AVALON MISTS: A momentary escape from reality. Issue #11 First Released: Wednesday, April 24th, 1996 ****Poetry**** The Truth --Xalana (Xalana@aol.com) When falls the night Do you watch the fading light Of that which bars you from her? When the stars fade Are you filled with rage Toward that which keeps you from her? As the sun rolls high Do you curse that New York sky Under which she lives with out you? Do you envy men And pray to win A heart that is not like your own? Do you wonder in stone Where does she roam As she is not by your side? As you in stone sleep Do you alone weep Because you know the truth of the sun and the moon? ****Fanfiction**** "Games" --Tara O'Shea (TaraLJC@aol.com) Part #3 Rowan felt as if her wings were fashioned of lead. She had a hard time concentrating 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 cheating. And she was way too bloody minded at the moment to give in and cheat, 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 grim. They landed on a deserted rooftop, and Rowan reached out to the young 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." "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 learned from it. Maggie? You took her into your home, and she didn't betray 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 it 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 never 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, and they swooped down, landing on the roof in time to see a woman surrounded 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 the big two," he whispered. "I'll take the bigger two," she winked at him, but he ignored her. She sighed, 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 the sight of a gargoyle, even a concerned one, would probably not have a calming effect. Yet the woman nodded, clutching her purse, regaining her composure 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-snatched purse, and in one fluid motion, removed and aimed some kind of particle 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 the brick wall of the supermarket. She slid down to the pavement, the wind knocked from her lungs, and saw Brooklyn do the same, apparently unconscious. From beneath her lashes, Rowan watched as the woman tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear, and prodded Rowan's still form with her foot. She removed a camera from her shoulder bag, and snapped a picture before replacing 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 out 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 length of wood from the dumpster, and swung it wildly. Rowan could hear the screech 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 dead 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 football 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 stinging 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 the alley, another rifle in his hand. Her left side was already going numb. She tried to use her right arm and tail to fight them off, but she was 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 into the wall to haul himself up. The blond picked up the fallen two-by-four, and rammed one end into Rowan's stomach. The air went out of her lungs as she dropped to her knees, the 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 just as the sun began its climb over the horizon. "Who...?" she mouthed, the drugs coursing through her system. As the 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 just as the sun began its climb over the horizon. "Who...?" she mouthed, the drugs coursing through her system. As the first 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 began packing the stone gargoyle into the van. The woman reappeared, breathing hard, her particle beam pistol tucked into the waist band of her pants, hidden by her jacket. "The male?" Clermont 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 the remaining men. And I mean the entire area. If there is any place for him 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 had fled in. Rowan blinked. This would have scared anyone near her stupid, since statues don't usually blink, but she had been alone ever since the remaining thugs 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 illusion 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 well and truly a gargoyle, she could spend the day mending in hibernation, but 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 doubt they were some kind of steel alloy meant to hold against the strength of 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 long, you learn to ignore it, almost forget it's there until you do something stupid like bite down hard, or eat ice cream, and then you end up on the floor in a world of pain you'd fooled yourself into believing didn't exist. 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 keep from screaming, and tried to remember not to swallow her tongue. "Remind me not to do that again," she whispered to the oppressive grey walls 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 stone 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 reminded 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 chuckled. "Hello?" A voice drifted down the hallway. "Hello, is anyone there? Anyone?" 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, and they stepped inside, guns drawn. There was no sign of the statue. The girl 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 was closed behind her. "Man, I think we should take her upstairs. I mean, the boss is gonna want to know--" "Shut up, you idiot." The taller guy rubbed his eyes, as if he was thinking 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 from 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, and she checked for pulses. They were both alive. "Ah, rent-a-thugs." She patted the unconscious guys on the heads affectionately, and then shrank back to human form. It was, after all, not yet sunset. 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 of a rifle descended with tremendous speed, blackness on its heels. She crumpled to the floor. Clermont crouched down and checked her pulse, and once 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 hallway where the gargoyle's cell was located. There was no audio, but the picture was clear. The two guards lounged against the wall, when suddenly they stopped, and moved down the hall to peer through the window of the cell. "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 froze as the girl suddenly, in front of his eyes, grew wings and a tail, her form contracting and expanding until the young female gargoyle stood in 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 armrests, and he leaned forward, closer to the screen. The angle changed again, showing a new section of hallway, and the film ended with his man delivering 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 contradicts 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 street 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 different. 