All the characters appearing in Gargoyles and Gargoyles: The Goliath Chronicles are copyright Buena Vista Television/The Walt Disney Company. No infringement of these copyrights is intended, and is not authorized by the copyright holder. All characters, concepts, and events referenced from The Gargoyles Saga is the property of the TGS staff.

The characters of Raymond Gamin, Anyx Moxnyx, Anders Larson, Colin Mercer, Dr. Mitch Jaxon, Louis Devereaux, Cliff "Big Boss" Lee, Malcolm Malakai, Enoch "the Nordic" Anderson, and Bruce are my own creations. Concepts are borrowed from Royal Crown Revue, the PC game "SPQR," and Diana Gabaldon's book "Dragonfly in Amber". There is a brief reference to events in the recent remake of "The Thomas Crown Affair".

Teaser: A drunkard turns out to have a much more mysterious past than anybody originally thought.

Timeline: This fic is set one week after "Seeds of Change."
 
 

Enoch Anderson narrowed his eyes slightly as he drew a bead on his quarry, then flicked the particle rifle to its highest setting. He fired at his target, Raymond Gamin.

Impossibly, Gamin ducked and dodged aside. He scooped up the fallen Louisville Slugger and threw it end-over-end at the Germanic hit-man. Enoch, not expecting the attack, grunted as it connected with his forehead. He staggered back, a hard-gloved hand going to his face, the other pointing the rifle away. Then he blinked away the stars and scowled at Gamin. "For that, Herr Gamin, I'll make your death much more painful."

He swung his rifle back around, and was now certain he would not miss. But before he could tighten his finger around the trigger, a massive arm encircled his neck and a hand pressed at the back of his head. Enoch dropped his gun in surprise. Cliff Lee growled, pressing the sleeper hold. "You're dead meat, boyo. Nobody smacks me like that and gets away without a broken bone." Lee pressed harder.

Enoch grunted as he felt the circulation seep away from his head. Unconsciousness flickered at the edges of his vision. ~~Nein. This will not happen.~~ Enoch clenched his fists and activated his armor's emergency defense mechanism. An electrostatic charge built up in his palms. "Let's see how well you handle this, you bastard!" Enoch snarled as he thrust his hands back and grabbed Lee's ears.

The big bartender howled with pain as the energy pounded into his head. He released Enoch, falling back against the bar, smoke coming up from where the Nordic had touched him. Enoch looked down at the floor for his rifle, but it was gone.

"Nice toy, aye?" Gamin asked. He stood up, aiming the particle rifle at the Nordic. "You can take a lot wi' tha' armor o' yuirs, I see. Weel, try this on for size!" The homeless man fired the rifle.

Enoch grunted as the beam thudded into his chest armor, but it held back the ferocious blast just long enough for him to move away. He frowned and tapped a control on the belt-line of his armor. Gamin blinked as the rifle's beam sputtered and died. Enoch shuffled forward and thrust a fist at Gamin. The quarry ducked, dropping the useless rifle, and hefting a chair, ready to bludgeon the hit-man.

The wooden chair descended, and Enoch clenched his fists again, building up another electrostatic charge and grabbing the chair's legs as it came down. It disintegrated, sawdust falling to the floor. The Nordic reached forward to grasp Gamin's arms.

A loud BOOM echoed in the nightclub. A hot spear of pain pierced his armor on his right shoulder blade. Enoch screamed and fell to one knee, bracing himself on the floor. He peered over his shoulder to see Lee standing up again, clutching a SPAS-12 shotgun in his huge hands. The skin around his ears was charred, but un-burned. Nonetheless, the bartender was severely pissed off.

"Not so tough without your gun, are ya?" Lee scowled. He pumped the action and moved to fire again.

~~Time to cut mein losses,~~ Enoch decided. He grabbed up his particle rifle and moved aside as the next charge of buckshot tore through another chair. He pushed open the door to the nightclub and dashed out, shoving a jogger out of the way as he went for the dark alley across the way.

He stole a glance out the alley, seeing Lee storm out the door, shotgun in hands, ready to pursue. Enoch grimaced, then looked behind him, then swore. He'd forgotten that this alley was a dead-end. He'd backed himself into a corner. His armor was strong, but not strong enough to stand up to that shotgun for too long, and he only had so much energy in his armor's cells.

A densely-built car roared up, the backseat door thrusting open. The bald Asiatic, Bruce, leaned out. He made a 'come on' move with one of his hands, indicating the empty seat. Enoch, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, leapt in, reactivating his particle rifle in the process.

Lee's shotgun boomed, the window next to Bruce exploding inward. Enoch thrust his rifle past Bruce and fired a warning shot past the bartender. Bruce pounded the driver's headrest with a fist, a silent indication to hit the gas. The driver did so, the car squealing off, the open door swinging shut from the motion. Enoch threw himself onto the seat and set aside his rifle, his hand immediately going to the tear in his armor where the shotgun had hit him.

"Danke, Bruce," the Nordic grunted as he probed the wound. He plucked out a few buckshot and accepted the plaster from the silent Asiatic. "Your timing was impeccable."

Bruce blinked once, saying nothing, merely fiddling with his wispy Fu Manchu moustache. Then he produced a cellular phone, which he activated. He held it out. Enoch looked at it, then accepted it and held it to his ear. "You disappoint me, Mr. Anderson," Malakai said.

"Mein profound apologies, Herr Malakai," Enoch said. "I was not expecting the club owner to be so…resilient."

"Nevertheless, you failed to complete your task," Malakai pointed out.

"A fault which I plan to correct, as soon as I patch up my armor and my shoulder," the German hit-man said.

"You had better follow through, Mr. Anderson," the lawyer replied. "You do not wish to find out what happens to people who fail me." There was a pause. "Due to your prior record and history with me, I am willing to overlook this failure. But not the next one. Fail me again, and you will face the consequences."

"Of course, Herr Malakai," Enoch said.

Enoch did so, and the bald retainer listened, nodding. He hung up and tapped the driver’s headrest. He made a few gestures, and the driver nodded, swinging the car around to take a different route. Enoch watched as the city moved past him. "Where are you taking me?" he asked. Then he caught himself. "Why am I asking you? You can’t talk, and the driver probably doesn’t know."

Bruce nodded once.
 

Raymond dusted himself off and looked up as Lee stormed back inside. The big bartender slammed the door shut behind him, the glass within it shaking violently, then roared, "GODDAMMIT!!!"

The homeless man blinked and picked some wax out of his ear. "Angry, Big Boss?"

"You’re goddamn right I’m angry!" Lee hollered. He slammed his SPAS-12 back down on the bar and picked up his baseball bat. He swept it around in a circle, indicating the damage from Enoch’s particle rifle. "It’ll take me weeks to get that repaired! And during that time, I can’t keep the club at full capacity, ‘cuz of the safety risks! I’m gonna lose money!"

"Easy, Big Boss," Raymond soothed. "Take it easy. It’s jus’ money. A’ least we still `ave our `ealth." He took a step forward, wincing at the returning aches in his legs, then noticed the burns on Lee’s head. "Weel, most o’ it."

"That don’t change the fact that somebody just tried to kill us!" Lee grumbled. Then he paused and looked over at his new employee. "No. Wait. He was trying to kill you. What’s up with that?"

Raymond shrugged. "Dunno. It’s no’ like I’m in debt or anything, an’ I `aven’t done anything major enough t’ qualify as a death sentence. I’m no’ sure why tha’ bastard was tryin’ t’ kill me. All’s I knows is I’m glad ye were `ere t’ `elp save me life."

Lee nodded grudgingly. "Well, shit. No sense cryin’ over it now. I’ll call Dev later and let him know that Anderson showed up here. Come on, we gotta get to work fixin’ the club up. We open soon."
 

The Nordic had removed the armor and was examining the damage done by Lee’s shotgun. Bruce stood silently by. Enoch looked up. "Nothing I cannot repair," he said simply. He set the armor aside and went over to a table, where he had spread out a series of photographs of Raymond Gamin. He examined them critically. "Obviously, Herr Gamin is not a target I want to underestimate. I must find a different way to get to him, so I do not run into that ogre, Herr Lee, again."

Bruce blinked.

Enoch glanced back at him. "You wouldn’t have any input, would you, Bruce?"

The bald Asiatic paused, considering, then shook his head. Sorry, he mouthed.

"Ah, well, no matter." Then he drummed his fingers. "Wait. You and Herr Malakai mentioned someone when I met in his office earlier. A man you attempted to assassinate the other day. Some businessman."

Bruce nodded. He reached into a pocket and produced a small picture. The Nordic looked at it, examining the man’s features. He turned the photograph over and saw that Bruce had written ‘Larson, Anders’ on the back. Enoch nodded. "That’s it. Anders Larson, from Starlyte Incorporated." Enoch turned back to his own photograph spread. "Herr Gamin was in the nightclub yesterday with Herr Larson and his friends." Enoch glanced back at Bruce.

Bruce blinked.

"Inform Herr Malakai that I am taking a new approach to eliminating Herr Gamin." Enoch smiled cruelly. "And have him send the necessary materials for repairing mein armor."

Bruce nodded once and turned away silently. He departed. Enoch took the photo of Larson in his hands and calmly tore it in half.
 

The small Cajun was napping when the phone next to his bed rang sharply. Louis sat up quickly, then cracked his head on the small lamp above his bed. Muttering a curse, he pushed the lamp aside and picked up the receiver. "If this is anything short of a nuclear holocaust, you’d better have a damn good excuse for interrupting my sleep."

"Ah, shut up, Dev," Cliff Lee said. "I don’t give a shit if you’re a night person."

