PUCK MEETS GIRL
By Amy Donegan (Perdita) - DnADonegan@aol.com

This is my first Gargoyles fanfic and, as might be 
discerned from the title, it is a romance for Owen (not 
the first, I'll bet, but this one's all mine).  There's 
some innuendo and a lot of sap, but no sex and violence 
(sorry to disappoint, maybe in the sequel, if there is 
one).  As you know, characters belong to Disney etc. 
Chapters are all song titles, quotes are all Shakespeare 
and the only profit I intend to get from this story is 
the fun I had writing it.  Thanks - comments welcome 
(but remember it's my first here).

Chapter 1  "Strangers in the Night"

Owen Burnett slumped somewhat unhappily in his chair.  
It was unlike him to display a mood one way or another, 
but on this particular evening his more mercurial nature 
seemed to be seeping through.  He scowled dejectedly at 
the seat beside him, empty but for the topcoat he hadn't 
bothered to check.  Owen wondered again how he had been 
convinced to take the Xanatos box seat tickets and leave 
the loving couple alone with their son.  He knew, of 
course, that it was his unfailing devotion to duty.   
Xanatos had insisted and he had obliged as he always 
did.  Still, once at the theater the empty chair beside 
him had inexplicably annoyed him.  There had been a time 
when such a thing would have seemed ridiculous to him.
Now, however, his enforced mortality left him vulnerable 
to mortal flaws - and right now he felt unbearably 
alone.  A young couple cuddling in the box seats across 
from his seemed the last straw.  As the house lights 
dimmed and the orchestra began its overture he grabbed 
his coat and rose to leave.  Three hours roaming the 
streets of New York would give the Xanatos family their 
time alone and be far preferable to this.  He had just 
reached the bottom of the stairs to the lobby when he 
heard the explosion.

Miranda Templeton listened to the overture behind the 
curtain in her spot center stage.  Nervously, she 
blocked out her first moves once the curtain rose.  It 
was perhaps no more than five seconds of featured 
dancing before she spun into oblivion with the rest of 
the chorus of CATS, but it would be the audience's first 
impression of the show and first impressions were 
important.  Grandfather always said so, and he would 
know.

Hearing the music approach the climatic moment when the 
curtain would rise, she moved back into position 
striking her pose.  Then, answering some unknown 
instinct that often guided her, she looked up.

The weighted fly was already falling towards her head, 
but she rolled out of the way with the graceful 
quickness her dancer's training allowed.  A couple of 
her fellow cast members screamed, the music stammered to 
a halt.  It was then that she heard the explosion.  
Pieces of set and debris fell about her and she heard 
the unmistakable crackle of a rapidly building fire.  
Knowing the old wooden theater didn't stand a chance; 
she raised her head to get some bearings.  The fire was 
taking the curtain up in its own destructive way and 
thick smoke coming from the wings suggested that exiting 
stage right or left would result in disaster.  Crawling 
through the debris on stage, Miranda found the mark she 
was looking for.  Pressing a button, she released the 
secret hatch and dropped below the stage.

Upon hearing the explosion, Owen paused outside the 
orchestra doors.  Ushers were already looking in and he 
easily slipped past them into the theater.  The curtain 
was just beginning to burn and the excited audience was 
predictably climbing over their seats to get to the 
nearest exit.  It wasn't easy working against that sort 
of traffic; but Owen found his curiosity over the source 
of the blast drawing him towards the stage.  Standing at 
the edge of the orchestra pit, he commented wryly, "This 
is a much more interesting show than I expected."

He heard the strange popping noise just as a black 
gloved arm reached up and pulled him over the rail into 
the pit.  He stood up among a jumble of fallen music 
stands and overturned chairs about to dress down his 
assailant when a burning wooden beam fell directly where 
he had been standing.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" a feminine 
voice queried.

Owen adjusted his glasses with his good hand and peered 
in the direction of the voice.  At first, the feline 
silhouette made him think it was Maggie Reed; but this 
strangely compelling figure affected him in a way the 
mutate woman never had.  Then he remembered the black 
glove; and the woman moved closer revealing herself to 
be a costumed member of the cast.  She was staring at 
his stone hand curiously.

"Nice prosthetic," she commented, "how do you keep from 
dragging it on the ground?"

Owen squared his shoulders, "I have excellent posture," 
he replied.

"Uh-huh," she nodded, "more like an iron rod up your..."

Her crass comment was cut short by a larger beam falling 
towards the pit.

"Damn," she cursed under her breath and reaching out 
dragged Owen further back.

"No getting out back that way," she muttered pulling 
Owen through a side door.  They emerged in what he 
supposed was the orchestra's cloak room and out a door 
marked "exit" into a side alley.  Flashing lights from 
the main street told them the police and fire 
departments had responded to the disaster.

Miranda, glowing at her clever escape whispered a 
reminder to herself, "it always pays to befriend the 
stage crew and orchestra."

Turning to her straight-laced fellow survivor she asked, 
"Are you all right?"

"Yes," he responded simply, "who ARE you?"

"'I am that merry wanderer of the night,'" she quoted 
turning towards the main street.

Owen froze and looked after her with some surprise, 
"what?"

"It's Shakespeare," she replied over her shoulder, 
beckoning him to follow, "Puck in A MIDSUMMER'S NIGHT 
DREAM - shouldn't you know this better than I?"

Owen started striding towards her, the hair on the back 
of his neck prickling, "what do you mean by that?"

"Only that you are obviously a Harvard or Oxford man 
undoubtedly well-versed in Shakespeare, whereas I am a 
lowly New York chorus girl."

Had she been watching, she would have seen Owen 
physically relax before closing the remaining distance 
between them.

"Don't put words in other people's mouths," he advised.

"Of course," she challenged, "you weren't at all 
surprised to hear me quote Shakespeare."

Unable to explain what had surprised him about the 
quote, Owen remained stiffly silent.

Triumphant, Miranda smiled and stepped into the chaos of 
the main street.  Despite the nearby fire, she found her 
thin body suit scant protection against the night air 
and shivered.

"Whatever happened to 'the lusty month of May?'" she 
quipped.

"Allow me," her companion surprised her by dropping the 
raincoat he had been carrying over her shoulders.

"Thank you," she said pulling the coat more tightly 
around her, "this will protect my dignity a bit on the 
way home, too, since I doubt I'll ever see the clothes I 
wore in today."

She looked over at the crowd of spectators and survivors 
wrapped in blankets and being interviewed by police and 
press.

"Ugh!  If I ever get home," she made a face, "I guess 
I'll have to do my civic duty and make a statement.  
Look, thanks again for the coat, I promise to return 
it."

"You don't know who I am," Owen protested as she headed 
towards the center of the crowd.

She turned back towards him, "of course I do, Mr. 
Burnett," she pointed in the air where the Xanatos 
private helicopter was approaching, "I read Shakespeare 
and watch the news!"

Then she turned and effectively melted into the crowd.

"Owen!" Xanatos exclaimed, breaking his assistant's mind 
out of a strange reverie stepping off a ladder 
descending from the helicopter.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine, sir," Owen replied, then seeing Fox waving from 
the pilot's seat, he asked sharply, "Where is 
Alexander?"

"With the clan, of course.  Relax, Owen, I wouldn't 
leave my son with just anyone, even for you."

Catching sight of the pair beneath the hovering copter, 
Detective Elisa Maza broke away from the gaggle of 
police informing her partner, "Matt, I'll take care of 
this."

"Detective," Xanatos greeted her.

"All right, Xanatos, what's going on?" she demanded.

"Fox and I heard of the fire on the news and came to 
ensure Owen survived."

"You were at the theater?" Elisa looked at Owen shocked.

Rather than respond to the remark, Owen merely informed 
her, "There was a bomb on the stage."

"Are you sure?" Elisa asked.

He stared icily down at her through his glasses.

"Okay, you're sure," she nodded, "I'll have someone 
check it out.  Anything else?"

"No," Owen said though he wondered if she had noticed a 
black and silver costumed woman wearing a man's 
raincoat.

"Right, I'll stop by later in case you think of 
anything..." Elisa didn't bother adding that she also 
would be briefing the gargoyles, "Now get your copter 
out of here before you shake these people up even more."

"Anything you say, Detective," Xanatos agreed smoothly.

The two men dangled from the ladder as Fox lifted up to 
head for home.

"In the future, sir, I think it would be better if you 
and Fox attended the theater," Owen commented as they 
finished the climb into the helicopter.

Xanatos laughed merrily and Owen glanced out the window 
searching in vain for his raincoat.  

He did not notice two cloaked figures watching the fire 
from the top of a nearby building.

"You missed," one chastised the other.

"I was only testing her gifts - she's extremely 
unskilled," the other defended.

"Perhaps you should forget it.  We can secure victory 
without this distraction."

"This isn't about our victory - just about my revenge."

To be continued...* * * * *
Chapter 2  "Up on the Roof"

"Mr. Xanatos, sir, there's a woman here asking for Mr. 
Burnett."

"For Owen?" David Xanatos exchanged a curious glance 
with his personal assistant and raised an eyebrow back 
at the video screen and a somewhat nervous security 
guard, "who is she?"

"She says her name is Miranda Templeton," the security 
guard said, "Actually, she asked for the good-looking 
blond stick in the mud with glasses and a stone hand."

"Well, that sounds like Owen, but...Good looking?" 
Xanatos asked, this time raising an eyebrow at his 
assistant, "Owen, is there something you're not telling 
me?"

Owen adjusted his glasses, "No, sir, I assure you."

"Well, then let's have a look at her, shall we?"  
Xanatos pointed a remote at the far wall of his office 
where a panel slid back revealing several monitors 
showing various scenes in the Aerie building.  Another 
button pressed and screens combined to form one large 
picture of a woman leaning against the lobby's front 
desk.  She was simply dressed in jeans and an ivory 
colored knit blouse.  Her hair was short and dark and 
her expression a strange combination of boredom and 
nerves.  Xanatos looked back at Owen expectantly.

"Anything?"

"I don't recall...ah," Owen's denial was cut short as an 
image flashed to him of the sleek woman in the black cat 
suit, "I'll take care of it, sir."

"I expect you to explain all this, Owen," Xanatos 
pressed. 

"Of course, sir," Owen replied exiting the office.

"Someone will be with you momentarily, ma'am," the 
security guard informed her.

Miranda sighed with relief.  She was beginning to think 
she would have to leave the package with the guard.  Not 
returning the overcoat in person would have been 
extremely unsatisfying - besides not assuring that it 
would in fact be returned, she wouldn't be able to 
satisfy this strange urge to see Owen Burnett.  She 
rolled he eyes and silently mocked herself, 'You always 
were a sucker for a guy in a tux, Miranda, no matter how 
stiff and arrogant.'  Of course, she reminded herself, 
the guard had said "someone" would be with her - not 
"Mr. Burnett."  Miranda was beginning to think this 
whole thing was a mistake.

"Ms. Templeton, I presume?" the dry voice behind her 
brought a small smile to Miranda's lips as she turned to 
greet Owen Burnett.

"Miranda will do," she said reaching out to shake his 
hand, "silly of me not to think of introducing myself 
the other night."

"The situation was...unique," he replied graciously.

She smiled appreciatively, "thank you but my Grandfather 
always says there's no excuse for rudeness."

She had a beautiful smile, Owen found himself thinking. 
 The other night, her cat costume had left little to the 
imagination; but the fact that her body was incredible 
seemed something to be taken for granted.  She was a 
dancer after all.  Still, all the make-up, which had so 
effectively transformed her into a feline, had obscured 
an impressive natural beauty.  The fabulous smile was 
framed by a perfect Cupid's bow mouth and reached all 
the way to her dancing eyes.  Her short black hair 
framed a creamy flawless complexion, except for a pale 
dusting of freckles across her slightly upturned nose.  
Judging from her coloring, she probably had Celtic 
heritage; he was seldom wrong about these things.  The 
characteristic analytical thought broke him out of the 
very uncharacteristic thoughts.  His ice blue eyes met 
her dancing turquoise ones.

"You're thinking how different I look without all that 
greasepaint," she observed.

"In a manner of speaking," he agreed, it was partially 
true and it didn't seem wise to admit that he was really 
thinking how beautiful she was without her make-up.  

"Well, aside from trading a tuxedo for a suit, you look 
pretty much the same."

'The good-looking blond stick in the mud.' Echoed in 
Owen's thoughts and he wondered if looking the same was 
a good thing or a bad thing.

"That's a good thing," she said casually as if reading 
his mind.

An eyebrow raised behind his glasses, "thank you," he 
said hesitantly.  

"Don't mention it," she smiled radiantly, or so she 
hoped; not that he would have noticed.  Give it up, 
Miranda, she told herself.  With her plain sweater and 
worn jeans, she wasn't really at her most seductive.  
Still, the subtle flirtations she was attempting now had 
felled at least one accounting major back in college.  
'Either I'm losing it or it'll take more than a smile,' 
she thought, not letting the 'he's not interested' 
option enter her mind -- much.  Either way, this had 
been her one chance to see if the strange chemistry she 
felt the other night was worth pursuing; and although it 
was still there, she wasn't at all convinced it wasn't 
just one sided.  Get on with business, she told herself.

"Anyway, here's your coat - thank you again," she handed 
him a covered hangar, continuing, "I had it dry cleaned 
so it wouldn't smell like me."

Owen could catch traces of her fragrance from where he 
stood, a combination of evergreens and spring flowers, 
like a woodland nymph.  He thought of the unpleasant 
scent of dry-cleaning chemicals.  Pity, he thought.

"That wasn't necessary," he said.

