Elizabeth McCoy (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} archangelbeth) wrote,@ 2006-04-25 14:35:00 |
|
Half Finished Fic: Gargoyles - Complications
I am still quite fond of the Disney cartoon, Gargoyles, from some years back. I am going to have to get the second season DVDs. Mmmm.
Here -- several years old, when I was on the Usenet alt.fan group for the series -- is a half-finished Gargoyles fanfic. I am unlikely to finish it unless I manage to marathon the DVDs sometime with the minx.
I will probably make [bracketed, underlined] comments as I take out the hard carriage returns, though.
"Complications"
A fan-fiction work based on Disney's Gargoyles cartoon. All characters from the cartoon are copyright Disney and Buena Vista, and no threat to copyright is intended, though they are used without permission. All characters not appearing in the cartoon are copyright me.
[I'm leaving that in, more for historical value. I was such a kid when I wrote it. Are there any original characters in this thing?]
This episode takes place *instead* of "Runaways."
*** *** *** ***
*** *** *** ***
*** *** *** ***
"Hey, Bluestone!"
Matthew Bluestone glanced back, squinting a little in the predawn light, and paused to let his old FBI partner, Hacker, catch up. "What is it this time?" Matt asked grumpily.
"I hear you're going on vacation. Lucky guy." Hacker punched Matt lightly in the arm. "Who you going to take to California with you?"
Matt didn't want to know how his old buddy had gotten the information. He counted to three and started walking to the bus-stop again. "That's none of your business, Hacker."
"Well, actually, it is."
Oh, great. Illuminati business. Matt had never realized how much he'd get tired of the Illuminati, once he'd found out they were real. "I'm a cop, Hacker, not *just* one of... Them. I'm not going to talk about it."
His fellow Illuminatus stopped, putting out a hand to stop him and swing him around so they were talking face-to-face. "Look, Matt, we know you and your partner are on the short list of people to go, and we know you're both going to be undercover. But we *also* know that something nasty may happen, and we want to make sure you -- and whatever innocent bystanders you particularly care about -- don't get hit in the crossfire."
Matt brushed Hacker's hands off his shoulders, but didn't start walking again. "Why the sudden concern?" he asked suspiciously.
"We take care of our own," Hacker said, evading ever so slightly. Under Matt's narrow-eyed glare, he elaborated, "The LA chapter may need some *reliable* help, and they'd want to get in touch with you fast -- and want you undamaged. If you're taking your partner, then keeping her safe would be one of the perks."
With a sigh, Matt considered this, one hand at his chin, propped on the other one across his chest, and staring off into space as usual.
He let the silence go on a little too long. Hacker added, "Look, this isn't just friendly advice. If you *don't* tell me, some of the higher-ups may decide you're unreliable."
Matt tried to decide whether he wanted to be "unreliable" or not. Then he tried to decide if he wanted to explain to a 700-pound lavender gargoyle -- who could bench-press a car -- that he, Matt, had been indirectly responsible for his, Goliath's, best friend getting hurt... He shook his head in resignation, and took out a notepad. He held it slightly under his beige trenchcoat -- to keep it out of the view of satellites -- and wrote "Mr. Daniel Shale & Mrs. Ellen Shale. Maza's wearing her blond wig again. I'm dying my hair brown & using a beard." He folded and tore off the slip of paper in nearly the same motion, then handed it to Hacker.
As the other man took it, the red-head sighed again. "I hope I don't regret this."
Hacker tucked the slip of paper away in an inside coat pocket. "You won't, Matt. Chances are, you won't be needed at all, and nothing will happen. Don't worry about a thing."
*** *** *** ***
"Don't worry about a thing, dear," David Xanatos told his beautiful wife. "I'm only going to be gone four days. I'm sure you and Owen can manage. And Lexington, of course."
Fox sighed, looking across the (still overly large, in her opinion) nursery to where Alex's formal cradle was. As usual for just before sunrise, the smallest of the gargoyles was there, smiling dreamily at her sleepy son. Owen, managing to be enigmatic even in shirt-sleeves, was standing nearby. "Like we managed when that stupid political nutcase kidnapped Alex?" she asked, knowing it was an unfair tactic and not much caring. She remembered how helpless she'd been, too shocked and explosion-addled to even defend herself, let alone summon the green fire that she'd used to protect her son the first time...
"Much better than that," her husband reassured her. "Alex's nursery is in one of the inner rooms now, and Owen's promised not to stand in the way of explosions while I'm gone."
"I still wish we could go with you. I..." Fox stopped herself from whining. Barely.
"I know, but Alex wouldn't like the trip. A four-hour time-change is bad enough by itself, but teething, and without his favorite chew-toy?" David smiled at her, and Fox found herself smiling too.
She glanced at the little green gargoyle again. Yes, Alex was chewing on Lex's talon again. Maybe the boy needed more minerals in his diet. "I suppose we couldn't take him with us, no..."
"He's a little heavy to go in the overhead luggage compartments, even in first class."
"I could wish you were taking the private jet."
"So could I." David's expression darkened into a frown, obviously remembering how his jet had been sabotaged earlier in the month, by someone claiming to be a Quarryman -- in between the pseudo-religious ravings, at least. "I wish that lunatic would say who their leader is. I'm sure Goliath and the others would be interested."
Fox could just see the six gargoyles breaking into someone's house for a little chat -- the more disturbing thing was that she could see her husband's red-and-chrome gargoyle-suit right next to them. She edited the vision to include another garg-suit, built to slimmer proportions, and felt better. "Well, that's neither here nor there," she decided, conceding the minor battle of wills with as much grace as she could muster. "I just want you to be as careful as you can at that trade-show. I don't want to play 'prince's regent' here!"
He pulled her into a tight embrace. "Don't worry, love. Everything will be fine."
*** *** *** ***
"Everything will be fine, really!" Elisa insisted, finally freeing herself from the protective wing-embrace of her biggest, strongest, best friend. She'd have stayed there for hours more, but with sunrise on the way, even thirty minutes would have kept her there *all* day, and shrapnel from a waking gargoyle really put a crimp in the romance.
Goliath sighed through his nose, the way he did when he was annoyed and not able to do anything about it. "It had better be."
"It will," she promised, tossing her long black hair back over her shoulder. "Look, half the cops in the country have a team going to that trade-show. The chances that it's going to involve me and Matt are *way* low. I think half the reason we're even there at all is because the mayor wants to make sure that *his* pet jillionaire..." she pointed roughly at the center of the castle, "...doesn't get accosted by Mafia thugs or something. You should have heard Chavez griping about politics."
"Hrrrr. You are changing the subject, Elisa. I do not like it that you will be so far away." He tilted his head and swept his arm to one side in an acknowledgment that they'd been over that before. "But it is your job as de-tect-ive, and your partner will be there, and *you*--" he pointed at her with mock ferocity, "--*will* be careful."
"Don't worry, big guy," she smiled, stepping in close for another embrace. "I plan on getting back here as soon as I can."
The arrival of the others, walking into the quasi-interior sunroom, let them know that time was getting a little tight for gargoyle wing-hugs.
Nonchalantly, Brooklyn hopped into his favored position. "Hi, Elisa." The rest of the trio -- and Angela -- echoed him, right down to the "I didn't see nothing" cheerful chirp in their voices. She chuckled and shook her head as they picked out the spots where they'd get the most sun on their stony forms.
Hudson and Bronx lazed in last. "Ah, lass, is it true ye're goin' across the country to this Cal-ee-forn-ya?"
She grinned at the old warrior. "Yes, Hudson, it's true. Do you want me to bring you back a souvineer?"
"The lads were tellin' me that there's a whole different language spoken there, called Val-Speak. Lexington says there's even dictionaries for it..."
Elisa laughed despite herself. "I thought you gargoyles all liked *Shakespeare*!" Hudson planted his hands on his hips and harrumphed at her. She relented, holding her hands up, palm out. "Okay, okay, I'll pick you up a Val-dictionary if I can find one, but that fad went out *years* ago. It's a dead language."
"So is Latin," Hudson argued, "but a wizard can still cast spells in it."
Elisa stifled the dreadful thought of spells cast by stereotypical Valleygirls. "I'll look," she promised. "But if I can't find that, I'll just have to buy you guys postcards."
The younger trio chorused, "Cool!" Broadway snuck a guilty glance at Angela, but the young female didn't seem aware that California postcards often included scantily clad human females.
Elisa watched as the gargoyles spread their wings and posed for their day-time rest, shaking her head that, as usual, none of them seemed about to fall over. The sun hit them, and their eyes glazed into stone, the transformation running along their bodies until she was alone with six statues. She never did get tired of watching them sleep and wake. She shook her head and carefully poked Lexington. Yep, he was stable.
"Still," she said as she headed out of the room, "it's a good thing you don't live in California. One earthquake, and you'd be history." She grinned to herself, thinking of Californian gargoyles, spread out flat on the ground to sleep.
*** *** *** ***
Demona sprawled flat across the king-sized hotel bed, wingtips, tail and toes all hanging over the edges. The clock LED changed, reporting it was now a minute further along to sunrise, when she could put the phone on the hook and go get something to eat. And sunbathe. Just four more hours to sunrise.
Blood and gravel of her ancestors, but she was bored. Everything was in motion, and all she had to do was sit back and maintain the status quo. She idly traced triangles in one of the pillows, restraining herself from tearing it up mostly because there were only five pillows in the room and she'd make short work of them. Then she'd be bored again.
Three hours, fifty minutes to sunrise, when she could "get her vitamin D fix." She was actually looking forward to trying on some more bathing suits, and playing in the sea. She had her eye on a one-piece suit in basic black, with a high collar and no back at all to it. Something like that, she could almost wear through a change. Except for the tail, of course. Maybe a thong bikini *would* work better.
She almost giggled to herself, thinking she might actually be able to get the drop on her old enemy MacBeth, if she showed up in a string bikini. She lashed her tail at the memory of the last time they'd met, and married. She was definitely bored, if she was entertaining silly notions like that.
