Adornments of Glory

 All rights reserved © 2002 J. Crispin-Ripley


 No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from Double Dragon Publishing.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.



Cover design by Deron Douglas
ISBN: 1-894841-54-9
First Edition eBook Publishing June 27, 2002

 

  

  

  

  

  

  

 Adornments of Glory

 J. Crispin-Ripley

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  



 Adornments of Glory

  

  

  

 The knife quivered in the tree trunk beside Windrover's head. He'd felt it go by, heard it hit and knew better than to move. She would be changing position and have another blade ready. If thrown, it wouldn't miss. As they said in Terran fiction, "The first shot is a warning."

  

 "It's me, Feldspar." He should have known better than to pop in on his foster niece unannounced, but teleporting to a further spot and walking in wasn't as impressive. Planetsinger said vanity would be the death of him. At least sometimes she said that. Other times she said it would be his weight.

  

 "Well, so it is. Okay Unc, you have my permission to faint." Feldspar's soft contralto came from his right. He'd been looking left. Yes, she was good.

  

 "I wasn't scared."

  

 "Liar. You also have my permission to move."

  

 Windrover turned to face her. The grin was familiar but when she had left Capitol a year earlier she'd worn her woman's body like a nervous colt. Now she stood tall and confident, meeting his gaze with level eyes, deep and smouldering with a barely suppressed passion for life. It was a shame they had a familial relationship. He'd heard stories. Mind you, they weren't actually related. "You've become quite the beauty. Come here and give your old uncle a kiss."

  

 She didn't walk. Rather, she flowed. Her aura was stronger than he remembered. She got closer, and Windrover shivered. Those familiar dark eyes held a glint he didn't like. She treated him to a half-smile. "I don't want to kiss you." She pulled the knife from the tree. It could have been buried in butter rather than oak for all the effort it took. "Skythane's right about you. Don't worry, he's not here right now." Her smile had gained her mother's sardonic edge... if you could call that a "gain".

  

 "I wasn't worried."

  

 "Liar. Again. As usual."

  

 "It's just I don't approve of his approach to justice and don't want to get into that old argument today."

  

 Feldspar wiped sap off her knife. "You're right. We should discuss something else. So, what's up, Unc?"

  

 "Can't I visit my favourite foster-niece without having an ulterior motive?"

  

 "No." She didn't meet his eyes, instead examining the knife as if looking for spots she'd missed. "You can't breathe without an ulterior motive, and you're not side tracking me into any of your disarming chat. If all you'd wanted to say was 'hi', you could have written. But I haven't heard from you since I left Capitol."

  

 "I've been busy." He should have kept in touch. After all, she was the Prophesied and even without a seer's talent, he knew she'd play a pivotal role in the planet's future. He just hadn't expected it to happen so soon, hadn't thought he would need her until she was older. But things hadn't gone as scheduled. "How can your old uncle make amends?" he asked.

  

 "He can't… you're not here as my uncle, Windrover. You're here as a manipulative politico presuming on a personal relationship."

  

 "I'm not! I'm here on Adepts Five business… recruiting for a quest." Trepidation! He hadn't meant to broach that subject so soon. Damn Skythane. Since he and Feldspar had taken up with each other Feldspar had lost her innocence.

  

 "Yeah, everyone knows that." Apparently satisfied with the state of the blade, Feldspar slipped her knife into its sheath. Still level, and now cold, her eyes met his.

  

 "They can't!"

  

 "No, they don't… not everyone. Just teasing, uncle dear. Mind you, rumour has something serious is shaking Diluvia and it's not exactly like I'm isolated." She turned her back on him and started to walk away. His eyes were drawn to her tight leather breeches… such sweet cheeks, each would be a perfect handful.

  

 She slowed, stopped and turned to face him again. She sighed. It did marvellous things to the fabric covering her breasts. A sad shake of her head. "Most people treat me like I'm an adult in more than body. I suppose I should know better than to expect the same from you." She unclipped her com-reader from her belt. "I told Skythane to make himself scarce because I expected you to show, and he's less forgiving than me." She pressed three pads and tossed the com-reader to him. "As you can see, Planetsinger contacted me yesterday with the news. Encrypted, of course."

  

 Windrover caught the reader but didn't bother looking at its screen. "I'm surprised she didn't just use mind-touch."

  

 Feldspar grinned. It was the old grin, hers as opposed to her mother's sneer. "I'm sure she would have, if she could. I've been working on my shields."

  

 "Can you teach me?" Windrover hadn't known anyone could elude Planetsinger's mental reach for long. Other than behind the ancient shields which kept the Academy sacrosanct, he certainly never'd been able to hide from his on-and-off companion.

  

 "I'll tell her you were asking. I'm sure she'll want to know why. By the Unknown, Unc, I've missed you and your scheming belly! Whatever people say about you, no one can call you dull--tiresome maybe, but never dull--care to join me for dinner? There's an excellent inn in the village. They make the best chocolate cake on Diluvia."

  

 "You're forgiving me?"

  

 "Like Planetsinger says, you are what you are."

  

 "I shouldn't." The cake sounded good but he was on a diet. Planetsinger claimed to be as tired of him cheating on his diet as she was of him dallying with impressionable young women. "How powerful are your shields?"

  

 "Not strong enough to include someone of your girth, but I can make the cake look like something more wholesome."

  

 "Your illusions are that good now?" If so, and with her improved mind defences, maybe having her lead this quest might not be as hopeless as he'd feared. Certain people would be less than pleased to learn about Feldspar's developing power, assuming he told them.

  

 "Your confidence in me is underwhelming. My illusions have been that good since I was six. I've always known neither you nor my equally loving mother deserves anything resembling the truth."

  

 Windrover didn't like being lumped with Bethina, or having to consider Feldspar had never been as innocent as he'd thought. Had she been deceiving him all her life or was she lying now? Then again, did it matter? She'd put him off balance and there weren't many who could do that. Choosing this girl... this woman... to lead the most critical quest since the creation of Diluvia might not be as big a mistake as he'd feared when the cursed fairy stuck its oar in and cast a decisive vote in her favour.

  

  

 The roast hare had been exquisite, the best ever. Windrover wanted another.

  

 "No." Feldspar shook her head. "I promised you dessert but other than that you've had more than enough."

  

 She sounded all too much like Planetsinger. And he hadn't voiced his desire. "Are you developing a talent for mind-reading as well?"

  

 "No, as the dwarves say, I'm only human. But I know you and your appetites, Unc--like anyone doesn't. You're getting cake, as promised, you'll have to be content with that."

  

 He could sneak back later for another hare, and maybe the luscious blonde serving wench who'd been giving him the eye. Women of all races were attracted to power. He watched his foster niece walk to the counter to get his treat. Only human? Was she? He hadn't believed it before, but speculation was Bethina broke the Compact by coercing some elf to father Feldspar, her much anticipated fifth child. Males were attracted to power too--what else would explain his fascination with Planetsinger after all these years?

  

 And like her or not, Bethina was powerful. Of course, anyone who'd seen Feldspar with Maramatma on one of his rare visits knew he was indeed the girl's father; her sculpted features were his, as were the deceptively gentle brown eyes. And if Feldspar's complexion was caramel rather than blue-black, which was understandable given that Bethina was an icy blonde. No, it was the "only" part Windrover questioned. Feldspar was the Prophesied, and he was beginning to think her well-noted failure to live up to her billing just might be the ultimate proof of her abilities.

  

 Feldspar came back to the table with what looked disgustingly like an oversized bowl of gruel.

  

 "That's cake?" Even for gruel, it was disgusting.

  

 "I keep my promises." Feldspar put the bowl down, picked up a knife and sliced the bowl in half. "There you go."

  

 "No, this doesn't look the least bit suspicious." If this were indeed gruel, it would be all over the table. Everyone in the inn was smiling. If he didn't go along with the gag he'd look foolish. If he did, he'd look foolish and have satisfied his appetite for sweets, presuming Feldspar was telling him the truth about the cake. He picked up his half-bowl with both hands and took a bite out of the centre. Feldspar was right--the cake lived up to the hare. This inn was a true find.

  

 But Planetsinger would find out he'd cheated. So what? He was tiring of her incessant demands he change. Windrover took another look at the robust wench behind the counter. More quality--those breasts begged to be fondled. She met his eyes, licked her lips and smiled. That decided it--might as well make this a clean break from the old nag.

  

  

 "So, Mistral Brown Badger, you wish to take her away from me."

  

 For all his bulk, Windrover could sure jump. Feldspar had seen Skythane coming, but from the smudge of cake on his face and the disturbed look in his eyes, Windrover hadn't. He'd always complained Skythane didn't show him the respect due the elf on Adepts Five. But why would he do any such thing? Skythane's mind-powers were greater than Windrover's, by far; if he'd wanted to be the elf Adept, he would be.

  

 But Skythane had no interest in being tied to that duty, especially as it would put him in close contact with Bethina. Yes, that would be very uncomfortable, to be so close. Feldspar smiled at the thought. For some reason, her smile seemed to increase Windrover's discomfort. Maybe he thought she'd enjoy seeing the two of them fight... over her. She winked at her foster-uncle. Skythane had been teasing, but Windrover's sense of humour had gone missing. Mind you, Skythane had addressed him by his proper name rather than the more respectful appellation given to adepts. That was a declaration of at least equal status and therefore could be considered a challenge, should Windrover so choose.

  

 "Cirrus Gold Kestrel." Windrover was on his feet. Feldspar could see a tremble in his stance but he was obviously prepared to do battle.

  

 She couldn't let that happen. "Behave yourself, Windrover. Skythane wasn't serious."

  

 Four surprised and annoyed eyes were suddenly on her rather than glaring at each other. That overweening prick! Skythane hadn't been joking. That meant he considered Feldspar a possession you would fight over rather than a person--no other interpretation was possible. Feldspar tried to keep anger from showing in her voice. "I'm leaving you no matter what, Skythane."

  

 "You're leaving? Leaving me?" As if to say no one could possibly break off with a gold elf, especially him. One most certainly could!

  

 "Nothing personal, but I think I need a period of chastity in order to grow." From their faces, neither elf understood. Until just now, Feldspar hadn't either. "I'm beginning to think you were drawn to me simply because I'm the Prophesied." They still didn't get it. Feldspar suspected her dilemma was similar to one common in Terran fiction when a rich person didn't know if a lover was attracted to them or to their money. But you could lose Terran money or give it away, and as long as she lived, she'd be the Prophesied.

  

 "Who cares why we're drawn to you?" The rolls of Windrover's face bunched into puzzled wrinkles.

  

 Skythane nodded agreement. Then a look of realisation appeared on his face as if, at last, he realised his error. Too late, prick-brain. "You know there's more to it than that, love."

  

 "Oh, I most certainly do." Feldspar put a challenge into her eyes--back off, or else.

  

 "So, Windrover, could you perhaps enlighten me as to the purpose of this quest?" Skythane asked. Good, he didn't want to make their private life public either. Feldspar breathed an unvoiced sigh of relief and turned her attention to Windrover. How much of his secret would he tell?

  

 "Quest? What quest? Okay, so there is one, but I am ever so sorry, Skythane--even if that much has become known, Adepts Five would be in agreement that I shouldn't disclose anything more."

  

 Adepts Five wouldn't agree on whether it was day or night if the sun was beating on their addled heads. If she didn't get this moving they could be here for hours. "Could the mysterious quest be anything to do with the theft of the Adornments of Glory?"

  

 "Damn Planetsinger! How dare she?"

  

 "She didn't. The quest is common knowledge and rumours of the theft were on the backbone an hour before you arrived," Feldspar said, patting her com-reader and smiling. "Anyone could put the two together."

  

 "On the backbone? The whole planet knows? I have to return to Capitol immediately." Windrover jumped up from the table, reaching for Feldspar.

  

 She slapped his hand. "Don't grab. You could lose a hand. I'll be with you in a moment." She stood and faced Skythane. "I hope you won't take this split too personally."

  

 "Of course not. I understand completely." From his tone he didn't understand it at all.

  

 Feldspar took the tall blonde elf into her arms, tilting her head slightly to be kissed. "Liar. That's okay. In time we'll forgive each other." Their lips met. Feldspar felt her own shudder meet Skythane's as the familiar body pressed closer. He might be a stupid prick, but he had a lively one. She was going to miss that big fellow more than she dared admit, even to herself.

  

 Skythane broke it off and pulled his head back. "I will accompany you on your quest if you ask."

  

 "I'm sorry, no." Feldspar stopped and looked at Windrover, who was looking at her. He'd said the same words she had, at the same time. She nodded her head slightly, deferring to him. She hadn't any idea what she'd been going to say and hoped he had a better reason than wanting distance.

  

 "I'm sorry, Skythane, but one thing Adepts Five actually did agree on was that if she insisted on taking you, we'd find someone else."

  

 "I'm that unpopular?"

  

 "Nothing to do with you. The rules for quests forbid long-term bedmates from being in the same party. Conflict of interest and all that. I thought you'd know."

  

 "I forgot." Skythane was as unconvincing a liar as Windrover. Always had been, now Feldspar thought of it. It had never been about her, Feldspar, and always about her, the Prophesied. And a few bed-tricks… or rather, more than a few.

  

  

 * * * * *

  

 "I still say she's entirely unsuitable." Belinda had said that as long as Feldspar could remember. Windrover had teleported Feldspar not only to Capitol, but to the Academy, immediately outside the Stone Tower where Adepts Five met. Four of the five were present, the absentee being the usual one, the fairy, Twink.

  

 "Now Belinda, be reasonable." That was easy for Caltrop, the other human member of Adepts Five to say. He was present only by astral projection and Belinda would need to travel through a portal and then two days on foot to face him down. "Don't think of her as your daughter."

  

 "That's easy. I haven't for years."

  

 Feldspar knew that to be true, but hearing it hurt. Like it or not, and she didn't, Belinda was her mother.

  

 "The reason she's unacceptable is because she's craven and nigh on powerless." Belinda leaned back in her chair and suppressed a studied yawn. "Any true daughter of mine would fight back, against even me. We need someone capable of killing that miserable traitor the instant she sees him."

  

 "Like you, I suppose." Caltrop gave Belinda an ironic bow.

  

 "You know who took the Adornments?" Feldspar wanted the conversation to move off herself and her shortcomings as the Prophesied, and as Belinda's daughter... and as a sentient being.

  

 "I told you we did." Didn't Windrover believe her capable of conversational gambits? Did he think she was three years old? "Don't you ever listen to me, child?"

  

 "Quiet." The dwarf, Square, stood and hammered the stone table with a fist. "Elf, be polite. Belinda, behave."

  

 Caltrop stepped forward; his projection was cut in half by the stone table. "Feldspar, it's thought the culprit is Delarone of Red Lodge by the Falls. What are you looking at? Oh." He stepped back and became whole. "As I'm sure you well know," he continued, "Delarone is one of your mother's former passion puppets. I'm sure she takes his betrayal as personal."

  

 "That aside, he's human slime," Square said with finality.

  

 "But aren't all humans slime to you, darling?" Belinda patted the dwarf's hand. "Besides, you're just jealous." Humans and dwarves were traditional foes although there were notable cases of intimacy between members of the races--Square and Belinda for instance. Few approved but fewer dared express their opinion; Square and Belinda were both powerful telekinetics--those who dared criticise either tended to be found crushed by a fallen tree or wall.

  

 "For some inexplicable reason," Caltrop continued. "Belinda wants to go after Delarone herself." Feldspar doubted Caltrop would dare tease Belinda if his body was in the same room as hers. "I think it's just that she wants to visit Terra--not many dwarves... lots of humans... lots of good sex... you could go too, Square... oops, no you couldn't... no long term bedmates allowed. Darn, if she goes, she'll just have to make do with humans."

  

 "Buffoon." Square wasn't amused. "Wait until I see you." He sat.

  

 "Feel free to visit."

  

 Feldspar broke in. "Terra? You didn't tell me the quest was to Terra."

  

 "You didn't ask, and you were so smug about knowing everything." This Windrover was no loving uncle. "And I still think Belinda should be allowed her revenge," Windrover continued, his smile almost a Belinda-quality sneer. "I'm sure it wouldn't take long."

  

 "You voted against me and in favour of my mother?" Feldspar stood and took a step towards him. Windrover hadn't mentioned that either. "Why?"

  

 "Because the idiot hopes Belinda would fail and be killed while on Terra so he'll never again be humiliated by her refusing to bed him," Caltrop said, flipping Windrover the finger. "Okay, okay… seriously, I suspect he fears you, as the Prophesied, will fulfil your fate." Caltrop's projected image squared its shoulders. "As it was said: 'Great Sylvester, the fifth child of the fifth generation after your own will lead legions of the unknown. A world shall crumble as the mighty lose their might, and the lesser are raised to heights...'"

  

 "No need to perorate the accursed thing," Windrover jumped to his feet. "We all know what it says. Prophecies aren't worth harpy dung anyway. Far too vague."

  

 "I'd think you'd like that one though." Feldspar had had enough. "You're so far from mighty, uncle dear, that you'd have to be raised."

  

 "I vote in favour of Belinda." Windrover lowered his bulk back into his chair, his eyes spewing psychic poison at Feldspar. Anyone with weaker shields would be writhing on the floor in anguish.

  

 "I also vote in favour of myself." Belinda stood and thrust out her chest; like that scant item would impress anyone. "And Square, if you ever want me in your bed again, you will also."

  

 Square leapt back to his feet. "Against. There's younger and more lithesome flesh than you freely available. And I charge you, Belinda, with being a traitor, in league with Delarone."

  

 "Against," Caltrop said quickly. "And I strongly suggest everyone settle down and reconsider their words and actions, including me. I apologise for any offence I may have given. Square, coming from a normally wise and taciturn dwarf, I found that speech both long-winded and ill considered. Belinda could rightfully challenge you to trial by combat if you don't retract it and apologise immediately."

  

 "She would lose such a challenge. I retract nothing. Delarone is her creature, at her depraved bidding... as I admit to once being."

  

 "Far more than once." Belinda sounded smug. "And you will beg for my favours again, as you have so many times before. Delarone isn't my creature, but you most certainly are, cuddle bunny."

  

 "Very well." Caltrop's image started to fade. "Destroy each other... see if I care. For you, Windrover, a piece of friendly advice. Know Feldspar only speaks the truth regarding your talents at mind-science and you'll live longer. Your strength is your creative dishonesty, not your showy but pathetic abilities--as an adept, you're limited. Whatever... in the absence of the fairy, the vote deadlocks and therefore fails. This meeting is over."

  

 "Please, don't vanish quite yet," Feldspar said. "I need witnesses." She held herself straight. "Windrover and Belinda, I hereby formally renounce all familial ties to you and cast you both from my life. Good-bye." She turned and left the room.

  

  

 In late afternoon, the grounds of the Academy were busy, but the beings thronging the streets, squares and parks swerved away from Feldspar as they saw her approach. At the same time all watched her closely. As the Prophesied, Feldspar was accustomed to being of interest, but this scrutiny was of a different order, one tinged with dread. Word about the theft and the quest was out. People knew she would be recruiting for Terra and few, other than elves, had any desire to visit that unbalanced world. Her divorce from her mother and foster uncle might also be known and few would want to offend either. Caltrop would have ensured that news got on the backbone immediately.

  

 Perhaps she was becoming the Prophesied in truth, as she now was the epicentre of events shaking Diluvia as violently as any since the world's beginning. No wonder people were frightened. She wasn't just Feldspar now, but an apparition betokening unsettled times.

  

 If she weren't so numb, Feldspar suspected she might be gibbering with terror herself. Short hours ago she had been an obscure apprentice Justice wandering a far edge of the Fringe. Since then she had left her lover and mentor, been declared leader of a quest, forsworn most of her familial ties and in the process made enemies of two of Adepts Five, her ex-mother and once foster uncle. Anyone joining her would inherit those problems.

  

 But her more immediate concern was a growling stomach. That she could do something about. She purchased a grilled trout and two cobs of corn from a booth and withdrew to a shaded wall. There, she covered herself with an illusion of shadow. As an illusionist her talent was minor, particularly compared to that of her maternal grandfather. Some of his apparitions were still in place and he'd been long since recycled, defeated by a former lover whose mind and body had recovered from the man's affections sooner than expected. Feldspar's own illusions faded quickly when she quit focusing her mind, and were small scale, but she'd learned to use them effectively. Her childhood had been lived in shadows, hiding from Belinda.

  

 The edge of her hunger gone, Feldspar considered her next move. Quite obviously she would spend the night at the inn of Square's clan. Not only was she the enemy of Square's enemies now, her familial tie to his daughter, Grunt, was one that could never be cut. The fairies had danced to celebrate Feldspar's birth--the birth of the Prophesied and Grunt had been born at the same moment, a short distance away.

  

 Some thought the ritual dance had joined Feldspar and Grunt with a psychic bond. Whatever the reason, Feldspar and Grunt were soul-sisters, closer to each other than if they'd been carried in the same womb. Still, they had their own lives, and were very different. Grunt lived and loved for the moment and openly disapproved of Feldspar's cautious approach to coupling, which she termed "just another way to hide." She particularly objected to Feldspar's lasting liaison with Skythane, saying if you had to cling to someone out of fear of sleeping alone, it'd be nice if your chosen partner had a brain.

  

 That needed to be worked out. Skythane might be in the past now, but Feldspar still believed sexual and companionship needs could be fulfilled by the same person--just not by him. When Grunt heard, she'd start working up an "I told you so." The longer she was given, the more involved it would be. Feldspar longed to start the argument. She expected to lose, even though she knew she was right, but first she had duties... a world to save or at any rate, information and a quest party to gather to that end.

  

 Feldspar agreed with Adepts Five, and the quest rules; long-term bedmates couldn't be included. Nor could anyone who'd ever slept with Belinda--not to mention, Belinda herself--not on her quest, thank you. Knowing her ex-mother, the woman was precisely brazen enough to ask, even now. Also, since the Adornments reportedly were on Terra, Feldspar decided she'd go further--any being who had been there was equally out of the running. They might be implicated.

  

 That would make finding an elf to join the quest difficult. Most elves had been on Terra, or would at some time. As a race, they felt responsible for Terra's woes; they had been involved on both sides of the great war between the dwarves and humans--the war that ended with flooded and sunken islands.

  

 On Terra, populated almost exclusively by humans, the two worlds' shared history was half-remembered legend. But for elves, ten thousand years was but ten generations, and their collective sense of guilt remained strong. Not native to Terra and already refugees from a ruined world, their grasp of mind-science made an ugly conflict into one that ended with the sinking of Atlantis. Now, Terra was risen again, and the Terran Internet linked to the Diluvian backbone. So far the flow was largely one way but that would change over time, maybe… if Terra survived.

  

 Feldspar made her way back into the warrens of the Academy, towards the Communications Centre that surrounded and overshadowed the Stone Tower of Adepts Five. Its steel masts broadcasted news, gossip and chatter to satellites, and then to com-readers and community screens throughout Diluvia. The Communications Centre was Spinecracker's domain.

  

 It was unlikely Windrover or Belinda would look for her there; although, if they knew her at all, they should. Spinecracker had been Feldspar's first lover when she'd become an adult at sixteen. The relationship had been kept secret these past four years; it was entirely inappropriate, his being an elf some six hundred years her elder. In public they'd never been known as more than casual acquaintances. In private their relationship was entirely physical in nature. Grunt would approve, if she knew. Today, however, Feldspar hoped to pump Spinecracker for information. She smiled to herself. And more... she'd admit it. She had no illusions about Spinecracker being a suitable companion, but he was a superior lay.

  

 At the main door Feldspar stopped to consider her plan of action. Another inward smile--as Belinda now was an enemy she might as well do what she could to ruin her mother's reputation, such as it was. Feldspar set her face in a scowl and stepped out of the shadows as an illusion of Belinda.

  

 She kicked open the door. "Out of my way! Stand aside or die, idiots!" In truth, she didn't need to say anything, the sight of Belinda storming past sent everyone scattering for the exit. When in a rage Belinda often used her telekinesis to send beings and objects in her path flying. Feldspar had always considered that as much an act as what she was now doing; if Belinda used full force against any being without good shields, including trolls or giants, they didn't get up again until they were reborn.

  

 "Where's that accursed rumourmonger? Toad, how dare you allow those lies onto the backbone? Toad!"

  

 As far as Feldspar could see, everyone had fled the building. Still, she should stay in character. She stalked towards the control room. "Toad, you coward, get out here and face your doom."

  

 "A bit overdone, dear." The familiar voice came from behind. It seemed she'd caught him using the facilities. "Even Belinda wouldn't dare address me as 'Toad'."

  

 "It's your name." Which was true, but even in private, Vigour Grey Toad was referred to by his Adept appellation of Spinecracker. No one cared to anger him. If they did, their public reputation was likely to be destroyed. Control of the backbone was as great a power as any.

  

 "You're looking good, Feldspar." Spinecracker licked his lips. "Tasty too."

  

 "You can see through the illusion?"

  

 "All you've assumed is her face and coloration. The delicious body is all yours. Your curves are delightfully fuller than hers." Spinecracker traced an exaggerated womanly figure in the air. Yeah, right--who did he think she was? Grunt? "Don't you worry though, I'm sure I'm the only one calm enough to notice. But tell me, why did you think the subterfuge necessary?"

  

 Should she tell him the truth, that she'd done it to besmirch Belinda's reputation? Or that she could emulate the visuals of Belinda's wider waist and smaller breasts perfectly… just not the touch… and that touch was everything to her? No, he was talking down to her every bit as badly as Skythane had. Was that always the tone he'd taken with her? If so, this was the first time she'd noticed. Still, he didn't deserve an honest answer. "Because herself and Windrover are sure to be out to get me."

  

 Spinecracker laughed. "Not a chance, little girl. Right now Windrover is grovelling at Planetsinger's feet, begging her not to abjure him as you did. I don't think she'll forgive him this time, even after a suitable crawl. Would you like to see the live feed?"

  

 "No, thanks. I hadn't expected that would happen." She became herself again. Spinecracker smiled and move a step closer.

  

 "Neither had he, dear, neither had he."

  

 "I meant I didn't think Planetsinger allowed live feeds of her doing anything."

  

 "Her request." Spinecracker put his hands on her hips. "You're right. I'd never ask. She said she wanted all Diluvia, and Windrover, to know that he and Belinda are verging on becoming anathema in the eyes of the Great Mother. Belinda won't dare raise a hand against you after this. It would be as good as proving Square's impulsive assertion of her treason to be true."

  

 "And is it?" Spinecracker's touch evoked sweet memories.

  

 "If anyone knew, I would. Now, you came here for a reason, other than to besmirch Belinda?" One of his hands slipped under the waist of her breeches and discovered dampness.

  

 She sighed. So she hadn't fooled him. Oh well... "I came for information."

  

 "No, you came for advice. You have all the information you need. But as you are here, perhaps you have other needs I can palliate?"

  

 "I expect so." She covered his intrusive hand with one of hers and voiced a faint moan. "Would you be in a position to help me relieve my stress?"

  

 "That will take several positions, dear, and a considerable amount of time but yes, I think I'm up to doing a great deal in regard to that matter." From the evidence between his legs, he was. Feldspar shivered in anticipation, and remembered delight. Spinecracker knew what she wanted far more than Skythane ever had. Older men had their charms. They understood sex was as much mind-science as physical manipulation.

  

  

 * * * * *

  

 Grunt opened another frame for yet another search. Damn backbone got hard to massage when you were looking for stuff that wasn't officially there. Had to find the right disc and bore in and even then, you had to get lucky. Stuff from around the founding of Diluvia got garbled by having gone through generations of computing technology, not to mention the Great Changeover when the babbling languages of the sentient beings got smashed into the Common Tongue, the language the Terrans called English. Damn Shakespeare--if it wasn't for him, her Old Elvish would be better and she'd speak some warped modern variant of Dwarf-Speak--as if that would be any use researching legends.

  

 A red-bordered frame blipped into the centre of the dozen frames already open on her monitor. "An Urgent Communication"--yeah, sure it was. Still, she'd been waiting for it. Daddy Square wasn't going to let her bugger off without an argument. She'd hoped he'd be dumb enough to come hammering on her door so she could just flatten him in righteous anger and be on her way. Nope, the old blockhead had learned. She shut down her searches, disconnected her com-reader, and ran a scrubber to wipe the vestiges of what she'd been doing from the terminal. She'd continue later, using the dinky com-reader screen… after she said a fond farewell to the family inn.

  

 Daddy Square would be down in the common room, honking back ale like it was his last day of life. Piss her off and it might be, but no, offing your genetic forebearers was frowned upon with heavy brows by the gods … ethereal, hidebound meddlers that they were. Needed new blood, they did. Needed blood of any sort--most of them had ascended so long ago they didn't remember what it was to be flesh. Or so went her theory. She talked to the gods all the time, but the discorporate idiots never answered.

  

 Before she went downstairs she tossed her pack out the window. Wouldn't be back, except in passing. Had a feeling about that, she did--couldn't say why. And how did she feel about home? Revulsion about covered it. Only reason she'd hung around so long was waiting for something-or-other-she-knew-not-what. It hinged on the Prophesied and now Feldspar had been forced into some action other than looking for her mythical "true love", that "something" probably was going to happen. Damn it, she'd make it happen if Feldspar didn't. Her soul-sister could be a cloud-brain.

  

 The common area of the inn was packed. Pretty much every male dwarf she'd ever ridden or given a taste to was in attendance. Did Daddy Square think pleasures of the flesh would be enough to keep her? Might have been, if any of the swellheaded, flaccid-groined candidates present were as good as they thought. Trouble was, they didn't think… all that blood rushing to between their legs deprived their brains… all thrust, no wiggle. She'd take an elf over any of them... even a human. Better not say that, though. Could start another war. Damn idiots nigh on worshipped her; they did… in their tumescent way. Considered her body their property… had that backwards, they did.

  

 As she descended the staircase--they all were staring-- Daddy Square gulped his tankard down and waddled to intercept her. Must be important, in his mind. Didn't even stop for a refill.

  

 "Gotta talk." Hands on hips in front of her.

  

 "Outta my way." She didn't want to go deeper into the common room and didn't want him thinking he could interfere with any course of action she chose to undertake.

  

 "Sorry." He stood aside.

  

 Sorry? Him? Sorry she wasn't another kiss-butt female, maybe. Sorry she was his daughter, probably… most of the time… except when he tallied the take at the bar. She brought in the business, she did. Sorry he was losing his meal ticket, most likely.

  

 "Outside." She jerked a thumb towards the door.

  

 "Sure."

  

 Agate scrambled from his table to intercept her before she could escape the inn. "Don't go."

  

 She'd ridden him more often than anyone in the place. Great stamina, no style… marginally more satisfying than masturbation. No telling him that… thought the gods intended them to be together. Time to correct that impression.

  

 "Marry me, Grunt." Wasn't a request. Rather, an order. Stupid male. Grunt led with a right. He blocked it. Nailed him with a roundhouse left. He staggered, then slumped to the floor.

  

 "How?" Daddy Square didn't get it. A skinny female shouldn't be able to hammer like she did, shouldn't be what every dwarf wanted on his pallet either--but she was.

  

 "I'm a damn incarnation, that's how." Didn't believe that, herself. Didn't matter--from the private communications she'd pulled off the backbone over the years, the prevalent theory regarding her seemingly unnatural allure and fighting prowess was exactly that--she was a god pissing around being flesh. Damn unlikely, but it was a useful fiction.

  

  

 No one followed them outside. Dwarves were damn slow sometimes, but not entirely stupid. Square didn't say anything right away. Probably giving her time to let her rage subside. Except she wasn't angry, not at all. Grunt turned to face Square. "Okay, let's get to it. Whadda want?"

  

 "You know that Feldspar…"

  

 "Yeah, yeah… she's the Prophesied, she's leading a quest to get back the Adornments of Glory, she divorced her mother and Windrover, she'll ask me to go to Terra with her… and you, surprisingly, have aligned yourself with her, against the blonde bitch… so…?"

  

 "Smart ass kid."

  

 "Musta got the brights from my mother's side. Ever hear from her?"

  

 Information regarding her mother was almost impossible to obtain. A spacer, the woman left Diluvia on a long-haul ship shortly after Grunt was weaned, or so the story went. For all her expertise at massaging the backbone, Grunt had never been able to get the name of the ship, much less make contact. No one would talk either. From the duress she'd applied to various people, directly to tender parts of their anatomy from time to time, Grunt believed major mind-science had been applied to make all memories of her mother vanish from the minds of the semi-comatose living.

  

 "Barely remember her," Square replied. "I was one of many in her bed. DNA proved you're mine. Sorry."

  

 "Whatever." They'd been through this too many times. Grunt wondered why she kept trying… except she hated mysteries. "You did want to talk… about now?"

  

 "Don't go."

  

 Grunt waited. That was it? Okay, she could play dumb dwarf too. "Don't? Why?"

  

 "Danger."

  

 She nodded. "Quest." Quests were dangerous. It was one of their salient characteristics.

  

 Square shook his head. "Before too." He took a deep breath. Was he going to say something more? The breath expelled in a sigh.

  

 "Danger from Belinda and Windrover?" If she didn't speed things along they'd be here forever. Daddy Square wanted to say something he didn't want to say. "You're afraid your girlfriend will come after me to keep me from going with Feldspar? I'm not afraid of Belinda the bawd."

  

 "Should be. I am." He met Grunt's eyes. "Always have been."

  

 "If she's so scary why have you been boffing her long as I can remember?"

  

 Square shrugged. "Great sex. You should understand that." He looked around as if to see whether anyone else might be listening. "She's a vampire. Can feed back, if she wants."

  

 "Dragon dung." Nothing she'd found on the backbone hinted at any of that. Grunt could believe Belinda might be a vampire--lots of beings were, in a minor way. But the ability to drink any significant amount of life essence was rare. And to feed back? Unheard of. "Nominal?"

  

 "Stronger." Square shrugged again. "Fourth rank, maybe third."

  

 "Damn." Fourth rank could take a few minutes of life at a time from the victim. Third--hours, and make the prey weak, vulnerable to physical attack. And being able to take life essence and feed it back… if Belinda could… yeah, that would make for mind-blowing sex… perhaps literally.

  

 She closed the distance between herself and her father. "And you've helped her keep this secret, for years. Why break ranks now? Does Belinda have something to do with the theft of the Adornments?"

  

 "Don't know. Won't tell me. She demanded I swear an oath of fealty." Anger crackled in Square's voice.

  

 "Then why don't you want me to go with Feldspar?"

  

 "You're my daughter. I love you."

  

 "Damn." That wasn't the answer she'd expected. Was it one she could believe? Did she want to? That was easier to answer…

  

 "I'm going. Now." Grunt turned her back on her father. She'd recover her pack from behind the inn and head into the forest. She had a feeling she knew where Feldspar just might turn up.

  

 * * * * *

  

 Feldspar crept through the pre-dawn Academy grounds feeling much better about herself and her world. So much for being chaste. She'd meant it when she said it, but it had been some time since she'd been bedded so well. A night with Spinecracker was a long steady climb to an ecstatic plateau. Skythane was in her past. And the future, as always, was unknown. The present, however, had a glow.

  

 It had been a worthwhile night in other respects also. Although Spinecracker steadfastly refused to give her advice about her quest in particular--no matter how she twisted her tail--he'd filled her in on quests in general, in between otherwise filling her in. Males occasionally needed time for recuperation, even male elves, and in those interludes to maintain a woman's interest, they'd answer almost any question. She'd admired his control both while erect and while flaccid, but he'd said more than he'd probably meant to.

  

 The current situation, according to Spinecracker, was that as Feldspar had been appointed to lead, until the quest was underway. To all effects and purposes, she outranked Adepts Five members, the Monarch's Inner Circle and even the Monarch. The resources of Diluvia were hers to draw on and anyone who interfered risked the strongest possible censure, up to and including being recycled. Windrover and Belinda would avoid her like one dying of troll fever.

  

 Spinecracker had also reminded her of much she already knew, that a quest was traditionally undertaken by a party of five: leader, wizard, muscle, scout and guide. Ideally at least one member would also be a healer. Then again, ideally the leader would be able to take on any of the roles. While Spinecracker had been enthusiastic in singing praise to her abilities, Feldspar considered his confidence ill placed. She wasn't anyone special, prophecy or no prophecy.

  

 Wizard, muscle, scout and guide. As Feldspar passed through the Academy gate and started towards Capitol she considered recruitment. Obtaining a scout and a guide would be next to impossible. Spinecracker hadn't said so, but she still felt couldn't trust anyone who'd ever been to Terra. If Windrover and Belinda were up to something, anyone with Terran experience she met would probably be provided by them. The only solution possible was that the guide and scout would have to be recruited on Terra, from willing locals. She would concentrate on the other two roles, wizard and muscle. Both would have to be people she could trust.

  

 Feldspar smiled to herself. Her muscle was obvious, her soul-sister, Grunt.

  

 So, her wizard should be an elf, one who didn't volunteer. That would give the party leaving Diluvia the proper balance, with one member from each of the so-called civilised races: a human leader, a dwarf as muscle and a wizard elf.

  

 None of the elves Feldspar knew would do. Anyone she could think of either wouldn't accept her as a leader, or had shared her pallet many times. If they'd been in her, they were out. As it must also be someone who hadn't been to Terra, and who ideally didn't have close ties to any elf who had, the field of candidates was limited. Elves lived long lives and were few in number; they tended to be connected to each other in myriad ways. And most had been to Terra, albeit in many cases not for hundreds of years. She'd find a solution though, if it was meant. She had faith in the inevitable and hoped it was reciprocated.

  

 Sunrise found Feldspar on an inland path to Capitol, one well away from the heavily travelled routes nearer the lake. It led to the inn of Square and his clan. Grunt would have been expecting her the previous evening, but of all people Grunt would understand the reason for Feldspar's tardy arrival best.

  

  

 Half-lost in planning a future course, she almost didn't notice a change in the present. The pervasive morning bird-song had fallen silent. She stopped, then stepped off the path. This close to Capitol there shouldn't be any large predators: no cougars or harpies, and certainly no bear or rouge wolves. But something malign lay ahead. The forest was frozen in anticipation of blood.

  

 She slipped deeper into the trees and made her way forward in a wide arc, first away from and then towards the path she'd been following. The last curve before the meadow would be the only spot suitable for an ambush. It was tempting to just continue on, by-passing the attackers, leaving them to wait for her forever… or until they gave up. But what if this wasn't directed at her? Addled beings from the Fringe or the wilds might have crept in to the regulated areas, seeking fatter and less cautious prizes than they'd find where they lived and belonged.

  

 Not likely, not here in the heartland, and not on the day she'd been named to lead a quest. That would be asking too much of coincidence. But if it were directed at her, how had they arrived so quickly? And how did they know to lurk on this particular path? Someone who knew her habits must be responsible. Belinda and Windrover would be the only likely candidates and, as to how those lying in wait would have made it in from the Fringe so soon after the announcement... much as she hated to think it, Windrover must have teleported them in. There wasn't any other explanation. She'd keep one alive, and ask.

  

 There, ahead, a short and blocky figure, more virulent green than the foliage. A goblin? Where there was one, there would be many, but even deep in the wilds, goblins normally weren't aggressive. They lived off carrion, off the leavings of others. Feldspar felt relieved Windrover's talents wouldn't have been required for this ambush. He was shallow, not evil like her ex mother. Goblins were local. There were thousands in and around Capitol, valued members of society in their limited way.

  

 But their limited way didn't include skulking in bushes, waiting to attack passers-by. As Feldspar moved closer she saw there were perhaps a dozen goblins in all. The closest was armed with a knife. Even that weapon would stretch a goblin's grasp of technology--clubs were their norm. The temptation to just sneak by got stronger, but goblins being goblins, they'd probably attack the next person to come along. They weren't bright enough to have set up this ambush on their own… or to know one strange human from another.

  

 But she didn't want to kill innocents, however stupid they might be. Circling the group on her side of the path she found one goblin who was isolated, out of sight of his… no, her comrades. Feldspar slipped up behind her and, with a sharp rap to a temple, rendered her unconscious, catching her before she fell to the forest floor. Okay, how long would it be before the others missed her? Long enough, she hoped.

  

 Feldspar lugged her captive deep into the woods--carrying a being half her weight while being silent was a true test of her woods-craft. She made it to a spot that should be out of normal earshot, gagged the goblin with a tawdry scarf Skythane had gifted her--good riddance to both it and him--then revived her captive.

  

 "Promise not to shout?" she asked. The question was met with blank incomprehension. Too complex? "No yell?"

  

 A nod--of agreement? Only one way to find out. She removed the gag. "Feldspar," she said, pointing to herself. "You?"

  

 "Me!" A gap-toothed grin. Great, how could she possibly interrogate someone with a sub-hundred-word vocabulary?

  

 "Who tell?" she asked, trying to take in the scene of the ambush with a wide sweep of her arm.

  

 "Man."

  

 "An elf?"

  

 "Man."

  

 "Fat?"

  

 "Man."

  

 Okay, it seemed she had all the answers she was going to get. She pulled a knife from her belt. "You want live?"

  

 "Want live." A nod. From the look of terror in the goblin's eyes, she understood.

  

 "Okay… come." Feldspar led her captive back to before the bend in the path. If she could distract the other goblins they'd probably abandon the ambush. If not… someone would die--maybe her, and maybe not. Could she take a dozen goblins? Probably, but she'd rather not find out.

  

 An illusion should work. "Okay. Wait." She closed her eyes. It was a trick she'd done at parties, on a smaller scale. Would it work here? She concentrated and thought 'dragon.' She opened her eyes. So far, so good… a bit misshapen and far larger than dragons grew, but a good illusion none the less. "Look at hand," she ordered.

  

 The goblin obeyed, saw a hand that looked like a claw, screamed and started running down the path as fast as her stubby legs would take her. Feldspar loped behind. Flames from the mouth would be a nice touch. Yes! Her goblin's screams were met by other screams from the forest and a clamour as the ambushers left their positions and started running in all directions. Feldspar let the illusion drop. That should do it. Once the panic left off, they wouldn't remember what they'd been doing.

  

  

 The path fanned into a dozen branches at the meadow. While keeping her senses open for more trouble, Feldspar's feet naturally followed the third from the left. It led to Square's inn, Grunt's home. The next one out led to the dwarves' food mines, and the outermost bypassed Capitol altogether, winding deep into the forest. Planetsinger would be out there, somewhere. If she wasn't looking for you, or worse, didn't want to be found, you could wander forever and not catch a glimpse of the Great Mother. Given the situation, Feldspar expected Planetsinger would be in touch before it was time for the quest to leave for Terra.

  

 The ground-level windows of the stone inn were dark and on the second floor, the blinds were still drawn. Dwarves weren't early risers unless they had to go to work, and with a crisis impending in Diluvia, the previous night would have been unusually raucous, even for dwarves. Feldspar was just as glad she hadn't been there. Dwarves were rough bedmates. She opened the door wide enough to slip through and no wider. Everyday wisdom said 'let sleeping dwarves lie' and she'd always found that a good idea. Dwarves who'd ended up slumped on tables or unconscious on the floor of a inn's common room were the worst.

  

 The floor was thick with bodies. From the look of it, half the community hadn't made it home or to other after-drinking activities. Even in the murky light Feldspar could see a number were injured. She stepped over snoring bodies to make her way to the stairs up to the bedrooms. Around the roped-off dais where formal challenges were fought, Feldspar recognised half a dozen of Grunt's would-be boyfriends.

  

 Agate seemed particularly badly off. A proper healer probably had checked him the night before, but Feldspar made her own examination anyway. His face was heavily bruised and his neck at close to an unnatural angle. Feldspar put a hand on his arm and concentrated on an all-purpose restorative. Her powers were limited, but it would help. As Agate gave out a groan, Feldspar stood and continued on her way. He wouldn't appreciate her help. Not only was she human but also, according to Agate, the sole reason Grunt hadn't agreed to become his chattel--Feldspar's human influence had given Grunt un-dwarvish ideas about the role of women. Most female dwarves had those ideas already, but male dwarves did their best to ignore realities they'd rather not see… just like males of every other race. Feldspar continued on and up the stairs, curious whether she would find anyone else in Grunt's bedchamber.

  

 Not even her soul-sister was there. The bed hadn't been used. Maybe she was in some other room? Unlikely, but if she canvassed bedrooms for Grunt any conscious dwarf male might rightfully consider it an invitation for him to have his way with his visitor. But she didn't want to go back downstairs. If Agate had woken fully he would have kicked a number of others to their feet by now and after routing the goblins, she was too tired to fight. She returned to Grunt's room and closed the door. No one would dare enter Grunt's domain uninvited, other than herself. This was an excellent opportunity to catch a few hours of sleep. She dozed off immediately.

  

 "Hey!"

  

 "Okay, okay, I'm awake. Quit shaking me already." Feldspar opened her eyes. Grunt looked rough. Always thin for a dwarf, she'd lost weight in the year they'd been apart and her eyes were red-rimmed. That last was probably a temporary condition. "And just where did you spend the night, slattern?"

  

 "Damn forest," Grunt answered. "At your damn shrine." Dwarves didn't sleep outdoors, given a choice. And while Grunt was an unusual dwarf, in that she was typical, she liked her creature comforts and pleasures.