"Maybe not, but it seemed the thing to do.  Usually, I 
don't do THAT thing.  I'm almost always acting on 
strange impulses and doing the completely wrong thing.  
Oh!  That reminds me!"

She started rummaging through her shoulder bag and for a 
wild moment, Owen thought she was going to produce the 
dry-cleaning bill.  She surprised him even more by 
pulling out a gift-wrapped package.

"This is really crazy; but there's a classic bookstore 
right next to my dry-cleaner's and I wandered in and 
found myself buying this for no apparent reason.  It's a 
beautifully illustrated book of fairy tales.  It's a 
keepsake, to be sure, but really for a child and I 
realized after I bought it, that I don't know any 
children.  So then the clerk asks if I want it wrapped 
and I'm holding your coat from the cleaners and I 
remember your boss has a baby.  So I thought..."  
Miranda broke off - she was babbling like an idiot.  She 
WAS an idiot!  She should have just dropped the coat off 
with security and disappeared.  Well, maybe she could 
salvage some dignity now.

"Look," she thrust the book into his startled hands, 
"give it to the kid or not.  Gotta run."

"She turned quickly on her heels and took two long 
strides towards the door before his voice halted her.


"Miss Templeton."

She turned back around warily.  He had an odd look in 
his unreadable eyes.

"I'm sure Alexander will enjoy the book," he told her.

That smile again, though this time with a trace of 
self-mockery.

"I hope so," Miranda said, "I'm sorry if I'm a bit 
erratic.  Artistic temperament and all...  I find trying 
to put one of my impulses into words always makes it 
sound more ridiculous than it felt at the time..." she 
half-laughed, "here I go again.  Maybe I should just say 
good bye while I'm somewhat ahead."

She put forth her hand for one last shake and as he took 
it said, "Ciao, Robin Goodfellow."

He gripped her hand more tightly, "What?"

Miranda paused; not that she had a choice with his vise 
like grip on her hand.  At least it was a reaction, but 
to what?  

"What?" she echoed both his words and her thoughts.

"What did you call me?" he asked.

It took a moment to recall and then she half-laughed, 
"Oh! You mean Robin Goodfellow?  Boy, you really DO need 
to 'Brush up your Shakespeare!'  It's another name for 
Puck in A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"What?  You don't like my wonderful sense of irony?"

"Irony?" his grip on her hand loosened.

"Yes, you're nothing like the trouble making fun-lover 
and yet the name still suits you.  You know, it's very 
respectable, noble and solid sounding."

"I see," Owen relaxed and released her hand.  He 
wondered if this woman had any idea how close her 
whimsical nature brought her to the truth.  He knew 
better than to shrug if off as coincidence; but felt 
fairly sure that her insights were harmless, for now.

The meeting was over, Miranda sensed.  Ah well, maybe 
one over-long handshake was all she could really hope 
for.  Too bad this wasn't a dress rehearsal - she smiled 
secretively thinking of how she'd play the scene if she 
got a second chance.

"Well," she sighed, "off to the cattle calls for the out 
of work actors whose theaters get blown up." With a 
wave, she was gone.

"Well, Owen?"  Xanatos' voice was expectant and amused.

"Ms. Templeton is the actress who led me from the 
burning theater last Saturday evening.  She was 
returning my raincoat," Owen's matter-of-fact 
explanation was simple and to the point, but hardly 
satisfactory.

Xanatos observed his assistant carefully.  Owen's mood 
fluctuations were imperceptible to those who didn't know 
him - but several years of working together had given 
David the edge.  His normally implacable friend was 
staring out the office window with an ever-so-slight 
frown at his brow.

"Something troubling you, Owen?"  Xanatos prodded.

"She...knew me," Owen said still staring.

"Knew you?  How so?"

Owen turned back to his boss, almost completely himself 
again, "Probably nothing sir.  She called me Robin 
Goodfellow on a whim - and she quoted Puck to me the 
other night as well."

"Strange, indeed, should we be worried?" It was Xanatos' 
turn to furrow his brow.  Anyone knowing Owen's alter 
ego could also be aware of Alexander's heritage and 
therefore exploit it.

"I don't believe so, sir.  Her explanation was innocent 
enough.  Apparently she is a fan of Shakespeare - she is 
an actress after all.  Probably a harmless coincidence."

David's eyes narrowed, "Perhaps, but I know you wouldn't 
have given it this much thought if you believed it was a 
true coincidence."

He leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers 
against each other before his chest, "I think it would 
be best to learn all we can about this Miranda 
Templeton."

"If you say so, sir," Owen's look was unreadable, even 
to Xanatos.

* * * * *

"Hey, Gramps! I'm going to the roof!" Miranda burst into 
the apartment she shared with her grandfather and 
dropped her bags in her room, Swinging by the kitchen 
for a soda before heading back towards the door.

"You know I hate when you call me that!" her grandfather 
slammed the book he was reading closed and looked up at 
her from the living area.

Miranda diverted from her b-line to the door to swoop 
down on the still seated old man and kissing his 
forehead, "It's the younger generation's duty to annoy 
our elders," she informed him tartly.

He looked up at her only slightly mollified, "I've 
taught you better than to spout that generational 
garbage." His stormy blue eyes examined her closely, 
"why the roof?"

She shrugged innocently.

"It's a beautiful night, Grandfather.  I just want to 
appreciate it."

"Bah!" he grouched, "I know you, my dear, when your 
career's in the dumps you go to the museum and when your 
romantic life is bothering you, it's up to the roof.  
Who is it this time?"

"No one, Grandfather," Miranda asserted.  She refused to 
believe she had fallen for a guy after two brief 
un-encouraging meetings.  Even with an artist's soul she 
was more practical than that, "I just want to sort a 
couple of things out."

The old man looked skeptical, but he did, indeed know 
his granddaughter.  She would tell him everything in her 
own time.

On the roof of her apartment building, Miranda had an 
excellent view of the Aerie.  What was it like living in 
that castle above the clouds overlooking all of 
Manhattan?  Did Owen Burnett appreciate that kind of 
poetic existence or was he merely an automaton of the 
powerful and charismatic David Xanatos?  Her instincts 
told her that there were some fascinating inner facets 
to the ice-cold exterior; and she was never wrong.  That 
wasn't conceit; to date, her instincts had never steered 
her wrong, it was hereditary.  Still, it didn't matter 
now.  Whatever more there was to the stony Mr. Burnett, 
he hadn't seemed willing to share it with her even a 
little bit and she doubted she would ever see him again. 
 Sighing, she swung her feet around from where she had 
been dangling them over the edge of the building.  A 
bright flashing light from the roof across the way 
startled her and drew her attention.  In that brief 
moment of distraction, a small shove in the small of her 
back sent her toppling from her precarious position over 
the edge of the building.

Though she wasn't sure what good it would do, Miranda 
called out for help and closed her eyes willing herself 
to stop falling.  Amazingly, she did.

"Not to worry, love, I've got you," an unfamiliar 
accented voice soothed.

Miranda's eyes flew open and she found herself in the 
lionesque arms of a smiling winged beast.  At least, it 
seemed like his eagle beak was smiling.  Looking down, 
Miranda saw that they were several stories up and 
climbing - recognizing a good thing when she saw it, she 
smiled back at the beast.

"Thank you!" she gasped out.

"Don't mention it," he shrugged, throwing her 
off-balance enough to fling her arms around his neck.

"Oops, sorry about that, let's land, shall we?" he 
glided down to the building where she had seen the 
blinding light and, landing, set her down.

"I'm Griff," he said holding out a paw-hand.

"Miranda," she shook it, "you're not a New York Gargoyle 
are you?"

He brightened, "You know the Gargoyles?"

"Not personally, no, but they've gotten a lot of press 
this past year.  They're supposed to live over there if 
you're visiting," she pointed towards Castle Wyvern on 
top of the Aerie thinking ironically of how she had just 
been studying it and why.

"No, I'm here on a different quest," he responded, "I'm 
surprised the spell brought us here again."

"Us?"

Griff looked embarrassed at the slip, "I mean...er..."

"It's all right, Sir Griff," a calm authoritative voice 
announced, "I think we can trust this lady."

Miranda reeled to see a startling figure.  A noble-faced 
man in medieval armor complete with the most magnificent 
sword she'd ever seen.  He bowed in a sweeping gesture 
and in her jeans she did a poor imitation of a curtsey.

"Miranda," Griff was saying, "this is King Arthur 
Pendragon."

"Arthur Pendragon?" Miranda looked from one to the 
other, "I know England's in a bad way these days, 
particularly the royals, but... is it really their 
direst need?  I mean --shouldn'' you still be asleep on 
Avalon?"

"I was awakened early due to the needs of Avalon 
itself," Arthur explained briefly, plainly surprised by 
her comment.

"Oh, of course, that explains it," Miranda nodded, not 
sure how to respond.

"You doubt my veracity?" he asked her.

She considered for a moment before realizing, "No, 
actually, I'm quite certain you are Arthur of Camelot.  
I have pretty good instincts and I've learned to trust 
them - it's just - this is a lot for a girl to absorb 
after falling off a building..."

"Of course," Arthur patted her shoulder and, looking 
about the rooftop, steered her towards some lawn 
furniture someone had left there, "Come, sit down and 
we'll tell you our story."

Miranda smiled up at him, "I can hardly wait."

The knighted Gargoyle and the true King of England 
recounted their meeting and first trip to Manhattan to 
retrieve Excalibur.  Arthur brandished the famous sword 
for Miranda who examined the hilt with more scrutiny 
than expected.

"We have been looking for my mentor, Merlin, ever 
since," Arthur admitted, "not nearly as successfully and 
I agree with Sir Griff that a return to Manhattan is 
odd..."

"Well, maybe you just came to save my life," Miranda 
cracked.

Man and Gargoyle exchanged an odd glance.

"Oh come on!  I was joking - my life doesn't have a 
whole lot of significance in the grand scheme of 
things."

"All life is precious," Griff contradicted her.

"My knight is right, dear lady," agreed Arthur, "and 
yours may be more dear than you can imagine now."

Miranda shifted uncomfortably under the King's warm 
gaze.  Although she adored being the center of attention 
while on stage, attention and anything approaching a 
compliment in any other venue always left her feeling 
slightly awkward.

"I know what you're thinking, Your Majesty," she 
protested, "but I am not as ignorant of my heritage as 
you once were."

"You know of my childhood also?" Arthur was surprised.

"Well, some, I guess - there's a lot that's speculation, 
but plenty has been written about you; and I guess I've 
read more than my share of it," Miranda admitted 
somewhat shyly.

He smiled back and the carefree boy he once was 
reflected in his eyes, "I feel closer to Merlin already. 
 You see, you are essential to my quest, I'm certain of 
it."

"Just because I know a little Arthurian legend doesn't 
mean I can find Merlin," Miranda protested, "How can you 
be sure he isn't still trapped in a tree somewhere?"

"Ah yes, we read that legend," Arthur waved his hand in 
a royal dismissal, "I refuse to believe Merlin would 
have been permanently disabled in such a way."

"He was fairly powerful, but still a man with the 
vulnerabilities of all men," Miranda said with gentle 
thoughtfulness.

"I know all too well the vulnerabilities you speak of, 
Lady Miranda," Arthur sighed, a shadow passed over his 
eyes, "Still, I feel certain Merlin is alive and free, 
and closer now than ever before."

Miranda sighed and straightened her shoulders 
determinedly, "Well, if I'm going to help you find him I 
guess we have to come up with a plan."

"That's the spirit, milady," Griff clasped her shoulder.

The three began discussing Arthurian legend and theories 
of Merlin's whereabouts.  Miranda emphasized 
metropolitan survival indicating Arthur's need for a new 
wardrobe.  As they discussed, two hooded figures watched 
from Miranda's building.

"You told me she was untalented," a reedy masculine 
voice accused from under one hood.

"Unskilled, not untalented," a woman's thin voice 
corrected, "the difference is control."

"Well, she's out of control.  That's twice you've failed 
with her and now it's too late."

"Her role in this is not confirmed as yet - until it is 
I can still destroy her."

"In that case, perhaps we should concentrate on the boy 
- I should not have let you get so wrapped up in a 
personal vendetta."

The woman's laugh approached the high- pitched grating 
of a hag's cackle.

"My dear boy, this whole plan is based on nothing if not 
vengeance."

"Then why bother waiting - kill them both now, and the 
Gargoyle too."

"No, if magic is involved in her death it will alert the 
others and her role will be secured.  It must appear to 
be an accident until our plan is complete.  I will not 
be discovered before my time of choosing."

"In that case, we should depart - they're returning to 
this roof."

The figures melted into shadow just before Griff landed 
setting down the two humans.

"So come here for dinner tomorrow night and meet my 
Grandfather," Miranda insisted.

"Are you sure it's wise to include the old man?" Arthur 
asked warily.

"Trust me, sir," Miranda assured, "Grandfather is an 
amazingly well educated man.  He raised me 
single-handedly and my character is a reflection of his. 
 He's absolutely essential to helping you find Merlin - 
I'm sure of it."

"If you say so, milady," Arthur agreed, although still 
with some skepticism.

"Trust me, sire," she repeated with a fond smile.

He smiled in return, "Tomorrow evening after sunset?"

"I'll meet you two up here," she assured, dashing back 
down to her apartment in her eagerness to share the news 
with her Grandfather.

"A noble lady, indeed, is she not, Sir Griff?" Arthur 
asked watching her leave.

"Yes, sire," Griff agreed, glad to see such appreciation 
and hope in his King's eyes, "where to now, then?"

"I think we should seek out Macbeth.  He promised aid 
when I needed it - and he may be able to provide some 
assistance."

