway took a step backward along the ledge.

"And we'll find Goliath too, and Elisa and Bronx," Brooklyn went on, his voice rising. "They've got to be somewhere. They're coming back!"

"S-sure, Brooklyn." Broadway looked bewildered, as if he were suddenly unable to recognize his rookery brother.

"As ye say, lad," added Hudson soothingly.

Brooklyn turned to face the skyline, silently.

The horizon took on a faint pink hue that slowly brightened, until the first gleam of the sun showed across the East River. There was the sound of stone cracking, and Matt took a reflexive step backward as the three gargoyles froze in fierce poses, the early beams of the rising sun catching the stone.

Cautiously, when all was still, Matt came over to lean on the still-damp balustrade between Brooklyn and Broadway. It was unsettling, looking at their frozen faces, knowing that moments before those faces had been expressive and alive, constantly moving with conversation or emotion.

Along the remainder of the balustrade, the empty spaces were conspicuous.

And then there were three. Matt looked up at Brooklyn's statue, which stared unseeing over the skyline. A seagull winging its way back out to the coastline after the storm dipped on a current of wind and vanished over the Chrysler building, whose spire was blazing in the morning sun.

"I won't let any more of you disappear, I promise," Matt said to the statues, his voice low. He remembered how angry he'd been with Elisa after finding out that she'd hidden them from him, and how vigilantly she had protected them. If Elisa came back while Lexington was still missing, Matt thought, he'd never be able to face her again. Not with the knowledge that he'd failed to protect them as she would have.

Down below, the city was waking up: delivery trucks rattling down side streets, horns beeping, a wafting smell of coffee. Matt looked out at the overcast dawn, the three statues beside him.

"Elisa, where are you?"

-----
5:33 a.m.
120th Street

He was still only half-conscious when the feeling of impending dawn came over him. Oh no...

Christopher was nowhere in sight. Jeremy was sitting in the swivel chair, leaning over him. "Lexington? Can you hear me?" The voice was low and full of concern, and Lexington made a sudden decision.

"Sunset," he managed to say, fighting off the growing chill in his limbs. "I'll wake up again at sunset. Don't worry."

He could see the confusion on Jeremy's face. "Huh? Lex, I don't..." but whatever else he said was lost in the shivering, cracking sound of flesh turning to stone.

The last thing Lex saw, before the change took him entirely, was Jeremy's eyes widening in wonder as he realized what was happening....

-----
6:27 p.m.
The clock tower

The sky turned from clouded blue to pink to blazing red as the sun sank over the Hudson river, giving the water the appearance of molten rock. The streetlights lit, turning the streets into glittering lines of light.

As the glow of the sunset sky deepened into purple, the evening star shining low over the river, the three gargoyles awoke, cracking out of their stone skins, scattering the jagged shards, roaring as they stretched out of their day's sleep.

Fully awake, the three hopped down from their perches onto the ledge. Automatically, Brooklyn looked up at the sky.

"Patience, lad," said Hudson. "He may come back on his own."

"Fine," Brooklyn answered shortly, turning towards the doorway. "But if he isn't back in one hour, I'm going out after him."

"You mean we will," Broadway protested.

Brooklyn looked at the other two. "We don't know who or what's behind Lex's disappearance," he said. "I've been thinking, and I've decided we should ask Talon and his clan for help. If it comes to a fight, he'd be good to have at our backs."

Broadway and Hudson nodded, accepting his words without comment, and Brooklyn turned and entered the tower.

-----
6:27 p.m.
120th Street

Beyond the apartment windows, the sun was setting. The view mostly overlooked the dull brick or stone walls of two other apartment buildings, except for a three-foot sliver of sky and park. Glowing a fierce red beyond the high towers of Riverside Church, the dying sunlight slanted through the gap and cast a rectangle of light on the threadbare rug covering the wood floor. The rectangle slowly moved forward, elongating, until it touched the edge of a shirt lying on the floor, then paled and faded as the room darkened and the sun vanished below the horizon.

In the kennel cage under the desk, a stone statue of a gargoyle cracked. The thin shell of stone rippled as the limbs flexed underneath it, then exploded outward. Fragments littered the floor as Lexington let out a waking-up roar and yawn, which turned into a yelp when his unfurling wings struck the thin wire bars of the cage.

Lex reached through the bars with his claws and tossed away a pair of pants and a sweater, giving him a better view of the room. Nobody else was there. He flexed his wings within the small space available, feeling the renewed strength in his arms and legs. Jeremy had apparently set his wing while he was asleep; it had healed perfectly. Lexington grinned with relief and stretched again, just for the sheer pleasure of being able to move freely, then carefully started to remove the splint and bandage. It had been skillfully done, but was difficult to take off without help -- it took Lexington a good ten minutes to remove it.

Jeremy was evidently out somewhere, and Lexington found himself feeling vaguely disappointed. He wanted Jeremy to see him whole, not as some crippled creature with a broken wing. And he wanted to thank him.

In the meantime... The small gargoyle ran his claws along the thin metal bars. He could, of course, simply bend the bars open, now that he was no longer weak from the pain of his injury. But why bother when the latch on the cage was so simple?

As he reached through the bars of the cage and took the tiny metal rod of the latch between two claws, a key rattled in the front door lock, and the bolt clicked open.

Lexington lifted the latch and pushed the cage door open, leaping eagerly out into the dim room. He whirled around in a circle on the floor, thrilled to feel strong again, anxious to show off for Jeremy.

The door swung inward, letting in a stream of light from the hallway. A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway for a moment, then flicked on the light.

Not Jeremy. Christopher.

Lexington froze, Christopher stopped moving with his hand still on the light switch, and for a moment they locked gazes.

-----
Standing in the hallway outside their apartment door, Christopher paused before reaching for his keys. He tugged up the hem of his sweater and rested his hand on the tranquilizer gun that nestled in his belt. It might not be necessary -- in fact he hoped he wouldn't have to use it -- but with an utterly unknown creature like that, he couldn't be too careful; it might attack out of pure instinctive fear. And he couldn't afford to be sentimental. He knew how Jeremy would probably react when he found out what Christopher had done with his...pet? Foundling? Poor Jeremy. He'd even given the creature a name, Lexington. Cute.

