Title: Games
Author: Tara O'Shea (TaraLJC@aol.com)

"Games" takes place just before "Ill Met by Moonlight.", and is dedicated=
 to Lindy Hensley, Leva, Perri, Diane Levitan, and Missy Merlin because o=
ne good dedication deserves another.

Games
by Tara O'Shea

"This just gets worse and worse." Brooklyn rested his chin on his hands. =
The night sky beyond the clock tower was choked with stars between wisps =
of clouds. A warm breeze blew across the city, carrying with it a weird m=
ix of smells, of spring flowers, exhaust fumes, several hot dog and pretz=
el vendors, and new grass. Brooklyn thought back to spring in Scotland, w=
hich lasted about two weeks, and was dominated by the smells of mud, wet =
wool, and new grass. At least some things stayed he same.
	"What does?" Broadway asked, spraying pretzel crumbs. The vendor on the =
corner was on the verge of moving his cart, despite the great business fr=
om the cops. The way food disappeared and money reappeared was nice, but =
just slightly on the terrifying side. Broadway had been getting creative =
recently, with dollar bills tucked into paper aeroplanes, and lowered via=
 twine and paper clips. It gave them something to do early in the evening=
, when too many people were about to go on patrol.
	"Not having any answers. Even with all that Arthur told us, that still d=
oesn't tell us when Goliath, Elisa and Bronx'll be back."
	"Yeah, but just think of it!" Broadway sat on the ledge next to the de-f=
acto leader, gazing up at the stars with a wistful smile. "The hatchlings=
! I never figured we'd, you know . . ."
	"Yeah." Brooklyn sighed. "Except we'll probably never get to meet them."=

	"Sure we will."
	"How? You heard what the king said. Avalon's magic doesn't take you wher=
e you want to go, only where you need to be. Assuming Elisa, Goliath and =
Bronx ever come back, what makes you think that we'd ever get to Avalon?"=

	"I guess I didn't really think of it that way." Broadway's face fell. "I=
 guess I kinda figured maybe they'd come here, you know?"
	"It'd be pretty crowded up where with over thirty gargoyles, don't you t=
hink?" Brooklyn smiled. "C'mon, it's time we started our patrol."
	"Yessir," Broadway grinned, and polished off the last of the pretzel, li=
cking mustard from his fingers.


The street was quiet, in as much as any New York street was quiet. All th=
e good children were tucked in bed, and all the bad children had yet to s=
how their faces. A dark sedan was parked unnoticed in the alley opposite =
the pretzel vendor who was packing up his cart. Similarly unnoticed was a=
 man in a dark suit leaning casually against a fire escape, micro-binocul=
ars obscuring his eyes, and cellphone in the other hand. He followed the =
three shadows that leapt from the roof with practised ease.
	"Sir? They're moving."


The child was completely awe-struck. Between her grubby fingers she clutc=
hed her passport into this amazing glittering medieval world, a sealed cr=
eamy envelope that strangely did not bear the marks of said fingers. She =
couldn't have been more than ten. The Eyrie Building security guard didn'=
t even bother to wonder why she wasn't in bed. The duct tape that held he=
r shoes together, coupled with the patched and mended jeans and jacket sp=
oke of poverty, rather than a fashion statement. He had been on the verge=
 of escorting the child out when she recited her message the first time.
	"Lady said I have to give this to a man in the castle."
	"What man might that be?"
	"Whiskey Jack."
	"Yeah, right. He and the Beefeater guy are up there waiting for you--" t=
he guard had stepped out from behind the desk and was halfway to the door=
 with her when a voice came over his headset.
	"Ask her again." It was spooky as hell how Mr. Burnett always knew what =
was going on in the building. Then again, the place was wired from top to=
 bottom, the guard reasoned, maybe he just had been flipping channels at =
the right time.
	Still, spooky as hell.
	"Who you looking for again, kid? Jack Daniels?"
	"Lady said Whiskey Jack. She said she'd gimme fi'dollars if I brung this=
 to him." She nodded her head, dreadlocks bobbing in front of her huge da=
rk eyes. The guard waited.
	"Escort her to the elevator," the disembodied voice instructed and the g=
uard shrugged, changing directions. He brought the street kid up to the m=
ain hall of Castle Wyvern, and looked about nervously.
	Mr. Burnett appeared from the side door, and strode purposefully towards=
 them. His left arm was in a navy canvas sling. The story was he'd broken=
 his wrist in one of Mr. Xanatos' training exercises. Burnett's eyes were=
 cool as a winter sky behind his glasses, but the kid just grinned.
	"Hey mister, you Jack?"
	"I believe you have a message for me." Burnett remained all business, bu=
t dropped to one knee so as not to tower over the kid.
	The girl solemnly handed over the envelope.
	It was of heavy paper stock, almost more like cloth than paper, and was =
sealed with a glob of red sealing wax that had survived its journey surpr=
isingly well, considering the dubious messenger. Then again, five dollars=
 is a lot of money when you're that young. The child wiped her nose, and =
looked up at him expectantly.
	"Do you remember what this lady looked like?"
	"Pretty lady," she offered, as if that would be enough. "She came to me =
especially, and told me she'd gimme fi'dollars if I come here and bring t=
his to Mr. Jack."
	"And where were you?"
	"In the park."
	He opened the envelope, and removed a single halfsheet of paper. The wor=
ds "You are cordially invited to a most unusual and most private unveilin=
g" were written across the front with ink that had dried bluish-brown. Th=
ere was an address and in place of a time, it simply said "Dusk."
	No signature, but he had a fair idea of who sent it. Tucking the note in=
to his breast pocket, he removed his wallet and handed the wide-eyed chil=
d a crisp twenty-dollar bill.
	"Don't worry about your five dollars."
	"Wow." She crumpled the bill in her fist, and gazed up at him with gap-t=
oothed adoration, but he didn't so much as crack a smile.
	He turned to the guard, who had watched the exchange with an expression =
caught between disbelief and bemusement. "Please escort the young lady ba=
ck downstairs, thank you." Owen said, and then turned on his heel and wen=
t back through the double doors he'd entered.


The patrol had gone well: Five muggers, two car thieves, a gang of tagger=
s, and one overzealous hockey fan. Still, the entire time, Brooklyn had b=
een preoccupied with worries, fears, and speculation.
	What if Goliath never made it home? Sure, he'd had to face that fact whe=
n he finally accepted leadership, and he wasn't shirking his duty...
	But there was so much he still had to learn. Hudson was a fine teacher, =
but it was Goliath's example that Brooklyn needed right now. He couldn't =
talk to his brothers about it. He was supposed to be leading them after a=
ll. If they knew how mixed up he was, it would only make things worse. He=
 found his eyes drawn to Castle Wyvern, even though it had been a year si=
nce they had called its walls home. The building glowed with reflected li=
ght from floodlights and the city below. He wondered how different life m=
ight have been if the massacre had never happened. Would he still be Goli=
ath's successor? Or would that duty have fallen to an older, more experie=
nced gargoyle?
	Playing "What if?" wasn't really satisfying, but the game did make him t=
hink. He turned to go back into the tower when a flicker of movement caug=
ht his eye.
	A shadow crossed the pearly pre-dawn sky. Glancing back quickly, he did =
a quick headcount. Hudson was still in his chair, and Lex and Broadway we=
re at the computer. Could Goliath be back?
	Leaping off the ledge, his mind still filled with the possibilities of h=
atchlings, he glided towards the silhouette.
	As he grew closer, he realised it wasn't Goliath but a lissom young fema=
le, pale as the moon that had already set as the world prepared for yet a=
nother day.
	"Hey!" he called out to the gargoyle, and she paused and then dropped a =
few feet as she lost the wind. He smiled, but she swooped into a dive. An=
gling her wings to catch the updraft, she swooped tightly around a skyscr=
aper and out of sight. Brooklyn did the same, but when he followed the pa=
th she had taken, she was nowhere to be found. He alighted on the roof of=
 squat office building, and scanned the lightening sky.
	"Okaaaaaay," Brooklyn said softly, and was answered only by the wind whi=
pping through the buildings. Crouched on the ledge, he could feel the sun=
 rising in the East. Perhaps she, whoever she was, had simply found a per=
ch out of sight to spend the day.


Gregory Marlowe studied the black and white photos intently, the brandy i=
n his hand forgotten as he poured over them. On the low mahogany table be=
fore him, dozens of similar photos were spread out in studied disarray, a=
 week's work of subterfuge.
	Fingering the gold pin on his lapel absently, he laid down the photo in =
his hand, and carefully removed it. He set it in a crystal ash tray, the =
eye above the pyramid winking at him in the morning sunlight.
	He had yet to go to bed. The new world he had discovered was too seducti=
ve to give up when the sun went down.
	Now, he knew that it only began with the first breath of night.
	Now, he would make the night his.


The address proved to be an abandoned tenement near the river. Owen stepp=
ed over sleeping squatters and street people, and made his way to a room =
on the fifth floor. The windows faced west, painting the room fiery orang=
e and gold. Shading his eyes, he saw a figure silhouetted against the set=
ting sun.
	Correction: saw a gargoyle silhouetted against the setting sun.
	As the meridian line crept upwards, a web of cracks appeared in the ston=
e, and as the last lick of flame went out in the West, the thin stone ski=
n exploded outward and the female gargoyle lazily spread her wings, stret=
ching like a cat, breathing in the night air.
	Her skin was like fine marble, rosy with the rapidly fading light. By co=
ntrast, the silky black waves that fell to her waist seemed to swallow th=
e light whole. Her wings were shadows, the colour of charcoal, the inside=
s a dusky periwinkle. She ran her hand through her hair, smoothing it bac=
k, and then turned at last to face him.
	"I wasn't aware gargoyles came with grey eyes."
	Her lips twitched with something that might have been a smile, and she b=
linked languidly, revealing eyes like obsidian chips, the irises so dark =
they swallowed the pupils.
	"Better?" Rowan smiled, baring her fangs.


Brooklyn awoke alone on the roof of an old brownstone, and immediately sc=
anned the skyline in the dying light of the sun for a sign of the gargoyl=
e he'd glimpsed last night. She couldn't have made it too far, it had bee=
n nearly dawn. He'd been lucky to find his roost, and it was a good thing=
 very few people in Manhattan ever bothered to look up, because most Alli=
ed Insurance offices don't have tastes running to the gothic, let alone a=
 six foot gargoyle above their entrance.
	"Well, if she wants to be seen, I'm sure she will," he muttered to himse=
lf, but he didn't sound particularly convinced. He headed back to the clo=
cktower, still keeping an eye out, though. Just in case.


"Your unfailing fashion sense has failed you, my dear." Having recovered =
from the initial shock of her form, Owen now turned his attention to her =
wardrobe. She wore a white linen shirt that fair gleamed in the dim light=
, and over that, a crushed green velvet doublet that winked with silver t=
hread in embroideries that shifted maddeningly. By contrast, the green ve=
lvet breeches were positively plain. Except when she moved, they showed i=
ridescent flashes of purple.
	She looked down, brushing a speck of imaginary lint from the front of th=
e doublet, pouting prettily.
	"Can you only criticise? Not all of them wear rags. However, you do have=
 a point. I don't want to stand out too badly." The velvets rearranged th=
emselves into black cotton and denim. She spun around for his benefit, an=
d then folded her arms in a mirror of his stance, cocking her head slight=
ly, like a bird. Her eyes glittered. "So, do I pass muster?"
	He made a little sound halfway between an exhalation and a *hurumph*. "I=
 was under the impression, when we bid each other farewell not three mont=
hs ago, that this meant we would not be seeing each other unexpectedly ag=
ain in the near future." Owen closed his eyes as if he were in pain.
	"Can't a girl change her mind?" There was laughter in her voice, and the=
n she frowned. "Whatever have you done to your hand?" She pulled his left=
 wrist from the sling, and clucked over it like a mother hen. "Did your m=
other never tell you not to put your fingers into strange cauldrons?"
	"*Rowan*--" there was a warning in his tone that she blithely ignored, a=
nd after inspecting the stone hand and wrist carefully, let go. He flexed=
 his fingers, feeling the tingle of blood rushing back into flesh, and fr=
owned. "If I wanted to do that, I would have done it myself," he snapped.=
 Tucking his hand back into the sling, he made a fist and again flesh har=
dened into stone.
	"Well then, why haven't you?" she sighed, exasperated, and sat on the ed=
ge of a couch that appeared just before she settled her weight on its cor=
ner. Her talons clicked on the wood floor, and her tail swished back and =
forth. She was obviously enamoured of her new form.
	"What manner of game are you playing at now?" He looked her over once ag=
ain from top to bottom, and frowned.
	"May I remind you, last time *you* were the one playing *me* for the foo=
l." Her eyes darkened to storm clouds, but then her expression softened. =
"We parted on such good terms, don't spoil it. Must you always believe I =
am playing at something?" For a second-- nay, less than that--he actually=
 believed she was hurt, and his expression almost softened. Almost. He he=
ld up the invitation, and she giggled.
	"I thought that would get your attention." She wrapped her wings around =
her shoulders, and then they faded, dreamlike, and she stood before him i=
n the form he remembered from her last visit. In the cut-offs and shirt, =
she resembled him of a human runaway. Except mortal children had the comm=
on sense to wear shoes. She touched his arm, but he frowned and pulled ba=
ck.
	"It would have gotten anyone's attention."
	"Don't tell me your man Xanatos knows Anishnabeng. My goodness, he *is* =
well read."
	"He is intrigued by tricksters, more so since the Coyote incident."
	"Lucky for you." Her eyes narrowed, and then she shed all guile. "So whe=
re *is* your human?"
	"He's not *my * human." Owen snapped, and she quirked an eyebrow. "He an=
d Fox are rendezvousing in Europe."
	"And you've been left all by your lonesome." She leaned her head on his =
shoulder, and peered up at him through thick lashes. "Aren't you glad I'v=
e come?"
	He simply glared at her.
	"You've become positively dour, you know that?"
	"What part would you have me play in all of this?"
	"But I thought you liked to play," she tickled his ear with a lock of he=
r hair twined about her finger, and he polished his glasses, seemingly un=
affected.
	"On my terms."
	"Ah, of course. Call it professional courtesy then, warning you that I w=
as entering your territory, as it were."
	"Then you have completed your task, and I will take my leave of you." He=
 sketched a mocking bow, and strode towards the door.
	"Don't you want to know--"
	"No, I do not."
	She stamped her foot, and then rose in the warm night air, her form swit=
ching from human to gargoyle so fast it seemed instantaneous. "If you're =
going to be that way about it, I shan't bother you any longer." Crouching=
 in the window, she scowled, and then leapt out to meet the young night, =
her wings stretched wide.
	Owen paused in the doorway, but there was no trace of her now except the=
 curiously out of place green velvet couch, until it too faded and left n=
ot so much as a mark on the floor to show it ever existed. He shook his h=
ead, and then closed the door with a soft click, and made his way back to=
 the street below to the car. He had enough work to do in Mr. Xanatos' ab=
sence without adding to it with Rowan's penchant for imping.
	However tempted he might be.


"It's not like him," Broadway frowned, and anxiously scanned the skyline.=
 "Do you think anything happened?"
	"He probably just lost track of time," Lex said over his shoulder. He wa=
s tinkering with a stereo he'd found in a dumpster near the park. It was =
pretty trashed, but he was sure he could get it up and running.
	"I'm sure he can take care of himself," Hudson clapped the big gargoyle =
on the shoulder, and Broadway nodded, still unconvinced. Then his eyes li=
t up as he spotted Brooklyn's silhouette.
	"Hey, sorry. I got side-tracked," Brooklyn tried not to look sheepish. H=
e knew he had a perfectly valid reason for staying out, but he did feel g=
uilty for worrying the clan. "You're never going to believe what I saw."