"Big Boss?" Louis asked. "What do you want waking me up at the ungodly hour of seven p.m.?"

"Anderson dropped by the club, Dev," Lee snapped. "He nearly killed Ray and me."

Immediately, all thoughts of going back to sleep vanished. Louis stood up. "What? When?"

"Just about an hour before we opened," Lee said. "I was lucky not to get killed, to say the least about Ray."

"I’ll be right there," Louis said.

"No," Lee said. "You’re going to go to the NYPD, like ya shoulda done in the first place, and tell ‘em they’ve got a homicidal German running loose in their city."

"What? You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me, Big Boss!"

"Geeze, all right, all right, I’ll go there." Louis cradled the phone in his neck as he tugged on a pair of pants. "I know a guy there. He used to be in the Bureau too. He’s pretty decent, and he’s clean. But after this, I’m coming over there to get a statement. I need anything I can get on Anderson."

"Right," Lee said. "Just go to the cops, fercrissake."
 

Anders Larson calmly walked out of the main lobby of the corporate building, looking at his watch. He had just enough time to meet Louis and Raymond at the club before he had to go over to Colin’s for a business dinner. They did, after all, have legal papers to look over. He silently uttered an oath damning all meddling lawyers—such as that bloody Malcolm Malakai—and cursed Malakai in particular for stopping the Xanatos deal. Now it would take months to clear up the red tape for the project.

Anders was certain that David Xanatos was making similar mutterings at his offices. Xanatos had been very eager to get some of Starlyte’s new cybertechnology and Malakai’s interference had prevented that. And everyone in the corporate world knew that when David Xanatos got steamed, heads would roll.

A cloaked form sidled up next to Anders. The vice-president looked over. It was a tall, somewhat bulky man in a long dark trench coat and a wide-brimmed hat that masked his face. He looked Anders over with a weary eye, then asked, "Are you Anders Larson?" There was a trace of some sort of accent, but Anders didn’t know what it was.

"Yes, can I help you?" he asked, a bit suspicious.

"Nein," the stranger said, his German accent appearing. He adjusted something under his trench coat and grasped Anders by the arm with a hard-gloved hand. Electricity shocked him, and the world around Anders spun dizzily. The stranger dragged Anders over toward a small, densely built car and thrust him into the back seat. The stranger ducked inside next, slamming the door shut.

The car, with license plates reading MDK-02, sped off and disappeared into a parking garage.
 

Elisa and Matt entered Capt. Chavez’s office and glanced at the small Cajun man leaning against the wall. He had a large jaw that was covered with five o’clock shadow. He, much like Matt, wore a loose, open khaki trench coat. The Cajun looked up as they entered and grinned crookedly as he saw Matt. "Hey, Bluestone."

Matt blinked. "Louis Devereaux? What’re you doing here?"

Louis shrugged. "On assignment. My case wound up here in New York. I’m tryin’ to catch him before he kills someone."

Chavez spoke up. "Bluestone, I see you know Agent Devereaux. Maza, this is Special Agent Louis Devereaux with the FBI. He’s here trying to catch a wanted assassin, and he requested your assistance."

"Bluestone and I go way back," Louis said. "He’s a good investigator, if you can get his mind off aliens and conspiracies long enough, that is. I’ve been in contact with him off and on over the last few years, and he’s had nothing but good things to say about you, Detective."

"Who’s the case?" Elisa asked.

Louis reached into his coat and pulled out a large folder. He passed it to Matt, who opened it, looking at the photo paper-clipped to the top sheet. "His name is Enoch Anderson, a.k.a. the Nordic. From what used to be East Germany. He’s been a criminal ever since he was old enough to pick up a gun, which was sometime around when he was seven. Killed a guy then. He’s been doing it ever since."

"Geeze," Matt said as he looked over the file on Anderson. "This guy’s nuts. Killed at least a few dozen people. Each individual assignments."

Louis nodded. "He’s a contract killer. Services go out to the highest bidder. Somewhere along the way, he was also trained in terrorist acts by a group of old Nazis who’d escaped the Nuremberg Trials. As soon as he learned everything he needed to know from them, Anderson wiped them out.

"He’s signed on with the occasional militia group in some former Soviet country or in one of the former Yugoslavian republics. Most recently, he was working for a guy named Julio Nacias, a gunrunner over in Spain. Nacias is from one of those little Spanish groups that wants to secede from Spain. Interpol broke up Nacias’ ring just a couple of weeks ago, but Anderson slipped from their grip, came back to the States."

"And he’s come here?" Elisa said, glancing over Matt’s shoulder at Anderson’s folder. "Why?"

The FBI agent shrugged. "Somebody hired him to kill somebody. He might have had something to do with that hit-and-run that hit the Starlyte Inc. bigwigs." He looked at Capt. Chavez. "If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I’ll take Bluestone and Maza out and fill them in on the rest elsewhere. I have a lead, but my lead wants the police in on this."

Chavez nodded, gesturing at the door. Outside, Matt turned back to Louis. "What gives? Every time I’ve spoken to you over the last few years, you’ve been on this case. How long has it been now? Seven years? That’s a bit long for a single case."

"Actually, it’s closer to ten now," Louis said. "And I’m not a one-case-at-a-time guy. The Anderson case has its slow periods, and that’s when I help out in other investigations." He peered at Matt. "And this coming from the real-life Agent Mulder?"

Matt made a face. "Don’t compare me to him, please."

Elisa looked at Louis. "Ten years? Isn’t that a bit long?"

Louis looked away. "Yeah, ten years. It’s an honor thing, you know. I want to catch the bastard, so I’m not gonna let somebody else catch him. It’s not like it’s personal or anything."

"Tell that to Bill Redman," Matt said.

Suddenly Louis whipped around and pushed Bluestone back. "Shut the hell up, Bluestone. Don’t make me regret coming to you. Let’s just go to my contact. He’s been keeping an eye on Anderson’s activities for me. I’ll meet you there. You know where Club Redrum is?"

"Yeah, I’ve been there once or twice," Matt said. Louis nodded crisply and walked off.

"What’s with him?" Elisa asked.

"Ten years ago, Louis was partners with this guy named Bill Redman. They were assigned this case, and started tracking him, you know? Anyway, sometime about eight years ago, they corner him in this warehouse in Lansing, Michigan, and call for backup. Louis didn’t want to wait for it, and they went in." Matt paused. "Now, the Nordic’s a big fan of gadgetry, kind of like James Bond, or something. So, Louis and Redman split up. Anderson goes up to the roof, Redman following. Anderson uses him as a human shield when Louis catches up, shoots Redman, then jumps off the roof of this four-story warehouse. Anderson was wearing some sort of collapse-able glider on his back, opens it and drops Redman through the windshield of the approaching SWAT team van."

Elisa grimaced. "Jalapeña…"

Matt nodded. "Louis almost lost the case after that, but he pulled a few strings to keep it. He’s been obsessed with catching him ever since."

"And now this Anderson guy is in the city?" Elisa asked, taking the file from Matt. "Maybe we should call in our own type of backup?"

"Let’s wait and see what Louis’ contact has to say," Matt replied. "Then we’ll get that backup."
 

Louis was waiting outside the club when Elisa and Matt arrived. The Cajun indicated a back entrance. "I come here a lot, and not just for information, so I have a key to the back door." He held it up and inserted the key into the lock, then stepped inside.

They emerged in the back hallway of the club, near the restrooms. Louis led them out to the club proper, where a high-tech jukebox was pumping out neo-swing music. Louis nodded to the bar and went over to it, Elisa and Matt following. A shaggy-looking man in the club shirt looked up and grinned. "`Ey, Dev. What can I do for ye?" He had a peculiar British-Scottish accent.

"Hey, Ray. I need to talk to Big Boss," the FBI agent said. "Is he around?"

"Sure, no problem," Ray said. He turned and looked back in the storeroom. He called, "`Ey, Big Boss! Dev’s `ere t’ talk t’ ye!"

"Be right out!" came a loud and deep voice.

Ray turned back. "`E’ll be `ere in a minute. Get ye somethin’ in th’ meantime, Dev?"

"Not now, I’m on duty," Louis said. He nodded to Elisa and Matt. "Detectives Elisa Maza and Matt Bluestone, NYPD. Maza, Matt, this is Ray, new guy in town and at the club."

"Jus’ go’ `ired yesterday," Ray said. "This about what `appened earlier?"

"You got it," Louis said.

"Dev?" It was the voice of the guy Ray had called ‘Big Boss.’ Staring up his considerable body, Elisa could see why he was called such. ‘Big Boss’ was taller than Goliath by a good few inches and was much broader in the chest. His shirt was obviously specially tailored. No Big & Tall in the world could have something large enough to cover him. He had a jaw that was profoundly angular and a pronounced cleft in the chin. "You here on business, I take it?" he asked in that deep voice, reminiscent of a volcano.

"Yeah," he said. "Maza, Matt, this is Cliff Lee, the club’s owner. He goes by ‘Big Boss’ because…well, you can tell why."

Lee indicated the storeroom. "My office is out this way. We can talk there. Ray, you okay out here?"

"No problem, Big Boss," Ray said as he filled a glass. "Take yuir time."
 

Lee seated himself in a chair that didn’t look constructed to hold his size or weight. It creaked audibly, but Lee ignored it. He faced the detectives and FBI agent seated across from him. "I guess Dev’s already filled you in on the deal with Anderson, huh?" Nods. Lee nodded back. "A few years ago, Anderson came here for a couple of weeks. I was just a bouncer here at the time, didn’t own the club yet. I still needed to make ends meet, so I bumped into Dev, who offered me money to trail Anderson.

