Hill and Home

by Merlin Missy

Consequences 2. Two houseguests come to Wyvern, sending ripples through the lives of the other residents.

3. Chapter 3

VVVVV
Consequences Part Two: Hill and Home (3/3)
a Gargoyles story
by Merlin Missy
Copyright 1997, 2005
PG-13
VVVVV

Half an hour later, Elisa was regretting her decision to drive
herself. However, stuck squarely between an apple-green Jag and a
schoolbus, she really didn't have any options just then. Four of
the five stations she'd programmed into her radio were running
commercials. The fifth, an NPR affiliate, played music from the
baroque period, interspersed with commentary by a very earnest
gentleman who tried to explain why the movements of a certain piece
were meant to represent the construction of a cathedral in Southern
Italy. After five minutes of that, Elisa had in desperation tuned
to a country and western station, survived half of a Garth Brooks
song, and admitting defeat, turned off the thing completely.

This left her with silence, her own thoughts, and the occasional
honk.

Someone, presumably a magic user, tried to off Xanatos and
missed. She rolled the thought around in her brain, Xanatos having
rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. Who had a
motive? Who didn't? Fox would become an exceptionally rich young
widow. Renard would be rid of the son-in-law he despised, and
possibly gain influence over Alexander. Ditto for Titania, and she
had the ability. Even she herself had a motive: vengeance for Derek.

Demona ... Demona didn't have any particular reason to want
Xanatos dead. Then again, that hadn't stopped her before. He was
a human, and no longer an ally. That was enough for her. Hell,
she'd almost wiped out the human race a few weeks back.

So why wasn't the puzzle piecing together right?

Traffic inched forward, and seeing an opportunity, Elisa
squeezed the Fairlane into a spot in the adjoining lane. Five
blocks to go before she reached the Eyrie. The limousine was
nowhere in sight. Rich people even had their own private routes,
away from rush hour.

She wondered who was driving the car. Last time she'd
checked, Owen acted as chauffeur, not to mention household
majordomo, nanny, and who knew what else. He probably even wiped
Xanatos' nose when he sneezed. She banished that mental image
quickly, but retained the thought: without Owen, Xanatos would be
like a lost puppy.

As she crept along the street, her mind wandered aimlessly on
the images. Lost puppy. Lost sheep. Black sheep. With a little
iron bell around his neck.

"Damn." The word escaped her lips as both a curse and a
blessing. She almost missed seeing the light change to red before
her, and slammed on her brakes.

Firley had been after Owen.

VVVVV

"What?" Fox said it, but the same question was clearly
written on Xanatos' face. She'd arrived five minutes after them,
had spent another ten searching for the right place in the building
before she'd asked someone, and all the while, she'd turned around
her insight in her mind, and found it to fit too well.

"Think about it. Of the people who want you dead, of the
magic users, who among them would stoop to using a knife, when a
gun would be less personally hazardous, and a lot less traceable as
evidence? To use a knife, you have to be right there. I'll bet
you Avalon that knife had a lot more unprocessed iron than normal.
Whoever sent him went after you to cover going after Owen."

"That leaves us with the same list of suspects."

"Does it? Your mother set things up carefully to get Puck to
stay here. I don't think Oberon has caught on as to just how well
yet. He might have done it, but it's not his style. And there's
still Demona."

Xanatos mused, "Demona's tricky, but she's not subtle. If
she'd wanted him, she would have attacked him directly."

"Maybe she thought it would keep him from defending himself
with magic," suggested his wife.

He replied, "He's not allowed. He can defend Alex but not
himself."

"She might not have known that."

"Mr. Xanatos?" A short woman in scrubs approached them at a
diffident pace.

"Yes, Doctor?" Again, Elisa heard the concern in his tone and
found it disconcerting.

"Mr. Burnett is resting, but he is awake."

"May we see him?"

She nodded. "But only for a few minutes."

"Thank you," he said, and it was for far more than the few
minutes of visitation. She inclined her head again, then continued
down the hall.

"Detective, if you'd care to join us."

Elisa walked behind them as they made their way to the room,
glancing around from time to time, wondering just how complete the
medical facilities were in the building. Alexander had been born
at home, as she recalled, and now major surgery had been performed
on the premises, probably with silver instruments. Must be nice to
be rich, she thought.

The door was ajar. Before they entered, Elisa heard the too-
familiar beep and hum of monitoring equipment. During her last
hospital stay, she'd become aware of it, then annoyed by it, and
finally, she'd learned to ignore the sound completely. Her recent
visits to Jason had brought back many memories of those mercifully
few days. As did this.

He lay very still on the crisp white sheets, only the gentle
whoosh of the oxygen flow indicating that he was most likely
breathing. Always almost inhumanly pale, his skin seemed bleached,
making Elisa wonder how much blood he'd lost, and if they'd been
able to replace it, and with whose. His eyes were closed, and
without the glasses, she could almost make out the faint blue blood
vessels in his eyelids. He could have been a life-sized china
doll. She could just see the tape on his chest beneath his
hospital gown. The doll had been broken, and the dollmaker was
very far away.

His eyes slid open, revealing sky-blue irises, and Elisa could
not rid herself of the notion that they'd been painted.

"Hello?" he said, his voice cracked and dry.

"Hey," said Xanatos, going to the bedside, resting his arms
uncomfortably on the metal railing. "How are you feeling?"

"Wretched. Did you get the license number?"

"Yes," he said, bemused. He lost his smile and looked back at
her as he said, "We're practically certain Firley was sent to kill you."

Owen's face was almost entirely innocent as he asked slowly, "Who
would want to kill me?" He paused. "Excluding the people we live
with, of course." Fox moved to the other side of the bed, stood there in
silence.

"Our best guess is Demona. Other than the obvious, can you
think of any reason why she'd want to kill you?"

He tried to shake his head, and finding it difficult with the
greenish oxygen tubes attached, said, "No."

"Who else might have done it?" asked Elisa.

"Anyone. No one." His eyes were unfocused. The doctor had
likely put him on some heavy drugs; he was slipping back into
sleep.

Xanatos asked, "Is there some way to find out from Firley
himself? Maybe we can find out who cast the spell." Owen's eyes
closed. "Owen?"

"I can. Deconstruct. Lesson for the boy." His eyes opened
briefly and closed again.

There was a tap at the doorframe. The doctor said, "You need
to leave now. I'll contact you when he's fully awake."