  

 "I never would have looked for you there. And it’s not my shrine, just where I was born." Feldspar rolled out of bed to stand by her friend. "You're taller?" It wasn't really a question. Grunt had most decidedly gained a couple of inches in height, which she shouldn't have, not at her age. Unlike elves, adult dwarves and humans couldn't alter their body shape or mass. Grunt had always been tall for a dwarf; now she was more the normal height of a human.

  

 "Your damn fault."

  

 "Sorry." Feldspar wasn't sure what she'd done.

  

 "Serves me right."

  

 "Okay why does it serve you right?" Getting information from a dwarf was like pulling the claws from a grizzly's paw.

  

 "Damn soul-sister to the damn Prophesied."

  

 "You don't need to think I like being what I am either. Being the Prophesied is a curse. And utter nonsense-" Feldspar shuddered--'utter nonsense' was a Belinda phrase. Maybe Belinda couldn't help that Feldspar was her fifth child and therefore the inheritrix of prophecy, but the woman had added to it by birthing her heralded daughter at a shrine in the forest of the Great Mother, conveniently near the inn of her lover, Square, a leading dwarf Adept. As Belinda said, she'd covered all races, at least the three civilised ones.

  

 If there were anything to the prophecy, Feldspar thought it showed more in Grunt than in herself. While Feldspar was to all appearances a standard human, albeit one others found exceedingly attractive, Grunt was no normal dwarf. She had been far taller and thinner than any other known, even before her recent spurt of growth. And she was eloquent, when not playing at being surly. She also had a sultry charisma that brought admirers from all over Diluvia to Square's inn seeking her favours.

  

 "I've never heard you complain about our connection before," Feldspar said into the continuing stony silence. "Quit being such a dwarf and just tell me what's going on."

  

 "Damned if I know," Grunt answered, a grin spreading over her broad face. "Remember, I'm just a dumb blonde." She fingered the platinum half-proof of her statement. "I had to go hide last night. Everyone figures if you take me to Terra, I won't come back. They're right."

  

 "So that's what happened to Agate. You're the one who clobbered him."

  

 "For sure I did. They abhor the thought of their vision of carnal perfection buggering off, the poor lads do. And I think Daddy Square would prefer his inn's drawing card remain resident."

  

 "I thought he was in favour of my going on this quest," Feldspar said.

  

 "You? Most certainly. Me? Kind of doubt it. Figure he'd do pretty much anything to keep me around."

  

 "Arrange for goblins to swarm me?"

  

 "What? Are you kidding? No way he'd even think of hurting you. He knows if I even got a hint of it, I'd mash him into a pot of porridge. Not that stupid, he isn't."

  

 "Someone is." Feldspar started to tell Grunt of her adventure.

  

 Grunt held up a hand. "Want to tell me the tale over lunch, oh mighty Prophesied? Daddy Square can treat us to a bite to eat before we get out of here."

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 Many calories later, Feldspar and Grunt headed off into the forest to find Planetsinger. Over brunch they'd decided she'd provide the best, if perhaps the most incomprehensible, advice available regarding the quest. As the Great Mother, Planetsinger was beyond politics. No way she would be responsible for the goblins. Matter of fact, she'd be horrified--assuming she hadn't already discovered everything there was to know about the incident.

  

 Assuming she could be found. The forest trails always seemed to change and this day they led Feldspar and Grunt to one place only, the shrine.

  

 "I suppose this is a sign of something," Feldspar said, kicking the dark granite rotunda. "Tell me, Grunt, out of all the places you could have gone last night, why did you come here?"

  

 "Thought you'd wander this way when you didn't find me at the inn."

  

 Feldspar sat on one of the carved benches. "I suppose I might have. If I hadn't been so tired, I'd have headed into the forest anyway."

  

 "And the forest would have brought you here," Grunt said. "Besides, I came here because, for outside, this is a good place to sleep."

  

 That was true. The shrine was shelter and sanctuary. Hunting animals would avoid the structure, even foolish goblins. Set in the middle of a wide meadow and by a sparkling stream, the shrine was also an excellent picnic site. It wasn't really 'her' shrine, except for the fact that her mother had chosen to birth her there. Grunt knew that. As usual, she was teasing.

  

 "I found a better place to sleep last night," Feldspar said.

  

 "Sleep? Damn unlikely."

  

 "You know me so well, oh wise one. So, tell me, why do all paths lead here today?"

  

 "Planetsinger." Grunt sat beside Feldspar and put a strong, sororal arm around her. "Or some meddling god or other."

  

 "I'd hate to think any of the gods would pay attention to me." She was god-fearing, as anyone with intelligence had to be. But having the fairies dance at her birth was bad enough; she didn't want to be god-bitten as well. Mind you, she probably had as much choice about that as she'd had regarding the fairies at birth. Gods didn't ask permission.

  

 A familiar apparition flickered into being in front of them. It seemed Grunt had been right again, as usual. They'd gone looking for Planetsinger and Planetsinger had chosen to find them instead. She began to solidify. Evidently, this wasn't going to be one of her spectral visits. Planetsinger reached to one side, into nothing, and pulled. A tall being flew into existence beside her and fell tumbling to the grass at Feldspar and Grunt's feet.

  

 "I'm too old for this sort of thing." He picked himself up. "Hi ladies, I'm Shimmerscribe."

  

 "Don't think so," Grunt said.

  

 "She means you're not an elf," Feldspar said. Grunt played dwarf to excuse being rude. "At least I don't think you're an elf," she continued after taking a second look. He was as tall as most elves preferred to be in order to deal with humans, perhaps taller, but no elf would choose to have such a lined and aged face. "And even Grunt can see you're not an adept."

  

 "Thanks loads, soul-sister." Grunt took her arm from around Feldspar and shifted away on the bench. "Even Grunt. Hah!"

  

 "No, he's not an elf." Planetsinger had finally achieved corporeal status. "And yes, Shimmerscribe's a name that properly would belong to a great elf adept. You'll have to forgive him. He's a writer from Terra and took the name before he understood our ways."

  

 "Damn fool Terran," Grunt muttered under her breath.

  

 "Indeed," Shimmerscribe said. "I'm guilty of that sin and of writing some incredibly inaccurate fiction featuring elves, dwarves and the like. I beg your forgiveness."

  

 "I decided it was time Terra learned something of us, and us about them," Planetsinger said, hands on hips.

  

 "We know all about Terra," Grunt said.

  

 "From the bits of our internet that show up on your backbone?" Shimmerscribe laughed. "Pardon me, but no. The only Diluvians who know anything about my planet are those who have lived there. At its best, the Internet contains little but self-serving lies, and the version you get here is heavily filtered to boot."

  

 "We cut out the band-wasting graphics and sound," Grunt said. "Other than that, we get everything."

  

 "Damn fool Diluvian," Shimmerscribe said. Maybe he didn't know mimicking Grunt could lead to loss of teeth.

  

 "That wouldn't be appropriate, dear." Planetsinger moved in front of Grunt as she started for Shimmerscribe. "The main point I hoped to make by bringing Shimmerscribe along was that your party is going to be questing in an alien world with little in the way of resources to call on. Most of the people sending you would as rather see you fail as succeed."

  

 "We know that." Grunt took a step back but her expression said she still longed to rearrange Shimmerscribe's face.

  

 "Any help you get from Diluvians is as likely to be hindrance as the help it purports to be. The likelihood is you'll fail and we can't afford that." Planetsinger furrowed her brow. "Not with the Adornments of Glory there, and in unknown hands. We have to get them back."

  

 "Why?" Grunt asked. "They were tuned to Glory and she's long since recycled. No one can use them."

  

 "They were keyed to her aura, but Glory herself had five children."

  

 "And she may yet be reborn," Shimmerscribe said, his arms inscribing a circle over his head.

  

 "Didn't realise you're a metaphysician." Grunt tilted her head to one side as if trying to get a different perspective on Shimmerscribe. "If you are you should know transmigration doesn't work that way. Ever hear of split soul theory."

  

 "Don't be so sure… no one is quite sure how rebirth does work, dear," Planetsinger said with a smile for Grunt. "However, it's Glory's descendants I'm concerned by, not that she may again walk among us, although that would be a wonder for the ages. No, traces of elvish blood run in most human veins. The Compact that ended the Atlantian war forbade more being added but, among others, Delarone's lodge of Red by the Falls has been inbreeding for centuries trying to strengthen what they have of Glory's line. Delarone is the culmination of this and he hopes to be able to learn to use the Adornments himself. But if he can't, others of Glory's line live on Terra. It could be that one of them will have an aura close enough."

  

 "Doubt it," Grunt said.

  

 "Doubt nothing, young one," Planetsinger said. "Take it as true. If it is, we're looking at major trouble. We can't take the chance."

  

 "What chance?" Feldspar asked. Time to show Grunt she wasn't the only one who read Diluvian history. "The Adornments are benign. The Circlet amplifies the wearer's charisma and the Chain makes their shields stronger. Was I talking too fast?" She asked Shimmerscribe who was writing frantically on a pad of paper. "And why aren't you using an eternal scroll instead of murdered forest?" If she'd had any doubts Shimmerscribe was Terran, they would be gone. Only Terrans were stupid enough to kill trees for reading and writing materials.

  

 "I'm keeping up fine." Shimmerscribe lifted his head to look her in the eye. "But thank you for your concern. I'm afraid I'm just old fashioned. Don't trust electronics. But what about the other Adornment, the Sceptre?"

  

 "No one knows what that does."

  

 "However, there are theories… but I'm sure you know them. Even Grunt does." Grunt gave a theatrical yawn. "Sorry, I had a short night that was no fun at all."

  

 "No, I don't know them," Shimmerscribe said, tilting his head forward on its long neck.

  

 "Do your own damn research, human."

  

 "We haven't time for this, children." Planetsinger sighed. "You can fight amongst yourselves when Diluvia is once again safe. Feldspar, we're not actually certain the other Adornments are as benign as Grunt said, but the jewels on the Sceptre are anything but. They're synthetic, crystalline batteries. As you know, the portals to Terra act like funnels; it's much easier to get there than to get back. It's thought the jewels can power the portals in the other direction, if activated by one of Glory's line, opening us to invasion. Now, I have other business. Shimmerscribe and I will see you again when you've found a third member for your party." Planetsinger grabbed the human's arm and they vanished.

  

 "Why does she do that?" Feldspar asked.

  

 "Do what?"

  

 "Disappear right off but always fade in when she arrives."

  

 "Damn drama queen."

  

 "You're right, that probably is it." Feldspar turned to face Grunt. "I apologise. You do your dumb dwarf act so well I sometimes forget you're smarter than I am."

  

 "Don't overdo the false humility, thou vainglorious wench. And let's go. I don't intend to sleep here again tonight. Which way, oh fearless leader?"

  

 They couldn't return to Square's inn. That was known enemy territory now that Grunt had been recruited for the quest. And they needed to find their third Diluvian member quickly so they could leave for Terra and concentrate on Delarone and the Adornments rather than fighting Diluvian foes and estranged family members.

  

 "That way." Feldspar pointed to a path that, if the forest paths were working normally again, would lead them to the other side of Capitol. "To balance the party we should look for an elf."

  

 "Don't you always?"

  

 "And just what do you mean by that?"

  

 "Where were you last night? Probably dropping your drawers for some skinny freak rather than coming to visit me. That's no way to lead, soul-sister."

  

 "You're right." What made it worse was that mere hours before sacking with Spinecracker she'd told Skythane she needed a period of celibacy. Other reasons for leaving him could have been found but that had been the one that had jumped to the front of her mind. And it probably was a good idea. Her sexual drive did tend to control her. She hadn't really wanted to apprentice as a Justice; she'd wanted to stay with Skythane so she could bed him every night, and often as possible in the day. Along with whomsoever they fancied as a third.

  

 "You're right," Feldspar said again. "As usual."

  

 "Wouldn't go that far."

  

 "I would. I'm not going to share a pallet with anyone until the Adornments of Glory are safely back in Diluvia."

  

 The sky went black. Thunder pealed. The earth shook, throwing Feldspar sprawling to the ground. The shrine glowed with ethereal light.

  

 "Forgot where you were, I gather?" Grunt had managed to stay on her feet. "Remember, I didn't say that, she did!" she shouted to the darkened sky.

  

 Another violent tremor hit, tossing Grunt to the earth beside Feldspar. "Damn Prophesied. Not that I'm a lovelorn like you, I just like a good roll, but we'd damn well better find those damn Adornments pronto."

  

  

 Feldspar and Grunt reached the other side of Capitol as dusk fell. The inn closest to the forest was far less impressive than that of Square's clan, being two stories of weathered wood rather than solidly mortared stone. A sign nailed slightly askew over its front door proclaimed it to be 'Harlequin's Head'.

  

 "Do you know anything about this place, Grunt?"

  

 "Obviously run by human losers. You'll fit in."

  

 "I'm sorry." Feldspar sighed. She hadn't meant to swear to celibacy herself, much less bind Grunt to the same oath.

  

 "Sorry? You're pathetic."

  

 "I've never been to this part of Capitol," Feldspar continued, ignoring Grunt's interjection the best she could. "I'd gather this must be run by a variegated lodge."

  

 "Probably has fleas, maybe rats."

  

 In her travels with Skythane, Feldspar had stayed in many variegated establishments. Some were good and some weren't so good, which was also true of businesses run by the traditional, solid colour clans. "You're just worried they won't welcome a dwarf."

  

 "Nonsense. Hope they don't. Didn't damn well swear off brawling." Grunt started towards the door.

  

 Feldspar hurried to catch up. "You won't start anything?" Grunt didn't deign to answer.

  

 The common room was largely empty. Scatterings of humans were at the dining tables with a few serious drinkers on stools at the bar. Feldspar and Grunt made their way to the serving window.

  

 "What's on the menu?" Feldspar asked the man who greeted them there.

  

 "Rabbit stew and stew without rabbit."

  

 Feldspar and Grunt both opted for the vegetarian fare. In a strange lodge that was safer.

  

 "Don't see many elves in here," the server said as he dished out the food. It smelled good, perhaps a bit heavy on the onions.

  

 "How about dwarves?" Grunt asked, puffing out her already considerable chest. It didn't help. No one who didn't know her would think her a dwarf.

  

 "In a place where we motley humans hang out? Not likely. There you go, sister. So, are you busy later or are you and the elf an item?"

  

 "We're ascetics," Grunt said. "Acolytes of the virginal aspect of the Unknown. I pay." She handed the man a silver and got five coppers change. While he'd propositioned Grunt, his eyes had strayed to Feldspar and stayed there.

  

 They took a table away from the other diners. "It's only a matter of time," Grunt said.

  

 "Until they figure out you're a dwarf?"

  

 "'Til they realise you're really the Prophesied gone slumming, not another wannabe." Grunt sniffed her spoon before tasting. "Not bad. Yup, seems they've already figured it out."

  

 The server was talking to the barkeeper. Both looked at Feldspar and then quickly away without meeting her eyes. "But I've never been here before," she said.

  

 "You said that earlier. Good stew. You should try it."

  

 "I don't think I look like an elf."

  

 Grunt's spoon stopped halfway to her mouth. "You don't think about much of anything. Of course you look like an elf--always have. You also look ridiculously like yourself, much more so than any of your imitators. Now shut up and eat or, failing that, just shut up."

  

 Feldspar didn't feel particularly hungry. It wasn't anything to do with the stew. The Harlequin's Head was a good inn, she could see that now and the rabbit in the other pot probably would have been rabbit rather than squirrel or groundhog. But the quest was off to a bad start. Her only companion to date, Grunt, was angry with her and not accepting apologies. And Planetsinger considered it urgent they get underway and instead they were lounging in a human inn. She was the leader and Grunt was the muscle. A guide and a scout could be recruited on Terra. The third member they needed was an elf to be their wizard or in modern terms, adept. The server had said they didn't see many elves in the Harlequin's Head. Had that been a random statement or a sign from above that they should move on elsewhere?

  

 "Now you're trying too hard to think," Grunt said. "Eat and leave that task for those who do it better."

  

 "Are you mind reading?"

  

 "Soul-sister reading. And I apologise for my generally surly behaviour since your return. I felt abandoned when you left Capitol without me. My problem, not yours. Now you're back and I'm taking it out on you. Not too bright."

  

 "You missed me that much?"

  

 "Hanging around you is what saves me from being just another drudge."

  

 "I don't think so." Feldspar set to the stew, waiting for Grunt to tell her once again that she didn't think. There was probably something in that statement. She tended to follow her heart, or perhaps her lower organs. To be fair, when they were being tutored, Grunt had always been the better student, much to the surprise of teachers who expected little from a dwarf and everything from the Prophesied.

  

 "I understand you're looking for companions."

  

 Feldspar looked up from her bowl. The speaker was a lanky wide-sea woman with full lips, delicious lips… if you swung that way. Feldspar did, and like most males, Skythane had liked to watch, and join in when he could. This woman's dark eyes held a certain salacious intent Feldspar knew she would have found irresistible if not for the shrine. A small fox-faced redhead beside the wide-sea woman smiled at first at Feldspar and then Grunt, flickering her tongue with a decided lack of subtlety. Her, she could do without.

  

 "Tell them," Grunt said, putting her spoon down and gripping the edge of the table with both hands. In places Grunt was well known no female would dream of propositioning the dwarf unless a fight was the true goal.

  

 "Sorry, we don't have any openings available." Feldspar said, shaking her head. It was a pity. As Grunt would say, damn shrine.

  

 "And personally, I'm somewhat mistrustful of volunteers," Grunt got to her feet. "Would either, or perhaps both, of you be acquainted with certain members of Adepts Five? Say perhaps, Belinda the Brazen? While your shields can keep her from seeing us, Feldspar, your mother could have known we entered the forest and put her creatures awaiting us on the paths out."

  

 "That's a lot of paths."

  

 "True, but those goblins found you and these two seem marginally smarter than a goblin. Marginally. What say you, trollop?"

  

 The wide-sea woman took a step backwards. The redhead grabbed her companion's arm and met Grunt's eyes. "We say we do what we're told, or else."

  

 Grunt smiled. "Fair enough. So I'll tell you to quit bothering us, and suggest if you make contact with someone on your com-reader you might remind them that interfering with a quest leader is a crime." She put a silver on the table and slid it across. "For your troubles."

  

 "No need to be insulting." The redhead turned and led her wide-sea friend away.

  

 "You think they're working for my mother?" Feldspar asked.

  

 "Your mother, my father, Windrover, Delarone…" Grunt said. "Or perhaps the Monarch. Everyone's going to want one of their people on this quest. I think that's another reason Planetsinger agreed we should get, at most, one more from Diluvia and the others from Terra. To change the topic back to an older one… you'll notice we've gained an audience."

  

 Feldspar looked around. The tables closest to them were still unoccupied but the remainder of the common room had filled since they'd arrived. The bar was doing excellent business. She felt like an actor on a stage in the round.

  

 "Do you understand why Square doesn't want me to leave Diluvia now? We're a draw."

  

 "But your inn is always busy. Oh." Travelling with Skythane, Feldspar had always put down the full houses to the attraction of the gold elf and Justice she'd been with. On her side of Capitol she always frequented the same places, all of which were generally busy. "Guess we might as well leave."

  

 "You can if you want. Me, I'm not sleeping outside again tonight. How much cash do you have?"

  

 "None." Feldspar always paid with her central com-reader account, when she paid at all.

  

 "Oh well, might as well make a withdrawal. Someone knows we're here. The whole planet might as well."

  

 The logic of that eluded Feldspar. Grunt probably wanted to gamble. At Square's inn opportunities for a good game of poker were limited. Dwarves couldn't bluff to save their lives. But Feldspar didn't see what harm a withdrawal could do anyway. "No one can trace transactions on the backbone, Grunt."

  

 "Yeah, right. You're so naive. Anyone here up for a game?" she said to the crowd in a louder voice. "Copper ante and silver limit?"

  

  

 To Feldspar's dismay, Grunt insisted she play. Seven was the ideal number for two-card draw and only five of the myriad onlookers cared to take on the dwarf. Evidently her temper was as well known as she was herself. Grunt hated losing. Feldspar expected the only real competition for Grunt at the table would come from a merchant from the Fair Isles, and perhaps the wide-sea woman. Obviously, whoever paid her, paid well. The other three players were two inebriated middle-aged males, lifetime losers from the looks of them, and a green-haired individual who called himself Rabid.

  

 Feldspar wasn't sure if Rabid was an elf or a human playing at being an elf. He was a stringy, half a head shorter than Feldspar and half a head taller than Grunt… which told Feldspar nothing--most elves grew themselves tall when they mingled with humans but that wasn't universal. Also, elf wannabes most often chose to be gold, not green. Of course, no one would have believed Rabid a gold elf. He didn't have the charisma.

  

 Still, Rabid apparently did well for himself, whatever he was. Evidently a regular in the Harlequin's Head, his fan club included both females and males. The reason for his popularity was manifest in his tight breeches. They hid nothing, or rather, displayed a great deal. Clearly, what people saw in Rabid was what they anticipated seeing plunged into themselves. If not for her mistake at the shrine, Feldspar would have been tempted to settle in her mind, for once and forever, if size really mattered. Skythane and Spinecracker were impressive but Rabid had them beat. He was much more enticing than the wide-sea woman and friend… much.

  

 The game unfolded almost as expected. The drunks lost heavily, with most of their money going to the wide-sea woman and Grunt. Feldspar won a little herself, as did the merchant. Her only surprise was Rabid played a conservative game and remained about even. Elves, even ersatz elves, tended to extremes. Money meant even less to them than to most, so they usually bet the limit and either won or lost big.

  

 One of the drunks dropped out of the game and onto the floor. A couple of burly Harlequin's Head bartenders collected him and his scant remaining cash and carried them upstairs.

  

 "Last hand," Rabid said half an hour later. The other drunk was teetering and the merchant starting to yawn. "Same ante, no limit. Agreed?" Nods, a waved hand, a blank look.

  

 Feldspar picked up her cards. Four in a row--one card short of an outside straight. This could well be her best hand of the night.

  

 "I'm out," Grunt said after barely glancing at what she'd been dealt. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I fold out of turn?"

  

 She had, and that wasn't like her. "Me too," Feldspar said. She was willing to bet Grunt also had good cards. With the limits off, this being the last hand, and with Rabid dealing… something wasn't right.

  

 Everyone else stayed in, meeting Rabid's bet of a silver. The merchant took one and then folded. Surprisingly, so did the remaining drunkard. The wide-sea woman pushed all her money to the centre of the table.

  

 "I can't cover that bet," Rabid said, with a meaningful smile.

  

 "If you lose, you can cover me tonight instead," the woman answered, exactly as expected.

  

 Rabid smiled. "Done." He flipped over his cards to show a pair of queens.

  

 The wide-sea woman had three deuces. "I'm at your service, ma'am." Rabid stood, giving the woman a good look at her winnings. "Good game, gentlemen. Ladies, it was my pleasure," he said, bowing first to Feldspar and then to Grunt.

  

 "The pleasure is all yours." Grunt smiled at the wide-sea woman. "Nice try, elf boy," she said to Rabid. "Enjoy, if you can."

  

 With another bow, Rabid left in the wide-sea woman's possession. Her small redheaded friend joined them as they started up the stairs.

  

 "I hope we can get a room a good distance from theirs," Grunt said. "He dealt me a natural flush," she added to Feldspar as they walked together towards the letting desk.

  

 If they'd both stayed in, Grunt would have won. "You're sure he's an elf?" Feldspar asked. "I couldn't decide."

  

 "You're joking. That's Rabid Green Rabbit. I thought, of all people, you'd be able to recognise a legend when you saw one. Oh come on girl, surely you've heard of Moonreaver? Oh my, is that a flush of embarrassment I see, oh innocent one?"

  

 No, it was anger. He'd dealt Grunt a better hand. Moonreaver? He was a legend. Feldspar had expected him to be taller, better looking--and had expected him to ooze charisma. From listening to the stories he did. The stories didn't mention he could shield, although she supposed if he didn't, he'd be swarmed.

  

 After checking the bars on the window, Feldspar bedded down on the carpet of their room, just inside the door. If anyone tried to sneak in to kill them, she'd wake up. Her precaution was unnecessary. She didn't sleep well, if at all. Grunt snored, and the walls weren't as soundproof as they should be. Screams from Moonreaver's partners slipped through... had to be them, the lucky women. Those screams could have been hers… surely Grunt would have shared. Grunt? Share? Sure, when the sun rose in the north… quit dreaming, dreaming was for sleep… sleep.

  

  

 Grunt's first thought upon awakening was that she should have forced Feldspar to take the bed. Damn mattress was lumpy at the edges and sagged horribly in the middle. Odds on she was the first person to merely sleep on it weeks. She rolled to the side and looked down. Feldspar was gone; the poor girl had never been able to sleep well and this adventure, not that it was properly underway, had her all keyed up and even more jangled than usual. Probably was downstairs having breakfast or had gone for a ramble to check out the area around Harlequin's Head. Either way, no worries.

  

 The girl might be a sheltered innocent in many respects, but she could handle herself in a fight, having an excellent sense of when she could press an attack to advantage and when she needed to duck, weave and dance until an opponent tired. Feldspar had spent many evenings at Square's inn and no one who chose to do so could expect to be immune from the brawling, not even the Prophesied.

  

 Then again, what they needed to worry about right now were the myriad schemes and machinations of Adepts Five, and various others. The theft of the Adornments had shaken the power structure and things would change whether or not the Adornments were returned. And Grunt felt certain Bethina intended to lead the party that would recover them, no matter what it took.

  

 At least the woman wasn't infallible. Sending goblins to waylay someone of Feldspar's ability was the act of a fool. Then she'd set her agents to seduce Feldspar. If it hadn't been for the vow at the shrine, that one would have worked; Feldspar would have bedded the wide-sea woman and her little quick-tongued friend and undoubtedly they would have done their best to set Feldspar screaming and reaching for the sky. Equally undoubtedly, they would have succeeded and been invited along for the duration. From all accounts Feldspar's uncomplicated approach to life extended to the amatory arts. Mind you, when the straightforward worked well, why complicate matters?

  

 Grunt felt responsible for Feldspar's misguided innocence. As the Prophesied, the girl had led a sheltered and protected life. Belinda might spout she considered her daughter a disappointment, but all Diluvia knew anyone who harmed Feldspar would have to answer to Belinda. Until now. Now, that protection was gone. Feldspar needed a new protector. And as the girl's soul-sister, Grunt knew she had to take over that role.

  

 The planning needed for the quest was up to her. She did research at the Academy once in a while, and usually, while she was there, did Spinecracker. As a lover he was adequate, but as a contact, was without peer. They both knew he liked her body a lot better than she liked his, and he'd always said if there was anything he could do for her… Now, there was something. Grunt flipped open her com-reader.

  

 Like anyone with brains, Spinecracker never answered communications in real time. You left a message and he either got back to you, or didn't. "Hi. Me. Going on quest with Feldspar, but I'm sure you know that. Could use some supplies for Terra, like say, some of their currency. If I get what I want, you'll get what you want when I return. Everything. But don't blame me if your heart gives out doing it."

  

 There. That should ensure his assistance.

  

 Feldspar was by herself at a table. No one was looking at her openly, but as always she was the centre of attention. If the girl was aware of it, she wasn't letting on. She seemed engrossed by her com-reader. Doing some research on Terra? Hah! Likely reading some sappy romance novel or other imported from Terra. A bowl sat in front of her on the table.

  

 There was rabbit stew and stew without rabbit available for breakfast. Fortunately, or perhaps not, there was also gruel. Grunt asked for a bowl. It was so thin it should have been served in a mug.

  

 "Morning, Grunt."

  

 "So I noticed." Grunt lifted the bowl to her lips and drank. Decorum be damned, if one used a spoon it would take forever.

  

 "I hope Moonreaver comes downstairs soon so we can draft him into the quest and be on our way."

  

 Grunt gagged on a mouthful and barely managed to keep from spluttering it back up into the bowl.

  

 "We were looking for an elf adept and one crossed our path," Feldspar said. "One I didn't know. Are you okay?"

  

 "Are you nuts?"

  

 "As far as I'm aware, no," Feldspar said. "But if I weren't I probably wouldn't know, would I?"

  

 "What? No, you don't need to repeat that. It just didn't sound like the Feldspar I know."

  

 Feldspar cocked her head as if to view Grunt from a different angle. "You must introduce me to that Feldspar some time."

  

 Mustn't underestimate the girl. Occasionally Feldspar gave her a reminder not to, but why did she insist on doing it first thing in the morning? She'd continued talking, not waiting for Grunt's thoughts to form. How inconsiderate. "Pardon me? I'm afraid I missed that."

  

 "I asked why Moonreaver wouldn't be a suitable quest member? As far as I can tell, he's never visited Terra and if he'd ever been with Belinda, she'd have said --not like her to bed a legend without boasting. So what's the matter? Not sure you can control your libido if he's around?"

  

 "Yeah, right... bitter damn bitch soul-sister. Maybe the time with Skythane did you some good after all. You've developed an edge."

  

 "Skythane helped me develop a quick tongue," Feldspar said, a little too straight faced.

  

 It was either throw the bowl at her or take the comment as an unfortunate phrasing. Grunt decided on the high road. Besides, she was hungry and the gruel tasted better than it looked, which wasn't difficult. On third thought, she could play word games too. "Moonreaver hasn't come down yet?"

  

 "Hard to say."

  

 Grunt gave up. She had better things to think about. Assuming the elf didn't sneak out unseen, the Diluvian component of the quest party was complete. By the rules, they should be off to the Academy so Adepts Five could provide their wise guidance, supply materials the party hadn't considered, and then send them on their way. Yeah, right. Two of the five wanted this quest to fail, maybe three of the five--Grunt couldn't quite believe Square had given up Belinda after all those years of licking her toes. And the enmity between Feldspar and Belinda, and Feldspar and Windrover for that matter, was open now that Feldspar had divorced them--about time in Grunt's opinion.

  

 But what was she to her father? A drawing card for the inn, yes, but also a rival. People liked her, even respected her in the morning--they damn well better. Square was merely feared.

  

 "Dreaming of unicorns?" Feldspar asked. "Hello again. You looked a week's march away."

  

 Events kept Grunt from needing to find a suitable response. "Elf warning," she said. Rabid had appeared at the top of the stairs. He pranced down, looking around as if expecting applause. There was no sign of the wide-sea woman or her redheaded friend.

  

 Grunt stood and moved to block the bottom of the stairs. It was up to her to snag the little green-haired exhibitionist for the quest party. Feldspar wouldn't be forceful enough and Grunt didn't anticipate that being drafted would thrill Moonreaver.

  

 "If you've changed your mind I'd like breakfast first," Moonreaver said, stopping two steps up.

  

 Grunt's eyes were level with the well-filled fork in his breeches. Damn elf had stopped there on purpose. She stepped back. "I don't suppose you're going to run."

  

 "From Diluvia's most beauteous damsel? That would destroy my reputation." He came a little too close, forcing Grunt to tilt her head up to meet his eyes.

  

 No debauched elf could unsettle her. She was his match in all ways, and more. "Rabid Green Rabbit, in the name of Diluvia and the Five Gods I hereby bind you to our quest, until death or successful completion." For an oath created on the spur of the moment it didn't sound half bad. Damn, had her legs gone rubbery or was that what she feared it might be? Yeah, it was. The glasses behind the bar set up a tinkling clatter as the world shook. One of the patrons screamed. The sun that had been streaming through the windows cut off as if someone had hung a curtain over the building. To compensate, the unkindled wood in the fireplace burst into brilliant flame.

  

 "I accept and please, just call me Rabid." In an instant the world returned to normal, although the fire kept burning. "The offer of an adventure in the company of Diluvia's two most acclaimed beauties would have been sufficient," Rabid continued. "Punctuating the request with that display of mind-science was entirely unnecessary."

  

 "Don't talk to me about it," Grunt said. "I'm only a minor telekinetic. That display would have required an high-power adept."

  

 "Or a god."

  

 "I'd rather not consider that. I rather suspect Planetsinger."

  

 "From the perspective of one as limited as myself, the difference between the Great Mother and a god is somewhat nebulous." Rabid looked around as if expecting the cosmos to reply to his statement. It didn't. "If sex is out of the question may I at least break my fast before we venture onward to our fate?"

  

 Grunt waited a moment. The world remained quiescent. "Suppose so."

  

  

 Grunt treated herself to another bowl of gruel while Rabid ate. She kept her eyes on the staircase but Rabid's companions of the previous night didn't appear.

  

 "Damn thorough job you did on Belinda's moles, elf boy."

  

 Rabid spewed gruel over the table in front of him. "Belinda?" he gasped. "You said 'Belinda?'"

  

 "Does my ex-mother have moles? I hadn't noticed," Feldspar said with perfect innocence. "Where? Not on her darling face."

  

 "If you don't quit playing stupid, I'll slug you."

  

 "Try, soul-sister, just you try."

  

 "To tell the truth, those women liked each other better than they liked me," Rabid said, after he wiped his face. It sounded like a lie to Grunt, but she decided to let it go.

  

 "Thought they looked dim. Good thing for them they were so obvious. If they'd joined and I'd found out afterward, I'd've throttled the bitches."

  

 Rabid glanced over his shoulder at the stairs. "Maybe we should get going then, just in case."

  

 The party headed into the forest with Feldspar in the lead. They had all the quest party they were going to get on Diluvia, so it was time to see Planetsinger again and get on their way. Uncharacteristically, Feldspar wasn't the least bit chatty and when they came to branches in the trail, chose their route without consultation. Practising at being a leader? Fine, but they weren't getting anywhere.

  

 An hour or so later Grunt decided she'd had enough. The forest was sending them in circles, the silence was oppressive and she found herself continuously sneaking glances at what Rabid had dangling on offer and she couldn't have until the quest was over. That he clearly preferred her to Feldspar was gratifying in its own way but it wasn't the sort of satisfaction Grunt cared to maintain longer than it took to strip.

  

 "Do you have any damn idea where you're going, Feldspar?"

  

 "If you think you can do better, be my guest." Feldspar stepped backwards off the track and waited for Grunt to pass.

  

 In that she couldn't eye the temptation of Rabid's breeches, leading was an improvement, but some time later Grunt had to admit, to herself at any rate, that the forest was being particularly contrary. Or so it seemed. When she'd been younger sometimes she hadn't been able to get to Feldspar's shrine when she wanted to, but over the years had learned that the paths were always the same and only the pattern of illusions changed. Some days you had to take a trail that didn't appear to exist in order to get to your destination. In this unfamiliar part of the forest, she didn't know the deeper truths.

  

 Maybe Planetsinger was otherwise occupied and didn't want them to arrive at the shrine before she was ready. Perhaps it went even higher than that. This quest was cursedly god-ridden but as Rabid had said, to the unenlightened Planetsinger and a god were very much the same. At times Grunt forgot that. She'd grown up with the Great Mother very much present in her life and considered Diluvia's most powerful adept both friend and mentor. Still, Planetsinger was what she was, and today it seemed she was in no hurry to have guests.

  

 "Might as well stop here for lunch," Grunt said. They had reached a small meadow and the sun was overhead. "I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier, Feldspar."

  

 "It's okay. I know it was about yesterday. Honestly Grunt, I didn't mean to drag you in to my vow. I didn't intend to make it for myself either. It was an idle thought. I'll know better than to voice those in the future."

  

 "Or at least until this quest is over and the damn deities get off our backs," Grunt said.

  

 "Vow?" It was the first word Rabid had spoken since leaving the inn.

  

 "Didn't we mention we're sworn to celibacy until the quest is over?"

  

 "How inclusive is the word 'we'?" Rabid asked.

  

 Grunt forced a smile onto her face. "As far as I know I'm the only one Feldspar dragged into that folly. Okay okay, I won't bring it up again, Feldspar."

  

 "You'll both bring it up," Rabid said. "Frequently. Believe me."

  

 Grunt was fully aware of that. Fully.

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 Half an hour after lunch they arrived at the shrine. Planetsinger showed up a few minutes later, gradually fading in as she had before. Grunt had no doubt that was pure affectation; the Great Mother did it for effect, not because it was how that talent of hers worked. Feldspar seemed to think Planetsinger was an avatar, a selfless deity incarnate. As a student of history, Grunt didn't think deities were particularly selfless, especially ones that showed up rearranging their garb in the way one did after a bout of unplanned lovemaking. And the smile on Planetsinger's face was more post-coital than beatific. Another damn manipulative politico, that's all the Great Mother was.

  

 "You see much that doesn't exist, Grunt." With her not yet fully corporal, Planetsinger's voice was airy. "We were playing backgammon for high stakes, nothing more." She reached back into nothing and pulled the self-styled Shimmerscribe into the meadow.

  

 An unlikely story. The Great Mother cared even less about money than most Diluvians. What could the Terran writer wager that would interest Planetsinger?

  

 "The fates of worlds hang on every throw of the dice, child," Planetsinger said. "You should feel glad I took time to play, and that I won. Terran writers are cruel."

  

 "You cheat, Planetsinger," Shimmerscribe said.

  

 Rabid laughed. "And Einstein was wrong. Gods do too play dice."

  

 Grunt had been about to object once again to Planetsinger's intrusive mind reading. Instead she turned to Rabid. "Have you ever been to Terra?"

  

 "That's one of the questions you should have asked him prior to this, my child, but as far as I know, he hasn't."

  

 "You know all, oh Great Mother." Rabid bowed deeply.

  

 "And as for you, bottom feeder, I don't need your sarcasm," Planetsinger said.

  

 "But she does," Rabid said to Grunt. "She needs reminders she's mortal, and that mortal rules do apply to her as to us. And no, I haven't been to Terra, but like you, I can and do read."

  

 "And he's had a few more years to do so than you," Planetsinger said, eyes fixed on Rabid in a glare. "You'd be surprised what he knows." She shook her head as if to clear all thoughts of Rabid from it. "Now, down to business. As we said before, with the exception of the fairy… Twink? Where are you?" A glowing ball of light appeared by Planetsinger's head… okay, that was impressive. Fairies followed their own whims. They didn't come when called.

  

 Planetsinger smiled at her. "I'm glad something can overawe you, Grunt."

  

 Damn mind reader.

  

 "As I was saying," Planetsinger continued, "other than for Twink, any advice or assistance Adepts Five gives you is as likely to be intended to thwart the stated purpose of the quest as it is to help it."

  

 "I can't believe that of Square," Feldspar said.

  

 "I can," Grunt said. "My sire and your damn dam are peas in a pod. Belinda's just more honest."

  

 Feldspar shook her head. "I don't agree. Square's essentially good, just overly influenced by her… which is probably why she's stayed with him all this time. And as we grew up, she developed a true dislike of you... gods know why."

  

 "Grunt's a better looking blonde and in her territory," Rabid said. "That certainly would do it."

  

 Shimmerscribe cleared his throat. Grunt was pleased to see he'd traded in his pen and paper for an eternal e-scroll. Maybe the old polluter wasn't as bad as she'd thought. He couldn't help being Terran. "Perhaps we should get down to business now," he said.

  

 Then again maybe he was every bit as bad. "And why do we trust him?" Grunt asked Planetsinger. "As you said, he's a writer. And, as you also said, writers are cruel, particularly at the beginning of a quest. They do any ridiculous thing they can think of to screw people up. Reality's enough of a bitch without a writer around to make it worse."

  

 Rabid took a step forward. "With respect, great lady, I agree with my buxom colleague. My reading would lead me to the same conclusion. If he stays, I go."

  

 "That might be for the best," Planetsinger said, raising a hand as if to flick Rabid from the scene.

  

 "They're right," Feldspar said. "And I've chosen Rabid for the quest."

  

 "Oh, very well. I hope you live to regret your choice in this life." Planetsinger wheeled and completed her hand gesture while facing Shimmerscribe. The human vanished immediately. "There. Happy?"

  

 "Never," Grunt answered. "But gratified his bad advice won't further complicate our fate. Can Twink take us to Adepts Five now, Planetsinger?"

  

 "Very well. You go with my blessings even if you do eschew my assistance." Planetsinger started to fade. Before she could fully disappear, the shrine and meadow vanished instead.

  

 Flashes of pin-wheeling rainbows and a somersaulting stomach--then normal existence resumed, assuming any existence was normal. Grunt found herself standing on the table in the meeting room of the Stone Tower, wedged between Feldspar and Rabid. Twink drifted from in front of them towards the wall. It seemed the other four of Adepts Five had been in the middle of a meeting until the quest party, and the fifth Adept, put themselves on the agenda.

  

 "You can't do this!" Belinda's voice got shrill when she was excited. Grunt looked down at her. With all due respect, none, how could this shrieking harridan be considered her competition? Okay, she was blonde but there the similarity ended. Belinda had no class and no tits.

  

 "They just did do that, darling," Square said.

  

 Square and Belinda were together again? All the more reason to leave and not come back. The woman's voice penetrated even the stone walls of Square's Inn on every faked climax. Grunt felt her leg twitch. Standing here it would be so easy to kick in her ugly face. But, no--violence would solve nothing, however good it might feel. No wonder her mother had left Diluvia on a spaceship as soon as she could. It wasn't anything to do with having birthed a puny child; it was utter humiliation at being cast aside for this scraggly human.

  

 "I don't blame you for hating me, Grunt," Square said, offering her a hand down from the table. At times her father showed disturbing flashes of insight.

  

 "But do you hate me for blaming you?" Grunt asked, ignoring his advance and stepping forward. "Oh, I am sorry, Belinda. Was that your finger?" She jumped onto the floor.

  

 Caltrop doubled over laughing, his top half sinking into the table before he noticed his error and straightened. A top-notch astral projector wouldn't make mistakes on that order. But these Adepts Five were all second-rate, except for the fairy.

  

 "That's enough, Grunt. We're not here to pick a fight," Feldspar said. She and Rabid joined Grunt on the floor.

  

 "They picked the fight. I'm just acknowledging it."

  

 "You're wrong, Grunt." Windrover shook his head. "Why would we strive to hinder a quest to save Diluvia?" A smiling shrug.

  

 "For petty political reasons? So after we fail, greater glory will fall on those who succeed? Because one or more of you is in league with Delarone? Or is his master?"

  

 "You'll have to forgive her." Feldspar put a hand on Grunt's arm. "The gods inadvertently joined her into my vow to remain chaste until the Adornments of Glory are safely returned."

  

 "I move we withdraw our sanction of this quest," Belinda took a half step backwards. "My daughter speaks of the gods' involvement and we all know some of them are malign."

  

 "Malign? You're a fine one to use that term, bitch. And in case you had forgotten, she's not your daughter any more." Grunt patted the hand Feldspar had put on her shoulder, then removed it. "She divorced you."

  

 "That's a legal, not a biological matter," Square said with a shrug. "I agree with Belinda, these youngsters are out of control."

  

 "Damn right we are." Grunt swung from her knees and sent her father flying across the room.

  

 "We can't withdraw sanction." Caltrop started to step forward, glanced at the table, and stopped. So, he could learn from his mistakes. "Not that I want to. That's not the way it works, Belinda. Once sanction is given, it can't be retracted."

  

 "Things work the way we say they work, fool."

  

 "I agree with both of you," Windrover said. Damn politician. He glanced at the hovering fairy. "We could recant, but we shouldn't."

  

 "You're a true political weasel, former foster uncle," Feldspar said… good for her. "No, I'm not going to hit you, and neither is Grunt."

  

 "Says who? Well, okay, I won't." As Feldspar well knew but Windrover probably didn't--what a dolt--Grunt had never intended to hit him. Damn elf would have just teleported before she could anyway. Belinda, however, was a different matter.

  

 "Don't." Rabid put a hand on Grunt's arm.

  

 "And just who do you think you are to be giving me orders?"

  

 "Someone who very much wants to be around you when the Adornments are returned to Diluvia." He gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

  

 "Oh." Grunt's anger turned to mush. She hoped none of it would drip; that would be truly embarrassing. "Okay, then let's get going."

  

 Windrover took a deep breath and, with a wary glance at Grunt, moved forward. "We've prepared full packages of Terran identification for all three of you, complete with cash and credit cards that draw on Terran accounts. Read over the particulars of your identities and memorise them. Your lives and the future of Diluvia are at stake."

  

 Damn pontificator… and just how had they known Rabid would be a member of the party? Oh… right… those women at the Harlequin's Head must have reported.

  

 "Forget it," Feldspar said, an admirable note of contempt in her voice. "We'll make do without. Like Grunt said, at least one of you is a traitor. We can't trust anything you'd supply."

  

 "I'm ever so glad to hear you say that." Belinda's face twisted into a smile. "It ensures your failure, as if that ever was in doubt. You do realise you're not the Prophesied any more, don't you, my dear ex-daughter? When you renounced your lineage you gave that up. I'll be leading the next party, the one that will succeed. And I somehow doubt we'll have time to rescue you. Then, when we get back, I'll have another child, my fifth, the true Prophesied."

  

 "Belinda, you are insane." Grunt didn't bother looking at Belinda. "As my dear unconscious father said, divorce is legal, not biological."

  

 "And besides, I didn't renounce my lineage, just you," Feldspar said. "You're the misfit, Belinda, not me. Can we leave now, or does someone have something else self-serving to say?" She started towards the door.

  

 Grunt followed. Windrover stepped in front of her. Should she? She tensed her arm for a swing--she certainly wanted to. But, maybe not… knocking Square cold had been satisfying, but if she hit Windrover with the same sort of force, she could kill him. Didn't want to do that, and didn't want to pull her punches either. The stupid elf was safe. Damn.

