Author's Note:

Portions of this story appeared in a slightly different form in "All's
 Well" published in "Avalon Mists" and on the Gargoyles Fanfic web
 page. This is a sequel to "Games" (which itself was a sequel to "The 
Butler's Tale"). With the exception of the prologue (which takes 
place during and after the events depicted in "Games"), the story 
takes place-- 

Confused yet? Wait, it gets better.

--during parts of "The Gathering" parts 1 & 2, "Possession" (which, 
itself, spans three months. Gee, thanks guys), after "The Reckoning"--
and before, during and after "Hunters Moon" parts 1-3. 



Prologue


June 6, 1996
F&M Pharmaceuticals
Upstate New York

Fire. The monsters--no, Marlowe had called them gargoyles--were
destroying the gestation tubes. That much Henry FitzMartin could
make out as black smoke poured from the ruined circuitry, yellow
flames licking out, casting hellish shadows on the metal walls.
     Crouched beneath the marble lab table, Henry held a water-soaked
handkerchief over his mouth and blinked away smoke tears until the
gargoyles, eyes blazing white, moved onto the next lab.
     Crawling out, Henry tried to navigate the lab by memory, blinded
by smoke. He finally reached the refrigerated case where the tissue
samples were stored and yelped as the heated metal burned his
hands. Gritting his teeth, he managed to get the locked door open
and carefully packed the samples in their white sterile plastic
trays into his pockets. He could smell his hair singeing, and the
pain in his hands was extraordinary. He fell out into the corridor
in time to see a swarm of technicians in white labcoats identical
to his own making their way to the car park.
     Huddled around their cars, his fellows averted their eyes as the
building was consumed by flames as the generators blew. FitzMartin
watched as several figures stepped out of the smoke. Shading his
eyes with one painfully burned hand, he couldn't tear his eyes away
from the girl, her blood steadily soaking her bandage.
     He'd never forget his last sight of her. She'd been sitting,
hands folded in her lap and looked up at him, waiting. He'd swabbed
the inside of her arm with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol, trying
to smile as the needle sank into unresisting flesh.
     "The blood tests were inconclusive, we need tissue samples."
     "Don't explain it to her, just do it," Marlowe had snapped.
     She'd never met his eyes--that Henry FitzMartin would always
remember--but he liked to imagine that if she had, there would have
been no anger or hatred there.
     He'd just been doing his job. As the helicopter rose in the air,
a whirlwind of smoke and bright orange sparks in its wake, he could
only stand there, holding his maimed hands in front of him.
     He'd never even known her name.

Chapter 1


June 20, 1996
Somewhere on the coast of Maine

If they had simply knocked, perhaps things would have gone
differently.
     Perhaps. But they didn't knock. They rent and tore. The door
splintered and then fell, teetering drunkenly on one hinge. The
wind off the sea came howling in, making the candles sputter, and
several went out entirely.
     Framed in the doorway of the lighthouse were three figures, eyes
glowing green in the dimness. Their feet did not touch the ground,
their hair and shimmering white dresses remained untouched by the
torrent.
     Rowan looked up from her book and carefully marked her place,
tucking her shawl closer around her shoulders.
     "Phoebe, Luna, Selene. You've excellent timing; I've just put
the kettle on for tea. Won't you come in?"
     "This is no social visit." Selene frowned.
     "Isn't it? I thought I was being quite sociable."
     "You know why we are here?" Luna asked.
     "Of course. I'd have to be blind, deaf, and stupid not to have
noticed. Tell me, do you take sugar?" She addressed Phoebe, who
remained silent.
     "It is the time of the gathering. Lord Oberon has marked your
absence. We have come to take you home," Selene snapped.
     "Home. What an interesting concept. Let me see if I understand
the situation, as it were. One thousand and one years ago, we--with
the exception of you three who were left to stand sentinel--were
banished from Avalon, on the pretext that we needed to learn
humility. Now we are banished from the World as well?"
     "You have been from the shores of your homeland far too long,
little sister. Are you not happy to return?" Luna smiled sweetly.
     "I am not happy, you are correct. I am not happy, because I am
not being given a choice. Obviously, Oberon has yet to learn his
own lesson. Until he has, I do not recognise his authority in this
matter. You may bear that answer back to our home in my stead."
     "I'm afraid that is not an option." Luna shook her head.
     "Isn't it?"
     "We were sent to fetch you, not act as courier." Selene's
patience was growing thin.
     "Well, bully for you." Rowan stood, hands on her hips, irked at
last.
     "Do not make this difficult," Phoebe cautioned.
     "I'm not." Rowan sighed. "Really, it's the most deceptively
simple idea in the world. I'm not leaving."


June 20, 1996
Manhattan

 "Right this way, sir--" Owen held the elevator door open as Petros
Xanatos stepped out into the enclosed balcony where the other
expectant grandparents waited. "Petros Xanatos, this is Halcyon
Renard, Fox's father." Owen indicated the gentleman in the
wheelchair.
     "A pleasure to meet you at last." Renard offered a weak
handshake, and Petros noted the older man's breathing was shallow.
He collapsed back against the cushioned chair and raised his hand,
gesturing to the man to his right. "This is my aide-de-camp,
Preston Vogel." Petros' eyes widened and he glanced back and forth
between Burnett and Vogel.
     "A--are you two related?" he asked, incredulously.
     Vogel stiffened, obviously very put out, while Owen merely
smiled tightly. "I assure you, sir, we are *not*."
     Owen continued, introducing the striking, dark-haired woman to
Renard's left. "And may I present Fox's mother, Anastasia Renard."
     "It's no longer Renard. I've remarried," Anastasia corrected,
smiling sweetly.
     "Remarried?" Halcyon started. "When? Who?"
     "My first husband," she replied.
     Now that was a first, thought Petros. Owen Burnett actually
looked *flustered*.
     "I--I have some things to attend to--elsewhere," Owen backed
into the elevator, looking white as a sheet. Anastasia shrugged and
before Petros could ask, David appeared, smiling broadly, a new-
born baby in his arms.
     The elevator doors closed on the choruses of ooohs and aaahs,
and Mr. Burnett was, however temporarily, forgotten.


Owen straightened his tie before the full-length mirror and
frowned. Glancing from one end of the corridor to the other, he
waited until he was satisfied the stone hallway was deserted.
     Stepping through the mirror, he was greeted by the sound of wind
and rain and the very unpleasant smell of burned plastic combined
with cooling wax and ozone.
     The door to Rowan's lighthouse was off its hinges and slamming
against the frame with each gust. One window pane was shattered and
glass crunched beneath his feet. Several candles had burned down to
nubs in the living room, and the unpleasant smell came from a
scorched and half melted tea kettle, still smoking atop a lit gas
burner. Without thinking, he removed it from the range, a towel
wrapped around the warped handle.
     Tugging the door closed, he was greeted by silence.
     "Rowan?" he called, and started as a small white owl came flying
down from the staircase to land on the arm of an ancient wicker
rocking chair next to the cold hearth. The bird regarded him with
wide blue eyes serenely. It flapped its wings as Owen reached for
it and smoothed its feathers.
     Staring into the mirror-like pupils, memories flooded his brain.
He released it, the owl streaked past him and out the window,
leaving behind two feathers which floated down to the damp carpet
while he clenched and unclenched his fists.
     She was gone.


June 21, 1996 ( as humans reckon time)
Avalon

As the masses poured into the castle from every corner of the
World, few marked the glowing green spark that flitted from cloud
to cloud, descending not towards the throne room, which was being
readied for the reception, but to the Northwest tower. In his
apartments, Oberon, Lord of Faerie, King of Avalon, unchanging
ruler of the third race, raised an eyebrow as the spark grew,
filling the room with a second of intense brightness before several
figures solidified at its centre.
     Rowan landed badly. This was mostly due to the fact that the
sisters had dropped her from where they hovered, a good two metres
from the floor.
     "Do you need us more, my lord?" Selene asked as she and her
sisters floated gently to the floor.
     "No. Leave us," Oberon waved them away.
     Brushing her dark hair from her eyes, Rowan found a blue hand
extended before her. She batted it away and got to her feet
unaided. "Funny, I would have thought you would have rather done
this in the great hall. It's not nearly as humiliating this way."
     "So good to see you, my dear." Oberon laughed, withdrawing the
offending hand good-naturedly. Somehow, he failed to register the
fact that Fionnuala ni Ahine, called Rowan, seemed less than
amused. In fact, she looked downright furious, in a cold, silent
way. Very unlike her, actually.
     "Unfortunately, I cannot say the same. If you will pardon me, I
will be leaving now."
     "I'm sure you are anxious to return to your rooms--"
     "Yes, your lapdogs made quite the mess of them when they
abducted me. I am quite anxious to be home before the wind and rain
ruin my good rug."
     "My dear, whatever are you talking about?"
     "Why, Lord Oberon, you surely cannot expect me to stay." Her
eyes widened in mocking innocence and at last his good nature
flagged, a glimmer of anger shining is his eyes.
     "I more than expect it," he said coldly. "I order it."
     "And who are you, to order me?"
     "How dare you address me in this manner!" He loomed over her.
     "I dare quite easily."
     "Obviously, you have yet to learn humility."
     "Oh, I see, *that* is the humility you expected me to learn. You
expected me to humble myself before *you*. Whatever made you think
ten centuries in exile would bring about that merry change? You
have done nothing, as yet, to merit my bowing before you, let alone
swearing fealty."
     He struck her. She did not fall, but staggered. When she met his
eyes again, her grey eyes brimmed with fury and bright blood welled
from the cut where his ring caught her cheekbone to slip down her
cheek like a red tear.
     "Don't try my patience, girl."
     "Oh, I know the limits of your patience all too well, *my
lord*." She probed her tender cheek with her tongue and then turned
to go.
     "Fionnuala!" he grasped her arm and spun her around to face him.
"I thought ten centuries would be time enough for you to mend your
manners."
     "I am no longer the girl you banished." She wrenched her arm
from his grasp and, squaring her shoulders, turned her back on him
and walked out of the room with even, measured steps. She glanced
back, wiping the blood from her cheek absently.
     "My name is Rowan."


"Hello there, little sister." Raven smirked as he entered the great
hall and saw Rowan leaning against the wall, scowling. "Whatever
has put such a frown on your face?"
     "Don't touch me; don't talk to me; don't even come near me."
     "Whoa." Coyote intoned as Rowan swept past them, an icy breeze
in her wake.
     "Now there's someone who spent too much time in the World, eh?"
Raven laughed, clapping the other childe on the back as they got in
the receiving line.
     Rowan remained sullen as she avoided the knots of happily
reunited brethren. She watched Odin All-Father approach the dais
and then turned her attention to the milling crowds, putting faces
to names, and names to new faces until a glimmer of green caught
her eye. She scowled even harder as the Sisters appeared in a
flash, bearing the struggling Bean Sidhe in their hands. Obviously,
Oberon had a taste for public humiliation after all, as the
assembled host of Faerie laughed at their fallen kinswoman.
     The Bean Sidhe immediately picked a fight with Odin. Sickened,
Rowan turned to go as Oberon chuckled, but when Titania's mirror
swayed precariously, he put a stop to the live entertainment with
a thought. Rowan could feel his eyes boring into the back of her
head as he stood and approached the fay frozen in ice.
     "Bean Sidhe, you were called to the Gathering and you disobeyed.
Have you anything to say in your defence?" He looked out and found
Rowan's eyes in the crowd. "I thought not," he said smugly. "You
pride yourself on your siren voice. That pride has led to this
transgression. So we will remove your voice until we hear true
humility in your silence." He pointed, and a metal muzzle fixed
itself over the Bean Sidhe's mouth even as the ice melted to a
puddle in the centre of the dais. Rowan watched as the helpless fay
touched the metal, disbelieving, and looked away from her grinning
brethren.
     "The Gathering is nearly complete, my lord Oberon, save only for
Queen Titania--" Luna began.
     "--and your servant, Puck," Selene finished, a dangerous gleam
in her eye.
     "My queen comes and goes as she pleases. Puck is another
matter." Again Oberon's eyes sought Rowan's, and she weathered his
gaze in silence. But she could feel her heart beating wildly inside
her chest like the wings of a bird in a cage that had grown too
small. "He forgets that he is mine to command."
     "We could hunt him down for you, lord," Selene offered, and
Rowan flinched at the delight in the sister's eyes at the prospect.
     "No." He rose from the throne. "You three have done quite
enough. I prefer to fetch the Puck myself."
     Rowan could feel the blood draining from her cheeks as he
approached the mirror. She fought her way forward through the crowd
and watched as Oberon held the six-holed whistle before the
gargoyle beast's muzzle. "Find me the one who crafted this."
     Boudicca began to howl, and Rowan could feel hands close on her
shoulders. Selene and Luna smiled without mirth as Oberon leashed
the hound and stood once more before the mirror.
     "Now we journey to the mortal world." He looked back at the
assembled host, and Rowan could feel her lips forming a single
word, though no sound issued forth from her throat. "Stay put, this
won't take long."
     As he disappeared through the mirror, into a section of Central
Park Rowan knew all too well, the weird sisters' grip tightened on
her arms until she was sure if she looked down she would see purple
bruises in the shape of their fingers. But she did not look down;
her eyes were frozen to the mirror's surface, barely three metres
from where she stood, yet light-years away, for all the good it did
her.
     "No..." she finally whispered as the portal closed and her own
small white face was reflected in the glass. Selene released her.
"If my lady were here..."
     "Don't be foolish," Phoebe spoke for the first time and laid a
hand on Rowan's shoulder, her smile unexpectedly kind. "Our Lord
Oberon has taken her to wife once more; you will find no quarter
there."
     "Then I am alone."
     "How can you be, with your family all about you?"
     "My heart is in the World, and I fear that it will die there."