"Keep me informed of any changes in his condition, Doctor,"
said Xanatos in an authoritative voice. He followed Elisa out of
the room. Fox didn't join them. Elisa looked back, saw her still
standing by the bed, staring down at Owen's sleeping form.
"Darling?"

"I'm coming," she said, and hurried out of the room. Elisa
didn't ask.

"Detective," said Xanatos, "I doubt we're going to get any
answers until after he's awake. If you'd like to get some rest,
you're welcome to stay here. We have room."

At the suggestion of sleep, she yawned, and glared at him for
making her. She would have liked to have gone back to her
apartment for a few winks, then come back here, say hi to Goliath,
and go on duty. On the other hand, if she crashed in one of the
many rooms at the castle, she would have more sleep, get to spend a
few more minutes with Goliath, and she wouldn't have to drive
through the tangled mess outside to get home.

"Just this once," she said, swearing to herself it would be a
one-time deal. The half-smirk on his face, indicating it might
not, almost made her change her mind.

Hell with it. She needed sleep.

They went upstairs.

VVVVV

With little convincing, Angela coaxed Broadway out for a
flight very shortly after their awakening, shortly enough that she
did not hear the news about Owen until much later. They had made
a pretense of patrolling Queens for the better part of an hour
together, before she noticed his attention wasn't on hunting down
criminals. Her own hadn't been on the streets below since they'd
started.

She thought, belatedly, it was a good thing no one had been
gargoyle-hunting that night. They wouldn't have realized what was
going on until they were both dead.

Memories, not entirely her own, had been picking at her mind
for the past several nights. During the day, she'd dreamed strange
dreams. At first, she'd thought they were of Gabriel, and felt the
customary remorse at not giving him any regard in her waking
thoughts. Then she remembered other things, and realized she had
not been dreaming of Gabriel, but of Coldstone, or rather the
gargoyle whose soul now inhabited the cyborg body. In her dreams,
both daily and nightly, he was young, alive, without the harsh
metal that deadened his senses. She was reliving the memories
Coldfire had while her spirit had dwelled within Angela's body for
one bittersweet night. It was an odd sensation.

There was more, though, and the more was what bothered her,
drew her from their home this evening. She was having memories of
things to come.

They weren't visions, precisely, only half-formed images
created out of the amalgam of her limited experiences. She and her
rookery siblings had been aware that there were places and times
when they should not disturb the Guardian and the Princess. As far
as she knew, no one had ever said directly why, but that had been
the way of things.

When they'd grown, started developing from amorphous little
hatchlings into the variegated shapes and colors of adulthood,
their well-meaning caretakers had attempted to explain to them what
was happening. Only now, thinking back on those times, did Angela
note with fond amusement that perhaps their three parents hadn't
been quite the experts that their children had thought them on the
subject.

The images disturbing her now bore little resemblance to the
sketchy descriptions Princess Katharine had blushingly related to
her sixteen young daughters, although her presence reminded Angela
strongly of those fumbling words. Her thoughts were closer to the
thoughts Coldfire had flirted with during her brief stay, and it
did not help Angela at all to note Coldfire had been thinking those
things towards Broadway, who'd been housing Coldstone's long-
troubled spirit at the time.

There were other, deeper things, though. When she engaged in
battle, her muscles moved by training, but also by a kind of inner
need. Her wings and claws echoed maneuvers done by her parents,
and presumably, her grandparents, great-grandparents, and so on
back to the beginning of time. Instinct made her duck before a
blow, swish out her tail in just the right place to send an enemy
sprawling. What practice made perfect, her own nature made
possible. Tonight, she felt the hum within her of instinct, though
not the fire that guided her in attack. This was older than
battle, possibly as old as war itself, which according to the books
in the castle library, began the day the first microscopic organism
looked at its neighboring organism and ate it.

She was neither hungry nor thirsty. The need within her was
different, not quite as old, but close enough to make no matter.

She indicated a comfortable roost they both knew well: an
office building in midtown Manhattan, not nearly as impressive as
the Eyrie Building or the Cyberbiotics Tower. Compared to those
giants, it was squat, ugly, built in a time of functionality rather
than grace. On the other hand, sandwiched as it was between far
more beautiful edifices, they rarely noticed it in their patrols. In the
midst of a teeming city whose heartbeat was a roar even at the wee
hours of the morning, it was a wonderful seclusion.

They descended.

For a long time, they hung over the ledge together, looking
down upon the streets like guardian angels at their invisible
watch. The lights below gradually lost their charm, the way all
simple lights, no matter how twinkling, eventually did. Away from
the ledge, the other buildings stretched high enough around them to
block out most of the hazy brilliance from the street.

The same stars that had dispassionately observed her parents
from their lofty heights a thousand years ago shone brightly over
the two of them on their rooftop.

They yielded to instinct.

VVVVV

Alex giggled as Fox placed him into Owen's arms, and she felt
a twinge of jealousy. He'd been fussy for her all night, but for
Owen, he was filled with smiles. Not that she envied the man's
position at the moment, she thought. He'd been moved into his own
room to complete his recovery, which meant that his normally
pristine quarters were filled with medical equipment, and worse,
people. On the other hand, this was probably the first vacation
he'd taken since coming to work for David. She'd seen a leather-
bound volume of the Iliad on his night stand, had noticed the
elegant tassel on the bookmark edging closer to the end every time
she'd come into the room. It kept him occupied, she supposed, and
from dwelling on things.

As he held Alex on his lap, she noted that he was looking much
better than he had the past two days. His color, such as it was,
had returned, and even if he was still very weak, he was acting
more and more like his old self. Alex made a grab for his glasses,
which Owen thwarted. He placed the spectacles back where they
belonged in a comfortingly fastidious manner; Fox knew better than
to smile.

"Where is Mr. Firley?" he asked.

"On his way." If she had her timing right, Elisa had told her
boss about an hour ago that they would not be pressing charges
against the man. Chavez would have hit the ceiling, come down off
of it, roundly cursed Fox, David, Owen, and all their descendants,
and finally, allowed Elisa to take Ralph home. In this case, that
meant driving him directly to the Eyrie.

"Ah," he said, returning his attention to the baby. As ever,
he barely smiled at him, spoke hardly at all, and adamantly refused
to make cute faces while talking nonsense. He would hold Alex on
his lap while reading aloud stock reports or sonnets by Donne, and
Alex loved it. He would sit listening alertly, sometimes tugging
on a short handful of gold hair, or sucking on his own fist.

