Siren Song

Chapter 7: Home

"I like it here." – The Banshee, in "The Hound of Ulster."

"Molly, could I speak to you for a minute?"

Both Molly and Owen glanced up. They had been sitting in Owen's office, absorbed in their work, occasionally tossing some ideas around, but mostly just quietly perusing the latest test results for the "Restoration Project," and taking notes. Although she hadn't shown it, inwardly, she was slightly amused. Over their previous centuries together, there had been many different ways in which they'd passed the time, most of them fairly exciting, or at least amusing.

And of course, there had always been those times in which they had been …

No. She wasn't going to think about that.

In any case, she would never have pictured the two of them like this, acting like mundane mortals, preoccupied with being dutiful, droning employees. And yet somehow it wasn't tedious. She had just looked up at him, catching sight of a small smile which she couldn't help but return, knowing his thoughts mirrored her own, when Xanatos' voice intruded on them.

Suppressing a frown, she turned to him with what she hoped was an appropriately guileless expression.

"Yes, of course. What can I do for you?"

He cleared his throat. He wasn't good at apologies; the simple fact was he didn't do them very often. "I just wanted to let you know … I'm sorry if we made you feel … unwelcome last night."

"It's fine," Molly said quickly, averting her gaze. "I understand. You don't know me, and it's your son. You're protective. It's only natural."

"It's just, you have to understand, the last time one of your people was hovering like that over our son's crib, it was Oberon, and he was trying to take him away from us."

She flinched slightly, and he realized too late that mentioning Oberon had been a bad move. "Really, it's okay, I get it," she said. Then she added, more softly, surprising herself somewhat: "Thank you." When had she started to care what these mortals thought of her? But she didn't, she reminder herself. Not really.

Xanatos smiled. "You're welcome. So, how's the project coming along?"

"It's been slow going so far …" Molly began.

"But we are making significant progress," Owen finished for her.

"Good, well, keep me apprised." He turned to leave, and then paused at the doorway. "By the way, you two will be attending the Christmas Party we're having in a few days, right?"

The two fay exchanged glances. "I had forgotten about that," Owen said.

"I had forgotten about Christmas," Molly added, shrugging. "Remember when it just used to be Winter Solstice?" She was addressing Owen now.

"Hmm." Owen smiled at her in a way Xanatos could only describe at conspiratorial. "More interesting back then, certainly."

"Excuse me," Xanatos interjected, and they both turned back to him, somewhat apologetically. "You will be coming then, I assume?"

Molly hesitated. "Will your gargoyle friends be there?"

"I've extended them an invitation. Some or all of them may make an appearance, though I suspect if they do, it will be brief. I doubt they'll react to you unless you confront them."

"I have no plans for doing that," Molly muttered.

"Good, then it's settled. I'll see you both there. For now, I'll let you back to work."

"Thank you, sir." Owen said. Xanatos knew he wasn't really expressing gratitude for the invitation, but for what he'd just said to Molly. He nodded in acknowledgment and left the room.

He thought, not for the first time, about the subtle and not-so-subtle differences in Owen's behavior when he was around Molly. There had been times, after he'd revealed himself, when Xanatos he had thought he caught flashes of the wild, mischievous being beneath the stoic façade, but those instances had been few and far between.

Now that Molly – Banshee – was here, those times had become more frequent, and more pronounced. He supposed that wasn't a problem, as long as it didn't interfere with Owen's work. But still he worried, and not just about his family. He had to admit to himself that this man wasn't just his employee; he was his friend.

"If she hurts him, I'll find a way to make her suffer," he muttered.

"Here." Molly handed him a drink, and he accepted it rather gratefully, taking a swig and letting the alcohol burn his throat. She was already nursing a second one herself – or was it her third? Not that he could blame her, she supposed. It had been a rather long night.

Surprisingly, the gargoyles were making an extended appearance, along with Detective Elisa Maza. Owen could only be grateful they'd decided to leave Bronx with Hudson, up on the castle parapets. I really should have just turned him into a chihuahua and kept him that way.

They had both been keeping a low profile, occasionally conversing with each other, but mostly just observing the rather muted festivities. Owen knew Xanatos had organized this little gathering in an effort to try and ease the remaining tensions between them and the Manhattan Clan. The atmosphere wasn't exactly joyful, but at least there wasn't the sense that blood could be spilled at any moment. He supposed that was progress.