"Do you really think you can trust him?" Griff asked 
skeptically.

"Macbeth has been misguided at times, but he's a man of 
honor in his heart - I do trust him."

"Macbeth's it is, then, Sire," Griff agreed, sweeping up 
the King and taking off from the roof.

Below, Miranda burst excitedly into her apartment, her 
mind racing, "Grandfather!"

"Sort everything out?" he asked without lowering his 
tome.

"What?"

"The man problem," he reminded her.

"Oh, that," she sighed, "not really - he doesn't seem 
interested in me and I doubt I'll ever see him again so 
I guess it's sorted itself out."

"We'll see.  Why don't you tell me about it anyway?" he 
coaxed.

"Look, I'll admit I'm pretty self-absorbed and 
ordinarily I would like nothing better than to moan to 
you about my miserable failures with men - but before I 
get into that I need to tell you about what happened 
when I fell off the roof."

The old man looked over the book, giving her all his 
attention for a moment, "fell off the roof?"

"Yes, you know, at first I thought somebody pushed me, 
but there wasn't anybody there."

"Which doesn't prove anything," her grandfather pointed 
out, "however did you survive the fall?"

"A gargoyle caught me," she watched for reaction and was 
disappointed to see him shrug and turn back to his book.

"Lucky one was in the area - if you believe in luck.  
You wouldn't have needed it if you'd listen to me..."

"Spare me the lectures, Grandfather, I'd rather be lucky 
and enjoy the roof than live inside, risk nothing and be 
safe -- anyway, it wasn't a New York Gargoyle."

"They're from Scotland," he corrected her.

"Then it wasn't a Scottish Gargoyle," Miranda was 
getting exasperated with her Grandfather's blasé 
attitude, "This one was newly arrived from England."

"They're rare, but not uncommon."

"In New York?"

"Perhaps he's a late colonist."

"Grandfather," Miranda played her trump card, "he was 
sent here by the Stone of Destiny...with King Arthur."

The book closed, the old man looked up.  Miranda smiled 
triumphantly at getting his full attention.  She lounged 
on the sofa adjacent to his chair waiting for his 
response.  He mulled the revelation over for a moment.

"The timing seems wrong," he commented.

"There was some sort of trouble on Avalon - it released 
him from his sleep.  Apparently he was in town a year or 
so ago to retrieve Excalibur - you remember the Dragon 
Statue in the park?"

The old man nodded thoughtfully, "Very interesting, it 
does explain a lot.  So why is he back?"

"He's looking for Merlin."

"Of course, sensible of him, I suppose," A far away look 
reflected in the old man's eyes and he absently opened 
his book, though reading seemed the last thing he 
intended to do.

Miranda bit her lib nervously before adding, "I told him 
we'd help him."

Her grandfather was back in the present instantaneously, 
"Oh you did, did you?"

She straightened in her seat squaring off defiantly, 
"Yes, he's coming to dinner tomorrow night."

"Cancel it."

"I have no way of doing that - and I wouldn't anyway."

"I won't help you in this endeavor."

"Grandfather, what about my duty to the true King of England?"

"You're not English."

Miranda sighed, "Will you please just meet him at 
dinner?"

"Miranda, if you choose to help Arthur, that's your 
decision, I respect that - but I refuse to get 
involved."

"You stubborn old goat - that makes it twice as 
difficult for me."

"More than that, I hope," the old man grinned almost 
impishly, "Now, tell me about this young man - the 
choreographer or dance captain at auditions today, no 
doubt."

The topic of Arthur Pendragon was officially dropped, 
Miranda realized.  She only hoped she could pique her 
Grandfather's interest later.  In the mean time, 
focusing on her problems was a common pastime of theirs. 
 After her parents died, Miranda had been more or less a 
scared and lonely child.  She as introverted and shy as 
a little girl could be when her maternal grandfather, 
Marcus Emory, had taken her in and gently comforted her. 
 He opened up worlds that sophisticated educated people 
knew about: Ballet, opera, museums, literature, and, of 
course, Broadway.  During her angst ridden teen years, 
they had slowly developed a ritual.  The more dire the 
problem, the more he scoffed at it until she found the 
humor in it too.  With his help, she had managed to 
gracefully transition from awkward girl to exuberant and 
cultivated woman.  Now she looked forward to sharing her 
life with Marcus - whom even now she considered her best 
friend.

"No, Grandfather, far from it, in fact.  That last 
painter was such a disappointment.  I'm erring on the 
side of no artistic tendencies whatsoever - unless you 
count being a good dresser," she added wryly.

"The show's business manager, then?" he ventured.

"No," she said with exasperation, "forget the twenty 
questions, Grandfather, you'll never guess.  His name is 
Owen Burnett.  He's the personal assistant of David 
Xanatos.  I met him when CATS went up in flames."

"Well, that certainly is unique for you - even for a 
conservative phase."

"I know!" Miranda agreed, "and it's even more insane 
than usual because he's so completely closed off.  I 
never knew a spark could be completely one-sided; but he 
just wasn't interested at all."

"Don't take it personally, Miranda.  You've ample proof 
through the years that men find you attractive.  Maybe 
this one just doesn't like women in general."

"Grandfather," Miranda said patiently, "in my line of 
work I've become pretty good at picking out gay men; and 
he's not."

He snorted, "Actors!  A monkey could pick out a gay 
one."

"Don't forget I've met their lawyer and banker 
boyfriends," Miranda asserted, "I know whereof I speak."

"It isn't what I meant, anyway.  Maybe he's a plain old 
misogynist."

Miranda snorted self-derisively, "I can see us now on 
the next Riki Lake: 'Men who hate women and the women
 who love them.'"

She struck a dramatic pose on the sofa, leaning back 
with the back of one hand pressed to her forehead.  In 
that position, she didn't see her grandfather's eyebrows 
shoot up in surprise.  She could have guessed his 
expression from the tone of his next question.

"You love him?"

Miranda dropped her hand and shifted to her side so she 
could face him.

"No, Grandfather, I'm just making fun of those talk 
shows."

"Still, why not say, 'the women who chase them,' or 'the 
women who pine for them?'"

"'Pine for?'" Miranda scoffed at the archaic term, 
"Grandfather PLEASE!  How would that spring into my head 
before the word love?"

"Because, Miranda, 'love' is a rare word in your 
vocabulary."

"It is not, Grandfather - I use it all the time."

"Song lyrics don't count, my dear," Marcus declared.  
Then, before she could utter another protest he added, 
"and neither does loving me.  This is serious, I think. 
 Tell me exactly how you met."

Miranda sighed, hopelessly, "Grandfather, really, it's 
no big deal.  He loaned me his coat outside the theater 
because I was cold in just my costume - I had it 
dry-cleaned and returned it today and -- well, just 
nothing.   I'm hardly going to be wheeling and dealing 
it in the corporate world and I doubt very much he'll be 
attending a bunch of shows or lurking about back stage 
doors so -- that's it."

She shrugged uncaringly, then rose and walked to her 
room.

Marcus Emory watched her with concern and skepticism.  
Despite many romances, Miranda had never even casually 
referred to herself as being in love before.  In fact, 
it had always been a source of major concern for her 
that attraction faded so quickly and left her cold.  She 
had many times wondered if she were incapable of love - 
if her standards were impossible to meet.  Marcus had 
assured her what he had known from her birth: She had a 
great destiny ahead of her and it would take a very 
special man indeed to be a part of it.  Marcus 
determined that he would have to discover who this Owen 
Burnett was and if he was worthy of his granddaughter.

* * * * *
* * * * *

Chapter 3  "One Fine Day"

"But how do you know you can trust this woman, my 
friend?"  Macbeth asked Arthur.

The two were enjoying early morning coffee together at 
Macbeth's estate, with a stony Griff secure on the inner 
wall.  The King and his Gargoyle-knight had arrived just 
before dawn to a surprised but welcoming Macbeth.  After 
getting Griff settled, Macbeth had invited Arthur in.  
Now, Arthur had relayed the events of his first night 
back in New York and the lady Miranda's kind offer to 
help him find Merlin.

"How do I know I can trust you?" Arthur countered to his 
comrade.

"Touché, your Majesty," Macbeth acquiesced, "but I'd 
still advise caution tonight at dinner."

"Have you always been this suspicious, Macbeth," Arthur 
asked.

"My experience has taught me to be," Macbeth said 
regretfully, "I didn't spend my years of life engulfed 
in a dream -- I lived a hard life full of betrayals."

The bitter jibe made it's mark - Macbeth looked at the 
stunned king of England and sighed with regret, "I'm 
sorry my friend.  That was uncalled for."

Arthur put a comforting hand on the other King's 
shoulder, "No, you're right - my life has been too much 
out of the world; and yours has been too much in it, I 
think.  Still, It is up to men like us to make the dream 
a reality."

Macbeth chuckled ruefully, "Camelot will rise again, eh? 
 You are a dreamer, Arthur -- and a true King.  I will 
do what I can to help you."

"Thank you, Macbeth, you are a good man.  What I most 
need now is some suitable 20th century clothing."

"Ah yes, for your date with the fair Miranda," Macbeth 
teased.

"Date?" 

Macbeth laughed, "Never mind, I'll explain it while we 
outfit you with something suitable."

* * * * *

David Xanatos took a deep cleansing breath, "Nothing 
like a nice stroll in the park with one's family on a 
lovely spring day, eh Owen?"

"Yes, Mr. Xanatos, sir," Owen agreed.  He was following 
closely behind the Xanatos family, allowing himself 
enough of a cheat to heighten his senses to their 
surroundings.  Not that the day presented much of a 
threat to Young Alexander, but it never hurt to err on 
the side of caution.  That, he convinced himself, was 
why a certain jogger had caught his attention and he now 
watched her with keen interest.  Her appearance could 
not be coincidental.  Pondering on that he noticed 
something else alerting him to sudden danger.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, tucking his glasses in his 
breast pocket and dashing off.

David exchanged glances with his wife and followed at a 
slower pace with the stroller, curious and cautious.

Miranda was stretching against a lamppost on what she 
thought was the safer side of the sidewalk when she 
heard the screeching tires.  She had no time to react 
when she looked up and saw the car careening towards 
her.  Luckily, she didn't need to.  Another body tackled 
hers, carrying her out of range of the car and landing 
uncomfortably in the mud and grass beyond.

"Oh, that's gonna leave a mark," she groaned as her 
savior stood up above her.

"I'm sorry, are you all right?"

Lying face down in the mud, feeling scratched and 
bruised, having just escaped a fatal accident, Miranda 
knew she should be miserable; but the sound of that 
rarely heard but now familiar dry voice sent her heart 
soaring.  She turned and sat up with a smile on her 
face.

"I'm fine, besides feeling like the stuntwoman in the 
'Perils of Pauline' movies," she cracked taking his 
proffered hand and letting him help her stand.  Face to 
face with him she added, "We've got to stop meeting like 
this."

Strictly speaking, they had only met three times, and 
only one of the other two seemed even remotely "like 
this;" but it sounded good, if cliché, and Miranda loved 
to have good lines.  He didn't comment and instead went 
about the business of straightening his clothes and 
putting his glasses back on.

"Not a scratch," she observed, then looking down at 
herself she winced at the large scratches on her thigh 
oozing blood and purpling the surrounding skin, "sorry I 
can't say the same."

"I am sorry," Owen began but she held up her hand.

"A small price for my life.  It's lucky for me that you 
happened to be here," Miranda continued to brush herself 
off, then looked up at Owen curiously, "How did you 
happen to be here?"

He cleared his throat (did she imagine it, or did his 
skin even go ever so slightly pink?), "I am out walking 
with the Xanatos family."

"Your boss?" Miranda asked incredulous.

"Yes."

"You live for your job, don't you?" the question was 
rhetorical and not quite fair, she realized.  When she 
was working, she basically ate, slept and breathed 
theater.  She didn't have a chance to retract, however, 
as a handsome couple was approaching with a stroller in 
between them, and she saw enough news to know who they 
were.

"Owen?" Mr. Xanatos managed to convey the question, 
'what is going on?' by simply speaking his assistant's 
name.

Miranda had to admire Mr. Burnett's unflappability.  He 
quite coolly and professionally responded, without any 
trace of the guilty hand-in-the cookie jar feelings that 
she couldn't shake.

"Mr. and Mrs. Xanatos, may I present Miss Miranda 
Templeton," he introduced.

Suddenly, Miranda found herself shaking hands with the 
richest man in New York, and quite possibly the world.  
He was smiling charmingly.

"Miss Templeton, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

FINALLY?  'What did he mean by that?' she wondered 
glancing at Owen, but not even getting a hint of a blush 
this time.  Mentally shrugging she decided to match 
charm with charm and smiled in what she hoped was a 
winning way.

"Thank you, sir, I'm only glad to have lived long enough 
to oblige, thanks to Owen."

"Yes, he's a very handy fellow to have around," Xanatos 
agreed, and Miranda was glad to see he so obviously 
appreciated Owen.

'As if it's any of my business,' she thought, shifting 
her weight and wincing at the pains in her bruised and 
scraped body.

"Are you all right?" the concerned question came from 
Mrs. Xanatos.

"Oh sure," Miranda shrugged off her discomforts, 
"nothing a hot shower won't fix, really."

"Well, then, let's get you to one -- the Aerie building 
is right near here," Xanatos offered.

"What?  Oh I didn't mean..."

"Of course you must come with us," Fox Xanatos was 
backing up her husband; "you should get cleaned up as 
soon as possible."

"I couldn't impose, and it wouldn't make any sense 
without a change of clothes," Miranda protested.