Christopher tugged down his sweater and shoved his key into the lock. No, he couldn't be sentimental. This was science. It wasn't the research grants that were important, not the articles he could publish, not the prestige -- all that was fine and good, but it didn't matter a fraction as much as the knowledge itself. Figure out what this thing was, where it came from, how intelligent it was...of course, one couldn't really get any accurate tests from a single specimen. But then, it wasn't likely that this was the only member of its species in existence; nature didn't work that way. Were there more of them? And how could they be found?

He opened the door, wondering how he was going to manage to carry the cage down the stairs. The animal, alien, whatever, looked fairly heavy.

But it wasn't in the cage anymore. Somehow it had gotten loose, and was bounding around on the carpet. Christopher carefully reached over and snapped on the light, and the creature spotted him and froze like a wild deer in the glare of approaching headlights, staring at him with those enormous eyes. It had scratched or chewed the splint off somehow, and its wing...its wing was whole again! Self-regeneration! For a moment, Christopher felt a stab of exhilaration at the new discovery.

Then those wings flexed slightly, and Christopher backed toward the hallway, fumbling at his belt for the tranq gun. The way it stared -- was it going to attack?

A hint of apprehension seemed to flicker in the creature's expression as it spotted the gun, almost as if it knew what the thing was for. But that was ridiculous --

As Christopher gripped the gun tightly in his right hand and started to raise it, the creature spoke. "You can't control me...so you're just going to shoot me?" There actually seemed to be a note of bitterness in the voice, along with a sort of brave, accusatory calm.

It didn't sound much like mere mimicry.

He hesitated, lowering the gun a fraction -- and the creature made a desperate, panicked leap for the closed window. Stupid animal's going to kill itself! Christopher brought up the gun, aimed, and fired.

-----
6:34 p.m.
The clock tower

Broadway opened the door of the refrigerator Elisa had provided for them and thrust his head inside, looking around. There was half of a cold pepperoni-and-anchovy pizza left over from the night before; that would do nicely for breakfast, even though he hated anchovies.

"Hey, Lex," Broadway said, pulling his head out of the fridge, balancing the pizza box in one hand and shutting the door with the other. "You want my anchov...."

Broadway trailed off as Brooklyn looked up sharply from where he sat cross-legged in front of the TV, watching the evening news. The surprise that flickered in his face was replaced by an accusatory expression. Hudson's eyebrows twitched in sympathy. Matt, seated on an overturned crate near the armchair, looked uncomfortable. Even Cagney seemed to be staring at him reproachfully. Now I've done it, Broadway thought. Me and my big mouth.

"I'm sorry, Brooklyn," he said miserably. "I forgot."

Brooklyn's face was hard, and for a moment Broadway was afraid he was angry. Broadway lowered his head, waiting for Brooklyn to snap.

But Brooklyn only switched off the TV and got to his feet with a determined expression. "We've waited long enough," he said, looking up at the clock face. "I think something's happened to him. Hudson," he added in that strange new tone of authority, "stay here and guard the tower, and wait in case Lexington comes back or calls. I'm going to go ask...our friends for help." He did not look at Bluestone as he spoke, and the slight hesitation where he'd been about to say "Talon" was barely noticeable. "I'll be back as soon as I can. An hour tops, probably less."

Matt rose from the crate, picking up his folded trench coat. "I can look for him, Brooklyn. Check the incident reports, listen to the scanner. If I weren't on duty tonight, I could search all over the city. But tomorrow's my day off..."

Brooklyn paused on his way up the stairs to the clock face, turning back to look at Matt. Broadway had always known they could depend on Matt, so he was startled to see surprise on Brooklyn's face.

Matt looked embarrassed, then took a deep breath, as if he had something difficult to say. "Look, Brooklyn...I know how well Elisa looked after all of you. I just want you to know that while she's gone, I intend to see that the rest of you remain safe."

The detective turned and went down the wooden stairs, pulling on his coat as he vanished into the depths of the station house.

"Well, now," Hudson said thoughtfully, into the quiet.

-----
Standing in the hallway outside the utility closet door, Matt stared at the postings on the station bulletin board without really reading them. He could almost hear Elisa's voice, arguing with him about where Lexington might have gone, what their next move should be. It was too bad he couldn't put out an APB on Lexington. Matt grinned, picturing the dispatcher's face as she read the description. Well, he'd keep his eyes and ears open tonight, and tomorrow, he could borrow Elisa's car and drive from one end of the five boroughs to the other, searching for a statue.

"If I was a gargoyle, where would I be?" he asked himself softly.

"Talking to yourself again, Bluestone?" Captain Chavez stopped beside him on her way down the hall, her green eyes fixing him with sharp scrutiny.

"Just thinking about a case I'm working on, Captain."

"Maybe you should take some time off, detective. I know you've been looking for Maza day and night for nearly a week now, on top of the Internal Affairs case...get some rest."

"Is that an order, Captain?"

Chavez considered. "No. Not yet."

"Good," said Matt. "I have some things that need taking care of."

-----
6:39 p.m.
120th Street

Lexington stared at the gun, hoping he'd be quick enough to dodge ahead of the dart. The window beckoned, showing him a piece of the night sky. Smashing through the glass shouldn't hurt too much -- a few scrapes on his tough skin, well worth it to get away at this point. He tensed his haunches, braced his arms to shove off the carpet, and leapt.

He was in mid-leap when he heard the thwap and felt the hot, sharp, stinging pain in his shoulder.

And then he struck the window.

The thin wooden frames of the window panes splintered and snapped under the force of his leap. He felt the glass shatter around him, the shards shooting out into the night with him. Tiny pinpricks from the broken glass peppered his skin, but hardly hurt. And then he was outside in the shaft between the two apartment buildings, and falling.

