Lois Fogg
Fantasy
PG-13
[AN: I just split up Book One for those people who didnÕt have winzip,
or the file didnÕt work. Enjoy!]

Book One: Why I Should Have Read the Fine Print
Chapter One

***Her lungs burned as she ran through the forest, her hand
tightly gripping that of Leros, her companion. Was he more than that?
Her mind wondered, but there was no time for considerations like that
now. Now, the Nunana, henchmen of the Society of the Rose, were
after her, and all she could do was run. God, but she was tired of
running. The need to flee, to get away, to live another day ached
through her bones, but she could not give up just now. If only for
Leros, she had to live through this, and then she could just give up and
die like she longed too.
	ÒTheyÕre getting closer.Ó Leros whispered urgently, and, if it
were possible, she quickened her pace. If only she could live through
this, the things she could tell him, she decided. He was right, though,
they were getting closer. There was no time. If they did die here,
shouldnÕt he know how she felt? But, how could she tell him when she
didnÕt even know herself?***

	ÒSerena!Ó Mina yelled from her bedroom, ÒHave you seen my
other purple earring? You know, the one with the anchor?Ó
	ÒFor GodÕs sake, Mina!Ó I yelled, tossing a pillow at the wall
for good measure. ÒShut up! IÕm reading!Ó
	ÒYouÕre always reading. I, however, have a date with the
hottest guy that I have *ever* seen and I need those purple earrings!Ó
	ÒTheyÕre hideous anyway.Ó I muttered under my breath,
opening my book again, and trying to find out where I left off.
	ÒWhat was that?Ó Mina yelled, stomping into my room. I
sighed dejectedly, and put the book down again.
	ÒI said that the earrings were ugly, you say that about every
guy you go out with, and I have *not* to my eternal relief, seen your
earrings.Ó
	Mina stood silhouetted in the doorway, arms akimbo, the
picture of injured pride and discontent. I smiled slightly, and threw
another pillow at her.
	ÒYou look good.Ó I said seriously. ÒForget about the earrings.Ó
She did too, although in a similar outfit, I would only have come off
looking utterly ridiculous. She wore a tight red halter-top that stopped
just below her belly button, and a mini-skirt that just barely missed
status as a butt-band. The crowning glory was a pair of black leather
go-go boots, reaching well over her knees. Her long blond hair hung
down her back. I knew from personal experience that any guy looking
at an outfit like that would *not* be looking at her ears.
	ÒThanks.Ó She said, smiling. ÒSorry yelled at you, IÕm just
really nervous. IÕve never met a guy like Todd beforeÉI really want to
impress him.Ó I rolled my eyes. She really did say that about every guy
she met. Mina grinned, stepped expertly over the piles of clothing and
books, and hugged me.
	ÒHopefully, I wonÕt be back tonight, but if I amÉÓ
	ÒYeah, yeah, IÕll open up for you.Ó I said, playfully waving
her out the door. Reluctantly putting my book down on the bed, I got
up and walked her to the door of our basement apartment.
	ÒHave fun!Ó I said. ÒRemember, donÕt let him see up your
skirt too quickly, dearie, although in an outfit like that it may be hard to
avoidÑhey!Ó I shouted, when Mina punched me in the arm.
	ÒTry not to read more than three books while IÕm out with the
dreamiest man alive!Ó She countered already heading out the door. I
laughed, but didnÕt respond, eager to return to my book. There were
only two more pages left.
	ÒBye!Ó She called, from the sidewalk, and stepped into her
chic new black sports car. I waved until she drove off, and then stood
there, thinking. I was lucky that MinaÕs parents were still willing to
give her money and gifts like that sports car, otherwise my share of our
rent would be impossible. An apartment this good in DC was hard to
come by, especially if you had practically no money, like me. Fresh out
of college, and a history major of all things, there werenÕt exactly many
opportunities for high-paying professions coming my way. At the
moment I was busy struggling to pay off my student-loans and find a
decent-paying job at the same time. So far, the search hadnÕt been
successful. In the interim, I had been forced to take up work at Cluck-U
Chicken, the local fast food place, and not a job exactly bursting with
opportunity. In fact, right now I should have been perusing the
employment section of the paper. Instead, I was busy reading the last
book in my latest favorite series: The Society of the Rose. I loved it,
largely because it embodied everything I wanted in a novel, not to
mention my life. Romance, adventure and mystery were definitely
lacking in my daily existence. I supposed that things might change if I
got out more, but every time I did allow Mina to convince me to go to
one of her favorite hangouts, I invariably ended up incredibly bored. I
definitely wanted more out of life, but so far, it just wasnÕt giving it to
me. Sighing, I closed the door on the balmy night air, and walked
slowly back to my bedroom. From this angle, it looked like a bigger
mess than I had thought. It might become necessary to clean it
eventually. However, as soon as I saw the book, lying pages down on
my bed, all other thoughts seemed much less important. I catapulted
myself next to it, and opened it up eagerly. I scanned the next few
paragraphs, eager to find the scene I knew was coming. Finally, after
Leros had defeated the bad guys with an awesome burst of his hidden-
mage power, of course helped by the heroine, they found themselves
caught in a deluge of rain and retreated into an empty cavern.

***She shivered as she watched Leros make a pitiful attempt to light a
fire with hopelessly soaked tinder.
	ÒGive it up.Ó She chattered through her teeth, gripping herself
for warmth. He turned to her, worry in his eyes.
	ÒWithout a fire we surely wonÕt last the night, Elsia. Look,Ó
He said, raising his hand to her lips, Òyour lips are blue.Ó
	ÒItÕs hopeless, Leros.Ó She said bitterly. ÒWe may have
defeated the Society of the Rose, but this cold will defeat us.Ó
	ÒDonÕt say that, Elsia.Ó He whispered, his face still
dangerously close to hers.
	ÒOh, Leros!Ó she wept, burying her head on his strong, well-
muscled shoulder. He held her, gently at first, but with growing
insistence. She tilted her head up to his, and kissed him, heedless of the
consequences. Who cared if he was a Yarrel and she a Flintock? She
loved him, and Gods be damned if they objected to it. A fiery passion
rose between them, that would not be quelled, one that easily rivaled
and defeated the threat of cold. ***

	I held the book to my chest and sighed dreamily. Why
couldnÕt anyone ever kiss *me* like that? Even though I was twenty-
two, I had only been kissed by two guys. The first was my pathetic high
school boyfriend, who had no more of an idea how to kiss a girl than I
knew how to kiss a frog, and treated me with about the same level of
warmth. I had been scared to kiss after that. After all, who wants to be
squished in this soggy wet thing that makes you want to run for the
toilet, rather than more of his embraces. It was positively disgusting. I
knew, intellectually of course, that kisses *had* to be better than that,
but I had never experienced it first hand. Then, of course, I went to
college, and it seemed that a lot of guys wanted to kiss me. At first I
was flattered, but then it just got old. I had learned my lesson in high
school. I didnÕt want nasty wet embraces. But I couldnÕt seem to find a
guy who fit my idea of a boyfriend. So I never let anyone kiss me. Until
my senior year, of course. Then, I found someone who I thought at the
time was perfect. He was tall, handsome, blonde, considerate, romantic,
and not too eager to kiss me. We dated for months before he ever made
a move. Compared to the first, his kiss, when it finally came, had been
rather pleasant. I felt triumphant, that I hadnÕt been scared away, and
now I had found my true love. Unfortunately, I was more wrong than
ever. Merely a week after our first kiss he came out of the closet,
leaving me alone and feeling incredibly stupid. After that, I avoided the
male race entirely. They seemed a whole lot more appealing in books
than in real life. In real life, good-looking guys were gay, and the ugly
ones wanted to make out with me. I didnÕt understand how Mina
managed to get all of those guys to fall over her. As far as I knew, all of
them were gorgeous, and none of them were gay. I supposed that some
people were better at attracting the right type of guy than I was. I didnÕt
often resent her for it, but sometimes I just wished for a man of my
own. Sometimes? Well, all right, a whole lot of the time. All the time,
even. It was just that he never seemed to come around. I was always
waiting, and reading, and hoping and praying. And every time any one
ever approached me I shied away, remembering what happened in
college. I wasnÕt sure if I could live through another ÔrevelationÕ like
that. Sometimes I just wished that I could travel into one of my fantasy
worlds, and have an adventure with the guy of my dreams. I would
stare into my mirror and wonder if I just reached out my hand and put it
through the glass, if it would come out in wonderland. Then I would
shake my head in disgust and walk away. I fantasized far too much, but
couldnÕt help it. I knew, almost subconsciously, that there was a perfect
match for me. I just despaired over ever finding him. I wanted
something else, there was no denying it. Something more than Cluck-U
chicken.