Alex also adored Lex. Especially his ears. For Katharine,
who'd watched him while she and David were busy with Owen, he was
an absolute angel, and would stay in her arms perfectly still as
she spoke to him or read to him or simply sat in silence as they
rocked in his chair, thinking whatever kinds of thoughts either of
them had right now.

Oh yes, Alex loved Katharine and Tom and Lex and Elisa and
Owen and Daddy most of all.

When Fox tried to play with him, her son squirmed and fidgeted
and no matter what she did, after about ten minutes, he would start
to cry and not stop, often for hours. If David took him from her
during one of those times, he'd calm down instantly.

She was not going to cry about this.

"I'll be back," she said, and walked out of Owen's room before
she lost control of her emotions. She doubted Alex noticed as she
left.

The sun hadn't gone down yet; the statues on the roof were
still statues. David was waiting for Elisa down on the ground
floor, ready to escort the man who'd tried to kill him back into
the presence of the man who'd almost died instead. Tom and
Katharine had gone for a walk in the pleasant cool of the late
afternoon. She was alone in her castle, but for the two in Owen's
room, and they were nothing like her at all.

She walked into the Great Hall, and stopped dead in the center
of it. Her eyes closed, she tried to recapture the feeling she had
when Katharine spoke of times long since gone. Things were better
then, simpler, safer. Maybe that was why Katharine lived in the
past. She couldn't be hurt there.

Fox had visited that past once, seen the people who populated
the stories the gargoyles told. She'd been a little over a month
along with Alexander and hadn't known it, but the dreams had
started shortly afterwards. By the time she was in month four,
they'd haunted her almost nightly, interspersed with the most
bizarre nightmares. She'd read up on everything she could find out
about pregnancy, had learned that odd dreams came with the
territory, and still she scribbled notes when she woke at night
seeing faces of people she'd never met. The dreams had stopped
after Alex's birth and had been replaced with nightmares about her
stepfather. Those had also faded away after a few weeks, leaving
her with more normal dreams, which she rarely remembered.

She had promised David she would leave Katharine alone, not
ask about the strange things that once ran rampant through her own
sleeping mind. She could keep her promise, although it meant
losing her chance at discovering ... What?

She paused, and for a mad second, she heard music from a lute
being played somewhere very far away, and everything was almost
clear to her. Then it was gone, and maybe it had never been there
at all.

The elevator slid to a stop. She pulled her attention from
unretrievable fantasies to the reality of the door opening before her.
Firley stepped out, quite chagrined to be in David's presence; Elisa
came behind, unhappily involved in this whole mess.

"Are they ready?" asked David.

"Probably." She met Firley's eyes, before he dropped his and
looked at the floor. There was no malice in them, no murderous
intent, only the contrite gaze of a man who for no reason known to
him had tried to impale his employer with a butcher knife.

They walked silently to Owen's room. Owen was nowhere to be
seen. This probably had something to do with the five-foot-tall,
white-haired elf sitting cross-legged two feet above the bed and
tickling her son.

"You're looking better," observed David.

"It's amazing what changing bodies can do for you," replied Puck.

Firley stared. "Who ... What ... ?"

"One question at a time, my boy. I am the Puck, lately chief
servant and confidant of His Majesty Oberon, King of Avalon, now
head diaper changer and paycheck signer in the employ of David
Xanatos. I, and this handsome young lad here, are members of the
First Race," he smirked, "which to you means that we are elves,
goblins, things that go bump in the night, and generally, people
you don't want to annoy. And you," he said, zipping over to the
still-shocked man, nearly close enough to brush noses with him,
"aren't going to remember a word of this when we're through."

Firley's paralysis broke, as he fell back and tried to move to
the door. David's hand on his arm, digging in, convinced him he
ought to stay. He stammered, "You said ... said we would find out
why I ... why I tried to ... " He couldn't finish.

" ... air-condition my ribcage?" supplied Puck. Firley
nodded, his eyes wide.

Realization kicked in, lit over his face like a new morning.
"Your ribcage?" Puck grinned. Firley let out a little sigh, and
tilted his head.

"Maybe you should sit down," suggested David. Firley did so,
kept staring at the figure before him in utter incomprehension.

For his part, Puck edged closer and closer, slowly. "Are you
comfortable?" Firley nodded. "Good. Perhaps you'd like to take
a short nap and forget all this." As he reached Firley, he put out
his hand, and moved it down. The man's eyes followed it, and
closed.

"And that, kid, is how to hypnotize someone." Alex clapped,
Alex-style.

"Will he be all right?" asked Elisa.

"If anything, he'll have a mild headache when he awakens, but
I doubt he'll even have that. I've done this before," said Puck
with a bit of pride.

"What now?" asked Fox, impatient with all this. She knew the
baby had to have his lessons, but the idea of it gave her the
willies. Best to get it over with so that Alex could get back to
being a semi-normal baby.

"Now, we play. Pay attention, kid." He set Alex in place on
his lap, then lifted his arms.

"Threads of magic, to tie and bind,

Show what hand controls this mind."

A sparkly green mist swirled from his fingertips to settle around
Firley. The mist curled lazily at his eyes, his ears, then slid into his
mouth in a disturbingly sensual way.

Firley bit down, shook himself trying to get free of the magic. "Get
out!" he bellowed in a voice not his own. The green mist fled with his
words, and for the second time, his eyes glowed the same sickly color.
The tendrils fled back to Puck, ricocheting like a tape measure coiling
back into place. Puck slipped, off-balance in his airy perch.

He muttered a mild expletive. "That wasn't supposed to happen.
Whoever set this didn't want anyone tampering with it."

"Can you get around it?" asked David.

"Yes." There was no hesitation. "But he will have a nasty
headache in the morning." He picked Alex up. "Your turn."

Her son lifted his chubby arms and babbled something that
could have been the spell Puck had just used. Whatever he said,
small wisps of green came from his little fingers and headed to
Firley.

Fox closed her eyes. She didn't want to see this, she
decided, and felt grateful for the touch of David's hand, wrapping
securely around her own.

She kept her eyes shut, as Firley shouted "No!" A few moments
trickled by. "Stay out, damn you!" A little more time passed
"Please, please stay out of my mind," said Firley in a tiny, timid
voice. "Please!" he squeaked, and then he was silent.

She opened her eyes.

A moment later, Firley opened his. Green light poured from
them, and spilled harmlessly away into nothing. Amazed, Fox saw
the yellow coming through brightly, noticed that the green was from
an overlay of peacock blue.