There wasn't enough wind for him to fly out. He made a grab for the walls of the next building, and his claws bit into the stone. Lexington slid down a few yards, then managed to slow and stop.

He began to climb, glancing over his shoulder at the shattered window above and across from him. But Christopher wasn't at the window. Lexington heard voices coming through the broken window, floating down the shaft, one raised in anger and protest. Jeremy's voice. And nobody was looking out the window, for the moment.

Lexington reached the roof. Perching on the edge, he spread his wings and leapt. Glorying in his returned strength, he skimmed over the rooftop terrain. With the wind at his back and the soft glow of city lights below, the wonder and joy of flying washed over him. It was just like the first time, when he had taken his first solo glide over the towers of Castle Wyvern.

Then a strange, sluggish tiredness began to seep into his shoulder and wing muscles. The rooftops and trees blurred in front of his eyes, and Lexington shook his head until his vision cleared. A thin cold trickle of panic went through him as he realized what it was. The tranquilizer dart. He would pass out soon, and fall in mid-flight.

Reaching back with one paw, Lexington found the dart imbedded in his shoulder. He pulled it out and dropped it to the pavement far below him. Maybe he could find a place to rest and hide, until the drug wore off.

Ahead of him rose suddenly a vast, soaring structure that seemed almost the size of Castle Wyvern. The skeletal outlines of scaffolding rose around a square tower, under construction. The great building appeared to be built in a cross-shape, the roof sharply pointed except at the meeting of the cross, which curved in a dome. A cathedral, then; it couldn't be anything else. Stone buttresses flanked the walls. Looking down as he glided over the roof, Lexington saw the rounded, sloped roof of the apse at the far end of the cathedral. Above the buttresses flanking the apse were stone statues -- angels, overlooking the city below them.

Breathing hard, forcing his muscles to work, Lexington landed on a buttress and climbed over to the ledge where the angels stood. He sagged back against the slant of the cathedral roof, half-hidden by the stone folds of one of the statue's robes. Feeling strangely safe with the soaring bulk of the cathedral at his back, Lexington crouched on the ledge. A wind whistled through the buttresses and rustled the trees below.

He felt a tug of regret about Jeremy. If only he hadn't told Christopher... It was strange, though, about the splint and bandages that had been holding his wing straight when he awoke at sunset. Jeremy hadn't seemed to know all that much about how to help him. And Christopher was the one studying medicine.

Lexington closed his talons around the stone hilt of the sword one of the angels wore, steadying himself against the wind. Somewhere in his hazy recall of the night before, he had a vague, half-conscious memory of gentle hands on his wing, quick and self-assured in their movements, careful not to hurt.

It had to have been Jeremy. Jeremy was like Elisa. Christopher was the other kind of human, the kind that saw gargoyles as things. Like Xanatos, who either wanted to use them or lure them to his "research facility." Like Macbeth, who had come hunting them more than once, and had shut Lexington and Brooklyn and Bronx up in cages the one time he'd caught them. Like Dr. Sevarius, who wanted them for his bizarre genetic experiments.

Lights burned from the apartment buildings in the distance. This area of the city seemed lonelier, quieter than downtown Manhattan. The cathedral stood on the crest of a slope that soon dropped, leading to a narrow drive and then falling away into a small park. To the right stretched the long, dark expanse of Central Park, a bright hazy glow rising from its southern end. Lexington stared at the glow, towards midtown -- the clock tower. Home.

He would rest just a few minutes, and then continue, whether the tranquilizer had worn off or not. He could always stop again further downtown. The important thing was to get as far away from Christopher as he could. But for now he had to rest.

Just rest...for a few minutes....

-----
Christopher cursed aloud. It'd been bad enough having to shoot the creature; in his work, he'd always tried to avoid drugging an animal unless it were absolutely necessary. But possibly because of that, he hadn't made the dose high enough to knock the creature out, and it had just leaped straight through a glass window!

Well, there was nothing for it but to go after the creature before it got hurt worse. He'd have to get his answers later, once he'd found a more secure holding pen at the lab --

"What are you doing?!"

Christopher turned and saw Jeremy standing in the door, a paper bag of groceries in his arms, his eyes wide with shock. He watched as Jeremy took in the empty cage, the broken window, the tranq gun still in Christopher's hands.

"Oh god," Jeremy whispered. The bag dropped from his arms, spilling packages of cookies and frozen pizzas across the floor. The numbness of shock seeped out of his voice, and anger rose in its place. "Christopher...what did you do to him? Where is he?"

The chill of the fall night began to seep in through the broken window. "It tried to escape," Christopher said, his words sounding threadbare in his own ears. "It was a mild tranq, that's all, I just wanted it to sleep for a while -- but it went through the window. It went right through the window," he repeated dazedly. "Jeremy, do you realize what that means? It's out there, in the city, I've got to go find it -- " He shoved the tranq gun into his belt and started for the door, but Jeremy stepped into his path.

"Wait a second. How did Lexington get out? What about his wing?"

"It was incredible, Jeremy. The wing -- it's completely healed. Jeremy, I've got to go out after it!"

"Why?" Jeremy looked out the window and said, quietly, "He's free now."

"Are you out of your mind? Just let it run loose like this? In New York City?" Christopher stared at him.

"He's not going to hurt anyone! Christopher, we're not talking about a rabid hyena here! He's not going to go around attacking people -- "

"It's not the people I'm worried about!" Christopher shouted. "That creature, whatever it is and however intelligent it is, right now it's flying around with enough tranq in it to bring down a three-hundred-pound chimpanzee! You want it to collapse out in the middle of Broadway? In front of some crazy with a real gun?" He pushed past Jeremy, who had gone pale at his last words, and ran for the door.

Jeremy hurried after him. "Christopher, wait...!"