"So, that’s what I did." He grinned. "You might think a guy my size might not be all that inconspicuous, but I have my ways. Anderson was planning to off a city official, I think, but thanks to the information I fed Dev, he had to leave town early without completing the assignment."

"I’ve been coming to him as a third eye ever since," Louis said. "Cliff might not be able to get out as often since he has to run the club now, but he still gets his information."

"Anyway, as it happened," Lee said, "Anderson showed up in New York a few days ago. He walked right past the club. I called Dev up, who was already in town, between cases. Anderson slipped a tail and disappeared for a while, then resurfaced.

"He’s been trying to kill Ray Gamin," Lee finished.

"What? Ray?" Louis said.

"Ray," Elisa said. "You mean the guy out front?" Louis nodded.

Louis asked, "Why Ray?"

"I dunno," the large club owner admitted. "Ray can’t say. He tried yesterday after Ray left the club and almost got away with it. Earlier this evening, Anderson showed up an hour before opening time and busted in. He nearly killed me trying to get to Ray. It wasn’t until I shot him with my shotgun that he gave up."

Elisa asked. "What was he wearing? He’s presumably still alive, but a man can’t just take a shotgun blast without bleeding all over the place."

Lee scratched his chin. "He was decked out in some kinda weird armor. It covered him from neck to toes. It was dark gray in color, I think, and had black trim. He was wearing these hard gloves and gauntlets. I remember those because he shocked me with them."

"Shocked you?" Matt asked. "What do you mean?"

Lee shrugged—a massive gesture. "He just charged up and grabbed me around the ears." He pointed to the slight burn marks around his ears. "Went out for a minute, but it just pissed me off."

"What kind of weapons was he using?" Louis asked.

"Now that’s something I remember." Lee nodded, recalling the events. "He had two weapons. One was this small laser gun-like. What’s it called? Particle beam weaponry. He had a rifle too. Same technology."

Elisa noted this on her notepad, then resolved to take it up with Xanatos. This sounded like his bag of tricks, but he wasn’t the sort to hire anyone as big-time as Enoch "the Nordic" Anderson just to kill anyone as small as Ray Gamin. Nevertheless, Elisa was certain to ask Xanatos.

"How did he get away?" Louis asked. "He was on foot, right, and I don’t think he could’ve outrun you for long."

"Somebody showed up in a car," Lee said. "Small thing. Pretty dense, dark colors." He rubbed his chin. Then he snapped his fingers. "Wait a sec! There was a guy in the backseat of the car. Bald guy, I think he looked Chinese. He had a moustache, one of those long things…uh, whaddaya call ‘em…?"

"Fu Manchu?" Elisa offered.

"Yeah! I can’t tell much else, because he was sitting down, and I only saw a glimpse of him before the car got away."

"Did you catch the license plate?" Matt asked.

"Yeah. MDK-02."

Louis started. "I’ll be goddamned! That’s the same license plate I have on that car crash!"

"What car crash?" Matt asked.

"A few days ago, just outside the Xanatos Building," Louis said. "My friend Anders was in the car."

"You know Anders Larson?" Elisa said.

"They’re drinking buddies," Lee said. "They’re in here all the time." He scratched his chin again. "Come to think of it, Ray’s friends with Anders, too."

Elisa’s head spun. "Geeze, you guys are all tied together aren’t you?"

Louis shrugged. "Just a coincidence, really. I started coming here to forget about various frustrations with this case, met Lee, and then wound up meeting Anders." Louis tapped his chin. "Say. Maybe Anders has something to offer us. Maybe we should ask Ray if Anders would know anything."

"Hell," Lee said, "Anders should be out there now."

The four of them stood and went back out into the club proper. Ray was mixing a drink while somebody out in the club was thwacking the side of Lee’s high-tech jukebox. Lee scowled. "Hey! Don’t whack the machine! It costs more than you do!"

"Ray," Louis said, "where’s Ands?"

"Andy?" the bartender asked. He looked around, then blinked with surprise. "`E’s no’ `ere. Tha’s odd. It’s pas’ five o’clock, isn’t it?"

"Yeah," Lee said. "He’s always here."

"Wait a minute," Elisa said as something occurred to her. "Starlyte’s busy with that business deal with Xanacorp. Legal troubles. He’s probably just working overtime."

Lee shook his head. "Not even a nuclear holocaust would stop Ands from getting his daily shot of booze." He scratched his head. "Maybe it’s just traffic."

There was a momentary pause before Louis staggered back against the bar, stunned. "Ah, shit. I just remember something." When everyone looked at him, Louis turned to Lee. "Remember the first day Ray came here? Anderson was waiting for him to leave. He knew he was in here!"

Now the large club owner was stunned. "So Anderson might know that Anders knows Ray. Ah, shit."

"What?" Matt asked. "What are you suggesting?"

"I’m suggesting," Louis said, "that Anderson kidnapped Anders Larson to get to Ray."

They stole a secretive glance over at Ray, who was farther down the bar, taking an order. They looked at each other. "I’m going to Starlyte," Louis said. "I have to make sure."

"I’m going with you," Lee said. "Ray can watch the club."

"We’ll search the area," Elisa offered. "Anderson might be nearby."

"If he is," Louis said, "be careful. This bastard won’t think twice about shooting a couple of cops."
 

Louis’ car screeched to a halt outside the building. Lee, who was driving, said, "I’ll go park the car. I’ll meet you out front." The FBI agent nodded and dashed toward the entrance.

Lee turned into the nearby parking garage and drove down a couple of levels. He espied an empty slot and turned Louis’ sedan into the space. He climbed out and started back up toward the street entrance when he noticed something two slots down.

It was a dark, densely built car. Lee swallowed a bit, but then, remembering the Nordic did to the club, steeled himself and strode forward to read the license plate: MDK-02. It was Anderson’s car, all right.

Lee growled and gave the car a good swift kick with one of his big feet. It left a sizable dent in the rear fender. Lee seethed a moment longer, then stomped up to the street level and over to the Starlyte Building. He grabbed Louis. "I found the car," he said.

A minute later, they were standing behind the empty car. Louis peered through the windows. "I think I see something inside, Big Boss. Want to help me make sure?"

Lee grinned and cocked an elbow back, then drove it through the rear window. The FBI agent reached inside and plucked out a briefcase. He looked it over, noticing a nameplate. "A. Larson. It’s his all right."

Lee scratched his head. "You wanna tell Ray or shall I?"
 

Anders blinked blearily as sensations came back to him. He closed his eyes against the bright light being shined at him from all directions. He realized, as more feeling returned, that he was tied up. His hands and feet were bound, and as he writhed a bit, Anders saw that his kidnapper had hung him from the ceiling. Glancing down, Anders cringed as he noticed that he was quite a ways from the floor.

"Ah, good, you are awake," said the German voice of his kidnapper. He was wearing the black trench coat that he’d been wearing when he’d taken him. A pale blond beard covered his face and equally pale hair topped his head. His eyes were a clear, piercing blue. "Mein apologies for the abrupt assault, but it was necessary to attract my target’s attention."

"What’s going on?" Anders demanded. "Who are you? What do you mean by kidnapping me like this?"

The Nordic wagged his finger at him. "Now, now, kidnapping implies there is a ransom. There is not…at least, not the monetary sense. As for who I am, that is none of your business."

"I have a right to know," Anders said.

"Not to worry, Herr Larson," the Nordic replied. "Soon enough I will contact my target and arrange the drop-off. Once that is finished, your usefulness to me will be at an end." He laughed, flicking out a gun and mock-shooting him.

Anders struggled against the ropes holding his feet and hands, then asked. "Who’s your target?"

"A very good friend of yours, Herr Larson," the Nordic said, turning back to his weapons table. "Very good friend. Tsk-tsk. Pity. Good friends are so hard to find these days."

The Starlyte VP’s blood ran cold. "You’re talking about Raymond, aren’t you? You coldhearted bastard!"

The Nordic laughed again. "Now, Herr Larson, I have the heart of a little boy. In a jar. In my home." He strode over to a cherry picker and rose it up to his level. The German stared at him coldly for a moment, a smirk on his lips, then reached out and grabbed him with a hard-gloved hand. Electricity shocked Anders back into unconsciousness.
 

Matt, Louis, and Lee were gathered in the office in the back of the nightclub. Raymond sat in one of the chairs, slumped over, tears rolling out of his glittering green eyes. Lee sat in the chair beside him, one of his massive hands gently patting him on the shoulder. "It’s gonna be okay, Ray."

"’Gonna be okay?’" Raymond repeated. "`Ow can ye say tha’? Andy’s in th’ `ands of tha’ madman and `e’s likely already dead!"

"There’s no proof of that," Matt offered. "But if Anderson did this to get to you, we’ll probably get a call from him soon."

Louis glanced around. "Where’s Maza?"

"She had to go call in some of our contacts," Matt replied. "They’ll help to try and locate Anderson so we can get Larson back."

Raymond continued to cry about his friend’s disappearance as Elisa returned. She nodded to Matt. "They’re already out looking for him. They’ll let us know if they find him."

Matt nodded. "All right. Now we just have to wait for news."

They didn’t have to wait long. The phone on Lee’s desk rang. The club owner looked at it, then looked at the others. "Do no’ jus’ stand there! Answer th’ bleedin’ phone!" Raymond snapped.

Lee picked it up and listened. His face hardened as he held it out to Raymond. "It’s for you."

Raymond took the phone. A voice with a German accent spoke. "Herr Gamin, I presume?"

Raymond snarled. "You’re tha’ bastard tha’s been tryin’ to kill me!"