It was all that "Carlos Hernandez's" fault, really. Dominque Destine had developed an appalling taste for human men recently. Demona considered developing a taste for them in her natural form, but discarded the notion before she summoned the desk clerk to her room. Blood was hard to wash out of sheets, anyway. Besides, she couldn't dispose of "Carlos" until she got what she really wanted.
A near-controlling share of Xanatos Enterprises, and a position as one of the Illuminati.
*** *** *** ***
*** *** *** ***
"Mr. and Mrs. Shale" appeared, mostly out of nowhere, at the new police station; they got into a red and white car that looked suspiciously like Detective Maza's, and drove to the airport, where they had reservations. Mrs. Shale was wearing a slate-blue suit-dress, and had straight, short blond hair, cut square just above her shoulders. Mr. Shale was wearing a slightly less-blue suit, with silver-gray tie, and had close-cropped, straight, brown hair and a very curly brown beard. He scratched it a lot.
"You're going to pull it off if you keep doing that," Elisa told Matt.
"I know, I know." He sighed and sat on his hands. "But it'll drive me crazy if I don't!"
"What drives me crazy is our covers," Elisa griped. "Of all the stupid..."
Matt nodded. He had a dark feeling that the Illuminati had been behind a few things. Tonelessly, he said, "Mr. Xanatos was very kind to offer our team a cover manning the Xanatos Enterprises booth. He felt it was only the right thing to do, and a way to repay society for his previous error."
"*Don't* quote that at me," his partner snapped. If she'd been a gargoyle, her eyes would have been glowing red. "I heard it before from Chavez... What kind of crazy 'trade-show' has to have the owner of a multinational company attending personally, anyway?"
_Probably an Illuminati shmooze-fest,_ Matt considered saying. They were certainly pulling enough strings around him for it... "I don't know," he finally said, feeling guilty that he hadn't mentioned the Illuminati knew they were going to be the New York team. Elisa knew about the Hotel Cabal thing -- Goliath started explaining the situation as soon as they got back -- but Matt'd never gotten brave enough to mention that he's gotten a junior membership out of the incident.
"I don't know either, but this is just one weird sting set-up. Heads up, 'Daniel.' Let's get some practice..."
The Shales parked in the long-term garage, pulled out their luggage, and trekked into the airport. They checked one large suitcase each, ran their carry-on luggage ('Ellen's' large purse and 'Danial's' briefcase) through the security station, and hiked to their terminal to wait.
Under her breath, Elisa was grumbling, "I hate heeled shoes, I hate heeled shoes, I hate... Oh, *great*..."
Matt looked up and scanned the passengers waiting for their flight. Flipping casually through a newspaper was New York'd resident billionaire. He glanced up as the 'Shale' couple got closer, and frowned at them for a moment. Then his eyebrows went up and he nodded once, smiling as he went back to his paper.
"He must be roughing it," Matt commented under his breath as Elisa led them to a seat practically at the next gate, far away from Xanatos. "I don't see his sidekick anywhere."
"Owen's stuck with babysitting," Elisa muttered back. Grudgingly, she added, "I may not like Xanatos, but he does love his kid."
The flight attendent called boarding for first class and people with small children or other disabilities as Matt frowned thoughtfully. Mrs. Xanatos was an athletic ex-movie star, and the gargoyles were certainly good protectors at night, but... "How *does* that Burnett guy rate being a guardian?"
Elisa shook her head. "I don't know. The guys won't tell me for some reason. There's a *lot* they don't like to talk about, when I ask for the details of Xanatos' debt to them..." She grinned weakly. "Maybe Owen's Illuminati."
Matt glowered at her, while the flight attendant called for their seats to be boarded.
They passed Xanatos in first class (he gave them a smile and a little wave as they went by) and got to their seats without much incident. "Window seat!" Elisa called out, sliding in quickly and all put plastering her nose up against the window.
"It figures," Matt muttered, taking the middle seat with more decorum. He hoped that nobody took the aisle seat, so he could move over and stretch his legs out a little. Maybe he should have made an aisle seat a condition for telling Hacker about their team.
Due to either luck, or Illuminati perks, Elisa and Matt had their row all to themselves, the airplane food was actually edible, and the flight was uneventful.
*** *** *** ***
*** *** *** ***
David Xanatos supervised the setting-up of his booth in the event hall, and greeted his two new "employees" when they showed up. To her credit, "Ellen" actually shook his hand without visibly gritting her teeth. Xanatos stifled the mischieveous urge to be more hearty than usual around the pair of undercover detectives, and left them in charge of the booth while he toured the rest of the hall.
"Yes, yes, probably, no, maybe, wanna-be, yes, wanna-be," he murmured under his breath, amusing himself by guessing which of the companies represented were Illuminated. He passed one small booth -- "NightStone" -- and chuckled at the coincidence. He might have struck up a conversation with the (quite striking) redhead who appeared to be in charge, but she was already having a low-voiced arguement with a slightly Hispanic-looking man. Xanatos considered drifting a little closer, but caught sight of a small lapel-pin on the man's suit. _Ah, well,_ he decided, heading away from that booth, and the Illuminatus there. _Fox wouldn't have approved anyway._ That NightStone redhead really was *intense*, though...
He reached the Cyberbiotics booth, graced it with a "Maybe" in his personal tally of Secret Masters, and walked up. "Hello, Mr. Vogel," he said cheerfully. "Is Mr. Renard here?"
"No, sir," said the black-haired man. "He's in the hospital for about a week, and couldn't make the show." He looked around, almost nervously. "Ah, and Mister, ah, Burnett?"
"Owen couldn't make it either," Xanatos reassured Vogel, watching him relax a little. Apparently being around his pale-haired doppleganger made the Cyberbiotics man uncomfortable; he probably felt "out-Vogeled." Xanatos continued with some small talk, and ended the conversation with, "Please convey our best wishes to Mr. Renard."
Then it was a short trip to the top of the alphabet (Apple Computers, which rated a "probably"), and back down the walls. MicroSoft's booth was finally up -- late as usual -- and Xanatos watched it for a moment, trying to figure out if Gates really were one of the Secret Masters, or if he honestly had no clue and was trying to create the job for himself.
Shaking his head, the New York millionaire went back to supervise his booth and make himself available to any Illuminati who wanted to talk to him.
*** *** *** ***
*** *** *** ***
It was getting close to sunset when the explosions went off. Somewhere near the middle of the convention hall, Elisa figured, stunned for a moment before Matt hit her and knocked her to the ground. A moment later, Xanatos, back from one of his private conversations, vaulted over the booth's counter and took cover next to them. The explosions continued, with bright flashes of light and ear-buffeting *booms*, and Elisa realized, _Those are *fireworks*!_
She cautiously got to her feet, figuring that even a few boxes of fireworks wouldn't last too long, and she'd probably be okay if she shielded her face with one arm. There was a lot of smoke in the air, of course.
She snarled through her teeth and dragged Matt up, pointing at the scraps of fire coming from the middle of the hall, amongst whatever booths had been unfortunate enough to be at ground zero. People were screaming -- heard only dimly through bang-deafened ears -- and running around crazily, visitors and booth-staff alike. _Shouldn't the fireworks have *stopped* by now? And the sprinkler system gone on?_
Someone in a Nintendo T-shirt paused and grabbed Matt by the lapels, saying something to him. Matt nodded and half-shouted to Elisa, "We're going to try to get people out. You --"
Xanatos inturrupted, "Good idea!" and vaulted the counter again, and took off into the smoke.
"-- keep him out of trouble," Matt finished wearily. Elisa nodded once and scrambled out of the booth after the wayward corporate president, barely noticing as Matt and the Nintendo guy ran off in yet another direction.
The next period of time was something of a daze for Elisa as she helped people get outside (finally the fireworks ceased), pointing them to the exit, and once, toting two crying children while Xanatos carried their half-unconscious mother to fresh air.
While Elisa gasped in lungfuls of oxygen, Xanatos scanned the crowd outside. He frowned at a Hispanic-looking fellow who was pushing through the crowds, crying a name Elisa couldn't decipher. Then Xanatos turned and ran back into the building, and -- since the kids and mother seemed to be okay -- Elisa followed him.
There weren't many people left inside the smoke-filled convention hall. Xanatos was heading for the center of the chaos, hauling stray people to their feet and pointing them in the direction of the doors, but not stopping until he got to the wreckage of a booth in the "N" row. Elisa frowned, but helped Xanatos pull aside a collapsed table, exposing the red-haired woman behind it.
Xanatos started to turn her face-up, and Elisa realized where she'd seen the woman before. "Demona!" she exclaimed in horror, glancing reflexively at the smoke-obscured windows to see how close to nightfall it was. "Let's get out of here!" she added, grabbing his arm to drag him away from the immortal shapechanging psycho-gargoyle.
"What??!" Xanatos looked from Elisa to the red-head.
The red-head opened her eyes and flung out her arms, touching Xanatos on the forehead and catching Elisa in the stomach. Elisa felt a touch on her forehead, too, as she doubled over, and heard Demona's voice saying, "*Obdormiscite!*" Then there was blackness.
*** *** *** ***
"Dominique" allowed herself a grin as she dragged her catch towards the emergency exit. Her plan had worked perfectly, for once -- the Illuminated security hadn't spotted her magically null fireworks, and "Carlos'" connections had smuggled in the elaborate diversion. Neither Elisa nor Xanatos had been able to resist playing hero, and the infernal human woman had remained true to her instructions to stay with him. They'd cut it close, though, barely "rescuing" Dominique in time... Cut it *very* close, she realized as the Change overtook her.
When it was over, Demona grabbed the two humans and sprinted for the exit -- running *up* instead of down. The fire that she'd instigated wasn't as bad as her illusions had made it seem, but without the sprinkler-system's intervention, it had turned into something that produced very nice thermals. Maybe she couldn't carry two unconscious humans for long, but it would be long enough. Her hunting whoop was drowned out as the flames finally got to the last box of fireworks.
