***
Consequences: Hill and Home
a Gargoyles story
by Melissa "Merlin Missy" Wilson
mrwilson@umr.edu
missy@darklair.com
Copyright 1997
PG-13
***

Second verse, same as the first: Disney and Buena Vista own all the
characters and situations.  No infringement on their copyright is
intended or should be inferred.  Henry FitzMartin is the property
of Tara O'Shea and is used by permission.  The excerpt in the
second section is from _The Last Unicorn_, by Peter S. Beagle,
Copyright 1996, and is used without permission but with the best of
intentions.

***

     Early afternoon sunlight filtered into the library, catching
on dust motes, turning them briefly into pixie sparkles, then
setting them back into gloom.  The gargoyles were sound asleep,
Alex was down for a nap, David was on the 39th floor conferring
with a new junior V.P..  Fox had time to lose herself within the
pages of an ancient book or two, making notes as needed, continuing
her research on her mother's kind.  Her kind.  Whatever.  Her
former history teachers would no doubt be horrified at her choice
of topics, but to her knowledge none of them had recently
discovered themselves to be children of the Fairy Queen.
     She'd been drawn this time into a volume of Shelley's which
had been published when the man was less than forty years in his
grave.  His spirit came alive for her, taking her with him as they
travelled in Queen Mab's enchanted chaise:

                         "Awhile thou stoodst
          Baffled and gloomy; then thou didst sum up
          The elements of all that thou didst know;
          The changing seasons, winter's leafless reign,
          The budding of the heaven-breathing trees,
          The eternal orbs that beautify the night,
          The sun-rise and the setting of the moon,
          Earthquakes and wars, and poisons and disease,
          And all their causes, to an abstract point,
          Converging, thou didst bend, and called it GOD ... "

     "Here is the information you requested."  Owen's voice jerked
her out of the semi-trance she'd been in as she'd read.  Quickly,
she closed the book of poetry, hoped it would cover the title of
the tome beneath it.  A distinctive Celtic knot pattern continued
to glare up accusingly at them both.
     She took the proffered file, glanced at the name on the tab in
his impossibly precise handwriting.  "Sloane?"
     "Victoria Sloane, nee Phillips, nee Fraser.  Their mother."
     "What about their father?"  She flipped through the thin set
of papers.  There were photocopies of a drivers' license, a tax
return, a marriage license.  She didn't want to know how he'd
obtained them.
     "He left in 1972.  I haven't been able to locate him."
     "Keep trying.  We need to find whatever we can on these
people."
     "I don't see why you're bothering."
     She looked up from the file.  "What?"
     "I fail to see how tracking down Hyena's family is of any
importance other than to waste my time."
     She blinked at him, wondering for a moment if somehow, Vogel
had killed Owen, bleached his own hair and secretly taken his
place.  That had been the plot, so to speak, of her first movie, a
made-for-USA flop.  She'd played the best friend of the woman who'd
been married to the dead man, and she'd spoken precisely three
lines before getting blown away by his double.  The entire scene
had ended up on the cutting room floor to make room for
commercials.  She'd gotten a new agent after that one.
     Nah.  Vogel didn't have enough imagination.  Owen was simply
in a bad mood.  Again.
     "Would you prefer we handed the baby over to Jackal?"
     "I would prefer we didn't get involved in this.  May I remind
you that you have your own child with whom to concern yourself?  We
need to focus upon his education, lest he level the city when he
reaches kindergarten!"
     "That's your responsibility.  I have others, including finding
a place for this kid when he's born.  It looks right now like our
best option is his grandmother."
     "Why not?  She's probably the child's only one."
     "We don't know that, and until we do, we're not discussing it
around Mrs. Sloane or anyone else."
     He muttered something almost inaudibly.  She heard
"Pointless."
     She drew in a breath, then said in a low, clear voice, "Mr.
Burnett, if you are incapable of performing this task, I will find
someone else who can."
     He stood back as if slapped.  "I am perfectly capable of
fulfilling your request," he said, more subdued.
     "Good.  I'll have Harvey take me to meet Mrs. Sloane tomorrow
or Friday.  In the meantime, try to track down Mr. Phillips, at
least determine if he's still alive."
     "Fine," he said, and walked out.
     Fox watched him go, then turned back to the book below the
volume of poetry.  It was a collection, although by no means
complete, of myths and legends from the British Isles surrounding
the Fay.  Within, she'd found her first reference of the Fairy
Court outside of Shakespeare and Jonson.  Many of the stories had
been retold and changed into gibberish.  Others contradicted
themselves horribly.  When she'd skimmed through everything she
knew to be patently false, and added in what she'd been able to
gather of the truth, she'd been left with a surprisingly large
chunk of information.  She had come to a clearer understanding of
just who and what her mother was, the same for her stepfather.  The
rest of the Children were more difficult to categorize, being not
only tricksters, but nurturers, healers, guides, gods.  Her sources
couldn't decide if they were good, evil, or beyond such paltry
human terms, and the more she read, the more confused she became on
what it meant to be fay, or to have been only to lose one's gifts
and be bound to a mortal's little existence.
     She feared it might be enough to drive one mad.

***

          "'"But what if it prove that I am no harper?
          That I lied for your love most monstrously?"
          "Why then I'll teach you to play and to sing,
          For I dearly love a good harp," said she.'"

     Broadway looked up from the book and grinned at her.  Angela
could not prevent her smile in return, although he was no doubt
unaware that she smiled more for the checkered apron around his
waist and his hand stirring the pot of jambalaya than for the poem
itself.
     She applauded.  "I like it."
     "I thought you might have."
     "My favorite part was the line about it not being such a bad
thing to have loved a unicorn."
     "Mine too."
     He continued stirring the pot, as they fell into silence.  His
words still gleamed among the pots and pans, having been caught
there while he spoke them.  Angela was half-certain that, should
she open a drawer, she would hear Molly's voice, crying for Maid
Marian.
     She shook the illusion from herself.
     She had grown up in the fairy land, in the palace of Oberon
himself, but the magic of that place had been more a low, easy
murmur, like the sound of the tides washing up at the beach.  This
castle was not at all enchanted, yet it seemed to discharge energy
like lightning.  Perhaps it was due to the raw power of the child
sleeping in the nursery, and of his tutor, currently hiding in his
mortal shell behind a terminal, doing heavens only knew what for
their host.  Perhaps it was simply that Wyvern was the place she'd
always associated in her mind with fairy tales, and stories of old
times, told by firelight in three beloved voices.  It breathed a
magic of its own, even when the real sorcery had been stilled after
the evening's lessons.
     Was it magic, then, that she felt as she watched him continue
to stir the pot, or just another shade of friendship, made more
glittery by the chimeras in her imagination?  And did it matter?
     "Broadway?"
     "Yeah?" he asked very quickly.  His eyes were wide, like a
hatchling's, as if he'd heard, or thought he'd heard, another
question in her tone.
     "You like mysteries."
     "Yeah."  His gaze had returned to the jambalaya and
disappointment filled his voice.
     "I think I have a mystery on my hands, and I'd like your help.
If you're interested."
     "Um, sure.  What is it?"
     She had his attention.  Now, what to do with it?  She sat on
one of the fine wooden stools and placed her feet on the rungs, so
that her knees provided a convenient rest for her elbows.  She
watched him watch her position herself, and smiled inwardly.  Boys.
     "I'm not entirely sure.  Whenever I start talking about
Avalon, Owen gets really ... weird."
     "Owen's always weird.  I wouldn't worry about it."
     "Weirder than usual."
     Broadway put on his thinker's face.  "Well, he's from there.
Maybe it's like when we talked about the castle while we lived at
the clocktower.  It's fun to remember, but it hurts, too."
     "Maybe."  She shook her head.  "There's more.  It's not just
when I talk about Avalon.  There's something about my parents," she
corrected herself, "our *other* parents, the Guardian and Princess
Katharine and the Magus.  I'm not sure what."
     "Why don't you just ask him?"  She sighed.
     "I can't."
     "Then ... "  He stopped, as if spending a very quick moment in
internal debate.  "What do you want to do about it?"
     What *did* she want to do?  "I want ...  I'd like it if you
would help me observe him, see if you notice the same things I did.
Maybe I'm just crazy."
     "You're not," he said earnestly, and she couldn't help but
smile.
     "Thanks."
     He looked down at the pot once more, a slight flush to his
bluish face.  She observed him, not with the detachment she'd
fostered in herself towards all three of the boys, but with a
fondness she could not quite express.  He was a dear.  No, he
wasn't Gabriel, but then, no one was, and Gabriel was very far away
from her now.
     "So," she said, dismissing Owen from her mind for the time
being, "what would you like to read next?"

***

     Usually, going for a moonlight stroll in Central Park was
enough to get one tossed into the psychiatric ward for a suicide
watch.  When one was taking that stroll hand in claw with a
gargoyle, with this new group calling themselves Quarrymen about,
it wasn't suicide, but it probably *was* asking for trouble.  On
the other hand, they needed to talk, preferably on neutral
territory.  The castle was his domain, the apartment hers, but the
Park belonged to them both, and in many ways, it belonged to them
together.
     A week had passed since Maggie's parents had returned without
her to Ohio.  She'd seen Maggie once in the intervening days, and
while there had been a sadness about her, at the same time, there
had been a new kind of strength which Elisa had never before
observed in her.  She wasn't going to spend her time worrying about
what her father might say or do concerning the rest of her life;
she had other things with which to occupy herself.  The clones
still needed her.  The child she carried would need her strength
very badly in the coming months.  Elisa remembered a little from
her high school biology classes, and thought she recalled something
about all the eggs in a human female's body being produced by the
age of two.  Therefore, the baby would be human.  Probably.
     Babies had been on her mind a bit lately.  She *did* remember
enough of that class to be relatively certain that the course of
action she was now contemplating would not result in a cute,
squirming little accident.
     She looked up at her companion, trying to read in the angle of
his neck, the tilt of his mouth, if he'd had the same thoughts.
     "Goliath ... " she started.
     "Elisa ... " he said at the same time.  He stopped, and looked
down at her sheepishly.  "Go on."
     "No, you say what you were going to say."
     "After you."
     She noticed the flicker of a lightning bug in the path before
them.  Moments later, it was answered from just beyond a park
bench.  Mating, she thought.  It had to be easier to be a bug, she
thought.  He flickers, and if he has a cute light, you respond.  A
few minutes later, you eat him.  Or maybe that was for praying
mantises.
     "I've been thinking," she started.
     There was a shout from a short distance away.  Goliath pulled
her off the path into shadow, and they remained there for a few
moments, listening.  There were voices, but they didn't sound like
Quarrymen voices.  In fact, they sounded like they needed help.
     With a nod of agreement, Elisa moved through the bushes
towards the noise, while Goliath climbed a tree to get height for
liftoff.  As she pushed aside some foliage, she saw an annoyingly
commonplace sight: three punks were surrounding another couple
who'd been walking through the park.  An older couple.  Who looked
awfully familiar.
     She groaned inwardly, and asked no one at all what on earth
the Guardian and Princess Katharine were doing in the middle of the
night in Central Park.  One of the punks had a knife.  Tom had a
sword.  Despite the fact that she *knew* the Guardian had never
seen a movie in his life, she immediately wondered if he'd pulled
a Crocodile Dundee.
     She stepped out of the bushes.  "Don't you boys have anything
better to do?"  She saw sudden recognition, intertwined with trust,
on Katharine's face and mirrored in Tom's.
     The punk with the knife smiled at her.  "Now that you're here
we do."
     One of his pals looked at her more uncertainly.  His eyes
widened in recognition, and he backpedaled away from her.  "Oh no!
Not you!"
     "What's into you, man?"
     "She's that cop.  The one with the gargoyles."
     Now two of the three punks looked wary.  At some unseen
signal, they both turned and ran like hell-for-leather.  A rush of
air beating through wings, a thump of a landing, and they found
themselves face to face with Goliath, eyes blazing like twin suns.
Switchblade made the unfortunate mistake of taking his eyes off the
couple.
     Two seconds later, he was on the ground with a sword pressed
against his throat.  "Give me one good reason not to run you
through, sirrah!"
     Switchblade made a peeping noise and passed out.
     His friends made a crack when Goliath knocked their heads
together.
     Looking over the scene, Elisa said, "With you guys around, I
could retire early."
     "But then who would call them in?" asked Goliath, and it took
her a moment to realize he'd made a joke.
     "Thank you for coming to our aid," said Katharine, as she
stepped nimbly over Switchblade to embrace Elisa.
     "I coulda handled these ruffians," said Tom, sheathing his
sword.
     She patted him lightly on the shoulder.  "I know you could
have, Love, but havin' friends to help is always a blessing."
     Goliath dumped the other two hooligans beside the first, then
sketched a bow.  "The honor is to serve.  May I ask what brings you
to New York?  We thought the gates of Avalon were closed."
     "Nay," said Tom.  "Oberon's Children must stay there, for
certain, and the Eggs, bein' His Most High Pompousness' Honor
Guard, are supposed to be on hand, too.  But we're neither fay nor
gargoyle.  Since the bairns no longer need us, we decided to go see
the World, perhaps drop in on our Angela."
     "Love, ye don't have to fib to Goliath or Elisa.  They're
family."  She turned to Elisa.  "We left because I wouldna stay in
the same room as those three murderin' witches!"
     So that was it.  In Katharine's mind, the Three Sisters were
solely responsible for the Magus' death.  That it might have been
a gentler form of suicide would never cross her thoughts.  Or
anyone else's, she added as she saw Goliath's understanding nod.
     "We have had other dealings with the Weird Sisters.  They are
*not* welcome among us.  You are."
     "It is good to see you again," said Katharine, and surprised
them all by taking Goliath's hand.
     "How did you get here?" Elisa asked.
     "Our skiff is moored in the lake yonder."  Elisa shuddered.
If she never saw another skiff again ...
     "If you are going to be staying, you may wish to send it back
to Avalon."  Staying.
     "Umm ... Goliath, as much as I hate to bring this up, we're
going to have to ask Xanatos first.  It *is* his castle now."
     Katharine looked up.  "Castle?"
     They didn't know.  Oh, they knew about the spell, and the
terms of it, but it probably hadn't hit them what Goliath's
awakening had meant until just now.
     "Ah ... " said Tom, uncertainly.  "Perhaps we should wait here
until ye've talked to your friend."
     Katharine ignored him.  "Wyvern?  It's near?"  Her eyes were
wide.  Elisa saw the girl she must have been a thousand years
before, as she said softly, "Home."
     Tom shot Elisa a warning glance.  Something wasn't kosher.
"My love ... "
     "Thomas, we're going to see my castle."
     "Yes, Love."
     Elisa glanced at Goliath.  If he'd seen the alarm on Tom's
face, he wasn't acknowledging it.  "Come, friends.  I can't carry
all of you, but I think we can make our way there without much
difficulty."
     As Katharine still had his hand, he gallantly led her in the
direction of the rock outcropping he typically used for altitude in
the park.  He could fly them to Elisa's apartment, and she could
drive them.
     She fell into step with Tom a pace behind the others.
     "What?" she asked quietly, as Goliath pointed a set of statues
out to the princess.
     "I do no' think taking her to the castle is a good idea."
     "Why not?"
     He watched his lady for several paces before he said in a low
voice, "She's not herself."  He wouldn't elaborate, forcing Elisa
to speculate in silence.
     Not herself?  Not herself as in how?
     Katharine laughed at something before them, and Goliath joined
her.
     Great.