"Now," said Puck in a tolerant tone, "what were the conditions
of the spell?" He continued to examine the green light.

Firley said hollowly, "You must be alone with Xanatos and
Burnett. Kill Xanatos. Kill anyone who gets between you and
Xanatos. Should Fox or Alexander enter the room, stop. If another
enters the room, do not stop. Do not harm the Queen's get in any
way. You will use a knife to kill Xanatos. These are the
specifications." He rattled off a series of acceptable alloy
compositions, and the size, shape, and weight of the blade. All of
the alloys were high in unprocessed iron.

"Do you know who cast it?" whispered David.

Puck ignored him, looking closer at the threads. Then he
said, "There is no signature to the spell. The caster wished to
remain unknown under even a thorough scan."

"So it could still be anyone," said Fox dispiritedly. They
had been so close.

"No. It couldn't." He reached out, almost touching the beam,
then drawing away again. "Just because there is no signature does
not mean I can't see the handwriting." His eyes flicked up. "I
recognize the way it was worked."

He held up his hands again, Alex raised his arms. The green
glow diminished, and was gone. Firley slumped in his chair. Puck
floated over, touched his forehead, and mouthed something.

"He'll sleep for a while. When he awakens, take him home. He
won't remember a thing." The fay sighed, and then he hovered back
over to the bed. He sank down to the sheets, and his form twisted,
became one she knew well. With his return to his human form, he
also returned to infirmity. He lay, exhausted, against the pile of
pillows behind him.

Then he reached forward with his good hand and patted
Alexander affectionately on the head. "Very good, little one."
Alex grinned toothlessly.

Elisa went to Firley's side, and checked his pulse. "He's
alive anyway." She stared at Owen. "I have no idea how I will
explain this to the Captain."

"Don't," said David. "He'll be fine by morning."

"Right," she said, disbelief written all over her face.

"So who did it?" asked Fox, going out of her mind with wonder,

"The spell had all the earmarks of the Three. The words were
wrong. Undoubtedly they wished to hide their involvement. I know
what their spells feel like. It was they." His eyes were very
far, focused on something Fox knew she would never see.

"Damn," said David.

"Why would they want to kill you?" asked Elisa.

"They've been trying to kill me since I was born. This is
nothing new." Fox could tell he was lying, badly. Apparently
Elisa could, as well.

"Something's different," she stated. Her voice, her stance,
all said she wasn't moving until she found out why.

David asked, "Do you think it could have something to do with
Ian?" Owen winced.

"Who's Ian?" asked Elisa.

"No one," said Owen coldly, staring at David. "And I'll thank
you to not discuss the matter further."

"What matter?" asked Fox, fixing David with a stare of her own.

David watched Owen as he said, "It's nothing."

"David," she said in her most saccharine-sweet voice.

"Never mind. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No," said Owen, "you shouldn't have."

Elisa watched all this, annoyance on her face. "Enough!" she
shouted finally. "I'm sick of all this dancing around, and
secrets, and everything else." She met Owen's cold face with a
hard look of her own. "Whatever you're hiding this time, be
assured that I don't give a damn about it one way or the other.
Unfortunately, I'm supposed to be investigating why Chuckles here,"
she jerked her thumb at Firley, "tried to turn you into a drive-
thru. You can play nice and let the rest of us know what's going
on, or I can leave. And next time," she said to David, "you can
have another detective investigate the troubles in your life."

"I doubt you'd want that to happen," said David, and he was
right, but Elisa was visibly at the end of her rope.

"You'd be surprised," she responded, and the words hung in the
air like a threat. Most likely an empty threat, but it remained
nonetheless. She turned to Owen. "Why do the Three Sisters want
to kill you? This time."

He looked down at Alex, idly brushed a stray red curl back
into place. "Because I'm the only one who knows what they did."

"Which was?"

He took a deep breath. In a few simple words, he explained
precisely what had happened. Fox listened, trying to comprehend
everything he said. She had sisters? And a stepbrother? Who was
now dead because of them?

Elisa said nothing at first. Her face remained impassive,
almost stony. Fox let herself grow angry at the other woman. She
seemed to have compassion for everyone else they'd ever met. Why
couldn't she at least offer a little sympathy for this?

Then she said very softly, "He never knew. His entire life, and he
never knew." Fox hadn't remembered until that moment: Elisa had met
Ian, had known him, for however short a time. The look on her face,
which she had taken for indifference, was grief, and well-concealed
sorrow, though whether it was for Ian, his friends, or all of them, Fox
didn't know.

"I don't get it," Fox said, still trying to grasp what Owen
had told them. "I guess I can see why they'd kill him. They want
the throne. He could have taken it from them. But why come after
you afterwards? It's not like you're ... " She stared at him, a
horrible suspicion growing deep in her stomach. "In line. For the
throne." A smile without joy touched his lips. "Oh my God," she
said. "You are." All the implications of this struck her at one time.

"What?" asked Elisa, a few steps behind.

David turned to her conversationally and said, "Puck is Oberon's
son."

Elisa looked from David to Owen, who still rested against the
headboard, and back again. "We're not talking figuratively, are
we." There was hope in the question, overlaid with a tiredness
that seemed to radiate more and more from the detective every time
she dealt with them.

"No," said Owen. He turned to Fox. "The answer to your next
question is also 'No.' We're not related."

"Oh," she said. All the implications of that struck her. "Oh," she
said again, frowning. "Does my mother know?"

"You could say that. She threatened to have me killed when
Oberon brought me home for the first time. We have since learned
to get along better." His head turned towards David. "I never
told you. When did you ... "

"When I met Oberon, I wondered. When you told me about Ian,
I was certain."

He let out a breath. "It's not important anyway. The bargain
for my life made it clear that he would never acknowledge me. The
throne belongs to the Three."

"You've said that before," said David. "If they're going to
inherit anyway, why kill you?"

"Because they violated the law," he said. "None of our kind
shall kill another of our own, under pain of death. They killed
Ian. I can prove it. If I do, they will lose their birthright and
possibly their lives. That's why they want me dead." The truth,
something Fox had never thought she'd hear in its entirety from
him, rang in his voice.

"I'd say it would be a pretty good idea to tell, then," remarked Elisa.
"Why don't you notify Oberon?"

"I've been banished from Avalon. Perhaps you've noticed this."

"You can't bring him here?" asked Fox.

"No. Charges such as these must be made at High Court, and
deliberated in front of the assembly. I cannot go."