-----
7:06 p.m.
The Labyrinth

Brooklyn paused in the abandoned underground stairwell, trying to recall which direction he should follow the tunnel below. A blast of stale wind howled through a crack in the crumbling brick wall with a whistling moan as a train spend through an active tunnel nearby. The concrete steps trembled as the distant roar approached, then faded into echoing silence.

Left. Brooklyn leapt down the rest of the flight of stairs, wings spread, and raced along the long-disused tracks, using his forepaws as well as his feet to move faster. Light became visible up ahead, and the sunken tracks emerged into the soaring, vaulted space that served as the headquarters for Talon's clan and the homeless people they protected. Brooklyn hopped up out of the tracks and stood upright, his wings folded around him.

In the vast, concrete-floored room, pieces of the night sky scattered with stars were visible through the windows high up near the ceiling. A few lamps glowed with a strangely home-like light behind the makeshift walls the families who lived there had built. A few human voices were speaking softly, with the occasional stifled laughter of an evening conversation. In the shadowy room was the soft sound of even breathing, humans asleep. It reminded Brooklyn of Castle Wyvern a thousand years ago, when he and the other gargoyles would keep watch from the battlements, while the castle humans slept soundly within their chambers.

Brooklyn looked uncertainly around the big, shadowy space. He couldn't see Talon or the others anywhere, but was relieved not to see Fang. Somehow, he didn't want the troublesome, surly mutate to know that any more of his clan was missing.

"Brooklyn?"

Startled, Brooklyn turned, and saw Maggie step out of the shadows towards him. "What are you doing here?" She sounded glad to see him, but surprised.

Looking at her delicate, cat-like face, Brooklyn felt oddly comforted. "We need your help."

Turning her head, Maggie glanced around the vast room. "Talon's not back yet. I'm on watch alone," she said hesitantly. She looked closely at Brooklyn's face, and added gently, but with a steady, calm note, "Tell me."

"Lexington is missing." He saw Maggie's eyes grow wide with concern, and winced inwardly. Perfect. What kind of a leader must she think I am? I can't even keep track of all the members of my clan.

"Hey, Brooklyn!" Talon called from down the tunnel, hurrying to join them. "You guys should come visit us more often," he said, the equivalent of a smile on his panther-like face. He reached out to grasp Brooklyn's wrist, and the gargoyle returned the warrior's handshake. Talon's voice held the same confident warmth that Brooklyn had become familiar with in Elisa's.

Talon put his arm comfortably about Maggie's shoulders, not in any gesture of possession, but as if it would be unnatural not to. "So what brings you to the Labyrinth?"

"Lexington never came back to the clock tower last night, and we haven't heard from him. We need Hudson to stay and watch the tower -- and that leaves only me and Broadway to search. And if someone took him by force..."

Talon's expression darkened. "Enough said." He released Maggie, turning to face her. "Stay here and keep watching the Labyrinth. If I'm not back in ten hours, you know what to do."

Maggie nodded calmly, but her face clearly showed the struggle not to show concern or fear. "Be careful," she said, resting her hands on Talon's shoulders.

Over the last months, Brooklyn had seen Maggie change in more ways than just her physical form. When he had first found her, she'd been a terrified girl from Ohio who had gotten tangled in a situation almost beyond her ability to handle; the terrifying transformation into a "monster" had nearly overwhelmed her. He'd almost convinced himself that he had given up any hope of making her feel anything more than friendship for him. Her face had brought it all back, and he found himself wishing that somehow.... But watching her, he realized that much of the change, the new confidence and courage, she owed to Talon. She drew strength from him, and he seemed to rely on her.

Brooklyn leapt down onto the tracks. Talon stepped down to join Brooklyn on the tracks, then reached up and grasped Maggie's paw briefly before letting it slip from his grasp.

All of a sudden, Brooklyn felt horribly alone.

-----
7:23 p.m.
The clock tower

Brooklyn and Talon glided down to land on the ledge outside the clock tower. Light glowed beyond the clock-face, casting a faint, shadowy illumination on the ledge. Brooklyn heard voices within, including Bluestone's. He reached out a paw and stopped Talon as he stepped towards the doorway.

"Hold on. Maybe you had better wait out here. Elisa's partner doesn't know about you. I don't want to complicate things."

Talon gave a wry, quiet laugh. "Yeah. Knowing Elisa, she'd probably rather tell Matt herself that her brother's a mutate."

Brooklyn went into the clock tower alone. Hudson and Broadway were sitting, but Matt Bluestone was pacing back and forth on the floor, still in his coat. He looked up sharply as Brooklyn came down the steps towards them.

"What is it?" he demanded, seeing something in their faces. They looked...unsettled, worried. Lexington -- ?

Bluestone made a calming motion with his hands. "I found out something that could be a lead. Some of the guys were talking about a strange report they heard about that came in to the New Jersey state police." Bluestone paused. "The driver of a delivery truck says he hit something that just glanced off his windshield and vanished. Something in the air. He didn't stick around to see what he'd hit, but he was babbling to the state police about wings and monsters."

"Then he's hurt!" Brooklyn turned towards the clock face, trying not to imagine where Lexington was now. Trying not to picture him lying in a roadside ditch, vulnerable to anyone who passed by --

"Brooklyn, wait!"

He turned, hearing an almost anguished note in the detective's voice. "There's more," Bluestone added quickly. "I think Lexington is okay. Three reports came in last night, all from the same precinct, around Columbia University. People complaining about a strange howling. It could be anything, I know, but from the way they described it..." the detective stared levelly at Brooklyn, expression determined. "It's worth looking into."

"What time did those calls come in?" Broadway asked.

Bluestone pulled out a small notebook and consulted it. "The New Jersey incident happened around midnight. Morningside Heights, oh, three, four a.m."

"That's three or four hours. Plenty of time to get from eastern New Jersey to Morningside Heights, in a car..."

"And what was the lad doin' in New Jersey?" Hudson said crossly, reaching up to stroke his white beard. "He told us he was going to someplace called South Street Seaport."

"But if that was Lexington..." Brooklyn looked at the others. The room had grown very quiet. "Someone picked him up and took him home."