***

     The car pulled to a stop in front of the building.  Katharine
looked up, and up and up.
     "On top of this, you say?"
     "Above the clouds," she responded.  Too bad those clouds were
covering it now.  The castle was admittedly a glorious sight on a
clear evening.
     She pulled into her parking spot and killed the engine.  She
hoped Goliath had already reached home.  This was not going to be
easy without him there.  Tom was growing antsy, watching his wife
with great concern.
     "Let's go."
     The elevator was a new experience for them.  Only her careful
assurances that this was normal kept Tom from attacking the wall.
Katharine kept her eyes open, but said nothing on the trip to the
top.
     The door slid open, depositing them just outside the Great
Hall.  Elisa said gently, "Welcome home."
     Katharine put one foot in front of her, and then another, as
if each step caused her terrible pain.  She surveyed the room in
open wonder, saw the tapestries, the decorations.  Heaven only knew
what she thought of the electric lights in place of the torches.
     She placed her hand against her mouth, sank gently to her
knees on the flagstones.  Tom ran to her side.
     "Love ... "
     "I'm all right," she said, still taking in every detail.  "How
could I not be?  I'm home."
     Elisa saw Goliath at the opposite end of the room.  Xanatos
and Fox stood with him, watching.
     "Your Highness," said Goliath in a grave voice, "these are
David and Fox Xanatos.  They own the castle now."
     Katharine raised her head, wiped at her cheek with the back of
her hand.  Tom helped her to her feet, and remained holding her.
     "I'm sorry," she said quietly.  "I don't mean to be weeping on
your floor."
     The three crossed the room, Goliath hanging back.  Xanatos
bowed deeply before her.  "Your Highness, we had the honor of
meeting your parents.  You are welcome in our home as long as you'd
like to stay."
     Katharine looked confused.  "My parents?"
     "We'll explain later."  He glanced at his wife expectantly.
     Fox said nothing at first, merely watched Katharine with a
strange look in her eyes.  "You're here," she said softly.  "I
can't believe it.  You're actually here."
     Katharine's confusion grew.  So did Tom's obvious concern.
     "Have we met?"
     "No," said Fox, "but I'm glad we have now.  I've read
everything I could find about you.  Meeting you is like ... "  She
paused.  "I can't begin to describe it."
     This was ... interesting.  Elisa could really have cared less
about Fox's enthusiasm over meeting the princess, if it weren't for
the fact that Tom was obviously very troubled by it.  Something was
majorly amiss.  She was going to get to the bottom of whatever it
was.
     A shriek of joy from across the room turned into a flurry of
legs and wings, and Angela grabbed her foster parents in a bear
hug.  Well, maybe she'd find out later.  The rest of the gargoyles
were coming their way, albeit slower.  They would want to spend
time with the new houseguests.
     For half an instant, she wondered where Owen was, then forgot
his existence as Hudson bowed before Katharine, who pulled him from
the bow into a hug.
     They spent the better part of an hour in the antechamber to
the Great Hall, until Katharine's distracted glances around the
room signaled a tour was in order.  Xanatos and Fox gracefully
bowed out, Fox never taking her eyes off Katharine as they did, and
requested Angela show off the changes that had been wrought upon
the ancient stone.
     She did so happily.
     Elisa thought she should probably also disappear, but a touch
from Goliath to her shoulder indicated he would like her company as
Angela showed one refurbished room after another to her amazed
parents.  Tom, she recalled, had probably only been in the original
castle a day or two as the inhabitants readied themselves for the
trip to Kenneth's keep.
     Katharine was a different story, and as they walked the halls,
Elisa understood why she and Goliath were joining them: the
princess needed familiarity.
     She was quiet, deathly so, as they walked, though Tom's
incessant questions disguised the gap efficiently.  Only when he
paused for breath did Elisa even realize his lady hadn't spoken a
word since they'd left the Great Hall, instead looking around her
in mute wonder with his hand at her arm guiding her.
     They walked through the bedroom suite, where Xanatos had
offered Elisa a room if she chose to spend the day some time.  She
hadn't yet taken him up on it.
     Katharine stopped in front of a closed door, placed her hand
against it.  "This was my room when I was a girl," she said, her
voice very small.
     Angela smiled.  "Why don't you go in?"
     Tom's concern turned to blatant alarm.  "Love, perhaps ... "
     Katharine turned the latch and pushed the door open.  She
stepped out of his touch and into the room.
     The room had been re-done in heavy shades of blue, elaborate
but tasteful.  Elisa couldn't say for certain whether Katharine
even noticed, as she walked through the room to the glass-doored
balcony.  That had to be new, she thought.
     She turned around.  "Thank you, Captain, that will be all."
     Captain?
     Tom stepped into the room, and gingerly took her hand.
"Katharine ... "
     She pulled her hand away quickly.  "Captain, do no' test ma
patience.  Now go."  Her brogue had deepened, almost to the point
of incomprehensibility.  A stray wonder crossed her mind: how in
the world had three people with Scottish accents raised thirty-six
children without them?  That was a thought for another time,
*after* they dealt with this one.
     Tom inclined his head.  "If ye'll need anything, summon me."
     "Of course."  He walked out of the room, and to the shock of
the rest, closed the door.
     "Guardian?"  Angela was visibly frightened.
     "Don't concern yourself," he reassured her.  "She's just a bit
put out by all this."  Elisa may not have been raised by the man,
but she could tell he was lying through his teeth.
     "Will she be all right?"
     "Certainly.  In a few minutes, I'll go in and check on her."
     "In the meantime," said Elisa, "Angela, will you please wait
here in case she comes out?"  Angela nodded, mystified.
     Elisa tugged at Tom's arm.  Goliath followed them back towards
the Great Hall.  When they were out of Angela's earshot, Elisa
stopped.
     "How long has she been like this?"
     "Like what?"  His eyes darted from her to Goliath and back.
     "Thinking you're someone you're not, talking to people who've
been dead for a thousand years."
     "It's not bad.  She's just a bit confused."
     "That's not confusion, Guardian."  Why wasn't Goliath helping
her with this, instead of looking at her in confusion of his own?
     "She'll be better in a few minutes."
     "She doesn't know who you are."
     "What of it?!"  His voice was quiet but fierce.  "What if she
canna remember my name?  We're neither of us very young anymore.
Of course we forget things."
     Then he looked down, caught his breath.  "My apologies.  She
and I have been together too long.  We start sounding alike after
a while."  He explained, "She gets angry when she doesn't remember
things, too.  But she'll be all right in a little while.  She
always is."
     "Perhaps you should check in on her," suggested Goliath, and
Tom nodded.
     "Perhaps I should."  He walked back towards the room, but
Goliath prevented Elisa from following.
     "Goliath, you've got to see she's not okay."
     "She will be fine," he said, and she stared at him.
     "Goliath ... "
     "And if she is not, we will keep an eye on her."  She saw
understanding in his eyes.  He wasn't blind to it, then, nor would
he immediately accept her diagnosis without further observation.
     "All right," she replied.  "Let's see if they need anything
else."
     Together, they walked back to the room, where Katharine was
already in the hallway, holding Tom's hand.

***

     "Maybe we ought to see if they need anything."  Fox pulled
away from him, and headed towards the door.
     "If they do, I'm sure they'll ask.  Or one of the clan will
get whatever they require."  He watched as several expressions
warred on his wife's face, then settled into dissatisfaction as she
reluctantly came back to where he sat.
     "It's just ...  She's really here."
     "Yes," he said slowly, meanwhile trying to remember what
they'd been discussing before the arrival of their new guests.  Oh
yes, she'd been telling him about the final casting call for a
sitcom being developed for the network launch in January.  "You
were telling me about deLancie's argument with your friend Skip."
     She didn't hear him.  "This is too incredible.  She's here.
In our home."
     "Fox."
     "Yes, David?"  Her eyes were on him, but her thoughts were
visibly far away, or perhaps just a few floors from them.
     "Would you like to spend some time with Katharine?"
     "I wouldn't ...  I can't ...  I wouldn't have any idea what to
say to her."  There was something on her face, in her eyes, a kind
of distraction.  He felt her slipping from him and had no idea why
or how, only knew that she had a sense about her of time misplaced.
     He heard a rap on the doorframe, turned to see Owen standing
there, and felt peculiarly happy to see him.  At least someone in
his world was sane tonight.
     "I've made arrangements for your departure tomorrow morning,
Madame."
     "Cancel the arrangements.  I'm staying in town until further
notice."  Her expression had become firm, decisive.  For no reason,
David regretted his suggestion.
     "The Sloanes are expecting you," said Owen, visibly annoyed.
     "Tell them I can't come.  We have houseguests."
     He frowned.  "I was not aware of anyone's impending arrival."
     David said, "They weren't expected.  Angela's other parents
have dropped by for a visit."
     Owen's eyes went wide as saucers behind his glasses.  "Excuse
me?"  This was intriguing.
     "Princess Katharine and the Guardian.  They're going to be
staying with us for a while."
     "Here?"  Then he looked confused, yet another expression he'd
never worn in public.  "Just the two of them?"
     "Yes and yes.  Owen, is there a ... "  Owen was gone.  He
hadn't vanished; he'd simply walked very briskly away.  David shook
his head, and turned back to his wife.  She still wore her own odd
aspect, lost in thought about, presumably, their new guests.
     Everyone was, it seemed.

***

     He didn't run.  Running would have been unseemly, so he walked
as fast as he could without hurrying to where he guessed they would
be.  Something was terribly out of joint within him, something to
which he could not give a name.  He had been listening to Angela's
tales, had been drawn to them like a fly to honey.  Home, yes, she
spoke of home and more.  He knew names, could almost see faces
within his mind, although he had not known them.  At the same time,
he felt as if he were playing one of those absurd games where bits
of the picture were shown, and from that he had to guess some
nonsensical human expression.  There were large parts of the
picture covered, and he dared not ask for another piece.
     The gargoyles on Avalon had been raised by three people.  Why
had only two come to Manhattan?  He frowned, deeper than he ever
would have dreamed doing in this guise, but now did out of recent
habit.
     His thoughts had been disjointed ever since he'd heard Angela
sing.  If his suspicions were correct, he would at last have the
answers to questions long buried inside himself.  Having that
chance, though, he feared the answers.
     His mind put together the puzzle in the most pleasing shape
imaginable: his failure put to rights; his discovery a key to his
triumphant return home; possibly, though he dared not think this
last too much in case the hope push him to act too hastily,
possibly even the renewed affection of his Lord.
     His soul, less logical but far more knowledgeable on Fate's
habit of treating him cruelly, sought out the touch of mind against
a certain mind, a touch unknown this past millennium, and heard no
answer to the call, save the strong unconsciousness of the sleeping
child and the weak but definite presence of Titania's daughter.
     He allowed himself expand into the city beyond the castle
walls.  He felt the paper-thin echoes of the minds of sensitives
through the island, pretty, useless things that could Hear but
could not Speak.  He went deeper, and in the bowels of the city
felt a familiar slumbering presence, a fay fully of the blood who
did not yet know his own potential.  Near him were two much smaller
presences, strong for all that, and he startled.  He'd known about
the first, but the second, near to being born even as he listened,
was something new.
     "Congratulations," he mouthed, but did not send.  Amazing,
really, that for all he had once been able to do, he could no
longer even send a simple thought to another mind, save as training
for Alexander.
     That would change.  He would find Ian, and all would be well
again, and he could go home.
     He paused.  The new guests were nearby.  He could have
determined this by the feel of the air, slightly denser for two
more bodies, or by the slight humming of his thoughts near other
living beings, the same way he detected electrical fields.  He
could have divined it, through some glass, or perhaps simply by
knowing the most likely location the gargoyles would show their old
friends.
     Angela's voice, bubbly with excitement, coming from less then
twenty feet away, was the best giveaway.
     Instead of going immediately in, he hung back in the shadows,
letting them cover his face as he watched and listened, ignoring
the hammerbeat in his chest and the sound of destiny roaring like
blood in his ears.
     They had gone to the library.  Angela was describing, badly,
the collection of books.  She had some grasp of what the various
volumes contained, but her education for the most part had been up
through the tenth century and had stopped.  Even the rest of the
clan, who had been there nigh onto three years, were somewhat at a
loss as to just how much they'd missed.
     "This section is about astronomy," she said, and from his
vantage point, he saw her pull out a book carefully.  One good
thing about the gargoyles: they knew how to treat books.
     "According to what I've read, this was one of the most
controversial books ever written."  She opened it up, showed a
simple diagram of what appeared to be stars.  "These are the Medici
Stars.  They're the moons of Jupiter."  Her charges both looked on
her like she'd lost her mind, as she attempted to explain the
nature of the universe to them using very small words.
     He remembered those mad days, when Galilei had pointed his
little tube towards the sky.  Never mind that the Dutch had been
using the toys first; he'd used his in a manner no one else had
before, nor ever would in quite the same way again.  He'd met the
fellow once at a party, had later regretted not spending more time
learning about him; then he had been far more interested in the
man's associate Sagredo, wondering why on earth he spoke Italian
with a Scottish burr.
     The Guardian made a comment, which Owen almost didn't hear,
about how much the Magus would have enjoyed seeing all these books
in one place.
     Would have enjoyed, he thought.  Not would enjoy, not will
enjoy, and he floundered for a moment, grasping at his fleeing hope
while thinking everything might still be all right.  Then his
senses, open from before, felt a deep, almost numb grief
reverberating from inside the library, and he knew.
     Quietly and with great care, not wanting them to hear him, not
able to stand there further, he slipped deeper into the shadows and
was away to his room.  Despite the darkness, and the chill of the
Autumn evening, he did not draw the window closed, nor did he turn
on any form of light.  He stood in the darkness, looking out upon
the clouds below and surrounding the castle, and for a long while,
managed to think about absolutely nothing at all.