"Very perceptive, Herr Gamin. As you are no doubt aware, I have your friend Herr Larson in my possession."

Elisa was surprised by the amount of venom in Raymond’s voice with his next words. "Let…him…go."

"Nein. If you wish Herr Larson to survive past the night, come to the docks, number 42."

Raymond’s grip on the phone tightened intensely. Elisa was half-afraid the poor man would crush it in his hands. "You’re gointer kill me, ye arse-wipe bastard! Why shou’ I agree?"

"Because otherwise Herr Larson will die."

Raymond quivered with fury, then sighed, much of the rage seeping out of him. "All right. I’ll be there, but ye let Andy go."

"Agreed. However, if I see any cops or the FBI, Herr Larson’s remaining life can be measured in microseconds."

"Fine. Docks, number 42."

"Remember—no cops, no feds, or Herr Larson dies."

"I’ll remember."

Raymond nodded sullenly and hung up the phone. He turned to the others. "Andy’s okay, and Anderson’s willin’ to trade `im for me."

"Hell no!" Lee bellowed. "You’re my friend, man. I’m not gonna let that Nazi throwback bastard kill you."

"If I don’ show up a’ th’ docks, tha’ Nazi throwback bastard’ll kill Andy, and I canno’ let tha’ `appen," Raymond said, standing and picking up his tattered duster. He slid his arms into the sleeves and sighed. "And if `e sees Louis, Detective Maza, or Detective Bluestone, `e’ll jus’ kill `im anyway. Do no’ come any closer than ye can risk."

Raymond tugged out his faded fisherman’s cap, plopped it on his shaggy hair and then pulled on his old wool-and-leather gloves. He nodded to them and sketched a mock salute. "It ‘us nice meetin’ ye all."
 

Lee insisted on driving Raymond to the docks. Louis followed in his own car, while Matt rode with Elisa in her Fairlane. "What’s going on? Care to fill me in?" she asked.

"Anderson called. He proposed a trade: Ray for Larson."

"What? Is he crazy?"

Matt shrugged. "Whatever Ray is, he’s loyal to his friends. He won’t let Andy die at the hands of a bastard like Anderson."

Elisa shook her head. "But that means Ray will die at the hands of said bastard."

Matt shrugged again. "I can’t explain what Ray’s thinking, but he’s insisted that we comply with Anderson’s demands—no cops, no feds. Once we get to the docks, we stay out of sight."
 

Raymond climbed out of Lee’s pick-up truck and slowly walked toward the end of the pier. Behind him, Lee backed up, staying back. Raymond had insisted, and Lee wanted to argue, but…

Elisa and Matt stepped out of her car and joined Louis and Lee behind the pickup truck. Louis glanced at them. "So. What’re your odds, Maza? You think Ray’s gonna last long?"

"God, that’s sick!" Elisa said. "Betting on something like this?"

Louis shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry. Sick humor’s kinda my way of dealing with situations like this. You’ll have to excuse me."

On the pier, Raymond continued to walk. His gloved hands rested at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching. The sides of his cap were folded down over his face and ears, and his head was bowed somewhat. Elisa could almost swear that he was radiating anger.

Raymond reached the end of the pier and looked in a circle. There was no sign of the Nordic or Anders. The blackness around him foiled his attempts. He scowled and screamed, "Anderson!! Show yuirself! Andy!!"

There was a click from somewhere. Blinding lights illuminated the still bound form of Anders Larson, hanging from a crane over the water. He writhed a moment against his bonds, then stopped to refresh himself. Raymond started as he saw him. "Andy! Ye alright, man?"

"Raymond! Get out of here! I’m not worth it!"

"Yes ye are!" Raymond insisted. "I’d be a poor friend if I let ye die like this."

"Herr Gamin," Enoch called. He stepped into view a few feet away from Raymond, next to the controls for the crane and swept his hat off his head. "I am pleased to see that you complied with my commands."

"Ah, go bugger yuirself, ya arse-wipe bastard," Raymond muttered. "Just let Andy go."

"In a minute," Enoch replied. He turned to the controls and fingered them. He looked them over and tapped a hard-gloved hand on his chin, tugging at his beard. "Let’s see. If I press this button here—Herr Larson drops and drowns. But if I press this button—Herr Larson is lowered to the dock and lives happily ever after."

Raymond clenched his fists, his face unreadable in the shadow of his cap. "Why don’ ye press tha’ button then?"

"What? The drop button? Ja, sure." Enoch grinned evilly and moved to press the button.

"STOP!" Raymond screamed, charging forward.

What happened next happened very quickly. Enoch pivoted to Raymond, drawing the particle rifle from his armor like a sword and thrusting it in the homeless man’s direction. Lee stood up and charged out, bellowing a cry. Enoch pulled the trigger, sending a powerful blast into Raymond’s chest. The man’s duster flapped around him as he flew back and off the pier, splashing into the dark water and sinking.

"Raymond!" Anders cried from his vantage point, then struggled ever more vainly against his bonds.

In that instant, Enoch swung to Lee and reset the rifle to its stun setting. The sparkling blue pulse swept over the huge bartender and knocked him unconscious.

Elisa stood up. "Now!" she called to the dark night above.

Enoch turned to face her, his brow darkening as he puzzled over her words, then tensed and raised the rifle as he heard a leather flapping sound overhead. He cocked a secondary barrel on the underside of his rifle and fired a flashbang into the air. The resultant flare lit up the area.

Angela hissed with surprise at the sudden brilliance, but continued her dive at the Nordic. Enoch’s eyes went wide, and he just barely rolled out of the way as her claws tore up the pier. He popped up and swung his rifle around. Before he could get off a shot, Louis had drawn his gun and fired off a shot. It slammed into the shoulder of Enoch’s armor, knocking him off-balance.

While Louis and Angela were preoccupying the hit-man, Broadway was cutting Anders’ rope and carrying him back to safety. Anders gasped with surprise at the rescue, then gasped again as he saw his rescuer. "What…what are you?"

"A friend," Broadway said, gliding toward Elisa’s car.

Enoch rolled to cover, Louis’ bullets streaking past. Angela swung around for another pass. As she did so, Enoch marked her location mentally. The flare was fading from the flashbang. He leaned out of his cover and fired another stun pulse up at Angela. As with Lee, the sparkling blast swept over Angela’s form, rendering her unconscious as she fell to the dock painfully.

"No!" Broadway cried. He dipped toward her, then had to swerve aside to avoid one of Enoch’s shots. Anders whimpered. "Sorry. Let me get you out of here."

Enoch stood up and reset his rifle to a higher setting as Louis pumped a few rounds into his chest armor. He aimed the rifle at Louis’ sedan. The laser pulse ruptured the gas tank, sending the flaming wreckage into the air. Broadway roared with surprise, flapping back, Anders cringing with fright…from the explosion, not the roar. Elisa, Matt, and Louis ran for cover as the sedan’s debris fell to earth.

While this happened, Enoch grabbed Lee and dragged him over to the side of the pier. He dumped his unconscious body into the cockpit of a motor boat, then did the same with Angela. He vaulted to the controls and roared out of the docks. He fired one last concussion grenade back to shake off pursuit and then vanished into the dark night.
 

Enoch activated his phone and held it to his ear. His employer answered. "Yes?"

"It is Enoch. I have completed your task. Herr Gamin is dead."

"Good. Where are you now?"

"En route to the safehouse. I have two new hostages with me. Herr Larson was unfortunately recovered by the law."

"Hostages?"

"Yes. One is Herr Lee. The other…" The Nordic trailed off and glanced at Angela’s prone form. "…some manner of beast I’ve never seen before. Purplish skin, wings, claws, a tail…"

There was a pause on Malakai’s end. "A gargoyle?"

"Ja. That is what they were called on the news…"

"Take her to the safehouse. I’ll be there directly. I have special plans for the gargoyle."

"At once, sir."
 

Elisa stuck her head up first. "Everybody okay?"

"I'm still workin'," Louis reported, standing up, wincing at a cut on his forehead. "Though I can't say the same for my car."

"I'm okay," Matt said, sitting up, brushing dust and ash off his coat.

"We're okay here," Broadway said, landing, and setting a shaky Anders Larson down.

Elisa stepped forward. "Mr. Larson? I'm Detective Elisa Maza, NYPD. This is my partner, Matt Bluestone. I believe you know Special Agent Devereaux already."

The Starlyte v.p. blinked. "Louis? You're a federal agent?"

"Yeah," the Cajun replied. "Sorry for not tellin' you sooner."

"Where's Raymond?" Anders asked.

They all lowered their eyes and Broadway glanced toward the end of the pier. Anders paled and ran to it, his breath quickening. He knelt down and fished something out of the water. It was Raymond's cap.

"Broadway, where's Angela?" Elisa asked.

"The Nordic got her and that big guy," the portly gargoyle said.

"Big Boss," Louis muttered. "Aw, man, I knew I shouldn't have let him come!"

"Did you see which way he went, Broadway?" Elisa continued.

The portly gargoyle pointed northeast. "That-a-way," he replied.

Matt looked down the pier to Anders, who appeared very distraught. "What about Larson?" he asked.

Louis grimaced. "Let me talk to him." He went down to his drinking buddy and knelt down beside him. "You gonna be okay, Ands?"

Anders sniffed and wrung water out of Raymond’s cap. "I’ll be alright." He glared at him. "I can’t believe you never told me you worked for the U.S. government!"

Louis spread his hands. "It wasn’t important."

"Wasn’t important?!" Anders hollered. "You KNEW what that madman was after! And you let Raymond just walk into it!"

