Chapter 9: Witchcraft and Trickery

The past few weeks had been quiet, and Tony hadn't needed to make a single appearance as Iron Man, although he had made sure to take the Mark V out for a few test runs. He preferred to do this in the evenings, not only because the city lights shone gorgeously in the dark, but because he liked to show off a bit for his mystery guest. The inventor knew how impressive it looked when the armor slithered upwards to coat his body, as though the metal had a life of its own.

Pepper had finally started picking up his calls again; and although still a little distant and annoyed, she was steadily thawing. She wanted him to review applications and conduct the final interviews for a personal assistant. He had forgotten all about it, and asked if he could delay the task until after the Expo. That had not gone over particularly well. "Tony, you can't just put this off. Some of these candidates are highly qualified. They're anxious to become part of the team and start learning the job," she had scolded.

"Please, Pep. Just give me a week—week-and-a-half, tops. I still have tons to do to prepare for the Expo," he had wheedled, knowing that he would have to give in if she pressed, because he wanted so badly to make things right between them.

Luckily, Pepper had had enough on her plate without worrying about the vacant position, and had eventually caved to his pleas…although she had refused his dinner invitation, remarking sweetly that she couldn't possibly, now that she knew how busy he was. Hanging up the phone, he had sighed tiredly and wondered when conversations with Pepper had devolved into litanies of excuses. These days, their encounters all either seemed to end in him being totally routed, or Pyrrhic victories.

Tony had blamed the Expo for keeping him too busy to bother with interviewing prospective employees, which wasn't the real reason, of course; but it was the one he could admit. The truth was that he spent an indecent amount of time preparing to launch a full-scale assault against his invisible opponent. For the past three nights, he had pretended to go to bed early to throw her off his scent. After a little time passed, he would slip back down to the lab to work on installing his new equipment.

He had always slightly held himself in check, unable to shake the fear that he would offend her and either drive her off, or provoke her anger. But she hadn't left yet, not even after he had tried to drug and paralyze her. She had instead rewarded him. To Tony, that was as good as giving him carte blanche. Besides, he didn't think that anyone truly evil could have made a creature as amazing as his little Spock.

He had examined her infrared-highlighted body in great detail, pleased to have proof that his instincts had been spot-on. Not only did his visitor have a human shape, but a female one. She was on the small side, lightweight and slender. Intrigued by this veiled glimpse, he had redoubled his efforts to unmask her.

To the inventor's great delight, Rhodey had managed to procure a large quantity of KO-357, a military-grade knock-out gas. His price had been Tony's permission to let him stop by in a few days and try on the Mark-II. The colonel had been perplexed by how desperately the engineer had wanted the aerosol, because he had agreed without hesitation.

Rhodey had never really expected his friend to go along with his request—well, at least not sober, because it would require quite a leap of faith on Tony's part. He had no assurance that Rhodey wouldn't simply fly back to the air force base with his suit. The easy acceptance on the inventor's part was almost enough to rouse Rhodey's curiosity; but he had long since learned that when it came to Tony and his wild schemes, it was generally better not to ask.

The engineer spent long nights tearing up the floor in his lab and installing vibration-sensing floor tiles with pressure and electric field sensors. Not wanting to leave any possibility unexplored, he also added ultra-wideband radar, Doppler-shift sensors, and tomographic sensors around the perimeter of the lab. In a scientific frenzy, he set up laser scanners and range-finders, ultrasound motion sensors, humidity sensors, and chemosensors. He even added thermal imagers, although he didn't have much hope for success from that quarter, since the passive infrared detector had only worked for a moment before failing.

Out of fear that her strangely reactive magic would cause them all to fail at once, he bided his time, setting everything up meticulously, and wearing himself out in the process. He plotted to try a different scanner each day, in case they all proved ineffective against her after the first exposure. Finally, at four in the morning, Plan D (or, as Tony preferred to call it, Plan: 'Poisoning the Waterhole') was finally ready for field testing. Dragging himself off to bed, he wondered whether tomorrow would be the day that realized his hopes.


It wasn't. He had to vent the knock-out gas before entering the lab, and Spock didn't seem to understand the delay, trying and failing several times to lead Tony downstairs. The little dog would coaxingly walk a little ahead of him, turning and pouting whenever the inventor stopped following him. The pup adored the lab. It was an exciting place, and harbored many interesting sounds and scents.

Jarvis had reported that the sonar had detected a foreign presence in his basement, but that it had vanished almost as soon as it had appeared. Intrigued, Tony fought down his impatience to examine the results. After waiting an agonizing hour, he finally burst down the stairs, spotting evidence of her visit immediately. The coffee cups hadn't made it onto his work table, but lay in the middle of the floor with their contents spreading around them in a cooling puddle.

Because he had no real reason not to, Tony reached out blindly, hoping that his fingers would make contact with an invisible body. Bent over and swinging his arms ridiculously, he searched a wide area of the lab, but never felt anything but air. In perplexity, he approached one of his monitors to try to make sense of the situation. The sonar readout from an hour ago showed the imprecise image of a vertical blob for barely a second. This blob had almost instantly become horizontal, lying in the middle of the room for another moment, before simply vanishing. Stark leaned back, letting out a low whistle. The gas had done its job. She had collapsed. So how in the nine hells had she managed to teleport while unconscious? He was beginning to feel a bit like Wile E. Coyote.

That evening, he found a note on his whiteboard. "You're not the only one that learns from your mistakes," her message proclaimed impudently.


An extremely disgruntled Laurel regained consciousness that morning in the middle of her hotel room floor. Hauling herself to her feet, she glanced at the alarm clock and registered that the time was three hours later than it should be. The last thing she recalled was apparating into Tony's lab….Oh.

After he had tried to sedate her with the cookies, the witch had realized that incapacitating her for a short time would be his best bet for figuring out what she was. She had suspected that it was only a matter of time before he tried sleeping gas. Preparing for that eventuality, she had turned her signet ring into a Portkey designed to be triggered by an involuntary loss of consciousness. It had taken a little work, but she had managed to prevent it from reading ordinary sleep as a false positive. Laurel had set her hotel room as its current destination.

Wincing, she regretted not being more precise when it came to the landing. It would have been nice to end up on the bed rather than the floor. She felt a little irritated at Stark over her impromptu nap, but mostly amused.

For a moment, she felt tempted to play a prank on him as punishment for making her spend the majority of the morning face-down in her own drool and a carpet of questionable cleanliness. It occurred to her that turning his Iron Man suits pink for a few hours would be a suitable revenge, but she quickly nixed that idea, not wanting to abuse her power. He was a man that took tremendous pride in his own creations, and Laurel would not tamper with them. His robots and suits were off-limits. If a time came when one of his suits sustained damage, she knew she'd be tempted to mend it with a Reparo, but wouldn't dare, because it would be disrespectful, as if she was trivializing his achievements. Besides, if he didn't get to explore how his technology had failed, how would he improve?

