I don't own Doyle. I don't own the Secret Saturdays. I don't own the grey demons—I mean Grey Men.
I own Benton, Fae, the entire Revan household, the Mulo clan, and (technically) the unnamed individuals within the ranks of the grey demons.

I meant Grey Men.

What?

Stray

The lessons continued, but Corbin abandoned the tests in favor of Zander's methods.

Fae and the chovihano came by now and again to check on his progress; Benton, also, looked in on him, when the hunter returned from his rounds. Zander insisted the younger boy was better when there were not so many people about, so they limited their visits to whispered conferences with Corbin and each other.

Zander continued to teach Doyle the soccer game, and praised him every time the younger child scored or blocked Zander from scoring. Doyle, however, was still as timid as ever, and did not succeed in such attempts very often.

They were out there one day in one of the more unusual displays. Viper guarded the net as before, and many of Corbin's other animals sat and watched, and occasionally made their various noises when one child or the other scored a goal.

Anybody who did not know Corbin might think the animals were unusually well-behaved, or in Viper's case, exceptionally well-trained. Anyone who knew Corbin and his animals would know that this was a very unusual game indeed.

But Zander had insisted that Doyle was better off with fewer people, and except for the few times Corbin took pictures to pass along to the Romani Clans, there had never been another human to witness the strangeness of it all.

The game had taken over most of the field, and Zander often found himself chasing after the younger boy.

Doyle drew back and kicked the ball towards the net.

Zander dove after it, missed, and hit the ground rolling.

Viper, for once, tried to stop the ball, and it bounced off behind the two children.

Zander started laughing. "Way...way to go," he said, trying to catch his breath. "That was a good kick. May—maybe with a little work...maybe you'll—you'll get it past—Viper." He panted some more before climbing to his feet, and looked around. "Hey, where'd—where'd the ball go?"

Someone behind them started applauding, and Zander turned to see a couple of strangers; one of them held the ball in his arm.

Both strangers wore grey trench coats.

—

"Get behind me," Zander muttered, and enhanced the warning with a carefully crafted thought.

Doyle moved quickly to obey, though he managed to look merely "shy." Once Zander checked the younger boy's position, he forced a smile onto his face and turned back to the two strangers.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

The one holding the ball walked towards them. "That's a well-trained horse you got there," he said.

The stallion pricked his ears forward and took a few steps closer to the stranger.

"Yeah," Zander replied. "Dad says horses are smart enough to be trained like a dog, only Viper there is smarter than most any dog, ain't you, Viper?" His smile vanished as he watched the man's approach. "Careful, though, he's got a vicious streak in him; he can be real mean when he wants to be, which is—"

Viper lunged at the man, too quickly for anyone that didn't know horses to react, and the man fell backward with a cry. Viper spit at the man, then turned and pranced towards the children while the other man helped his partner to his feet.

The man clutched his arm; a red stain appeared on his sleeve.

"—most of the time," Zander finished.

The two men stared at the now placid stallion. "Your father lets that monster around you kids?" the uninjured one exclaimed.

"Aw, Viper's all right around us," Zander replied. The stallion bumped his chest, and the boy saw a jumble of images; it "felt" like Doyle was telling him that Viper wanted to be petted. He reached up and stroked Viper's nose a little. "Makes him better than any guard dog, for sure. The villagers around don't want to let their kids around this 'monster,' but Viper likes me and my brother all right."

"Brother?" the uninjured one repeated. "He doesn't look anything like you."

"And that matters, when?" Zander returned. "We figure he's a throwback; looks like one of our great-grand-daddies...what'd we figure, Roxton? Five, six generations agone?"

"Six, I think," Doyle replied.

"Roxton?" the injured man said with a laugh. "Who names their kid Roxton?"

"What, I got to explain it every time he's introduced?" Zander said. "He's Johnny Roxton." He glanced at their blank looks and sighed. "John Roxton? Character in Lost World? Arthur Conan Doyle? It was one of our mum's favorite books."

Doyle had to suppress a laugh, in spite of his fear. One of their visitors had suggested that he'd been named after the author...and he remembered that it was his dad's favorite book.

The strangers' expressions were still blank, and Zander managed to look annoyed. "Oh, come on. Doesn't anybody read, anymore?"

"Hey, now," one of the servants called out. "You're starting to sound like an old man!"

"I'm starting to feel like an old man," Zander muttered. But he was relieved at the servant's appearance.

"If you gentlemen are here for Mr. Revan, I can take you to him," the servant told the strangers. "If you are not...." He let the thought hang, to let them supply their purpose. His smile was cold, though; his smile said get out.

The uninjured one nodded, and they followed the servant inside.

Once they were out of earshot, Zander breathed a sigh of relief. He looked up at the stallion, surprised to realized he was still petting the animal. He jerked his hand away.

"Did—did you tell him to let me do that?" he asked Doyle in a whisper. The stallion gave Zander a look that, from a human, the older child might have thought was mock hurt.

Doyle shook his head. "His idea," he replied. "He says...." Doyle's eyes unfocused a little, and he struggled to put the animal's thoughts into words. He shook with fear. "He says you know that not all snakes hunt just for food."

