Disclaimer:
Revision 1.1 is a revised edition of a story we first posted to the Gargoyles Fanfic Archive in 1996. Only superficial cosmetic changes have been made. (We didn't even add any new facetious commentary in the disclaimer. We know you're all crushed. Sorry.)
This is a work of fan fiction, yadda yadda yadda. Any resemblance to any actual persons or their parents, except as acknowledged below, is purely coincidental (pure? coincidence? as IF!).

The Gargoyles and Gargoyles characters are the property of Buena Vista/Disney. The story of Absalom can be found in Second Samuel, xv-xvii. The periodic table of elements is common property, and may be used without copyright infringement. "The Second Coming" is by William Butler Yeats. The East River is the property of New York State. Batgirl (tm) is the property of DC Comics. Jeremy Lowell is a character from previous fanfics "Hurt Hawks" and "Rumors" [Blatant Plug!]. The Pupin telescope is the property of Columbia University. "Sidewalk Astronomy" is the invention of Prof. Joe Patterson (hi there P'fessor!) of the Columbia astronomy department. Please forgive the abundance of epigraphs -- we needed all of them, really we did.

Dedication, Acknowledgments, and Random Line Noise:
This one is for Kellie, Merlin Missy, and The Dreamer Clan (you know who you are), who patiently listened to all our wild fanfic ideas. ["I just had an incredibly evil thought." "AGAIN??"]

Incidentally, for those of you who were waiting for "Shadow Son," this is it -- tip of the wing to Liz, as the current title is mostly her fault. Aren't last-minute title changes Fun Fun Silly Willy?

Chronology:
IMPORTANT NOTE!! This fanfic takes place about six months after "Hunter's Moon," and (for those of you who keep up with fanfic, and actually care) slightly after Constance's piece "Caerleon's Mage." [This has been another Blatant Plug.]

For the purposes of this story, the authors are ignoring the existence of any and all Goliath Chronicles episodes -- not because we don't like them, but because we began this story some time before they aired, and we just couldn't bear to give it up when all our ideas began to be flatly contradicted on the show. Specifically in...well, you'll find out. *evil chuckling in unison*

On with the show! BUUUUUM bum bum bum bum BUUUUUUM bum bum buuuuum....
Okay, maybe we added a little.)

The pain hadn't been the worst part. He could handle pain. It was the immobility, being forced to sit still while his body mended, that fueled the fire of his anger. Even with the stone sleep each day, it was taking a long time to heal.

He could still remember dragging himself, burned and broken, from the wreckage of the amusement park, moments before dawn...and waking up the following evening with a roar of mingled pain and rage at finding his wounds unhealed. He didn't know whether it was the severity of the damage that accounted for it...or the fact that he was a clone, that he wasn't a true gargoyle --

No. He forced himself to calm his thoughts, and unclenched his talons from the rich fabric of the armchair (which already bore signs of shredding). Coldness was what he needed now. Anger would just cloud his judgment and dull his thinking.

"Randall!" His deep voice, like stone and velvet, was as strong and penetrating as ever.

A thin, tall, somber man with dark hair and an Armani suit stepped into the sparsely but expensively furnished room. "Yes, Mr Thailog?" Randall flipped open the leather agenda book with his long thin fingers and waited, silver fountain pen poised.

Thailog eyed his assistant with appreciation tinged with disdain. Randall was no Owen Burnett...but he would do. Many had made the mistake of underestimating the strength in those thin, pale fingers. And many had died for it, the oxygen supply to the brain cut off in an instant with a single deft pinch of thumb and forefinger.

"I need the most recent net worth figures on Xanatos Enterprises." He hated having to rely on someone else to do his work for him; still, pragmatism won out over pride. "And I'm going to need some hired muscle -- and brain, not too much brain. Skilled, and obedient. You understand, Randall?"

"Indeed, sir." Randall jotted a few notes. "Will there be anything else?"

"Not at the moment."

Almost but not quite clicking his heels, Randall melted out of the room.

Thailog turned his head toward the high windows, looking out at the star-studded night. In the dim glow of the single lamp in the large room, Thailog's white hair, once long and thick, now cropped, seemed to glow in stark contrast to his dark skin. Despite the pain and exhaustion, and the scars that peppered his hide even after weeks of stone sleep, Thailog was still an imposing figure. Soon, he reminded himself, he would wear the armor again. And he wouldn't have to feel weak.

Somehow, the one directly responsible for his suffering had survived, as he had -- and now she had full legal control of the company they had once shared. But that was for later. Once he had Nightstone back, it would be simple enough to mete out vengeance on her (and simultaneously on one of his three creators), requiring only a single well-placed laser blast aimed at the correct young female gargoyle.

But first....

Persuading David Xanatos to hand over Xanatos Enterprises did not present many logistical problems, with the notable exception of one rather odd obstacle. Demona had trusted him with so much...interesting...information. But the obstacle wasn't such a problem either, once one knew how to deal with it. Which was why, in addition to the usual thugs, he needed a few with some -- not too much -- brain.

A step sounded in the doorway, and Randall cleared his throat. "Sir? I have Brig on line one. He says there was no difficulty in obtaining the requisite materials."

Thailog smiled. "Tell him we will proceed as planned in three weeks. I want to be in full fighting form when I carry out my plan." Thailog got to his feet and limped over to a spot beneath the window. His red eyes ignited briefly, and he spoke a single word: "Leave."

Randall, who often seemed to have blood of ice, simply nodded and was gone...a bit more quickly than usual.

Alone, Thailog stared up at the night sky, where angry clouds were scudding rapidly across to blot out the stars.

-----
The Eyrie Building
March 2, 1997 [three weeks later]
2 p.m.

Fox could hear her infant son's high-pitched gurgling laughter halfway down the hall. She grinned and quickened her step until she reached the nursery door, then leaned into the room.

Puck was sitting cross-legged in midair, level with Alexander standing up in his crib. He had just begun to get the hang of standing without holding on to anything else. Fox had found herself inordinately proud, two weeks before, when Alex had taken his first stumbling steps across the room to her.

Alex now looked up and crowed happily, seeing his mother. Puck turned to look over his shoulder and grinned at her. "Hi, Mrs X! We're playing catch. That is, he's playing catch. I'm coaching." He pointed to a brightly colored rubber ball on the floor. "See the ball, Alex? Throw Puck the ball."

Alex promptly waved a chubby hand, and the ball bounded up from the floor and into Puck's waiting grasp. "Excellent, m'boy, excellent," Puck said cheerfully. "I've never had a brighter pupil."

"How many pupils have you had before?" Fox asked archly.

Puck tapped at his chest, acknowledging the good-natured jab, with that irrepressible grin. "Touche, Mrs X. Wanna play?" He turned to the baby, and tossed the ball into the air. "Catch the ball, Alex!"

The ball hovered there in midair, then floated into Alex's crib. He laughed delightedly, and Fox had to smile. "You'll have to teach me that trick sometime, Puck."

Puck raised a single eyebrow in an expression that was disconcertingly Owen-like. Fox tended to think of Owen Burnett and Puck as two different people, the straight-faced aide and the fay who served as tutor and nanny; it was so easy to forget they were the same person. Especially since that one person, in his role as Owen, never broke character. Ever. But every so often Puck would show a flash of his alter ego, in a kind of private joke.

"I probably could, you know," he said now, flitting closer and hovering next to her shoulder. "You've got fay blood in you too, after all. More than he's got. And your potential should be pretty high; you are Titania's daughter." He swooped back into the room to hang in the air next to Alex's crib, his face the picture of innocence. "Wanna sit in on a lesson? I'm sure Oberon wouldn't mind a bit."

Fox considered that, and smiled slowly. "Maybe another time, Puck. I'm just here to spend some time with my baby."

Puck made a sweeping bow in midair. "As you wish, milady Fox. Hey, Alex -- " He bent closer to the baby. "Throw your mama the ball, Alex? Throw Mama the ball?"

Alex gurgled happily and waved his hands, and the ball flew across the room toward Fox. She caught it easily and laughed aloud. "Thank you, sweetie," she said to the baby. "Catch?" She tossed the ball in a slow arc, and at the top of the arc it paused, then arrowed directly into the crib.

"Let's see if he'll throw it when you ask him to," Puck said, sounding interested. "Go on, ask him."

"Alex honey? Throw Mama the ball?" She held out her hands.

For a moment he seemed to hesitate, then comprehension came and he smiled his enormous sweet smile at her. The ball leaped eagerly across the room to her, and landed directly in her hands.

"His aim's getting better," Puck observed.

Fox looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

"What?" he asked defensively. "Nothing to worry about. Good thing you and David aren't in the habit of keeping breakables in the nursery, is all." He looked down at Alex and smiled fondly. "Isn't that right, pal? And just think," this directed to Fox again, "how convenient this will be later in life! Now when he throws things off his high chair, he'll be able to pick them up himself!"

Fox laughed; she couldn't help it. "I'm going to have to learn some of this in pure self-defense," she said. "Perhaps I'll sit in on some of Alex's training sessions after all."

Puck's grin was positively wicked. "It'll be my pleasure."

-----
Eyrie Building
March 2
5:39 p.m. (Just after sunset)

Lexington bounded onto the battlement, poised to take off. "Come on, Brooklyn, we're gonna be late!"

"And where are you two headed, now?" Hudson asked.

"They're doing Sidewalk Astronomy on Columbia campus tonight," Lexington explained. "So there won't be anyone at the telescope on the roof of Pupin. Jeremy's gonna show us some lunar geography."

"I'm not going to believe this until I see it," Brooklyn said skeptically. "Mountains on the moon?"

"You'll see," Lex grinned.

Hudson grunted. "Well, Broadway, you and I and Bronx had best be off as well, then. Bluestone is expecting us in an hour."

"Any progress on that thieving ring yet?" Angela wanted to know.

Broadway shook his head. "Nothing new. But Matt's got something set up for tonight that should help crack the case. We're gonna bust that ring wide open." He grinned fiercely and pounded one fist into his other hand.

Goliath frowned. "Angela, perhaps you should stay here to guard rather than coming on patrol with me. We shouldn't leave the castle unprotected."

"But Father," Angela protested, "you can't go out on patrol alone! The city is still worked up about gargoyle sightings. It isn't safe. And you did say, Father," and her eyes grew large and innocent, "that none of us were to go out alone from now on."

Goliath rumbled deep in his throat, unconvinced.

"Hey, Goliath," Brooklyn said, "it's not like the castle's going to be totally unprotected without us. I mean, you've seen their security system."

"You're right," Goliath said slowly. "The castle is already well defended. It is the city that needs our protection now. The times have changed." He stepped up to the battlements. "Coming, Angela?"

Father and daughter glided off into the night. A few moments later, two smaller, slenderer forms shot off northwards, and two bulkier figures holding a third between them headed south.

-----
Eyrie Building
March 3
3:02 am

The phone sounded next to his ear, jolting him out of a sound sleep. Beside him in the big bed, Fox groaned and pulled the pillow over her head. "Uuunnnnnhhhhh...you're the CEO. You get the phone."

Rubbing his eyes, he reached out the other hand and groped for the cellphone, lifting it to his ear. "David here."

"Mr. Xanatos?" came the familiar voice of Bill Hoffman, his chief-of-security.

"This had better be good, Bill," David growled.

"There are two police officers down here with a warrant. They want to speak to your wife."

David was instantly wide awake. "Are they anyone we know?"

Fox raised her head, hearing the tone in her husband's voice. "David? What is it?"

He covered the mouthpiece with one hand. "It's for you," he told her dryly. "Apparently some of our city's finest want a word with you."

"Hunh?" She sat up and pushed her hair back from her face, waking up as rapidly as he had. "What do they want?"

"Sir?" Hoffman's voice came. "Should I have Peterman let them in, or will you meet them at the door?"

"We'll be down in five minutes," David said. "Have them wait by the entrance to the first residential level." He hung up and threw off the covers, reached for a bathrobe, then changed his mind. The cops had to know they'd awakened the Xanatoses; there was no point in giving them the satisfaction. Fox was ahead of him, and was already pulling on her favorite black denim jeans, then reached for a red sweater.

He dressed quickly, also in black jeans and a dark blue sweater, then turned to his wife, holding out his hand. "Shall we?"

-----
"Mrs Fox Xanatos?" The two NYPD cops standing there were unfamiliar to him, but their manner was that of policemen everywhere.

"That's me," Fox said, leaning casually against the doorframe. "May I help you gentlemen?"

"We have a warrant for your arrest."

"What?" David stared at them, then turned to his wife. "Fox...? What's this all about?"

Fox was staring at the policemen herself. "I have no idea, David."

"What's the charge?" he demanded.

"Murder," the brown-haired cop said curtly, and reached out for Fox's hand. Before anyone had a chance to react, he had snapped a pair of handcuffs onto her wrist. Fox stood there, frozen in shock.

"You have the right to remain silent," the blond one was saying in bored, rehearsed tones. "Should you choose to give up this right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law -- "

"Thank you, officer, I'm aware of my rights," Fox said coldly.

"Officer, I'm sure those aren't necessary -- " David was saying to the brown-haired one, gesturing at the handcuffs.

"Sorry, Mr Xanatos. Proper procedure when apprehending a potentially dangerous suspect. And the charge against your wife is murder." He took Fox by the arm, not roughly, and turned to leave.

"Don't worry, Fox," David called as they entered the elevator. "There's been some mistake, obviously. I'll get to the bottom of this." Somehow, he added silently, his jaw setting itself in determination as he turned, striding down the hall to his office. Something wasn't right here. And he was going to find out what.