*** *** *** ***
Matt groaned as the firefighters arrived and began blasting the place with water. The Illuminati security-fellow had thanked him for his help and left him outside the disaster-area -- wouldn't you just know Nintendo was one of Them... -- but Elisa and Xanatos were nowhere to be seen. He didn't know which would be worse: explaining the situation to Fox, or to Goliath. He had an unpleasant feeling that he was going to find out, though.
*** *** *** ***
At the meeting point several blocks away, Demona quickly rifled through her captives' pockets, finding and replacing their wallets and IDs, and stripping the policewoman of her concealed gun and holster. The rings were replaced or added, according to need. Then she tugged the wig off Elisa's head, letting the dark hair lie around her face like a pool of blood, and wondered if a few scratches on the human's throat would really spoil things *that* much...
She could hear the truck approaching, though, and she had to be out of sight before it arrived. She placed her hands upon the humans' brows and intoned, "*Vos oblivio sume!*" Blue swirls coiled around her arms for a moment, before turning black and suddenly launching themselves at and *into* the humans' heads.
As she faded back into an alley, she molified herself with the knowledge that Elisa was more trouble to Goliath alive than dead. Alive, they had their precious, hopeless little romance; dead, Goliath would probably get over her and take up with that Delilah daughter-clone, and that could make him entirely too happy.
Besides, this would be amusing enough on its own. She watched from the shadowed top of a building as the unconscious humans were loaded into the truck and murmured, "What you see when you do wake, for your wedded spouse mistake..." It took everything she had to stifle her gales of triumphant laughter until the truck had gone from view.
*** *** *** ***
*** *** *** ***
"Uhhhhhh...." He stirred, touching his head gingerly. Felt like some kind of hangover. The constant pressure of engine noise didn't help, nor did the chill in the air. _What am I doing on an airplane with a hangover?_ he wondered, looking around what seemed to be a cargo compartment. _I never travel *this* cheaply._
There was someone else in the dimly lit compartment, lying nearby. He crawled over and peered at her. Long dark hair, darker-skinned than himself. Foriegn? He couldn't entirely tell. She was rather attractive, though, and strangely...familiar? He checked the pocket of her dress jacket and found a lady's wallet there. It was too dim to make out most of the words on her driver's license -- especially with his headache -- but it certainly looked like her. He'd have to live without finding out her name until she woke up and they introduced themselves.
_For that matter,_ he realized with ironic humor. _I may have to live not knowing *my* name for a while..._
He shrugged off the annoyance and gathered the mystery woman against him to keep them both a little warmer...and settled down to wait.
Soon enough, there was a change in pressure and then the thumps and noises of landing gear being extended. His companion still hadn't woken up. He frowned and lay down, still with her head pillowed against him, and prepared to ride out the landing.
It was a bumpy ride -- he could have sworn the plane bounced three times or more -- and for a moment he thought about firing the pilot, and then wondered why he'd think that.
As the plane came to a stop, he stood up to confront whoever came to check on their "cargo." But instead, there was an odd sweetish smell, and he realized that lying down again would be a very good idea...
*** *** *** ***
She groaned and shifted restlessly, clawing her way out of indistinct nightmares.
"Are you all right?" a man's voice asked.
She startled and oriented on him. Dark brown hair and somewhat bedraggled beard, brown eyes. Dressed in a smoke-stained black suit which didn't conceal the broad shoulders and physique of an active man. There was something about him that she could almost remember... He was studying her with equal intensity. She looked around -- they seemed to be in a bedroom, but the paint was peeling, the floor was scuffed wood, and the windows were boarded up. There were two doors from the room, both painted a tattered white, a single bare bulb in the ceiling, and the equally-bare mattress she was lying on. There was a musty blanket to one side of the mattress, which might have been covering them both, earlier.
"Not the Ritz," the man commented as she looked back at him questioningly, "but I wasn't the one who made the reservations."
The notion was almost funny, that such as he would be sitting on the floor in a hovel like this. Not that she could remember what, or who, he was. "Uh... Do I know you?" she asked.
"Probably not at the moment," he replied. "But I think you should. Then again, I should know you, and I didn't until I found your driver's license." He handed her a small wallet, open to a photo-ID.
She took it, somewhat annoyed that he'd taken it while she was unconscious. The woman in [the] Maine license looked familiar, all right -- skin-tone was about right, and her hair was the same color. "Ellen Shale," she read aloud. The name wasn't as "right" as the picture; too...short. She unfolded the wallet a little more and was rewarded with a tiny makeup mirror. Definitely *her* face, yes, and the name was *almost* familiar. She looked up. "And you are?"
"According to this, Daniel Shale." He held up another Maine driver's license. "Somehow, I don't think we're related by blood."
"I could always be adopted," she said quickly.
Daniel chuckled. "How flattering. The rings match, though."
She scowled at the plain gold band on her left hand. "I hate rings," she muttered, tugging at it. It was loose and slid off easily.
"No wonder you don't have a pale spot," Daniel mused.
"What?"
He just extended his own left hand, then tugged his own ring off. There was a band of paler skin, worn slightly smoother where the metal had been. They both frowned as he replaced the ring. She put her own back on, since keeping it in a pocket would just get it lost in the laundry.
"So where *are* we?" she asked. "And why don't I remember you?"
"I don't remember you either, um, dear," he replied. "And as to where we are? Another thing I don't know -- but we're locked in."
"And you don't know why we'd be kidnapped," she said flatly. To his headshake, she sighed, "Me either. But I think we'd better get out of here soon."
"In that, my dear, we are in perfect agreement." He stood up and offered her a hand.
Somewhat reluctantly, she took it and pulled herself upright. "Has anyone come by since you woke up?"
"No, and it doesn't sound like there's anyone here at all. I haven't heard a thing, and when I banged on the door, no one reacted. I think we're alone in this house."
She went to examine the door -- it didn't seem to have a lock on it, but there were nails sticking through the wood. "You think the kidnappers are going to come back?"
"Why would they just *leave* us here?" Daniel contemplated the nails sticking through the wood. "Though nailing boards across the door is a rather permanent way to imprison someone."
"At least we aren't bricked up in the basement. Hand me one of your shoes."
"Whatever you wish, my dear."
She took it and used the heel to pound the nails back the way they'd come. "The door opens inwards, but I don't have anything to pry the hinges off with. Still, if we can get enough of these out, we can just walk out of here. Unless you want to break it down?" She wondered why she'd asked that -- Daniel looked fit enough, but not really burly enough to knock down doors as trivially as some flicker of memory suggested.
"That's all right," he demurred, putting out both hands in surrender. "I'll just help you here." He pulled off his other shoe and they pounded away without further conversation.
*** *** *** ***
The kidnappers didn't come back through their nail-removal, weren't there when Daniel wrenched the door open, and didn't show while they prowled the chill, abandoned and unused house. There wasn't a car around, though the gravel driveway had something resembling ruts in it. There wasn't even a candy wrapper around to show signs that *anyone* had ever been to that house. The plumbing was an out-house, and there weren't even paper towels there. "Where's a Gideon's when you need it," Ellen had muttered after she visited it.
Daniel had briefed Ellen on his awakening in the airplane -- the gas-trick had made her roll her eyes, and think briefly, "It figures." Then she'd wondered what sort of things she was used to, what sort of person she was to be used to them...
After three hours had passed, and the sky was getting darker, they agreed that they'd been dumped there.
Ellen stared out the front window on the upper story, where she'd been watching for a returning car, and wondered why the growing dusk was making her feel so homesick for an uninturrupted view of the sunset. "So now what?" she asked her fellow amnesiac.
"Either we start walking, which doesn't appeal to me, or we stick with this place as shelter for the night and start walking tomorrow -- which doesn't appeal to me either." Daniel rubbed his arms and looked around with distaste. "It's getting cold, though, and we can't count on shelter if we start walking. I haven't heard a train, or cars, or even an airplane..."
Ellen sighed. "Let's try staying here. We've got the blanket and mattress, at least, and we ought to survive. I don't want to walk through who knows what in heels, at night." She chuckled. "I'd probably break my neck, or at least both ankles."
"And there's still a chance that our ...hosts..." (Daniel pronounced the word with a dangerous note in his voice) "...will come back in the morning." He nodded. "I'll go get the mattress and blanket. We can try to keep watch up here, perhaps. A car isn't going to be totally quiet on that gravel, even if it comes in here without headlights."
She glowered at him, shrugging her dark hair back over one shoulder and all but snapping, "Hey, I know my job, okay?"
As he raised his hands in surrender and mock-fled downstairs, she wondered, _Now what did I mean by that?_
*** *** *** ***
"And ... just... *what*... do you mean... by *THAT*?" Fox asked dangerously, advancing on the nervous detective until he found himself backed up against Goliath's stone back.
"Uh, well, I...." Matt started, then felt the most disturbing *cracking* against his own back. Realizing what was happening, he dove for cover shamelessly as Goliath shed his stone day-skin with the usual roar.
Fox turned slightly -- more to keep Matt in view than to shield herself from the garg-shrapnel -- and glared ferociously. "Well?" she asked, voice even more dangerous.
"Well..." Matt adjusted his collar.
"Well what?" Goliath asked, turning and taking in the scene. "You are back, Bluestone. Where is Elisa?"
_Trust a gargoyle to come to the point,_ Matt thought. "Well, it's like this... There was a fire, or something, and Xanatos was off rescuing people from it, and Elisa was trying to keep an eye on him, and they sort of... vanished."
"*VANISHED*?!"
Matt closed his eyes and winced, not having to see the eye-glow effect, or the sudden snapping-out of wings. He opened his eyes hurridly enough when the giant gargoyle grabbed him by both upper arms and shouted, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN ELISA HAS VANISHED??" in his face. Fox was standing to one side, looking smug.
"I mean that they couldn't find either her or Xanatos -- they weren't in the building, they didn't show up outside, Elisa didn't show up at our hotel, Xanatos didn't show up at his -- they vanished! We don't know where they went! Chavez hauled me back here to make a report and stay off the locals' toes, but I'm going to take some vacation time and go back there just as soon as you two let me!" _For one thing, it'll be *safer* in LA!_ he thought, ignoring that he was being treated to enraged gargoyle evening breath (smelled like damp granite, actually) and a closeup of those fangs...
