"We're live in ten, nine, eight…" Harper Lawson said. She adjusted her headphones and made sure the microphone was directly in front of her lips. She exchanged one glance with Mike Spitz. He was leaning on the camera, as usual. "Seven… six… Mike!... four…"

Mike sat up straight and glared.

Harper held up a hand where Danny could see it. Danny stopped tugging at his tie. His cornflower blue eyes twinkled, and his golden hair had just the right amount of gel. The seersucker suit was perfect, not corny at all under the harsh lights. He looked like someone you'd trust your teenage daughter with. Even the shine on his face, an accident of makeup, looked just right. Harper winked at him and he grinned back. Then she frowned and he rolled his eyes. Be serious, Danny.

Counting off on her fingers, Harper mouthed three, two, one and pointed at Danny.

Danny leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk. He looked the camera dead in the eye. "Goooood mornin', mamas and daddies, boys and girls! I'm Reverend Dan Cooper, but since we're friends you can call me… what?" He paused dramatically, waggling his eyebrows.

"COTTON DAN!" yelled Harper and Mike and the balcony crew and the floor staff. The noise was enhanced by a recording of shouts and cheers. There was no room for a real studio audience in Studio 9. Not that it mattered. Soon enough they'd be on to better things. Danny would see to that. Danny always saw to that.

"That's right," said Danny. He put a hand to his heart. "Cotton Dan, here to wake you up with the Word of the Lord on another bee-eee-ay-uitiful Sunday mornin'. Now I have some great news for you here this morning, the Lord's day. I have a good word, yes I do! I am happy to tell you that the audience for Sunday with Cotton Dan has tripled, yes, tripled since the first episode of Sunday, which was broadcast just three months ago. Which just goes to show you that when you give with your whole heart and soul—as I do—the good Lord will pay you back threefold. Which happens to be the theme of today's broadcast: generosity."

Harper rested a hand on the camera stand and watched. It was one of her favorite things in the whole world, watching Danny work. When he said generosity, you wanted to find your pocketbook and write him a check for everything you had.

Plenty of people had done so. Before coming to Gulf Coast and setting up Sunday, Danny and Harper had worked Vegas and Miami and even New York City. They'd done everything from passing twenties on Route 66 to running the Lost Passport con in Key West. But Sunday was their crowning achievement. When they'd started, Harper thought Danny would come off as too city, too young, too slick for the Bible Belt crowd. But when he put on that cornball Southern accent and rodeo belt buckle, he could sell anything. He could sell salvation to Louisiana sharecroppers, for real money, easy as key lime pie.

There was something beautiful about it. It was art.

When Danny finished his monologue and began saying the Lord's Prayer, Harper pleased herself by biting her lip and blinking prettily and loosening the top button of her blouse. She knew she drove Danny crazy, and she also knew he couldn't do anything about it while he was on TV. To the audience, "Cotton Dan" was pure of heart, and, at least theoretically, pure of other things as well.

Love you, she mouthed. She gave him two thumbs up. You're doing great.

Danny was looking at her, not the camera, and his voice snagged on "thy kingdom come."

Look at the camera, babe, she mouthed, pointing at it.

Danny blinked once and looked away. Harper curled a piece of hair behind her ear, feeling suddenly exposed; oh, the conversations they'd had, when neither of them was free to speak.

And then something terrible happened.

Danny was into another monologue now. "And now that we have shared this prayer to the Lord, good folks of the God-blessed states of Louisiana and Mississippi, I want you to think about all of the blessin's that you have had in your life…"

He trailed off. His face went slack. His lips worked slightly.

Harper's heart caught in her throat, but she felt frozen in place.

Oh, Danny. Not here. Not now.

"What's the matter?" said Mike. "Did the teleprompter break?"

Danny's jaw set. His eyes rolled back into his head.

"He doesn't use a teleprompter," said Harper. She pressed the button on her headset that connected her to the studio's control room. "Go to commercial."

"But it's not time yet—"

"Damn it! Cut off the camera and go to commercial right now." She threw off the headset and bounded onto the stage. "Danny? Babe?" She slipped her hand into Danny's and held him close. His skin was cold.

The entire floor crew was gawking. "Jesus," she snapped at them, "haven't any of you idiots seen a man having a seizure before? Someone call a doctor." She put a hand to Danny's face and forgot all about the other people in the world. "Danny, it's me."