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 turning tricks or pushing dope to stay alive. The sense he'd gotten from their lunch was that she was a survivor. Cocky 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, maybe 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 swollen, she probed it cautiously with her tongue and winced at the coppery tang of blood. There was no use pretending sleep, she could hear monitors on 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 discordant ring of metal on metal. Iron. Or as close as it made no difference. Ankles, wrists and neck encircled 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 would 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 his 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 seductive 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 transformation had I not witnessed it with my own eyes. Who made you?" he cried, and she flinched back from the naked ambition in his eyes. The iron chains rattled, 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 straight. His eyes were an intense blue that almost shone in the dimness with their 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, after 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 serve. 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 that was human, fay , or gargoyle. A trick of the mind more than they eye. The second was a stronger glamour, convincing all who looked that what they 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 millennium. It was dangerous, of course. Bury your power too deeply in your form, and you may not be able to summon it in time if faced with catastrophe. If you chose to be mortal, you in fact *were* mortal until you took your own shape back. Mortal enough, in any case. That was the greatest danger. However, the benefits were often worth it. Mortal flesh proved an effective barrier against cold iron. A wound that would have been fatal a fay 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 captor realised what it was that he had caught. No matter how vulnerable it made her. She clothed the core of her power in human flesh, tucking it away deep inside 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 was psychosomatic, she knew. That hardly changed things, however. "Tell me, and perhaps I won't simply turn your corpse over to my scientists to discern your secrets." As that was a very real threat, she remained silent. To say any of the things that immediately sprang to mind would be not in any way a balm to her situation. She sat very still, and stared at her toes, thinking what answer would please him, convince him, and not clue him into what he really had. Apparently she waited too long, because he grasped her by the hair and half-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 apparently the right one "Who made you?" What lie was close enough to the truth? What lie would bring her aid? What 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 the dark. Owen fingered the opal and rose gold ring Rowan had left after her last visit absently, lost in thought. The lights were low in his office, the staff having long since left the building. They had always had shattering rows. They tended to react in extremes. She would be even tempered with anyone but him. Only with him was she so very mercurial. Once, he too had been characterised by quicksilver moods and 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 willing to admit. They had lost some of their aloofness, become too embroiled in the mortal world, in mortal lives. Perhaps that was what Lord Oberon had intended from the start, that his children learn from the younger races. 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 missing 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? What 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 frowned. Mr. Xanatos would have rang the mobile, and he was not expecting any 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 didn'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 slightly blurred, but recognisable all the same. Rowan paced the narrow confines of the cell, and scowled at the two-way mirror. She imagined scurrying, nondescript humans in white coats, and then she imagined shredding those nondescript humans, painting those same coats 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 to 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 it. 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 up the damsel in distress. She was never the damsel in distress. Her situation would have been downright 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. Only speaking when spoken to seemed the wisest course. The first doctor swabbed the inside of her arm with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol, while 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 him 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, wasn't it?" She remained silent, chewing on a fingernail as she watched him uneasily. "I assumed you were Severius' work, though he has been missing since some incident in Loch Ness. You really are quite the amazing achievement, though nowhere near as intelligent as Thailog. Still, obviously your usefulness far outweighs that particular disadvantages. A human-gargoyle hybrid that can metamorph at will is nothing to be sneezed at. Burnett had little 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 should 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 presumptuous 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 back?" "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 worry 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 pistol 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. The very last person Detective Matt Bluestone expected to find on his doorstep 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? What secrets did he want to wrest from him, at the behest of the Society? Don'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 to 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 intention 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 