"I could," she said. David turned to stare at her. "I'll bet
Mother would like a visit. I can present the case." Yes. The
more she thought about it, the more she thought, I can do this.
The thought excited her. Avalon! The Fairy Court!

"That wouldn't work." Owen's voice cut across her fantasy
like a knife. "You would have the information second-hand. I am
the one who knows where he went after he left the Island the first
time. I have to present the case myself."

"Is there any way you would be allowed to go back, just for
this?" Elisa was deep in thought. "Maybe you could ask for
immunity."

He opened his mouth. And closed it again. "I can go back,"
he said carefully. He looked at Fox. "If I were to arrive under
your banner, so to speak, it might be possible. Your mother would
have given strict instructions not to harm you or anyone traveling
with you. The others would have to give us leave to go to the
Palace. I could present my case there."

Fox barely noticed that he didn't seem enthusiastic about the
idea. Instead, she again saw images of the Fairy Court in her
mind, and beamed at the thought. "When do you want to go?"

"It's not that easy."

"You just said ... "

"I said it was possible. It is also possible that Oberon has
completed the banishment and will bind me magically from entering
the waters around the Isle. Those were the terms of the Diaspora.
I imagine he'd keep them."

"How can we find out?" asked David, clearly deep in thought
already as to the logistics of getting Owen to Avalon.

"I'll know. When I attempt to cast the spell to go back, I'll
know immediately." He closed his eyes again. He wore fatigue on
his face like a scar, and she recognized for the first time just
how much it had taken out of him to give Alex his lesson.

"We'll wait until you're feeling better," she said.

"Thank you," he replied. He didn't object when David took the
baby from his arms. Alex wrapped his arms around his daddy's neck,
and closed his own eyes. In moments, he was sound asleep. David
patted his back softly.

Elisa said, "How about we let Sleeping Beauty here catch a few
winks before I drive him home?" She indicated Firley, who was
himself snoring softly in the chair. David nodded, and handed Alex
to Fox. She cradled him carefully, but other than a movement of
his mouth, he didn't show any signs of wakening.

David and Elisa caught Firley under the arms, and half-walked,
half-dragged him out of the room, presumably towards one of the
many guest rooms. Fox stayed a moment longer, holding her son.

"Will you be all right?" she asked Owen.

"Fine," he said, his voice a ghost. As were Alex and Firley,
Owen was on his way to dreamland. She waited a few minutes longer,
rocking slightly, stroking Alex's head, hoping he didn't waken and
start yowling. He didn't. Owen's breathing grew deeper, and she
was aware that he'd fallen asleep.

She crept to the side of the bed to watch him. Oberon's son?
The face he wore now bore little resemblance to the Fairy King, but
as Puck, she thought, there was enough of a likeness to make her
wonder why she'd never noticed it before. She wasn't quite sure
what relationships were like among the fay, but to her human mind,
that meant he was her stepbrother.

Her family, which had previously consisted only of herself and
her parents, had grown at an exponential rate in the past few
years. Suddenly, she was related to people all over the place, and
had more siblings than she'd dreamed possible. She remembered
being very small and wishing for a sister to play with, then growing a
little and wishing for an elder brother with cute friends. Her mother
had always laughed when she'd said such things, and in standard reply
had cautioned her about making wishes.

As of today, she had three sisters and two brothers. She was
married to her big brother's best friend. Life was strange sometimes.
She wondered if her mother had planned that last part all along, a way
of granting her wish. The question worried her. Her reading, not to
mention her experiences of the past year, had taught her something
important.

Wishes granted by the Queen of Fairy always had their price.

VVVVV

Much of the iron from the blade had entered his bloodstream,
still floated there, gradually dispersing through his body. His
endocrine system, something he'd borrowed from Vogel's form just as
he'd taken the myopia, filtered out the particles day by day,
reducing their level until the soreness in his limbs was more
phantom pain than real agony. Nevertheless, he took a long time to
heal, longer than a human would have, and the difference annoyed
him.

Doctor Howard couldn't understand why her patient's recovery
was so prolonged, and he adamantly refused any further testing than
was absolutely necessary. At one point, Mr. Xanatos had asked him
to consent to an MRI. As they had been alone, he had felt no
qualms about asking whether such a machine had been installed in
their upstate facility, the same where his employer had once
offered sanctuary to the gargoyles after defaming them. The man,
always intelligent for a mortal, had taken the hint.

He'd been allowed to have his laptop with him, on the
condition he not work for more than two hours per day until he was
fully recovered, doctor's orders matched with an equally binding
order from Xanatos. Not wanting to get too far behind in his
duties, he'd meekly accepted the limitation and made certain to
have two very productive hours.

The rest of his time was officially free, and despite his
protests that he was perfectly capable of continuing to work, he
wasn't permitted. Even Alexander's magic lessons were suspended
for the time being, and while he could spend time with the child as
he pleased, he had to make certain someone was nearby to take him
back. As he was currently deemed incapable of taking care of the
baby, his own portion of childcare, the part not taken up by the
boy's parents, Lexington, or Mrs. Ong, had to be shifted to
another.

Thus, despite his very best efforts to the contrary, Owen came
into contact with Princess Katharine.

He'd been the one to raise the loudest fuss when he'd learned
she had been taking care of Alexander already. He'd carefully
pointed out her own infirmity, her inability to remember little
things like who the rest of them were, and the like. Even with the
Guardian never far from her side, she wasn't safe for or with the
baby. It wasn't as if they couldn't afford an entire platoon of
nannies, either.

He was careful not to mention that he personally disliked her.
His arguments would only be undermined.

For whatever reason, he was overruled. According to Fox, she
was perfectly lucid when she was with the baby. His suggestion
that this might not always be the case was met with coldness. Fox
was incapable of impartiality when it came to Katharine, and while
he was fairly sure he understood why, far more than she did in
truth, it was still exasperating. Fox had final say on who watched
her son and who didn't. Katharine stayed.

During the few times she brought Alexander to him over the first
week of his confinement, he treated her with the coolest respect he
could muster. He would be polite, as was called for by his role, but no
further. She, lost in whatever mad world she'd created in the cobwebs
of her own thoughts, didn't appear to notice.

He ignored her intentionally. She ignored him as she ignored
the rest of the castle's residents more each day. He glared at her
when no one else was nearby. She stared past him, seeing people
long dead. His infrequent words to her were double-edged as
insults. She, thinking him to be some knave from her past, called
him things he hadn't heard for centuries.