Finally, eyes still glowing, Goliath all but dropped him and paced to the edge of the tower, digging his claws into the stone.
_They're harder on buildings than pigeons,_ Matt thought, mind skittering around with the adrenalin that his overly-paranoid glands had dumped into the system.
Fox scowled, then bellowed, apparently at random, "OWEN!"
And for once, there was no Owen to be seen.
Goliath turned and looked at the annoyed and confused Fox, then paced over to peer into the darkness of the stairway. Then he moved away and scanned the rest of the castle. When he looked back, Matt could have sworn that he was almost smiling. "Hmmmmmm...."
Fox offered, in a strangly shy -- or maybe *eager* -- manner, "He was with Alex just now -- when I came to meet Mr. Bluestone here."
"Was he?" Goliath breathed.
"You don't think...?" she said, with sudden hope in her eyes.
"It would not be good for Alex to be separated from his father," he replied enigmatically.
Matt straightened his trenchcoat. "Do I even want to *know* what you two are talking about?"
The human woman and gargoyle male looked at each other for a moment. Goliath turned back to the detective. "You do not. The rest of the clan are probably in the television room by now -- go there and explain. Fox and I will join you there later."
Matt wondered if he should get insistant or not. Then he remembered those teeth, and glowing eyes, and the bruises on his arms -- and decided that he didn't want to get Goliath angry twice in one night. He'd get Elisa to explain later, when she was found...
*** *** *** ***
When Fox opened the door into the nursery-room, all was at first normal -- Alex was sitting on the floor, with Lexington hovering protectively over him, and various toys were strewn about.
What was *not* normal was the glowing image of the castle, complete with floor-plan, that was hovering just within Alex's enthusiastic baby reach. What was even *less* normal was the silver-haired, pointy-eared, brightly-dressed fay who was buzzing around the room like a demented kite in a windstorm.
"Well?" Fox demanded of her cousin-some-crazy-number-of-times-remove
The Puck held a finger to his lips, manically. "Quiet, please! We're having a lesson here!" He swooped around to dangle in front of Alex, upside down. "Now, Alex, where'd we leave the... gray teddy bear?!"
Alex giggled, slightly distracted from grabbing at Puck's silvery hair, and squinched his eyes shut for a moment, baby-gurgling to himself. Fox could have sworn that his baby-talk was in iambic pentameter, though.
The baby leaned forwards, batting at the castle image while Lexington steadied him. He reached into the master-bedroom, which then expanded to dollhouse size, and then his chubby hand went under the bed, and the view zoomed to show the gray teddy bear hidden and dusty, beneath the bed.
"Very good!" Puck said, applauding while still upside down. "Now, what about... the rubber ducky?!"
Alex laughed, babbled to himself again -- *definitely* in iambic pentameter -- and the castle-image went full-size again for him to bat at. The rubber ducky, apparently, was in the bathroom, under the sink.
"All right!" his fay tutor crowed, cavorting around the room in midair. He swerved in front of Alex again. "Let's get a little harder, okay? Let's fiiiiind.... Angela!"
Again, Alexander recited his mysterious spell. This time it took him a little longer, but eventually he got to the TV room where Matt Bluestone and the other gargoyles were talking. From the expressions on everyone's faces, Fox surmised that the detective had indeed been explaining things.
"Looks like you got the hang of things, kid!" Puck approved. "Hm. I've got an idea! Let's *really* see what you can do! Let's! Find! *Daddy*!"
Alex practically shrieked with glee, waving his arms around and gurgling unintelligable verse with enough enthusiasm (and high-pitched volume) that even Fox winced a little. Smiling grimly, Lexington was only hunching his shoulders, while Goliath had raised his wing-thumbs to shield his own pointed ears a little.
The image of the castle changed to an image of the western half of the United States, with a little of Canada and Central America included. Puck bobbed expectantly, fingertips together and legs crossed. Alexander waved his hands at the map, and bits expanded -- and then contracted again -- and then expanded to show a different area -- and contracted back to the full map. Alex looked at the map, gurgled indignantly for a moment, then threw back his head and started wailing in frustration.
Fox instantly moved over with soothing words and touches. "It's okay, Alex! You were doing fine. It's okay, baby. Mommy's here, it's okay."
Lexington and Goliath looked over at Puck, brow-ridges raised. The fay had floated to the ground, fingertips still together and legs still crossed, but eyes wide and jaw slack in an expression of frozen astonishment.
"Well?" Goliath rumbled, since that seemed to be the only word appropriate.
"It... It didn't work," the Puck stammered, rather unnecessarily.
"I think we could tell," Lexington commented, poking at the map.
Goliath asked, "What went wrong?"
"I... I don't know. It should have worked." The fay lowered his voice. "Frankly, even if he weren't, ah, perfectly healthy, it *still* should have worked." He frowned at the baby, now sitting in Fox's lap and only making unhappy noises occasionaly. "Maybe it was the range. Hey, kid, wanna try again?"
The boy's rather ambigious fussy cooing was inturrupted by someone at the door. "Ah, there ye are, lad," Hudson said. He turned his head to Matt, who appeared at his shoulder. "I told ye Lexington would be here."
"Well," Matt said. "I see you found Mr. Burnett."
Fox looked back. Sitting cross-legged in front of her, with his usual unflappable seriousness, was Owen Burnett. The over-startched majordomo was playing one handed pattycake with Alexander. He nodded at the boy, then got up. "Yes, they did. I will institute a search at once."
Matt moved aside to let the other man leave, then entered the room. "So now what?" Hudson and the other gargoyles clustered in quietly as well, and stood in a silent knot by the door.
Fox cuddled her baby to her. "So now... I guess we wait."
Goliath blew air out his nose. "Hrrrrr. We should go there, so we will be near when they are found."
"The hanger says another two days for the private jet," Fox sighed. "It's the only thing that could take all of you. Even the helicopter would have a little difficulty flying by day with just you, Goliath."
"Well, what about me?" Lexington suggested.
Fox hugged Alexander a little tighter. Part of her wanted to buy a plane now, and hang the expense, flying them all out to LA to look for her husband. Another part wanted to wail at the gargoyles, _No, no! You have to stay here! You have to protect Alexander! I can't take him into danger and he's all I've got left..._
"We'd have to get a pilot we could trust," she said. "One who could stop for fuel, so that leaves out Elisa's brother. I... I can't leave Alex." She was disgusted that her voice broke then.
"Maybe," Lex mused, "maybe we could get in touch with someone else -- MacBeth's been trying to help us, on the TV."
"Yeah," Matt snorted. "Okay, burning the assistant DA might be a feature, but... Or was that guy McDuff?"
Lexington ignored the detective, continuing to make his appeal to Fox and Goliath. "Anyway, he wouldn't be fazed, and he's got that hovercraft, right? Maybe you could hire *him*?"
Fox frowned. She didn't know that much about MacBeth -- he'd presented himself to David once, to "remove a gargoyle infestation" while David was in jail, but hadn't succeeded and hadn't really contacted the Xanatoses further, though David had had a Mac'Bot built once. The gargoyles had evidently run into the man subsequent times. Slowly, she said, "It's a notion, if we can find out how to contact him."
Mr. Burnett came back into the room. "Mrs. Xanatos, there is a woman on the phone who wishes to talk to you. She says it's about your husband."
Alexander was in Lexington's winged arms almost as fast as Fox could put him there, and then she was dashing down the hall to David's office, where she could record the conversation while Owen traced it.
She got there, panted a moment, drew a breath and picked up the receiver. "Mrs. Xanatos here."
The voice at the other end of the line had a smug purring to it, and was ever so slightly familiar. "Ah, Fox. I don't believe we've met. Your husband and I had parted ways by the time he married you. But I know where he is. In fact, *only* I know where he is. He's probably quite safe for now, with his cop bodyguard. I'll even give you directions to pick him up..." The cyanide-honey voice trailed off.
"But," Fox stated. "All right, what do you want?"
"Very good," the other woman said, smirk almost visibly hanging in midair. "You're very clever, Mrs. Xanatos. But of course you are, otherwise David wouldn't have married you."
Fox clenched her hand around the plastic of the phone's receiver, as if it were this mysterious woman's neck, or maybe the reins to Fox's own temper. "I'd like to speak to him."
"Oh, but you can't. You see, you might have some notion of tracing this call and arriving on my doorstep. I can't have that. So I put him somewhere safe that's miles away from me. You'll just have to trust me." The voice suddenly hardened into a crisped business-like tone. "Now, what I want is fifty-one percent of Xanatos Enterprises stock, and, oh, three million in cash -- to be wired to a certain Swiss bank account." She recited an account number. "Now, *when* I get the money and the shares, I'll call you back, and tell you where your precious husband and his pretty detective are. Isn't that nice of me?"
"I want some assurance that they're safe," Fox growled, twisting the phone cord around her other hand viciously, as if the kidnapper could feel it in her hair.
"You have my word that I left them perfectly safe. They could be wandering around, though. I know where they'll show up. You'll just have to trust me. Send the money, and I'll fax you some photographs. I'm sure you'll find them quite amusing." The voice certainly did. "I really must be going now. Good night, Fox."
"Wait--" Fox tried, but the line had gone dead. She glared at the receiver in her hand, somewhere between rage and sudden grief, until Owen walked back into the room. "I traced the call to a Los Angelos hotel, but couldn't tell which room." He walked around and sat behind David's desk, typing one-handed. "I'm setting up a voice-analysis." He paused briefly. "You might want the gargoyles to hear this."
She took the hint and went back to fetch them.
The result, when she and the group (including Matt and Alex) entered the room, was indeed informative. The first part of the phone call was playing, but was slightly drowned out by the ragged chorus of: "DEMONA!"
"As I thought," Owen murmured, pale eyes on the computer screen in the wall, where the voice-print patterns were vibrating. He started the recording over again, and this time everyone was silent as it played through till the final "Good night."
Hm. Yeah, if I came up with a bit more... Interesting. Oh, well.