June 21, 1996
Manhattan

"But the Gathering has begun. Who would train the boy in the use of
his powers?" Somehow, despite the fact that they had all been
trying to kill one another no fewer than thirty seconds earlier,
Oberon was not unwilling to admit the gargoyle's idea of a tutor
for the child had much merit.
     "What about... him?" Goliath said, gesturing to Owen.
     "Yes, what *about* him?" Oberon glowered at his servant.
     "I've got a sunny disposition, and I'm always kind to animals,"
Owen offered helpfully, thinking for one crazy moment how *very*
much like Rowan he sounded. He shoved that thought away before it
could do any more emotional harm that even thinking it already had.
     "Puck would make a fine teacher," Titania purred. "He wishes to
stay, and he is already protective of the boy."
     "I suppose I could give the tyke a few pointers," Owen mused,
catching on relatively quickly to the queen's ploy.
     Oberon, however, was oblivious to his wife's subtle
manipulations. "Very well, Puck." He smiled without mirth. "You
have made your choice, and you shall live with it... Forever." The
smile vanished from Owen's countenance. Pleased with this reaction,
Oberon continued. "You are eternally banished from Avalon, Puck.
Never again will you sample its paradise."
     --*Rowan*--
     "No, wait! Not eternally!" he cried, backing away, but Oberon
raised his hand and Owen was wrapped in chains of power that lifted
him off the floor.
     "We hereby strip you of all your powers, save when you are
training or protecting the boy. Such is your punishment." Owen
screamed with the pain, but Oberon was not moved. "So speaks
Oberon."
     "No... please, my lord." Owen knelt before the lord he had
forsaken and pleaded--begged even. But he could not tell him why,
or it would be his life he was pleading for. "Please reconsider.
I'll do anything."
     "Pathetic," Oberon intoned. Behind him, Titania's face was a
mask. Not of anger, or even disgust, but of sorrow. Somehow, she
knew.
     At least someone knew.
     *Forgive me, my love*. Owen straightened his shoulders and once
more assumed the mortal form he had worn for so long, removing his
spectacles from his shirt pocket. "Forgive me, my lord. You must do
as you see fit." He fought to keep his tone level and serene. "I
will stay here with young Alexander."

Chapter 2


Rowan sat on the steps of the dais, staring woefully at Titania's
Mirror, her cheek cupped in her hand. The hall had long since
emptied out and she could hear the faint sounds of revellers
elsewhere in the castle. At least for tonight, by Oberon's decree
as much as by the fact that it was solstice, time passed in Avalon
as it did in the World and she was not troubled by the thought that
each hour Lord Oberon was away, a day passed in the World. However,
that didn't make the wait any less excruciating. Still she waited,
until at last she was rewarded by the faint green glow that
heralded fay magic.
     A weary Lord Oberon stepped through and Rowan's eyes widened as
he was followed by an equally weary lady wife. She scrambled to her
feet, sketching a quick curtsey.
     "My lord Oberon--" she began, and he chuckled.
     "Ah, so now I am your lord?"
     "Please... please, my lord, what news of the Puck?"
     "The Puck is banished from Avalon's shores, my child." Titania
said gently.
     "How long, lady?" Rowan looked stricken.
     "Forever." Oberon intoned, none too pleased with losing his best
servant.
     "No." Rowan shook her head. She looked from her lady to the lord
of Avalon, not comprehending. "It cannot be."
     "He has been stripped of his birthright and will live the rest
of his days as mortal as his master."
     "But that will kill him! As surely as any iron blade!"
     "We know that you are fond of your foster brother, Fionnuala--"
Oberon began, but Rowan shook her head.
     "Then you must banish me as well, my lord."
     "I will do nothing of the sort."
     "Why not?" she cried. "Did I not disregard your summons? Did I
not show you the exact same disrespect, display the same wanton
temper and for even less reason than Owen--than the Puck had? Why
will you not visit the same punishment upon me?"
     "You know very well why not!" Oberon snapped.
     "Do I, my lord? I do not understand why you would be so extreme
in your actions, or as one sided in your meting out punishments.
Enlighten me, please do!"
     "Fionnuala--" the queen's gentle tone held a warning, but her
husband did not rise to the bait. He continued to coolly regard the
seething fay, who looked as if she would like nothing so much as to
spit on him and quit this plane forever, had his magic not bound
her to the island. The silence was excruciating, until Rowan turned
her gaze to the queen's.
     "Never again shall any call me by that name. I renounce my
birthright and demand I be allowed to live out my days in the
mortal world."
     "You do not know what you are asking."
     "Don't I?"
     "Foolish child, you have forgotten the true meaning of
mortality. Are you so quick to wish for human death?"
     "Then so be it! Or I shall throw myself from the cliffs when I
quit this room and the result is the same."
     "Spare me the theatrics and adolescent histrionics. We are tired
and would retire to our rooms. We advise you do the same."
     "I will, my lord. On my mother's blood, I swear it!" Rowan
called after them, fists clenched.


"Do you think she will do herself harm? She seemed quite adamant,"
Titania frowned as they retired to their well-appointed chambers to
break their fast.
     "She won't. She can't. I will not allow it," Oberon assured his
wife.
     "Husband, would you mind very much telling me what exactly Rowan
was going on about?" Titania asked sweetly, raising a goblet of
sweet wine to her lips.
     "Didn't I mention it?" Oberon began, trying--badly--to feign
surprise.
     "No." She lowered her fork to a bowl of melon.
     "The Three were dispatched to fetch her home last night."
     "Then what she said is true? She ignored the summons?" Titania
set down her fork.
     "Childish stubbornness, nothing more," Oberon tried to wave it
away.
     "She is my servant; I would know of these things," Titania's
tone remained light, but her smile was strained.
     "As you wish, my lady." Oberon smiled and brushed her knuckles
with his lips. But she would not be charmed by him in this matter.
     "I am quite put out. The girl was a most faithful servant until
recently. Her words were..." Titania shuddered and then fixed her
husband with a glare. "My lord, you showed undue favouritism."
     "Don't be absurd." Oberon stiffened.
     "She clearly defied you, yet you shrug it off as t'were nothing.
But your servant the Puck--"
     "Was mine to punish," he reminded her.
     "And so the girl is mine. I would investigate the matter myself,
my husband."
     Oberon opened his mouth and then shut it. "As you wish." He
bowed his head.
     Titania smiled.


August 20, 1996
Manhattan

"Nice doing business with you, Thailog," Sevarius grinned as he
closed the case on all those lovely dead presidents with a *snap*.
"All you have to do now is decide on the programming." He glanced
at the gestation tubes with a wry smile. "My advice: Keep it
simple. You don't want to wind up with another you."
     "My thoughts exactly," the gargoyle chuckled.
     "Well, I'm late for an appointment. Do give my best to the
missus." Sevarius sketched a mock bow and headed out of the lab,
still grinning. Half a million dollars was a lovely chunk of
change, and still more to come...
     Exiting the steel and brick Nightstone Unlimited, Sevarius
hailed a taxi, still grinning. "Cyberbiotics, my good man. And
don't spare the horses."


"This is preposterous!" Dr. FitzMartin's normally placid blue eyes
were blazing with fury as he reviewed the contents of the disk.
     "Pardon me?" Sevarius feigned innocence.
     "Perhaps I should have said monstrous. I shudder to think whose
programming this originally was! It's beyond Machiavellian, it's--
it's--"
     "It was exactly what my previous client required. Clones--"
     "Please. I prefer artificial sentient humanoid."
     "As you wish." Sevarius smirked at FitzMartin's obviously lofty,
if a bit misguided, expectations "ASHes of this type are blank
slates, their minds yours to shape. I simply assumed--"
     "You simply assumed, from what I can tell, that I wanted to
create some kind of frightening soldier, or perhaps Frankenstein-
like monster. As I have told you before, my research is much more
subtle. I realise that you have no small experience in these
matters, but I cannot help but consider this quite unacceptable."
     "Dr. FitzMartin, the programming can of course be modified to
suite your needs. Without knowing exactly what those needs are, I
simply provided you with samples of my original research. I admit,
working from only DNA, without actual tissue samples, they were
less worthy efforts than your own ASH. I am very pleased that you
managed to overcome my previous problems regarding pigmentation,
for example--"
     "All it took was some further modifications and methodical gene
manipulation. I'm sure if you had devoted more time to the process,
you would have overcome those difficulties yourself." Henry could
hardly contain his disdain for his fellow biological technician.
     "What are your goals, exactly?"
     "You do not require that information," Vogel spoke up for the
first time. "We thank you for your assistance in this project, Dr.
Sevarius. And you have been adequately compensated for that
research, but I'm afraid, at this time, I will have to ask you to
leave."
     "But of course." Sevarius fairly oozed charm as he swept out
into the hall. Vogel followed, waiting until the lab door clicked
shut and FitzMartin was beyond hearing before he spoke.
     "Do control yourself, Doctor."
     "You know, Vogel, it is ever so much nicer working with you on
a strictly freelance basis. He's quite right, you know. It's a good
thing dear Halcyon is so obsessed with his health now that has a
grandson to look after, and can turn a blind eye to the day to day
running of the business, don't you think? I think it's safe to say
my previous employer would be horrified if he knew what you were
really up to."
     "And what *am* I really up to, Doctor?" Vogel asked coolly.
     "I haven't the foggiest, but I'm sure it's not in the interests
of your fellow man." Sevarius smiled. "And now that I've been paid,
I could really care less. Have a wonderful time, if you are capable
of it. FitzMartin seems quite the saint, I'm sure you'll be in
hell." With that parting prophesy, Sevarius strolled down the
corridor. Vogel straightened his shoulders and walked back into the
lab.
     "Look at this!" Henry called from over his shoulder, face
flushed with anger once again. "'All weakness is to be pitied and
exploited where necessary to achieve your own ends.' My God, who
did this man previously work for? Hitler?"
     "Please, Doctor, that is quite uncalled for. Dr. Sevarius'
research is critical to the success of this project. All estimates
of your talents aside, his ability to produce viable clones in
months as opposed to years is tremendously important to us. You can
surely overlook certain--eccentricities?"
     "This isn't eccentric; it borders on frightening. Mr. Vogel, I
came to Cyberbiotics because Mr. Renard expressed great interest in
the possibility of cloning organs for transplant. The fact that it
has led us to the replication, for all intents and purposes, of
another human being puts us outside the realm of science, onto
difficult moral ground. We are, in effect, creating a new life, and
it is very important to me that this life be treated with all the
respect and accord any human life deserves."
     Preston Vogel simply pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his
nose, blue eyes narrowing. "Of course, Doctor. I would expect no
less from you. I will leave the ASH's sleep learning curriculum at
your discretion."
     "Thank you," Henry chuffed and then went back to weeding through
the programming, brows drawn together in intense concentration. He
glanced up at the figure suspended in nutrient bath in the
gestation tube, half hidden by a heavy fall of dark hair, a shadow
against the pale limbs.
     He turned his attention back to the terminal, tweaking the
language matrix here and there. But he couldn't help wondering,
with morbid curiosity, just who Sevarius had developed the research
for and to what use it had finally been put.


August 20, 1996 (as humans reckon time)
Avalon

Rowan stared at the sea, tucking her hair behind her ears even as
the breeze tried to tangle the midnight strands into impenetrable
knots.
     "Stop that," she whispered, and the wind laughed. She'd
forgotten how troublesome the breezes on Avalon could be when they
got over-excited. The white-capped waves below mocked her as they
crashed against the rocky shore.
     She'd been quite serious. But she soon discovered if she tried
to do herself harm, the breezes themselves would catch her and bear
her back to the grassy slope. After one brief free fall, she
decided she would have to find another way. While she realised that
throwing herself from the cliffs would be a fantastically romantic
gesture, it was not, at this time, practical. But she was still
feeling remarkably lost, alone and despondent.
     Life was not good.
     She had already started back towards the castle when the reedy
sounds of a flute were carried to her ear by the capricious
breezes. She froze. *Could it be--?* Chasing the sound, she ran
through the forest until she burst into a clearing.
     It was not the Puck, crouched on the moss covered rock, but a
young fay in blue jeans, T-shirt and leather jacket, with the
smiling head of a coyote. He lowered the flute, one ear twitching,
and Rowan's shoulders slumped.
     "Sorry to interrupt, 'Bozho."
     "Hey, I haven't heard that one in a while." The furry muzzle
shrank, the hair growing darker and within seconds she was greeted
by the smiling face of young Peter Maza. "Why don't you hang around
for a bit?" He held up the tobacco pouch around his neck and began
to roll them both cigarettes.
     "I thought you'd be hanging out with Brandon." She lit the cig
with a green flame from her fingertip and blew out a cloud of blue
smoke.
     "You don't like Raven much, do you." Coyote watched her from
beneath dark brows, breathing in a lungful of smoke and releasing
it in a cloud that bore suspicious resemblance to his namesake. She
chuckled as the tobacco smoke coyote yipped silently and ran
through the air until the breezes sundered it.
     "My half-brother and I do not get along," she said softly.
     "You were pretty rude this morning."
     "I had reason to be."
     "Why come back, if you're not happy here?"
     She looked at him incredulously and then began to laugh. She
laughed until tears streamed down her cheeks. She laughed until her
lungs ached and she drew in dry, shuddering breaths.
     Coyote watched her calmly, with only a slightly puzzled look.
     "Thanks, I needed that." She giggled.
     "I wish I knew what was so funny."
     "As do I," a voice rang out, and the two tricksters looked up to
see Queen Titania framed by two birch trees. Rowan's grin died
abruptly and her cheeks were bloodless. Coyote could feel the lines
of tension between them like living things.
     "Leave us, Nanabozho."
     "As is your will, my queen." Coyote sketched a bow. Catching
Rowan's eye, he winked and then vanished through the trees.
     Rowan remained seated in the grass and made no move to rise. The
two women regarded each other in silence for the space of a few
seconds. Then Rowan plucked a blade of grass and, pressing it
between her thumbs, began to play a tune with the makeshift
whistle.
     "Your words were unforgivable--" Titania began, and Rowan tossed
aside the leaf.
     "I was not looking for forgiveness."
     "And yet Lord Oberon would grant it, if you would but bow your
head to him." Titania frowned. "He loves you."
     "I do not return his love." Rowan shrugged. "I never asked for
any special treatment."
     "And it galls you that he gives it."
     "What do you care?"
     Titania laid a hand on Rowan's shoulder and smoothed her hair
back from her brow.
     "Oh, child, do you think I have no heart?" She drew the girl
into a hug and Rowan felt tears smarting her eyes once again.
     "Well, you remarried that idiot, after all he did. So you may
have a heart, but I'm seriously beginning to wonder if you have a
*brain*."
     "Someone has to keep Lord Oberon in check. Even then, he goes to
extremes. I did not want to see him banish the Puck any more than
you, but what could I do?"
     "You could have defied him!"
     "No, child. I could not."
     "But it wasn't the Puck's fault! It's mine." Rowan sank down on
Coyote's rock, hugging her arms to herself.
     "How so?"
     "He would have been loyal, had I not poisoned him against his
lord."
     "You give him too little credit, child. I think this rebellion
was a long time in coming."
     "Perhaps."
     "Does he know?"
     "Know what, my lady?"
     "How you feel."
     "Yes. And I know that he feels the same, I know it in my very
bones. That is why I cannot stand the thought of being banished
from his sight for all eternity. For every day and night that pass
here, my heart breaks that he spends the better part of a month
alone. And me here three days already!" Looking into the girl's
eyes, Titania was reminded of the stricken look on Owen's face when
Oberon made his pronouncement.
     "So you have done your best to get yourself banished to the
World."
     "Aye, if that is the only way, I would gladly give up my nature
to be with him. I know he would do the same if t'were me."
     "Now I think you give him too much credit."
     "You don't know him the way I do. Owen is ever playing roles,
presenting himself in the exact manner people expect of him. His
true nature he shows rarely, but I have seen it. I know it well,
and I trust him. But Lord Oberon is the original Janus, with one
set of rules for his subjects and another for himself. He'll never
grant me a boon, so the best I could hope for was a moment of
heedless anger. Even he couldn't go back on such a punishment, if
it were made before the assembled hosts of Faerie."
     "Let us see if we cannot remedy that situation, shall we?"