Crouched on a ledge, she drank in the night. . Why had she never tested t=
he air on gargoyle's wings before? It was sheer delight, the feeling that=
 she owned the darkness, the world of the night. How wonderful it must be=
 to feel that way all the time. Or perhaps they weren't aware of it, the =
gargoyles. After all, they knew no other existence. Just as the fay had k=
nown no other existence, until they had been cast out.
	She watched the clock tower. The young ones would be heading out soon, o=
n their nightly patrols. She'd been watching them for days, though she ha=
d kept that little fact to herself. For all her posturing, she really was=
 not half as capricious as she let Owen believe she was. She had devoted =
no small thought to this endeavour.
	She frowned. Whatever had put him in such a bad mood? It wasn't like the=
y hadn't played these games before. It wasn't like he wasn't playing them=
 now . . .
	She turned her attention back to the darkening sky, the moon slipping ou=
t from below the skyline tentatively, masked by wispy clouds driven by th=
e wind.
	The silhouettes of the gargoyles were dots now, shadows across the build=
ings. Smiling, she leapt from the ledge, catching an updraft and rising, =
the moon tracing her wings with silver. She hung back, keeping them in si=
ght, and wondered what their young leader had told his rookery brothers a=
bout that morning.


As Brooklyn finished his tale, he realised Lex and Broadway were just sta=
ring, not looking particularly thrilled or as excited as he was. Hudson s=
miled tentatively, and laid a hand on Brooklyn's shoulder.
	"Are you sure that's what you saw, lad?"
	"Of course I'm sure!" Brooklyn stepped out from under the old gargoyle's=
' palm, and frowned. This wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting. Okay, =
he wasn't sure what reaction exactly he'd been expecting, but this defini=
tely wasn't it.
	"It just sounds a little weird, that's all," Lex shrugged. "I mean, if t=
here are other gargoyles in New York, why haven't we run into them before=
?"
	"What about Griff?" Brooklyn pointed out. "Yeah, it was a shock to meet =
him, but if there are gargoyles again in England, why can't there be ones=
 here that we don't know about? And what about the rookery eggs?"
	"Are you sure it wasn't Demona?" Broadway asked, as he flipped pancakes =
onto a plate.
	"Positive." Brooklyn said dryly.
	"Maybe she was a clone, you know, like Thailog?"
	"Maybe," Brooklyn conceded, and sighed. "Well, I guess we'll just have t=
o wait and see. If she wants to be found, she will be."
	Deep down, he hoped she wanted to be found.


Gregory Marlowe stood in the window of his Manhattan town house, eyes fas=
tened on the darkening sky. His man Clermont had already set out, just as=
 he had for the past six nights. Ever since Marlowe had first seen the So=
ciety's files on the gargoyles, he had been consumed with passion. And Ma=
rlowe was a man of great passions.
	Marlowe wanted to know, to understand. He had pursued and finally joined=
 the Society when he was a young man, and at first he had believed the Il=
luminati held the keys to all the answers he sought. Why shouldn't they? =
Longevity alone should have accounted for half their store of knowledge, =
and contacts the other half. But the society was stingy with its knowledg=
e, and the sheer enormity of the hierarchy kept him from advancing at a s=
peed that would guarantee him the kind of knowledge he sought.
	Knowledge was power, real power. It could bring you all the trappings us=
ually associated with power. Money, influence, respect, they all followed=
 in the wake of knowledge. Hadn't that been true up until this point? Up =
until his disappearance, he had been on of the most influential men in Am=
erica. Even now, he still maintained a great deal of control, with holdin=
gs squirreled away in foreign banks, under pseudonyms and dummy corporati=
ons the Society didn't even dream existed. But knowledge of business, the=
 world, men and women's minds, it wasn't enough. In the Society, he had s=
een the promise of knowledge of everything outside his ken. All the scien=
ces and arts that were said not to exist, he was sure flourished under th=
e Illuminati's hands. And he had seen the gargoyles as proof of this. The=
 files David Xanatos had given them had been abbreviated, but enough to s=
park a burning desire to understand, the know this second race that had i=
nhabited the earth in shadow and secret and near extinction for tens of t=
housands of years. It fascinated him, the mere idea of it.
	And now, he was determined to own that knowledge. And using the gargoyle=
s, he could storm the gates of the Society and wrest all the secrets they=
 had kept hidden from him, he was sure of it. They were too passive, too =
secretive, too old and stagnant to withstand an attack. And with the Soci=
ety under his control, nothing could be denied him. The world's knowledge=
 would lay at his feet.
	It was the promise of ultimate power. He swore it wouldn't remain a prom=
ise unfulfilled for long.


It was well past midnight when he finally saw her.
	Lex was scrounging the dumpster behind a Radio Shack, looking for parts =
for his radio. Broadway was handing out behind an Armenian restaurant tha=
t had just opened, savouring the new smells. Brooklyn sat on the roof of =
the building, ready to call the alarm if anyone came near either end of t=
he alley. It had been a quiet night. At least, in the neighbourhoods they=
 had chosen to cover. Crime was happening somewhere, but they couldn't be=
 everywhere, and as they weren't omniscient, there wasn't much they could=
 do other than relax and enjoy the night.
	Brooklyn almost didn't see her. The moon had slipped behind the clouds, =
and half the street lights on the block had their wires ripped out long b=
efore, and the city showed no signs of repairing them. It was why they'd =
chosen this block; less light meant less chance of being spotted. In this=
 one instance, the criminal mind worked much the same way as gargoyle. Bu=
t after they rousted one lone tagger, the alley was deserted.
	When the light wind blew the clouds from the face of the moon, she was a=
lmost directly in front of him, crouching on the ledge of the building ac=
ross from him, she peeked down at his rookery brothers. Her hair spilled =
over her shoulder, touched by the same wind, and she tucked the dark stra=
nds behind one delicately pointed ear as she leaned forward. The moon was=
 reflected off her fair skin like a beacon, and Brooklyn felt his jaw dro=
p.
	"Hey!" he called out, and she looked up, frozen as her eyes met his. The=
n she scrambled to her feet, slithering up a drain pipe and over the roof=
=2E
	At Brooklyn's yell, Lex looked up to see his rookery brother leap from h=
is perch to the opposite roof. He scrambled out of sight, thinking someon=
e was coming, and saw Broadway do the same. When no one appeared, they em=
erged scratching their heads.
	"Brooklyn?" Lex called out, but there was no answer.


"Wait!" Brooklyn cried as he vaulted the low wall between two buildings a=
nd saw her disappear behind a chimney. He held his breath as he slowed, a=
nd then stopped, holding out his empty hands. Slowly, she peeked out at h=
im from behind the chimney. With her wings folded around her, and her hai=
r falling around them, she was a shadow except for two glittering black e=
yes.
	Showtime, thought Rowan. She stepped out, and the two gargoyles studied =
each other for a long moment.
	"I'm Brooklyn. My clan, what's left of us, live here."
	"I didn't think there were any other gargoyles in America."
	"Neither did we."
	"I'm called Fionnuala."
	"Are you from Avalon?"
	She was so tempted not to lie. But that would mean far too many question=
s, so she simply shook her head, confused. "Avalon?"
	"Oh." Brooklyn sat down on the ledge, and swung his feet back and forth.=
 "I thought maybe . . . Never mind."
	Lex and Broadway pulled themselves up the side of the building, and gasp=
ed.
	"Wow!" Lex's eyes were wide. Broadway bumped into the back of him, and t=
hey took cautious steps forward.
	"Guys, I'd like you to meet Fionnuala," Brooklyn said dryly.
	Broadway was the first to shake himself out of his stupor. "Nice to meet=
 you," he said quickly. "Brooklyn, can I talk to you for a second?"
	Brooklyn frowned, but followed Broadway to the other side of the roof, L=
ex trailing behind.
	"Are you sure this is such a good idea?" Broadway couldn't keep the worr=
y out of his voice.
	"What do you mean?"
	"Broadway's right. We don't know anything about her."
	"Well, we'll get to know her, then."
	"But what if she's one of Xanatos' clones?"
	"What if she isn't? What if she really is exactly who she says she is? W=
ould you turn your back on one of your own just because Xanatos is a jerk=
?"
	"I wouldn't turn my back on *Xanatos*. There's a difference."
	"You've been watching too many tv shows. Not everything in life is a set=
 up."
	"What about Demona?"
	"That was different!"
	"And the Pack?" Lex added.
	"Hey, that worked out all right in the end."
	"And Maggie?"
	"I don't want to talk about Maggie."
	Lex and Broadway exchanged glances, and Brooklyn glanced back at Fionnua=
la, who was watching with a puzzled expression on her face. "Look, if you=
 guys are afraid, there's no reason to stick around."
	"We're not leaving you alone with her."
	"I can take care of myself. You guys go on back to the clocktower." He h=
ad the *I'm leader, what I say goes* tone, but Broadway and Lex still loo=
ked sceptical.


Rowan braided and unbraided a lock of dark hair as she watched the rooker=
y brothers argue. She had hoped they would be more open-minded, though sh=
e had a sneaking suspicion that Brooklyn's friendliness had less to do wi=
th a trusting nature than a need for companionship.
	"Where are they going?"
	"They, ah . . . Celebrity hockey is on."
	"Oh."
	"Yeah, they didn't want to miss it. Richard Dean Anderson is goalie, and=
 Rob Paulson is announcing."
	"Well, perfectly understandable. Throw D.B. Sweeney on the ice, and I'm =
there."
	"Who?"
	"Never mind." She laughed. "I didn't know there was a rookery in New Yor=
k."
	"As far as we know, there's isn't. We're from Scotland, originally. What=
 about you?" Brooklyn asked, and she shrugged.
	"I came here from Ireland, I roost on a lighthouse up the coast. Not muc=
h of a story."
	"What about the humans?"
	"Oh, the lighthouse was abandoned. If they see the light go on now and a=
gain, the locals just figure that it's haunted, or that the some kids hav=
e gone up there to fool around. So far, it's a very pleasant arrangement.=
"
	"So why come here?"
	"I was curious." And that was the truth. "And lonely." And that too was =
the truth.
	"What about your clan?"
	"A thousand years ago, my clan scattered over the earth. We are not soli=
tary by nature, but by necessity. Over time, we forgot the loneliness, le=
arned to live on our own. But sometimes, sometimes we need one of our own=
 to call kin. To remember how things used to be, and will one day be agai=
n."
	"Wow."
	"I'm sorry, I've gotten all maudlin on you."
	"No, I think it's great."
	"Great that I've gotten all maudlin?" she gave him a quizzical look.
	"No," Brooklyn became flustered. "I mean . . ." he frowned. Just what wa=
s it he was trying to say? "I'm glad you're so in touch with, you know, y=
ourself." These was an awkward pause, and she giggled.
	"Wow, that sounded lame," he slapped his forehead, and she laughed. Sinc=
e she genuinely seemed to be amused by the situation, and not laughing at=
 him, he chuckled.
	"C'mon," she got up, and tugged at his forearm til he joined her. "Show =
me around, this is only my second trip to New York." She left unspoken *t=
his century*, for obvious reasons.
	Neither of them noticed a man taking photographs.
	This may be because the man was particularly good at not being noticed. =
Or it may just have been they were too far away, as he was using quite po=
ssibly the largest and most expensive telephoto lens on the market. When =
one is not being noticed, it helps to not be noticed from a distance rath=
er than close up.


"Your clan must be pretty different." They were sitting on the walls of B=
elvedere Castle in park, watching the world go by. Brooklyn held up a yel=
low bottle. "Do you like mustard?"
	"Yeah," Rowan nodded, and he handed her a warm pretzel. "How so?"
	"Well, for one thing, don't you miss your rookery brothers and sisters?"=

	"I stay in touch with a few of them. I even visit, now and again."
	"I can't imagine being apart from my clan for so long."
	"You look so sad," she observed, and didn't realise she'd spoken aloud u=
ntil he answered.
	"Some of my friends have been gone a long time, thanks to this place cal=
led Avalon. I guess I was kinda hoping you were from there, and had come =
back with them."
	"You miss them."
	"Yeah, but it's more than that." Brooklyn knew it was, well, patently nu=
ts to want to open up to a stranger, even another gargoyle, what with clo=
nes, and robots, and heaven knows what out there. But something about Fio=
nnuala's openness, and apparent lack of guile made him want to talk to he=
r. And he could, precisely because at the moment they were little more th=
an strangers. "I'm not ready to lead my clan, so I want Goliath to hurry =
back not just because I miss him. But because I need him."
	"Who is this Xanatos that your brothers were so worried?" She sank her t=
eeth into the pretzel, and licked mustard off her fingers.
	He told her, in a messy, roundabout way, of Castle Wyvern, the spell, Xa=
natos, Demona, Elisa and Matt. She listened intently, looking sad, amused=
, or distressed at the appropriate parts, sometimes genuinely, sometimes =
because those were the demands of the part she had taken to play.
	"Things sure were different a thousand years ago." She found her eyes ha=
d fastened on the lake in the park.
	"Yeah, definitely. But not necessarily better, you know? It took the mas=
sacre for the humans we thought were our friends to actually see us for w=
hat we were. But Elisa was a true friend right off the bat, even though s=
he'd never grown up around gargoyles. Goliath hopes that someday, humans =
and gargoyles can life together in peace, but I'm beginning to think that=
's a long way off."
	"Maybe not so long as you think."
	"Maybe," he agreed, and smiled.
	"So, what finally convinced you?"
	"Convinced me of what?"
	"That I wasn't another of Xanatos' tricks."
	"I'm not. Yet."
	"So what's a girl gotta do to prove herself?"
	"I'm not sure."
	"How about I race you to the lake, and the winner is forced to trust the=
 loser implicitly."
	"Shouldn't that be the other way around?"
	"Ah, you have to race me to find out." She got up on the wall, and her t=
ail twitched impatiently. "You coming?"
	"I'm thinking about it."
	"Oh, so you're chicken."
	"I'm not chicken!" he climbed up on top of the wall, and spread his wing=
s.
	"Ready?" she asked, tapping his shoulder with her tail.
	"Set-go," he said, and dove off the wall into the night.
	"Hey, no fair cheating!" she glided after him, the warm night air carryi=
ng away her laughter.