I'm rather proud of the cut-scene mirroring in so many of those bits.
I am still quite fond of the Disney cartoon, Gargoyles, from some years back. I am going to have to get the second season DVDs. Mmmm.
Here -- several years old, when I was on the Usenet alt.fan group for the series -- is a half-finished Gargoyles fanfic. I am unlikely to finish it unless I manage to marathon the DVDs sometime with the minx.
I will probably make [bracketed, underlined] comments as I take out the hard carriage returns, though.
"Complications"
A fan-fiction work based on Disney's Gargoyles cartoon. All characters from the cartoon are copyright Disney and Buena Vista, and no threat to copyright is intended, though they are used without permission. All characters not appearing in the cartoon are copyright me.
[I'm leaving that in, more for historical value. I was such a kid when I wrote it. Are there any original characters in this thing?]
This episode takes place *instead* of "Runaways."
*** *** *** ***
*** *** *** ***
*** *** *** ***
"Hey, Bluestone!"
Matthew Bluestone glanced back, squinting a little in the predawn light, and paused to let his old FBI partner, Hacker, catch up. "What is it this time?" Matt asked grumpily.
"I hear you're going on vacation. Lucky guy." Hacker punched Matt lightly in the arm. "Who you going to take to California with you?"
Matt didn't want to know how his old buddy had gotten the information. He counted to three and started walking to the bus-stop again. "That's none of your business, Hacker."
"Well, actually, it is."
Oh, great. Illuminati business. Matt had never realized how much he'd get tired of the Illuminati, once he'd found out they were real. "I'm a cop, Hacker, not *just* one of... Them. I'm not going to talk about it."
His fellow Illuminatus stopped, putting out a hand to stop him and swing him around so they were talking face-to-face. "Look, Matt, we know you and your partner are on the short list of people to go, and we know you're both going to be undercover. But we *also* know that something nasty may happen, and we want to make sure you -- and whatever innocent bystanders you particularly care about -- don't get hit in the crossfire."
Matt brushed Hacker's hands off his shoulders, but didn't start walking again. "Why the sudden concern?" he asked suspiciously.
"We take care of our own," Hacker said, evading ever so slightly. Under Matt's narrow-eyed glare, he elaborated, "The LA chapter may need some *reliable* help, and they'd want to get in touch with you fast -- and want you undamaged. If you're taking your partner, then keeping her safe would be one of the perks."
With a sigh, Matt considered this, one hand at his chin, propped on the other one across his chest, and staring off into space as usual.
He let the silence go on a little too long. Hacker added, "Look, this isn't just friendly advice. If you *don't* tell me, some of the higher-ups may decide you're unreliable."
Matt tried to decide whether he wanted to be "unreliable" or not. Then he tried to decide if he wanted to explain to a 700-pound lavender gargoyle -- who could bench-press a car -- that he, Matt, had been indirectly responsible for his, Goliath's, best friend getting hurt... He shook his head in resignation, and took out a notepad. He held it slightly under his beige trenchcoat -- to keep it out of the view of satellites -- and wrote "Mr. Daniel Shale & Mrs. Ellen Shale. Maza's wearing her blond wig again. I'm dying my hair brown & using a beard." He folded and tore off the slip of paper in nearly the same motion, then handed it to Hacker.
As the other man took it, the red-head sighed again. "I hope I don't regret this."
Hacker tucked the slip of paper away in an inside coat pocket. "You won't, Matt. Chances are, you won't be needed at all, and nothing will happen. Don't worry about a thing."
*** *** *** ***
"Don't worry about a thing, dear," David Xanatos told his beautiful wife. "I'm only going to be gone four days. I'm sure you and Owen can manage. And Lexington, of course."
Fox sighed, looking across the (still overly large, in her opinion) nursery to where Alex's formal cradle was. As usual for just before sunrise, the smallest of the gargoyles was there, smiling dreamily at her sleepy son. Owen, managing to be enigmatic even in shirt-sleeves, was standing nearby. "Like we managed when that stupid political nutcase kidnapped Alex?" she asked, knowing it was an unfair tactic and not much caring. She remembered how helpless she'd been, too shocked and explosion-addled to even defend herself, let alone summon the green fire that she'd used to protect her son the first time...
"Much better than that," her husband reassured her. "Alex's nursery is in one of the inner rooms now, and Owen's promised not to stand in the way of explosions while I'm gone."
"I still wish we could go with you. I..." Fox stopped herself from whining. Barely.
"I know, but Alex wouldn't like the trip. A four-hour time-change is bad enough by itself, but teething, and without his favorite chew-toy?" David smiled at her, and Fox found herself smiling too.
She glanced at the little green gargoyle again. Yes, Alex was chewing on Lex's talon again. Maybe the boy needed more minerals in his diet. "I suppose we couldn't take him with us, no..."
"He's a little heavy to go in the overhead luggage compartments, even in first class."
"I could wish you were taking the private jet."
"So could I." David's expression darkened into a frown, obviously remembering how his jet had been sabotaged earlier in the month, by someone claiming to be a Quarryman -- in between the pseudo-religious ravings, at least. "I wish that lunatic would say who their leader is. I'm sure Goliath and the others would be interested."
Fox could just see the six gargoyles breaking into someone's house for a little chat -- the more disturbing thing was that she could see her husband's red-and-chrome gargoyle-suit right next to them. She edited the vision to include another garg-suit, built to slimmer proportions, and felt better. "Well, that's neither here nor there," she decided, conceding the minor battle of wills with as much grace as she could muster. "I just want you to be as careful as you can at that trade-show. I don't want to play 'prince's regent' here!"
He pulled her into a tight embrace. "Don't worry, love. Everything will be fine."
*** *** *** ***
"Everything will be fine, really!" Elisa insisted, finally freeing herself from the protective wing-embrace of her biggest, strongest, best friend. She'd have stayed there for hours more, but with sunrise on the way, even thirty minutes would have kept her there *all* day, and shrapnel from a waking gargoyle really put a crimp in the romance.
Goliath sighed through his nose, the way he did when he was annoyed and not able to do anything about it. "It had better be."
"It will," she promised, tossing her long black hair back over her shoulder. "Look, half the cops in the country have a team going to that trade-show. The chances that it's going to involve me and Matt are *way* low. I think half the reason we're even there at all is because the mayor wants to make sure that *his* pet jillionaire..." she pointed roughly at the center of the castle, "...doesn't get accosted by Mafia thugs or something. You should have heard Chavez griping about politics."
"Hrrrr. You are changing the subject, Elisa. I do not like it that you will be so far away." He tilted his head and swept his arm to one side in an acknowledgment that they'd been over that before. "But it is your job as de-tect-ive, and your partner will be there, and *you*--" he pointed at her with mock ferocity, "--*will* be careful."
"Don't worry, big guy," she smiled, stepping in close for another embrace. "I plan on getting back here as soon as I can."
The arrival of the others, walking into the quasi-interior sunroom, let them know that time was getting a little tight for gargoyle wing-hugs.
Nonchalantly, Brooklyn hopped into his favored position. "Hi, Elisa." The rest of the trio -- and Angela -- echoed him, right down to the "I didn't see nothing" cheerful chirp in their voices. She chuckled and shook her head as they picked out the spots where they'd get the most sun on their stony forms.
Hudson and Bronx lazed in last. "Ah, lass, is it true ye're goin' across the country to this Cal-ee-forn-ya?"
She grinned at the old warrior. "Yes, Hudson, it's true. Do you want me to bring you back a souvineer?"
"The lads were tellin' me that there's a whole different language spoken there, called Val-Speak. Lexington says there's even dictionaries for it..."
Elisa laughed despite herself. "I thought you gargoyles all liked *Shakespeare*!" Hudson planted his hands on his hips and harrumphed at her. She relented, holding her hands up, palm out. "Okay, okay, I'll pick you up a Val-dictionary if I can find one, but that fad went out *years* ago. It's a dead language."
"So is Latin," Hudson argued, "but a wizard can still cast spells in it."
Elisa stifled the dreadful thought of spells cast by stereotypical Valleygirls. "I'll look," she promised. "But if I can't find that, I'll just have to buy you guys postcards."
The younger trio chorused, "Cool!" Broadway snuck a guilty glance at Angela, but the young female didn't seem aware that California postcards often included scantily clad human females.
Elisa watched as the gargoyles spread their wings and posed for their day-time rest, shaking her head that, as usual, none of them seemed about to fall over. The sun hit them, and their eyes glazed into stone, the transformation running along their bodies until she was alone with six statues. She never did get tired of watching them sleep and wake. She shook her head and carefully poked Lexington. Yep, he was stable.
"Still," she said as she headed out of the room, "it's a good thing you don't live in California. One earthquake, and you'd be history." She grinned to herself, thinking of Californian gargoyles, spread out flat on the ground to sleep.
*** *** *** ***
Demona sprawled flat across the king-sized hotel bed, wingtips, tail and toes all hanging over the edges. The clock LED changed, reporting it was now a minute further along to sunrise, when she could put the phone on the hook and go get something to eat. And sunbathe. Just four more hours to sunrise.
Blood and gravel of her ancestors, but she was bored. Everything was in motion, and all she had to do was sit back and maintain the status quo. She idly traced triangles in one of the pillows, restraining herself from tearing it up mostly because there were only five pillows in the room and she'd make short work of them. Then she'd be bored again.
Three hours, fifty minutes to sunrise, when she could "get her vitamin D fix." She was actually looking forward to trying on some more bathing suits, and playing in the sea. She had her eye on a one-piece suit in basic black, with a high collar and no back at all to it. Something like that, she could almost wear through a change. Except for the tail, of course. Maybe a thong bikini *would* work better.
She almost giggled to herself, thinking she might actually be able to get the drop on her old enemy MacBeth, if she showed up in a string bikini. She lashed her tail at the memory of the last time they'd met, and married. She was definitely bored, if she was entertaining silly notions like that.