Louis looked away. "Raymond wouldn’t let me call in backup. I wouldn’t have even involved the city police if Big Boss hadn’t insisted. Nothing would let Raymond come here to try and save your life."

Anders looked down at the cap again. "Where is the Nordic now?"

"We think he went northeast. There’s only so many places he could dock a boat that wouldn’t involve shooting the dock workers," Louis said, standing.

"You’ll let me know when you catch him?" Anders asked.

"Of course. I owe you that much," Louis nodded.

Anders stood up. "Can I get a ride back to my apartment?"

"Sure," Louis smirked, "if you can convince Detective Maza to give you a ride in her car. Mine’s…kinda out of commission at the moment."

The FBI special agent helped Anders to his feet and guided him back to the others. Elisa and Matt were running down a list of the places Enoch could have hidden. Broadway nodded. "I’ll go check them out."

"I’ll call in Goliath and the others," Elisa said. She stopped as she saw Louis and Anders come up.

Louis peered at the aquamarine gargoyle. "And just what exactly do you call yourself?"

"Broadway. I’m a gargoyle."

Anders blinked. "So you’re what those Quarrymen lunatics were screaming about. I feel better now. I was half afraid I’d gotten whacked on the head and was hallucinating."

"You’re taking it well," Matt said. "Most people start screaming their heads off."

"I’d heard rumors about them back in England," Anders replied. "Plus, I tend to think that any group as fanatical as the Quarrymen and their ilk have something fundamentally wrong about their beliefs."

Louis was still a bit wary. "Whaddaya know? Bluestone, you were right when you were telling me those stories about gargoyles. Here I thought you were joking. I should’ve listened to the news."

Broadway, by this point, had climbed up the side of the crane to catch a draft and glided off. Louis shook himself out of a momentary daze as he watched the gargoyle glide off. "Right. We have to get Ands to the station for a statement, then get to work tracking Anderson."

They piled into Elisa’s car and started toward the precinct, but then a densely-built car roared out of an alley and smashed the Fairlane in a broadside that sent it spinning. Elisa spun the wheel, trying to regain control, but the car crashed into a parked truck. Matt and Louis were knocked for a loop and Anders passed out, part from the collision and part in a faint from being in a second car crash in as many days. Elisa tried to free herself from her seatbelt to get her gun as a bald Asiatic strode over.

Elisa grabbed her gun free and rolled down her window as the bald man approached. Bruce smacked the gun aside and punched Elisa across the face, rendering her unconscious.
 

Enoch tapped his foot impatiently as he awaited his employer’s arrival. Cliff Lee was quite securely tied up, as was the female gargoyle. He had shed his trench coat a while ago. He stood in his armor, his rifle slung across his back like a sword. A fresh particle gun was strapped to his belt. He wanted so much to do something really painful to Lee for shooting him in the club, but he decided to wait for Malakai’s word.

The side entrance opened to admit the MDK-02 car, towing a wrecked Fairlane behind it. Bruce climbed out of the densely-built ramming car and indicated for Enoch and the driver to give him a hand. Intrigued, the German hit man paced over to the wreck. Four people were unconscious within. One was Special Agent Devereaux. One was Herr Larson. The other two were the cops he’d seen at the dock. He looked at Bruce with mild surprise, then asked, "And what is this, Bruce?"

Bruce replied by holding out the cell phone. Enoch dialed up his employer. Malakai answered, "Ah, Mr. Anderson. I regret that I cannot be there. Something came up. I won’t be able to make it there for a few hours."

"I understand, sir. What are mein orders until then?"

"Keep the gargoyle secure. The new hostages that Bruce has will undoubtedly attract more of said beasts. When you see a large lavender brute, don’t hesitate to capture him as well. But be warned—the big one is not easy to subdue."

"Not to worry, sir. I can handle this assignment, no problem."

"I’m sure," Malakai said. "Out." He hung up.

Enoch tossed the phone back to Bruce, then gave him and the driver a hand hauling out the unconscious police officers. Within a few minutes, they had them all neatly tied up next to the others.
 

Goliath, Broadway, Othello, and Desdemona landed on the roof of the safehouse. "This is the last one," Broadway said. "They have to be in here." He looked through the skylight. "So is the Nordic."

Goliath pushed Broadway aside to take a look. Then his eyes glowed harshly. "Elisa!"

Without pause, Goliath smashed the skylight and dove through it, roaring a furious challenge. After a moment’s hesitation, the others followed, likewise bellowing. The blond-haired hit-man swung around, drawing his smaller gun and firing several pulses at them. The gargoyles dove behind cover—crates of ammunition and miscellaneous things stored in the building.

~~So, Herr Malakai was right. Taking the police hostage brought out the big one. Now’s my chance to make up for past mistakes.~~ Enoch stood, aiming his gun at the female detective. "Gargoyles! If you attack me, the lady cop dies!"

There was a deep roar as the big lavender gargoyle erupted from behind the crates, eyes glowing and wings spread wide. He snarled at the hit-man. Enoch merely smirked. "Right. Keep that up, and I might just kill her because you annoy me."

"Angela!" Broadway cried, swooping in to try to recover his mate. But the Nordic pivoted and fired a stunning pulse at the portly gargoyle. With a snarling cry, Broadway fell to the floor with a smack.

Enoch turned back to Goliath, who was even more furious now. "Sorry about that. Where were we?"
 

Beneath the water, Raymond Gamin floated quietly toward the bottom of the harbor. His tattered duster was burned somewhat, as was his clothing. His gloved hands were spread wide as he floated down in a spread-eagle position. With a muted thump, Raymond hit bottom. He lay there a moment, the currents moving around him.

All at once, his eyes snapped open. A snarl curled his lips. If anyone had been beneath the waves and could see what was going on, they would have seen his eyes suddenly glow a bright green. His ears had become pointed. Raymond clenched his fists and the glow spread to the rest of him.

Raymond pulled himself up, braced his feet against the ground, then launched himself straight up. He came clear of the water and continued up into the air. He screamed with fury. "ENOCH!" he howled. He hovered in midair, turning, seeking out the object of his white-hot rage. Finding him, Raymond sped forward like a bullet, his duster flapping behind him like a cape as he went to exact his revenge.
 

Othello and Desdemona watched with caution as the clan’s leader and the German hit-man stared each other down in a Mexican standoff. "We have to help him, beloved," Desdemona said.

"If we are not careful, then the Nordic will kill Elisa," Othello replied. He looked at Broadway. "We already know that he can knock us unconscious with his weapon, so we can’t get close enough to help."

Desdemona looked at the crates and tore open one. She extracted a smallish particle rifle. "Look! This is where he gets his weaponry! We can use this to help Goliath!"

"Good thinking, my love." Othello took the rifle as she pulled another one out, then looked it over. Memories left over from his time as Coldstone entered his mind; he knew how to operate it. He leaned over the top of the crate. The Nordic was still looking at Goliath, his gun pointed at Elisa. Othello eased his rifle up and took aim.

Enoch heard a laser rifle fire and spun to face the sound. One of the other gargoyles had gotten one of the spare rifles. The shot struck his arm, singeing his armor, but not hurting him. Enoch grunted from the impact, then took his gun to point at his attacker.

Goliath chose that moment to launch a charge. The Nordic got off one shot at Othello before the big gargoyle tackled him, grabbing him in a crushing embrace. Enoch gave a high grunt of pain, then managed to tap the controls on his belt. The electrical defense mechanism went off, pumping voltage into the gargoyle leader. Goliath roared with pain and flew back.

Othello raised his rifle to fire again, but a heavy blunt object crashed down between his shoulder blades. With a grunt of pain, Othello dropped his rifle as he collapsed. Desdemona whirled to her mate’s assailant to see a bald Asiatic with a wispy Fu Manchu mustache holding a large crowbar. The golden-haired gargoyle leapt at Bruce, but the bald man simply smashed her across the face with a backhanded fist.  Desdemona was sent flying back several feet, shocked by the power of the blow.

Bruce turned back to Othello, who was now getting up, eyes glowing with rage at the treatment of his mate.  Othello snarled and leapt at the bald Asiatic, but Bruce sidestepped the attack and brought the crowbar down on Othello's head.  With a groan, Othello fell to the floor, unconscious.  As Desdemona struggled to remain conscious, Bruce went over to her and kicked her in the face.  She joined Othello in unconsciousness.
 

Goliath and Enoch squared off.  The German hit-man clenched his fists, an electrostatic charge glowing around his fists as he sized up his foe.  Goliath's eyes glowed white as he considered what part of this human to rip off first for harming Elisa and Angela.  Neither of them noticed that the captives had begun to wake up.

Cliff Lee was the first.  He raised his head to see Bruce knock out Othello and Desdemona, then saw Goliath and Enoch fighting.  Fury flooded his memory; Anderson was the one who'd killed Raymond.  He scowled and strained against the ropes binding him.  As strong as they were, Lee suspected he could work his way free enough to distract the Nordic long enough for the gargoyle leader to attack his opponent.

It worked.  With a ripping sound, the ropes began to fray.  Seeing this, Lee redoubled his efforts, his massive pectoral muscles pressing against the rope coils.  With a pop, the ropes burst off.  Lee grunted and crouched down beneath the crate he'd been propped up against.  He peered over the crate to look at the fight.  It appeared to be in a stalemate, but there was no telling how long that would last.

The bartender turned to the others.  The female detective and Dev were waking up.  Lee squatted beside them and started to untie them.  "The big one's in trouble," he whispered.  "We gotta help him."

"Why would you do that?" Dev asked.  "What d'you care?"