Alex laughed for them both. When she tended to him, she did
seem more grounded in reality, although she probably thought she
was diapering a baby gargoyle. The child was real in whatever time
she believed herself to be living, and while even he could see the
slender bones at her wrists and in her face becoming more prominent
daily, he also saw the glow of life upon her cheek when Alexander
was near. He couldn't help but sympathize.

With the help of the gentle flow of power between himself and
Alexander, his own strength was returning. He expected to be
completely restored by Thanksgiving, and with Doctor Howard's
permission, he increased his workload to four hours per day,
although he still wasn't allowed to be alone with the child. If
Katharine was in the room with them, Alexander could play on his
activity mat while he worked. Sometimes the Guardian would be with
them, and sometimes he would not. Either way, Katharine would be
playing with Alex, or else reading while the boy amused himself,
keeping a careful eye on him. Owen would work at his terminal,
also with half an ear towards the baby. And the three of them
would be quite content.

They eventually settled into a pattern of Katharine's
delusions. She was under the impression that he was a visiting
lord from South Wales (although she never once forgot Alexander's
name), and regaled him with tales. He listened despite himself,
and occasionally coaxed her towards specific stories. She was, he
knew, the best source of information he would ever find about
questions he'd tried to make himself forget, for a thousand years,
and then again after her arrival. The questions were clear as
quartz in his mind, and he asked. She answered.

He thought to tell her the other half of the stories she knew, how
there really was no mystery as to why they'd gone where they had, how
the Island pulled its own always, so of course one born of it, having
tasted it even in infancy, would return to its sheltering berth the way a
needle rubbed against a magnet always longed to point north.

He never did.

He would look in her half-mad eyes, and know beyond a doubt
that it would do no good to tell her what he knew, that it might
even chase her into her grave that much faster. She would be there
soon enough without his aid, and as the days went by, he found that
he did not enjoy that thought nearly as much as he thought he
might. In fact, he did not enjoy it at all. Even in his limited
human body, he could sense dark bands circling like ravens around
the intermittent brightness of her soul. He knew that when they
finally descended upon it to blot out the light, he would mourn for
the sake of his brother, who had loved her, and himself, who
finally understood why.

Ten days after the incumbent President was re-elected, a week
before he would be given clearance by the doctor to return fully to
this little life he'd made, a good two weeks since he'd grudgingly
acknowledged to himself that he enjoyed Katharine's company, he
finally found the reference he needed. Half an hour after that, he
discovered that he was, once again, two days too late.

VVVVV

"Mrs. Atkins?"

The woman brushed her hand across her face, "Yes?" Hidden
behind her tear-stained makeup lay a young woman, perhaps her own
age.

She held out her hand. "Fox Xanatos." The other woman shook
her hand, but if the name meant anything to her, she didn't show
it. "I'm sorry to hear about your husband."

"Did you know him?" There were two questions in the one,
making her wonder just what their marriage had been like.

"Not exactly. Mrs Atkins, did you know your husband had two
children by his first wife?" That would have been back before he
changed his name. No wonder it took Owen so long to find him.

"Jack and Hannah. He told me about them when Ricky was born.
He wanted to look them up, tell them about us, but he never did."
Her eyes widened. "Are you ... ?"

She shook her head. "I'm a friend of theirs." That wasn't
precisely the truth, either, but it would do.

"Do they know yet?"

"No." Arson. Owen had said it had been arson, and while
Hyena was in stir, Jackal was nowhere to be found.

"Maybe I should tell them. I've wanted to meet the kids for
a long time."

Fox considered the reaction of this woman when she found out
her stepchildren had willingly turned themselves to cyborgs, and
had spent the past two years in jail or on the run. "I don't know
if that would be a good idea."

"You're probably right. No use bringing up the past."

A little boy of perhaps seven or eight scampered into the room
and buried his face in his mother's leg. He turned his head to the
side, peeked out, then hid his eyes again.

His mother stroked his hair. "Ricky, say hello to ... I'm
sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"Fox," she said, "Fox Xanatos."

He peeked out again. "Hello." His eyes grew big. "Fox!"

She put on a friendly smile and held out her hand. "It's nice
to meet you, Ricky."

Under the confused gaze of his mother, he tiptoed over to her,
and looking at her as if she might bite him, shook her hand. "Are
you the real Fox?"

She nodded. "The one and only."

"Whoa." He looked around her. "Where's everyone else?"

"Everyone else?" asked his mother. Oh, she didn't know.

Fox straightened up. "I was on a children's show called 'The
Pack' a few years ago. You might have heard of it."

The woman's eyes went wide. "Phil watched it with Ricky every
day. That was you?"

"It was a while ago."

The little boy tugged on her pant leg. "Where are the
others?"

She bent down again to his eye level. "They're on special
assignments," she said gently. "Dingo is fighting crime in
Australia."

"What about Wolf?"

He's in Riker's again, and as long as he keeps his mouth shut
on how he was transformed, he'll be just fine. "Wolf and Jackal
and Hyena are on a secret mission. I'm afraid I can't discuss it."

"Why aren't you and Dingo with them?"

"Dingo is needed where he is. And I have a little boy of my
own I have to take care of now."

He looked at her. "No way."

"Way. He's just a baby, though."

"Xanatos," said Mrs. Atkins. "I think I know who you are."

"Then you can probably figure out a few things from there."

"We saw the reports on the news. After that, I didn't want
Ricky to watch any more. Phil did. I'd send Ricky to another
room, but Phil would turn it on anyway. I yelled at him for it."
She looked as though she might start crying.

"I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories."

"Not bad ones. Just memories. So what did you want?" Her eyes
were over-bright, but there were no other signs of obvious pain.

"I need to find out whatever you can tell me about your
husband's medical history. Hannah is pregnant. She's going to
sign custody of the baby over to her mother, but I'm acting as an
intermediary."

"Oh." She looked around distractedly. "Phil didn't talk much
about his family. He told me he had a brother in Texas, but I
don't even know his name. Phil was hardly ever sick. When I met
him, he had a problem with his nose, but that was from ... " She
glanced at her son. " ... That cleared up after we were married."

"I know about the time in jail. That was how we located him."

The little boy looked up. "Jail?"

"Don't worry about it, sweetie," said his mother. "Something that
happened a long time ago." She looked hard at Fox. "I knew a lot
more about Phil's past than I let on. I know all about the troubles he
had with the law. I know he did things he wasn't proud of. But he
changed. I changed him. He wasn't a saint, but he was a good father
for Ricky. I don't know if he was trying to make up for the mistakes he
made before, and I don't care. I loved him, and he loved us. That's all I
ever needed."