"Think he'll stay out again?" Lex looked up from his radio to see Broadwa=
y staring at the entrance to the balcony, still on the same page he'd bee=
n an hour ago of the detective novel Elisa'd given him before she disappe=
ared. The sky outside was lightening, and the sun would be up in a matter=
 of moments.
	"I dunno."
	"You don't think anything's, you know, happened, do you?" Lex put down t=
he radio, and they headed up the stairs.
	"I'm sure the lad'll be fine," Hudson tried to sound reassuring, but whe=
n the young gargoyles had returned to the clocktower with their tale of a=
 strange new female gargoyle, he had been just as sceptical. Brooklyn had=
 taken to his role as leader well, better than Hudson had thought when th=
ey'd first realised Goliath was well and truly missing. He didn't think t=
he lad would be foolish enough to get tangled up in anything dangerous ov=
er a pretty face. But then, that was a weakness Brooklyn didn't seem to s=
hare with his rookery brothers.
	They stepped onto the low wall, and Lex gave the skyline one last long l=
ook. Just as they were getting ready to strike a pose for the day's rest,=
 Brooklyn stuck his head around the corner of the rotunda.
	"Uh, hi guys." Brooklyn looked a little sheepish. "I guess we lost track=
 of time."
	"'We', lad?" Hudson tried to sound gruff, but he was too relieved that n=
othing had indeed happened to the gargoyle. Then he gasped as Brooklyn st=
epped aside, revealing the young female.
	"Hi," she waved a taloned hand, chewing on her bottom lip, with a hopefu=
l expression that was frozen by the first weak rays of the morning sun.
	A pigeon fluttered down to land on her shoulder, seeing with its beady l=
ittle pink eyes only a collection of statues laid out in some kind of str=
ange tableau. It hunted about for the inevitable pretzel crumbs, and rese=
ttled itself on the head of the statue to eat when its little pigeon hear=
t almost stopped as the statue moved.
	"Filthy little--" Rowan muttered, shaking her head and the flustered bir=
d took to the skies a little shakily. "I hate pigeons."
	In human guise once more, she greeted the sun with a grin. Running her f=
ingers through her hair, she braided it and hopped down from her perch.
	"Well, that's one way to avoid a confrontation." She chuckled, surveying=
 the frozen scene. The little gargoyle looked as if it was going to have =
a fit of apoplexy, while the big one seemed only a little fazed. But the =
old warrior seemed only surprised. Rowan smiled at Brooklyn's still form,=
 knowing he could not see her. She genuinely liked the young gargoyle. An=
d this was more fun than she had had in positively ages, well, except for=
 that incident in the speakeasy with the Irish mobsters during the Prohib=
ition.
	She skipped across the wood floor of the tower, towards the ladder that =
lead down into the precinct. Perhaps Owen had changed his mind--
	She froze as she heard footfalls. She ducked into the storage closet, an=
d noticed absently that it was no longer Coldstone's last resting place. =
She could taste the smoky residue of sorcery, and beneath it, the power s=
ignatures of the Gate and Eye. However, the room was now devoid of talism=
ans and the like, and housed only some magazines, an old overstuffed chai=
r with only three legs, a cracked bathroom mirror, and her.
	Opening the door a crack, she peeked out to see a red-haired man emergin=
g from the trap door. He checked the stove, to make sure it was off, she =
assumed, and then headed up the stairs to where the gargoyles roost. Curi=
ous, she crept out of her hiding place, her bare feet making no sound. Sh=
e could hear him talking to himself out on the rotunda.
	"Just wanted to check on you guys before I head home," he was saying, de=
spite the fact that they were sleeping and would never know. Flush agains=
t the wall, hidden in shadow, she smiled. This was an interesting human, =
anyone who was trusted by Detective Maza with the gargoyles' secret must =
be extraordinary, at the very least.
	She ducked back into the shadows as he passed by, covering a mammoth yaw=
n with his hand. She decided to follow him. After all, she had nothing be=
tter to do today. Heading back out onto the rotunda, she began to climb d=
own to the top of the fire escape, landing in the alley below just as the=
 intriguing young man passed by. Waiting a second, she peeked around the =
edge, and waited until he was a half a block or so ahead before she set o=
ut in his wake.


"Interesting," Marlowe held up a grainy photo and smiled. "It would appea=
r to be a mated pair. I was beginning to wonder if the female of the spec=
ies even existed." He chuckled. Clermont stood next to him, in a dark sui=
t and sunglasses. Clermont failed to see the humour of the situation. Cle=
rmont wouldn't; Margaret Thatcher had more whimsy in her pinkie than Cler=
mont had in his entire body. However, he was very, very good at what he d=
id, which was basically whatever Marlowe told him to do. It was a mutuall=
y profitable relationship that had existed for some small number of years=
=2E
	"Sir, with a mated pair . . ." Clermont began, and Marlowe set down the =
photo, steepling his fingers and smiling.
	"Indeed. Have we discovered yet where they sleep?"
	"No sir, I'm afraid they are *very* careful about that. I've tracked the=
m six straight nights, however, and am relatively sure they are in this a=
rea," he circled a ten square block area of Manhattan.
	"Excellent work, Mr. Clermont. That's the 23rd precinct, isn't it?"
	"Yes, sir."
	"Detective Maza's precinct. The woman who put, however briefly, David Xa=
natos in jail. And Matthew Bluestone, the Society's current fair-haired b=
oy."
	"Would you like me to pick him up, sir?"
	"No, no. There's no need to involve the police in this matter, I believe=
 we can handle it ourselves.


Matt yawned widely, and stuck his hands deep in his pockets. He'd gotten =
into the habit of walking home from work, though he really wished Elisa w=
ould get back soon. He didn't have a car since there was so little parkin=
g in his building, and he'd kind of gotten used to having his partner dro=
p him off.
	He hoped Elisa made it back soon. He hadn't worked with a partner since =
Hacker, and he'd forgotten what it was like to rely on another person so =
completely. "I wonder if that's what marriage is like," he muttered, and =
chuckled. Captain Chavez had asked him yet again today if he'd heard from=
 Elisa. She'd gotten it into her head some time ago that there was someth=
ing between the two detectives, and since he couldn't tell her it was the=
 gargoyles, he'd just let her go on believing. It was getting thorny now,=
 though. No one seemed to believe him when he said he didn't know why Eli=
sa had taken such a sudden leave of absence, and that he hadn't spoken wi=
th her since her disappearance. He wished he could tell the Captain, and =
Officer Morgan at least. But that wasn't his story to tell, he just hoped=
 Elisa had a job to come back to.
	Turning the corner by the grocery store, he thought he caught out of the=
 corner of his eye a figure darting behind a parked car. He stopped, puzz=
led, and watched the reflection of the street in the glass window of a to=
y store across the street. He saw the figure peek out from behind the car=
, and saunter back onto the sidewalk. It was only a fraction of a second,=
 before a bus rounded the corner, full of commuters, and Matt ducked into=
 the mouth of an alley to get a better look. Flush against the wall, he w=
aited until his shadow reached the entrance.
	Reaching out, his hand closed on the wrist of his follower, dragging the=
 figure into the alley and pinning him against the damp wall--no, not a h=
im.
	It was a kid. Matt blinked in surprise. She looked like a high school gi=
rl, the kind he remembered from high school, not the Drew Barrymore Holly=
wood type of today. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy braid, and s=
he was wearing cut-offs and a faded black tee-shirt. No make-up, no watch=
, no jewellery, no purse, no wallet, no shoes.
	"Who are you?" He shook her. "Why were you following me?"
	"Was I following you?" she asked, all innocence.
	"Yes."
	"Oh."
	"And I want to know why."
	"Because you looked interesting," she said with great conviction.
	"What is that supposed to mean? And why don't you have any shoes on?"
	"Well, at the moment, I don't have any shoes."
	"Don't you know it's dangerous to walk around without shoes? You could g=
et cut, there's glass all over the place!"
	"I'm sorry, I'm mildly confused. Why are you shouting at me for not wear=
ing shoes, when a second ago you were shouting at me for following you?" =
Rowan gave him a quizzical look, and Matt suddenly realised he too was mi=
ldly confused.
	He sighed, and glanced around. There was a strip mall a few blocks up, a=
nd he thought he could discern the familiar orange and yellow sign of a d=
iscount shoe store. "C'mon."
	"Where are we going?" She sounded amused.
	"To get you some shoes."
	"You're kidding, right?"
	"No, I'm just out of my mind." They started walking in the general direc=
tion of the mall, and Matt silently questioned his sanity while Rowan tri=
ed to keep from giggling.
	When they reached the door, Matt suddenly turned around. "What's your na=
me?"
	"Call me Jackie," she stuck her hand out, and Matt shook it.
	"Matt Bluestone. Detective Matt Bluestone. As in, I'm a cop, so don't tr=
y to snow me, kiddo."
	"Okay, I won't try." She smiled, and he opened the door.
	"What's your size?" he asked as they walked into the store. The clerk be=
hind the counter, who didn't look much older than the girl, looked as if =
he was going to say something. He thought better of it, and didn't spare =
them a glance as they headed for the women's shoe department.
	"I have no earthly idea."

*Jesus, this kid eats like a horse*, Matt tried to keep the naked amuseme=
nt off his face as Jackie wolfed down her second Egg McMuffin and carton =
of milk. He'd insisted that she wear the shoes out of the store, and thou=
gh he had the distinct impression she was humouring him, she'd laced up t=
he keds as he'd shelled out the eight bucks to the clerk. Common sense to=
ld him he should head home and crash, having done his good deed for the d=
ay. But it was a nice morning, and she was a nice kid, and he had very li=
ttle common sense.
	"When was the last time you ate?"
	"I had a pretzel with mustard at about midnight," she'd said blithely, s=
winging the plastic shoe store bag with the empty cardboard shoebox insid=
e as she walked. He'd grabbed her elbow, and steered her into the MacDona=
ld's.
	"Do you do this often?" she asked around a mouthful of egg and Canadian =
bacon.
	"Don't talk with your mouth full," Matt unconsciously parroted his mothe=
r, and sipped his coffee before replying. "Do what?"
	"Rescue starving, shoeless young women and stuff them full of fried food=
s."
	"No, you're my first."
	"Wow," she waggled her eyebrows, and Matt felt a flush creep up his neck=
=2E
	"Why aren't you in school?" he hastily changed the subject.
	She started laughing, practically choking on her sandwich. He thumped he=
r on the back, and she finished off her milk before replying. "Nope, no s=
chool."
	"What about your parents?"
	"Are you always this nosy?"
	"I'm a detective, remember? You'd can't detect without being nosy. So ho=
w old are you, anyway?"
	"One thousand, three hundred, and seventy-one."
	"Ask a stupid question . . ."
	"It wasn't a stupid question," she shook her head and patted his hand, e=
ncouragingly. The gesture and tone reminded him of his third grade teache=
r, Mrs. Delany. This is nothing quite like being treated like an eight ye=
ar old by a teenager.
	"So where you from?"
	"Avalon."
	"That's up north, isn't it?"
	"Sort of."
	"Funny, you don't sound Canadian."
	"My accent wanders," she admitted, and wiped her mouth daintily with a p=
aper napkin.



He shouldn't haven been surprised at all, really. Rowan simply ignored th=
e bits of life she didn't want to deal with, and forced everyone around h=
er to do the same. Despite the note on which they'd parted, she appeared =
in his office by way of the bathroom mirror all smiles, braid bouncing be=
hind her, clutching a plastic drawstring bag.
	"I had the most marvellous day." Rowan sat on the edge of his desk, pluc=
king the pen from his hand. He took another one from his inside breast po=
cket, and continued writing without looking up. She noted with some amuse=
ment that even when he was alone, he left his left hand stone. He really =
should do something about that, although with the Grimorum Arcanorum gone=
, and Demona and MacBeth the only practising sorcerers in the vicinity, s=
he could see his dilemma. With a wave of her hand, it became flesh again =
and though he frowned, he didn't change it back himself.
	"Really?" He massaged his wrist until the tingling subsided.
	"Oh yes, I met the most amazing fellow. His name is Matthew, and he boug=
ht me shoes." She laughed, delighted, and stood on one foot, her other ex=
tended in a manner only that could only have been managed by a contortion=
ist, or a member of the Bolshoi to display a cheap canvas tennis shoe bar=
ely inches from his face.
	"And very fetching they are."
	"Did you know, they have a device that measures your feet? I can't quite=
 understand it, actually, the numbers seem to have nothing to do with the=
 actual length of my foot. My feet are hardly six inches long. Still, I t=
hought it perfectly amazing. I mean, how often do humans buy complete str=
angers footwear?"
	"What does your Matthew do?"
	"He's a police detective." She studied a bowl of fruit sitting on the ba=
r near the bathroom, and carefully, painstakingly chose a shiny red apple=
=2E
	Owen looked as if he was trying to keep from swallowing his tongue.
	"What?" she asked innocently, biting into the apple.
	"You have an absolute talent for chaos." Owen pronounced, shaking his he=
ad. "Detective Bluestone is Detective Maza's partner. You are aware of th=
is?"
	She laid down on the leather couch, feet dangling over the armrest, and =
took another bite. "Oh, yes. He was checking on the gargoyles before his =
shift ended--"
	"And you knew this because?"
	"Because I was there, silly. Don't fret, he didn't see me. Well, not jus=
t then, anyway."
	"When exactly?"
	"When he tackled me in an alley and asked me why I was following him. On=
ce we got over the paranoia, he was really quite charming. I'm seeing him=
 again tomorrow, as a matter of fact."
	"Why?"
	She rolled over onto her stomach, and pitched the apple core into the wa=
stepaper basket behind his desk. It was actually very aerodynamic, until =
it defied the laws of gravity and velocity and turned so that it landed s=
quarely in the bin, since the bin was under the desk. "Because I like him=
=2E He has this very entertaining idea about getting me placed into foste=
r care. He thinks I'm an orphan from Newfoundland. I didn't disabuse him =
of this notion, because it amused me greatly."
	"Tell me, do you actually have a plan, or are you just picking people at=
 random to assault and bedazzle?"
	"A nice balance of both, actually. And I didn't assault him. Technically=
, he assaulted me."
	"And what exactly do you plan to do with your Matthew?"
	"Keep allowing him to buy me meals, for one thing. Do you know, I'd neve=
r eaten at MacDonald's before."
	"And then what?"
	"I'm not sure. He's an interesting human."
	"He's an illuminatus, albeit an initiate."
	"You know, every time I hear that word, I picture giant walking light bu=
lbs. I know that's not that illuminatus means, but still--"
	"Rowan." Owen sat back down behind his desk, looking at her from over hi=
s glasses before he turned back to the papers he'd been going over.
	"You're going to lecture me, aren't you."
	"No."
	"Really?" She sounded surprised, but he didn't look up from the contract=
s.
	"No," he said curtly.
 	"Whatever has put you in such a mood?" she teased, but he shook her off=
=2E
	"You're one to talk. Your moods are quicksilver, I grow weary following =
them."
	"If I promised you that I would be on my very best behaviour, would you =
believe me?"
	"The set is setting, shouldn't you be back on your ledge? Or you'd have =
rather a lot of explaining to do."
	"You didn't answer me," she said from the bathroom doorway.
	"No, I didn't."


Rowan stepped out of the mirror in the closet, and carefully removed her =
new shoes, and replaced them in the cardboard box. Glancing around, she s=
tashed the box in its plastic bag behind the mirror. After all, she shoul=
dn't be needing them until dawn. Peeking out into the loft, she saw it wa=
s empty and climbed the stairs to the balcony just as the sun began to di=
p below the skyline.
	Resuming her place in the tableau, she waited. As the sun slipped under =
the horizon, the familiar weblike pattern of cracks appeared, and with a =
chorus of roars and yawns, the gargoyles awoke from their stone sleep wit=
h a shower of gravel. Rowan twitched the last bit of thin stone skin from=
 her tail, and then looked back and forth between the elder and Brooklyn.=

	" I trust her, Hudson," Brooklyn said quietly. Hudson stroked his beard =
thoughtfully, and then smiled.
	"Any friend of the lad's is welcome here, lass." He offered his hand, wh=
ich she clasped at the wrist.
	"Thank you, it means a great deal to me." She looked expectantly at Broa=
dway and Lexington, who stared at their feet. Obviously, this was going t=
o take some work. Squaring her shoulders, she walked over to them.
	"Shall we start again? I'm called Fionnuala." She held out her hand. The=
 young gargoyles traded looks, and then glanced over her shoulder to Broo=
klyn, but his face was a mask.
	"I'm Broadway." The big green gargoyle reached out and gave her hand a q=
uick shake. Lex followed suite, and she grinned.
	"Hey, have you got Doom on that laptop?" She jerked her thumb to the int=
erior, and Lex's eyes lit up.
	"Yeah."
	"I've never played, you wanna teach me?"
	"I guess."
	Brooklyn smiled as Lex followed her inside, Broadway on his heels. Hudso=
n held back, and touched Brooklyn's shoulder.
	"I should have a few things to say about your bringing a stranger to our=
 home, lad."
	Brooklyn squared his shoulders. "She's not a stranger, Hudson. She's a g=
argoyle."
	"I said I should. But obviously you've given this a lot of thought, and =
I trust your instincts."
	"Thanks." Brooklyn relaxed, and followed the elder gargoyle inside.
	So far, so good.