She didn't return until that night, after cautiously applying a Bubble-Head Charm. Seeing Tony cheerily explaining something about power grids to an attentive Spock, she decided that the air was safe, and dropped the spell. She settled into her customary corner, putting off reading her rather dry book about magical protection charms. Instead, she toyed with the idea of winding up Tony with a conjured spider.

Almost immediately, the song that had been playing softly in the background changed, and a new one exploded out of the speakers in a gorgeous introductory guitar solo. Laurel froze at the words, and the wide, wicked grin that Tony sported. Apparently, the song was titled "Black Magic Woman." His eyes luckily roved past her, but were focused in her vicinity. A thrill traveled up her spine, and she wasn't sure whether it was fear or anticipation. He knew she was here. Moreover, he had somehow discovered that she was a woman.

Tony's sensors had shown that the carbon dioxide was significantly higher than normal on the far side of the room. It was definitely his visitor, but just because he was aware of her presence didn't mean that he had the wherewithal to catch her. Tony felt like a wolf pacing impotently at the base of the tree that housed his quarry. He knew that he couldn't approach or she would disappear. It was an interesting dilemma. If conscious, she could teleport. If she lost consciousness, she could also teleport. In that moment, he knew that he wouldn't catch her using technology. He would have to resort to older methods, but there was nothing wrong with taunting her in the meantime.

Laurel never did concentrate on her book. She was far too busy nervously awaiting his next move. He knew she was there, so why didn't he do anything about it? Eventually, she realized that he didn't seem to have any immediate plans to capture her. Relaxing slightly over the next few days, she started to see the humor in the way he chose to welcome her. Whenever he sensed her presence, he had Jarvis fire up his 'magic' playlist. Every evening when she dropped in, Laurel was greeted by her own entrance music, whether it was "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic," "Witchy Woman," "Strange Magic," "Oh Oh Oh, It's Magic," or another of his myriad choices. Stark never seemed to run out of titles. Spock usually sang along, throwing his head back and howling soulfully, which made the whole thing much funnier.

Tony always looked enormously entertained whenever one of his new sensors detected her and prompted Jarvis to cue one of the theme songs. Laurel adored seeing a look of pleasure on his face, because all too often, he seemed rather sad. She had begun to sense that something was badly wrong with him. He didn't look like he ever managed much sleep, exhibiting dark shadows under his haunted eyes. He seemed to be consuming even more of his energy drink, sometimes even forgoing coffee in its favor. She wondered whether he might be ill, but quickly discounted the theory. He still exercised and didn't seem to be losing any weight.

Save the past few nights, he had been retiring upstairs before it grew terribly late, although he had never appeared rested the following morning. She didn't realize that he had been returning downstairs to work on his traps during the nights in question. But he had since reverted to his usual behavior, occasionally remaining in the lab until three or four in the morning, and sometimes later. She supposed that he had nightmares. If he had been tortured, it was only natural. She even had them on occasion, although not nearly as many since she had become adept at Occlumency.

One night, when Laurel glanced up from her book, she discovered that he had passed out from exhaustion, his upper body sprawled all over his work table. He had face-planted on a pile of circuits, and she winced at the thought of the soreness he would be feeling when he rose in a few hours.

Instantly deciding that this was an unacceptable state of affairs, she cast a room-wide Silencing Charm to keep Jarvis and Spock from interfering and rousing the unconscious inventor. With her magic under careful control, Laurel levitated the engineer over to the extra-long leather couch at the far end of the room. She rarely sat on it when she visited the lab, because it was too far away from the scene of the action.

The witch quickly settled him, conjuring a pillow and maneuvering his body so that he landed horizontally, with the back of his dark head pressed against the cushion. Eying him critically, Laurel decided that it couldn't be comfortable for him to sleep in his jeans, and so she conjured pajamas, lightweight and sinfully soft, and performed a quick Switching Spell. She used cleaning and folding charms on his clothes and left them in a neat pile on the coffee table.

Still hovering, but not daring to get too close, the witch let her gaze settle on his face. His skin appeared almost gray under his tan, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes seemed slightly more pronounced. His spirit was so dynamic that these little signs of mortality were almost unnoticeable when he was awake; however, they revealed themselves when his face was slack in sleep, and she found them infinitely disturbing. They served as more evidence that time was flowing swiftly around her, while she was rooted in the middle of the stream-a frozen, helpless spectator. She cringed at the thought of leaving him behind. He was already no longer a young man; and he burned so brightly. He would wear himself out.

His aging seemed unnatural to her. Tony was a force of nature, too spirited and vital to decline or…die. In some ways, he struck her as the most mortal person she had ever met, so full of passion and vitality. But he was also timeless. Tony Stark was necessary. Nothing in this world gleamed as brilliantly or held such potential. Frowning, Laurel suddenly recalled a famous quote. "Graveyards are full of indispensable men." She shuddered, and tried her best to put it out of her mind.

He still needed covers, and before she quite realized what she was doing, she had summoned her own blanket from her bottomless bag and gently draped it over his form. She could have conjured a coverlet, but that wouldn't have been nearly as fitting…or fulfilling. She had found this particular magical article in the Black vault, and had immediately taken it home with her. It had been incredibly valuable even among wizards, but would be unique and absolutely priceless in this new magicless world.

A master enchanter had woven it of the softest acromantula silk, light and warm and wondrously magical; and stitched unicorn hair into runes around the edges for health, comfort, and sweet dreams. The large, lush coverlet appeared to be made of silver water etched with mother-of-pearl lettering. It had been spun for wizards, so its magic should be especially efficacious on a muggle. It had all the usual spells, and many extras, including Self-Repairing, Self-Cleaning, Stain-Repelling, and Fire-Proof Charms (which would be a necessity if it remained in the lab). Even though it was a precious object, parting with it to Tony gave her no pain.

Stark gave a soft sigh in his sleep, and she could see some of the tension bleed out of his face and shoulders. The exhausted inventor seemed to melt into the sofa, and Laurel mentally berated herself for not taking better care of him. He was running himself into the ground in his obsessive efforts to catch her. She had begun to feel very proprietary towards the eccentric engineer. She didn't know whether it was her 'saving people thing' rearing its head again or something else. But with absolute conviction, she felt that he was hers to care for, hers to protect. The witch had long passed the point where she was simply watching him, and was now watching over him.