Occasionally, Goliath would glance over in their direction and scowl. Owen would return the favor, and Molly would either look resolutely at the floor or give him a carefully blank expression. The trio threw similar looks their way, while Detective Maza seemed to be too busy talking with all of them to spare a glance in their direction. And then there was Angela, who also kept glancing over at them, but she looked more curious than angry. In fact, he was starting to get worried she might come over here …

As if that were a cue, the young female gargoyle suddenly made a beeline for Molly. Instinctively, he moved to stand between them, but Molly put a hand on his arm, muttering that she could take care of herself, thank you, and he fell back as they came face to face. What little conversation there was in the room died down to nearly nothing.

"May I speak with you for a moment? Privately?" All things considered, Angela's tone was surprisingly mild. Still, he didn't like it. "Don't worry," she added, turning to him. "I'm not going to hurt her."

Were his thoughts so easy to read on his face? He said nothing, but merely nodded, quickly schooling his features into what he hoped was a more neutral expression. Still, his eyes followed them as they left, to talk outside on one of the balconies.

Molly just stood there for a moment, watching the snow fall. "This is still so different to me," Angela said. "It was always summer in Avalon."

"Yes," Molly said, and there was a sadness in her voice that Angela couldn't fathom. "Yes, it was. But it would snow, if he wished it."

Angela didn't have to ask to whom she was referring. For a moment, they were both silent.

"What do you want?" Molly asked. She was not looking at her, but staring out into the night. The thought struck Angela that in this form, she looked rather small, even vulnerable. Of course, she had learned appearances could be deceiving.

"An apology would be nice."

Molly gave a derisive snort. "What is there to say? I was mistaken as to your intentions. I was cruel. I was desperate. I played my part."

"What do you mean? What part?"

Molly turned to her, smiling bitterly. "Why, the part of the villain of course. Where would the hero be without a nemesis to vanquish?"

"You're saying that's why you did it all? Why you threatened Ireland all those years ago, why you tried to hurt us, why you tried to stop Cu Chullain again? So a hero could rise to meet his true potential?"

Molly shrugged.

"I don't believe that. There's more to it."

"What makes you think you're so wise, child?"

"I'm not a child."

"You are to me." She leaned out over the balcony, letting the wind whip her hair. She was getting cold, but she didn't care.

"What is it you want to know? Why do my reasons matter to you?"

"I want to understand. And I'd … I'd like to believe that people are capable of change." People like my mother.

Molly gave her a perceptive, sidelong glance, causing Angela to wonder how much she knew about Demona, if she knew of her at all.

"Well, if it's really that important to you, I'll give you the short version: I came to Ireland long ago, before Oberon banished us all from Avalon for a thousand years. I liked it there. I liked the people, I liked the land. It was familiar enough to remind me of Avalon when I was away, and different enough to hold my interest. But then the people began to fear me."

"Why?"

"Because I could sense death. Some of the mortals, I had grown fond of, watching them, watching their lives, and so I would … cry out, in grief, when they were about to die. Which was a mistake, as it turned out. For, rather than realizing that I merely sensed death, mortals began to conclude that I was the cause of death. One day, some of those mortals caught me. They bound me to a tree with iron. They sealed…"

She paused. She swallowed, closing her eyes, and pressed a hand to her mouth. It was a moment before she could continue. "They sealed an iron plate on my mouth." She shuddered. "Then they left me there. It was horrible. I don't know how long I stayed like that. It seemed liked centuries."

Angela's voice was low. "How did you get free?"

"Eventually, the metal corroded and fell away. I was able to move again, to breathe again, at last. But I was driven mad with pain, with rage…"

"And that's why you threatened the island. You wanted revenge."

"Yes," she admitted.

"But Cu Cullhain defeated you."

She smiled, almost fondly. "Indeed. Though I rather think I put up a valiant struggle. And to his credit, he didn't use iron to fight me. I returned to Avalon after that. But then the banishment decree came."

"And you went back to Ireland," Angela concluded. But Molly shook her head.

"Not right away. I spent some time traveling with … I spent some time traveling. But yes, eventually I returned there. Then I realized that little mortal Rory Dugan was the reincarnation of Cu Cullhain, and I feared the cycle would begin all over again. He would fight me and drive me from Ireland. And I wished to stay, because it had become home. So I took this mortal guise and tried to keep him from learning who he really was. And then you came, and I was so sure Oberon had sent you … everything felt like it was falling apart … I just … well, what else is there to say?" Again, she shrugged. "I lost Ireland, and then I lost Avalon. And now I am … here."

Angela was silent for a moment. "It's a sad story," she conceded softly. "I just don't know if I should believe it."

Molly heaved a sigh. "Then don't believe it. Or do. I don't care. You asked, and I answered truthfully." She felt drained from their conversation, from the memories it brought back, and the cold was starting to get to her. She rested her head in her hands. She felt tired. "Was there anything else?"