Chapter 3


August 28, 1996
Manhattan

There was no melodrama. No tremendous weather. No crashes of
thunder and flashes of dramatic lightening. Even if there had been,
the lab had no windows and was quite, quite soundproof. She woke as
if she had been merely sleeping and stretched, rubbing one eye with
a knuckle like a child. Then she peered around her, tossing damp
hair back and squinting to focus.
     "Hello," Dr. FitzMartin said as she stared at him, her lips
parting to mimic the sound.
     "'lo." She cleared her throat and started again. "Hello."
     She looked down at the thin hospital gown and worried at the
frayed edge of the coverlet. "What's my name?"
     "You don't have one," Vogel said from his corner, polishing his
glasses.
     "What am I called?" she asked, and he started.
     "Ash," FitzMartin couldn't stop the word from passing his lips,
though he did raise his fingers to his lips as if to catch it after
it had fallen and call it back. And the second it had, the girl
before him had ceased to be *the* ASH, but Ash. Vogel frowned in
annoyance.
     "Ash," she repeated and then threw back the covers. She stepped
past the doctor and stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Rather
than study her reflection, however, she reached out to touch the
cool glass and then her browns drew together in a frown. Then she
leaned forward, touching her cheek and watching her reflection do
the same. She traced the planes of her face, running her fingers
along her cheekbone, tracing the curve of a brow. She widened her
grey eyes, watched the pupils contract as she clicked on the light.
     "Ash." She repeated, touching her bottom lip, to feel the sound.
"The powdery residue of matter that remains after burning. Finely
pulverized lava thrown out of a volcano in eruption. Ruins, usually
of something destroyed. Remains. Vestiges. Mortal remains, physical
or corporeal man as liable to decay."
     FitzMartin and Vogel traded looks, the former one of disquiet,
the latter a calm appraisal of the situation.
     "Ash." She turned away from the glass and met Henry's eyes. "Any
oleaceous tree of the genus Fraxius, specifically F. excelsior of
Europe or Asia, or F. Americana, the white ash of North America.
The wood, tough, straight-grained and elastic and valued as timber.
Used for making regal thrones and for the shafts of weapons."
     There was an awkward silence and then Henry cleared his throat,
stepping forward to shake her hand. "I'm Dr. Henry FitzMartin and
this is Mr. Preston Vogel."
     Vogel made no move to shake her hand. Her gaze slid away from
his, and Henry took her arm.
     "There are some tests I'd like to perform," Henry began.
"Standard medical exam and intelligence tests."
     "Of course, Doctor. I'll leave you to it." Vogel left, and the
girl turned her gaze back to the doctor.
     "Dr. FitzMartin--"
     "You may call me Henry, my dear."
     She puzzled at his use of the endearment and then decided it
must be a nuance of language. "Henry," she began again. "I have
questions."
     "Of course you do. And we shall answer them all, if possible. I
promise."


September 13, 1996

A lone figure stood atop the walls of Castle Wyvern, silhouetted
against the pale sliver of the new moon. If there had been another
soul there, he or she might have for a moment taken pity on this
pitiable figure. For he was not simply alone, but lonely.
     Not once in nearly two thousand years had he admitted to
loneliness. Indeed, he did not now. But even if he was unwilling to
admit it, there was a wretched kind of loneliness in being the last
of your kind in the world.
     And the only other beings who might have been able to quite
understand his despair had learned that they were anything but
alone, having just met kindred scattered about the world and
beyond.
     Owen Burnett would have considered it ironic, if he could bring
himself to dwell on it.
     Which he couldn't.
     Because if he did, well...
     What would the world be coming to, if the Puck sat down and
wept?
     "Owen?"
     "Yes, Mr. Xanatos?" Owen turned away from the night sky to find
his employer leaning in the doorway, his expression curiously
blank.
     "Just checking to make sure you're still with us. You seemed..."
     "I assure you, sir, I'm present and accounted for."
     Xanatos chuckled, though his major-domo didn't even crack a
smile.
     "If you don't mind, sir, I think I might retire early."
     "By all means; it's a quiet night."
     "Thank you, sir."


David watched Owen disappear into the stairwell, heard his
footsteps, even and measured as they faded down into the blackness.
     Part of him wished he had the courage to actually ask Owen what
was the matter, but he feared the answer. More than that, he was
afraid of what voicing the question might do to their relationship,
which had become clearly defined in the ten years Owen had been in
his service. He knew so much more now, and his curiosity strained
at the bonds of their almost-friendship. A little more pressure and
they might break. He couldn't decided if that would be a triumph or
catastrophe.


September 14, 1996

Henry was simply amazed, watching Ash at the computer as she
devoured anything and everything put before her. Currently, she was
immersed in popular literature, Raymond Chandler to be precise. The
day before, it had been juvenile novels by Yolen, Cleary, Blume and
Danziger. The day before that, Shakespeare. Then there was her
apparently endless fascination with Dr. Seuss. She seemed just as
happy to read romance novels as what was generally considered to be
genuine literature. Through it all, he was hit with a barrage of
questions as she filled in from the media all the areas of human
interaction that the sleep tapes hadn't covered, or hadn't covered
to her satisfaction.
     He'd been quite delighted when she'd noticed the parallels
between *Romeo and Juliet* and *West Side Story* all on her own.
He'd been frightened when she did the same with *Hamlet* and *The
Lion King*, but that was neither here nor there. What was most
disquieting, however, was her reaction to *Frankenstein*.
     "I don't understand. Everyone refers to his creature as the
horror, but what the doctor did was truly monstrous."
     "People take away from literature what they chose. And
unfortunately, years of popular media's images of the creature are
what most people think of."
     "But the doctor thought he was God."
     "Ash, do you truly understand people's notions of God?"
     "To some extent. I think. Religion is odd. I'm not sure it all
makes sense."
     "Matters of faith rarely do."
     "Am I your creature, then?"
     "Not at all. You were not born from a man and woman, but that
does not make you a creature, or a monster."
     "What am I, then?" she'd asked, and he'd faltered. She seemed so
like a child and she was in so many other ways. She had an
innocence that he was reluctant to shatter and he knew the truth
would do just that. "Am I your daughter, or your experiment?"
     "I don't know," he'd said honestly. And that had ended the
conversation rather abruptly. She had not brought it up again,
though he knew it was haunting her.
     FitzMartin had never told Vogel where he'd obtained the tissue
sample. If the girl Marlowe had kidnapped had been a human-gargoyle
hybrid, there was no evidence--no *genetic* evidence--in Ash. She
seemed to exhibit no unusual characteristics apart from her rapid
growth, physical and mental.
     She had an eidetic memory and a great understanding of most of
the information she'd processed. He'd had to teach her the concept
of personal space, mainly because she consistently invaded that of
persons around her, which unnerved Vogel tremendously. Henry had
tried to make it clear that she could not allow her innate
curiosity to motivate her and had to stop touching and tasting
everything. Most recently, he'd had to reprimand her for taking
everything apart to see how it worked, even if she could put it
back together again. After she tried this with the powerbook, he'd
supplied her with puzzles to keep her occupied. Her quarters now
sported a cardboard replica of the Taj Mahal, a two thousand piece
jigsaw puzzle of hideously cute kittens and puppies and a gaggle of
Rubik's Cubes.
     She seemed to have little or no personal identity yet. Rather,
she was like a sponge. More than once, he'd found her mimicking his
speech patterns, mannerisms and accent. She was an uncanny mimic
too, though she had only really been exposed in the little over two
short weeks since her "birth" to himself, Vogel and the research
staff, which consisted of two technicians and a registered nurse
named Ida, who wore coke-bottle glasses, chain smoked on her breaks
and had a broad Jamaican accent that fascinated the clone to no
end.
     "Henry, how long do I have to stay here?" She had looked up from
her book, absently brushing a lock of dark hair behind one ear and
was now gazing up at him expectantly.
     He was taken aback. "I'm not sure what you mean."
     "When all the tests are finished, will I be allowed to leave?"
Her gaze was so earnest, he didn't know what to say. Clumsily, he
stroked her hair.
     "Ash, this is your home."
     "But I have no function here. Now you know how to create more
like me." Her logic seemed precise and her confusion shone in her
grey eyes.
     "But I need to monitor your progress, make sure you're all
right."
     "What if I am not all right? What if I am not a 'viable clone'?"
     He froze, a hand falling on her shoulder. "We have no reason to
believe that is the case. Your vitals are strong and consistent.
You mustn't worry about such things." He dismissed her fears with
gruff, but tender tones.
     "If you say so, Henry," she replied, subdued, and then turned
back to her screen. He had the distinct feeling of being dismissed
and stopped himself before he turned and walked away.
     "Ash, you do understand, don't you?" he asked, hesitantly.
     "I understand. I understand that I am your experiment. Your
property."
     His face flooded with colour, and he frowned. "That's not it at
all. Don't be foolish, girl. You are no one's property."
     "So I can just walk out of here? Out into the street, and no one
will stop me?" She stood suddenly--novel forgotten--her chair
teetering. She stilled it with a hand so forcefully it marked the
linoleum. "I assume there is a street, of course. I wouldn't know
since I've never even had the chance to look out a window onto the
world. I don't know if it's night or day. I've never felt the sun
on my face, or smelled the rain, or even seen a bird--"
     "Now you're just throwing a tantrum."
     "And why shouldn't I? I am a child, am I not? Not even three
weeks old, shouldn't I be allowed to throw a tantrum, if I wish?
What will you do, Father, tell me to go to my room without supper?"
     "I don't understand, where is all this coming from?"
     "From me," she thumped her chest. "From the part of me that you
didn't create in a lab, with your test tubes and your 
computers.  From the part of me that you feed with novels and 
films. From the part of me that wants to live as all other humans live, 
to understand. Or are you going to tell me now that I'm not human?"
     Henry stepped back, frozen into silence. What could he say? What
could he tell her? That, no, she wasn't human? That she was a clone
of a creature that appeared human one moment, and a gargoyle the
next?
     She seemed to seethe, to boil though she had not moved--had not
even seemed to breathe--while she waited for his answer. It was a
cold fury that utterly befuddled him, having no understanding of
the source of her anger. She had never had such an outburst before,
had been remarkably even tempered, almost uniformly pleasant.
     "What. Am. I." she said softly, with steel beneath each word.
     "You are Ash. You are an artificial sentient humanoid. I don't
know what else to tell you."
     "Why 'humanoid'? Why not 'human'?"
     "It's just a phrase, Ash. Something to write in reports and on
files, it doesn't mean anything."
     "It's my name." Her eyes filled with tears. "It should mean
something, not just be a label you conveniently drew out of the
air."
     She turned and ran from the lab, back down the corridor to her
rooms. The security guards outside the lab laid their hands on
their pistols and looked at him quizzically before they stood back
at attention. He could only scratch his head and sigh.


September 15, 1996

Henry knocked on Ash's door, feeling foolish. When there was no
answer, he bowed his head, stuck his hands deep in his pockets and
headed back down the hall to his lab.
     Vogel was waiting there and glanced up as FitzMartin entered.
The doctor started, then remembered that this afternoon had been
their weekly scheduled progress meeting. He was forty-five minutes
late, and it worried him that Vogel may have been sitting there the
entire time. From the look on the other man's face, he had the
feeling that tardiness was the worst of his sins.
     "Where is she?"
     "In her rooms"
     "I see." Vogel's voice remained devoid of emotion, but Henry
felt judged all the same. Judged and found lacking. His back
straightened involuntarily and a muscle twitched in his jaw as he
met Vogel's cool, detached gaze.
     "Yes. She was somewhat agitated; we argued yesterday. It was the
first such altercation, and I thought it best to let her calm
down."
     "How did she react this morning?"
     "She didn't answer her door when I knocked. I assumed she was
still angry."
     "And she was actually in her rooms?"
     "Of course she was," Henry deflated slightly. "I mean, I assume
she was. Where else would she be?"


Avalon

The hall was full to bursting with the returned Children, and
Oberon and Titania sat together on the dais. After three days of
receiving the renewed pledges of loyalty and fealty, there were
only a few stragglers left; the line was only a dozen or so deep.
Oberon looked up in genuine surprise when the last supplicant
proved to be Rowan.
     She bowed low, with a flourish, her dark hair hiding her face
from him.
     "Have you come finally to your senses, my child?"
     "Indeed I have."
     "Then it is my pleasure to forgive you your transgressions and
welcome you back into the fold, once you have sworn fealty to me."
     "Alas, my regained senses will not allow such a thing. I will
not take my former words back, but say again, louder still, that
you are *not* my lord." Her voice rose, ringing out into the
suddenly hushed hall, bouncing off the stone walls as jaws dropped
among all those assembled. She faced the masses, head held high.
"Oberon interprets his edicts as he sees fit. Translated: he will
abide by his own word if and when it pleases him. Which is to say,
not at all--if it is to his advantage. I will not call him lord,
nor will I recognise his authority over me."
     Shaking with anger, Rowan turned back to the king of Faerie,
grey eyes alight with fury. "You are no more worthy of my fealty
and respect than a wretched cur in the street. Your exalted word of
honour is little more than a dog's bark in the night, holding even
less worth, for at least a dog is true to its nature!"
     With that, she spat on him, and then waited.