"Wow," Rowan looked over the darkened library, and ran her finger along t=
he spines of the row of books closest to her. "Pretty cool, having your o=
wn personal library."
	"Yeah, Goliath spends a lot of time in here." Brooklyn settled himself o=
f the top of the ladder, and watched her pull a book off the shelf and se=
ttle down on the floor, wings wrapped around her like a cloak. He could r=
ead the gilded letters of the title in the dim light. "Man, Myth and Magi=
c?"
	"I like the pictures." She lifted up a page emblazoned with a black and =
white lithograph of a scene from one of Shakespeare's plays. Tiny fairies=
 with gossamer wings fluttered around a reclining woman with delicately p=
ointed ears who was laying a wreath of flowers over a man with an ass' he=
ad. She flipped pages with an amused expression on her face, and then gre=
w silent. He thought she was reading one of the entries, but when he hopp=
ed down to see, she seemed to be staring a crude woodcut of a hobgoblin, =
one talon tracing the lines of the figure's mischievous grin.
	"Hey," he touched her wing, and she blinked. "You looked a million miles=
 away."
	"I was. Sorry."
	"Where were you anyway?"
	"I was just thinking about seeing someone about something that I probabl=
y shouldn't--never mind, it doesn't matter." She smiled for his benefit. =
"So what should we do tonight?"
	"In case you haven't noticed, the sun'll be up in about an hour." Brookl=
yn would have raised a brow, if he had eyebrows. But the general effect w=
as the same.
	"Already?" She glanced back, and finally noticed the sky outside the hig=
h windows lightening. "Where did the night go?"
	"You spent most of it kicking Lex's butt at Doom." Brooklyn chuckled, bu=
t she didn't laugh. She had the far away look in her eyes again. "Rowan, =
when you said your clan was scattered . . ."
	"Yes?"
	"Do you have a mate?"
	"Yes. No. Sort of. Why, are you volunteering?" At his stricken look, she=
 chuckled. "Sorry, humour by reflex. That couldn't have been fair to you.=
"
	"We'd better head back upstairs."
	"You go on," she closed the book, and tucked it back between its fellows=
 on the shelf. "I just need to think a while."
	"Sure. Okay." He headed back up the stairs. By the time he was at the fi=
rst landing, she was gone.


Owen was in his room reading when she appeared, this time wearing her hum=
an form. He noticed she was barefoot again, apparently she had already lo=
st interest in the novelty of new shoes. He put down his book, pushing hi=
s glasses up on his nose. "I take it you made your appointment, then?"
	"Yes. Met the clan, ate some Belgium waffles, played some computer games=
=2E" She tried to keep her tone light, but the act was wearing thin. "Bro=
oklyn is quite upset, what with Goliath and the detective off on Avalon's=
 magical mystery tour. But then, I hear the gargoyles paid you a visit, s=
o you must already know that. They have no idea about the Gathering, it w=
ould seem. Neither does Goliath, from what Grandmother told me, although =
that may have changed. I hear they've gone to Ulster, but the bean sidhe =
has disappeared, so who knows what they got mixed up in there." She did s=
mile now, a little self indulgent smile. "I must say, they certainly twea=
ked Raven's ears."
	"Ah, yes. How is he?"
	"Still as insufferable as ever. He always was the over-achiever in the f=
amily. So he took a more active role in society, does that give him the r=
ight to lord it over me for centuries? I could have endeared myself to a =
native culture and lived my millennium so as a god among them. I simply c=
hose not to, that's all. I avoid Canada in its entirety thanks to him."
	Owen stood, replacing the book on the night stand, and removed his glass=
es. "I think it's time for you to go."


"Hey, I've just downloaded the latest version of Doom, where's Fionnuala?=
" Lex looked up from his laptop to see Brooklyn sitting with his back to =
Hudson's chair, skimming the Times.
	"She's downstairs in the library."
	"No, she's not," Broadway looked up from the sink where he was doing the=
 washing up. "I was just down there to put the cookbook back, there was n=
o sign of her."
	Brooklyn tried to hide his surprise, and started up the stairs to the ba=
lcony, newspaper forgotten.
	"Where you going?" Lex logged off and clicked the laptop closed, slippin=
g on the dust cover.
	"Just a hunch."
	"It's almost dawn!" Broadway called after him, but Brooklyn had already =
leapt off the balcony into the rapidly fleeing night.
	"I knew this was a bad idea," Lex scowled, and Hudson looked up from his=
 section of the paper, but kept silent.


"I'm sorry, what?" Rowan kept her expression purposefully blank.
	"You heard me."
	"Has anyone ever told you you have an absolute talent for non-sequitors?=
 Was that a suggestion, or something more?"
	"You've had your fun, Rowan. But it's time for it to come to an end. As =
much as you seem to disdain him, Lord Oberon is gathering his children to=
 him. Perhaps it's time you gave that matter the grave thought it is due.=
"
	"I see. Obviously, you've done your thinking on the matter."
	"When all is said and done, beneath the galmours and illusions, when all=
 the games are finished and done, we are what we are."
	"We're not just of the third race, you and I. We and our kin, though the=
y be small in number, its true, are more. We're pookas and jacks, trickst=
ers and wise fools. We're kin to the coyote and the raven, not merely Lor=
d Oberon's subjects. Perhaps you've worn that shape so long, you've forgo=
tten our nature."
	"It is not our nature that compels you to meddle, leaving havoc in your =
wake."
	"And what havoc have I wrought? Was your precious David so much the wise=
r for my little visit?"
	She walked around him in a wide circle, a flush rising in her cheeks, bu=
t he remained silent.
	She stopped, facing him, and tilted his chin so he met her eyes. She tra=
ced his jaw with a fingertip, and felt the muscle twitch beneath her care=
ss. "I see. So it was not your life here that I disturbed, but your heart=
? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
	She reached up to touch his cheek, and he caught her hand, pressing a ki=
ss into her palm before letting it drop and stepping back. She winced as =
if his touch had burned. She walked over to the window, and looked out ov=
er the night sky.
	"Since it is obvious you will not return to Avalon for love, whatever wi=
ll you do when your master calls you home, eh?" she asked his reflection =
in the windowpane. "Tell him you're traded him in for a bright, shiny mor=
tal one?"
	"And do you really think that just because Oberon is gathering the fay, =
that you will be exempt from the order?"
	She turned, her expression melting from neutral to one of contempt. Not =
for him, but the situation. "He's not *my* master, remember? You know whe=
re my loyalties lie. He's a bit full of himself. Acts more like a king th=
an a consort." =

	"I think you've confused literature with reality, my dear. He's the king=
, your mistress is the consort."
	"No, MacBeth has confused literature with reality. I, on the other hand,=
 have remarkably clear memories of the incident. And people accuse *me* o=
f being enamoured of mortals. He was positively taken with that poor beso=
tted mortal, what did Will call her? Helen? But then, you know much more =
about it than I. And all the while, he professed his undying love for his=
 lady wife, then banished her--and us, may I add-- to 'cure' her of her p=
rejudice." She scowled, and then drew herself up tall, nose in the air. "=
We are Oberon, lord of the third race, ruler of Avalon, first class hypoc=
rite and horse's ass."
	Owen couldn't help a smile. She did a passable imitation. She collapsed =
in a boneless heap once more on the couch, and rested her chin on her han=
ds, grey eyes glittering like stars. She scowled, very prettily he though=
t, but then her words stole his good humour.
	"I wonder what will happen when our dear Lord Oberon realises that we le=
arned the lesson too well." She looked for a reaction, but his face was a=
 mask. So she pushed. "He suffers us to live that we amuse him, but he is=
 not *my* lord." All trace of amusement was gone now, and he knew any pre=
tence was gone. Her words were like the naked steel of a blade. "And he w=
ould not have been yours if you did not let him rule you."
	"You have selective memory."
	"One of us does," she amended. "And remember who brought you to this isl=
and--"
	"Have done, Rowan," he warned her.
	"As if you have never set a foot wrong, when we both know just how much =
a lie that would be--"
	"I said *have done*," he thundered, and she flinched.
	She had crossed the line, and she knew it. Seeing his face now, she regr=
etted it, though she had spoken true. She reached out to touch his should=
er. "I never meant--"
	"You never *mean* to do anything, do you, Rowan," he said coldly, pullin=
g away from her light touch. "You never mean to. But you always do."
	She froze, as if she was carved of stone. He didn't even think she breat=
hed. He knew he should make some joke, dispel the tension. But he couldn'=
t, his mood was too black. Like a runaway train, part of him could only w=
atch as he hurtled towards disaster at breakneck speed.
	She looked as if she would say something, and then thought better of it.=
 She crawled up into the open window frame, and glanced back at him from =
over her shoulder, with a small wistful smile tinged with bitterness.
	"And how unlucky I must be, to love a one such as you. You'd as soon bre=
ak my heart as look at me. Again, I am the fool."
	"Rowan--" he stepped towards her, but she leapt out into the night, her =
form flowing from human to gargoyle so quickly it was a blur. He leaned o=
ut the window, and could only make out a silhouette in the distance.
	"Rowan!" he called out, and gripped the stone ledge almost painfully, th=
e rough texture biting into his palms. They were red and tingling when he=
 finally came back inside.
	That was a thing badly done. Badly done, indeed.


There was no reason to believe she'd lied. None. And yet, there he was, w=
atching Castle Wyvern, when there could have been a million other places =
in the city she could have gone to. But as Brooklyn saw her leap from the=
 window, he knew there was really only one place she would have gone, and=
 his instincts had been right.
	Brooklyn wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Instead, his mouth a grim =
line, he spread his wings and followed her.


Rowan felt as if her wings were fashioned of lead. She had a hard time co=
ncentrating on the criss-cross patterns of warm air that held her aloft, =
and was tempted to just throw in the towel and fly, but that would be che=
ating. And she was way too bloody minded at the moment to give in and che=
at, she wouldn't give Owen the satisfaction...
	"Listen to me, I sound like some besotted mortal maid . . ."
	She was so busy feeling disgusted with herself, she almost didn't notice=
 Brooklyn till he was on top of her. She smiled, but his expression was g=
rim. They landed on a deserted rooftop, and Rowan reached out to the youn=
g gargoyle, but he backed away.
	"You want to tell me what that was all about?"
	"What?"
	"I saw you leave Castle Wyvern."
	All the colour drained from her cheeks. "Brooklyn, I can explain--"
	"Save it," he barked. "I can't believe I fell for this! I can't believe =
I trusted you. At least I found out the truth before it cost me the rest =
of my clan."
	"Xanatos has no idea where your clan roosts."
	"Why should I believe that?"
	"Because it's the truth."
	"Sorry, lady. That's not good enough."
	"What can I say to make you believe me?"
	"Nothing. There is nothing you can say, because I've heard it all before=
=2E"
	"From whom? Not from me, you haven't given me a chance yet, so from whom=
? Demona? That was a long time ago, and she's spent centuries perfecting =
her hate. You were not a fool for being swayed, only misguided, and you l=
earned from it. Maggie? You took her into your home, and she didn't betra=
y you, even as frightened as she was. Now, she's your friend. Even if she=
 won't be more than that, you've come to accept that no matter how much i=
t hurts you to be alone."
	"How do you--"
	"Know so much? I've listened to you, Brooklyn. Every word you've said I'=
ve heard and headed. Don't I deserve the same respect? The same chance?"
	"Then why were you at the castle?"
	"I thought there was someone there who cared for me. I know you have no =
reason to believe that has nothing to do with your clan. You'll just have=
 to take me at my word when I tell you I have never betrayed you, and I n=
ever will. I'd like to think we're friends. And I don't treat my friends =
to betrayal. It's not my way."
	"Fionnuala--" he began, but was cut off by a scream.
	"It came from there," she pointed to an alley behind a grocery store, an=
d they swooped down, landing on the roof in time to see a woman surrounde=
d by four men in jeans and tee-shirts.
	"Can our conversation wait?" she asked.
	"No." he said, but then shook his head. "But it'll have to. I'll take th=
e big two," he whispered.
	"I'll take the bigger two," she winked at him, but he ignored her. She s=
ighed, and they dropped to the alley below.
	"Hey, why don't you pick on someone your own size?" Brooklyn called out,=
 and the guys froze, backing away from the hysterical woman.
	"Are you all right?" Rowan moved to the woman's side, forgetting that th=
e sight of a gargoyle, even a concerned one, would probably not have a ca=
lming effect. Yet the woman nodded, clutching her purse, regaining her co=
mposure quickly.
	Too quickly.
	Warning bells went off in Brooklyn's head, but not fast enough.
	"I'm just peachy," she smiled as she stuck her hand into the almost-snat=
ched purse, and in one fluid motion, removed and aimed some kind of parti=
cle beam pistol. Brooklyn fell, and Rowan tried to spring, but was caught=
 in the chest with the bright red beam. The blast knocked her back into t=
he brick wall of the supermarket. She slid down to the pavement, the wind=
 knocked from her lungs, and saw Brooklyn do the same, apparently unconsc=
ious.
	From beneath her lashes, Rowan watched as the woman tucked an errant loc=
k of hair behind her ear, and prodded Rowan's still form with her foot. S=
he removed a camera from her shoulder bag, and snapped a picture before r=
eplacing it in her purse.
	"They down and out?" asked one of the thugs standing over Brooklyn.
	On cue, Brooklyn grabbed the guy's ankle and pulled, his tail lashing ou=
t to knock the other guy against the wooden fence dividing the alley from=
 someone's backyard. Before the woman could raise the pistol again, Rowan=
 knocked it from her hand, and snarling, advanced. The woman grabbed leng=
th of wood from the dumpster, and swung it wildly. Rowan could hear the s=
creech of tires, and using her arm to block, chanced a glance back to the=
 entry of the alleyway. Her heart sank as a white van pulled up and five =
more thugs poured out, each of them brandishing weapons of some kind. One=
 took aim at Brooklyn, and Rowan snatched the wood from her attacker with=
 the next blow, and threw it with all her strength. It nailed the rifle d=
ead on, knocking it from the gunman's hand, but his fellows were already =
heading for Brooklyn. One made a leap for her, getting an arm around her =
neck for a moment.
	"Brooklyn, run!" Rowan screamed as two more tried to catch her flailing =
limbs, and the two Brooklyn had knocked down dove on her like she was a f=
ootball at the thirty yard line. From the bottom of the pileup, she could=
 see him hesitate, and her eyes burned green as she broke free of two of =
the gunmen, tossing them like rag dolls through the air. She felt a sting=
ing pain in her shoulder, and pulled out a tranquilliser dart.
	Her eyes darted around to see a man in a dark suit at the other end of t=
he alley, another rifle in his hand. Her left side was already going numb=
=2E She tried to use her right arm and tail to fight them off, but she wa=
s tiring. "Dammit, it's a set up! Get out of here."
	Finally, she saw Brooklyn shake free of his three, and disappear up the =
side of the grocery, red brick dust railing behind as he dug his talons i=
nto the wall to haul himself up.
	The blond picked up the fallen two-by-four, and rammed one end into Rowa=
n's stomach. The air went out of her lungs as she dropped to her knees, t=
he dart staring to take a firm hold and she couldn't see if Brooklyn made=
 it.
	Rowan peered up through the grey fog, and managed to lock onto a face ju=
st as the sun began its climb over the horizon.
	"Who...?" she mouthed, the drugs coursing through her system. As the fir=
st rays of the sun slipped over the edge of the building, she allowed her=
 adopted nature to take over.
	Clermont waved several of the bleeding and bruised men over, and they be=
gan packing the stone gargoyle into the van.
	The woman reappeared, breathing hard, her particle beam pistol tucked in=
to the waist band of her pants, hidden by her jacket. "The male?" Clermon=
t asked, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth absently.=

	"He got away."
	"It's dawn, he couldn't have gone far. Start a sweep of the area with th=
e remaining men. And I mean the entire area. If there is any place for hi=
m to hide, I want it turned upside down."
	"Ten bruised and bleeding guys poking through people's back yards, don't=
 you think we're going to be a little conspicuous?"
	"I gave you your orders."."
	"You're the boss," she said, and limped off in the direction Brooklyn ha=
d fled in.