you've been alive, and it'll still be here when we're both gone. And besides, 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 sounded, 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. Enclosed were surveillance photos. He recognised Brooklyn, and swore. But it was 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 tell 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 influential 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 disappeared. No one could find him, and you know how good we can be at finding people 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 background, 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 safety, am I right? Don't think of it as doing the Society a favour, think of it as helping out your friends." "What makes you think that I can find Marlowe, when the all-powerful Illuminati can't?" "The photos were faxed to Xanatos' man, Burnett. Apparently, Marlowe thinks Xanatos Enterprises has something to do with this particular gargoyle. We're looking into that." "Are you telling me you have Xanatos' phones tapped?" Matt's eye went wide with the implications. "What's the point of being all-powerful if you can't even manage an illegal wiretap? Unfortunately, Marlowe was smart. He didn't stick around long enough for a trace. Burnett agreed to meet with his men at a research facility 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 awoke from their day's slumber with Matt standing in the doorway, his hands in 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 through, and then faded back to black when he reached the last. "Huh?" Broadway swallowed, looking from the photo to Matt, and back again. "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 gargoyles 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 everything was actually okay. Then we got jumped by a dozen thugs I'd never seen before. I have to find her, and I need your help." "Brooklyn, I think you need to see these," Matt stepped forward, and handed Brooklyn the photos. The young gargoyles expression darkened as he flipped through, and when he got to the last one, his eyes glowed white with fury. "If they've hurt her--" "Wait a second, if you followed her to Castle Wyvern, how do you know this 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 attention. "Okay, here's the deal . . ." Owen snapped the briefcase shut, and stared at his left hand for a moment. He had left the sling in his office, and wondered why he hadn't changed it back after she'd gone. He supposed he'd forgotten. Removing his jacket, he tucked a small particle beam pistol into its holster. 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 muttered 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 windshield, 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 overhead. "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 ridiculously out of place in the middle of a pine forest. Two armed men met him 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 at a smoked glass conference table was a man in his early forties, blond hair 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 goodwill. "Mr. Burnett, how nice of you to come. I trust you are ready to do business?" "I'd like to see the prototype." "Ah, and so to the point. I assure you, she's quite alive. I'd say unharmed, but she has garnered a few knocks and scrapes during the last few days, 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 the light. "I remember this place. It used to be a pharmaceuticals company. Went out of business two years ago, I came here to get research once on a homicide when I still worked for the Bureau. There are huge underground lab facilities 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 informed them. "Okay, we'll take the side, you guys take the back. Give us fifteen minutes, 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 studied 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 along the wall until they could hear the guards feet in the gravel. "Hi," Matt stepped out into the light, smiling disarmingly (which is just 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 got 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 leapt down from the roof, and slammed them to the ground. Matt tried the door, 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 space between two office doors, peering around the corner. Two men in lab coats passed, oblivious. Matt let out the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding, and watched them swipe keycards through the electronic lock, which glowed green. the elevator doors opened, and they waited until they 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 off, 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 cable. Guard #1 peered into the darkness, and then brought a lighted match to the 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 paycheque would go to paying off his new car. Guard #1's cigarette hit the ground a few seconds later. Guard #1 followed. Guard #2's Mom was going to be disappointed. Guard #3's girlfriend was going to be *very* disappointed, as was his automobile dealer. Lex pulled the keycard out of the pocket of one of the fallen guards, and he and Broadway slipped inside the building unhindered. Brooklyn watched as the elevator came to a halt on the floor below, and noting 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 grasped the access hatch on the top of the car, and wrenched it open. They were greeted with the shocked faces of the two doctors in the car and Brooklyn dropped down, eyes blazing white. With a sweep of his arm, he sent the two techs careening into the wall of the elevator, to slide down, unconscious. Matt dropped down next, and they waited for the doors to open. The hallway was dark, lit only by small ambient lighting along the ceiling. 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 hall, 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. Rowan slumped in the chair, the wheels squeaking slightly as her head lolled, 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 made by the government for prison work crews. I've adapted it for my own purposes, of course. Complete with medical sensors, tracking and monitoring equipment, and capable of administering the occasional necessary disciplinary low grade shock." Marlowe displayed a small hand control with a grim 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 sure you're aware Mr. Xanatos is not in the habit of bargaining for his personal property." "On the contrary, I seem to remember an incident a year ago where your Mr. 