Manhattan

Henry raised his hand to knock, but Vogel simply reached for the
knob. Turning it, he stepped through and Henry followed, feeling a
flush creep up his neck.
     The lights were off and he fumbled with the wall switch. "Ash?"
he called, as the fluorescent overheads came on, revealing the
empty bedroom. He was met with silence. Tapping on the bathroom
door, he heard a muffled moan.
     Throwing open the door, he found Ida, bound and gagged with the
remains of the shower curtain. As he untied her, Vogel removed his
cellphone from his suit breast pocket, frowning.
     "Security alert, sub-basement four. All stations check in,
please. Subject is female, Caucasian, approximately sixteen years
of age, long black hair, grey eyes. Subject is not armed, but may
be considered dangerous--"
     "She's hardly dangerous!" Henry balked, and Ida massaged her
wrists, glaring.
     "Damned girl whapped me upside the head with Webster's New
Unabridged. I'd hardly call that friendly!"
     "Apprehend, without the use of deadly force," Vogel concluded
and snapped the phone shut. Looking down at Henry and Ida, he then
turned on his heel and walked out without comment.


Avalon

Oberon had sat, seething yet still, through the whole performance.
On cue, he wiped the spittle from his cheek and began to rise.
     However, the Queen was faster. In one smooth motion, she rose
and slapped Rowan across the face. Green flames crackled about her
head and shoulders and her hair was lifted by an invisible wind.
     "Fionnuala ni Ahine, called Rowan, your behaviour here has been
heinous. You have disgraced yourself before your lord, and what's
more, shamed us all with your wanton temper. You were my faithful
servant and for that I was willing to grant you leniency. But this
affront is too much to be borne."
     Raising her hands, tendrils of power shot out, surrounding Rowan
and lifting her from the marble floor.
     "You foolishly begged for banishment, so we will give it to you.
We hereby strip you of all your powers, save when you are bound by
*geas* to honour a boon. Never again will you walk upon the land of
your birth. Never again shall you know the gifts that were your
birthright. You shall be called Rowan, mortal and live your life as
any of the human race. So speaks Titania."
     With a cry, Rowan fell to the floor, human joints and muscles
protesting. She chewed on her lip, eyes flitting from the frozen
king to the furious queen.
     Now was the true test.
     "My queen has done what I could not," Oberon began, so softly
that Rowan was sure only they three could hear him. "And I must
stand by her edict."
     "To the World with you then, and out of our sight forever."
Titania pointed to the mirror and Rowan pulled herself to her feet,
taking one last look back at the silent hall. The Bean Sidhe looked
sympathetic, at least. The rest seemed shocked, appalled, or
frightened and she wondered just how many had longed to do what
only she could have done and lived.
     Coyote, damn his eyes and bless his soul, winked.
     Stepping to the glass, she watched as her reflection melted
away, replaced by a late summer sunset in Central Park. One lone
jogger was on the paths and she could hear birdsong, almost feel
the breeze lift her hair.
     She glanced back at Oberon, but his face was as if carved of
stone. She dared not look at Titania, but taking a deep breath,
stepped through the mirror and disappeared.
     Glancing back through the green edged portal, she could see
Titania, her back to the assembled host and her husband, smiling.
Rowan schooled her expression until the portal began to shrink and
only when it finally blinked out of existence did she spread her
arms and laugh, twirling around in the grass like a child.


Ash held her breath as she crossed the lobby of Cyberbiotics,
pushing Ida's thick glasses up further on her nose as she smiled
inanely at the receptionist and tried to ignore the pounding of
bootheels on marble as security guards piled into the elevators
behind her. Leaning forward, she gestured to the paper shears in
the plastic pencil cup and smiled. "Hey, could I borrow those? I'll
bring them right back.
     "Sure." The receptionist handed them over without a thought and
Ash pocketed them. She focused on the revolving glass doors instead
of the thudding of her heart, until she pushed through them and
stepped out into the evening air.
     Walking quickly and purposefully, she removed the glasses and ID
badge, tucking them in the pocket of Ida's uniform before breaking
into a run. She ran fourteen blocks in all, until the steel and
glass building disappeared behind its fellows and the stitch in her
side forced her to lean against a rusty dumpster in an alley, her
breath coming in staccato gasps.
     Tugging at the pins that held her hastily pinned up hair in a
messy French twist, she removed the scissors. With grim
determination, she gathered her hair into a pony tail and began
cutting. Dropping the rope of black hair into the dumpster,
followed by the glasses and ID badge, she stepped out of the alley
and caught sight of her reflection in the dark window of a closed
electronics store. A stranger in a five sizes too large nurse's
uniform grinned back at her. Regardless of the stares of passers-
by, she spread her arms and laughed, twirling around on the
sidewalk like a child.

Chapter 4


Manhattan

As the sun slipped below the horizon, pigeons fled in terror as the
gargoyles stretched awake with roars and a rain of thin stone skin.
     "All right!" Brooklyn grinned. "Fall Equinox is only a week
away! Life's gonna be one big party from then on."
     "I don't understand," Angela couldn't figure out why her clan
seemed so utterly thrilled with the prospect.
     "Starting with the equinox, the nights start getting longer,"
Lex explained, "until you reach the winter solstice. It's the
longest night of the year.
     "Yeah. Last year we were so busy trying to keep New York's
finest from blowing us to smithereens thinking we were Xanatos'
robots, we never got to celebrate it properly."
     "And it falls close to the humans' holidays," Goliath clasped
his daughter on the shoulder, "Yule, Christmas and . . ." he
fumbled for the name of the other.
     "Chanukah," Broadway supplied. "You can't forget Chanukah."
     "But the solstice is so far off, why get so excited now?"
     "Because . . ." Brooklyn began and his smile faded. "Um . . .
because it's the equinox," he finished lamely.
     "Oh." Angela tried to show some enthusiasm. "We celebrated
differently on Avalon."
     "Really?" Broadway asked, genuinely curious and she turned to
him with a smile. Brooklyn threw up his hands and followed Lex
inside the clocktower.
     "Yes. Tom and Princess Katharine and the Magus wanted to keep
Easter, but they couldn't figure out how it fell. Actually, I don't
think the Magus was very concerned. He was much more interested in
the days when the world walls were thinned and time ran the same in
both directions."
     "You miss him, don't you."
     "There was so much I could have learned from him and I always
thought I'd have the time . . ." Angela trailed off.
     Broadway changed the subject, trying to cheer her. "The best
human holiday is coming up, though."
     "Really?"
     "Uh-Huh. My favourite human holiday is Hallowe'en."
     "Hallowe'en?"
     "It's fantastic! Everyone dresses in costumes and they bob for
apples, give away free candy, carve out pumpkins--"
     "I bet I know why you like it so much," Angela teased and he
grinned. "Tell me more about this Hallowe'en."
     "Well, the book downstairs in the library says that people dress
up in costumes to scare away ghosts."
     "Ghosts?" Angela shuddered, thinking of Hakon.
     "Don't worry, I'll protect you," Broadway said, dead serious and
she smiled. "What I like best about Hallowe'en is that humans and
gargoyles can go out together and no one notices."
     "You mean no one minds," she corrected and he shrugged.
     "Same thing."
     "Do you think so? Something tells me it's not the same at all."
She thought of her father and Elisa. Jumping up on the wall, she
spread her wings. "I'm going out on patrol."
     "You go ahead, we'll catch up," Brooklyn called from the doorway
and Lex looked at him quizzically. Angela shrugged and leapt off
into the evening.


Angela gloried in the feel of the warm fall wind beneath her wings.
It had been sticky-hot in August, even after dusk, but September so
far had been pleasant. It almost reminded her of Avalon.
     She came to rest on top of a school, watching the swings sway
slightly in the breeze. Tucking her wings around her, she
unconsciously struck a thinker's pose, wondering why thoughts of
her home didn't stir any kind of longing. She supposed she'd been
too busy to be homesick. There was so much to see, so much to do.
And she didn't want to leave her father, not after forty years of
never knowing him. He was part of her clan and she knew that if she
returned to Avalon, she might never see him again. Not because of
his quarrel with Oberon, but simply by way of how time passed
there, so slowly (or was it swiftly? It was all very confusing)
compared to here, in Manhattan.
     She missed Gabriel, of course. And her other brothers and
sisters. But she no longer thought of Gabriel as her . . . what was
the word? Boyfriend. She had just assumed, as they were growing up,
that they were meant to be together. Such assumptions paled in the
face of what she was feeling now.
     There was still so much for her, in this world. She liked the
idea of being free to make her own choices and when she had last
seen him, Gabriel had been less than receptive to this idea.
     "Your place is here," he had argued.
     "My place is wherever I choose," Angela had replied hastily and
stormed off. They had reconciled later; it was hard to stay angry
with someone you had known all your life. But they hadn't
apologised for their words and she couldn't blame him, not really.
After all, until Tom had brought back Goliath and Elisa, she had
never really believed there was a life for gargoyles off the
island. It had seemed no more real than a fairy story the Magus had
spun for them as hatchlings. But now she was living the reality and
Avalon suddenly seemed so small by comparison.
     She flushed guiltily. This was her home she was talking about
here. Her friends, the people who raised her. They had done the
best they could; she shouldn't be thinking such thoughts. She
shouldn't even consider abandoning them. But the question of her
return still nagged at her.
     She was in no hurry to go. But at the same time, she wasn't sure
what held her here, in Manhattan. It wasn't like she was actually
looking for Gabriel's replacement. Brooklyn and Broadway were sweet
and she liked both of them in different ways, but they seemed to
want more of her than she was prepared to give. Especially
Brooklyn. She actually found herself more comfortable with
Broadway's bluff manner and easygoing charms. And after being
possessed by Goliath's rookery brother and sister, she had begun to
look at Broadway differently, her view of him coloured by
Coldfire's love for her mate. She knew it was the flimsiest of
reasons, but it did make a difference, enough of one that she found
she was more confused now than she had been before she had begun
examining her situation.
     "Men," she muttered, taking once more to the night sky.


"Women," Brooklyn muttered as he and Lex glided above the city.
     "I thought you were giving Angela 'space'," he would have put
quotations around the world, if the action wouldn't have sent him
plummeting to the street below. He hoped his tone would suffice.
     "I am. I am," Brooklyn added quickly. "Any more space and I'll
be in New Jersey."
     "You know, it's not like she's the last of her kind."
     "You're not helping, Lex." Brooklyn glared. "I mean, if you have
a choice between Angela, Demona and Delilah, who would you choose?&
     Lex laughed. "Wow, you've got it bad."
     "Just wait until your hormones kick in, little buddy."
     "What makes you think they haven't?"
     Brooklyn whooped with laughter and Lex's eyes went white. They
chased each other though the darkening sky and were in hysterics
when they finally alighted on the walls of Belvedere castle.


Ash's heart finally slowed to a normal pace at the edge of Central
Park. She felt as if her eyes would fall out, for looking. She
couldn't stop gazing around her with sheer wonder at all the
people. Families out for Sunday dinner thronged the streets and she
stopped to watch an older couple walk their dog at the edge of the
lake. The animal barked and ran in circles around her. She jumped
up on a park bench as it bared its small, white teeth.
     "Stop that!" the woman sounded appalled and tugged at the dog's
leash. "I'm so sorry, he never--Binky! Binky, leave the nice girl
alone!--"
     "We're so sorry, miss." Her husband scooped up the terrier and
Ash climbed down from the bench, cheeks flushed with colour.
     "No, it's all right. I expect he's a very nice dog normally."
She tugged at her shorn hair, suddenly self-conscious and watched
the man's smile go peculiar as he took in the tent of a dress and
jagged black hair sticking up like badly mown grass.
     "Come along then, Emma." He took his wife's elbow, smile frozen
on his face. Ash watched them go, her chest tight as he leaned over
to whisper in his wife's ear and they quickened their pace.
     They knew. It didn't matter that the specifics were beyond them,
they could simply tell that something about her was not right. Ash
swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and brought a shaking hand
to her mouth, her eyes smarting. Glancing around at all the people,
all the normal, happy people, she wanted to hide.
     Giving over to blind panic, Ash cut through the park, heedless
of the dangers she had read about and seen on the television. If
any muggers did see her, they didn't make their presence known. Or
perhaps they took one look and wrote her off as a crazy. She
certainly felt crazy as she crashed through the bushes, ignoring
the branches scraping her bare arms and legs.


Brooklyn caught a flash of white amid the trees and squinted to
focus. Lex followed his gaze and saw the lone figure tearing
through the trees.
     "What is it?'
     "I think it's a girl."
     "Is somebody chasing her?" Lex was poised to swoop to the
rescue, but Brooklyn grabbed his arm, shaking his head.
     "Nah, there's nobody around." He shook his head and then his jaw
dropped as he caught a glimpse of her face.
     "Um, Lex? Why don't you head on back? I'll catch up."
     Lexington rolled his eyes. "Man, you are a mess."
     "I'm not chasing after Angela," Brooklyn replied absently,
craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the retreating figure.
     "Yeah. Sure." Lex took off, catching an updraft and soaring away
in the direction of the clocktower. Brooklyn mentally judged the
speed of the figure that had since been swallowed whole by the
yellow, brown and red leaves and dove off the wall and hoping he
hadn't lost her.


The Eyrie building security guard was just locking the glass doors
as a young woman came up. She smiled charmingly and gestured to the
bolt. He took one look at the hair down to there and leather,
linen, velvet and silk monstrosity she probably called high fashion
and shook his head, turning his watch face so that she could see it
was closer to seven than six.
     "Come back tomorrow!" he called through the shatter resistant
glass and her face fell. She pushed and he yelped as the key jumped
out of his hand.
     "I really need to come inside," she insisted, wedging her leg in
the crack between the doors.
     "No you don't."
     "Oh yes I do. Summer's ending and as you can tell, I'm hardly
dressed for weather."
     "C'mon, lady, don't do this to me--" the rent-a-cop sighed,
trying to push her back out again.
     "I just need to see Owen Burnett."
     "Is he expecting' ya?"
     "Um . . . definitely not."
     "Out!" he shoved, but she managed to get another inch or two of
leg in.
     "I promise you, it'll be fine."
     "Oh yeah? And who are you?"
     She opened her mouth and then closed it again, frowning.
"Rowan," she said simply and pushed her way further inside.