Rowan blinked. This would have scared anyone near her stupid, since statu=
es don't usually blink, but she had been alone ever since the remaining t=
hugs had unloaded her from the van, and two decidedly low-rent thugs had =
used a forklift to deposit her in the cell. So she chanced shedding the i=
llusion of stone.
	"What have I gotten myself into now?" she whispered softly, feeling the =
dull ache in her ribs from where the board had connected. If she were wel=
l and truly a gargoyle, she could spend the day mending in hibernation, b=
ut that would also mean possibly losing her only chance at freedom.
	The walls were metal, and had the cold stink of iron about them. No doub=
t they were some kind of steel alloy meant to hold against the strength o=
f a gargoyle, so breaking them down was out. Even if she could, it wouldn=
't matter. Cold iron was a problem.
	Iron was like a toothache. It was a dull ache that had been there so lon=
g, you learn to ignore it, almost forget it's there until you do somethin=
g stupid like bite down hard, or eat ice cream, and then you end up on th=
e floor in a world of pain you'd fooled yourself into believing didn't ex=
ist.
	A toothache with no hope of a dentist, which made it somewhat worse.
	Aside from feeling claustrophobic, and slightly uncomfortable, she wasn'=
t in pain, exactly. She was, however, very limited. Rather like swimming =
through jello. She certainly couldn't stay here.
	The transformation sent fire along every nerve, and she bit her lip to k=
eep from screaming, and tried to remember not to swallow her tongue.
	"Remind me not to do that again," she whispered to the oppressive grey w=
alls in-between shallow breaths, and collected herself. "If this is what =
Demona goes through every day and night, I almost pity her."


"Doesn't make any sense," the guard grumbled, and shifted his weight from=
 one foot to another as he lit his cigarette. "I mean, these things are s=
tone during the day, right? So we're basically baby-sitting a statue. I'm=
 not even sure I believe it's anything more than that."
	"We're getting paid enough to believe in Santa Claus," the other guard r=
eminded him.
	"Santy Claus don't do the kind of damage this one did. Remember the guys=
 with Clermont? They looked like they got tossed into the lion pit at the=
 zoo."
	"Yeah, ain't you glad you didn't opt for hazard pay?" the big one chuckl=
ed.
	"Hello?" A voice drifted down the hallway. "Hello, is anyone there? Anyo=
ne?"
	The first guard held a finger to his lips, and padded towards the voice,=
 removing his gun from its holster. His partner looked at him quizzically=
 as they stopped before the locked cell. Cautiously, the guard opened the=
 small window peered inside.
	"Hey, it's a girl in there!" he whispered, astonished.
	Crouched on the floor was a young girl, her grey eyes wide with fear.
	The guards exchanged confused looks. The short one took out his keys, an=
d they stepped inside, guns drawn. There was no sign of the statue. The g=
irl flinched at the sight of the guns, and the little guy lowered his.
	"You'd better come with us," the big guy gestured for her to rise. They =
exited the cell, and Rowan breathed a sigh of relief as the steel door wa=
s closed behind her.
	"Man, I think we should take her upstairs. I mean, the boss is gonna wan=
t to know--"
	"Shut up, you idiot." The taller guy rubbed his eyes, as if he was think=
ing hard. "I don't get it, how did you end up in there?"
	"Yeah, there was some kind of statue of a monster--"
	"A monster?" she repeated.
	"Yeah! Fangs, wings, tail--"
	"You mean like this?" Rowan smiled, and as she did so, changed.
	They didn't know what hit them. She slammed the big one against the wall=
 with a sweep of her arm, and he slid down, unconscious. The other gaped,=
 his jaw working, but no sounds issuing forth, and he brought up his gun.=
 Her eyes glowed green, and her tail whipped out, knocking his legs out f=
rom under him just as he pulled the trigger. The shot went wild, and she =
wrenched the gun from his hand, crushing it even as she slapped him with =
the other hand. He tried to rise, and she kicked him. He too lay still, a=
nd she checked for pulses. They were both alive.
	"Ah, rent-a-thugs." She patted the unconscious guys on the heads affecti=
onately, and then shrank back to human form. It was, after all, not yet s=
unset. These two didn't count. She padded down the hallway, her bare feet=
 making no sound on the concrete floors.
	"There has to be a way out of here," she whispered, mostly to herself.
	"There is," a voice rang out behind her. She spun around, but the butt o=
f a rifle descended with tremendous speed, blackness on its heels. She cr=
umpled to the floor. Clermont crouched down and checked her pulse, and on=
ce he was satisfied, removed his cellphone from his breast pocket.
	"Sir? I believe our plans have altered slightly."



"This is the security camera recording." Marlowe's man slipped a compact =
video tape into the player, and the small screen showed the area of hallw=
ay where the gargoyle's cell was located. There was no audio, but the pic=
ture was clear. The two guards lounged against the wall, when suddenly th=
ey stopped, and moved down the hall to peer through the window of the cel=
l.
	"I'll have them fired!" Marlowe breathed as they unlocked the cell, and =
slipped inside.
	"Wait, sir." His man held up a hand, and they watched the men exit with =
what appeared to be a young girl.
	"Who the hell is that?" Marlowe stroked his jaw thoughtfully, and then f=
roze as the girl suddenly, in front of his eyes, grew wings and a tail, h=
er form contracting and expanding until the young female gargoyle stood i=
n the hall.
	He watched the fight without a single thought for his men. His mind was =
completely taken by the puzzle his guest presented, and the implications.=
 When she changed back to the human form, his hands tightened on the armr=
ests, and he leaned forward, closer to the screen. The angle changed agai=
n, showing a new section of hallway, and the film ended with his man deli=
vering the knockout blow. Marlowe relaxed.
	"I was concerned, for a moment, that she had escaped."
	"No, sir. But I thought it wise to bring this to you myself, as it contr=
adicts everything we know as yet about the gargoyles."
	"And you were right to do so. This changes everything."


Matt checked his watch for the forth time in as many minutes, and finally=
 sighed his defeat. He didn't know why he had bothered. Jackie was a stre=
et kid who had taken him for a ride, he hadn't really believed she'd show=
 when he'd asked her to meet him. But somehow, he'd thought she was diffe=
rent. She wasn't one of those kids who had had all the joy in life ground=
 out of them by living hand to mouth, squatting in dives and maybe turnin=
g tricks or pushing dope to stay alive.
	The sense he'd gotten from their lunch was that she was a survivor. Cock=
y as hell, but then most kids were at her age. But full of hope. When she=
'd agreed, she'd almost sounded amused. He'd expected her to be wary, may=
be give him that "I can take care of myself" shtick that he'd heard from =
kids who a month later were doing hard time, or in the morgue.
	He kept remembering the child-like delight on her face as she'd tried on=
 the shoes, and danced around the tacky little store, =

	Yawning, he decided if she didn't show in the next ten minutes, he'd go =
ahead and head home to crash. Just ten more minutes.


The world came back out of focus, and painful. Her jaw was slightly swoll=
en, she probed it cautiously with her tongue and winced at the coppery ta=
ng of blood. There was no use pretending sleep, she could hear monitors o=
n the other side of the wall mimicking the staccato beat of her heart. As=
 reality swam into focus, the beeping jumped as she heard the first disco=
rdant ring of metal on metal.
	Iron. Or as close as it made no difference. Ankles, wrists and neck enci=
rcled by the hideous metal. She remained as still as she could, her head =
ringing until the echoes faded. If she tried to change now, the collar wo=
uld throttle her.
	"Whose creature are you?" a voice hissed from the darkness. She squinted=
, and made out a figure of a man. He was tall and broad, she supposed he =
was considered handsome by some. Certainly not to her, the intensity of h=
is gaze, the sheer hunger, disgusted her. It was not even her he wanted. =
It was the secret, all secrets, the promise of knowledge that was more se=
ductive than the knowledge itself.
	This was a man who thirsted for power, and nothing else.
	"I am no one's *creature*," she snapped before she could think better of=
 it.
	"Do not lie to me, girl," he breathed. "I caught a gargoyle last night, =
and by morning, you were in my trap. I wouldn't believe the transformatio=
n had I not witnessed it with my own eyes. Who made you?" he cried, and s=
he flinched back from the naked ambition in his eyes. The iron chains rat=
tled, and the colour drained from her face at the very sound. He mistook =
her reaction for fear of him, and smiled. His teeth were white and straig=
ht. His eyes were an intense blue that almost shone in the dimness with t=
heir own light.
	It dawned on Rowan that he had no idea of her true nature. That thought =
gave her both pause and hope.
	Demona had known what it was she was binding. She had summoned him, afte=
r all. But this human, this man, had no idea. Pure instinct told her that=
 if he were to learn just what was at his fingertips, it could only bring=
 sorrow upon all three races. A fay bound with iron was a fay bound to se=
rve. And Rowan had no desire to serve a human such as this.
	Okay, now she needed a plan.
	There were three kids of shapeshifting. The first was a simple glamour, =
suitable to fool the eye into seeing what it expected to see, whether tha=
t was human, fay , or gargoyle. A trick of the mind more than they eye. T=
he second was a stronger glamour, convincing all who looked that what the=
y saw was what she intended them to see, regardless of what they wished.
	The third was true shifting of shape, and was anything but an illusion. =
Using such means, the fay had hidden among the younger races for a millen=
nium. It was dangerous, of course. Bury your power too deeply in your for=
m, and you may not be able to summon it in time if faced with catastrophe=
=2E If you chose to be mortal, you in fact *were* mortal until you took y=
our own shape back. Mortal enough, in any case. That was the greatest dan=
ger. However, the benefits were often worth it. Mortal flesh proved an ef=
fective barrier against cold iron. A wound that would have been fatal a f=
ay if inflicted with iron or steel was not necessarily so for a human or =
gargoyle.
	It was a gamble. It always had been. But she had to try, before her capt=
or realised what it was that he had caught. No matter how vulnerable it m=
ade her.
	She clothed the core of her power in human flesh, tucking it away deep i=
nside her form until it was a warm memory and little else. The oppressive=
 touch of cold metal faded to mere discomfort once again. Most of that wa=
s psychosomatic, she knew. That hardly changed things, however.
	"Tell me, and perhaps I won't simply turn your corpse over to my scienti=
sts to discern your secrets."
	As that was a very real threat, she remained silent. To say any of the t=
hings that immediately sprang to mind would be not in any way a balm to h=
er situation. She sat very still, and stared at her toes, thinking what a=
nswer would please him, convince him, and not clue him into what he reall=
y had.
	Apparently she waited too long, because he grasped her by the hair and h=
alf-lifted her out of the chair. She couldn't stifle a small cry (however=
 do humans manage, in such frail bodies?), and this reaction was apparent=
ly the right one
	"Who made you?"
	What lie was close enough to the truth? What lie would bring her aid? Wh=
at lie could she scream that would be believed?
	"Xanatos--" she stammered, and he dropped her to the pallet. She landed =
hard, and stared up at him with wide dark eyes full of trepidation, only =
part of it feigned. "David Xanatos."
	His eyes went flat, and she could not read his expression. He sank back =
into the shadows, and she could hear the pneumatic hiss of a door. Rowan =
was blinded by the sudden flash of flourescents, and then was alone in th=
e dark.


Owen fingered the opal and rose gold ring Rowan had left after her last v=
isit absently, lost in thought. The lights were low in his office, the st=
aff having long since left the building.
	They had always had shattering rows. They tended to react in extremes. S=
he would be even tempered with anyone but him. Only with him was she so v=
ery mercurial. Once, he too had been characterised by quicksilver moods a=
nd random mischief. He knew his rigidity now was merely a reaction to her=
 only partly feigned recklessness. She was right, he had become dour. He =
was right, she was playing too many games. Dancing too close to the edge.=
 The millennium in exile had changed both of them more than either was wi=
lling to admit. They had lost some of their aloofness, become too embroil=
ed in the mortal world, in mortal lives. Perhaps that was what Lord Obero=
n had intended from the start, that his children learn from the younger r=
aces. Relearn the passions and the they had begun to only play at. Mourn =
the loss of what they had taken for granted, had never realised was missi=
ng until they felt the keen edge of its absence.
	It had only been a day.
	A long, dull, uneventful day. They had gone decades without seeing hide =
nor hair of one another, what was one day in the face of immortality? Wha=
t was different now, that had been the same even a few short months ago?
	His thoughts were interrupted by the telephone. The private line. He fro=
wned. Mr. Xanatos would have rang the mobile, and he was not expecting an=
y associates this late.
	"Burnett," he said crisply after the second ring.
	"I believe I have something of yours." It was a man's voice, tauntingly =
familiar, though he could not place it.
	"I see." Owen reacted just as he would have to any oddity: He simply did=
n't. Funny how that had always worked for him. The voice on the other end=
 of the line chuckled.
	"Not yet. But then, neither do I. I need a bit more from you than what I=
 have."
	The fax rang once, and spit out a greyscale image. The photo was slightl=
y blurred, but recognisable all the same.