-----
The elevator doors *pinged* open, and Fox emerged into the lobby of the XE building, flanked by the two police officers. With her wrists cuffed in front of her, Fox let her hands hang limply.

The young security guard at the front desk stared as they walked by. "Mrs Xanatos?..."

She shot him a warning look. "You're still on duty, Harvey," she reminded him.

"Uh..." His gaze flickered over the cops, then back to her. "A-anything you say, Mrs Xanatos," he said. He kept staring, though, as Fox allowed herself to be led across the lobby, out through the big glass doors, and down the dark marble steps.

A few years ago, the two cops would already have been sprawled out cold on the sidewalk. But, well, she had reasons to hold back, now. She remembered David's face, angry, determined -- Don't worry, Fox...I'll get to the bottom of this... -- the sense that he, too, would like to do it the old way, and spring at the officers, freeing her.

One of the cops opened the back door of the squad car waiting at the curb. He helped her in, then slid in after her while his partner got in the front. The doors slammed shut. The back doors could not be opened by her, and a mesh wire barrier enclosed in bulletproof glass divided the front seat from the back.

She was caged, like a wild creature in the zoo -- and a pang of fear that teetered close to panic made her stomach clench. How ironic, after the life she had led, that she would be falsely accused now, after she'd settled down, got married, had a child...if anyone had told her that was how her life would turn out, she would have laughed.

And now this had to happen. It had a nightmarish feel to it -- as if it weren't real, her being arrested in her own home, hauled off to a police station. It was like some sort of parody of the way things used to be --

The squad car made a sudden turn and accelerated. Before Fox could react, the cop next to her pinned her against the back of the seat with one arm across her neck. He pulled out a hypospray, pressed the business end into her thigh and lowered the plunger.

Fox barely had time for the single thought: What the... before the squad car began to grow blurry. Belatedly, she began to struggle -- but found her muscles terrifyingly weak, unable to obey her commands.

Settling down...it's made you soft, girl, was her final thought before blackness fell with a thud.

-----
23rd Precinct, New Station House
5:57 am

Elisa rotated her neck, working out the kinks from the past hour of paperwork. Next to the computer screen, the phone on her desk beeped softly.

She picked up the handset. "Maza here."

"Detective, it's David Xanatos."

Sitting up very straight in her chair, Elisa tightened her grip around the receiver as if she would like to strangle it. "I'm here on overtime, Xanatos. I'm a little busy -- "

"I called because I need your help, detective. You're something of a last resort."

"Really."

"It's about Fox. She's been arrested."

"Arrested?" Elisa heard her own voice rise in disbelief. But then she shook it off. Some things just never changed.... "On what charge?"

"Murder," he said, his voice dull.

Elisa drew in a sharp breath. Between them Fox and Xanatos had done some unconscionable things. But murder?

"The arresting officers didn't tell us any details," Xanatos continued. "I was hoping you could find the information for me. I'd like to figure out what's going on." His voice was calm, almost conversational.

Elisa hesitated, then pressed a few keys on her computer. "Hang on, I'll access the warrant log for the last twenty-four hours." The screen switched to a list of options. She keyed in her password, then read the data that began to scroll up onto the screen. Elisa hit the ENTER key repeatedly, shaking her head.

"I don't get it," she said almost to herself, as if forgetting the phone that was tucked between her ear and her shoulder.

"What, detective?"

"It's not here," she said flatly. "There has been no warrant issued for your wife's arrest." Elisa's eyes narrowed. So the arrest story was a fabrication. But to what purpose? What was he up to this time?

There was a dead silence on the other end of the line.

"Xanatos?" she prompted.

"Detective," he said, in an odd voice she'd never heard him use before, "two men in NYPD uniforms came to the castle about three hours ago and took my wife away in handcuffs. If they weren't really cops, then Fox may be -- "

Elisa heard him break off with a small sound of surprise.

There was a pause, a short silence of perhaps ten seconds. "Actually, detective," he said finally, his voice back to its usual hearty note of ironic detachment, "I'll have to call you back. It seems she just walked in."

There was a click, and the dial tone buzzed in her ear. Elisa hung up the phone and stared at the computer screen without really seeing it. She pushed back her hair, her eyebrows knitting as she ran the conversation over in her mind, trying to ferret out hidden meaning, to anticipate what Xanatos was after. Feud over or not, in matters that had nothing to do with the gargoyles, Xanatos was still not to be completely trusted.

There were hundreds of holes in his story, she argued with herself. If this was for real, how had he been so easily fooled by a fake warrant? Why would Fox have meekly allowed herself to be handcuffed and led out to a squad car? And why in the world, with all of his impressive connections, would David Xanatos call her?

But breaking into her train of thought was a persistent, nagging point -- that his final words before hanging up had been spoken with unmistakable, genuine relief.

-----
Castle Wyvern
5:59 am (Just before sunrise)

Goliath scanned the horizon from the tower of Castle Wyvern. Behind him, Broadway was eagerly telling Angela about the success of Matt's stratagem that had resulted in the arrest of two of the thieves, with Hudson making occasional comments.

With a rush of wings, Lexington and Brooklyn, the last two to arrive, landed on the battlements to join the others.

"You're late," Goliath said sternly. "It's nearly dawn."

"Nice to see you too, Goliath," Brooklyn said ironically.

"Sorry," Lexington apologized, looking somewhat more contrite. "We sorta lost track of time."

"It's incredible!" Brooklyn exclaimed. "Goliath, you've got to come see it sometime! The telescope -- it's like you're right there, gliding over the moon's surface -- "

Goliath smiled at the younger gargoyle's enthusiasm. "Sometime, perhaps," he said.

The sun rose over Manhattan, and seven statues faced the city in fierce poses, awaiting the night.

-----
The Eyrie Building
6:02 am

David tapped the ball-point pen he was holding against the edge of the desk. "So they weren't cops after all. Detective Maza just confirmed it; there never was any warrant for your arrest."

Fox's red sweater was smudged and rumpled, her hair was wet, and her eyes were blazing as she paced back and forth like a caged tiger. "The second I got into that car, they popped me with some sort of tranq and dumped me in a parking garage somewhere in midtown. I woke up behind a stairway with my face on concrete and my hair in a puddle."

David's voice was calm enough, but his grip tightened on the pen until his knuckles turned white. "Did they do...anything else?"

Fox shook her head. "I don't think so." One hand went to her midsection in an inadvertent nervous gesture, and a worry line appeared between her eyebrows. "Maybe we'd better check...."

David nodded. "Harassing you can't have been the only motivation. After what the gargoyles told us about Thailog's cloning experiments, I think we ought to take a look and see if anyone's drawn a blood sample from you while you were unconscious. Or..." The pen snapped in two between his fingers, unnoticed. "Or anything else."

"They must have done something to me," Fox said, her voice taut. "I mean, otherwise all they accomplished with this whole subterfuge was keep us both busy and annoyed for three hours, and what good would that -- "

Her eyes widened in horror and she broke off as the answer came to her in mid-sentence. She swayed and clutched at the tabletop to steady herself.

"Fox?" David was on his feet, reaching a hand out to help steady her, alarmed concern on his face.

The word came out in a bare whisper: "Alex."

Two halves of a ball-point pen clattered to the floor.

-----

Never in his life had he run so fast.

David reached the nursery, saw the door hanging askew, the broken windows, the crib lying on its side, the trailed sheets....

The note pinned to the door.

The message was very brief; he read it at a glance. Then, against all logic, he read it again.

A tiny black microcassette player sat on the dresser, next to the box of Baby Wipes. He stared at it for a long moment, unable to reach for it, as if it were a venomous snake coiled to strike.

For the first time in more years than he could remember, David felt his knees threaten to give way. He sagged, one hand pressed to his aching chest, one bracing himself against the doorframe. Behind him, he heard Fox's swift footsteps, but he couldn't turn to face her.

"Owen," he managed, the word coming out on a half-gasp, half-groan.

And, incredibly, there was no answer.

"Owen?" The first stirrings of panic were rising in David's throat, tightening like a noose...but stronger than the fear was the slow upwelling of a deep and primal rage. "OWEEENNN!"

-----
6:05 am
Somewhere on the East River waterfront

It was far worse than the last time. When Demona had bound him through Titania's Mirror, the chains had been designed to allow him to move, and had contained only enough iron to force him to do her bidding -- not enough to cripple him, or choke off his powers.

These shackles, in contrast, were almost pure iron. The cold bite of it seared his body and mind; agony blurred his vision, weakened his limbs. And it trapped his magic within him like a netted fish, thrashing helplessly, drowning in an alien element, dying....

The men who'd been half-dragging him for some distance let go, and he fell heavily to the floor. He struggled to rise, but the pain sledgehammered him down again.

"So now we wait," came a human voice, from what seemed like very far away. "Stand watch over the targets in regular shifts, three of us at once, while the others sleep. We move out at ten minutes to sunset."

Sunset. There was a clue there, something important that should tell him about who had given the orders to take them captive. If only he could get his mind clear for long enough to think about it.

The room dimmed and faded around him, and Puck lost consciousness.

-----
The Eyrie Building
7:00 am

The uniformed XE security chief stood behind David Xanatos' chair. Before them spread a control console, an array of keyboards, monitors, and communication systems.

"They took out the alarms on the second level, and the audio/visual systems." Hoffman leaned over and tapped out a few key sequences. Data began to scroll up onto a monitor. "Looks like they cut the wiring running from Station 6. They knew exactly where to go."

Fox, seated in the chair next to her husband's, called the data up onto another monitor. She studied it for a moment. Then her eyes narrowed, altering the fox-head emblem around her right eye.

"What about the alternate system?" she asked, turning in her chair. "No one is supposed to know about that."

"Why didn't Peterman sound the alert?" Xanatos asked.

The security chief met the twin stares of the Xanatoses grimly. "Peterman was found out cold, slumped over his station. No sign of any contusions or other injury. We had his coffee analyzed. Turned out it had been drugged."

"Did the system pick up anything?" Xanatos asked.

Bill hit a few more keys. "Should have. They might have known everyone's station, but not about the alpha-12 camera links. We won't have audio, but..."

One of the small, black-and-white monitors flickered into life. A bar rolled down the screen and vanished. Hoffman hit a switch on the console, accessing the video tape.

David and Fox fixed their eyes on the screen, watching. After a moment, a black-and-white visual of their son's nursery came up. It was an overhead shot, from a tiny camera concealed in the ceiling beams, and included everything from door to outside wall. Alexander was asleep in his cradle. Owen sat nearby on a straight-backed chair, working on a laptop computer; Xanatos had requested that he stay in the nursery after Fox's "arrest," just in case.

The indicator on the bottom of the screen gave the time as 5:07, about an hour before Fox had returned. At about that time, David Xanatos had been thoroughly distracted with tracking down information on his wife's arrest, secure in the knowledge that Owen Burnett was watching over his son.

And how on earth had they gotten past Owen Burnett?

On the screen, Owen suddenly raised his head, listening. Quickly, with precise gestures, he switched off the computer, closed it, and rested it on the floor beside the chair. Xanatos' assistant got to his feet, turning towards the window.

The door abruptly buckled inward, then fell open, the wood splintered, and three men entered the room. They looked like professionals, dressed in black, their heads completely covered by sleek, skin-hugging hoods. They had blasters slung over their shoulders, but only one had his weapon drawn. Two held black canvas tote-bags, unmarked, that seemed to hang with an odd heaviness from their hands.

Simultaneously, three black silhouettes appeared outside the window against the pre-dawn light, along with the thin lines of rappelling ropes.

Although there was no sound, Fox flinched, her whole body jerking as if struck, as the three swung out and smashed through the window. Glass went everywhere, and they landed with cat-like grace near the cradle.

As if in a reflex, David reached out and closed his hand over Fox's where it rested on the console. His grip tightened, as did hers; later they would both discover an odd soreness in their hand muscles. But they gave no other outward reaction; their faces were controlled, impassive.

Puck had already shed Owen Burnett's form, and was turning to the three by the cradle. At the same instant, in swift, practiced-looking movements, one of the mercenaries unzipped the tote bags, while the others reached in and pulled out what was inside.

Puck's attention was on the three moving towards the cradle, his back to the camera. David and Fox saw him jerk around suddenly, saw the sudden realization on his face as the mercenaries yanked the iron chains around the fay, twisting them around his small body. They could see Puck struggling, squirming in the chains; then his eyes closed and he sank to his knees. One of the mercenaries gave a chain a jerk. Puck slumped to the floor as one of the other three reached into the cradle and took up Alexander with surprising gentleness. On the screen, Alexander's parents could see he was crying. The mercenary pulled out a small cloth, held it over the infant's nose and mouth. When he removed the cloth, Alexander's eyes were closed in a drugged sleep, and he was motionless. The mercenary folded a dark blanket around the infant while two others tossed burlap sacking over Puck.

Then the six climbed one by one out the splintered window, and vanished unhindered up the ropes, taking Alexander and Puck with them.

In a rough, jerky movement, David Xanatos reached out and switched off the monitor, leaving only a black screen. Then he got to his feet, as Fox did the same.

Security Chief Hoffman was standing behind them, staring at the screen, his mouth hanging open.

Xanatos turned to his employee. "I want that tape analyzed, frame by frame. I want a blow-up still photograph of every single member of that merc squad. Get your team to work on tracing their identities." He took his wife's hand, and as the two began walking briskly across the security room, he stopped, and turned back. "Oh, and by the way, Bill. The official story is that Owen Burnett was abducted along with my son. The official and the unofficial story. We'd like it to remain that way. Have I made myself clear?"