"Like a little lost puppy," Bluestone added bitterly.

Broadway let out a short snarl, his eyes lighting up briefly. "Let's go find him." The two gargoyles started up the steps.

"Brooklyn..."

The gargoyle turned back again and looked down at the detective. He stood uncertainly next to Hudson, his hands hanging down at his sides. "I'm coming with you." His hands clenched and he looked up at Brooklyn as if daring the gargoyle to refuse.

Brooklyn realized, with an unexpected twinge of guilt, that he had underestimated Matt Bluestone...that maybe all three of them had. They were so used to it always being Elisa alone, and they hadn't known her partner very long, although Goliath seemed to trust him. I intend to see that the rest of you remain safe... Bluestone had pledged himself to them, as much as Elisa.

But what about Talon? Matt still didn't know anything about him, and it wasn't Brooklyn's secret to tell....

"Okay," Brooklyn said, abruptly coming to a decision. "But there's something you have to know first. There's going to be someone else with us, someone you don't know. He's a friend, and that's all we can tell you about him. He's on our side. You're going to have to trust me on this and not ask any questions we can't answer." He paused. "Okay?"

Matt hesitated, then nodded. "Got it. No questions asked."

Brooklyn let out a breath of relief. "Thanks...Matt."

-----
7:35 p.m.
Somewhere over Manhattan

Broadway was worried.

He glided over Central Park with Brooklyn, the lights of the city surrounding the dark green rectangle. Below them Elisa's red car wound along the transverse, and Broadway felt comforted knowing Matt was there. He had complete confidence in Brooklyn, but the other gargoyle had been quiet and moody since they had glided off the clock tower with Talon. Brooklyn had sent the mutate on ahead to scout out the area.

Morningside Heights wasn't so big. Surely they could find Lexington within the next hour or so. Broadway didn't know what he would do if they couldn't. First Goliath and Elisa and Bronx had vanished without a trace one night, and now Lexington.

"We have to find him," Brooklyn blurted beside him, as if reading Broadway's thoughts. "We have to."

"Well...we're going to," said Broadway.

"Yeah, but what if we don't?" Brooklyn snapped.

Broadway glanced over at Brooklyn's beaked face. He was staring ahead into the wind as they rushed over the spindly branches of the fall trees.

"If Goliath had been here, this never would have happened," Brooklyn said, not meeting Broadway's eyes. "If I had been as good a leader as he was, as smart and wise as he was, Lexington would be safe right now."

"Whaddya mean, 'was'?" Broadway demanded, following Brooklyn as he dipped down on a current of wind. "You talk like he's never coming back!"

The moment the words left his mouth, he wished he'd stayed silent. Never coming back.... When Goliath had announced his intention of choosing a second in command, Broadway had at first been excited at the possibility of being in charge. Later, however, he was glad to have someone else to depend on. Particularly now, when he felt so scared. And he 'd been able to shove his fear away until now, because he had been certain Brooklyn would find a way to bring Lexington home safely. But now Brooklyn was telling him he didn't know what to do.... Broadway felt a stir of panic.

"And what if he never does come back?" Brooklyn said quietly. "He had confidence in me. I should be able to hold our clan together...and I can't." His head hung low, defeated.

The edge of the park came up below them, and the trees gave way to concrete lit by streetlights. Broadway groped for the words to make Brooklyn feel better.

"Look, Brooklyn -- we've been through some pretty bad stuff, even when Goliath was here. But we always came out okay. And that wasn't just Goliath, that was all of us, working together. I miss him too...but I believe in you. And so does Goliath. He'd be proud of you. I-I mean he will be. When he gets back."

The lines of Brooklyn's face relaxed, and his expression lightened. He looked over at Broadway as they glided over an apartment building, the dim shape of their shadows sliding along the roof, cast by a small exterior floodlight.

Ahead of them rose the half-finished tower of a cathedral, and beyond that two walled-in grounds that faced each other across the avenue that had given Broadway his name. He had only recently learned how to read, and had very little idea what went on in the two institutions.

"Keep a close watch," Brooklyn said, low. "He's got to be around here somewhere...."

-----
7:40 p.m.
Roof of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine (110th Street)

Lexington woke with a start. He was perched at a soaring height, next to a stone statue. For a confused second he wondered how he had gotten back to the clock tower balcony.

Then he remembered.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep like that. The night seemed windier, colder, and some of the apartment buildings were completely dark. Alarmed, Lexington noticed that the stars had shifted position.

The stars.

Lexington gazed up at them for a long moment. Stars. Each one a sun, maybe with planets like this one, not just remote little specks of light. He'd seen movies and TV shows where characters flew around in spaceships and visited different worlds, but he'd always thought those were just stories...Lexington suddenly realized there were plenty of people who believed that gargoyles were just a story. He'd have to hunt up a few books on astronomy when he got home. Broadway and Brooklyn would never believe it...

Lexington decided to head for the small, cliff-edged park. Over the open space he might be able to catch a strong current of wind that could carry him well towards the middle of Central Park, halfway home. He flexed his wings and claws. Some of the strange exhaustion had gone; not all of it, but he felt sure he wouldn't have to stop again.

The young gargoyle tensed his muscles and leapt from the ledge, soaring out from the stone angels and over the battlements, heading for the park.

-----
7:41 p.m.
110th Street

They had been searching for over an hour now, down to 96th street and back up again, keeping their eyes on the sky, running up one street and down another. Jeremy had followed closely on Christopher's heels. If he could be there if Christopher caught up with Lexington, he could help him get away again. Jeremy wasn't quite sure how he would do that. Christopher was not only taller and heavier than Jeremy, but he was Jeremy's friend. What are you going to do, knock him out?

At a brisk walk, they reached the corner of Broadway and 110th Street. This early in the evening, the streets were still crowded, and they had to step out of the main flow of pedestrians as Christopher stopped. Jeremy gratefully leaned with one hand against a thin tree growing out of its square of dirt in the sidewalk, trying to catch his breath.