David Xanatos looked up from the minutes of his last board meeting
to see a curious scene playing out on the black and white security
monitor. Stroking his beard thoughtfully, he magnified the corner
of the screen to get a closer look.
     "Well, I'll be damned," he said softly to the empty office. It
appeared to be a very agitated Fionnuala Rowan accosting his
security guard. The last time he had seen her, some months earlier,
she had been blind drunk and singing at the top of her lungs. He
hadn't questioned Owen too thoroughly about the incident, although
his curiosity had run rampant for weeks afterwards. Owen had
returned the XE chopper the next morning, the bloodstains having
mysteriously vanished, and appeared at their daily sparring session
at seven sharp as if nothing had happened. Their lives had gone on,
the matter of periodic visitations from his old friend forgotten.
     However, the phrase "old friend" took on an entirely different
meaning now that David had the proper context. The curiosity that
had lain dormant sprang forth with renewed vigour, especially since
he had it from Oberon's own lips that all the Fay, save Puck, had
returned to Avalon.


"Lady, you could be the queen a' England, for all I care. But you
can't be in here after closing time--onna Sunday, for Pete's sake!"
Burt exclaimed, trying to close the door on the intruder. "Mr.
Xanatos'll fire me himself--"
     "That all depends, Burt," came a voice from behind. The guard
turned, keys slipping from his fingers a second time and Rowan used
this opportunity to slither the rest of the way into the lobby.
     David Xanatos leaned against the wall, hands shoved in his
pockets, one eyebrow cocked playfully. "Ms. Rowan, I can say with
complete certainty that you are the very last person I expected to
find forcing her way into the Eyrie Building."
     "Is that a good thing?" she asked, chewing on a piece of hair.
     "Considering the events of several months ago . . . I'm not
sure."
     A slow smile crept across her face. "You can add, yes?"
     He nodded.
     "Then I can assume you put two and two together . . ?"
     "Let's just say that I wouldn't miss this reunion for the
world." David offered her his arm and, looking back over his
shoulder, made eye contact with Burt. "You're right, if it had been
anyone else, I probably would have fired you."


Ash slid to a halt in a narrow alleyway, her breath coming in sobs.
     It was all so new, so overwhelming. So much more so than she
thought it would be, even after having studied the flickering
ghost-worlds of television and film and the only slightly more
substantial words on paper. No one worked from a script out here.
There were more variables than her brain could process and rather
than try, she simply let it all wash over her. If she became the
observer again, like she had been at Cyberbiotics, then she would
have some small measure of control that she lacked as a
participant. Yes, that sounded safe and logical.
     She tugged down a fire escape ladder, slithering up the rungs
past windows with delectable Sunday dinner smells wafting out on
the fall breeze to the gravel covered roof. She could see the park
from there and the sea of buildings, the sky darkening in the east
to indigo. Sighing, she let her legs dangle over the edge, feeling
the tears dry as she regained some control over her emotions.
     Her eye was caught by a tower of glass that rose higher than any
other on the island, and she put her hand to her mouth, gasping as
she made out the shape of a fairy tale castle perched at its apex.
She had never seen anything to compare, and she wondered idly who
had set it there, and what kind of people lived there.


"Owen's feeding Alexander," David informed Rowan before she could
ask, as the express elevator opened onto the grey walls of Castle
Wyvern. "He learned it's easier to feed him first and then give him
his bath."
     "I imagine it must be," Rowan chuckled and then stopped again.
She laid a hand on Xanatos' arm. "Please . . . how has it been for
him?"
     "He's adjusted to his permanent position with the same stoic,
placid, pleasant demeanour as I've come to expect from him."
     "I see."
     "Are you asking, does he feel alone? Lost? Unhappy? Ms. Rowan,
as much as I consider him a friend--perhaps my closest friend--he
doesn't share those thoughts with me. I'm sorry. But I do know that
it wasn't just Avalon he lost. And I don't think it's just Avalon
he mourned losing."
     "You're kind, David Xanatos," she observed in a quiet voice.
     "You seem surprised."
     "Perhaps a bit. But then, I shouldn't be. He chose to stay with
you."
     David digested this fact silently and then they continued
through the stone corridor towards the main hall.
     Catching sight of herself in the large bronze mirror hanging on
the wall near the entrance, Rowan froze. "I look . . ." *like a
human playing dress-up*, she began to say, but the words stuck in
her throat. Reflected in the glass was a slight human woman, hair
is a disarray, large grey eyes wide. She touched one round ear
self-consciously, then shook her hair forward. No wonder the
security guard had tried to turn her away at the door. The court
garb that had seemed plain, even subdued on Avalon now looked
ragged and foolish, the weird mix of textures clumsy and somehow
ridiculous. *She* looked clumsy and ridiculous. "I must look a
sight," she finished awkwardly.
     Xanatos watched the parade of emotions silently and then smiled
gamely. "A sight for sore eyes, I'd say."

Chapter 5


"Look who I found trying to break in." David stood in the doorway
of the kitchen, watching his major-domo attempt to give a bottle to
his son, who seemed ever so much happier aiming mouthfuls of
Similac formula purposefully for Owen's glasses. From the state of
him, Alex's aim was definitely improving. Fairly impressive for a
three month old child, but that wasn't the only impressive aspect
of young Xanatos. They had come to accept the fact that their son,
for now anyway, seemed often more fay than human. As unsettling as
that thought could be, there was some comfort in knowing that all
was, if Owen was to be believed, as it should be.
     Owen looked up, placid and serene as always, wiping off a smear
of formula with a dishtowel.
     Then David stepped aside, revealing a dark-haired young woman,
hands clasped behind her, grey eyes shining with all sorts of
emotions.
     Owen just kept looking from Xanatos to Rowan and back again, his
mouth moving, but no sounds issuing forth as he stood frozen with
the dishtowel in one hand. Alexander gurgled happily, waving a fist
in delight.
     "I think he looks sufficiently surprised, don't you?" David
asked.
     "I'd say so," Rowan agreed.
     "*Rowan?*" he finally managed and she laughed as he forgot for
a second butlers weren't prone to wild displays of emotion and
swept her into his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder and
hugged with all her might. Unfortunately, he did the same.
     "Ow!" She cried, startled. "Careful, we humans bruise easily."
He set her on her feet, looking absolutely dumbstruck. She rubbed
the small of her back and then pulled out his left arm to inspect
it. "You idiot! It's still stone!"
     "Human?" he asked, frowning.
     "I couldn't let you stay and have all the fun without me, now
could I?"
     "But--who . . ?" Owen asked, still not yet over the shock of
seeing her.
     "Titania banished me. I asked her to do it. It was the only way;
Oberon would not."
     "Of course he wouldn't--"
     "And I did finally get the last word, oh I wish you could have
seen his face! It was *priceless*."
     "Rowan--"
     "I called him no better than a wretched cur and likened his word
of honour to a dog's bark in the night--"
     He placed his right hand over her mouth and at last she ceased
her babbling. Her grey eyes sparkled above his fingers and he
leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. David lifted
Alexander from his high-chair, never caring in the least that non-
dairy milk by-products were not the typical fashion accessory to
Armani jackets and had started for the door when Rowan's eyes lit
upon the child. She slipped from the protective and slightly
possessive circle of Burnett's arms.
     "Is this the wee little thing that caused such a fuss?" she
asked, touching the soft red curls. "Ah, he's a fine one, he is."
She laughed as the baby grabbed her finger and began to suck it,
green eyes wide and slightly unfocussed. "Aren't you, boyo?" she
said in a sing-song, tickling his stomach. "Aren't you, now?"
     "You know, we haven't hired a nanny--" Xanatos watched Owen out
of the corner of his eye.
     "Sir!" Owen blanched and Rowan laughed.
     "It could have been worse; I could have been from Flushing."
     "So you'll say yes?" Xanatos prompted and it was Rowan's turn to
drop her jaw.
     "You're serious?"
     "I wouldn't ask if I wasn't."
     "Are you sure? My kind have an interesting track record with
human babies."
     "You said it yourself; you're one of my kind now."
     "Oh, wouldn't that just be too pat? It would be like living a
Disney film."
     "It all comes down to Fox's decision, of course," he added,
stroking his beard thoughtfully.
     "Of course," Rowan nodded and Alexander grasped a fistful of
dark hair. She carefully pried his chubby digits loose and took
great delight in noisily kissing them. Alex laughed and a row of
green winged giraffes circled her head. "And talented too!" She
looked up in amusement at the galloping hybrids before they
dissipated. "Yes you are, yes you are!" she tickled him.
     Owen just kept looking back and forth between the two of them
and David tucked the child in the crook of his arm and winked
before leaving them.
     "He's certainly . . . mellowed." Rowan observed as the door
clicked shut and they were alone at last.
     "Fatherhood agrees with him."
     "Aye, it does." He could not tear his eyes from the sight of her
and reached out to touch her hair. Sighing, she pulled him into an
embrace and closed her eyes against the sudden tears. She was so
hungry for his touch and to think she might never have known it
again . . .
     "You shouldn't have come," he said into her hair.
     "How could I have not?" she asked, incredulous.
     "But it is too much--"
     "It is no less than I know you would have done for me, were I
exiled not just from my home, but from my heart." She traced his
frown with a fingertip and coaxed it into a sad smile instead.
"Besides, even before I knew of your punishment, I was prepared to
fight to stay here, in the World. I thought I could just say 'No,
thanks' and that would be the end of it. However, I forget how . .
. *persuasive* the Sisters can be when they've got it into their
heads that they've a task to perform." She chuckled and he brushed
her cheek with his fingertips. "At least this was my choice. I am
no longer one of Oberon's Children," she said softly as he drew his
hand away.
     "Yet always his child, magic or no magic," he replied.


Brooklyn was about to give up, when he saw a slight figure in white
pull herself up onto the roof of an apartment building and perch on
the edge. The hair and clothes threw him for a loop, but it was
definitely Fionnuala--unless she was calling herself Jackie these
days, since from his vantage point, her ears were decidedly round.
It was easy to tell, with the hatchet job she'd done on her hair.
     He landed on the gravel with a bounce and caped his wings,
smiling.
     "Hey!" he called out and she sprang to her feet, all the colour
draining from her cheeks, her hands pressed up against her mouth
and grey eyes wide.


"There's my lovely boy," Fox smiled as her husband returned to the
nursery with Alex.
     "What does that make me?" he kissed her hair before handing off
the kid.
     "The man who put me through fourteen hours of labour. Not that
I bear a grudge." Fox grinned. "I heard the front desk was having
trouble with a street kid. All taken care of?"
     "More than all taken care of, I think." David's brown eyes
sparkled with barely controlled mirth. "What would you say if I
told you I have found the perfect nanny for Alex?"
     "I'd say, if you hired someone without consulting me first, how
would you like your liver served to you? Sauteed with onions, or
just bloody and raw?"
     "Hear me out." David picked up the plush gargoyle from the end
of the crib. It had been a gift from Melina. Actually, it had been
a normal, run of the mill teddy bear. One of these days, he must
remember to ask Owen exactly what events led up to the toy's
current state. "First of all, it would solve two problems at once.
Namely, I would get my major-domo back, which is always a good
thing, since I never thought my having a son would end up meaning
I lose my right hand. Owen's far too talented to spend nine tenths
of his time looking after our son, you must agree." He handed the
toy to Alex, who gummed it with careless abandon.
     "He hardly spends nine tenths of his time--" Fox began.
     "--And more importantly, the young lady I've found will not be
the slightest bit put off, confused, or frightened by any of the,
say, *unusual* aspects of our child's upbringing. As a matter of
fact, she is intimately familiar with um . . . your mother's
family."
     "David--" Fox paled and he tried to reassure her.
     "Relax, she's human. Completely human. Recently completely
human. Twenty-four hours a day."
     "What exactly do you mean, 'recently human'?" Fox looked wary.


Rowan drew back, pale.
     "You cannot think I didn't know," Owen said quietly.
     "He would never have let me go," she said softly, tucking her
hair behind her ears.
     "No more than Mr. Xanatos could have stood by and watched his
own son be taken from him."
     "That was different. No one was trying to take me, I wanted my
freedom."
     He caught her fingers, giving them a squeeze before releasing
them. "Still, I can almost understand Lord Oberon's dilemma."
     "Which the Queen circumvented nicely. I knew it was right for me
to throw my lot in with hers, though I admit, there were times when
I had my doubts."
     "Then you don't regret your choice?" he said seriously and she
hugged him.
     "With you to share my exile? What's to regret?" There was no
response and she glanced up, seeing the perplexed look on his face,
beneath the smudges of dried formula. "What?" Whatever else she
might have said she forgot relatively immediately as he reached out
and brushed her hair from her forehead and cupped her cheek in his
hand, all the while studying her features as if to commit them to
memory. He traced the curve of her lip with his thumb, a`ghost of
a smile curving his lips as she sighed.
     "Thought I'd lost you," he whispered.
     "Ah, you'll not be rid of me that easy." She smiled as he bent
down to kiss her and she decided this was a much more fantastically
romantic gesture than throwing herself off the cliff would have
been. Then she started wondering how well built the kitchen table
was and then she didn't have to wonder.


"C'mon, it hasn't been that long. Or are dashing young gargoyles
like me a dime a dozen on Avalon?" Brooklyn asked, smiling and the
girl only stared at him, eyes blank and mouth open as choked sound
issued forth. She held up her hands to ward him off and he froze in
his tracks.
     "It's me, Brooklyn," he held out his arms, grinning and she took
two more steps backwards, trying to put as much distance between
herself and this . . . this *creature* as possible. "I thought
you'd gone home, I thought I'd never see you again."
     "Stay away from me!" Ash cried, feeling the low wall of the roof
hit the back of her legs. She teetered for a second and he reached
out a hand unconsciously to steady her. She jerked away from him
and lost her balance entirely, going over the side with a short
scream.
     "Fionnuala!" Brooklyn cried in alarm and then shielded his eyes
as a bright green flash of light blinded him.


Owen made a strangled sound, stiffening and Rowan caught him as he
almost toppled to the floor.
     "Owen?" Rowan's voice came from a great distance, choked with
concern.


"It's a long story--" David began and suddenly Fox shuddered.
"Fox?"
     "I think someone just stepped on my grave," she smiled and then
Alex began to wail.