Bill Hoffman abruptly closed his mouth, nodded, and said steadily, "Sir, I can assure you there will be no problems on that count, from me or any of my men."

Xanatos nodded, as he and Fox continued towards the door. "See that there isn't. Thank you, Bill. I'll expect the analysis within the hour."

They left the security room, leaving Bill staring after them. He turned to look back at the blank monitor screen, and let out a long breath between his teeth as a dazed grin spread across his face.

"Man, I love this job," he said softly.

-----

Fox and Xanatos vanished into the study and remained behind its closed doors for hours. No one went in or out except employees bringing analysis results, various documents, sandwiches, and coffee. At one point a small, innocuous little man in a business suit carrying a brief case arrived and was immediately admitted to the inner sanctum. The employees of Xanatos Enterprises assumed him to be an attorney; he was actually one of the best forgers in the world, wanted on two continents for providing the signature on two fake Degas paintings.

And the bright autumn sun reached its zenith and then slid lower over the steel and glass towers of Manhattan, falling towards night.

-----
3:40 p.m.

"Nothing," David said with disgust, slapping the stack of papers back onto the desk. "All the traces on his equipment go straight to dead ends, and we can't track any of his couriers. No leads, no hints. Nothing."

Fox swallowed a mouthful of cold coffee and put down the mug with a sharp, precise *click* on the desktop. "Let's go over it again."

"If we could just find where Thailog's holding Alex -- "

"We'd have him. Which is why he's gone to so much trouble to keep us from finding out. Let's go over it again."

Silently, he picked up the papers again and began leafing through them. There was an unaccustomed tightness to the set of his shoulders, a tensing that he didn't even seem aware of.

Fox ran her finger around the rim of the coffee mug, staring down unseeing at her own pile of printouts. She did not say what was uppermost in her mind at the moment; there was no sense in worrying David.

She could still hear it. Faint, despairingly far off, she could hear her infant son crying, as she'd been hearing it for the past several hours.

And that was impossible, if only because the room they were in was soundproofed in both directions.

You're imagining things, she told herself furiously. Stop it.

But the wailing went on, high and wretched and terrified, and she found her gaze sliding to the far wall, the one facing east. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her husband looking at her oddly, but her own eyes stayed fixed on that wall. It was coming from that way, the crying; its source must be somewhere in that direction --

-- and suddenly she knew, knew, exactly how far away from herself it was, and how far below, as though it was something she'd learned long ago and was now remembering, and at the same time as though she could see through walls and roofs and miles of space and see where the cry was coming from --

"I know where Alex is," she said aloud.

David's head snapped up, staring at her.

She turned to him, rising from her chair. "I can hear him crying, it's coming from that way," she pointed. "I can find him, I know I can! David, I know where our son is!"

"Fox," he started, his tone all too gentle.

"Don't say it," she snapped, suddenly furious. "I am not imagining things, I am not losing my grip, I am Titania's daughter and I know where they've taken my baby!"

He blinked.

She paused, hearing herself, and nodded slowly. "I'm Titania's daughter," she repeated. "Puck was saying something about that, about my fay blood, yesterday.... And Alex has fay blood, too, through me. That's it. That's why I can hear him. And David -- " She reached forward suddenly, gripping his hands between hers. "David, Thailog doesn't know."

His eyes widened, startled, then narrowed. "Of course. If he'd known about your fay powers, he'd have kept you -- and his men would have bound Alex in iron as well...." His voice shook, ever so slightly, and Fox knew what he was thinking: Thailog could so easily have done just that. So easily.

"All right," he said then, placing his hands palm down on the tabletop. "All right. You know where Alex is. Can you show me from here?"

She studied the map, trying to superimpose her mental image over its too-precise grid of streets. She rested one fingertip on the spot where they were, the Xanatos Enterprises building, and then suddenly stabbed at a spot on the East River waterfront, in the warehouse district. "There," she stated.

"You're sure?"

She just looked at him.

"You're sure." He frowned. "Okay. We need a plan."

-----
6:12 p.m. [Sunset]
Castle Wyvern

The sun sank over Manhattan, turning into a large, hazy, fiery ball, shafting golden light down the concrete corridors, reflecting off the glass skyscrapers, deepening the pale green on the trees in Central Park.

Atop the Xanatos Enterprises skyscraper, the tallest building in the city, seven statues perched on the parapet of a castle tower. The shadow of the setting sun lowered, sliding over them. As the sun vanished completely into the Hudson River, plunging the city into twilight, as one by one points of glimmering light blinked on all over the city, a cracking noise like a frozen lake breaking up in spring sounded on the lonely tower.

Goliath felt the familiar tingle along his limbs, up his back, across his wings. He flexed his muscles with a roar, sending pieces of stone skin flying, as the others followed suit all around him. The cold, brisk air of the early spring night brushed his now warm and living skin.

Beside him, Broadway hopped down from his perch, twitching his wings to shake off the last shards of stone skin.

"Breakfast!" he declared happily, heading for the stone stairs leading down from the tower. "You guys coming?"

"Is that all you ever think about?" Lexington complained, as he, Brooklyn, and Angela followed Broadway down the stairs.

Staying behind with Bronx and Hudson, Goliath heard Broadway's protest, hollow from within the bowels of the tower. "Food's important! I didn't see you passing up that cherry pie last night."

"Good point," Brooklyn's smooth, sarcastic voice joined in. "He might have saved some for us..."

Angela's lighter voice said something in reply, and then the rest of the conversation faded away.

A light wind curled around the tower with a whistling noise, whipping across the stones and tugging at Hudson's white beard.

"Ach, I envy them their energy," Hudson said, his hand on Bronx's head. "So, lad, what will ye be doin' tonight? Joinin' Brooklyn and Lexington on the patrol?"

"Later," Goliath said. "There is a volume I wish to finish reading in the library first, something by an author named Tolkien."

"Ah." Hudson didn't sound surprised. "Well, come on then, Bronx," he added, heading for the stairs. "If ye be needin' me, I'll be in the 'television room.' There be a station on cable that shows...what did Lexington call 'em? 'Reruns.' I'm goin' to watch 'Mary Tyler Moore.'"

Left alone, Goliath chuckled to himself. For an older gargoyle with an apparent suspicion of all things new-fangled, Hudson had an amazing fascination with TV.

For a moment, Goliath remained on the tower. Looking out over the city with his wings folded over his shoulders like a cloak, he inhaled several deep breaths, letting the night wash over him. The trio and Angela were at that moment no doubt banging around the kitchen, while Broadway attempted to cook pancakes or omelets and the other three annoyed him by telling him how to stir this, or season that. Hudson would be settled into his armchair, Bronx sprawled at his feet, the flickering glow of the television playing over them. Elisa, despite the fact that they no longer lived above her place of work, would be there within an hour or so, always finding the time to check in on them even while on duty.... For the first time since he could remember, Goliath felt a quiet, warm sense of satisfaction, a feeling of peace, of rightness...of home. Turning his back on the night and the glittering towers of the city, Goliath started down the stone stairs.

The familiar corridors of Castle Wyvern closed around him as he headed for the library without pause or thought, on automatic pilot. He had to admit that except for the addition of electricity, Xanatos had kept the castle very much as it had been a thousand years ago, opting for tapestries instead of paneling in most of the rooms, keeping the hallway lights unobtrusive. In the last few months, Goliath had noted several magnificent objects of medieval heritage that hadn't been there in 994, mostly Scottish.

On the way to the library, he always passed Alexander's nursery. Goliath passed under an archway and headed along the new corridor, the talons of his enormous feet clacking on the stones. Without realizing it, he automatically began to listen for the child's burbling laugh, for Fox's voice coaxing him, or Owen Burnett saying something like, "Now, Alexander, it isn't nice to chew on the velvet cushions..." Goliath had not yet wholly recovered from the shock, one night a few weeks ago, of passing the nursery and hearing David Xanatos cooing to his son in baby talk.

But tonight, the corridor was silent, the nursery door shut, no sounds or signs of life from within. There was no bar of light beneath it.

Goliath stopped, with a deep sense of unease. When Alexander was asleep, his parents and nanny always left the door a few feet open, just in case, in addition to the intercom. If Alexander was in some other part of the castle with his parents, the door would still not be shut; someone was always coming in to fetch a bottle, or a stuffed animal, or Alexander's teething ring.

He hesitated; it was not in his nature to intrude on another's private life. He approached the door -- and stilled, staring at it. One talon reached up and tentatively touched the nursery door, as if he were afraid it might burn him.

Running through the wood were several, splintered cracks, as if some large, heavy object had been hurled against it. Examining the hinges, Goliath saw that the twisted metal had been tampered with. As if someone, or something, had torn the door off its hinges -- and then put it back.

With a leaden knot of fear growing somewhere beneath his rib cage, Goliath put his hand on the knob and opened the door. Groaning in protest, it opened.

The lights were off, so Goliath flicked them on with one talon. In the sudden brightness, Goliath blinked, then slowly stepped into the room. He stopped, turning, taking it in.

One of the tall, graceful windows was broken. The curtains fluttered uneasily in the cold March wind that swept towards Goliath, stirring his hair. There was none of the Owen-style neatness there now. Toys were scattered all over the floor, and broken glass littered the rug before the window. The bassinet was empty, its blanket trailing onto the floor.

Goliath's foot nudged something on the floor; kneeling, he absently picked it up. It was a plush, furry, stuffed yellow toy with a snouted face, animal ears, and yellow wings.

Holding the stuffed toy gently in his talons, Goliath stood up. Something deeply ingrained and primal began to throb in his heartbeat.

"Goliath."

The gargoyle turned, and saw David Xanatos standing in the doorway.

"I see you found Alexander's favorite toy."

For a moment, Goliath was confused; then he remembered the stuffed yellow creature with wings. "Ah, oh, yes," he said, uncomfortable. He looked at Xanatos, who was standing with the light on his face and his back to the dimness of the corridor, and again, had a sense of uneasiness.

Xanatos' eyes were fixed intently on the stuffed toy, his face impassive as ever; then he swallowed visibly and put his hand on the door knob, and gestured to the corridor. It was a clear invitation to leave the room.

Goliath started towards the door, but as he came opposite Xanatos he stopped. "Xanatos...what has happened?"

"Just go about your evening's business, Goliath." Xanatos flicked off the light, plunging the nursery into darkness except for the faint glow of the city that came through the tall windows.

"There is something wrong, terribly wrong. Tell me!" Goliath followed Xanatos, who was taking long strides down the corridor.

Xanatos kept walking. "I assure you, everything is under control."

"It's Alexander, isn't it?" Goliath reached out to stop him, resting the talons of one hand lightly on Xanatos' shoulder.

And Xanatos suddenly whirled around, his hands going up in a martial-arts stance. Then he reached back, and his hand closed around Goliath's wrist with surprising strength, removing it from his shoulder. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you not to interfere."

The man's grip relaxed, and he stepped back. For a flicker, the impassive veneer was gone, and Goliath saw raw fear and anguish on his bearded features. "Please," David Xanatos said simply, looking up into Goliath's face.

Goliath could recall only one other time when David Xanatos had used the word "please." He lowered his head in assent. "You have my word."

"Not enough. Your oath as a gargoyle."

For a moment, Goliath couldn't answer, he was so taken aback. "Very well. But...will you at least tell me what has happened?"

Xanatos shook his head. "I know you too well, Goliath. A gargoyle's first instinct is to protect. And your protection, in this case, could cost me...everything." He spread his arms, his hands open, palms flat -- empty, pleading.

Goliath looked down at Xanatos, who avoided the gargoyle's eyes. "You know that if it means the safety of your son, I will do anything you ask."

Slowly Xanatos once again raised his eyes to Goliath's face. Surprise showed on his features. Then, after a long pause, he nodded. "All right. Come with me. Perhaps it will help convince you."

-----
6:17 p.m.
East River waterfront

The effects of the iron weren't so bad if he didn't try to move. They had ignored him for some time -- how long, he wasn't sure, but probably the better part of a day -- and now they were carrying him again, slung between two of them like an unwieldy sack of potatoes.

In front of him, another of his captors was carrying something small, and alive, and helpless. Alexander, he thought, and remembered that he'd been dimly aware of the baby's presence all along. Somewhere in his mind he knew that it was terribly wrong for Alexander to be with him right now, but the iron was making it hard to stay focused enough to think why.

He was dropped to the floor, again, jostling the chains that bound his arms and legs, and couldn't suppress a tiny cry of pain as the iron's burning cold seared through him.

A voice spoke, calm and thoughtful, with an undercurrent of amusement. "Did you know that iron is the most atomically stable chemical element in the periodic table? I suppose that explains why those of his kind don't like it much, chaotic little things that they are."

Puck managed to lift his head a few inches above the floor, and stared up at the speaker through tangled strands of white hair.

~Oh no.~

"We carried out your orders to the letter, sir," one of the men was saying. "Iron chains and everything. As you can see, it proved effective. The gargoyles had all left the building, as you predicted."

"And the infant?"

"Right here, Mr Thailog," said another, beyond Puck's line of sight. "Still asleep."

"Good." Thailog limped forward to take the blanket-wrapped bundle from the mercenary. "I hope you were very careful with that sedative dosage," he purred, his voice dark with thinly veiled menace. "If not, I shall be exceedingly displeased. I need that baby alive."