Facing back up Broadway towards the two college campuses, Jeremy suddenly jerked upright, then pushed up his glasses. Lexington?

Over the tower of the Barnard dorm was a shadowy, winged shape. But it seemed the wrong size and build to be Lexington. As Jeremy watched, two more approached the tower, and all three settled on its roof. Lexington had mentioned "others." If he could get their attention, speak to them, maybe they could help...

Behind Jeremy, Christopher was moving on again, walking down 110th street toward the cathedral. Jeremy hesitated, then jogged after Christopher. He had to be there when Christopher found Lexington.

They stopped where the street began to slope sharply downward, standing on the sidewalk outside the grounds of the cathedral. Dead leaves stirred in the wind. A chain-link fence separated the ivy and tree covered grounds from the sidewalk. The cathedral loomed towards the sky, imposing even without completed towers.

Jeremy heard Christopher let out an exclamation under his breath. He looked up, and saw a small, winged form gliding from the cathedral roof.

Christopher started to run down the uneven, sloping sidewalk, following the winged shape, which seemed to be headed towards Morningside Park.

Lexington had reached the park and was dipping low over the open grassy area by the baseball diamond as Christopher reached the south-west entrance and went down the stone steps, taking them three at a time.

Jeremy hesitated at the top of the stairs, the unsavory reputation of Morningside Park passing through the back of his mind. This area was barely safe during the day. To run headlong into that, alone --

But if he didn't, Christopher would --

Jeremy muttered something vile under his breath and pounded down the steps after his friend, trying to watch his footing and keep an eye on Lexington at the same time. Then they were running across the grass, and Christopher was pulling the tranquilizer gun out from under his sweater. A few street lamps cast a dim light over the grassy field, and Jeremy saw Lexington's shadow ripple along the grass, then Christopher aiming at the sky, squinting to see better in the dimness.

"NO!" Jeremy launched himself at his friend, flinging his arms around Christopher's legs and knocking him to the ground, just as Christopher pulled the trigger.

-----
7:42 p.m.
Sulzberger Tower, Barnard College campus (116th Street)

A narrow, modern red brick tower rose before the two gargoyles, the flags rising from its flat roof fluttering in the wind, as they pulled up sharply to avoid passing the lit windows. It was dark enough that they probably wouldn't be seen, but still, no sense in taking chances.

Then a winged form swooped around the tower towards Broadway and Brooklyn. Talon. And he was vehemently gesturing them to land. Broadway started to call out to him, but Talon shook his head sharply and raised one claw to his mouth in a silencing gesture.

He settled onto the edge of the tower roof, just above the luminous circle of a clock, and they glided down to join him. There was a coiled-spring tenseness in Talon's voice as he whispered what he had not dared shout aloud:

"I think I've found him."

-----
In the lounge of the sixteenth floor of Sulzberger Tower, one of the two students who had been studying at a table glanced up suddenly at the dark windows which reflected the room.

"Did you see something?" she asked uncertainly.

The other young woman looked up from her copy of Macbeth. "What?"

"Outside the window. I thought I just saw..." She noticed her friend eyeing her strangely, and shook her head. Time to cut down on the caffeine, Laura, she told herself. "Never mind."

-----
7:42 p.m.
110th Street and Riverside Drive

Matt cursed, leaning against the front hood of Elisa's car as he watched the patch of night sky over the apartment buildings edging the street. He hadn't considered how much faster Brooklyn and Broadway could get uptown, as the gargoyle flies. Matt had to stick to one-way street rules, and traffic lights, and roads. He might as well be dogging a helicopter.

Doubtfully, he looked around the quiet street. He could actually get around faster on foot at this point, but he didn't like to think about Elisa's classic car, her pride and joy, stripped and standing up on cinderblocks. A nice, residential street this might be...but Matt had been on the NYPD long enough to know that never stopped a car thief, and New Yorkers had a tendency to completely ignore those ridiculously ineffective car alarms.

Matt stood up straight and put a hand under his coat to check his gun. The last thing Elisa would worry about in this situation was her car.

With his eyes on the rooftops, Matt walked rapidly up the street towards Broadway.

-----
7:43 p.m.
Morningside Park

They toppled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. A fallen branch jabbed painfully into Christopher's ribs, and his face hit the dirt, hard.

And at the same moment, a chilling howl of pain and rage rang out over the park, and there was the crack of broken branches as the gargoyle tumbled out of the sky, crashing through the treetops and striking the ground some half-dozen yards away. Broken twigs fell in a shower around it.

Jeremy was on his feet, his hands clenched into fists. "Damn you," he got out, his voice shaking with anger. "You didn't have to shoot him -- he was fine, you saw him, we could have let him go -- " He choked off whatever he'd been about to say next, swung around and started for the fallen gargoyle.

Christopher picked himself up, shaking brown pine needles out of his hair and dabbing at a forming bruise on his cheekbone. "Jeremy -- hey, Jeremy, wait...."

Jeremy didn't seem to hear; he dropped to one knee beside the unconscious creature and gently removed the twigs and leaves from its slack, unseeing face. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

The remorse and grief in his voice gave Christopher a pang of guilt. He reached out and rested his hand on Jeremy's shoulder. "Look, Jeremy, he'll be better off in the lab, really. We can find out what he eats, what his natural habitat is -- "

Jeremy shook off Christopher's hand angrily and got to his feet. "Yeah, and keep him in a cage under fluorescent lights eating food pellets? Chris, look at those wings! He belongs in the sky!"

Christopher found himself several paces back without having consciously moved. He raised his hands in a slow-down gesture. "Look, I understand how you feel. It's an amazing creature, isn't it? All the more reason why he's better off where I'm taking him. What were you planning to do? Keep him in your closet and feed him on Oreos?" Brushing past Jeremy, he headed for the fallen gargoyle.