  

 "Take the papers," Windrover said, thrusting the spurned items towards her. "It's suicide for you not to."

  

 Too insistent. If she'd had any doubts the papers would be trouble, those doubts were gone. "Your suicide, I hope," she answered. "And if you don't quit trying to peer down my tunic I'll deck you. Lead on, Feldspar. If we stand here any longer I'll do something I won't regret."

  

 "Okay. Whoops! Sorry, Spinecracker… what are you doing here?" The Academy chief had been coming in as Feldspar left, and they'd run into each other.

  

 "Sorry, but you should look where you're going." Was he copping a feel from Feldspar? Yes, and handing her a small package as well. That was interesting… Feldspar and Spinecracker? She never would have guessed… but no, it couldn't be… even Feldspar wouldn't be able to pretend Spinecracker was interested in more than her body, and without the illusion of love, the girl wouldn't… just wouldn't. Spinecracker was using Feldspar to relay the cash she'd requested from him earlier.

  

 And despite the poor acting on both their parts, no one else had noticed the exchange. Belinda was still inside, her view blocked. The fairy had floated out over their heads to the portal. And even after she'd warned him, Windrover was still in front of her, gazing down her top, trying to get a good look at her tits. "Windrover… this is your last warning." Grunt rapped his drooping chin with an open palm, pushing his mouth closed with a click.

  

 "Hey, that hurt." He stepped out of her way.

  

 Grunt winked at Spinecracker as she walked past him. Next time they had sex, it would be no holds barred. She looked back. "Rabid? Get your skinny ass over here. It's time to go." Like Belinda, the green-haired elf had been waiting for the doorway to clear. But he didn't seem in any hurry to get to the portal. Feldspar was already in front of the arch, waiting.

  

 "Yes ma'am. Right away, ma'am." He scurried past Windrover to join her. They both held hands with Feldspar.

  

 Grunt smiled at the fairy and said the magic words. "Okay, Twink, we're out of here." And the quest party walked through the portal.

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 Roger's feet squished in the dew-sodden grass of the central quadrangle on the University of Noronto campus. Life sucked--at dawn it would be more natural to be heading home to bed. Or better, much more natural to be in bed, rolling over for another steamy bout with a bright-eyed young thing trying to convince him she was the one who would take him off the 'most eligible' lists. Or maybe just wanted a part in his next movie…

  

 Maybe one of these days. Fantasy made life tolerable when reality was an early-morning shift at the Westshire, washing dishes. There were worse jobs, and Roger had held some. At least in the hotel kitchen they didn't expect you to smile. If you did, they figured you were on drugs, but didn't care long as the dishes were clean. Of course the pay was lousy, but you ate for free.

  

 And most importantly, he was working on The Street, Canada's media epicentre… although not in his chosen profession. But, he had afternoons and evenings free to search out and occasionally get auditions. One of these days the bright-eyed brigade wouldn't be his fantasy, he would be theirs.

  

 "Hey, you!"

  

 Roger squelched to a stop. If a shout could be sultry, that's what it would sound like. She was on his left and behind him.

  

 But that side of the quadrangle didn't have any entrances and had been deserted a moment earlier. So while she couldn't be there, she was. And had to be hailing him. Had to be… no one else was around. Not even her… except she was. But she hadn't been there earlier… or was he so lost in his dreams he could walk past a real woman without checking her out for bright-eyed brigade potential? Nah, not possible… this one had appeared out of thin air. There wasn't any other possible explanation.

  

 He turned to look and saw not one person, but three.

  

 And they hadn't been there moments earlier, not a chance. In a noonday crowd he couldn't have walked past any of the three without noticing, let alone in a deserted--he'd thought--quadrangle. The platinum blonde in the lead had a body the like of which Roger had never seen outside of cartoons, a lush hourglass figure with powerful hips and shoulders. He didn't recognise her designer, but the dappled brown dress displayed and exaggerated a figure that needed no flattering. Even her backpack was colour co-ordinated although Roger thought it rather large for a fashion accessory.

  

 He was staring, his mouth hanging open. Couldn't have that. This was a woman he wanted to impress and gawking didn't cut it. With an effort Roger convinced his eyes to leave the blonde.

  

 They immediately fixed on a dark and sinuous goddess, at least six feet tall. Most women anywhere near his height slumped, as if to hide, but she had the carriage and stride of a star, of a person who knew that every instant they were in public, they were on stage. Below her startlingly angular face she was subtle curves. Beyond a doubt, somewhere she was famous. Not in the English-speaking world however, or he would have seen her picture and known her name. Roger suspected she used the same designer as her friend. The supple leather of her top and tight slacks was a shade darker than her coppery skin and made her face glow.

  

 "Quite something, aren't they?"

  

 Roger jumped. "How did you do that?" He took a step backward and bumped up against the stone wall. Had he been that transfixed by the women? Even so, no one with a mop of virulent green hair like this guy should be able to sneak up on anyone. The women had covered half the distance from where their party had appeared--and they had appeared, out of nothing, because there was no other way they could have been where they were. Any one of them he would have seen, eyes closed. All three? They hadn't been there. Hadn't.

  

 And now the women had covered half the distance from where they'd appeared, from where he stood… and in the meantime, the stringy punk Roger had noted and then disregarded as far less interesting than his companions, had arrived beside him, completely unnoticed.

  

 "How did I do it? I'm an elf," the punk answered, as if that explained how he vanished from one place and appeared in another.

  

 Roger smiled. "Can't say I've ever met an elf before." He couldn't help liking the man straight off. The grin was infectious and the pale green eyes full of life and mischief. So what if he was slightly deranged? The most interesting people were.

  

 "I'm glad to know you haven't. Not many elves on Terra from what I hear. By the way, people call me Rabid."

  

 "Roger." The women were approaching earshot. "Yeah, they're really something all right," Roger said, answering Rabid's initial question. Closer up both were even more beautiful. The blonde's eyes were a marvel of flecked green and hazel. "Maybe you really are an elf. Them too… it's hard to believe either of them could be human."

  

 Rabid laughed. "Feldspar is, supposedly, although a lot of people on our planet doubt it too." He turned to speak to the women. "I'd say we've acquired our trusty native guide."

  

 On our planet? They were aliens? "You were beamed down by a spaceship!" Now that made sense.

  

 "Damn stupid, even for a human… if you ask me," the blonde said. "We can do better, bunny boy."

  

 "Bunny boy? How dare you… my appellation is Moonreaver, as you well know. If you're not going to call me that, the name isn't Rabbit, it's Rabid. Call me Rabid."

  

 "Call me Ishmael," she answered, flipping a dismissive hand. An alien who'd read Melville?

  

 "Not a chance," Rabid responded. "Will you settle for Ishtar?"

  

 "I will if she doesn't object." The three stood still for a moment, anticipating… something?

  

 The dark woman laughed, her resonant tones echoing off the stone walls. She'd been the one who'd hailed him? He'd assumed it'd been the blonde. How did such a deep voice live in that slender body? "Okay, nothing happened so Ishtar it is. Hi, I'm Feldspar." She held out a hand to him and smiled. Her deep eyes were her strongest feature, despite all that was below them.

  

 Roger took her hand and shook it, barely resisting an urge to bow and kiss it instead. "You expected some other Ishtar to object? I'm surprised aliens would believe in a Babylonian deity. What did you expect to happen? The skies to open and reduce you to a pile of ash?"

  

 "Sarcasm, almost," the blonde now called Ishtar said. "And a touch of education from somewhere. Okay, I've changed my mind. He'll do. Greetings earthling, you've been drafted into the quest for the Adornments of Glory." Her pronouncement was punctuated by the squealing of brake-locked tires on pavement and a deafening crash from the nearby and aptly named University Avenue.

  

 Feldspar shook off Roger's hand. She and Rabid glanced at each other, then started running towards the sound. Roger saw at least part of how Rabid had snuck up. The man, or elf, didn't run as much as flit from point to point. Feldspar ran in a more conventional manner, with graceful ground-eating strides.

  

 "Damn elf is a low-grade teleport," Ishtar said. "Didn't think to mention that talent, he didn't."

  

 "Where are they going? Okay, I guess that is a stupid question," Roger added in response to a scathing look. "What I meant was 'why are they rushing to the scene of the accident'?"

  

 "They're healers. Minor league, but all elves can heal a little and of course Feldspar is the Prophesied whether any of us like it or not. Guess we better follow and make sure they don't get into trouble, or leave us behind." Ishtar sighed and started walking in the direction her companions had gone.

  

 The Prophesied? And what had that been about… the quest for the Adornments of Glory? Ishtar had sounded serious. Nutcases, all three of them. And the women were out of his league… and he was going to be late for work if he didn't head that way, pronto.

  

 Ishtar stopped and turned back toward him. "You coming or what?"

  

 "How much does this quest pay?"

  

 "Damn Terran money-worshipping moron. I was right about you the first time." Ishtar wheeled and started walking again, at a much faster pace.

  

 Roger had to sprint to catch up. "I have to make a living."

  

 "As a drudge? You're too smart for that, and too cute. From what I can tell, what you need is a life worth living, not a living."

  

 Ishtar might have a point. Washing dishes was just a step on the road to a hoped-for future, not a career. So what if he got fired? What could he lose? A furnished room in a dive and all the leftovers he could eat?

  

 And what could he gain? In the short run, the company of two of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, much less talked to--and an elf. And they had as much as admitted they were extra-terrestrials. Ishtar had called him a moron. If he walked away from this he would be. "I'm sorry, Ishtar. You're right. I'm in this with you until the end."

  

 "Glad you realise it." Ishtar started walking again. Roger almost had to jog to keep up. "The gods get pissed when conscripts try to back out," Ishtar continued. "I wonder if they also felt the need to sacrifice anyone in order to bond you to our cause?"

  

 The accident had happened just as Ishtar was telling him he'd been enlisted into their quest. A coincidence? He hoped. A sacrifice? Had people on other planets made a science out of black magic? "Your gods would do something like that?"

  

 "I didn't say they were my gods." A sparrow toppled from the branch of the tree just ahead of them. Ishtar stepped forward and caught it in her open hand. "Very funny," she said, looking up. "Just like one of you to use the blameless as an example." She tossed the bird into the air. With a surprised chirp it spread its wings and flew away.

  

 Roger didn't know what to say, so said nothing. He'd always found that a good policy. They arrived at University Avenue. The accident was minor in nature.

  

 "No fatalities here," Ishtar said, "at least not if Rabid can save that maple."

  

 A sports car had run into the side of a van, crumpling the van's right side on impact and its own hood when it bounced off a tree. Rabid was leaning against the maple, swaying slightly, his hands pressed to the tree's trunk. Roger could see the bark stripped off by the car's impact regenerating. He could? Could anyone else? Neither of the drivers was paying any mind. Both men were totally engrossed by Feldspar; she had one hand on each as she talked.

  

 A police car arrived as Roger and Ishtar got to the edge of the road. The officers glanced at Feldspar and the men, then went towards Rabid. One grabbed for his holster. "Okay, freak, turn around slowly."

  

 "He didn't have nothing to do with this, officer," one of the men with Feldspar said. "I was sort of driving around, kind of thinking about other stuff, and swerved into Mr. Singer's lane. It was all my fault."

  

 "I was going far too fast," Mr. Singer said. "Really, I can't blame Bill here for hitting me."

  

 "This piece of shit didn't have anything to do with it?" a policeman asked.

  

 "Wasn't even around."

  

 "We'd better take him in anyway, O'Shillelagh," the other officer said. "You know what the mayor wants us to do with weirdoes." He took out his handcuffs, hesitated, then turned to the drivers. "Are either of you gentlemen in need of medical assistance?"

  

 "I rather think that won't be necessary. I do, however, feel a bit odd, don't you Bill?" Mr. Singer asked.

  

 "Yeah. Hey, how come we ain't yelling at each other and calling our lawyers?"

  

 "I am my lawyer, Bill. Guess we're just both having a good day."

  

 Officer O'Shillelagh laughed. "Glad you guys are. This scumbag won't. Hands behind your back, green boy." He put the handcuffs on Rabid.

  

 Ishtar walked over to the other policeman. "Excuse me, but he's my boyfriend."

  

 "You can come with him, if you'd like." O'Shillelagh holstered his gun and took a step towards Ishtar. "Cute little slut like you can do a lot better than that trash though." He hitched up his pants.

  

 Feldspar let the driver's hands go and turned to the policeman. "You'll regret it if you try to rape her." Her voice carried.

  

 "Rape? What the fuck are you talking about, sister? We wouldn't rape no one. We're police officers."

  

 "Noronto police officers." Roger regretted his words the instant he said them.

  

 "And what the fuck do you mean by that, asshole?"

  

 "O'Shillelagh. Witnesses." The second officer shoved Rabid into the back of the cruiser. "And we've got an accident to deal with first."

  

 The eyes fixed on Roger didn't waver. "Yeah, okay... guess so. I'll remember you, shithead. If I see you again, you're dead meat." He turned. "You girls better get yourselves and him out of here or you'll all be going to the lockup." He walked away.

  

  

 "We're just going to leave Rabid?"

  

 Feldspar had joined them. Roger wasn't sure if Ishtar's question was for him, or Feldspar. He answered. "If we try to do anything, we'll get arrested as well."

  

 "Damn coward. I'm going to clobber the bastards."

  

 "No." Feldspar grabbed Ishtar before she could move. "Think about it--didn't you notice? Rabid's a teleport. Let's get going. He can escape on his own."

  

 "And what if he can't? What if you're wrong? Roger? What would they do with him?"

  

 "Detain him, see if they can trump up a charge by planting drugs on him or something. Depends on the mood they're in, and whether they've made their quota." He shrugged. "Or they might just let him go with a warning to get the next bus out of town. But I doubt that; my guess is they'll take him down to some isolated beach, beat him up and leave him there. It's a long-standing Noronto tradition."

  

 "But none of that is going to happen." Feldspar walked away. "He'll escape," she added, over her shoulder.

  

 "I suppose we're just supposed to follow you? Trust your judgement?" Ishtar still sounded angry. When Feldspar didn't answer or look back, Ishtar turned and looked up at Roger. With an effort, he kept his eyes fixed on hers--the loose neckline of her dress beckoned. "Are things really as bad as all that here on Terra?" she asked.

  

 "If you don't have money… yes. Worse, most places. They call this 'Noronto the Good.' The police force here seldom kills or even seriously maims detainees."

  

 "Damn barbarians." Ishtar glanced back at the accident scene. "Hope the damn Prophesied's right about this." She turned to follow Feldspar. Despite her short legs, Roger had to almost jog to keep up.

  

 * * * * *

  

 What a vile damn world, Terra--the air full of partially burned hydrocarbons, the earth covered with concrete, the sound level mind-numbing… and their guide, a spineless idiot benumbed by his brutal fellow beings. No, that wasn't fair. This place would make anyone into a zombie and that, Roger wasn't. He was quick on the uptake, understood their Diluvian sense of humour and his voice was resonant and deep. With some help, he could make it into an effective weapon. It wasn't his fault he was human, or Terran… and he had taste… obviously he thought her more interesting than Feldspar. That was a pleasant change from back home, just like Rabid--could it be a trend? One could hope. Roger was walking beside her, pretending to not look. From him, she didn't mind the peeks. Yeah, with some work, he could be something--for a human.

  

 No, Feldspar was the gutless one, leaving their companion behind. Okay, she probably was right and Rabid would free himself from his captors, but still--those men should be recycled before they could do what they wanted to do to Rabid to anyone else. Yeah, Terra was every bit as sick as people said. No damn values, letting creatures like those uniformed monsters breathe. She moved a bit closer to Roger and let her hip bump his. He jumped.

  

 "Sorry." Was he scared of her, along with everything else?

  

 "For what?" She reached out and grabbed his hand. "Come on, we'd better catch up with Feldspar."

  

 "What about Rabid? Shouldn't we wait for him?"

  

 "You're right. If we go too far, he might not find us." She stopped, yanking him to a halt. She bent to pick up a pebble and felt his eyes admiring her backside. Damn vow… she threw the pebble, harder than she'd meant to, hitting Feldspar on the shoulder. Feldspar looked back at them and then beyond.

  

 Ishtar turned. Ishtar--she liked the name, it was so much better than Grunt. Rabid was flickering towards them like the half-assed teleport he was. His hands were still in manacles, but he was free. He stopped in front of them and grinned.

  

 "Don't get too involved with her, Roger, she's out of action until the quest succeeds."

  

 She wouldn't dignify that with an answer. "I suppose you can't teleport out of the cuffs? No? Well, I can probably pick the locks, but it will take some time."

  

 Roger squeezed her hand. "This isn't the place to try. Those cops will be looking for him."

  

 "Doubt it." Rabid laughed. "You should have seen the looks on their faces when I zapped from inside their car, then tapped on the window. Those boys are scared. One might need a change of trousers." He smiled at Feldspar as she arrived beside them. "Thanks for trusting me to get away from them on my own."

  

 "What else could I have done?" Her eyes moved from Rabid to Roger, to Roger's hand. "Ishtar, remember your vow."

  

 "What? Oh yeah, damn right." She shook off Roger and turned to face Feldspar. "We're on this cesspool planet, their police are chasing us, and what bothers you is that the first man we met fell for me, not you. Damn idiot, that's what you are."

  

 "You don't understand."

  

 "I don't? Why?"

  

 "Ladies... could you save this fight for a better time?" Rabid held his manacled hands in front of him. "While those particular thugs may not come after me, others are sure to notice."

  

 "Can't notice what they can't see." Feldspar moved closer to Rabid. "There--all gone." The handcuffs were invisible. Neat trick... Ishtar had to admit that... to herself.

  

 Roger jumped backwards. "What... what happened?"

  

 "Nothing. And don't you run away." Ishtar wrapped an arm around his waist to make sure he couldn't… and because she wanted to. "Feldspar's an illusionist. She's spent her whole life hiding. Shrouding a small thing like that is easy for her."

  

 "Not that easy. I'll have to maintain physical contact. Let's see... I can't hold hands with him while he's wearing those things... oh well…." She hooked an arm through one of Rabid's. He didn't seem to mind.

  

 "Can you do anything about the hair?" Roger asked. "If they're looking, that's what they'll be looking for... green hair. I suppose we could just get him a hat."

  

 "That would be easier. Where?" Feldspar asked.

  

 "There'll be shops open at the hotel where I work... work... I'm going to be late. I've got to get to work. Can we get going?"

  

 It seemed he'd changed his mind about his job, but he'd asked her, not Feldspar. Ishtar liked that. She'd forgive his wavering. And the pleading look in his soft brown eyes was a real thrill. If it wasn't for the vow she'd push him down on the grass and take him right here.

  

 "You're right. Let's go." Feldspar sounded decisive. Good for her. "Okay, which way?" So much for decisive.

  

 And no one moved. Roger didn't even glance at Feldspar. Got him! No doubt now… but she couldn't do anything interesting with him until they were finished this damn quest. So…

  

 The quest--she'd almost forgotten the quest? And why did she care about some human, mooning over her? A human? And a Terran human at that? Okay, for one of his race he wasn't bad but they were going to be around each other for a while and he was the sort of male that would get all obsessed and overly involved, maybe even start babbling about "love." That was Feldspar's thing, sucking in her partners' affections. The casual approach worked much better. Sex was like a meal--you ate, then you left the table.

  

 And come to think of it, why was she all-of-a-sudden the big draw? Here and at home? Shouldn't be, not around the Prophesied with all her damn foretold charisma.

  

 She shook off Roger's hand. "Feldspar? I think we've got a problem."

  

 "You mean you have?"

  

 Damn Feldspar's amused tone of voice. "Me, and us. Someone's messed with my aura."

  

 What was Grunt talking about? Not Grunt... Ishtar... she had to remember her soul-sister's new name. They needed to talk… privately.

  

 "Roger? You said you want to get to work? So why are you standing here? You're our guide--get moving." Feldspar snapped the last two words in her Belinda voice. Roger jumped.

  

 "Yes, ma'am." He started off at a rapid pace, by himself. Rabid by her side, she followed. As Ishtar would say, damn her stupidity for bringing a green elf on quest to Terra. It wasn't a normal hair colour here, and any fool should have been able to figure out it would make for trouble--any fool but her. Had to remember humans weren't a civilised race, not here. Except they were, sort of… in a different way... they were xenophobic same way that otherwise sophisticated dwarves hated anything not dwarvish. And she had to expect things to be different on Terra. But some things should remain the same, and they weren't.

  

 Ishtar was right. Someone or something was changing the very essence of who they were. On Diluvia, Ishtar had her following, but their newfound guide had eyes only for her. It wasn't that she was jealous of Ishtar, but that wasn't how things were or should be. And there was also the matter of the new name. Within minutes of being on Terra, she'd changed it. Being known as Grunt had suited her for twenty years... five minutes on Terra and she was Ishtar, a Terran aspect of The Huntress? Yes, something was most decidedly amiss.

  

 "You're right… someone ensorcelled you." Ishtar had fallen in beside her. Roger was still walking ahead of them, on his own, although he seemed to have slowed to let them catch up.

  

 At least the snort was as always, loud and derisive. "Don't talk like it's damn magic, not mind-science. Someone's been playing with my aura."

  

 "Semantics aside... who? Who could?" No one on Adepts Five had that kind of power. "Planetsinger?"

  

 "Doubt it. Even she's not that strong."

  

 Rabid cleared his throat. "Who witnessed the vow you ladies made at the shrine? Who cloaked the sun and made the earth tremble when you invited me along on this vacation? And who caused an accident, just as you drafted Roger?"

  

 "Damn rhetorical questions."

  

 "Damn females that don't pay attention... I've said this before--we're god-bitten, all of us. And when a gang of divine slime-lords has its teeth sunk in... Ishtar... it doesn't let go. If you and Roger have fallen for each other, it's all part of what they have ordained. Don't try waste your time fighting their wishes--even if you win, you'll lose."

  

 There was bitterness to his words. Feldspar felt she had to ask. "You know this from personal experience?"

  

 "My gift is a curse. I've bedded with more than my share of immortals. Everlasting life must get boring… perverts, every one of them… every damn one…."

  

 Rabid was still muttering under his breath as Roger led them through a set of double glass doors into a building, and downstairs. So, this was a mall. In contemporary Terran fiction, action was always taking place in malls, which some writers described as modern town squares. The place didn't do anything for Feldspar. The artificial lights were cold and the shops encased by glass and steel--even closed, their wares were on full display.

  

 Roger stopped and waited for them to catch up. "Okay, can I ask a few questions now?" He sounded angry. Feldspar didn't blame him.

  

 "Can I apologise first?" she asked. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bark at you like that. I'm not sure what got into me."

  

 Ishtar laughed. "Last night... nothing, and nothing will tonight either."

  

 Why wouldn't Ishtar just be quiet? "You're not helping." That she might be right didn't make it any better.

  

 Roger broke the brief silence. "Forgiven. I think you're frightened. Me too. It would help me to know what I've gotten into. What are these Adornments of Glory? Who has them? Why? What am I supposed to do as your guide? And should I be go into work or stay with you?"

  

 "Which question do you want answered?" Rabid asked. "Sorry, Feldspar. I'll be quiet."

  

 She'd only glanced at him. Did she seem that vicious to everyone? "No problem. I think we may work better as a collective. And you're right--we haven't the time to explain the Adornments now. Roger, as our guide you're to show us what you think we don't know about Terra."

  

 "I don't know what you don't know. And I'm not sure I understand why you know anything. Have you people been monitoring our communications? You speak good English, for aliens."

  

 Ishtar's laughter lacked its usual sarcastic edge. "Thank the elves and Shakespeare. Elves have traded out of London, and then New York and Hong Kong for about five hundred years. Since the Bard, one of the big imports has been literature."

  

 "You don't produce your own?"

  

 "Of course, but there aren't many Diluvians, compared to you. Not as much pain and anguish either, and that's what makes writers--or so they say."

  

 Feldspar stepped between them. Time to get the party back on track. "As for whether you should go into work, that's up to you. What do your entrails tell you?"

  

 Ishtar answered. "That he has to go in. His people are counting on him."

  

 "I'm a dishwasher."

  

 "And who's going to wash them if you don't show up? Keeping your word is important." Ishtar bumped him with a hip, making him stagger, then took his hand to steady him.

  

 "Then it's settled," Feldspar said, doing her best to project authority. "You get us a hat for Rabid, see if you can find us somewhere Ishtar can work on picking the lock on the manacles, and go do what you have to do." Forget that collective leadership nonsense--heading the party was her job.

  

 "There should be some good spots down this way." Roger led them down the corridor of shops.

  

 "Wow!" Ishtar dragged Roger to a stop in front of a mannequin sprayed waist down in glittering silver... no, those were pants. "I want a pair of those."

  

 "The stores here are expensive," Roger said. "You can get pretty much the same thing further down The Street for half the price."

  

 "We have money."

  

 "No, we don't." What was Ishtar talking about? "We turned Windrover's offer down."

  

 "And you took that packet from Spinecracker, just as we were leaving. That's what should be in it--currency. What did you do with it?"

  

 "Put it in my backpack and forgot about it." That answered the last question. Feldspar swung her pack around to see if Ishtar was right about the contents… yes--paper currency, and a note. "As promised. Collected from various travellers. I intend to collect from you. Spinecracker."

  

 She didn't remember him promising anything their last night together. And how had Ishtar known the nature of the gift? It couldn't be... except, looking at Ishtar's face, she knew it could. It felt like a betrayal.

  

 "You've been bedding him?"

  

 "And you have too? So that's where you were when you left me to sleep in the forest. No wonder the gods insisted you keep your pants on until the job they had for you was finished, you wanton girl you."

  

 "Listen to what's talking. I didn't know you'd started asking men to pay for your company."

  

 "So I want cash and you want devotion--just different prices. And for once I got what I wanted, other than a stiff cock between my legs."

  

 "I'd better go get that hat for Rabid." Roger rushed away.

  

 "You scared him." Feldspar had seen a red flush explode on Roger's face before he'd turned.

  

 "Terrans are reportedly queasy about sex," Rabid said with a slight laugh. "Hard to believe, considering how many of them there are."

  

 "Their gods claim controlling fertility is a sin." Feldspar had done her own reading.

  

 "No, a few of their gods' damn self-proclaimed interpreters that say that.... so they can get more cash. They're all like me, those mouthpieces... practical. If you read anything other than romantic trash, you'd know that, oh naive leader of mine."

  

 Feldspar took a deep breath. This wasn't good. They shouldn't be fighting each other. It was up to her, the commander, to pull them back together. "Bet Spinecracker's been laughing at the both of us for... years?" Had it been going on that long with Ishtar as well?

  

 "For years. And he's not even a good lay. Never thinks of his partner."

  

 "You're right, he doesn't." She thought Spinecracker did, but this a time to express solidarity, not to argue. "I think we should have a long talk with him when we get back."

  

 "Talk? I'm going to kill the bastard."

  

 A loud bell started ringing. Great--what was that? More trouble? But Roger was coming back towards them, a green cap in hand, and he didn't look worried.

  

 "Fire alarm," he shouted. "Been having trouble with them the past week. All false alarms." The bell cut off. "Whew! At least they're getting better at turning it off." He handed Rabid the green cap. "I think this should work. They're a baseball team from California--maybe people will think your hair is green because you're such a fan. And as luck would have it, they're in town this weekend."

  

 "Ah yes... Vida, Reggie, Catfish... now there was a team."

  

 "That was a while back... and I thought you'd never been to Earth."

  

 "I thought the same." Feldspar took Rabid's shoulders and wrenched him around to face her. "You lied?"

  

 "One of my acquaintances imports illegal videos of baseball games, especially the World Series. And don't grab me like that unless you mean it." His smile was thin.

  

 "Sorry." She let go.

  

 "You're looking for a place Ishtar can work on the handcuffs," Roger said, starting down the glass-lined hall. "Down here might be good."

  

 "Then again, it might not," he said a minute later. They were in a large cavern, filled with tables. Food vendors ringed the outside. A few were open for business and a number of tables were taken. "Maybe if you sit in a corner?"

  

 "Don't think so." Ishtar shook her head. "Feldspar will have to make the manacles visible again so I can work on them. Is it worth the risk?" she asked, looking up at Feldspar.

  

 "I can keep them invisible forever, as long as I don't have to do any other illusions. We'll wait."

  

 "Gee, thanks." Rabid shook his arms, rattling invisible chains.

  

 "But maybe you should sit here for a minute or so." Feldspar turned to Roger. "Did that door with the outline of someone in a skirt mean what I think?"

  

 "Probably."

  

 "I should make a visit. Rabid, if you face the wall, no one should notice the manacles."

  

 Roger laughed. "At this hour, most people don't see much--but I should get to work. You guys will be okay? Meet you here in about three hours? I get a break between breakfast and lunch."

  

 "We'll be fine," Feldspar assured him, and herself. Leadership lesson number one was to show confidence. She wasn't sure she could remember any of the other tenets. Oh yes, make peace... she'd just done that.

  

 When she got back, both Ishtar and Rabid expressed a need to go. "If I stand outside I should be able to keep the chains unseen," she said to Rabid. She hoped she could--she'd never tried anything of the sort before.

  

 While she was waiting, a man in a uniform with a patch that said "Inn Security" came by. He looked at her, smiled, and walked on. Ishtar came out and went back to the cavern to wait. A man who'd gone in after Rabid came out.

  

 "You're guarding the guy in cuffs?"

  

 "He's not dangerous."

  

 "Hmmm." He looked both ways down the hall and seeing the security guard, started in that direction at a rapid pace.

  

 "Rabid." She banged on the door. "Emergency."

  

 "Here too," he answered in a strained voice.

  

 Great. She couldn't go inside--wouldn't want to anyway, considering. Sounded like nerves had given Rabid the runs. Down the hall the man who'd been in the facilities with Rabid was talking to the guard. Then they both started her way, walking quickly. If it came to a fight, she could beat both of them handily, but that was no solution. Think... make the door seem part of the wall? Possible... but no. She smiled. Keep it simple. She shifted to in front of the door with the skirt sign, and concentrated... two small changes.

  

 "Care to explain, ma'am?"

  

 "Constipation, I suspect."

  

 "About the handcuffs."

  

 "Handcuffs?" She looked at the other man. "Hey mister, just because I wouldn't let you pick me up is no reason to cause trouble."

  

 The guard switched his attention to the man. "Is that what this is about?"

  

 "No way. She's lying. Here, see for yourself." Two quick steps and he opened the door.

  

 Feldspar let the sign change back. "He told you there was a guy in handcuffs in the ladies room?"

  

 "Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing, mister?"

  

 While they were arguing, Rabid emerged. Feldspar immediately dealt with the handcuffs and stepped forward. "Pardon me, do you need us for anything?"

  

 The guard looked at her, then at Rabid. "Don't think so. Sorry for the misunderstanding. Have a nice day."

  

 "Thank you." She started back towards where Ishtar was waiting. "You okay?" she asked Rabid, quietly.

  

 "Fine. I just hadn't considered the inherent difficulty of performing certain necessary sanitary protocols with one's hands shackled." He sounded embarrassed.

  

 Feldspar managed to not laugh. Not the runs after all. "Got it. I think we'd better get out of here though."

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 The streets were busy, but two hours after sunrise the only Terran shops open were those selling food. Mind you, going by the time they'd left Diluvia it was after lunch. Feldspar wouldn't have eaten in the underground mall anyway--the place smelled of rancid fat and burnt sugar--that was probably why few people ate there. No, when travelling, Feldspar always followed Skythane's principle of "eat where the locals prefer to eat", especially when the inn of one lodge was preferred over others.

  

 The most popular eatery in sight was called Buffoon Burgers. It evoked memories of Harlequin's Head, although the colours of the sign were far less attractive. Still, this probably was the gods giving her a sign. Feldspar led her party in without consulting--she was the leader, after all. They joined the end of the serving line.

  

 The closer they got to the counter the more Feldspar began to think she'd made a mistake. The odours in the air were the same as in the underground, and the servers had the glazed eyes of zombies. The food was served in boxes and covered with bags. Feldspar suspected there was a good reason for that. Still, she didn't want to seem indecisive, so they were going to eat here. The man in front of them ordered a 'number three'.

  

 "Three number threes." She smiled at the server.

  

 "That'll be twelve bucks."

  

 Ishtar had the money. When Feldspar turned to ask, Ishtar already had it out. She put the top bill on the counter. When the girl didn't take it, she put down another.

  

 "Hey, like we only take Canadian and American here. Where's this stuff from anyway?"

  

 "Europe," Feldspar said. Where else would a Euro come from?

  

 "Cool, but I can only take Canadian or American."

  

 "Here, take what you need," Ishtar said, displaying a fan of paper in her hand.

  

 "Jeez, you guys from outer space or something? You rob a currency exchange? Bet this is one of those secret camera shows, right? Okay, I'll take this one. Kind of big, but I can make change." The server plucked her choice from Ishtar's hand, punched buttons on her machine and handed back five bills and a handful of coins. "There. Change for a hundred. Try and have some small stuff next time, okay?"

  

 The food was as bad as Feldspar had feared. Fat oozed and pooled in glistening ponds, the eggs were overcooked with pallid yolks and the meat, unrecognisable... if it was indeed meat. At least it wasn't beef. The cardboard cup had "Coffee" written on the side and a picture of a mound of beans. It was the right colour, but tasted like water.

  

 "Good choice, illustrious leader," Ishtar said, pushing away her plate. "This stuff smells like harpy droppings, no... ogre barf."

  

 "People are looking at us." Ishtar's loud comment had garnered a few chuckles and many puzzled looks from nearby tables.

  

 "Well of course they're looking. You're both beautiful. Say, I think that woman serving likes me." Rabid stood and started back towards the counter. "I'm going ask her for a liaison."

  

 The server picked up a telephone.

  

 Ishtar jumped to her feet and grabbed the invisible chain between Rabid's hands. "Can't you keep it in your pants for even one day?"

  

 The place fell silent. All eyes were on them. Ishtar and Rabid looked at Feldspar, guilty expressions on their faces. Feldspar nodded towards the door. Time to leave. The food was inedible and they were doing a poor job of fitting in. She should have insisted Roger stay to guide them. She should have chosen a different place to eat.

  

 A police car pulled up as they stepped outside. The officer who got out was the size of a small troll. He wasn't one of those who'd been at the accident scene, praise the Unknown.

  

 "They went that way." Feldspar pointed down the block. The officer's eyes didn't leave her. Fine--time to confuse the issue--Feldspar became Belinda.

  

 "Can't fool me with that old trick--holy shit--I mean pardon me, I didn't recognise you at first, ma'am."

  

 "You know who I am?"

  

 "Of course."

  

 Feldspar didn't like the sound of that. She changed back into herself. The policeman's stare lost focus. His mouth moved but no words emerged.

  

 "You okay?" If he fainted she wasn't going to try catching him.

  

 "Yeah. No. Sorry to bother you." He shook his head and turned to go into Buffoon Burgers.

  

 "Pardon me. Sir?" What was Ishtar doing? He'd been leaving. "You thought you saw someone you knew?" A hesitant nod. "Yeah, I did too. Weird, wasn't it? Who did you see? Aw, come on, tell me."

  

 The policeman shook his head. "Must have been the light or something. You were leaving?"

  

 Feldspar glanced at the officer still in the car. From what she could tell he was making a point of looking elsewhere. "We were leaving. Thank you."

  

  

 Lunch break took forever to arrive. Roger loaded rack after rack after rack of dishes into the machine, took them out at the other end and put them on the shelves. He should have booked off sick--stupid, stupid, stupid. Shock, he'd been in shock, that had to be it. Still was. Elves? Dwarves? Gods? Two of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. What was he doing here? A quest? Okay, he'd read Tolkien, who hadn't? People on quests didn't wash dishes, didn't kiss the hairy butts of surly cooks and waiters, didn't wait for lunch break for the story to continue. Well, expect maybe in Tolkien... he was slow-paced.

  

 "Watch where you're going, asshole!"

  

 "Sorry." He'd almost sent a waiter flying.

  

 "Grapefruit spoons. Where are the damn grapefruit spoons, O'Brien? Cutlery--get it washed."

  

 "Yes sir." The headwaiter was the worst of them. When he made it as an actor, Roger was going to come back to the Westshire and return everything to the kitchen to be re-cooked or replaced. And he wouldn't leave a tip.

  

 "Hey, we need juice glasses. Hello, world to dishwasher--get your ass in gear."

  

 Finally it was ten. The breakfast dishes were done and lunch hadn't started. Roger stripped off his rubber apron and left.

  

 Ishtar and Rabid were sitting in the corner of the food court, Rabid facing the wall. It didn't look like they'd had any luck removing his handcuffs. Which, as he got closer, were all too visible. Feldspar was nowhere to be seen.

  

 "Where is she?" In jail, probably.

  

 "In what you Terrans call the 'Ladies'." Ishtar's smile was thin. "Again. It's one thing she can manage without your expert advice."

  

 "Oh." From the sounds of it, things weren't going well.

  

 "Don't worry, she'll figure things out." Roger wasn't sure if Ishtar was teasing. The plumbing might be different on Diluvia. Who'd know? Epic fantasy seldom took bathroom breaks. "I'm glad you came back." Ishtar put a hand on Roger's arm. He reacted instantly.

  

 Rabid laughed. "He looks like me, waist down. You might want to tone down your charisma, Ishtar."

  

 "Oops, sorry. Not fair when I can't finish what I start. Roger, we need you to explain Terran money."

  

 "You don't use money on Diluvia?" It was difficult to focus on what Ishtar was saying.

  

 "You probably should unhand him as well," Rabid said. "And maybe you should get Feldspar to teach you how to shield."

  

 "Like she could teach me anything." Ishtar's hand left Roger as she took a step away from him. The world felt emptier. "We had another run-in with the cops, at a place called Buffoon Burgers..." Feldspar returned partway through the story. Roger hardly noticed. Ishtar's voice was a caress. He did understand what she was saying, however. Bathrooms might not be a problem, but money was, although in a different manner than he was used to money being a problem.

  

 "How much cash do you have?" People with the sort of cash they apparently had wouldn't eat at Buffoon Burgers. That alone would arouse suspicion. As to how much cash they had, Ishtar's answering smile spoke sarcasm. Of course... if she could answer that question, she wouldn't have asked him to explain money.

  

 Roger sat, his back to the room, shielding the table as he looked at their bankroll. Good thing. They had more money than he'd ever seen, at least in its variety: dollars from half a dozen countries, Euros, pesos, pounds, rubles and a number of currencies he didn't recognise offhand. There was more American than anything, and a few thousand Canadian. Big bills. He learned they'd paid for breakfast with a hundred, after showing off a good bit of the stash. Yeah, that would have got them noticed.

  

 "How long did you say this quest should take?" he asked.

  

 "Two weeks at the most." Feldspar glanced at Ishtar. "Right?"

  

 "Less, we hope."

  

 "And you aren't going to need to travel?" Airplane fares were expensive.

  

 "Not as far as we know." Ishtar answered without consulting anyone. "Indications are that Delarone has his headquarters here in Noronto."

  

 "How do you know that?" Feldspar asked.

  

 "The portal records show this is where he always comes. Evidently he isn't worried about being found." She looked at Feldspar. "Oh, you mean how do I know that? I massaged the backbone before you showed up and after the rumours were out. Spinecracker's shown me a few back doors into the system."

  

 "And you've shown him a back door of your own I'd presume?"

  

 "Can we keep on topic?" Roger screwed up his courage and moved between them. "My lunch break is only half an hour. You're going to need a place to stay. My place is too small." Almost too small for one person although perfect for two--like himself and Ishtar--half an hour, don't daydream. "You should get a room. Here at the Westshire, I suppose." He sorted the cash, taking the American and Canadian out. "Pay with this. Tell them you're in Noronto scouting movie locations." That should make the backpacks, Rabid's green hair and almost any bizarre behaviour acceptable. Movie people were expected to be strange.

  

 "That sounds too easy." Ishtar stowed the unwanted currency in her pack. "What could go wrong?"

  

 Almost anything. "You all look too young."

  

 "But people don't respect age here. Terrans are stupid that way." Ishtar said with certainty.

  

 "Old age. No, I guess we don't." Roger took a moment to phrase an answer mentally before he spoke. "But young people aren't respected either, not really. It's hard to say who is... people with money, I suppose, but to have the sort of money you're carrying you should be older. They might think you're drug pushers." Or in the movies, Roger realised, a bit too late. He couldn't take back his words. It would make him sound unsure of himself or worse, foolish.

  

 "Okay, we'll do it. But don't expect we're going to hide there waiting for you." Ishtar stood. "No damn way. We have things to do."

  

 "You can do research from the room. They have Internet connections. I got the impression you know how to use the Internet."

  

 "Yeah, but I don't have a primitive enough computer to hook in. All I brought was my com-reader," she said patting the small handheld on her belt.

  

 "Which won't work without our Diluvian satellites," Rabid added.

  

 Ishtar and Feldspar looked surprised to hear from Rabid on the matter. "Like Roger said, people here don't respect age. You two should fit in--I'll have you know I'm pushing four hundred."

  

 Right. That was interesting, and while he wanted to know how a com-reader worked, Roger knew he had only twenty minutes to do whatever and get back to work. "There's a computer store half a block down. We can buy a notebook for you." Ishtar had enough Canadian currency for that, which would leave the American to pay the hotel. That probably was better anyway. Movie people tended to be Americans.

  

 It took longer than expected. Ishtar wanted the best, which meant she didn't want the standard operating system and software. "Damn cobbled-together junk. You have Linux?"

  

 They did, but wouldn't discount the price of the software Ishtar intended to erase. Every scrap of the Canadian money went to the purchase and Roger had to put the extra software on his credit card. Ishtar gave him a hundred American in exchange. He got back to the hotel kitchen fifteen minutes late, after arranging to meet the Diluvians in the food court in four hours. If he got fired, he'd look for them in the hotel. They'd be okay getting a room on their own. No one questioned cash.

  

  

 The reception area of this Westshire Inn Hotel would swallow Square's Inn or Harlequin's Head... well, perhaps, not quite. Feldspar looked up... okay, the gabled roof of Square's might brush the chandelier, but still, this building was immense, far larger than any on Diluvia, even the Academy's Library. And it was far from the largest building in the city of Noronto. A being could get swallowed in this city without anyone else taking notice.

  

 "So, we going to get that damn room or stand here looking stupid?"

  

 "I don't think looking stupid is our problem," Rabid said with a strangled laugh. "Except, perhaps mine." He tugged his new hat down. It didn't hide his green hair... it didn't even match. Yes, they were getting their share of attention or, at any rate, his hair and Ishtar's breasts were.

  

 "But will they give us a room? Roger thinks we all look too young to have enough money to stay here."

  

 "He didn't quite say that," Ishtar responded. "But if that's all that's worrying you, look older. No one would mistake your mother for a child."

  

 "True... but from the way that policeman reacted earlier, they might mistake her for someone they know."

  

 "All the better. Don't you want to know why he thought he knew her?"

  

 "Suppose so. Yes, I do. Okay...." Feldspar glanced around. With the stares Rabid and Ishtar were drawing she couldn't change into Belinda out in the open. Back downstairs in the ladies' facilities? She couldn't think of anywhere better. "I'm going to need somewhere more private."

  

 "Why?" Ishtar asked. "Just take a couple of steps back. I'll make sure no one notices."

  

 "Okay." If Ishtar's plan, whatever it was, didn't work, then they'd go downstairs. She moved away from Ishtar and Rabid.

  

 "Damn! Sure is hot in here!" Ishtar's voice resounded in the lobby. "I'm sweating like a pig. Here hold this." She gave Rabid the computer and undid two clasps on her top. One more and she'd fall out of it. Aha! Yes, everyone was watching to see if she would as she took back the laptop. Feldspar became Belinda and stepped forward again.

  

 "Do yourself up. That's indecent." And all eyes were suddenly on her. Interesting, Belinda was more fascinating to these people than Ishtar's breasts? Why? Belinda must be known on Terra. They'd have to investigate that... later. Right now... "You can undress when we get our room," she said, grabbing Ishtar's hand and dragging her towards the desk.

  

 "Linda Bedarova!" The man behind the desk certainly thought he recognised Belinda. Linda Bedarova? Was that an alias, or did Belinda just happen to resemble some Terran notable? Unlikely, but it could be. Feldspar wondered how she should react? Deny being this Linda Bedarova?

  

 Ishtar decided matters. "Very good--now that you've identified her, put your eyes back in your head and give us a damn room."

  

 The man glanced at Ishtar almost as hard, her face first--then her nigh on exposed breasts and then, with an effort, her face once more. "I didn't know Ms. Bedarova had a daughter. You have to be her daughter--you look just like her."

  

 "Yeah, I suppose... if she had tits."

  

 "Pardon me?"

  

 "Too damn bad I don't look like my father instead," Ishtar continued, "then we might know who he was."

  

 "What?" The man's head jerked up from his latest examination of Ishtar's endowment. He pasted the smile on his face and turned to Belinda. "Sorry, but you have to admit..." A shake of the head, as if to clear it. "Pardon me again... I hope you won't mind staying in our Bridal Suite, Ms. Bedarova. On such short notice it's the only decent set of rooms we have available."

  

 "It will have to do. Here." Ishtar stepped forward, the sheaf of currency Roger had approved in her hand.

