I - PICKING UP THE PIECES
Virginia was thirsty. She opened her eyes into the dim grey light of predawn. Somewhere, beyond the window, far below on the street, a horn blared. The sound was so familiar it frightened her, making her wonder, for just an instant, if the whole time she'd thought she'd spent in the Nine Kingdoms had been some kind of dream from which she was only now waking. With a sudden panic, she turned to look at the man sleeping beside her, relief at finding him literally bringing tears to her eyes. Silently, she let them trickle down her nose and cheek into her ear before wiping them away. She knew she'd become almost a basket case in the last week. The sleeping man was her lifeline. If he hadn't existed . . . If she'd only imagined him . . . A fresh supply of hot tears welled up.
She sat up and dashed them away, careful not to wake the man. He'd been exhausted, she knew. For the past week, she had done little but sleep - in sleep she could lose her memory of what had happened and how. It allowed her invisibility, non-existence, a place to hide from herself. Yet there were times when she'd had to wake, and always he had been there, sitting by her side, watching. It was he who held her during those early days when she cried, and then later when she could do nothing but sit numbly still; he who insisted that she eat and bathe, and he who ultimately suggested that she return to the familiar surroundings of New York.
And he had been right. Coming home had given her some purpose; forced her to take part in life, and even if she was only going through the motions, at least she was moving under her own will. She'd laughed today for the first time in the past week, and been startled by the relief she saw in his face. Until then she hadn't realized what a strain he'd been under from worrying about her, and with that realization understood just how self-absorbing grief was. Her mother was dead. He was not - he was right here beside her and he wasn't going away. It had taken her a long time to learn that, but she had finally managed it. He gave her emotional security - something she'd lacked since her mother had walked out when she was seven, something she'd searched for ever since but didn't believe existed. And while she could technically claim she'd only been able to find it in the land of make-believe, the man who lay beside her was definitely not imaginary. He was very real and very solid. And if he was somewhat magical (at least he seemed magical to her - he would have denied it with his dying breath), then that was what had been necessary to convince her she was truly loved.
She studied his face, longing to touch it, but didn't want to wake him. He didn't look very magical at all lying there on his stomach asleep with the sheet pulled up under his arms. With his mass of almost-black hair and olive skin, he might have been any man in the City. Only he wasn't, of course. All she had to do was lift the sheet and look at what lay beneath it: Beginning in the middle of his back, just below his shoulder blades, was a line of silvery gray fur which ran down his spine, feathered out toward his sides in the small of his back, and culminated in a furry tail that right now reached almost to his knees, and for some inexplicable reason she didn't understand, varied in length according to a monthly cycle. The remainder of him appeared perfectly human. But it hadn't been his wolf-like qualities which had captured her heart. It had been more, she thought, his passion for absolutely everything, expressed not only in the unconditional love he had for her, but in a general attitude of joy of living. Even in sleep she could see that the fine lines around his eyes had all been etched from happiness and laughter. In the mental picture she carried of him he was always smiling at her with those bluish green eyes.
Quietly she got up, being as careful as she could to not jostle the bed. Wolf stirred a bit, but didn't open his eyes. Virginia studied him a moment longer, then walked into the adjoining bathroom. Indoor plumbing had been something she'd longed for during her stay in the Nine Kingdoms, but she'd never imagined anything like this. The ceiling was entirely composed of panes of glass, pitched to a central apex, like the roof of a square greenhouse. Small tropical trees literally grew out of the floor, undercarpeted with asian jasmine and mondo grass. The floor was paved with green slate flagstones, which led around a stand of trees and shrubbery to the bath, nestled into its surroundings like a spring-fed pool. The effect was enhanced by a glass wall which opened out onto a private courtyard on the roof, and by the judicious use of mirrors that made the whole area seem infinitely large.
Virginia regarded herself critically in the mirror closest to the bedroom door. Her chopped-off brown hair stuck straight up on the right side of her head where she'd laid on it. Absently, she tried to mash it down, but it stubbornly resisted her efforts. She sighed. Her hair had never been this short before in her life. Still, she wasn't sure she could stand to let it grow out, after what had happened. The sheer weight of that gypsy-cursed hair was going to haunt her for quite awhile. And, Wolf had done a pretty good job of giving her a haircut - or maybe the magic axe had something to do with it. Not to mention the shorter hair had been rather practical for a month-long trek across the countryside. She noticed as well that she now had somewhat of a tan between her ankles and mid-thigh - not exactly fit for the beach, she thought wryly - and that the scattering of freckles on her face and upper chest had grown darker and more numerous. Thank God she'd had a full bottle of sunblock in her pack, or her fair skin would've burnt to a cinder on the first day. All that exercise had really gotten her into good shape, though - probably better shape than she'd ever been in before in her life. But at that thought, her hand involuntarily pressed her camisole flat against her stomach. Was she really pregnant, she wondered? Wolf claimed she was, but she really wasn't sure if he meant he had some sixth animal sense that told him, or if he simply thought that a baby was the natural outcome of love-making. And even if it was some sixth sense, she didn't see how he could have known a mere two days after the event, although she had to admit, after counting backwards, that the timing was probably about right for it. Her period wasn't due to start until Tuesday. She'd have to wait to know till then at least.
Well, she'd gotten up originally to get herself a drink - and she was still thirsty. She turned on the swan-necked tap over the fluted deep blue porcelain sink and poured some water into the lead crystal goblet she'd left there the night before, then stared at the extravagant glass in her hand. It was typical of everything around her - there was nothing ordinary in the whole place except a few personal belongings from what she regarded as almost a previous life. It was probably the most blatant example of how magic had somehow spilled across the portal into her world, and she had been amazed to find it had been her father's doing . . .
"Ooooohhhhh . . . what is that?"
"Oh, that's a picture of the Earth, taken from space."
"Really? . . . How did they get up so high?"
"They have rockets and ships that take them there. There's a model of one here. C'mon, I'll show you."
"Wait a minute. What are these? Clouds?"