***

     Elisa waved to the security guard on duty.  No matter when she
pulled into the parking lot, it seemed he was the man on duty.  She
briefly wondered if he was, like so many of the rest of the
castle's inhabitants, not entirely human, then disregarded the
notion.  She was seeing fairies in shadows anymore.  Besides, it
had been a few nights since her last visit; he'd probably had a
night or two off in the interim.
     She'd talked to Goliath for a while before sunrise, enough to
know that he was fine, the clan was fine, everybody was fine, and
that he wasn't about to tell her anything on Katharine's condition,
other than to mention Fox had been spending an inordinate amount of
time around her.
     That disturbed her, though she didn't vocalize the thought to
him.  She had believed there to be an unspoken noninterference pact
among the various residents of Wyvern.  Hence, when she was there,
and she assumed even when she was not, Xanatos, Fox and Owen were
absent, or at worst, announced themselves, said or did what was
required, and departed again.
     Alexander was a more constant presence, because of the baby
monitors and the fact that Lex enjoyed playing with the child, and
oddly enough, so did Katharine.  The last time Elisa had been to
the castle, the baby had spent most of his waking time on the
woman's lap, and she had been the one to put him to bed, just
before Elisa had left.  The clan did not mind his company, figuring
he was too small to provide *much* danger.  No one ever brought up
the Coldstone/fire/steel incident.
     Therefore, when Goliath said that one of Their group had taken
it upon herself to start spending quality time with one of what she
thought of as Our group, Elisa had filed it away as a concern
without mentally red-tagging it, then turned her attention fully
towards Goliath.  They'd chatted idly, and then they'd stopped
talking, and while he had not moved to touch her any further than
the comfortable drape of his arm around her, she'd felt between
them an undercurrent of change.
     He'd left soon afterwards, fleeing the sun and perhaps more.
     So here she was again at the Eyrie, parked in her increasingly
usual space, wondering why she'd come.  She had to work later
tonight, but not until eleven.
     The elevator deposited her in its usual place, and she
wandered, wondering where everyone had gone.  "Hello?" she called,
feeling like an idiot.
     "Hi Elisa," said Brooklyn from nowhere, startling her.
     "Hi Brooklyn.  Where is everyone?"
     "Hudson and Goliath are out on patrol."  Damn.  "Lex is
working downstairs.  Last time I checked, everyone else was in the
living room."
     "Thanks."  She cursed inwardly again.  So much for catching up
with Goliath before work.  "Could you tell Goliath I dropped by?"
     "Sure."  Something was wrong.
     "Why aren't you with the others?"  He looked at her, eyes
momentarily full of pain, which he shuttered tightly away before
she was certain she'd seen it.
     "No reason.  Just thought I'd get some air."  The lie was
apparent on his face, but she didn't call him on it.  She had
noticed how much time Angela was spending with Broadway lately as
well, and while she was happy for them both, she knew what it had
to be doing to Brooklyn's heart right then.  He would no doubt
learn to live with it, as he had learned to live with Maggie's
obvious love for Derek.  He just wouldn't enjoy it.
     "Do you want some company?" she asked, thinking to be a
shoulder if nothing else.
     "Nah.  I think I'd rather be alone right now.  No offense."
     "None taken."  She watched him go up the stairs in a fair
imitation of someone who wasn't dying from within.
     A voice spoke to her in her memory as he went: "I'm used to
being on my own."  She remembered too well what had become of the
speaker, and as Brooklyn was gone from her sight, she prayed the
same fate would not befall him, to be forever alone among friends
and always in sight of the one being who could make all the pain go
away.
     She went into the living room, waving half-heartedly at those
gathered there.  As she'd expected, Angela and Broadway were
sitting together, perhaps not quite as obviously as the older,
human couple on the couch, but still close enough to leave no
further doubts as to who'd won the unspoken contest.  The truth was
in the ease on Angela's face as she rested beside him, and even
though it was not the kind of unbridled yearning one saw on a movie
screen between young lovers, the visible emotion was as clear as a
teardrop.  No wonder Brooklyn had fled.
     "Elisa," nodded the Guardian in her direction.  "What brings
you here tonight?"
     "Oh, just thought I'd drop in for a quick hello."  She had the
sudden feeling she'd interrupted something, though what she did not
know.  She noticed Fox, sitting close to Katharine, and her hackles
rose in immediate and unconscious protection of the princess.
     "Why don't you join us?" he asked quickly.
     "Sure.  Thanks.  I can't stay long," she lied as she placed
herself in one of the overstuffed chairs.
     "You were telling us about the castle," Fox prompted.
     "The castle?" asked Katharine vaguely.  "Oh yes.  My castle.
Wyvern.  Lovely place.  I haven't seen it in years, though."
     "We've just arrived there, Love," said the Guardian gently.
     "We have?"  She looked distressed, then smiled at him.  "So we
have.  Silly of me."  She glanced around the room, and her dark
aspect returned.  "What did they do to my castle?"
     "We redecorated," said Fox.
     "I liked it the way it was," said Katharine quietly, and Fox
looked down, whether angry or embarrassed Elisa didn't know or
care.  She had little use for the current lady of the house, or for
that matter, for the other ostensibly human members of the
household.
     "What was it like?" asked Angela, and Elisa noticed Broadway
squeeze her hand as Tom shot her a glance.
     Fox latched onto the question.  "Yes, what *was* it like when
you were here?"  Her eagerness was almost hungry in its intensity.
Tom's concern level shot sky-high, as Katharine turned to the other
human woman, her eyes focused on some unnameable other place.
     "Father likes ta have music."  Her accent was thick again.
"Perhaps we might have minstrels when we sup."  Father?  Wherever
she was, it was a safe place.  Elisa, recalling the strong woman
who'd blasted a wall down on Demona's head, ached inside as she
began talking about her life in Wyvern as someone who still lived
there.
     "Katharine," said the Guardian, "perhaps you'd like to lie
down for a spell before supper."
     She drew away from him, distrust in her eyes.  "I'll ask ye ta
keep yer hands off me!"
     "Princess," said Angela, keeping her own hands away, "would
you like me to walk you back to your rooms?"
     Katharine looked her up and down, not saying a word.  Her face
was eloquent in that respect.  Angela was a gargoyle, and when
she'd been a lass, gargoyles were not pleasant sights.
     "I'll go with you, your Highness," said Elisa, before Fox
could volunteer and possibly do more damage.  She stood as
gracefully as she could, and tried to make a bow.  Katharine stared
at her, then offered an elegant shrug that said, You'll do.  She
got to her feet, and with hardly a glance to the others, allowed
Elisa to lead her out of the room.
     Elisa thought she remembered where the room was that had been
given to the couple for their stay, and walked in that direction
slowly.  Katharine was silent, until they reached the door.
     She looked into her room.  "What are we doing here?"
     "You wanted to lie down for a little while."  It wasn't
exactly the truth but it would work.
     "I did?"  She sat down on the edge of the bed, still looking
around her in some fear.  Elisa wanted to leave, and knew that she
didn't dare just yet.  She sat in a chair by the dresser, her hands
placed palms down on her legs, the least threatening position she
could muster.
     "You did.  Do you know where we are?"
     "Of course I know where we are.  I'm not stupid.  We're in my
castle.  We've come to see our Angela."  She stood up again, walked
past Elisa to the dresser, picked up a brush, and began working it
through her hair.  "She's a good girl, that one.  A little testy
now and then, but she has a fine head on her shoulders.  Always
learning, asking questions.  The Magus said he could probably teach
her a bit of magic if she wanted."  She set the brush down, and her
shoulders drooped slightly.
     "I'm sorry," Elisa said, thinking it was the only thing to
say.
     "There's nothing to be sorry about.  You grow old, new things
replace you, and life moves on.  That's how the world works."
     She watched the woman, standing by the mirror, touching her
hair as if fixing it, but really just staring.  She felt awful, and
at the same time, felt she had to say something that had plagued
her for nearly a year.  She stood, and moved beside Katharine in
the mirror.
     "He was in love with you."
     "I know," she said.  "I always knew."
     "You *knew*?  But then ...  I mean, why ... "
     "I wondered that, for a long time."  Her face went far away
again, and Elisa feared for a second she'd sent the princess back
to the other place.
     "It seemed like a perfect thing, he and I.  But he was so shy.
I could tell he wanted to say it, just didn't know the way, and
didn't think he even had the right.  And I was raised not to say
such things.  So we neither of us spoke, and time went on, and
after a while, I fell in love, and it was no longer a perfect
thing, nor anything at all."  There was no regret on her face, only
a passing sadness, and Elisa reminded herself she ought to visit
Jason soon.  "That's one bit of advice I'll tell you, dear.  When
you see something you want, grab onto it with both hands, and don't
let it go from you."
     Elisa nodded, her thoughts no longer on Jason.
     "Princess Katharine?"
     "Yes?"
     "May I ask a personal question?"  After her last outburst, it
seemed almost silly to ask, but it was impossible to proceed
otherwise.
     "Ask."
     She swallowed.  "Do you ever regret not having children of
your own?"
     Katharine looked at her in utter confusion.  "What do you
mean?"  Damn.  She was gone again.  Then, as if she'd heard Elisa's
thought and meant to contradict it, she added, "I have thirty-six
children.  I don't need any more than that, thank you."
     "That's not what I meant."
     Katharine turned to her, and in what was possibly the last
moment Elisa would ever see her completely rational, she said, "I
know.  And I know why you're asking.  And that is the only answer
I can give you."  She moved past her and sat down on the bed again.
"Now, if you'll be so kind, I would like to catch a bit of sleep
before supper."
     "Of course," she mumbled, and making certain the woman would
be all right, she closed the door behind her.
     The Guardian waited at the end of the hallway, and looked up
when she exited the room.  "How is she?"
     "She's going to get some rest."  She paused.  "Guardian.  Tom.
Tell me you see what's happening to her."
     He watched the even glow of an electric light across the hall,
perhaps blocking out the truth for one last time.  Then: "The first
time I really noticed was about two years ago, our time.  Ariadne
brought her some tea, and she didn't recognize her.  A few minutes
later, she was fine, and she apologized to the lass.  But I'd seen.
     "Since then, she's had occasional fits of not knowing who
she's talking to, thinking we're other folks, and so on.  She'll
spend the better part of an hour calling me Captain, something I
find disturbing, myself."  He shuddered.  "When she comes back, she
gets mad at herself for not remembering, and sometimes she's mad at
me for not bein' who she thought I was."
     Elisa let out a slow breath.  "She seemed fine when we were on
Avalon.  That wasn't long ago."
     "You were only there a few hours.  Besides," he added, "before
your first trip, she wasn't nearly as bad."  He offered a small
shrug.  "Before, when she got confused, the Magus would usually be
able to bring her back to us.  She'd known him her whole life, you
see.  No matter when or where she thought she was, he was there,
and he was incredibly patient with her."
     "But he died," she said.
     He nodded.  "And now she's not quite sure who is who.  I
imagine she'll have no trouble wi' Goliath and Hudson, maybe just
a little wi' the others here.  Or maybe bein' around them in this
place will be the last thing to take her out of reality.  When we
left Avalon, I'd kinda hoped bein' someplace new might be good for
her.  Then the damned island brought us here."
     "Where you need to be."
     Tom turned on her, a little more bitterness in his voice than
he probably intended.  "I don't see how we're needed here!  The
only thing I see is that the longer we stay, the more I'm gonna
lose her to things she sees that aren't even there!"
     Elisa placed a comforting hand at his shoulder.  "Maybe Avalon
sent you here so we could help."
     "Help what?" he asked.  "Unless this new world is even
stranger than I first thought, you canna stop someone from growin'
old."
     "No," she said with regret.  She remembered her mother's
father, who'd been one of the biggest, strongest people in her
childhood memories.  As she'd grown up, he'd grown smaller somehow,
and like Katharine, had become confused.  The last time she'd seen
him, he'd been uncertain of who she and Derek were.  He'd been
polite to them, but he'd been very upset at their mother for some
reason, and had shouted at her until they'd left.
     "I'm sorry," Tom said.  "It's hard to stand by and watch her
slip away, knowing there's nothing in the world I can do to stop
it.  I don't like bein' helpless."
     Elisa longed to offer him some kind of hope, or at least
consolation, but there was none.  He was right.  Katharine was
growing old, and there was nothing to stop that.
     "I should go see her.  She'll wonder where I've gone."  He
inclined his head to her, and meandered towards their room.  Elisa
wondered what kind of reception he would have.  Would his wife know
who he was?  Would she shout at him and make him leave the room?
Elisa tried to imagine watching the love of her own life falling
away from her that way, piece by piece.  She shivered in the
breezeless passage, and resolved to go by the roof one last time
before she left the castle.  Just in case.
     As she hurried along her path, she nearly plowed into Xanatos.
He smiled at her charmingly, and she, remembering Fox's performance
earlier, scowled back.
     "What do you two think you're doing to Katharine?" she said in
a low voice.  She hadn't been aware until just then how mad she
was.
     "Detective, what are you talking about?"
     "You know what I mean.  Every time she's back in the real
world, Fox asks her something else and sets her off again.  I don't
know what game you're playing, but leave her out of it.  She's been
through enough."
     "I assure you, we're not playing any games, with Princess
Katharine or anyone else."  His eyes were open, honest.  She didn't
buy it for an instant.
     "Whatever," she said, and brushed past him.  She had to get to
work.  She didn't look back, nor did she see him stare after her
thoughtfully after she was gone.