"This son-of-a-bitch trashed my bar and killed Ray," Lee growled.  "I ain't gonna let him get away with it."  He pulled the last cords binding Elisa free and moved to Dev.  "I'll get Dev free.  You get the others loose and I'll get them out of here.  Then I'm gonna come back and lay a beat down on Anderson."

Elisa nodded and peeked into one of the open crates nearby.  She pulled an H&K Mk23 out and looked it over briefly.  There was an empty clip inside.  Elisa ripped it out, then pulled two fresh clips from the crate.  She slid one inside, then cocked it.  She leaned out to check on Goliath.

Goliath had pounced on the Nordic again, pinning him to the floor, but the German hit-man was too tough to stay down.  He grabbed Goliath by the ears and let the electrostatic charge in his fists burn the skin there.  Goliath howled with pain and drove his skull into Enoch's.  With a yelp of pain, the Nordic released his hold on Goliath's ears, but he activated his armor's electrical defense system again.  Goliath had to back away lest he be shocked again.

Elisa snap-rolled out to get a clear shot and aimed for Anderson's shoulder.  The armor appeared to have a joint there.  If she got the shot off right, it might lock up his armor.  The H&K Mk23 sounded in her hands.  The bullet spanged off the armor as Enoch turned away; the shot streaked across his armor, doing no damage.

Enoch searched around for his fallen particle gun, which he'd dropped when Goliath had first tackled him.  The lavender gargoyle was preparing to attack again, so he had to be quick about it.  He ducked low and rolled for cover as Elisa fired again.  Goliath charged after him.

Enoch grasped a crowbar off the ground and tossed it at Goliath's face.  He snarled, batting it away as the German hit-man scrambled for his gun.  Then, in a burst of clarity amidst this adrenaline-pumped moment, something clicked.  If the lady cop was free, then that meant--

Enoch snarled and picked up his particle gun.  He pumped off two high-energy shots, keeping the gargoyle away momentarily.  He ducked again as Elisa fired.  "Bruce!  The hostages!" he screamed.
 

Louis Devereaux heard Anderson shout, "Bruce!  The hostages!"  He nudged Anders to crawl away as he drew an MP5/10 from one of the crates.  He scanned the crates around him, hearing Detective Maza fire at the assassin while Lee worked to untie the female gargoyle.

"Who's Bruce, I wonder?" Louis said to himself.  He didn't have to wait long to find out.

A well-built Asiatic man with a shaved head dropped in front of him.  He stood up and smacked Louis' sub-machine gun aside and drove a powerful fist at his face.  Louis' judo training came back to him as he jerked his head aside.  He grasped Bruce's arm and pulled, turning Bruce's momentum in his favor, throwing Bruce into the crates.  The silent bodyguard was up in an instant, his head cut in a few places from where he'd impacted with the crates.  The wispy Fu Manchu mustache twitched as Bruce snarled and leapt to tackle the federal agent.

A thick fist uppercutted Bruce in the stomach, halting the charge, then a more powerful blow smashed Bruce to the floor.  Lee snarled.  "Go help Maza, Dev.  I'll take care of this piece of crap."  Louis, not looking a gift horse in the mouth, scooped up the sub-machine gun and went to help the detective.

Lee drove a foot into Bruce's side, then squatted to grab Bruce by the back of his shirt.  He tossed Bruce through the crates and stalked after him.  Bruce got up, shaking his head to clear it, then jumped and kicked Lee in the head.  Lee staggered back from the force of the kick, then caught Bruce's follow-up kick with both hands.  Lee spun his hands, twisting Bruce in the midst of his kick.  Lee charged in as Bruce got back up.  He drove one fist into Bruce's stomach, hearing ribs pop loose, then right-left hooked him.  Bruce's mind reeled from the blows, then shut down as Lee drove one of his thick elbows into his temple.

Lee huffed from the exertion, then spat on Bruce's unconscious body.  "That's the way it's gotta be," he sang under his breath, "got to go through 'Big Boss' Lee."
 

Enoch swore as Devereaux joined the lady cop in firing at him.  The big gargoyle was also waiting for him to come out from behind his cover so he could wallop him.

He swung out to pump off a salvo of pulses at the law.  A claw came down and snatched the gun out of his hands.  Goliath crushed the pistol in his fist, then moved forward to grapple.

"All right, gargie," Enoch hissed.  "I didn't want to have to do this, but desparate times call for desparate measures."  He clenched his fists, his already-strained power cells concentrating energy around his hands.  He ducked under the big one's punch, then drove one fist into Goliath's gut.

Goliath bellowed with pain as the energy amplified Enoch's punch, throwing him back several feet.  Enoch stood up from his crouch, pulling a tall crate in front of him to absorb the fussilade of shots from Elisa and Devereaux.  Enoch snarled.  "I'm going to rip you a new one, gargoyle," he scowled.

The wall exploded inward suddenly, a brightly-glowing form hovering in the air as debris and dust settled.  "ENOCH!!" the intruder screamed.  The intruder raised a fist, lightning crackling around it, then made a gesture as if throwing a baseball.  A glowing ball of eldritch energy smashed into Enoch like a slapshot hockey puck, sending him through a tall stack of crates, which promptly came down around him.

Enoch pushed crates off of himself as the intruder glided in, the tattered duster it wore flapping in an unseen breeze.  The German hit-man's eyes widened.  It was Gamin!!  The man's hair blew in the same unseen breeze as he glided up to Enoch.  The green aura around him intensified as he hit the Nordic with a blow that sent him cartwheeling through another pile of crates.

Enoch groaned as he got up to one knee.  "Gott in Himmel," he muttered.  He turned to regard Gamin, who hovered a foot off the ground, rearing back as if to throw something else.  That fist had a ball of glowing energy around it the size of a medicine ball.  Enoch closed his eyes to wait for the blow.  Gamin snarled and threw the blast into Enoch's chest at point-blank range.  Pieces of Anderson's armor broke away from the force of the blow.

Enoch got up, drawing his back-slung rifle.  He raised it to his shoulder and drew a bead on Gamin.  He aimed at Gamin's chest and fired.  The scarlet beam diverted itself and streaked past Gamin, who merely hovered, watching with narrowed eyes that glowed the same green as the aura around him.  Enoch blinked with surprise and tried again.  The beam curved away again.  Gritting his teeth, Enoch fired a third time.  Gamin bent over as the shot slammed him back several feet in the air, his hands going to his stomach.

Enoch lowered the rifle and pumped his fist with triumph, then his jaw dropped with disbelief.  Gamin clutched a rippling ball of scarlet energy in his hands.  Somehow, the man had caught the shot like a ball.  Gamin straightened himself, then lobbed the ball of energy at Enoch, who scrambled to get away.

The ball of energy disintegrated several of the crates nearby.  Enoch whipped around with his rifle, firing again.  Gamin held up a wrist, as though deflecting the shot.  The beam angled off to punch a hole in the ceiling.  Gamin held both fists before him, concentrating.  Enoch choked as an invisible fist grabbed him by the throat and lifted him twelve feet in the air.    Gamin dropped one fist and cocked it back.  He drove it forward, sending Enoch flying into the wall.

The German hit-man groaned.  His body ached all over.  His rifle had been smashed to pieces when he'd been slammed into the wall and his armor was gone by now.  Gamin still moved forward.  He curled both fists back, looking like Ryu or Ken from the "Street Fighter" games charging up a fireball.  Gamin drove one of his hands forward.  A lance of energy cut along the ground and punched Enoch into the air, dropping him hard.

The Nordic was barely conscious by now.  He stood up shakily, trying to focus his eyes on Gamin, who blipped and appeared before him.  The duster man raised a hand, then judo-chopped him in the neck.  Enoch's eyes rolled back and he collapsed on the ground.
 

Raymond Gamin blinked slowly, the glow in his eyes fading just as the aura around him did.  His feet touched the ground and he slumped with exhaustion.  He ran one of his gloved hands through his tangled hair.

"Raymond?"  Raymond whipped around to see Anders looking at him with a mixture of disbelief, happiness, and confusion.  "What--what are you--how did you survive that blast?  I saw you die!"
"Andy..." Raymond croaked.  "I--"  He turned his head and saw Detective Maza and Louis looking at him with the same mixture of emotions, but there was also suspicion thrown in, and perhaps a bit of fear.  The big lavender gargoyle and Lee were also looking at him strangely.

"I--" Raymond repeated.  He shrank away from them.

"You're a fey," the gargoyle said bluntly, frowning.  "Are you Unseelie?"

Anger flooded Raymond's mind.  "Don't ever call me that!!  I was never one of Madoc's lapdogs!"  When he spoke the name of the dead Lord of Darkness, he put so much venom in the word that the gargoyle stepped back with surprise.

"So you're from Avalon," Detective Maza said.

Raymond shook his head.  "No.  Look, I--I--"  He stammered incoherently, looking everywhere but at Anders.  "I--I can explain everything, but--not now, later, at the club.  I have to get out of here."

Raymond turned away and ran over the shattered crates to the side entrance, shoving the door open and escaping into the night.
 

Elisa set the Mk23 down and ran to Goliath.  "Are you all right?"

"A bit injured," the gargoyle leader admitted, "but I will be all right."

"Louis?" Elisa asked, turning to the FBI agent.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he said.  "What was that all about?  What's an 'Unseelie' and who's 'Madoc'?"

Elisa shook her head.  "It's complicated.  Let's just check on the others.  Mr. Lee?" she asked, seeing the bartender approach.

"My adrenaline's still pumping, so if I did get hurt, I won't know it for a while," the bartender replied.  "I knocked out that bald guy, Bruce, I think his name is."

