"Easy, now," Ta'ra soothed, wrapping tape around a half-conscious Addison's arm to stabilize the IV delivering concentrated nutrients. So far she hadn't needed the stunner now tucked in her pocket. She hoped they'd stay that lucky. Addison had had enough shocks to her system already.

"She gonna be all right?" Dominic moved in with a space blanket, concern wrinkling the pilot's expressive face as he smoothed back tangled blonde hair. Addison shivered at the touch, a tear trickling down her cheek to drip from her chin.

"I hope so." The med-tech glanced around the inside of Santini's hangar, frowned. They could disinfect Addison's small wounds, give her nutrients, raid Dominic's extensive emergency supplies for space blankets to keep her warm. Still, all else being equal, this was not a medical facility. "I would we could have taken her to a hospital."

"ICU ain't exactly quiet and peaceful," Dom pointed out. "Believe me on that one."

Yes; a stunt flyer did know that. And Santini Air was quiet-

"Someone want to tell me what the hell just happened?" Mike Rivers demanded.

Usually, the med-tech amended.

"Good question." Hawke lifted a brow at the mass of detectives.

Jack spread empty hands. Ellison only stood, scowling, radiating a dark rage of not-my-tribe. Blair gave them a weak grin. "Ummm...."

Daphne steeled herself. "I think my partner was cursed."

"Say what?" Rivers swiveled her way. "You're kidding, right?"

Wyeth shook her head reluctantly. "Last month... Velasquez said when we arrested him that we'd regret it. Especially Addison. Said a coyote owed him a favor." She grimaced. "I thought he just meant a border-runner. Most perps don't figure out how much a good computer hacker can slam-dunk forged artifact documentation...."

"It does make sense," Blair put in. "In folklore, a lot of people get forced to shape-shift by curses. And they can be really tricky to break. You did the right thing, yelling out her name like that. How'd you know?"

"Umm... lucky guess?" Daphne's glance slid away; she muttered something about "Chicago" and "weirdoes".

Ta'ra blinked, picking up a few images of Daphne's previous encounters with Chicago's odder denizens. A precognitive with a newspaper, a displaced Mountie with a deaf wolf... dragons? And Jack worried that I might not fit in.

"But this doesn't get any of you off the hook with the case," Agent Wyeth said fiercely, gaze fixed on Hawke.

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Mike sputtered.

Dom bristled. "Why, I oughta-"

"Can't you give it a rest already?" Mike ran over his words. "You haven't found anything, you're not going to find anything, there's nothing to find-"

"Hold it!" Stepping between them, Ellison glared at everyone impartially. "You people have a problem, kill each other later."

"Before we have Cougar, the Sequel," Blair added.

Jack inched away. "What, we didn't fix it?"

Blair spread empty hands. "I'm an anthropologist. Folklore isn't exactly my area of expertise... and the on-the-job training is murder," he added, with a dry glance his partner's way. "But if Coyote was involved, just a re-naming might not have done it."

Jack winced. "Terrific."

Dear gods. Ta'ra shuddered as well, picking up images of water, cold, the helplessness of dying. Blair was drowned? And no one's seen to him? Death, no matter how temporary, was not something to be treated lightly. Among her people, Blair should have had a full month of psychomedical treatment at the very least, to mend the damage done to a mind striving desperately to survive.

No wonder he and his partner were so painfully loud. The damage done to their bond must have been extensive; they'd be shouting past the scars with every thought, every feeling. And blasting the thought processes of any innocent bystanders in the bargain, Ta'ra thought ruefully. Poor Jack.

And poor Angel. She could feel the Lady snarling, low and dangerous in her mind; sense the creature's building tension, in the way String and Dom's attention fixed more and more on the two Cascade cops. The two pilots might not know why Ellison and Sandburg threatened their partner, but they were more than willing to toss them out first and find out later. Angel, stop. Please, wait.

Aware of apparent transformation curse, Special Agent Addison, Angel shot back.
FBI investigation of Santini Air ongoing hazard. Within acceptable limits.
No hostile intent toward Agent Addison.
Dr. Blair Sandburg currently valuable source of tactical data.
Restraining defensive response.
Hurts!

String turned on his heel, strode toward the weary woman huddled in Dom's most comfortable chair. "Easy, Agent." His tone was low, surprisingly gentle. "Let me take a look at you."

"Hawke." Ellison's voice was a low threat.

"He knows what he's doing," Jack said firmly. "Right, Ta'ra?"

"Yes." I hope.

Initiating psychic scan, Angel murmured.
High levels of PKE detected.
Source: inhuman. Attempting to classify further.
Frequencies non-psychic in origin.