  

 "Unnecessary." The man waved Ishtar away. "Having Ms. Bedarova choose to stay here is a coup for the Westshire. Should upper management decide her stay is to be other than complimentary, we'll bill Megacentenarian Productions. Front!"

  

 A small man dressed in grotesque plaid livery scuttled up, glanced at the packs on their backs and then tried to take Ishtar's new computer from her hand. Rabid grabbed Ishtar's free arm before she could swing. The man led them to an elevator similar to those that went down to the dwarven food mines except more ornate and much smaller.

  

 Their suite was as large as the common room of Square's inn, the carpet red and ankle deep, the furniture white leather. It wasn't where Feldspar would have chosen to stay but she could tolerate it, she hoped. She swung her pack off her back and onto a small table, almost knocking off a vase of flowers. Something was wrong about the plants. She felt a leaf. They weren't real. Or rather, they were real but weren't real flowers.

  

 Ishtar gave the liveried man a bill. "Thank you ever so much." He bowed and left.

  

 "Linda Bedarova?" Feldspar felt dazed.

  

 "No wonder Belinda didn't want anyone other than her to come to Terra." Ishtar put her computer on another small table. "Other people must know--quite a few other people: Windrover, Square, Spinecracker...."

  

 "Spinecracker," Feldspar said. She took a deep breath. "You're right... he'd have to know." Spinecracker knew other things, like that she could become Belinda. Windrover and Square? She had her doubts.

  

 "Damn right," Ishtar continued, "and just wait 'til I see him again. But for now, we have to find out what the bitch has been up to. Where do I plug this thing in? Here. Let's see, I guess this is a port. Wires, how primitive..."

  

 "Aren't you going to upgrade the software first?"

  

 "No damn time. Besides, I got a year's free Internet access with this. Suppose I can live with the crap operating system. We have to find out about Belinda's Terran persona and that Megacenturian Productions thing the desk clerk mentioned. Bitch Belinda... guess all those times she disappeared from Capitol, she really disappeared."

  

 "No one would look too hard for her." Feldspar knew she never had. When Belinda wasn't around you just thanked the gods.

  

 "Linda Bedarova. Damn, why won't this thing connect? I should have heard of her when I was studying Terra and I didn't--not that I'd have made a connection without visuals, but still... damn Spinecracker's been filtering a lot from the Terran signal."

  

 "Could be him." If anyone could control content from Terra it would be Spinecracker.

  

 "Could be? Has to be. Damn, damn, damn. How does this thing work? Bet Belinda's been bedding him too, the slime."

  

 Feldspar wasn't sure whether Ishtar meant that Belinda or Spinecracker was slime. Her vote was for both, but especially Spinecracker. If that elf had been with her mother... well... his bedding Ishtar was bad enough but forgivable. If he'd been with Belinda, ever, Feldspar was going to kill him... if Ishtar didn't first.

  

 "Wow! Look at this!" Rabid had quickly lost interest in Ishtar's struggle with Terran technology and wandered off into the other rooms. Good idea. Ishtar was cursing under her breath at primitive software and free Internet accounts that were worth every copper.

  

 Feldspar found Rabid sprawled in the centre of a gigantic, heart-shaped bed. Its cover matched the room's carpet--an even brighter red than that in the main area. There was a tub in the corner, also heart-shaped and mirrors on the ceiling. This bedroom wasn't designed for sleeping.

  

 Rabid bounced to a sit, sprung to the floor and teleported across the room in three flickers. "Bet this is a television. Wonder how you turn it on?" He ran his hands over the featureless surface.

  

 "Use the pad of buttons by the bed--they call it a 'remote control.' Don't look at me like that. I'm not in on whatever this conspiracy is--I've seen Terran televisions at the Academy."

  

 "Feldspar? Rabid? I found something."

  

 Ishtar had a picture of Belinda on her computer screen. Belinda naked, cuddling with a craggy older man. Not much question what they'd just been doing. "It seems your mother is a movie star, and a harlot as well here on Terra. Suppose because of all the people here they produce sex shows on film, rather than on stage. Damn Spinecracker. Next time I see him, he's dead."

  

 "Not if I see him first. No wonder he won't bring in video or even photos from Terra--it has nothing to do with bandwidth."

  

 And no wonder people had been looking at her downstairs. Or rather, at Belinda. She hadn't thought her mother had the class to make people want to watch her having sex. She couldn't imagine anyone on Diluvia would. Terrans were sick. Still..."We've got more immediate concerns."

  

 "What? What could be? He's a traitor and she's a traitor and half the damn elves on Diluvia are damn traitors. Belinda probably stole the damn Adornments herself."

  

 "Why the elves?" Rabid asked, inching away from Ishtar.

  

 "Well, most of you come to Terra, sooner or later, don't you? All that racial guilt about the whole Atlantis thing?"

  

 "Very few in recent years, other than exiles. Most have given up on Terra. Frankly, I can see why."

  

 "Then you're traitors to your principles, instead of Diluvia."

  

 "A dwarf defending humans? My my... so miracles can happen."

  

 "I'll give my mother one thing. She's a great actress," Feldspar said, in hopes of forestalling the argument. Belinda's alarm regarding the theft had seemed genuine and she was in on it. "Unless there's some sort of double cross involved," she added in an afterthought. As the Bard said, there was no honour among thieves, "but right now, that doesn't matter."

  

 "Not as far as finding the Adornments, no," Ishtar agreed. "After... maybe. But we've got immediate concerns. I'm sure they aren't really letting Belinda stay here for free. They expect payment in kind." Ishtar's face twisted into a leer.

  

 "Sex?" With the vow in place that would be a problem.

  

 "Nothing that honest and straightforward. Not on Terra."

  

 "Ishtar means Terrans think trading sex directly for value is reprehensible." Feldspar and Ishtar both turned to look at Rabid. "Once again let me say I hope you youngsters don't think I'm here only to swell the party and trade insults. Shakespeare's works had just taken over on Diluvia when I was growing up so I was one of the first elves to grow up thinking in English. I've read pretty much all the Terran fiction that's been put into a civilised electronic form since."

  

 "I haven't that much spare time, and most of it's crap. Two worlds--one Bard. Anyway, could you save the damn lecture for some other time and just tell our glorified leader what is about to happen?" Despite her words, the usual venom was missing from Ishtar's voice. She sounded... tired? Weary?

  

 "Belinda is famous so we're going to get visitors, lots of them, all squirming to meet her," Rabid answered.

  

 "Why? Everyone on Diluvia knows who I am and they don't all rush to see me wherever I am."

  

 "Don't they?" Ishtar's eyes were glittering. "You've never noticed how an inn common room fills up after you arrive? Besides, we're not in Kansas any more, dodo. Terrans make pilgrimages to see people like Linda Bedarova hoping some of the lustre will rub off on them, much like Diluvians visit places like... like say, for instance, your shrine."

  

 "They don't!"

  

 Ishtar turned to Rabid. "We can't expect her to deal with reality on Terra. Never has at home so why would she start here?"

  

 "Okay, then there's an easy solution. Here, I'm not known as myself." Feldspar became Feldspar in appearance. "There. Now they'll leave us alone."

  

 "Damn brilliant, that's what you are. If they can't find her they'll look all the harder. She's been seen. You can't undo what's already done."

  

 There was a knock on the door. "I'd say the procession has started," Ishtar continued. "No damn way we're going to be able to deal with her worshippers and find the Adornments to boot. We can't stay here."

  

 "Nonsense." As it came out, Feldspar realised she'd just used Belinda's favourite word, in the woman's voice. Scary. She went to the door and opened it. "Yes?"

  

 "Hotel security. I'm Jack Sleet, the chief. We'd like to discuss arrangements."

  

 "Arrangements?" Feldspar stepped back, as much to get out of range of Jack Sleet's bad breath and malign aura as to let him in. Sleet was a big man, her height and the width of the door--at least around the waist. His slitted eyes, brown and bloodshot, brought to mind a wild boar ready to charge. He pushed past Feldspar, into the room.

  

 "And I'm Susan Milano, hotel public relations. Is this a good time or should we come back?" A head shorter than Feldspar, her skin was the brownish saffron of the wide-sea people with the usual black hair and dark eyes. She'd been standing well back of Jack Sleet.

  

 "And you are?" Susan's smile--her aura--sent tingles down Feldspar's spine. Everything about her was so controlled and precise. One longed to ruffle her composure.

  

 "I'm Feldspar." She heard the catch in her voice and hoped no one else had. The woman her mother had sent to tempt her with at the Harlequin's Head had been roughly sensual; Susan Milano was similar in appearance but in comparison, concupiscence personified. "Please, come in." And stay.

  

 "Can I see Ms. Bedarova?" Jack Sleet's voice brought Feldspar crashing down from the sky.

  

 "Not unless your eyes are different than mine." Ishtar didn't like him either. "She's not in the damn room."

  

 "She's resting," Rabid added as Jack Sleet puffed up for a response.

  

 "And what the hell are you all about, boy? I mean--green hair? Why?"

  

 "I think you were right, Ishtar. We shouldn't have checked into this hotel." Feldspar started towards the bedroom with the giant heart-shaped bed. "I'll wake up Linda and tell her we're leaving." She hoped neither visitor would think it strange when Linda Bedarova appeared wearing the same outfit she had on.

  

 "Just one minute there, young lady. Please?" That last word didn't sound right coming from Jack Sleet. "Ol' Jack was just funning. We can't let you leave."

  

 "We're prisoners?" From the undertone in her question Ishtar was a sliver away from pounding Sleet into the carpet.

  

 "No, no, no, no." He took a deep breath. "I'm... is that my beeper? Got to go. Suzy Q, you take care of these folks, why don't you?" He stopped to open the door. Feldspar had wondered if he was going to run through it.

  

 Susan Milano smiled at Feldspar. At her, not Ishtar or Rabid... or at Belinda. "I hope you're not really going to leave."

  

 "We should. We were thinking of it."

  

 "What can I do to change your mind?"

  

 Ishtar gave a barking laugh. "You probably don't want her to answer that question." Feldspar felt herself blush. "Then again, yeah... maybe you do."

  

 Susan Milano seemed puzzled, but only for a moment. "Oh. Well, better you than Jack. Much better." She smiled again, at Ishtar this time, a quite different smile. "Your mother has a reputation for being unequivocal and tough. I see you share that as well as her looks. Oh, I'm sorry, I suppose you must be tired of being identified in terms of her."

  

 "Well, they both are blonde." Feldspar wanted to laugh--she shouldn't, she really shouldn't. Ishtar was fuming at the thought anyone might consider she resembled Belinda in the least. Feldspar wanted to tell Susan Milano the truth--that she was really Belinda's daughter, not Ishtar, and that here in this hotel, she was Belinda as well. But they had to maintain the fiction they'd started downstairs. Fictions were like that; you had to keep them going. "Most people don't think Ishtar and Belinda are related." That was certainly true.

  

 "I'm surprised," Susan responded with an elegantly lifted eyebrow. "To me it's obvious. But I can see that's a sensitive point and it's certainly none of my business. The reason Jack and I came up was to ensure that when Ms. Bedarova appears in public in the hotel, we have adequate security. Public relations is my field so if you'll pardon me touching on another sensitive subject, the media attention will be even more extreme than usual, considering your presence, Ms. Ishtar. Were you and your mother considering having a press conference to explain why no one's known of you until now?"

  

 "We hadn't thought about it. Could we have a few minutes to discuss things? Feldspar? Rabid? Do you think we should disturb my mother's nap?"

  

 It wasn't really a question. Feldspar grabbed her pack. For a planned appearance as Belinda as opposed to an extemporaneous one, she should change. All she had with her was another set of leathers and a black frock. The frock would have to do. "You'll excuse us?"

  

 "Of course." Susan smiled... the room brightened.

  

 Feldspar knew she wouldn't be back as herself. What would Susan make of that? Would she take it as a rejection? But the quest was what mattered and the quest demanded Feldspar be Belinda.

  

  

 "This is so perfect. I love it. Yes!" Ishtar leapt into the air and did a somersaulting dive onto the gigantic heart-shaped bed.

  

 "You like being Belinda's daughter? I never have."

  

 "I don't mind." Ishtar bounced to her feet. "I can destroy her reputation."

  

 "That doesn't have anything to do with the quest." A leader's task was to keep the party's focus clear. Besides, if she couldn't enjoy Susan why should Ishtar have her little pleasures?

  

 "No, I suppose it doesn't... but it's a great bonus. Rabid? You look worried. Why? Everything's going great!"

  

 "Is it?" Rabid went to the window and opened the drapes. "Stand here and tell me that."

  

 Feldspar joined him. It was a long way down. Every direction she looked there were buildings; haze covered the tops of the tallest. Buildings meant people. They had to look for one person in this? "There might be as many people in this one city as there are on all Diluvia."

  

 "Nowhere near." Ishtar was beside her, looking. The exuberance was gone from her voice. "And don't you worry... we'll find the prick. But yeah, there are far too many people on Terra--a hundred of them for each of us. Isn't that about right, Rabid?"

  

 "You're asking me? You're the scholar."

  

 "That's right, you're just another pretty... face. I forget."

  

 "I'm an artist who reads."

  

 "So what's your feel on our situation? Is Ishtar right? Should I play the part of my mother?" So many people... so many.

  

 "Which question do you want me to answer?" Rabid turned to look at her. "At the moment you don't have much choice about who you're going to be."

  

 "I suppose not." People were expecting Belinda. Feldspar sighed--and changed.

  

 Rabid rubbed his eyes, shook his head and looked again. "Even to one as jaded as me, that's amazing. I gather not many on Diluvia know you're an adept--that you can do miracles with so little effort?"

  

 "Skythane knows." Ishtar's tone of voice added sentences worth of dry reproach and wry amusement.

  

 "Ah, a bedroom trick! I see... yes, I can see how he might enjoy experiencing Belinda without her present."

  

 Feldspar was afraid he did. "And Ishtar knows, of course, and..." she said quickly. Except Ishtar wasn't on Diluvia. Okay, who else? "Spinecracker... maybe Planetsinger... that's about it."

  

 Ishtar groaned. "Spinecracker? Damn! If he knows, so does Belinda."

  

 "I suppose." She'd been thinking that earlier, hadn't she? "But he doesn't know I can hold the shape forever. Besides, even if Belinda does know, she won't think I've got the imagination or the guts to masquerade as her in public."

  

 "Which you don't. Or at least, haven't until now." Sometimes Ishtar seemed tall or at least, imposing. "So, what are you going to wear?"

  

 Rabid gave Feldspar a critical look. "Your leather looks fine on Belinda, except you lack the strut she'd have in it. Besides, we can't have her and you wearing the same thing."

  

 "I think that's obvious." Rabid wasn't much help. "I've got a black dress."

  

 "Which you don't think will work either." Rabid smiled. "And if that's the way you feel about it, and yourself... it won't. Maybe we'd better reconsider this masquerade."

  

 "Oh no... Feldspar will be just fine. And, if Belinda needs new clothes, I'll go tell our guard we want to go shopping." Ishtar hurried away. Feldspar saw a pair of spray-on silver pants in Ishtar's future.

  

 "And I'll go see if I can interest Susan in tonight," Rabid said with an exaggerated wink. "Got to give her an incentive to stay with us... unless you'd rather I didn't?"

  

 Rabid saw too much. "How can I be jealous over someone I just met?" His eyebrows lifted--he wasn't going to answer that question. "And yes, I was thinking she might be our fifth member." That was not what she'd been thinking about Susan, at least, not the central thought.

  

 "That way she'll be around when your vow expires."

  

 "That isn't why."

  

 "Of course not." Rabid left the room, chuckling.

  

  

 Susan told them the magic phrase on Terra was "charge it", or in their case "charge it to our room". Shopping with Feldspar, even if she did look like Belinda, was more enjoyable than Ishtar had expected. They tried on dozens of outfits, kept ten or so, and attracted a great deal of attention. Susan needed to call in half a dozen other people to keep the crowds in check. Everyone wanted to see Linda Bedarova.

  

 It was as if one of the Five Gods had manifested on Diluvia. Ishtar couldn't find any other comparison. Belinda was nigh on worshipped on Terra. Why the bitch had chosen to lead a double life was becoming obvious. And Ishtar could admit, to herself, that the camaraderie between Feldspar and herself was only part of what she was enjoying. All those eyes gave her a charge; they energised her like she was a vampire. That talent didn't run in her family, as far as she knew. It did in Feldspar's. Feldspar's ancestor five generations back, Sylvester the Great, Monarch and recipient of the deathbed foretelling that had made her friend the Prophesied--Sylvester had been a nominal vampire. Adored by all, even that minor talent had kept him alive to well over two hundred. But these things didn't always pass by blood.

  

 Ishtar looked out the store window at the onlookers. Roger? That was Roger. They'd been supposed to meet him and had been so caught up in what they were doing, they'd forgotten. She gave him a warm smile of apology... at least that's the way she meant it; she felt a sudden glow fill her as their eyes met. His smile was hers, reflected back at her as lust, adoration... and more. Worship, yes it was worship and not just from Roger but from a dozen people around him. This could become an addiction. Yeah, she was a vamp, no doubt about it. She wouldn't tell Feldspar, no way, but like Daddy Square'd said, Belinda must be one too. It explained a lot about the woman.

  

 "Susan?" Ishtar tapped the wide-sea woman's arm. "Susan, that's Roger at the window. He's with us."

  

 "The pretty boy? I've seen him around. The maitre de and half the waiters in the main dining room have the hots for him. What I hear is the poor guy is way too straight to notice. Not a problem I have." Susan glanced over at Feldspar, Belinda to her, and smiled. "I don't discriminate. You can pass that on, if you want."

  

 "Really?" Humans and elves were perverts, all of them. Every dwarf knew that. But what every dwarf knew wasn't necessarily the case on Terra. Probably not on Diluvia either, although now wasn't the time to ponder that sort of thing.

  

 Susan laughed. "I gather you don't swing that way yourself. I'll go collect your friend. He can hang around and be bored with Rabid." Rabid had lost interest in shopping after the first two or three outfits.

  

 Feldspar came out of the change rooms, again, wearing a wisp of white nothing. Ishtar smiled at her. "Nice dress, Mom, what there is of it. Doesn't leave much to the imagination, does it?"

  

 "Look who's talking."

  

 "These Terran stretch fabrics are great. In a fight, no one could grab a handful."

  

 "And everyone gets an eyeful."

  

 "That's the idea. Smile for the cameras, Mom."

  

 "Don't over use the word. Or else practice... you're not saying it like you believe it's true."

  

  

 Feldspar, as damn Belinda, had insisted Susan dine with them so their table in the hotel's rooftop restaurant was for five. All eyes were on them as they entered. Alert to the possibility, Ishtar felt the attention flow into her, swelling her aura. Feldspar, in her Belinda persona, wore the filmy white creation. Belinda wouldn't have dared appear in public on Diluvia in that--people would have snickered behind their hands. Ishtar's own skin-tight outfit was similar to her normal forest leathers, but fit even more snugly. She always got her share of looks even when Feldspar was around, but this was different. And it felt great.

  

 Feldspar moved to beside her. "Your aura seems to be growing stronger by the second. Decided you're a vampire?" Her smile admitted the possibility.

  

 "Figure I must be. Never thought of it before--after all, you're the one who's supposed to have all the talent. Let's test it." Ishtar concentrated on spreading out her aura to collect and pull in the attention being directed her way. A flush spread through her body. "Oh yeah... I am. Cool."

  

 "You okay?" Roger looked concerned.

  

 "Great, thanks."

  

 "She just discovered she's a vampire."

  

 "She is?" Roger shrank back.

  

 "Don't worry, I'm not going to drink your blood." As with most things, Terrans had odd ideas about vampires--not that vampires couldn't be deadly--they certainly could--but as for them fearing crosses, shunning sunlight, sleeping in coffins... what nonsense.

  

 Feldspar moved between them. "We'll talk about this later."

  

 "I suppose we will." Did Feldspar share the Terran anti-vampire prejudice? Unlikely. Then what was bothering the girl? It wasn't worth worrying about, whatever it was. Ishtar gathered in another dose of appreciation. It felt great; this could be addictive.

  

 While her newfound talent would take some getting used to, Ishtar knew she would. Terran cuisine was entirely another matter. The menu featured beef which was, along with petroleum power, Terra's most self-destructive affliction. Someone was going to have to teach them to change before they destroyed their planet. Of course, the Diluvian "make Terra start over" movement held it was too late, and the only sensible thing to do was recycle the planet's not-so-sentient population and give the place a few centuries to heal. But changing their attitudes to the private automobile and steaks might still do the trick.

  

 The maitre de hovered after seating them. "If I remember what I've read about you, Ms. Bedarova, you'll want the wine steward immediately. And I daren't recommend the prime rib." Feldspar looked uncomfortable. What was the matter with her now? Oh right, Belinda was a lush, but Feldspar didn't drink.

  

 "My dear mother is on the wagon. All those calories were playing havoc with her figure. You know, at her age...." Ishtar let the remark trail off. Feldspar looked grateful for the rescue, sort of. She couldn't take it well and stay in character... Belinda would be furious.

  

 "My daughter was lucky enough to inherit her father's peasant build. When you're dumpy, a few pounds extra don't matter."

  

 Dumpy? Full-figured, buxom or zaftig would have been fine, but "dumpy"? Then again, Feldspar was playing at being Belinda, and the girl didn't have a deep vocabulary. "Dumpy" might be the best she could do. But how had the word "peasant" got into her mouth? It was a pejorative Terran term not used on Diluvia. Whatever--it was her turn for a verbal swing.

  

 "Too bad you didn't give up booze earlier, Mom. Then we'd know which of those guys on the football team actually fathered me." She looked at the maitre de and spoke to the room. "I was conceived one fine evening when my dear drunken mother spread for both starting elevens."

  

 Hah! Feldspar didn't have an answer for that, did she? Rabid was going to speak up? What could he possibly say?

  

 "Ladies." His hand felt good on hers. "This is supposed to be a reconciliation. I know you really do love each other."

  

 Ishtar smiled... at him, the maitre de and the room. "You're ever so right. We should keep the skeletons in the closet. I mean, what good does it do now?"

  

 It wasn't a surrender, just a strategic retreat. Rabid was right. It was time to drop the open rivalry... for the moment. After all, they were on Terra to find the Adornments of Glory, not destroy Belinda. Still, the venom was important to their quest, not to mention fun. No one would believe Feldspar to be Belinda if she were the least bit pleasant. And any daughter of Belinda's would be certain to be a shrew. Except Feldspar wasn't obnoxious, at least not on purpose... that might deserve some thought. Feldspar shouldn't be Belinda's daughter, just shouldn't.

  

 Fortunately, Roger and Susan seemed to pick up on the Diluvian aversion to beef and everyone at the table ordered grilled trout. Ishtar found hers flabby and tasteless. From their faces, Feldspar and Rabid thought the same, but it wasn't bad enough to make a fuss about and you had to make allowances. With all the people on the planet, it was a wonder Terra could feed itself at all, let alone well.

  

 They were considering dessert when a pudgy woman with unruly black curls came over to their table. "Linda, my darling, how perfectly lovely to see you again."

  

 Feldspar glanced at her, then looked away.

  

 Roger leapt to his feet. "Ms. Albright, I loved your latest book. It was brilliant."

  

 Okay, that gave them a last name and told them the woman was an author, well known enough for Roger to recognise. Could she be in league with Belinda? Power radiated from the woman. She had a developed mind-science talent. Wouldn't do to probe too deeply as to what, not here... the woman might sense it.

  

 Feldspar seemed at a loss for words, again, so it was up to her. "Ms. Albright, my mother's told me so much about you."

  

 "Oh, do call me Maxine."

  

 Force a smile. "Thank you, Maxine, I'd be honoured."

  

 Feldspar looked up again. "What do you want?"

  

 "You've changed your mind about doing the movie?"

  

 "Well, I'm certainly not going to make it before we finish eating."

  

 And she'd thought Feldspar couldn't play Belinda. The reaction from Maxine Albright was delightful. From puffed up, she'd gone straight to deflated. Roger seemed to be enjoying the sight, as were most of the diners within earshot. The woman might be well known, but "popular" must be a word reserved for her writing.

  

 Maxine Albright shuffled back a few inches. "Can I call you later?"

  

 "If you wish. Waiter, I'll have the fruit salad. Ishtar?" Albright slunk away to suppressed snickers from the room.

  

 "Fruit salad? Sounds good." It didn't, but at least it wasn't made with cow's milk. Ishtar glanced at Roger. "What's a Maxine Albright?"

  

 Susan answered. "One of the leading literary lights of Canadian culture."

  

 It sounded like a quotation. "How nice for her."

  

 "And a powerful woman."

  

 Yes, she was... in more than one way. She was influential, and she was an adept. Not many Terrans studied mind-science. Belinda could have taught her, helped her develop... so maybe Maxine Albright was in on the theft of the Adornments of Glory. And even if she wasn't, she might know someone who was.

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 Some days he couldn't see the obvious, or so many women told him--generally after a first-and-last date. The improbable didn't give him much trouble though. Linda Bedarova was Feldspar or Feldspar was Linda Bedarova--he wasn't sure which way that went, or if this was something new or always was so--but today they were the same person. It helped that Bedarova never did much for him, even in her steamier movies and that next to Ishtar--what a babe--Bedarova seemed an anorexic hag, but still... the way this Bedarova talked to Ishtar, joked and swapped insults... for him, that gave it away.

  

 Things couldn't get much better. Here he was, escorting Ishtar back to a suite in the Westshire, in the public eye because of Feldspar-cum-Linda and her daughter, Ishtar. A beautiful woman on his arm and all the publicity his acting career desperately needed, everything going his way near the end of a day that had started like any other. What's more, Ishtar's put-downs of Maxine Albright were exactly what the old establishment battle-axe deserved. Her latest book sucked and everyone but those whose careers Albright could damage, said so. Yes, life was indeed, good.

  

 "You can stay for a while?" Ishtar asked him as she opened the door.

  

 "Of course."

  

 "Good, we need to make plans." She smiled at Susan Milano. "Thanks for all your help." A clear dismissal.

  

 "You're welcome." Susan pulled the door closed, with her on the inside. "Now, I'd like to know what's going on, and how Feldspar manages to look exactly like Bedarova."

  

 "What are you talking about?"

  

 "Oh, please, don't try and play innocent--it isn't you, Ishtar. Not only isn't this Linda Bedarova, she doesn't know much about her--quick, what was your first starring role?"

  

 Roger broke the brief silence. "I suppose it depends on what you mean by 'starring'. She was in 'The Big Texas Spread' before 'Lie and Deliver', but was she the star?"

  

 "Hardly." Susan came up to him. He'd always thought of Chinese women as being tiny and delicate--Susan wasn't either. She came up to his shoulder and, judging from her muscular arms, probably could pick him up and throw him through the window. From her eyes, she felt tempted. "And I'll thank you to shut your yap."

  

 "Hey, no damn wide-sea bitch talks to my boyfriend like that." Ishtar grabbed Susan's shoulder.

  

 "Hands off, girlie."

  

 "Yeah, or what?"

  

 "That's enough." Linda Bedarova pushed herself between the two other women... and became Feldspar.

  

 Roger looked for a place to sit. Susan seemed to be having the same problem. Knowing was one thing, seeing Feldspar change, another.

  

 "The shock treatment will work once and once only, I suspect." Rabid's grin couldn't get wider without splitting his face. He went to Susan, took her hand and kissed it. "Welcome to the quest for The Adornments of Glory. Forgive Ishtar--she's just protecting her interests."

  

 "I don't need protecting," Roger said. Her interests? The slight tremble in his body from Feldspar's change of person became a bone-rattling quake. Ishtar scared him... too much, too soon.

  

 "Calm down," Ishtar caught both his shaky hands with ease. "After the quest, assuming we're both alive we may get to see if you measure up. Until then it's all theoretical and speculative... and damn right you need protecting. Wanna arm wrestle?"

  

 "Soothing words if ever I heard them. You're such a dwarf, Ishtar." As Ishtar let go of Roger's hands to take a swing, Rabid teleported two feet back.

  

 That's when Susan fainted.

  

  

 If this were real, it would be one of the most embarrassing moments in her life. Had to cut back on the fantasy and science fiction: elves, dwarves and magicians from another world--on a quest. Right... all this story needed was Santa Claus or a Martian. She'd fallen asleep on her couch and the quiet voices she could hear were either her TV or part of the dream. No point opening her eyes.

  

 Except she knew better and knew what she'd seen. Maybe they'd go away and she could sneak out. But no, fainting undoubtedly was embarrassing, but they'd understand, she hoped. She very much wanted them to keep liking her--Feldspar was exquisite, and interested. That caressing contralto sent shivers through the body. And if you dabbled with men, once you got past the hair, that Rabid creature was a stud. Overall, men were less fun but less hassle--like her they seldom were into commitment. Okay, might as well see if she was still welcome. She opened her eyes, sat and swung her feet to the floor.

  

 Four heads turned to her. "How long was I out?" Long enough for Feldspar to have a shower. She was in a hotel bathrobe, dark hair glistening, lovely legs bare to the thigh.

  

 "Half an hour. You're okay?" The concern in Feldspar's voice pushed desire to full ooze.

  

 "Fine." Her voice caught in a gasp. "Just fine, thanks...."

  

 "Mind if I give you a quick check?" Feldspar stood. "I'm a healer, of sorts."

  

 "I'm better." Rabid bounded to his feet, cut Feldspar off and rushed to her. Green eyes, a lighter green than the hair and level with hers, staring deep into her. The tingle spread through her body. She wanted to dabble... now.

  

 "I'm fine."

  

 "And elegant, and wonderfully fit, and..."

  

 "By the Unknown, elf, give the woman time to recover before you try to screw her. Damn hormonal freak."

  

 "Jealous?" Rabid asked.

  

 "Damn right--in principle. Now leave her alone, come back over here, and sit." Rabid retreated as Ishtar came over. "Sorry about earlier," Ishtar continued. "We're on edge--new world and all--strange place, Terra." She grinned. "I think I like it. Back home I'm a bit of a freak. I'm kind of tall and skinny for a dwarf."

  

 "You are a dwarf?" Susan held up a hand to signal 'stop', then realised where Ishtar came from that gesture might mean something different. "No offence intended. I don't want to fight you."

  

 "Too bad. I love a good tussle--that way I'm very much a dwarf. And green boy's an elf and Feldspar's only human, except she's the Prophesied. Roger explained why you freaked--from the reading I've done I kind of thought Terrans knew all about the other sentient races."

  

 "Well, I knew better." Rabid didn't sound at all happy. "And about shutting up and sitting down... why don't you?"

  

 "Damn elves. I especially hate them when they're right." With a final smile for Susan, Ishtar went back to where she'd been before.

  

 Susan approached the group. The only spot available was on a loveseat, beside Feldspar, beside all that glorious damp and shining skin. "May I?"

  

 "Not until the quest is over," Ishtar said. "She's taken a vow to keep her legs closed. Suckered me into it as well, damn her. Rabid, you switch seats with Feldspar."

  

 A vow? Of celibacy? Right out of a bad novel, but from Feldspar's face it was true. With a cheerless smile, Feldspar stood. "I thought I was in charge here."

  

 "You're number two, right behind the Unknown," Ishtar said with a laugh. "I'm standing in for them at the moment. Would you rather get laid or save the world, two worlds, maybe?"

  

 "Save the world, I guess." Feldspar gazed down into Susan's eyes. "I hope you'll enjoy your night. Rabid's still in action and, as I'm sure he'll tell you, he's interested."

  

 "He doesn't need to tell me. I've noticed."

  

 "The Adornments of Glory... remember them?" Ishtar sighed. "Feldspar, can you ignore the elf's jewels and your damn hormones long enough to explain the quest, or must I?"

  

 Once forced on track and well away from Susan--not even looking her direction--Feldspar told a clear and dispassionate story... in that exhilarating deep voice. Her adventures to date: the wicked foster-uncle, wickeder mother, the Great Mother, and the intrigues of what seemed to Susan a high-tech medieval elite surpassed any of the fiction she'd read--because the story was demonstrably true; Feldspar could indeed wear the illusion of someone else, Rabid did teleport and as for the rest of it--Susan believed everything. These three were like no people on Earth... or rather, Terra. She couldn't question they weren't human, none of them were, not even Feldspar. She couldn't be human--just look at her--clearly, Feldspar was a goddess.

  

 "So first of all you have to find this Delarone," she said when Feldspar finished. "Do you have a picture?"

  

 "Damn, I should have thought to show it to Roger and you before this." Ishtar got up and went to rummage in her pack.

  

 "You have a picture of him?" Obviously news to Feldspar.

  

 "Daddy dear keeps files on your mother's other pallet-pets. I've been breaking into his personal directories since I was seven. Where's that damn com-reader?"

  

 "You're a hacker?" Susan asked.

  

 "Here it is." Ishtar straightened and gave her a narrow-eyed look. "I'm not just a muscle-bound idiot."

  

 That was distressingly close to her mental image of Ishtar. "You read minds?"

  

 "Faces and body language. Here. Catch."

  

 Without taking her eyes off Ishtar, she instinctively caught the com-reader in her right hand. It was much lighter than a softball, albeit a different shape. "Sorry, I think our problem might be we're too much alike." She looked at the computer screen. Delarone was a weasel-faced redhead. "Never seen him, and someone that ugly, I'd remember. Roger?" She handed him the com-reader.

  

 "Thanks. Nope, me neither--no surprise, there are circa six million people in the Noronto area."

  

 Roger's offhand remark visibly shocked the Diluvians. "Roughly ten percent of our sentient population, crammed into a small area," Rabid said.

  

 Ishtar shook her head. "It's a wonder there are souls enough to go around."

  

 "I doubt there are." Roger's cynical tone was reflected in his thin smile. "Most of what's walking around out there doesn't seem to have one."

  

 "While that's an interesting concept, I suppose, I think those of us who do intend to sleep, should get some." Feldspar smiled at Rabid. She'd been serious earlier? She wouldn't mind if Rabid...? If she and Rabid...? "Roger, if you're going to stay here, I think you should take the small bedroom."

  

 "I think I'd better go back to my place," Roger answered.

  

 "Your choice," Feldspar responded. "The door locks. Ishtar and I could bed down out here. No? Whatever..." Her deep amber eyes moved to Susan. "At any rate way, you and Rabid can share the big bedroom... unless you intend to be a 'good girl'."

  

 "Never." Susan's left hand strayed to where it'd wanted to be since Rabid sat beside her. He was immense.

  

 "Good. I'm glad I didn't misjudge you."

  

 Several hours later Susan's carnal haze cleared long enough for her to understand what Feldspar had meant about "those of us who do sleep." Rabid evidently didn't need to, and required little time to recover. He was all thrust and no style, but what thrusts! For the first time in her life, a man had outlasted her. But it wasn't a competition, she reminded herself as she drifted into gentler dreams. And next time, she'd sap him.

  

  

 The clock tower on Old City Hall claimed it was only ten in the evening. Roger knew that was true but in his bones, it felt much later. Exhaustion was creeping up on him as he walked. Dawn was a lifetime ago. He could have stayed with the quest party at the Westshire, probably should have, except... could he have slept with Ishtar so close or would he have lain awake, waiting for her to slip into bed beside him? Easy answer--he wouldn't have slept, and Ishtar wouldn't have visited. She seemed the most committed of the Diluvians and wouldn't do anything to jeopardise the quest. But he would have expected it all the same... lain awake... hoping, waiting... in anticipation... and fear.

  

 Ishtar wasn't one of the mythical bright-eyed brigade: her passion burned--passion for her cause, passion for life. There was too much person there for even that voluptuous frame to hold--she burst forth from it like a star going nova. How could anyone resist her? And, having failed to resist, would they survive? Roger sensed if he got too near her, her fire would consume him. She was right... he needed protecting--from himself and from her.

  

 Damn, he must be tired. Daydreams, foolish daydreams. Should have taken the streetcar. To Ishtar, he was a passing fancy... nothing more. No more overweening expectations please--he was a moth avoiding a flame. Had he thought that? Words right out of Maxine Albright's drivel. He trudged. There, at last, the window of his room... home. He'd left the light on?

  

 They were waiting for him. Not even bothering to hide. Police officers, two of them with a warrant. A search of his room had proven it clean of counterfeit money or any printing apparatus... so could he tell them where the press was located? And would he object to a search of his person--too bad if he did... oh my, what have we here... a few hundred in obviously forged American bills? "In Good we Trust"--was that supposed to be funny? They thought it stupid, that it was like he was trying to be caught.

  

 Roger agreed, and denied having anything to do with producing the phoney bills but, no; he wouldn't tell them where he had obtained same. Would the Noronto police force believe him if he did? Believe him if he said a dwarf gave it to him, and the perpetrators were from another planet? Not a chance. The Noronto police wouldn't even believe he was a Canadian citizen by the name of Roger O'Brien until they'd checked every scrap of his ID and run it through their computers. At least these officers were a cut above the street patrols. They didn't beat him up before taking him to the station. Roger rather expected that would come after he refused to co-operate in a second interrogation.

  

  

 "I want to make my phone call."

  

 "You watch a lot of TV, don't you, Roger?" A bright smile--Sian Jones, the detective assigned to his case, would never be cast as a detective in the movies. A kindergarten teacher would be more like it--her rosy cheeks and lively dark eyes exuded warmth and a joy of living more suited to that role. "I suppose you want a lawyer as well?"

  

 "I don't know any."

  

 "I could introduce you to one, if you'd like." She smiled again. "But why? I just can't see you as a criminal, Roger. Tell me where you got the counterfeit bills, please. Believe me, you don't want to spend the rest of the night in lockup."

  

 "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

  

 "Try me." She raised a dark eyebrow. "You might be surprised."

  

 Why not? She was right--he didn't want to spend the night in jail. Stories of what happened in Noronto cells were legend. Legend... elves, dwarves, quest--what exactly should he tell her? If he told her that and she believed he was telling the truth as he saw it, he'd end up in a different sort of lock-up. Partial truth was called for. "Linda Bedarova's daughter, Ishtar, gave it to me. She's staying at the Westshire with her mother."

  

 The eyebrow moved higher. "Now that does pose a problem, for me as well as for you. I doubt the Westshire management will connect you to their suite at this hour. You're welcome to try, of course." She sighed. "I can tell you're not lying, and that you're not telling the entire truth. I suppose I could muscle my way through the front desk but if I bother an important visitor like Bedarova and she complains, the chief will have my balls, so to speak."

  

 Roger tried the phone call, with the result Detective Jones predicted. The front desk politely told him they probably wouldn't put him through to the room even if it were daytime--did he know how many people wanted to talk to Linda Bedarova? And no, Susan Milano wasn't answering her page--she was off duty. He was able to leave a message on her voice mail. "Afraid that'll have to do," Roger told the detective. "Guess you might as well lock me up."

  

 "I'd rather not. No good will come of that." She tilted her head to one side and examined him closely through narrowed eyes. "I can see why they brought you to me instead of the boys in bunko. You're an anomaly. Except you're not--you're entirely mundane. Roger, what have you got mixed up in? Whatever it is, I think you need help."

  

 "Mundane?" That stung. "And if you're not part of the fraud squad, then what are you?"

  

 "You wouldn't believe me." An almost teasing lilt to her voice.

  

 "Try me."

  

 "Okay, I maybe will." She stood and came around the desk, freeing her long jet-black hair from its ponytail and shaking it out into wild waves. He tilted his head to meet her eyes. The glint in them forced him to change his earlier assessment. This was no kindergarten teacher, no innocent. But what was she?

  

 She answered his unvoiced question. "I'm a psychic, Roger... a psychic, a practising Wiccan... if you must, a witch."

  

 "Right, the Noronto police employ a witch. Sure, I'll buy that."

  

 "You don't have a high opinion of the force, do you? Roger, the street patrols are thugs because they deal with other thugs, with petty evils. The only thing the soul-dead understand is violence and if I thought you were anything like that, I'd hand you over to the men with rubber truncheons without batting an eye."

  

 "So, if you aren't, what are you going to do with me?"

  

 "I'm not quite sure. One thing I do know is my shift is almost over. I wonder...." She took a step back and looked him over, head to toe. "Why not? I'll be back, Roger. Don't go anywhere."

  

 Fifteen minutes later Roger wished he'd thought to ask when she'd be back. The next day? Maybe he could sneak out. He'd give it another ten before he'd try.

  

 Detective Jones returned as Roger was starting for the door, after debating whether to extend his deadline another five minutes and deciding enough was enough. Her crisp blue suit was gone, replaced by a summery white frock. She looked like a willowy teenager on the way to the mall until you got to the eyes. Those were ancient, buried deep in her face.

  

 "Was I wrong to trust you?" She shrugged. "Never mind. Let's go."

  

 "Where are we going?"

  

 "I got you released in my custody. Give me your hand."

  

 "My hand?"

  

 "They're at the end of your arms--the left one, please." She took it with her right. "Try anything funny and you'll wish you were in lockup. Got it?"

  

 They walked out of the station house, hand in hand. "Do you want to know about the counterfeits now?" Roger asked when they got to the sidewalk.

  

 "No. Just shut up and walk. My place is about ten minutes from here." She didn't say another word.

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 At sunrise Ishtar declared the night officially over. After Roger left, damn him and bless him for taking temptation away, she and Feldspar had bedded down in the smaller bedroom--why did a honeymoon suite have a spare room? Another Terran mystery, one she didn't care to solve. It wasn't because the happy couple was expected to have company. The sound insulation in the suite was non-existent, and Susan was a screamer.

  

 If they didn't get the damn Adornments back soon, Ishtar knew she would go insane and kill someone. If she strangled Feldspar, would that release her from the vow Feldspar had made on her behalf? And how dare that damn vicarious oath-giver still be asleep? She grabbed Feldspar's shoulder and shook.

  

 "What? What's happened? Is something wrong?"

  

 "Damn stupid questions if you ask me. Of course there is... damn wrong." The Adornments were on Terra and so were they. Wasn't that enough?

  

 Feldspar sighed. "Anything I don't know about already?"

  

 "Probably. You omniscient?"

  

 "Good morning, Grunt."

  

 "Ishtar."

  

 "Act in a godly manner and I'll treat you that way."

  

 The girl had a point. Just because she felt miserable was no reason to make everyone feel the same way. "Sorry."

  

 "Rabid and Susan up yet?"

  

 "Don't know." Ishtar opened the door to the main part of the suite. Faint mewling came from the large bedroom. "Yeah, Rabid is anyway...." She marched across the room and hammered on the door. "Good morning!" Without waiting for an answer she went to the closet by the door where the purchases from the previous day were hung. Let's see... stretchy silver, yesterday... how about stretchy gold today? Damn, Susan would need something... her previous day's clothing would be unwearable. She and Feldspar were close to the same size... yeah, that red sheath dress would do... it would suit Susan more than Belinda anyway... Feldspar had no damn colour sense. Let's see, for Feldspar as Belinda... an androgynous black pantsuit. After all, she was the bad guy.

  

 The sounds from the main bedroom had changed to those of a running shower. Gee, hope she hadn't ruined anything for anyone... yeah, sure she hoped that... dress in hand, Ishtar returned to the bedroom door, knocked once and went in without asking. Damn place would need to be fumigated. No one in sight--then a moan drifted out of the bathroom over the water sounds... damn animals... and damn, she needed to get laid. Susan's clothes were strewn about. Ishtar kicked them into a pile by a chair and draped the dress over it. The lucky trollop would either get the hint, or not. She left. Probably just as well Rabid and Susan were in the shower... she hadn't bothered to dress and the sight of her would have made either of them wish they'd bedded someone different the previous night... her. She stopped in front of the mirror to admire. Damn, she was hot.

  

  

 Susan emerged from the bedroom sooner than Ishtar'd expected. Yeah, that dress was her. Feldspar could wave it good-bye.

  

 "Thank you," Susan said to Ishtar. "I presume it is you I should thank?"

  

 "No problem. Do your best to drive Feldspar nuts, okay?" She grinned. For that, all Susan had to do was exist. After all these years Ishtar knew what Feldspar went for and when the girl went the distaff direction Susan was exactly what the Prophesied ordered. "How do you get breakfast around here?"

  

 "Room service." Susan picked up the telephone. "Hello, the Honeymoon Suite... yes, full breakfast for...." she paused, "make it for eight." She pushed the plunger down with a thumb. "I figure we'll eat it. Might as well check my messages while I'm at it." She punched in a series of numbers, then a few more. The smile on her face disappeared as she listened. She hung up the phone. "Roger's been taken into custody for passing counterfeit money. He says not to spend anything Spinecracker gave you."

  

 "Where is he?"

  

 "Main downtown cop shop, he said."

  

 "Let's go get him."

  

 "What are you going to use to bail him out?"

  

 "We've got... damn, you're right." Their cash was useless. "Hey, I bet Linda Bedarova could swing getting him sprung." She started for the small bedroom. Where was that damn Feldspar? Primping? Yeah, got it right in one. "Hey, beautiful... now we do have something new wrong."

  

 Susan tapped on the door behind them. "We've got another problem, something more serious."

  

 "What?" What could be worse than Roger being taken captive?

  

 "The manager called to say I'm fired--don't look at me like that... that's not the bad news--it's that according to him I'm responsible for the Westshire losing their most important guest in years to a rival." She paused for a breath. "Linda Bedarova checked into the Milton Arms late last night."