"We know our business, sir," said the merc squad leader, in tones of polite rebuke. "Now...as for the rest of our pay?"

"Take it and go." Thailog waved a hand at a briefcase sitting on a nearby table. "I've another assignment waiting for you, standard pay plus hazard bonus. Speak to Randall about it."

The squad leader picked up the briefcase, gathered his team with a look, and went -- leaving Puck with the incongruous sight of Thailog cradling a human infant in the crook of one arm. It was a highly amusing picture, even in his present predicament; he filed it away for later.

"I suppose you're wondering why I've brought you here," Thailog said, without looking at him.

Puck tried to speak, but the pain hit him again as he drew in breath, and he nearly gagged. Blue spots swam at the edge of his vision.

"I'll take that as a 'yes.'" Thailog carefully set the baby down in a nearby bassinet, and stood gazing down at it for a moment. "So you're my little brother, Alexander," he said in a soft, musing voice. "Strange, isn't it?"

Puck shivered; abruptly, the incongruity was no longer amusing in the slightest, but deeply and profoundly disturbing. He didn't know why or how, but somehow he knew, without the faintest glimmer of doubt, that Thailog was no longer entirely sane.

"At any rate...yes. You're here, trickster, because I can't have you rescuing my brother as soon as I deliver my demands to our father. I needed you safely out of the way. Oh, you needn't worry about your future job security; the baby will not be harmed." Thailog smiled unpleasantly. "He's far too valuable to me as David Xanatos's Achilles heel. I'm not about to waste a chance like this on something as paltry as revenge. He taught me better than that himself."

He turned away, apparently losing interest in the chained fay, and spoke to someone beyond Puck's range of vision. "Send the second message. I imagine my dear father is quite eager to hear from me by now."

-----
6:30 p.m.
23rd Precinct, New Station House

A light tap on her shoulder made Elisa look up from the stack of paperwork on her desk. "Detective Maza?"

The woman was unfamiliar to her. Tall and slender, she had short, straight dark brown hair in a pageboy cut, and wore large dark sunglasses and a baggy sweater over loose-fitting slacks.

"Can I help you?" Elisa swiveled her chair around to study the visitor more closely. Something about her demeanor was odd. She seemed wary, almost frightened, but not about her surroundings. Whatever it was that was making her nervous, it wasn't being surrounded by cops.

"Can we talk -- " the woman jerked her head to one side -- "over there?"

Warily, Elisa got to her feet, momentarily suspicious. But after all, there was a station house full of other police officers around her; the room was humming with the ringing of phones, the clicking of computer keys, the low voices of cops taking reports from witnesses or suspects. Elisa sighed. Sunglasses at night -- most likely it was just a case of domestic abuse, and the woman was at the very least acutely embarrassed.

In a relatively quiet corner by the water cooler, the dark-haired woman in the sunglasses carefully looked over the room, then turned back to Elisa, apparently satisfied. The glasses held an almost surreal reflection of Elisa's face and a track of fluorescent light.

The woman let out a short, mirthless laugh, with a note of triumph. "The disguise worked better than I thought." She carefully removed the sunglasses.

For a moment, Elisa tensed. Demona? But it's night!... A dark blue shadow around one eye -- a bruise? -- was revealed, and a worried, haggard face...and, with a shock, she saw the shape of the blue mark, and recognized the face as that of Fox Xanatos.

"Is there somewhere more...private...where we can talk?" Fox replaced the sunglasses as she spoke, and Elisa wondered what could possibly bring Fox Xanatos, in disguise, to her for help. If this was related to that phony arrest story before....

"Upstairs."

Elisa led the way, with a touch of nostalgia, up the stairs to a supply closet. The new supply closet, without the familiar trapdoor in the ceiling. Even with the clan reinstated to their old castle, it would have been nice to have the clock tower still there.

As Elisa shut the door, Fox pulled off the brown wig, letting her red hair fall over her shoulders. "Before I explain, you have to swear not to tell anyone I asked you for help. Anyone."

"What are you -- "

"Swear it, Maza. Because hear this: if I ever learn that you have told anyone, I will personally slit your throat -- and I don't care if I get the chair for it." Her eyes blazed.

"Hold it, just hold it a moment. You're asking me for help, remember?"

For a moment, just for a fleeting glimpse, Fox looked stricken. "Okay. Please...promise me."

"I promise." Elisa solemnly crossed her finger over her heart.

"You're the only person we can ask -- and even so, it's a risk. But he didn't mention you, just Goliath and the clan, and the cops. If you do agree to help, it'll have to be unofficial, understand?"

"Hold on. Slow down." Elisa put out her hands in a soothing motion. "What's this all about?"

Fox inhaled slowly, then let out the breath. "It's Thailog. He's taken our son."

"Thailog?" Elisa blinked. "But he died. In the fire at Coney Island."

"Yeah, that's what Goliath told David. He was wrong."

Elisa shook her head. "This can't be. How can you be sure it's him?"

"I heard the tape he left, Maza. His voice sounds exactly like Goliath's...sort of. He says he has Alex, and if we go to the police, or to Goliath, for help -- " Her voice broke, and she buried her face in one hand, turning away.

Elisa tentatively reached out her hand toward the other woman, but didn't touch her. Once before she had felt compassion for Fox, had held her as she collapsed in reaction to the magical transformation that had almost killed her, had watched as David Xanatos gave up an artifact of immense power just to have Fox safe at his side.

"I..." Elisa wasn't even sure if anything she could say would help. Fox raised her head and looked at her steadily, face composed and determined. "I'll do everything I can," she said finally.

A small smile flickered at the corners of Fox's mouth. "I never thought I'd be asking a cop for help. Least of all you." She began coiling up her long red hair and tucked it back up under the wig.

Elisa put her hand to her forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache. Thailog was alive. And now he had kidnapped David Xanatos's son. "Did he say what he wanted?"

Fox paused with her fingers in her hair. "He wants it all," she said flatly. "He wants Xanatos Enterprises."

"What about Owen?" Elisa asked suddenly. "I thought...I mean that Puck..."

"They took Owen too. Iron chains. Somehow Thailog must have known," Fox said with a tinge of bitterness.

"Maybe Alex himself could..." Elisa said hesitantly.

Fox put on the sunglasses, quickly. "He may have the raw power, but he's still just a baby," she said softly. "He couldn't manage a spell powerful enough to stop Thailog, not without Puck's magic to help him."

"Thailog's probably got people watching you," Elisa pointed out. "We probably shouldn't go back to the Eyrie building together. You go ahead, I'll follow in fifteen minutes. If he sees me going in alone, he'll think I'm just there to see the guys."

Fox nodded. "I'll be waiting."

-----
6:39 p.m.
The Eyrie Building

On the mahogany desk, a sleek office lamp with a halogen bulb glowed. Xanatos sat down in the swivel chair behind the desk and gestured to a large leather armchair for Goliath. This was Owen's office, not Xanatos'. Aside from the usual neat files, propped up in brass file holders, and the agenda, open to the day before yesterday's date, there was also a microcassette recorder on the desk blotter.

An agenda open to...the day before yesterday? That was hardly like Owen...and abruptly it occurred to Goliath to wonder where Owen Burnett was, in the middle of his employer's crisis.

Xanatos picked up the micro recorder in one hand and pressed "play" with his thumb. After a moment of hissing tape, a deep, rich voice began to speak, and Goliath sat up straighter, his talons digging into the leather. It was his own voice. It was Thailog.

"I have your son. He is alive and unharmed. Here are the terms to ensure that he remains so. You will turn Xanatos Enterprises over to me, every share, every holding. If you attempt to contact the police, your son will die. If you enlist the help of any of the gargoyles, he will die. If you speak of this matter to anyone outside your home, he will die. Another recording will be delivered to your home with further instructions."

The tape hissed into silence.

A low growl rumbled out from within Goliath's chest, and now he could feel the burning heat behind his eyes, and knew they were glowing white-hot.

"So you see -- " Xanatos's voice shook slightly and he broke off, then spoke again, his tone controlled, flat. "So you see, then, why it is so important that you and your clan not interfere, Goliath. I appreciate the offer..."

~But Thailog is my responsibility,~ Goliath thought urgently. ~No,~ he answered himself. ~Would you risk a child's life just because of your sense of honor?~

"You are right," he said aloud, rising from the chair. "The risk to Alexander would be too great." His talons curled into fists as he spoke...to be told not to protect was almost unbearable. "Where is Owen?" Goliath asked.

The man behind the desk looked back at him. "Thailog has him. He knew," he said quietly. "Maybe Demona told him, I don't know. It was all on the video. His men used iron chains. That's the only way -- the only way -- Owen, Puck, would have allowed Alexander to be taken from him."

"I will need to tell the others," Goliath said, after letting that sink in. "And," he hastily added, "explain to them the situation." At the door, Goliath turned back and looked at Xanatos, who was still seated behind his assistant's desk, one hand still holding the tape recorder as if he would crush it in his grasp. The other hand was balled into a fist, resting on the blotter. "If..." Goliath hesitated; he had never extended such an offer to Xanatos before, not explicitly. "If you need help from me or any of my clan...you have only to ask."

If Xanatos felt any surprise at his words, he didn't show it. He simply turned the swivel chair to face Goliath and nodded. "Thank you."

For a moment they regarded each other in the small yellow glow of the desk lamp.

"What will you do now?" Goliath asked, his voice deep and quiet.

Xanatos placed his hands on the surface of the desk and rose. "I will get my son back, Goliath. Whatever it takes." He paused, and his voice went business-like again. "We have possibly found some assistance that may escape Thailog's notice, at least for a time."

Two female voices drifted in from the corridor, growing nearer. They seemed to be engaged in a heated discussion.

"So what are you going to do? Play Batgirl and shimmy down a rope through the skylight? Fox, it's suicide. Listen to me, I'm a professional."

"Don't tell me about being a professional..." Fox retorted, her voice taking on a dangerous purr.

Elisa and Fox stopped in the doorway and turned.

"If you can't have the gargoyles, use the next best thing," Xanatos said smoothly. "Fox, Detective Maza, come in. I was just updating Goliath on our situation."

Goliath also got to his feet as Elisa stepped towards him. He looked as if he was about to speak to her, then turned to Xanatos instead, his tone suspiciously neutral. "You...did not mention...that you had already asked Elisa for help."

Elisa quickly stepped between Goliath and the desk. "It's all right, Goliath. We know what we're doing."

"Did Thailog not specify no police?"

"Swat teams, squad cars, FBI," Elisa said. "He didn't mention me specifically as a person, Goliath. I'm doing this unofficially."

"Alone? Just the three of you? Up against Thailog's forces?" Goliath's voice took on a rumbling note. "I understand your concern for your son, Xanatos, but this is madness. Elisa, you cannot possibly be -- "

"Goliath, this is the only way." Hands on her hips, she stared steadily up at him, completely unruffled by the rising volume of his voice, as if he weren't seven feet tall and big enough to throw a car.

"Detective," Xanatos said suddenly, and Goliath and Elisa broke their stare to turn to look at him. "There is no need for you to endanger yourself unnecessarily. Goliath may have a point. Fox and I can do it ourselves if we have to."

"Forget it, Xanatos," Elisa said, folding her arms. She turned back to Goliath. "I know how you feel, Goliath," she said softly. "But it's the right thing to do. I am going to do this whether you approve of it or not." She rested her hands on his chest. "But I'd rather do this with your full support."

Goliath frowned.

"Or perhaps you didn't mean what you said before about your clan's aid," Xanatos spoke up quietly from behind the desk. "Unless you don't consider Elisa a member of your clan?"

The gargoyle turned to Xanatos, Elisa leaning against him under the curve of his arm, which had come up almost unconsciously to encircle her in a protective gesture. For a moment the atmosphere in the office grew extremely dangerous indeed. Fox moved like a cat to stand beside her husband.

Then Goliath let out a long, deep sigh, and it was as if a gathering storm had suddenly dispersed. "A gargoyle always means what he says." He paused. "You're right," he added, looking down at Elisa. "This is the only way."

Before Elisa could stop him, he dropped his arm from across her shoulders, turned, and left the office.

-----

As Goliath headed towards the television room to find Hudson, Lexington suddenly emerged from the stairway in the side of the corridor. He bounded towards Goliath.

"Something's happened to Alex!" Lexington hopped up and down in agitation. "When I tried to go to the nursery just now, a security guard stopped me. And no one will answer any questions." The small, brownish-green gargoyle let out a small growl of frustration.

"Lexington," Goliath said, a bit sharply, and the small gargoyle subsided. "I will tell you what happened. But not yet. The others are already gathered in the Great Hall. Go there now. I will be along with Hudson in a moment."

"But Goliath -- "

"When we are all together. Go."

Reluctantly, Lexington went.

-----

"I can't believe it!" Brooklyn growled. "We saw the roller coaster collapse. How could he possibly have survived?"

Angela and Broadway stood side by side, wings cloaked, faces grim. Bronx sat obediently next to Hudson, his head tilted to one side as if the gargoyle watch-dog were listening intently. The members of the Wyvern clan were clustered at one end of the Great Hall, before the massive fireplace.

"I thought something seemed off," Broadway said. "There were way too many security personnel around."

"Just tell us what we can do, Goliath," Angela said, her back very straight like a soldier's. "Together, we can take Thailog and his men easily."

Lexington balled one hand into a fist. His eyes glowed white. "You bet we can. Let's go." The small brownish-green gargoyle hopped off the table and took off for the door.

Goliath took on swift step to the side, blocking Lexington's path. The brown gargoyle skidded to a halt in astonishment, staring up at Goliath.