"Yeah, those are clouds. And this is land, here, this is the Arabian peninsula. You can't see where we are, though, it's on the other side."
"Then all this is water? There's so much . . ."
"Uh huh."
"Cripes, its so beautiful. Don't you think so? Like looking at the moon, only more . . ."
"Oh, they've been to the moon, too."
Silence.
"There's a model of the moon lander over there. You want to see it?"
Silence.
"Are you all right?"
"To the moon. Standingon the moon?"
"Yes. It was a long time ago, though - before I was born. They had to wear special suits because there isn't any air. There's a whole exhibit . . . You're not all right. You want to sit down?"
Silence.
"My God, your face is completely white. Here, sit down. You're not getting sick again on me, are you?"
"Virginia . . ."
"Would you like a drink? . . . Or, do you think you could eat something? What am I saying? When can you not eat something?"
"Okay."
The front steps of the museum were drenched in the hot light of the noonday sun, though it had risen far enough in the sky to allow a reasonable amount of cooler shade under the portico.
"Are you sure you don't want to sit down again?" Virginia asked, stopping just outside the door.
"No," replied Wolf, taking a deep breath, "I'm fine now. Really. See?"
She studied his face, noting that the color had returned to his cheeks, and more importantly, that there seemed to be no sign of the terrible fever he'd run almost three weeks ago in Little Lamb Village. Inside the museum, there had been a distant look in his eyes which had reminded her too much of that.
"You said we were going to eat?" he reminded her, smiling, his eyes lively with the old merriment, clear and green. No, she thought, there was no remoteness in them now. Maybe she had imagined it. Maybe it had just been the light.
"I thought we could go to the restaurant where I used to work," she suggested. "They do still owe me some money for the last few days I was there. It's a little walk, though."
"It's not that far. And they have good food."
"You've eaten there?" She was stunned.
He grinned apologetically. "It was when I was first looking for the dog Wendell. I hadn't met you yet."
"You . . . you paid for the food, didn't you?"
"Of course I paid for the food."
"Oh, okay. Sorry." She took his hand. He squeezed her hand in return and began caressing it with his thumb, but as they walked along his attention drifted away to the cloudless blue sky overhead as if he were searching for something unseen there. With growing unease, she realized the problems they'd face if he were to become really ill here: She couldn't possibly call for help without creating an uproar the moment a doctor examined him. And even if she were willing to risk that - which she otherwise certainly would be if his life were in danger - she couldn't be completely sure that any treatment he might receive wouldn't do him more harm than good. He might be used to managing on his own, no matter what (as he had insisted upon in Little Lamb Village), but she knew she'd never forgive herself if she let anything happen to him. Suppose he collapsed on her between here and the Grill? He'd looked near to fainting in the museum. It was her fault he was here at all. The only good thing about it was that at least they'd pass the portal on their way.
Once across Central Park West and beneath the canopy of trees, he looked down and her and smiled, and she breathed a little easier. Still, she knew she'd have to stop putting off what she had to get done: She had to go back to her apartment and see what Mr. Murray had done with her (and her father's) things. She was sure they'd been impounded by now, but she needed to know where and how much it would take to claim them - for some reason she thought she should know all that before finding them a place to stay for the night, though now she couldn't recall quite why. It was just that she had been dreading the confrontation with Mr. Murray. Her dread seemed trivial now, though, in comparison to the scare Wolf had just given her. She resolved to go find out about it right after lunch, then laughed at her own duplicity. The museum had been just across the street from Murray's building. They were now halfway across the Park, walking away from it. Oh, well, she had already promised Wolf some food . . .
"Oooh, I can smell it!" he exclaimed, right on cue. "Steak and chicken and mmmm . . . lamb again!"
She smiled and, realizing she'd practically been holding her breath, let it out, relieved to hear him sounding so normal.
"Is that what you had when you were here before? The lamb?"
"Oh, yes!! And it was soooo succulent! Prepared to absolute perfection! - once I'd gotten across how I wanted it prepared, that is. Of course, the fact that it was my first meal out of prison probably helped a lot, too."
His first after prison meal? The mental image that conjured up did nothing to ease her trepidation about showing up after all this time to ask for her paycheck. Oh, well . . .
"How long were you in prison, exactly?" she asked. She'd stopped caring why after she'd seen what had happened in Little Lamb Village. And after she'd realized she could trust him with her heart. Whatever he'd done - if it was anything - couldn't have been much, she thought.
"About nine years, I think. Give or take a year or two."
"Nine years?!!!" She stopped and looked up into his face, outraged.
"I think that's how long it was," he said matter-of-factly. "It's kind of hard to keep track of time there."
"But nine years?! That's a huge chunk of your life! How could they? It isn't fair . . ."
"But Virginia," he said softly, caressing her face with his hand, "If I hadn't been in prison in the first place, I'd never have met you."
There was nothing she could say in reply to that - even though she remembered very well the bitter way he'd described being imprisoned when she'd first met him. Tears stung her eyes at how he could decide that the ends justified the means when the means had been so cruelly forced upon him. He brushed his fingers through her hair, then took her hand again as they resumed their walk.
As they waited to be seated, Virginia quickly scanned the visible employees. She didn't think any of them had been on duty that last night she'd spent in New York - the night she'd found Wendell - but she wasn't sure. It seemed like such a long time ago now. Wolf had already found a menu and was as engrossed in it as if it had been a best-selling thriller. Finally, Amy approached them, her expression changing to surprise when she recognized Virginia.
"Oh, my God!" she squealed. "Where have you been?! Oh, look at your hair! It looks good!" At that last remark, she'd stolen a glance at Wolf, who had barely glanced up from the menu. She bit her lip and gave Virginia a 'significant' look. "You want a table?" she asked.
"Yes, please," replied Wolf. "As quickly as possible."
She raised her eyebrows and led them to a table against the outside half-wall.
"Is Sal here?" Virginia asked her after they were seated.
"Yeah," said Amy, "But I'll warn you he's not happy with you after the way you left."
"I really didn't expect him to be."
"Candy will be glad to know you're okay, though. She was really afraid something had happened to you."
