Owen Burnett studied his reflection with a cool, emotionless calm. A plain faced man stared back at him- a generic blue eyed, blond, neither handsome nor ugly, rather an entirely forgettable face. The only thing slightly askew about this bland man was his left arm of stone otherwise he had the stereotypical look of an everyday office worker. Owen hadn't minded this form when he had known in the back of his head that he could escape it whenever he chose but the moment it had become permanent and been made a punishment for him he had started to quietly loathe it.
Now Owen wondered if perhaps he could cast it off after all without exploiting the loophole of Alex. His young ward remained fast asleep under the watchful eye of his father, not yet ready for magic lessons. Even if he were awake his father, David Xanatos, might decide today would not be a day for magic. David was adamant that his son learn other skills too, after all he didn't have a magical backbone in his bone but had still managed to climb to soaring heights. David wanted his son to be brilliant and powerful but he didn't want him crippled from relying too much on magic. The magic came from Alex's mother Fox's lineage and she had only demonstrated a use for it once- to protect Alex. Magic remained dormant in Fox because it had been hidden from her, a loss in ways but just like her husband she had managed to thrive without it.
Owen sucked in a breath as he wondered if he really had felt something or if it had just been a dream born from desperation and hope.
He had awoken at the dawn with a tremble, disturbed by an odd rush of something through him but he could not be sure what it had been. It had felt strange and terrible, a ripple of power and a pang of pain and then it had almost felt like a weight had been lifted from him or perhaps a curse. He knew such a notion should be impossible but that was how it had felt.
Owen realised there could only be one way to find out for sure but he was afraid to try it, wary that he would only suffer disappointment as he had in the past. He parted his lips slightly to dare to attempt it before being interrupted by the intercom system in his room buzzing.
"Owen could you come here please," Fox's voice called out. "There's an Indian dancing in our living room."
It wasn't exactly the words one expected to hear first thing in the morning but Owen's face bore no surprise as he leaned down to the intercom to answer. He held down the button and answered politely, "on my way madam."
Though his face remained impassive as he exited his room and marched up the hall to the steps that would lead to the living room, Owen burned inside with something he hadn't felt for a while- excitement.
When Owen reached the large living room of the Xanatos abode he found Fox Xanatos standing to one side with her arms folded as she watched what appeared to be a dancing Native American. Despite the early hour Fox looked radiant with a morning glow of beauty instead of sleep marred appearance most people wore. Her hair hung long and free, almost to her waist in glossy waves that shimmered bronze beneath the chandeliers, and her enviable curves were wrapped up in a modest but flattering, tight, dark navy, satin night robe marked with the gold monogram Fox at the left breast.
Owen had no opinion of the redhead's looks save for an understanding of why they might appeal to his master David Xanatos. He took her in briefly only to assure himself of her safety before he gave the intruder his full attention.
The Native American wore a cream buckskin top and leather leggings, brightened with a vibrant blue band of cloth about his waist, a ribbon of green on his left wrist, and a ribbon of red on his right wrist. A colourful belt hung from his right shoulder diagonally down his torso to his waist. He danced with enthusiasm to music playing from a nearby radio, waving a three tiered, silver candlestick in his left hand and an ornamental bronze poker in his right as if they were dance props rather than potential weapons.
"I don't know how he got in here," Fox remarked with suspicion, "no one alerted me to him. I came in and here he was dancing."
The woman regarded the dancing man with displeasure but bore no fear for his presence.
Owen felt a small smile tug at his lips but he resisted the gesture. He walked over to the radio and flipped it off.
The dancer stopped and looked over to Owen in despair. "Aww it was getting to the good bit," he commented mournfully. "What's love? Baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me no more!" he sung off-tune happily.
"Indeed," Owen said icily.