The thought brought me crashing back down to reality. I had
to work the night shift tonight! I jumped out of bed, and scrambled to
the closet to find my uniform. I hated the place with a passion, but there
was no where else to go, and I had to make some money. My manager
was an absolute toad, and not the kind you can awaken with a kiss
either, although he had tried several times. I grimaced at the memory.
Why did it seem that only the fat, slimy, pigs wanted me? Why
couldnÕt a nice, decent guy come onto me for once? With my self-
esteem level so low, I might even accept. However, my self-esteem
could never be low enough to agree to go out with Harvey the creep. I
grumbled to myself as I pulled on the requisite white pants, red cluck-U
shirt with a chicken on the back, and the oh-so-tasteful chicken hat. I
looked at myself in the mirror and then laughed, I *definitely* could
not put the hat on top of my ponytail. It looked entirely too silly.
Sighing, I pulled out the bobby pins and tied my long blonde hair back
in a single braid trailing to my waist. Deciding that I looked about as
good as was possible in an outfit that remarkably tasteless, I grabbed
the car keys and sprinted out the door.

I hated the night shift. Only cuckoosÑno pun intendedÑ
came around, and almost all of them leered at me. Harvey sat in back,
eyeing me meaningfully, and smiling in a way that made my skin
crawl. And to think, I was doing all of this for a minimum wage! What
had possessed me to major in history? I wondered dejectedly as I gave
yet another balding, middle-aged man a Òbest of the breastÓ sandwich,
trying to ignore his suggestive stare. Why not economics, or computer
science? At least then I could be making some money right now, not
desperately trying to find a job as a research assistant in a world where
no one cares about history.
ÒSerena?Ó Harvey called from the back room. I rolled my
eyes. Why me?
ÒWhat?Ó I called, pretending to be busy wiping the counter.
He had become more and more insistent lately, and I didnÕt want to
deal with him. I knew that avoiding him was not the best method of
dealing with his advances, but I knew that if I flat out rejected him, I
would be out of a job and that was a prospect I was willing to
contemplate. So I wiped the table insistently, even though it gleamed
with a suspicious shine.
ÒCan you come here for a moment?Ó He asked, obviously not
fooled by my ruse. Damn. I sighed, and closed my yes in a silent
prayer.
ÒAll right, hold on.Ó I said, moving as slowly as I possibly
could to be back office. So what ruse was he going to use now to get
me to go out with him? It was almost an intellectual exercise at this
point, predicting what path his amorous extravagances would take. Just
last week he had given me a rubber chicken with a note attached,
saying ÒIÕm not chicken when it comes to love.Ó To top it all off, the
ÔoÕ in ÔloveÕ had a heart in the middle. I nearly collapsed when I read it,
and it was *not* from girlish enthusiasm. I told him, regretfully, that
no, I couldnÕt go out with him this Saturday because of my poor sickly
great-aunt. He must be wondering why she hadnÕt died yet. Finally, my
plodding footsteps brought me in front of the door, and Harvey ushered
me in enthusiastically. More enthusiastically than normal, even. My
stomach sunk to the floor. This day was rapidly going down the tubes.
He sat down in the chair behind the desk and I remained standing,
hoping to hold on to at least a little of my dignity when he presented me
with yet another affront to the idea of romance. He toyed around with
several facial expressions and finally settled on one that managed to
look desperate, odious and falsely sympathetic at the same time.
ÒSerena, IÕm afraid that I have a bit of bad news.Ó
I was baffled. This didnÕt sound like his usual approach. Could
he possibly be getting fed up of my constant avoidance of him? If so, I
really was in big trouble.
ÒWhat is it?Ó I asked cautiously. I didnÕt know if I could
afford to lose this job, even with minimum wage. He ran his hand
through his thinning, greasy brown hair, and his slightly heavy jowls
shook with tension. Harvey was at least ten years older than me, and
had been reminded of the fact several times, but he didnÕt seem to care.
He was, in all his overweight, greasy glory, sure that I would see the
light very soon.
ÒIÕve been getting reports.Ó He waved vaguely around his
cluttered desk.
ÒWhat kinds of reports?Ó I prompted, as he was obviously too
busy staring at my too tight tee shirt to finish his sentence.
ÒWellÉthe customers have been sending in complaints about
your performance here. Under normal circumstances I would be forced
to fire you, butÉÓ
ÒWhat sort of complaints?Ó I asked, indignantly. I would bet
all my moneyÑnot much, mind you, but my ownÑthat none of said
reports existed. What was this bastard doing to me? CouldnÕt he see
that I didnÕt have the time or temperament to play his little, stupid
games? I felt angry enough to punch him.
ÒWellÉumÉÓ He began, obviously unsure of himself.
Apparently, he hadnÕt included my indignation into his well-calculated
plans to force me to go out with him. ÒYour...attitude.Ó He said finally,
visibly wilting under my angry gaze.
ÒWhat attitude?Ó I demanded.
ÒSome say that youÕreÉrude, yes, thatÕs it, very rude to them.
You donÕt show them the proper respect. YouÕre always evading them.
You wonÕt recognize how wonderful they are and agree toÉÓ He
trailed off, turning slightly red in the face. Oh yeah, I thought cynically,
customers are saying this? How many of them have declared their love
with rubber chickens?
ÒHarvey,Ó I began, ÒThis is ridiculous. You know perfectly
wellÑÒ
ÒSo, you see.Ó He talked right over me, and I spluttered
indignantly. I couldnÕt believe what was going on! ÒI just canÕt ignore
this. But because you have been such a loyal employee, and because I
have such aÉpersonal interest in your welfare, IÕve decided to give
you a second chance.Ó
ÒWell, thatÕs very nice of you, Harvey, butÑÒ
ÒI thought you would appreciate it.Ó He interrupted
complacently. ÒWe can talk about it later, over dinner. Is tomorrow at
eight oÕclock all right with you?Ó
ÒIt most definitely isÑÒ
ÒFantastic! IÕll pick you up, all right. Dress nicely, all right.
IÕm sure we can work this out.Ó He said, standing up. ÒTell you what,
IÕm sure that this news has upset you, why donÕt you take the rest of the
night off? Tom can manage on his own.Ó
I stared at him, my mouth hanging open to protest, but
something in his expression stopped me. I knew that if I refused, I
could kiss my job goodbye. Even so, I almost did it, but the thought of
having to go begging my broke parents for more money stopped the
words before they left my mouth.
ÒAllÉrightÉÓ I choked out, before I could think better of it. I
felt dirty almost as soon as the words left my mouth. I let him hug me,
even as the embrace lingered longer than was decent. Finally, I broke
away.