"I'm sure we can find something," Xanatos shrugged aside 
her argument, "you look to be about Fox's size."

Miranda snorted in a most unladylike manner, "right," 
she glanced at Fox, "you still have some maternity 
clothes packed away somewhere?"

Fox smiled, "That's very sweet, but don't be silly.  
Come on, we're wasting time debating the issue, you know 
you're coming with us."

If the couple wasn't so delightfully charming about it, 
Miranda's hackles would have raised at the pushiness of 
it all.  The truth was, she was extremely interested in 
seeing the Aerie building and the castle in the sky.  
Only one thing made her hesitate.  She glanced at Owen 
one last time.  He had remained blaringly silent 
throughout the whole interchange.  She wondered what he 
thought of prolonged exposure to her, but he didn't seem 
to have a preference one way or another.  It was almost 
worse than obvious distaste might have been.  At least 
then she could have labeled him as a cut and dried 
misogynist and moved on, instead of being fascinated by 
his un-readability and undeniably drawn to it.

"You're sure you don't mind?" she asked the question of 
the Xanatoses, but still tried to glean the answer from 
the silent man beside her.

"Of course not, it's all settled now.  Let's go."  Fox 
took her arm gently and the two women led the way with 
the stroller as the men came up behind.

"You seem puzzled, Owen," Xanatos mentioned out of 
earshot of the ladies, "are you wondering why I'm 
bringing this strange woman into our home?"

"No, sir, I understand your tactic there," Owen replied; 
though a slight wrinkle of confusion was still 
perceptible between his brow.

"What then?" Xanatos pressed.

"Why did Miranda imply that she was a size that would 
require maternity clothes?"

Xanatos could not contain a burst of laughter.  He 
clamped a hand on Owen's shoulder good-naturedly.

"Owen, my friend, you have a lot to learn about women."

"Yes, sir," Owen agreed with dry matter-of-factness that 
only increased his boss' amusement.

Ahead of them, Xanatos' laughter raised the hair on the 
back of Miranda's nervous neck.  

"Don't let them bother you," Fox reassured her, "boys 
will be boys, and so will men most of the time."

"Thank you Mrs. Xanatos," Miranda said, smiling at the 
other woman's wry comment.

"Ugh, call me Fox, please.  I never met David's mother, 
but I don't see myself as a 'Mrs. Xanatos.'"

"Fox, then," Miranda agreed glancing down at the 
stroller and adding, "you have a beautiful son."

Fox beamed, "Thank you.  I think so, of course, but it's 
nice to hear someone outside the family say so.  Would 
you like to hold him?"

"Oh, that's probably not a good idea, I'm so dirty..." 
Miranda protested; but Fox ignored her, scooping her son 
out of the stroller and plopping him into the other 
woman's arms.

"He's getting a bath after this outing anyway," she 
stated matter-of-factly.  Fox observed her son carefully 
-- he looked up at the strange woman holding him 
curiously for a moment, as if considering whether to 
protest, then he giggled and cuddled more comfortably in 
her arms.  Satisfied, Fox threw a smug smile over her 
shoulder at her husband.

Miranda was admiring the boy in her arms up close, "Well 
aren't you a little prince charming?" she cooed; though 
she came short of baby talk.  She grinned at Fox as they 
entered the skyscraper lobby and made their way to the 
elevator, "Is he always so good with strangers?"

"No, actually," Fox admitted, "but I've found he's an 
excellent judge of character."

Miranda chuckled, "Oh, I'm a character all right."

They had entered the elevator and the gentlemen joined 
them.  Xanatos still grinning about something that 
amused him and Owen outwardly stoic as ever, though 
Miranda swore he looked somewhat annoyed.  Maybe she 
should not have agreed to this imposition.  Still, as 
the elevator doors closed and they began to rise to the 
top of the city, she realized it was too late to turn 
back now.

They exited the elevator in the lush living area of 
Xanatos' penthouse mansion.  Miranda looked around like 
a child in a wonderland as Fox relieved her of 
Alexander.  She felt like spinning around and bursting 
into song -- maybe 'If My Friends Could See Me Now.'  

"Just when I thought today couldn't get any better," she 
murmured.

"It has a number of advantages over being run down by 
New York drivers," Xanatos responded with irony.

Miranda laughed appreciatively, "Oh THAT.  That was just 
a minor inconvenience in an otherwise glorious day."  
She paused before admitting with pride, "I had a great 
audition yesterday and got word I'm being called back 
for a lead role.  My first if I get it."

"That's terrific!" Fox's enthusiastic congratulations 
were genuine, remembering her own time in show business.

"Yes," David agreed, "I'm glad to hear that the 
unfortunate incident at your last job didn't put too big 
a dent in your career."

"Yeah, it may have even been a blessing in disguise -- 
in more ways than one," Miranda commented, not trusting 
herself to glance Owen's way and be disappointed by his 
coolness once more.  She shivered and realized that the 
abrupt halt of her workout, she hadn't been able to cool 
down properly and was now stiff and cold.  Her hosts 
must have realized it too and cut the conversation short 
to get down to business.

"Owen, take our guest to the apartments in the East 
Wing, Fox will be along shortly with a change of 
clothes."

Suddenly Miranda found herself following the grave yet 
fascinating man and leaving the happy Xanatos family 
behind in their foyer.

No sooner were they out of earshot, then Fox turned to 
her husband with raised eyebrows, "All right, David, 
what was that about?" 

"My dear, what do you think that was about?" Xanatos was 
grinning mischievously.

"I THINK that you brought this woman up here to check 
her out."

"You know me so well."

"But WHY, David?  You and Owen spent the better part of 
the morning researching her background and she's 
everything she appears to be.  A Broadway hopeful living 
with her retired academician Grandfather."

"I'm curious what it is about this woman that would 
cause Owen to abandon us," Xanatos gazed in the 
direction of his East wing, a pondering frown on his 
brow.

"David, really, abandon us?  We were perfectly safe and 
she was bout to be run down by a car.  Is Owen forbidden 
to save the life of an acquaintance?"

"Of course not; but there's more to it than that."

"What, that he's attracted to her?" Fox asked shrewdly.

"Well," Xanatos admitted, "Owen's never shown any 
tendencies towards that sort of mortal weakness 
before..."

"He was never exiled from Avalon for all eternity before 
either -- are you jealous, love?  Don't you want to have 
his attention divided from his lifetime of service to 
you?" Fox's question was put archly.

David chuckled at the teasing, "All right, my dear -- 
let's take care of our son."

As they walked arm in arm to their own rooms, Owen had 
arrived at the entrance to the East apartments.

"I'm sure you'll find the bathroom stocked with a wide 
variety of ...toiletries," he said clearing his throat 
somewhat uncomfortably.

At last, Miranda thought, smiling at his discomfort, a 
crack in the armor.

"Thank you, all I really need is a bar of soap and a 
towel," she said, " and a good stretch -- stand there 
for a minute."

She grabbed his shoulder with her left hand and bent her 
right leg up until she could grab her heel with her 
right hand and then extended her leg pulling her knee as 
close to her ear as she could get it.  She dropped her 
leg and switched hands to do the same with her left leg.

"You make an excellent barre, Mr. Burnett," She 
commented then winced as she straightened her left leg, 
which had taken the brunt of the abuse of her fall.

"Are you all right?" He asked as she dropped her leg and 
released his shoulder.

"Oh sure, No pain not gain, right?" Miranda said 
brightly moving so that her back faced him and sticking 
her arms behind her, "Now take my arms and raise them as 
high as they'll go."

He complied, taking both her wrists in his good hand and 
pressing her arms up.  Her spine crackled, alarming him, 
but when he released her arms she turned smiling, "That 
was terrific," She purred, reminding him of the cat 
costume she was wearing at their first encounter.

"Will your injury affect the audition?" he asked partly 
out of real curiosity and partly just to talk to her.

"No, it will be a singing audition, no dancing required 
-- and I'm pretty sure my voice is still in tact," she 
smiled, "did you assume all I did was dance because I 
was in CATs?"

"No...that is...I..."

"...didn't give it much thought one way or another, did 
you?" she finished for him, "that's all right -- you 
pretty much have to be pretty solid in dancing, singing 
and acting to make it in the Broadway Musical Biz.  If 
it makes you feel any better, even if I had to dance at 
call backs, I'd probably do fine with some lineament and 
a couple of Tylenol."

"I'm sorry," Owen apologized.

"What, for saving my life?  I think that's worth a few 
minor cuts and bruises.  Unless... maybe, you ARE sorry 
you saved my life?"

Miranda was pleased to see her teasing made him visibly 
uncomfortable again.

"Then don't be one bit sorry about the rest, either.  I 
know I'm not.  Life's too long for regrets."

"Too long?" Owen wasn't sure he heard her correctly.

"Sure," Miranda nodded, "Don't you think a long life 
full of regrets would be a lot more dour and miserable 
than a short life full of regrets?"

He had to admit there was a certain amount of sense in 
what she said, "I never thought of it from that point of 
view."

"Well, I know it's not the conventional way to look at 
it -- but I'm anything but conventional."

Before he had a chance to respond, they were interrupted 
by Fox Xanatos who approached carrying a bundle of 
clothes.

"Oh good, you haven't jumped in the shower yet -- I 
brought some clothes I think will suit -- what size shoe 
do you wear?"

"Seven and a half, but if you just bring me a pair of 
socks I'll wear my running shoes..."

Fox snorted, "please, don't insult my fashion sense -- I 
have a pair of sandals in here that should be fine."

She deposited the bundle into Miranda's arms and shooed 
her into the guestroom.  Once Miranda closed the door 
behind her, Fox turned to Owen with her hands on her 
hips and an eyebrow arched.

"David is giving Alexander his bath and I don't want you 
to even think about teaching my son the art of spying on 
innocent women in showers," she said firmly.

Owen's eyes widened and his eyebrows flew up.  The tone 
of his reply was offended, "Mrs. Xanatos, the thought 
never crossed my mind."

"Uh-huh," Fox nodded knowingly, "well just keep it that 
way."

She walked away leaving Owen to stare wistfully at the 
closed door for a moment.  The water had already been 
turned on and behind the sound of its flow, he could 
hear Miranda humming.  The thought had truly not crossed 
his mind until Fox brought it up -- and now it lay 
before him enticing and forbidden.  Shrugging off the 
inner imp inside him, he turned toward the Xanatos 
offices, intending to get some work done before the 
evening.

Twenty minutes later, Miranda was dressed in a lovely 
spring floral dress and sandals and toweling her hair 
dry. Her short dark locks dried quickly and soon she was 
combing her hair back and sitting in a comfortable 
wingback chair admiring the view of the city from the 
guest suite window.  She was gazing dreamily, elbow on 
armrest and chin in hand, a world away, when Fox Xanatos 
came to retrieve her.

"Oh, good, you're finished," she said breaking Miranda 
from her reverie.

Miranda snapped her head up and leapt out of the chair.


"Yes, Fox -- this dress...." 

"Doesn't it fit?" Fox asked, handing her a knapsack for 
her workout clothes, "It looks great!"

"Thank you," Miranda accepted the bag and started 
stuffing her clothes into it, "The dress is fine, it's 
lovely -- but for the subway ride home I think jeans and 
a T-shirt would have done just as well."

"Don't be ridiculous, you'll have dinner with us and 
David will send you home in a car," Fox explained, 
beckoning her out of the room and towards the living 
area.

"Oh, no, I can't, I have a previous engagement," even
now, Miranda worried that she might be late.

"Cancel it," was David Xanatos' authoritative solution
when she relayed her regrets to him in person.

Regret was written all over Miranda's face.  This was a 
chance of a lifetime: To dine at the literal top of New 
York City and to explore the Castle.  Perhaps even make 
a further connection with these people, especially Owen 
Burnett.  Sadly, she could not back down on her 
commitment to Arthur.

"I can't," She said, "It's too important.  Really, I've 
given this person my word..."

"Another time then," Xanatos offered casually.

Relief and delight flashed in across Miranda's face; 
"I'd like that very much."

"It's settled then," Xanatos nodded once, "Owen will 
arrange for a car to bring you home," he gestured to his 
ubiquitous assistant.

"Oh, no," Miranda finally put her foot down adamantly, 
"I really don't need one and you have already been more 
than generous.  You've quite overwhelmed me, really.  
With all the traffic around here this time of day, the 
subway would be quicker for me anyway."

Acquiescing gallantly, Xanatos compromised, "then Owen 
will see you to the lobby."

Miranda's heart thundered in appreciation, "Thank you."

The elevator was fast moving, but still afforded a 
painfully long time for Miranda and Owen to stand side 
by side in awkward silence.  Miranda couldn't help but 
think that she was losing a big chance, but she was at a 
loss.  Normally, the men she was attracted to responded 
to a minimal amount of flirting.  Not that she was a 
supermodel or irresistibly beautiful, it just seemed to 
work that way for her.  She had already been much bolder 
than usual with Owen and had hoped that cracking his 
armor a bit might have opened him up a bit more; but he 
was just as stony as ever and showed no more signs of 
cracking than a gargoyle at high noon.  Maybe 
Grandfather was right, she admitted wistfully, or maybe 
she was so dramatically not his type she should just 
forget it.  Except for some reason this veritable 
stranger was totally under her skin.  Finally the 
silence got to her.

"The home is beautiful, I would have liked to seen the 
whole castle," it was idle chitchat, but it was better 
than nothing.

"You may still cancel your appointment, I'm sure Mr. 
Xanatos' invitation stands," Owen offered.

"No, I gave my word and even if that weren't enough, I 
couldn't contact him to cancel at this time," or at all, 
Miranda added to herself realizing she had no idea where 
Arthur and Griff had holed up for the day.