Owen took in the intruder's appearance. The man had a young face, cheery with mischief in his bright eyes and made all the more appealing by a jaw and cheekbones that gave a hint of cheeky charm to his smile. His pitch black hair grew downwards in messy spikes, complimenting his swarthy skin and deep eyes of liquid dark chocolate. Owen did not recognise the form straight away but the pointed ears were enough of a giveaway. He thought quickly of all the members of his extended family that it could be, lamenting the fact that he would know the answer immediately if either of them took their true form.
The Native American looked at him with a teasing glint in his eye as he cocked his head from right to left like a confused dog. "I had heard you had taken a rather dull form but I didn't quite believe it," he mused. "It's very formal and stiff." He stepped forward and reached out a hand with the poker still clutched in it towards Owen's round glasses.
Owen stepped back swiftly with a frown.
"Come on," the man commented eagerly, "let me try them on."
"No."
Fox uncrossed her arms and came to stand near them though she was careful to keep enough of a distance that if the intruder chose to attack she would have time to defend.
"Owen do we have a problem here?" Fox queried impatiently. "Who is this man?" She knew her husband had made enemies far and wide including some Native Americans not that long ago and felt a slight concern that this man might be here seeking vengeance.
"Yes Owen, who am I?" the man quipped mockingly with a bright smile. "You've gotten rusty haven't you? Hmm let me give you a clue." He let out a low yip followed by laughter that sounded oddly like barking.
Owen sighed. "Coyote."
"The one and only!" Coyote answered proudly. He gave a scowl and added sourly, "at least I was until you're boss copied me, absolutely scandalous." He tutted and shook his head.
"Coyote?" Fox echoed.
Owen looked over to his mistress calmly. "No connection to the Pack's Coyote," he assured.
Coyote shook the candlestick in Owen's direction as he grumbled, "not for lack of trying."
Owen reached out for the candlestick but Coyote jumped back out of reach with a snicker. He spied Owen's stone arm and looked at it curiously. "Now that's an odd ailment but why do you bear it still?"
"None of your concern," Owen answered stiffly as he tugged his navy blazer sleeve down in a failed attempt to hide the stone hand. "Why have you trespassed here?"
Coyote frowned and gave him an odd look. "Can you really not know? Didn't you feel it? Come now, that's why I am here, I thought you'd know about it!"
"Know about what?" Owen queried impatiently. He spied the fear that darted through Coyote's eyes before he managed to conceal it.
Coyote glanced in Fox's direction before he bounced forward and leaned until his nose was pressing against Owen's.
"He fell," Coyote whispered so that only Owen could hear, "Oberon has fallen." He pulled back from Owen and let out a loud laugh. "I think you should be a good host and show me the sights," he urged in a tone full of false cheer.
Owen caught his meaning as he kept his shock from a face not designed to express much emotion. They needed to go somewhere private. He felt an odd sensation and didn't know what it was- fear or relief? So was that what he had felt this morning then, Oberon falling? Such a thing didn't seem possible.
Fox's gaze turned suspicious. "Owen what's going on?"
"Nothing madam," Owen lied as he wondered at Tatiana's fate and if Fox with her dulled senses had felt anything, "just family business of a sort. I'll escort this gentleman away now."
Owen gestured to the double doors he had walked through.
"Really?" Coyote pouted. "Through the doors? How boring."
"Try to be conspicuous for now," Owen advised. "Of course with your get up that's asking a bit much I suppose."
Owen could feel the excitement growing inside him mixing with the fear and found it hard to keep it buried within, the anticipation was almost too much to resist!
Coyote caught the stern, hinting gaze in Owen's blue eyes and he nodded. He abandoned the poker and candlestick to the coffee table and bounced happily along to the doors.
Owen followed after him at a brisk walk. "Won't be long madam," he called back to Fox as he slipped through the doors. He took care to shut them behind him before urging Coyote to the staircase.
They walked down several flights, or rather Owen walked and Coyote danced and jumped, pausing every so often to suggest other means of travel. He put on a front of energetic excitement but Owen knew it was a chaotic anxiety.