Rowan clutched at Owen's sleeve and the world came rushing back
with amazing force.
     "What is it?" she knew she sounded completely panicked, but
couldn't help herself. One second they were sharing a passionate
and tender reunion and the next, he looked through her as if he
couldn't even see her and then convulsed. "What happened?"
     "I'm all right," he replied shakily and she drew him into an
awkward hug.
     "You frightened me. Don't ever do that again."
     "It was as if . . ." he whispered into her hair and then his
throat closed. He could find no words to describe the intense
battering of emotions, sights and sounds that had flooded his mind.
"I was falling."
     Rowan looked up at him, concerning drawing her brows together in
a frown. At that moment, she became aware that Alexander had
started crying (a fact they both noticed since the entire castle
was wired with intercoms permanently tuned to the nursery now) and
it no longer became an issue. "What do nannies do, exactly?" she
asked as they straightened their clothing and headed towards the
living quarters, all business.
     "You'll learn," he assured her, still trying to shake off the
lingering effects of whatever had just occurred.


Brooklyn saw spots--bright spots--and rubbed his eyes, peering over
the ledge to try and see her, whomever she had been.
     "Wha--" he jerked back as a white owl careened towards him from
below, almost colliding with him, leaving a shower of snow white
feathers as it disappeared among the buildings. He never even
noticed the white nurse's uniform fluttering to the ground below.

Chapter 6


Fox Xanatos crooned wordlessly to Alexander as he wailed in her
arms. She looked up at her husband with a bleak expression and
David only chuckled.
     "Sometimes they cry for no reason." He took Alex from his mother
and tried bouncing him on his knee, but Alex only hiccuped in-
between wails.
     "But he can't be hungry; he's just been fed. And he's dry. I
don't think he needs to be burped." She was at a complete loss and
each wail was like a knife in her heart.
     "Sir? If we can be of assistance?" Owen stood in the doorway,
Rowan, peeking out from behind him. Fox started and her arms
unconsciously tightened around Alexander, whose face was red and
getting redder by the second as he gulped for breath to scream. She
looked to David, who only smiled.
     "You remember Ms. Rowan?"
     "Of course--" She switched Alex to her other hip, at once
embarrassed and relieved. A great many things were beginning to
become clear. Alex let loose another wail and Fox wiped away his
tears with the sleeve of her blouse. "Shhh," she whispered, rocking
him gently. "It's all right, it's all right." Alex hiccuped and
began to settle, tired from his fit.
     Rowan looked from Owen to Mr. Xanatos and then Mrs. Xanatos, who
looked both mystified and relieved as Alex quieted. "That's my boy,
that's my wonderful boy," she said softly, pressing a kiss to his
ear.
     "When did Alexander began crying?" Owen asked.
     "A moment ago. I can't imagine what happened."
     Rowan looked at him, puzzled, but he made no move to explain.
She folded her hands in her lap and chewed her bottom lip.
     "I take it this is the nanny?" Fox looked to her husband.
     "Pending your approval, of course," David added quickly.
     "And where'd you find this Mary Poppins?"
     "Would you believe she was trying to break in?"
     "Succeeded, actually," Rowan added, thoughtfully. "It's rather
a good thing I wasn't someone unspeakably nasty, I don't think Burt
would have fared very well."
     "Out," Fox gestured to the men, who started. "I'm sorry, wasn't
I speaking English? Out. I want a word with our new nanny."
     Owen and Xanatos shared a bemused look, though it was far more
obvious to both that Xanatos was amused--Owen simply lifted the
corner of his mouth a fraction. Once the door was closed behind
them, Fox set Alex in his crib, lifting the gargoyle teddy into his
grasping hands. He chewed on its wing, burbling and oblivious.
Rowan turned her attention to Mrs. Xanatos.
     "Pending your approval," Rowan added.
     "Yes, well, I need some answers first." She sat opposite her,
green eyes piercing. "*Did* my mother send you?"
     "After a fashion."
     "Explain."
     "I've been in your mother's service for over a thousand years.
Much of that time was spent in our exile, but I was always to hand
an she needed me. It was rare. The last time I was called upon to
serve my function was in retrieving her mirror. I did not see her
again until I was recalled--by force--to Avalon's shores."
     "Why by force?"
     "You may have noticed a trend among the pucks. I didn't want to
go back. It wasn't so much that I was overly fond of this world,
though now I am beginning to realise that I am. A bit. No, I balked
at being ordered to return. I think if I'd been asked nicely . . .
No, that's a lie. I would have said no. I have no place there any
longer, even by my Queen's side."
     "Do you know what my mother did?"
     "Any knowledge I have is in pieces; we did not speak of it
directly. I knew that she had plans and that you and your son were
a part of them. But it is difficult to make any kind of plans with
my--with Oberon. Or I should say, manoeuvre Oberon into his place.
Because there is no guarantee that once you have him correctly
positioned, he will follow the path you've set for him. He tends to
go completely overboard, you see. And there is no way to rein him
in without letting on that you have him on a leash."
     "Aptly put."
     "I know that she was trying to solve all our problems for us.
Owen would get to stay, you and your husband and your son would be
left in peace. I'm sure it all seemed very sensible at the time,
but he is unpredictable. As I well know." Rowan absently touched
her cheek, though Oberon's ring had left no scar.
     "How did you get here?"
     "Your mother banished me."
     "Why?"
     "Because I asked her to. Begged her to, in fact."
     "Do you love this world so much?"
     "No. I loved my freedom. And . . . and there was Owen."
     "I'm not going to say I understand that, exactly. Because I
don't. But then, until recently, there were a lot of things about
Owen Burnett that I didn't understand. And to top it all off, it's
really none of my business. He is my husband's right hand and my
son's tutor and he is exceptionally capable in both capacities.
What he does--or who he is, for that matter--in his free time is
his own business."
     "That's certainly an interesting way of looking at it." She
chuckled.
     "How skilled are you at unarmed combat?"
     "I'm sorry?" Rowan blinked at the apparent lack of a segue.
     "If you're going to be looking after my son, I need to know you
can protect him."
     "I know enough--I think. I'm untested . . ."
     "We've a gym. I'll expect you promptly at six."
     "I'll be there."
     "I'll have Owen draw up a copy of Alexander's schedule for you
and you'll need some sensible clothes," Fox looked disparagingly at
Rowan's court garb and Rowan had the courtesy to blush.
     "These weeds I doth wear aren't quite the thing, are they."
     "Maybe for the Renaissance Faire in Sterling," Fox smiled.
"You'll need ID of course and a corporate credit card, driver's
licence, the works. But that can wait until tomorrow."
     "I don't know how I can repay you," Rowan said and Fox knew she
didn't mean the clothes.
     "You can work it off; I'm sure my son will keep you busy."
     "He is passing fair." Rowan touched the boy's soft curls, grey
eyes shining brightly. She giggled as he grasped her finger and
began sucking it. "And quite a handful, I'm sure, with his lineage.
I'll do my best."
     "I expect nothing less." Fox glanced up at Rowan, smiling
slightly. "Would you like to hold him?"
     "Yes, I think I would." Rowan took the burbling baby, who made
fussy noises until she sat in the rocking chair and began rocking
slowly. She crooned softly to him, feeling remarkably comfortable
with the boy, though her experience with human children was
limited. His eyes drifted shut and she handed him back to Fox, who
rubbed his back, smiling.


Brooklyn landed with a distinct *thud* in Hudson's chair, cloaking
his wings. "The craziest thing just happened. I swear I saw
Fionnuala over by the park."
     "Fionnuala?" Lexington looked confused. "But I thought you told
us she was gone?"
     "She was. I thought all of Oberon's Children went back to
Avalon."
     "Avalon? I thought she was a gargoyle?" Broadway frowned and
Goliath looked up from his book, completely perplexed.
     "Who is this Fionnuala?"
     Brooklyn realised that he hadn't exactly been forthcoming when
it came to the matter of his brief acquaintance with Fionnuala
Rowan and cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Um--"
     "You never told us she was one of Oberon's Children!" Lex
exclaimed.
     "Yeah, well, I didn't exactly know at first."
     "Begin at the beginning," Goliath suggested and it came off more
of a command. Brooklyn sighed.
     "Well, I'm still not exactly sure where the beginning is, I
think I came in somewhere around the middle. And definitely left
before the end. Oh yeah. " He chuckled. "Definitely missed the
end."
     "Why do I have the feeling this is going to be a long story?"
Goliath almost sounded amused. Brooklyn hoped, by the time he
finished, his clan would still be amused.


"You do realise that if you are to work here, you will have to
modify your behaviour to a certain extent," Owen said as he hung up
his suit jacket, brushing imaginary lint from the lapels.
     "I think I can do that. I have seen *Remains of the Day*, you
know."
     "Rowan, I'm serious." He frowned at her and she smiled
winningly. She had removed her somewhat worse for wear garb and
stood, fresh and clean, in an oversized Rangers jersey unearthed
from the depths of Fox's closet. Somehow, it was not surprising
that Mrs. Xanatos' favourite team sport was hockey.
     "I know you are. You're always serious."
     "I wasn't always," he said softly and she cupped his cheek in
one hand.
     "But you are now. Personally, I think it's kinda sexy."
     "Rowan, please."
     "You're getting undressed; how can I not be thinking utterly
lewd thoughts?"
     "And we must do something about your wardrobe," he continued
determinedly.
     "Does this mean I get to engage in the time honoured human
female pastime of shopping?"
     "I see no way around it."
     "Then you'll be happy to know Mrs. Xanatos has taken me under
her wing and has already planned an excursion to the shops
tomorrow. I imagine we will descend upon them like a plague of
locusts, actually." She chuckled and peered into his closet,
offering him an excellent view of her all too human backside in the
process. He was certain that had been her intent and hid his smile.
"You could do with a change here and there too, love. Not that blue
isn't your colour, but an entire wardrobe full of navy double
breasted suits is just a little on the frightening side. Have you
thought of investing in a sportcoat or three?"
     He caught her around the waist and tilted her chin up to meet
his eyes. "We're not discussing my personal habits--"
     "Certainly we are. I changed the subject, didn't you notice?"
     "I can see this is going to be an interesting and possibly
frustrating partnership," he sighed, and she got up onto her
tiptoes to kiss him.
     "You wouldn't have it any other way," she said against his
mouth, and he was no choice but to agree with her, as her argument
was proving most persuasive indeed.


"It's kinda hard to picture," Lex frowned.
     "You're telling me." Brooklyn had the good grace to look
chagrined.
     Goliath remained pensive. Only Xanatos and his family knew Owen
Burnett's little secret and he had been uncertain as to whether or
not it was a secret he could--or even should--share, even after
Puck's merry meddling with his rookery brother and sister and clan.
Since it had all turned out for the best in the end, he had chosen
to remain silent. But now . . . . This shed an entirely different
light on the subject.
     "You said she played at being a gargoyle?"
     "Near as I can tell, it was just to see what it would be like.
There really wasn't anything malicious about it," Brooklyn hastily
backpeddled at the light in his leader's eyes.
     "I do not like the idea of one of Oberon's Children 'playing at'
being one of us." Goliath frowned. "I do not like it at all."
     "I didn't think you would."
     "And you saw her tonight?"
     "I saw someone who looked an awful lot like her. But if it was
Fionnuala, she didn't recognise me. She acted like she'd never seen
a gargoyle before. Then she fell off the building."
     "We seem to have that effect on people," Hudson remarked with
grim amusement.
     "There was a flash of light and then she was gone. If she was
one of Oberon's Children, then I don't know who she was, or why she
was here. I thought we'd seen the last of them, but then Puck . .
."
     "Yes. Puck seems to be a special case."
     "Maybe Fionnuala is special too. But what I really don't get is
her and Burnett. I mean, he's not exactly what I would have called
her type." He left off the fact that briefly, he had hoped *he* was
her type.
     "I don't think we can make any assumptions about Owen Burnett,"
Goliath said cryptically and Brooklyn cocked his head, wondering
just what their leader knew that he didn't.

Chapter 7


Rowan groaned as the alarm next to Owen's bed went off. She reached
out to slap the offending bit of machinery and sat up, rubbing her
eyes.
     Owen was already dressed, albeit in white *gi* and looked at her
expectantly. A second set of *gi* lay draped over the end of the
bed and she dragged it on, yawning.
     "My back hurts," she muttered in annoyance.
     "You slept poorly?"
     "What little sleep I got." She flashed him a smile, stretching.
"I anticipate growing accustomed to it." They made their way down
to the gym in silence, Rowan still half awake, Owen mentally
reviewing the day's agenda. The workout area was empty and she
watched Owen warm up, doing her best to copy his movements and
found the soreness in her muscles easing and abating.
     "Let's see what you remember, then," he began, adopting a ready
stance and she took a deep breath.
     "It's been some time," she warned him and then yelped in
surprise as he came at her. She reacted out of instinct. The throw
was sloppy and she had the distinct impression he could have
blocked it easily as he rolled up from the mat.
     "Don't humour me," she grumbled.
     "You're simply out of practice."
     She came at him and found herself on the mat, jarred by the
impact. "Ah, but you've been practising. I think you loosened some
teeth."
     He did not offer her a hand up and she got to her feet, teeth
clenched in grim determination as she went through the moves she
remembered. They were precious few, but effective enough. He was in
the process of showing her more when Fox and David arrived, leaning
in the doorway to watch them as they sparred, unnoticed.
     They were not evenly matched, not by a long shot. Owen had years
of experience on her, thanks to daily sparring sessions with Mr.
Xanatos. But she had learned well, from a master who was long dead
and dust. It became a dance and indeed it was much like dancing,
though her human body had new aches from being forced into
movements her previous form would have managed as easily as
breathing. They circled one another warily, feinting and blocking
strikes and kicks.  Blocking most of them, in any case. Rowan was
going to have an impressive set of bruises come evening. Owen would
have held off, but there was a dangerous gleam in her grey eyes, as
she pressed what little advantages she could find, and managed to
land a few strikes of her own until Owen swept her feet out from
under her. As she fell to the mat once again, she reached out and
caught handfuls of Owen's *gi*, dragging him down on top of her.
     "Not very effective," he braced himself on his elbows and she
gave a throaty laugh.
     "Oh, I don't know." She kissed his jaw.
     Fox cleared her throat and they scrambled up, bowing hastily
from the waist in unison.
     "Good morning, sir." Owen retrieved his glasses and pocket
calendar from the row of chairs lining the blue mats and Xanatos
chuckled.
     "Looks to me like she had you right where she wanted you."
     "Such an attack would hardly be effective against an intruder."
He raised a brow.
     "True. But a little more work and I'm sure she'll fit right in."
     "A lot more work," Fox corrected and tossed Rowan a towel. "But
it's a start."