"That is what I wanted to discuss with all of you," Goliath said. "We aren't going to do anything."

"What?" Lexington demanded, and four voices echoed it. Bronx whuffed as if disgusted.

"Thailog mentions us specifically in his message to Xanatos," Goliath explained. "If we help Xanatos get Alexander back, Thailog will kill him."

A shocked silence fell over the group. Lexington looked sick.

"Elisa is with Fox and Xanatos now," Goliath went on quietly. "She will be helping them unofficially."

"Elisa's helping Xanatos?" Brooklyn shook his head.

"Wait a minute," Broadway said indignantly. "They're doing this alone, just the three of them?"

"This doesn't sound like such a good idea," said Brooklyn. "Goliath, maybe you should talk to Elisa.

"I already have," Goliath said shortly. "And I trust her judgment." He paused, then looked over the concerned, expectant faces before him. "We can do what we can from here, but no direct interference."

"But we can't just do nothing," Lexington argued. "There must be some way..."

"I gave Xanatos my oath as a gargoyle," Goliath said quietly.

Hudson nodded. "Ay, and when it comes to his son, Xanatos would be needin' such an oath. I understand how ye must feel, but we can't risk it. For the wee laddie's sake," he added, with a sharp look at Lexington.

Lexington turned away. "One of us should have stayed here last night."

For a moment a wordless pall of concern and frustration descended over the group. Lexington stared at the floor, Brooklyn, Broadway, and Angela exchanged glances, and Hudson began to finger the hilt of his sword. This far above the city, deep inside the thick walls of the castle, there were no street sounds, and no background hum of building machinery. Except for the electric glow of the high-tech lighting, it might have been the tenth century. Those who had been there were reminded of countless battle councils.

Into the silence came a thin, questioning whine from Bronx. It seemed to break a spell.

"Hudson," Goliath said, his voice deep but crisp in its leader mode. "You and I will be on watch for the next six hours. Brooklyn, work out relief shifts with the others. Angela, use the internal system, call the study. Have Fox or Xanatos authorize the guards to allow Lexington and the others into the nursery. There may be some small clue that could help in some way -- although I do not see how."

Angela nodded, and left.

"I guess I could look at the video footage," Broadway suggested hesitantly. "That wouldn't be directly interfering, would it?"

A small, wry, close-mouthed smile touched Goliath's face. "No, I think that would be all right. See what you can do."

Glum, Broadway hurried out after Angela. His expression seemed to reflect what most of the clan probably believed: that there was very little they could do to improve the situation, short of doing what they must not do. What they strained against every ounce of genetics and training not to do.

"Lexington, I -- " Goliath turned, and then a startled expression crossed his stolid features. The small gargoyle was gone.

With two talons resting on Bronx's head, Hudson sighed. "He's takin' this to heart."

Goliath frowned. "I hope he doesn't do something rash."

"No, lad," Hudson said firmly. "Lexington will be knowin' better than that by now. Even if he considered it, he wouldn't. He loves that child too much."

-----

Up on the battlement of the north wall, it was cold. The wind lacked the bite of winter, but did not yet promise warmth. Spots of light flashed and gleamed below against the shadowy city, with the river a dark, curling mirror beyond. Thin clouds partially covered the stars and wreathed around the walls of the castle like mist. With his hands leaning on the flat space between two crenelations, Lexington looked out over Manhattan.

He'd felt uneasy the moment he'd reached the kitchen with the others -- the moment he'd been deep within the castle itself. It had made him moody. In a misguided effort to cheer him up, the others had joked around and needled him.

"Oh, grow up!" he'd snapped at Brooklyn, when the second-in-command of the Wyvern clan picked up a salad shooter and began firing carrot slices at him, performing a perfectly awful Jackal imitation at the same time.

Brooklyn's long, beaked face had looked surprised and a touch hurt. Lexington stalked out while Broadway and Angela stared. He'd headed right for the nursery, hardly knowing why he did.

And then he found himself banned from Alex's room for no reason he could fathom, only to discover why and be told "do not protect."

The hairless gargoyle rested his elbows on the stones, his wings settling over his arms like a small square blanket.

"Alex," he said softly, knowing, of course, that the infant couldn't hear him, "I hope you understand why I'm not coming. But don't be scared -- your mom and dad, and Elisa will come. It'll be all right."

-----
7:30 p.m.
The study

Elisa frowned, holding a mug of coffee, long gone cold, in one hand. With the other, she pulled one of the photographs taken from the security video towards her across the table, which was already covered in photographs, analysis sheets, and detailed maps of all five boroughs. Then her gaze left the photograph, sliding for the umpteenth time to the study door, which was shut.

The large figure she kept hoping to see there had not appeared. It bothered her.

"Detective...detective?"

Elisa turned, to see Xanatos watching her curiously. He and Fox sat on the couch. They had both been business-like and calm for the past hour or so, throwing themselves into the work with frightening concentration. But Fox was chewing on her lower lip as she studied a sheaf of papers -- mock certificates, statements, and documents signing over Xanatos Enterprises to Alexander Thailog. Above all, those papers were the key to Alex's safety, and to stopping Thailog. Each paper had a thin, almost microscopic metal thread woven into it, a trace.

She tried to remember what the question had been. "Uh...right. You should be able to pick up the signal from the traces for a fifty-mile radius. Now, we don't know what he has planned once he's got what he wants, but usually in cases like this, that's where the criminals get sloppy."

"True, but we're not dealing with a usual case," Xanatos said. "We're dealing with Thailog."

"Yes, but we can guess what he wants, at least. He's always been after the money. Once he thinks he has that, he may be easier to deal with." Elisa's words sounded lame in her own ears. She didn't add what she was really thinking, what Xanatos and Fox no doubt feared as well...that in addition to going after Xanatos' billions, Thailog had something else in mind as well.

Revenge. Slow, agonizing revenge.

Why Thailog had started with Xanatos, Elisa wasn't sure. Except that Xanatos had a son now...and hadn't Thailog said something about Xanatos being one of his three fathers? Sibling rivalry could be a powerful force.

Elisa shuddered suddenly. If Thailog were after all of his half-siblings, then Angela...

There was a light knock on the study door. Elisa looked up hopefully.

"Come in," Xanatos called.

The door opened, revealing a security officer in XE uniform. In his hands he held a small, rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. "This just came for you, sir," he said, coming forward.

Xanatos, Fox, and Elisa got to their feet. The security guard held the package out to Xanatos, but Elisa intercepted it. She set the package gingerly down on the table as if the brown-wrapped object might break the table's glass surface.

"Could be a bomb." Her hair fell forward over her shoulder as she crouched, studying the package. "Xanatos, maybe you and Fox should..."

"No need to worry, detective," Xanatos said lightly. He turned to the guard. "You did scan it, of course, before bringing it here?"

"Of course, sir. The squad went over it first thing. It's clean."

Elisa straightened. "Oh. Okay, then."

She wasn't sure, but Elisa thought she saw a flicker of amusement in Xanatos' face. Suddenly, she felt like an idiot. Her cop instinct had kicked in, insisting BOMB: Protect Civilians. Except that said civilians already had better security than the Pentagon.

Elisa untied the string and opened the package. Inside was a palm-sized micro-cassette recorder, the same type as the first one. There was a tape inside. Elisa hit the "play" button.

The leader hissed out of the tiny speaker a moment. Then a voice, deep and resonant, began to speak, and she shivered inwardly; it was Goliath's voice, and yet not Goliath -- the intonations, the words, were not his.

"By now I expect that you've reassured yourself that your wife is, in fact, all right. She should be; I gave orders that she not be harmed. This time."

Xanatos's jaw clenched visibly.

Thailog's voice continued. "I trust you've had the time to gather the necessary papers. If you want your son to remain safe, you and your wife will come alone to Pier 21 on the East River. Warehouse 12B, at 2 a.m. Don't keep me waiting."

There was a *click* and the tape hissed into silence. Elisa hit the "stop" button.

The three humans didn't speak for several moments. Then Elisa let out a sigh. "Alone. We're going to have to figure a way to swing this. But I don't see how, unless your technicians have invented a way to make people invisible."

Xanatos folded his arms, then exchanged a look with his wife. "I wouldn't worry about that, detective. Fox and I have prepared a solution. We'll be leaving at 12:30, so you've got time for a quick cat-nap. We'll wake you. " He picked up the map. "Warehouse 12B, Pier 21. He's arranged the meeting place right outside where he's holding Alex."

"But how...?"

"Fox and I decided that what we need here is a distraction, a subterfuge, something to keep Thailog off-guard while one of us goes inside after Alex. We've decided Fox is going to be the one to go in." Elisa opened her mouth, but he cut her off. "We already went through that discussion earlier, detective."

"First of all," Fox said smoothly, "David won't know where to look inside the warehouse. I will. Secondly..." She sent an amused glance at her husband. "I can still take him two falls out of three, backwards and in high heels."

Elisa chuckled. "Got it. I'll be ready when you are."

Xanatos lifted one hand as Elisa stood up. "Detective...please don't take this the wrong way, but you look like you could use some sleep. Really. We'll need you to be sharp when we pull this off."

Elisa ran a hand through her hair, realizing wryly that she was too tired to argue -- which had to mean that he was right. "All right. But wake me early. There's something I have to take care of before we go."

-----
12:15 am, March 4th
Castle Wyvern

Elisa stepped out from the shadows of the stone doorway to join Goliath on the tower. There was a pale, gibbous moon hovering above the lights of the Manhattan skyline. Goliath turned towards her, his wings folded over his shoulders like a cloak. The wind tugged at his hair, but hers was tucked securely under a plain black cap.

Elisa also wore a black leggings and a black knit sweater under an NYPD-issue vest, also unmarked, lined with bulletproof material. She had a length of rope, a gun, and a small flashlight attached to her belt. Black gloves covered her hands. A modern warrior, outfitted in modern armor.

Here on the highest turret of Castle Wyvern, here at the highest point in the city, they seemed far remote from the world that spread below in streaks and glimmers of light. Not even the street sounds reached this high. Only the gusting of the wind, and their own voices, broke the quiet.

"Usually these things say 'NYPD,'" Elisa said wryly, touching the brim. "But I figured it was better not to advertise this time." She fell silent for a moment, then tilted her chin back to look up right into his face. "You do understand, don't you, why I have to do this?" Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.

Goliath didn't answer right away. He tugged the cap off her head, and her dark hair tumbled down over her shoulders. He reached out and let her hair fall through his talons like black silk.

"Of course. That is what you do." He paused. "That is who you are."

Some private, warm amusement glinted in her eyes and was gone. She caught his paw in her hand. "I promise I'll be careful. Don't worry, Thailog has no reason to hold a grudge against me."

~No, but he knows you are a most effective way to get to me....~

He did not express his fears aloud. She had enough to worry about.

Elisa stood on her toes, kissed Goliath lightly on the mouth, then busied herself with tucking her hair back under the cap. "Guess I'd better get going," she said lightly. "Duty calls."

For a wild moment, Goliath wanted to ask her not to go. The sounds and scents and heat of the Mayan jungle came back to him, when he had walked away to fight without Elisa. He remembered turning back suddenly to look at her, framed by the rising mass of the pyramid, as if imprinting her face on his memory. As if afraid he would never see her again.

Elisa tugged at the brim of her cap to secure it. As she turned back towards the door, Goliath reached out and pulled her back, so quickly that she overbalanced, falling willingly against him. He lowered his head and kissed her at length, enfolding her in his wings.

The embrace ended, and Elisa turned towards the door. "I'll...see you before dawn," she said, sounding a bit out of breath.

Then she stepped into the shadows, leaving Goliath alone with the night.

-----
12:27 am
East River waterfront, Warehouse 12B

Puck blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. He was lying on the floor of the warehouse, shivering uncontrollably; the prolonged exposure to the iron was making him physically sick. His mind would white out mercifully every so often, but consciousness kept returning, and with it the pain.

Thailog was holding the whimpering Alexander again, speaking softly to him. "Shh, little brother. You don't have to be afraid of me.... We're going to be great friends, you and I." With a startling gentleness, he put the baby down in the crib and leaned over him, still speaking. "Don't worry. In time, you'll learn to hate our father as I do. You can stay with me. Would you like that?" He chuckled softly and continued, almost whispering. "Well, one of us will have to change his first name.... But we'll be all right. We don't need anyone else, little Alex. We're brothers."

The fierce satisfaction in his tone made an odd contrast to the almost tender expression on his face. He gently touched the infant's closed fist with one talon. "Names," he said, musingly. "Tell me, what do you think of the name 'Jacob,' little brother?..."

Puck closed his eyes.

-----
12:30 am
Behind the Eyrie building

Elisa slid into the backseat of the limousine, pulling the door shut behind her. As she fumbled for the seatbelt, Xanatos shoved a mass of red hair at her; it took her a moment to realize it was a wig. "Put this on," he ordered.

"What?"

"Put it on. You've got to play Fox, and with that black hair you're not going to fool anyone."

Fox, wearing her black commando jumpsuit, was opening a small makeup kit. "Here we are," she said, picking out a fine-point black eye pencil and a vial of blue facepaint. She gave Elisa a measuring look, then pulled out one of pale face powder as well. "Let's not take chances," she said. "Your skin's a lot darker than mine. Hold still."

"You're sure you know where Thailog's holding Alex?"

"I know," Fox said firmly. "Close your eyes and hold still."