ÒGood bye, Harvey.Ó I panted, and ran out of his office. Tom
gave me a pitying glance as I left the store, and I stared at him
forlornly. Then I turned the knob and exited into humid, but remarkably
chicken-free air.
Oh, what a night, I thought to myself. I donÕt, however, think
thatÕs exactly what the Four Seasons meant.

I drove dejectedly back home, not even bothering to turn on
the radio. I ripped my clothes off as soon as I got inside the door, and
changed into some comfortable pink boxers and tee shirt. For a while I
stormed around the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door and closing it
without actually taking anything out. How dare he do this to me?
WasnÕt that sexual harassment? I could call my lawyer, if I had a
lawyer, but no one would believe me anyway. The little box of my
apartment seemed smaller and smaller. Finally, I knew I just had to get
out of there or explode. I grabbed my keys and some sandals and
walked outside. Georgetown at night was a great place to be, I decided
as I relaxed a bit more. It was so quaint looking, yet busy at the same
time. Some pedestrians looked at my pink boxers a little askance, and
the odd man in a car honked at me, but my mood improved
exponentially as I walked. I really had to get out of this rat race,
though. There was no way that I could take more of Harvey, the self-
appointed Casanova. I had to make a concerted effort to find a job, any
job, right now. There had to be better opportunities out there for a
college graduate. I had just been far too apathetic lately to try. Finally I
arrived back on my street. I considered walking some more before I
noticed a great deal of commotion going on in the house across the
street from mine. A ladyÑI recognized her, but had never met herÑ
was trying to drag several heavy-looking boxes inside, and some stray
cat kept getting in between her legs.
ÒKitty!Ó She shrieked, and I could practically see her dyed
blonde hair shoot up in annoyance. ÒGet away from here. Go!Ó I nearly
laughed out loud, but had a feeling that she wouldnÕt appreciate it.
ÒIÕll curse you!Ó She said ominously, and I put my hands on my mouth.
Yeah right, the lady looked about as dangerous as my sisterÕs pet
chinchilla.
	ÒUmÉÓ I began hesitantly, walking up to her. ÒCan I help
you?Ó She peered at me from over the box she carried, which looked to
be about half her size. Apparently something about me shocked her so
much that she dropped the box, narrowly missing the cat. It shot off
immediately, apparently deciding that it had had enough near-death
experiences for one night. The lady and I stared at each other, summing
the other up. She was at least a head shorter than me, which is saying
something, since IÕm not exactly a giant myself. She was middle-aged,
and looked pretty in an eccentric sort of way. She had short hair that
was obviously died peroxide blonde. She wore a huge, wide brimmed
flower hat that looked, in the dim light, to be a strange shade of purple.
Her long, shapeless dress looked to be handmade and dyed about as
many shades of orange as you could name, and some you wouldnÕt
have thought could dare to exist. Her shoes were the only ÔnormalÕ
aspect of her attire: brown leather sandals that only looked slightly out
of date. I supposed that I would look pretty funny to her as well. ItÕs not
every day you see a girl wearing pink boxers walking around
Georgetown in the middle of the night. We were definitely a pair. Her
mouth hung open, although I couldnÕt imagine that only my boxers
would produce such a shock in a woman.
	ÒYeÉyeÉyes, sure.Ó She stuttered finally, unable to take her
eyes off of me. I shuddered uncomfortably, and bent to pick up the
larger box. She grabbed the smaller one and we made our way down
her driveway to her house. She easily had the best house in our
neighborhoodÑin fact, it was the only non row house on the block. It
was made of sturdy red brick, and had slightly scary carvings
decorating the outside, that looked even scarier in the middle of the
night. Somehow, the strange ladyÕs presence was not overly reassuring
to my overactive imagination. She stumbled slightly, probably because
her eyes were glued to me the entire time, and I helped to steady her.
	ÒThank you.Ó She mumbled under her breath as she reached
inside her purse to get her keys. After a great deal of fumbling, she
opened the door and we both deposited our loads inside the house. As
impressive as the outside was, the inside boasted even more indications
of extreme wealth. No one in our neighborhood was exactly needy, but
this lady could have bought the Ritz Carleton if she wanted to, by the
looks of it. Hanging unceremoniously in the front hall was a Picasso of
the blue period, one I could bet was not an imitation. Several other
famous painters hung throughout the hall and some I had never heard
of, although their work seemed equally as excellent. The rest of the
decorations boasted as eclectic and exotic a mix as I had ever seen. She
had what looked to be an authentic Persian rug on the floor, and
mahogany West African carvings on a mantle top. She seemed to have
art from every known part of the world and quite a few unknown. IÕm
afraid that I was quite obviously gawking, because her cleared throat
reminded me of the presence at my elbow.
	ÒOh, sorry.Ó I said, blushing. ÒItÕs just that you have the most
incredible house. Did you travel yourself to find these things?Ó
	ÒOh, yes.Ó She said expansively, walking into the front hall
and gesturing to everything. ÒEach one of my trophies has a story
behind it. IÕm a great traveler.Ó
	I stared at her, and some of her internal strength came across
to me. Yes, I could believe it. As improbable as this tiny woman with
strange taste in clothing was, I could well believe her to be perfectly
capable of taking care of herself.
	ÒDo you travel because of your job?Ó I asked, walking over to
a beautiful painting that I did not recognize.
	ÒWhy, no. I donÕt work. I am a Woman of Independent
Means.Ó She said the phrase like it were a title, and I looked at her
oddly. Was she an heiress of some sort, to travel to these exotic places
without working at all? She was more of a mystery than I had originally
thought. Unfortunately, at the time I did not know quite how right I
was.
	ÒMy name is Serena.Ó I said, for lack of anything better. ÒI
live across the street from you, in a basement apartment.Ó
	ÒNice to meet you, Serena.Ó She said, and for the first time I
noticed that she had an accent, exceedingly faint, but it gave a strange
lilt to her words not normally present in American English. ÒMy name
is Petunia.Ó I shook her hand numbly even as I stared at her with new
amazement. Had I heard her properly? Petunia? I couldnÕt believe that
parents actually named their children things like that. It was utterly
ridiculous, but the name seemed somehow appropriate to her. Since she
did not seem overly eager to send me on my way, I turned to look at the
picture again. It was a tiny watercolor of a woman and her baby, lying
among incredibly tall grass on some sort of plain. It was a
breathtakingly beautiful image, in its simplicity as well as its message.
The woman looked young, perhaps twenty or twenty-one, and her long
black hair was strewn about her. The baby was beautiful, with a dark
thatch of hair and a beatific smile on his face. The two stared into each
otherÕs eyes, a deep blue that almost dominated the painting with its
intensity. It was unsigned.
	ÒWho painted this?Ó I breathed, unable to remember when I
had been so moved by a painting.
	ÒA good friend of mine.Ó She said, and I jumped. I had been
so absorbed in the painting I had not noticed her approach. ÒHe painted
this when he was only fifteen years old, and gave it to me.Ó
	ÒItÕs incredible.Ó I said, still looking at the picture. ÒOnly
fifteen? How old is he now? He must be brilliant.Ó
	Petunia looked away from me, an unexpected pain in her eyes.
ÒHeÕs twenty-five, now. Yes, he is brilliant, but he has fallen away
from this beauty.  He has not painted in many years.Ó
	ÒGod, why not?Ó I asked, horrified, and turned to stare I her
eyes. I was stunned for a moment, because I had never met anyone with
violet eyes before. As far as I knew, Elizabeth Taylor was the only
woman who had them naturally. ÒItÕs a crime for someone to withhold
a talent like this from the world.Ó
Perhaps I was being a little melodramatic, yet the power of the painting
compelled me to make a statement like that. I just couldnÕt imagine
someone with a talent like that giving it up for something else. Petunia
smiled at me and gripped my hand impulsively.