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 Roger woke up with his right hand cuffed to Sian Jones' bed. His arm hurt. There was a trick to turning over while shackled--there must be--another couple of nights and he might learn it. He also needed to... "Hey, I have to use the washroom. Detective Jones? Please?" She wouldn't be pleased if he peed in her bed.

  

 Maybe this morning they could talk. If nothing else, they could find the Diluvians and have them explain to Sian how he got on the wrong side of the law. And where was the Law, this morning? "Hey, Detective Jones... Sian?"

  

 She appeared in the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes. A witch? Did witches wear canary yellow tracksuits? It washed out her skin, made her look sallow--despite her dark hair and eyes, Sian's skin was as pale as Ishtar's. "You sleep well? Sorry about being so abrupt last night...."

  

 "Please?" He shook the chain. "I really need to...."

  

 She took the key off the top of the dresser and freed him. He rolled off the bed and ran. Ahhh... barely made it.

  

 "I suppose I owe you an explanation."

  

 "How about some privacy?" He looked in the mirror and met her reflected eyes.

  

 "No time for that. Not according to my grandmother." Sian scooped her hair to her back. Most of it stayed, but one unruly strand sprung back over an eye. She sighed and tried again... no luck. "Not if I'm going to save your life. If it's any consolation, your grandmother agrees to the match."

  

 Roger dropped his eyes to concentrate on immediate business. Women hated it when you missed the bowl. "You talked to my grandmother?"

  

 "I did, and I can see where you get your looks from. Annwyl is lovely."

  

 Annwyl? Wrong grandmother... he finished, zipped, flushed and turned. "I went to her funeral when I was sixteen."

  

 "And a lovely funeral it was, I declare. Now you be listening to this lass, Roddy. She'll make you a fine wife." Sian shook her head violently, sending her mass of hair flying. "I hate it when people do that. Once more and I'll shut you out. Got it?" She was talking to thin air... or a ghost.

  

 "She made her point." Only his grandmother would call him 'Roddy.' She'd hated the name his mother had chosen--hadn't been particularly fond of his mother either. And despite her Welsh roots, Grandma Annwyl always talked like a character from a bad Irish play. Either that had been her, or Sian had done amazingly deep research into his family. "You want to marry me?"

  

 "I like younger men. And your bloodline is impressive. Our children should inherit my gifts." She grinned. "And if there wasn't a wall behind you, I'd say you'd run. Bet I can hunt you down." She cleared off the hair once again covering her face. "Actually, when the crisis is over, we can reassess. For now, we only need to be betrothed, not married."

  

 "Why?"

  

 "Weren't you listening? To save your life. And I'm making it a condition of your release into my custody--our first stop is either city hall for a licence or else city jail." She took a step towards him. "Your choice." She tilted her head to meet his eyes, idly twisting a strand of black hair around a finger.

  

 "Can I ask a question? How is my life in danger? And how would being engaged to you help save it?" Amusement flickered across Sian's face. Okay, that was more than one question. Another then. "And, if I may ask, how old are you?"

  

 "Seven years older than you. As for the rest of it." Sian shrugged. Waves of hair quivered at the slight motion. "No one told me. I can only assume it has to do with another woman, one you'd otherwise be involved with."

  

 "Ishtar." He remembered her overwhelming charisma and luscious figure in his bones, and in a certain betraying element of flesh.

  

 "I think I'm being insulted." Sian cocked her head to one side, as if listening. "Take the insult and make it mine you say, Grams? Don't you think I have any pride? Do what to my pride? Grams, you're ever so crude." She reached a hand out to Roger. "We're going back to bed. And I'm warning you--call out the wrong name and you're going to be shot escaping custody."

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 "I'm sorry, Mr. O'Brien's not being held here... Ms. Bedarova." The police officer at the desk smiled but his humourless eyes gave a different message. She remembered Susan's advice to stay in character, and straightened.

  

 "Then where is he," Feldspar read his badge. "Sergeant William Q. Smith?"

  

 Susan stepped forward. "Ms. Bedarova has a busy schedule this morning. If you can't help us, find someone who can."

  

 "That would be the Chief. If you could wait a few minutes, he'll be with you. I'll have a couple of officers escort you to our VIP waiting area."

  

 The officers were directly behind her--four of them. This didn't feel right. "I don't wait for anyone." Feldspar wheeled and marched for the door, directly at two of the burly uniformed men. They moved aside just before she ran into them.

  

 "Stop her. I said stop her. That's not Linda Bedarova. She's an impostor."

  

 Feldspar hit the door running. Outside, she turned towards the hotel. Susan wasn't with her. Feldspar ducked into a doorway and changed into herself. Had they caught Susan? Was Susan who she'd seemed to be, or Belinda's agent? That seemed unlikely, but either way, Feldspar's first job was to ensure the rest of the party remained free. She continued back towards the hotel, walking as quickly as she could without seeming to run--she didn't want to attract attention. The police might be at the hotel, might already have Ishtar and Rabid, but she couldn't assume that and had to try and warn them before that happened.

  

 They shouldn't have gone to the police station, should have left the hotel when Susan said Linda Bedarova had checked in somewhere else... she should have quit being Belinda. But all that was done. She couldn't dwell on past mistakes; just try not to make more. Outside the hotel, she paused. Was this a mistake? Would the police be there, waiting?

  

 But if they were, they'd be waiting for a Belinda look-alike. She hoped her mother wouldn't have thought to have them watching for Feldspar as well. It was a chance she had to take, cautiously. She'd go to the suite and knock--pretend she was a fan. That decided, she straightened and strode into the hotel--must look like she belonged and knew where she was going.

  

 There was no answer when she knocked. She tried again, louder. Nothing. Should she use the key and go in? No, it could be a trap. The police might be inside, waiting. She returned to the elevator and pushed the button. The door opened.

  

 "Pardon us, miss." Police, six of them--they barely glanced at her as they pushed past. If she'd gone into the suite... but she hadn't... now what?

  

 Find Ishtar and Rabid. Assume they figured things out and left. Where would they have gone? No fall back meeting place was set--no one had known they'd need one. The underground mall in the food area--first there, and then back to where they'd arrived on Terra. That's what she would do if she were in their place--go somewhere familiar and wait.

  

 There, in the corner, their backs to the room--with their packs, and hers--thank the Unknown. She wound through the tables and sat, facing them and the room. Feldspar's face wasn't known, she hoped.

  

 "Damn Belinda's going to pay for this. Had to leave most of my new clothes."

  

 "How did you know to leave?"

  

 "Had it pretty much figured when Susan phoned. Asked myself, what would I do if I were Belinda? After I finished puking, I pulled Rabid out of the shower and we got. Damn, you should see what this elf packs between his legs. No wonder he makes women scream."

  

 Rabid grinned. "Susan convinced the police she was as taken in as everyone else. If you can look like someone else, you should. They're looking for Feldspar too--just don't have as good a description. And, from what Susan learned, you guys were right about Spinecracker--he's here with Belinda."

  

 "Damn."

  

 "That's my line." Ishtar narrowed her eyes. "And, in case you were thinking of going after Spinecracker, he's mine too. Gonna kill him." The lights in the mall flickered, went off and came on again, dimmer than before.

  

 "He's yours." Feldspar knew a sign when she saw one. They were all too common of late. "And yes, Rabid, I can be someone else." She didn't want to admit it though.

  

 "Well, maybe you should change now. Don't want you to get caught." He looked around nervously, as if he expected someone to leap on them at any moment. "Guess you should go do it in the ladies room."

  

 "I'm not sure that's a good idea." Untrue... she was sure it wasn't. "There doesn't seem to be any immediate threat. Later... maybe. Besides, I'd think they'd be looking for you and Ishtar as well, and you can't change."

  

 "Well, yes... I mean, no... we can't, but still..." Rabid paused. "They'll be looking for the three of us together, so... if you look different...."

  

 Ishtar had been following the conversation with interest, examining Feldspar and Rabid in turn. Her eyes were on Rabid at the moment. "I wonder... nah, I've got an overactive imagination." She turned to Feldspar. "Are you being cautious, is it about what you're wearing?"

  

 "What I'm wearing?" Ishtar couldn't know, couldn't have guessed... could she?

  

 "Can you at least do a seeming on the equipment change? I know you can't do clothes. But hey, that outfit will pass."

  

 From her snicker, Ishtar knew. "I do illusions, not transformations." Feldspar paused... how much to tell? "The 'equipment' is no problem... if pressed, I can sometimes do a seeming on clothes as well." Until her concentration failed and reality came back. Of course, Skythane hadn't cared for her in clothes...

  

 "Damn pity. Maybe one of these days..." Ishtar laughed. "His idea, I presume?"

  

 "Whose idea? What are you two talking about? Who else can Feldspar look like?"

  

 Feldspar sighed. "Skythane."

  

 Ishtar was having a hard time controlling herself. "Figured that bundle of blond ego would get off ramming his own backside... damn it, girl, you're the ultimate masturbation fantasy. Hey, no need to blush."

  

 "I'm not blushing... you're right and I never thought of it that way. That miserable..." She was so glad she'd dumped Skythane. "One problem, my mother and Spinecracker know Skythane." Although not the skinnier version she did...

  

 "The local authorities don't." Ishtar's brow furrowed in thought. "But, come to think of it, no one's actually seen the claimed impostor and Bedarova at the same time, or will. Maybe your being her again sometime later would be a good idea. We might be able to convince people my poor mother is suffering a mental illness--nothing but the truth in my so humble opinion. I wonder if Roger can suggest some places she could appear?"

  

 "And, I wonder where Roger is?" Feldspar stood. "Pardon me. I'm going to the ladies' room." She couldn't change into Skythane there but she might find a nook along the way. No... after... she did need to go to the ladies room... must be nerves.

  

  

 Submissive and stupid wasn't her favourite role, but the police bought into it and let Susan go after only perfunctory questioning. How could she have known her Bedarova was a fake? Although, now they mentioned it, yes--Linda hadn't seemed aware of the details of her own career. She'd put it down to booze. Didn't that seem reasonable, considering what everyone knew of the woman's lifestyle? Matter of fact, she still thought there was only one Linda Bedarova, addled by the wasting effects of alcohol and other drugs. She almost convinced herself. And, as far as she could tell, the only reason the officers questioning her didn't believe her too was they'd been told otherwise--their brains were up the ass of the chain of command.

  

 She'd kept her face blank, relying on years of playing dumb with her father in attempts to keep his abuse to a minimum, and then doing the same routine with her husband--ex-husband now, the brutal bastard. And it worked, all too well. She loved turning bigotry against the bigots. The slinky red dress gifted her by Ishtar helped--in it, Susan knew she looked like a high-class whore. Half right... at least once upon a time.

  

 But that was the past and in the now she had to find Feldspar and company, most particularly Rabid--for a man, he had potential. At least he didn't like to hit. If she could convince him to consider her pleasure as well as his, he might even be worth trying to keep... no, that wasn't likely but until Feldspar was available, it was worth a try. Besides, she needed to deal with Spratt and the Westshire management. That, she'd play by ear--did she want her job back, or would she rather pound the crap out of Jack? The first time he'd made clear the conditions of her continued employment she'd complied--with her record, jobs were hard to find--she'd complied and ever since dreamed of how she'd resign... by performing an extemporaneous oral castration.

  

 Feldspar and company first--and could she indulge in her "destroy Jack" fantasy after all? What would her new friends think of her when they found out what she was? Then again, when you can't hide something, flaunt it. Be who you are, and be proud. Or, at any rate, don't crush yourself. There were too many people out there willing to do that for you. And... was she back at the Westshire already? Distances shortened when you got lost in thought.

  

 Susan straightened as she entered the lobby, nodded at the bellmen and went down the escalator to the underground mall. At a guess, she'd find the quest party there. The police wouldn't look for perpetrators so close to the scene of the crime--criminals usually fled... but the party weren't riffraff--except for her.

  

 They weren't there. Or were they? If Feldspar could make herself seem someone else, could she also be invisible? Or, more likely, be yet another person? Susan looked for a woman in a black suit--lots of those, but none that seemed right. Feldspar wasn't present in any guise. Susan turned to go back up to the lobby. Coming down behind her... a thin blond man... His suit buttoned on the wrong side, and his smile was familiar. If Feldspar, as herself, was exquisite--and she was--as this man she was perhaps a bit of a pretty-boy, but sweet fantasies, was she ever hung! On Rabid it looked natural but on this man...

  

 "Wow."

  

 "Skythane would be so pleased to hear you say that." It was Feldspar's voice... deep for a woman, high for a man, but she could pass...

  

 "Skythane? Sorry, it's just..." Just she was melting inside? Big 'just.' Susan took a deep breath, took a moment to get a hold on her hormones. "Where are Rabid and Ishtar?"

  

 "Upstairs, with the hotel manager, I expect. Ishtar decided she'd rather attack than run." That smile again--perfect lips, that was it--as Skythane, whoever he was, Feldspar had perfect lips... strong, full, succulent. They actually suited her more as a man.

  

 "Attack? How?"

  

 "Well, she is Linda Bedarova's daughter." The lips curled. "Her poor mother is suffering from an erratic memory."

  

 Susan nodded. "Too much booze. Exactly what I told them at the cop shop."

  

 "I'm proud of you." Feldspar, as Skythane, stepped forward and gathered Susan into a hug, a woman's hug. Looked like a man but felt like a woman... Susan felt herself quiver with excitement. "You're horribly fickle, you know that?" Feldspar said in a quiet voice. "I like you. Maybe when this quest finishes..." A soft breath caressed Susan's ear and sent her over the edge, shuddering shamelessly in Feldspar's arms.

  

  

 Damn idiot manager would believe anything. Had him eating out of her cleavage. Couldn't imagine anyone preferring elsewhere to the Westshire, not him--that helped. And Susan's boss, the inimitable Jack Spratt, was smarter than he pretended but not as shrewd as he thought.

  

 "Now run this past old Jack once more, Miss Ishtar. Your mother kinda lost it in the middle of the night, wandered away and checked in somewhere else, with someone else. And now she's saying the Linda Bedarova staying here is a fake. Now, who's this guy she checked in with?"

  

 Ishtar sighed. They'd gone over this again and again. If she knew the name Spinecracker was going by on Terra it would make things easier. "Like I told you, I'm not sure. There's a lot of people hanging around, trying to take advantage of the old battle-axe while her head is messed up."

  

 Rabid spoke up. "Not that you'd understand the concept of exploiting the weak, getting them on their knees and taking advantage, would you, Mr. Spratt?"

  

 "Look here, green boy, Jack's had just about all the crap he's going to take from you."

  

 "Sure, hit me. Go ahead. Or do you only hit women?"

  

 Spratt slammed a fist into his own open palm. "Quit tempting me, boy. Andre..." He turned to the manager. "Don't you think we've heard enough? Their story doesn't hang together."

  

 "Well..."

  

 Rabid jumped to his feet. "Andre, are you going to let this clown run your hotel? Ruin its reputation? If I were you, I'd fire him and rehire Susan Milano--as your security chief."

  

 "Now, Mr. Rabid... Jack... would you both calm down please?" Andre looked like a deer surrounded by wolves. "Mr. Rabid, I may have been precipitous in terminating Ms. Milano's contract, but that can be rectified. And Jack, while I do value your opinion, Ms. Ishtar is right... reiterating it interminably furthers nothing."

  

 "Huh?"

  

 Ishtar clarified. "He told you to shut up, Jack."

  

 "Andre, don't forget I know all about you and the head waiter." Spratt grinned. "Or should I say, the asshole head waiter."

  

 Spratt shouldn't have said either thing. "Get out of here, Jack. Now. See me this afternoon. We'll discuss the terms of your continued employment at the Westshire at that time." There was a long silence in which Spratt opened and closed his mouth several times. Obviously, he hadn't been expecting that from the manager. Ishtar hadn't either. Could she push the advantage?

  

 "Bring your damn kneepads when you come to see him, Jack my boy. I figure you're going to need them."

  

 "Fuck." Spratt left without another word. He did slam the door.

  

 "That was entirely unnecessary, Ms. Ishtar." There was a gleam in Andre's eyes.

  

 "Consider it. Sex is often more about power than physical gratification. What's more… in case you hadn't noticed, our man Jack has false teeth. I'm told if they are removed the sensation is remarkable..."

  

 "Yes... well... about your mother...."

  

 Damn, they were down to the crunch. Ishtar didn't know what to say. "Yes... about my mother...."

  

 There was a light tap on the office door. Were the gods being good to her? Susan entered. Ishtar couldn't remember being so glad to see a woman come into a room.

  

 "Sorry I didn't come to see you earlier, Andre, but I thought you'd want me to stay with Ms. Bedarova when she left." Susan shrugged. "Poor woman isn't in her right mind and that man is manipulating her something horrible... as long as he's around I doubt you'll see Ms. Bedarova back here at the Westshire."

  

 "I'm sure you did your best. Could you all excuse me for a moment? I need to check something." Andre picked up the phone. "Hello? Yes... yes... thank you." He hung up. "Sorry about that. Ms. Milano... Susan, I'm going to rescind your termination for the time being."

  

 From Susan's expression, Andre might as well have been replaced in the chair by a pink gorilla. She didn't believe what she saw or heard, and didn't want to. "Let it stand. I don't want to work for this dump... or for you."

  

 "I'm sorry you feel that way." Andre stood. "Let's just say your termination's in abeyance then, for the moment."

  

 "No. Ishtar wants to hire me. And, she wants to settle this business with her mother once and for all."

  

 Ishtar nodded agreement. The way to settle matters with Belinda was to destroy her--after they learned all she knew about the whereabouts of The Adornments. Had to keep that in mind... Adornments first... then Belinda.

  

 "We all want this settled." Andre gave his unctuous smile, walked to the office door and opened it. "And to that end, Ms. Bedarova has just agreed to return to our fine hotel. You'll find her waiting for you in the lobby."

  

  

 Shortly after Susan went into the manager's office, Belinda arrived in the Westshire lobby, trailing flunkies. Spinecracker was with her, dressed in a three-piece suit. So were a couple of dwarves Feldspar didn't know, one on either side. Walking between them made Belinda look taller, and more attractive. Most dwarves were well favoured; these two were twisted exceptions. Odds on they were both telekinetic, that being the most common talent among dwarves.

  

 A few paces back were two people Feldspar did know, Brad and Vlad, the gladiator twins. They were famed for having been on a blood-soaked quest Belinda led into the Wilds to root out a pack of werewolves that had developed a taste for human flesh. While that had been necessary, in the ten or so years since the twins subsequent duels to the death in lodges of the Fringe had much of the Monarch's Inner Circle calling for another quest--one to eliminate the brothers.

  

 Belinda and company were surrounded by a gaggle of hangers-on carrying microphones and cameras. And hold it... skirting the outside of the reporters were two more familiar faces, Caleb and Anna, the leaders of the supposedly dispatched lycanthropes. Where had Belinda been hiding them? On Terra, most likely--if they'd ever been seen on Diluvia, that would have been the end of them, and of Belinda. Except... no, it couldn't be Anna... far too young--a daughter, perhaps? Lovely in an evil way.

  

 Spinecracker picked up a newspaper as he passed a stand. All eyes were on Belinda and her immediate area. None of the entourage glanced her way to notice Feldspar, as a skinnier Skythane, lurking in her corner. Some of them probably would know Skythane, but other than Spinecracker and Belinda, she didn't know who. If there had been a shadow nearby she'd have moved to it to blend in but as it was, the best she could do was hold still.

  

 The reporters were shouting questions. "Ms. Bedarova, why did you leave the Westshire last night? Is it true you've cancelled the deal to film Maxine Albright's book? Could you tell us about your daughter?"

  

 Belinda held up a hand. Silence descended. "How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child." She smiled. Spinecracker opened his newspaper. "Oh, and how wise the Bard," Belinda continued with an exaggerated sigh. "I'm afraid Feldspar takes after her father in more than just looks--first he betrayed me, now she has. I wasn't at the Westshire last night. That was Feldspar, wearing a blonde wig and makeup."

  

 "I thought her name was 'Ishtar', and..."

  

 Belinda cut the reporter off. "Whatever she's calling herself, the girl's been a disappointment from day one. I know having me for a mother can't be easy--I've never had much time to give her, but really, this impersonation nonsense has to stop."

  

 "But Ms. Bedarova... your daughter wasn't impersonating you. Don't see how she could, without stilts." That got a laugh from the other reporters. Feldspar smiled to herself at the puzzled and angry expression on her mother's face. Spinecracker closed his paper and tapped her arm, trying to get her attention.

  

 "What the hell are you talking about?" All pretence of calmness and control gone.

  

 "You were with her, Ms. Bedarova. And..."

  

 "Are you calling me a liar? Don't you think I know where I was? What the hell do you want?" Belinda wheeled to face Spinecracker, who'd grabbed her shoulder and started to shake it. She took a deep breath and looked back at the crowd of reporters. "Just a moment, please, I'll be right with you." She bent her head to listen to Spinecracker, glanced at his newspaper, then straightened. "I'm sorry. I underestimated my daughter. She was masquerading as me. The one calling herself 'Ishtar' is one of her friends, no relation to me at all--got it?"

  

 "Are you sure of that, or would you like to change your story again?"

  

 "I've had about all I'm going to take from you." Belinda stepped towards the questioner and swung a hand. The woman went flying and crashed into three others behind her. They all went down in a tangled crash.

  

 "Someone call the cops. Ishtar was right. She's gone crazy. Did you see her hit Barb? She hit Barb!"

  

 "Are you fools blind? I didn't touch her."

  

 Belinda hadn't, physically. Feldspar hadn't expected her mother would use her telekinesis openly on Terra. The reporters were right--Belinda was losing it... why? Could it be she was scared? Of what? She hadn't been in on the theft of The Adornments after all? No, she had to have been--not much question of that, not now she was here on Terra. What then? Spinecracker was whispering in her ear again.

  

 "Excuse me? Everyone? Please?" Those weren't words Belinda liked to say and it showed on her face. She did get the reporters' attention again, however. "Barb, I'm terribly sorry. This has been a stressful time for me. I'm sure we can settle this out of court. See me later, please?"

  

 From the faces, an apology wasn't characteristic of Linda Bedarova any more than it was of Belinda. And, from one particular face, not particularly effective either.

  

 "You can't buy me off like all the others, bitch. You're finished. I'm going to publish everything I know about you, everything. The rest of you can stay, if you want to, but I'm leaving."

  

 Most stayed. A few followed Barb, asking her questions. Caleb also slipped out behind her. Feldspar hoped the reporter would be all right but there wasn't much she could do for her at the moment.

  

 "She's become a story now."

  

 "Roger? How did you sneak up on me?" She'd been paying too much attention to Belinda, to the exclusion of her surroundings. In other circumstances, that could be a fatal mistake. "And did you know it was me?" He'd never seen her as Skythane.

  

 "I described you to Sian."

  

 "And I can see past illusions." A new voice.

  

 Feldspar jumped. How had she not noticed the woman with Roger? True, this Sian wasn't her type--she preferred more meat on the bones--but the hair was glorious and... she didn't have an aura... no, she did, but she had powerful mental shields, adept quality. "What are you?"

  

 "A friend. A witch. Roger's bond mate. The police force's resident psychic. Depends how you mean the question."

  

 "Roger's... I didn't know... he never said...."

  

 Roger wrapped an arm around Sian. "Maybe we should talk later, Feldspar. I think the action's about to resume."

  

 "If you're with the police, see if you can get that reporter, Barb, some protection." Feldspar spoke quickly. "A werewolf is tracking her."

  

 Sian nodded, took a cell-phone from her purse, pressed a button and started talking.

  

 "A werewolf?" Roger asked. Feldspar nodded, put a hand on his arm and glanced at Sian. On seeing her nod, Roger didn't press the question. Besides, he'd been right. The action was about to heat up... Ishtar, Rabid and Susan were coming out of the manager's office.

  

 At the sight of Belinda, panic appeared on Rabid's face. Ishtar didn't even break stride. "Mother! You're feeling better, I hope? You took your medication?"

  

 "Mother? How dare you?"

  

 "Because I love you? Despite everything?" Ishtar walked right up to Belinda. "So, you gonna hug me for the cameras? Or are you going to try and kill me, again?" Ishtar smiled at the watchers. "The first time she tried I wasn't even born--she botched the abortion, or so I'm told. Before she gave me up, she also tried to smother me in my cradle. Not her fault though. Mom can't help being insane. She's not evil, she's sick."

  

 "I'm not...."

  

 "Now Mother, please--people accept mental illness as a fact of life, these days. No point hiding the obvious anyway, is there?"

  

 "You..."

  

 "I'm sorry, Mother. I'm not letting you get a word in, am I? You wanted to say?"

  

 "You're not my daughter. You're..." Belinda turned her back on Ishtar and addressed the reporters. "She isn't. Look at her. How could anyone think she's related to me? I'm not crazy, all you people are if you think she could be my daughter...."

  

 Feldspar felt a tap on her shoulder. "Change." Sian mouthed. "To yourself." As Feldspar did, Sian nodded and smiled. "Ms. Bedarova doesn't know when to give up, does she?" This time Sian spoke in a voice that carried. All eyes turned their direction. Belinda's widened. "There! She's my daughter. The traitor. The one by the pillar."

  

 Hundreds of eyes examined Feldspar, briefly.

  

 Ishtar started to laugh. "Oh Mother! The dark girl? You couldn't have found anyone less likely to be your daughter if you tried. I'm sorry, but this time you've really lost it."

  

 Ishtar's laughter spread through the crowd. Belinda's face flushed darker and darker. Feldspar heard glass rattling. What? Where? From above. She looked up.

  

 "Run! The chandelier's going to fall."

  

 All eyes went to the ceiling. A frozen moment. Screams as the crowd became a mob rushing to the door. A groan of metal as the fixture pulled from its anchor. Ishtar raised her hands as she backed away. The descent went into slow motion and the chandelier settled to the lobby floor without so much as shattering a light bulb. The quest party gathered and left in the confusion.

  

 * * * * *

  

 After pushing Roger into her life, Grams had gone absent, back to whatever it was she did on the other plane. At the time, Sian'd felt grateful--she didn't need any guidance in sexual pursuits, not anymore, and Grams' commentary could be so distracting at such times. But now she could use another level head to discuss matters.

  

 Roger, darling Roger, remained in shock from their bonding and a few steps behind the two Diluvian women were involved in a heated conversation with the elf numbly listening on. That one seemed lost in a terror of his own.

  

 Feldspar had changed back to herself--the suit did look more natural on her than her male chimera. Her hands waved wildly as she talked to Ishtar and she kept glancing back at the Westshire. Sian stopped. Better find out who and what the enemy she feared might be. Another werewolf? She'd reported Feldspar's concern for the reporter, Barb, as a tip that the woman was in danger due to a story she was doing on organised crime. It wasn't a total lie and if she'd said the word 'werewolf' she would have been laughed off the phone. She stopped to let the Diluvians catch up.

  

 "Problems?" she asked.

  

 "Possibly," Feldspar answered. "If we don't watch our backs they could start sprouting knives."

  

 "Firearms?" Sian asked.

  

 "Wouldn't surprise me a damn bit," Ishtar answered. "Owning one is a death sentence on Diluvia but Belinda makes her own rules."

  

 "And I think the wolves must have been on Terra for some time," Feldspar added. "You know something about them, Sian?" she asked. "You didn't seem surprised."

  

 "Takes a lot to surprise Sian," Roger put in.

  

 She spared a second for a brief smile his direction. Feeling neglected already, was he? "We're excellent targets here in the open." She glanced around... the subway. "Follow me." She bought a handful of tokens, passed them out and collected the group on the other side of the barriers. "See any of them, Feldspar?"

  

 "Not yet. Wait... her." Said pointing at a teenage girl. "She's the other wolf."

  

 Sian fixed the girl's image in her mind. A slender redhead, five foot eight, angular face, t-shirt and jeans... who noticed Feldspar pointing her way, turned and started back up to the street.

  

 A train arrived. "Run for it."

  

 Ishtar was the last in, making it just before the doors closed. "So that was the face of evil. Could have fooled me."

  

 "You know what her parents did, don't you?" Feldspar's question sounded rhetorical.

  

 "And I know what yours has done."

  

 No answer. Sian turned to Susan Milano. "You live near here?" The immediate concern was finding a refuge where their party could regroup.

  

 A shake of the head. "No, up the end of the subway."

  

 "Guess we'll have to go to my place then."

  

 "Shouldn't we have remained at the scene of the crime?" Roger asked.

  

 "Bit late to suggest that," Ishtar said. "Some of us might be damn dead if we had. Brad and Vlad you said?" She shook her head. "Didn't notice them. Don't think the girl's any problem but those two... and her father... and your mother," she added, directly to Feldspar.

  

 "Okay okay, point made. You know the dwarves?"

  

 "Nope. Rabid, what about you? Rabid?"

  

 "Huh? What? Dwarves? No."

  

 "Why's he in the quest party?" Sian asked Susan in a low voice. The answer was a deep blush. Oh. Okay. But he wasn't that hung... Roger was every bit as... Oh again... that was probably why Roger was. Change the topic, fast. The train slowed for the next stop. "Okay folks, we get out here."

  

 "So, what happened in the manager's office, Susan?" she asked as they started up the stairs to the street.

  

 Sian listened to the story with half an ear while trying to figure out what she could do about the charges against Roger. She couldn't keep him in her custody forever. The Chief gave her a lot of latitude, largely at the behest of a Police Board, which had as members a couple of in-the-closet Wiccans, but there were limits. If she couldn't clear Roger of counterfeiting, and quickly, he'd be turned over to the Canadian Federal Investigation Bureau and once CANFIB got hold of someone they seldom let go.

  

 The gist of Susan's story seemed to be that the Westshire, Andre and Spratt at any rate, was co-operating fully with Linda Bedarova. No surprise there--those two were scum. It was well known in the policing community that any service short of a snuff was available from the Westshire, at a price. But if Bedarova was going to stay there now... Susan was still talking, making less sense by the moment. The Westshire management seemed a troublesome topic with her. Enough.

  

 Sian put a hand on Susan's arm. "Pardon me for breaking in, but where's the money?"

  

 "The phoney stuff? I'm not sure. Last I saw, Ishtar had it."

  

 "Then I'd better find out what she did with it." Sian glanced over her shoulder. Feldspar seemed to be trying to get through to Rabid--trying to heal him, she thought from the crackling of Feldspar's aura, but Ishtar had moved forward to walk beside Roger. "And I'd better pry her away from Roger before either of them gets any ideas."

  

 "Too late for that."

  

 Sian didn't bother replying. Susan was right and they both knew it. She needed to have a long talk with Ishtar but... first things first. She turned. "Pardon me. I don't think we've met properly. Roger, could you introduce us?"

  

 "Huh?" Roger shuffled from foot to foot. "Oh... Sian... this is Ishtar. Ishtar... Sian."

  

 "Damn coward," Ishtar muttered, half under her breath. She met Sian's eyes and smiled. "So he's not my type after all. I don't mess with anyone who considers life-bonds, or has taken one. It's bad for one's karma."

  

 So much for needing a long talk. Had Grams been wrong? Had Roger ever been in danger from Ishtar? She had to know. Now. "May I read you?"

  

 "Read her?"

  

 "She's a damn telepath, Roger. Knows your every thought."

  

 "I'm not that good."

  

 "Bullshit."

  

 Sian's cell phone rang. "Pardon me." Roger and the Diluvians started laughing, even Rabid. "What's so funny?"

  

 "The gods have spoken," Roger said, in a tone that implied he didn't believe, or disbelieve, his words. "More quietly than they did for me."

  

 Whatever... Sian took out her phone and glanced at the caller's number. "The Chief--I'll get back to him once we're settled. And once I know something." She set the phone to take messages but not ring and put it away again. "Now, if I may?" she asked Ishtar.

  

 "Do your worst."

  

 The short blonde wasn't radiating power but when Sian touched her, she felt it swirling. "You're the eye of a storm. I'm glad we're on the same side but, overall, it would be safer to be far from you."

  

 "Safety is dull. Try Feldspar now," Ishtar said, stepping away and breaking contact with Sian.

  

 Sian took Feldspar's outstretched hand and felt a calm, ancient strength, solid at the core. "Totally different--an old soul. I studied with an Inuit shaman for a time. Next to you, he was a child."

  

 "Well, she is the Prophesied," Ishtar said.

  

 Sian shook her head. "I don't think so. Feldspar embodies Order, not Chaos. She's an anchor. You're the one surrounded by swirling portents, Ishtar... not her. If anyone here is 'the Prophesied', it's you."

  

 Sian's pronouncement didn't surprise Feldspar, which in itself surprised her. Ishtar, on the other hand, appeared to be in shock. The trembling in her body extended to her voice.

  

 "I'm not the damn Prophesied. I can't be. Feldspar is. She's Belinda's daughter, not me. The prophecy is about Sylvester's line... about humans. I'm no damn human. I'm a dwarf."

  

 "If I hadn't been told..." Rabid sounded as upset as Ishtar. "I've wondered about... that since I met you, and Feldspar... god-bitten... well... I wish I'd know, I mean, wish I knew..." He paused, and, with a visible effort, calmed himself. "You're far more convincing as Belinda's daughter than Feldspar is. And you're telekinetic like Bel... like your mother."

  

 What was with Rabid? Was Terra getting to him? It was affecting them all--was it changing them--or showing them all for what they were? Who was she? And who was Ishtar? They had to know.

  

 "You're a vampire," Feldspar said, thinking aloud and listening to herself, "like her--she's nominal and you're stronger, but still... you're a blonde. I'm not. Your skin colour is right too. And you've got her temper and I don't. Sian's right, I'm not Belinda's daughter." Which meant..."I'm also not the Prophesied, you are." She wasn't Belinda's daughter!

  

 "Don't need to sound so damn happy about it. Besides, who the father is, is always an open question, but..."

  

 "Square's your father." Feldspar was sure of that. But Belinda was Ishtar's mother, not hers!

  

 "As I was going to say..." Ishtar glared at Feldspar. "If I may... without being interrupted."

  

 "Sorry."

  

 "Damn unlikely you're sorry about anything--whoever you are. Anyway, given biology, how can who anyone's mother is, be a damn question? It's not like we're hatched from eggs."

  

 Sian moved in front of Ishtar. "It's exactly like we're hatched from eggs. The eggs happen to be inside the body, rather than out, that's all. If Diluvian science is as advanced as I think, taking and transplanting one would be a simple matter."

  

 "Yeah, could be... I suppose... but without anyone knowing? Yeah, I suppose..." Ishtar obviously didn't like the idea. "But who..."

  

 "Can we continue this at my place?" Sian asked. "I'd like to get you all out of sight before one of my colleagues comes along and arrests us all."

  

 "For what?" Ishtar asked.

  

 "Counterfeiting and fraud--regarding money, not identities... leaving the scene of an accident...?"

  

 "No one was hurt, thanks to Ishtar." Feldspar smiled at her friend. "She was the only one there who could prevent a disaster, and she did."

  

 "So that one wouldn't stick--they could still take us in."

  

 "Damn inequitable justice system you have here." Ishtar wasn't meeting anyone's eyes.

  

 "Or maybe one of Belinda's wolves could manage to sniff us out?"

  

 "Doesn't work like that. You don't understand a damn thing about werewolves."

  

 "I won't argue that." Sian took Ishtar by the arm. Brave woman to touch her, in this mood. "Can we go?" she asked again. "And, all that aside, as I understand it you didn't come to Earth, Terra as you call it, to find out who your parents are. You're on a quest to recover the Adornments of Glory. Maybe you should concentrate on that."

  

 Maybe they should, but Feldspar couldn't, not for the moment. Or on any danger they might be in. She wasn't the Prophesied. And Belinda wasn't her mother... her entire life was a lie. Whose lie? And why? And as Ishtar had asked, who was she? She was Feldspar, of course, nothing could change that, but she wasn't the Feldspar she'd always thought herself to be. She was some other Feldspar, one who didn't have foretellings ruling her life. As Rabid said... and what was the matter with him? As he'd said, once you looked at the matter, once you looked at her, then Ishtar and then Belinda... it was clear. Ishtar was Belinda's daughter, Belinda's fifth child. Ishtar was the Prophesied.

  

  

 Ishtar stood at the door of Sian's apartment. She didn't want to go in. The place smelled of sex, and the main room was already crowded. "Isn't this damn small for six of us?" Which brought up another point. "Feldspar? Isn't a quest party supposed to be five?"

  

 Feldspar smiled at her. "Calm down, soul-sister. Belinda's got seven or eight."

  

 "Get that damn pity out of your voice or you'll be choking on your teeth... soul-sister. And we're not rule-breakers like her."

  

 "It's not pity--it's concern. Being the Prophesied isn't easy. Remember, I've got experience. And as far as party size goes, the rules are flexible; allies can attach themselves--it's allowed."

  

 Damn, she was right. Of course she was. "I know. Besides, if it's a problem, I guess we can think of Roger and Sian as one." She took a deep breath and forced a smile onto her face. "Congratulations--not many of us ever find our opposite self. The gods' blessing on you both."

  

 Sian lifted an eyebrow. "I'm still surprised. I thought you'd feel hurt."

  

 "Compared to learning I'm the bitch's get, losing the prospect of a night or three with Roger is minor. Besides, the world's full of pricks--right, Feldspar? Not that you'd necessarily give a shit about that. Sorry, that was cheap." Another deep breath. "Sian was right. We're here to get the Adornments. Let's deal with that, for now."

  

 "Good. Let's. First things first. We need to clear the charges against Roger," Sian said. "Where are the rest of the counterfeit bills?"

  

 "Back at that damn hotel. I left them in a drawer under the phone."

  

 "I'll tell the Chief that." Sian took out her cell phone. "It should buy Roger a little more time."

  

 Susan cleared her throat. "Hold off for a moment. Ishtar, didn't you tell us you figured Spinecracker gave you the stuff in the first place? I wonder whether his fingerprints might still be on it?"

  

 "That would be nice." Sian said, a grin appearing on her face. "Hi, Chief..." She wandered into the kitchen, out of hearing range.

  

 "Okay, the Adornments..." Keep your damn focus, for now. "We need to find Delarone before Belinda and her bunch do."

  

 "You think he's betraying her--intending to keep them for himself?" Roger asked.

  

 "Not sure. Doesn't matter. The bitch being the bitch, she'll kill him either way. Probably Spinecracker too--hope I get to him first. Maybe all the others as well... who cares?"

  

 "Could you explain that to me?" Susan asked Feldspar.

  

 "I don't need a damn interpreter." Deep breath... deep breath. "Sorry. Belinda won't want anyone around who could tell tales."

  

 "And they all would know all about her secret life on Terra," Rabid said. "So do we... and anyone who knows that..." Worry filled his voice.

  

 "I expected better from you," Ishtar answered with a sigh. "That's minor. She also won't want anyone around who could say she interfered with a sanctioned quest."

  

 "By killing the quest party," Feldspar added. "Or at least, trying to. So it's her or us. Either of you Terran types want out?"

  

 "Have any of you Diluvian types shown that picture of Delarone to Sian?" Susan retorted. "Maybe she'll recognize him."

  

 "Damn, sometimes I'm real stupid..." Ishtar fumbled in her pack for the com-reader. These Terran clothes were sexy, but hardly practical... found it. She accessed the picture. "Maybe we'll get lucky this time."

  

 "I bet Sian will know," Roger said.

  

 "I'll know what? Did I hear my name?" Sian came out of the kitchen and took the reader. "Delbert Throne of Crimson Throne Holdings... couldn't you have picked someone easy to get near to, like the Pope or the American President?" She looked at Susan. "Think you can take the explanations from there? I've got to get Roger back to the station pronto."

  

 "They're going to lock him up?" Susan asked.

  

 Sian shook her head. "They need him there to release him, to do the paperwork... Linda Bedarova graciously admitted she must have mistakenly put prop cash from one of her old movies into her purse, then given it to him. She got everyone to agree that no one could possibly be stupid enough to actually think the stuff is real."

  

 "The shopkeeper took it." Roger sounded defensive.

  

 "She's making an excuse, Roger. For some reason, she doesn't want you, or any of the party in jail."

  

 "Be harder to kill us there, I expect," Feldspar said.

  

 Ishtar nodded. That sounded right. "But it should be safe for you and Roger to go, Sian."

  

 Almost at the door, Sian froze. "I'd forgotten it might not be. You're sure?"

  

 What a stupid question. "No."

  

 Sian nodded. "Fair enough. Thanks for the reminder."

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 Delbert Throne was Noronto's favourite rumour. Susan felt faintly surprised Sian recognised his picture. Few people would. She hadn't. Pictures of Throne were forbidden and she could well understand why--the man was actively ugly.

  

 A recluse with clout, Throne controlled or influenced the city's economy in ways Susan didn't understand... or didn't want to. His wasn't an intrusive presence, however, and those who crossed him ended up with broken bank accounts rather than shattered kneecaps. He lived in Crimson Tower in the penthouse... or in a deep sub-basement... or somewhere else... the story varied.

  

 What didn't vary was that the only sure route to him led through Hilda Weller, his partner. She was a keen financial analyst who doubled as a talent scout for Crimson Throne Productions, the entertainment wing of the company. Undoubtedly, she took that role for the personal benefits of the casting couch. It was notoriously well visited, but few who frequented it found stardom. The occasional person did, however; it happened just often enough to ensure talent of the earthy sort continued to flow in Weller's direction.

  

 The Diluvians sat fascinated as Susan explained Delbert Throne and his empire. She noted a few meaningful looks being exchanged, particularly when she got started on Hilda Weller. She decided to wrap her story up. "Actually, Weller's well liked. She contributes a good bit of Throne's net profits and most of her personal wealth to charity. It's said you really have to work to become her enemy, and that it's not worth the effort--the few who've achieved that status have been crushed. I gather you know of her? That she's Diluvian?"

  

 "Has to be," Rabid answered. He shifted closer to her on the couch and put a hand on her thigh. She let it stay although it didn't do much for her. As Feldspar wasn't available, she might still give Rabid another night although she wasn't impressed by his recent behaviour. "Everyone on Diluvia wondered what happened to her. Once upon a time, she and I were well acquainted."

  

 "Damn... you're that old?" Ishtar's voice dripped sarcasm.

  

 "Sounds like you're beginning to recover from your shock," Rabid said.

  

 Ishtar shrugged. "Decided I'm still me, even if the bitch is my dam--still not sure I believe that."

  

 "Do... and it only was two hundred years ago Hilldweller disappeared, which still makes me a young elf."

  

 "Middle-aged," Ishtar answered. She turned her attention to Susan. "To fill you in from our end, to someone of my tender years, Hilldweller is a legend. She's an oracle, sort of a higher grade, more developed version of our friend, Sian. At one time, Hilldweller contended with Planetsinger for the role of Great Mother. Hilldweller backed out and disappeared--saying the role needed someone with a viciousness she didn't possess."

  

 Ishtar smiled as she moved her eyes to Feldspar. "The other point of interest--to some of us--is that Hilldweller is Skythane's mother--Skythane being Feldspar's drop-dead blonde boyfriend, and her most recent impersonation."

  

 "So Hilldweller would be our ally," Susan said. And Ishtar didn't like Skythane, didn't think him good enough for her friend.

  

 Feldspar shook her head. "She wouldn't be our enemy--at least, from what Skythane's said of her, that's as far as it would go. She's detached... almost a mystic. If she deems us to be walking near the path of perfect glow, she might nudge us in the proper direction. If she sees us as too far from it, she would push us over the cliff of instructive experience."

  

 "Is that sarcasm?" Susan couldn't tell from Feldspar's tone of voice.

  

 Next to her, Rabid chuckled. "I'd say it's the expression of a different reality." Now that was sarcasm. Whatever his problem had been, he seemed to have recovered. "Hilldweller isn't quite of this world, or any other known to mortals. For all that, bedding her is a mind-altering experience. One night with her and the world will look different. A week, and you won't recognise it as the same place."

  

 Ishtar asked the question most immediately on Susan's mind. "And you were with her how long?"

  

 "Several years."

  

 Ishtar nodded. "And here I thought you were just a hedonist--out for what you could get--but you're not... you're really a saint in sinner's clothing, just like your precious Hilldweller."

  

 "I'm afraid I'm just a sinner in sinner's clothing," Rabid said in a quiet voice. "I'm..." He shook his head. His eyes met Feldspar's. "Help?"

  

 Feldspar put a hand on Ishtar's arm. "Calm down, soul-sister. People are what they are. Bitterness won't further our quest."

  

 "Piss off. There's good and there's evil... and then there's bullshit. Bullshit is the only thing that isn't one or the other." She stared at Rabid. "I'm going to find out the truth, elf boy. You can count on it."

  

 Rabid squirmed in closer to Susan on the couch, like he expected her to protect him. If he'd recovered, Ishtar had just pushed him back over the edge. Susan assumed she had her reasons.

  

 * * * * *

  

 Despite Sian's assurances he was going to be released, Roger expected a trick. At best, the police would let him go so they could arrest him again. At worst, he would be taken to a windowless cell and worked over with rubber truncheons. Sian didn't have the clout to protect him. She was only a lieutenant, a nominal one at that--out of the chain of command and only granted the rank to get her on the payroll. He wanted to run. Sian seemed to sense that--her grip on his hand went far beyond affection. Might as well be wearing the handcuffs again.