Owen kept glancing at the security cameras and shaking his head, pushing on down the many flights until they finally reached the bottom of the building. They hastened past the security guards, who looked at Coyote in bafflement, and exited to a busy Manhattan street.
Owen kept walking until they reached a secluded alleyway. It wasn't exactly the nicest spot for a return but at this point he didn't care, desperation to see if Coyote told the truth and if his suspicions from earlier were correct almost consumed him.
Owen moved into the alleyway and thought hard of a form that had all but been sealed away from him. He started to spin and opened his mouth to say the words as he dared to hope that with them something else would come.
"Here's Puck!"
In a shower of gold and red sparks the form of Owen Burnett became lost, replaced with the jovial elf-like form of a younger male with a wide grin, long, silvery-white hair and dark glittering eyes. His costume opposed everything Owen's uniform had been, composed of a fabric colourful and bright. He wore a red top with gold trimming at the short shoulder sleeves, matching knee high boots, navy leggings and a band of royal purple cloth that sat like a one strapped toga held in place with a gold crescent moon brooch at his left shoulder and a large belt of gold. The gold and purple were a mocking suggestion of the royalty he bore ties too whilst the overall ensemble played homage to the jesters he so often resembled.
He paused to look down at his form with delight. Alex was nowhere near him which meant Coyote had to be right- Oberon's curses and rules were no more.
"But how?" he pondered in a voice much more jovial and high pitched than Owen was capable of.
"Oberon is no longer in charge," Coyote replied as he looked at the impish figure. He sounded grim but a gleam of happiness sparked in his eyes for his companion."Is this the place to talk? You need to know what's happened at home," he added darkly.
Home, a double edged sword, a place Puck had tried to avoid and yet longed to be in. As the saying went, you only wanted something when you couldn't have it. He had been gone from home for over a thousand years and yet when the Gathering had happened and Oberon had called his fey kin back it hadn't seemed long enough because Puck had found Xanatos and life had become exciting, thrilling and unpredictable. Puck hadn't wanted to leave all that for boring, predictable Avalon. Yet when Oberon had banned him from Avalon, Puck had longed to be back on Avalon's magical shores, exploring the ever shifting medieval like ruins of his childhood and playing mischief and magic with his siblings once more.
"Weren't you at the Gathering?" Puck queried curiously.
"Yes," Coyote admitted as he shuffled uneasily on his feet.
"How are you here then?"
"It happened while I was still in Avalon. You must have felt it too, like a lock being opened or a weight being lifted but a lot of pain too. Well the earth split with it in Avalon, the sea turned angry, the sky grew black..." Coyote trailed off and glanced about their surroundings suspiciously.
Puck danced about with a taunting smile. "So the trickster reveals his form as coward and weak, a dog of custard, frightened and meek."
Coyote scowled at him and clenched his fists angrily. "Hey you weren't there! And apparently you didn't feel it either! No surprise, you're so damn human you didn't even know me!"
"Know you? You wear a guise still, mortal disguise most ill!" Puck mocked before he could help himself. It had been months since he had last been in this form. He had an urge to flit and fly about but was too wary of the looks they were already garnering. The alleyway served as a shady haven no more.
"You know guise is short for disguise," Coyote remarked pointedly, "rhyming the two is cheating."
"Your form is not subtle, no purpose is clear, it must simply be the truth that you fear," Puck said sinisterly.
"Are you quite done?" A canine growl underlined Coyote's angry words as he glowered at Puck.
"Quite," Puck answered as he gestured with one hand behind Coyote, "because we have company."
Coyote turned and grinned at the approaching officer. They were a nervous, young, blond haired male who regarded Coyote and Puck with unease as if he couldn't quite decide who was the stranger of the two.
"I'm going to play the racial card," Coyote vowed quietly, "what are you going for? Escaped lunatic?"
Puck folded his arms and rolled his eyes despairingly. "I'll simply say we're actors, it's less offensive."
Coyote shrugged. "Dull," he lamented.