Hawke nodded. "Callista."

~*~*~*~*~
Homicide, suspected, suspicious, accidental-by-boa-constrictor- Vic Maldonado flipped through a sheaf of reports, the detritus of ended lives that was just another day in L.A. Shook his head, tapping up his glasses, as he read between the lines on various mishaps incurred on suspect-chases so far this month. Damn it, that made two detectives with bruised ribs, one sprained wrist, and Hamilton at his chiropractor's with a twisted back. This keeps up, a full moon is going to look good.

The phone rang. He plucked it up absently, still trying to figure out exactly how picking up a supposedly-compliant witness had turned into a three-way tug of war that ended with the witness in handcuffs, two officers with bloody noses, a smashed windshield, and yet another report of a masked biker in black. "Maldonado. Homicide."

"Captain Simon Banks, Cascade Major Crimes," the deep voice on the other end replied. "A pair of my detectives are in town for a seminar. I'm trying to get in contact with them...."

"Yeah?" Vic started shuffling papers back into the file. Cascade, Cascade... know that from somewhere. "Think PR's got the goods on that. Hang on, I'll transfer you over to Rachel Adams-"

"Already spoke to the lady, thanks. She said I needed to talk to you."

"Oh she did, did she?" This did not sound good.

"Something about how if it was weird, wild, and didn't have a motorcycle mixed up in it, it was probably Breslin."

Score one for Officer Adams; she called 'em as she saw 'em. "He's out chasing a cougar."

"What?"

Oops. Oh well. "A cougar. Some idiot brought a cougar to the lecture and it went berserk." Close enough, right? If Addison was the cougar, and her partner had brought her to the lecture... ah, hell. Dammit, Ta'ra, why'd you have to invade the planet in my jurisdiction? "Look, a lot of people got scared, but everybody made it out in one piece. Including your detectives. Sandburg and Ellison, right?"

A muffled groan came down the wire. "They went after it." It wasn't a question.

"Ah, yeah." Vic eyed the phone. "They do this a lot?"

A whispery thud echoed over the phone. Vic recognized the sound; forehead bouncing off a handy three-ring binder. He'd done it himself. "Don't worry, Captain. They'll catch it."

"I only wish I was worried about that," Banks growled. "Ellison's our resident bloodhound. He'll chase a suspect to the ends of the earth-"

"Off of cliffs and in front of moving trains?" Vic raised a wry brow. He'd seen the floppy-eared scent dogs in action. Their handlers had a good reason for those monster leashes.

"Without Sandburg? Yeah." Caution crept into the deep voice. "Sounds like you know the type."

"Heard some stories," Vic shrugged. Jack was more retriever than bloodhound. Chesapeake Bay type, the ones with hard heads and harder survival sense. See, chase, hunt, sure. But he'd always check the water before he dove in. You didn't survive hunting down an intergalactic great white shark without brains. "Look, Captain, Detective Breslin just called in a few minutes ago. Said they've got the cat cornered, nobody got hurt, and as soon as everything's settled, they'll head back to the seminar."

"Just like that?"

"Pretty much," Vic allowed. "Why?"

A pause. "Don't take this the wrong way, Lieutenant, but the last time we had a wild animal loose in the building, everybody was jumping at noises for the next week."

"Oh, yeah; the alligator in the air ducts." Now Vic remembered where he'd heard about Cascade before. That story had swept the cop grapevine in record time. "Guess you don't get lots of those in Washington."

"And you do?"

Do we ever. "You want, I'll transfer you to Animal Control," Vic offered. "They got stories that'll curl your hair."

Banks snorted. "Thanks for your time, Lieutenant. I appreciate it if you'd let my detectives know we've got an urgent lead on their cold case back in Cascade." A moment's pause. "And... good luck."

Vic eyed the deactivated line. Somehow, the day just got worse.

~*~*~*~*~
Cold Creek. Jim prowled the edge of the woods as Daphne helped Addison out of Santini's star-spangled jeep, listening out in the unquiet twilight. Trying to ignore the absence of the unsettling L.A. detectives... and the definite presence of one gyrfalcon-guarded covert ops pilot.

Jack had been about to offer to drive them out here - but one glare from Ta'ra had cut him off mid-word. Hawke probably is safer with us than Breslin, Jim allowed grudgingly. If he's just coming on line... Hawke's already got a guide. And while Ta'ra probably was Jack's, Jim had no intention of taking that kind of chance with Blair.