Zander frowned. "Especially the two-legged kind."

"Especially them," Doyle agreed. "And you and your dad said most two-leggers can't hear them—"

"Viper didn't want them to know?" Zander suggested. Doyle nodded.

—

"Have you any news to report?" the uninjured man asked.

"News?" Corbin repeated. "What news? Why would I have news?"

The first man smiled. "It has been quite some time since you've provided results on Zander, Dr. Revan."

"Zander hasn't shown any results since he first took sick." Corbin gave a mental prayer of thanks for Zander's quick thinking; if they asked how "Johnny" was his son, Corbin had been ready for weeks. He continued, "I haven't tested him in years, not since their mother died, and Johnny's been too young to bother."

"Our intelligence suggests that you have renewed your research—" the injured man replied.

"Games," Corbin snapped. "We've played games. No results, no talent, nothing 'special.' No reason to push either of them. They're just children; no more, no less." He glowered at the men. "We're all going to have to accept that."

Corbin forced himself not to look at the fireplace, where the changed deck of cards was nearly ash. He'd stopped asking a long time ago how these people knew these things, and could only hope they didn't know about that.

After the two men whispered between themselves, for a short time that felt an eternity to Corbin, they thanked him for his time and left.

Only then did Corbin dare to breathe a sigh of relief. He turned to his servant. "Get Benton, get Fae, get...get that chovihano here, if you can."

"What was the problem?" the servant asked. "You've never been scared of them before. And they were only asking about your research...."

Corbin shook his head. "You remember what the chovihano said about grey demons?"

"Wha—you don't think that was them, do you? They wouldn't—" The servant frowned. "Would they?"

"Viper's bitten people before, right? Strangers, friends; good people or bad."

"Plenty," the servant agreed. "He even bites Benton; you know that. And funny thing is, the stallion likes him, and still takes a nip out of him."

Corbin started shaking. "You ever known him to bite so hard, he draws blood?"

—

"Benton," Corbin said. "I need a favor; I need you to take Doyle for a while."

"What's the problem?" Fae asked.

Corbin shuddered, but forced himself to tell them exactly what had happened. "I don't—I don't know for sure, but after what the chovihano had said about the grey demons—or that mercenary—" He cleared his throat; he didn't know if anyone had told Benton about the hypnosis session, and there was no longer time to explain. "I don't know, but these people might be part of the reason that Doyle's alone."

"You're hoping they lose the trail," Benton said. It had not been a question, but Corbin nodded. "Got a place in mind?"

"No," Corbin admitted. "Somewhere, anywhere. I don't know. Just so these people don't find him." He sighed in regret. "I'd do it myself, you know that. But Zander isn't well enough to travel yet, and I can't leave either of them on their own."

"How long?" the hunter asked.

"I don't know. Zander isn't that good yet, but he's improving. He should be well enough to travel in another couple of months. If they've lost the trail by then—we figure on leaving, once he gets better, anyway. But Doyle needs to go, now."

"Corb...." The hunter took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Even I can't wander around for a few months without some idea where I'm going. And if you want to find him, after—"

The chovihano cleared his throat. "That may be part of why I'm here."

Corbin nodded.

"We have managed to find a person who knew Doyle's parents," the chovihano told the hunter. "Thanks to the information the mercenary provided us, we have found some elders who remember Jonathon as a child. More important, who remember his father." One of the servants brought out a map, and the chovihano pointed to a spot in southern France. "We have determined that the grandfather's clan resides in this area."

Benton peered at the map and whistled. "That's quite a distance." He looked at the chovihano and frowned. "What makes you think his grandfather's going to welcome him? There must've been a reason why his own kid took off, right?"

The chovihano shook his head. "Old Blackwell fled our clans with his son because he feared these grey demons, though it is all too likely that he'd never explained that reason to his child. But I believe he will welcome his grandson."

"So how is Benton supposed to find them?" Fae asked. "If life around here is any indication, I certainly wouldn't be too eager to let anyone find me if I were Romani."

The chovihano shook his head. "The attitude towards Romani isn't quite so bad in some places. Caution would still be necessary, but if it were only that, he could simply walk into any town and start asking questions." The chovihano frowned. "There is a...complication, however."

"These...grey demons?" Benton asked.

"Apologies," the chovihano said. "Two complications, then." Everyone looked at him, and he sighed. "There is a spell on the child. A series of protective spells, shielding and restorative spells."

"That's a complication?" Fae asked. She lifted an eyebrow.

"The nature of these spells is the complication," the chovihano replied. "They are...comparable to the spells our tribe uses when we seek to purify tainted lands. What the boy has is an emergency spell, a temporary solution while I look into alternatives. It is not meant to be permanent, but I dare not remove it yet, not without such an alternative."

"And what if it is?" Benton said. "Permanent, I mean?"