***

     Fox was already in bed when he reached their room.  Her
reading light was on, and her nose stuck in a book on medieval
history.  She didn't look up when he entered.
     "Have you been waiting long?" he asked her, as he placed his
jacket on a padded hanger and hung it on his bureau.  He noticed a
stain on the sleeve, made a mental note to have Owen take it to the
dry cleaner in the morning, then made another note to ask Owen why
he'd been absent most of the evening.
     "Not long," she said, turning the page.  "Did you know Malcolm
the First had this castle built as his summer home?"
     "Yes, I did."  She still didn't look up from the book.  With
a sigh and a useless curse against medieval historians, he put on
his pajamas.  While occasionally Fox's bedtime reading meant new
opportunities for ah, role-playing, more often it meant he'd fall
asleep with her lamp lighting his back.  They'd been living
together for over a year, and as he often had over that time, he
wondered what might happen if the light bulb burned out before he
was fully asleep.
     "Darling," he asked casually, "how much time did you spend
with our guests this evening?"
     "A few hours," she said absently.  "Why?"
     "Curiosity.  Detective Maza passed me in the hall on her way
out, and made it sound like you'd been with them all night."
     She set the book in her lap.  "Your point being?"
     "None.  As I said, it was simply curiosity."  He slid under
the covers, kissed her on the forehead, and rolled over.
     He didn't feel her pick up the book again.  "You don't like me
spending time with them."
     "I didn't say that."
     "Yes you did.  Just not in those words."
     He rolled back to face her.  She stared at him.  Hard.
     "How much time *did* you spend with them?"
     "I told you.  A few hours."
     He had to tread very lightly now.  "And how much of that time
did you spend asking Katharine questions about the castle?"
     She looked down at her book.  "I just wanted to know things."
     "I understand," he said, which was something he'd learned long
before he'd met Ms. Janine Renard as a Very Good Thing To Say when
he had no clue what was happening.  "But Katharine isn't well."
     "She's fine!" snapped Fox.
     "No, she's not.  She's very confused as to when it is.  Asking
her questions about the past won't help her."
     "I'm not trying to hurt her, David.  I just need to find out
about ... "  She fumbled, "Things."
     "What kind of things?"
     "Just things.  Like what this place was like when she was here
the first time.  And things that happened here."
     "Why?"
     "Because.  Just because."  She played with the binding of the
book, while he watched her.  Something was askew inside her,
something she wasn't telling him.
     "Fox."
     "They were just dreams.  That's all."  She looked back at him,
daring him to say something about it.  He didn't.  Her gaze
softened.  "I'll stay away from her, if that's what you want."
     "Whatever you think is best," he said.  "Maybe you should take
a break, leave town for a day or two."  He hoped very much she
didn't take him the wrong way.  Her eyes said she didn't.  "We
could both go upstate for a weekend, leave Alex with Owen."  He
gave her his best smile.  "Might be fun."
     "Might be," she answered.  "I *should* go out of town for a
few.  Owen tracked down Hyena's mother for me.  I should pay her a
visit, tell her about the baby."  She met his eyes again, looking
for what?  Approval?  Forgiveness?  Neither was her usual wont, and
the expression made him uneasy.  Nothing had been normal in his
life since the gargoyles had arrived.  Perhaps if Fox took a few
days to herself, she at least might come back the way she had been
before them.
     "Sounds like a good idea," he said, and without an objection
from her, he took the book from her lap and placed it on her night
stand.  Still leaning across her, he turned off her lamp.  Then she
drew him against her body, and they both forgot about medieval
history completely.

***

     Angela's head shot up as she heard her father enter the living
room.  For no reason, she felt flushed.  She hadn't done anything
wrong, she reasoned.  She had simply been listening as Broadway
read more to her from the latest book they were sharing.  She'd
barely touched him all night, so Father and Hudson certainly
weren't interrupting something.  Why did her face feel hot, then?
     "Hello, Father," she said.  "Elisa was here looking for you
earlier."
     She watched his attention perk, and was amused as he attempted
to ask her very nonchalantly, "Did she say anything?"
     "She had to go in to work at eleven," said Broadway, the book
on his lap, his fingers making scratching movements, in
anticipation of picking it up once more.  Her father's face fell.
     "Where are the other lads?" asked Hudson, parking himself in
his favorite chair.  Bronx looked up from his comfortable position
on the floor, and was rewarded by a scratch.
     "Lex is working tonight.  Brooklyn," she looked around,
suddenly noticing his absence, "went outside for some air, but
that's been a while ago."
     "Perhaps he went for a glide," suggested her father, but it
was apparent he wasn't thinking about Brooklyn just then.
     "Perhaps," she echoed.  She wasn't too worried about him yet;
Brooklyn was a grown gargoyle and could take care of himself.  At
the same time, she felt somehow responsible for his recent
moodiness, whether or not he had an equal hand in it.  A brief
sadness went through her for her friend, that she could not be what
he wanted.  Then she glanced over at her reading companion, eager
to return to the land of Narnia with her, and she knew that her
life had chosen its course for her.
     Their exploration of the mystery surrounding Owen had yielded
no new leads in the past few days.  In fact, since the Guardian and
Princess Katharine had come to visit, he'd been avoiding them all,
even so far as to walk the other direction should they find
themselves in the same passageway with him.  The mystery deepened,
and confused her, simultaneously enticing her to learn more.  For
the time being, though, she would sit and listen to Broadway's
voice, and she would be content.

***

     Fox had left that morning, and David had spent most of the day
trying not to notice her absence.  He'd at first pretended she was
out shopping, and when that didn't do, he changed the fantasy to a
shopping trip in L.A.  He'd felt better, then, but not much.
     Something was eating at his family, something strange,
revolving around the visitors, and he didn't like it one bit.  He
went over what he knew in his head, and found a disturbing lack of
information.
     Fox had been mildly obsessed with Princess Katharine since
long before her arrival.  He recalled a long succession of books on
her nightstand, a haphazard pile on the large oak table in the
library.  Her working pile.  She'd never been able to fully explain
why she'd wanted to know so much about the previous lady of the
castle, only that she did.  Having her under the same roof was to
her the equivalent of an Egyptologist given the chance to have tea
with Tutankhamen.
     Owen was a different problem.  He was distracted, pensive, and
more since the gargoyles had moved home.  Whether they served as a
reminder of his banishment, or irked him for reasons he wasn't
sharing, he wasn't himself.  Since Katharine and Tom had come to
stay, he'd been so much not himself that David had wondered if he
had changed characters without notifying anyone.  He'd been living
almost exclusively in his quarters since their arrival, had come
out only under near-direct order, and had grumbled about it when he
did.  At the last minute before she'd left, Fox had asked him to
take some documents to Hyena for her signature, and while he hadn't
exploded, he'd teetered precariously at the edge of rage before
he'd finally calmed.  He wasn't acting like Owen.  He wasn't acting
like Puck.  He wasn't acting like anyone David had ever seen.
     With an internal shake of his head, he reluctantly returned
his attention to the people in his office.  The heads of his R&D
groups had been gathered together for a special purpose.  He had
already put his best researchers on the problem, and they had shown
him promising enough results to warrant his allocating more
resources to them.  This little meeting was to inform everyone.
     FitzMartin, looking very nervous, continued with his briefing,
oblivious to the fact that his employer wasn't listening.  He was
a good scientist, but a miserable presenter.  It was a wonder he'd
ever gotten any grants before coming to work for XE.  His partner
was equally as mousy when it came to public speaking; David had no
questions as to why the other man had ducked out of this meeting.
     The doctor finished his talk, then fielded questions from the
rest of those present, at least those paying attention.  Owen,
sitting in his typical place at David's left, was visibly bored,
and barely covered a yawn as FitzMartin went back to a slide by
request.  David frowned in his direction, but didn't catch his
notice.  Dammit, his assistant could at least stay awake.  This was
an important project, and no one knew how important more than the
two of them.
     The meeting dispersed shortly afterwards.  The heads grumbled
out, a few complaining of impossibilities, thinking he couldn't
hear them as they did.  FitzMartin stayed behind a moment,
collecting his slides.  Owen started playing with some papers
before him, stock reports for Gen-U-Tech.  They'd been going over
them before the meeting.  Satisfied that Owen wouldn't disappear on
him soon, he approached FitzMartin.
     "Good work, Henry," he said encouragingly.
     "No it wasn't," said the other man, "but thank you, sir.  Do
you think they understood what I was talking about?"
     "If they didn't, they will soon.  This *is* going to be our
main project until further notice, and you and Daniel are in charge
of it."
     The man stared at him.  "Us?  But I thought ... "
     "You.  I can't think of anyone closer to the project, other
than Sevarius."  He frowned, noticed a matching, even deeper scowl
on FitzMartin's face at the mention of the other doctor's name,
before banishing thoughts of Anton from his mind for the time
being.  Spilled milk and all that.  "You'll be certain to tell
Daniel?"
     "Yes.  I mean, of course I will, sir.  Thank you, sir!"  He
shook his hand, then pulled back, wondering if he'd presumed too
much.  David smirked at him, letting him know he had, but that he
didn't mind.  Then he turned away, not wanting particularly to
watch the man gather his things and scurry out.
     He waited until he heard the door close, then leaned casually
against the wall.  "Spill it."
     Owen looked at him, mystified.  "Spill what?"
     "Whatever's eating at you."
     Owen returned to his perusal of the stock reports.  "I have no
idea what you're talking about."
     All right, he had known this wasn't going to be *too* easy.
He grabbed the report from Owen's hand and set the papers on his
desk.  The flash of fury on the other man's face, quickly replaced
by calm surprise, gave him all the information he needed.
     "Yes, you do.  Something is bothering you, so badly that
you're slipping.  You forget things.  You *never* used to forget
your work.  You're snapping at people for no reason."
     "I'm only human."  The joke had sharp edges.
     "You're rude.  Not only to me and the rest of our happy little
family, but to our business contacts.  I've had to field complaints
from Mason and Martens again."
     "I'm sorry.  I didn't realize my performance was suffering.
You may rest assured this will not happen again."  He stood,
obviously ready to end the conversation.
     "That's not good enough.  I don't like it when my employees
have personal problems that affect their judgement.  You know
company policy as well as or better than I do.  Employees who
demonstrate erratic behaviour or mental imbalance will be sent to
a staff psychologist for evaluation and possible treatment."  He
had already pictured trying to explain his friend's unique brand of
multiple personality disorder to a psychologist, and recognized
that he would be the one carted away rather than Owen.  However, if
that's what it took ...
     "You wouldn't."
     "If it meant the difference between keeping you around or
watching you destroy yourself, you sure as hell bet I would.  Did
you think I wouldn't notice?"  Defiance blazed again in the
normally placid blue eyes.  He had to change tactics if this was
going to work.  In a milder tone he asked, "Is it Angela?  Or
Katharine?"
     To any other observer, Owen's face would have remained as
impassive as the castle stones.  To eyes long accustomed to seeking
his smallest reaction, usually in vain, there was a flinch that
spoke volumes.  "Tell me."  It wasn't an order.  It was a plea to
his best friend: don't shut me out.
     "It's that obvious?"  He nodded, eliciting a rueful smile from
the other man.  "It's not really Angela, though I half-suspect
she's doing it purposefully."
     "You miss your home."
     He hesitated.  "Yes, I suppose that's part of it, too."
     "Then what?"
     A deep breath.  "When Oberon came for Alexander, I knew there
was no way I could face him.  My powers, when I had them, could
never have beaten him.  I planned to sit out the fight, and beg for
my life when he'd beaten the rest of you and taken the child
anyway.  So I left."
     "But you came back.  When it mattered, you stood with us.  The
others know that."
     "It *didn't* matter.  I could have sat on the towers eating
popcorn for all the good I did.  Titania intended for Alexander to
stay in the World from the start.  I knew that as soon as Fox put
on that display of hers.  Nothing I said or did made one iota of
difference because the Queen had already decided what was to be."
     "It mattered to me.  I know what you gave up for our sake.  So
does Fox."
     He was met with bitterness, no longer hidden.  "I didn't do it
for you or Fox.  Or even Alexander."
     That was unexpected.  He spread his hands.  "All right, so you
had your own reasons.  That doesn't change the fact that you fought
on our side.  You have nothing to feel guilty about."
     Owen looked suddenly bewildered, an expression he'd never
thought he'd see on the man's face.  It was followed by something
he didn't think possible.
     Owen laughed, without the faintest trace of mirth.  He'd heard
the same sound only once before.
     He had been seventeen, working on his father's boat.  One of
Maine's impossibly sudden summer storms had risen, tossing the
_Aurora_ on the waves like a leaf in a gutter.  One of the men,
who'd been given the unfortunate name of Clint and was thus known
to all as Dirty Harry, had fallen overboard.  While the rest of the
crew had frantically tried to save the boat, a much younger David
Xanatos had scrambled to find a rope to throw to him.  When the
other man had caught it, he'd tugged with all his strength.  The
rope snapped.  For an instant, Harry had looked at the limp rope in
his hands, and then he'd thrown back his head and laughed with the
madness of knowing he was about to die.  He'd slipped beneath the
waves, still laughing.
     Now he was faced with the same desperate, mad laughter coming
from someone who meant more to him than almost anyone in the world.
His stomach curled into a cold, tight ball.
     When Owen could finally catch his breath, he looked over, the
near-insanity still shining bright in his eyes.  "Guilty?  You have
no idea.  None!"  He stood, paced around the room, not making eye
contact.  David stood back, telling himself this was for the best,
and let him talk.  "In a thousand years, you think I could get it
right, don't you?  Find one path and stick to it.  Be loyal to the
immortal, all-powerful Oberon, or to a few ephemeral humans who
think themselves gods because they have Internet access?  The
choice should be simple even for a gargoyle.  But no, the Puck must
always dance on the edge of the laws, hemming and hawing until the
last possible moment.  Disobey Oberon, stand against his wishes
just this once, and lose your powers, your home, very likely your
life.  Obey him, let him do it again, and lose whatever hope you
might still have for a soul."
     "He did this before, to another child?"  His mind flashed
through a hundred comments made through the past several months,
and then through words never spoken, silences fluttering around an
explanation that had no name until now.
     "Not quite."  He stopped his pacing, leaned against the desk,
stared out into some other lifetime.  The only thing about him that
was still Owen was the face; the spirit behind was purely Puck, as
he'd never known him.  Stripped of his powers, his glamour, and
even the sharp wit with which he'd defended himself for the gods
only knew how long, the being before him now was very small, very
alone, and sad beyond the words of mortals to express.
     "In that play, he stole away a little changeling boy.  In
reality, he stole two.  To make an exceptionally long story
painfully short, I had the chance many years ago to save one of
them when he decided to send it back to the World.  I chose the
easier path, obeyed my Lord, said nothing as I did my job and left
the baby.  After the Diaspora, I went looking for him, and missed
him by two days.  When Oberon returned for Alexander, I tried to
stay silent again, and all I could think of was the first child I
betrayed, and how he'd cried when I left him.  And even though it
was useless, even though I was as much a threat to Oberon as a
raindrop might have been, and even after he'd taken away everything
from me, I was content, because for the first time in a thousand
years, the other babe's cries were silenced.
     "And then Angela comes to live with us, telling stories of her
home, her family, and then they come to visit, but wait, only two
of them come, and remember that child you missed by two days?  This
time, you missed by a week."
     He did the math in his head.  A week on Avalon was nearly six
months out in the real world.  Six months before the Gathering ...
     "That's when Goliath and Elisa first went to Avalon.  The
Archmage was attacking the Island.  He was the baby?"
     "Hardly.  That one was mortal, though very powerful as mortals
go.  He was probably a descendent of one of our kind.  I can only
imagine his delight when he found one of Oberon's own to use as he
pleased.  Apprentice?  Hah.  If Ian had any idea of his own
potential, he might have taught that old demon a thing or two
himself."
     "Ian?  The Magus."
     "*Ian*," he replied.  "That's what I named him."
     "You named ... "  This was more than he'd anticipated.  Well,
in for a penny.  "Start from the beginning."
     "That would involve explaining over ten thousand years of
history.  We'd miss dinner."
     "Just give me the high points."
     "Oberon wanted a son.  Titania refused to bear one.  No fairy
woman would do it, fearing her wrath, so he went among the mortals,
and ... "  He paused, then continued.  "When he brought Ian home,
the Queen was enraged, for good reason.  I took care of him while
they quarreled.  After a week of arguing bitterly, they reached an
agreement.  Ian would be sent back to his mother."
     He glanced at David.  "You do recall how put out you were when
Oberon planned to take your child after a few hours?  I had mine
for seven days.  It was the most wonderful week of my life, and
then Oberon summoned me and said I had to send away the first being
I'd ever loved.  I was also ... put out.  And alone.  The Three
wanted him dead.  None of the others would have stood with me, not
for a halfling babe who had caused such terrible fighting between
the King and Queen.  I had no one to ask for help, and I was afraid
to confront Oberon by myself.
     "I took him back, but she was already months dead by her own
hand.  I could have stayed with him, might even have brought him
back to Avalon.  I wasn't brave enough, strong enough.  I left him.
After we were sent out, Oberon had me run an errand for him.  When
I was on my own, I went to look for Ian.
     "No one knew where he'd gone, only that two days before he'd
slipped away in the night with two ladies of the court, a serving
woman and her son, and a clutch of gargoyle eggs.  I searched and
searched, and after a century, I gave him up for dead."
     David thought about this momentarily.  "Why wasn't he banished
from Avalon with the rest of you?"
     "He was raised mortal.  The Diaspora, like the Gathering, only
bound those who knew what they were.  That's why Fox wasn't called
to the Gathering."
     He wanted to ask more, ask why the Puck had been so obsessed
with finding one child, Oberon's son or not, but his friend's face,
haunted now in remembrance, stilled the words before he could speak
them.
     "Owen," he said, although he was no longer certain that was
the proper name to call him, "I'm sorry.  He obviously meant a
great deal to you."
     "Ian was the closest I will probably ever come to having a
child of my own.  Alexander means the world to me, and even before
his birth, I started thinking of him as perhaps a way for me to
make amends for last time.  I thought Ian was nine centuries in his
grave, not a few days."  He swallowed.  "Angela said he died
fighting the Three.  They killed him.  He was their brother and
they struck him down without caring and I wasn't there to stop
them."
     David tried to reconcile his mental picture of three little
girls with overlarge blue eyes to the image of three bloodthirsty
murderers.  Oberon's daughters?  Probably Titania's as well, which
made them Fox's half-sisters.  The family tree was getting more
confusing by the minute.
     "Can you contact Oberon?  If you tell him what happened ... "
     "It doesn't matter!" he snapped.  "Ian is dead.  There's
nothing that will bring him back.  The Three will inherit the
throne, and the worlds move ever onward."
     "Is there anything you can do about it?"
     "No!"  Owen was near the breaking point, his good hand drawn
into a tight fist to match his left.
     "Then let it go," he said quietly.  "Before it destroys you.
'Things without all remedy should be without regard.'"
     Owen stared at him, jaw clenched, his body taut and quivering
like a guitar string, ready to snap at the touch of a pick.  Then,
as if an unseen hand had touched the tuning key just so, he
loosened.  "'What's done is done.'"
     He nodded.  His friend changed visibly before him.  The
nervous, edgy air he'd worn since the arrival of the gargoyles
faded from sight, leaving only the man he'd known these past
several years: calm, unflappable.
     "I'll let it go," he said, and the last traces of the stranger
were gone from him.
     "Good.  Now, about those reports ... "