Elisa held still, trying to keep from blinking as Fox daubed the blue paint over and around her eyelid, outlining it with a thin black line in the shape of the fox-head design over her own eye. When the makeup job was done and the red wig had been fastened in place with bobby pins, Fox took a long look at Elisa, then glanced at herself in the mirror, and finally nodded. "Here, have a look at yourself," she said, handing the mirror to the other woman.

Elisa took it and glanced from her own reflection to Fox, comparing the two images. "Okay," she said. "So I'm you."

"We really should have gotten you some green contact lenses," Fox said, "but time's a factor here. Just don't get too close to him."

"Believe me, I wasn't planning to," Elisa said fervently.

-----
1:46 am
East River waterfront

The limo dropped them about a block from the river, on a cobbled side street framed by fire escapes. Xanatos opened the trunk of the limo and began removing the parts of his exoframe suit as Elisa got out and closed the door behind her. Holding the slender leather case with the forged documents, Elisa adjusted the ponytail holding back the hair of the wig and then reached up to scratch at the fox-head painted over her eye. Her finger came away blue; she'd have to be careful about that.

"You've got your orders," Xanatos was saying to the driver. "If we're not there when you come to pick us up, and you haven't heard differently from me, you're to alert Mr. Hoffman immediately. He'll know what to do."

Fox, a slender silhouette all in black, helped Xanatos fasten on the last piece of armor as the limo pulled away, and he turned to face her. "Just go in, get Alexander and free Puck, and get out," he told her.

Fox gave him an amused half-smile. The brim of her black cap shadowed her face, making it difficult to discern even the fox-head emblem. "David, I know what I'm doing," she said, with a touch of irony. "I used to do this kind of thing for a living, remember?" She kissed him on the cheek, then turned, ready to melt away into the shadows of the alley.

But Xanatos reached out, turning Fox back to him. One steel-covered hand gently touched her hair, then tilted back her chin as he lowered his head to kiss her.

"Be careful," he told Fox softly.

But Elisa, who had realized she was witnessing an intensely personal moment and quickly turned her head to examine the mortar of a nearby wall, heard it as well. She found her perception of the world shifting, as if what she had just seen and what she knew were a traced image overlying an original, and the lines didn't quite fit; the effect was acutely disorienting. Two figures standing on a windy tower high above Manhattan earlier that night had performed the same gestures, and, although her mind refused to accept it, with the same emotions behind them.

"Detective?"

Elisa jumped, startled, and turned to see a masked Xanatos, his face concealed beneath the metal pseudo-gargoyle features of the helmet. The shifting stopped and the world hardened back into place, as a memory of a steel-clan robot attacking Goliath flashed through her mind.

"Okay, Xanatos. Let's go," she said coolly.

-----
1:56 am
Inside Warehouse 12B

Fox tucked away her glass cutter and dropped through the hole in the skylight, landing almost soundlessly on the warehouse's upper catwalk. A quick scan of the interior showed her what she needed to know. Alex's mental cry for help was still tugging at her mind -- she could have found him blindfolded. The small crib in one shadowed corner of the warehouse's single large room might as well have been picked out in neon lights. She could see no sign of Puck anywhere, and wondered briefly whether that fact should worry her or not.

There were -- she made a quick count -- five hostiles guarding the crib, one next to it, two a few feet away, and two on the lower catwalk above it. Professionals, then, or skilled amateurs; they were scattered widely enough that she wouldn't be able to take them out in one sweep. Even the pair on the catwalk were over an arm's length from each other. Surprise would only give her the drop on one of that pair, maybe the second as well, but not the other three.

Oh well. Nothing ventured....

One quick wider scan to make sure there weren't more, then she swung silently off the higher catwalk and landed in a low crouch on the lower one, directly behind one of the mercs. A quick grab and a jerk upwards, and one of them was over the catwalk railing to fall to the cement floor below; a flying kick to the other one's chest, hard enough that she felt a rib splinter under her foot, and off the catwalk in another leap that landed her beside the one she'd dropped (who was lying motionless -- either playing possum or he'd hit his head) and facing the other three.

Who instantly charged. Fox mentally revised her estimation of their level of professionalism, while the part of her that fought by instinct took over and whirled into their midst.

They didn't give her much trouble, only managing to land a few blows on her before she took them out, none of them even close to incapacitating. Well, except for the one on her left forearm, which could have been dangerous if it had struck her neck as it had been aimed; that one would leave a bruise come morning. Her conscious mind noted this down, then filed it away and promptly forgot about it, the way it always did to injuries when she was working.

She raised her head, listening for the approach of others possibly alerted by the brief skirmish. But apparently the scuffle had gone unnoticed; the warehouse was silent.

Almost.

A tiny, lost-sounding whimpering was coming from the crib, the sound of a child too frightened to scream out loud. Her heart twisted in her chest, and without intending to speak aloud, she heard herself call out softly "Alex? Alex, baby, it's okay, Mama's here...."

"Muh?" There was a moment of startled silence, then the whimpering began again. Fox slipped through the shadows toward the crib, bent over it and caught her breath -- he was here, her baby was really here! -- then gently reached down and stroked his cheek with the back of one hand. "It's me, honey," she whispered. "Mama's here."

Alexander looked up at her and his eyes opened wide; he stopped wailing, breathed a long shuddering sigh, and stuffed one small fist into his mouth.

With a little sob, she caught him up out of the crib and just held him for a long moment, murmuring under her breath: "It's all right. It's all right. Mama's come to take you home now. It's all right..."

Later, in retrospect, her mistake seemed so obvious; she should have grabbed the baby and bolted. She should not have taken the time to reassure her son; she should not have yielded to her own need for reassurance that Alex was alive and unharmed; she should certainly not have let her guard down, not for a second.

None of which was much help, really, when she heard the distinct click-whine of the safety catch on an energy weapon behind her head.

-----
2:00 p.m.
Outside Warehouse 12B

Several of the exterior lights on the warehouse had gone out, leaving only two burning. Just beyond the warehouse, the concrete jetty ended, giving way to the glittering dark waters of the East River.

Thailog was already there, flanked by four henchmen (mercenaries, probably) in armor of the same material as Thailog's, consisting of a breast plate, shoulder protectors, and gauntlets. The mercs also wielded small but lethal-looking energy weapons. There was something on the ground at Thailog's feet, a large lumpy shape concealed under a burlap covering.

Xanatos and Elisa stopped some twenty feet from the group. Elisa reached back as if to rub the base of her spine, to touch the automatic secreted under her vest.

"All right, Thailog," Xanatos called out, his voice sounding mechanical and hollow through the microphone of the exoframe helmet. "We're here, and as you can see," he gestured at himself and Elisa with a whir of servos, "we are alone. Now where's my son?"

"All in good time -- Father," Thailog answered, the tone of his deep voice turning the word into a curse.

Thailog looked almost exactly as he had in Paris, a strange photo-negative image of Goliath, his red eyes looking out at the world with an arrogant, dangerous confidence and calculation. Elisa found herself wondering how Demona could have ever -- ever -- found Thailog an acceptable substitute for Goliath.

As he stepped into a pool of light, Elisa noticed there were a few changes. The thick mane of white hair was much shorter, and in the faint glow of the light, Elisa noticed large patches of burn scars on the exposed areas of his dark violet skin. And his wings...Elisa caught her breath in shock.

His wings were a tattered ruin. The webbing between the framework of bones hung in ragged shreds, and the framework itself was twisted and blackened, damaged beyond any hope of healing. Gliding on those living wounds would be impossible.

Xanatos took the leather case from Elisa and held it out. "In here are the documents, signed and notarized, handing complete control of Xanatos Enterprises over to one Alexander Thailog."

"Kick it over here," Thailog said.

"Wait," Xanatos said. "How do I know Alexander is all right?"

Elisa blinked. Alexander. Why hadn't she noticed the names before?

"I thought you might ask that," Thailog answered Xanatos. He waved a gauntleted hand, and the mercs stepped back, providing a clearer view of the burlap-covered shape. The gargoyle clone reached down and tugged off the burlap with a flourish, like a magician revealing a trick.

Lying limp and motionless on the concrete, iron chains twisted about his slender body, was Puck.

Inside the exoframe helmet, Xanatos let out a curse.

"Why don't we ask the tricky one." Thailog reached down and yanked Puck upwards, dangling the chained fay from his grasp. "You," Thailog said, shaking Puck. "Tell him, trickster."

Puck raised his head slightly. His clever almond-shaped eyes opened, but looked dull and clouded, the fun and mischief drained from them. "When I...left him," he said unsteadily, his voice barely audible across the intervening space, "he was unharmed."

"The iron is making him quite ill, I understand," Thailog said matter-of-factly. "Poor Puck. Does it hurt?" Thailog grinned maliciously down at the fay, then dropped him in a heap to the concrete. In spite of her past encounter with Puck, Elisa winced in sympathy. "Now, kick it over here."

Xanatos was about to obey, but Elisa reached out and rested her fingers on his metal arm. The metal head turned to look down at her, joints whirring.

Not yet, Elisa mouthed. Keep stalling.

"I want to see my son," Elisa called aloud, trying to imitate Fox's contralto with her own voice.

"I'm afraid that's impossible." Thailog was beginning to sound annoyed, which was all to the good. An annoyed kidnapper was an unsettled one, and would make a mistake.

"No, I want to see him." Her voice grew louder, more insistent. "David, I want to see Alexander now!"

"Dearest," Xanatos said, loudly for Thailog's benefit, "I don't think that's possible right now...."

"We know he was all right when Puck left him. How do we know he's all right now? We can't trust this monster!" Elisa let her lower lip tremble. "He's my baby, and I want to see him!" Xanatos reached out to put a hand on her shoulder; she shook it off violently and stamped her foot. "NOW!"

"Fox, we can't risk -- "

"I want to see my baby!" Elisa covered her face with her hands and began to sob loudly.

"Xanatos, can't you control your female?" Thailog called in disgust.

The exoframe's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I've been trying to do that for some time," Xanatos said. "Be darned if I can figure women out."

Between her fingers, Elisa risked a glance at Thailog. He was fingering the hand-piece of the particle-beam gun at his belt, his eyes narrowed dangerously with irritation. Then he glanced down at Puck again.

"Pity the iron won't kill him." Thailog nudged the fay with one foot, considering. "Then again, perhaps it might. I don't think anyone's ever tried. His kind are supposed to be immortal, but -- if I cut his throat with an iron blade, do you think he would survive?"

Again, the exoframe mask concealed Xanatos' reaction. But after a moment's silence, Xanatos tossed the leather case out, and it slid across the concrete towards Thailog. One of the mercs ran out, picked up the case, and jogged back. He handed it to his employer, who opened it and rifled through the papers. For a moment, Elisa held her breath -- but then Thailog casually closed the case and handed it to one of the mercs, apparently satisfied.

"Well, are the papers satisfactory?"

"Oh, quite." Thailog smiled.

"Then hand -- over -- my -- son."

It was a tone of voice Elisa had never heard from Xanatos before, and not many would dare disobey it.

Thailog chuckled, and Elisa felt her scalp prickle. "As you will recall, Father," and again the word flicked out viciously, like a blow, "I said that if Xanatos Enterprises were handed over to me, the infant would not be harmed. I never said anything about giving him back."

Whatever expression crossed Xanatos' face at that moment, it was hidden by the helmet. But Elisa saw his steel-covered hand clench into a fist, saw the exoframe move forward in a jerky, impulsive movement -- and stop.

Elisa felt her own stomach twist in shock and helpless fury, and hatred for Thailog. Not even David Xanatos deserved to be tortured like that. For the first time, despite the expressionless metal features that hid his face, Elisa felt a wrench of pity for her enemy.

A hissing, crackling noise erupted from the vicinity around Thailog -- the sound of a communicator, Elisa realized. Thailog pulled out a small communication device from his armor. "Yes, Randall, what is it?"

The voice that came through the commlink was just barely audible from where they stood. "Sir, I have Mrs. Fox Xanatos here at gunpoint. What are your orders?"

The dead silence inside the exoframe helmet was more eloquent of shock and horror than any curse, any gasp of pain. Elisa went cold.

"What are you talking about?" Thailog said into the mouth piece, his voice dangerously calm. "She's right here, I'm looking at her."

"Sir, there is a woman here with red hair and a fox-head insignia over her right eye, and she is holding the baby. And, I might add, she has managed to take out all five of the men you had guarding it...."

"That's my girl," Elisa heard Xanatos say softly, brokenly, from within the exoframe helmet.

Thailog paused, then spoke. "The orders stand. I'll be there shortly." He clicked off the communicator and turned towards Xanatos and Elisa. "Very clever, Father," he purred. "But not quite clever enough."

"Sorry to have disappointed you, Thailog," Xanatos said in something approaching his usual cavalier tone, though he seemed to fight to keep his voice level. "So what happens now? You've got what you wanted -- " He gestured at the briefcase still in the merc's grasp.

"Have I now?" Thailog drew out the words, smiling, clearly savoring his advantage. "But you see, you cheated. I think that entitles me to -- "

In what seemed like the continuation of the gesture toward the briefcase, Xanatos swept his arm toward Thailog. The exoframe gun rose out of his arm, and a thin line of orange light sliced through the air, just missing Elisa as she leapt to one side --

-- and hitting, not Thailog, not any of his henchmen, but the commlink that Thailog still held. The tiny device exploded in his hand, sending tiny shards of metal and plastic flying everywhere.

With a snarl of rage, Thailog drew his own blaster and fired, and then Elisa was behind the stack of crates she'd chosen as cover, and for the moment she couldn't see him anymore.