  

 "Sian? You're sure the charges are being dropped?"

  

 "For the umpteenth time... yes! You don't trust me." Anguish resounded in her voice. "Grams, he doesn't trust me."

  

 He loved her, and she was great in bed, the best... but she was insane. This wasn't going to work. An arranged marriage? Arranged by his deceased grandmother, and hers? How in the world had she sold him on that fiction? Smouldering dark eyes in a rosy face explained a great deal. And after chaining him to her bed for the night and leaving him alone, her forthright come-on in the morning predictably swept him off his feet. And he was a man, and men didn't say 'no.' He should have... he'd been her captive and at her mercy.

  

 "Sian, have you ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?"

  

 She sighed and slowed to a stop. "You're so young." She let his hand go. "And you can be such an asshole." She looked at someone who wasn't beside him. "Annwyl, your grandson has a lot of growing up to do and I'm beginning to doubt I have the patience to raise him. No, no complaints there, but that's not everything." Another sigh. "You may be right... I'm just tired, but still... is it possible you and Grams made a mistake? Okay, I'll answer him politely... this time." Her dark eyes moved from beside him to meet his. "Yes, Roger, I have heard of Stockholm Syndrome. Classically, it requires several days in a hostage situation where life and death are at stake."

  

 "People have died while being held by the Noronto police force."

  

 Sian nodded. "Suicides. Want to borrow my gun?"

  

 It was his turn to talk. And she probably was right. From her hands-on-swivel-hips stance, she expected him to say so, or else. "Sorry. I'm tired too, and I suppose I am being foolish."

  

 "Apology accepted. And by the way, I don't carry a gun. Can we get going now?"

  

 "In a moment. Don't our grandmothers have anything better to do than follow us around?"

  

 "What do you mean?"

  

 "Well, I'd hate to think their lives on the other side--or whatever you call it--are that empty. Last night you convinced me you can talk to my grandmother. Right now I'm not so sure she's standing beside me."

  

 Sian's usually rosy cheeks flushed a deeper red. "Caught me. How did you know?"

  

 "Last night you paused to wait for an answer. This time you didn't."

  

 "Sorry, I won't do it again."

  

 Roger wasn't sure if she meant she wouldn't forget to pause, or wouldn't try and con him. Despite what she thought, he wasn't young enough to ask that question. "Apology accepted. And now we should get going."

  

 "We never should have stopped." Sian glanced around. "Fortunately, our mistake hasn't proven to be fatal."

  

 He'd forgotten there might be werewolves hunting them. From the sudden alarm on her face, so had Sian. It was probably that the girl they'd seen in the train station had seemed so innocuous. But Sian did too, and wasn't.

  

 Sian didn't say anything more until they were outside the police station. "You think you won that one, don't you?"

  

 He didn't, not really, but it was clear what answer she wanted. "Yes."

  

 "Like I said, you may be too young for me. Love isn't a competitive sport, Roger. Or, if it is, we're teammates. Grow up."

  

  

 What she hadn't told Roger was that any team needed a leader. That was her, no doubt about it. Roger's assorted stellar qualities didn't include the ability to be decisive--too much self-doubt. Rule one in life was that when you act like you know what you're doing, people believe in you. She threw her shoulders back and marched into the station, straight to the front desk.

  

 "Hi, Bill. You've got the paperwork?" she asked the sergeant.

  

 "Good morning, Lieutenant Jones. No, ma'am... the Chief has it. He said you should go up in as soon as you showed."

  

 "Right. Come along, Roger." As Ishtar would say... damn.

  

 The too-familiar head lifted as she opened the door. "Jones, hate to do this... you're suspended. Your badge and gun." The Chief held out a heavy hand.

  

 The old man had watched too many bad cop movies. Sian knew better than to make that comment aloud. "Sir." She dug her badge out of her purse. "I never was issued a gun. May I ask what this is about?"

  

 "Budget cuts. Things are tight. But you know that." He opened a drawer, dropped her badge into it and slammed it shut. "I'm not happy about this either. Union insists all non-union personnel go first."

  

 "I'm actually being fired, not suspended?"

  

 "The stuff from your desk's at the front. Sorry." He stood and thrust his hand out to be shaken. "All the best."

  

 "What... oof...." An elbow in his ribs cut Roger's question short. Sian took the Chief's hand. "It's been an honour to serve under you, sir." Budget cuts? Not likely.

  

 "We'll mail your discharge, Jones." He dropped her hand. "Good-bye."

  

 "Good-bye, sir." She turned and walked out. Roger followed without a word, bless him. Her coffee cup, the only personal item she'd kept in her office, and a copy of Roger's file--marked 'closed'--were waiting for her at the front. "See you around, Bill."

  

 "Jones." He didn't meet her eyes. As she walked out she could feel him taking one last, longing look at her ass. That was all of her he'd miss--all most of the guys on the force would. She'd refused to date anyone from work but always wore tight pants. They'd never mistaken her for one of the boys.

  

 "Can I talk now?" Roger asked when they reached the sidewalk.

  

 "All you want. Could you hug me first?" Strong and comforting arms went around her. "I hadn't expected that," she continued into his shoulder. It was such a delight being with a man taller than her. Roger was such a big teddy bear--and she'd have to work on that, at his age he shouldn't be running to flab. "No, that's not true... I hadn't expected that today. Support on the police board for my position has always been iffy."

  

 Roger's hand wandered down her back to cup a buttock. A big hand--she liked that--and his lovely penis, hard against her stomach... yum! Grams was right, young men were the best... always ready. She tilted her head up for a kiss. His tongue twisted with hers, then explored the side of her mouth. She pressed tighter against him. He started to shudder.

  

 She decreased the pressure and pulled away. They would have to work on his control... later. This wasn't the time or the place.

  

 "You're right," Roger said, shaking his head. "We just did it again." He stepped back from her. His eyes flickered up and down the street.

  

 Should she admit she'd forgotten the danger they were in? No. It would only scare him more. "We'd better get back to my place."

  

 "Maybe we should take a cab."

  

 "It'll take longer to get one than to walk."

  

 "There's one at the end of the street." He stepped to the curb and waved his arm. "You might to have to take charge when we get there... good, he's seen me." He quit waving and reached for her hand. "Susan and Rabid aren't leader types any more than I am," he continued, "and Feldspar and Ishtar are both in shock."

  

 "True." She'd seen that, but hadn't drawn the obvious conclusion. "That's probably why I got fired. It was fate. Or maybe Grams set it up."

  

 "Fate? Grams, wherever she is? More likely Linda Bedarova, or Delbert Throne, when I think of it... he's the one with local clout."

  

 Sian shook her head. "Not that much. The Noronto police force isn't in anyone's pay."

  

 "Not even the taxpayers'." Roger answered, with a laugh. So young, and so cynical... he wasn't right about that, but it wasn't worth arguing. But Delbert Throne? Could it be?

  

 The taxi pulled up beside them and Roger opened the door. They got in and she gave the driver her address. "I know it's not far. I'll give you a good tip."

  

 "And I'll be thanking you for it. Pardon me, but I have seen you often coming and going from this station. You are being police?" He glanced in the mirror and made a wild u-turn.

  

 "Yes," she answered, before remembering she wasn't, not any more.

  

 "Well then. If I may be asking, are you knowing anything about the shooting?" Said accelerating through a yellow light.

  

 "No. Who's been shot?"

  

 "Some reporter lady is the rumour." The taxi screeched to a halt in front of her building.

  

 Barb. "No, I don't know anything about that."

  

 "If you'll pardon me, I'm not so sure about this. From the way your voice is sounding, I think maybe you do. Four twenty, please."

  

 "I think maybe I do as well. Thank you." She gave him a twenty as she got out. "Keep the change."

  

 "Thank you so much. And have a nice day."

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 Ishtar hadn't taken the news well. She didn't want to be Belinda's daughter. Feldspar knew the feeling well and while she still wasn't sure she believed it true--changelings might be a staple of legend, but could she and Ishtar have been switched before birth? Okay, as Sian'd said, it wasn't impossible. But if so, why? A cosmic joke, or some better reason? Had to admit that on the face of it, so to speak, it seemed likely... Ishtar's face was pale verging on translucent, like Belinda's and while not jet-black, hers was like the rest of her body, was noticeably dusky.

  

 "Fairies danced at my birth," Feldspar said, thinking aloud.

  

 "Damn little balls of flying puke... so what?"

  

 "They switched us in the womb? Or after?"

  

 "Who gives a damn when it was done? I'm the bitch's damn daughter. I accept that--it's as obvious as the big honker of a nose on your face. Hers is button sized, like mine... looks better on me though... I'm pissed because I can't see how we missed it all these years."

  

 "We're not the only ones," Feldspar said. "Belinda didn't see it either and she's at least as upset."

  

 "Yes, the way she ripped that chandelier from the ceiling seems rather a broad hint to her feelings," Rabid said, leaving off pestering Susan... to her evident relief. "We should take advantage. Kick her while she's down. Push her over the brink. Kill her before she kills us."

  

 "Bloodthirsty all of a sudden, aren't you, elf? But you're talking my language. What are we doing hanging around here? Let's go." Ishtar started for the door.

  

 Feldspar grabbed her. "No."

  

 Ishtar jerked to a stop. "Why not? By the damn gods, why not?"

  

 "I've said it before. We're not here to destroy Belinda. We're here to recover the Adornments."

  

 "And she doesn't have the damn things."

  

 "Exactly."

  

 "And if she's dead, she never will. Damn you, Feldspar, can't you see she's the brains behind the damn theft? Take her out and the rest will crumble."

  

 "Maybe."

  

 "And maybe not."

  

 Rabid nodded. "If Hilldweller is involved, she could be the brains. We should get rid of Belinda anyway... she's just a complication."

  

 "You think this is Hilldweller's doing?" Ishtar obviously hadn't considered that possibility.

  

 Feldspar doubted Hilldweller responsible for anything smacking of evil--it didn't fit what she knew of the woman--but if debating that theory could keep Ishtar from rushing off, she was all for it being considered. She kept a firm hold on Ishtar's arm. "Let's sit down and think this over."

  

 Rabid grabbed Ishtar's other hand and tugged. "After Belinda, we're going to have to kill Hilldweller, but first things first... let's go get Belinda."

  

 "You seem obsessed with her." From the couch, Susan's quiet voice entered the fray. "It didn't bother me last night, but don't think I didn't hear you moan Belinda's name." What was Susan talking about? Rabid and Belinda? It couldn't be, could it? Planetsinger would have warned them if Rabid was Belinda's agent... wouldn't she? Maybe she'd been about to when they ticked her off regarding Shimmerscribe? And wasn't it Rabid who'd incited that? As she remembered, it was... and he was calling out Belinda's name when he came? She let Ishtar's arm go and took a step towards Rabid.

  

 He glanced at her before directing his entire attention to Susan. "Sorry, love, I didn't think you'd heard. That name would have been 'Melinda.' Friend of mine. We grew up together. Taught each other everything." Rabid released Ishtar's arm and hurriedly went back to beside Susan. "Sorry," he repeated, running a hand up her thigh. "I'll make proper apologies later."

  

 "No need... I told you it didn't bother me." Susan stopped Rabid's hand short of its target and removed it from her leg. "And quit trying to distract me. Why don't you tell us all about this 'Melinda?'"

  

 Ishtar snorted. "Please... don't. I'm horny enough as it is, without him detailing past conquests. You're right though, Feldspar... recycling anyone has to be a secondary pleasure... getting those damn Adornments back home is what matters. Soon as we do, I'm going to find paradise by screwing my brains out."

  

 "What would happen if you broke your vow?" Susan slapped Rabid's hand as it started up her leg a second time. "Look you... I said 'no.'" She stood, her eyes on Ishtar. "What was it you swore to... exactly?"

  

 "I didn't swear to a damn thing. It was her." Ishtar jabbed a finger at Feldspar.

  

 Feldspar searched backwards in her memory. Susan had asked an excellent question. "That I wouldn't share a pallet with anyone."

  

 "So if you did it standing up...." Susan's eyes held a clear proposition. Feldspar shivered--standing up could be good. Until now, she'd managed to keep the pull between herself and Susan at a distance. But after they completed the quest... or maybe standing up... in Sian's washroom?

  

 "Don't risk it." Rabid put an arm around Susan's slender waist. "Gods judge intent, not wording."

  

 She pried herself away from him yet again. "I wasn't talking to you."

  

 Ishtar sighed. "Now children... could we get back to figuring out how to find the damn Adornments?" Her eyes flickered past Susan and Rabid and on to Feldspar. "So, leader, what next? Let's get this done so we can get all hot and sticky."

  

 "If Delbert Throne has what you're looking for, you should go after him," Susan said. "Forget Linda Bedarova."

  

 Rabid shook his head in an emphatic 'no'. "I still say Belinda's the key. We have to kill her."

  

 "What do you mean 'we', elf boy? You're no damn use in a fight. Shit, judging from Susan's lack of enthusiasm today, you're close to useless in the sack as well. But don't you worry, someone's going to die today."

  

 Sizzling overhead--Feldspar hit the floor--two soft explosions. "What was that?"

  

 "Damn light bulbs."

  

 Feldspar rolled to a sit. The room was dimmer. The others were still on their feet.

  

 Rabid gave a uneasy laugh. "Almost fouled myself that time."

  

 "Like I said, you're useless." Ishtar offered Feldspar a hand. "Soul-sister, you're on the edge of your nerves. Still, I guess I better watch what I say."

  

 "That would be a first." Feldspar kept hold of Ishtar's hand after getting to her feet. "Anyway, I think it's too late. But I guess I'll accept you're the Prophesied now, not me."

  

 Ishtar's grin disappeared. "Bitch." She squeezed Feldspar's hand and let go.

  

 "What I mean is... you're the leader. If it's what you think we should do, when Sian and Roger get back, we go after Belinda." Or not. She evidently couldn't change Ishtar's mind, but maybe Sian would be able to get her to calm down and regain her focus.

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 On her return, Sian found a war council in her living room. Rabid and Ishtar wanted blood. Rabid--Belinda's... and Ishtar that of anyone at all it seemed. From her slumped posture, Feldspar had effectively stepped down as quest leader, and the party was becoming a rabble.

  

 Fine. First, get them back on track. "Are you on a quest for the Adornments of Glory, or Linda Bedarova's head?" She used the Terran name deliberately.

  

 "Both." Ishtar glared. "And that damn Spinecracker--I'm going to castrate him."

  

 Feldspar sat up. "Not if I get to him first. How dare he bed both of us and my... and your... and Belinda?"

  

 Sian gave them her best theatrical sigh. "So you are after blood, not the Adornments. Guess the other side wins."

  

 That got through to both Ishtar and Feldspar. But Rabid shook his head.

  

 "Both are important. We have to do both. We can... we've got six people," he added.

  

 As Ishtar would say--damn elf. Was he egging on the others? "And they've got how many? Eight? If we split up it'll be all the more likely we'll lose. Know what? It sounds like you've got your own agenda."

  

 "I think all three of our Diluvian friends have their own agenda," Susan said quietly. "They're all blinded by hatred or fear. Let me try out a theory on you. Belinda's been playing it straight all along. She didn't have anything to do with the theft of the Adornments and honestly thought you two girls insufficiently mature to be entrusted with the task of returning them. From all I've heard the past hour, I'd say if she felt that way about you, she had cause."

  

 Sian suppressed a laugh. Susan might be wrong about Belinda but, from their faces, she was right about Feldspar and Ishtar not having given that idea any thought.

  

 Susan turned her gaze on Rabid. "And as for you, I'm pretty sure I know exactly what's going on with you and if you approach me again, I'll pass my speculation on."

  

 Rabid bowed and backed away. That by-play went unremarked by the Diluvian females. They were staring at each other in horrified shock.

  

 "You know," Feldspar finally said. "It could have started that way."

  

 "Unlikely," Ishtar said. She turned to Susan. "But possible, I'll grant you that. It's not that way now. We couldn't ally with her against Delarone." She shrugged. "For one thing, rightly or wrongly, we're the sanctioned party and she's the interloper. For another, she wouldn't let us."

  

 "I wasn't suggesting anything of the sort," Susan answered. "Only that if you continue to pursue your quest fuelled by hatred and lust, you're going to fail. Fail absolutely and completely."

  

 "Fine, but I still want to kill Belinda," Ishtar said after a moment. The difference was, this time she said it with a grin.

  

 Sian relaxed. One crisis over, thanks to the unlikely intervention of Susan. "Could you fill us in on the rest of her party before you rush off and do that?" she asked. "Vlad and Brad, the werewolves, Spinecracker, the two dwarves?"

  

 "Especially the werewolves," Roger said. "I have a hard time believing the girl could be dangerous."

  

 "Sexist," Susan said with a laugh.

  

 "Don't know a thing about her," Ishtar said.

  

 "Except she's Caleb's daughter," Feldspar said. "And he and his wife Anna, the girl's mother, were two of the most dangerous criminals in recent Diluvian history. Between them, and with their pack, they probably ate several hundred sentients."

  

 "When they were in wolf form," Ishtar interjected.

  

 A nod from Feldspar. "Which neither of those are right now. It takes several nights for them to shift between modes. So all they are now are extraordinarily strong humans with lightning reflexes."

  

 "And intelligence," Ishtar said, taking up the explanation. "Werewolves were genetically engineered in a war seven hundred years back. Been around ever since. Most of them are decent sentients," she added, speaking to Roger. "So you could be right about the girl."

  

 "I wouldn't bet my life on it though," Feldspar said. "Vlad and Brad are pure muscle with tiny brains, Spinecracker's about the opposite of that. The dwarves? I'm not sure about them. You?" she asked Ishtar.

  

 "Reservoirs," Rabid said. He glanced at Susan as if for permission to continue and did at her nod. "Belinda's a telekinetic and a vampire. Think of those two as storage batteries. She'll drain their life force and use it to feed her telekinesis."

  

 "It's an outlawed technique," Ishtar said. "I've only read about it, but that sounds probable. So we don't have to worry about those dwarves as individual fighters. This dwarf, however, is spoiling for a brawl."

  

 There was a protracted silence in which everyone looked at everyone else. Sian felt much better about their chances.

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 "Okay, if that's settled," Sian said. "I think we should eat before we get on our way. While we're waiting we can discuss our plan of action. But we do need food. An army marches on its stomach."

  

 "I've always thought that sounded gross." Susan took her phone from her purse. "I'll order. Everyone okay with Chinese?"

  

 "I would be." Feldspar smiled. "Okay, Sian, who do we go after? I'm sorry, but I still think we should split our forces."

  

 "And I still think Belinda might have the damn Adornments by now," Ishtar added.

  

 Sian sighed to herself. Did Ishtar actually believe that, or was it a justification? Either way, Sian could tell if she was going to continue to lead she'd have to listen to the troops. A suggestion everyone could agree with might solidify her position and improve their chances.

  

 "Then despite Belinda having more fighters, we do need two groups." Had she accomplished anything? Well, at least no one was yelling, at the moment. Fine, some things were obvious. "Ishtar wants Belinda."

  

 "I want her dead. She's the brains behind this."

  

 "If Delbert Throne and Hilda Weller are involved? I don't think so." Susan's comment earned her a glare from Ishtar. Those two weren't going to be able work together. "Fine... just my opinion--hello, Sincere Gratification Take-Out?" She started her order, in Chinese--might be good food after all. Sian'd assumed they were going to face a meal of cop-quality fast-food junk, but evidently not. Things were looking up.

  

 "Okay, then Ishtar, you'll go keep Linda Bedarova and company distracted."

  

 "Distracted? Dead."

  

 Feldspar shook her head. "No, Sian's right--if we recycle her before we get the Adornments, her co-conspirators--if that's what Delarone and Hilldweller are--might do something desperate. Besides, I'd like Belinda to know she's going to lose. Spinecracker now, he's a different matter. So are the rest of her party. We can take them out as need be. And before they get us."

  

 Ishtar nodded. "Isolate her. Make her suffer. Damn, I like that. I'm in."

  

 Good, Feldspar was still focused on the Adornments, at the price of a possible bloodbath. Was she the best bet to keep Ishtar in check? Probably... she'd need help. "Right, so you two will go back to the Westshire. I'll come with you. Susan and Rabid will concentrate on Throne and Weller, probably Weller first since Rabid knows her. Besides, she ventures into public and he doesn't." Susan'd finished ordering lunch. "Susan, do you know where the Bent-Arm Bistro is?"

  

 "Sure--never been there--it's out of my price range, but everyone knows it." The Bent-Arm was only a couple of blocks from the Westshire, deep in the theatre district.

  

 "Good. That's where Weller does her talent scouting."

  

 "Yeah, I've heard it's her private meat market." She paused. "I'm not going with him though." She jerked a thumb at Rabid.

  

 "I'm afraid that's the way it breaks down, Susan." What had happened there? Susan had been on her side until then. No matter, the main point was to get Rabid, their possible turncoat, away from action involving Belinda. Susan would just have to lump it.

  

 Rabid wrapped an arm around Susan's waist. "I'm glad for a chance to make things up to you."

  

 She shook him off. "No doubt. But it's not going to happen."

  

 "Tell you what--I'll rethink this over lunch." The instant she said that, Sian knew she should have kept her mouth shut. She was going to lose them now.

  

 "I can go with Susan."

  

 Roger? That's right, she'd forgotten him... no, not forgotten, just decided he wasn't aggressive or nasty enough to get involved.

  

 "I'd intended you to say here and co-ordinate the two parties on the phone."

  

 "Why? You and Susan have cell phones. You're not leaving me behind."

  

 "Okay, you're right." Sian racked her brain. What to do with him?

  

 "Why not have Roger look up Maxine Albright?" Susan asked. "There seemed to be a connection between her and Bedarova. Last night she sounded certain Bedarova would want to talk to her."

  

 "Good idea," Sian said. Not really... if there were anything to Susan's theory, Roger couldn't handle the matter alone.

  

 "Why don't I go with him?" Feldspar asked. "We should be able to talk her into going to the Westshire, especially if I play Belinda again."

  

 Which would put Roger back in the centre of the action... great... but from his face, Sian could tell that was the way things were going to have to be. She couldn't and wouldn't humiliate him by being overprotective. "Okay, then that's settled. Susan, how long for the food?"

  

 "Maybe another fifteen. You have anything I could wear to the Bent-Arm? I love this dress, Ishtar but I'm not sure I could kick anyone in the nose while wearing it--too tight. I think we're about the same size, Sian."

  

 "My tops would be tight on you."

  

 "All the better," Rabid said, with a smile.

  

 Susan glared at him, then shrugged. "Let's see what you've got anyway. Not that it matters... I'm sorry, Sian, but this plan of yours doesn't make sense."

  

 And things had been going so well.

  

  

 Ishtar knew she should be grateful to Sian for calming things down, but Susan was right. No damn way this would work... Sian's strategy seemed focused on preventing bloodshed, not resolving the quest--and the damn woman thought she, newly-named Ishtar... and the newly-revealed Prophesied, was obsessed and out of her mind crazy.

  

 Could be, but this time tomorrow, Belinda-bitch would be dead. Or she would be, herself. She had to admit that was possible. Didn't think so though--damn gods were disembodied dragon dung if Belinda survived her. Were anyway--anathemized spectral trash, all of them. How dare they mess around with lives, make people believe lies, manipulate her while playing their moronic immortal games?

  

 So she was the Prophesied. Damn well make the most of it. What were the words? "...the fifth child of the fifth generation after your own will lead legions of the unknown. A world shall crumble as the mighty lose their might, and the lesser are raised to heights..." She'd always wondered how Feldspar would manage any of that. Her soul-sister might have slit a few throats in the name of justice, but she just didn't have the character needed to reduce anything to ash. Too soft--always made excuses for people, she did.

  

 Not as bad now as she used to be, mind you--that peacock Skythane might be a vainglorious pervert, but he did have an edge to his soul. He'd been good for Feldspar, in a way. Still, Feldspar was out of her depth here on Terra. Like everyone said, it was obvious Feldspar couldn't be the Prophesied--couldn't be damn Belinda's daughter. Too nice.

  

 Nope, no damn way Feldspar was the bitch's get... and she was... no question--better looking though--everyone could see that. Last night, with all those eyes on her, adoring, she'd felt herself swell. Swell to the point she was ready to burst now--all over her temporarily alive, newly revealed damn mother.

  

 Thought she was in charge, Sian did. Damn fool Terran--first she'd snatched Roger away by bedding the hung chump and convincing him she was his one-and-only. Couldn't blame her for that--in the circumstances she'd have done the same. But now she'd got the quest party onto her territory and was giving orders. Okay, the woman meant well and she'd been right; they'd been falling apart and had needed someone to take charge. Ishtar was glad Sian had, but hoped the woman knew enough to stand aside as well--her orders needed tweaking.

  

 And here was Sian, back with Susan. Time to do some matchmaking.

  

 "You okay, Ishtar?"

  

 "Would you damn well quit asking that... all of you? Sorry, Roger." He was so cute when he cowered. Still wanted her, despite his fear and despite Sian's spending a night trying to suck him into her skinny body... still, if Sian wanted him that much, he was all hers. Good to know it didn't have to be that way though. She could take anyone and anything she wanted. Just didn't want him. Rabid now, that was a different matter. She didn't trust him, but his meat was all hers.

  

 "Hey, elf boy. Come here." Susan didn't want Rabid and Feldspar wanted Susan. Consider her my gift, soul-sister. "Rabid, my lad, there's a change of plan. You go with Roger, then bring that writer woman and this to me." She put a hand on Rabid's manhood. It sprang to attention.

  

 "Susan?" As much a moan as a question.

  

 "Feldspar will partner her. That's the way it should be. Any problem with that... no? Good. Sian, what about you?"

  

 "I'm still going with you. Oh, do I have a problem with your reorganisation? No, this does make more sense. Feldspar was initially charged with reclaiming the Adornments and, as far as we know, this sends her that direction. The rest of us are subsidiary to her. I'm not sure it matters what we do. She's the important one... right?"

  

 "Hadn't thought of it that way." Sian might have a point. Had the Prophesied been charged with leading the quest, or had Feldspar? "Feldspar? You think you and Susan can manage on your own?"

  

 "We'll do very well together. Thank you, Ishtar. And I'll call Ms. Albright, as Linda Bedarova, and ask her to come see me at the Westshire and tell her to expect an escort." Feldspar went to sit beside Susan, in Rabid's former place and coiled her arm around the wide-sea woman, exactly as Rabid had tried. Despite herself, Ishtar couldn't hold back a smile. Yes, that was as it should be. She squeezed Rabid where he lived. He shuddered. His body started to heave. Her hand was suddenly sticky moist.

  

 "You might want to go clean up before the food gets here, elf boy. And next time, we won't waste that." Hadn't exactly been wasted though. All was as she would have it... and therefore, as it should be.

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 On their way, just Feldspar and her. She must remember to thank Ishtar taking Rabid away--her night with the green elf would remain an indelible memory, like the night she took LSD and sat outside watching the sky become Van Gogh's "Starry Night." She'd done that once, and then never taken drugs again--never would either. It'd been interesting and nothing to be regretted, but most decidedly nothing to be repeated.

  

 The ultimate in raw, physical sex left her feeling the same way... disconnected from the world, with a lingering ecstasy and emptiness. She'd so wanted Rabid, but now, like they said, "Been there, done that... got the t-shirt." Except the t-shirt was the wrong size, small and tight, just like the blouse she'd borrowed from Sian... and Rabid himself little more than an immense phallus tacked on to an equally oversize asshole. Enough--pay attention to Feldspar and what was happening in the here-and-now. And what they were going to do once they got to the Bent-Arm, not what they would do with each other after the quest was over.

  

 "How are we supposed to get Hilda Weller's attention?" she asked. "Rabid knew her... we don't."

  

 "You're forgetting something." Feldspar's eyes were so beautiful, so dark and caring. And her smile lit the dingy street. "I presume that unlike dear Belinda, Hilldweller will recognise her offspring." Faster than a blink, Feldspar became Skythane. A man approaching them on the sidewalk froze in his tracks, mouth agape. Feldspar changed into herself. The man turned and almost ran back the way he came.

  

 "I suppose." Susan took a deep breath, or at least as deep as the constraining top permitted. "I'm so glad it's you with me, not Rabid. I don't trust him."

  

 "That's interesting. Why not?"

  

 "He's all about himself and, last night, he didn't look me in the eyes once when... I could have been anyone and it was like he was pretending I was someone else."

  

 "I wish you'd said something earlier."

  

 "I mentioned he called me 'Belinda.'"

  

 "He said it was 'Melinda.'"

  

 "I'm not sure it was, and just now I realised what was missing most with him was eye contact." She sighed. "I realized that when you looked at me."

  

 An eyebrow lifted. "Me? Not Skythane?" Change. "Not Belinda?" Change. "Me?" Change--squeal of tires. Susan braced herself for a crash, twisted her head to see the accident--saw a gun barrel...

  

 "Down." Jumped to tackle Feldspar--not there--already down. The whine of a bullet overhead--no 'bang'--silencer--another whine as she hit the pavement. Feldspar... was she okay?

  

 Okay? Where was she? There, between parked cars, wriggling towards the car, towards their attacker... a dark sedan--sunglasses and dark hair on the passenger side, the barrel searching. Pointed her way now--she rolled towards the curb. A crack and explosion as a bullet hit a car window in front of her--car alarm--tires spinning as the shooter's car sped away.

  

 "They're gone," she shouted over the damaged car's alarm--useless things, always going off for no reason--no one paid attention to them any more... just as well this time, for them. "We'd better get out of here too... fast." She rolled to her feet.

  

 Feldspar sprang to hers. "Why?"

  

 "In case someone calls the cops. They'd keep us for hours, asking questions." She looked around. There was an office building behind them. "In there. Let's see if they've got a back door. Walk, don't run."

  

 "I wasn't going to... thanks, you saved my life."

  

 "I don't think so. You were diving for the pavement before I shouted."

  

 "I saw your eyes start to widen."

  

 Susan wasn't sure she believed that explanation. But what else could it have been? Feldspar heard her thoughts? Or lived fractions of a second in the future? Some said that ability was what made great athletes, great. Whatever... "Maybe we'd be better off if you looked like Skythane, for now. Whoever it is would be looking for me with you, not him."

  

 "I doubt they're looking for you at all. And how did they know where we'd be? It's a big city." She changed into Skythane anyway.

  

 Susan opened the back door of the office building and cautiously looked up and down the alley. No dark sedans--just a couple of delivery trucks. "Someone must have told them our plan." She took her phone from her purse. "We should tell Sian what happened."

  

 Feldspar put a hand on the phone. "Use a pay phone. I know you suspect Rabid, but Spinecracker is Diluvia's leading technical expert. He could have a locator set up for your number."

  

 Neither of the men in the car had been from Belinda's Diluvian quest party. Feldspar considered that mixed good news; if Belinda had hired locals there were more enemy troops than expected, but on the other hand, Susan and she were still alive. It could mean Belinda didn't consider their expedition to the Bent-Arm important enough to send her elite out to hunt. Perhaps she already had the Adornments and was keeping her people close to protect them. If that was the case, Belinda would wait for them to go to her and only if they didn't, attack full-scale.

  

 The pay phones were by the street-side entrance. While Susan called Sian, Feldspar surveyed the street. It also might have only been a first attempt. The gunman could be back. Someone else might be following.

  

 Someone was, and was almost too obvious. A werewolf, the girl, was directly across the street, sitting on the stairs of the building opposite. She wasn't trying to blend in, not wearing that virulent green top--looked good on her, mind you, but why wear anything that made you so obvious? Maybe they'd put her in plain sight to intimidate, to see if Susan and she would panic. Not a chance.

  

 But if she was here and visible, did she have an unseen partner? If so, who? Her father would be the most logical candidate. From his history, Caleb was by far the most dangerous of Belinda's party, more vicious than Belinda herself and from all accounts, far more intelligent. Him they might not see until it was too late, if then. Okay, if they were trying to scare her, it was working... but she wouldn't panic.

  

 Susan hung up. "Sounds like Sian's finally convinced Rabid's on the other side. How'd you ever saddle yourself with him?"

  

 "Lust and stupidity," Feldspar answered. Susan was right--they should have known. And should understand how that could happen, after the way she herself had jumped him. But there were more immediate concerns. She pointed across the street. "Think we could lose her?"

  

 "We can certainly try. But if they already know where we're going, what's the point?"

  

 "Living until we get there? And since they've spotted us, I suppose I may as well be myself." Feldspar dropped the illusion of being Skythane. "It takes less effort. Let's go."

  

 Out the back door and down an alleyway to an adjoining street. The tall redhead stood on the other side, leaning against a lamppost, a slight sneer on her face.

  

 "She knows the city," Susan said, quickly looking both directions. "This way... maybe we can lose her in the underground. Less likely to be shot at there, anyway."

  

 "More likely to be knifed," Feldspar responded, trotting at Susan's side. The girl was keeping up with an effortless lope. "But maybe I can take her out in closer quarters."

  

 Susan stopped by a door. "Not a good idea. There are cameras in the malls, and security guards. I don't think she'll attack us there."

  

 "I'm not so worried about her, more her father."

  

 "But we haven't seen him."

  

 "Exactly."

  

 The tunnels were crowded but everyone gave them space. As they walked past a shop Feldspar caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror. "Dragon dung! Why didn't you tell me I'm such a mess?" The suit was filthy from rolling on the sidewalk and a sleeve and one knee were torn through.

  

 "It didn't seem that important at the time until now, but you're right. They probably wouldn't even let you into the Bent-Arm looking the way you do. We're going to have to get you a change of clothes."

  

 "How?" Feldspar asked. She didn't have any money.

  

 "Have you forgotten so soon?" Susan asked with a grin. "Charge it! My credit is good, and who knows if I'll still be alive when the bill comes in." She glanced behind them. "She's still there, by the way."

  

 "I know. She's close enough now I can feel her aura." Experienced as a rippling red power behind unsettled shields. Whether or not her father was around, by herself the girl was dangerous. And arrogant... she wasn't even bothering to hide.

  

  

 Sian and Ishtar were approaching the Westshire when Susan called. If Ishtar hadn't lingered at the apartment to primp, they would have already been there. Sian put her phone back into her purse and passed the news along to Ishtar; Feldspar and Susan'd been followed. And Rabid was likely the reason why. He'd betrayed them. "And he's with Roger," she added. "Sorry, but right now that's what bothers me most."

  

 "Damn understandable... and damn again, I should have guessed about him! Thought he was just a coward, not a traitor. Sorry... but Roger should be okay--you sent him and Rabid off to do something unimportant and safe. Don't think I didn't notice." She paused. "Still, we better go find them, pronto. If Belinda knows our plans, we'll be walking into a trap here at the hotel."

  

 "You're sure?" This Ishtar didn't sound like the one hell-bent on vengeance.

  

 Ishtar shrugged. "If Rabid's one of them, we have to take him out. And I intend to do that with maximum pain. We don't need to help Feldspar; she can take care of herself. From the sound of it, so can Susan. Roger can't. Especially if he doesn't know Rabid's an enemy." Another shrug. "I can off Belinda later... no hurry."

  

 "Why the sudden change of mind? Not that I'm arguing. This way," she added, starting away from the hotel.

  

 A grin from Ishtar as she caught up. "I figure I'm going to get plenty of action, no matter what. And like Feldspar said, Belinda should be allowed to know the totality of her defeat before she's recycled."

  

 "At the moment, I'd say Belinda has the upper hand." Sian stopped again to look around. On a crowded Noronto street it was almost impossible to see if they were being followed, or watched--too many people, and they hadn't been thinking it likely so they hadn't paid attention.

  

 And Ishtar's arrogance remained remarkable. It was dangerous... to them, not the enemy. Ishtar needed to be taken down a number of pegs.

  

 "How did you miss Rabid's being involved with Belinda?"

  

 A shrug. "Seems pretty obvious now. Didn't then. We were in a hurry, both horny and I was pissed with Feldspar for that damn vow. Even so, yeah, we should have picked up on it. We even knew his last night on Diluvia he was with two of Belinda's minions. Tell you what I'm putting it down to." She paused. "Fate... or the damn gods again, the ones that have been messing with our auras. No other reasonable explanation... someone or something has been screwing with our minds. I mean, it's not like either Feldspar or me are exactly stupid."

  

 Ishtar's laugh sounded like an attempt to cover nerves. Was she as self-confident as she made out or trying to convince herself? "By the Unknown," Ishtar continued. "Planetsinger even tried to remove him from the quest party and good as told us we couldn't trust the prick, but we were a couple of headstrong idiots, not paying attention. Of course, she couldn't actually tell us anything, even if she knew it--against the rules."

  

 "Damn stupid rules," Sian commented.

  

 "We're still alive so our chances of success remain good to excellent. And don't knock antiquity--it's worked for ages." Her ironic smile replaced the uncharacteristic serious look. "Let's go take one of them out, name of Rabid and further improve our chances. I'm sure if we don't you'll be overly concerned about Roger's well-being."

  

 "Shouldn't let the enemy know what we're up to." Sian remained convinced eyes were on them. "We'll go in here." The store next to the Westshire was connected to it by a tunnel. "They'll think we're taking an alternate route in to the hotel." She hoped.

  

 Once inside they doubled back the way they'd come, inside the store rather than out. And came face to face with Vlad and Brad, the gladiator twins.

  

 "Damn."

  

 Sian agreed. Both men were well over six-feet tall and heavily muscled. "Retreat."

  

 They ran back the way they'd came. Ishtar bowled over a woman with parcel as she dashed out the door to the street. Sian hurdled her--no time for manners.

  

 "Damn!" Ishtar said again, with even more feeling. Down the street stood Caleb, directly outside the door out they'd have taken if they'd been thinking.

  

 The only clear direction was to the right, back towards the Westshire. No. Sian said a short prayer to the god of traffic. "This way," she shouted to Ishtar and darted onto the road, straight toward the oncoming cars.

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 After leaving Sian's apartment, Rabid had stopped to make a phone call at the first booth they passed. Roger felt mildly surprised. Rabid knew someone on Terra? Knowing him, likely a woman he'd bumped into in the hotel, and he was setting up a date for later. Or some other logical explanation... Roger knew all too well he wasn't in great shape, wasn't thinking too clearly after a day-plus of change and shocks to the system, from meeting the Diluvians, to being arrested, to becoming engaged to a stranger... all of that added up to one numb mind.

  

 Not much was turning out as expected, at least by him. He'd thought they'd have difficulties finding the address of a celebrity of Maxine Albright's stature. Sian had intended to tap her police sources to get the writer's address but Susan had told her not to waste any favours, gone on line for a couple of minutes and come up with the information that Albright lived in a house in the Woodland district, just off downtown. Roger had always pictured Albright as a penthouse dweller. Just showed you never knew. Especially him. Especially now.

  

 After getting off the subway, they walked into the Woodlands. From experience, Roger knew bus service in the ritzy districts was spotty at best and walking generally faster. The Woodland area seemed an exception. Three busses, all empty, passed them on their way to Albright's place. Not his day, not at all.

  

 "Looks like I miscalculated," he said to Rabid.

  

 "Not to worry. It's not like there's any great rush."

  

 There wasn't? Weren't the fates of worlds, and all that sort of thing, at stake? "I thought there was."

  

 "For the other groups... yes. But this is a 'get the guys out of the way so we can do serious stuff' mission we're on, Roger my friend. The slits want to make sure all the acclaim and credit goes their way, not ours. Heck, if you let males do anything important, they might start getting ideas they're equal... useful for something other than transporting penises around so they're conveniently available when a woman decides she wants one."

  

 "You mean a 'make work' project?"

  

 "Hey, that's a good way of putting it. See, you're smart... but don't think Sian, or whoever she passes you on to after she dumps you, will ever appreciate it." Rabid sighed. "But don't listen to me. What would I know? So I've spent four hundred years being a plaything, so what? Know something? You're lucky--at least you'll die before a hundred are done and move on to a better life. Be good in this one and you may even be reborn with big tits."

  

 If Rabid didn't sound so bitter, Roger would have taken that rant as an extended and unfunny joke, sort of like a TV comedy channel routine. "You're serious, aren't you?"

  

 "As the great and glorious Ishtar would say, 'Damn right I am.' Diluvia's been ruled by women right from the start, Roger. The Atlantian war was courtesy of the bitch sisters Phoenix and Glory, which was what made the creation of Diluvia needed. And logically, damn Glory got the job of running it straight off. The gods are all female, no other explanation makes sense."

  

 "Glory... the same one the Adornments belonged to?"

  

 "Same bitch--ruled Atlantis but wasn't content with less than absolute power--typical woman--the whole world had to do things her way and anyone who opposed her, had to be destroyed, even if she had to pull the whole planet down to do it. Almost did. Of course she came through it just fine, even lived long enough to write endless journals justifying her fuck-ups as genius and enjoy all the toe-licking she could get."

  

 "And Phoenix was her sister?"

  

 Rabid nodded. "Another headcase, 'Whoremistress of the Southern Clime' they call her now--of course she lost and Glory wrote the annals of the Atlantian debacle, so they would. Much more reasonable sort, for a female. Until she got dragged in to oppose Glory's warmongering madness, Phoenix headed an order of largely benign earth-loving priestesses. Note I said 'priestesses', not 'priests.' But that good old female bloodlust was in Phoenix's soul and when Glory pushed her, she couldn't hold back. Women." Rabid spat on the sidewalk.

  

 "I thought you liked women."

  

 "I like their bodies; I like reducing them to whimpering submission and bruising them along the way. My gift makes me one of the few men who can outlast them. That's another reason they all think they're so damn superior, that they get so much more out of sex. I exist to prove that isn't necessarily so. Tell me, Roger, doesn't that smug smile they get when you can't perform any more drive you nuts?"

  

 "Sometimes. But how would you know about that? I thought you said..."

  

 "Other guys talk. And there is one woman who can do that to me... and only because she uses mind-science. What she doesn't know is that once I've let her do all the set-up work, I'm going to prove to her I've been holding back... that I really am her superior. Then things will start being the way they should be, on Diluvia first and then on Terra. I'm not the dumb hole-hiding bunny they all think I am, not me, not Rabid. I'm going to show them all... and soon."

  

 "Oh." Rabid was... well... rabid. The man... the elf... was insane. And he, Roger O'Brien, was stuck with the madman. As Ishtar would say... damn. But at least Rabid was right about one thing--the task they'd been set wasn't all that important to the quest.

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 Susan couldn't take the threat posed by the lanky redheaded werewolf seriously. All she'd done so far was follow them. Okay, maybe she'd been with Belinda and company at the Westshire. And she might be in contact with the shooters or as Feldspar feared, her father, but in herself the girl didn't seem at all menacing. Matter of fact, she was seriously cute. Besides, if she meant to attack them she could have earlier, under the covering fire from the car.

  

 And Feldspar needed new clothes if they were going to get into the Bent-Arm; her suit was a write-off. What to buy for her? Susan found herself getting excited at the prospect of choosing another outfit for Feldspar. It'd been a serious thrill shopping with her the first time, as Belinda. Now she could chose something for Feldspar as herself, something that would suit her beautiful dark complexion. And would show off her strong, delicate figure. Susan pushed down the damp thrill she could feel building. Not now, not yet, now she needed to consider where to buy, not what. It would have to be somewhere no one could sneak up on them, just in case Feldspar was right about the girl.

  

 So... a store that wasn't crowded. Which meant one that was seriously overpriced. Oh well, she had some room on her cards and Feldspar was worth it. Genie Jeans looked deserted... perfect--Feldspar in low-slung jeans and a halter-top... yum!

  

 "Feldspar? I think we should go in there and get you some new clothes."

  

 Feldspar glanced back, over her shoulder. "She's still there... but you're right. And from in there we can keep an eye on her. She certainly isn't going to be able to sneak through the crowd and knife me."

  

 "I don't think she's going to do that anyway."

  

 "Not if we don't give her a chance."

  

 Susan guessed Feldspar's size and snagged two pairs of black jeans from a table at the front, and an assortment of tops from racks as they passed and ushered Feldspar back to the change rooms. "Try these on. I'll shout if she comes into the store."

  

 The werewolf... werewolf? Susan still had trouble accepting the girl was one... such lovely red hair... the werewolf took a seat on the bench in front of the store across from Genie Jeans, met Susan's eyes and gave her a half-smile... gleaming white teeth... pointed? Couldn't see from this distance. She seemed shy. Shy? No, maybe wary. Expressive face... not hard to imagine it twisted with passion... stop that now... don't go there. But hardly the confident killer Feldspar imagined... hold it... not shy… scared--was she as intimidated by them as Feldspar was of her? Susan took a couple of experimental steps towards the girl. She stood and moved to in front of the previous store. When Susan returned to beside the booth where Feldspar was changing, the girl drifted back wait directly across the way. This time she remained standing.

  

 Feldspar came out of the change room in tight-fitting jeans and a figure-hugging black top. Susan forgot all about the girl. Feldspar was seriously gorgeous. "It's you."

  

 "Most of me," Feldspar said. A glance outside then eyes firmly on Susan. "I'm beginning to wonder if you like me or just my body."

  

 "Isn't it the same thing?"

  

 Another look into the mall. Another at her. "No."

  

 A loud crash. Susan jumped. "Sorry..." The salesgirl had tipped over a nearby rack. "Pardon me, but you gonna take that stuff or what... it's like, my break time, you know?"