Spock had been standing stiff-legged on his stool, surveying the proceedings with a wary eye. Summoning the little creature, she placed it on the couch at Tony's feet, but it was having none of that, and immediately clambered over his body, making Laurel wince lest it should wake him. Spock perched on the arm of the sofa, after walking in a circle a few times and finally settling down. With its shrewd, gem-bright gaze, the dog stared towards her invisible form with impressive precision.

She hadn't noticed its eyes before, because she had been in a bit of hurry when she'd transfigured it, and hadn't dared get close since. But they were the exact color of her own irises. Tilting her head in thought, Laurel wondered just how many traces of her magic had remained in this creature. She hadn't really been expecting its fur to be green either, although such a thing wasn't unheard of. Seeing that there was nothing left for her to do, she cast one last, lingering look at the adorable pair and reluctantly disapparated.


Tony woke to the bracing smell of coffee after the best sleep he'd had since he could remember. No dreams had troubled him, and he felt deliciously comfortable. It took him a few moments to get his bearings; and he felt shocked when he realized that he was on the couch in his lab. He had slept on it several times before….Or to be accurate, he had stumbled over and collapsed on it from exhaustion, before rising from a power nap and continuing whatever project he had been working on. But he had never felt like this after waking up on it before. His sofa wasn't exactly an unpleasant place to sleep, but he had never risen afterwards feeling like he had just spent the night in a five-star hotel either. He usually bolted out of bed, but felt inclined to linger on the couch this morning, savoring the refreshed, pampered, cherished feelings….Cherished? Where had that thought come from?

Rolling into a sitting position, he pondered how he had managed to get over to the couch. He didn't remember deciding to go to sleep. Spock glanced up at him groggily from his aerie on the back of the sofa, which he had inexplicably decided to scale in the night, and slowly wagged his tails. Tony eyed the dog in bemusement, running a careful hand along its soft back.

Now all he had to do was change out of his pajamas and get to work. Slowly, his mind started to catch up to his observations, and the inventor let out an exclamation of surprise. He didn't wear pajamas. He didn't even own any.

"Jarvis!" he called hoarsely. "What happened to me last night?"

His AI dutifully narrated the events of the night before, playing the footage in question on the large television screen on the wall. Gaping as he saw himself float through the air, the engineer puzzled over these strange circumstances. Reaching out, he lifted his neatly folded shirt and noticed that the metallic dust that had saturated it had vanished. Gingerly, he held the fabric to his nose and inhaled. Then he breathed it in again, relishing the cool, crisp cleanliness of it.

Placing it back down on top of his jeans, he examined the pillow with clever fingers, and eventually decided that there was nothing unusual about it, save its origin. At long last, his gaze fell on the blanket, and he let out a soft gasp of awe. It practically thrummed with spells and sorcery. The fabric flowed through his fingers, and he traced the delicate runes reverently. "It's so beautiful," he murmured. "Jarvis, what language is this? Can you translate it?"

"The runes appear to be Elder Futhark, sir, a Germanic alphabet that dates from the second century A.D. I will run them through my databases," Jarvis asserted placidly.

In a few minutes, the AI faithfully delivered his report, telling an increasingly wonder-struck Tony that they appeared to be blessings (or more likely spells) for comfort, peace, protection, and good health. The engineer wondered if the blanket was a gift or whether she would reclaim it. Part of him longed to understand the strangely strong and temperature-regulating material, but he didn't dare deconstruct it. As a master craftsman himself, he knew that he was looking at an intricate piece of art.

In his uncertainty, he left it neatly folded on one end of the couch. But when it remained where he had left it the following morning, he accepted the fact that it was a gift—after Spock, the best gift he had ever received. From then on, he never went to sleep without it, and his rest was peaceful. The only time he had a nightmare in the following days, he realized that he had inadvertently kicked off the blanket in the night. Even his health seemed to take a slight upswing.

The remaining days before the Stark Expo were filled with modifications to his suits. His equipment detected and lost Laurel each night, and he realized that he was running out of gadgets. Ruefully, he admitted to himself that he was effectively inoculating her against tracking technology with each new thing he tried. A device might detect her once; but that was almost a guarantee that it would never find her again.

The knowledge that she was so close, but that he couldn't see or hear her taunted him relentlessly. He spoke to her all the time, and sometimes she surprised him with a spontaneous display of magic. Occasionally she would levitate a tool over to him, and once she created a hovering orb of light to help him see.

Tony still looked exhausted, which irked Laurel, because the blanket would ensure sweet sleep if he would actually go to bed. He was an insomniac, and she had observed him long enough to know the difference between a manic flow of genius that ought not to be interrupted and the random tinkering that he busied himself with, attempting to stave off the inevitable moment when he had to rest. She wondered why he seemed so averse to sleep, not understanding that he wanted to be as productive as possible in the short time he had remaining.

Some nights, once it hit about four in the morning and she could see no sign of him stopping, she would hit him with a mild Sleeping Charm before levitating him over to the couch, switching him into pajamas, and tucking him in. She knew that he was aware of what she was doing, but never complained or mentioned it the next day. Laurel never reclaimed her blanket. She felt that if she could make his life better, even in a small way, that the opportunity ought to be seized and celebrated.

Laurel had transfigured the puppy on a whim, but it had proven one of her better ideas. The clever little animal could draw a smile out of Stark when nothing else seemed to work, and it made something in her chest tighten every time she saw him happy.

One night, as the inventor altered the headset display in one of his suits, he related conversationally, "Spock's a great dog…er, crup. Did you know that I have to tell him to 'play dumb' when he's around people? That's one of his actual commands.

"Most nights before we go to bed, I read him a story on my pad about dogs that did great deeds. You know…to set a good example for him. I tried some easy stuff at first, like Clifford the Big Read Dog and The Poky Little Puppy, but he was bored out of his skull. So we've moved on to The Call of the Wild, The Adventures of TinTin, and The Hound of the Baskervilles. I had to censor the ending for him in that one, so ix-nay on the dog getting illed-kay….Last night we read a short story about the village cur that saved Jim Corbett from getting killed by a man-eating leopard. Spacely Sprocket here really liked that one. It was suspenseful."

In her corner, out of sight, Laurel grinned in amused affection.

"Some days he gets bored, and I'll put in a movie for him," Tony continued, never taking his eyes off the tiny screw he was tightening. "He really likes Disney movies, Lassie, and that dog from The Thin Man. Once I played Cujo just to mix it up a little, but I think he might have been a bit young for it. It got him a little keyed up, and he kept following me into the bathroom….Guess dog serial killers aren't really his cup of tea."