Thankfully, the elevator doors parted and they stepped 
out into the lobby.  As they passed the security guard's 
desk, Miranda was reminded of her promise to herself 
when she returned Owen's overcoat.  If she ever got a 
second chance to make an impression on him, she had 
sworn to take it.  'Fortune favors the bold,' she 
thought and then plunged forward.

"I don't think I truly thanked you for saving my life," 
she ventured slowing her pace to a saunter.

He had to stop and turn towards her, "Perhaps you should 
consider us even."

Her eyebrows flew up, "even?"

"The falling beam in the theater," he reminded her.

"Oh that -- I suppose so," she conceded, stepping 
forward to close the gap between them, "but I still feel 
I owe you something..."

And before he could realize her intent and before she 
stopped herself, she snaked her arms around his neck and 
pulled his head down for a kiss.  He stiffened at once 
and Miranda, ever the actress, began running her next 
potential line through her head for when he pushed her 
away. 'You can't blame a girl for trying?' she rejected 
that as too desperate and decided on a careless shrug 
followed by, 'That's gratitude for you!' and a hasty 
retreat.  So occupied with preparing for his rejection 
it took her a moment to realize that after the initial 
shock, he had relaxed and was kissing her back, and not 
too shabbily either!  'That settles the question of 
whether or not he likes women,' she thought settling 
into the clinch herself.  He was taller than she had 
initially anticipated and she stretched on her toes to 
adjust her grip and improve the angle.  He responded 
perfectly, tightening his arms around her to provide 
extra support.  She felt his stone hand pressing against 
her spine and wondered idly if it would cause a bruise, 
not really caring one way or another.  As the intensity 
of the kiss waned and they relaxed their embrace and 
began to draw apart, Miranda had no need to search for 
words.  The perfect line had been written for her long 
ago and she spoke it with as much breathless enthusiasm 
as any Juliet told her Romeo.

"You kiss by the book!"

Suddenly, after her bold move and its surprisingly 
pleasant results, she was overcome by a wave of shyness. 
 Rather than meet his ice-blue gaze, she stared at his 
chest, letting her hands drop from around his neck to 
straighten his lapels.  Who would have guessed such a 
firm chest under the double-breasted suit?  The thought 
caused her lips to twitch in a semi smile and she was 
overcome with an impish urge to seize the lapels and 
pull him down for another kiss.  She was on the verge of 
succumbing to the impulse when she caught a glimpse of 
her watch.  She pulled back out of his embrace 
completely, feeling a bit like Cinderella at the stroke 
of midnight.

"For an actress, I should have better timing," she 
gritted out in annoyance then looked up apologetically, 
"I really have to go now -- I'm..." she was about to say 
she was sorry, but remembered their earlier conversation 
about no regrets and instead finished with an impish 
grin, "...not one bit sorry."

A flash of recognition in his eyes confirmed that he 
took her meaning.  Smiling broadly, she turned and 
dashed through the lobby doors into the street, feeling 
a certain sense of deja vu.  He had not said a word; not 
that she had given him a chance to say anything, mostly 
out of fear.  Attraction was one thing, but 
compatibility was quite another and the words, "you're 
just not my type," had been spoken by her often enough 
for the fates to throw them in her face when it really 
mattered.

And it DID really matter she realized pressing a hand to 
her lips remembering the kiss with a smile.  She didn't 
really know anything about this man and yet his reaction 
to her had suddenly become one of the most important 
things in her life.  What was he thinking right now?

Owen stood stunned for a moment before realizing he was 
still staring after Miranda with a ridiculous smile on 
his face in the middle of the Aerie lobby.  Hardly the 
image he'd strived to maintain in public.  Collecting 
himself quickly he strode back to the elevator, raising 
an aloof eyebrow at the winking security guard as he 
entered and only allowing a hint of his smile to twitch 
about the corners of his mouth when the doors closed.  
He expected he would have to explain himself to Mr. 
Xanatos and endure a healthy amount of ribbing for it; 
but it didn't seem to matter at the moment.  His life 
was certainly a long one, longer still based on his 
eternal exile from Avalon.  In his more than 1000 years 
among mortals, he was amazed that there were still 
facets and experiences that were new to him.  This brief 
encounter with Miranda Templeton opened up a whole realm 
of possibilities -- he certainly wasn't going to regret 
it no matter what kind of good-natured harassment Mr. 
Xanatos gave him.

Owen was correct in assuming Xanatos was curious about 
the encounter, and amused by it as well.  He watched the 
clinch between the unlikely couple on the wall of TV 
screens from every angle and observation point the 
cameras in his lobby could afford.  

Fox entered his office after putting Alexander down for 
a nap and surveyed the scene on the screen for a moment 
before asking her husband, "Isn't this a rather intimate 
moment to be scrutinizing so carefully?"

"They are in the middle of the lobby, my dear; it's not 
as if Owen isn't perfectly aware of all the observation 
equipment in the building," he responded unrepentantly.

"Huh," Fox perched herself on the edge of his desk and 
looked back at the screens, "they make a cute couple," 
she observed.

Xanatos grunted non-committally.

"David, you don't still think that she's some kind of 
threat?" she asked.

"Well, she certainly has had an affect on Owen," he 
commented.

"Do you think Owen would betray us, betray Alexander for 
her?" Fox pressed.

David snorted then, "Don't be ridiculous -- it's not 
even in his nature."

"Well, then -- no problem," Fox shrugged off her 
husband's worries, "Besides, I like her."

Xanatos remained unconvinced, "You like her because she 
cooed over the baby."

"And he cooed back.  That ought to be worth something.  
You liked her too, David, admit it."

He sighed, capitulating; "She was charming.  I just wish 
I knew why she wouldn't stay for dinner when she so 
obviously wanted to..."

"She had an important meeting."

"More important than a once in a lifetime dinner with 
us?" Xanatos was only partially joking.

"Poor David, can't stand not to be the most popular man 
in town," Fox pouted at him then noticed the screens, 
"look, Owen's coming back up -- be nice, David."

Xanatos was all innocence, "When am I not nice?"

"Why don't you put that question to Goliath at sunset?" 
Fox countered rising off the desk and sauntering towards 
the door, "Be nice to him, David, I'll make it worth 
your while." and with a suggestive toss of her head, she 
was out the door.

David smiled appreciatively and thanked his stars once 
again that he found such a beautiful and exciting woman 
to share his life with.  It had never occurred to him 
that Owen would have needed much less desired that kind 
of companionship.  Still, as Fox had pointed out, his 
enforced eternal exile from Avalon and the restriction 
on his powers may have enhanced any mortal qualities he 
had previously subdued.  Xanatos tugged at his beard 
thoughtfully.  If that was indeed the case, he certainly 
didn't begrudge Owen a romance; but he found himself 
feeling suddenly protective of his assistant and, he 
realized with some surprise, best friend.  Owen's lack 
of experience in that department left him vulnerable, 
and Xanatos found himself more concerned that Miranda 
Templeton was going to break Owen's heart than that she 
posed any sort of open threat to his family stability.

"If she hurts him, I'll kill her," he muttered to 
himself.

* * * * *
* * * * *

Chapter 4 "Late in the Evening"

Little did Miranda know the danger her current romantic 
interest put her in as she raced into her apartment, 
dropping the knapsack with her workout clothes on her 
bed and rushing to the kitchen.  The sun had set while 
she was in the Subway and she knew that Griff and Arthur 
could be on the roof at any minute.  A delightful aroma 
wafted to her nose and she saw the oven was on and the 
bread machine was whirring.  She grabbed a post-it note 
stuck to the latter and recognized her grandfather's 
erudite hand:

Miranda,
Vegetable casserole in the oven, bread baking and steaks 
in the refrigerator...they should only take minutes to 
broil.  I will be out until your guest departs.  Have 
fun!

Love, Grandfather

She smiled.  Despite his aversion to helping Arthur 
directly, he wouldn't let her fall on her face no matter 
how poorly she planned her day.  Checking to make sure 
nothing was burning, she left the apartment and rushed 
up to the roof.  As she had feared, Arthur had arrived 
already.  She smiled apologetically and nodded 
approvingly at his black turtleneck and gray slacks.

"Sorry I'm late your majesty," she said taking his hand, 
then noticed the absence of his gargoyle companion, 
"Where's Sir Griff?"

"Griff wanted to visit with some old friends and rushed 
off to Castle Wyvern before they left on patrol."

"I hope he didn't feel unwelcome because we'll be 
inside?" 

"Not at all, reminiscing with Macbeth made him miss the 
Scottish clan..."

"Macbeth?"  Miranda interrupted, "You mentioned him last 
night.  This is the same Macbeth that was the Thane of 
Cawdor and King of Scotland and all that?"

"Yes, you know of him?" Arthur asked excitedly.

"I read the play in high school AND college for that 
matter," she said, "he killed his king to become king -- 
it was a very bad business."

Arthur chuckled, "Ah yes, Shakespeare -- Griff and his 
companions have exposed me to that fine playwright -- 
surely you don't believe everything you read, my dear?" 

"Well, no," Miranda admitted, "but it's such a great 
play."

"All the more reason to doubt its veracity, don't you 
think.  The real Macbeth is a good man, made tired and a 
bit bitter by immortality."

The compassion in Arthur's voice gave Miranda pause and 
she cocked her head sympathetically and put out her hand 
to the great King.

"Yes, it must be hard to lose all you love to time and 
still have to endure," she said, startling him out of 
his semi-reverie when he realized she was talking as 
much about him as Macbeth, "come to dinner Your 
Majesty."

He took her hand and they descended the stairs to her 
apartment level.

"It's not much of an apartment, but it's home," Miranda 
said opening the door and letting him in.

He smiled warmly and shrugged, "No need to worry about 
that, milady, I come from humble beginnings, you know."

"Yes, I've read that," Miranda nodded, grinning, "but it 
might not have been true."

"Bright girl, turning my words against me so quickly," 
he laughed approvingly.

She basked in the approval for a moment and then 
gestured toward the sofa, "Sit down in my humble home 
and let me get you a drink.  Grandfather stocks the 
cupboard with Guinness Stout and I purposely kept it out 
of the refrigerator so that it should be close to the 
warm ale from home, or I can try and fix something a 
little harder..."

"Ale is fine," Arthur said, then asked, "where is the 
famous Grandfather?"

Miranda made a face, "It seems he's not as interested as 
I thought he'd be in helping you find Merlin ... you'll 
have to make do with my own feeble mind for now."

"I see..." Arthur's brow furrowed.

"What's wrong?" Miranda asked.

"You seemed genuinely surprised that Griff didn't 
come..."

"Yes, I was, I did expect you both," she agreed 
wondering where this was going.

"Yet your Grandfather is also unexpectedly absent..."

"The old fart," she muttered, "so?"

"Is this a date?" the king burst.

"A...?" Miranda's eyes went huge.  Is that what he 
thought?  'Oh boy am I in trouble,' she thought as she 
madly tried to think of a less than humiliating way of 
saying, 'Hell, No!' and laughing hysterically.  Not that 
Arthur wasn't an attractive man or every bit as 
compelling as she had always imagined in her childhood 
-- it just was the furthest thing from her mind.  She 
thought of what Beatrice told Don Pedro in MUCH ADO 
ABOUT NOTHING when he proposed to her:  'No, my lord, 
unless I might have another for working-days: your grace 
is too costly to wear every day.'

"Did you ask Griff not to come because you thought this 
was a date?" she asked with cautious curiosity.

"No!" he denied vehemently, "I assure you it was his own 
decision."

"Well, Grandfather is just being a pill so it's a 
complete accident that we're alone here -- whatever gave 
you the idea that this might be a date?"

"Macbeth said..."

"Macbeth, huh," Miranda rolled her eyes, "look, I'll 
make you a deal -- I won't believe everything the play 
Macbeth says if you don't believe everything the man 
Macbeth says..."

To her relief, Arthur also looked relieved.

"An excellent bargain," he agreed heartily.

"Great -- I'll be back with your drink."

* * * * *
At Castle Wyvern, Detective Elisa Maza arrived just in 
time to see her gargoyle friends come to life.  She 
smiled affectionately up at Goliath who returned her 
smile as he hopped down from his daily perch.  Reaching 
up to caress his cheek she enjoyed a brief moment of 
simply gazing at him before the others started calling 
their hellos and pulled her out of her reverie.

"Have you had any luck with your latest investigation?" 
Goliath asked her as they descended to the lower 
battlements to greet the others.

Elisa sighed and shook her head, "No, Mr. Burnett was 
definitely right about there being a bomb -- but there 
was no warning and no terrorist group taking credit -- 
there doesn't seem to be anybody anywhere who knows 
anything about it.  Even the materials used to make the 
bomb aren't traceable to any of the city's usual 
providers -- it's as if the bomb appeared in that 
theater out of thin air."

Goliath scowled, "that does not bode well."

"I know," Elisa agreed, "A few years ago I would have 
been joking if I thought anything appeared out of thin 
air but now..."

"...Now you know there is more at work in the world.  Do 
you think this could be sorcery?"

"I don't know -- it doesn't seem like Demona to not 
threaten the whole human race on a greater scale -- and 
she's been incognito for so long --"

"Yes, and Macbeth has been supportive of late -- it 
doesn't seem to fit."

Their discussion was interrupted by a commotion among 
the other gargoyles.  Bronx was barking happily and the 
others were huddled in a group talking at once in 
unintelligible garble.

"What's all this?" Goliath asked loudly.  The huddle 
parted revealing Griff's smiling face.  