  

 Any other day, any other time, Susan would have left everything. This day she took out her credit card and didn't even look at the total as she signed. Feldspar had gone out into the mall. Was she angry?

  

 She was waiting just outside. The girl was nowhere to be seen. "What did you do to her?" Susan asked.

  

 "Pardon me? Concerned for the enemy? Or is it just you're hot for her too?" A quick smile said Feldspar was only half-serious. Susan's heart went halfway back down her throat. "She went down the hall, that way," Feldspar continued, waving a hand the direction they'd be going. "Could be setting up for an ambush."

  

 "I doubt that!" It came out sounding far stronger than Susan had intended.

  

 "So, I was right," Feldspar replied.

  

 "No, you're not!" Or was she?

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 Sian heard blaring horns and screeching brakes but didn't look for the cars, just ran and prayed. Short seconds later Ishtar and she were on the streetcar median. She glanced back. Vlad and Brad had met up with Caleb and the three were eyeing herself and Ishtar, and the eastbound traffic... which for the moment was even heavier than before. A break in it was coming. So was a streetcar. Should they wait or brave the four westbound lanes? She gauged distances and speed and placed her bet and her life on the streetcar.

  

 It pulled to a stop and the doors opened. Ishtar and Sian got on. Sian put a five in the fare-box.

  

 "Hey!" Their pursuers were running for the streetcar.

  

 With a snicker, the driver closed the door and the streetcar started forward.

  

 "Hey!" Fists pounding on the door, then the side as the streetcar picked up speed. Saved by the legendary rudeness of the Transit Commission.

  

 There were people at the next stop. Vlad and Brad had given up, but Caleb was only fifty feet back.

  

 "Get ready," Sian said to Ishtar. "When the doors open, dive out." A quick assessment of traffic--hopeless.

  

 Ishtar put a hand on her arm. "No, we stay on. One I can handle, even him. Especially if he's coming up the steps."

  

 She hadn't considered that. Caleb had. The other passengers got on and he stood at the foot of the steps, winded.

  

 "So, you gettin' on or wat?" The driver asked.

  

 "Fuck you."

  

 The door closed. "Guess we're free and clear," Sian said.

  

 Ishtar tapped her arm and pointed. "Think again." Vlad and Brad were in a taxi, in the next lane. As it stopped, Caleb got in. "Think their driver will be able to figure out where this thing's going?"

  

 "What? Oh, you're joking. Of course, but two stops from here, it goes into a transfer shelter."

  

 "So?"

  

 "Paying customers only. Another streetcar line, several busses, and a subway station."

  

 Ishtar nodded. "So maybe we can lose them."

  

 As the streetcar pulled to a stop in the shelter, the cab pulled up on the street, just outside the entrance. The gladiator twins and Caleb jumped out and ran in, right past the "Busses and Streetcars Only" Sign. The Transit Commission employees all looked the other way.

  

 "Down the stairs!" Sian shouted. And then another flight. To the subway. If they got lucky, there'd be a train. Of course not. Up the opposite flight of stairs. Up another, back to the shelter.

  

 "I'm tired of running," Ishtar said. She didn't even sound winded. Sian was puffing too hard to reply. "Oh well, off we go." Ishtar grabbed Sian's hand and pulled. Where? Oh, right--out the way the twins and Caleb had come in.

  

 The cab was gone. Turn left. Run down the sidewalk. Couldn't go much further. Donut shop--no police cars outside. Damn--so much for stereotypes. Where now?

  

 "I'm very tired of running." Ishtar sounded annoyed. Annoyed? Pissed! "Let's turn and face them."

  

 "Can't..." Gasp. Wheeze. Can't talk. Can't defeat three big men, not two small women.

  

 "Can too," Ishtar said.

  

 Brad and Vlad looked in worse shape than she was, almost at the end of their endurance. Caleb, the werewolf, appeared far more fit but even his face was flushed red.

  

 So was Ishtar's, but her flush was anger. "Quit fucking chasing us!" she shouted. "Or else."

  

 "Or else fucking what?" Caleb shouted back. He was the only one with the breath to respond.

  

 "Or fucking this!" Beside them a newspaper vending box lifted off the ground. Its chain pulled taut. "Shit," Ishtar swore under her breath. "Didn't see that."

  

 Her telekinesis. Sian had forgotten about it, but if Ishtar could keep a five hundred pound chandelier from crashing, she could probably throw a fifty-pound box a fair distance... assuming it wasn't chained.

  

 "Green one," Sian managed to get out. It was the only one loose. Big fine if anyone complained. She wasn't about to.

  

 "Thanks." The green box lifted off the ground and sped towards Caleb. He dodged to the right. The box followed, smacked into him and sent him flying.

  

 One of the twins ducked behind a lamppost. The other jumped into a doorway. The paper box slowly rose from where it'd fallen. "Can't do much with it from here." Now Ishtar's voice sounded strained. "Maybe..." The box floated towards the doorway, picked up a bit of speed and smacked into the window, shattering it. An alarm started screaming.

  

 "Shall we be on our way?" Down the street Caleb stood and stalked away, back the way he'd came. The twins followed him, slowly.

  

  

 Susan spotted the werewolf when the girl came out of a "Ladies" just ahead of them in the mall. She was hard to miss; her red hair was so striking against the lovely green top. "There's your ambush. I feel the need for an ambush myself."

  

 A long look... at her. "I don't get it. We're almost shot. She's obviously the spotter. And you're making jokes. For the last time... she's dangerous. Just wait until we get back to street level. You'll see then."

  

 Just ahead, the girl's head was cocked to the side like she was listening in. Her eyes narrowed. Susan's nerves started to jangle. Okay, Feldspar might be right. She was the one with combat experience. The only fights Susan'd ever been in were ones she'd lost to her father and her ex. And after hitting on the wrong person's boyfriend, a scratching, hair-pulling fiasco that'd got her booted out of high school for two weeks. She felt a tear start to leak, not from those memories but from the disgusted expression on Feldspar's face.

  

 "Feldspar, I really need to use the washroom."

  

 "And isn't that just the non sequitur. Go ahead. I'll stay outside the door and keep an eye on her. Then you can admire her while I go."

  

 When Susan came out, the girl was where she'd been before but the moment Feldspar went in to the washroom, she moved... toward Susan. All of a sudden Susan felt like she hadn't gone at all. Should she call for Feldspar? Or could she handle the girl on her own? Maybe, but no... why risk it? She put her hand on the washroom door.

  

 The girl froze in her tracks and shook her head frantically. Okay, what was this? Slowly, the girl reached into her purse... for a gun? No, for a cell phone. She took it out, crouched, put it on the floor, stood again and backed away. A cell phone?

  

 She had been a spotter, but wasn't any more... that's why she'd abandoned her phone. Susan took a step towards it and the girl moved further back. Slowly, Susan advanced and the other retreated. Eyes fixed on the redhead, Susan bent to pick up the phone.

  

 And straightened. What if it wasn't a phone? She'd read plastic explosives could be moulded into any shape. She looked the werewolf, the girl, up and down and up... paused on her creamy breasts... met her eyes. And saw her own fear, reflected. Feldspar would be out of the washroom any moment. She had to make up her mind, now. The girl mouthed a word, one word. "Please."

  

 Susan snatched the phone from the floor and rapidly backed away. As she arrived beside the washroom door it opened and Feldspar came out. "Any problems?" she asked.

  

 "None." Thank her god and Feldspar's that's how she asked the question. If she'd asked if anything had happened... Susan would have had to lie.

  

 The girl turned and started down the mall. "Might as well follow her," Susan said. "She's going the right way."

  

 "You're joking."

  

 "She is too."

  

 "I like her ass as much as you do, but she'll lead us into a trap."

  

 "She won't." Susan put her hand on Feldspar's arm. "Look at me. She's not evil. She's not going to cause us any harm. I've trusted you a whole lot the past day. Now it's time for you to trust me, to trust my judgment."

  

 To her credit, it didn't take Feldspar more than a heartbeat to decide. "I can't trust you with the fate of two worlds. Sorry, you may be right, but I can't take the chance."

  

 What now? Susan looked from Feldspar to the girl, met her eyes and flicked her hand in a motion she hoped would relay the message... get lost, disappear. The girl spun on her heel and in an instant, was gone.

  

 "Damn, she's fast!" Feldspar said. "She could have been on top of us any time she wanted. I'm sorry, Susan."

  

 "Apology accepted." She said it with as much grace as she could manage.

  

 When they emerged on the street just across from the Bent-Arm, Susan expected to see the girl waiting, but didn't. She knew that didn't mean she wasn't around.

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 Maxine Albright's house was set about twenty feet in from the street. The front lawn was immaculate with putting-green quality grass, close-cropped and lush. A globular rosebush sat on either side of the walkway and others, trimmed square, were hard against the side of the house. It suited her--Roger had always found her writing overly precise and largely artificial. Wildness wasn't permitted in Albright's world... nothing she couldn't control. Watching her and Rabid together would be interesting.

  

 "Ms. Albright is a feminist." Might as well stir the pot.

  

 "I've read her crap." Rabid hiked his pants and started towards the house. "She's popular in some circles on Diluvia."

  

 "You're not going to hurt her, are you?" All they were supposed to do was get Albright to the Westshire to put pressure on Belinda, a.k.a. Linda Bedarova.

  

 "Only if she enjoys being hurt." Rabid's smile showed canines. "I'm a man, not an animal." He pressed the door-buzzer, then knocked loudly.

  

 Albright opened the door. Her tight, flower-print dress displayed a figure that hadn't decayed with age. Roger did some quick math--she had to be in her early sixties. She looked twenty years younger, even younger than she had at the Westshire. She smiled and fingered her dark, curled hair--dyed, it had to be--and glanced down at Rabid's endowment. "Ms. Bedarova said I should expect you. Come in. Please come in." She extended a hand to Rabid. Roger felt invisible until Albright swung her smile to him. "Ms Bedarova tells me you're an actor. You'd be perfect for Rory in 'Invisible Priests'. Has she asked you?"

  

 "Ah... no..." As Albright's male characters went, Rory was one of the strongest. For an unknown... why was he daydreaming? And how had Feldspar known what book Bedarova and Albright were considering for a film? She couldn't have, could she now? Rabid was already inside the house. Albright was by the door, waiting for him to enter. "If I may ask, what else did Ms. Bedarova say when she called?"

  

 "Which time? Do come in, please. Don't tell me you're frightened."

  

 "Of course I am. Rabid," he shouted. "It's a trap."

  

 Rabid turned. His expression was one of surprise, not alarm. Maxine Albright smiled. "Young man, I assure you, you're in no danger from me. Stay or leave as you will, but please close the door. All that filthy air from the street is getting in." She turned and walked towards Rabid. "I've been promised a treat, and I intend to have it." Her arms went around Rabid. She kissed him, wiggling her hips as she ground her body against the elf.

  

 Roger stood in the doorway, transfixed. This was the staid and proper Maxine Albright, the grande dame of Canadian fiction? One of Rabid's hands slipped down her back, under her dress and hiked it. That wasn't a sixty-year-old rear waggling under the touch of probing fingers. Roger stepped inside and closed the door.

  

 Albright broke off the kiss and looked back over her shoulder. "You can wait in the parlour. First door on your right. This won't take long." She returned to the kiss and pulled Rabid so he had her pressed against the wall.

  

 Roger flattened himself as he slipped past. He glanced back. Albright's legs were wrapped around Rabid, her head resting on his shoulder. Her eyes met Roger's. Wide with pleasure, one winked at him before both closed. A deep moan started, low in her throat. Roger went into the living room. A pot of tea with four cups sat steaming on a low table--classic Willow design. From the sounds, what was brewing in the hall was every bit as classic, and hotter. A scream... hers... a thud of a body hitting the floor... whose? Should he go and look? Probably... he supposed... somehow it didn't seem right that he would... but he had to.

  

 Albright stood over Rabid, straddling him like the Colossus of Rhodes, a trail of semen oozing down one leg. The elf lay still on his back, eyes closed, pants unzipped, exposed... flaccid. "This above all else; to thine own self be true..." Albright's glowing eyes met Roger's in a challenge. He'd thought she looked a youthful sixty? Heck, she would be a youthful thirty.

  

 "And it must follow, as night does the day, thou canst not then be false to any man," he said, completing her quotation.

  

 "Very good." A mischievous teenager's smile. She stepped off Rabid, towards Roger. "Sloppy seconds?"

  

 "I don't think so." He backed away.

  

 She laughed. "Don't worry. As I said, you're in no danger. Him?" She shrugged. "An elf can afford to give me a few dozen years. He'll live... if no one else finishes him off before he recovers."

  

 Roger kept backing. "What happened? How did you do that? Whose side are you on?"

  

 She stopped, just inside the door. "Whose side? Weren't you listening to yourself? I'm on my side. Don't you understand the wisdom of the Bard? In the vernacular, 'fuck 'em all.' And now I think I'd like a cup of tea. You?" She moved past, to the tray. Roger felt a wave of heat as she passed.

  

 "What did you do to Rabid?"

  

 Albright sat and mopped her leg with a napkin. She crumpled it. "I'll be mother." She started pouring tea, two cups... four? The door buzzer sounded. "Would you get that, please?"

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 The Bent-Arm Bistro was on the main floor of the office tower next to Crimson Tower, home to Crimson Throne Holding and its entertainment wing, Crimson Throne Productions. While the redheaded werewolf wasn't in sight, there were a lot of people hanging around at street level--afternoon coffee break in a Noronto skyscraper sent all the smokers scuttling to the street to light up. Susan stopped half a block away, still on the other side of the street, to scan the crowd.

  

 "Some of them might be here to keep us from getting into the bar."

  

 "Would they do anything with all those other people around?" Feldspar asked.

  

 "If they hadn't tried a drive-by shooting earlier, I'd say 'no' but after that, I wouldn't bet against it."

  

 "And they'll be expecting us even if you're right about your flame-topped friend. We should duck in somewhere so I can become Skythane. That might at least confuse them."

  

 "You changed on the street earlier, several times."

  

 "I know I did." Feldspar turned from examining the street outside the Bent-Arm to face Susan. "And that was foolish. My only excuse is, I was upset... at you. Which is foolish too. You are what you are; some of my best friends are into racking up sexual conquests. It's just, I'm not." Her words were clear enough. Her face expressed the same as her words... friendship but only friendship... affection but no desire. The pull between them had been sexual, nothing more.

  

 "I suppose you're right," Susan heard herself answer. "I do want you, but I don't want you."

  

 "It's a good thing the gods imposed chastity on me for this quest. If it wasn't for that I'd have been added to your tally by now."

  

 Susan started to shiver. She still wanted Feldspar, very much. It might still be possible. "Maybe we can talk about this later." Then again, probably not. She took a half-step back. "Maybe we can find another route to the Bent-Arm. If we go up a few streets we can approach it from the back."

  

 "If they're watching here, they'll have that covered too. I..." Feldspar reached out a hand, then let it drop before Susan could take it. "No, you're right. We've said all we need to say to each other."

  

 They went inside a bank so Feldspar could find a quiet corner to change into Skythane. The tight clothing was as perfect on him as on her, especially the jeans. It was a wonder they could fit all that was in them. She wanted... no... yes, to her shame, she did.

  

 "So, are we ready to do this?" Susan asked.

  

 "As ready as we're going to be. I wish we hadn't let Sian and Ishtar split the party up this way though. We could use our allies right now." They went out a side door into an alley and to the next light, waiting for it to change, and going across. As they neared the Bent-Arm, a clutch of smokers dropped their cigarettes and started their way. Five... no six of them... too many....

  

 "Retreat," Feldspar said quietly as she turned.

  

 Susan glanced back when they reached the corner. The smokers hadn't followed but had again lit up and were leaning against a nearer wall. "What now?" she asked.

  

 "I don't know for sure, but those men look like Terrans to me. If I distract them with an illusion we should be able to dash past. Let's see what they have here." The store on the corner sold stationery and business supplies. Susan followed Feldspar in. "Something light, approximately the size of a cake," Feldspar continued. She picked up a cheap, plastic-coated briefcase. "Perfect."

  

 Susan paid and followed Feldspar back out onto the street. "I don't get it."

  

 "Neither will they, I hope."

  

 As they approached, the smokers peeled off the wall again. Feldspar swung the briefcase back, then forward, and tossed it in a soft arc at the man in the middle. As it left her hand, Feldspar switched from Skythane to herself--and the briefcase became a small dragon, belching fire. The smokers scattered. Out of the corner of her eye, Susan saw Feldspar catch the dragon by its tail. The dragon became the briefcase and Feldspar, Skythane.

  

 "Why was it important they be Terrans?" Susan asked as they reached the door of the Bent-Arm. "Diluvians aren't frightened by dragons? Or just ones that are full-grown?"

  

 "That's far bigger than dragons ever get, other than in Terran fiction," came the answer... but from Feldspar. The redheaded werewolf was leaning in the Bent-Arm's doorway, in a tense casual stance. "Neat trick. I thought I was going to have to provide the distraction but, damn it, you're good."

  

 "You," Feldspar said, dropping the briefcase and tensing for a fight.

  

 "Me," the girl stayed relaxed, with an effort only noticeable around her eyes. "You might want to pick that up. Never know when you're going to need a dragon." She smiled at Susan. "Real dragons don't get bigger than a child's fist. They can breathe fire, mind you. From what I remember, running afoul of them can be painful. But they eat flying insects, not humans. Think of them as flying frogs."

  

 "What about their hoard?" Susan asked. Feldspar was listening but seemed frozen in shock and Susan was curious... in stories, dragons always had treasure.

  

 "Pure fiction," the girl answered. She looked past Susan towards the smokers. "Maybe we should go inside."

  

 Susan glanced back. The smokers had lit up again. One waved as if to say 'see you later.'

  

 "No, it isn't," Feldspar said, finally coming out of it. "Dragons like shiny things, sort of like magpies. So, what's the story with you?" she asked the girl. "And what's your name?" she added, as an afterthought.

  

 "I'm Lupa, daughter of Caleb. I'm seeking sanctuary and asking for pardon. I can't live with who I've been." A knife had appeared in her hand. The girl's reflexes were superhuman.

  

 Susan prayed silently that Feldspar wouldn't reject Lupa out of hand. If she did, Lupa was going to use the knife. On herself. She wasn't sure how she knew that, but she did.

  

 Fortunately, Feldspar seemed to sense the same. "I'm not sure I'm the right one to ask."

  

 "You're the one who's here."

  

 Past Lupa, Susan could see the smokers still looking their way, now talking things over. "Maybe we should go inside? You are nineteen?" she asked Lupa.

  

 "Twenty. I'm the same age as Feldspar." She opened the door. "Exactly. You'll like this place. Play it right and you never have to buy your own drinks."

  

 There was a world of information in that statement. "Do you know Hilldweller... pardon me, Hilda Weller?" Susan asked as they stepped inside.

  

 "Of course. I'd guess she's in her usual booth at the back." Most of the people in the bar were facing that way. "But it's not a good idea to drop by without an invitation."

  

 Feldspar nodded. "She had four bodyguards that I see." The couples at the tables nearest the booth were large, and a few years older than the Bent-Arm's norm.

  

 "Going to try the dragon gambit again?" Lupa asked.

  

 Feldspar grinned and swung the briefcase as before. "It would get her attention, but no, I think a glimpse of her son will be more effective." She became Skythane.

  

 "Cool." Lupa sounded impressed. "I only got a glimpse of you this way before." She looked long and hard.

  

 All the tables in line-of-sight of Hilldweller's booth were taken. Now they were here, Feldspar didn't feel any urgency with regard to the quest and the Adornments. No, and curse her for wallowing in self-interest, she needed to know about Lupa and how they were connected. She felt a different, new fear now. Despite herself, she felt attracted to Lupa. But she didn't want to be linked to the werewolf in any way whatsoever; Lupa's pack had been cannibals that hunted and ate other sentients and Lupa should have been destroyed, along with the rest of her clan. But evidently, she and her father had survived. And Lupa said they were the same age, exactly, in a way that implied a connection with Feldspar, that implied that they were soul-sisters. It couldn't be.

  

 "We're exactly the same age?" she asked as they sat.

  

 "To the minute. Fairies danced at my birth." Said with an edge caustic enough to melt a sword.

  

 "And where have you and your father been the past ten years, when you both should be in your graves?"

  

 A rapid intake of breath from Susan. Feldspar glared at her. This was none of Susan's business.

  

 "Cool down, dearest," Lupa said with venomous composure. "Cool down and assume I'm alive for a reason. What the heck... assume you are too--just for the heck of it."

  

 How dare she? Someone craving pardon shouldn't show such effrontery. The only sanctuary Lupa deserved was that of oblivion.

  

 "Drinks, folks? Afternoon, Lupa."

  

 "Hi Percy... I'll have the usual. What you guys want? First round's on me."

  

 "What? Oh, yes... I'll have... something non-alcoholic?" And some privacy? How could she be expected to decide anything at a time like this?

  

 "I think I'll have an iced tea," Susan said. "Unless you have iced coffee?"

  

 "Best in Noronto," the waiter replied. "Colombian, Blue Mountain, Espresso?"

  

 "Real Blue Mountain, or ersatz?" Susan asked.

  

 "One hundred percent authentic," Lupa put in. "It's my drink. I insist on nothing but the best."

  

 "The Blue Mountain then," Susan said. "How about you, Skythane?" She overemphasised the name.

  

 "The same, please." The waiter left.

  

 Did Susan think her unrattled enough to forget she was wearing an illusion? Actually, she had... not that it mattered. This was all Susan's fault. If she hadn't interfered by now a ten-year-old mistake would have been rectified by Lupa's demise en route, at her hands.

  

 "Feel free to try, sweetheart. Anytime." Lupa leaned back in her chair, twisting and stretching her lean frame. "Any time you want to take me on, be my guest."

  

 "You read minds?" Feldspar asked.

  

 "It's kind of obvious from your face," Susan said. "Okay, so you don't like her. Put that on hold for a bit, okay? You're here to recover the Adornments... remember them? The fate of two worlds in your hands? All that stuff?"

  

 "You're right. Thank you." Take a deep breath. Try and relax. Assume everything happens for a reason, even when it seems like it’s only to piss you off. "Truce?" she asked Lupa.

  

 "For as long as you want. Just keep in mind I was only ten when the pack got broken up, hardly old enough to run against them. And also that right now I'm choosing the Unknown over my own father. But don't sweat any of that. It's my choice and I've made it, no matter what. In the grand scheme of things, the problems of one little werewolf don't amount to a hill of beans."

  

 Unaccountably, Susan started to laugh. "Pardon me... oh my... I'm sorry, Feldspar... I mean, Skythane. It would take too long to explain."

  

 Susan's obvious attraction to Lupa couldn't mean anything, could it? Susan wasn't a great judge of character; she lusted without discrimination. But, looked at objectively, Lupa was an extraordinarily attractive woman. And it had nothing to do with her obvious physical attributes and everything to do with the incisive intelligence that showed in her face. The danger she'd sensed radiating from Lupa down in the tunnels became overwhelming at short range. This wasn't anyone you wanted as your enemy. She'd be deadly enough as your friend.

  

 "Your coffees." The waiter announced his arrival in a loud voice. "And Ms. Weller would like to see you all in her booth."

  

 "Tell her we'll be there in a few minutes, Percy," Lupa replied. "Skythane needs to readjust his reality before he meets his mother."

  

 His mother? Lost in the conundrums Lupa presented she'd again forgotten she was in Skythane's guise, despite Susan's having just reminded her. This illusion wouldn't fool Hilldweller and wasn't intended to. If she had it to do over, she'd have come into the Bent-Arm as herself. But she couldn't change now, not in the middle of a crowded bar. Some choices were irrevocable. Lupa smiled at her as they both stood. Some choices needed to be made with great care.

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 When Roger answered Albright's door, the damn idiot grin on his face was matched by a face-stretching response from Sian. Ishtar pushed past their entrance-blocking embrace. "Where's that damn elf? Dragon dung!"

  

 The answer to her question lay on the hallway floor, dead to the world and exposed to it. "On your feet, harpy bait." She booted him just below the ribs. His body shifted an inch closer to the wall but otherwise, no response. She swung her foot back again. This time she'd nail him in the temple and he wouldn't ever get up... but no... that would be gratuitous. He wasn't a threat to anything now--didn't look like he would be for hours, maybe days.

  

 "You're damn lucky, elf boy. You should thank whoever did this to you for saving your no-account life."

  

 "It was my pleasure." Albright's voice drifted out from the first door on the right.

  

 Sian and Roger were still necking on the threshold. "Either of you care to back me up? Or am I on my own?"


 "Sorry." Sian broke away from Roger. "Okay, I'm ready."

  

 Roger grabbed her. "Max isn't our enemy."

  

 "Max? You're on intimate terms with her now?"

  

 "Yes. No, not that way... you're the only woman for me, Sian."

  

 Ishtar sighed. Those two weren't going to last, they just weren't. She stepped over Rabid, resisting the temptation to stomp on his head, and walked into the room where Albright was waiting. The voice had been right but she looked different... younger... eighteen, maybe. At the Westshire, Albright's power had been palpable, but its nature unclear. Now there could only be one explanation unless this was Albright's granddaughter. It wasn't... her eyes were old. "You vamped elf boy."

  

 Albright's answering laughter trilled like crystal bells... phoney bitch. "As hard as I could," she said at the end of the trill. "Tea?"

  

 "Poisoned?"

  

 "Earl Grey."

  

 "And poisoned?"

  

 Albright sighed. "No. Linda's asked me to try and convince you you're on the wrong side, the one that's going to lose--the one that should lose because its head is stuck in the sand of outdated antiquity."

  

 Behind her, Ishtar heard a snort of derision from Sian. "Woman's speaking's as overblown as her writing."

  

 "I would greatly appreciate it if you wouldn't speak of me in the third person."

  

 "You're past tense far as I'm concerned." Ishtar advanced on Albright.

  

 "Beyond the shadow of a doubt, you've forgotten I'm a vampire. Touch me and I'll sap your very being. My ability is sufficiently limited that, with the elf, I only could take a percentage of essence sufficient to eliminate him from the immediate picture. With you, however, I'd have no trouble and feel no compunction at depleting your life force in its entirety."

  

 "Finished your speech?"

  

 Albright nodded. Her eyes were calm confidence. Time to change that.

  

 "Bitch Linda didn't think to mention I'm a vampire too, did she? Thought not... she doesn't know. Suppose she's the one who taught you the ins-and-outs of vampirism too? Thing is, she's only a nominal herself. You're far more powerful than her. So am I, and I've studied under masters." Didn't need to mention it wasn't vampirism she'd studied, totally unnecessary. "Ah, beginning to doubt yourself, are you? I wonder if I can age you to what you were before, and stop."

  

 "Do it. If she's alive, she's a danger," Sian offered from behind. "Besides, I love watching them shrivel."

  

 If they were lucky, Albright didn't know much about being a vampire. Either Sian didn't or she was playing a bluff--victims didn't get older, their lives became shorter. And only vampires of the third rank or better became younger in appearance, and then only if they chose or didn't have sufficient training.

  

 "I am not intimidated." Albright's words were belied by the tremor in her voice.

  

 "You should be. If I don't recycle you, Belinda will. You'll have noted how loyal she is to her minions."

  

 "I am hardly a minion."

  

 Roger and Sian joined Ishtar in her laughter. It finished Albright. Ishtar felt a faint regret--she'd been eager to test her powers, to see if she could defeat the woman in a fight. But Albright wasn't the real enemy and a few questions made it clear she wasn't even a proper flunky but rather, a patsy--she knew nothing about the Adornments. They left her in the hallway, tied to a chair, next to Rabid--he wouldn't be regaining consciousness any time soon. At worst, Albright's cleaning lady would find them the next morning. By then, the quest would be over, one way or the other.

  

  

 Since they'd got in the cab, they'd called to pick them up at Albright's and told the driver to take them to the Westshire, no one had spoken. Ishtar seemed lost in thought and Roger... Sian knew Roger was angry with her for doubting him. Her grandmother and Annwyl weren't around to give advice. She'd been terrified her leadership might have sent Roger to his death, then furious when they found him sipping tea with the enemy, tea that could well have been laced with poison.

  

 "This isn't going to work," she said into the silence.

  

 "What isn't?" Roger asked, eventually. He didn't turn his head to meet her eyes.

  

 "Us."

  

 "Oh."

  

 "You want to know what I think?" the driver asked.

  

 "No." They answered together.

  

 "At least there's something you two can agree on," Ishtar said. She'd sat in the front, giving them limited privacy. "Ignore them," she said to the driver. "I'd like to know what you think."

  

 "I think people today watch too many movies. Take that 'love is never having to say you're sorry' crap. Love is whatever it takes, you know? I mean, people today talk about 'true love' like it's just one thing but it's different for everyone and it takes a hell of a lot of work--know what I mean? Those cruddy fairy-tale cartoons should be banned, if you ask me--white knights, eternal devotion--all a load of crap. Love takes work, and it's messy."

  

 "Are you married, sir?" Roger asked. While Sian had listened with half an ear he'd been paying rapt attention to the cabbie's harangue.

  

 "To my best friend. Grew up next door to her and never gave her a second look until the war came and we ended up in a refugee camp together. Know what I think? I think you people in this country got it too soft. You expect everything to be easy, handed to you; no one wants to work for anything. You should all go live where I come from for a while, that's what you should do."

  

 "Where did you come from, sir?"

  

 "Hell, son. I came from hell. Here's the Westshire... you all have a nice day now."

  

 Sian gave him a generous tip and stood watching as he drove away. "So, what do we do now?"

  

 "Get to know each other?" Roger suggested. "Then decide?"

  

 She turned, looked up into his face, and smiled. "Yes, that's a thought, but I meant what do we do about Belinda."

  

 "Destroy her." Ishtar might be short on details but knew her goal. "Find out if she had the Adornments first, and, if she doesn't, make sure she can't get her filthy hands on them, ever."

  

 "Sounds good... how?" Roger asked.

  

 "By killing her."

  

 "I meant, how do you find out if she has the Adornments?"

  

 "If she's got it, she'll flaunt it... that's what I'd do and, after all, she is my mother."

  

 In the lobby, the only sign of the morning's chaos was a hole in the ceiling where the chandelier had pulled loose and an overabundance of media, loitering and waiting for something more to happen, eyes roaming between the entrances and the elevators. Ishtar's appearance set the pack into action. "Ishtar, can you tell us... Do you have any comment on... Do you and your mother... Ms. Bedarova...."

  

 "Damn." Ishtar seemed so at home on Earth, Sian had forgotten she might not know the feeding habits of reporters. Within seconds they surrounded the new arrivals like circling sharks. "Is it true that... How do you feel... Ms. Bedarova...."

  

 Ishtar chopped the most intrusive microphone with the edge of one hand. "Shut up."

  

 "That's better," she continued.

  

 The sound technicians who'd been treated to an amplified version of Ishtar's battle cry stood dazed. As far as Sian could see, none were bleeding from their ears. An almost famous blonde from an American network stood holding her now-curved mike, first gazing at it in wonder then murmuring a few words into it to see if it still worked. Ishtar strode forward and the sea parted to let her through. She hopped onto a coffee table, putting her at eye level with most of the multitude. "Damn giraffes. Okay, I'll answer anything you ask... one question at a time. Except the next one who calls me 'Bedarova' gets a boot in the chops."

  

  

 Whatever the outcome of the quest for the Adornments of Glory, Linda Bedarova's reputation was forever destroyed in the first five minutes of Ishtar's impromptu press conference. The reporters believed her. Roger had never seen anything like it; the cynical media was like a crowd of previously sceptical kids who'd just been introduced to the real St. Nick. Ishtar held them entranced. Entranced? That might be it. Their trust in Ishtar was unnatural, especially considering the fables she spun.

  

 Due to her mother's promiscuity, Ishtar's prospective fathers numbered in the hundreds, the story went. She'd been abandoned as a child, left to be raised in an obscure, unnamed, village by a drunken innkeeper. In some ways, she'd been lucky to land with him. One of the candidates for father, he'd raised her with as much love as his brutal nature permitted. A pretty child, she'd become his meal ticket.

  

 She didn't blame him for that. Despite running a house of largely ill repute, he'd never pushed her to share her charms with his customers but when she reached a certain age, it seemed only natural. Yes, she admitted to her shame that her essential nature was much like her mother, Linda Bedarova's, in that to her, sex was power and she enjoyed watching others crawl at her feet.

  

 None of the reporters were crawling in the literal sense of the word. All were, figuratively. Ishtar's compelling presence had them in her thrall. As she continued, to Roger's eyes, she glowed.

  

 "Is that a halo?" Sian asked him, in a whisper.

  

 "Just the lighting. For the cameras. I wonder how long Belinda's going to let this go on?" Some of the broadcasters were doing live feeds. And even if they didn't have a radio or television on upstairs, surely Belinda would have left an observer downstairs, expecting someone to come after her.

  

 As if in answer to his question, an elevator opened and Linda Bedarova came steaming out, trailed by her half-dozen flunkies. At first, no one seemed to notice them, other than Ishtar, who had positioned herself to have a clear view of the elevators. "I only recently learned Linda's my mother," she said. Her voice carried, filling the lobby without amplification. "However, I have known her for years. I was brought up nearby her hideout, the place she goes when she has one of her breakdowns and needs to disappear."

  

 "Seems the police didn't arrest the twins and Caleb," Sian said. "Pity. But that paper-box Ishtar tossed at Caleb did do some damage."

  

 "Huh?" Paper-box? The man who'd been identified to Roger as a werewolf was limping, but what was Sian talking about?

  

 "I'll fill you in later," she said. "But we almost didn't make it to Albright's to rescue you."

  

 He hadn't needed rescuing, but Sian didn't want to hear that. As she'd said... later.

  

 The ones she'd called the twins... Brad and Vlad? Yes, that sounded right, although which was which was unclear, broke off from the group, one to each side, and circled around behind the press conference. Cutting off the escape route? The dwarves waddled along beside Belinda with Spinecracker and Caleb bringing up the rear. Bedarova stopped a body length from the circle surrounding Ishtar.

  

 "What the hell is going on here?"

  

 A frozen moment, then cameras scrambled backwards to get both Belinda and Ishtar in a shot. The way between them opened. "She's not my daughter. My daughter is tall, like me... and beautiful."

  

 Silence. Ishtar's eloquent smile filled the viewfinder of the camera nearest Roger.

  

 "This... this person isn't my daughter. And her name isn't Ishtar... it's Grunt!"

  

 Sian started to chuckle. The reporters picked up her laughter. Bedarova flushed livid red. A beatific smile spread across Ishtar's face. She raised her hands and spread them wide. The camera near Roger pulled back to include Ishtar's magnificent breasts, the fabric of her top stretched tight over them. The laughter waned.

  

 "Mother... you're pathetic." Said with saddened love... brilliant!

  

 Linda Bedarova's face contorted, anger fighting self-control. Her mouth opened. It closed. Another silence, longer. This time, Ishtar broke it. "I so hoped, yesterday, we could work something out."

  

 "It's not too late." A note of defeat in Linda Bedarova's voice.

  

 "I think it is," Ishtar responded, sounding on the verge of tears. "You just don't have what I want."

  

 "I might be able to obtain it."

  

 "Then maybe we should talk, privately... Mommy... upstairs, in our suite?" Ishtar hopped off the table and signalled Sian and Roger to join her.

  

 "Yes, dear." Linda Bedarova smiled for the media. "I'm sorry you had to witness this private family quarrel."

  

 "So, she is family," one of the reporters asked.

  

 A deep sigh. "Yes, Ishtar is my daughter."

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 "I'd forgotten what a handsome man he's become." Hilldweller examined Skythane's face closely. The inspection made Feldspar feel nervous despite Hilldweller's calm aura. "And he seems healthy, apart from a drastic loss of weight." A smile flickered across her face. "It's been a few years and more since I've seen my son. Thank you."

  

 Feldspar switched back to herself without being asked. Hilldweller didn't even blink at the transformation. "I suppose you know why we're here."

  

 "As the hands of fate. I told Delbert he'd regret his decision to get involved with Belinda." She shrugged. "So be it."

  

 "So you're going to help us?" Susan asked, leaning forward. A button on Sian's strained blouse chose that moment to pop.

  

 "No, I don't help. My role is to see and, at times, inform. I can tell you that in a personal sense, you need no assistance. You yourself have fallen in to good fortune." Hilldweller smiled and put a hand on one of Susan's. "And your luck will maintain, although ofttimes you will question whether that is so... but such is the nature of sentient beings. With regards to your friend's quest, I can tell her Delbert's at home, next door in the Crimson Tower and that his two bodyguards are more than willing to kill. They have before." She paused and fixed her eyes on Feldspar. "Your Terran friend will stay with me. As for you, your present life is but a walking shadow."

  

 "Signifying nothing?" Susan asked.

  

 "A little education is a dangerous thing." Hilldweller smiled. "We are in the presence of an author, one who writes fate rather than being its toy. When much is possible, little is likely and all becomes clouded." She turned to Lupa. "You can only atone for that which you yourself have done, not for the wickedness of others. And even that is unsure."

  

 "The evil that men do, lives after them, the good is oft interred with their bones," Lupa responded. "Don't look so surprised, Hilda. I can read and I had to find something to combat your metaphysical claptrap."

  

 "O! how this spring of love resembleth the uncertain glory of an April day," Hilldweller answered with a smile. "And a more uncertain glory one would never care to see. Guide well, my young friend."

  

 "She lost me with that one," Lupa said to Susan. "You?"

  

 "I don't think I should comment." Susan stroked Hilldweller's hand. "I gather I've been relegated to the wings. You and Feldspar are the team."

  

 "She's going to help me regain the Adornments for Diluvia?" Feldspar asked. "Her?"

  

 "I'm going to be a naughty oracle for a moment and say something clear," Hilldweller answered. "If you're not going to take Lupa with you, don't bother going after Delbert. There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so," she added with a smile to Lupa. "Sorry, it's a hard habit to give up."

  

 "Try."

  

 "So if I take Lupa with me, I'll win?" Feldspar asked.

  

 "No, I didn't say that."

  

 "She said if you don't, you'll lose." Lupa stood. "And I say, let's quit pissing around and go get the damn Adornments."

  

 Which was about what Ishtar would say. And better advice than any oracle would supply. Feldspar stood. "We might just be able to work together. Let's go."

  

 "Guess I'm not going to have to play my last card then, am I?"

  

 "Oh do it anyway," Susan prompted.

  

 Lupa grinned. "I know how to get to Delbert's penthouse and she doesn't."

  

 Feldspar had to admit, to herself... that was a capping argument.

  

  

 A side door of the Bent-Arm connected to the lobby of Crimson Tower. Feldspar stood in the doorway and watched the people, trying to pick out anyone who might try to keep them from getting to the elevators. Lupa'd gone for a pit stop, or so she said. Feldspar suspected it was more a case of needing a moment alone, or perhaps sensing she needed one. She didn't want to like Lupa, didn't want to have any sort of bond with a savage who'd dined on sentient flesh, whether it'd been her fault or not. Some things just were evil in and of themselves, and that was one.

  

 "Anything?"

  

 She hadn't heard Lupa come up beside her, hadn't sensed her presence. "Nothing, nothing at all." She turned her head slightly to meet the pale grey eyes. "I just hope I can count on you."

  

 Lupa smiled. Were her teeth unnaturally sharp or was that imagination? "We know where we stand. We're both committed to this for our own reasons. You do know the chances of survival aren't great? They'll be waiting for us to come off the second elevator and there's no other route in."

  

 "But neither of us are going to back out. Neither of us can." Lupa had explained they had to go to the sixtieth floor and then, up again, in an exclusive elevator. At the top of which someone undoubtedly would be waiting. "We're going to win, Lupa, because we have to."

  

 "Don't you think Delbert feels the same way?"

  

 "I suppose."

  

 "Look on the dark side of it... with me along, in your world-view whatever happens, evil will be at least partially triumphant." Said with a pointed smile.

  

 "Too true. You ready?"

  

 "As I ever will be. There's no one waiting to stop us here."

  

 "The ones outside were Belinda's?" Feldspar asked.

  

 "Delbert and she aren't in this together, you know. Never were. Belinda's an opportunist. She's not the one who aided him."

  

 "You're sure of that?"

  

 "I know it for a fact... pillow talk. Delbert likes fucking me. Not a mutual affection let me add. Just something I had to do. Got me information... and a key to his private elevator. Without which your quest would be fucked... instead of me."

  

 There wasn't much Feldspar could say to that. She didn't try. They took the first elevator up. The sixtieth floor corridor was deserted; the only sounds were their feet padding on the thick carpet. The penthouse elevator was larger than Feldspar'd expected. "Guess it has to be big enough for furniture."

  

 Lupa didn't answer, just waited until she got in, inserted the key, then pressed the button. When the elevator stopped, the doors didn't open. A tinny voice came from the speaker. "Take off your clothes."

  

 "And if we don't?" Feldspar asked.

  

 "We flood it with gas and knock you out, just like we would've if you'd come carrying guns. Your choice."

  

 No choice. Feldspar stripped. Lupa already had. "Nice ass," the speaker commented.

  

 "Thanks," Lupa and Feldspar answered, together. They looked at each other and smiled.

  

 "Push your clothes into a pile at the front, then lean on the back wall, arms above your heads, legs spread wide. When the door opens, don't move."

  

 They did as told. Feldspar heard the door slide open. A rustling behind them would be their clothes being removed.

  

 "Okay, Lupa, you faithless bitch, you first. Turn slowly, then move to your right once you're clear the door. Don't even twitch, Feldspar, or she gets it."

  

 "I don't know why you think I'd care," Feldspar said. "Or why you're scared of me. It's not like I'm Belinda. She could pick you up and throw you out the window, and would."

  

 "I'm not scared of her either," a deeper voice answered. "Slowly, Lupa." The redhead had pushed herself off the wall.

  

 "Sorry."

  

 "You sound pretty scared to me, Delarone," Feldspar said.

  

 "Am not. But you're right. We don't need these precautions. Both of you might as well come out together. Sorry about the clothes."

  

 "No, that was a good idea," Feldspar said. "I had a viper up my sleeve. One of your people might want to stomp on it."

  

 A muttered curse and heavy footsteps.

  

 "She's joking, you moron."

  

 As Feldspar turned, a burly man with a machine-gun froze in his tracks. "How would I know that?"

  

 "You wouldn't. That's why I told you." Delarone's pictures didn't do him justice. He was grotesque: thin shoulders, potbelly, and a pocked face further marred by an eye that twitched in an irregular rhythm. That he was wearing what clearly was a woman's tiara and necklace, and held a delicate, jewelled sceptre in one hand didn't help. Feldspar couldn't help herself. She started laughing. This ambulant eyesore was greatest threat the worlds had ever known?

  

 * * * * *

  

 After Bedarova's public acknowledgement of Ishtar as her daughter most of the reporters scurried off to file the story or do voice-overs, effectively ending the impromptu press conference. A few stayed around, hoping for one-on-one interviews or simply trying to eavesdrop. At a glare from Ishtar they all moved well away. Sian tensed as Bedarova came towards them, while noting Ishtar was totally relaxed. It had been a battle, not a war--and not even a clear victory--but you wouldn't know that from looking at Ishtar.

  

 Or by listening to her. "Here to kiss my feet... Mom?"

  

 Bedarova took several deep breaths. "No, to negotiate an alliance. If we work together, we both can get what we want."

  

 "Is that right, Mom?" Ishtar clearly delighted in saying the 'M' word. "You're going to have to explain. I'm just a stupid dwarf. Pardon me, a stupid half dwarf... assuming Square really is my father. Is Square my father... Mom?"

  

 More deep breaths. Judging from the livid red face, one more 'M' word and Bedarova would lose control. Was that what Ishtar wanted? If so, at least the chandelier was already gone. And, as in most hotel lobbies, the furniture was nailed down. Belinda would have to rip it off the floor before she could throw it. At least it might give them a moment to run for a door. To Sian's surprise, Bedarova managed a smile in response to Ishtar's question.

  

 "If he's your father, then you're not mine. Dwarves and humans can't cross-breed--everyone knows that."

  

 "And everyone knows that wasn't the case until after the Atlantian War. Oh my, you didn't? All beauty and no brains, eh Mom? Anyway, the gods made it so back then and I presume they can make exceptions to their rules. Heck, I'd say it's rather obvious they have. Hard to explain me otherwise, isn't it? Guess they wanted to make sure you didn't off the Prophesied. Poor Feldspar, having to live with you around so long, then watching for assassination attempts after she left. And even if you had succeeded, you'd have failed."

  

 "Would you damn well shut up?"

  

 "Give me a damn reason."

  

 "Not here. Upstairs?"

  

 "Visit your parlour? Sure, why not?" Ishtar turned to the few reporters remaining in the lobby. "Listen up, folks. Mommy's invited me to her room. If you don't see me back down here in half an hour, call the cops and report a murder."

  

 From the glower on Bedarova's face, Sian suspected that might have been the plan. Or was now. Without waiting for an invitation, she took Roger's hand and moved to beside Ishtar. Not for the first time that day she rather wished she carried a gun. At least the twins and Caleb didn't take the elevator with them.

  

 Still, the ride up wasn't without event. Until then Ishtar had ignored Spinecracker and he'd been as quiet as the dwarves, although a lot more nervous. In the elevator he became positively twitchy. "Ishtar, you have to understand...."