It was all that "Carlos Hernandez's" fault, really. Dominque Destine had developed an appalling taste for human men recently. Demona considered developing a taste for them in her natural form, but discarded the notion before she summoned the desk clerk to her room. Blood was hard to wash out of sheets, anyway. Besides, she couldn't dispose of "Carlos" until she got what she really wanted.
A near-controlling share of Xanatos Enterprises, and a position as one of the Illuminati.
*** *** *** ***
*** *** *** ***
"Mr. and Mrs. Shale" appeared, mostly out of nowhere, at the new police station; they got into a red and white car that looked suspiciously like Detective Maza's, and drove to the airport, where they had reservations. Mrs. Shale was wearing a slate-blue suit-dress, and had straight, short blond hair, cut square just above her shoulders. Mr. Shale was wearing a slightly less-blue suit, with silver-gray tie, and had close-cropped, straight, brown hair and a very curly brown beard. He scratched it a lot.
"You're going to pull it off if you keep doing that," Elisa told Matt.
"I know, I know." He sighed and sat on his hands. "But it'll drive me crazy if I don't!"
"What drives me crazy is our covers," Elisa griped. "Of all the stupid..."
Matt nodded. He had a dark feeling that the Illuminati had been behind a few things. Tonelessly, he said, "Mr. Xanatos was very kind to offer our team a cover manning the Xanatos Enterprises booth. He felt it was only the right thing to do, and a way to repay society for his previous error."
"*Don't* quote that at me," his partner snapped. If she'd been a gargoyle, her eyes would have been glowing red. "I heard it before from Chavez... What kind of crazy 'trade-show' has to have the owner of a multinational company attending personally, anyway?"
_Probably an Illuminati shmooze-fest,_ Matt considered saying. They were certainly pulling enough strings around him for it... "I don't know," he finally said, feeling guilty that he hadn't mentioned the Illuminati knew they were going to be the New York team. Elisa knew about the Hotel Cabal thing -- Goliath started explaining the situation as soon as they got back -- but Matt'd never gotten brave enough to mention that he's gotten a junior membership out of the incident.
"I don't know either, but this is just one weird sting set-up. Heads up, 'Daniel.' Let's get some practice..."
The Shales parked in the long-term garage, pulled out their luggage, and trekked into the airport. They checked one large suitcase each, ran their carry-on luggage ('Ellen's' large purse and 'Danial's' briefcase) through the security station, and hiked to their terminal to wait.
Under her breath, Elisa was grumbling, "I hate heeled shoes, I hate heeled shoes, I hate... Oh, *great*..."
Matt looked up and scanned the passengers waiting for their flight. Flipping casually through a newspaper was New York'd resident billionaire. He glanced up as the 'Shale' couple got closer, and frowned at them for a moment. Then his eyebrows went up and he nodded once, smiling as he went back to his paper.
"He must be roughing it," Matt commented under his breath as Elisa led them to a seat practically at the next gate, far away from Xanatos. "I don't see his sidekick anywhere."
"Owen's stuck with babysitting," Elisa muttered back. Grudgingly, she added, "I may not like Xanatos, but he does love his kid."
The flight attendent called boarding for first class and people with small children or other disabilities as Matt frowned thoughtfully. Mrs. Xanatos was an athletic ex-movie star, and the gargoyles were certainly good protectors at night, but... "How *does* that Burnett guy rate being a guardian?"
Elisa shook her head. "I don't know. The guys won't tell me for some reason. There's a *lot* they don't like to talk about, when I ask for the details of Xanatos' debt to them..." She grinned weakly. "Maybe Owen's Illuminati."
Matt glowered at her, while the flight attendant called for their seats to be boarded.
They passed Xanatos in first class (he gave them a smile and a little wave as they went by) and got to their seats without much incident. "Window seat!" Elisa called out, sliding in quickly and all put plastering her nose up against the window.
"It figures," Matt muttered, taking the middle seat with more decorum. He hoped that nobody took the aisle seat, so he could move over and stretch his legs out a little. Maybe he should have made an aisle seat a condition for telling Hacker about their team.
Due to either luck, or Illuminati perks, Elisa and Matt had their row all to themselves, the airplane food was actually edible, and the flight was uneventful.
*** *** *** ***
*** *** *** ***
David Xanatos supervised the setting-up of his booth in the event hall, and greeted his two new "employees" when they showed up. To her credit, "Ellen" actually shook his hand without visibly gritting her teeth. Xanatos stifled the mischieveous urge to be more hearty than usual around the pair of undercover detectives, and left them in charge of the booth while he toured the rest of the hall.
"Yes, yes, probably, no, maybe, wanna-be, yes, wanna-be," he murmured under his breath, amusing himself by guessing which of the companies represented were Illuminated. He passed one small booth -- "NightStone" -- and chuckled at the coincidence. He might have struck up a conversation with the (quite striking) redhead who appeared to be in charge, but she was already having a low-voiced arguement with a slightly Hispanic-looking man. Xanatos considered drifting a little closer, but caught sight of a small lapel-pin on the man's suit. _Ah, well,_ he decided, heading away from that booth, and the Illuminatus there. _Fox wouldn't have approved anyway._ That NightStone redhead really was *intense*, though...
He reached the Cyberbiotics booth, graced it with a "Maybe" in his personal tally of Secret Masters, and walked up. "Hello, Mr. Vogel," he said cheerfully. "Is Mr. Renard here?"
"No, sir," said the black-haired man. "He's in the hospital for about a week, and couldn't make the show." He looked around, almost nervously. "Ah, and Mister, ah, Burnett?"
"Owen couldn't make it either," Xanatos reassured Vogel, watching him relax a little. Apparently being around his pale-haired doppleganger made the Cyberbiotics man uncomfortable; he probably felt "out-Vogeled." Xanatos continued with some small talk, and ended the conversation with, "Please convey our best wishes to Mr. Renard."
Then it was a short trip to the top of the alphabet (Apple Computers, which rated a "probably"), and back down the walls. MicroSoft's booth was finally up -- late as usual -- and Xanatos watched it for a moment, trying to figure out if Gates really were one of the Secret Masters, or if he honestly had no clue and was trying to create the job for himself.
Shaking his head, the New York millionaire went back to supervise his booth and make himself available to any Illuminati who wanted to talk to him.
*** *** *** ***
*** *** *** ***
It was getting close to sunset when the explosions went off. Somewhere near the middle of the convention hall, Elisa figured, stunned for a moment before Matt hit her and knocked her to the ground. A moment later, Xanatos, back from one of his private conversations, vaulted over the booth's counter and took cover next to them. The explosions continued, with bright flashes of light and ear-buffeting *booms*, and Elisa realized, _Those are *fireworks*!_
She cautiously got to her feet, figuring that even a few boxes of fireworks wouldn't last too long, and she'd probably be okay if she shielded her face with one arm. There was a lot of smoke in the air, of course.
She snarled through her teeth and dragged Matt up, pointing at the scraps of fire coming from the middle of the hall, amongst whatever booths had been unfortunate enough to be at ground zero. People were screaming -- heard only dimly through bang-deafened ears -- and running around crazily, visitors and booth-staff alike. _Shouldn't the fireworks have *stopped* by now? And the sprinkler system gone on?_
Someone in a Nintendo T-shirt paused and grabbed Matt by the lapels, saying something to him. Matt nodded and half-shouted to Elisa, "We're going to try to get people out. You --"
Xanatos inturrupted, "Good idea!" and vaulted the counter again, and took off into the smoke.
"-- keep him out of trouble," Matt finished wearily. Elisa nodded once and scrambled out of the booth after the wayward corporate president, barely noticing as Matt and the Nintendo guy ran off in yet another direction.
The next period of time was something of a daze for Elisa as she helped people get outside (finally the fireworks ceased), pointing them to the exit, and once, toting two crying children while Xanatos carried their half-unconscious mother to fresh air.
While Elisa gasped in lungfuls of oxygen, Xanatos scanned the crowd outside. He frowned at a Hispanic-looking fellow who was pushing through the crowds, crying a name Elisa couldn't decipher. Then Xanatos turned and ran back into the building, and -- since the kids and mother seemed to be okay -- Elisa followed him.
There weren't many people left inside the smoke-filled convention hall. Xanatos was heading for the center of the chaos, hauling stray people to their feet and pointing them in the direction of the doors, but not stopping until he got to the wreckage of a booth in the "N" row. Elisa frowned, but helped Xanatos pull aside a collapsed table, exposing the red-haired woman behind it.
Xanatos started to turn her face-up, and Elisa realized where she'd seen the woman before. "Demona!" she exclaimed in horror, glancing reflexively at the smoke-obscured windows to see how close to nightfall it was. "Let's get out of here!" she added, grabbing his arm to drag him away from the immortal shapechanging psycho-gargoyle.
"What??!" Xanatos looked from Elisa to the red-head.
The red-head opened her eyes and flung out her arms, touching Xanatos on the forehead and catching Elisa in the stomach. Elisa felt a touch on her forehead, too, as she doubled over, and heard Demona's voice saying, "*Obdormiscite!*" Then there was blackness.
*** *** *** ***
"Dominique" allowed herself a grin as she dragged her catch towards the emergency exit. Her plan had worked perfectly, for once -- the Illuminated security hadn't spotted her magically null fireworks, and "Carlos'" connections had smuggled in the elaborate diversion. Neither Elisa nor Xanatos had been able to resist playing hero, and the infernal human woman had remained true to her instructions to stay with him. They'd cut it close, though, barely "rescuing" Dominique in time... Cut it *very* close, she realized as the Change overtook her.
When it was over, Demona grabbed the two humans and sprinted for the exit -- running *up* instead of down. The fire that she'd instigated wasn't as bad as her illusions had made it seem, but without the sprinkler-system's intervention, it had turned into something that produced very nice thermals. Maybe she couldn't carry two unconscious humans for long, but it would be long enough. Her hunting whoop was drowned out as the flames finally got to the last box of fireworks.
*** *** *** ***
Matt groaned as the firefighters arrived and began blasting the place with water. The Illuminati security-fellow had thanked him for his help and left him outside the disaster-area -- wouldn't you just know Nintendo was one of Them... -- but Elisa and Xanatos were nowhere to be seen. He didn't know which would be worse: explaining the situation to Fox, or to Goliath. He had an unpleasant feeling that he was going to find out, though.