"Hello, Mate," he greeted cheerfully, "I don't suppose 
you have any evil doers to slay tonight?"

"Griff, my friend," Goliath greeted warmly, "what are 
you doing in Manhattan?"

"King Arthur and I are here looking for Merlin."

"Yes, the others told me you had become Arthur's knight 
and companion.  He couldn't have chosen truer."

The entrance of Xanatos and Owen interrupted Griff's 
reply of gratitude.

"Sorry to interrupt, but my security system alerted me 
to an unknown presence," Xanatos offered looking at 
Griff curiously, "You, I presume?"

"Xanatos, this is Griff, an English gargoyle I met in my 
journeys last year," Goliath offered as introduction.

"He's a knight of King Arthur!" Broadway added 
enthusiastically.

"King Arthur?" Xanatos raised his eyebrows, interest 
peaked.

"Yeah, yeah -- I woke King Arthur back on Avalon, you've 
heard it all," Elisa broke in.  Despite all he had done 
for her friends, Xanatos could still make her 
uncomfortable when he got that certain ambitious tone in 
his voice.

"Hey, if you're here together, where is King Arthur 
anyway?" asked Brooklyn.

"Oh, he had a dinner engagement with the fair lady 
Miranda Templeton," Griff announced.

"Miranda Templeton!" the three humans chorused the name 
in surprise and then looked at each other even more 
surprised.

"Who is this...Miranda Templeton?" Goliath asked.

"An actress," Elisa said, "not a famous one, just a 
chorus member who was on stage during that theater 
bombing I'm investigating.  She actually came back to 
the scene afterwards and helped us locate the center of 
the blast, which is why I remember her."  Elisa turned 
to Griff, "how do you and Arthur know her?"

"The Stone of Destiny sent us here like before.  When we 
got here, it was just in time to see her fall off her 
building.  I caught her and she offered to help us find 
Merlin..."

"She fell off her building?" Elisa asked skeptically, 
"you sure she didn't jump?"

"Not this girl," Griff shook his head, "she definitely 
has a zest for life.  In fact, she thought she might 
have been pushed, but there was no one there..."

"Pushed?" Xanatos said, exchanging a look with Owen, 
"how interesting..."

"What do you mean by interesting?" Elisa asked, knowing 
he was up to something.

"Well, just today we met with the same lady when Owen 
saved her from being run down by a car..."

"You, lad?" Hudson interrupted, snorting in Owen's face, 
"I can hardly believe you took the time."

"Let's just say he was inspired," Xanatos said, with an 
amused gleam in is eye; "it just seems that in the past 
week anyway, Miranda Templeton has led an incredibly 
jinxed life."

"Or an incredibly charmed one," Angela suggested in a 
soft dreamy voice.

"Charmed?  How so?"

Xanatos' sudden attention made Angela a bit nervous, but 
Broadway held her hand and she expanded.

"Well, from what you say she's almost died at least 
three times.  She must be incredibly lucky to have 
escaped each time."

Xanatos looked at Owen, "Another coincidence?" he asked.

"It seems unlikely, sir," Owen admitted, "perhaps there 
is more at work in Miss Templeton's life than it 
appears."

"Here now," Griff interrupted, "do you think she's in 
danger of some kind -- or the King?"

"Perhaps we should focus our patrols on her apartment 
tonight," Goliath considered.

"Whoa!" Elisa interjected, "don't you think we're making 
a big jump in logic here?  Some chorus girl you've never 
met has a couple of close shaves in New York City and 
you're suddenly volunteering to be her personal body 
guards?"

"Jealous, detective?" Xanatos asked archly.  When she 
only responded with a snort, he continued, "It may not 
seem logical, and believe me, I intend to gather a few 
facts to back it up; but this woman's close shaves have 
managed to bring her into contact with you, me and King 
Arthur -- the coincidences are too much for my comfort."

Goliath was almost apologetic when he added, "I'm afraid 
I must agree with Xanatos, Elisa.  Whatever forces are 
at work here, they are not those of mere chance.  
However, the rest of the city does need to be 
patrolled..."

He considered for a moment, then directed, "Brooklyn, 
you go with Griff to watch over this Miranda Templeton. 
 The rest of us will patrol as usual," he turned to 
Xanatos, "Do you feel the castle is secure this night?"

"I think Owen and I can handle it," Xanatos nodded.

"Fine, Hudson, you're with me," he looked questioningly 
at Elisa, "is that satisfactory?"

"Well, I STILL think you're making a big fuss over 
nothing; but it is an excellent compromise," Elisa 
admitted grudgingly, "speaking of which, I've got to go 
meet Matt at the station -- I'll see you later tonight."

After the detective and Gargoyles had departed, Xanatos 
and Owen returned to their offices.

"I suppose an intimate dinner with King Arthur was a 
sufficient enough reason for Miranda to rush off from 
here the way she did," Xanatos mused.

"Yes," Owen barely disguised his annoyance, "she 
certainly seems to make friends quickly..."

Xanatos narrowed his eyes at this sign of jealousy from 
his friend, "Not to worry, Owen.  I assure you that 
before this is over we'll get to the bottom of the 
mystery of Miranda Templeton."

* * * * *

Over dinner, Miranda found their conversation centered 
mostly on his life as a boy and the differences he 
discovered in the 20th century.  She spoke of her own 
childhood, the untimely death of her parents and her 
Grandfather's influence on her life.  She explained the 
life of a Broadway hopeful including auditions and 
grueling rehearsals just to be one of a crowd in the 
hope of the chance at a breakout performance.  They 
spoke of almost everything but his quest for Merlin.  It 
was something of a relief because Miranda wasn't sure 
how to proceed without her Grandfather's guidance.  By 
the time the meal was over she was still without 
inspiration.  

"Well, your Majesty, have you ever had New York 
cheesecake?" she asked, thankful for the presence of one 
in her refrigerator.

"I didn't have much time to enjoy the cuisine last time 
I was here," he admitted.

"Oh, Wart, are you in for a treat!" she exclaimed 
pushing back from the table.

"Wart?" his surprise was evident.

Miranda hesitated, afraid she had just stuck her foot in 
it, "I ... uh... read that you were called that as a 
boy.  Was that wrong? Or am I just too disrespectful?"

"No, it wasn't wrong; and you are the soul of respect, 
milady.  It's just been a long time since anyone called 
me 'Wart' -- it took me by surprise -- but not an 
unpleasant one."

"Well, I will be happy to call you Wart for as long as 
you feel appropriate," Miranda laughed disappearing into 
the kitchen briefly for the cheesecake.

They were enjoying the rich dessert at the coffee table 
when Miranda finally admitted her lack of ideas.

"I'm afraid I can't think where to begin in your quest 
to find Merlin, Wart.  I wonder if you have any clues as 
to what to look for.  You and Griff said the Stone of 
Destiny gave you a riddle to finding Excalibur -- maybe 
there's something similar to go on for Merlin?" she 
looked hopefully at him.

"Actually, I do have an idea -- but I hesitate to 
mention it..."

"Why?" Miranda couldn't imagine the king being taciturn 
about anything.

Then she noticed the twinkle in his eyes, "Macbeth 
mentioned it."

Miranda rolled her eyes and laughed simultaneously, "All 
right, I'm willing to admit that SOME of his ideas may 
have merit.  What is it?"

"Well, Macbeth mentioned the museum had something called 
the Scrolls of Merlin."

"Of Course!" Miranda exclaimed, "I've seen them.  
They're supposed to be a journal of his life -- mostly 
with you; but there still may be a clue of how or where 
to find him now.  Maybe you're just in town to see the 
scrolls..."

"My thoughts exactly.  Can we see them now?"

Miranda looked at the clock, amazed at how time had 
flown, "Not unless you're interested in breaking and 
entering...but I am free tomorrow afternoon.   We should 
arrange a time to go, although it may not do us much 
good.  The museum has the scrolls opened to a certain 
section and they're under a glass casing, so we won't be 
able to read the whole thing."

"Macbeth offered to steal them for me -- apparently he 
has done so in the past -- but I counseled him against 
that.  Perhaps the fates will be with us and the scrolls 
are opened to the passage I need.  It couldn't hurt to 
look."

"No, indeed," Miranda agreed, "let me get the dishes and 
I'll show you how to get to the apartment from the 
ground..."

Miranda collected the dishes and brought them into the 
kitchen to dump them unceremoniously into the sink.  
When she returned she found Arthur had stood too and was 
now examining a picture frame on the mantle.

"Is this portrait of you?" he asked when he noticed her.

"Senior year in high school -- I was about 17." she 
nodded, trying not to feel too embarrassed.

"Your hair is so long," he commented.

"Half-way down my back and straight as a ruler," she 
agreed, "it was amazing how much body I picked up when I 
chopped off all that weight."

"It's lovely," Arthur contradicted her own opinion, "the 
way you wore it here reminds me of..."

"Don't say it," she cut him off.

"Say what?" he asked, startled at her vehemence.

"Guineviere..." she admitted reluctantly, "besides, I 
thought she was a blonde."

"She was not raven-haired, like you, but neither was her 
hair flaxen.  I was just going to say that your hair 
reminded me of the ladies of my court.  You have 
something against my queen?" he asked cautiously.

"Well I suppose that depends on whether what I've read 
is true," Miranda was willing to give the long dead 
woman the benefit of the doubt.

"What have you read?" Arthur's caution was increasing.

"That she betrayed you by having an affair with 
Lancelot," Miranda said bluntly crossing her arms before 
her.

Arthur paled.

"Even that is written?" he gasped, barely audible.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," Miranda exclaimed, seeing the blood 
rush from him.  Perhaps she shouldn't have brought it 
up.  She rushed to him and led him to her Grandfather's 
chair, "The private lives of the British royalty has 
always been meat for the press, it seems," she commented 
wryly, "You should see what they've done to the current 
royal family..."

"I should not be surprised," Arthur admitted, "even then 
I was constantly aware of the public eye and I have seen 
how much sharper the technology of this century has made 
it."

"I shouldn't have been so coarse about it," Miranda said 
repentantly, kneeling in front of him, "it's just that 
it has always bothered me and having met you in the 
flesh only makes it worse in my opinion."

"Thank you, my dear," Arthur smiled and patted her hand 
avuncularly, "but you should not judge Guineviere too 
harshly.  Lance was everything a man should be."

Miranda snorted, "Except for loyal and honorable.  She 
was your wife, Arthur.  That should mean something.   
Did you beat her?"

"Of course not," he was suitably shocked at the 
question.

"Were you having affairs?  Were you unkind to her in any 
way?"

"I certainly hope not," he said.

"Then there's no excuse.  You were her husband and you 
were good to her -- she owed you her loyalty.  There's 
not excuse for such a betrayal," Miranda avowed with 
finality.

"You obviously feel strongly about the issue," Arthur 
scrutinized her face.

She looked a bit sheepishly up at him after her short 
tirade, "A lot more so than most women in my generation. 
 We're lucky enough to be able to choose whom to marry, 
presumably out of love, and so many marriages still end 
up in divorce.  It's shocking."

"Indeed," Arthur chuckled a bit, but broke off and 
seemed to sink deep into his own thoughts.

"You still love her, don't you," Miranda realized.

"The more fool I," Arthur sighed.

She stroked his cheek comfortingly, "She didn't know 
what she had."

He took her hand and kissed the back of it gratefully 
before returning it to her, "Perhaps we should discuss 
something else -- you were going to show me something?"

"Right," Miranda stood and pulled him out of the chair, 
"let me show you the front door and how to buzz me 
tomorrow."

"Buzz you?" he asked.

"It's like an electronic herald telling me I have a 
visitor," she explained grabbing her keys as they exited 
the front door.

Heading down to the ground floor, Miranda looked over at 
the king and felt compelled to make one more apology.

"I'm sorry things got so grim back there," she offered, 
"If it makes you feel any better, my love life is a 
disaster."

"A disaster?" Arthur seemed amused at her dramaticism, 
"surely a woman of your virtue would have many suitors?"

Miranda chuckled, "Well, a virtuous woman isn't exactly 
what every man today is looking for.  Still, you're 
right, I've dated enough -- I just always seem to want 
what I can't have."

"How so?" 

"I'm always either attracted to someone who's 
insuppressibly fun or painstakingly responsible and what 
I really want is someone's who's both.  The problem 
being that the two extremes don't exist in the same 
package," She explained.

"Perhaps you are just misinterpreting what you really 
desire," Arthur said.

"Could be," Miranda admitted amiably, "it's a pretty 
definite pendulum swing -- I dated this artist a few 
months ago whose fun only appealed to me for about a 
month and now, as predictable as sunrise I'm completely 
infatuated with Mr. Responsible."

Miranda fell silent as they approached the apartment 
lobby and led Arthur quietly to the front door.  She had 
avoided thoughts of Owen since entering her apartment 
hours earlier and had been able to focus all her 
attention on Arthur's problems.  Why had she so 
foolishly brought up her own romantic problems?  
Probably her subconscious working overtime to bring what 
she really cared about personally to the forefront.  
Now, instead of helping Arthur, she was caught up in the 
memory of this afternoon's kiss and what it may or may 
not have meant.

"This man is different, I think," Arthur commented, 
interrupting her ponderings.

"What?" she asked.

"This 'Mr. Responsible,'" Arthur explained, quoting her, 
"Your words treat him cynically, but your eyes cannot."

"Well, that's just because he's the interest of the 
moment," Miranda countered lamely.

Arthur was not fooled, "An honest woman as you makes a 
poor liar."