"No." Angela said. And then: "See, I told you I wouldn't hurt her. I just wanted to talk. I wanted to get her side of things."

Molly looked up to see who she was addressing, and saw Owen standing behind them. "I told you I can take care of myself," she snapped.

He said nothing, just looked at her with those eyes that always seemed bright and clear and impossibly blue, revealing his irrepressible and immortal nature to her no matter what he made himself look like. She would know him no matter what his form.

"I'm … going back inside," Angela said, her eyes darting between the two of them. Owen nodded, though his gaze remained fixed on Molly.

When Angela was gone, she turned away from him, looking out into the night. "How long were you standing there?" She spoke softly, trusting the wind to carry her words back to him.

"Long enough. I can't believe you told her that story. The real story."

Molly let out a bitter laugh. "Oh please. She doesn't even believe it's the truth."

He moved until he was standing behind her. "She wants to believe."

"I don't care anyway."

"Why must you always pretend you don't care what mortals think of you? It is not such a terrible thing to value their opinions. Though I suppose it does depend on the mortals in question." When she was silent, he continued. "Come back inside."

She shook her head. "Not just yet."

"It's cold out here, little siren."

"Don't call me that. Besides, it's not that cold."

"You're shivering." He wrapped his arms around her from behind. She sighed, leaning back into his embrace.

"Impertinent," she muttered half-heartedly.

"Stubborn," he countered. "You should come back inside where it's warm."

"Not yet, not yet."

"Sing something, then." He sounded almost pleading. "Sing something to keep off the cold."

So she sang, softly and sweetly. Only for a little while, but it was enough, and they felt warmer.

She turned in his arms, leaning her head against his chest. "I wish you had your flute, Puck."

"So do I."

They stayed like that for a while, until they heard footsteps approaching.

"Hey, you two. I was wondering where you are." Fox said. They looked up to see her standing there, smiling slightly, and they gently let go of each other.

Owen cleared his throat. "I suppose we should return to the party."

Fox shook her head. "Oh, the party's over. Everyone's gone home. We were actually beginning to worry, but before she left, Angela mentioned you guys were still out on the balcony as far as she knew."

"Sorry," Molly said.

"Oh, it's no big deal. It's not like this little get-together was a huge success anyway."

"Not precisely a failure, either," Owen remarked. Fox shrugged.

"Eh, it's a wash, I guess. Come back inside. Molly, Alex is being fussy." She laughed softly. "Must be the holiday spirit or something, getting into him. Maybe you could sing him to sleep, like you did before?"

"I … are you sure?"

"If you don't mind."

"No, of course not."

They followed her inside, and then Molly went with Fox to the nursery. Xanatos was standing in a corner, a drink in his hand. Looking at Owen, he raised his glass.

"To … Winter Solstice."

Owen's lips twitched. "Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, my friend." Owen paused then. He titled his head at Xanatos, looking at him in a curious, almost Puck-like way. Then he merely smiled, and left the room.

Far beneath them, a young man was standing on the street. His hair was black and long, drawn back into a ponytail. His skin was dark brown. Only a discerning observer would also notice that his features were distinctively elvish.

As it was, the few people who had been out on this cold night carefully avoided him, because he appeared to be conversing with thin air. They could not see what he saw: a stately woman dressed in black, with skin that seemed whiter that the snow around her, and a voice that sounded like stone.

"They are here then, Raven?" She asked him. "The ones my son banished?"

He nodded. "Yes, my queen."

"They took no note of you."

He nodded again. "Your spells shielded me. I wasn't visible to anyone, not even them."

"And the child?"

"He is here as well."

She smiled, revealing an even row of sharp, pointed teeth. "Good, very good. We will move soon. You have done well, Raven. When this is all over, you will be rewarded. When I am restored to my rightful place, you will have whatever you want, in the mortal realm or out of it. With the child in my possession, it will not take long to overthrow my son."

He nodded again. It was really all he could do at this point. "Yes, Queen Mab. I understand."

*Author's Note 1: The events in this chapter (and the next one) are based, in part, on two things apparently revealed by series creator Greg Weisman: that Raven was going to kidnap Alexander at some point, and that Mab, Oberon's mother and predecessor as ruler of the Third Race, would eventually escape from wherever she'd been imprisoned after he defeated her. I decided to take those two ideas and tie them together into one plot.

**Author's Note 2: Some of you may feel I shouldn't try to "soften" the Banshee too much by giving her the more sympathetic back story presented here, and that's fair enough. However, keep in mind some of her story (getting attached to mortals and wailing when they are about to die) is part of the actual myth involving banshees. And I wanted to give her a more complex motivation than "Eh, I just like to screw with mortals and be evil," because I think it makes her more interesting.