*** *** *** ***
At the meeting point several blocks away, Demona quickly rifled through her captives' pockets, finding and replacing their wallets and IDs, and stripping the policewoman of her concealed gun and holster. The rings were replaced or added, according to need. Then she tugged the wig off Elisa's head, letting the dark hair lie around her face like a pool of blood, and wondered if a few scratches on the human's throat would really spoil things *that* much...
She could hear the truck approaching, though, and she had to be out of sight before it arrived. She placed her hands upon the humans' brows and intoned, "*Vos oblivio sume!*" Blue swirls coiled around her arms for a moment, before turning black and suddenly launching themselves at and *into* the humans' heads.
As she faded back into an alley, she molified herself with the knowledge that Elisa was more trouble to Goliath alive than dead. Alive, they had their precious, hopeless little romance; dead, Goliath would probably get over her and take up with that Delilah daughter-clone, and that could make him entirely too happy.
Besides, this would be amusing enough on its own. She watched from the shadowed top of a building as the unconscious humans were loaded into the truck and murmured, "What you see when you do wake, for your wedded spouse mistake..." It took everything she had to stifle her gales of triumphant laughter until the truck had gone from view.
*** *** *** ***
*** *** *** ***
"Uhhhhhh...." He stirred, touching his head gingerly. Felt like some kind of hangover. The constant pressure of engine noise didn't help, nor did the chill in the air. _What am I doing on an airplane with a hangover?_ he wondered, looking around what seemed to be a cargo compartment. _I never travel *this* cheaply._
There was someone else in the dimly lit compartment, lying nearby. He crawled over and peered at her. Long dark hair, darker-skinned than himself. Foriegn? He couldn't entirely tell. She was rather attractive, though, and strangely...familiar? He checked the pocket of her dress jacket and found a lady's wallet there. It was too dim to make out most of the words on her driver's license -- especially with his headache -- but it certainly looked like her. He'd have to live without finding out her name until she woke up and they introduced themselves.
_For that matter,_ he realized with ironic humor. _I may have to live not knowing *my* name for a while..._
He shrugged off the annoyance and gathered the mystery woman against him to keep them both a little warmer...and settled down to wait.
Soon enough, there was a change in pressure and then the thumps and noises of landing gear being extended. His companion still hadn't woken up. He frowned and lay down, still with her head pillowed against him, and prepared to ride out the landing.
It was a bumpy ride -- he could have sworn the plane bounced three times or more -- and for a moment he thought about firing the pilot, and then wondered why he'd think that.
As the plane came to a stop, he stood up to confront whoever came to check on their "cargo." But instead, there was an odd sweetish smell, and he realized that lying down again would be a very good idea...
*** *** *** ***
She groaned and shifted restlessly, clawing her way out of indistinct nightmares.
"Are you all right?" a man's voice asked.
She startled and oriented on him. Dark brown hair and somewhat bedraggled beard, brown eyes. Dressed in a smoke-stained black suit which didn't conceal the broad shoulders and physique of an active man. There was something about him that she could almost remember... He was studying her with equal intensity. She looked around -- they seemed to be in a bedroom, but the paint was peeling, the floor was scuffed wood, and the windows were boarded up. There were two doors from the room, both painted a tattered white, a single bare bulb in the ceiling, and the equally-bare mattress she was lying on. There was a musty blanket to one side of the mattress, which might have been covering them both, earlier.
"Not the Ritz," the man commented as she looked back at him questioningly, "but I wasn't the one who made the reservations."
The notion was almost funny, that such as he would be sitting on the floor in a hovel like this. Not that she could remember what, or who, he was. "Uh... Do I know you?" she asked.
"Probably not at the moment," he replied. "But I think you should. Then again, I should know you, and I didn't until I found your driver's license." He handed her a small wallet, open to a photo-ID.
She took it, somewhat annoyed that he'd taken it while she was unconscious. The woman in [the] Maine license looked familiar, all right -- skin-tone was about right, and her hair was the same color. "Ellen Shale," she read aloud. The name wasn't as "right" as the picture; too...short. She unfolded the wallet a little more and was rewarded with a tiny makeup mirror. Definitely *her* face, yes, and the name was *almost* familiar. She looked up. "And you are?"
"According to this, Daniel Shale." He held up another Maine driver's license. "Somehow, I don't think we're related by blood."
"I could always be adopted," she said quickly.
Daniel chuckled. "How flattering. The rings match, though."
She scowled at the plain gold band on her left hand. "I hate rings," she muttered, tugging at it. It was loose and slid off easily.
"No wonder you don't have a pale spot," Daniel mused.
"What?"
He just extended his own left hand, then tugged his own ring off. There was a band of paler skin, worn slightly smoother where the metal had been. They both frowned as he replaced the ring. She put her own back on, since keeping it in a pocket would just get it lost in the laundry.
"So where *are* we?" she asked. "And why don't I remember you?"
"I don't remember you either, um, dear," he replied. "And as to where we are? Another thing I don't know -- but we're locked in."
"And you don't know why we'd be kidnapped," she said flatly. To his headshake, she sighed, "Me either. But I think we'd better get out of here soon."
"In that, my dear, we are in perfect agreement." He stood up and offered her a hand.
Somewhat reluctantly, she took it and pulled herself upright. "Has anyone come by since you woke up?"
"No, and it doesn't sound like there's anyone here at all. I haven't heard a thing, and when I banged on the door, no one reacted. I think we're alone in this house."
She went to examine the door -- it didn't seem to have a lock on it, but there were nails sticking through the wood. "You think the kidnappers are going to come back?"
"Why would they just *leave* us here?" Daniel contemplated the nails sticking through the wood. "Though nailing boards across the door is a rather permanent way to imprison someone."
"At least we aren't bricked up in the basement. Hand me one of your shoes."
"Whatever you wish, my dear."
She took it and used the heel to pound the nails back the way they'd come. "The door opens inwards, but I don't have anything to pry the hinges off with. Still, if we can get enough of these out, we can just walk out of here. Unless you want to break it down?" She wondered why she'd asked that -- Daniel looked fit enough, but not really burly enough to knock down doors as trivially as some flicker of memory suggested.
"That's all right," he demurred, putting out both hands in surrender. "I'll just help you here." He pulled off his other shoe and they pounded away without further conversation.
*** *** *** ***
The kidnappers didn't come back through their nail-removal, weren't there when Daniel wrenched the door open, and didn't show while they prowled the chill, abandoned and unused house. There wasn't a car around, though the gravel driveway had something resembling ruts in it. There wasn't even a candy wrapper around to show signs that *anyone* had ever been to that house. The plumbing was an out-house, and there weren't even paper towels there. "Where's a Gideon's when you need it," Ellen had muttered after she visited it.
Daniel had briefed Ellen on his awakening in the airplane -- the gas-trick had made her roll her eyes, and think briefly, "It figures." Then she'd wondered what sort of things she was used to, what sort of person she was to be used to them...
After three hours had passed, and the sky was getting darker, they agreed that they'd been dumped there.
Ellen stared out the front window on the upper story, where she'd been watching for a returning car, and wondered why the growing dusk was making her feel so homesick for an uninturrupted view of the sunset. "So now what?" she asked her fellow amnesiac.
"Either we start walking, which doesn't appeal to me, or we stick with this place as shelter for the night and start walking tomorrow -- which doesn't appeal to me either." Daniel rubbed his arms and looked around with distaste. "It's getting cold, though, and we can't count on shelter if we start walking. I haven't heard a train, or cars, or even an airplane..."
Ellen sighed. "Let's try staying here. We've got the blanket and mattress, at least, and we ought to survive. I don't want to walk through who knows what in heels, at night." She chuckled. "I'd probably break my neck, or at least both ankles."
"And there's still a chance that our ...hosts..." (Daniel pronounced the word with a dangerous note in his voice) "...will come back in the morning." He nodded. "I'll go get the mattress and blanket. We can try to keep watch up here, perhaps. A car isn't going to be totally quiet on that gravel, even if it comes in here without headlights."
She glowered at him, shrugging her dark hair back over one shoulder and all but snapping, "Hey, I know my job, okay?"
As he raised his hands in surrender and mock-fled downstairs, she wondered, _Now what did I mean by that?_
*** *** *** ***
"And ... just... *what*... do you mean... by *THAT*?" Fox asked dangerously, advancing on the nervous detective until he found himself backed up against Goliath's stone back.
"Uh, well, I...." Matt started, then felt the most disturbing *cracking* against his own back. Realizing what was happening, he dove for cover shamelessly as Goliath shed his stone day-skin with the usual roar.
Fox turned slightly -- more to keep Matt in view than to shield herself from the garg-shrapnel -- and glared ferociously. "Well?" she asked, voice even more dangerous.
"Well..." Matt adjusted his collar.
"Well what?" Goliath asked, turning and taking in the scene. "You are back, Bluestone. Where is Elisa?"
_Trust a gargoyle to come to the point,_ Matt thought. "Well, it's like this... There was a fire, or something, and Xanatos was off rescuing people from it, and Elisa was trying to keep an eye on him, and they sort of... vanished."
"*VANISHED*?!"
Matt closed his eyes and winced, not having to see the eye-glow effect, or the sudden snapping-out of wings. He opened his eyes hurridly enough when the giant gargoyle grabbed him by both upper arms and shouted, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN ELISA HAS VANISHED??" in his face. Fox was standing to one side, looking smug.
"I mean that they couldn't find either her or Xanatos -- they weren't in the building, they didn't show up outside, Elisa didn't show up at our hotel, Xanatos didn't show up at his -- they vanished! We don't know where they went! Chavez hauled me back here to make a report and stay off the locals' toes, but I'm going to take some vacation time and go back there just as soon as you two let me!" _For one thing, it'll be *safer* in LA!_ he thought, ignoring that he was being treated to enraged gargoyle evening breath (smelled like damp granite, actually) and a closeup of those fangs...
