The sky far above him was a brilliantly deep shade of blue crossed with the dark grey of October clouds. Slowly his gaze lowered to the weird luminescence of the city lights below and he shivered in his suit coat as a strong gust of wind brought him sharply back to the present moment. Mr. Xanatos was waiting. He shuffled the papers from under his arm into his good hand and made for the stairwell.
Thoughts of Sammhain
"Owen? You seem a little..."
"Yes sir?"
"Distracted."
This accusation was greeted with a customary slight frown and an apology before Owen returned his somewhat wandering attention to his paperwork. Five minutes later his thoughts were more on the texture of the desk than the papers before him. In the background of his mind he could hear Mr. Xanatos rattling away about this year's Halloween party and the adorable teddy bear costume they had gotten for Alexander. Had it occurred to him, Owen would have made a pretense of paying attention, but for once he neglected to even try. Instead he rudely interrupted his employer's train of thought.
"Sir? Would it be… impertinent of me to ask for the Thirty-first off?"
David Xanatos finally noticed his majordomo's absent look and frowned slightly as he considered the unusual request. "Certainly not, Owen. You deserve a break." His eyes narrowed in a sly grin as he inquired, "Any particular reason for that day, Owen?"
"With you and Mrs. Xanatos taking Alexander to the costume party, I won't be needed for babysitting sir.."
Although the evasive answer did little to sway Xanatos' suspicions, he decided not to pursue the matter further. "Well then Owen, I see no reason not to let you have the day off. You should ask for vacation time more often."
Owen only nodded slightly in response and returned to his paperwork.
Hallow e'en. Sammhain. This holiday had not had it's long ago origins out of nothing. Tonight was the night when the veil between worlds was thin and gateways opened in sacred places. The tales of hauntings and wandering supernatural creatures this time of year was born from such creatures passing through these gates. He stood in his room with the windows open and breathed in the cold autumn air, and in it he could almost smell the closeness of other realities. Before him lay a circle of lit candles, and around the spot where he stood lay a circle formed of dead, dry tree branches and bits of litter. The door was locked, so there was no chance of Mr. Xanatos or anyone else breaking in to see the mess, but he knew he couldn't take long in case someone wondered where he was. Stretching his hands out before him, he could feel the power crackling in his blood and he frowned at the symbolic circles. On this night he had power enough of his own that he could get past Oberon's rules, but it was still so little that he had to resort to human ritual magic to assist him in opening a gate.
A few deep breaths now, and concentration. Going against his former lord's word was dangerous, but just this once it would be worth it. Just to see home one last time. Calling upon the power within himself, Owen closed his eyes and stepped out of the mortal world and into the circle of candles as the last of the sun slipped under the horizon.
Immediately the scent of green and wood sap and nectar assaulted him. The mortal world's autumn was the otherworld's spring, and Avalon's spring was an invasive presence that brought sharp pangs of regret unbidden to mind. Before he even opened his eyes the whole of Avalon was before him; cliffs, beaches, forests, meadows, clearings in the woods and hills and streams and lakes and waterfalls. Every creek and glen and tree had once been his, and for a few brief moments he felt the touch of the island on every centimeter of his skin.
Then he opened his eyes and walked Avalon as a mortal, half Owen Burnett, half the Puck, hidden wood sprites giggled at his passing and the very grass seemed to shrink at his touch. Avoiding contact with the denizens of his old home, he stole through the woods as a trespasser. With stealth and a little luck, he would get what he came for and be gone again before his former lord was even aware of his presence here. On this night Oberon's thoughts were likely to be elsewhere, what with the supernatural world gone wandering into the other. It would be difficult enough to keep an eye on the well-established gateways, let alone a single temporary one created by magic. Despite an eerie sense of being unwanted here, his footsteps led him down a distantly familiar path. He knew what he was here for, and with the shifting in time between worlds he was in a hurry. Still he could not entirely ignore the pull the island's beauty and more than once he found himself stopping to caress a familiar flower. Several times he had to hide himself in the trees to avoid being seen by those who had once been friends as they passed by in their revelries. At last he reached the edge of a small clearing hidden in the woods, a secret place even he had rarely ventured to, but he could faintly sense the spell he had put there long ago remained intact.
He glanced around himself a last time before entering the clearing. Reaching the moonlit center, he closed his eyes and took a hesitant step to one side, then another step, moving slowly as if striving to remember some long-unpracticed dance. With his steps a turquoise iridescence began to glow on the clearing's mossy floor, slowly coalescing into a small wooden box. When the strange dance was completed, he knelt and reverently opened the box, lifting out a delicate silver torc.
As both hands and torc left the box, it vanished into the mist and he shoved it into a pocket anxiously, the moment's stillness broken.
Thorns caught at his clothes as he hurried back the way he had come, worried now that Avalon was aware of his presence. He dodged will o' the wisps and glanced nervously behind him, imagining footsteps. He was halfway to his makeshift gate when a well-known voice stopped him.
"Our lord will not be pleased."
The reply came before he could stop his own words, "Your lord. He has disowned his favorite son, in case you did not recall." He winced at the harsh sound of his own voice and the next thought that ran through his head was 'What an Owen-ish thing to say...'
He turned slowly to face the queen, trying to hide the bulk of the torc in his coat pocket. A raised eyebrow was the only comment she gave on his outburst. "I realize that, my lady, but I will be away as quick as I have come, and none to know the better save yourself."
The eyebrow was lowered again and she took on a bemused expression, "And I suppose you expect that Titania keeps her thoughts to herself?"
"Who would dare expect to be privy to the thoughts of the queen?"
"Indeed. See that you go quickly. Haste, before Lord Oberon's attention is drawn to you."
He hesitated a moment, incredulous to be getting away so easily. "You have my most humble thanks your highness." he stammered out with a quick bow. Brushing a few stray leaves off his suit he turned to go with his remaining dignity.
"Of course, gentle Puck. Doubtless you will not soon forget you are indebted to me." He turned back, but she was gone. Indebted. It was not a light thing to owe favors to a queen. He shivered slightly, perhaps just from the breeze. A few more dodgings of fae he had once known and he reached the circle of dead branches and the mortal world beyond.
Upon inspection he found his suit to be ruined from thorns and mud. He tossed it into the heaped waste basket, atop the twigs and burnt-out candles. The torc lay shining on the foot of his bed, a circle of silver light in the pre-dawn grey. A quick shower rid him of Avalon's debris. Returning to his bedroom, he picked up the torc and carried it to the window, where he played with it just to watch the way the light gleamed off its surface. A debt was owed, there was a chance Oberon might learn of his presence yet, and Mr. Xanatos was going to be nosy for at least three weeks. All that for a simple piece of jewelry. He had barely even had a chance to admire the scenery. He toyed with the thing again and in a flash of the metal there was an illusion of green energy crackling along its curve.
As Owen watched the coming dawn paint the sky a mix of pinks and blues, he allowed himself the trace of a smile.
Disclaimer: It's not my fault. I just write what the voices tell me to. I have no allegiance whatsoever with the Disney MegaCorporation, nor do I wish to ever work for them. The characters of Owen Burnett, the Xanatos family, and the portrayals of Oberon and Titania shown here are in some (to me unfathomable) way property of Disney, who did not in any way, shape, or form steal them from Shakespeare. Honest.
This was written in the autumn of '98 or '99 and I no longer remember what, if anything, I was planning to have happen in some follow-up story about the torc. I just felt it works well enough as a self-contained ficlet that it could be posted here. An illustration to this story is on my DeviantArt gallery.