Wolf closed his menu and looked up expectantly.
"Um, why don't we go ahead and order and then I can go and talk to Sal while we're waiting," said Virginia.
They did, with Virginia including an appetizer of buffalo wings for Wolf to munch on while she was gone. Then she steeled herself for the confrontation with Sal.
"I'll be back in a minute," she told Wolf.
"You want me to come with you?" he asked.
"No. Thanks. It's okay. It shouldn't take very long."
"Well, well," began Sal, when she'd opened the door to his office. He eyed her up and down. "I knew you'd come crawling back here eventually . . ."
"I came to pick up my last paycheck," she said briskly.
He scowled. "You realize your position has already been filled."
Sal had used to intimidate her, but now she was surprised to find that he had no power over her whatsoever.
"Yes, I assumed that it would be," she agreed. "I only came for my paycheck."
He yanked open a drawer, withdrew an envelope and threw it forcefully down on the desk in front of her.
"Here you go," he said.
"Thanks," she said as she picked it up, tore it open and verified the amount. Truthfully, she couldn't even remember exactly how many hours she'd worked, but wasn't about to let Sal know it.
As she turned to leave, he spat, "Oh, and don't bother using me as a reference when you want another job somewhere."
She closed the door behind her and sighed. One confrontation down, one to go. She looked up just as Candy came in through the back door.
"Virginia!" cried the blonde, running over and throwing her arms around her. "Oh, I was so worried about you - oh, gee, you got your hair cut, it's cute! - where were you?!"
"Oh . . . I, um . . . had to go to my mother's funeral," she said, hoping that would explain her absence well enough.
"Oh, I'm so sorry."
"Oh, my God," said Amy, behind her. "Did you tell that to Sal? He might . . ."
"No," said Virginia, cutting her off. "Look, thanks, but I really don't want to talk about it, okay?"
"Oh. Okay," Amy replied. Then, after a moment of awkward silence, she added, "So , who is he?"
"What?" asked Candy, confused.
"She came in with this drop dead gorgeous guy," explained Amy. "So, who is he?" she repeated.
Virginia smiled in spite of herself.
"Oh, he's my fiancé," she said.
They both stared at her for a moment, speechless.
"No kidding," Candy said finally.
"That was fast," put in Amy with a grin. She reached for Virginia's left hand. "Is this it?" she asked, indicating the ring.
Slowly, the ring's face rose to the surface of the pearl as it woke up. It smiled.
Virginia froze, then slowly let her breath out, reminding herself that no one besides her and Wolf could see that, or hear the ring sing. The two girls were bending over it in awe, regardless.
"Yeah," she said.
"A pearl, huh?" asked Candy. "Is it real or cultured?"
"Real," replied Virginia immediately. She was afraid she knew where this was going, and surprised herself by getting annoyed at it. Though she loved Wolf desperately, the idea of marriage terrified her, and the ring had seemed to symbolize the feelings she had of being trapped into it: The first time he'd tried to give it to her, she'd refused and nearly lost him forever. The second time, it had appeared almost by magic (well, it was a magic ring), and he had then insisted that she had to accept it because she was pregnant. His reasoning had irked her, but she had no intention of making the same mistake twice and losing him again, so she'd accepted it, hoping fervently that he was wrong about her condition. If she did get married, she wanted to be sure it was because she wanted to, not because outside circumstances forced her into it. The ring itself she didn't really like at all, and only wore to please him, so what she knew Candy was going to say shouldn't have bothered her. But it did.
"It sure is an odd color - but it's nice and all that!" the girl said, examining it closely, "But I'd want a diamond if it was me."
The ring itself hadn't stopped smiling, but still managed to convey what it must have felt to Virginia by its expression. Then, it raised it's sweet voice and sang,
"Oh my what a sight!
That girl is such a dreadful fright.
Not as pretty as a rose -
She's got a booger in her nose."
Virginia gasped. She couldn't help it. It took every ounce of will she had to force herself to cough instead of laugh.
"Are you okay?" asked Amy. Candy looked up at the same time, and Virginia couldn't help but notice that the ring was right. She coughed harder and then it got easier because she really did start to cough.
"Sorry," she finally explained, gasping, "Allergies."
Amy nodded sympathetically, then turned to Candy.
"Well?" she asked expectantly. "Remember what you said you'd do if Virginia came back?"
Virginia only half paid attention to what they were saying. Her mind was too busy wondering both what had gotten into her ring.
" . . . I know I should never have given your address to that guy, but I just couldn't help it," Candy was saying. "This sounds so stupid, but he was just soincredibly sexy, I think I would have done anything he asked! I felt terrible when you didn't come in afterwards - I was sure something awful had happened to you! I never had a guy have that much of an effect on me . . ." Her words suddenly cut off and her mouth formed into an 'o', her face gone white, as she stared past Virginia's left shoulder.
For a brief moment Virginia wondered if Candy were going to faint. Then it hit her who Candy's incredibly sexy guy was. She didn't even need Amy's "Oh, there he is," to confirm that Wolf had walked up behind her. Still, her eyes remained transfixed on Candy, who had by now flushed bright red and started to hyperventilate. The booger wiggled up and down. It was the last straw. Virginia's control gone, she doubled over in a fit of laughter, barely able to breathe. Tears came to her eyes and ran freely down her face. She was aware of Wolf holding onto her, and could feel the concern radiating from him. She knew she probably looked as if she were in pain.
Oh, no, he probably thinks I'm having a miscarriage! she thought. She tried to pat him on the arm in reassurance, finally managing to gasp, "I'm laughing!"
He backed away a couple of inches and cupped his hands to her face, tilting it up to search her eyes, as he'd done when he'd rescued her from the swamp that day. The relief in his face at what he found was almost as great. At first she thought he had simply been glad she was okay. But it lasted - that same look of happy relief - all through their meal, whenever his eyes rested on her, growing more relaxed as time passed, until she realized that something else had eased his mind: he had seen her laugh for the first time since her mother had died. And when she'd told him what the ring had said, he'd even confirmed it - after nearly choking on his food, of course.