  

 "I understand, Spinecracker. Believe me, I do." That she didn't forgive was implicit in her tone.

  

 Spinecracker pressed himself into the elevator's side. The conversation wasn't continued until they reached the suite and the door, closed. Then it was Bedarova who spoke. "If you want Spinecracker, Ishtar--dead, alive or alive in unbearable pain for years--he's yours."

  

 Ishtar nodded. "What else's on the table?"

  

 "I cut you in to my Terran Empire."

  

 "So far there isn't anything I couldn't get for myself."

  

 "You and your friends all live."

  

 "You're playing a losing hand and don't bluff worth harpy guano. You couldn't kill Feldspar or me if you tried. Oh, that's right--you have. Tell you what, give me the Adornments, go back to Diluvia and make a full confession and you can live. That's the best deal you're going to get from me. Except you can't get it because you don't have the Adornments and can't get them. Belinda, as they say here on Terra... you're toast. No thanks; I don't think we'll sit. Roger? Sian? We're out of here."

  

 Ishtar turned her back and walked to the door. Sian watched Bedarova, waited for her to do something, to order something done. She let go of Roger's hand and waved for him to follow Ishtar. Then she backed to the door, went out, and closed it.

  

 "She going to send her hench-dwarves after us?" Roger asked.

  

 "Not a chance," Ishtar replied, punching him lightly on the arm. "Those two aren't fighters. In their way, they're not even sentient. Disposable batteries for her mind powers, that's all."

  

 Sian turned to face Ishtar. "I can't believe she's given up."

  

 "She hasn't. What she wants most of all seems to be what we want to... the Adornments. You had it right back at your apartment. All we've been doing is buying Feldspar and Susan time. Nope, we haven't seen the last of Belinda, damn it all. And she certainly hasn't seen the last of me. Right now, we head for the Bent-Arm and see if they've left us anything to do."

  

 Caleb and the gladiator twins were waiting for them in front of the elevators. "Gonna run again?" Caleb asked. "Try and throw something? Aw gee... the hall's bare. Poor little dwarfie."

  

 The twins attacked. Years of training came back to Sian in a second of panic. Sidestepping, she whirled and landed a sidekick on one twin's knee. A dull crack--followed by a scream of pain. She turned to face Caleb. He hadn't moved. The other twin was lying at Ishtar's feet, his neck bent at an abnormal angle. Hers was writhing on the carpet in pain.

  

 "Any other comments?" Ishtar asked Caleb, waving for Sian and Roger to get going towards the elevators.

  

 "Nope, guess not." Caleb stepped forward and prodded the motionless twin with his foot. "Dead." He glanced at the other. "Kneecapped."

  

 "I'd say so. Lie flat on the floor, face down or you'll be joining the dead one."

  

 Ishtar stepped in the middle of his back as she went over and joined Sian and Roger. "Okay, you can get up now."

  

 "I can?" Caleb rolled to a sit.

  

 "Why not? And have a nice dinner. Shall we be on our way?" she asked Sian and Roger.

  

 Sian managed to restrain herself until the elevator doors were closed. "I can't believe what you just did!"

  

 "You wanted me to kill him as well? Didn't think you Terrans believed in gratuitous violence."

  

 "You as good as invited Caleb to eat that corpse."

  

 "Did I? Oh my, I hadn't considered Caleb might take it that way."

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 Feldspar forced herself to keep laughing. Delarone had reddened at her reflexive chuckle, so why not see if she could get him truly angry. Angry people made mistakes.

  

 "Stop that. Immediately," he ordered.

  

 "Or you'll do what?" Feldspar asked with a smile. "Have your boys shoot me? Isn't that going to happen anyway?"

  

 Delarone appeared astonished by her response.

  

 "Now Feldspar, it's not nice to laugh at someone just because they're dog ugly," Lupa said. "Behave yourself."

  

 "I'm sorry. It's not because he's repulsive. Honest. I'm not that rude. But don't the Adornments make him look ridiculous?"

  

 "True." Lupa gave a snicker. "I hadn't thought of that."

  

 "Stop that!" Delarone shouted. Lupa quit immediately. "Don't ever laugh at me again."

  

 "I know he plans to get rid of me," Feldspar said, taking a step towards Delarone. "But it sounds like he intends to spare you, Lupa. You must be a good fuck."

  

 "The best," Lupa said. "Too bad you're not going to be around to find out. And I give great head, don't I, Delbert?" She slowly sank to her knees. "May I demonstrate?" Lupa started towards him, see-sawing from knee to knee.

  

 "Lupa... stop right there and get to your feet."

  

 Lupa did as Delarone asked. Delarone fixed Feldspar with what she suspected was his best effort at a steely gaze. "I want you on your knees instead. Kneel."

  

 "Why should I?"

  

 Delarone adjusted the Circlet with his free hand. "Must not be on right," he muttered to himself, pulling it down. "There. Now... on your knees."

  

 "I don't think so. Even if I didn't prefer women, you're a particularly loathsome male. Can't understand what Belinda ever saw in you. Even she usually has better taste."

  

 Every word she said heightened Delarone's flushed anger. With luck he'd burst a blood vessel and they could take the Adornments and go home. "You're supposed to obey me." His voice cracked. "Why don't you obey me? On your knees."

  

 The Circlet reputedly increased the wearer's charisma if they were of Glory's line. From the use Delarone evidently thought he could make of it, he was. In Feldspar's opinion, charisma wasn't the right word for that power. The Circlet apparently could be used to command blind obedience, at least from some. It was probably her adept-quality shields that made her immune. She took another step towards Delarone... on her feet.

  

 "Why don't you just give me those baubles?" she asked. "They're dangerous in the wrong hands."

  

 "Moe... Larry... shoot her if she takes another step."

  

 Feldspar stopped. Both of Delarone's bodyguards had a machine gun, trained on her. From what Hilldweller had said, they'd probably shoot her even without an arcane, mind-science device compelling them to do so. "Damn you, this isn't what's supposed to be happening." The anger in his voice gave it an annoying whine. "You can't resist my will. Can't. Drop your shields, Feldspar, or else."

  

 "Or else what? You're going to kill me anyway. I'd rather not die with your undoubtedly putrid taste in my mouth."

  

 "Kill you? I don't want to kill you. You're the Prophesied. We're going to be married."

  

 "Now that's funny. Sorry, that was rude. Like I said, you're not my type." And she wasn't the Prophesied. If she were and she married him, it might give him a legitimacy he wouldn't otherwise possess. "It would never work, you know." Feldspar shook her head. "Not a chance. You'd have to sleep sometime. When you did, I'd slit your throat."

  

 "Hah! That's what you think. After you're properly conditioned you not only won't--you'll lie awake to protect me."

  

 "Perpetual compulsion... no wonder it's been kept locked away. But why me? Wouldn't you rather have Lupa?"

  

 "I would and I will. I'll have you both. I'll make you do things to each other."

  

 "Now that could be fun... if you weren't around. No offence, but I find you disgusting."

  

 "Disgusting? I'm disgusting? We'll see about that." Delarone moved a step closer. "On your knees." Another step. "On your knees!" Said in close to a scream.

  

 If he took one more step she should be able to grab him before his men could shoot. Delarone met her eyes and smiled. "Oh, you are a fierce one. Taming you will be such a pleasure. Moe, put your gun down and tie her in a chair."

  

 "No," Feldspar snapped. Moe froze. Could it be? Worth a try. "Moe, go to Lupa and give her your gun." Moe started to obey.

  

 "Don't."

  

 "Do."

  

 "Don't"

  

 "Do."

  

 Moe was quivering, his body being pulled in two directions. Lupa leapt, kicked Moe where it hurt, grabbed the gun and pointed it at Delarone.

  

 "Don't." Feldspar and Delarone gave the order at the same time.

  

 Moe rolled toward Lupa. She pointed the gun at him and pulled the trigger. Moe exploded in a shower of red. Blood spattered on Feldspar, on Delarone's shocked face. Still firing, Lupa moved the gun to Delarone. He jerked backwards. A stitching of red moved across his stomach while he jerked like a spastic puppet. He collapsed, still clutching the Sceptre in one hand. Lupa's gun went silent.

  

 "What about him?" Lupa had the gun trained on the remaining guard.

  

 "What?" Feldspar's ears were ringing. She was covered in blood... naked and covered in blood.

  

 "What about him?" Lupa asked again. "Larry?"

  

 "No. Please, no. Does she need to?" Feldspar asked the man.

  

 Larry dropped his gun. "The king is dead. Long live the queen. How did she do that? Disobey you both?"

  

 "I was wondering the same thing." Or would have been, if she weren't in shock.

  

 "It's never worked on me either. With some of the things he ordered me to do it's no wonder he never suspected, the pig." Feldspar saw horror creep into Lupa's face as her eyes moved first to Delarone's shredded remains, and then Moe. "Shit, did I do that?" She dropped the gun and doubled over, vomiting.

  

 "Everyone reacts that way, first time," Larry said. "Want me to clean this place up? Don't worry about no one hearing. This floor's pretty much soundproof."

  

 "It doesn't matter," Feldspar answered. "It's okay, Lupa. You had to do it." She said it to comfort and because what was done, was done. And as she said it, she knew it was true. She'd made the wrong decision and Lupa had been right. And while it might have been... no, had been necessary, she felt relieved by how Lupa had reacted to what she'd done. And so... the quest was over.

  

  She crouched and took the Circlet and Chain off Delarone's corpse. "The Chain's supposed to shield the wearer from harm," she told the others. "Guess that must be mind-based damage, not physical." She pried the Sceptre from Delarone's hand. "Did he ever say what this does?" she asked Larry.

  

 "That's what the whole thing's all about, what everyone wants most. It can open the way between worlds so they can send an army to the place you guys come from."

  

 Feldspar straightened. "You believe in other worlds?"

  

 "Pretty much gotta. Stay in this one, I'm gonna be executed."

  

 Lupa seemed almost recovered; sploshes of blood and guts dripped off various parts of her body. "You deserve to die," she said. Feldspar noted that despite her words, Lupa didn't bend over to pick up the gun. Those words were just words...

  

 "And you don't? Shit, lady, youse as cold a killer as me." Larry's voice was filled with admiration.

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 Half a dozen smokers peeled off a wall to greet Sian, Roger and Ishtar when their taxi dropped them off in front of the Bent-Arm Bistro.

  

 "Damn. Looks like you're going to see what you missed earlier," Ishtar said. "A dwarf in a brawl." At the Westshire, Ishtar had dropped her twin so quickly neither Sian nor Roger had seen her do it.

  

 Sian put a hand on Ishtar's arm. "I'd rather we didn't. You got away with the other one because no one saw it happen." The sidewalk and street were busy with early rush-hour traffic.

  

 "And because Caleb and company will cover it up. Wonder if Belinda will dine on leg of gladiator tonight? Don't worry. I'm not stupid. Let's go." She started for the door of the bar with quick steps.

  

 Two smokers shifted to block her. "Not so fast, little lady."

  

 "What did you say the word was, Sian? Oh yeah. Rape! Help! Police... Rape!"

  

 "Oh fuck." The smokers backed away, holding their ears. Along with everything else, Ishtar had powerful lungs.

  

 "Not so fucking fast." One of the other smokers reached to grab Ishtar. She caught his wrist and twisted. "Shit! Oh shit! My wrist!"

  

 "Anyone else care to assault me?" Ishtar asked. "Or my friends?" They'd gathered a crowd of real smokers and some passers-by. "Didn't think so... if the police do show and want to talk to us, we'll be inside."

  

 They went into the Bent-Arm without any further trouble, saw Susan in a booth at the back and started her way.

  

 "Fine, you can take care of yourself," Sian said to Ishtar. "Two things... why did we run earlier?"

  

 "Didn't know Caleb wouldn't fight. Smart people don't take on werewolves, even ones playing human. Damn strong and real fast. No damn choice the second time. Good thing his heart isn't in his job. That wolf's alive, but just waiting to die. Suppose you want to know why I finished off Vlad?"

  

 "Not really... why you called for the police. All things considered, we'd be better off them not noticing us now."

  

 "Never thought I hear you say that," Roger interjected.

  

 "Probably never thought she'd be hanging out with a killer either," Ishtar said. "Hey, if they'd backed off he'd be alive. From what I know of 'em it was pretty damn unlikely. Hi Susan... so where's our girl got to... the 'ladies' again? Shove over." Ishtar sat beside Susan, forcing her closer to Hilda Weller on the inside.

  

 Weller's pictures didn't do her justice; she was an imposing blonde... which Susan certainly had noticed. And from the look they exchanged as Sian sat and slid down the bench to across from Weller, Weller had noticed Susan too. "Ms. Weller?"

  

 "Oh no... please call me Hilda."

  

 "Or Hilldweller?" Ishtar asked.

  

 "I'd rather you didn't."

  

 "Hilda," Sian continued. "Our apologies for intruding like this." >From all report, Hilda Weller wasn't a person to be crossed. For all she knew it was Weller who'd had her fired.

  

 "Oh, I knew you'd be along. And yes, actually I did have something to do with your being let go. If you were still working for the police I wouldn't have the opportunity to hire you or your young man." Weller smiled. "I see a bright future for you both in television, assuming the future turns out well for any of us here. And if it doesn't, oh well..." An airy wave of a hand, the one not holding Susan's.

  

 "I'd gather Feldspar isn't in the 'ladies' then?" Ishtar asked.

  

 "Oh no. At present she and the wolf are endeavouring to reclaim their Adornments."

  

 Ishtar looked across the table at Sian. "I did just hear her say that, didn't I?"

  

 "The wolf?" Sian asked. "I guess that would have to be Caleb's daughter?"

  

 "Have to be. Wasn't what I damn well meant though... their Adornments?"

  

 "Oh yes," Hilda said, nodding her head. "Your soul-sister is indeed Glory. Or at least, most of her. The wolf is a good bit of the rest."

  

 "Huh?" Roger's first contribution to the conversation hardly did him credit.

  

 "No, please don't explain it," Ishtar said to Hilda. "I'm not in the mood for a discussion on the metaphysics of split soul theory."

  

 "It's not theory, dear, but very well." Hilda's attention shifted to Roger. "So young man, how about those Jays?"

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 For the first time in years, Lupa dared hope for a better future for herself. Things were going well. Feldspar and she'd needed showers after the bloodbath, but Delbert couldn't have planned things better if he'd tried. Their clothes had been out of range of the splatter so once they'd cleaned themselves up, they'd dressed and met in the kitchen. The living room was a mess. And like Larry said, no one would be surprised if Delbert didn't appear in public for several days. No one would look for him either. The only way he'd ever got company was to buy or compel it. She'd managed to keep him believing those were the reasons she'd shared his bed... for the money at first and then because of the Circlet.

  

 Not so. Others she'd known paid much better and as for her immunity to the Circlet, well, that was her secret. Or had been. She hadn't wanted to lie to Feldspar.

  

 "I hope you're going to be okay, Lupa. You seem distant."

  

 "Yeah, I'm okay." Lupa paused to consider her response. "Better than that to tell the truth. I'm glad he's dead, but particularly glad you've taken charge of those things." Feldspar had taken the Adornments into the shower with her to wash off the blood, but instead of wearing them afterwards, had wrapped the Circlet and Chain in a towel and put them on the kitchen counter. The Sceptre was propped against the refrigerator. And Feldspar seemed every bit as dazed as she herself felt, if not more.

  

 Lupa waited until they were in the first elevator, away from the blood and on their way down before saying anything. "You're going to have to pull yourself back together. You know it's not over yet."

  

 "What isn't? What do you mean?"

  

 "The Adornments aren't home. Belinda will still be after them. And my father."

  

 "I know, but I've been so focused on getting the Adornments that now..." She paused. "I feel strange, almost as if the Adornments have me, instead of the other way around. Things will never be the same."

  

 "Would you want them to be? I sure as hell wouldn't. I hope this doesn't sound too awful, but I feel like my life began the moment Delbert's ended."

  

 In the elevator, sinking to the ground, Feldspar kept reminding herself Lupa was right... it wasn't over. She had to stay alert, ready for anything--ready to fight Belinda. She felt taller, everything around her sharper--more easily seen, her ears rang with what she couldn't help thinking of as the music of the spheres, but was more likely mildly damaged eardrums. But the Adornments were hers. No, make that, she had the Adornments.

  

 And she and the Adornments were still on Terra. The quest was to return them to their proper place, take them back to Diluvia where they belonged. Her senses were heightened. She could sense Lupa beside her, feel her still dangerous but now somehow comforting power. On the other side of Lupa, Larry--a dull red, smouldering coal. They'd had to bring him along. What else could they have done?

  

 The elevator floated to a halt. A short march down a corridor and into the second. It stopped several times for people to get in. They all looked at her, then quickly away. The towel with the Circlet and the Chain under one hand might seem normal, but the Sceptre couldn't be concealed. Lupa met her eyes then glanced around at the others in the elevator and almost imperceptibly shook her head. What? Oh, that might not be a bad idea.

  

 "No one here has seen anything out of the ordinary, have they?"

  

 A light murmur of denials followed her statement. Lupa sighed. "That's too general. What's normal?"

  

 "Not you... okay, none of you saw me carrying anything. And I'm sure you all remember me getting on at the twentieth floor."

  

 "Of course." "Sure, we do." "Naturally."

  

 The elevator stopped at the ground floor. Lupa hadn't said anything more, so evidently she thought the situation was covered. Not so. "Would have been better for them not to remember you at all," she said once they were alone in the lobby.

  

 "I suppose."

  

 "Hey, what the fuck was we doin' on the twentieth?" Larry asked.

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 The quest party, minus Rabid, was in the Bent-Arm Bistro. Roger and Sian were holding hands, and Susan had moved tight up against Hilldweller, her head resting on the seer's shoulder. Ishtar slipped out from the booth, that familiar twisted smile on her face.

  

 "Feldspar... have you done something different with your hair? And could those be the fabled Adornments?" A smile for Lupa... an eyebrow flickered up. "A turncoat for a turncoat... fair exchange. And I expect you'll be much better for her than the damn elf ever would have been."

  

 Trust her to misinterpret. "Oh, and by the way, wolf-sister," Ishtar continued. "In case you're interested, your father is still present with us in this world."

  

 Lupa's eyes narrowed. "And how's your mother, if I may ask?"

  

 "Just fine, thanks, but she may take a turn for the worse before long."

  

 "We can hope," Lupa responded with a feral smile. "Or perhaps we can do more."

  

 "So, what did happen to Rabid?" Feldspar asked. She wished she was surprised to learn he'd been on the other side. She almost held him blameless... almost. Lust had betrayed them as much as Rabid. They should have known.

  

 "He's alive and comatose right now," Ishtar answered. "Albright vamped him." A straight answer, more or less. She hadn't expected one. The Circlet's effect? No, not on Ishtar. "Albright's untrained, but I figure as vampires go, she's probably about third-order. No evil in her, by the way, just a shitload of vanity, but one can't rightfully dispatch a sentient for that particular sin. But speaking of sins that can prove fatal," she continued, moving to in front of Larry. "How about you? You want to fuck?" She captured Larry's crotch with her hand. "Wonderful... you do."

  

 "The quest isn't over, Ishtar. The interdiction still holds."

  

 Ishtar sighed as she released Larry. "I'm fully aware of that. Let's get your ass headed home so mine can get pumping."

  

 "You're not coming?"

  

 "Always with the straight lines... I kind of like Terra--think I'll hang around. Besides, it's not like you won't have company going back. Other than for your wolf, Hilldweller figures it's time for her to return and from the looks of it, prying Susan off her won't be any easy task."

  

 "Belinda will try to stop us," Lupa put in.

  

 "No kidding? Well, I figure one or the other of you can handle her. Afraid I've got to leave her to someone else--killing your mommy carries a heavy psychic burden."

  

 "I'll try for her if you'll not return the favour with regard to my father," Lupa answered.

  

 "Damn, I knew there was a reason I let him go. But now, since I'm not going with you guys, mind if I check those things out?" She took the towel that held the two smaller Adornments from Feldspar, put it on the table and gently unwrapped the Chain and Circlet.

  

 "Beautifully crafted. These shouldn't be hidden away. They should be out where they can be admired." Ishtar took the Chain in her hands. "Here. I don't care what you think--this bauble suits you."

  

 "Ishtar, don't..."

  

 "Oh piss off, I'll do what I damn well please." She reached up and draped the Chain around Feldspar's neck, then picked up the Circlet. "This too. Gold brings out your eyes. Hey, mind giving me a break? You're too damn tall for me to fit this on you properly."

  

 Feldspar knelt beside Ishtar.

  

 "You could have sat, but this'll do. Damn, it's an almost perfect fit. Thought it would be. Give me a second and I'll adjust it. There... all hail, Glory." Said with her usual irony.

  

 "All hail, Glory." Said without any. The walls resounded with the chorused refrain.

  

 Damn Ishtar and her sense of humour--becoming the Prophesied hadn't changed that about her.

  

 Feldspar stood. Everyone else in the Bent-Arm was already on their feet, eyes fixed on her. Waiting for her to say something? Waiting for her to ascend to the heavens?

  

 "By all the gods, Ishtar, why did you do that?"

  

 "Well someone had to proclaim your damn name. You're not the Prophesied anymore so you've got to be someone."

  

 "I'm Feldspar, just Feldspar."

  

 "You wish, soul-sister, you wish. In case you didn't get it, I hereby proclaim you Glory reborn."

  

 "All hail, Glory..."

  

 "Everyone sit, shut up and forget what Ishtar just did," Feldspar said. "She's Ishtar, by the way," she added in case anyone in the bar was is doubt.

  

 By the time she finished, speaking only Ishtar, Hilldweller and Lupa remained on their feet.

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 Sian sensed a slice of time missing from her life. She'd been in the group surrounding Feldspar and Lupa when they arrived triumphant, then next thing she knew, sitting at the table. When in doubt, blame arcane mind-science.

  

 "Does one of the Adornments have a mind-clouding function?"

  

 The shamed look on Feldspar's face and the smirk on Lupa's gave her all the answer she needed. "I'm not sure I appreciate having my memory played with? Was it necessary?"

  

 "Only for Feldspar's overweening modesty," Lupa responded adding a snicker to her smirk.

  

 "We know you're by and large Glory, Feldspar."

  

 The guilt on Feldspar's face developed a puzzled aspect. "Hilda says the residual is pretty much in Lupa," Sian added.

  

 Judging from her face, that addition only increased Feldspar's bewilderment. Lupa, however, nodded. "Fragmented immortality. Makes sense to me."

  

 "Never heard it called that before," Ishtar said.

  

 "Probably not. Far as I know I just made it up. 'Split soul' has always sounded somewhat mechanistic to me. Misses out on the glittering aspect of life."

  

 "Whew!" Ishtar wiped her brow. "You two are going to be an interesting team--mysticism meets sensuality."

  

 "You think those are mutually exclusive qualities?" Lupa asked.

  

 "I think I'm out of here," Ishtar answered. "Belinda knows where we are and soon as we leave she'll guess we got the Adornments." She turned to Feldspar. "I suppose to get back to Diluvia you'll need to return to where we came in."

  

 Feldspar nodded. "Far as I know. That's where Twink will be trying to sense us. You're sure you're not coming?"

  

 "Nah, like I said, I like this planet, sort of. Besides if we split our forces the bitch will have to split hers too. Figure she'll want someone to keep an eye on me, just in case. After all, I'm the damn Prophesied."

  

 "I don't get it. Why can't this Twink just pick you up from here, or wherever?" Roger asked.

  

 Ishtar shrugged "It's how the portals work. Our new resident intellectual might be able to explain it," she added, punching Lupa lightly on the arm.

  

 Lupa smiled. "Think of the portals as an inter-dimensional lobster trap. It's fairly easy to slip into Terra, but hard to get out."

  

 "Although from what you say, Belinda and Delarone seem to manage it just fine," Roger commented.

  

 "Maybe a fairy's decided to aid them, although I can't see that." Lupa shrugged. "But I suppose it could be. Anyway, fairies have such great power as teleports, they can pull people through the portals backwards. So either it's one of them or someone else with an equivalent talent. No other explanation fits." Lupa smiled at Roger, then looked around at the others. "What did I just say? Feldspar? Ishtar? Why are you both looking at me that way?"

  

 "Because you just redeemed anything bad you've ever done, wolf sister," Ishtar answered. "Bless you. Been good meeting you. I may see you around. Larry... you're coming with me."

  

 "Yes ma'am."

  

 "If that's okay with you, Glory."

  

 "Just fine." "No problem." Feldspar and Lupa answered.

  

 "Good. Then give us a couple of minutes lead and head back to where you came in."

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 Damn elf was going to get what was coming to him. More to the point, she was going to get what she'd wanted since she'd seen him. No one had wanted her to go off by herself, but she was pissed at whoever had put the damn curse of a vow on her head and was not going to put up with it any longer. They could do their damn worse. She intended to get it on, big time. And there was the whole vampire thing to check out, too. If Albright could do what she'd done to Rabid, what could the Prophesied manage?

  

 Better for no one she cared for to be around though, just in case. Besides, none of them wanted to miss the showdown between Belinda bitch and Glory... pardon me, soul-sister... the showdown between Belinda and Feldspar... and Feldspar's new wolf squeeze.

  

 So she'd brought the block of meat named Larry along to watch her back. Seemed more interested in her front. And her bottom. If Rabid didn't revive, Larry was her fall back plan. From what she heard, the cosmos wouldn't be poorer for missing him either.

  

 Things at Maxine Albright's house were exactly as before with Albright taped into a chair and Rabid flat on the floor, bigger flaccid than most males could hope to be erect. So doing him before the Adornments buggered off back to Diluvia might kill her... so what? Was there a better way to go than with the biggest member that would fit, rammed in you to the hilt? Not damn likely.

  

 Rabid responded to encouragement, his eyes flickering open as he swelled in her hands. "Damn right, elf boy--you're going out with a bang, one way or the other." The fear in his eyes didn't stunt his growth in the least.

  

 "Want I should do somethin' with the woman, boss?" She had to hand it to Larry--he knew how to toady.

  

 "Nah, she can watch. Might prove instructive for her. She thinks she's hot stuff."

  

 "I wouldn't boot her out the sack for eating crackers."

  

 "You wouldn't? Here hold this." Ishtar pulled her top over her head and handed it to Larry. All eyes were on her breasts: his, Albright's and very much Rabid's. His tower leaned towards her, twitching. No wonder the elf had proven stupid enough to side with Belinda... when he got it up properly there wasn't much blood left for his brain.

  

 She stripped off her pants and straddled Rabid. So much for foreplay. She impaled herself and almost got blown off when Rabid shot into her. This prematurely ejaculating buffoon was the great damn lover of song and legend? Pathetic. Well, the poets were always mouthing off about how sex happened in the grey matter upstairs, not the body so... she shot tendrils from her mind deep into what passed for the elf's brain and sucked in everything he had to give. His body heaved again. Her head exploded with golden bliss. Loudmouth balladeers had it right for once. Damn. Damn. Damn. Was that her screaming? Damned if it wasn't. Gods be praised... if this bliss was death then life had been worth living.

  

 She opened her eyes. Still in Albright's hallway, still alive... her anyway; she didn't need to look down to know Rabid was gone. His life was hers, all of it Albright had left, which was most.

  

 "Shit boss, youse even more gorgeous than you was." There was a damp patch at Larry's crotch. Still taped in her chair, Albright's eyes had gone heavy-lidded and sated.

  

 "Was it good for you?" Ishtar asked. "I'm so happy. Next victim, please."

  

 "Okay, how's about that guy at the window?"

  

 "Guy at the window. Damn, I was wrong--it can get better." Bitch Belinda had sent Spinecracker to keep tabs on her. Ishtar beckoned to him with one crooked finger. If that didn't work, she'd run him down. But hold it... she didn't need to--eyes closed, she sent mind-tentacles out into Spinecracker's brain, wormed them between his lobes and squeezed. Her body spasmed as his psychogenic juices filled her to overflowing and she burst into ecstatic light. Damn and again damn, the universe trembled with rapture. She was the damn Prophesied and damn the damn gods, she was one. She looked down and saw her former body crumpled on the floor in the midst of destruction. Larry was untying Albright. Looked like he had plans. Sorry, but no... she flickered a thought that circled his head and squeezed. Bye Larry. Hmmm... sort of a nice after-spasm but damn dull. Oh well, onward and upward... or wherever.

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 They were on the University of Noronto ground, just outside the quadrangle when the world started to dance. Roger held on to Sian more tightly. "Don't often get earthquakes in Noronto, not ones you can feel anyway." All over the campus, trees were swaying without any breeze. "Or is this an earthquake?"

  

 "I think it's my soul-sister becoming soul." Feldspar answered with a smile. "I wondered at her wanting to stay on Terra. She hasn't. Should have known she'd go out with a bang."

  

 "I'd say the Prophesied's been fulfilled," Lupa chimed in.

  

 Sian laughed. "You two are sick."

  

 "Why thank you," they answered.

  

 "Ishtar is dead?" That's how it sounded to Roger.

  

 "She's an Immortal... not that we all aren't, but she's more so than most," Lupa answered. "I'd say she transcended, and I seriously doubt her soul will fragment."

  

 "And she was the Prophesied after all," Feldspar added. "I'm going to have to read over that foretelling when I get back."

  

 "Don't bother." Hilda Weller waved a casual hand. Was he the only one who wasn't taking Ishtar's death casually? "The Prophecy of Sylvester the So-called Great is the usual drivel. '...will lead legions of the unknown...' We aren't much of a legion, but so it goes. I continue '...the world shall crumble...' And that's hyperbole, but like you said, Roger, that was some earthquake. '...the mighty shall lose their might, and the lesser be raised to heights...' Sian, care to comment?"

  

 "As one of the 'lesser' you mean? I feel lucky. Not everyone gets to play a role in a major prophecy and live to tell the tale."

  

 Even Sian didn't seem to care. "Ishtar's dead, damn it. Don't any of you damn people give a shit about that?"

  

 "Such language." Hilda Weller put a gentle hand on his arm. "Roger, you're the one who doesn't understand. Ishtar's a god... always was... she's just shed her body now and become pure spirit."

  

 "I think we're all part of one great soul, ultimately." Sian said. "In the meantime, get your hands off my man before I scratch your eyes out." She smiled to show she wasn't as serious about that as she sounded. Or at least, Roger hoped that's what her smile meant.

  

 "Point taken." Hilldweller sighed. "Roger, I'm sure Feldspar's going to miss her friend, and mourn her. But remember, grief is about loss... your loss. You don't cry for the person who's gone. You cry for yourself. To be honest, Feldspar's the only one here who knew Ishtar well enough to truly grieve. You're acting out, putting on an emotion you've been told you should feel. You feel guilty you can't mourn her and you're taking it out on us."

  

 "Piss off."

  

 "Anger is good."

  

 Roger settled for a meaningful glower as his answer to that.

  

 They reached the arch into the quadrangle where he'd met Feldspar, Ishtar and Rabid. Where it'd begun, for him and where he was certain it would end. That certainty immediately became solidified by the sight of Belinda, flanked by her two dwarves, waiting for them in the centre. There wasn't much around she could throw at them with her mind. Just as well, since Ishtar wasn't around to save them like she had with the chandelier. Then the arch... no, all the buildings surrounding the quadrangle, started to shake.

  

 "Give me what's mine." Belinda's shout was thunder.

  

 The statue of the university's founder tore from its moorings with a mighty crack, rose in the air and floated towards them. "Give me what's mine or I'll crush you."

  

 Feldspar raised the Sceptre with both hands. "What's yours is nothing." A bolt of lightning shot from the tip of the Sceptre and shattered the statue to dust.

  

 The rattling of the stonework ended as abruptly as it had begun. Belinda stood tall as Feldspar approached, Lupa by her side. The dwarves fell to their knees, arms stretched out to Feldspar in supplication. Belinda didn't seem to notice them, or Lupa. Her eyes were only for Feldspar. "Give that to me, child. Now." She extended a hand.

  

 Feldspar held out the Sceptre. Belinda took it. "Feldspar, I always knew you were weak. Now... die." Belinda raised the Sceptre. Nothing happened. "I said, die." Nothing. "Damn it, die." Belinda rammed the hilt of the Sceptre into the ground.

  

 A globe of light grew from it, surrounding Lupa, Feldspar and Belinda.

  

 "Close your eyes. Look away." Feldspar's voice in his head. Or was it Lupa's?

  

 He did close his eyes, and covered them with his hands. It almost wasn't enough. A wave of heat bowled him over. Burning hair? His? No, Sian's. He rolled over and smothered it between his palms and the ground.

  

 Lupa, Feldspar and the Sceptre remained standing. There was no sign of Belinda, or the dwarves.

  

 "Anyone who's coming, come." That voice in his head again... their voice? He took a step forward. A hand clamped on his arm.

  

 "I'm staying. You have to chose between me and Glory."

  

 "No, you have to choose between me and the Known. I want you in my life, but not at the cost of having you control it."

  

 Surprise on her face? No… shock. Then a smile. Sian took his hand as he walked towards Glory.

  

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 It was early evening on Diluvia, just as it had been on Terra. Planetsinger and the four surviving members of Adepts Five were waiting for them by the portal. Feldspar planted the Sceptre in the ground and slowly walked towards Square. First things first. There wasn't an easy way to say it. "Grunt's gone. She ascended."

  

 Was that a tear? It couldn't be.

  

 She turned to Planetsinger and Twink. "I think she sent Spinecracker and Rabid on their way before she went. And the Sceptre destroyed Belinda when she tried to use it. I suspect she is no more."

  

 Planetsinger nodded. "Her very being was blotted from all that is. No part of her will be reborn."

  

 "I discovered she wasn't my mother."

  

 Caltrop started to laugh, a nervous titter. "Sorry… ever so sorry, but…" His projected astral self was knee-deep in the grass.

  

 "Quit that."

  

 Caltrop's voice broke off in mid-laugh. "I really am sorry, Feldspar… but if anyone should know Belinda wasn't your mother, it's Planetsinger."

  

 Feldspar heard what Caltrop hadn't said. "You? You're my mother."

  

 "I am. It was necessary. Maramatma agreed. And enjoyed," she added with a smug smile.

  

 At least her father was her father. But that meant… "I'm a half-elf?"

  

 One of the terms of peace in the second Dwarf-Human war had been an agreement that the control all elves had over their fertility would be used to prevent any more elven blood from mixing with that of humans. The few instances of aberrance since had been hunted down and recycled for the common good, destroyed in the name of peace.

  

 "You're a half elf," Planetsinger agreed. "And you're Glory reborn. I think your being both should end the old prohibition."

  

 Hilldweller stepped forward. "So says the vaunting Great Mother. You always were a fool, Faith Gold Kestrel. As usual, you're right about some things and wrong regarding most."

  

 She had used Planetsinger's birth name, not her adept appellation. Feldspar took a step back, as did all the others. A challenge had been offered, a verbal glove slapped across Planetsinger's face.

  

 "You're going to challenge me now, old friend?" Planetsinger sounded sad and weary. "Challenge me so long after you ceded me the task of being the Great Mother and withdrew to Terra?"

  

 "No, Faith, you're welcome to keep your title. But I'd hoped you'd become more selfless once you assumed the role. Or, at least, more intelligent and insightful." Hilldweller turned to Feldspar. "Everyone assumes 'Great Mother' means the incumbent's a wise and nurturing influence on all-that-is. Not so. Should one care to read an obscure prophecy from the end of the Atlantian war it becomes clear the 'Great Mother' is merely an eternal womb, waiting to give rebirth to the sisters of destiny, Paradox and Glory. Which can't happen, not for some time to come, especially since Paradox didn't die at the war's ending, as thought. She lives on."

  

 "Impossible, she'd be over ten thousand years old." Planetsinger's usual composure abandoned her. She looked stricken with horror.

  

 "But she is. Needless to say, she's raving mad--who wouldn't be, bound to the material plane for so long? Mind you, despite that she's quite a pleasant person in her own strange way," Hilldweller added with a smile. "And I certainly wouldn't advise forming a quest to kill her just so she can be born again, Faith, my old friend. I'm not even sure it could be done… if Paradox hasn't achieved godhood, she's close."

  

 Feldspar had been listening to Hilldweller with half an ear while considering Planetsinger closely. She'd always liked the Great Mother, until now. Until she'd learned Planetsinger was her mother. And learned she'd hardly been birthed in selfless love... far from it. No, in her way, Planetsinger was every bit as bad as Belinda--she'd had a child so she could become the progenitor of destiny and for no other reason. What was it about mothers?

  

 This time she was putting up with nothing, nothing at all. Feldspar stepped forward to face Planetsinger, nose to nose. "What's more, I hate to have to tell you this, Great Mother dear, but it gets worse. I'm not Glory reborn, just a half-elf who will be anathema to all who know what I am."

  

 Lupa felt fed up. Did these people do anything other than blather? She liked speculating and philosophising as much as the next person--more than most--but piss on this. Time for some action.

  

 She stepped forward. "Anyone who comes after you is dead meat."

  

 There'd been a scent of fear hanging in the air since they had arrived but she wasn't certain from whom. She strode through the human mage's image... couldn't be him and towards the fat elf. Yes! She leapt.

  

 He vanished. She somersaulted in the air where he'd been and landed on her feet. "Offhand, I'd hypothesise he's the teleport who aided Belinda."

  

 "Windrover? And Belinda? I don't see how." The supposedly Great Mother appeared dismayed.

  

 "You didn't know that?" Feldspar asked Lupa, passing through the insubstantial human to come to her side. "How could you not?"

  

 "You should have realized that fact back on Terra, Feldspar," Hilldweller said. "If she'd known of him, she wouldn't have said Belinda's accomplice was a powerful teleport but instead, named him."

  

 "But..."

  

 "She knows little if anything regarding the particulars of Diluvia," Hilldweller continued. "Until yesterday, her father had kept her well away from Belinda and all others from this planet. She sniffed me out two years back and I provided her with certain of the ancient texts to help her understand her heritage, but eschewed seeding her with my tainted view of contemporary matters."

  

 "But didn't you live here?" Feldspar asked. She hadn't taken her eyes off Lupa while Hilldweller talked.

  

 "Until I was about ten. In the wilds and on the run forever. I remember my mother, remember her death at Belinda's hands, remember the hunting party." She suppressed her tears and took a deep breath. "I had no idea my father was in league with the devils, working for those who killed my kin. I lived in an apartment in Scarborough and went to school like any other kid."

  

 "Windrover and Belinda? I don't see how it's possible." Planetsinger said again.

  

 "Because you're not half as clever as you think, Faith," Hilldweller answered. Lupa heard her soft footsteps approaching. "And I understand your anger with your mother, Feldspar, but that doesn't excuse your lying to her and the others here by denying being Glory."

  

 "But I'm not!"

  

 "You are more than not. Truly, you're better than half of her and Lupa is most of the rest."

  

 "Pardon me, but I have a question too," Sian said. Lupa turned. She'd forgotten the Terrans who'd come with them. "How did Feldspar end up in Belinda's womb if she's Planetsinger's daughter? No, I suppose I can answer that... an in vivo transplant. Make the question... why?" she continued. "And why the double switch... you to Belinda and Belinda to the woman who played the part of Ishtar's mother. Was it necessary? I can't see why?"

  

 "Ishtar?" Planetsinger asked. "Who named our Grunt as Ishtar?"

  

 "Rabid," Roger said. It was the first word he'd said since arriving. Planetsinger looked at him as if she'd thought him incapable of speech. "Ishtar suited her far better than 'Grunt'," he added.

  

 "So that's why Rabid had to be on the quest." Planetsinger nodded wisely. "I knew I couldn't interfere. If he hadn't been there, Grunt and her destiny would never have met."

  

 "You still keeping company with that damn Terran author?" Feldspar asked. "That sounds like the sort of stupid thing he'd say."

  

 "You certainly have no cause to be smug about anything," Lupa added. "I'm not sure you're much better than a traitor yourself. Hilda, you should take over in her place."

  

 "No thank you. I suspect her incompetence to be a function of Fate. As for the switch, Sian, I'm unsure of Faith's precise reasons, but had Belinda known Ishtar to be hers, I doubt the child would have lived to maturity. Feldspar's self-effacing manner saved her, and such unassertiveness would have been impossible for Belinda's true child. I suppose also, having her child's parentage remain unknown would save Faith any possible shame at another failure to birth one of the sisters of destiny. Her first daughter, Melody, was such a disappointment to our poor Great Mother that way. And by the way, Faith, I saw Melody last year on Terra. In case you care, she's doing well for herself."

  

 "And now." Hilda smiled as she moved away from the crestfallen Planetsinger. "I'm afraid it's time for me, and whoever cares to join me, to return to Terra. We left a horrible mess behind."

  

 "Destruction, corpses…" Sian said.

  

 "And a teeny pile of ashes that used to be Belinda," Susan added.

  

 "That also," Hilldweller agreed. "I fear if I don't go back now, I won't be able to continue using this identity. I'm sure to be suspected in Delbert's death."

  

 "And of course, I'm coming with you," Susan said. "I'm sorry it didn't work out for us, Feldspar."

  

 "I'm sure she'll get over the disappointment," Lupa answered. She wrapped an arm around Feldspar's slender waist. And waited.... Feldspar leaned into her... yes!

  

 "Us,too," Roger said. He smiled at Sian. "We're going to be stars. I just had to know I had some say in this relationship."

  

 "Only what she grants you, I suspect," Lupa said, and smiled in answer to Sian's glare.

  

 "And I'm going too," Feldspar said. "Of course, I'll leave the Adornments behind. I don't want them."

  

 "Sorry, dear, but that's not a good idea," Hilda said. "Your destiny is here. Together with Lupa, you're most of Glory and Diluvia needs you. And in case you're interested, which you should be, my son is a shred of you. With you, he will complete Glory."

  

 "Skythane?"

  

 "Indeed. Remember, I was a contender for Great Mother. It shouldn't be any surprise that I could birth circa ten percent of one of the sisters. I think the three of you will be very happy with each other. And now, Twink, if you would, we must return."

  

  

 * * * * *

  

  

 Ten days later Feldspar and Lupa were deep in the Fringe, walking the forest paths together on their way to find Skythane. There was no hurry, no hurry at all in Feldspar's mind. They weren't making great time, stopping as often as they did to enjoy each other. Lupa was a fierce, uninhibited lover and between that and her sharp intelligence, the ideal companion.

  

 But she herself wasn't that for Lupa. They needed to find Skythane, and soon. No matter how much Lupa denied it, Feldspar could sense boredom settling in. She broached the subject that evening at the fire, after they'd eaten.

  

 "You find me tedious, don't you?"

  

 "Not at all."

  

 "Please, if this is going to work we have to be honest. I know Skythane felt the same way. I developed my illusions to give him variety. I can do the same for you, but I'm afraid my scope is somewhat limited. I can't imagine you'd want to make love to me as Belinda."

  

 "Hardly. Notwithstanding that I would find the sight of her repulsive." Lupa took a deep breath and brushed a strand of her lovely long red hair to her back. "Notwithstanding that, I'm afraid I just happen to prefer men to women. I'm sorry."

  

 "No need to be. It's just the way you are." Feldspar felt tears start to leak and blinked her eyes to hold them back. "I can do an illusion of Skythane, of sorts."

  

 "I remember that from when I was chasing you in the tunnels," Lupa answered. "Look, it's okay for now. I can wait until we meet up with the real thing."

  

 Feldspar felt her heart constrict. When they met up with the real thing, she'd probably be left alone on the edge of the pallet. "I'd like to give it a try anyway," she said. She could hear the suppressed tears in her voice, saw Lupa's eyes soften with care.

  

 "It's okay. You don't need to. Come here, you."

  

 "No! Not out of pity." But she wanted Lupa, so wanted her. "Let me give the other a try."

  

 "Not as Skythane," Lupa shook her head. "I want my first time with him to be my first. But maybe as a male Feldspar? You probably can manage that... your power--our power--has been growing since we got the Adornments. Give it a try, lover, give it a try."

  

 Feldspar closed her eyes and concentrated: on the Adornments, on Lupa, on her burning need. Nothing... but it had to work... in many ways she was Lupa and Lupa was she, with them both being splintered Glory. She reached within herself and still not finding what she needed, reached out to the skies, offered an urgent prayer to any gods who might care to listen.

  

 Damn well time you asked,came an answer in her head. You'd forgotten Ishtar is the god of unbridled sex?

  

 Feldspar felt her body quiver and shift, melt and reform. She heard her tunic tear as her shoulders grew, felt her breeches fill, heard a gasp of wonder from Lupa, felt her manhood freed as hands pulled down the breeches and moist warmth surrounded the new-grown miracle.

  

 Don't let her waste the first time.

  

 Feldspar, eyes now open, took Lupa's shoulders and lifted her gently from her knees. Lupa's frantic hands tore off her own breeches and wild legs wrapped around Feldspar. Savage wolf eyes burned and as Lupa howled Feldspar felt blessed release, an ecstasy previously unknown.

  

 Not bad. It'll get better. And any time you want to change, you know how. But I wouldn't be in any hurry, if I were you. Remember what Skythane liked to do? Imagine you reaming his creamy cherry ass instead.

  

 Feldspar swelled inside Lupa and as her lover's feral eyes widened with delighted amazement, threw her to the ground and tried to hammer her into the planet. Sharp teeth in one shoulder. Glory was indeed reborn.




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