Henry felt his stomach sink into his shoes as Vogel paused the
video tape and removed the printout from the tray. Ash's face, a
slight smile pulling at the corner of her mouth as she mastered
some new trick of humanity, stared up at him, rendered in fuzzy
black and white.
     "But why bring the police into it?"
     "Security can find no trace of her; why not have the city's
finest do our work for us?"
     "But--but, they'll never believe--"
     "That Henry FitzMartin's niece has joined the city's legion of
runaways? You do want her returned, do you not?"
     Henry sighed in defeat. "Yes. It's not safe for her out there.
She's in no way prepared . . . But is the prevarication really
necessary?"
     "Dr. FitzMartin, would you have me tell the New York Police
Department that we have *misplaced* an experiment?"
     *I understand that I am your experiment. Your property.*
     "No, of course not."
     "Then it's settled."


Rowan looked down at the skirt and blazer and frowned. "It's so
plain." The morning and most of the afternoon had been spent
gathering all the accoutrements of the modern human woman. Working
from the skin out, the limousine downstairs was now full of bags
and boxes containing everything from lacy undergarments to jeans
and sweaters. Last, they had descended upon an exclusive clothier
with the intent of picking up what Fox called "work clothes", a
collection of prim and proper suits, skirts, blouses and blazers.
     "Just the thing for a dowdy little nanny, I assure you," Fox
said dryly, handing her a white blouse. Alexander burbled happily
in the stroller and the shop girl smiled as she arrived with the
next batch of slacks, blazers and blouses, all in depressingly
mundane colours.
     Ducking back into the changing room, Rowan surveyed her
reflection critically as she buttoned up the blouse. She had
foregone glasses, though she had been tempted, trying on Owen's to
see how they suited her. Her dark hair was tamed into a French
braid, not a lock out of place, though it was hair-spray and not
magic that did so this time. She wore a bit of pale lipstick and
the girl at the make-up counter had insisted on eyeliner against
her better judgement and indeed it was smudged now. It would take
some getting used to, these human standards of beauty.
     The clothes weren't beautiful, even by human standards. They
were plain, functional and though of fine cloth and good cut, not
particularly flattering. Still, she was not meant to cut a fine
figure, but to blend in. And blend in she would, she decided, her
mouth a grim line. She was determined to live by the example set by
her mate. If a peacock such as Oberon's own puck could stomach drab
mortal weeds such as these, a simple jack such as herself could do
no less.
     Taking a deep breath, she exited the changing room and displayed
the ensemble for her benefactress' approval.
     "Very smart," Fox nodded, rocking the stroller a little.
     "I can't abide the shoes," she muttered, glancing down at the
black pumps and almost turning an ankle.
     "The flats will be good enough for daily wear."
     "Aye, if you wish me to survive the week whole and intact."
     Fox chuckled and handed her credit card to the shop girl. "We'll
take them all."
     "Where to now, then?"
     "Alex's grandfather is expecting a visit."


Halcyon Renard beamed as Alexander reached for his thumb and
grasped it, trying to draw the digit towards his mouth.
     *So this is the man Titania favoured during our exile*, Rowan
thought as she studied Renard from beneath her lashes as he propped
himself up in the hospital bed. It was hard to picture this frail,
reed thin mortal as consort to a queen. Yet their exile had changed
them all and Owen had told her that in his youth, Halcyon Renard
had been a man worthy of such a wife.
     "How are you feeling, Daddy?"
     "Much better, now that you're here." He smiled, but his voice
was faint and his hands shook as Rowan took the baby.
     The door opened, admitting a tall bespectacled gentleman,
murmuring apologies.
     "Ah, Vogel." Renard smiled, but Rowan could not tear her eyes
away from him. Fox watched her with amusement. But then Vogel
marked Rowan's presence and it was his turn to stare. Alex began to
fuss and Rowan rocked him gently, whispering quiet assurances even
as she felt Vogel's eyes slide off her at last. She let loose a
breath she hadn't been aware she was holding.
     "And who is this young woman?" Renard broke the momentary
silence with a hand raised in Rowan's direction and Fox smiled.
     "Ms. Rowan has recently become Alex's nanny," Fox explained.
     "It's a sincere pleasure to meet you sir. I have heard much
about you."
     "Not all of it good, if it came from my son-in-law."
     "Daddy!" Fox chided and he chuckled.
     "As a matter of fact sir, all the praise came from Mr. Xanatos
and not a little from Owen Burnett, when I asked about the trench
in Central Park."
     "Ah. I see."
     "Aye, sir, you do." Rowan smiled genuinely. But her blood ran
cold as Vogel looked on her again.
     "This is my aide-de-camp, Preston Vogel."
     "Sir," she inclined her head, but did not offer her hand. His
expression was unreadable and she was struck how cold he seemed. It
was hard for her to believe this man was the model for Owen's
borrowed form, but then, she was biased in the extreme.
     Vogel offered no greeting, but instead inclined his head in
kind, his cool blue eyes never leaving her face.
     "Mr. Vogel has taken over the running of Cyberbiotics in my
absence." Renard turned to Fox. "I hate to shoo you out, Janine,
but I'm sure you understand."
     "What's a little corporate espionage between family?" Fox joked
and Vogel actually bristled. Rowan made a note to ask of it later.
     "Mrs. Xanatos, if I could speak with you a moment, before you
go." Vogel made to touch Fox's arm, but thought better of it.
     "Rowan, why don't you and Alexander stay with my father, I'm
sure this won't take long," she said as much to Vogel as Rowan and
they stepped out into the hallway.
     Rowan looked helplessly at the door and then turned back to the
old man, who she found was regarding her curiously. Alex waved his
fists and she sat in the chair next to the hospital-style bed so
that he could be near his grandfather.
     "How did you come to know my daughter?"
     "It was quite recently, in fact. My first visit to the castle
was as Owen's guest, some months ago."
     That seemed to take him aback and she realised that she may have
given out more information than she had originally intended. "I did
not lie when I say that he speaks highly of you. He told me you are
a man worthy of much respect."
     "Did Burnett also tell you he used to work for me?" Halcyon
said, quite unprovoked and she was startled.
     "Yes. That is to say, I knew it."
     "There is no need for prevarication between us, girl."
     "I'm not, sir."
     "How is it that you were taken on as nanny?"
     "I would say I was conscripted to the task, if I was not so
grateful for the opportunity. Your grandson is a remarkable child;
I only hope I can live up to the challenge of caring for him."
     "Vogel seems to have ruffled your feathers."
     "I was . . . unprepared," she admitted.
     "He's a good man, steadfast and loyal, if impersonal. Don't be
put off by his demeanour."
     "I'll try, sir."


"How long has Ms. Rowan been in your service?" Vogel went straight
to the point.
     Fox frowned. "She was engaged yesterday."
     "Had you met her before?"
     "What are you getting at, Preston? You know I don't like my time
being wasted."
     "I assure you, I have no intention of wasting anyone's time.
There is something about Ms. Rowan I believe you should know--"
     "I am completely uninterested in anything you may have to tell
me, Preston. Believe me, I have no doubts about Ms. Rowan." Fox
brushed aside Vogel's concerns with a tight smile.
     Vogel digested this and rethought his strategy. He had been so
sure, the moment he had stepped into Renard's room, that his quarry
stood right before him. And yet something nagged at him. The brick
wall of Fox's response confirmed that he was in fact missing a
vital piece of information. He did not like that particular
feeling. Preston Vogel was a man who liked to hold all of the cards
before he wagered anything of himself.
     "Of course, I was out of line."
     "You were. Now then, you have business with my father and I
really must be going." Fox opened the door and Rowan looked up.
"It's time we're going, Dad. Next visit will be longer, I promise."
     "I look forward to it. And Janine?"
     "Yes?"
     "I love you."
     "I love you too." She smiled, taking Alex from Rowan's arms and
buckling him back into the stroller.


"Well, now you've met the family," Fox chuckled as the elevator
doors closed on the grey and maroon Cyberbiotics hallway.
     "Don't tell me you consider Vogel family!" Rowan burst out and
then covered her mouth with her fingers.
     "He does take some getting used to, I guess. He's been a fixture
these last ten years, I guess I'm immune. Father trusts him
implicitly."
     "He makes my flesh creep," Rowan shuddered and Fox's eyes
widened. "I'm sorry, I don't know--It's only that he rubbed me the
wrong way."
     Fox thought of Vogel's reaction to Rowan. Add to that Vogel's
insistence that he knew something about her new nanny that he
assumed she should be told of and you had quite the puzzle.
Potentially dangerous puzzle.
     "Your father's a remarkable man, I'm sorry to see him in such
poor health."
     "He'll bounce back, he always does."
     Rowan regarded her curiously. Rowan was too old, too
knowledgeable not to recognise the face of death so close to the
surface, but she held her tongue. Halcyon Renard was dying. If his
daughter could not see it, then she was not yet ready to deal with
it and it was not Rowan's place to force the issue.
     They arrived at the limousine and Fox went about transferring
Alex from stroller to car-seat. Rowan, however, paused.
     "If it's all right, there's someone I'd like to see."
     Fox's brows drew together, but then she shrugged. "Dinner is at
eight sharp."
     "I'll be back in time." She watched the car pull away from the
kerb and glanced up at the sky. The sun would be down soon, she
would have to hurry to make her appointment.

Chapter 8


"Nice boots," a woman's voice drew Detective Matthew Bluestone from
the report he was going over and he glanced up.
     "Jackie!" Matt damn near spilled his coffee in his haste to rise
and he stopped, frozen in the act of hugging. "Um . . . it's not
Jackie, is it."
     "Rowan."
     "Rowan . . ?"
     "Just Rowan." She completed the hug for him and stepped back to
get a good look. "You look exactly the same."
     "You don't have wings and a tail, pointed ears, or a bullet in
your shoulder." Matt's mouth twitched in an uneasy smile at the
memory.
     "Nope," she said softly, tucking a lock of hair behind one very
round ear. And she was still Jackie, except . . . . He had two
memories of her. The first was the almost too perfect portrait of
a teenage human girl. The second was an almost elemental force, a
fey creature so alien, so alluring and so heady that he had only
glimpsed the possibilities her existence presented for the space of
a few seconds before she dimmed her brightness for his sake.
Neither portrait fit her now.
     "How have you been? Where have you been? Where did you *go?*"
     "Still as inquisitive as ever, I see. First I went home, then I
was kidnapped by various members of my extended family. I was
miserable, so I got myself exiled and now I'm thrilled. And I went
shopping, new shoes and all." She displayed the pumps with pride.
     "Fairy gold?"
     "Better. Fairy Gold Card." She laughed. "You're looking at the
newest Xanatos Corp. employee, complete with expense account,
medical benefits and pension plan."
     "You're insane."
     "Possibly. I've never actually minded children before, but I
seem to have an aptitude for it so far--"
     "Hold it, hold it, hold it," Matt held up his hands. "You're the
Xanatos' kid's new *nanny?*"
     "Was there an old nanny?"
     "No."
     "Oh good, I was afraid you were going to tell me something
unspeakably nasty happened to her. I suppose that does in fact make
me *the* nanny. It was very exciting, I got my picture taken for a
driver's licence today. Now all I have to do is learn how to drive
a car."
     "Jeez, I'm a cop, don't tell me these things."
     "Hey partner, you holding out on me?" Elisa Maza took in the
rare sight of her partner amiably chatting with a fetching young
woman.
     "Me? Never. Rowan, this is--"
     "--Detective Maza," Rowan stuck out her hand.
     "Have we met?" Elisa shook it, looking completely confused.
     "Yes."
     "You never told me that." Matt gaped at Rowan, who shrugged.
     "I'm sorry, I don't remember." Elisa's brows drew together in a
frown.
     "I know," Rowan said brightly.
     "Why does that thought not put me at ease?"
     "Well, I wasn't myself at the time. I mean, I was. More so than
I am now, except that who I am now is who I will most likely be for
the rest of my life, barring unforeseen circumstances and further
reversals of fortune. Don't worry, I'm harmless now. Mostly
harmless, anyway."
     "Does she make sense to you?" Elisa turned to Matt, who laughed.
     "Frighteningly, yes."
     "Actually, Detective Maza, we have quite a few friends in
common--That is, assuming they still consider me a friend. That's
actually why I'm here."
     Matt's eyebrows shot towards his hairline. "You mean, you-know-
who has no idea you've come back?"
     "I only got in Sunday night, I wanted to surprise him." Rowan
grinned.
     Elisa gave up. "Will you people stop speaking in code!"
     "You never told her, did you."
     "It, um . . . never came up. For Pete's sake, Jackie--"
     "Rowan."
     "--Rowan, *I* didn't even understand exactly what happened, how
can you expect me to explain it to other people?"
     "You're a man of amazing imagination and eloquence, I trust
you'll find a way."
     "Elisa, can I talk to you for a minute? In private?"


"Spill it." Elisa crossed her arms and leaned against the rickety
table in Interrogation Room One, glaring at her partner.
     "Oh boy. Where do I start?"
     "The beginning is always good."
     "Okay, about three months ago, while you were off on your world
tour, I met this street kid, who kinda turned out not to be a
street kid. With me so far?"
     "Kinda. I take it that is our reformed street kid out there?"
     "Oh, it gets better. You just met the Xanatos' new nanny."
     "Are you telling me the 'friend in common' was *David Xanatos?*"
     "Not *exactly*."
     "Why is she *here?*"
     "Well, about the same time I met Jackie, Brooklyn kind of made
a new friend."
     "Brooklyn knows the Xanatos' nanny?" Elisa was horrified.
     "She only got hired as the nanny yesterday."
     "Matt!"
     "Okay, okay. See, she was a gargoyle."
     "I'm so confused."
     "No, it makes perfect sense. Well, it doesn't, but I'm doing my
best. During the day, she hung out with me and then at night--"
     "You mean, she's like Demona? Under some kind of spell?"
     "Yes. No. Wow, this is complicated." Matt's shoulders slumped in
complete defeat. "Do you believe in fairies?"
     "No." Elisa's posture went rigid. "No, no, no, no--"
     "What, you mean you don't?"
     "No! You can't be telling me that, that--*person* out there is
one of Oberon's Children?"
     "Near as I can figure, after what you told me, yeah. That pretty
much sums it up. Except right now, she's human."
     "And working for the Xanatos and you brought her *here?*"
     "She already knows about the gargoyles and them being, you know,
here--and so it's okay, really."
     "It is *not* okay! Matt, what the hell's the matter with you--"
     "No, really. She's okay. I swear. Wait 'til Brooklyn can
explain, he knows a hell of a lot more about this whole mess than
I did. I mean, Jackie--Rowan, her name really is Rowan. She hung
out with him for, like, a week."
     "And then what?"
     "And then she kinda got kidnapped by a rogue Illuminatus and
shot. But it was okay."
     "My head hurts."
     "I swear, it all made sense at the time."
     "My head hurts."