Jeremy strode after him and caught his arm. "Chris, you can't do this -- "

Growing more irritated by the second, Christopher jerked his arm out of Jeremy's grasp, a little more roughly than he'd intended. "Don't call me Chris," he said coldly, and tried to move around the other boy.

Jeremy stepped into his path again.

"Jeremy, cut it out. This is ridiculous."

Jeremy pushed his glasses up with one finger, distractedly. "You don't understand," he said. "You heard him talk. He's a person, not some kind of lab animal -- he's, he's incredibly intelligent, at least as smart as we are. He can read, he understands computers! And you want to cut him up just to see what's inside?"

Christopher let out a short laugh. "I'm not going to cut him up, Jeremy."

"Leave him alone, Chris." There was something in Jeremy's voice, a note he had never heard before.

"Jeremy, get out of the way." He tried to move Jeremy aside, but Jeremy suddenly squared off to face him, his fists clenched. He took a deep breath and looked right into Christopher's eyes.

"No, Christopher."

Now what? Jeremy had never looked so...determined. Of course, he was a full head taller than Jeremy, a few pounds heavier; he could just force Jeremy out of the way. But he knew he'd never be able to do that.

As Christopher hesitated, trying to figure out how to convince his roommate, a winged shadow passed over the trees, falling over them. Jeremy looked up and his jaw dropped; he stared upward for a moment, looking awed, dazed -- and delighted.

Christopher looked up and nearly screamed.

The first creature landed, a rusty-colored winged thing taller than a man, with horns growing out of its head. Its eyes blazed, just like the eyes of the other one had earlier. With him was another, similar creature, heavier and stouter, its skin a pale blue color. Christopher stumbled back in horror, hidden in the shadows of the trees.

A third figure landed, one which Christopher couldn't quite figure out. It seemed to be built like the others, with wings and claws, but instead of horns it had a feral jungle-cat face, and dark fur covered its body instead of the smooth skin the others had. While the first two had coverings of brown or tan material hanging from belts at their waists, similar to what the one in the cage was wearing, the third was in some sort of green and blue body suit with gold wrist-guards.

Animals don't wear clothing!

He shook his head sharply, dismissing the irrelevant thought. He'd been right before, there were more than one of these creatures, and it'd give him a more accurate data sampling if he could just get the other three back to the lab as well....

Pressing back against the rough bark of the concealing tree, Christopher pulled out the tranquilizer gun and fed in another dart.

-----
As Brooklyn landed in the clearing, just ahead of Broadway and Talon, Jeremy stared at them in awe, his eyes shining. It was a reaction so vastly different from the usual reactions of terror or mistrust more typical in humans that for a moment Brooklyn thought they must have made a mistake, that this human could never have tried to take Lexington from them....

"Incredible," Jeremy breathed, taking half a step toward the gargoyles.

Then Brooklyn saw Lexington, lying at the foot of a tree with his eyes closed, limp and unmoving -- and fury swept through him, blurring his vision.

Broadway leaped over to crouch next to their small rookery brother and lifted him gently. Lexington slumped against Broadway's supporting arms.

"Lex?" There was a thousand years' worth of concern and anxiety in Broadway's voice.

Looking down at the two of them, Brooklyn felt his throat tighten with an aching, horrible fear. Suddenly he was back in that terrible night last winter, when he and the others had stood on the snow-covered bridge and watched Goliath vanish under the icy waters of the East River, believing he was gone for good. And now he might well be --

"Is he...?" Brooklyn could hardly breathe as Broadway looked up at him.

"He's still alive," Broadway said, a current of anger coming into his voice, "but he's been drugged."

Relief, followed by renewed fury, flooded Brooklyn. His hand shot out, grabbed Jeremy by the front of his sweater, and heaved him off the ground, slamming him up against the nearest tree. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!"

"N-nothing! I, I didn't -- "

Through a red haze of rage, Brooklyn saw the look of real terror that crept into the sandy-haired human's eyes for the first time, his glasses knocked askew. For a moment, he hesitated; then the image of Lex lying unconscious on the ground surfaced in his mind, and he drew back his other arm to strike. The human flinched visibly, but seemed unable or unwilling to look away --

"No!" a voice shouted, behind him.

Brooklyn turned and saw a taller, dark-haired young human step forward out of the trees, a gun in his hand. "Drop him! Now!" he yelled.

His eyes never leaving the taller human, Broadway carefully set Lexington down, leaning against the tangled roots, and came to stand next to Brooklyn, his fists clenched and ready.

Brooklyn took in the gun clutched in the man's hand, and his lip curled in a silent snarl as he let go of the other human, who sagged against the tree, breathing hard. He recognized the weapon, and it wasn't an ordinary gun. This kind didn't shoot bullets or energy blasts. It shot tranquilizer darts.

"You did this to him," said Brooklyn in a low growl. So it wasn't the wide-eyed, eager-faced kid who had drugged Lexington after all. Somewhere deep inside, Brooklyn was glad, even as he advanced on the taller one, who gasped sharply and stepped back, aiming the gun.

"Brooklyn!" shouted Broadway in warning, tensing to spring.

Before anyone could move, Talon calmly stepped in, pried the gun out of the young man's hand, crumpled it, and tossed it aside wordlessly. The man gaped for a moment, then turned to run. Broadway, his eyes igniting, blocked his path, raising a fist. The human whipped around again, frantically seeking a way out. He backed away, tripped over a fallen branch and fell heavily.

The three figures converged on him, their shadows falling across his face as he scrambled backwards in rising panic, pushing himself away with hands and feet.

"Wait!"

They turned, to see Jeremy running towards them.

"Please," he gasped, coming to a halt. "Don't hurt him. He didn't mean to hurt Lexington, he wasn't going to do anything bad to him.... Christopher's a scientist," he said pleadingly. "He just wanted to find out more about him."

Christopher slowly got to his feet, his eyes never leaving the three. "It's true," he said. "I wouldn't have harmed it. Him. I just -- There's so much I wanted to know about him...run some tests, blood samples, DNA -- "

"Run a few experiments, maybe?" Talon cut him off. "Splice a couple of genes? See how you can improve the design?" He spat at Christopher's feet, turned to the two gargoyles. "He's no better than Sevarius."