Midday found Puck and Coyote in the ruins of the clock tower, the only place Puck though might be secure for talking in the city.
It had taken a few minutes to assure the officer that they belonged to an acting troupe and then it had taken more time for Puck to decide on a safe place to discuss things. Then Coyote had turned pale and quiet and chosen to waste time in the park distracting himself with fountains and the hotdog stand. Whatever news he had he was evidently both reluctant to share and yet desperate to unload.
Puck lounged up against a half-blackened stone wall and gazed over at Coyote with suspicion. The trickster sat cross-legged on the ground playing with two stick men he had formed from debris he had found in the ruins of the clock tower.
"Did you run away?" Puck accused. "If you did, shouldn't you be back in whatever patch of earth you've been calling your home away from home?"
Coyote continued to stare down at the stick men he played with as he answered. "Avalon brought me here and I did not leave alone. Sure what thought have you given any of us? You forsook us because you found something better to love."
"Love?" Puck bristled at the word. "What an odd notion, the humans fascinate me but I don't love them."
"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Coyote sang in a low voice. "You can't lie to a liar."
"And you can't trick a trickster," Puck said with a look of ire. "Tell me the truth Coyote or I'll take my leave of you."
"And what?"
Puck shrugged as Coyote looked his way at last. "Enjoy my newfound freedom perhaps, maybe explore the world and rejoice because no one can imprison my magic anymore."
"Oh someone can," Coyote said darkly.
"Are we nearing the terrible truth at last?" Puck quipped. He glanced to the remnants of the clock, the six that acted as a door to the outside world was missing leaving the room eternally exposed to a draught.
Coyote stood up at last, bringing the stick men with him. He paused and pocketed them before placing his hands on his hips and looking Puck's way.
"Oh fine, it's why I sought you out I suppose. I thought you would have had at least an inkling to it though. Although, I don't think you'll be inclined to help."
"What do you mean?"
"Well Oberon banished you, everyone knows it, and worse, he banned you from taking form too, except to teach that mortal boy magic. You're a glorified wizard babysitter, it's humiliating."
"Get to the point," Puck remarked bitingly.
"The point is why would you want to help Oberon?"
"Why indeed?" Puck mused with a smile.
"Well because someone else is in charge," Coyote's voice turned gloomy as he answered.
"Tell me words true and good and perhaps you will be understood," Puck suggested. He thought that getting the truth from Coyote was like pulling teeth from a shark, painful for all concerned.
"Again with the rhyming. Alright, it was the swan king, Siegfried, he overthrew Oberon," Coyote snapped.
Puck raised his silvery-white eyebrows in surprise at this. He knew the name, it brought back images of a powerful, aloof being in Avalon, stern and distant, too wrapped up in his own affairs to be perceived as a threat. "Why?"
"Because his daughter is missing," Coyote confessed at last, "and for some reason he's blaming Oberon or one of his children, says the evidence led that way."
"Which daughter?" Puck pried.
Puck recalled the swan king's family, he had at least five daughters and four sons if memory served.
Coyote stiffened slightly before rubbing at the back of his neck. "Well this is the problem, it's Riona, the black swan."
Puck's eyes widened. "I see," he said quietly. "Well this is a predicament."
Coyote nodded. "Sure, that's the word."
"Why did it take you so long to tell me this?" Puck demanded. "We've wasted hours already."
"It wasn't a peaceful takeover," Coyote informed him bitterly, "his children are immune to iron, remember? They used it and then when they weren't getting answers quickly enough they did other things too." He stiffened in discomfort. "You know that family, not so terrible but there are a few bad eggs." He gave a bitter, mocking grin at this. "And a lot of influence from that witch queen stepmother, Saraphine. She likes the fire."
Puck spied the pain in Coyote's eyes before he vanquished it. "There's more you're not telling me, isn't there?"
"Lots," Coyote answered with a false brightness to his voice, "but that's what you get for abandoning your family."