"Well, you probably needed a good, hard laugh," he'd told her, after he'd finally managed to swallow. "I guess the ring knew that. Don't you feel a little better?"
She'd had to admit that she did - as if there had been a thick rope tied around her ribcage that had finally snapped. Only she still felt a little bad about Candy: When she'd finally caught her breath, she'd noticed that Amy had been laughing almost as hard, since it hadn't taken her long to figure out that Candy must have been talking about Wolf, either. But Candy herself was nowhere to be found, and Virginia had known that she must have run away, mortified. She resolved to return later to patch things up.
They walked out from the cover of the trees and the apartment building loomed before them, a squat, multi-tiered tower of dull pale beige across the street. It looked no different than it ever had, Virginia thought, only wasn't her home any more. She took a deep breath and let it out.
"I'm not looking forward to this," she said, and looked up at her companion.
Wolf squeezed her hand, but didn't look back at her. Instead, he seemed to be surveying their destination with avid curiosity and what she thought might even be . . . cautious expectation?
"Oh, it might not be so bad," he said, though the tone of his voice indicated that it could be very bad indeed. Uncertain what to make of his reaction, she shrugged, puzzled, and started across the street.
They made it to the elevator without incident. The doors closed and the car lurched on its way, lights flickering. Wolf wrinkled his nose. "Still smells a little like Troll," he commented, making her wonder how he could possibly smell that over the stench of burnt plastic and overheated wiring. The thing still did not operate properly. Murray couldn't blame this on her father - or could he, she wondered, by blaming it on his absence? In any case, she had already resolved to try her own door first before knocking on Murray's.
The elevator ground to a halt with a screeching whine and the doors opened. The first thing Virginia noticed was that they'd stopped a good six inches short of the floor. The second thing she noticed was Murray standing in front of the door to her apartment. Her mouth went dry and she felt the blood drain from her face, but she forced herself to take a step forward. This was what she'd come for, after all. She might as well get it over with.
She'd taken about three steps out of the elevator before he finally recognized her.
"Miss Lewis!" he cried happily, beaming. "You're back!" After this greeting, his attention immediately shifted to any and all points beyond her. "Is your father coming along shortly, then?" he inquired eagerly.
"No," she began, bewildered by his reaction. He'd always sneered at her before while gleefully snatching at every opportunity to reprimand her dad. She shot a glance at Wolf, who was watching the scene with bemused interest. Until he noticed her staring at him, that is. Then he merely looked guilty. It was obvious that he knew something about this and he was going to have quite a bit of explaining to do, she thought, but it would have to wait, because Murray had obviously paid no attention to what she had said. He was still searching the space behind her as if he expected her father to appear in a puff of smoke any second.
"Mr. Murray!" she cried, planting herself firmly in front of him and looking him squarely in the eye (which was no easy task, considering his eyes refused to rest). "My father is NOT coming back today!" she shouted, "Do you understand? He's NOT coming back!"
It took a couple of moments, but finally her words managed to register. At least his eyes finally focused on her, she thought.
"Oh," he said, crestfallen. "We had so hoped . . . Have you any idea when he might be arriving?" He was near to whining.
Virginia was becoming exasperated. "No," she began, but Wolf suddenly cut her off.
"Mrs. Lewis has just passed away," he said, in the somber tones of a funeral director. "Mr. Lewis has been obligated to remain in order to tidy up her affairs."
For just a moment, Virginia saw the old Murray as he eyed Wolf, whom he apparently considered a cretin intruding into their conversation. She quickly stepped in.
"Oh, Mr. Murray, I'd like you to meet my fiancé, Mr. Wolf," she said. Murray looked blankly at her for a moment, then his entire attitude abruptly changed, as if a switch had been thrown. He smiled at Wolf and shook his hand, but maddeningly to Virginia, went on talking about her father.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't realize that there was a Mrs. Lewis. At least not any more. Uh, that is . . ." he floundered for the words, apparently realizing he'd committed some sort of social blunder. Wolf stepped up, put his arm around Murray's shoulders and led him a few steps away from Virginia.
"Mrs. Lewis had been institutionalized," he explained, his voice still sepulchral. His back was turned and he was speaking very quietly, but Virginia could still understand what he was saying. She wondered idly if he thought she couldn't.
"Talking about it upsets my fiancé dreadfully, so it's probably best if we don't discuss it," he continued. "I'm sure that's what Mr. Lewis would want. Especially considering she's his only child."
She saw Murray nod emphatically in understanding. Then he turned and took her hand.
"My dear," he purred, "If there's anything I can do . . ."
Virginia saw her chance and leaped at it.
"Actually, I came to find out about the apartment . . ." she began hopefully.
"Oh, dear me!" he exclaimed, interrupting her. "I had completely forgotten the reason I was standing post here in the first place!"
"Standing post?"
"Yes, yes! You see, the building was without a janitor and some of the tenants were beginning to complain! And, well, of course, this apartment is part of the compensation for that job. So, naturally, when we hired the new man, he needed to be able to live here, and, well . . ."
"That's all right," she found herself saying, "I really rather expected that. So if you could just tell me where . . ."
"But the place was entirely unsuitable for your father anyway," he went on as if she hadn't spoken. "And while I tried my best to find appropriate lodgings for him here, I'm afraid it simply wouldn't have worked out. You see, far too many of these tenants are insufferable snobs who think of your father as nothing but a former servant." He spat the word out as if it tasted bad. "So I'm afraid I had no choice but to relocate him elsewhere. We've provided a penthouse for him on Fifth Avenue."
Virginia's jaw dropped. "A penthouse on Fifth Avenue?" she repeated dully.
"Yes. So terribly far away, but there was no help for it," he sighed.
Virginia crossed the street once more, numbly, clutching the paper on which Murray had hastily scribbled the address. She could tell by the number that it also faced Central Park. They were expected - Murray had called ahead on his cell phone to whoever it was that was standing post in the penthouse. It had taken only a minimum of coaxing by Wolf to get Murray to offer it to her.