Rowan paced the narrow confines of the cell, and scowled at the two-way m=
irror. She imagined scurrying, nondescript humans in white coats, and the=
n she imagined shredding those nondescript humans, painting those same co=
ats crimson with their life's blood. But those thoughts were impractical,=
 as she was in no position to do anything but fantasise, and she needed t=
o be practical and pragmatic and sensible and all the things Owen thought=
 she wasn't right now.
	Now then, what would a sensible, pragmatic person do in this situation? =
she asked herself.
	A sensible, practical, pragmatic person would never have gotten herself =
into this situation, her self replied, rather snippily Rowan thought.
	You're not helping, she told herself, and flopped back down on the bed. =
They had removed the chains binding her feet and hands, but the iron band=
 around her neck was enough.
	Owen was right. She was an idiot. That was about the long and short of i=
t. Ten centuries in the World with almost no problems at all with either =
of the younger races, and through her own stupidity, she manages to end u=
p the damsel in distress.
	She was never the damsel in distress. Her situation would have been down=
right humiliating if it wasn't so precarious.
	Her self-deprecation was cut short by the arrival of the mysterious Mr. =
Marlowe, and two men in lab coats not unlike the phantom doctors she had =
envisioned.
	She sat, hands folded in her lap, and looked up at the doctor's, waiting=
=2E Only speaking when spoken to seemed the wisest course. The first doct=
or swabbed the inside of her arm with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol, wh=
ile the second pulled on gloves.
	"The blood tests were inconclusive, we need tissue samples." The doctor'=
s pale blue eyes weren't kind, but they at least we're cruel either.
	"Don't explain it to her, just do it," Marlowe snapped. She stared at hi=
m over the doctor's shoulder, not even wincing as the lab rats got their =
samples. They scurried out, but Marlowe remained.
	"Where do the gargoyles spend the day?" he asked, and she stared at him =
blankly. "Come now, my dear, don't be coy. That was why you were made, wa=
sn't it?"
	She remained silent, chewing on a fingernail as she watched him uneasily=
=2E
	"I assumed you were Severius' work, though he has been missing since som=
e incident in Loch Ness. You really are quite the amazing achievement, th=
ough nowhere near as intelligent as Thailog. Still, obviously your useful=
ness far outweighs that particular disadvantages. A human-gargoyle hybrid=
 that can metamorph at will is nothing to be sneezed at. Burnett had litt=
le to say on the matter, of course."
	"You've spoken with Burnett?"
	"I can't say he was pleased to learn the prototype was in my keeping, of=
 course. He was very tight-lipped about the whole thing, and well he shou=
ld be. I dare say if I were in his place, I would be as well. The Society=
 had no idea Xanatos was conducting experiments, they would be quite put =
out by it if the facts came to light. They frown on that kind of presumpt=
uous research."
	"Society?"
	"Never mind, I spoke out of turn."
	"So you're just going to give me back?"
	"Don't be absurd. Burnett will being me the research, and then I'll have=
 the means to unlock your secrets, what's the point in just sending you b=
ack?"
	"What about Burnett?"
	"What's this, concern for your jailer?"
	She looked up sharply, and if she'd had fangs at that particular moment,=
 she would have bared them.
	"I'm afraid Mr. Burnett will disappear. But that's nothing for you to wo=
rry your pretty little head about. Once I have the research and Severius'=
 accelerated growth process, you, my dear, are going to become Eve."
	"Oh," he snapped his fingers, turning. "I almost forgot." He removed a p=
istol from his breast pocket, aimed and fired. She flinched as the trank =
dart hit her. She clawed at the collar as the floor rushed up to meet her=
=2E


The very last person Detective Matt Bluestone expected to find on his doo=
rstep was Agent Martin Hacker.
	"May I come in?" =

	"If I said no, would you go away?" Matt tried a half-hearted attempt at =
humour, but it came off as flat.
	"I won't do the Society's dirty work, Martin."
	"Have we asked you to?"
	"You tell me. Why did Mace Malone want Goliath at Hotel Cabal anyway? Wh=
at secrets did he want to wrest from him, at the behest of the Society? D=
on't give me that test of my good faith crap, we both know Xanatos couldn=
't provide the Society with Goliath, or wouldn't. No way Maza was going t=
o just lead you to them. That left me, and I don't like being duped."
	"It got you in."
	"Shutting down Malone got me in, for reasons I still don't understand."
	"I'm no fool, Matt. I know you accepted the Society's offer with every i=
ntention of exposing it."
	"There's no room in this world for secret societies."
	"Isn't there? The Illuminati has had a place in this world longer that y=
ou've been alive, and it'll still be here when we're both gone. And besid=
es, you've had plenty of chances, why haven't you blown it yet?"
	"Because I need answers."
	Martin looked at him askance, and even Matt knew how selfish that sounde=
d, but it was the only answer he could give.
	Martin dropped a file folder on Bluestone's coffee table, and then sank =
onto the couch, removing his hat.
	"What's this?"
	"Something we'd like you to look into."
	Matt spread the contents of the folder over the glass, and gasped. Enclo=
sed were surveillance photos. He recognised Brooklyn, and swore. But it w=
as the last photo that gave him pause. It was of a young female gargoyle.=
 Her eyes were closed, her features in repose and there was no way to tel=
l if she was merely unconscious, or dead.
	"What's the society want with the gargoyles?"
	"Not the Society, that's just it. These pictures were taken by agents of=
 a man named Gregory Marlowe."
	"I know that name."
	"He was quite the man about town, and until recently, he was quite influ=
ential within the Society."
	"You said until recently." =

	"Marlowe went rogue. He wasn't reliable, his methods were too blunt, too=
 traceable. The Society got tired of wasting resources on damage control,=
 but before he could be, shall we say, put in his place . . . He disappea=
red. No one could find him, and you know how good we can be at finding pe=
ople who don't want to be found.
	"There are secrets for a reason, Matthew. Never forget that. The society=
 doesn't want to destroy the world. It wants to remain quietly in the bac=
kground, making sure things are running smoothly."
	"Heh. I never thought of it quite that way before."
	"Well, you'd better start. If the truth about the gargoyles got out, it =
would start a panic. Humans aren't ready to find out they aren't the only=
 ones at the top of the food chain, if you get my meaning."
	"And you think he wants to expose the gargoyles to the world?"
	"That's what we'd like you to find out. In Xanatos' absence, you're our =
resident expert on gargoyles. And you have a vested interest in their saf=
ety, am I right? Don't think of it as doing the Society a favour, think o=
f it as helping out your friends."
	"What makes you think that I can find Marlowe, when the all-powerful Ill=
uminati can't?"
	"The photos were faxed to Xanatos' man, Burnett. Apparently, Marlowe thi=
nks Xanatos Enterprises has something to do with this particular gargoyle=
=2E We're looking into that."
	"Are you telling me you have Xanatos' phones tapped?" Matt's eye went wi=
de with the implications.
	"What's the point of being all-powerful if you can't even manage an ille=
gal wiretap? Unfortunately, Marlowe was smart. He didn't stick around lon=
g enough for a trace. Burnett agreed to meet with his men at a research f=
acility upstate."
	"Then you've got him. What do you need me for?"
	"Not just you."


As the sun slipped below the horizon, Hudson, Broadway and Lexington awok=
e from their day's slumber with Matt standing in the doorway, his hands i=
n the pockets of his trench coat and a grim expression on his face.
	"What is it, lad?" Hudson asked, and Matt held out the photographs.
	"I knew she was trouble," Lex's eyes flashed white hot as they flipped t=
hrough, and then faded back to black when he reached the last.
	"Huh?" Broadway swallowed, looking from the photo to Matt, and back agai=
n. "I don't get it. Who took the pictures?"
	"A man named Gregory Marlowe."
	"Where can we find him? If he's got Brooklyn, we need to rescue him--"
	"Nobody's got Brooklyn," came a voice from the doorway, and the gargoyle=
s turned in surprise as their de-facto leader came down the steps.
	"What happened?"
	"I spent the day sleeping in a sewer, that's what happened."
	"Yeah, smells like it."
	"Lad, about Fionnuala--" Hudson began, and Brooklyn cut him off.
	"They have her," he growled.
	"Who?"
	"I don't know. I followed her last night to Castle Wyvern, but I think e=
verything was actually okay. Then we got jumped by a dozen thugs I'd neve=
r seen before. I have to find her, and I need your help."
	"Brooklyn, I think you need to see these," Matt stepped forward, and han=
ded Brooklyn the photos. The young gargoyles expression darkened as he fl=
ipped through, and when he got to the last one, his eyes glowed white wit=
h fury.
	"If they've hurt her--"
	"Wait a second, if you followed her to Castle Wyvern, how do you know th=
is wasn't a trap?" Broadway asked gently.
	"If it was a trap, why did she try and hold off ten guys to give me time=
 to get away? I don't think even Demona would let the crap get kicked out=
 of her just to lure us someplace. No, those guys were playing for keeps.=
 The scene was picked clean, not a single lead to go on."
	"Brooklyn, I know who they are, and I know where they are. Would you sit=
 down for a second?" Everyone looked at Matt, and gave him their full att=
ention.
	"Okay, here's the deal . . ."


Owen snapped the briefcase shut, and stared at his left hand for a moment=
=2E He had left the sling in his office, and wondered why he hadn't chang=
ed it back after she'd gone. He supposed he'd forgotten.
	Removing his jacket, he tucked a small particle beam pistol into its hol=
ster. Re-buttoning the jacket, he took the elevator to the roof where the=
 XE chopper waited.
	He supposed he'd forgotten a great many things, recently.


"If Elisa finds out I'm driving her car, she's gonna kill me," Matt mutte=
red to himself, and heard Brooklyn chuckle over the headset.
	"I'll tell her it was my idea."
	"Gee, thanks."
	"Just don't crash it."
	"Chopper's landing," Lex's voice cut in, and Matt peered through the win=
dshield, looking for the young gargoyle in the sky before him. He spotted=
 him as they rounded another corner and there was a break in the trees ov=
erhead.
	"How far out?"
	"About five minuets from where you are now, I think. Take a left at the =
fork coming up, and kill your lights."
	"Gotcha."

Owen set down on the landing pad. The steel and glass complex looked ridi=
culously out of place in the middle of a pine forest. Two armed men met h=
im at the edge of the pad, and escorted him inside. They took an elevator=
 down to a sub-basement, where he was lead into a darkened lab. Sitting a=
t a smoked glass conference table was a man in his early forties, blond h=
air running to grey at the temples, and sharp blue eyes. He was smiling, =
but it was more like a beast baring its teeth than any gesture of goodwil=
l.
	"Mr. Burnett, how nice of you to come. I trust you are ready to do busin=
ess?"
	"I'd like to see the prototype."
	"Ah, and so to the point. I assure you, she's quite alive. I'd say unhar=
med, but she has garnered a few knocks and scrapes during the last few da=
ys, I'm sure you understand."
	Owen remained silent.
	"A man of few words. I can appreciate that." Marlowe turned in his chair=
, and pressed a button on the intercom. "Mr. Clermont, would you join us =
please? And bring our guest."


Matt killed the engine, and made his way down to the edge of the parking =
lot. Brooklyn, Lex and Broadway landed outside the circle of light from t=
he light.
	"I remember this place. It used to be a pharmaceuticals company. Went ou=
t of business two years ago, I came here to get research once on a homici=
de when I still worked for the Bureau. There are huge underground lab fac=
ilities below the office space."
	"Okay, that's probably where they're holding her."
	"There's two armed guys at the side entrance, three at the back," Lex in=
formed them.
	"Okay, we'll take the side, you guys take the back. Give us fifteen minu=
tes, then create a diversion. Hopefully by then we'll have found her."
	"And?" Broadway asked.
	"And that's it. That's all I've come up with so far."
	"You call this a plan?" Lex looked aghast.
	"Have you got a better one?" There was a warning in his tone, and Lex st=
udied his talons carefully.
	"Not really."
	"Okay. We'll just think on our feet."
	Lex and Broadway headed around the back, and Brooklyn and Matt crept alo=
ng the wall until they could hear the guards feet in the gravel.
	"Hi," Matt stepped out into the light, smiling disarmingly (which is jus=
t an expression, since instead of throwing their rifles away, the guards =
lifted them and aimed them at his head. He pretended not to notice). "I g=
ot a flat, could I use your phone to call the auto club?"
	The guards traded looks, and then got a face full of dirt as Brooklyn le=
apt down from the roof, and slammed them to the ground. Matt tried the do=
or, and after checking to make sure it was clear, they slipped inside.
	"Which way?" Brooklyn whispered.
	"The elevators to the labs are down here," Matt removed his gun from its=
 holster, and they began creeping down the stairs. They reached the first=
 landing, where a hallway stretched almost a city block, elevators in the=
 centre.
	"Someone's coming," Matt whispered, and they ducked into the shadowed sp=
ace between two office doors, peering around the corner. Two men in lab c=
oats passed, oblivious. Matt let out the breath he hadn't been aware he'd=
 been holding, and watched them swipe keycards through the electronic loc=
k, which glowed green. the elevator doors opened, and they waited until t=
hey closed before moving back out into the deserted hall.
	"I don't think we can jimmy this," Matt inspected the lock, and Brooklyn=
 shrugged.
	"Then we don't jimmy it."
	Brooklyn ripped the doors off the elevator. When no alarm klaxons went o=
ff, Matt peered down the shaft. "Are you sure this is such a good idea?"
	"They went down. We go down."
	"Yeah, but they were actually in an elevator."
	"This of this as the express." Brooklyn grabbed onto the cable, and Matt=
 wrapped his arms around his neck. "Hold on."
	"Like I'm gonna let go." Matt shuddered, and Brooklyn started down the c=
able.


Guard #1 peered into the darkness, and then brought a lighted match to th=
e end of his cigarette. Guard #2 leaned against the wall of the building,=
 and thought about how much of his paycheque he should be sending back to=
 his mom in Alaska, while Guard #3 thought about how much of his paychequ=
e would go to paying off his new car.
	Guard #1's cigarette hit the ground a few seconds later. Guard #1 follow=
ed.
	Guard #2's Mom was going to be disappointed.
	Guard #3's girlfriend was going to be *very* disappointed, as was his au=
tomobile dealer.
	Lex pulled the keycard out of the pocket of one of the fallen guards, an=
d he and Broadway slipped inside the building unhindered.


Brooklyn watched as the elevator came to a halt on the floor below, and n=
oting it, he dropped the rest of the way down. Matt gave a sharp yelp of =
surprise, and then climbed off Brooklyn's back, gun drawn. Brooklyn grasp=
ed the access hatch on the top of the car, and wrenched it open. They wer=
e greeted with the shocked faces of the two doctors in the car and Brookl=
yn dropped down, eyes blazing white.
	With a sweep of his arm, he sent the two techs careening into the wall o=
f the elevator, to slide down, unconscious. Matt dropped down next, and t=
hey waited for the doors to open.
	The hallway was dark, lit only by small ambient lighting along the ceili=
ng. They could hear voices coming from the end of the hall, where a shaft=
 of light indicated an open door. Creeping silently down the carpeted hal=
l, they listened to the snatches of conversation that drifted out.


A door at the opposite side of the lab hiss open and Clermont entered, a =
bundle thrown over his shoulder which he set down in the second chair. Ro=
wan slumped in the chair, the wheels squeaking slightly as her head lolle=
d, unconscious.
	"Don't worry, she's only sedated."
	Owen walked forward and brushed her hair from her face, noting the dark =
bruise than ran from cheekbone to jaw, and a bandage inside her left arm.=
 But what made him scowl was the collar.
	I see you're admiring the jewellery. Remarkable piece of work, it was ma=
de by the government for prison work crews. I've adapted it for my own pu=
rposes, of course. Complete with medical sensors, tracking and monitoring=
 equipment, and capable of administering the occasional necessary discipl=
inary low grade shock." Marlowe displayed a small hand control with a gri=
m smile.
	"Remove it." His hands curled into fists.
	"I'm afraid not. As the young woman has a habit of slicing and dicing my=
 personnel without it, I'd just as soon leave it where it is for now."
	Owen let his hands drop to his sides, and turned to face Marlowe. "I'm s=
ure you're aware Mr. Xanatos is not in the habit of bargaining for his pe=
rsonal property."
	"On the contrary, I seem to remember an incident a year ago where your M=
r. Xanatos was quite happy to buy back his stolen particle beam weapons. =
This is little different, except I'm not asking for money."
	"The research means little without the prototype."
	"With the research, I can create another prototype, programmed to my spe=
cifications," Marlowe shrugged, and Owen's face remained a mask. However,=
 he was quite sure it was not Marlowe's intention to let himself or Rowan=
 leave this complex alive.