The sun had just gone over the edge of the world, dragging deceptive shadows in its wake. Somewhere out in the woods someone was breaking rock; probably some ignorant would-be gold prospector, he heard the distinctive crack of thin granite shearing. I didn't want to come back here.

And he wouldn't have, if Blair had just backed off. Shape-shifting FBI agents, werewolf-hunting detectives... none of this was their problem. Cold Creek was Hawke's territory. Archangel's territory.

Enemy territory.

Blair came up beside him, touched his shoulder. "Relax, Jim. I don't think Sheriff Quinn's really going to shoot us."

"Right." Hopefully they wouldn't have to find out. Cold Creek's head of law enforcement definitely wouldn't be happy to see them. No surprise there, Ellison thought darkly. We're good cops. Anybody working in the Firm's backyard is going to be compromised to the teeth. Just look at Breslin-

Hawke cleared his throat.

That man is too quiet, Jim thought darkly.

"Ellison." Cold blue eyes narrowed. "Callista's important around here."

"She's a medicine woman, right?" Blair bounced to full alertness. "What tribe?"

"She'd say sorceress. And she's El Timoteo clan. Though last I heard, they're talking about changing the name." Hawke raised his gaze to the treetops.

Jim jerked his gaze around; what was that distant boom, like wind in leather sails? That crunch of heavy claws piercing pine bark?

That lambent glow of ruby in the trees above, like paired red eyes in the night....

The pilot nodded. "Zorra."

Ruby dropped lower; Jim blinked, taking in the furry, winged form that suddenly sprang into clear relief as his eyes adjusted to night. "Hawke?" The fox-faced creature's voice floated down from her treetop perch, sounding vaguely Mexican. "Is there trouble?"

That's a gargoyle. Jim swallowed dryly. It was one thing to see pictures from New York; you had to take every news report out of there with a handful of salt. Ever since that radioactive lizard had taken up permanent residence in the harbor the whole city had gone nuts. Cops included.

It was quite another to hear the rustle of wing-membranes on fur, scent leather and lemons, see four talons grip rough bark in a dust of falling pine scales. To know there was something inhuman in the night.

And Hawke, damn his hide, wasn't so much as flinching.

"They need to talk to Callista." Hawke nodded toward Addison. "Think she's been cursed."

The gargoyle dropped in a swoop of displaced air, red wings folding about her as she gazed over the four strangers. "There was to be a ceremony, for the clan - but for such ill magics, it is likely she will delay." A furred brow lifted.

"Detectives Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg, of Cascade," Hawke glanced their way. "Special Agents Daphne Wyeth and Parthenope Addison...."

"Sí, of you I have heard." The toothed muzzle smiled at the Feds. "Mi amiga, she has said you have put a true thorn in Velasquez' side. Muy bien! The less of those kind we have on the streets, the better-"

"The moon's coming up," Addison said tightly. "I can feel it."

"Ah?" Furred brows lifted; Zorra uncloaked her wings, folded them back. "Come, then. We will hurry."

Agent in her arms, Zorra scampered up the pine tree and launched into the wind.

~*~*~*~*~
Wow. Blair goggled at the winged and clawed forms ringing the edge of this wooded clearing, the massive, jaguar-like cats keeping watch over the pair of FBI agents. A whole tribal group of non-human intelligent creatures - and they have shamans? Did they get that from humans, or did we get it from them....

But only one question seemed to come out on his tongue. "Glue?"

"It does not compromise the other ingredients of the spell, and it adds greatly to our safety," Callista said serenely. Talon-tipped fingers snapped, dusting the last bit of chalk and corn pollen over lines of translucent liquid. The silvery gargoyle stepped back, draconic head tilting as she scanned symbols traced out on heavy canvas. "Summoning Coyote is... not safe."

"Ah, yeah." The Trickster extraordinaire? Not a chance in the world this would be safe.

Jim's hand rested light on his shoulder. "We'll be fine." The sentinel tilted his head toward the sorceress, a quiet smile touching his eyes. "She feels like Incacha. She knows what she's doing."

Easy for you to say. Incacha had gotten himself killed, after all....

Then again, maybe Jim was just happy Hawke had headed back to Van Nuys. Something about a helicopter in need of serious emergency work. That, and a mutter about Callista being weird even for a gargoyle.

"What I don't get is," Jim glanced at Daphne, "Why aren't you surprised?"

Daphne shot him a wry look. "I'm from Chicago."

"That's not an answer."

The Fed's lips quirked into a smile. "That's what you think."

"Shh," Zorra hushed them. "She begins!"

Latin, Blair realized as the ancient words rolled off Callista's tongue, the clawed finger flipped hemp pages. Mixed with Aztec, maybe? Never seen a shaman use a book before....