The chovihano shook his head. "I have been maintaining the spells regularly since I placed them, but I cannot leave my clan to continue the job. This journey will last a long time; he will need those spells renewed as soon as you arrive. At best, you might find a chovihano that can recognize the spells, and knows a suitable alternative. At worst, the child will need to learn how to maintain those spells on his own. In either case, you will need to find a clan right away; you cannot take the time to look for them."

Corbin stared at the chovihano. "You never spoke of this," he said in an accusing tone.

"How do I main—" Benton began.

The chovihano cut him off with a gesture. "Maintaining the spell is a simple matter; one merely needs to feed the spell. But it must be done in a specific manner that would take much training to learn, lest it harm the one feeding it. I do not believe that even Doyle's instincts could accomplish this."

"Harm?" Fae repeated. "Exactly what does it do? What could it do?"

"Such spells would ordinarily take their power from the earth," the chovihano replied. "But you understand this was an emergency spell. I built it on the assumption that the boy would still be here while I worked on a permanent solution. The land around is tainted; if I allowed him to draw upon that energy, it would only continue to taint him even as it tried to purify him. I have been channeling that energy myself, purifying it and then feeding it into the spell. That is the part that requires extensive training," he added.

"And what would it do without proper maintenance?" Corbin hissed.

"I don't actually know," the chovihano replied, his shoulders slumped. "My people do not use such spells extensively; we have always removed them after a job. It might do nothing. The spell may die without that source of power. It may seek another source, perhaps the earth, or perhaps—" He swallowed. "Without a trained chovihano to feed it, the nearest source of power would be the boy himself."

Everyone stared in horror at this statement.

"So how do I find these clans?" Benton asked. "How do I find them quickly?"

"That," the chovihano replied, "I can manage. If you can hold off your journey for at least a day, I can give you something that will lead them to you."

—

The chovihano approached Benton and Doyle outside of the train station. He held out something wrapped in silk.

Benton took the package and opened it to find a small medallion.

The chovihano showed him how to use the device. "When you reach your destination, you activate the spell. It gives off a tone; it will act as a beacon for any human with a certain amount of sensitivity. It will call the chovihano from any of the clans within a hundred miles to your location. There are some...limitations, however."

"There seem to be a lot of those, lately," Benton growled.

"He must wear it for it to work," the chovihano warned. "It reacts to the presence of life-energy; the energy of the earth will fuel the spell, but the tone sounds only in response to a heartbeat."

"Okay, make him wear it, activate it, and the chovihano will find us," Benton said.

"Yes; with luck, it will be a chovihano from his grandfather's clan. Elsewise they can lead you to the man, if they must. But when you activate the spell, you must be sure, you must force yourself to be aware of where the boy is at all times. The tone has a hypnotic effect.... It is a beacon for those with a certain sensitivity, but it...discourages everyone else from taking notice."

Benton blinked a few times. "So if I'm not careful, I might forget he's near?"

"That he even exists," the chovihano corrected. "It is possible to break, if you are careful enough. But most people will not be aware of him."

Another voice piped up behind the chovihano. "And speaking of forgetting when someone is about...." The chovihano smiled and moved to reveal Zander.

"Zander?" Benton said. "What are you doing here? So far from home?"

"I want to talk to Doyle," Zander said. He glared at Benton until the hunter moved aside to let him through.

"Hey, you're not going away for good, you know that, right?" Zander pulled Doyle into a hug. "Me and dad, we got some things to take care of, but when we're done, we'll come find you." He smiled. "I can't promise much for these old men, but I'll come myself, even if I have to walk the whole way. I ain't going to leave my little brother alone."

Doyle frowned and pulled out of Zander's arms. "But I'm not—"

Zander shook his head. "Oh, sure, maybe not by blood; but I don't care about that. As far as I'm concerned you are my brother. Just you keep telling yourself that, all right? Every day, every hour, whatever it takes so you believe it." He wrapped his arms around the younger boy again, and whispered in Doyle's ear. "No matter what, you'll always be my little brother."

Section 2:
Wait.
Jon. Roxton. Revan.
J. R. R.
The initials are a coincidence, I swear!
I'd just gone with the theory that Doyle was named after Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (and only JS knows for sure), and picked a character from that book that I could use as a quick pseudonym.
It was either that or the Jungle Book, but that would've meant "Mowgli" or "Nathu," either of which would have been too culture-specific to work.
Tarzan might have worked, if I knew the name of the ape-man's human parents, or the name of Jane's father, but since I don't....

For those who haven't read the book, or for whom it's been too long (like me), Lord John Roxton is supposed to be some kind of adventurer, so that's why I picked him.
Plus this gives me the first time Doyle has a version of "Jonathon" as an alias. (Even though Zander first introduced him as "Roxton," but, oh, well.) This way, I have a "source" for the alias, even if JS ever actually reveals the names of Doyle and Drew's parents.

Section 5:
So that's where he got that medallion.
No, seriously.
I'd originally thought that one up in a much later arc (actually a short story that I'd played around with and only later decided to include in the generic history, but I digress).
I had exactly two places in the generic where I needed Doyle to wear it as an adult, but I'd never quite figured out where it had come from.

Also Section 5:
Zander remembers his promise.
Doyle...does not.
So for later arcs....