***

     Fox felt Harvey's reassuring presence behind her as they
ascended the gloomy stairway.  She liked Harvey, had liked him for
years.  He was the kind of no-nonsense guy who made excellent
stuntmen, and effective employees.  He rarely asked questions, took
orders well, and he could fight, almost at the level she had been
before Alex.  Harvey was good people.
     She wasn't so sure about the couple she'd come to meet.  She
was making an effort to not make assumptions based on the building
itself, with its cheerless crumbling brick exterior and faded
yellow wallpaper which might have been gingham at one point.  The
interior was mostly clean, and if the sunlight coming through the
window at the end of the hallway was less than dazzling, well, it
was October.  This time last year, she'd been spending her nights
as a werewolf.  On the whole, she preferred things as they were.
     She stopped in front of the door.  4-C.  Owen had said they
would be expecting her.  She took a breath and knocked.  The door
opened, was caught by a chain.  A woman's pinched face looked at
her through the crack.
     "Yes?"
     "Mrs. Sloane?"  A nod.  "I'm Fox Xanatos.  I believe you spoke
to my assistant on the phone?"  Another nod, slower.  The door shut
all the way, and Fox stepped back, confused.  She heard the chain
being slid out of its groove, heard its scrape as it swung against
the wooden frame, and the door opened all the way.
     "Won't you come in?"
     "Thank you," she said, and entered the apartment, Harvey two
steps behind her.  At Mrs. Sloane's fearful expression she said,
"This is my associate, Harvey Muldrake."  Harvey smiled winningly
but did not extend his hand.  Probably a good idea.
     "A pleasure," the woman said automatically.
     Fox glanced around the room, trying not to let her distaste
show.  The place had obviously been furnished in the "Let's Go
Olive!" seventies, and had seen only the occasional foray into the
past two decades since.  A large, plaid couch dominated what passed
for the living room, with an almost-matching lounge chair beside
the television.  The dining room, which was really just a space on
the shag carpet right before the kitchen nook, held a formica-
covered table with a set of cheap vinyl and metal chairs.  There
was a smell, underlying everything, of old cigarettes and windows
rarely opened.
     She tried to remember if she'd ever seen her former associates
smoking, decided she had not, and recalled a night on assignment in
Panama, when Wolf, in a rare fit of generosity, had offered a round
of joints to the whole gang.  She'd taken one, in fond tribute to
her delightfully misspent youth.  Dingo had declined, but then, he
also never drank anything stronger than spring water.  She had been
pretty sure Hyena was about to take one, but Jackal had given her
a Look, the most intense Fox had ever seen from him, and she'd
passed.  Fox hadn't paid the incident much attention, and had
mostly forgotten it until this moment.
     So this was where Jackal and Hyena had grown up.
     Victoria Fraser Phillips Sloane stood in her living room,
gestured to the couch.  Fox sat down, Harvey remained standing.
After a moment, the other woman sat in the lounge chair.  Fox
cleared her throat.
     "I'm not certain how much Mr. Burnett told you.  First of all,
Hannah," she tried the name on her tongue, found it didn't fit
quite right, "is in prison."
     "That doesn't surprise me."  She sounded, and looked, very
tired.  Fox examined her face, looking for traces of her children
in it.  Yes, there it was, hidden under years.  She had the same
elfin chin her daughter did, and while her eyes were fatigued and
lined, she was certain they once had the same sparkle she
remembered from both her children when they were on the hunt.  "Is
Jack there, too?"
     "We don't know where he is.  He's wanted by the police."  The
woman nodded; if she were going to cry for what her children had
become, she had done so long before.  Fox had thought to mention
the charges and found them needless.  For whatever reason, their
mother had already long ago accepted what would happen.  She would
not come to New York, either to protest the charges, or simply to
visit her daughter.  Fox had been forced to tell her own parents
not to interfere, just to keep them from meddling further with her
life.
     She had one last thing with which to crack the woman's
impassive facade.  "The reason I'm here is because your daughter
contacted me a few weeks ago.  We used to work together," she
hedged.  The word "friend" implied a closeness she'd never felt
with any of the Pack, with the possible exception of Dingo.  "She's
pregnant.  She's due in January."
     She looked for some sign of shock, of emotion, of anything
from Mrs. Sloane.  Instead, she read only more tiredness.  "Again?"
     Again?  "She's had another child?"  That was a new twist on
things.  She'd never once mentioned a baby, until last month.
     "No."  The finality in her voice precluded any further
questions on the subject.  "Do you know who the father is?"
     "I don't.  I imagine she does, but she hasn't told me."  And
I'm not sharing any speculations, either.  "She knows prison is no
place for a baby.  She wants to sign custody over to me.  After
that, we'll hand the child to you."
     "Why?"  There was honest confusion in her voice.
     "The baby should be with family.  You're her next of kin,
other than Jackal.  Jack," she amended.  She still read a lack of
comprehension on the woman's face.  "My husband and I will be happy
take care of all the medical costs, even after he's born."  She'd
had Owen run a projection of those costs as a worst-case scenario
including severe mental and physical disabilities.  Considering
what they could expect, the worst case was not as remote a
possibility as she wanted to believe, but even if it came true, it
would be an insignificant expense.
     "Mrs. Xanatos," she said, as if explaining a simple fact to a
small child, "I haven't seen Hannah since she was eighteen.  She
moved to Los Angeles to live with Jack.  They wrote me four letters
after that, and called me about half a dozen times.  The last time
Hannah called me, she was in rehab and wanted me to call the
hospital and get her released.  I'd already talked to Jack about
it.  He'd been the one to commit her.  I told her no, and she hung
up, and I haven't heard from her since."
     The face her own mother had worn for most of Fox's life was
briefly before her, her pretty eyes saddened.  She hadn't come to
the arraignment after that mishap with Goliath and Lexington, but
she surely saw it on tv.  What had she felt?  Astonishment?  Grief?
Disappointment at what her mortal child had become?  Or had she the
same expression this woman did, which was none of the above, simply
acknowledgment that this was to be her lot in life and no more?
     But in this case, Fox had been the one to give the order,
hadn't she.  She'd been the one to show the photos David had given
her, and she'd been the one to goad the rest into action, to order
this woman's children to attempt to assassinate her lover.  They
might still have ended up in prison, for various things, but as
Hyena had pointed out to her, the step that had led them there the
first time had been paved by Fox.  Whatever David reasoned with her
otherwise, this was the truth.
     Yet another proof as to why the kid needed to be as far away
from her as possible.
     "Mrs. Sloane," she said, "I'm sorry about your children.  I
didn't talk much with my parents when I got out on my own, and now
I'm wondering if that was a very big mistake.  This baby doesn't
have to be like that, though.  You can give him a home, and then
maybe ... "
     "Maybe things will work out okay and we'll all live happily
ever after?" asked the woman.  "What world are you living in?"  Her
flash of anger passed.  "We'll take the baby.  Jerry will say we're
just mopping up another one of Hannah's mistakes.  I don't suppose
it matters much either way."
     Relief filled her.  The Sloanes would take the child.  She and
David could provide whatever monetary support they needed, and her
infant conscience would be satisfied.  All was well.
     She glanced around the room one last time as she stood.  There
were no windows in the living room; she assumed there would be some
in the bedrooms beyond.  It was dark, and slightly claustrophobic,
but she was certain there was room for a playpen in one corner.
     She wasn't sure if Mrs. Sloane worked.  If she did, and her
husband did, they would need a babysitter.  Maybe some brighter
decorations, too, rather than the chintzy pictures that failed to
add colour to the place.  She noticed one photograph above the
television, of Mrs. Sloane and presumably her husband.  She didn't
spy any pictures of Jackal or Hyena, and that bothered her.  Her
father had a number of pictures of her at various ages in his
office, and while her mother had played at being human she'd kept
at least one photograph of the three of them with her at whatever
lab she called home, even after the divorce.
     Another little voice nagged at her, speculating that perhaps
this wasn't the best thing for the child after all.
     "I'll have Mr. Burnett work up the details, then.  We have
some time before the baby is born, but we'll probably contact you
within the next few weeks to make preliminary arrangements."
     "All right," said Mrs. Sloane.  She didn't really seem
interested.  The little voice inside her grew louder.  She told the
voice to can it.  The woman stood and saw them to the door.
     Harvey nodded his head in a friendly manner and ducked
outside; Fox stayed a moment longer.  "If you'd like to contact
your daughter, she's in Arkham Asylum.  They have better medical
facilities than Riker's," she explained.
     "Thank you, but she and I have nothing to discuss."  The
reality behind the words was reflected in her gaze: although she'd
given birth twice, this woman truly had no children.
     Fox was going to shake her hand, but suddenly, she didn't want
to.  She wanted to leave.  Now.
     "Good-bye, Mrs. Sloane," she said.  The door closed behind
her.  In a moment, she heard the woman scrabbling for the chain,
and felt the finality of its jangle as she slid it back into place.