	ÒYou know, no one else here has understood.Ó She said
slowly. ÒBut when I saw you, I thought that you would. You seemed to
be the type of person to sense beauty.Ó The moment hung in the air for
a second, the two of us gripping the otherÕs hands, staring into the
otherÕs eyes and truly understanding one another. Then it fell away like
so much sand and I turned from her.
	ÒThank you for showing me this place.Ó I said, regretfully
walking back towards the door. I had stayed here long enough already.
IÕm sure she didnÕt want me gawking any longer. Even so, a part of me
knew that something much larger had just happened between us. She
did not respond, even as I turned the doorknob. Just as I stepped into
the street, nearly closing the door behind me, I heard her voice. For
some reason, I had been expecting it.
	ÒSerena?Ó She said, quietly. I turned around and looked inside.
	ÒYes?Ó I said.
	ÒIÕm going on a trip next week. I should be away for a month
or more. Would you like to house sit for me? I have several cats that
need feedingÉdo you like cats?Ó
	ÒI love them.Ó I said, smiling.
	ÒWould you like to house sit for me? I could give you a good
wageÉis $120 dollars a day all right with you? I know that itÕs
probably not as much as you make at your current job, butÑÒ
	ÒIÕll take it!Ó I interrupted quickly. A quick mental calculation
revealed that nice large sum to be about $15 dollars an hour. A
ridiculous amount for mere house-sitting, but I wasnÕt about to quibble.
This break seemed too good to be true. I could already imagine my
impending meeting with Harvey, when I could finally tell him exactly
what I thought of him.
	ÒThatÕs great. IÕll come over tomorrow night to give you more
details, is that okay?Ó She asked.
	ÒItÕs great, wonderful, fantastic! Believe me, you wonÕt regret
this. IÕll be the best house-sitter to ever live!Ó
	She was laughing as I closed the door. Even as I walked across
the street, though, a little part of me thought that things had worked out
just a little too well, and PetuniaÕs smile had been just a little too all-
knowing for my comfort. Like she knew something I didnÕt and really
ought to. I squashed the doubts ruthlessly as I skipped in through the
front door and into my classically messy bedroom. What did I have to
worry about? Finally, my life was going somewhere. That at least was
true. If I had known where, though, I probably would have walked
straight across the street, to my bedroom, and forgotten about the entire
thing. Then again, maybe not.

	ÒAll right, Mina.Ó I said forcefully the next afternoon. I didnÕt
have work at the momentÑnot like I would have gone if I didÑand I
had as yet not been able to tell precisely what Mina did for a living. As
far as I could see, she dated just about every guy that walked, and then
slept off all the effort during the day. I figured that her parents were 
just
rich enough to afford this lifestyle, which she seemed to thoroughly
enjoy.
	ÒWhat?Ó She said lazily, dozing in a ridiculously expensive
antique leather couch that she had bought for our living room.
	ÒWe are cleaning this apartment.Ó
	ÒWeÕre *what*!Ó Mina exclaimed, suddenly sitting bolt
upright. She stared at me with an expression of sheer horror. ÒYou
canÕt possibly mean that.Ó
	ÒOh, yes I can.Ó I said ominously. ÒThere comes a point in
every womanÕs life where she just canÕt stand it anymore, and IÕve
made it! Do you see this?Ó I asked, holding out my cut and bruised
hand, recently injured by an offending pizza box.
	ÒWhat happened?Ó Mina asked.
	ÒIÕll tell you what happened, Mina! I tripped on a pizza box,
thatÕs what. And not just any pizza box, a *week old* pizza box. This
apartment is a health hazard!Ó
	Mina winced. ÒSorry, Serena. I should have picked it up.Ó
	ÒYeah, you sure should have.Ó I shouted, stalking over to the
television and coffee table. ÒAnd you should have picked this,Ó I
lobbed an empty soda can at her. ÒAnd this, and every other damn
thingÑÒ
	ÒAll right! All right!Ó Mina wailed, cowering under my rain of
trash. I relaxed a bit. ÒItÕs just that I never had to clean anything up
before. IÕm not used to it. IÕm sorry, IÕll help you.Ó I just stared at her.
She had never had to clean up before? How rich *was* she?
	ÒWhat are you, some princess?Ó I half-joked.
	MinaÕs mouth hung open in unwarranted surprise. ÒUmÉno?Ó
She squeaked, quickly turning away from me. I stared at her. What the
hell was going on around here? Well, if Mina wasnÕt going to tell me
how she got all that money, I wasnÕt going to ask. Right now, all I
wanted was to clean the apartment.
	ÒWell, Princess Mina.Ó I said, dragging her off the couch.
ÒFirst thing you can do is to clean every single piece of trash and food
that you have left around this apartment for the past month.Ó
	ÒAll right.Ó She said contritely.
	ÒDo you know where the trashcan is?Ó I asked, with forgivable
sarcasm.
	Mina stalked off, muttering under her breath, grabbing soda
cans and paper plates as she went. About three hours later, the
apartment was finally clean. It was funny, but I almost never felt an
urge to keep things neat. But about once every three months I caught
the most incredible cleaning bug, and ended up with results like this.
Mina lay on the couch again, rubbing her back, which she claimed was
sore from all the work. I just looked at her in disgust. It had been a full
time job just convincing her to clean anything at all. Despite myself, I
had done most of the work. To be honest, though, I had certainly made
my share of the mess. I barely recognized the place now; it looked so
uncluttered. I glanced at the clock, and let out a yell of surprise.
	ÒItÕs seven thirty!Ó I screeched, rushing to my bedroom.
	ÒWhat, do you have a date?Ó Mina asked sarcastically.
	ÒFor your information, I do.Ó I said over my shoulder, even as
I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it in a corner of my newly
clean room. Old habits die hard, I thought ruefully, as I realized that in
a week my room would look exactly like its old self again.
	ÒWith who?Ó Mina asked eagerly.
	ÒNo one you would like.Ó I said. No one I would like either,
for that matter, I thought ironically. Of course, this time, I might enjoy
my time with him a little more than usual. The very thought of telling
off Harvey made my heart race with anticipation. I had to look perfect
for this occasion, of course. In my bra and underwear, I ran to my
closet, trying to find something suitable to wear. Unfortunately, as I
looked at the dismal array of fancy clothes, my heart sank. I wanted to
look perfect, but my budget couldnÕt handle the level of finery I
required for this night. I wanted to make Harvey desperate enough to
kiss my feet, and then slam him.
	ÒOh no!Ó I wailed, sinking to the floor. Why couldnÕt I have
money like Mina? Well, this house-sitting job of mine ought to give me
enough money to buy at least one nice dress.
	ÒWhat is it?Ó Mina asked, walking into my room.
	ÒI donÕt have anything to wear!Ó Geez, a part of me thought,
IÕm acting like Mina.
	ÒNothing to wear?Ó Mina repeated, like it was a foreign
concept.
	ÒYeah, you know, like when you open your closetÑÒ
	ÒIs it formal?Ó Mina interrupted, oblivious to my sarcasm.
	ÒWell, weÕre going to a nice restaurant.Ó
	ÒSemi-formal, then.Ó She said sententiously. ÒWait here. I
have the perfect thing.Ó
	I sat on the floor, trying to imagine what on earth Mina could
have that would look good on me. I definitely did not have the body
type to pull off the outfits that she wore regularly. All questions were
answered when she came racing back into my bedroom, carrying a
dress. I didnÕt know that Mina owned anything so tasteful, I thought as
I stared at it. It was made of white silk, with a low neckline, spaghetti
straps and a slit up to about my mid-thigh. Mina helped me put it on,
and then led me to her full length mirror. It looked absolutely beautiful,
and we stared for a moment.