And fire blazed up along chalk lines, gold and green and blue-

"Whoa - oof!"

Blair blinked. Blinked again. How the....

But sight didn't change. A jaunty young Native American man with confetti in his hair sprawled in the midst of symbol-etched canvas, carefully not touching the flames. "Ouch," he grumbled, straightening his leather jacket. "Do you have any idea what kind of party you dragged me out of?"

"Jim?" Blair murmured.

The sentinel's eyes were wide. "Not a trick. No mirrors. One second he wasn't there - now he is."

Terrific.

"Forgive, Elder Brother." The sorceress gave their guest a polite bow. "We have questions, and little time."

"Huh." Quick dark eyes moved over the assembled crowd, stopped on Addison. "Ohhh. I see."

Dragon eyes narrowed. "Your work, Elder Brother?"

The man dusted off his hands. "What can I say? I owed a guy a favor."

"Why you-" Daphne lunged.

Stopped, caught by her partner's hand. "That's not going to help," Addison said softly.

Daphne's teeth bared, almost as sharp as the cougar's. "Some people are just evil."

"Evil, good - you humans are so picky about these things." Leaning against flames as if they were a solid wall, the man shrugged. "A favor's a favor."

"Your favor will kill her, Coyote," Callista said evenly.

"Not my fault," he shrugged. "Humans used to be more sturdy. Of course, that was back when there were a lot more of our kids around...."

"Lift the curse."

Coyote yawned. "Can't make me."

"Perhaps, no." Callista pointed. "They can."

Blair grinned weakly as the fire-trapped man yanked his gaze their way. Oh, great. Warn me next time?

But it was Coyote who blinked. And started to sweat. "Oh. Ah, yeah. Jaguar's kin, right? And Wolf. Nice to... see you...." He switched his gaze back to Callista. "You wouldn't."

Callista crossed her arms. Waited.

"Look, I can't take it off!" Coyote protested, all hint of slouch gone. "A favor's a favor - I can't break my word, you know that!"

A talon-edged foot tapped the ground. Blue eyes glowed threatening red.

"Kid-" Coyote held out placating hands toward Blair, young face wavering into harmless old age. "You wouldn't hurt a poor, old Coyote like me, would you?"

"Good, evil," Jim said dryly. "You want to get picky now?"

"Ah. Yeah," Coyote laughed shakily, turned a resigned grin Callista's way. "Look. Maybe we can work something out...."

~*~*~*~*~
Addison pried a finger under the moonstone-set silver choker, stopped at Jim's inquiring look. "I feel like an idiot."

"You look fine," he reassured her as they rested on the side of the road to Cold Creek. And you certainly smell better, the sentinel thought, relieved. Addison still carried the faint musk of a cougar, mingled in her own. But it was a natural scent now, not the burning sickness that had etched away pounds of flesh the slender agent could ill afford to lose.

She leaned against a maple trunk, still unsteady on her feet. "I want to believe this never happened. That it was - just a bad dream...."

"It's not." Daphne was steady against her partner's shoulder. "Things happen. We just have to deal with them." Slim fingers squeezed gently on Addison's arm. "So you can... turn into a cougar when you want to. We'll deal with it."

"You're going to have to," Jim added dryly. "No matter how much you don't want to. Believe me, I know."

Gray eyes blinked wide. "You-?" Addison fingered her moonstone.

"Not exactly. It's a long story." He cast his hearing back toward his partner, still exchanging quiet words with Callista. And - notebooks? What the heck?

Blair skipped over to them, grin threatening to split his face in half. "You know, they've got an email address?"

"Email?" Uh-oh.

"Yeah. Callista wants me to keep in touch; says it's hard to do long-distance apprenticeships, but since I've already got good research skills-"

Jim held up a hand. "Wait." Tilted his head, focusing on a now-familiar engine grumble. "Breslin?"

The Sierra sped the corner, braked just in front of them. "'Bout time." Jack leaned out the passenger's window. "Just got a call from my lieutenant. Your captain called, said you're going to have to skip the rest of the seminar. Something about a cold case, just caught a fresh lead?"

"Thank god," Jim murmured.

And found himself the focus of a half-dozen glares.

"What?" he said defensively. "L.A. is weird."

~*~*~*~*~
"I still wish we could take some time to talk to Hawke." Blair kept his face pressed against the passenger window, though Los Angeles International wasn't anywhere near Van Nuys. Santini Air had been... interesting. Rivers had looked like he wanted to strangle answers out of someone, while Hawke had been coolly determined not to say word one in the Cascade sentinel's hearing.