She bit her lip. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. I ... I
understand what you mean."

She stood back and looked at her a moment. "Maybe you do. I
really can't help you any further. I don't know what his parents died of,
and as for Phil," she smiled bitterly, "I thought he'd live another fifty
years."

"Ricky hasn't had any problems, then?"

"Nothing you'd have to worry about."

"Then I'll go. Thank you for your time." She turned towards
the door, then looked back, unsure as to why. "Is there anything
I can do? To help?"

"No," she said far too quickly. "But thank you."

"Are you going to come back?" asked the boy eagerly. "My
friends won't believe me when I tell them you were here."

"I don't think I can, Ricky. The Evil Ninjas are always out
there ready to strike. It wouldn't be safe if they knew you and I
were friends."

"Oh." He glanced at his mother, then gestured for Fox to lean
down. He cupped his hand against her ear and whispered, "I know
there aren't any Evil Ninjas, but Mom thinks there are."

She nodded seriously, and whispered back, "Then we'll let her
think we believe in them too." She tousled the kid's chestnut hair, and
asked, "Who's your favorite character on the show?"

He grinned. "Wolf! My favorite show is the one where the Gnat
gets magic powers and turns Wolf into a little boy." She couldn't
contain the shudder she typically associated with mention of that
episode. The child actor hired to play young Wolf had been Satan's
younger brother. Ricky didn't notice. His face dropped a little as he
added, "Dad taped the one where you and Wolf and Dingo were
kidnaped by Lord Kataclyz and Jackal and Hyena had to rescue you.
He liked that one a lot." Fox pulled her eyes away from the child's,
instead saw what she thought was sudden recognition in the other
woman's gaze.

Mrs. Atkins placed her hand on her son's shoulder, but addressed
Fox as she said, "We lost that tape in the fire, along with Ricky's action
figures. I wanted to replace them, but maybe it'd be better if I didn't.
What do you think?" She'd put two and two together, then.

"I think you might be right. Goodbye, Ricky. Take care of
your mother."

"Yes ma'am! Wibblefish!"

She smiled. "Wibblefish." She nodded to Mrs. Atkins, and
walked out.

VVVVV

Elisa jabbed the button on the elevator with a singular lack of
enthusiasm. She'd spent most of her day engaged in a ritual common to
people since time out of mind, or at least since the invention of the
shopping center: Black Friday.

Her mother, normally one of the more practical people she'd
ever known, had informed her daughters the three of them were going
out on the single worst shopping day of the year. She'd announced
the trip to both of them Wednesday after picking up Beth at the
airport and confirming that Elisa had both Thursday and Friday
nights off.

Elisa wasn't positive, but she was relatively sure there was
something in all first-time-grandmothers-to-be that short-circuited
the normal functions of the brain. Hell, when Fox had been in
month eight or so, Titania had created a race of nanites who'd came
awfully close to wiping out the planet.

She doubted that the trip had led to Beth's dark mood, but she
also doubted it did anything to lighten it. Her little sister had
been sullen and preoccupied when she'd arrived home. Elisa had
gone to work shortly afterwards, had noted that Beth's attitude
hadn't improved when she arrived down in the Labyrinth too early in
the afternoon for her tastes to help with dinner the following day.
There had been no time to get her alone to talk.

Poor Maggie had been a wreck when she'd gotten there, fallen
prey to the double stress of hormones working evil magic on her
emotions and the desire to have everything perfect for Thanksgiving
this year. The rest of the family, at least the ones awake during
the daylight hours, were busy getting the meal prepared, and never
mind that, in Elisa's memory, they'd never had a traditional sit
down "turkey and all the trimmings" dinner for T-Day at their own
home. She'd been given the enviable job of peeling and slicing
potatoes. Beth was working on one of the desserts. Elisa couldn't
find time to ask about what was troubling her. Other than the one
tearful phone call she'd received, in which Beth had told her
rather disjointedly that Sarah had broken up with her on the advice
of one of Elisa's friends, her sister had been awfully silent on
the matter of her very first honest to goodness broken heart.

Beth was contagious. By the time the clan had arrived, few of
those present were overly cheerful. Maggie's state of mind had
only worsened when the clones awoke. There was no way to deny it
any longer: she wasn't the only one expecting. Delilah's middle,
which Maggie still hadn't coaxed her into covering a bit more than
she did, was taut and smooth with what was surely an egg, and none
of them doubted who the father had been. What should have been a
joyful sign, the first egg in the clan for a thousand years, was
instead a bitter reminder of the twisted, lost soul who'd created
the clones. Even beyond his fiery grave, his claws ripped and tore
at their lives.

The guys hadn't helped. Still flustered by seeing their own
faces on different bodies, they had avoided their other selves
studiously during dinner. Derek had been on edge, trying to ease
Maggie's tension by catering to what he thought she wanted, which
only made her more upset. Her parents had been smart enough not to
offer them advice, knowing they'd learn to sort it out their own
way; it also meant they were extremely quiet. Princess Katharine
and the Guardian had come as part of the clan, which really hadn't
been a good idea, either; she was having a bad time of it that day,
unsure who anyone was and mumbling to herself.

Angela had tried very hard to get everyone to talk, which had
been a sweet gesture but a badly mistimed one. Brooklyn had tried
to make small talk. With Beth. About Sarah.

She hadn't actually decked him. This had been because Elisa
had immediately grabbed one of her sister's arms while Goliath had
gingerly taken the other, and they'd not let go until she promised
not to kill him. She'd said some very unfortunate things and
stalked off.

Thanksgiving was declared over after that.

In comparison to dinner, the shopping trip had almost been
pleasant. Almost. Beth had apologized to her for saying that
Elisa didn't know any normal people, but it was going to take her
a long time to get to where she could apologize to everyone else.
She was not going to be speaking to Brooklyn anytime soon.

Their mother had accepted Beth's apology, and had appeared to
forget the entire incident. Her daughters knew better, knew that
the day would not be forgotten, would be used for years afterwards
as an example. Diane had then dragged them to the nearest mall and
made them carry armloads of baby toys, gadgets and accessories.
Despite what logic and common sense might dictate, she bought
several cute, androgynous outfits and a boatload of onesies.

After she considered herself well-shopped for the baby, the
holiday shopping began. Mercifully, she'd allowed Elisa to leave
around seven, although there had been plenty of stores left to hit.
Elisa had taken the opportunity and run to the relative safety and
sanity of Castle Wyvern.