"We need to get in there," Matt whispered.
	""We can't just walk in the door," Brooklyn replied, and then looked up,=
 scanning the ceiling above them. He tugged at Matt's sleeve, pointing to=
 an air conditioning vent. Within minutes, they were in the ducts above t=
he lab, peering down at the scene through a grate. Burnett was still stan=
ding in front of the chair, all the erstwhile rescuers could see was a he=
avy fall of dark hair until he stepped aside, and Matt gasped.
	"That's not Fionnuala." Brooklyn's eyes went wide. "It's a human!"
	"Oh my God."
	"What?"
	"That's *Jackie*," Matt whispered.
	"Who?"
	"Homeless kid, I bought her shoes. She was supposed to meet with me and =
a social worker this morning. When she didn't show, I just figured she'd =
taken me for a ride."
	"We gotta find Fionnuala," Brooklyn started backing down the passage, bu=
t Matt laid a hand on his shoulder.
	"Wait."

Lex and Broadway found themselves in an underground lab. Searching along =
the wall for a light switch, Lex clicked it on. A bank of flourescents ca=
me on, illuminating a row of fibreglass canisters the size of a man that =
ran the length of one wall, and continued into the blackness of the other=
 end of the lab.
	"What are they?"
	"They look like the cloning tubes in Severius' lab, like the one they gr=
ew Thailog in."
	"This Marlowe guys works with Severius?"
	"Naw, these are different." Lex touched the display on the front of the =
nearest one, and read the amber on black display, frowning. "Same idea, t=
hough."
	Broadway took one long look around, his brain teeming with the implicati=
ons, and scowled. "I don't like this."
	"Me neither."
	"What do you think we should do?"
	"Matt and Brooklyn want a diversion," Lex slammed a fist through the con=
sole, ripping out a handful of wires. "I say we trash the place."
	"Happy to oblige," Broadway grasped the canister nearest him with both a=
rms and pulled. With a shriek of metal and shower of sparks, it came free=
=2E A klaxon sounded, and Lex pulled a fire extinguisher from the wall an=
d set about smashing the consoles, methodically working his way back unti=
l the room was thick with the sickly sweet smell of melted circuitry, and=
 a small electrical fire started. As the room began to fill with smoke, L=
ex and Broadway backed out and headed for the next lab.


Rowan's eyes drifted open slowly, and she tried to glance around surrepti=
tiously. Her heart sank into her shoes (or rather, it would have if she h=
adn't left them back at the clocktower) when she saw Owen's back to her, =
and Marlowe smiling.
	Then all hell broke loose. The ceiling vent suddenly disgorged a very, v=
ery irate gargoyle, and a none too pleased New York Police detective at t=
he exact moment the first klaxon went off. Marlowe's smile vanished, and =
he was distracted only for a fraction of a second. But that was enough. O=
wen's foot shot out, catching him in the chest. Marlowe went careening ba=
ckwards, the hand control flying from his fingers. Rowan saw Clermont dra=
w his gun. Without thinking, she slipped the rest of the way out of the c=
hair, and pushed it as hard as she could across the linoleum, slamming in=
to Clermont, who was put off balance.
	Owen plucked the hand control out of the air, and in one fluid motion wi=
thdrew his particle beam pistol and took aim at Marlowe's head.
	"Wait." Clermont cautioned, and Owen glanced beside him to see Clermont'=
s gun pressed to Rowan's temple. Marlowe had his own .357 drawn, levelled=
 at Owen's chest, even at Matt aimed his at Clermont.
	"Everyone has a gun except me," Rowan frowned, and Clermont wrapped her =
hair around his fist and yanked her off the floor, the cold metal of the =
gun barrel jammed under her chin. She didn't cry out.
	They remained frozen for a second in the grim tableau, and Owen met Rowa=
n's eyes calmly. She nodded imperceptibly.
	Marlowe got to his feet, still keeping a bead on the aid with his good o=
ld fashioned projectile weapon designed to put really big holes in people=
=2E "Place the files and the remote on the table and back away."
	"I'm sorry, that's simply not an option." Owen ignored him, and touched =
the controls.
	"What are you doing?" Marlowe cried as the collar opened with a hiss.
 	"Jackie?" Matt was confused as the homeless girl grew wings and a tail,=
 eyes glowing green as she screamed in both pain and fury.
 	"Fionnuala!" Brooklyn cried.
	"Rowan." Owen said softly, under his breath, and she met his eyes with a=
 half-smile.
	Clermont's finger twitched on the trigger, but suddenly he wasn't holdin=
g a helpless teenage human girl, but a gargoyle. His shot went wild as Ro=
wan spun him around, and in one smooth motion lifted him off the floor by=
 the throat.
	Then several things happened at once.
	Marlowe, perhaps finally understanding that things were no longer under =
his meticulous control, gave a guttural cry and pulled the trigger of his=
 .357 magnum.
	Brooklyn leapt for him, eyes blazing white.
	Rowan dropped Clermont.
	The bullet made its leisurely way across the room (If one could call the=
 speed at which most bullets leave their guns leisurely, of course. Most =
mortals in the line of fire would no doubt disagree).
	Rowan slammed into Owen, knocking him out of the way, and the not so ver=
y leisurely bullet ripped through her shoulder. Her eyes burned green, he=
r throat raw with a scream of pain and fury. She staggered back, her left=
 arm dangling uselessly, her right hand clamped over the wound as blood s=
eeped through her fingers. Behind her, the slug buried itself in Clermont=
's chest, and he slid to the floor, eyes wide and unseeing.
	Brooklyn threw Marlowe up against the wall, and Matt tossed him his hand=
cuffs before turning to see Burnett kneeling at the fallen girl-gargoyle-=
whatever's side. Brooklyn dropped the handcuffed Marlowe to the floor, an=
d moved to Matt's side. They watched with a curious mix of horror and fas=
cination as her form shrank and shifted back to human, and she cried out =
with both the pain of the changing surrounded by so much cold iron and he=
r ravaged shoulder. Lying on the floor, she breathed shallowly, her blood=
 flowing steadily down her arm. Owen tugged off his jacket and shirt.
	"Just a flesh wound," she said softly, and then sucked in air between he=
r teeth as he used his shirt as a bandage and applied pressure. "I'll be =
fine. You don't go out in the sun much, do you." she chuckled, and then s=
tiffened as pain coursed through her.
	"The bullet was lead, and passed clean through."
	 "Get me from this wretched place, and I will heal quickly," her voice w=
as barely a whisper.
	"I know." He lifted her effortlessly, mindful of her shoulder. Meanwhile=
, Brooklyn and Bluestone could only exchange bewildered looks.
	"You know, he seems almost . . ." Matt gestured, unable to find the righ=
t adjective.
	"Yeah, I know." Brooklyn's eyes narrowed.
	"Sister, maybe?" Matt whispered.
	Rowan touched Owen's cheek, and he pressed a kiss into her palm. The two=
 of them were lost in their own world, oblivious to the peanut gallery.
	"Yeah, if this were a Greek tragedy." Brooklyn scowled.
	"Ouch," Matt shook his head, sympathising with the gargoyle.
	"Man, this is messin' with my reality." Brooklyn could only stare.
	"Your friends seem confused," Owen whispered into her hair.
	"When were my friends ever not confused?" she laughed weakly, but chewed=
 her lip. "Ah, it was a fine game. But it's become such a tangle now."
	"Hey!" Matt laid a hand on Burnett's shoulder. "You can't just take her.=
 She needs a doctor--"
	"No, I don't."
	"Jackie, you don't know what you need--" he began, then stopped. This wa=
sn't some homeless girl. He stopped himself before he fell into grey eyes=
 that shone with age and wildness and magic and more than he could put in=
to words, and then she buried her face against Burnett's neck.
	No, not Jackie at all. And not Fionnuala either. Brooklyn's shoulders sl=
umped, and the curious looking party made their outside, where several do=
zen technicians had fled to the safety of the parking lot at the first si=
gn of the flames. They watched from the relative safety of their Toyotas =
and Fords as their ex-employer was pushed along by a big red guy with win=
gs, and wisely, no one said "hey, you can't do that!", choosing instead t=
o get the hell out of there before any more cops or monsters showed up.
	Neither Brooklyn nor Matt didn't stop them as Owen carefully laid Rowan =
in the passenger seat of the chopper, and fired up the engines. As the ch=
opper pulled into the air, Brooklyn shaded his eyes from the dirt cloud t=
he rotors kicked up with his wing. Lex and Broadway came up just as it fa=
ded off into the distance.
	"Hey, wasn't that Xanatos' chopper?" Broadway asked.
	"Yep." Brooklyn replied.
	"So where's Fionnuala?" Lex asked.
	"She's not here any more," Brooklyn said quietly, and started walking ba=
ck towards the road. Lex looked to Matt, but the detective had a similar =
far off look in his eye.
	Marlowe struggled in the handcuffs, and Matt restrained the urge to deck=
 the guy. He was not in the least surprised when Martin Hacker appeared o=
ut of the shadows, at the edge of the parking lot flanked by two large me=
n in dark suits.
	"We'll take it from here, Matthew."
	"He's my collar."
	"Oh yeah? Think about it. What're you going to charge him with? Destruct=
ion of his own property, or kidnapping and attempted murder of a gargoyle=
?"
	"He shot his own man," Matt said, but he knew it was a weak argument. Al=
l the blood had drained from Marlowe's face.
	"Are you interested in the law, or justice?"
	"They should be one in the same," Matt said quietly, but didn't stop the=
 men as they took each of Marlowe's arms. Matt tossed them the handcuff k=
eys. "Can I ask a favour, then?"
	"Sure." Martin noticed the gleam in Bluestone's eyes as the younger man =
smiled. Marlowe was rubbing his wrists when Matt tapped him on the should=
er. The detective's fist connected solidly with Marlowe's jaw, and a thin=
 trickle of blood appeared at the man's mouth.
	"Feel better?" Martin asked.
	"Strangely, yes." He looked around to see if anyone else wanted to hit h=
im too, but the gargoyles had disappeared when the Illuminati had appeare=
d. He didn't blame them. If he had a choice, he probably would have too.
	So what did that make this, he wondered. Justice? Or just another kind o=
f law after all?


Rowan had closed her eyes, but was suddenly aware of several things at on=
ce. The first was the lack of noise (someone really must do something abo=
ut making a quieter helicopter), the second the overwhelming smells of pi=
ne and damp soil, and the third was the fact that the flow of blood from =
her shoulder had stopped.
	She opened her eyes carefully, and was greeted by cool green shadows. Sh=
e tried to sit up, and there was suddenly a hand at the small of her back=
 and elbow guiding her the rest of the way.
	"What is this place?"
	"Xanadu."
	"What does Samuel Taylor Coleridge have to do with anything?"
	"This is the Xanatos vacation compound," Owen explained patiently, and s=
he caught her first glimpse of what could only by convention be called a =
log cabin, as it was more of a log mansion by the look of it, peeking thr=
ough the trees in the distance.
	"Ah." Her voice sounded slightly rusty, and she cleared her throat, but =
didn't try again. Then she smiled.
	No iron.
	Oh, sure, the house had a touch here and there. Almost all houses did, n=
ow-a-days. But that was the house. The clearing where they sat was comple=
tely iron free.
	Rowan reached deep into her self, and found the neatly wrapped bundle of=
 Power. Loosening the glowing green threads that bound it, she let it cou=
rse through her, and then with a very deliberate flash of greenish light,=
 she shed the human form she'd been wearing.
	Owen watched, and let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding =
as Rowan looked down in disgust at the blood encrusted tee-shirt and cut-=
offs and with a snap of her fingers they were replaced with the linen and=
 velvets that had seemed so absurd on her as a gargoyle so many (three?) =
days ago.
	They looked perfect now. He didn't think she'd ever looked lovelier.
	"Much better," her eyes twinkled, and she rose a few inches off the fore=
st floor, and spun around. Humans were fun, gargoyles were interesting, b=
ut it was nice to wear one's own skin every now and again.
	"So is this the end of this particular charade?" Owen asked as she aligh=
ted once more.
	"I think so," she sighed, tucking her arm in his as they began the walk =
back to the house. "I don't want to wear out my welcome."
	"Oh no, never that," he deadpanned, and she pinched him.
	"However have you managed, in the same dull, boring form, the same dull =
boring life, for over ten years?"
	"Patience, my dear. I like to do my game playing on an epic scale, that =
requires time."
	"I prefer instant gratification, myself." She traced the line of his jaw=
 with a fingertip languidly, grey eyes bright with mischief. He caught he=
r fingers and kissed them as she curled them around his hand. She rose up=
 on her tip toes as he bent his head to hers and all the doubts and fears=
 of the last few days dissolved. For the long seconds it took for him to =
sweep her into his arms and carry her the rest of the way into the house,=
 they were the only two beings in the universe.
	Figuratively, anyway. But then, that's the important bit.


The sky was ablaze with colours, the thick clouds outlined with purple, o=
range and pink above the tree line. Owen was laying down on the couch, no=
 doubt utterly exhausted by having to look so stern all the time. Rowan t=
iptoed across the room, taking great care not to wake. It didn't matter, =
since he had been feigning sleep anyway. He watched staring out the windo=
w at the sunset, but didn't speak until she moved to the mirror.
	"Where are you going?" he asked, and she turned back to see him reach fo=
r his glasses. She smiled and wondered if he even noticed how ingrained t=
he habits of the fictional Mr. Burnett had become. Probably. That was par=
t of the game, after all, and he was so very enamoured of this particular=
 game.
	"To restore amends," her mouth twitched in a smile as his arms encircled=
 her waist.
	"Ah. Let's see, what's my line? Ah yes. Tarry, rash wanton: am I not thy=
 lord?" he said into her hair, and she laughed.
	"Then I must be thy lady." She closed her eyes as his lips brushed her n=
eck, and then carefully disentangled herself from his embrace. "I won't b=
e long."
	He watched her slip through the mirror as if it were a curtain, and then=
 he was alone.