Anders blinked.  "Bruce?  That was the name of Malcolm Malakai's personal aide."  He grabbed Lee by the arm.  "Where is he?  Let me get a look at him."

Lee nodded.  "Sure.  He was right over there."  He turned to point, then blinked with surprise.  The bald Asiatic was gone.  "What the hell?  Where'd the bastard go?"

Matt Bluestone, who was just now being untied by Angela, spoke up.  "Wait, wait, wait.  Let's just make sure that Anderson's secured before we go trying to find this 'Bruce' or whoever.  Mr. Larson, are you okay?"

"Aside from being knocked unconscious for the second time today," the Starlyte vice-president said, "I'm fine."

"Angela?" Matt asked.

"I'm okay," she said.

"What about Broadway and the others?"

Goliath nodded swiftly and went to check on his rookery brother and sister.  They were bleeding from the blows that Bruce had dealt them, but they weren't fatal.  Once the sun rose, they would be all right.  He said so to the others.

"Somebody wanna tell me what the hell's goin' on?" Lee said.

"Later," Louis promised.  "Once we get things under control here."
 

Raymond Gamin sat on the corner of the building, legs dangling beneath him, elbows resting on his knees while he held his head in his hands.  How could he have gotten so careless?  He'd completely forgotten that there could have been witnesses.  It would have been simpler if it had been non-believers, but Detective Maza and the gargoyles had apparently dealt with his kind before.  That complicated things.  Even if they had been non-believers, there was still Anders.  Anders was his friend, and he didn't want to deceive him.

Raymond groaned to himself.  But he had deceived Anders.  He'd been deceiving him since the day they met at that pub and had a drink together.  He'd deceived his best friend, the man he'd joked with and been best buddies with all through Anders' rise through Starlyte Incorporated to vice-president.  He'd been friends with Anders till the day Anders had moved to the States.

He'd been kind to the man, even after all these years, meeting him again at Club Redrum.  He couldn't keep him in the dark forever.  He should have suspected that.  And with what he'd done for Anders to keep him safe...  But how could anybody understand what it was like being what he was?

Raymond looked up as something tickled at the back of his mind.  He looked down through the buildings, focusing in on what had made the kink in his senses.  Something was moving along the ley lines.  He sat up and braced himself against the building, sliding down along it slowly to get a better look.

It was a woman.  Raymond tilted his head slightly as he watched her 'skate' on the ley line, utterly blissful.  He didn't remember this one.  She didn't look like anybody back on Avalon, and he'd have remembered someone like her in...his forces.  She had the Gift, all right.  And she seemed to enjoy it.

Raymond smiled softly to himself.  Perhaps they might understand after all.
 

"So let me get this straight," Lee said.  "There's three races in the world--humans, gargoyles, and the 'fey' as you call 'em.  There's two factions to the 'fey'--the Seelie and the Unseelie.  Ten thousand years ago, the Unseelie led a war against the capital of the fey--Avalon.  They lost and the king of the fey--Oberon--banished his brother, the leader of the Unseelie--Madoc Morfryn--from Avalon.  Madoc has been obsessed with winning ever since, and he tried to eradicate the gargoyles along the way?"

"So far, yes," Elisa said.

"Okay," Lee said slowly, looking at Louis, who nodded that he was getting this too.  "So, recently, the Unseelie regained all the powers that Oberon had taken away and tried to wipe out the gargoyles here in New York before going on to Avalon.  They were the ones responsible for that cold weather we had, and also behind all the weird stuff that's been going on in the city?"

"Right."

Lee shook his head.  "Damn.  Ya think ya know the world..."

"You're taking it well," Angela remarked.  They were all there, except for Othello and Desdemona, who had gone back to the castle to rest.  Anders was sitting quietly in one of the booths in the empty bar.  Louis was sitting on the edge of the bartop, and Lee was leaning against it.

Lee shrugged.  "I guess it's still sinking in."

"Yeah," Louis agreed.  "You gotta admit, that's a pretty wild story.  Faeries and stuff."

"How else do you explain what happened tonight?" Elisa asked.

The Cajun FBI agent hummed to himself.  "You gotta point there."

The door to the club opened quietly.  Raymond Gamin stood in the street lights.  There was no mistaking the signs--his ears came up to a point and his skin was a bit paler than a human's should be.  In addition, there was an unearthly glow to his eyes.  It was faint, not anything that leaps right out at you, but it was there nonetheless.

"Hi," Raymond said quietly.

Anders stood up and looked at him with that same mixture of emotions, but now there was also fear and suspicion in it.  "Raymond," he said simply.

"Andy," Raymond replied.  "Nice to see you okay."

Now they all noticed something else.  That peculiar British-Scottish accent that Raymond had always spoken with was gone.  He smiled sheepishly.  "I suppose you all want an explanation."

"You would be right," Goliath rumbled from where he stood by the juke box.

"All right," Raymond sighed.  "I'll tell you everything."
 

My name is not really Raymond Gamin.  My name is Anyx Moxnyx.  If the name isn't familiar, that's because I never was one for mythology.  I am a member of the Third Race, like you thought, but I'm not an Unseelie.  However, neither am I a member of the Seelie.  That's something I'll get to in a moment.

Way back before any of this Seelie-Unseelie mess came up, I was a researcher of magic.  I studied it.  It was my life.  I tried to figure out how it worked.  I'm still working on it, as a matter of fact.  This isn't something you can just figure out in one or two millennia.  I refrained from interfering in mortal affairs, simply because I didn't want to put any delusions in people's heads.  I hate that.

Despite that, I did work with mortals on occasion, but I never used my real name.  I was trying to figure out how mortal magic worked as opposed to fey magic.  I wanted to find out why our magicks didn't mix.  It was something I thought might help in our conflicts with the dragons.  Our magic doesn't work on them, you know.  It was something that was always a problem.

Now, after we finished off the dragons, the whole problem of succession came up.  Personally, I didn't like Oberon that much, but I didn't like...Madoc either.  It came to a choice, for me, between the lesser of two evils.  Madoc wanted to enslave or annihilate the 'lesser races.'  That was something that I didn't like--particularly because it would be detrimental to my research.  But, as I said, I didn't like Oberon either, so, like many fey, I remained neutral in the first War.

After the Unseelie were exiled, I went back to my normal routine, but I kept my interactions with Oberon to a minimum.  I also avoided the Unseelie in the mortal world during my research forays.

Now, sometime roughly three thousand years ago, I crossed Oberon.  He was starting to get into one of his 'I look down upon all you lower people' moods.  He came to me and said, "Moxnyx, we want you to cease your trips to the mortal world."

I told him, "My Lord, forgive me, but I need to, for my research.  It is very important."

"We have no care for the mortal world," Oberon replied, "and we demand that you halt your research."

Now that was like telling me to stop living, for all I cared.  "My Lord, please!  My research is vital!  If the dragons were to return--"

"The dragons are no longer a problem, Moxnyx," Oberon said.  "They have been vanquished."

"We don't know that for certain, my Lord," I said.  "Some were merely bound by the mortals' magicks.  Suppose the wards containing them were to break?  We barely succeeded last time, my Lord.  I would not want to see the dragons run amok."

Oberon frowned.  "Are you questioning our judgment, Moxnyx?"

"My Lord, forgive me, but you are too blind to the fact that until we unravel the mysteries about the very magic we live off of, the fact remains that you don't know everything," I told him.

Almost as soon as I'd said it, I knew that I'd made a mistake.  Oberon's eyes flashed and he scowled.  "'Blind?!'  We are not blind to the fact that you are a fool, Moxnyx, too concerned with your 'research' to remember your place!" he thundered.

"I know my place, my Lord," I snapped.  "But I also know what I see."

Oberon was quite furious.  I don't remember all the epithets he called me, but those I do remember I don't care to repeat here.  Suffice it to say that Oberon was hopping mad.  In the end, he kicked me out of Avalon.  I suppose he was too shortsighted to see the problem inherent in leaving me with my powers, but that just proves my point about Oberon.  I was exiled from Avalon for all eternity.

It took me a couple centuries to get that through my head.  Of course, during that time, the Unseelie continued to approach me.  They kept trying to recruit me.  Their reasoning was that Oberon had wronged me, so why not get my revenge through them?  I told them in no uncertain terms that I'd sooner see the dragons return than help...Madoc.

I wandered the world, conducting my research as best as I was able without access to my notes on Avalon.  I even went so far as to insert myself into human life.  I did drop a few hints here and there about technologies that could aid humanity.  As I recall, the name I used in the Roman Empire was 'Cornelius.'  I had quite a rough time of it under Emperor Serverus, but ultimately my apprentice helped stave off a disaster that would have leveled Rome.

I tried to use my powers as infrequently as possible.  Oh, I picked up on mortal magic over time for use in my human disguises, but I always kept that minimal as well.  One of the few times I used my powers without compunction was to save a woman's life in Paris back in the 1800s.  She'd suffered a miscarriage as a result of a botched poisoning and was dying.  The hospital she was in couldn't help her, so I had to sneak in to aid her.  If I'd been caught, I probably would have been hanged.

Anyway, the Unseelie continued their attempts to recruit me.  Even into this century they have bothered me.  The most recent time I was contacted by them was in Vietnam.  I was drafted under one of my human disguises and forced to go into the war.  A mortal lackey to the Unseelie approached me there.  He told me, "Moxnyx, this is your last chance.  Either join the Unseelie, or face the consequences."

I responded, "What consequences?  You're a bleedin' mortal.  You aren't exactly a threat to me.  Look, ass-wipe, you go back to your Lord and Master and tell him he can take his offer and cram it where the sun don't shine."