The dim warehouse dock was suddenly lit by the blaze of laser fire. Elisa reached back and pulled out her gun. Xanatos's move had been a desperate one, but shrewd, she realized belatedly; with no communication between the inside and the outside of the warehouse, Thailog couldn't give orders to his people within. Orders like, say, killing one or both of the hostages. Fox was in there. At gunpoint....

Xanatos hit the ground next to her, already tensed to make a dash for the next piece of available cover. "Keep moving," he said over his shoulder. "If they get us pinned down, we've lost. We need to buy Fox more time."

-----
2:08 am
Warehouse 12B

"Turn around slowly, please," said a voice, presumably whoever was holding the gun. Fox checked her first instinct, to wheel around in an all-out attack; the voice was well beyond her reach, out of range even for a full-extension spinkick. "Make no sudden moves, and do not put down the baby."

She was still for an instant, her mind racing through her options. With Alex in her arms she would be all too effectively hampered; she didn't dare try to fight while holding him.... ~And the snake knows it,~ she thought bitterly. ~Well, that simplifies things. I'm dead.~

Alex was looking up at her with wide solemn eyes, and she could feel his sudden wordless apprehension. She bent her head and pressed her cheek against his downy red hair, trying with all her heart to project comfort and reassurance. ~It's going to be all right, Alex. I promise you, it's going to be all right.~

And then she raised her head and turned, slowly.

The man holding the particle-beam gun was standing just out of her range, almost as though he knew to within a fraction of an inch how close he could get safely. Tall, gaunt, gray-suited, pale, dark-haired. Held the gun as though it were part of him, and with the sense that his own hands were no less deadly than the more obvious weapon. There was a coiled-spring readiness about his stance that cautioned her against underestimating this man's reflexes. Whoever this man was, he was dangerous; and for the moment he was not bothering to try to appear otherwise.

Without removing either his eyes or the gun from her, he removed a small communication-link from inside his jacket and tapped the "page" switch with his thumb. There was a crackle as another commlink was activated, and Thailog's voice said "Yes, Randall, what is it?"

"Sir, I have Mrs Fox Xanatos here at gunpoint," the man said deliberately. "What are your orders?"

There was a moment's pause. "What are you talking about?" came Thailog's voice. "She's right here. I'm looking at her."

Randall watched Fox as he replied, with that same even tone. "Sir, there is a woman here with red hair and a fox-head insignia over her right eye, and she is holding the baby. And, I might add, she has managed to take out all five of the men you had guarding it...."

When Thailog spoke again, there was a low, dangerous purr in his voice that raised the hair on the back of her neck. "The orders stand. I'll be there shortly." There was a click as he broke the connection.

Randall replaced the commlink in some inner pocket and retreated two paces, keeping the gun trained on her. He did not speak.

"What was he talking about? What orders?" Fox demanded.

"You will be silent, Mrs Xanatos," he said neutrally. "Or you will be silenced."

She swallowed, and tightened her hold on Alex. With her eye she measured the space between herself and Randall, and the distance to the nearest cover; too far to either attack or dodge before getting shot. Alone she might have risked it, but with the baby --

And the idea came to her, so simply that she felt nothing beyond a mild surprise that she hadn't thought of it sooner. She looked down again at her son, who was watching her face with those enormous green eyes that were so like her own.

(Alex?) she said tentatively in her mind.

(...?) The response was not verbal, but rather a sharp sense of acknowledgment -- and of willingness. He would help.

(Alex...see the gun?) She formed an image of Randall's gun in her mind, that gun, in the man's hand, and dimly felt her baby's mind taking it in. She shifted his weight to her left shoulder, freeing her right hand.

(...)

(Throw Mama the gun, Alex? Like you did with the ball, remember? Throw Mama the gun.)

There was a pause of several seconds...and then, as before, came that flash of comprehension.

(!)

Alex lifted one baby-soft hand, reached toward his target --

And the gun flew from Randall's grasp, flipping itself about in midair, so that the grip slapped neatly into the palm of Fox's right hand. She raised it, aimed it at a spot directly between Randall's eyes. The entire thing had taken less than two seconds.

Randall froze, his right hand still reaching out futilely after the gun. His eyes darted around the empty warehouse, lit on a crowbar sitting atop a pile of crates, fixed there for a moment --

Fox actually laughed. "Oh, do. Please. Just give me an excuse."

Randall looked back at her.

She hefted Alex higher on her shoulder, and gave the man her sweetest smile. "To be honest, Randall, I'd love an excuse to kill something right now. I'm having a very bad day."

He said nothing, but cast a quick look around him that reminded her forcefully of her own scanning for cover moments ago. She couldn't hold the gun on him for too long. Sooner or later something would distract her....

She glanced down at the gun, briefly, and thumbed the power switch back and forth a couple of times. "What's the stun setting on this thing?... Oh, never mind." Before he could react, she fired directly at him. His face registered a priceless moment of shock and horror before the particle-beam struck him, knocking him to the ground, unconscious.

Unconscious, not dead. She'd known the weapon was set to stun, of course. But she hadn't been able to resist the somewhat morbid joke.

Without letting go of the gun, she raised her hand and spoke directly into her wrist commlink. "David?"

"Fox?" She could hear the sound of gunfire over the commlink, and his voice was rough with exertion -- and relief.

"I've got Alexander. All hostiles dealt with. I can't find Puck."

"He's out here, Thailog's got him chained. Come on out, but be careful -- there's a firefight going on out here. Take Alex and get to where it's safe. David out." Click.

Fox cast a quick look around the warehouse -- empty but for her and the unmoving forms of her erstwhile opponents -- then down at Alex. Her son. Here, and in her arms, and unharmed.

And Thailog was still free, and Puck was still bound, and there was a firefight going on outside and the man she loved most in all the world was out there in the middle of it all.

Get to where it's safe?

"Not bloody likely," she muttered, and headed for the door, thumbing the switch on the power setting to kill.

-----
2:14 am
Outside

"Take Alex and get to where it's safe. David out." He turned off the commlink with a flick of one hand, turned and began firing at Thailog's men in a covering pattern, advancing toward where Thailog stood watching.

"Xanatos, she has Alexander, let's get out of here!" Elisa darted behind another pile of crates, chased by a spark of laser fire.

~What is he doing?~ she wondered furiously, as Xanatos continued to fire, working his way closer to Thailog and...Puck. He was staying behind for Puck, or for Owen...and Elisa remembered Goliath telling her that Xanatos had chosen Owen over having any one wish he wanted.

"Damn," Elisa muttered, leaning against the crates with her gun raised in her right hand. She couldn't just leave him to fight alone -- it was five against one, even if he did have the suit. ~Damn and damn again.~

The thing to do, of course, would be to release Puck. An image of Puck's hijinks turned on Thailog came to her, and she liked the idea. She liked it very much.

Xanatos swiped aside one of the mercs with a blow of his steel-covered arm, then dodged as Thailog fired at him. With the gargoyle clone distracted, Elisa hoped to reach Puck -- but Thailog was one step ahead of them. He grabbed up Puck by the chains, pulling him along as he dodged Xanatos' return fire and vanished around the corner of the warehouse with a flick of his tail.

Elisa, crouched behind the crates, heard a footfall behind her. She turned on the balls of her feet and stood at the same time -- and came face to face with the barrel of a particle-beam gun, held by one of Thailog's armored squad.

"Throw the gun down," he said.

Elisa sighed, lowering her hands. "Well, I guess you've got me -- " She let fly with a rotation kick that caught the armored thug off guard. Her foot contacted with his wrist, and his gun went flying. Before he could make another move, Elisa pointed her automatic at him. "Or not. Hands up."

The merc raised his hands warily, and Elisa wondered what she would do with him now. Well, one down.... "Turn around."

He obeyed, and she struck before he had time to realize what she was going to do: a swift, sharp blow with the pistol-butt to the back of the head, hard enough to make sure he'd be out for a while. He fell, unconscious before he hit the ground.

Elisa spared a few moments to confiscate the dropped gun and the knife in the man's belt. "I'll do you the best favor I can," she said to the limp body. "I won't make sure you stay out of commission."

One of the other mercs had leapt on Xanatos from behind and was trying to pull his helmet off. Thailog stepped out, trying to get a bead on Xanatos, but couldn't shoot without taking out his own men. Elisa ducked back behind the crates, avoiding the crossfire. With her left hand clutching the corner of a crate, the other holding the gun, she considered her options. Thailog was no longer holding on to Puck. If she went around the other side of the warehouse...

One of Thailog's squad stepped into her line of vision, his back to her. Elisa put her shoulder to the stack of crates, and watched with satisfaction as they buried the merc with a tumbling crash. Better move now, before things get busier. Let Xanatos worry about the rest of 'em.

She moved around the corner of the warehouse, then broke into a full run, going in and out of the pools of light from the building's exterior streetlamps. Reaching the third corner, Elisa crouched, and saw only Puck, a small crumpled heap in the shadows next to the wall.

With her back to the building, gun in hand, Elisa moved with light quiet steps until she reached Puck, who was lying there with his eyes closed. His face looked peaked, more than his habitual paleness, and vulnerable, oddly delicate. The links of the chain dug cruelly into his skin and into the fine fabric of his brilliant red tunic.

As one might touch a sleeping dragon, Elisa knelt and rested her fingers on the chains crisscrossing his chest. It had never struck her before how small Puck was in comparison to the average human.

Puck stirred, and opened his eyes, which widened in surprise before he gave her a satiric grin.

"Elisa Maza. Fancy meeting you here." His voice was weak but still held that annoying note of private amusement -- nothing, it seemed, could force Puck to take things seriously. She wasn't surprised that he recognized her; no amount of makeup or wigs could fool the Puck. Of course, that close, her disguise wouldn't fool anyone who knew either her or Fox.

Thailog had padlocked the chains; still, she thought if she manipulated them, she could slide them from Puck's body. Elisa set her gun down on the dock, and deftly began working her fingers over the links, untangling them.

"You don't know how much this means to me," Puck was saying. "I'm forever in your debt. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Anything you want, anything at all, just say the word and it's yours."

Elisa shook her head. "No thanks." The chains were more tangled than she'd realized, almost knotted; this was going to take a while.

"Oh, come on, don't be shy! Whatever it is you want, I can probably work it into a lesson for the kid. What's your pleasure? You know -- " He winked broadly at her -- "if you'd like to be a gargoyle again, for one night, I can arrange it...."

"I said, no thanks. I saw the 'gift' you gave Demona."

"Hey, she annoyed me. And listen, I mean it, I owe you big time for getting me out of this -- "

Elisa compressed her lips into a grim line and kept working on the chains. "I'm not doing this for you," she said coldly.

"Really! Well, then, who are you doing it for? I may be a bit foggy- headed from the iron, but I'm quite sure I heard you say that the kid's safe. You aren't actually -- "

"Oh, shut up!" Elisa whisper-shouted at him in exasperation.

Suddenly Puck's features twitched in alarm. The shadow Puck was lying in grew a shade darker, and a low, satisfied chuckle sounded behind her.

Elisa froze. ~I know that laugh.~

A grip like a steel vise closed over her shoulders before she could move, lifting her off the ground like a rag doll.

"Yes, Puck. Do shut up, or someone might overhear." Thailog grinned evilly, and kicked the fay in the side. Puck flinched with pain, his face tightening, but he didn't make a sound.

Elisa hadn't been this close to Thailog in almost a year. Her hands had instinctively come up to grab hold of one massive wrist in a vain attempt to free herself, and some distant part of her mind noted: ~His skin even feels like Goliath's...~ Her jaw clenched in sudden irrational fury at Thailog, fury not for what he'd done, but for what he was.

And for the tiny fear he always woke in the back of her mind, the terror that she knew was groundless but could never wholly banish: ~If Goliath ever got this angry at me....~

Thailog let go of her with one hand, and as she dangled, trying to pry his talons from her shoulder, he yanked the wig of red hair from her head, so roughly that she grunted aloud in pain as the bobby pins tore free. He tossed the wig to the ground, where it landed in a heap next to Puck, who was squirming in the loosened chains. The same detached part of her mind saw that Thailog's right hand was bleeding from half a dozen tiny cuts -- no doubt from when the commlink had exploded. He was ignoring the blood, ignoring the pain, focused only on coming out of this night holding what he wanted.

"Hello, detective. How nice to see you again. It looks like it's my night for revenge after all."

With a cold, deliberate movement, he drew back his free arm, curling his talons into a fist in preparation for a blow that, Elisa knew, was very likely intended to break her neck. She turned her head away and closed her eyes, bracing herself uselessly. ~Goliath, I'm sorry -- ~

And then a black steel-covered hand with red trim clamped over Thailog's fist, stopping its momentum.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" Xanatos' voice said, amplified through the helmet speaker.

Elisa was beyond the capacity for surprise; in a detached way, she noted the odd expression of satisfaction that dawned on Thailog's face. He didn't try to wrest his fist from Xanatos' grasp -- almost as if he had been waiting for the confrontation.

With a brutal, dismissive movement, Thailog flung Elisa aside. Her head cracked against the cement surface of the pier, and her vision was filled with bright darts of light, then dimmed to near-darkness. She struggled to rise, pushed herself up onto hands and knees...and sank back down, her eyes closing.

-----

Fox moved rapidly along the outside wall of the warehouse, Alex held firmly in her left arm, the pistol in her right hand. Her mind had gone preternaturally clear: shapes seemed sharply outlined, sounds distinct and separate, even the smell of the night air was heightened.