His eyes refocused. He looked suddenly exhausted. But here. Beautifully here. "Harper?"

"Babe, it happened again. You were on TV. You were doing Sunday."

His face fell. "Oh no."

"It's OK," said Harper. She bent to look in his eyes. "But I want you to see somebody."

He gripped his temples. "I blew it. It's going to ruin everything."

"Hush. Don't worry about that," said Harper. She looked over her shoulder and raised her voice. "Am I speaking Swahili? Somebody call nine—"

Danny pushed her away. "Come on. I don't need an ambulance. I'm fine."

Harper rolled her eyes. "Don't be stupid."

"You don't need to worry about—"

It was around then that a large blue box appeared on the studio floor.

#

It was like a phone booth, except that in Harper's experience, bright blue phone booths didn't appear out of nowhere moments after someone had a seizure.

If that wasn't enough, a young man came charging out of it. He was shouting. "Then I'll go off on my own! I could, you know. I've done it before! I've been on my own longer than you've been alive!" He slammed the door behind him and whirled. He was about thirty, with a homely, appealing face and something of a Roman nose. "All right then!" he said sharply, crossing his arms. "Hello, 'carnivorous forest of Vellinor.' I hope you brought your A game, boys, because my wife is out of town and I am in a woodcutting mood!" He glowered.

After nearly a full minute of silence, Harper swallowed hard and said, "Is that a British accent?"

Mike said, "Woodcutting?"

Danny just stared. He and Harper squeezed each other's hands and held on.

The man from the box deflated slightly. His shoulders sank and his anger drained away. "This isn't Vellinor, is it?"

Harper shook her head. "No," she said. "Um."

"Perfect." The Roman Englishman threw up his hands in exasperation. "Just perfect. As if my week wasn't bad enough." He paused. "Where is it?"

Nobody jumped to answer. Finally Harper said, "Possum Holler, Louisiana."

The visitor blinked. "There's a place called Possum Holler? An actual place?"

Harper cleared her throat. "Yes."

"And I'm in it?"

"Yes."

The Englishman shook his head. He rubbed the back of his neck. "America?"

"Yes."

The Englishman turned around and kicked the door open. "It's not even the right planet!"

He slammed the door shut behind him. There was a grinding, wheezy noise, and the box disappeared.

#

Silence. Mike looked at Harper. Harper looked at Mike. Harper looked down at Danny. Danny looked back.

Danny said, "Harper?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"I changed my mind about going to the hospital."

"Uh-huh."

Just when they had begun to get over the shock, the noise came again, and the box reappeared. This time it was on the stage, inches from where Harper was standing. She took a step back and put a hand on the back of Danny's chair.

The blue door cracked open and the angry Englishman looked out. Then he frowned in disappointment and turned to speak to someone inside. "Nope, it's the same place."

Another voice: "What? Really?"

"I mean, slightly different but mostly the same." He shrugged.

"Well, how do you like that?" said the other voice. "Better go and have a look."

"Right," the Englishman groused. "Of course. Whatever you say."

The Englishman held open the door and stood aside like a butler.

A different man emerged from the box. He was also young, but there was something very weird about him, and it wasn't that he was British, under fifty and wearing a bow tie. Harper liked him and feared him all at once. She realized almost immediately what the problem was: he reminded her of Danny. It wasn't so much the way he looked physically as the overall presentation. Harper had spent the last three years madly in love with a top-notch liar and confidence man.

She knew the type.

"Hello," said the con man. "I'm the Doctor. Don't mind Rory. He's just cross because I won't pick up Amy. Is this the Deep South?"

"Yes," said Harper.

"Lovely. It's been ages since I've 'done Dixie.'"

Rory nearly choked.

The Doctor glanced once around the room, then turned back to Harper, squinting. "Is this a television studio?"

"You're on Sunday with Cotton Dan," said Harper. "This is Cotton Dan."

Danny waved weakly. "Hello."

"I'm Harper, and I'm Danny's…" She trailed off. "Look, what's going on here?"

"Oh, I'm just checking up on some things," said the Doctor, scratching his chin. "Knocking around a bit. Visiting and so on. You shouldn't worry. No need to run for your life or anything similar." He paused, evaluating the dimensions, effect and probability of this statement. "Are you all right? Has there been trouble here lately? Any sort of weird… stuff?"

Everyone was staring at him.

"What?" said the Doctor. "Is there something in my teeth?"