The witch had begun to grow complacent, absorbing his words and offering none of her own, when he startled her by suddenly looking up, tossing down his screwdriver and addressing her brightly. "Hey, let's play a game. It must grow rather dull for you to listen to my babbling all the time. So how about for every question of mine that you answer, I'll answer one for you?" Tony proposed cavalierly, hardly thinking she would respond.

He nearly fell off his metal stool when words instantly appeared on his large whiteboard. "Very well. You go first," was the ready answer.

"Wow. Er…I wasn't really expecting a response. But this is too fantastic," he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together.

"I'll start with the easy stuff," he said slyly. "What's your name?"

"I should have known you wouldn't be able to resist the dangerous questions. And you should have known I wouldn't answer. Try another," Laurel retorted, wondering if he would ask for her social security number next.

Undeterred by her rebuttal, he immediately moved on to his next query. "What are you? Are you human?" he asked curiously.

No words appeared for several moments, but when they finally did, Tony nearly choked. "I was born human. But I do not know what I am now….I think I may have accidentally made myself immortal," Laurel answered.

Bursting with questions, Tony impatiently waited to see what she would ask. "Why haven't you told anyone about me…or tried to get me to leave?" she inquired.

Tony hadn't expected soul-searching questions. He had been interviewed hundreds of times over the years, and besides his sex life, people had only wanted to know about the things he had made, not what he felt or thought (well, unless they were trying to coax him into proposing marriage or issuing inflammatory political statements). He had assumed she would ask about the arc reactor or his suits. "You know why," he answered at last, in a low voice.

"Tell me," she urged.

"I'm not sure what you want to hear. That I'm stubborn? Reckless? Too curious? …You must know that you're every scientist's wet dream," he deflected.

Laurel winced at his final words. She wasn't sure what she had wanted him to say, but it hadn't been that. Although, what had she been expecting—that he wanted her to stick around because of her scintillating personality? Stark was only intrigued by her magic of course, and she was an utter fool for hoping otherwise. It was always about her magic. Power was all she had ever had to offer.

Unable to see the series of emotions passing over her face, Tony endeavored to lighten the conversation, and asked mischievously, "So, do you watch me while I'm in the bathroom?"

"I'm a stalker, not a voyeur," she snapped back, the haughty tone of her writing making him grin.

"That wasn't a 'no'," he smirked wickedly.

"NO!" the words nearly took up the whole board.

"'Methinks the lady doth protest too much'," he teased, before asking leadingly, "So…can you do anything?"

There was a pause, and then the words appeared, "Ferreting out my weaknesses, Mr. Stark, or do you have something specific in mind that you'd like to see?"

"Oh, I think we're far beyond this 'Mr. Stark' business. All my other imaginary friends call me Tony," he replied airily.

With a glimmer of excitement in his astute brown eyes, the inventor added, "And I didn't know that demonstrations were in the cards."

"We'll have to go elsewhere. That much magic would prove extremely harmful to your electronics," she told him.

Thinking for a few moments, he suggested finally, "How about the roof? …Although we'd be awfully exposed up there."

"I can protect us from prying eyes," the words flew onto the board, barely legible. "I will meet you on the roof…if you will promise not to record what happens up there."

Chagrined, he dropped the thermographic camera and spectroscope he had been piling into his arms. Reluctantly, he allowed Spock to follow him, although it made him nervous to have the little guy so high up. After climbing through the service door and maneuvering around the solar panels, he finally made it outside to the vast, flat expanse of tiles that was directly above his living room. Spotting glittering ruby words hanging in the air like stationary fireworks, he came to a halt. "Any requests?" they read, teasing him with limitless possibilities.

Suddenly, Tony felt anxious. He wished he had spent a little more time asking her about herself before jumping straight into the magic. He still knew almost nothing about her…and how on earth does one 'accidentally' make oneself immortal?

"I have to ask—and don't get offended—but you're not one of those bad fairies, are you?" the billionaire asked rather nervously. "You know, the kind that gets amusement out of twisting people's wishes around on them? For instance, if I asked you to show me how it feels to be invisible, you wouldn't turn me into a poor hobo, would you?"

Laurel nearly laughed aloud. "Well, I wouldn't now. It would hardly be any fun, now that you're onto me," she replied sardonically.

Their original game of an answer for an answer had been long forgotten, which Laurel didn't exactly mind. She knew that she had an unfair advantage after observing him for so long, even in his unguarded moments. He was also such a public figure that she could find out most facts she wanted to know just by reading up on him online. His educational history, romantic conquests, scandals, friendships and greatest technological achievements were splattered all over the internet. It would be easy for people to presume they knew Tony because so much of him had been bared to their scrutiny.

Laurel didn't like that so much information about him was floating around. Knowledge was power, and that much personal data allowed one's enemies to pick and choose their weapons. It was vulnerability, an emotional hemorrhage. Laurel was a great believer in strength through secrecy…although she sheepishly admitted that she was in the process of blowing that philosophy out of the water this very moment.

Smiling at her retort, Tony began firing off questions, "This magic that you use—is it like the Force in Star Wars? Are you born with it? Did you have to study it?"

Basking in his enthusiastic attention, the witch confessed, "I was born with it, but needed training to reach my full potential…and it is a bit like the Force."

"Can you do the Jedi mind trick? Or choke people like Darth Vader?" he burst out inquisitively.

"I've never tried to choke anyone, but surely it can't be that hard," the witch mused, carefully avoiding the first part of his question. She didn't think that even the most open-minded muggle would be okay with Obliviation, Legilimency, and the Imperius Curse.

He noticed that she skirted his query about the Jedi mind trick, and wasn't that telling. "I always meant to look into making a light saber," the inventor remarked, uttering the non sequitur with an endearing quirk of his lips.

Continuing his inquisition, Tony asked, "So, what are your limitations? Are you like the genie in Aladdin?"

"…I'm not familiar with this genie," she returned, a little embarrassed of her ignorance.

"Well, he promised to grant three wishes, but with a caveat. He said he couldn't raise people from the dead, make people fall in love, or kill anyone. Is it similar with you?" he inquired, awaiting her answer with bright, perceptive eyes.

"Oh…" Laurel reflected for a few moments before responding, "No, I can do all those things."

Stark gaped, and an awkward silence fell. It had been so long since Laurel had had a conversation with anyone, especially someone so enthralled by her abilities, that she had begun to censor herself less and less.

Momentarily forgetting that her audience was a muggle to whom this was all extremely unfamiliar, she examined the question academically. The writing continued, "I can reanimate corpses, but they don't have their minds or souls. They're murderous, mindless beings."