	ÒIÕll never look that good in that dress, you know.Ó She said,
finally. ÒWhy donÕt you keep it.Ó
	ÒNo, Mina, I couldnÕtÑÒ
	ÒDonÕt worry about it. IÕve got plenty of other things.Ó I
looked at myself again, stunned at the transformation. The silk hugged
my curves suggestively, and the collar was low enough to just give a
hint of cleavage. If Harvey didnÕt drop dead on sight of me, IÕd have to
check his vision.
	ÒI think I have some shoes to go with that, too.Ó Mina said,
shuffling through her closet, finally finding a pair of simple white
sandals. ÒHere, try these on.Ó I put them on dubiously, grateful at least
for the relatively low heel. I couldnÕt manage most of those shoes I had
seen Mina wear. I twirled a little, impressed with myself.
	ÒWow.Ó I said succinctly. ÒNow I just have to do something
with my hair.Ó
	ÒWell, thatÕs easy.Ó Mina said, quickly undoing the braid I had
put in for my impromptu spring-cleaning. She brushed my hair out in
long strokes, and the braid left it slightly wavy. My bangs hung
delicately on my forehead and my hair looked like gold on my dress.
	ÒI didnÕt think you could look so good, Serena.Ó Mina teased,
putting her arm around my shoulders casually.
	I punched her playfully. ÒJust wait and see. Soon IÕll be as
irresistible as you.Ó The sound of Harvey honking in the driveway
interrupted us. I ran to my room to grab my purse.
	ÒWill you be going out tonight?Ó I asked, running to the door.
	Mina grimaced. ÒNo, my date fell through. WeÕre switching
roles, Serena.Ó I winked at her and raced out the door. I walked slowly
to the car, relishing what I knew must be my appearance in the late
sunlight. Harvey stood by my door, his mouth wide open.
	ÒItÕs rude to stare.Ó I said sarcastically, as I closed his mouth
with a delicately placed finger. Oh yes, I would have a wonderful time
telling him where to put his rubber chickens.

	It was mean of me, but I couldnÕt pass up an excellent dinner,
courtesy of the ever-stingy Harvey. I ordered the most expensive things
on the menu, regardless of whether they looked good or not, and
contented myself with HarveyÕs stunned gaze. I ought to dress like this
more often, if these were the results. So I drew him out, evaded his
questions, and jiggled my cleavage just enough to render him
nonsensical. It was absolutely magical. Finally, though, the novelty
wore off, and I realized that another minute in the company of Harvey
would be practically unbearable. The time had come to do what I had
wanted since the day I set foot in Cluck-U four months ago.
	ÒHarvey.Ó I said gently, delicately eating the sundae that I
bought. The drool from the corner of his mouth had made a damp spot
on the table cloth. ÒWhat was it you wanted to talk about?Ó
	ÒHuh?Ó He asked, visibly shaking himself into semi-
consciousness. ÒOh, wellÉumÉabout the complaintsÉyou knowÉÓ
	ÒKnow what?Ó I asked, baiting the trap expertly.
	ÒWell, I just canÕt let that sort of thing slideÉÓ I raised my
eyebrows and he took a deep breath. ÒSo, youÕre fired if you donÕt
agree to see me on a regular basis.Ó He finished in a rush.
	ÒYou mean, if I donÕt agree to date you, youÕll fire me?Ó I
asked, with mock surprise.
	ÒWellÉthatÕs a harsh way of putting it, and allÉbut, yes.Ó I
nodded, shedding all pretenses with an alacrity that stunned him.
Harvey flinched slightly at my change in expression.
	ÒI just had to make sure. Well, Harvey, my answer is
unequivocally no. Under no circumstances would I ever agree to go out
with a scumbag like you, even if yours was the last job on earth. You
are a creep and a scoundrel. YouÕre lucky that I donÕt sue you for
sexual harassment. You have no right, doing this to me, making my life
miserable just because you are desperate and want a girl to make you
feel good about yourself. Here.Ó I spat, reaching into my purse and
taking out my wallet. ÒLet me pay for my half of dinner. Let it never be
said that I depended on you for anything.Ó I tossed fifty dollars on the
tableÑthe last of my money, as it happened, but I wasnÕt worried, and
stood up.
	ÒDo you have anything to say for yourself?Ó I asked, glaring
down at him.
	ÒSerena?Ó He asked, his jowls quivering with shock and
embarrassment. The rest of the restaurant was looking at us.
	ÒI didnÕt think so.Ó I said, and stalked out of the restaurant. I
felt slightly ridiculous, walking down the street wearing the dress, but I
didnÕt care. I felt free, and the feeling was completely delicious.
Finally, no more chicken hats, no more disgusting horny managers.
Finally, I could enjoy myself, and have more money to boot. In a fit of
impulsiveness, I took off my shoes and began to run down the sidewalk
to the evident amusement of fellow pedestrians. I laughed joyously,
tossing my hands in the air to catch the late evening breezes. I was still
three or four miles away from my house, but I didnÕt care about the
walk. It felt beautiful out tonight anyway. A small part of me felt guilty
for treating Harvey so badly, but when I reminded it of what he had
done to me, it fell silent. He had only deserved what he got, and I was
finally in a position to give it to him. I took a back way home,
wandering through quiet neighborhoods, decorated with verdant trees. I
skipped slightly, enjoying the feel of the silk on my skin as the wind
whipped through it. I felt beautiful, I realized. It seemed as though
everything around me were glowing with my happiness, me most of all.
The white of my dress seemed deep orange in the light of the dying
sun. I felt like a princess, lost from a faraway kingdom. Or perhaps,
even better, I was a beautiful and enchanting sorceress, commanding an
inexplicable power. I twirled a bit, trying that idea on for size, and quite
enjoying it. Sometimes it was fun pretending to a character from a
fantasy novel, but it always seemed so impossible, I gave up the
exercise as stupid. Finally, I turned onto my street with some regret. I
contemplated walking in the door, but decided against it. The night did
not seem quite over, somehow. I did not want to leave this newfound
beauty of mine behind, changing into my familiar frumpy pajamas and
sitting down with Mina to watch late night television. At the moment, I
felt magical, and wanted a few more minutes of it. My eyes fell on
PetuniaÕs, and I was suddenly overcome with a desire to see her again.
We could talk about arrangements for the house-sitting, or perhaps I
could just look at more of her incredible paintings. There was
something about her house that just made me itch for more. I walked
over and knocked on the door, wondering if my hand was really
glowing or if it was just my imagination. Petunia opened it a crack and
stuck her head through, to see who it was. When she saw me, she
opened it all the way, her eyes widening. For some reason, it seemed
strange that anything should surprise her, and yet both times she had
seen me her reaction had been similar.
	ÒPrincess?Ó She asked, seemingly angry about something.
	ÒHuh?Ó I said succinctly, staring at her a little askance. I was
*definitely* missing something around here.
	ÒOh, Serena!Ó She exclaimed, her body visibly sagging in
relief. ÒIÕm so sorry, I just mistook you for someone else, thatÕs all.
Come in!Ó I walked in, surreptitiously wiping my bare feet on the
welcome mat. I didnÕt want to drag twenty blocks of city streets
through her gorgeous house. I looked at the back of her frizzy head,
wondering who she had thought I was. I had not been aware of many
blonde princesses who gave audience to crazy ladies with strange taste
in clothing. I stood in the middle of her foyer again, hands to the side of
me, and my feet planted firmly on the marble. I couldnÕt explain it, but
there was a power in that room, that I could feel then. I closed my eyes
for a moment, drinking it in, feeling a sensation like I had while
walking here but much stronger. I could feel the glow inside me and
around. I wondered what was going on, but felt too enraptured to care.