***

     Elisa hadn't been certain why she'd invited Matt along with
her to the castle on their night off.  It wasn't like he didn't
have other things to do.  Although, she admitted as they got into
the elevator together, she wasn't sure she wanted to know what
those things were.
     He would probably have spent the evening poring over decades-
old clues, trying to piece together yet another unofficial
investigation.  He'd been tight-lipped about the Illuminati for a
long time; she often wondered if he didn't trust her anymore, or if
he was protecting her from Things Better Left Unknown.
     More likely, Matt was just being weird again.
     They talked about nothing much on the way up, both lost in
thought behind their words.  He asked about her family.  She told
him what she could, without giving anything else about Derek's
location away to whatever hidden microphones Xanatos had installed
in the elevator shaft.
     She'd gotten a call from Beth earlier that evening, and it was
bothering her.  A lot.  "Matt," she asked him suddenly, "you didn't
happen to drop by my folks' house when my sister was in town, did
you?"
     He looked at her, mystified.  "No," he said slowly.  "Should
I have?"
     She shook her head.  "No.  Just wondering."  She didn't think
it had been Matt anyway.
     "Is something wrong?" he asked her, a rare and almost sweet
concern on his face.
     "Not with me," she said, and didn't say anything else.  The
elevator drew to a stop and opened its doors.  There was music
coming from the direction of the library, vocal music.  That was
very ... peculiar.
     She glanced at Matt.  He raised his eyebrow.  Together, they
edged their way towards the sound.  Xanatos stood by the door,
looking but not entering.  He waved them over.
     The clan, including the two oldest humans considered to be so,
had gathered together in the room, but they weren't alone.  Macbeth
had also come to visit (damn, there was a reunion she wished she
could have witnessed --- while the last time Tom and Katharine had
seen him, he'd been attacking their home under the spell of the
Weird Sisters, he was also probably Katharine's only surviving
kinsman).  And the biggest surprise of all ...
     King Arthur was sitting with them, quite at home.  No wonder
they'd abandoned the living room.  No sign of Griff, er *Sir*
Griff, but he was probably nearby.
     "Arthur and Griff came just before sunrise," said Xanatos in
a low tone.  "Macbeth dropped in this afternoon.  They've been in
here since the gargoyles woke.  Griff's in my office, calling
London."  There was an odd smile about his lips.  When she and Matt
went to enter the room, his arm blocked the way.
     "Wait."
     Impatiently, she tried to get past him.  Then the music
started again.
     There was no instrumentation, merely the sound of voices
mingled, most low, two a shade higher.  She didn't know the lyrics;
hell, she could only make a guess at the language they were
speaking.  It had to be some early Gaelic dialect, although she
wasn't sure which one.  It didn't matter.  The song itself was a
light thing, probably some love song from ages past.  They all
seemed to know it, and as they sang, it became a living thing
between them.
     In a low whisper, Xanatos said, "Not one person in that room
is under a thousand years old."
     Was that envy in his voice?  Commanding the anger out of her
own, she said, "Macbeth lost his family and has been attempting
suicide for nearly nine hundred years.  Princess Katharine is
losing her mind, and when she's gone, it'll pretty much destroy
Tom.  Arthur was betrayed by his son and is the only person from
his era.  I don't need to tell you what Goliath and the other
gargoyles have been through."  She fixed him with a glare.  "Which
one do you want to be?"
     Ignoring the shock on his face, she walked past him and into
the room, where the song was ending.  Matt followed her in, not
saying a word.
     Goliath looked up at her and smiled.  She smiled back.
     Arthur, ever the gentleman, rose as she entered the room.  "A
sight for sore eyes," he said, and clasped her hand.  "It is good
to see you again, Elisa."
     "Likewise," she responded.  "Your Majesty, I'd like to
introduce my partner, Matthew Bluestone.  Matt, meet Arthur
Pendragon."
     Matt stood there, his mouth open, then he stuck out his hand.
"Nice to meet you.  Sir.  Your Majesty.  Hi."  Arthur shook his
hand generously, and was king enough to not smile at Matt's utter
loss of his wits.
     Elisa watched Matt's mouth tremble, and said sweetly to him:
"Matt?"
     "Yeah?"
     "One line from Monty Python and you're leaving the castle the
hard way."
     "Okay."  His mouth quirked more, and she *knew* he was biting
back line after line of John Cleese.
     Elisa settled into a convenient crook of Goliath's arm,
glanced around again, then asked him quietly, "Where's Fox?"
     "Out of the city for a while."  There was neither happiness
nor sorrow in his tone, merely a reporting of fact.  Elisa felt a
great weight lift from her, made even lighter when she watched
Katharine.  She was the only one who knew to whom she thought she
was speaking, but she seemed to be enjoying it.
     The little group started on another song, in some variation of
English, although she didn't know the words or the tune.  She
reconciled herself to simply listening, and feeling the deep tones
vibrate from Goliath directly into her.  Matt pulled up a chair,
straddled it, and sat with his arms folded on the back, watching
everything in semi-awed silence.
     At one point, she noticed both Arthur and Macbeth fixing Tom
with near matching stares of pity.  Written clearly on both faces
was the knowledge of what he was about to go through, met with the
painful awareness that nothing could be done to prevent it.  Then
Griff came back into the room, and their attention turned back to
the music.
     The songs ended after a time, and the talk began.  As before,
Elisa and Matt, and Griff as well, remained quiet while the rest
fell into stories of what once was and could no longer be.  She
heard regrets, though not painful ones, not anymore, merely sadness
at what had passed.  As she had many times before, she heard the
tales of what had occurred at Wyvern, the betrayal, the massacre,
and the flight of the three keepers of the Eggs.  Macbeth picked up
with the history of afterwards, Constantine's eventual deposal, the
return of Katharine's family to the throne, the continued struggles
before his own reign, and after it.
     The stories were a tapestry of lives, woven together by
slender, perhaps immortal fingers.  Macbeth was aware, finally, of
how much his own life had been shaped by the machinations of the
Three Sisters, and while there was some lingering bitterness
towards them and Demona in his words, it was not harsh.
     Arthur's tales did not dwell upon the distant past.  He and
Griff regaled the group with stories of their adventures thus far
in searching for Merlin.  They had spent some time in Russia, and
more in Australia.  They hadn't run into Dingo, but Arthur *had*
heard rumours of a vigilante hero, covered all in silver, who
matched his description.
     They had returned to New York, they said, to gather allies.
While the quest was going as quests did, Arthur felt he would be
more effective with more knights.  To her surprise, he immediately
offered Macbeth a place beside him, and to her greater surprise, he
turned him down.  Brooklyn filled her in quickly: this had happened
before, while she and Goliath and Angela had been gone.
     Then he asked Matt.
     Matt stared.
     "Me?"
     "Certainly.  Elisa says you are her equal in skill, and she is
a fine warrior."  She mumbled her thanks, blushing, while the Trio
and Hudson stared at her.  "Also, you know the ways of the new
time.  While Griff and I," he nodded companionably towards his
friend, "are capable of watching out for ourselves, we know little
of this world in which we travel.  What say you?"
     "Ummm... Can I think about it?"  There was a slightly dazed
look on his face.  Elisa hid her grin.
     "For as long as you please," responded Arthur, and rather than
extend his invitation to anyone else, he moved on to a retelling of
their latest adventure, in Peru.
     While Griff described the village at the top of the mountain,
Matt leaned over to her.  "What just happened?"
     "King Arthur invited you to go questing with him."
     Matt nodded.  "That's what I thought happened."  He moved back
into his original position, and didn't say another word the entire
night.
     At about two a.m., common sense overtook curiosity, and with
reluctance, she bid good-bye to the others.  She wished Arthur and
Griff speed in their upcoming journey, to begin shortly after
sundown.  Arthur repeated his offer to Matt, and then she steered
him out, fully intending to drop him off at his apartment, go back
to her own, and catch a little shut-eye.
     Which is precisely what she did.

***

     Fox had recently seen a preview for a movie in which the main
character, an angel, had claimed to have invented standing in line.
If the same angel had been the sadistic mind behind the concept of
board meetings, she was going to personally hunt down John Travolta
and hurt him.
     Still, the business had to be kept running so that she and
David could pursue their more interesting hobbies; the more money
Xanatos Enterprises pulled in, the more likely they were to achieve
their plans of world domination.  She held back a giggle as she
glanced at Owen and willed him to say "Zort."  Nope.  Wasn't going
to happen.  Ah well.  He seemed to be in a better mood today, if
nothing else.
     She herself was feeling much better.  She and Harvey had come
home early that morning, and despite her minor jetlag, she felt
alive and ready to go, and she'd told David so.  Getting out of
town had been just the ticket.  She refused to think about the
dreams she'd written down in her little notebook.  They were silly,
and besides, they'd stopped after Alex's birth.  It was high time
she forgot them and moved onto important things, like today's
meeting.
     Coleman, one of the too many accountants in attendance at this
particular conference, continued what he probably considered a
fascinating treatise on the current market value of some of the
various companies under the XE umbrella.  She focused on his words
long enough to determine that he was saying absolutely nothing of
interest to her; as long as the values kept going up, she was
perfectly content.  She was more concerned with the proposed
filming schedules for the new lineup from Pack Media Studios, which
they were about to branch into a network.
     From all angles, it looked like they could easily beat UPN and
the WB in ratings, and give her namesake network a good run for its
money.  The problem lay in getting film in the can; their anchor
show, a science fiction series David had overseen personally, was
going through growing pains.  Specifically, the lead actress packed
her bags and moved back to Europe, leaving them in a bind.  She was
attending this meeting to see what could be done about delaying
filming without sending the studio into the red.  Also, before they
became a network, they really needed a new name, as the current
acronym didn't quite put across the image they wanted.
     Her mind drifted back to Owen, sitting stiffly in his own seat
the way he did when they discussed finance, or the weather, or
Alexander's toys.  Never did he make a move to betray himself, not
a glance, not a twist of mouth, and now that he and David had
spoken, even the cross look was gone, to be replaced by something
she couldn't identify, something almost ...
     Coleman finished his spiel, bringing her back to reality.  To
her immense relief, the meeting was recessed so they could have
lunch.  In response to the thought of food, her stomach gurgled,
and she covered it quickly.  Yes, food was good, and then it was
time to feed Alex so Mrs. Ong could set him down for his afternoon
nap.
     She stood with the rest, watched as they filed out towards
their own offices, turned back towards David to see if he'd rather
they eat in his office or go up to the dining room.
     Firley, one of the token studio executives present, said, "Mr.
Xanatos, may I have a word with you?" just as Mrs. Ong appeared in
the doorway with an armful of Alexander.
     David glanced at her.  "I'll give Alex his lunch now," she
said.  "When you're ready, I'll have Nicole make something for us."
He nodded, and turned expectantly towards Firley, while Owen
gathered his paperwork from the table.
     Fox left the door ajar, and paused half a moment in curiosity.
What did Firley want to ask David that couldn't have been asked of
her instead?  Alex saw her and squirmed in the nanny's clutches,
and she turned her attention towards him again in glee tempered
with trepidation.
     "There's my good boy," she cooed.  He fastened his arms around
her neck.  Good sign, she thought as she gingerly pulled him from
Amy to herself.  She shifted him around so he wasn't quite so heavy
on her shoulders, and breathed an internal sigh of relief when
neither of them spontaneously combusted.
     One determined little fist went into her hair, and then
directly into his mouth.  "Does that taste good?  Mommy used the
botanical shampoo this morning.  Can you say botanical?"
     Alex gurgled something that might have been "botanical,"
"refrigerator," or "Bill of Rights," but probably was another
attempt at "Mama."  She nuzzled his nose.  "When Daddy comes out,
tell him you want to be a biologist."  Alex must've thought that
was the funniest thing he ever heard, because he squeal-gurgled.
     Then his bright face went utterly blank, just before he let
out a yowl of pain.
     Distress raced through her.  What had she done wrong?  She
could see nothing visibly awry with him, and a quick sniff
indicated a clean diaper.  Was he hungry?  No, this wasn't his
"Feed me *now*" scream.  This was his "I hurt I hurt I hurt I hurt
fix it please mommy" scream, and it ate into her guts because she
could see nothing to fix.
     Her guts.  Her guts were on fire.  Terror, inspired by belated
but warming instinct, thrust Alex into his nurse's arms before she
could register what was happening, and propelled her back into the
Board Room.
     Firley, eyes gone totally, horribly green, had a dripping
knife drawn back, ready to bury it deep into David, who was
crouched ready to spring.  Owen lay crumpled on the floor; from the
too-large stain spreading from beneath him, the knife had just been
pulled out of his body.
     Fox ascertained all this in an instant, then screamed her
loudest "Kee-yop!"  Firley's head whipped partway around, and David
took the moment to launch himself directly into his attacker,
bringing his fist into the man's face with enough force to shatter
most of his bottom teeth.  Firley, feeling nothing, pulled the
knife in, ready to thrust it into his back.  Without even thinking,
Fox executed a flying kick, knocking the knife far out of his
range, and snapping his wrist neatly.  He roared and flipped David
off him.  Wrist hanging, jaw slack, he faced her.
     And stopped dead.
     Looking *very* confused, he stuttered, "Wha -- what?"
     He didn't have time to ask anything else, because David
snarled and threw him down again.  This time, Firley didn't fight
as David knocked him senseless, and only when Fox physically pulled
him off did he stop.
     David panted, adrenaline obviously still well in control of
him.  She could sympathize; with her current endorphin rush, she
was ready to take on ten more Firleys, or else tear off David's
suit and have him on the table.  Neither was an option right now.
     She knelt by Owen, felt for a pulse.  After a frantic search,
she found a thready beat at his neck.  "Amy!" she yelled, then
cursed.  Amy Ong's English vocabulary still mainly consisted of
"No," "Stop," "Bottle," and "Ceiling."  Not useful in calling an
ambulance.  "David ... "
     He already had his cell phone out and was dialling.  She
looked around madly for something to staunch Owen's wound, then
pulled off her blazer.  She waited for the XE medics to arrive and
make it all better, willing Owen to live with the repeating
thought, "Please don't die please don't die please don't die."