"Since I'm not from this city," he'd explained, "Virginia has no place to stay. I'm sure her father would want her to have every possible luxury . . ." It wasn't an argument that Murray, in his present state, could withstand. Still, he'd insisted that he couldn't take them there himself - he'd need to be on hand in case Mr. Lewis returned unexpectedly. So he'd given her the address and made the call.
Once beneath the cooler shade of the trees, however, her mind cleared enough for her to remember that Wolf had obviously known something about the incident beforehand. She pulled on his hand and led him to a nearby bench.
"Are you tired, Virginia?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned for her welfare. His big green eyes looked at her as they usually did - as if she were the only other person on the planet. She had wanted to sound severe. It wasn't going to be possible.
"No, Wolf," she sighed. "I just . . ."
He tilted his head, waiting quietly for her to go on speaking.
"I just got the impression that you knew something about what that was all about back there," she said, thinking, oh, yeah, that was so clear of me. "With Mr. Murray," she continued, giving the paper in her hand a feeble shake. "This."
She'd half expected him to claim he had no idea what she was talking about - most guys would, she knew. But Wolf was not most guys. He looked guiltily away.
"Well?" she asked, trying to sound crisp and in control. The word came out soft and gentle instead. She couldn't help it. His reaction made her want to hug the answers out of him. "What's going on?" she prompted.
"I don't know, exactly," he replied uncomfortably.
"Wolf," she growled. If he was going to start doing that, she could certainly become serious, and quickly.
"I don't!" he insisted. "Really! The exact things that happened were entirely up to Tony."
"Dad?"
He nodded and scratched his temple nervously.
"All right," she said carefully. "Just tell me what you had to do with it."
"I . . . I gave him a dragon dung bean."
"A what?"
"A dragon dung bean. It's a magic bean. You get six wishes."
"Six wishes?"
He nodded again.
"Just from owning this bean?"
"Oh, no. You have to swallow it."
"And Dad swallowed it?" she asked incredulously.
"I presume so," he said, scratching at his temple again. "I'd always thought that was why he could understand Prince Wendell - he'd used one of the wishes for that."
An image popped into her head of her father, just before they passed through the portal into the Nine Kingdoms, saying "Watch this!" and then wishing he could understand everything the dog said. She'd thought he was nuts at the time. But they'd been separated almost immediately, and by the time she'd found him again, she'd grown so accustomed to the strange happenings there that it never occurred to her to question his ability.
"Am I right?" he asked.
She nodded absently, considering, then said, "Where did you get it?"
"Um . . . I found it in my pocket."
"What?" She looked at him skeptically.
"No, really, I did," he insisted. "The mirror was in the basement of the prison. When I stepped through it that was in my pocket."
"It really grants six wishes?"
"Oh, yeah," he said. "I guess he must have used one on that Murray guy somehow. He was acting very strangely."
"You can say that again," she agreed. "Six wishes?" The idea was intriguing.
"Yes . . . Oh, no, Virginia, no, its not a good thing."
"But you gave one to Dad."
He looked instantly guilty again, like a little boy caught with his hand in a cookie jar, she thought.
"Um . . . oh . . . but that was before I met you," he declared, as if that explained everything.
"And what exactly were you like before you met me?" she asked, primarily to keep him talking, expecting him to smile that sheepish grin he had.
His reaction surprised her - he looked abruptly away as if the answer pained him.
"What?" she asked softly. Had he really been in the prison for something serious after all, she wondered?
"Virginia . . ." His tone was pleading.
"No," she said, "Tell me." If there was something bad in his past she wanted to know it now.
"I . . . um . . ." he started, then bit his lip. He took a deep breath and glanced at her remorsefully, then away. "I didn't used to care what I did to people - non-wolfs - what happened to them," he said quietly. "I don't mean I went around killing anybody or anything - I just didn't care how mean I was to them in general or what kind of tricks I played on them because I knew they didn't care about me." He slowly took another deep breath, glancing at her as if he half expected to be hit.
She thought for a moment. "Like you did to my grandmother?" she finally asked.
He closed his eyes and nodded, exhaling in a quiet, self-mocking chuckle.
"So is that what you were really in prison for?" she asked.
He looked up.
"No," he said. "I was in prison for eating almost a whole herd of sheep."
She couldn't stop herself from laughing a little as she wondered for a fleeting moment if he'd actually been guilty, then quickly concluded it was certainly possible - after all, he had eaten an entire henhouse full of chickens. And she couldn't deny that he'd been terrorizing her grandmother when they'd met - and been apparently going to attack Virginia herself with a meat cleaver. But since then she'd seen him play a very dangerous game to both break the curse on King Wendell and save two hundred people from being poisoned to death. Not to mention the several times he'd actually saved herlife.
He was still regarding her hesitantly, a look of complete misery on his face. She really couldn't stand it - she reached over and hugged him, hard. Beneath her hands she felt the tension go out of him as he drew her closer; heard it also in the ragged sigh he let escape. She couldn't believe how much she loved him. She'd thought once that she could never possibly trust anyone with her whole heart, and now here she was with Wolf, whom she'd known for not quite six weeks. But strangely, the length of time didn't matter at all - while she knew she'd had an existence before they'd met, she could no longer even imagine herself having ever been without him. It didn't matter in the least what he might have done in that same unfathomable past. She loved him now. But she did have to admit it would be difficult for her grandmother to see it that way. Fortunately that was something she didn't have to worry about just yet. She did still have to find out what was wrong with the Murrays, though.
She looked up at Wolf, smiled, brushed the hair out of his eyes, and sighed. "Okay, so Dad must have made six wishes," she began. "And one of them involved the Murrays. Why exactly aren't the wishes a good thing?"
He held her close for a moment more before answering, though he didn't let her go even then.
"Because dragon magic is so unpredictable," he explained softly. "Most of the time the wishes backfire - they only work the way you'd want them to in a very few instances."
"Like Dad wishing he could talk to Wendell?"
"Yeah, that was one of the few times."
"And whatever he did to the Murrays seems to be working . . ."