Finally, aware of PetuniaÕs presence behind me, I opened my eyes and
fell into a more relaxed position, wondering what I had been doing, but
feeling inexplicably wonderful. Almost as if I had been bathing in light,
whatever that felt like. I turned around to look at Petunia, a sheepish
smile on my face. Something in her quizzical expression told me that
she knew exactly what I had been doingÑprobably more than I myself
did. She said nothing, however, merely led the way to her library. We
passed through her living room on the way and I quickly glanced
around to see if there were any more pictures by the nameless virtuoso,
but I was disappointed.
	The library was magnificentÑpractically embodying every
romantic dream of a reader like me. It was huge, about twenty square
feet, and paneled with dark mahogany boards. Every inch of the walls
was covered with books and papers. Books littered the floor and
countertops. There were two comfortable looking chairs in the corners
and a magnificent African table made of balsa wood in the center.
Several of the books looked old enough to be in a museum, and a quick
perusal of the titles revealed my ignorance. What on earth was the
ÒAgricultural Features of the Tergama PlainsÓ about anyway? I made a
mental note to look at it when I had a chance. Petunia made her way to
a desk set in front of a bay window. She rifled around until she pulled
out an envelope from a locked bottom drawer. I was surprised that she
was so careless as to show me where she hid the key. She quite
obviously pulled it from behind the bookcase on her left, and replaced
it just as blithely, ignoring me so studiously that I began to feel, yet
again, that something was going on right under my nose that I just
wasnÕt understanding. All notions fell straight out of my head when I
realized what she held in her hands.
	ÒIÕm leaving tomorrow morning. IÕll be gone for a month,
maybe more, so I thought that IÕd give you an advance on your salary.
ItÕs only fair, donÕt you think?Ó As a matter of fact I thought that it was
more than fairÑmore along the lines of completely ludicrous, but it
was all I could do to nod my head dumbly, staring at the wad of bills
she held so carelessly in her hand. ÒIs $2000 dollars all right? If you
need more I can get someÑÒ
ÒNo, no! ThatÕs fantastic!Ó I interrupted quickly. My hand
shook tellingly as she slowly counted the bills into my palm. Could she
possibly be serious? Was this actually happening to me? I thought I
would faint from mere joy.
ÒNow,Ó She said, businesslike, once she had finished. ÒYou
have to feed the cats twice a day. I left instructions in the kitchen.
There are four regulars, and one little tabby who sometimes comes
around to see me. Now, if he brings you mice or anything else, donÕt be
rude, just calmly explain to him that you donÕt eat those sorts of things,
and then offer him one of my special kitty treats. We donÕt want to
offend him, now do we?Ó
ÒNo, of course not.Ó I said, disbelieving. So, I knew she was
eccentric, but this was more than I had bargained for. Still, the cash was
in my hand, and I was not one to complain. I could talk to a couple of
cats if necessary. After all, I thought wryly, cats would probably be a
lot better company than Harvey.
ÒI knew you would understand.Ó She said smiling, but for
some reason, I got the impression that she knew what I was thinking,
and didnÕt care.
ÒFeel free to use the library. I know how big a reader you are.Ó
She did? I wondered how, since I had never told her, and up until
yesterday I hadnÕt seen her except from across the street. I forgot about
it, though. ÒWell, thatÕs everything, I think. Oh, and I hope you
wouldnÕt mind dusting in here, every once and a while. The library
tends to get *so* dusty, for some reason.Ó
ÒThatÕs no problem.Ó I said firmly. I could not believe that I
was getting so much for doing so little work. I would have cleaned out
her entire house, top to bottom, gladly for what she was paying me.
And use of this entire library? The very thought intoxicated me with
longing. Suddenly, I couldnÕt wait to get her out of here. Petunia,
obviously having decided that the meeting was over, led me back to the
front hallway, and I contented myself with the knowledge that I would
be able to examine these paintings in depth over the next month. Just as
I was leaving through the door, she called me back.
ÒSorry, Serena, just one more thing. Could you help me carry
my stuff to the car tomorrow morning? IÕm getting to old to carry it
all.Ó She batted her eyelashes, and I looked at her critically. Somehow,
I highly doubted that Petunia would get too old for anything.
Something in her demeanor, despite her eccentric middle-aged woman
appearance, belied all imitation at frailty. She wanted me there that
morning for some other reason, but I had no idea as to what it may be.
Shrugging my shoulders, I agreed. After all, what harm could it do? I
was probably overanalyzing the situation anyway.
The funny thing, though, is that I wasnÕt.

The next morning I left a sleeping Mina in our apartment and
wandered into the crisp air to help Petunia. I couldnÕt remember if she
had told me a specific time, so I had just woken up as early as my poor
late-rising body could handleÑabout 8:00 AM. I was relieved when I
saw her car in the drivewayÑa bright pink Volkswagen bug is kind of
hard to miss. It was a beautiful day anyway, so I didnÕt mind having to
wait around a little bit. So, I sat with my back against her door, and
contemplated how much my life had changed in the past two days. I
could hardly wait to get started with my new job, which sounded,
incidentally, much more like a paid vacation. I hadnÕt told Mina yet,
partly because I was afraid of jinxing the whole thing and partly
because I didnÕt want her to even think of stealing my dream job. It was
an irrational fear, of course. As far as I knew, Mina hadnÕt done any
actual work since we became roommates, and there was no reason to
think that she would want to start now. I could not even imagine the
amount of money her parents must lavish on her. I sighed wistfully, and
then reminded myself that I was soon going to be doing something
even cooler. Mina could have her money, I decided. I wanted PetuniaÕs
library. I also wanted a good two hours just to stare at that picture. I had
never been so entranced by any piece of art before. The very thought
that this nameless man had painted it at fifteen intrigued me to no end.
Twenty-five was still so young; I wondered if I could meet him. I grew
aware of an overpowering desire to do so, but I figured that it was
probably the hormonal fantasies of a single woman just out of college.
It was stupid to fantasize yourself in love with a painter you know
nothing about. I let out a small self-deprecating laugh. That had never
stopped me before. At precisely this moment in my thoughts, the door
opened inward, and I sprawled backwards into PetuniaÕs foyer. I lay
there for a moment, gazing up her fluorescent orange flower-print skirt
with a sense of astonished bewilderment. Petunia didnÕt even blink.
ÒOh, youÕre here.Ó She said, conversationally, stepping over
my recumbent form with precision. As I levered myself upwards, she
walked over to the car and opened the trunk. I had stood up by the time
she came back to the door, and she hurried me inside. Within the foyer
lay two huge trunks, filled with what I could not begin to name. There
were also several miscellaneous bags of varying sizes lying about. I
stared at the assemblage in horror. How could we possibly fit all of this
into that little bug? It reminded me, most vividly, of that scene in The
Sword in the Stone, when Merlin makes every item in his house shrink
small enough for him to pack in his carpetbag. Suddenly, I was forced
to suppress a giggle, imagining Petunia, frizzy hair flying, casting
magic spells to fit all of her luggage in her car.
She glanced at me with remarkably perspicacious eyes and
smiled slightly. ÒSomething like that, my dear.Ó She said, inexplicably.
I ignored the implications of that comment.
ÒHow long are you staying away, again?Ó I asked, still eyeing
the luggage.
ÒOh, I donÕt know. More than a month, less than a year.Ó I
stared at her, slack-jawed, but refrained from commenting. Did this
lady have an infinite supply of wealth? Was Bill Gates paying her
alimony? Whatever, I decided firmly, the longer she stayed away, the
more money I would receive, and the less work I would have to do. At
least, I thought so at the time. Of course, there was no way I could have
suspected what happened next. After some considerable straining and a
small miracle, we managed to pack most of her luggage in the car.