"Well," Miranda admitted, "I can't help but feel that 
there's more to him than his armor of stoicism and 
efficiency; but reaching it seems nearly impossible.  
Not that it matters -- there may not be a true class 
system any more -- but as far as social circles are 
concerned, he's nobility and I'm a milkmaid."

"You are every bit a noble woman," Arthur assured her.

She smiled at him, "Thank you, Wart.  Now let me show 
you how to announce yourself tomorrow..."

It was not difficult.  Arthur had been awake in the 
Twentieth Century nearly a year and was not completely 
ignorant of technology.  Miranda walked him through 
which button to push and how to talk into the speaker 
and recalled the floor and number of her apartment.  She 
was about to ask him how he was going to get back to 
Macbeth's when a swooshing sound made her turn towards 
the street.  Griff was landing nearby and approached 
them quickly.

"Is there a problem, your Majesty?" he asked.

"No, Sir Griff, we are just making arrangements to 
further the quest.  Have you been waiting long?"  Arthur 
asked.

Griff looked uncomfortable for a moment, then responded, 
"No, Your Majesty not long."

Another flutter of gargoyle wings startled Miranda.  A 
red gargoyle with white hair approached them.

"Griff, it's usually not a good idea for us to just hang 
out in the street, even if most of the city knows of our 
existence these days..." he said, then turned 
apologetically to King Arthur, "sorry, your Majesty, 
it's good to see you again."

"Likewise, my friend," Arthur agreed, "may I present the 
lady Miranda Templeton.  Miranda, this is the gargoyle 
Brooklyn."

"Brooklyn, huh?" Miranda said smiling and putting out 
her hand, which Brooklyn accepted hesitantly, "you must 
be the tough Gargoyle."

Brooklyn smiled shyly, "Uh, yeah, I guess."

Griff snorted, "You'll have to excuse him, milady, he's 
of Scottish stock and a bit on the barbaric side."

"Which only makes him the perfect New Yorker," Miranda 
defended, unknowingly winning bonus points from 
Goliath's second in command, "He's right about one 
thing, though, we shouldn't stay out here.  Prejudice is 
everywhere.  So, if you blokes can get your wings 
through the front door, I'll get you up to the roof..."

The Gargoyles complied and Miranda got them unobserved 
up the stairs to the rooftop.  A slightly cloudy night 
sky greeted them as Arthur turned to Miranda to bid her 
good night.

"Three-thirty in the afternoon?" he repeated the earlier 
agreed upon time.

"Yes, I'll be done by then, and it should give us an 
hour or two in the museum before dinner time." she 
agreed, "I hope we have some luck tomorrow."

"I have so far," Arthur said confidently, "Never fear, 
Miranda, everything will resolve itself in time."

"Thanks, Wart," She smiled at him, appreciating this 
newfound friendship, "Take good care of him, Griff," she 
told the knight-Gargoyle.

"Always, milady," he agreed.

"Goodnight, then.  Brooklyn, it was nice to meet you."

"Thanks, uh -- will you be staying on the roof any more 
tonight," Brooklyn asked.

'What an odd question,' Miranda thought, but only said, 
"Maybe, why?"

Brooklyn exchanged a strange look with Griff before 
saying, "I would stay to make sure you didn't fall 
again."

Miranda laughed then, "I see you've been apprised of how 
I met these fine gentlemen; and Griff says you're 
barbaric!  Thank you for the gallant offer Brooklyn, 
but..." She glanced wistfully in the direction of the 
Aerie building, partially obscured by the clouds, "I 
think I will stay inside for the rest of the night."

"If you're sure," Brooklyn seemed hesitant to leave it 
that.

Miranda smiled at him reassuringly.

"If it will make you feel better, I'll go down to my 
apartment now," she said, impulsively reaching out and 
patting the side of his beak.  

Turning to her British friends, Miranda bid goodbye and 
descended to the apartment.

Her Grandfather's presence in his chair barely phased 
her.

"You got in here stealthily enough," she observed in her 
most blasé tone.

"Your business was done here," he responded, not looking 
up from his book, "how was the food."

Miranda smiled and came in to lounge on the sofa.

"The food was delicious, Grandfather - thank you for 
getting it started."

"I was a bit concerned, your run lasted longer than 
usual.  Any special reason?"

"No, I just had a little accident," she said, lifting 
her skirt to expose her scraped up thigh.

The old mans gray eyebrows flew up, "Little accident?" 
he asked.

Miranda smiled in a mysterious 'Mona Lisa' way and 
nodded, "A Good Samaritan pushed me out of the way of a 
speeding car."

Marcus narrowed his eyes at her before replying, "I 
don't like the sound of this.  Wait a second, what are 
you looking so smug about?"

Miranda's eyes widened innocently, "Nothing, 
Grandfather.  I've had an exhausting day, I think I'll 
turn in."

He looked skeptically at her and challenged, "I've never 
known you to not be able to stay out all night."

Miranda had already risen from the couch and gave a 
careless shrug at the old man, "I guess I'm getting 
older finally."

He chuckled a bit, but when she turned again to leave 
the room he called after her in a sobering tone that 
stopped her in her tracks.

"Miranda!"

She turned to face him one last time, her visage serious 
and her eyes questioning.

"I don't like these scrapes you're suddenly finding 
yourself in.  I know that you've gotten out of trouble 
so far; but I advise a more cautionary existence until 
we can figure out if it's more serious than 
absentmindedness on your part."

"I thought you were the absentminded one, Grandfather," 
she teased, though her eyes remained serious, "I 
understand, and I promise to be extra careful for the 
next few days."

Then, because she was truly exhausted, she left the 
living room and headed for bed.

* * * * *
* * * * *
Chapter 5 "Piano Man"

"You are in a quiet and thoughtful mood, this afternoon, 
my dear," Arthur observed as Miranda led him from the 
subway exit to the Museum.

"Sorry, your Majesty, I guess I'm just in a little 
funk," Miranda apologized and rushed on to explain at 
the King's confused look, "I'm a little depressed.  My 
audition this morning did not go as well as I had 
hoped."

"I'm sorry," the King sympathized, "would it be better 
to postpone our trip?"  

Miranda smiled gratefully and shook her head, "No, sire. 
 As a matter of fact, Grandfather has observed that I 
always go to the museum when my career is giving me 
trouble.  I guess I can put my little problems into 
perspective when faced with centuries of art and 
history."

"Very well," Arthur nodded, "I just like my court to be 
happy."

Miranda smiled more genuinely, "Am I a member of your 
court now?" she asked.

Arthur smiled back, "Of course, my lady - a most valued 
member."

They stood before the museum entrance chuckling with 
each other when Miranda noticed a large group of people 
filtering in the doors.  She frowned, puzzled.

"That's odd," she puzzled, "They're all dressed up."

Arthur did not have time to comment as a female voice 
interrupted them.

"Miranda Templeton?"

Miranda and Arthur turned to see a lovely woman with 
flowing red hair and a strange blue tattoo over her eye. 
 Like the other group that Miranda observed, she was 
elegantly dressed.

"Fox Xanatos?" Miranda couldn't believe it.  Every time 
she was certain she'd never see someone again, they 
appeared.  "What are you doing here?"

"Oh," Fox answered casting her hand as if to say 'it's 
nothing,' "David donated a substantial amount of money 
to the museum again and they're having a cocktail 
reception honoring him and his new wing."

Miranda squeezed her eyes shut miserably, "God, it makes 
me wish I had a newspaper."

"What's wrong, Milady?" Arthur asked her.

"If there's a reception at the museum this afternoon, we 
probably won't be able to get to the scrolls," Miranda 
explained quickly.

Suddenly, she realized her rudeness.

"God, I'm sorry.  Fox Xanatos, this is my friend 
Arthur..." She floundered.

"...Pendragon?" Fox supplied smiling; "I'm extremely 
pleased to meet you, your Majesty."

Miranda gaped at her as Fox executed a regal curtsey and 
presented her hand to the King.  Arthur kissed the back 
of it gallantly.

"Lady Xanatos," he said acknowledging Fox.

"How?" Miranda couldn't even phrase more of a question.

"David met your gargoyle last night," she explained, 
"He'll be beside himself to know you're here - if I can 
find where he got to...uh oh."

Just then a stormy faced David Xanatos approached his 
wife, not noticing her companions.

"What kind of first violinist plays racket ball and 
breaks his hand on the morning of an important 
engagement?" he asked her angrily.

"One that doesn't expect to work for you again," Fox 
supplied helpfully, "David, you remember Miranda 
Templeton?"

Startled, Xanatos turned to the two people next to his 
wife and smiled charmingly.  Miranda admired his ability 
to quickly subdue his annoyance at errant musicians and 
transform into elegant host.

"Of course, I remember her.  Miss Templeton, it seem 
like only yesterday," he said ironically taking her 
hand.

Miranda smiled at the joke as it was only yesterday.  
Then, warming to the situation she gestured to her own 
companion.

"It's always a pleasure, Mr. Xanatos.  May I present his 
Royal Majesty..."

"King Arthur," David Xanatos' eyes lit like a schoolboy 
meeting one of his heroes.  Though he put his hand out 
to the King with the air of an equal, "It's an honor to 
meet you, your Majesty."

Arthur shook his hand vigorously.  He did not take 
offense at the familiarity, recognizing that Xanatos was 
a powerful man in his own right.  Besides, Miranda noted 
with admiration, Arthur had no doubts or insecurities 
about his own power.  

"You seem to be having a problem of some sort," he 
observed to Xanatos.

Reminded of the annoyance, Xanatos frowned again.

"Yes, the string quartet hired to perform at this 
reception cancelled due to a broken hand on the first 
violinist," he replied, shaking his head at the 
absurdity of it all.

"Forgive me for saying so, Mr. Xanatos," Miranda 
commented, "but you don't seem to be the kind of man who 
wouldn't have a back-up plan."

Xanatos smiled at her, "Ordinarily, that would be true," 
he admitted, "In fact, I had a pianist lined up - but 
she double-booked."

Miranda's eyes lit and she asked excitedly, "But there's 
a piano in the reception hall?"

"Yes, do you play?" Xanatos couldn't believe that this 
was just good fortune.

Miranda snorted with a certain amount of self-derision, 
"I can only plunk out a few tunes; but just give me a 
few minutes to make a phone call.  I may be able to 
help."

As she turned to rush up the stairs to the museum lobby, 
Xanatos put a hand on her shoulder.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

Miranda frowned in confusion, hadn't she explained 
sufficiently? "To the phones in the lobby."

Rolling his eyes, Xanatos handed her his cellular from 
his pocket, "It is a local call isn't it?"

Miranda blushed slightly and managed a nod as she 
accepted the phone.

With three sets of eyes on her, she dialed and breathed 
a sigh of relief when the party at the other end picked 
up after only a couple of rings.

"Hey, Garret, it's me," she supplied, then chuckled 
after a pause, "No, not quite; but I was wondering if 
you still had your own monkey suit?"

She nodded at the positive reply and smiled, "Great.  If 
you're not working today, I've got a gig for you; but 
you have to be at the museum in the tux five minutes 
ago."

She smiled encouragingly at her audience, "Great!  I'll 
be waiting for you in the lobby."

She handed the cel-phone back to Xanatos triumphantly, 
"You won't be sorry.  Garret Lane is the absolute best I 
know."

"You'll forgive me if I reserve judgement," Xanatos 
commented, "Still, I appreciate your assistance.  I am 
in your debt."

"Don't be silly, sir," She responded, "I owe you much 
more for your generosity yesterday."

"Still, when your friend arrives, you and King Arthur 
will join us in the reception as our honored guests."

Miranda hesitated and considered her wardrobe.  King 
Arthur was somewhat casually dressed, but his innate 
royal aura would prevent him from seeming out of place 
at a high-class reception.  She had admittedly dressed 
up more than her usual museum fare, but even so the silk 
pantsuit did not compare to the elegant clothing she had 
seen on others.

"You look lovely," Fox assured her before she could even 
voice her concerns.

"Not exactly up to par, though," Miranda countered, "I'm 
not sure it's such a good idea..."

"I insist," Xanatos pressed, "You would be doing me a 
great honor."

"There is no arguing with the two of you, is there?" she 
asked in wonderment.  The unrepentant couple smiled at 
her obvious capitulation and she turned to the King in 
one last effort to escape.

"If you have no objections, Your Majesty?" she asked.

Her hope that Arthur's drive to see the scrolls and find 
Merlin would steer him away from the reception were 
dashed.  It was obvious that the Xanatos couple 
intrigued him and he had been making peace treaties for 
far to long not to recognize to opportunity to form a 
valuable alliance.  If Xanatos was respected in this 
city, it stood to reason, that Arthur may need his good 
will sometime down the road.

"I think it's an excellent idea," Arthur was agreeing.

"Of course," Miranda muttered, then putting the best 
face on it she could she smiled.

"Perhaps you should go in now and I'll wait here for 
Garret," she suggested hoping to prolong her now 
inevitable entrance into the reception and the 
subsequent stares of all the people who knew she was out 
of place.  As an actress, Miranda knew it was supposed 
to be in her nature to crave attention of any sort, but 
she was always sensitive to disapproval and was more 
comfortable having an orchestra between her and her 
audience.

"You can't wait out here alone," Fox protested, "I'll 
wait with you while David shows King Arthur around."

"Excellent suggestion, my dear," Xanatos kissed his 
wife's hand and his eyes sparkled with anticipation.  
Miranda pondered at the wisdom of letting Arthur alone 
with him - but she quelled her doubts.  After all, the 
Xanatoses had been nothing but gracious to her.

As the men entered the museum, Fox Xanatos eyed her 
companion slyly.  After a brief moment, she broke the 
silence between them.

"Owen is home tonight taking care of Alexander," she 
said.