"I see….You know, I'm really starting to regret all the times I made fun of those people preparing for a zombie apocalypse," he quipped, shifting a bit uncomfortably.

"Mr. Stark—Tony—I give you my word that there will be no 'zombie apocalypse'. I would never dabble in such filthy magic. There are always better options….But I suppose I haven't completely answered your question. I can also call up the souls of the dead, and they can speak with the living, but don't wish to linger. They're insubstantial shades," she finished.

"Amazing," he whispered.

Just to cover his bases, he half-joked, "You don't have to perform a ritual or sacrifice a virgin or anything?"

Laurel laughed. "No. I call (extremely infrequently) and they come…but that's rather a long story, and one for another time."

Addressing his previous question, she continued, "As far as making people fall in love, there are several love spells and potions. They can't create true love, but mimic it with a powerful infatuation. Most wear off in time, but Amortentia, the most potent love potion, is permanent without an antidote. I hate compulsion magic and love potions are the vilest of the lot…Your virtue is quite safe," she relayed drily.

"And as for killing, well, that genie of yours was a liar," Laurel carried on vehemently. "Few things are as easy as killing—from a magical standpoint, not a moral one, of course. Maybe he meant that he 'wouldn't' rather than 'couldn't', because 'couldn't' makes no sense. He wouldn't have even needed to use the Killing Curse. Honestly, how hard would it be to levitate a little poison into someone's food? Or turn their heart into a sponge? Or transfigure them into a twig and burn it? Or maybe just snap the twig…" Laurel mused, getting lost in thought.

"I think I get the idea," the inventor replied with a slow grin, immensely entertained by her rabbit trail.

Coming back to herself, the young witch wrote quickly, chagrin practically dripping from every word, "I only meant hypothetically, of course…although I shouldn't be talking about these things at all. When I start turning over a question, I forget about little things like decency, and, you know, inducing nausea and freaking people out….I apologize. You probably think I'm some sort of terrible, bloodthirsty creature."

Grinning in bemusement, Tony declared avidly, "Far from it. I'm fascinated, actually. It's refreshing to ask a question and get an uncensored answer...and to meet someone else that talks about inappropriately macabre subjects as often as I do."

She didn't quite know what to make of this reply. Back at Hogwarts, Hermione had found her lack of decorum appalling, even though Laurel hadn't really understood why, since she had only allowed her morbid speculations to run wild when she had been secluded with her friends. It wasn't as though she had gone up to Molly Weasley and asked her whether she thought Voldemort had a venom sac and forked tongue (Laurel had forced herself to sit on that question for years and still didn't know the answer to it.). But Ron and Hermione had informed her that certain forms of curiosity were more than a bit not good. Tony was the first person she had met that seemed to think otherwise.

Tony couldn't see Laurel flush, but appreciated her awkward apology as evidence of her humanity. Apparently even all-powerful witch queens get flustered. Interesting. He noted the long pause before she wrote back. "What would you like to see?" she inquired, changing the subject.

He opened his mouth to reply, when he realized that he didn't exactly know. She could do anything, and so he finally shrugged and dared, "Dazzle me."

Grinning in anticipation, she proceeded to do exactly that. Laurel started small, and conjured a lily. She replicated it until the roof looked like one flowery field. Uncomfortable and unable to see over the flowers, Spock pawed at Tony until the inventor lifted him into his arms, brushing his fingers across a few petals in the process, just to see if they were real. Suddenly, the flowers disappeared and a small green viper took their place. It hovered in the air, alive and hissing, and then it straightened and became a bright, enchanted sword, with emeralds glittering in the hilt. She then turned it into different animals, each larger and more dangerous than the one before.

She had cast all manner of protective spells earlier, and thankfully didn't have to worry about the roof caving in when she turned her hippogriff into a manticore, and then into a dragon. She had inherited her father's prodigious talent in transfiguration, and found the branch of magic eminently suited for presentation.

Her magic had grown so powerful after she had claimed the Elder Wand that spells that gave even the strongest trouble came fairly easily to her. Banishing the dragon (identical to the one she had crafted to earn her transfiguration mastery) with a casual gesture, she cast Flippendo Tria, causing a small tornado to zoom around, awing her audience. After that, she made a wall of water and filled it with fish. Vanishing the fish, she froze the water, and then cast Bombarda, exploding ice everywhere, but turning the shrapnel to harmless, multi-colored bubbles the moment of the blast.

Tony had yet to pick his jaw up off the ground. He reached out hesitantly when her Patronus, a small but dazzlingly bright raven, circled gracefully around him, wrapping him in a cocoon of love and serenity. It alighted on his shoulder for a few golden moments before dissipating. Spock struggled fruitlessly to reach it, wagging furiously. Laurel wanted to do something really impressive. The dragon had been great, but she had one last visual trick still up her sleeve.

Starting with a Lumos Sol, she then passed seamlessly to a Firewhip, which was awe-inspiring enough on its own. But goaded to ever greater heights by Tony's rapt expression, Laurel decided to give him something he would really remember, and so she drew forth Fiendfyre. She no longer feared the wild, unnatural flames because she had learned to control them. The witch kept the blaze surrounded by a transparent shield that prevented the heat from escaping, but let her fire serpent rear its head many stories high, in all its alarming glory.

Delighting in the rage and ferocity of the firestorm, Laurel glanced at Tony to see his reaction. Noticing that Spock was yammering loudly and trying to burrow into the inventor's shirt, she banished the conflagration immediately. The sudden darkness and the quiet whimpering of the dog proved almost shocking, now that the roar of the inferno had died away. Licking his lips, the inventor finally found his words. "That was remarkable. Completely, utterly terrifying, of course, but quite something," he murmured, stroking a trembling Spock.

Casting a quick Cheering Charm at the pup, which quickly regained its equanimity and seemed embarrassed by its earlier panic attack, Laurel made the words float in the air again, only this time they were blue. "Magic is a vast and varied field. There are spells, hexes and curses beyond number, besides potions, protective magic, enchanting, ritual and runic magics. Many things would not make good demonstration material. For instance, I could brew a potion to regrow bones or replenish blood, but it wouldn't make for a very impressive spectator sport," she opined.

"Oh, I doubt that," he breathed. "I'd love to see it."

"You're too curious for your own good," she answered fondly.

"It's one of my greatest faults. That and the fact that I'm excessively smart, rich and attractive—if we're supposed to be striving for the 'golden mean'...But nobody's perfect," Tony sassed, his smirk turning to a yelp as a pair of antlers suddenly sprouted on the top of his head.

Laurel almost immediately vanished them, causing the engineer to huff and retort, "Hey, not cool! Don't get any ideas, Circe. I was born handsome and human and I'd like to remain that way."