Rowan was sitting on the edge of Matt's desk when he and Elisa
reappeared. She smiled brightly, swinging her stocking feet, having
kicked off the offending heels. Sergeant Morgan shot Elisa a look
as he wandered past and she put her hand to her forehead and just
shook her head.
     "Everything all explained to your satisfaction?"
     "My head hurts," Elisa growled and stalked past.
     "Oh, I think she took it well," Rowan remarked with great
amusement.
     "Put your shoes back on. Trust me, you don't want to get
splinters." Matt grabbed his coat and they followed Elisa down the
hallway, taking the left at the water cooler.
     "I really don't like this," Elisa pulled down the ladder, still
frowning. Rowan schooled her expression carefully.
     "Detective, it will be all right. I know you have no reason to,
but you can take me at my word."
     They started up the ladder, Elisa first, then Matt, with Rowan
bringing up the rear.
     "I hate these shoes," Rowan muttered.
     "Then why did you buy them?" Matt chided her.
     "I was supposed to. They're to go with the office clothes."
     "There is such a thing as flats, you know."
     "They're in the trunk of the limo."
     "Well, that was stupid."
     "Oh, thank you, that helps."
     "Shut up," Elisa snapped as they reached the top of the ladder,
the dying rays of the day setting the wood planks of the floor
afire.
     "She seems annoyed," Rowan whispered to Matt.
     "She doesn't like sharing," he whispered back. "I had to almost
run the car off a cliff to get her to bring me up here the first
time."
     "And you call me stupid?"
     "Hey, it worked, didn't it?"
     They walked out onto the balcony in single file and Rowan raised
a brow when she saw Angela's still form. Matt leaned closer.
"Goliath's daughter."
     "There is much that I do not know, it would seem."
     As the sun slipped behind the horizon, the first tiny webwork of
cracks appeared in the gargoyles' stone skin, which was shattered
outward with cries and growls as they greeted the night. Rowan
grinned, but Elisa continued to frown, still uncertain.
     "Fionnuala!" Brooklyn cried as he spied her and enveloped her in
a hug that lifted her off her feet. Almost all of Elisa's doubts
melted at the look of sheer happiness on the young gargoyle's face,
until she caught Goliath's disapproving glare.
     "What is it?" she asked him quietly, drawing away from the happy
reunited friends.
     "Has Matt told you of this woman?"
     "A little."
     "Then you know of her involvement with Owen Burnett?"
     "*No*," Elisa's mouth dropped open. "Owen Burnett and one of
Oberon's Children?"
     "There is much I must tell you." Goliath frowned. Glancing back
at Brooklyn, who was positively glowing, his mouth tightened into
a grim line. "Come, this is a story best told in private." He held
out his hand, which Elisa took. Swinging her up into his arms, he
caught Hudson's gaze.
     "We'll be back."
     The old soldier nodded and they leap off into the approaching
night, Elisa safely tucked in Goliath's arms.


Goliath set Elisa on her feet in a secluded, shaded corner of
Central Park. At last safe from prying eyes or sharp ears, he began
to spin his tale.
     Elisa listened, with dawning understanding as well as growing
unease. Thinking back on her first encounter with the Third Race,
it seemed impossible and yet . . . Yet it made perfect sense.
     "I can see why you've kept this to yourself, it's pretty big.
But, Puck?" She shook her head. "It's so hard to believe--"
     "And yet I saw the transformation with my own eyes and heard
Oberon banish him to humanity for all eternity."
     "But Burnett's so cold, so distant--"
     "And the Puck the consummate actor."
     "Apparently." She sat down on a bench, sweeping her hair back
from her face with both hands. "That means he knows where you guys
sleep during the day!"
     "Has known for some time, it would seem."
     "But that's crazy. If he knows, why not tell Xanatos?"
     "How do we know he has not? Xanatos himself said he lets us live
because we prove occasionally useful to him. The secret of our
home, alas, is hardly a secret any longer. He has not attacked us
yet; I do not think he will."
     "Unless he's provoked."
     "Precisely."
     "Man, this is the night for surprises."
     "Hopefully, in Brooklyn's case, not unpleasant ones."


"It's good to see you again," Rowan admitted as Brooklyn set her on
her feet once again.
     "But how? I thought all of Oberon's Children went back home?"
     "Aye, I did, against my will no less. But I am no longer one of
Oberon's Children. I'm as human as your friend Matt here, or the
conspicuously absent Detective Maza," she raised a brow.
     "You, ah, told her, huh?" Brooklyn turned to Matt.
     "And you told your clan. How'd they take it?"
     "Oh, better than I expected."
     "Yeah. Same here."
     "Well, you told some of the clan--" Angela touched Brooklyn's
wing with her own, startling him. "--but *some* of us missed it.
How about some introductions?"
     "Angela, this is Fionnuala--"
     "Just Rowan," she slipped in and he frowned.
     "--just Rowan?" he repeated and she nodded. "Rowan is a friend
of mine."
     Angela tentatively offered her hand and Rowan clasped it at the
wrist. "So you're one of the eggs hatched on Avalon?" Rowan asked
and Angela nodded. "They are a fine group, I regret not having the
chance to get to know them better--"
     "Wait, you've been back to Avalon?" Angela looked to Brooklyn
with a look of complete and utter confusion.
     "Long story." Brooklyn sighed.
     "*Very* long story," Rowan amended, amused. "I too grew up on
the island, albeit some centuries before your birth. We'll have to
get together and reminisce some time."
     "Wait--" Angela's eyes narrowed and Brooklyn watched
understanding dawn across the young gargoyle's features.
     "Yep," Rowan grinned. "I was one of *them*."
     "First time I ever heard you admit it," Matt elbowed her in the
ribs.
     "It's not something she's proud of," Brooklyn added and she
threw an arm around each of their necks.
     "The pair of you," Rowan laughed. "Ah, I've missed you. I'm glad
I came. Alas, I can't stay long. Dinner is at eight--sharp--and I
gave my word I would not be late."
     "Late where?" Brooklyn looked mystified and Rowan chewed on her
lower lip, glancing at Matt.
     "Hey, it's your news." Matt shrugged.
     "I have a job."
     "That's great!"
     "I'm Alexander Xanatos' nanny."
     "Ow." Brooklyn closed his eyes. "Ow. ow. ow."
     "Quit it," she punched him in the arm. "I'm determined to do
this right and I want you to be happy for me."
     "That's what friends do, isn't it," Brooklyn muttered and sighed
dramatically. "Okay. If you want to work for the man, I won't hold
it against you. And I guess Alex isn't so bad. I mean, he's a baby.
It'll be *years* before he can turn into any kind of problem--ow."
     She had grabbed him by the ear. "No maligning the poppet
either."
     "Fine!"
     "Or the wife."
     "You're really taking all the fun out of this. How about the
butler?"
     If she had been a gargoyle, her eyes would be fire and blood and
he'd be spitting out teeth. Matt covered his choked laughter with
a cough.
     "Right. I knew that." He chuckled and her hackles went back
down. He took in the subdued suit and grinned despite himself. "You
look so different!"
     She spun around, modelling her new form, her long braid
swinging--
     Brooklyn whistled and then slapped his forehead. "Wait a sec,
your hair!"
     "What about it?" she put a hand to the braid.
     "Then it *wasn't* you I saw in last night after all."
     "What do you mean?" she frowned and he told her of the incident
on the rooftop.
     "Well, I can assure you, I have no doppelganger. At the time you
would have seen her, I had just arrived at the castle." Rowan
thought back and froze.
     *It was as if . . . I was falling.*
     "What is it?"
     "Nothing," she waved his concern and her disquiet away, smiling
brightly. But Angela marked it from where she stood,
surreptitiously watching the happy reunion.


Henry kept his scarred hands clasped together in his lap, for fear
they would shake. The detective making out the missing person's
report seemed not to notice, or if she did, wrote it off as
distress.
     "When did she disappear?"
     "Yesterday morning. We had an argument."
     "And you haven't seen her since?"
     "She's so young, I'm dreadfully worried about her. She's grown
up very sheltered. She has no idea what people can be like."
     "I'd like to be able to tell you not to worry, Dr. FitzMartin,
but I have to be honest with you. This city swallows runaways
whole. For every one we find, a dozen are never found."
     "I understand, but I am just so hopeful that you can help. She's
barely been gone two days. I'm the only family she has, she doesn't
know anyone else in the city."
     "Are you sure? No friends, no one she's talked about?"
     "Ash has only been living with me a few months. She's a very
private child. I'm afraid, living with an old curmudgeon like me,
she hasn't had much of a chance to meet people her own age."
     Detective Wilson glanced down at the photo paper-clipped to the
report and sighed. "Well, we'll get her picture circulating and
start with the areas closest to where she was last seen."
     "Thank you, Detective." Henry clasped her hand. "Thank you so
much."


"So what are you going to do about this?" Elisa swung her feet,
making a path through the dried leaves on the sidewalk before the
bench.
     "Nothing." Goliath replied and her mouth fell open.
     "Nothing?" Elisa repeated, shocked. "But--"
     "We were not here when this Rowan first met the rest of the
clan. They accepted her and she did nothing to break that trust. I
must believe in my clan's ability to judge friends and enemies--"
     "But that clan's been fooled before."
     "Aye. The Pack and Demona. But Demona even fooled me, how can I
order Brooklyn to give up his friend simply because of the company
she keeps? Xanatos would have us believe he is no longer our enemy,
after all."
     "I'll believe that when Hell buys snowploughs," Elisa muttered,
Derek foremost in her mind. It would be a cold day in hell, indeed,
before she would blindly trust David Xanatos.

Chapter 9


"Isn't your boss gonna wonder why your taxi service has wings?"
Brooklyn asked as he set Rowan on her feet atop the Eyrie Building.
She straightened her skirt and grinned.
     "I think Mr. Xanatos has come to expect the unusual."
     "No laser cannons. That's a nice change."
     "You saved his son. Why on Earth would he shoot at you?"
     "Yeah. I guess I keep forgetting he's one of the good guys now,"
Brooklyn didn't even attempt to tone down the sarcasm and Rowan
frowned.
     "He's changed."
     "I'll believe it when I see it."
     "Have it your way, but don't expect me to share your views. Mr.
Xanatos and his wife have been very good to me."
     "Everything has a price."
     "Including our friendship?"
     "You know I didn't mean it that way--"
     "I know. But I wanted to let you know that my mortality is
conditional."
     "Huh?"
     "I am wholly human, stripped of my powers save when I am bound
by *geas* to honour a boon. And I only have one boon outstanding.
Yours."
     "Whoa." Brooklyn sat down on the stone wall of the tower and
looked up at her. "No games this time?"
     "Like I told you last time, no more games. This is quite, quite
real."
     "What happened?" His eyes were wide and she chuckled.
     "You talk as if it's a punishment," she kept her tone light on
purpose, but he wasn't buying it.
     "Well, isn't it?"
     "It's what I wanted."
     "You wanted to be human," he said, disbelieving.
     She shrugged. "I wanted to return to the World. That was the
only way."
     "Seems pretty harsh."
     "Yeah, well . . . It's not so bad. Anything's better than being
trapped on Avalon. I would have gone mad from boredom inside a
week."
     "Yeah. Sure."
     Rowan opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by
footsteps on the stairs. Owen appeared, dressed for dinner. She
glanced at her newly acquired wristwatch guiltily, but it was still
barely half seven.
     Brooklyn appraised Burnett coolly and couldn't detect a flicker
of anything beneath the man's usual icy calm.
     "I detected your approach on the security monitors," Owen
explained. "Thank you for seeing Rowan home," he said to Brooklyn,
who blinked.
     "Any time," Brooklyn replied, bewildered, hopping up on the
ledge.
     "Brooklyn, think on what I said?" Rowan called after him and he
nodded before leaping off into the evening sky. She turned back to
Owen, frowning.
     "You didn't have to scare him off like that."
     "I did no such thing."
     "Well, you weren't exactly welcoming either."
     "You have fifteen minutes to change for dinner," he reminded her
and she swore. Taking a deep breath, she took the arm he offered,
watching Brooklyn's silhouette swallowed up by the night.


Vogel removed the video tape from the envelope and examined it for
markings. There were none, but he expected that. When he had first
hired FitzMartin, his investigations had proved fruitless, until he
contacted the Society.
     Preston Vogel was not a member of the Society.
     In fact, he was among the small group of people still living who
had actually turned down the opportunity to become a member.
     However, he had contacts within the Illuminati and occasionally
provided them with information on the unspoken agreement that if he
ever asked for payment in kind, it would be provided.
     Placing the tape in the VCR, he watched the two and a half
minute security footage very closely. When it finished, he rewound
it and watched it again.
     Clicking off the screen, he sat back in his office chair and
steepled his fingers. Then he reached for the telephone.


Alexander launched the spoonful of applesauce at Rowan with a
practised hand and she wiped it from her cheek.
     "Oh, very funny." She stuck her tongue out at the boy, who
simply giggled, then looked up at David Xanatos, who leaned against
the counter, looking amused. Having exchanged her new suit and
heels for jeans and sweatshirt, she resembled an old-fashioned
baby-sitter more than a nanny.
     "I thought dinner was at eight sharp?"
     "Fox is running a few steps behind. Need any help?"
     "I think Master Alex and I will do just fine." She reached for
a can of formula and searched the counter for an electric can
opener. Digging through the drawer, she came up with something that
looked like a cross between a pen knife and a helicopter. She
looked at it dumbly for a moment and Xanatos took it from her
fingers. He set the can down on the counter, fit the blade into the
crease and began turning the key. She watched with rapt attention
and then blushed as he handed her the now open can.
     "I was once a creature of pure magic, of wild song and story.
Lightning danced at my fingertips, the winds were at my beck and
call. And now? Now I need to be shown how to use a