There seemed to be a distinct backward tilt on the vehicle, but I figured
it would last the trip to the airport. There was one particular bag that
Petunia insisted rode with her in the front seat. It was, to my barely
concealed amusement, a carpetbag, patterned in faded green and red. It
appeared to be filled with large and heavy books. It could not close
fully and looked inhumanly heavy, but she insisted on carrying it by
herself to the car. I confess that I was incredibly curious about what
was in that particular bag that she cared about so muchÑ because by
this time I was perhaps a little more curious about Petunia than was
healthy. Sure enough, though, she tripped on the sidewalk, and some of
the books spilled out of the bag. I rushed to her side immediately, at
least as concerned with the books as I was for her, IÕm ashamed to
admit.
ÒPetunia, are you alright?Ó I asked absently, while my eyes
raked the ground greedily for the titles she carried. I discovered nothing
particularly interesting, at first.
ÒNo, no.Ó She said, bending over slowly, ÒIÕm fine. LetÕs pick
up these books.Ó It was when I began to stack them back in the bag that
I noticed something particularly interesting. It was a smaller book than
the others, but much older. It was opened, but the script was positively
unreadable. It looked vaguely like old Japanese characters, but
somehow different. I wondered what it was, but almost immediately
after I received that glimpse, Petunia snatched it up, looking at me with
an unreadable expression. Finally, we were up again, and I placed the
bag very carefully in the front seat of the car.
ÒNow, final items of business.Ó She said, ineffectually running
her hand over her frizzy hair. ÒHere is the house key.Ó She said,
handing it to me. ÒIf IÕm gone any longer than a month and havenÕt
contacted you, you can call this number. It ought to tell you how to
reach me, wherever I am.Ó She handed me, of all things, the card of her
broker. ÒWell, thatÕs about it.Ó She said, smiling.
ÒI canÕt thank you enough for letting me do thisÑÒ I began,
but she interrupted me.
ÒOh, itÕs nothing at all. YouÕre doing *me* a favor!Ó She
exclaimed, patting me on the shoulder. I just stood, gaping, on the front
steps as she got inside the car. I really couldnÕt believe that this was
happening. She started the engine, and I raised my hand to wave
goodbye to her, but at the last moment, she leaned out the car window.
She called something to me, but it was inaudible over the rumble of a
car motor that was sadly out of repair.
ÒWhatÕs that?Ó I called, irrationally afraid that she would
come to her senses and take the money I grasped in my sweaty palms
away from me.
ÒDonÕt disappear until I come back!Ó I thought she called, but
I really couldnÕt be sure.
ÒHuh?Ó I grunted eloquently.
ÒDonÕt forget to feed the cats.Ó She shouted again, this time
more clearly. I frowned slightly, and nodded, choking in the exhaust
fumes as the old car puffed down the street towards Dulles airport.
Well, that was interesting, I thought, shaking my head ruefully as I
walked slowly back to the house. Why had I thought she said that,
anyway? Where on earth did I have to disappear, even if I did have the
money or inclination? I was firmly grounded, I knew. The only
opportunity for travel I saw in my immediate future was to my local
library; I couldnÕt even afford to buy most of my books. Nope, I
thought laughing and opening the door to her house, she definitely
couldnÕt have said that.

The next day passed in what I suppose you could call a flurry
of uneventfulness. I woke up blissfully late, ate a leisurely breakfast,
and then passed the rest of my day in the laborious occupation of
raiding her library. Well, the first thing I did was to scour her house for
other pictures by the same artist. Although he had not signed his name,
I felt sure that I would recognize another one. It seemed almost as
though I had connected my soul to the one who painted the pictures.
Unfortunately, there were none others in the house. I wonder if she had
them, but had just not hung them, but no amount of searching produced
any results. It seemed that whoever he was, he had kept the other
paintings to himself. I moped about this for a few hours, but I contented
myself with the thought that at least I had the one picture to look at. I
made a resolution, however, in some strange unformed part of my
mind, that I would find this painter somehow, no matter how long it
took. The distant sound of meowing from the kitchen finally returned
me to reality and I remembered PetuniaÕs cats. I walked to the kitchen
slowly, wondering who would greet me. Although Petunia had already
told me their names and shown me precisely what to feed them,
instructions were still taped to the refrigerator. There were four cats
prowling around, each of varying size and appearance. There was a
large yellow tabby called PumpÑshort for PumpkinÑthat looked
mean enough to get its own food without PetuniaÕs help. It probably
thought it was doing her an honor, I thought cynically, as he snapped at
me. The next cat was much smaller, much uglier, and at least equally as
tough as old Pump. Her name was Cleo, and she was an indescribable
mix, with fur ranging from pure white to gray-blue. She and Pump
were rarely seen without each other, as he offered her protection from
the other larger cats. The third differed greatly from the other two,
manicured, pampered and pure-bred, Jeannie the Persian was the only
of the cats to have a permanent indoor residency. Petunia had laid out a
special brand of cat food and a special dish just for Jeannie, as she had
an incredibly contrary and peevish personality. I only hoped that she
would like me, since I had a feeling that I would not enjoy living
around a disgruntled cat for over a month. The last one I didnÕt
recognize at first, because Petunia had not introduced me to him. He
was pure white, medium sized, with a surprising glint of intelligence in
his blue eyes. While he did not seem to be particularly mixed, I could
not figure out any breed of cat he would fit into. I knew that he did not
live here, even so much as Pump and Cleo did. Then I noticed the patch
of gold fur on his forehead, bearing a shape that resembled the crescent
moon, and I finally recognized him.
ÒArtemis!Ó I exclaimed, leaning down and petting him gently
on the head. ÒGeez, you little freeloader! I wondered where you went
after you got sick of MinaÕs pampering you. All the way across the
street, huh? Wow, you must really have it tough.Ó For a strange
moment I had the distinct impression that Artemis was embarrassed,
because he shrunk under my hand. ÒOh well,Ó I continued. ÒI forgive
you. So, what do you want?Ó I asked, straightening up and grabbing the
various cat foods from behind the counter. Unerringly, Artemis jumped
up next to me and walked purposefully over to the specialty cat food
that Jeannie used.
ÒSpoiled brat.Ó I said good-naturedly. After all the cats had
been fed and were sunning themselves, lazily, either on the back porch
or just behind the screen, I sat down and made myself some food. Mina
would get a kick out of finding out where Artemis had gone, I thought
with a smile. After a short while, though, I began to itch to see the
library. I cleaned up the remains of my lunch quickly and walked to the
library, pausing a minute in the doorway to take in the beauty of the
books. Here was heaven, handed to me on a silver platter. I let out an
excited whoop of delightÑwhich I was sure disturbed the catsÑand
raced inside. My enthusiasm received a check, however, when I
realized that over half of the books were in some different language.
The writing looked like Chinese or Japanese, but for some reason it
didnÕt strike me as quite normal. For one, I thought that the Chinese
and Japanese read from right to left, but these books opened in the
Western direction. I forgot about it, though, when I found PetuniaÕs
hidden stash of trashy romance novels. Now, I have to break here to
properly explain the appeal of romance novels. At first glance, they
seem like the lowest form of English writing, the Jerry Springer Show
of the literary world. Well, to be honest, they still seem that way after
you read them. But you begin to see why some people watch Jerry
Springer, tooÉitÕs just fun. Romance novels let you enter a world
where the hero is always kind of cocky, good at heart and the proud
owner of an admirably sizedÉletÕs just call it Ôoperational device.Õ I
always get so delirious when I think of a guy rescuing me like that. I
can imagine myself throwing my arms around his strong, thick neck
and happily shriekingÉwell, his name. Whatever that may be. At least
it isnÕt Harvey. In fact, the very thought made me burst into
uncontrollable giggles for several minutes, and I couldnÕt pick back up
my book. I believe that it was entitled ÒThe Bridge in Paradise Place,Ó
but it was terrible even by romance novel standards, so I stopped pretty
quickly.