"Oh, my apologies! I thought I was still supposed to be demonstrating my skills," she rejoined silkily.

Tony spent the next few seconds pouting at her palpable smugness, before he forgot his indignation at the prospect of getting the answer to a question that had been driving him crazy for weeks. "Okay, spill….the drinks. How did you make them stay hot?" he demanded, and she took this for the peace offering it was and answered to the best of her ability, which came nowhere near to satisfying his exacting scientific curiosity.

"I really don't know what to tell you," Laurel admitted finally. "Magic sometimes breaks the laws of nature. And I wish I could give you a more comprehensive answer, but I haven't had a science class since I was ten-years-old, when I was sent off to study magic exclusively."

"So there are more people that can do the things you can do?" he inquired, voicing a concern that had been bugging him since her note about the crup, where she had mentioned other 'magicals' cutting off the second tail so that the animal could better 'blend in'. Blend in with normal humans?

Laurel had known this question would arise sooner or later, but struggled with how much to tell him. She was already a little angry at herself for abandoning all common sense and showing off—exposing so many of her secrets. It had been completely foolhardy, but when he had looked up with a taunting gleam in his clever dark eyes and murmured, 'Dazzle me,' in that audacious way of his, she had been powerless to resist the impulse to do exactly that. His unparalleled charisma made others want to please him, and the young witch was far from immune.

Deciding to be fairly straightforward, Laurel finally answered, "I came here from another dimension. Where I lived, there were many people with magic. I traveled to your world through a powerful ancient artifact called the Veil of Death. There won't be any more visitors from that alternate universe because the Veil is designed for killing, not transportation. I'm something of a special case because of the incident I mentioned earlier, where I think I may have become immortal….It couldn't kill me, so it spat me out here."

"An alternate reality? So they do exist….This is incredible. Every physicist I know would give anything to hear this. Do you have a counterpart in this world? Have you come across other people here with magical powers?" he probed, nearly bouncing with excitement at learning so much in such a short time.

"No. This world is different from the other. The disparities between them aren't obvious at first glance; but the most glaring discrepancy is that there's no magic here. I've searched everywhere. I have sensors that would alert me to even the weakest magic, but in all the months that I've been here, I've always been the only one of my kind," Laurel told him, finding it easier to write the replies than it would be to speak them.

The inventor avidly scanned the words as they lingered briefly in the air. He had so many questions that he didn't know where to begin, but felt a sharp stab of pity for this invisible woman, who was so very alone in her new reality. Sensing her melancholy, he asked a question that he didn't really expect her to answer, and sure enough, she evaded. "What are you doing here?" he asked incredulously. "I mean here…with me. You have such an extraordinary gift. No one can do the things you do, so why on earth are you bothering with me?"

Laurel didn't quite know what to say. He couldn't possibly want validation, could he? A few weeks ago, if anyone had asked, she would have sworn that no one had healthier self-esteem than Tony Stark, but that was before she had seen how much time he spent alone, and how misjudged he was by the people closest to him. At long last, she answered, "I'll quote you from earlier, when you wouldn't answer why you never tried to get me to leave: 'You know why'….But what do you suggest? What would you do in my place?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know, but anything's a better use of your time than delivering breakfast to me. There's a whole world out there that could use your help. To my endless disappointment, I'm just not that important in the scheme of things," Tony confessed, in a rare moment of self-deprecating humor.

Before she could censor her thoughts, she wrote, "Maybe I disagree."

A long pause followed, but it was different than the others had been. The air felt charged somehow. Tony realized with utter astonishment that his ears had heated in a blush. Clearing his throat, he tried not to think about how much was riding on the answer to his next query. "Well, can you heal people with magic?" he inquired delicately.

"A little. It's a field I've never studied, but I suppose I ought to learn," she answered, tilting her head in thought.

It was actually a very good idea. She knew how to cast a basic diagnostic spell and clean and heal wounds (basic field medicine), but surely magical remedies existed for many of the illnesses and injuries that still plagued muggles. Starting tomorrow, she would begin her research.

"Or you could be a superhero," Tony continued blithely, trying not to choke on his disappointment that she lacked knowledge of the one area he needed.

Honestly, he was surprised that she had given his flippant suggestion such consideration. "It's not a bad gig," he added. "We could come up with a kick-ass secret identity for you. You know, a better one that the 'Coffee Bandit'."

"No one calls me that," she objected amusedly.

"Actually, Jarvis and I—well mostly Jarvis—and only on very rare occasions," he began, but Laurel didn't hear the rest.

Someone had just tripped the perimeter ward she had cast before demonstrating her magic to Tony. "You have company," she told him, relishing his sigh of annoyance at having to leave off their conversation.

"Will you talk to me again?" he asked, suddenly looking vulnerable.

"Of course I will. Don't be dull….Now run along and don't keep Colonel Rhodes waiting," she answered imperiously, the words fizzling out in a fiery rain of sparkles.

"Minx," he muttered, and his cheeks hurt from grinning as he made his way downstairs.


No doubt Rhodey was here to try out the Iron Man suit. He hadn't expected him this late, but his friend knew that he would still be awake. As Tony and Spock reentered the main floor, Rhodey grinned at him boyishly from the top of the stairs leading to the lab. He was wearing civilian clothes, a maroon t-shirt and jeans with a black leather jacket. "Where have you been? I looked all over for you, but Jarvis wouldn't tell me where you'd gone," he said accusatorily, but was obviously too excited about the flying suit to be very bent out of shape about his wait.

"This little green-blooded hobgoblin and I were up on the roof making some modifications to the solar panels," Tony declared breezily, passing him on the stairs and beckoning him to follow.

"How is little Hulk Jr.?" Rhodey asked when they finally reached the Iron Man displays.

He was surprised to hear a low growl in response to his query. The pilot glanced down at his feet and saw the dog pointedly turn its back toward him. The puppy's attitude was as magisterial as a pharaoh's. Tony grinned madly and responded, "Sorry, buddy. He doesn't like it when anybody but me takes liberties with his name. He thinks you're being overly familiar."

A moment of silence passed and then the other replied flatly, "You're not serious."

"Yep, and so is he…although you'd better not call him that either," Tony quipped, causing his friend to roll his eyes.

Tony was sometimes a little much to take, but at least his brand of crazy was always fun.


Rhodey didn't fly off in his suit. Tony had been more than concerned about the possibility. If he flew it back to the base, the military scientists would reverse engineer the hell out of it. The whole reason he had stopped manufacturing weapons in the first place had been because he couldn't trust others to be responsible for his extremely lethal inventions. If anyone else had access to the technology, then he no longer had control over its dispersal and use.