"Well, it's hard to say. We don't know exactly what he wished for. What terms and conditions he may have set up."
"Terms and conditions? You make it sound like a contract."
"Oh, it is."
The words sent a chill down her spine. What, exactly, had her father gotten into? She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know - no, she knew she didn't want to know - but sticking her head in the sand wouldn't make whatever he had done go away. She took a deep breath.
"What kind of a contract?" she asked. The words stuck in her throat but she managed to get them out. "Does Dad owe anybody or anything something for those wishes now?"
"Oh, no," said Wolf, understanding her immediately. "Nothing like that. I only meant the wishes are granted to the exact letter of the wish as stated. Never to the spirit of the wish. Well, hardly ever, at least. And there's absolutely no way to tell beforehand whether or not you'll be pleased with the results. In fact, it's almost like they have their own agenda."
She thought for a moment.
"Well," she hypothesized, "Maybe if you were very, very careful about how you stated the wish? So there wasn't any room for doubt about what you wanted?"
"People have tried that. It doesn't do any good."
"But . . ."
"Virginia . . ." Where he held her, she felt the pressure from his arms increase and his hands tighten. "You don't want to swallow one. Even if it worked right, dragon magic is very powerful. Too powerful, really, for people to handle - it's a terrible strain on their systems."
She gave him what she called 'the look,' figuring he was simply being protective because she was pregnant. Not that, in this kind of instance, he shouldn't be if it turned out that she really was . . .
He reacted to her stare by looking her straight in the eyes and saying, "It makes you throw up for a minimum of three hours right after you swallow it."
Oh, she thought. Nevermind.
Out loud, she said, "Did you tell Dad this?"
More guilt. Apparently not. Time to change the subject, she thought. Sort of.
"You keep saying dragon magic. What does it have to do with dragons?"
He relaxed a bit.
"It's a dragon dung bean," he told her. "There's a particular kind of plant that dragons like to eat, only they can't digest the seeds."
He can't mean what I think he means, she thought.
"I don't know how it works or anything," he went on, "But somehow, on the way through the dragon's system, the seeds pick up some of the magic from . . ."
"Never mind," she said. "I don't want to know."
Although she already did.
Mrs. Murray was waiting for them at the entrance to the building. She was a tall, attractive blonde at least fifteen years younger than her husband. Virginia had always wondered if their marriage had been a 'society alliance,' and if that was that kind of thing her mother had rebelled against when she'd run off and eloped with her father.
Well, I'll never know now, she thought, wishing she hadn't recalled that comparison as she fought a sudden rush of tears.
"Miss Lewis!" Mrs. Murray exclaimed, rushing up to them. "How delightful to see you again!"
The bizarre concept of Mrs. Murray being delighted to see her immediately drove all thoughts of her mother out of Virginia's head. She was too accustomed to being looked down upon from the woman's lofty heights, both literally and figuratively.
"Hello, Mrs. Murray," she said tentatively.
"Oh, you must call me Linda," said the woman. "It just wouldn't do for you to refer to me in such a formal manner. And is this your fiancé, Mr. Wolfe?"
"Yes, he is."
Wolf smiled and held out his hand. Linda looked somewhat scandalized, but accepted his hand and shook it, with a single, subservient nod of her head.
"It's so terribly disappointing that Mr. Lewis couldn't have joined you as well," she said, returning her attention to Virginia, "But Bob explained the circumstances. You have our deepest sympathy." She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her eyes searching the space behind them, then asked hopefully, "He hasn't managed to join you since you spoke with Bob, by any chance, has he?"
"No, sorry, he hasn't," Virginia told her, then found she had to get right in the woman's face and tell her again, as she had with Murray. What in the world had her father actually wished for?
But Linda was quite helpful after that - introducing them to the doorman, providing them both with keys, and explaining the operation of the elevator. Her ingenious introduction to the building, uttered in a lobby containing several apparently quite rich tenants, of "This place is so much better cared for than ourbuilding!" nearly made her choke.
Once inside the penthouse, however, Virginia was somewhat disconcerted to find six more people waiting for them. Where are they coming from? she wondered. Linda introduced them quickly: Justine, Larry, Edna, Joe, Mary, and Roger. Oh, yeah, Virginia thought, she'd remember that. One of them (was it Justine?) again asked if she was sure her father hadn't been able to join her yet. But even though she answered no, although they all seemed terribly disappointed, they treated her and Wolf with excruciating politeness.
"We took the liberty of having the apartment decorated for Mr. Lewis," explained Linda, "So he'd have an appropriately elegant place to come home to. It's Sidney Vale!" - she gestured expansively, making Virginia wonder for a moment if someone else was going to appear - "He's the absolute rage these days, but if Mr. Lewis is not happy with the result, of course everything can be redone immediately."
Virginia noted that Sidney Vale was extremely partial to potted plants and the color white.
"Um, did you get rid of all our other stuff?" she asked.
"Oh, heavens, no," was the reply. "It wouldn't be our place to do that. All that junk is in the storage room in the basement."
Virginia nodded.
"But - and I hope you don't mind us taking the liberty - we did transfer all the personal belongings into the new pieces," Linda went on. "And you'll find the clothes in the closets. We understand that it's simply not possible to purchase a gentleman's wardrobe without a proper fitting."
She continued on introducing them to the penthouse, taking them on a detailed tour of every room, replete with testimonials from the staff about how they took so much pride in keeping everything spotless and in perfect operating condition. Eventually they got to the kitchen.
"Ohhhh . . ." squealed Wolf softly, unable to completely contain himself at the sight. "Huff, puff!"
Virginia squeezed his hand and elbowed him in the ribs. He looked at her with a pained expression.
The room was outfitted in stainless steel for professional food service, complete with restaurant-sized appliances, including a walk-in refrigerator. Two of the staff, a man and a woman - Virginia could no longer even recall what names Linda had reeled off, much less who these two in particular were - had donned aprons and were waiting there expectantly.
"We've stocked all the ingredients for the most popular dishes," said the man
"What would you like us to prepare for you?" asked the woman.