I shoved the lackey away and trudged on through the jungle.  The lackey, however, had an iron bayonet with him.  He tried to stab me with it, but he tripped over a root and got my pack instead.  I turned to face him and started grappling for the bayonet.  I was wearing gloves at the time, since parts on my gun were iron.  I grabbed the bayonet free from my pack and moved to stab the lackey with his own weapon.  I managed to cut one of his eyes out, then I stabbed him in the chest and ran away.

The entire area was napalmed later, so I never got a chance to see if I'd killed him.

Now, however, I have a suspicion he's still alive.  When you've studied magic for as long as I have, you start to get a feel for the way the Tides of Magic move.  Mortal sorcerers and fey are like eddies in the Tides.  When I met that lackey, there was a powerful kink.

When Anderson tried to kill me, I got that same kink.  It wasn't from Anderson himself--I would've remembered him on sight.  No, I think Anderson was working for that lackey.  The bastard might've gotten away with his mission if it weren't for the fact that my powers were on alert when I went to rescue you, Anders.

I was knocked out by that shot, that much is true.  I'll be sore for a few days, but it wouldn't have killed me.  Anyway, when I came back around, all of my caution was gone.  I was focused on one thing and one thing only--getting revenge at Anderson.  I mean, that shot hurt.
 

Raymond Gamin--or Anyx Moxnyx--finished his story and shrugged, spreading his hands.  "And that's it, I suppose.  I'm sorry I deceived you all, you especially, Anders.  But I've just remained detached from everything for so long that I forgot my own morals.  All I can ask is for your forgiveness."

"That's quite a thing to ask for," Angela replied.  "But it's not just for us to decide.  You have to tell our friends this at the castle, and, of course, Talon and the others in the Labyrinth."

Anyx sighed.  "I suppose you're right.  They should know, after all, if I'm going to stay there."  He looked at Lee.  "Do I still got a job here?"

Lee harrumphed.  "As long as you don't start shooting stuff up with your weird faerie powers, you can keep workin' here."

Anyx nodded.  "I think I can oblige you there."  He looked at Anders.  "Andy..."

Anders shook his head.  "This is all so much to absorb.  I don't know what to think anymore."

The fallen fey sighed.  "Well, I can't tell you what to think.  That would be out of line.  All I can say is, if you want somebody to share drinks with, I'm still here."

Anders looked at him and tilted his head.  "As long as you don't look like that with those weird ears, that's fine by me."  Then he broke out in a grin.

Anyx smiled.  The air around him shimmered briefly.  The pointed ears were replaced by the standard human variety and the odd coloration and glow to his skin and eyes vanished.  "I think I can oblige ye there, Andy," he said with his British-Scottish accent.
 

The scarred lawyer frowned as he looked at the newspaper.  The headline read ASSASSIN APPREHENDED IN MIDNIGHT RAID.  A picture of Enoch Anderson accompanied the article.  Malakai licked his lips and set the newspaper aside.  "Well, Bruce," the lawyer said, "you certainly screwed things up."

The silent aide merely blinked.

"I admit, some of the fault lies with the gargoyles," Malakai said.  "Some also lies with Mr. Anderson.  He should have made certain that Mr. Gamin was dead before going on to attract the attention of the police."  He harrumphed.  "At least you managed to get away before any of this could be connected to me.  That would have been severely detrimental to my plans."

Bruce nodded.

"Well, at any rate," Malakai went on, "at least now Mr. Gamin is aware of the consequences for refusing my offer.  He shouldn't be a problem anymore."

The rear window to the limo suddenly shattered.  A shaggy head stuck itself inside.  Anyx Moxnyx snarled at Malakai.  "We need to talk."

The fey grabbed Malakai by his tie and yanked him up and out of the limo through the window.  Anyx rocketed into the air and stopped about a mile up.  He clutched Malakai's tie tightly in one gloved hand and held the other one up, eldritch fire flaring around it.  His eyes glowed harshly.

"I don't know how you survived back in 'Nam, lackey," Anyx hissed, "but frankly, I don't care."

"Moxnyx!" Malakai croaked.  He grasped his collar and attempted to loosen it to get air into his lungs.

"Good observation, you bastard," Anyx said.  "I took care of Anderson.  I'll take care of Bruce, if you send him after me again, and I'll take care of anybody else you send my way."

Malakai choked and managed to nod.

"What I'm trying to say, lackey," Anyx went on, "is I don't want to see you or your friends again, okay?"

Malakai nodded again.  "Just don't drop me."

"What?" Anyx smirked.  "You mean like this?"

The fey released his grip on Malakai's tie and waved as the lawyer started to fall.  "Have a nice day!" he said cheerfully.  Malakai started to scream, closing his good eye with fear.

The world twisted around Malakai, and suddenly he found himself back in his limousine.  The window was intact.  Malakai looked at Bruce.  "Was I just--?"  He gestured at the window.

Bruce nodded.

Malakai composed himself and dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief.  "I think we may have to step up our plans.  Contact Azure immediately."

Bruce nodded again.
 

Anyx Moxnyx, currently clad as Raymond Gamin, stood on the rooftop again, looking for the young woman he'd seen 'skating' on the ley lines again.  She hadn't been at the Labyrinth or Castle Wyvern when he'd told his story again, so she might be somebody new in town.  In which case, he wanted to meet with her.

He frowned as the 'kink' appeared in the back of his mind.  Someone was coming.  He turned to face behind him and recoiled with shock.  Three fey women looked at him.  One had blond hair, one brown, and one black.  Anyx shed his mortal disguise and sighed.  "The Wyrd Sisters.  What do you want?"

"Lord Oberon requests your presence on Avalon," Luna said.

"Well, whoop-tee-doo," Anyx said sarcastically.  "Sorry, ladies, but he banished me from Avalon three thousand years ago."

"We know," Selene said.  "But he requests your presence nonetheless."

The three fey raised their hands.  Mist surrounded them and obscured the city.  When the mists cleared, Anyx found himself standing on the beach at Avalon.  Anyx stopped and stared at the mystical island.  "Avalon..." he whispered.  "I'd forgotten how beautiful it was...."

"Moxnyx."

Anyx spun around to see Lord Oberon himself, in all his glory, standing a few feet away.  The exiled fey blinked and bowed slighlty.  "My Lord," he said respectfully.  "Am I to take this to mean that my exile is over?"

"No," Oberon replied.

Anyx sighed.  "I figured it was too good to be true.  So then, my Lord, why have you had the Wyrd Sisters summon me here?"

Oberon folded his hands behind his back and stepped forward two steps.  He looked at Anyx.  "You still do not like us."

Anyx crossed his arms.  "You exiled me from Avalon because I wouldn't stop my research.  I think I have pretty good reason to dislike you."

"But you still hate our brother?"

Anyx smirked.  "He's dead, thank the Maker.  But yes, I still don't like him or his ilk."

Oberon nodded.  "That is why you are here, Moxnyx."  He turned to look out at the mist-shrouded ocean surrounding Avalon.  "The threat of the Unseelie is diminished but not gone.  They will rise again."

"Forgive me, my Lord," Anyx said, "but how do you know this?"

Oberon nodded at the Wyrd Sisters.  "They have foretold it."  The Lord of the Seelie sighed.  "We cannot interfere, however, due to our own law."

"And how do I figure into this, my Lord?" Anyx asked.

Oberon turned to face him.  "You have proven yourself worthy as a protector.  Your actions in protecting your own life and the lives of our mortal allies have shown this."  He stood erect and regal.  "It is hereby your task to see that the Prince of the Unseelie does not threaten our subjects or our allies."

Anyx blinked.  "The Prince of the Unseeelie, my Lord?"

Oberon nodded.  "The son of Maeve and Madoc Morfryn."

Anyx blanched.  "By the Maker, they had a son?"

Oberon nodded again.  "He was removed from the battle by his sire in the case that he lost.  Now that the Unseelie have been broken, the Wyrd Sisters have foretold that the Prince will reunite them and lead them into battle again."

The exiled fey gaped.  "And you want me to stop them?"

"That is correct, Moxnyx," Oberon said.  "You may retain the use of your powers, provided you do not abuse them.  However," he said with a smirk, "we have noticed that you have acted with discretion in the past, so we believe that you will not abuse this privilege."

Anyx mulled this over a moment.  "My Lord, forgive me for asking, but, as long as I am here, may I retrieve my research notes?  I have been without them for three thousand years..."

"No," Oberon said firmly.  "Your research shall remain here until the Unseelie are truly destroyed.  Such research could be dangerous in the hands of the Prince, and we do not wish him to even have a chance of getting it."

Anyx sighed, but nodded with understanding.  "Understood, my Lord.  You do have a point.  Perhaps you aren't as shortsighted as I believed."

Oberon smirked again.  "Good, Moxnyx.  If you continue to change your preconceptions, we may consider letting you return to Avalon in the future."  He waved his hand.  "Now, Moxnyx, you must depart."

Before Anyx could protest, the Wyrd Sisters had raised their hands.  The mists surrounded Anyx again and deposited him back on the rooftop in New York.  Anyx turned around in a circle, but the three fey sisters had not remained behind.

Anyx sighed and turned back to the corner.  There was no sign of the 'skating' woman.  It was just as well.  The woman had the Gift, but Anyx didn't want to tell her that she could be in danger from the Unseelie.  Not exactly something that makes a good first impression.

"So the Prince of the Unseelie will rise, eh?" Anyx said, looking toward the setting sun.  "Well, that's aces.  Just when life was starting to get easy again, Fate throws you a curveball."  He looked down at his hands, which somehow had to help save the world.  "And what a doozy of a curveball."