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 specifications," 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 the lab, peering down at the scene through a grate. Burnett was still standing in front of the chair, all the erstwhile rescuers could see was a heavy 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, but 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 came 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 grew 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, though." Broadway took one long look around, his brain teeming with the implications, 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 console, ripping out a handful of wires. "I say we trash the place." "Happy to oblige," Broadway grasped the canister nearest him with both arms and pulled. With a shriek of metal and shower of sparks, it came free. A klaxon sounded, and Lex pulled a fire extinguisher from the wall and set about smashing the consoles, methodically working his way back until 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, Lex and Broadway backed out and headed for the next lab. Rowan's eyes drifted open slowly, and she tried to glance around surreptitiously. Her heart sank into her shoes (or rather, it would have if she hadn'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, very irate gargoyle, and a none too pleased New York Police detective at the 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. Owen's foot shot out, catching him in the chest. Marlowe went careening backwards, the hand control flying from his fingers. Rowan saw Clermont draw his gun. Without thinking, she slipped the rest of the way out of the chair, and pushed it as hard as she could across the linoleum, slamming into Clermont, who was put off balance. Owen plucked the hand control out of the air, and in one fluid motion withdrew 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 Rowan's eyes calmly. She nodded imperceptibly. Marlowe got to his feet, still keeping a bead on the aid with his good old fashioned projectile weapon designed to put really big holes in people. "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 holding a helpless teenage human girl, but a gargoyle. His shot went wild as Rowan 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 very leisurely bullet ripped through her shoulder. Her eyes burned green, her 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 seeped 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 handcuffs before turning to see Burnett kneeling at the fallen girl-gargoyle-whatever's side. Brooklyn dropped the handcuffed Marlowe to the floor, and moved to Matt's side. They watched with a curious mix of horror and fascination 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 her 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 her 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 stiffened 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 was 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 right 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 wasn'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 into words, and then she buried her face against Burnett's neck. No, not Jackie at all. And not Fionnuala either. Brooklyn's shoulders slumped, and the curious looking party made their outside, where several dozen technicians had fled to the safety of the parking lot at the first sign 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 wings, and wisely, no one said "hey, you can't do that!", choosing instead to 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 chopper pulled into the air, Brooklyn shaded his eyes from the dirt cloud the rotors kicked up with his wing. Lex and Broadway came up just as it faded 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 back 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 out of the shadows, at the edge of the parking lot flanked by two large men 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? Destruction 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. All 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 keys. "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 shoulder. 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 him too, but the gargoyles had disappeared when the Illuminati had appeared. 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 of law after all? Rowan had closed her eyes, but was suddenly aware of several things at once. The first was the lack of noise (someone really must do something about making a quieter helicopter), the second the overwhelming smells of pine 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. She 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 she 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 through 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, now-a-days. But that was the house. The clearing where they sat was completely 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 course 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 forest floor, and spun around. Humans were fun, gargoyles were interesting, but 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 alighted 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 her 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, orange 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 tiptoed 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 window 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 for his glasses. She smiled and wondered if he even noticed how ingrained the habits of the fictional Mr. Burnett had become. Probably. That was part 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 neck, and then carefully disentangled herself from his embrace. "I won't be long." He watched her slip through the mirror as if it were a curtain, and then he was alone. ~To be concluded. ****Advertisements**** ****Gargoyles Fans on AOL**** Come join our ever fun filled Gargoyles Role Playing Chat! It's a free form role playing game held in a private room. All Gargoyle affiicianados are welcome. All you need is a character and a working imagination. (I assume both requirements are filled by all subscribers. ) We welcome gargoyles, humans, mutates, Oberon's children, Steel Clan members, and whatever else you can come up with. Original characters are encouraged, but you can play as a character from the show. If you're interested or the tiniest bit curious, contact me at: Demonskrye@aol.com * * * * * * * * ****That's all, folks.****