"Rack of lamb, delicately seasoned with fresh rosemary and garlic, and then flashed in a very hot fire for exactly seven seconds," ordered Wolf before Virginia could stop him.
"Wolf!!!!" she exclaimed.
"Make sure the time is precisely accurate," he added.
"You just ate!"
He looked at her, surprised.
"But Virginia, that was nearly two hours ago," he told her.
It was too late to stop them, anyway, she realized. At his first words, they'd bounded into action. At least he likes his meat rare, so it won't take very long to cook, she thought.
They spent the remainder of the time before the meal being shown the Master's bedroom, briefly, and then Virginia's. The youngest of the female staff smiled and curtseyed to her.
"I'm going to be your personal maid," she announced.
"Um . . . that's very sweet of you but I really don't need a personal maid," said Virginia. She'd had one forced on her at Wendell's palace. Fortunately, the girl, Emma, had understood, but they'd still had to spend some time arranging it so that she wouldn't get in trouble for neglecting her duties. Here she had no intention of going along with such a thing at all, as she was certain this one would be less accommodating.
"Oh, the daughter of Mr. Lewis should not be without one," the girl insisted, confirming her worst fears.
"I don't want one," repeated Virginia more firmly.
"That is very irresponsible!" scolded the girl. "It doesn't matter what you do or don't want. It's what's best for Mr. Lewis that matters!" Her voice softened a bit as she continued, "We do have someone to act as valet for your fiancé. ------ Roger!!!!" she called.
"NO!" cried Wolf. "No, I don't want a valet, either!"
A young man appeared.
"At your service, sir," he said.
"Oh, um . . . thank you, but . . . I don't really need a valet!" said Wolf, glancing helplessly at Virginia. "I didn't even bring a change of clothes!"
Roger appeared slightly shocked by the statement, but quickly recovered.
"That's all right, sir," he said, "I'd be honored to call the tailor for you. I'm certain he could be here just after your meal to take your measurements."
Wolf looked absolutely aghast, his mouth open, his eyes huge and round. Virginia bit her lip, imagining what the tailor would make of his tail: A little extra room here, a little tuck over there . . . In a way he sort of deserved it, she thought - he'd been the one to provide her father with the magic bean (she refused to even think about what it could be called otherwise), so it seemed only right that he should have to suffer some of the consequences. The whole scene would have been laughable except that she was in virtually the same predicament. And it would do neither of them good in the long run for Wolf to be discovered for what he was. She could just envision the headlines of the Enquirer or the Star: Wolf-Man Discovered in New York, Has Furry Tail! No, she thought, she had to put a stop to this, fast.
"Excuse me!" she said loudly, to get their attention. "Did my father specifically state that my fiancé or I were to have personal servants?"
Abruptly, the girl paused in a glassy-eyed stare, though only for a moment. Finally she said, "No, but . . ."
"No buts!" Virginia insisted. "If my father insists on us having personal servants when he returns, then we will be sure to ask for the two of you. But until then, we do not want servants! Is that clear?"
"Well . . ."
"Dismissed!" she ordered, thinking God, I hope this works.
Fortunately, it did. But the same tactics did not work so well when it came time for Virginia to shoo them all out of the apartment.
"Oh, but we have to keep everything spotless for when Mr. Lewis returns!" Linda informed them.
Virginia had rather expected something like this, the way they'd all hovered over her and Wolf while he'd eaten the lamb he'd asked for. Every time one of them would pick up a glass, someone would wipe away the moisture it left on the table, and every time Wolf put down his knife, someone would take it away and give him a clean one. She'd half expected them to start washing his plate before he'd finished eating. As it was, they ran the vacuum under the table the moment the dishes had been cleared, even though neither of them had dropped anything, bumping aside their feet in their enthusiasm.
Finally, though, she managed to convince them that her father wouldn't be returning for at least a week, so they could come back then and clean up any mess she and Wolf might make. She'd rather have had them come back when she called them, but it was hard enough getting Linda to agree to the week.
Virginia closed the door behind them, sighed heavily and leaned her head against it. It was only late afternoon and already she felt exhausted. She bit her lip and fastened the locks quickly, although she figured it would do little good against the Murrays, then turned around. Wolf was standing just behind her, closer than she'd thought. He was smiling at her with that private, slightly shy smile she'd first seen in the swamp. As he touched her face, she decided that she wasn't really all that tired after all.
Wolf smelled bacon. It hadn't started to cook yet, but the smoky odor was unmistakable. He'd been lying awake in bed with his eyes closed ever since Virginia had gotten up to go to the bathroom. He'd mentally followed her, tracking her progress by the sounds she was making, but he hadn't noticed when she'd gone into the kitchen. Had he dozed off without realizing it? He smiled as he remembered how careful she'd been to make as little noise as possible so as not to wake him. And now she was making him a surprise breakfast! His mouth watered in anticipation. He'd had another activity in mind, but it could wait until they'd eaten.
She was walking back over to the bed now. Odd how it sounded like she'd just come out of the bathroom, he thought, but the door to that was pretty close to the door to the bedroom they were in, so maybe he just couldn't tell the difference - he'd only been here one day, after all. Quietly, softly - oh, yes, so softly - she climbed back onto the bed. Any moment she would wake him and he would see her smiling . . .
But she only laid back down. Puzzled at this unexpected turn of events, he opened his eyes. She was lying on her side, facing him, apparently watching him sleep. Part of him - well, most of him - was both flattered and exhilarated. He'd watched her sleep countless times, most of them on their journey when he hadn't been sure if she was even capable of returning his love, until he'd memorized every freckle on her beautiful face. The last ten days - since she'd told him she loved him - had been an absolute joy, marred only by her sorrow and grief over the circumstances surrounding her mother's death. But that would pass, he knew. Their love would last forever:Yes, happily ever after, that's for us! he thought with amazed delight. A small part of him, however, thought it odd that Virginia didn't seem to be aware of the food smells coming from the kitchen.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she said softly, her voice almost a whisper, "I didn't mean to wake you."