She went to the roof first, and finding no one there, headed
towards the living room. She saw Lexington first, and from his
expression, knew immediately that her day had not improved.

"What happened?" she asked. Goliath sat, a book in his hand
unopened. His eyes lit when he saw her, but there was worry on his
face as well. Everyone was sitting or standing except ...

"Princess Katharine fell. Angela and the Guardian are with
her."

"How bad is it?"

"She broke her leg," said Angela, coming in the room behind
her. She looked tired, and her eyes stayed at the floor. Her talon
picked idly at the edge of her short skirt. Broadway came to her,
touched her elbow, but made no other move.

A broken leg. That wasn't so bad. "Has the doctor set it yet?"

"She set it well enough for the journey." Journey? "Owen
looked in on her. He said ... " She broke off, and grief touched
her lovely face. "The Guardian and I are taking her back to
Avalon. She needs to be home now."

"What!"

"Home?"

"Lass ... "

"What do you mean," asked Broadway, "the Guardian and you?"

"I'm going home with them," she said quietly, finally meeting his
eyes. "I need to go. I need to be there."

"But ... " he said. "You could be gone for years." Fear was all over
his wide face, and also hope that she would say this was all a bad joke,
that she would stay forever there with him.

"I won't be," she said very quietly. She placed her hand over his.
"I promise I'll be back soon."

"Please don't go," he said, oblivious to the fact that the rest of them
were there.

"This isn't open for debate," she said resolutely, and the discussion
was over.

VVVVV

VVVVV

Owen's face remained impassive as he delivered the news.

"They're leaving?" asked Fox. "They can't. She ought to be
here while she recovers." She turned to David, almost pleading with
him. "We've got the proper medical facilities here. We can take
care of her."

She had been good, dammit. She hadn't pushed, hadn't gone to
the woman's side asking more questions. Realizing how her thoughts
were sounding, even to herself, she noted ruefully that she'd even
eaten all her vegetables.

"Did she tell you what happened?" asked David.

Owen shook his head. "The staircase in question was somewhat
redesigned when the castle was moved. I imagine she thought she
was walking down the old one." There was no disapproval in his
voice, no irritation at her, simply a regretful sadness, a mourning
for the woman she had been.

"We should go back with them," said Fox quickly. "They'll be
going to Avalon, we'll be going to Avalon. We should get ready."

"No. We're not going back with them."

"Why not?" This made no sense to her.

"Not until she's passed on. I will not put her through what
our appeal would do to her."

Fox stared at Owen. Outwardly, he was back to his former
self: calm, formal, almost emotionless, without a physical trace of
the recent attempt on his life. However, the few flickers on his
face from within spoke countless volumes of the changes he'd
suffered in the past five months. He was still Owen, to them would
always be Owen, but the childlike Puck inside him, governing his
every movement, had grown into something unexpected.

From what she could glean, he'd been raised on Avalon as
Oberon's servant, taught from birth to attend to the whims of his
master without question. The role he'd carved for himself in his
current life had been an echo of that servitude, this time bound to
David, still as a minion, and possibly happy in that role.

When he'd been stripped of his powers and banished from his
home, suddenly his life was undefined, and by habit, he'd slipped
even more into the role of the perfect servant. It was a familiar
thing to him, a game he knew how to play when all his other games
were so abruptly, and permanently, denied him. David was not
Oberon, and she sure as hell wasn't her mother, and despite
himself, Owen was no longer entirely a servant. Fox doubted he
knew who he was at the moment, but the slow discovery, helped by
the continuous discoveries of the past months, had forced the
eternal child within his soul to become, at least in part, an adult.

The adult was surrendering something the child would have taken
at any cost, the chance to return home and take revenge on the ones
who had hurt him.

Fox knew she would have taken it, and she felt very small.

"When will they be leaving?" asked David, obviously already
considering the matter closed.

"As soon as Doctor Howard finishes setting her leg. Possibly an
hour."

"We should pay our respects." She knew somehow that the four
of them would not accompany them back to the lake in the Park, that
it was not their place to do so.

She recalled one of her more vivid dreams of the woman. She
had been a girl on the edge of becoming a woman, conflicting ideas
and desires bubbling from inside her, her eyes quick and sharp,
seeking out what she could find in everything. Back when she'd had
those dreams, she hadn't known much of her history after the
gargoyles had gone to sleep, and Fox had spent too much time
wondering what had become of her. She'd feared the story, when she
found it, would read the typical one of the time: given young to a
loveless marriage, a brief life, and death accompanied by the
squall of a newborn.

It shouldn't have mattered to her, any more than it mattered that for
every life like that, there had been thousands spent never going further
than a league from home, growing up, growing old, and dying having
never set eyes on the sea. But it did matter, because she could have
easily been that girl in sea-blue skirts. Seeing what her life had
become, knowing she'd spent that life in the company of friends and in
the arms of a man she loved, gave Fox a peculiar comfort. Yes, she had
grown befuddled, and no, she would never be young again, but the
woman who had been the girl had tasted joy, and that was something
not everyone could say.

She wasted one more moment, turning the baby monitor up so
that she could hear the steady breathing of her son in his crib. Then she
took David's hand, and the three of them went to say good-bye to their
guests.

VVVVV

Elisa went with the clan to wish them well, hug Angela, and see
Katharine for what she knew would be the last time.

Goliath embraced his daughter for a long moment, enfolding her
in his wings as if trying to protect her for one last time from all the evil
in the world. When he finally let her go, Elisa felt his heart crumble.
Her own father had worn the same expression after he'd helped her
move into her first apartment and suddenly realized that, although he
and her mother were always welcome there, it was Elisa's home and not
theirs.

Broadway held Angela for an age. She kissed him on his cheek,
rested her head at his shoulder momentarily, and slipped from his arms.
Goliath lifted Katharine as if she weighed no more than a small bird,
and placed her delicately into the boat, which had somehow remained
moored during their entire stay. She stared up at him, not speaking,
probably having no idea who he was.

The Guardian stroked her head, and in an instant, Elisa saw all
thirty years of their marriage on his face, marked in tears and giggles
and the impossible joy of finding one's soulmate in the guise of one's
closest friend. Her hand found Goliath's and held it as Angela untied
the boat. She stepped aboard. The Trio each took hold of a bit of skiff,
and pushed it out into the lake.

There were words, and there was mist, and then there was nothing
on the water but ripples.

VVVVV