Miranda nearly jumped out of her skin, for she had been 
wondering if the stony Mr. Burnett was going to make an 
appearance at the reception.  She forced herself to look 
neither disappointed nor relieved, not really sure which 
she felt anyway.

"He's probably the highest priced babysitter in town," 
she commented, "but it must be nice for you and Mr. 
Xanatos to have someone you trust so completely."

"Too true," Fox nodded smiling secretively.

Their wait was shorter than expected and soon a young 
man approached smiling and waving.

"'Randa!" he called, bounding up the stone steps of the 
museum two at a time, "I told you that you'd come 
crawling back to me someday!"

"Hardly," Miranda chuckled embracing her friend then 
holding him at arm's length for approval.

"You're growing you're hair out," she observed, tugging 
on his short ponytail.

"Sure," he said, shrugging, "There's no point in going 
for that clean-cut look you love if you're not 
interested.  Most women out there in our business dig 
the long hair - will it be a problem for the gig?"

Miranda gave one of her characteristic snorts in replay, 
"I doubt it.  Haven't you ever seen David Xanatos on 
TV?"

"Xanatos?  He's behind this?" Garret asked whistling, 
"You're moving in some pretty swanky company all of a 
sudden, Miranda.  Isn't he married?"

Miranda rolled her eyes, "Leave it to you Garret.  Yes, 
he's married, to this very lucky woman right here.  Fox 
Xanatos, may I present my dear friend and a great 
pianist, Garret Lane."

The dark-haired man had the grace enough to look 
embarrassed as he gave a curt bow.

"Mrs. Xanatos, I was only joking with Miranda, I didn't 
mean to imply..."

"Never mind, Mr. Lane," Fox interrupted his apology, "I 
just hope you're as good as Miranda keeps assuring us.  
Now, let's get going before David starts rolling heads."

They entered the museum lobby and took the elevator to 
the reception hall at the top of the building.  The room 
was filled with elegantly dressed people being served 
cocktails and hors d'ouevres.  The only sound in the 
room was the increasing rumble of their conversation.  
In the center on a small dais, was a shining black grand 
piano.  It emanated quality and Miranda grinned at the 
covetous look that came into her friend's eyes.

"Almost worth playing for free, isn't it?" she asked 
coyly.

He raised an eyebrow at her, "C'mon, Miranda, a fella's 
gotta pay the rent - is this your way of telling me that 
this gig is gratis?"

"Hardly," the answer came from the approaching David 
Xanatos with a silent and observant King Arthur in tow, 
"I take it you're the pianist?"

"Yes, sir, here to tickle your ivories," Garret cracked.

Miranda cleared her throat and hushed her friend with a 
scathing look that said, 'don't embarrass me,' before 
making introductions.  "Mr. David Xanatos, this is 
Garret Lane, the best in New York."

Xanatos shook Garret's hand authoritatively and made the 
business arrangements neatly.

"What I'm looking for is pleasant background music to 
subdue all this rumbling conversation.  The piano is set 
up for the best acoustics and I'm assured that a 
moderate volume will carry throughout the room.  Do you 
think you can perform the job."

"Sure," Garret agreed, then casting a sidelong glance at 
Miranda that made the hairs on the back of her neck 
prickle he smiled and added, "on one condition."

"Garret!"  Miranda protested, grabbing her friend's 
sleeve and speaking at him through her teeth, though she 
knew both Fox and Mr. Xanatos could hear every word, 
"This is not a man you dictate terms to.  Think of the 
exposure!"

Garret patted her hand placatingly, "Trust me, 'Randa," 
he whispered.

Turning back to Xanatos, Garret announced firmly, "I'll 
only play if Miranda sings."

The woman in question made a strangled noise and covered 
her face with her hands in a brief moment of 
mortification.  Looking out from spaced fingers she 
protested.

"Garret, I can't."

The pianist raised a disbelieving eyebrow, "I beg to 
differ.  You most certainly CAN sing."

Dropping her hands, Miranda glared at him in 
frustration.

"That is to say, I don't want to," she corrected 
herself, then turned to Xanatos to add, "This wasn't my 
plan, honest."

He smiled gently and replied, "I believe you, but it 
does seem an easy condition to meet.  I would be happy 
to hear you sing."

"The world is conspiring against me," Miranda groaned, 
"Wouldn't having a singer be contradictory to the whole 
'background music' idea?"

Before Xanatos could consider the logic of her argument, 
Garret broke in, "Just one song, to get me warmed up and 
break the ice with the mucky-mucks.  Please 'Randa?"

For the second time that evening, Miranda looked 
beseechingly at King Arthur for an out, but he was 
smiling encouragingly.  

"It would be a pleasure, Milady," he assured her.

Looking strictly at her friend Miranda said firmly, "One 
song."

Triumphant, Garret grabbed her hand and started pulling 
her towards the dais calling back to the trio, "You 
won't be sorry."

"I'm sorry already," muttered Miranda, watching as 
Garret settled at the piano and played a couple of 
flourishing scales to both warm up and get the attention 
of the crowd.  Despite her protests, Miranda found her 
professional ears admiring the acoustics of the room and 
looking forward to hearing her own voice echoing off the 
walls.  Garret was smiling up at her knowingly and she 
rolled her eyes.

"Isn't this better than feeling uncomfortable and out of 
place among all those elite?" he queried.

Miranda had to admit that this man knew her pretty well. 
 She had not been looking forward to trying to keep up 
with the upper crust, but performing to them was quite a 
different story.  She smiled at him gratefully.

"You think you're so smart, don't you?" she asked.

"Well, my dear, I just know you pretty well," Garret 
smiled, "You know you want to do this."

"Well," she admitted, "I could use a little ego boost.  
Just one song, though - it's not my event."

"Sure, sure," Garret was grinning in triumph, "what 
should we do?  Let's see..."

He plunked an intro that might not have rung a bell with 
anyone outside the music profession, and may have even 
baffled a few other singers.  Miranda, however, had 
worked with Garret for a long a very nearly successful 
partnership.  A brief romance emerged from the working 
relationship and when Miranda inevitably realized she 
wasn't in love, she broke off both connections.  To 
Garret's credit, after a short healing period, their 
friendship resumed.  Now he played an old love song that 
was familiar to her.  She smiled as she began singing.

"He's a fool and don't I know it,
But a fool can have his charms
I'm in love and don't I show it
Like a babe in arms
Love's the same old sad sensation 
Lately I've not slept a wink
Since this half-pint imitation
Put me on the blink..."

She had the audience's full attention by the time she 
launched into the refrain:

"I'm wild again, beguiled again
A simpering whimpering child again 
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I.

Couldn't sleep and wouldn't sleep
When love came and told me I shouldn't sleep
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I."

By the time she reached the bridge, she was completely 
absorbed in the song's words and her own heartstrings - 
the room fading from her consciousness:

"Lost my hear, but what of it
He is cold I agree
He can laugh, and I'd love it
Although the laugh's on me

I'll sing to him each spring to him
And long for the day when I'll cling to him
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I

Men are not a new sensation
I've done pretty well I think
But this half-pint imitation
Put me on the blink..."

By the end she was belting and she got that tingle in 
the back of her neck that happened when everything was 
just right in a performance.  A feeling that had been 
notably absent at auditions earlier that day, though she 
didn't bother pondering the reasons and enjoyed the 
moment:

"I've sinned a lot, I mean a lot
But now I'm like sweet seventeen a lot
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I."

As Garret concluded the piece a gentle rumble of 
applause echoed among the room.  Miranda smiled and 
bowed slightly.

"Thank you very much," she projected her voice like the 
pro she was, "and most of all, thank you to Mr. David 
Xanatos without whose generosity this evening and the 
reason for it would not be possible."

The applause erupted again for Xanatos and the focused 
turned from the tinkling piano and its performers to 
where he and Fox stood on the other side of the room.

"Artfully done," Xanatos commented to his wife 
admiringly.

"Yes - and her voice is stunning.  It's amazing that she 
hasn't ascended higher than the chorus before now," Fox 
agreed.

"Perhaps she just need a little sponsorship," Xanatos 
observed.

"David, don't tell me that you trust her now?" Fox asked 
smiling.

"The jury is still out, my love, the jury is still out."

Miranda was waving over Arthur and moving to step off 
the dais and into the cocktail party, no longer feeling 
so out of place.

"Whoever he is, I hate him," Garret commented as he 
continued to play.

Miranda frowned in puzzlement and gestured towards the 
approaching king.

"Who, Arthur?" she asked.

Garret looked at the approaching King thoughtfully.

"I don't think so," he responded finally, "I don't think 
he's here.  I'm talking about the man who's finally won 
your heart."

Miranda laughed, though she wasn't quite sure the 
subject was funny.

"What are you talking about?" she asked lightly.

Garret looked back at the keys, though he had no need to 
watch his hands when he played.

"It's a subtle difference, because you were always good 
- but you're thinking of someone when you sing and it's 
obvious you love him from your voice - it's more real 
than I've ever heard you before.  You really are 
'bewitched,'" he explained.

"Garret, there's no one really," Miranda insisted even 
as the face of Owen Burnett appeared in her mind's eye.

"If you say so, 'Randa," Garret agreed verbally while 
his eyes read skepticism.  

Miranda opened her mouth to attempt further argument and 
was interrupted by Arthur.

"My lady, that was splendid.  You truly have a gift."

"Thank you, Arthur," Miranda responded smiling 
graciously and gesturing to her friend, "But I really 
owe it to Garret.  Garret, meet my friend, Arthur."

Garret inclined his head, "Sorry if I don't shake hands, 
Art," he said, "I gotta keep up the music for Master 
Xanatos."

"I understand," Arthur smiled at Miranda, "will you sing 
again?"

Miranda was profoundly relieved that there wasn't an 
undertone of Royal Request in the question and shook her 
head. Waving to Garret as she drew Arthur away from the 
dais.

"Music at a reception like this should remain in the 
background - vocalizing brings it to the forefront.  I 
didn't come here to perform."

She raised her eyebrows and inclined her head to remind 
the King of his quest.

"Ah, of course," Arthur nodded.

Miranda took his arm smiling, "I think we can sneak away 
for a little bit," she said.

Though she was a bit concerned that they would be 
accosted by someone admiring her singing, or just 
interested in the unusual couple she was all to aware 
they made, Miranda managed to maneuver the king and 
herself out of the reception hall and back into the main 
museum.  It took little effort after that to locate the 
wing with the Scrolls of Merlin.  Arthur looked through 
the glass case with boyish enthusiasm.

"They're authentic, I recognize his hand!" he exclaimed, 
"and the insulting references to me as well, 
characteristic of Merlin."

"Is there any clue to his whereabouts now?"  Miranda 
asked.

"Give me a moment," Arthur said, scanning what he could 
of the parchment for a moment before sighing, "Unless I 
am missing some hidden riddle, I'm afraid these are 
nothing more than a diary of his time with me before I 
was taken to Avalon."

Miranda sighed, disappointed, but not surprised.

"Perhaps there's something in the part we can't see?" 
she asked not as hopeful as she tried to sound.

"Do you suggest we break the glass?" Arthur inquired, 
challenging both of their morals.

Miranda slumped, "No," she denied, "it would hardly be 
worth breaking the law it if there's nothing there 
anyway.  There's got to be a way we can get them to 
unlock the case for us..."

"There you are," Fox Xanatos' velvety voice startled the 
pair.

"We didn't think we'd be missed," Miranda admitted 
somewhat guiltily.

"David asked me to gather you two up - he doesn't like 
his guests to wander off."

Fox sauntered up to them and looked at the glass case.

"I see.  Looking up old friends are we?" she inquired of 
Arthur.

"Something along those lines," he agreed.

"It doesn't look as though Merlin's left a forwarding 
address," Miranda commented in disappointment.

"Not on the portion showing, anyway," Arthur agreed.

"I see," Fox repeated, "well, come back to the party - 
I'm sure David will be able to figure something out."

"Of course," David Xanatos agreed when his wife 
explained the situation a few minutes later, "the museum 
obviously owes me a few favors.  I'll arrange for a 
private showing tomorrow night after the museum closes."

"Mr. Xanatos, I can't ask that of you," Miranda 
protested.

"My dear, I think you need a lesson in accepting favors 
graciously," Xanatos commented, "Besides, I owe you one. 
 Mr. Lane has been excellent."

Miranda smiled towards the pianist whose untiring 
fingers were spinning out 'Georgia on My Mind' at the 
moment.

"Yes," she sighed, "Garret is probably my favorite 
ex-boyfriend."

Xanatos' eyes narrowed, "and have there been many for 
you to have a favorite?"

The question and its tone caught Miranda completely 
unawares.  She gave the powerful man her full attention. 
 He was testing her, she realized and she wasn't sure 
how to respond.  Beside her, Arthur had stiffened a bit, 
also recognizing the comment as some sort of modern 
challenge to Miranda's virtue.  Before the King could 
call Xanatos out on the matter, though, Miranda put a 
calming hand on his forearm and replied lightly.

"I suppose that depends on what you consider many," she 
smiled, though her eyes remained wary, "My hopelessly 
romantic nature has brought me across a lot of frogs in 
search of my prince."

She squeezed Arthur's arm urging him to let the matter 
drop.  Xanatos watched with interest but did not comment 
further.

"Xanatos, you simply must introduce us to this charming 
siren," the minor standoff was interrupted by one of the 
many party guests.

Xanatos transformed into gracious host again and Miranda 
found herself being introduced around a high social 
circle and smiling graciously at the compliments to her 
singing voice.  Arthur, she noted mingled surprisingly 
well, but then he was exception