As the sun slipped behind the horizon, and the gargoyles yawned, shrugged=
 off the last vestiges of sleep and bits of stone skin, and prepared for =
another night of waiting, hoping, and protecting. In that order, but it w=
as better than nothing. However, Brooklyn seemed lost, and just a bit dow=
n.
	Actually, Hamlet would have looked like Bozo the Clown next to Brooklyn.=
 He hadn't said much of anything since they'd gotten back from upstate, a=
nd Lex had managed to pry an abbreviated version of the story out of Matt=
, but all it did was raised more questions than it answered.
	Brooklyn slipped into the closet and stood before the cracked mirror tha=
n leaned against one wall, inspecting his reflection closely. He saw what=
 he'd always seen: a young, relatively attractive (for his species, anywa=
y) gargoyle. Then he looked closer, and tried to see a leader, maybe a he=
ro, and lastly, a lover. But he couldn't find them, not in this particula=
r reflection.
	He wondered what Goliath saw in himself. Then he wondered if Goliath eve=
r felt the need to search, or did he simply accept what he was or wasn't,=
 and then move on from there, despite what the rest of them saw in him.
	"What the hell is the matter with me?" he asked the glass, but it didn't=
 answer. He must have waited for a full minute, and then shook his head, =
wrapping his wings around himself though he wasn't cold.
	The mirror went opaque, but Brooklyn had already turned his face from it=
 and was a pace or two away when an arm shot out, grabbed his elbow, and =
before he could say "Wait a minute!" (he did, in fact, get the "Wa--!" so=
und out, but his clan didn't hear him) he was pulled through the mirror.
	It was really dark on the other side of the mirror, at least until his e=
yes adjusted.
	Brooklyn took in his surroundings, noting the fact that he seemed to be =
on a spiral staircase, in the dark. He could just make out Fionnuala, or =
rather, the human he'd known as a gargoyle he'd called Fionnuala, in fron=
t of him, and was blinded as she opened a door and white, artificial ligh=
t flooded the stair. "Where are we?"
	They stepped out onto a curved balcony--no, he realised, not balcony, bu=
t a tower of some kind. The air tasted of salt, seaweed, and fish. It was=
 a clean kind of smell, even so. Different from the briny smell of the do=
cks. It reminded him of Castle Wyvern, in the days before the massacre. H=
e looked out, and realised he could see literally for miles.
	"My lighthouse." Rowan leaned against the wooden railing (it had actuall=
y been wrought iron when she had brought the place. Some nice lads from t=
he village had taken it out, and installed the wooden one even though the=
y insisted the wood would warp and crack and it would be dangerous, and t=
he iron was safer. She had smiled and nodded, and promised not to fall of=
f the bloody thing, and that had been three generations earlier, and she =
hadn't yet. Fallen, that is.) and looked out over the black sea, the moon=
 obscured by the thick clouds. The wind tugged at her hair, blowing it in=
 her face, but she didn't pull it back. She enjoyed it, wanted to spread =
her wings and glide out over the sea, except she didn't have wings to gli=
de on any longer. It wasn't that she couldn't suddenly have them again. I=
t was that she wouldn't, not now. And not in front of Brooklyn. That woul=
dn't be fair to him, and she wanted to be fair. "Not everything I told yo=
u was a lie. I just couldn't tell you the whole truth."
	"All I want to know is why." He crossed his arms, and watched the waves =
in the light from the lighthouse. He didn't look at her. She purposely sc=
ooted over so that her elbow touched his, and her hair brushed his wing. =
He'd expected her eyes to be black, but they weren't. He'd never get used=
 to those pupil-less grey eyes.
	"I told you, I was curious. Ten centuries in the world, and I had never =
once tried on a gargoyle's skin. I wanted to, before I was denied the opp=
ortunity forever. Gargoyles protect. I have no protectorate, save my secr=
ets. I wanted more, even for only a few days. And I was lonely too." She =
could hear the calls of the gulls, and the rumble of distant thunder. "Do=
 you hate me?"
	He met her eyes, and shrugged. "A little."
	Her face fell, and there was a silence. Then she spoke again. "Do you st=
ill like me?"
	"A little." Brooklyn cracked a smile, and she laughed.
	"Oh good, you had me scared for a minute there."
	"What are you?" he blurted out, realising that she was most likely, afte=
r pulling him through a mirror, not a human after all, or at the very lea=
st some kind of sorcerer.
	"Don't you know?" She cocked her head, and raised a brow.
	"Oh, jalapena." Brooklyn slapped his forehead. "I'm an idiot."
	"You're not an idiot." Rowan shook her head. Brooklyn suddenly looked wa=
ry.
	"You're not going to start talking in iambic pentameter, or turn to ston=
e and crumble right before my eyes, or anything like that, are you?"
	"No. Why? Did someone do that?" Her eyes were wide, and he chuckled.
	"Yeah."
	"Oh." She nodded, in sudden understanding. "You met the Sisters, didn't =
you. I think you should know that up front that Luna, Phoebe and Selene a=
re most definitely *not*  representative of my race as a whole." She soun=
ded almost apologetic.
	"Is that what they're called?"
	"No, they're called all kinds of things. Those are their names." From he=
r tone, apparently in her mind there was a distinct difference. "But if a=
nyone asks, you didn't hear it from me."
	Brooklyn laughed, and shook his head. "You don't make much sense, you kn=
ow that?"
	"Don't I?"
	"What about your name, Fionnuala-Jackie-Rowan?"
	"Those are all my names."
	"But not what you're called?"
	"Ah, see, now you're catching on."
	"Still doesn't make much sense."
	"Give it time." They sat down on the observation deck, their backs again=
st the flaking white painted curved wall, and Brooklyn wrapped his wings =
around his shoulders as the wind kicked up, and the first few drops of ra=
in began to fall.
	"Fionnuala?"
	"Yes?"
	"If you're so powerful, why did you let Marlowe catch you? I mean, why n=
ot just . . ."
	"*Poof*, disappear? Well, I didn't want to blow my cover with you, and t=
hen once he had me, well . . . He had me bound. As long as he thought I w=
as just a genetically engineered hybrid, humans and gargoyles were both p=
retty safe. But imagine someone more intelligent than Demona--which isn't=
 all that difficult, really--with less honour than Xanatos, having at the=
ir beck and call someone only slightly less powerful than the puck."
	"Seeing as how I don't really consider Xanatos to be all that honourable=
, that would have been a really bad scene."
	"You're telling me."
	"So what am I doing here?"
	"You may well have saved my life. Beyond my thanks, I owe you," she said=
 simply.
	"You didn't have to tell me that."
	"Certainly I did. If I didn't tell you, you'd live your whole life throu=
gh never knowing I owed you something."
	"Precisely."
	"Oh. I see your point." She tucked her hair behind her ears. "No, really=
, I will grant you a gift."
	"Like Puck's gift to Demona? Excuse me if I'm wary."
	"Ah, but what the puck gave Demona was no less than she deserved. You de=
serve better."
	He hesitated, and then finally said "Can I think about it?"
	"Certainly. I'm practically immortal, and as such, have plenty of time."=

	"Why aren't you pitching this deal to Matt too?"
	"Because I didn't wrong him to the degree I wronged you. For Detective B=
luestone, I have something special planned. Don't worry," she patted his =
hand. "I won't leave him out."
	"Now you're scaring me. What's the deal with you and Burnett?"
	"Ah, that's not my secret to share."
	The sky opened up above them, and Rowan laughed as sheets of rain began =
to fall. Brooklyn raised his wings to hood him, and watched as she tipped=
 her head back and let the rain run down her cheeks and into her hair.



"I can't figure Burnett. How was he supposed to know we was there? I mean=
, for all he knew, he was alone out there." Matt laid down on the couch w=
ith his cellphone, trying to massage his headache awaywith his free hand.=
 Logic told him Gregory Marlowe would never have gotten what he'd deserve=
d if he'd brought him in, and yet he wondered if what he'd deserved as to=
 have been turned over to a society that would surely kill him just for h=
aving a reach that overcame his grasp.
	Tell that to the empty bottle of aspirin on his kitchen counter, and the=
 clock, which marked the thirty sixth-hour of his perpetual state of wake=
fulness. Even if it was his night off, he hadn't been able to close his e=
yes without replaying scenes over and over, trying to make them fit.
	"Are you kidding? Who do you think tipped us off to Marlowe in the first=
 place? And who do you think suggested you for the job?"
	"You mean you don't have Xanatos' phones tapped?" Matt sat up.
	"Oh no. We have his phones tapped, trust me." He could almost picture Ha=
cker's patient smile, and sank back down against the throw pillows his ve=
ry ex-girlfriend had insisted he buy, and then left him when she'd walked=
 out.
	"Burnett doesn't know me from Adam, and I thought you said Xanatos was l=
ower echelon--"
	"He is. I never said anything about Burnett."
	"Man, this just gets weirder and weirder."
	"It gets better: You know the human-gargoyle hybrid, or whatever she was=
?"
	"Yeah?" Matt hoped Martin was far, far away and couldn't see the way his=
 cheeks flushed and he loosened his collar, trying to sound nonchalant.
	"Turns out she's the real mystery. Marlowe thought she was one of Xanato=
s' little experiments, and Burnett let him. But Xanatos denies any knowle=
dge of such a project. And before you cast any aspersions on Mr. Xanatos'=
 good word, trust me, we had it checked out. So if someone created her, i=
t wasn't in a XE funded lab. All of Marlowe's data was destroyed in the f=
ire, and she's disappeared, so it looks like we'll never knew."
	"Just as well, then," Matt shrugged, hoping he was a much better liar th=
an he felt right then. "Like you said, why waste resources on damage cont=
rol?"
	The doorbell rang.
	"Hold on, there's someone at my door."
	Matt padded to the door, and peered through the peephole this time. He d=
idn't see anything until the little black girl who had knocked on his doo=
r stepped back to set down a box half as big as she was, and scratch her =
head before reaching up to knock again.
	"Just a sec," Matt undid the chain, and opened the door. "Can I help you=
?"
	"Lady said she'd gimmie fi'dollars if I brung this here." The kid wiped =
her nose with her sleeve, and Matt's eyes drifted down to the child's fee=
t, which were encased in a suspiciously new pair of cheap canvas tennis s=
hoes. He chuckled, and opened his wallet, producing a ten-spot.
	"Here you go kid. Spend it on candy. Chocolate, cookies, whatever. No ci=
garettes, no funny stuff, you got it?"
	"Man, the guy in the castle gave me twenty."
	"I'm a poor cop, scraping to get by."
	"Mister, you a cop?" Her eyes got really big. "I didn't do nothin'."
	"It's awful late for you to be out."
	"It ain't late."
	"Did the lady buy you those shoes?"
	"Yeah, she did. And took me to MacDonald's too."
	"Well, the next time you see the lady, you tell her not to be stuffing k=
ids full of fried foods. Think you can do that?"
	The child nodded, wiped her nose again, and then was off down the hallwa=
y, dreads bobbing as she went.
	Setting the box down on his computer desk, he lifted the lid and chuckle=
d. Nestled in a bed of tissue paper a pair of boots. Not just any boots, =
but the kind of handmade leather cowboy boots that cost about three times=
 his monthly salary. There was a folded piece of creamy white stationary =
with his name across the front, and he smiled as he read the message.

One good turn deserves another.

	"Hacker, what would you say if I told you I believed in faeries?" Bluest=
one said into the cellphone, and was met by a wry chuckle.
	"I'd clap my hands. Gargoyles, I can understand. We have proof. But fair=
ies? That's a bit of a stretch even for you, Matthew."
	"Yeah, I guess you're right." Matt tugged on the boots, not at all surpr=
ised that they were a perfect fit.


Watching the rain, Owen had almost given up waiting up for her to return =
when she was illuminated by a flash of lightning, standing out beyond the=
 French doors, in the middle of the lawn, just looking up at the sky. Her=
 hair was plastered to her face and neck in swirling black tendrils. Thun=
der boomed in the sudden stillness. Clicking on a single light by the cou=
ch, Owen turned to the bar, and poured two finger's width of clear amber =
liquid into a cut crystal tumbler.
	"Would you like one?" He asked as she closed the glass door behind her w=
ith a *snick*.
	"I never became accustomed to the taste of peat." She wrinkled her nose.=

	"There's plum wine in the kitchen."
	"You're so domestic," she shook her head, sending a spray of droplets in=
 his direction. Her legs were streaked with mud to the knees. He wondered=
 just what she had been doing out there in the rain. He also wondered how=
 he was going to get mud out of the white carpet, but that thought was fl=
eeting as she stripped off her sodden clothes.
	He swallowed the scotch and set the glass on the bar. She shrugged on th=
e green silk chemise that had appeared out of thin air at her feet, and k=
nelt before the fireplace. The firelight painted her cheek gold as she sp=
read her hair out to dry over her shoulders and down her back. She looked=
 up at him as she combed her fingers through the mass of damp curls, and.=
 The silence stretched out between them, until she held out her hand, and=
 he took it.
	"So, do you think you are ready to kneel at the feet of that pompous ass=
 like a good little Child of Oberon, or will you stay here and change Xan=
atos Jr.'s nappies?" She asked sweetly as she loosened his tie.
	Owen laughed, he didn't know what else to do. Even after all that had ha=
ppened, she was like a dog with a bone, unwilling or unable to simply let=
 go and have done.
	He traced her smile with a fingertip. "You are a study in contrasts. On =
the one hand, you would defend the soil of our birth with your life's blo=
od, yet on the other, you spit upon our lord and master. Tell me, are you=
 afraid that I will not return to Avalon? Or are you afraid that a millen=
nium in the lands of mortals has seduced you into staying?"
	She began braiding the now dry mass of hair,. "I am afraid of being alon=
e, it is true." She sighed, snuggling back against his chest. "And I do l=
ove this mortal world, you know I always have. Yes, I would know what you=
 will do, and yet I also know that you do not even know what you will do =
until you have done it! I had hoped to goad you, one way or the other, th=
at I might know where I should make my stand."
	He sighed. So that was it. "Rowan, I do not know yet what I will do, and=
 that is the truth of it."
	"Ah." Her lips twitched, as if unable to decide whether to settle into a=
 smile or frown. "Perhaps I should stay this time, then?"
	"And do what?"
	"Perhaps the child will need a nanny?" She suggested, all innocence. The=
n she laughed. "Perhaps not. Ah, but there are so many fine games yet to =
play--"
	"No more games, Rowan." Owen said against her hair.
	"Indeed. No more games." Her arms crept around his neck, and she drew hi=
m to her, brushing his lips with hers.
	"Did you say plum wine?" she pulled back, a gleam in her eyes and sudden=
ly she was up and dashing across the room.
	"Rowan--" Owen made a grab for her, and missed. Her laughter echoed down=
 the hallway, and shaking his head, he draped his jacket over the back of=
 the chair, carefully removed his shoes, and then ran after her in the ge=
neral direction of the kitchens.


"What's the chopper doing here?" Fox asked as she and David pulled up the=
 driveway.  Fox was still running on Australian time, and if anyone asked=
 her what day it was, her answer wouldn't have been at all reliable. They=
 had had a wonderful week in Milan, but there was no rest for the wicked.=
 On the flight home, inbetween naps and other diversions, David had outli=
ned his next plan, which called for his being in New York to set the ball=
 rolling. When the company jet had been diverted from JFK by the storm, X=
anadu had seemed the perfect solution.
	"I have no idea." Xanatos slipped out from behind the wheel, removing hi=
s cellular. "There's no answer on Owen's line." His eyebrows vanished int=
o his bangs. "I don't think that's ever happened before."
	"There's bloodstains on the back seat," Fox peered into the chopper.
	"This can't be good."


			"I went into an ale-house I used to frequent
			and I told the landlady all me money was spent.
			I asked her for credit, she answered me 'nay.'"
			"She said 'custom as yours I can get any day '. . ."

A woman's soprano warbled from the living room. David and Fox froze in mi=
d-stalk, eyes wide, until it was joined by a surprisingly good tenor.

			"Wild Rover give over, wild rover give o'er,
			and I never shall play wild rover no more."

Peeking into the living room, Xanatos was greeted by two sights he never =
thought he'd live to see.
	Owen Burnett, hammered, and Owen Burnett, singing.
	His major-domo was sitting on the floor, back against the couch, with no=
 socks and shoes, and a half empty bottle of scotch--no, Irish whiskey--n=
ext to him. At his side, resting her head on his shoulder and gesturing w=
ith a wine glass was Fionnuala Rowan. From the state of the bottle of plu=
m wine sitting on the flagstones, he had a feeling it had been some night=
=2E
	Fox put a finger to her lips, and they slipped out in silence.  Manhatta=
n was only a few hours away, sleep could wait.
	"Something tells me this is a very long story." David chuckled as they g=
ot back into the car, and started the engine.