I glanced at the clock, surprised to see that it was already four.
Had I really been sitting here that long? It was surprising, but not *too*
surprising, considering my literary habits. I stretched, and was about to
look through the book collection again before I remembered something.
Mina had asked me to run to the store and get some wine and hors
dÕoeuvres for an intimate dinner she was planning with her latest fling.
She seemed more serious about him than any of the others, despite his
absolutely ridiculous nameÉEnglebert or something along those lines.
I had never seen him, but she assured me that he was Òpositively
dreamy.Ó Grumbling, but pretty interested to meet this anonymous guy,
I stood up, stretched my legs, and tossed the book back in the hidden
stash. Just as I was about to leave, I noticed a small bookcase, partially
hidden behind the open door. I hadnÕt noticed it before. Suddenly, I
didnÕt care if I was late getting the food for MinaÕs little get-together. I
absolutely had to see what was on that shelf. I donÕt quite know what it
is about mystery that intrigues me, but you give me something
forbidden or unknown, and I will make every effort to divulge its
secrets. In retrospect, I wonder if it was this simple curiosity that drove
me to this corner, or the contrived machinations of outside forces who
even then were watching my moves closely. Regardless of the reason, I
ran to the shelf, and closed the door quietly, for some bizarre reason
checking over my shoulder. Petunia had, after all, given me free rein
with her library, yet I somehow had the feeling I was doing something
forbidden. Dismissing the feeling, my greedy little hands picked up the
heavy, leather-bound tomes, most of them dusty with age. I discovered,
to my dismay, that all of these books were written in the same strange
language that I had seen previously. The dust tickling my nose made
me sneeze loudly, but I would not give up until I had peered through
every book. After perhaps fifteen minutes, and twenty sneezes, I gave
up. About to leave, I reached within the largest shelf one more time,
superstitiously hoping I would come up with something different. To
my surprise, I did. This time I had drawn out a slim volume, with a
plain cover of black leather, a perfect circle embossed on the cover in
gold leaf. As I stared, I felt all of the feverish intensity of the past few
minutes leave me entirely. I had the most bizarre sense having finally
found the necessary object. I opened the cover reverently, unsure of
what to expect. The pages were blank. The only writing, of any kind
was on the inside cover. An inscription, written, surprisingly enough, in
perfectly intelligible modern-day English. It read:

Beyond the Mirror lies the LadyÕs key
You who hold this: write, so hidden eyes can see.
[AN: So sue me, IÕm not a poet! At least it gets itÕs point acrossÉ]

The meter was a little skewed, I thought critically, completely
baffled by its meaning. My thoughts were thoroughly scrambled,
however, when a particularly piercing screech, emanating from
somewhere below me, caused me to drop the book in shock. After my
heart rate slowed to a decent level, I realized that the screech had, in
fact, not come from a ghost, but from Artemis, looking at the clock as
though he knew I was wasting time.
	ÒDonÕt you ever do that again!Ó I gasped, still struggling to
control my breathing. Not looking repentant at all, Artemis meowed,
loudly, at the clock.
	ÒWhat are you, my keeper?Ó I said in annoyance, forgetting
entirely about the book. ÒHowÕd you get in here, anyway? Fine, all
right, I get the picture! IÕm going to get the stuff, I promise!Ó Artemis
looked a little appeased, and I sighed in relief. He could be a
formidable opponent in certain situations. I opened the door and stalked
out, trailed by a particularly persistent white cat. It seemed almost as
though Artemis knew I had promised Mina to get the stuff. It was
strange, but animals did strange things sometimes. I gave the beautiful
watercolor one last longing glance before I left, a pause that elicited yet
another remark from Artemis. He expressed every intention of
travelling with me as I locked the door behind me, and I stared at him
critically.
	ÒYou know, maybe I can serve her kitty fritters for appetizers
instead of bothering with the supermarketÑÒ I covered my ears at the
volume of ArtemisÕ wail. I started laughing. ÒServes you right, you
little busybody. Now mind your own business!Ó Despite my protests,
Artemis stayed right on my heels on the way to the grocery store and
back home. I thought he would follow me inside the apartment, but it
looked like he had decided his work was done for the day, and took
himself off without so much as a goodbye. I might have had time to
consider that extremely disconcerting episode had Mina not attacked
me the moment I entered the door, leaden down with groceries.
	ÒOh, Serena!Ó She exclaimed, not offering to help me bring
the bags into the kitchen. ÒWhere have you *been*! EngieÕs going to be
here any minute now!Ó At the sound of her pet name, I almost died of
laughter.
	ÒWhat are you laughing at?Ó She demanded imperiously.
	ÒHe has such and *awful* name!Ó I wheezed, completely
abandoning tact. ÒI mean, almost anything would have been better.
Even Barney, or Mortimer, orÉorÉHerman!Ó I started laughing again,
but stopped short when I noticed the stricken expression on MinaÕs
face.
	ÒHermanÉÓ She whispered, her hand over her mouth. Her
eyes suddenly clouded with tears and she ran to her bedroom,
slamming the door behind her.
	ÒWhatÕd I say?Ó I asked to no one in particular, wiping my
watering eyes. ÒHuh, *I* thought it was pretty funny, myself.Ó

	Mina recovered from her unexplained bout of female hysterics
pretty quickly, and emerged from her bedroom immaculately dressed,
as if nothing had happened.
	ÒWhatÕs that smell?Ó Mina asked, her nose high in the air. I
shrugged my shoulders, intimately involved with trying to decide if
Worstechire sauce would be a decent substitute for molasses. They
looked alike, after all.
	ÒIt smells like something isÉburning! SerenaÉyou didnÕt?Ó
She asked, genuine horror in her voice.
	ÒDidnÕt what?Ó I questioned innocently. Now that I thought
about it, there *was* an interesting smell in the air.
	A brief flare of light in the oven finally alerted her. ÒThe fish!Ó
she wailed plaintively, running towards the now-smoking range. ÒMy
beautiful fish! Serena, how could you! You know that you canÕt cook!Ó
	ÒButÉbutÉI thought IÕd save you some timeÉandÉÓ
	Mina looked like a vengeful goddess, her hands wrapped in
oven mitts, holding a pan of unidentifiable charred black bits in front of
her.
	ÒYou do not cook fish at five hundred degreesÑÒ
	ÒBut you said you were running late, so I thoughtÑÒ
	ÒUnder *any* circumstances! What are you making over
there?Ó
	ÒWellÉÓ I said, moving surreptitiously over to cover what I
was sure I had messed up as well.
	ÒNever mind. I donÕt want to know. I might get an ulcer.
Before I say something that I regretÉÓ She shook the tin of charred
fish for emphasis, and I winced. God, but that smelled awful. CouldnÕt
she just dump it in the sink instead of waving it in front of my nose?
	ÒGet out of my house.Ó
	ÒBut itÕs not yourÑÒ
	ÒGet *out* and donÕt come back until Engie has left! I donÕt
want you embarrassing me.Ó
	I was about to argue, but then decided that it wasnÕt worth it. I
had obviously been outvoted. Trying to bear my shame bravely, I
walked to my room, grabbed my teddy bear and my pajamas, and
stalked out of the house, feeling MinaÕs angry blue eyes boring into my
back.
	So much for a pleasant evening at home.