"They're in the book," Jack shrugged. His knuckles were pale on the front armrest as Ta'ra drove, but not nearly as ghost-white as they'd been riding with a sentinel. "Maybe Hawke hides up in the mountains half the time, but Dom always takes a message."

"I guess." I just hope you are, too. And we've got to go back there. Where's Michael? Are they okay? How are Hawke's senses holding up? What are they doing?

One of L.A.'s sentinels paired with a covert ops guide. The possibilities were scary.

"We're not going back there," Jim growled. Wedged into the back left corner, he wriggled; sighed when Ta'ra glared at him. The analyst had made it quite clear she did not want Cascade's sentinel any nearer to her partner than he had to be.

Probably wise. "I know you don't like Michael-"

"Stay away from them, Blair. They're dangerous."

"Michael?" Jack glanced the question at them.

"A friend of Hawke's family," Blair obfuscated, keeping his eyes on the road as they headed back into the airport's first security checks. "You know him?" A shot in the dark, but if the detective knew Hawke-

"A little," Jack said easily. "Think he's in data analysis, or something. Some big government bureaucracy." He slipped the anthropologist a wink. "IRS. You know how it is."

"IRS?" Jim stared at the L.A. detective.

Jack grinned at him. "Hey, you wouldn't want to talk about it either, right? Get yourself killed. 'Specially when April rolls around."

Blair tried to bite back a snicker. Not funny, Blair. He's lying. Maybe he doesn't know he's lying, but you know he's lying. Jim knows he's lying.... Coughed. Bit his lip. Worked his jaw.

Got a good look at his partner's pole-axed face, and dissolved in giggles.

~*~*~*~*~
Detective Matt Bluestone wrestled with the Los Angeles street map they'd picked up at the airport. Turned it ninety degrees right, then back, trying to match colored paper with L.A.'s knotted streets. Snarled under his breath as a moving van set off a horn almost in their ears, and the patch marked Beverly Hills got tangled in red hair. "What'd you say those homicide statistics were again?"

Elisa Maza rolled hazel eyes as she wove their rental compact around the idiot in the van. "What's wrong, partner? Think they'll beat us out for the year?"

"Traffic like this, I can't believe they're so low." He cringed back in his seat as they sailed through a yellow light, winced. A few weeks' practice shape-shifting might have finally gotten him to the point where his wings all but vanished when he wanted them to, but the vestigial remnants still got squashed under his trench coat. "Are you sure our flight was delayed? This looks an awful lot like rush hour to me."

Eyes never leaving the road, Elisa waved toward the clock on the dash. "We're probably heading into the late-dinner restaurant crowd."

"Terrific."

"You didn't have to come."

"Oh no?" The redhead raised a skeptical brow.

"Matt...."

"Angela, the Trio, and Goliath in a grumpy mood," Matt pointed out. "You do the math."

Elisa sighed. "They're our friends, Matt. You're part of the clan. They're not going to hurt you."

Paper rustled; Matt twisting streets again to locate their destination. "Hurt wasn't on the agenda. Scatter in small pieces across five zip codes was. Definitely."

He has a point, Elisa admitted to herself. If Hudson had felt it necessary to warn her to keep Matt clear of the Clan's young hotheads.... "It's not like Angela's the only female gargoyle around anymore."

"You ask me, I think that's part of the problem," her partner said dryly. "Spiker, Dari, Laela, the others we've tracked down.... Now, instead of one female gargoyle to fight over, they've got bunches who only have wings part of the time."

Another good point. New York had quieted down after the mass transformations, but it still wasn't calm. Hundreds of people were still working out who and what they were; how much of their nights they spent with wings, who did they let know, how deeply they let that instinct to glide and protect take over.

Me included, Elisa thought darkly.

Which didn't bode well for the Trio's dating possibilities. Maybe New Yorkers didn't call the Clan monsters any more, but gargoyles in skimpy loincloths still raised some eyebrows. "Mariposa," she noted, turning off into the hotel parking lot.

"Mariposa's Mexican, not Scottish. Don't think they've quite clued in that there's a difference - whoa!"

Just inside the driveway, Elisa's jaw dropped. Smashed glass. Spilled oil. And just being loaded onto tow trucks, a half-dozen cars that looked like the whole Manhattan Clan had gone berserk.

Looks like gargoyle strength, but - here? "What happened?"

For the first time all night, Matt grinned. "I don't know. But for once...." He let his gaze travel over the wreckage, sighed happily. "We missed it."

~*~*~*~*~
Translations from Spanish:

Sí - yes.
Mi amiga - my friend.
Muy bien! - Very good.