"You know about Sevarius?" Christopher said, astonished.

Talon let out a short, bitter laugh that made Brooklyn wince. "I used to be like you, once. Human. Sevarius made me this way. You might say I was one of his failed... experiments." Talon swallowed; it surprised him just how hard it was to say the word. It stung, burned like acid in his throat. He could still hear Xanatos's voice -- not sneering, but calm and matter-of-fact; not gloating at his anguish, but dismissing it as irrelevant. He's the scientist. You're just the experiment.

"How do you know Sevarius?" Broadway was asking Christopher.

"I don't know him personally, but everyone in med knows who Sevarius is. My professors mentioned him.... He's insane. He was drummed out of the AMA for his unethical methods in lab work -- " He broke off, staring at Talon. "I'm not like him!" His voice was thick with revulsion. "I'd never, I...."

Talon just looked at him, his arms folded.

Compassion and pity came to Christopher's face, and his voice softened. "Is there a way to...to change you back?"

"Not yet," the mutate said quietly. "Maybe someday...."

Christopher glanced over at Lexington. "I am sorry," he said to Brooklyn. "I had no idea...I didn't realize that you used to be...."

"You still don't get it, do you?" Brooklyn shook his head in disgust. "We were never human. This is who we are. Who we've been for centuries." He gestured, at himself and at Broadway.

"What...what are you?" Christopher asked.

"For god's sake, Chris, does it really matter?" Jeremy snapped. "They're people."

Christopher looked into the eyes of the lanky, rust-colored creature. "I...guess you're right."

"We're called gargoyles," said Broadway over his shoulder as he turned away, "if you really have to know." He went over to where Lexington lay unconscious and crouched beside him. After a moment, Jeremy followed, and knelt on the other side of the small gargoyle.

Tentatively, looking at Broadway as if for permission, Jeremy reached out and touched Lexington's shoulder. Lex stirred slightly.

"Do you have a name, too?" Jeremy asked the blue gargoyle.

"I'm Broadway. And that's Brooklyn." He looked down at Lex for a moment, then back to Jeremy. "You?"

"Jeremy. Jeremy Lowell."

"You tried to help him, didn't you," said Broadway.

"I...I was going to let him go, once his wing was better...." Jeremy looked down at the wing and stared; it was whole, undamaged, just as Christopher had said. How on earth...?

Matt Bluestone's voice, calling Brooklyn's name, echoed from the street. He vaulted the low wall that separated the park from the street and ran towards them, his gun in his hand. "I lost you guys somewhere around one-tenth street," he said, breathing hard. "Everything okay?"

"Uh..." Brooklyn started.

Matt noticed Talon and his eyes widened. Then he spotted Lexington slumped at the foot of the tree. "Oh no," he whispered, stunned. He slowly lowered the gun, stepped over to them, and knelt.

"He's okay," Broadway said hastily, seeing the expression on Matt's face. "He'll wake up in a little while."

Matt got to his feet, controlled anger in his face. His eyes found the crumpled tranq gun, and tracked over to Christopher, who tensed. Pulling out his badge, Matt advanced on Christopher, his voice cold. "Possession of an illegal tranquilizer gun...yeah, that'll do nicely. That could get you some real time, kid."

He reached out to collar Christopher, but was stopped by Brooklyn's paw on his arm. "Let it go, Matt," he said quietly. "I think he understands now. Besides...how would you explain it?"

-----
The blinding glare of a white light shone in his face. A figure moved across the light, saying something.

Lexington squeezed his eyes shut, his heart pounding. A lab. I'm in a lab. Well, these lab technicians were about to get a whole lot more than they'd bargained for. He braced himself to spring, ready to run or fight for his life.

A hand touched his arm. With a snarl, he lashed out with his claws.

"Lex! Take it easy, Lex, it's me...."

It was Brooklyn's voice. Gradually, the bright glare dimmed to a tolerable level and resolved itself into the glow of a streetlight. The figure blurred, focused, and became Brooklyn, who was holding Lexington's wrists. Looking about, Lex saw Broadway's wide round face hovering over him, twisted into an expression of concern, then noticed that his own talons were still curled to strike. He relaxed them, and sat up groggily.

"What happened?"

"Christopher shot you with a tranq dart," said Jeremy's voice from behind him, sounding miserable. "Lex, I'm sorry, I should have -- "

"No," came Christopher's voice, low and steady. He took a step forward and laid a hand on Jeremy's shoulder. "Don't blame yourself, Jeremy. I'm the one who's sorry... Lexington."

The young gargoyle looked up at him for a long moment, then nodded. "It's okay," he said. "I guess."

Brooklyn held out a hand to help Lexington up. In an undertone he asked, "You okay, Lex?"

Lexington nodded. "I'll be all right. Just...one second."

Brooklyn watched as Lex went over to the younger human, who took a few steps forward to meet him and bent slightly, bringing himself to Lexington's eye level. "I guess this is goodbye," he heard the human saying.

"Thanks, Jeremy," Lexington said. "For...for everything."

"So, um..." Jeremy bit his lower lip. "Will I see you again?"

Lexington glanced up at Brooklyn, who hesitated a fraction, then nodded. "Yeah," the young gargoyle said. "I'd like that."

Jeremy's face lit up with a wide smile. "Great! Drop by the apartment any night, I'm usually up pretty late. Or come to the roof of the Astronomy building sometime, I'll show you Jupiter's moons through the telescope...."

Lexington's grin mirrored the young human's.

Talon started up the low wall that bordered the park first, followed by Broadway, then Lexington, with Brooklyn bringing up the rear. As the three humans craned their necks to watch the four shapes on the top of the wall, the winged creatures leapt into the air, catching the night wind.

And faintly, on that wind, they could hear Broadway's voice: "Hey, Lex? What's a telescope?"