***

     Chavez glared at her as she handed Elisa the file.  "I should
have my head examined for letting you do this."
     "Can I help it they won't talk to anyone else?" she replied,
probably too fast.  She stifled a yawn.  Three-thirty in the
afternoon was *not* her idea of a proper time to be at work,
especially when she'd only had two hours of sleep that morning.
The Captain's equally lousy mood echoed her sentiments.
     "Just get their statements, and inform them someone else has
to handle the investigation.  If they want, I'll put Bluestone on
it."
     Elisa pondered the notion of letting Matt loose on this
particular case.  "I'll mention it."  She escaped via the newly-
installed door, and paused, collecting her thoughts.  When she felt
ready, or at least better suited to what lay before her, she walked
purposefully towards Interrogation Room B.
     McKenzie and Tan waited, less than patient expressions on
their tired faces.  Xanatos stood leaning against the wall, his
arms crossed; Fox sat with her hands primly folded on the table.
Her head came up as Elisa walked into the room, and she smiled
half-heartedly.
     "Detective," said Xanatos, nodding.
     "Elisa," said McKenzie, keeping watch on the pair, "we can
stay if you want."
     Fox turned her gaze to the other officer.  "You make it sound
like we're the criminals."
     McKenzie's eyes gave all the response he needed.  Elisa said
quickly, "That won't be necessary.  Unless you think I can't take
a statement."
     The door opened again.  Matt, unshaven and hair mussed,
hurried into the room.  "Sorry I'm late."
     McKenzie, with a last spiteful glance at the couple, pushed
past Matt out the door.  A moment later, Tan followed him.  Elisa
indicated her partner.  "Do you mind if he stays?"
     "That depends," Xanatos said.  "How much does he know?"
     "I know enough," said Matt hotly.
     Elisa touched his arm.  "Matt, maybe it would be better if you
let me handle this."
     He started to say something, then stopped himself, scowled at
his partner, and asked, "What haven't you told me this time?  More
mythical people?  Aliens, maybe?"
     "Actually," said Fox, "we're harboring Bigfoot in our pantry.
He's been giving Broadway cooking tips."
     Matt grumbled something under his breath.  "Elisa ... "
     "I'll tell you what I can when we're finished.  Promise."
     He sighed, saw the amusement in Xanatos' eyes, and stalked
out, pulling the door closed behind him.  Perfect.  Now Matt was
mad at her.  Because of even more secrets that weren't hers to
tell.  Yes, Matt, the stiff guy in the suit moonlights as a
thousands-year-old imp with long pointy ears and bad fashion sense.
She'd woken up less than an hour before, and already her head hurt.
     "All right," she said to no one in particular.  She turned on
the room's recorder.  "Now tell me everything you can about what
happened."
     Fox reached out and turned the recorder off again.
     "No recordings."  Damn.  She'd been afraid of that.  She sat
down, put the notebook in front of her but left it closed.
     "Start."
     Xanatos sat down beside Fox, then began to speak.
     " ... when she stepped out of the room, he reached into his
briefcase and pulled out the knife.  Owen was closer to him, and
blocked the first thrust with his left fist.  He got in a good shot
to the midsection, but it didn't even phase Firley.  Before either
of us could do anything, he'd pulled the knife back from the parry,
and ... "  He took a breath.  "And then he stabbed Owen.  He
twisted it and pulled it out, and then he turned towards me.  Fox
ran into the room, and we managed to disarm him.  But he kept
coming, like he didn't feel any pain.  We finally subdued him."
     Elisa glanced at her file.  "According to the attending
physician, his wrist is broken, his jaw fractured, and he's still
unconscious.  I'd hardly call that subduing."
     "Nothing stopped him," said Fox.  Then she paused.  "Although
it seemed like he stopped fighting after a while."
     Elisa couldn't stop herself.  "Head wounds can do that to
you."
     "I'm serious."  There was no trace of humor in either of them
now, and she regretted her quip.  Their friend was in surgery, and
the prognosis wasn't good.  At all.  She'd seen the preliminary
reports; she privately didn't expect him to live through the night,
and she wasn't sure how that made her feel.  Their shock, carefully
masked but visible to eyes well-accustomed to reading those
inconstant faces, told her they knew it as well.  If Owen died, and
the Puck with him, Alex would no longer have a teacher.  And then
his stepgrandfather would return for him.
     "Can you think of any reason why Mr. Firley would want to kill
you?"
     Xanatos shook his head.  "Ralph has always been an excellent
employee." He glanced at his wife.  "We don't believe he was behind
this."
     Elisa blinked.  "He came after you with a knife and you don't
think he's behind it?"
     "That's why we needed to talk to you.  During the fight, his
eyes were green.  Fay green."
     She sighed.  "Your in-laws."  Both nodded.  "Why would they
want to kill you?"
     "I don't know," he said.  "But it makes sense.  Firley did
stop fighting, the moment he saw Fox.  Whoever it was didn't want
her to be hurt.  It has to be them."
     Elisa sat back.  If what he said was true, it did make sense.
But it didn't fit right inside of her.  Why would Titania want her
son-in-law killed?  She was smart enough to know it wouldn't win
her ground in regaining her daughter's trust.  Oberon, then?  He
had no particular reason to want Xanatos dead, and besides, from
what she'd gathered concerning his last appearance in Manhattan,
subtlety wasn't among his strong attributes.  Or even in his
vocabulary.  Perhaps one of the other Children had found a way
around Oberon's decree, Coyote maybe, still angry at his capture,
or Anubis, at his.
     She heard the door open, turned to see Matt again.
     "What is it?" she asked, hoping he hadn't heard too much.
     "We just got a call from the Eyrie Building."  He twisted his
mouth.  "Burnett's out of surgery.  He's still under, but the
doctor on the phone said he thinks he'll pull through."  She didn't
miss the relief washing over Xanatos' face.  "Thought I'd let you
know.  Elisa, while you're questioning them, you might want to ask
why they didn't send him to the hospital."
     "You should know the answer to that, Detective.  I already
have some of the finest medical minds in the world on my payroll."
Matt snorted, and pulled the door shut again.  Xanatos continued,
in a lower voice, "Fortunately.  There's no way I could have
explained to an outside surgeon that operating with stainless steel
could kill the patient."
     Stainless ...  Oh, right.  Because of the trace iron, like in
her gun.
     "Can you think of *anyone* else who would want to kill you who
can use magic?  I can't exactly show up on Avalon with a warrant."
     "There's always Demona.  Whether she wants me dead or not, she
has the ability."
     "And she wouldn't mind getting rid of Owen, either," added
Fox.
     Elisa considered it.  "His death would probably free her from
the spell that turns her human.  But she'd need a specific reason
to kill you."  She shook her head.  "Besides, the spell she'd use
for mind control was destroyed.  I destroyed it."  It had been an
artifact, yes, an ancient spell out of the Grimorum, but Goliath
was still technically under it, and as long as it existed, there
was a chance Demona would figure out a way around their solution.
     "We'll keep her on the list of possible suspects," she decided
aloud.  "Who else?"
     "Macbeth has the ability," said Fox.  "And he *was* in the
castle last night."
     Xanatos shook his head.  "It would be against his code of
honor.  Besides, I think we're all on the same side this week."
     Elisa had to agree, and she couldn't think of any other non-
fay with means, motive and opportunity.  Dammit.  "Demona it is,
for our chief suspect.  Is there anything else you want to tell
me?"
     "Nothing that can be put on the record."
     "All right.  Then our next move is to ask Owen if he knows
anything about it.  If Firley was under a spell, he might be able
to figure out who cast it."
     They stood, Xanatos lending a hand to Fox despite the fact
that she obviously didn't need it.  Not for the first time, Elisa
marveled at his treatment of her.  In dealings both personal and
commercial, David Xanatos was the single most ruthless person of
any species she'd ever met.  When it came to his family, and she
was beginning to sense Owen qualified under that term, he was
concerned, compassionate, even tender.  As the days and weeks went
by, she was having increasing difficulty maintaining her cherished
view of him, as a creature only slightly less diabolical than the
Antichrist.  She'd come to warily respect him.  On occasion, she
almost found herself ... liking him.
     She cast off the thought.  Derek had trusted Xanatos.  That he
had been betrayed by him twice was a crime she could never forgive
of the man.  She didn't care if he spent the rest of his days
working as a poor monk in India with Mother Theresa; he'd hurt her
brother.  Eventually, he would pay for it.
     As she passed Matt in the hallway, heading out to her car, he
touched her arm, held her there.  "Where're you off to?"
     "Guess."  He let her go, a small scowl distorting his
otherwise handsome features.
     "It's a few hours before sundown.  If they give you any
trouble ... "
     " ... then things will be back to normal and I'll deal with
it.  I'll be all right, Matt.  They need me."
     "And they don't want me there."  He expelled a breath, looked
pointedly behind her where she imagined Fox and Xanatos waited.
"Elisa."
     She didn't want to get into this with him, not with them
there.  "I'll be back in a few hours."
     "Fine."  He turned the other direction and walked off.  Was
that a twinge of jealousy she'd picked up from him?  Just what she
needed to make her day complete, and it wasn't even four-fifteen.
     "I'll meet you there," she said with more force than she'd
intended.  It would look *really* bad if she took the limo back
with them.  Besides, hellish rush hour traffic or not, a drive by
herself with the radio on High was really what she needed right
now.

***

     Half an hour later, Elisa was regretting her decision to drive
herself.  However, stuck squarely between an apple-green Jag and a
schoolbus, she really didn't have any options just then.  Four of
the five stations she'd programmed into her radio were running
commercials.  The fifth, an NPR affiliate, played music from the
baroque period, interspersed with commentary by a very earnest
gentleman who tried to explain why the movements of a certain piece
were meant to represent the construction of a cathedral in Southern
Italy.  After five minutes of that, Elisa had in desperation tuned
to a country and western station, survived half of a Garth Brooks
song, and admitting defeat, turned off the thing completely.
     This left her with silence, her own thoughts, and the
occasional honk.
     Someone, presumably a magic user, tried to off Xanatos and
missed.  She rolled the thought around in her brain, Xanatos having
rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible.  Who had a
motive?  Who didn't?  Fox would become an exceptionally rich young
widow.  Renard would be rid of the son-in-law he despised, and
possibly gain influence over Alexander.  Ditto for Titania, and she
had the ability.  Even she herself had a motive: vengeance for
Derek.
     Demona ...  Demona didn't have any particular reason to want
Xanatos dead.  Then again, that hadn't stopped her before.  He was
a human, and no longer an ally.  That was enough for her.  Hell,
she'd almost wiped out the human race a few weeks back.
     So why wasn't the puzzle piecing together right?
     Traffic inched forward, and seeing an opportunity, Elisa
squeezed the Fairlane into a spot in the adjoining lane.  Five
blocks to go before she reached the Eyrie.  The limousine was
nowhere in sight.  Rich people even had their own private routes,
away from rush hour.
     She wondered who was driving the car.  Last time she'd
checked, Owen acted as chauffeur, not to mention household
majordomo, nanny, and who knew what else.  He probably even wiped
Xanatos' nose when he sneezed.  She banished that mental image
quickly, but retained the thought: without Owen, Xanatos would be
like a lost puppy.
     As she crept along the street, her mind wandered aimlessly on
the images.  Lost puppy.  Lost sheep.  Black sheep.  With a little
iron bell around his neck.
     "Damn."  The word escaped her lips as both a curse and a
blessing.  She almost missed seeing the light change to red before
her, and slammed on her brakes.
     Firley had been after Owen.

