“So, that’s the situation.” David Xanatos leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front
of his chin.
     “That’s the situation?” Fox said. “David, darling ... Oberon has used the Gathering to rally all the
gods of ancient mythology as well as half the magical creatures in the world against us, and all you
can do is say that’s the situation?”
     Goliath exhaled in a rumbling growl of a sigh. “Very well, Xanatos ... what would you have of my
clan? We’ve faced most of these beings before, but ...”
     “But not all at once,” Angela finished.
     “We’re toast,” Brooklyn muttered.
     “If I may interject, Mr. Xanatos,” Owen Burnett said, stepping forward. “We are not completely
without resources. This was delivered just moments ago.”
     He held up a small pink plastic object shaped roughly like a seashell. It had a clasp on one side and
hinges on the other.
     “What’s that?” Elisa demanded skeptically.
     “Titania’s Compact,” Owen replied, unruffled.
     “Like Titania’s Mirror!” Lexington hopped up eagerly to get a closer look, but Owen held it out of
his reach.
     Hudson drew warily away from the innocuous pink seashell. “Aye? What mischief does this one do?”
     “It will enable us to summon one ally,” Owen explained.
     Brooklyn rolled his eyes. “Whoopee, what good is one ally going to do against the bunch we’ll be
facing?”
     “It all depends on the ally,” Xanatos said. “Who’d you have in mind, Owen?”
     “There is one force, one power, that is greater even than any army Oberon could raise. One whose
very word determines what is, or is not, our reality.”
     “Sounds good so far,” Broadway said.
     “We don’t have time to waste. Open it up,” Xanatos commanded.
     Owen nodded brusquely and unclasped the compact.
     As he opened it, a dazzle of light erupted from the circular mirror set inside the lid. It hung suspended
in midair for a moment, spraying shifting beams of radiance across their upturned faces. Wind from an
unseen source whipped hair and flapped clothing.
     The light flared painfully bright, then winked out. A shape popped into being, staggered at the impact
of feet striking the floor of Xanatos’ office, and slowly straightened up.
     Silence reigned as they all studied the new arrival -- a human male in his thirties, with short brown hair
and a close-trimmed beard. He wore jeans, a blue-and-white striped shirt, and had some sort of plastic
badge hooked to his pocket. “The Gathering” was written upon the badge, and below that the letters
“GoH” gleamed in gold ink.
     “Owen?” Xanatos packed a wealth of doubt into that one word.
     The man’s expression remained fairly steady as he looked from one of them to the next. It was only
when he happened to glance down at himself that shock widened his eyes and dropped his jaw. He
thrust out his arms, staring at his hands.
     “[adjective] [expletive]!” he cried. “I’m animated!!!”
     Goliath’s brow ridge shot up. “What did he say?”
     “I’m not sure what he said,” Elisa remarked dryly, “but I’m pretty sure that what he meant was
‘jalapena.’”
     One corner of Owen’s mouth quirked ever so slightly. “Ladies and gentlemen, gargoyles of all ages,
may I present Mr. Greg Weisman, the creator of our universe.”
     “You have got to be kidding,” Fox said.

**