She could not have said why she turned left instead of right after leaving the main entrance; the sounds of fighting had died down, and even with her enhanced awareness she couldn't tell where it was coming from. But something made her turn left.

Fortunately, as it turned out, for otherwise she would have been upon the fight before she even knew it was there.

As she neared the corner of the warehouse, she could hear her husband's voice raised in a bellow of fury, and the sounds of a struggle. She slowed, then rounded the corner.

Thailog and David were locked in a hand-to-hand battle, beyond noticing anything besides each other. David's helmet was missing, and there were visible dent marks on both sets of armor.

On the concrete pier beyond them, Elisa Maza was lying unconscious, her dark hair spilled about her head; she stirred as Fox looked at her, but did not open her eyes. And on the other side of them, in a heap against the wall, lay a small figure with hair that gleamed white in the dim illumination of the streetlamps, unmoving.

Somehow she was beside the chained Puck, kneeling next to him, one hand resting on his shoulder. "Puck?"

He opened his eyes slowly and looked up at her, then smiled weakly. "Hey, Mrs X," he managed. "Are we winning?"

She glanced up at David and Thailog. "We will, if I can get you out of this," she told him.

"Oh, good," he said. "I think. Is the kid okay?"

"I've got him. He's fine." She began working at the chains with one hand, flinching at the touch of the metal; it seemed colder than it should have been, even in the chill March night.

-----

Thailog's punch caught him across the side of the helmet, sending him staggering.

Xanatos recovered his balance and retreated a few steps, shaking his head as if to clear it. He raised his hands to his head and lifted off the helmet, confirming that some damage had been done. He made as if to toss it aside -- then drew it back and hurled it straight at Thailog.

The gargoyle dodged aside, but a shade too slowly to avoid the blow entirely; it glanced off his shoulder, instead of hitting him full in the head.

Thailog bared his teeth in a grin of acknowledgment, and the two combatants began prowling in a circuit around each other, in the ages-old pattern of single combat.

"Oh, by the way, Father," said Thailog conversationally as the two circled, looking for openings, "I've found out something you might be interested to know. I've discovered the true secret of immortality."

David's upper lip curled in a snarl, and his fist drove toward the gargoyle's face.

Thailog dodged the blow, ducked behind Xanatos, and in a single swift pounce gained a half-nelson hold around the other's right arm and head, a pinning grip. He brought his face close to Xanatos's ear and whispered harshly: "The secret is...you don't really want it." A high-pitched maniacal giggle escaped him, raising the hairs on the backs of several necks.

Xanatos twisted free of the grip and pulled away, his breath coming in harsh gasps. When he spoke it was in a cold, tightly controlled voice, with the ugly overtone of words calculated to hurt. "You'll never be half the gargoyle Goliath is. You disgust me."

Thailog let out an incredulous laugh. "I...disgust you? I AM you! Chip off the old block, wasn't that the phrase?" His voice lowered, and he spoke almost calmly. "That's what I was all about, isn't it? I'm just what you wanted any child of yours to be. The fact is, Father, I've outdone you. What game of yours ever matched this?"

Xanatos let out a wordless roar of rage and lunged at Thailog.

The two grappled, no complex technique now, just brute strength against brute strength. "Have you no blessing left for me, Father?" Thailog snarled between clenched teeth. "Was he not well named Jacob, who has now twice stolen my birthright?" --

-- and then everything froze in a sudden flare of green light, and a voice drawled: "You started the fight without me? How rude. Oh well, there's still time for me to get in on the action, isn't there?" And despite the flippant words, there was a steel edge to the voice; the frightening sound of self- restraint breaking, of a normally amicable soul angered past endurance.

Elisa raised her head, staring.

Puck was hovering several feet off the ground, his eyes flaring an angry green, energy crackling around his fingertips. The iron chains lay in a heap below him, and Fox crouched against the wall behind, shielding Alex with her arms as well as she could.

Puck lifted one hand, clenched into a fist, and spoke again:

And the green light exploded, throwing the two combatants apart.

Xanatos was knocked backwards into the wall, staggering and barely keeping his feet. Thailog was sent reeling as well, his ruined wings half- spread to maintain his footing -- until another blast of green light hit him, shoving him off-balance again. And another, and another.

A hoarse voice could be heard dimly above the uproar: the fay was shouting rhyming curses through the thundering explosions, lashing his former captor with green thunderbolts, again and again and over again. The three humans were forced to shield their eyes from the blinding glow...but could not shield their ears as Thailog began to scream.

None of them could have said how long it went on, but after some time the screams turned to moans punctuated by hoarse gasps, and then to silence.

Elisa opened her eyes again and struggled into a sitting position. Puck stood there some distance away, both feet on the ground for once, his jaw clenched tight and his hands balled into fists, his breath coming hard.

Fox, carrying Alexander, came up behind him and laid a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Puck...?"

"He hurt me," Puck stated, in a remote, fierce, implacable tone that made Fox shiver and withdraw her hand. "Hurting me was a mistake."

Thailog's body lay where it had been thrown, like a broken doll, the ravaged wings crumpled under him, a thin smoke rising from his chest. The red eyes were half-open, watching them; they were glazed, but aware.

-----

There was no pain this time, only a terrible cold numbness that seemed to spread outward from his chest. Even his wings, which had been a more or less constant snarl of pain in the background since the fire at Coney Island, were no longer hurting.

Xanatos stood over him, the forearm gun of his body armor aimed down at his heart. "Careful," he warned, speaking over his shoulder to his allies without removing his gaze from Thailog's face. "We've thought he was dead once before. He could still be dangerous."

Thailog coughed, and spat blood. "I...don't think so," he rasped, with a strange, bitter half-smile. "Not anymore."

Xanatos considered for a moment, then knelt beside him, keeping the gun trained on his torso. One hand rested briefly on Thailog's chest, then went to the side of the throat. He saw Xanatos's face change as he realized what the gargoyle clone already knew: the pulse was weak, thready, irregular... fading out even as they spoke.

"No," the human said quietly. "Not anymore."

Thailog lifted a hand that seemed to weigh far more than it should have, and gripped the human's wrist with what little strength remained to him; it was a measure of the grip's weakness, he thought bitterly, that Xanatos did not even bother to pull free. He drew in a labored breath and hissed, "Not alone. You could never have beaten me alone. I...was winning...."

Xanatos nodded soberly. "You would have won."

Thailog turned his head, looking around at his enemies: Fox, holding Alexander in her arms and staring at him with grim satisfaction; Puck, hovering in midair again and looking uncharacteristically sober; Elisa, moving slowly towards where he lay, with a look on her face that might almost have been pity.

He strained and managed to raise his head a few centimeters, speaking directly to her: "Tell Goliath. Tell him -- " he coughed again -- "how it happened. I won't...make the same mistake again."

"You won't get the chance to," Elisa said.

One corner of his mouth went up in that half-smile again. "Are you sure, Detective?" His gaze went back to Xanatos. "And so this is the way it ends," he whispered. "Remember me...Father."

A long sigh of breath rattled in his throat, and he did not draw another. His hand slid off the human's wrist and fell limply to the ground, and his red eyes went blank, staring sightlessly at the night sky.

David Xanatos reached out and closed the dead gargoyle's eyes.

For what seemed a long time, there was silence. David knelt there, his hand loosely curled just under his mouth, gazing down at the body of the one who, in a very real sense, had been his eldest son.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, too low for anyone else to hear. Which was just as well, since he could not have said to whom he was apologizing -- his fay servant, his new ally Elisa Maza, his wife, his infant son...or his first, and failed, attempt at an offspring.

A hand rested lightly on his shoulder. "David...?"

He looked up. Fox was standing beside him, with their baby held in the crook of one arm. "David...let's go home."

-----
5:49 am
Castle Wyvern -- the tower

..."It's certain, then. He is dead." Goliath looked down at the sleeping Alexander. "I am glad that you were able to save your son, Xanatos."

Xanatos did not smile, and his voice was tired and sad. "I was able to save one of them." He stroked Alex's cheek with the back of one finger, his eyes distant. "You were right the first time, Goliath. We all failed him. You were right."

Fox put her hand over his and held it. "Don't, David," she said softly. "Don't. It's over."

Elisa managed to extricate herself from Angela's embrace and came over to join them. Goliath turned to look down at her, a rare smile lightening his dark face, and reached out to put a hand on her shoulder.

She flinched away from his touch involuntarily, her heart pounding with a sudden vertigo. The bruises still ached on her shoulder where Thailog had grabbed her -- and Goliath's hand had fallen on the exact same spot, fitting the pattern of bruises precisely. ~Of course it fits,~ she found herself thinking. ~It's the same hand....~

And the same body, and the same face. Only it wasn't, this was not Thailog, this was the gargoyle she loved -- A shiver went through her, and again that thin impotent rage.

"Elisa?" Goliath was looking at her with a deep concern, his hand frozen in the air where she had been. "Are you hurt?"

Elisa opened her mouth, paused, and let out a small sigh, looking away. "It's...just a bruise." He started to protest, but she undercut whatever he had been about to say by taking his arm. "Sun's about to rise."

He looked down at her, and nodded. "Until sunset, then?"

She smiled up at him. "Count on it."

The predawn light intensified, brightening the cool dawn air. The four humans stood watching as the seven gargoyles took their places. As the sun's rays speared through the morning mist, the gargoyles hardened into their stone forms, standing silent guard over the city.

Fox and David turned toward the door, and Owen glanced at Elisa. "Will you be breakfasting at the castle, Detective Maza?"

She looked at him, startled. "Oh, uhhh...I dunno..."

Fox paused at the door, looked back at them, and smiled. "Oh, come on," she said to Elisa. "David makes great pancakes."

"Flapjacks," David corrected with dignity.

Fox sighed wearily. "David, no one calls them flapjacks. They're called pancakes."

"In Maine, they're called flapjacks."

"We're not in Maine, David...."

Owen said nothing, and said it with such emphasis as to make it absolutely clear that he had no intention of taking either side of the argument.

Elisa's eyebrow quirked upward in amusement as she followed the others inside, and the discussion faded into the depths of the tower.

Epilogue

The lab was smaller than his old one.

Dr. Anton Sevarius finished entering the relevant data into the computer and started the transfer analysis. The computer, at least, was state-of-the-art; it had to be, of course, even if that meant doing without sufficient countertop space or central heating. Priorities were, after all, priorities; and while it wasn't perfect, this place was adequate for his needs.

The last lab he'd worked in, though.... Sevarius sighed with brief regret. Lucrative employment was easy enough to find, but jobs that challenging and exhilarating were truly hard to come by. Working for Nightstone Unlimited, he'd been free to play with the very building blocks of life itself, and whining "professional ethics" be damned! Society's mores took such a narrow view of things when it came to the most fundamental aspects of science. How on earth could a scientist be expected to achieve anything, to learn anything, when constantly impeded by the primitive fears of lesser minds?

Ah well. At least this job paid -- nearly as well as Nightstone had, actually. Which was unsurprising, considering how well his employer knew him. Money had always been one of his little weaknesses. The work, if not as ambitious as the development of the carrier virus he'd been involved in, had its own peculiar fascination. And there was a certain satisfaction in seeing one of his own favorite techniques adopted by one of -- he permitted himself a chuckle at the thought -- one of his most successful progeny.

It was just as well that he could still afford to hire menial help. Hauling the body out of the East River would have been...rather distasteful without help. And he was quite certain none of them had seen him retrieving the implant from within its skull.

The computer whirred softly, breaking his train of thought, and extruded a printout. Sevarius pulled it out and ran a practiced eye down the column of figures, nodding to himself; the data checked out on all levels. Completely successful transfer.

And it was a curious feeling, he mused as he reached out to input the command that would begin the final stage of the procedure, to be on the observing end of the process after so long.

Run program RESURGAM, he typed.

RUNNING

Deep in the heart of the computer, there was a low humming as the flood of encoded information went rushing down the links to the motionless figure in the tank. Inside, he knew, pathways were being forged in the unformed brain, the entire playback being recorded, up to and including the moment of cutoff.

The computer whirred again. PROGRAM COMPLETE

Sevarius smiled. "Excellent," he said aloud into the empty room. Initiate decanting procedure, tank A, he typed.

ARE YOU SURE YOU WISH TO DECANT SUBJECT A? (Y/N)

He tapped the Y key, waiting.

TRIPLE CONFIRMATION AND PASSWORD PHRASE REQUIRED. ARE YOU SURE YOU WISH TO DECANT SUBJECT A? (Y/N)

"Yes, I'm sure," he said irritably, hitting the Y key again.

ENTER PASSWORD PHRASE

It hadn't been hard to think of a password when he'd first set up the RESURGAM program; the final lines of Yeats's "The Second Coming," one of his favorite poems, had come to mind almost immediately. Appropriate, he rather thought.

He flexed his fingers and typed in the line: And what rough beast, its hour come round at last / Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?

PASSWORD ACCEPTED. BEGINNING DECANTING PROCEDURE

The tank tilted sideways so that the figure floating within was now lying on its side. With an audible puff of air pressure, the tank's locks opened and the nutrient bath began draining out. As it emptied, the tank split down the center, the two halves folding down into themselves and leaving the subject on the floor, its thick white hair still dripping wet. Another hiss of escaping air was heard as the breath mask disengaged and snaked back into the upper half of the truncated tank.

"Good morning," Dr. Sevarius said cheerfully to the newborn clone.

And with a faint rumble that might or might not have been an acknowledgment, Thailog opened his eyes.