Finally, eyes still glowing, Goliath all but dropped him and paced to the edge of the tower, digging his claws into the stone.
_They're harder on buildings than pigeons,_ Matt thought, mind skittering around with the adrenalin that his overly-paranoid glands had dumped into the system.
Fox scowled, then bellowed, apparently at random, "OWEN!"
And for once, there was no Owen to be seen.
Goliath turned and looked at the annoyed and confused Fox, then paced over to peer into the darkness of the stairway. Then he moved away and scanned the rest of the castle. When he looked back, Matt could have sworn that he was almost smiling. "Hmmmmmm...."
Fox offered, in a strangly shy -- or maybe *eager* -- manner, "He was with Alex just now -- when I came to meet Mr. Bluestone here."
"Was he?" Goliath breathed.
"You don't think...?" she said, with sudden hope in her eyes.
"It would not be good for Alex to be separated from his father," he replied enigmatically.
Matt straightened his trenchcoat. "Do I even want to *know* what you two are talking about?"
The human woman and gargoyle male looked at each other for a moment. Goliath turned back to the detective. "You do not. The rest of the clan are probably in the television room by now -- go there and explain. Fox and I will join you there later."
Matt wondered if he should get insistant or not. Then he remembered those teeth, and glowing eyes, and the bruises on his arms -- and decided that he didn't want to get Goliath angry twice in one night. He'd get Elisa to explain later, when she was found...
*** *** *** ***
When Fox opened the door into the nursery-room, all was at first normal -- Alex was sitting on the floor, with Lexington hovering protectively over him, and various toys were strewn about.
What was *not* normal was the glowing image of the castle, complete with floor-plan, that was hovering just within Alex's enthusiastic baby reach. What was even *less* normal was the silver-haired, pointy-eared, brightly-dressed fay who was buzzing around the room like a demented kite in a windstorm.
"Well?" Fox demanded of her cousin-some-crazy-number-of-times-remove
The Puck held a finger to his lips, manically. "Quiet, please! We're having a lesson here!" He swooped around to dangle in front of Alex, upside down. "Now, Alex, where'd we leave the... gray teddy bear?!"
Alex giggled, slightly distracted from grabbing at Puck's silvery hair, and squinched his eyes shut for a moment, baby-gurgling to himself. Fox could have sworn that his baby-talk was in iambic pentameter, though.
The baby leaned forwards, batting at the castle image while Lexington steadied him. He reached into the master-bedroom, which then expanded to dollhouse size, and then his chubby hand went under the bed, and the view zoomed to show the gray teddy bear hidden and dusty, beneath the bed.
"Very good!" Puck said, applauding while still upside down. "Now, what about... the rubber ducky?!"
Alex laughed, babbled to himself again -- *definitely* in iambic pentameter -- and the castle-image went full-size again for him to bat at. The rubber ducky, apparently, was in the bathroom, under the sink.
"All right!" his fay tutor crowed, cavorting around the room in midair. He swerved in front of Alex again. "Let's get a little harder, okay? Let's fiiiiind.... Angela!"
Again, Alexander recited his mysterious spell. This time it took him a little longer, but eventually he got to the TV room where Matt Bluestone and the other gargoyles were talking. From the expressions on everyone's faces, Fox surmised that the detective had indeed been explaining things.
"Looks like you got the hang of things, kid!" Puck approved. "Hm. I've got an idea! Let's *really* see what you can do! Let's! Find! *Daddy*!"
Alex practically shrieked with glee, waving his arms around and gurgling unintelligable verse with enough enthusiasm (and high-pitched volume) that even Fox winced a little. Smiling grimly, Lexington was only hunching his shoulders, while Goliath had raised his wing-thumbs to shield his own pointed ears a little.
The image of the castle changed to an image of the western half of the United States, with a little of Canada and Central America included. Puck bobbed expectantly, fingertips together and legs crossed. Alexander waved his hands at the map, and bits expanded -- and then contracted again -- and then expanded to show a different area -- and contracted back to the full map. Alex looked at the map, gurgled indignantly for a moment, then threw back his head and started wailing in frustration.
Fox instantly moved over with soothing words and touches. "It's okay, Alex! You were doing fine. It's okay, baby. Mommy's here, it's okay."
Lexington and Goliath looked over at Puck, brow-ridges raised. The fay had floated to the ground, fingertips still together and legs still crossed, but eyes wide and jaw slack in an expression of frozen astonishment.
"Well?" Goliath rumbled, since that seemed to be the only word appropriate.
"It... It didn't work," the Puck stammered, rather unnecessarily.
"I think we could tell," Lexington commented, poking at the map.
Goliath asked, "What went wrong?"
"I... I don't know. It should have worked." The fay lowered his voice. "Frankly, even if he weren't, ah, perfectly healthy, it *still* should have worked." He frowned at the baby, now sitting in Fox's lap and only making unhappy noises occasionaly. "Maybe it was the range. Hey, kid, wanna try again?"
The boy's rather ambigious fussy cooing was inturrupted by someone at the door. "Ah, there ye are, lad," Hudson said. He turned his head to Matt, who appeared at his shoulder. "I told ye Lexington would be here."
"Well," Matt said. "I see you found Mr. Burnett."
Fox looked back. Sitting cross-legged in front of her, with his usual unflappable seriousness, was Owen Burnett. The over-startched majordomo was playing one handed pattycake with Alexander. He nodded at the boy, then got up. "Yes, they did. I will institute a search at once."
Matt moved aside to let the other man leave, then entered the room. "So now what?" Hudson and the other gargoyles clustered in quietly as well, and stood in a silent knot by the door.
Fox cuddled her baby to her. "So now... I guess we wait."
Goliath blew air out his nose. "Hrrrrr. We should go there, so we will be near when they are found."
"The hanger says another two days for the private jet," Fox sighed. "It's the only thing that could take all of you. Even the helicopter would have a little difficulty flying by day with just you, Goliath."
"Well, what about me?" Lexington suggested.
Fox hugged Alexander a little tighter. Part of her wanted to buy a plane now, and hang the expense, flying them all out to LA to look for her husband. Another part wanted to wail at the gargoyles, _No, no! You have to stay here! You have to protect Alexander! I can't take him into danger and he's all I've got left..._
"We'd have to get a pilot we could trust," she said. "One who could stop for fuel, so that leaves out Elisa's brother. I... I can't leave Alex." She was disgusted that her voice broke then.
"Maybe," Lex mused, "maybe we could get in touch with someone else -- MacBeth's been trying to help us, on the TV."
"Yeah," Matt snorted. "Okay, burning the assistant DA might be a feature, but... Or was that guy McDuff?"
Lexington ignored the detective, continuing to make his appeal to Fox and Goliath. "Anyway, he wouldn't be fazed, and he's got that hovercraft, right? Maybe you could hire *him*?"
Fox frowned. She didn't know that much about MacBeth -- he'd presented himself to David once, to "remove a gargoyle infestation" while David was in jail, but hadn't succeeded and hadn't really contacted the Xanatoses further, though David had had a Mac'Bot built once. The gargoyles had evidently run into the man subsequent times. Slowly, she said, "It's a notion, if we can find out how to contact him."
Mr. Burnett came back into the room. "Mrs. Xanatos, there is a woman on the phone who wishes to talk to you. She says it's about your husband."
Alexander was in Lexington's winged arms almost as fast as Fox could put him there, and then she was dashing down the hall to David's office, where she could record the conversation while Owen traced it.
She got there, panted a moment, drew a breath and picked up the receiver. "Mrs. Xanatos here."
The voice at the other end of the line had a smug purring to it, and was ever so slightly familiar. "Ah, Fox. I don't believe we've met. Your husband and I had parted ways by the time he married you. But I know where he is. In fact, *only* I know where he is. He's probably quite safe for now, with his cop bodyguard. I'll even give you directions to pick him up..." The cyanide-honey voice trailed off.
"But," Fox stated. "All right, what do you want?"
"Very good," the other woman said, smirk almost visibly hanging in midair. "You're very clever, Mrs. Xanatos. But of course you are, otherwise David wouldn't have married you."
Fox clenched her hand around the plastic of the phone's receiver, as if it were this mysterious woman's neck, or maybe the reins to Fox's own temper. "I'd like to speak to him."
"Oh, but you can't. You see, you might have some notion of tracing this call and arriving on my doorstep. I can't have that. So I put him somewhere safe that's miles away from me. You'll just have to trust me." The voice suddenly hardened into a crisped business-like tone. "Now, what I want is fifty-one percent of Xanatos Enterprises stock, and, oh, three million in cash -- to be wired to a certain Swiss bank account." She recited an account number. "Now, *when* I get the money and the shares, I'll call you back, and tell you where your precious husband and his pretty detective are. Isn't that nice of me?"
"I want some assurance that they're safe," Fox growled, twisting the phone cord around her other hand viciously, as if the kidnapper could feel it in her hair.
"You have my word that I left them perfectly safe. They could be wandering around, though. I know where they'll show up. You'll just have to trust me. Send the money, and I'll fax you some photographs. I'm sure you'll find them quite amusing." The voice certainly did. "I really must be going now. Good night, Fox."
"Wait--" Fox tried, but the line had gone dead. She glared at the receiver in her hand, somewhere between rage and sudden grief, until Owen walked back into the room. "I traced the call to a Los Angelos hotel, but couldn't tell which room." He walked around and sat behind David's desk, typing one-handed. "I'm setting up a voice-analysis." He paused briefly. "You might want the gargoyles to hear this."
She took the hint and went back to fetch them.
The result, when she and the group (including Matt and Alex) entered the room, was indeed informative. The first part of the phone call was playing, but was slightly drowned out by the ragged chorus of: "DEMONA!"
"As I thought," Owen murmured, pale eyes on the computer screen in the wall, where the voice-print patterns were vibrating. He started the recording over again, and this time everyone was silent as it played through till the final "Good night."
Hm. Yeah, if I came up with a bit more... Interesting. Oh, well.
I'm rather proud of the cut-scene mirroring in so many of those bits.