The Stark Expo was coming up in three days, and Tony stayed incredibly busy, since he had put off talking with the event managers and stage directors until the last possible moment. To his dismay, he was often out late in the evenings, and lacked the opportunity for more conversations with the incredible magical being that had warmed to him.

But she had been busy as well, and each morning by his coffee, he began finding newspaper clippings. Initially, he received two articles. The first was a piece about missing persons. Apparently, two violent murderers, who were about to return to prison in California for violating their parole, had mysteriously vanished. The second clipping talked about two infants, who had been found in front of a police station in Oklahoma, and were to be put up for adoption. Tony didn't have to be a genius to do the math. A sticky note with her familiar scrawl asked, "Did you mean I should do something like this?"

The next day, Laurel went to a hospital Polyjuiced and disguised as a nurse. With several jars of Burn-healing Paste that she had brewed the day before, she headed for the burn ward. The next article she delivered to him bore the caption, "Miraculous Healings at St. Anthony's Hospital: Disfigured Burn Victims Restored to Health." She had chosen the hospital specifically for its name. In a way, her good deed was a gift to him. She supposed that made her a very bad person.

Tony's hands shook as he read the clipping. He didn't mistake her gesture for the offering it was. This time her note read, "Or like this?"

When he put it down and it accidentally fluttered over, he saw that she had written on the back in small letters, "For you."

He smiled the rest of the day. Even Pepper warmed to his good mood, and things were sunnier between them than they had been in months.


When the Stark Expo finally arrived in New York City, Laurel found herself inexorably headed for the giant crystal dome on opening night. Her magic helped her force a path to the front of the crowd. Iron Man and the dancing girls in red and gold put on quite the performance, and the noise from the screaming hordes was deafening. When Tony removed his suit and walked about the stage as himself, he peered out into the crowd. Laurel saw his eyes pass right over her without a trace of recognition. He had never seen her before, and couldn't be expected to identify her, but it still made her feel cold inside. Being overlooked by him was a far more awful sensation than she had expected. She was beginning to feel that it was worse than the alternative.

The question she should have been asking all along when it came to risking exposure was, "Is it worth it?" Or even more to the point, although she flinched away from its implications, was the question, "Is he worth it?"


That evening Tony didn't return to his New York property or his Malibu lab. Worried when she didn't detect him the next morning with a Homenum Revelio, Laurel considered using the Point Me spell, but opted not to, deciding that he had probably stayed out celebrating. It wasn't until she read the paper the following day (where he had two front page headlines) that she realized he had appeared before the Senate Armed Services Committee.

She grinned as she scanned the article. Apparently Tony's enemies had fled before his lethal combination of showmanship and competence. This Senator Stern was the man he had mentioned before, when she had first seen Iron Man on television. Judging from his picture, he looked like a rather sour fellow. It seemed that Stark's other antagonist, the incompetent Justin Hammer of Hammer Industries, was in danger of losing his contract with the military after managing to discredit himself instead of Tony. Laurel would bear the two in mind as possible targets for future pranking.


Tony arrived back home that evening, and spent a little time playing with Spock before Pepper's arrival. The puppy loved to be chased, and especially enjoyed luring Tony outdoors. It had a preternatural ability for getting through any door it wanted, and inevitably coaxed its master to the pool area, where it could jump in and swim away whenever Tony came too close. The inventor always gave the dog a sporting chance to get to the other side before resuming his pursuit.

After a few hours of this, they came back inside and Tony took a quick shower. He waited for Pepper in the living room, the place in the house she was least likely to spot anything that might offend her. She had arranged to drop off the personal assistant applications, which she had helpfully narrowed down to the final five candidates. He planned to use the opportunity of her visit to appoint her CEO. He had already settled everything with his lawyers, and had the champagne bucket ready.

It bothered him that he was relinquishing control over Stark Industries, because he and Pepper had many differences of opinion. But if he didn't declare his successor before he died, the board would nominate one of their number—probably either the one that had kissed the most ass, or one that all the others envied least (most likely because of a total lack of leadership skills, backbone, imagination, and ability in general). Pepper was devoted to the company, and ran the operations on a day-to-day basis anyway. She had a gift for diplomacy, but wouldn't back down if she felt she was in the right. Even the politicians loved her, because Pepper never lost her cool, even when dealing with the most pig-headed bureaucrats. Only Tony seemed to drive her to the end of her patience.

She arrived a little after eight-thirty, and Jarvis allowed her entry. In a smart, periwinkle dress with a square neckline, and the opal teardrop Tony had paid for on her last birthday dangling from her long, pale throat, she was a vision of beauty and simplicity.

He greeted her with a light kiss on the cheek, and then she happened to glance down and notice Spock. "Oh no, Tony. You didn't!" she exclaimed, completely scandalized.

"Why not, Pep? You're always telling me to go green," he smirked, and tried not to feel embarrassed over how many days he had been waiting to use that line on her.

The redhead frowned and began to gather a head of steam. "This is not what I meant, Tony!" she rejoined forcefully. "You went out and bought some sort of demented…designer dog, when there are millions of people looking to you to set an example. You should have adopted a dog from a shelter…although you really don't need to have a pet in the first place. You can't even take care of yourself, much less an animal!"

Irritated at being treated like a child, the inventor retorted stiffly, "I've had to get very good at taking care of myself since you've been incommunicado."

"Oh, Tony," she sighed. "We just talked about responsibility in our last conversation. I thought you might have actually listened to me, but then you go and do something like this and prove that I'm absolutely irrelevant to you."

"That's not true! Besides, I didn't do it to spite you. What's the big deal? Do you hate dogs? …Would it be different if he only had one tail? Is it because he's green?" he goaded, only half-seriously.

"You know I don't hate dogs…not even weird ones. And his deformity is not the issue….But Tony, it's hard for me not to think that this is about me when you know I'm allergic to dogs," she accused, crossing her slim arms and turning slightly away from him.

He blinked. "Really? I thought you were allergic to strawberries," the inventor mused.

"That's because you never listen," she returned with a glare.

Brightening, Tony remembered a bit of information that ought to end the argument. "But it's a non-issue because he's hypoallergenic," he replied proudly.

She threw her arms in the air in a rare show of exasperation. Part of Tony was proud that he could still manage to get a reaction out of her after having been ignored for so long. He heard Spock give a low, adorable growl, and scolded softly, "Not helping, little buddy."

Clearing his throat, he decided that he might as well try to make peace. "I'm sorry, Pep," he murmured humbly. "I should have cleared it with you first, but I just fell in love with the little guy."