***

     "What?"  Fox said it, but the same question was clearly
written on Xanatos' face.  She'd arrived five minutes after them,
had spent another ten searching for the right place in the building
before she'd asked someone, and all the while, she'd turned around
her insight in her mind, and found it to fit too well.
     "Think about it.  Of the people who want you dead, of the
magic users, who among them would stoop to using a knife, when a
gun would be less personally hazardous, and a lot less traceable as
evidence?  To use a knife, you have to be right there.  I'll bet
you Avalon that knife had a lot more unprocessed iron than normal.
Whoever sent him went after you to cover going after Owen."
     "That leaves us with the same list of suspects."
     "Does it?  Your mother set things up carefully to get Puck to
stay here.  I don't think Oberon has caught on as to just how well
yet.  He might have done it, but it's not his style.  And there's
still Demona."
     Xanatos mused, "Demona's tricky, but she's not subtle.  If
she'd wanted him, she would have attacked him directly."
     "Maybe she thought it would keep him from defending himself
with magic," suggested his wife.
     He replied, "He's not allowed.  He can defend Alex but not
himself."
     "She might not have known that."
     "Mr. Xanatos?"  A short woman in scrubs approached them at a
diffident pace.
     "Yes, Doctor?"  Again, Elisa heard the concern in his tone and
found it disconcerting.
     "Mr. Burnett is resting, but he is awake."
     "May we see him?"
     She nodded.  "But only for a few minutes."
     "Thank you," he said, and it was for far more than the few
minutes of visitation.  She inclined her head again, then continued
down the hall.
     "Detective, if you'd care to join us."
     Elisa walked behind them as they made their way to the room,
glancing around from time to time, wondering just how complete the
medical facilities were in the building.  Alexander had been born
at home, as she recalled, and now major surgery had been performed
on the premises, probably with silver instruments.  Must be nice to
be rich, she thought.
     The door was ajar.  Before they entered, Elisa heard the too-
familiar beep and hum of monitoring equipment.  During her last
hospital stay, she'd become aware of it, then annoyed by it, and
finally, she'd learned to ignore the sound completely.  Her recent
visits to Jason had brought back many memories of those mercifully
few days.  As did this.
     He lay very still on the crisp white sheets, only the gentle
whoosh of the oxygen flow indicating that he was most likely
breathing.  Always almost inhumanly pale, his skin seemed bleached,
making Elisa wonder how much blood he'd lost, and if they'd been
able to replace it, and with whose.  His eyes were closed, and
without the glasses, she could almost make out the faint blue blood
vessels in his eyelids.  He could have been a life-sized china
doll.  She could just see the tape on his chest beneath his
hospital gown.  The doll had been broken, and the dollmaker was
very far away.
     His eyes slid open, revealing sky-blur irises, and Elisa could
not rid herself of the notion that they'd been painted.
     "Hello?" he said, his voice cracked and dry.
     "Hey," said Xanatos, going to the bedside, resting his arms
uncomfortably on the metal railing.  "How are you feeling?"
     "Wretched.  Did you get the license number?"
     "Yes," he said, bemused.  He lost his smile and looked back at
her as he said, "We're almost certain Firley was sent to kill you."
     Owen's face was almost perfectly innocent as he asked very
slowly, "Who would want to kill me?"  He paused.  "Excluding the
people we live with, of course."  Fox moved to the other side of
the bed, stood there in silence.
     "Our best guess is Demona.  Other than the obvious, can you
think of any reason why she'd want to kill you?"
     He tried to shake his head, and finding it difficult with the
greenish oxygen tubes attached, said, "No."
     "Who else might have done it?" asked Elisa.
     "Anyone.  No one."  His eyes were unfocused.  The doctor had
likely put him on some heavy drugs; he was slipping back into
sleep.
     Xanatos asked, "Is there some way to find out from Firley
himself?  Maybe we can find out who cast the spell."  Owen's eyes
closed.  "Owen?"
     "I can.  Deconstruct.  Lesson for the boy."  His eyes opened
briefly and closed again.
     There was a tap at the doorframe.  The doctor said, "You need
to leave now.  I'll contact you when he's fully awake."
     "Keep me informed of any changes in his condition, Doctor,"
said Xanatos in an authoritative voice.  He followed Elisa out of
the room.  Fox didn't join them.  Elisa looked back, saw her still
standing by the bed, staring down at Owen's sleeping form.
"Darling?"
     "I'm coming," she said, and hurried out of the room.  Elisa
didn't ask.
     "Detective," said Xanatos, "I doubt we're going to get any
answers until after he's awake.  If you'd like to get some rest,
you're welcome to stay here.  We have room."
     At the suggestion of sleep, she yawned, and glared at him for
making her.  She would have liked to have gone back to her
apartment for a few winks, then come back here, say hi to Goliath,
and go on duty.  On the other hand, if she crashed in one of the
many rooms at the castle, she would get more sleep, get to spend a
few more minutes with Goliath, and she wouldn't have to drive
through the tangled mess outside to get home.
     "Just this once," she said, swearing to herself it would be a
one-time deal.  The half-smirk on his face, indicating it might
not, almost made her change her mind.
     Hell with it.  She needed sleep.
     They went upstairs.

***

     With little convincing, Angela coaxed Broadway out for a
flight very shortly after their awakening, shortly enough that she
did not hear the news about Owen until much later.  They had made
a pretense of patrolling Queens for the better part of an hour
together, before she noticed his attention wasn't on hunting down
criminals.  Her own hadn't been on the streets below since they'd
started.
     She thought, belatedly, it was a good thing no one had been
gargoyle-hunting that night.  They wouldn't have realized what was
going on until they were both dead.
     Memories, not entirely her own, had been picking at her mind
for the past several nights.  During the day, she'd dreamed strange
dreams.  At first, she'd thought they were of Gabriel, and felt the
customary remorse at not giving him any regard in her waking
thoughts.  Then she remembered other things, and realized she had
not been dreaming of Gabriel, but of Coldstone, or rather the
gargoyle whose soul now inhabited the cyborg body.  In her dreams,
both daily and nightly, he was young, alive, without the harsh
metal that deadened his senses.  She was reliving the memories
Coldfire had while her spirit had dwelled within Angela's body for
one bittersweet night.  It was an odd sensation.
     There was more, though, and the more was what bothered her,
drew her from their home this evening.  She was having memories of
things to come.
     They weren't visions, precisely, only half-formed images
created out of the amalgam of her limited experiences.  She and her
rookery siblings had been aware that there were places and times
when they should not disturb the Guardian and the Princess.  As far
as she knew, no one had ever said directly why, but that had been
the way of things.
     When they'd grown, started developing from amorphous little
hatchlings into the variegated shapes and colors of adulthood,
their well-meaning caretakers had attempted to explain to them what
was happening.  Only now, thinking back on those times, did Angela
note with fond amusement that perhaps their three parents hadn't
been quite the experts that their children had thought them on the
subject.
     The images disturbing her now bore little resemblance to the
sketchy descriptions Princess Katharine had blushingly related to
her sixteen young daughters, although her presence reminded Angela
strongly of those fumbling words.  Her thoughts were closer to the
thoughts Coldfire had flirted with during her brief stay, and it
did not help Angela at all to note Coldfire had been thinking those
things towards Broadway, who'd been housing Coldstone's long-
troubled spirit at the time.
     There were other, deeper things, though.  When she engaged in
battle, her muscles moved by training, but also by a kind of inner
need.  Her wings and claws echoed maneuvers done by her parents,
and presumably, her grandparents, great-grandparents, and so on
back to the beginning of time.  Instinct made her duck before a
blow, swish out her tail in just the right place to send an enemy
sprawling.  What practice made perfect, her own nature made
possible.  Tonight, she felt the hum within her of instinct, though
not the fire that guided her in attack.  This was older than
battle, possibly as old as war itself, which according to the books
in the castle library, began the day the first microscopic organism
looked at its neighbouring organism and ate it.
     She was neither hungry nor thirsty.  The need within her was
different, not quite as old, but close enough to make no matter.
     She indicated a comfortable roost they both knew well: an
office building in midtown Manhattan, not nearly as impressive as
the Eyrie Building or the Cyberbiotics Tower.  Compared to those
giants, it was squat, ugly, built in a time of functionality rather
than grace.  On the other hand, sandwiched as it was between far
more beautiful edifices, even they rarely noticed it in their
patrols.  In the midst of a teeming city whose heartbeat was a roar
even at the wee hours of the morning, it was a wonderful seclusion.
     They descended.
     For a long time, they hung over the ledge together, looking
down upon the streets like guardian angels at their invisible
watch.  The lights below gradually lost their charm, the way all
simple lights, no matter how twinkling, eventually did.  Away from
the ledge, the other buildings stretched high enough around them to
block out most of the hazy brilliance from the street.
     The same stars that had dispassionately observed her parents
from their lofty heights a thousand years ago shone brightly over
the two of them on their rooftop.
     They yielded to instinct.

***

     Alex giggled as Fox placed him into Owen's arms, and she felt
a twinge of jealousy.  He'd been fussy for her all night, but for
Owen, he was filled with smiles.  Not that she envied the man's
position at the moment, she thought.  He'd been moved into his own
room to complete his recovery, which meant that his normally
pristine quarters were filled with medical equipment, and worse,
people.  On the other hand, this was probably the first vacation
he'd taken since coming to work for David.  She'd seen a leather-
bound volume of the Iliad on his nightstand, had noticed the
elegant tassel on the bookmark edging closer to the end every time
she'd come into the room.  It kept him occupied, she supposed, and
from dwelling on things.
     As he held Alex on his lap, she noted that he was looking much
better than he had the past two days.  His color, such as it was,
had returned, and even if he was still very weak, he was acting
more and more like his old self.  Alex made a grab for his glasses,
which Owen thwarted.  He placed the spectacles back where they
belonged in a comfortingly fastidious manner; Fox knew better than
to smile.
     "Where is Mr. Firley?" he asked.
     "On his way."  If she had her timing right, Elisa had told her
boss about an hour ago that they would not be pressing charges
against the man.  Chavez would have hit the ceiling, come down off
of it, roundly cursed Fox, David, Owen, and all their descendants,
and finally, allowed Elisa to take Ralph home.  In this case, that
meant driving him directly to the Eyrie.
     "Ah," he said, returning his attention to the baby.  As ever,
he barely smiled at him, spoke hardly at all, and adamantly refused
to make cute faces while talking nonsense.  He would hold Alex on
his lap while reading aloud stock reports or sonnets by Donne, and
Alex loved it.  He would sit listening alertly, sometimes tugging
on a short handful of gold hair, or sucking on his own fist.
     Alex also adored Lex.  Especially his ears.  For Katharine,
who'd watched him while she and David were busy with Owen, he was
an absolute angel, and would stay in her arms perfectly still as
she spoke to him or read to him or simply sat in silence as they
rocked in his chair, thinking whatever kinds of thoughts either of
them had right now.
     Oh yes, Alex *loved* Katharine and Tom and Lex and Elisa and
Owen and Daddy most of all.
     When Fox tried to play with him, her son squirmed and fidgeted
and no matter what she did, after about ten minutes, he would start
to cry and not stop, often for hours.  If David took him from her
during one of those times, he'd calm down instantly.
     She was not going to cry about this.
     "I'll be back," she said, and walked out of Owen's room before
she lost control of her emotions.  She doubted Alex noticed as she
left.
     The sun hadn't gone down yet; the statues on the roof were
still statues.  David was waiting for Elisa down on the ground
floor, ready to escort the man who'd tried to kill him back into
the presence of the man who'd almost died instead.  Tom and
Katharine had gone for a walk in the pleasant cool of the late
afternoon.  She was alone in her castle, but for the two in Owen's
room, and they were nothing like her at all.
     She walked into the Great Hall, and stopped dead in the center
of it.  Her eyes closed, she tried to recapture the feeling she had
when Katharine spoke of times long since gone.  Things were better
then, simpler, safer.  Maybe that was why Katharine lived in the
past.  She couldn't be hurt there.
     Fox had visited that past once, seen the people who populated
the stories the gargoyles told.  She'd been a little over a month
along with Alexander and hadn't known it, but the dreams had
started shortly afterwards.  By the time she was in month four,
they'd haunted her almost nightly, interspersed with the most
bizarre nightmares.  She'd read up on everything she could find out
about pregnancy, had learned that odd dreams came with the
territory, and still she scribbled notes when she woke at night
seeing faces of people she'd never met.  The dreams had stopped
after Alex's birth and had been replaced with nightmares about her
stepfather.  Those had also faded away after a few weeks, leaving
her with more normal dreams, which she rarely remembered.
     She had promised David she would leave Katharine alone, not
ask about the strange things that once ran rampant through her own
sleeping mind.  She could keep her promise, although it meant
losing her chance at discovering ...  What?
     She paused, and for a mad second, she heard music from a lute
being played somewhere very far away, and everything was almost
clear to her.  Then it was gone, and maybe it had never been there
at all.
     The elevator slid to a stop.  She pulled her attention from
uncatchable fantasies to the reality of the door opening before
her.  Firley stepped out, quite chagrined to be in David's
presence; Elisa came behind, unhappily involved in this whole mess.
     "Are they ready?" asked David.
     "Probably."  She met Firley's eyes, before he dropped his and
looked at the floor.  There was no malice in them, no murderous
intent, only the contrite gaze of a man who for no reason known to
him had tried to impale his employer with a butcher knife.
     They walked silently to Owen's room.  Owen was nowhere to be
seen.  This probably had something to do with the five-foot-tall,
white-haired elf sitting crosslegged two feet above the bed and
tickling her son.
     "You're looking better," observed David.
     "It's amazing what changing bodies can do for you," replied
Puck.
     Firley stared.  "Who ...  What ... ?"
     "One question at a time, my boy.  I am the Puck, lately chief
servant and confidant of His Majesty Oberon, King of Avalon, now
head diaper changer and paycheck signer in the employ of David
Xanatos.  I, and this handsome young lad here, are members of the
First Race," he smirked, "which to you means that we are elves,
goblins, things that go bump in the night, and generally, people
you don't want to annoy.  And you," he said, zipping over to the
still-shocked man, nearly close enough to brush noses with him,
"aren't going to remember a word of this when we're through."
     Firley's paralysis broke, as he fell back and tried to move to
the door.  David's hand on his arm, digging in, convinced him he
ought to stay.  He stammered, "You said ... said we would find out
why I ... why I tried to ... "  He couldn't finish.
     " ... air-condition my ribcage?" supplied Puck.  Firley
nodded, his eyes wide.
     Realization kicked in, lit over his face like a new morning.
"*Your* ribcage?"  Puck grinned.  Firley let out a little sigh, and
tilted his head.
     "Maybe you should sit down," suggested David.  Firley did so,
kept staring at the figure before him in utter incomprehension.
     For his part, Puck edged closer and closer, slowly.  "Are you
comfortable?"  Firley nodded.  "Good.  Perhaps you'd like to take
a short nap and forget all this."  As he reached Firley, he put out
his hand, and moved it down.  The man's eyes followed it, and
closed.
     "And that, kid, is how to hypnotize someone."  Alex clapped,
Alex-style.
     "Will he be all right?" asked Elisa.
     "If anything, he'll have a mild headache when he awakens, but
I doubt he'll even have that.  I've done this before," said Puck
with a bit of pride.
     "What now?" asked Fox, impatient with all this.  She knew the
baby had to have his lessons, but the idea of it gave her the
willies.  Best to get it over with so that Alex could get back to
being a semi-normal baby.
     "Now, we play.  Pay attention, kid."  He set Alex in place on
his lap, then lifted his arms.

          "Threads of magic, to tie and bind,
          Show what hand controls this mind."

     A sparkly green mist swirled from his fingertips to settle
around Firley.  The mist curled lazily at his eyes, his ears, then
slid into his mouth in a disturbingly sensual way.
     Firley bit do