He could see her melt a little, so he pressed his advantage. "So, what do you think of the applicants?" he inquired, gesturing for her to precede him to the sofa.

She took the armchair. Ouch. Warming to the topic, she waxed eloquent about the candidates, but it was obvious that one's qualifications blew the others' out of the water. "Natalie Rushman is my top pick. She has a brilliant portfolio….The only problem is that she's an incredibly beautiful woman," Pepper finished.

"And that's a problem, why?" he asked, with a crooked grin.

Rolling her eyes, his Girl Friday said plainly, "We don't need a sexual harassment lawsuit on our hands."

"You wound me, Pepper. I would never sleep with my personal assistant. It's the ultimate cliché," he replied defensively.

"You've been trying to sleep with me for months," Pepper retorted, completely deadpan.

He winced. "You know that you've always been more to me than that. You and Rhodey are the best friends I've got. You've saved my life. Don't think that I don't know your value," Tony said earnestly, not being able to stand the thought that he would die without his friends knowing how much they had meant to him.

Pepper looked pleased and her eyes softened. Taking her delicate hand and meeting her pale blue gaze, Tony said gravely, "You're important to me, Pepper, and I trust you. I've worked everything out with the lawyers and all we need is your signature….Pep, would you do me the honor of becoming the new CEO of Stark Industries?"

She let out a breath of relief. For a terrible moment, she had thought he meant to propose marriage. "Are you serious?" she asked dazedly.

"Absolutely. The company couldn't possibly be in better hands than yours," he vowed, deciding to forgo levity for the moment, because Pepper seemed to appreciate it when he was serious, and he was so tired of being a constant disappointment to the people he cared about.

Breaking out the champagne, Tony poured them each a glass and proposed a toast. The redhead finally came out of her stupor and proceeded to enter a celebratory mood that lasted almost four minutes. It didn't take long for her mind to begin to race as she thought of everything she would need to accomplish in the next few days.

"We're going to Monaco next week for the Grand Prix….What do you say we take a few days and celebrate? We'll be right on the French Riviera. Although we could always go to Italy or the Greek islands…" he trailed off, because she was already shaking her head no.

"That's impossible, Tony. You know that. There's so much work that needs to be done in order to have a smooth transition. It's just not a good time. Maybe later in the year when things settle down," she offered.

He forced a smile and agreed; although he had a sinking feeling that he'd be seeing less of her than ever now that she held a position of greater responsibility.


When Tony finally caught his mystery guest, no technology was involved at all—just good, old-fashioned trickery.

That night, once Pepper had returned to the office after a quick kiss and half a flute of celebratory champagne, Tony was feeling a little reckless and disappointed, which put him in the perfect frame of mind for enacting his plan.

To Laurel's eyes, once Tony came down to the lab that night, he seemed even more exhausted than usual. He made no attempts to communicate with her, which was irksome, because she had been waiting impatiently for him to look up and engage her. After about an hour of tinkering, the inventor finally slumped forward onto his workbench, to all appearances down for the count.

Rolling her eyes in fond exasperation, Laurel commenced with the ritual that had become somewhat routine over the past few weeks. She levitated him to the couch, switched his clothing, and summoned his blanket. But in the familiarity of the procedure, she forgot one simple detail. Most of those other times, he had been in a magic-induced sleep. Gently reaching out with the tips of her fingers to smooth back his hair, she startled when her wrist was suddenly imprisoned in a warm, dexterous grasp.

Gasping in shock, she jerked backwards, throwing them both off-balance and landing in a heap on the floor. Distracted by Tony's triumphant, handsome face grinning down at her, Laurel released her hold over her invisibility and concealing charms without even thinking about it. His eyes widened, and he stared at her with an unreadable look for several long moments.

With reproach, wonder and amusement mingling in her tone, Laurel breathed, "You cheated."

The engineer's alert dark eyes danced. "If only we had sat down together at the beginning and laid down some rules," Stark retorted with a look of mock-innocence.

The witch quickly regained her equilibrium. "I didn't anticipate you taking quite such a hands-on approach," she smirked. "In hindsight, it seems rather obvious."

He quickly concealed his surprise and gave her his best shit-eating grin. "Yeah, well, you know what they say about engineers (and me in particular)—sharp mind, soft touch…"

"—hard heart and dull personality?" she queried drily, green eyes glinting wickedly.

Tony huffed out a laugh. "Well, we both know that you don't find me dull," he said, waggling his eyebrows. "Thanks for all the coffee, by the way. I'll be glad to reimburse you, if, you know, you tell me your name, account number, all about your secret goddess powers, favorite sexual position, why you've been stalking me….Basic stuff, really."

She grinned at him in honest amusement, and noticed a tightness around his eyes ease at the gesture. Laurel realized that although he was keeping things light, he was wary of her powers and what she would do to him for trapping her. But he seemed a little less tense now than he had been a moment before, and she wouldn't have noticed had she not seen the shift occur. She winced as she lifted her elbow off her long hair, and Tony scooted back and allowed her to sit up, his expression slightly apologetic.

"Well, the last one's easy," she laughed. "I came because I was curious about your technology. I return because I like you."

His grin turned smug, and she could see his lips curving to deliver a snappy retort. Forestalling him, she asked silkily, "Have you read much Greek mythology, Mr. Stark?"

"I suppose I know as much as any innovative mechanical genius could be expected to know," he rejoined charmingly. "Ooh, am I the Odysseus to your Athena?"

"You flatter us both too much," she laughed, and Tony found himself shivering with pleasure at the sound.

Before he could reply with a wisecrack, she added, with a sharp grin filled with challenge, "But if you recall the story of Proteus, you'll know that it's unwise to release the magical being you've captured before you've gotten all of your answers."

Before he could react, she vanished into thin air an inch from his outstretched hands. Tony fell a little bit in love.


When Laurel reappeared in her room, she laughed with childlike happiness. She couldn't remember when she had last had so much fun…perhaps in the early days at the Burrow when she was too young and stupid to do more than accept people at face value. It wasn't until much later, when the adrenaline had worn off, that she began to question what she'd done.


Back in his lab, Tony stared at the empty space where the little dark-haired elf had just taunted him, and cursed loudly with mingled frustration and amusement. This skirmish might have turned out to be a draw, but the war would be his. Tony Stark wasn't a maestro of mechanics for nothing.

"Jarvis, did you manage to scan a clear image of her face?" he inquired, lightly touching the tile she had warmed with her body heat.

"Of course, sir. I've already begun running facial recognition scans of all cameras in the surrounding region. I will increase the focus area until I achieve a positive match," the AI averred.

Tony grinned in elation. He could almost taste his victory.