No, she really didn't seem to know about the food at all. He sat up. She looked up at him curiously, and sat up herself. He drew her to him involuntarily - it was a gesture he could only have stopped with an extreme act of will - and put one finger to his lips, listening. Startled, her intensely blue eyes grew wide, and she turned her head to look toward the kitchen, but made no sound. Yes, he thought, he could detect some vague, almost indistinguishable clatter from that direction. Virginia turned back to him and shook her head to indicate that she hadn't heard anything, but he put his finger back to his lips and nodded toward the door with what he hoped was a meaningful look. She nodded back to him - if he'd heard something, that was apparently good enough for her. Silently, he retrieved his trousers from the floor and began to put them on. There was a man's robe handy - obviously intended for Tony, and therefore long enough to cover his tail at any time of the month - which would've been quicker to get into, but he wasn't quite sure exactly who or what he was going to meet. He could move a lot faster in the trousers.
He crept quietly towards the door while pulling on his undershirt, Virginia just behind him. Soundlessly, he turned the handle and peered out, but saw nothing besides the bare hallway and ludicrous all-white furnishings of the main living area just visible through an arched opening ahead and to his left. Part of his mind drifted off onto a tangent, thinking they'd have to find someplace else to live before the baby came - he couldn't imagine children growing up in this spotlessly white environment where no dirt was ever permitted, with someone constantly cleaning up at their heels. This errant thought, however, did not in the least interfere with his concentration as he headed cautiously down the hall to the kitchen door. He waited there silently until Virginia was just behind him, then threw the door open with such force that it banged against the inside wall and bounced back so hard he knocked it aside again on his way in.
Justine, one of the cooks who'd helped fix the rack of lamb for him yesterday, nearly dropped the carton of eggs she was holding as he sprang into the room, teeth bared, a growl growing in his throat. Virginia pushed past him, her hand on his arm.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"F. . . fix . . . fixing breakfast," stammered Justine in a small, scared voice. Her eyes stared at him in alarm, like a frightened doe's. No!! No, not a good comparison! he thought. Not at all! Stop thinking that! He needed to calm down. Now. Desperately he concentrated on how soft and cool Virginia's hand felt on his skin as he wondered exactly why he had reacted the way he had. There was no reason for it at all. Calm down! Slowly he got his breathing under control, taking her hand in his and squeezing it. It had very obviously been only a member of the Murray family that had let themselves in to prepare breakfast. All the evidence had pointed to it: they had keys, they were inclined to that kind of servitude, and he'd definitely smelled and heard breakfast being prepared. Yet he had reacted as though their lives were being threatened. It made no sense - it was the way he might have behaved during full moon, only right now the moon was not quite to first quarter - and he had no idea what it was that had set him off.
Virginia was arguing with Justine about their agreement to be left alone for a week.
"Oh, but surely you wanted to eat?" the woman insisted.
"We like to prepare our own food," replied Virginia coldly. She turned to look at Wolf. "Don't we?" she said, obviously expecting him to confirm her statement. But in her eyes he saw the unasked question: What's gotten into you?
"Yes," he said, amazed that his voice sounded so normal. But then he felt perfectly all right now, the only residual effect a slight clamminess to his skin, left over from having briefly broken into a sweat. "Sorry I scared you like that," he added quietly, "I thought someone had broken in."
The excuse sounded lame, he thought, but he was still too confused at the moment to think up something better. Fortunately, she seemed to believe it.
"And yes, I really enjoy preparing food," he continued. "I especially like to make up my own recipes for marinading meats."
"Oh," replied the cook. She looked terribly disappointed.
Virginia shot him a curious glance at his last statement.
"Yes, and I enjoy it too," she said, then relenting, went on, "But you're here now, so you may as well finish fixing breakfast. Just from now on, let us do it, okay? And I mean all meals, not only breakfast. When Dad comes back, you can come cook for him."
As might be expected, at the mention of Tony, Justine had agreed immediately and the two of them headed for the terrace, where the food was to be served. But just outside the kitchen, after the door had shut behind them, Virginia stopped him.
"Are you okay?" she asked. Concern for him radiated from her.
He sighed. He didn't want her to worry, but then he didn't want to lie to her, either.
"I don't know," he said truthfully. The answer upset her as he knew it would. She studied him for a moment, then took his hand and led him into the bedroom, closed the door behind them and sat him down on the bed.
"Wolf, you said that once a month, you . . ." she suggested, but he cut her off immediately.
"No, it's not that. It's not time yet."
"I didn't think so." She paused for a few seconds, then asked, "Is what happened in the museum yesterday a part of this?"
He had to think for a minute to remember what she was talking about. When he finally did, he started to laugh.
"No," he said, "No, that was just my overactive imagination." Wasn't it?
She leaned over and put her arms around him, hugging him hard. He lost himself for a moment in the ecstacy of her closeness, the feel of her and her scent all around him, as he gathered her in. Still in his embrace, she looked up.
"I've been thinking," she said, "I really don't know what I'd do if something happened to you here - if you got sick or something. Maybe we should go back to the Fourth Kingdom."
"No." He was definitely not doing that. Not when Virginia was doing so well here - and she sure didn't need to go back to Wendell's castle and be constantly reminded of her mother's death. Whatever it was that was happening to him, it wasn't as bad as the full moon, and he thought he could even handle that without the pressure the queen had put him under. He had at least been able to control it once - long ago, before he went to prison (why bother in a solitary locked cell?) - except for the few times he'd been in unbearably tempting situations. But he'd never been prone to these kinds of episodes between full moons, either, so he knew he couldn't really be sure. And he knew that if he were in Virginia's position, he'd be worried about him. Still, he had ten days, unless whatever it was got worse . . .
"If it gets worse, we can always go back then," he suggested, hoping that would satisfy her.
She agreed, though he could tell it was somewhat reluctantly, and led him through the bathroom out to the terrace. For the brief length of time it took to walk through, he forgot his worried musings, his imagination taken over once again by the extraordinary surroundings, as it had been the first time he'd been there. Even Wendell's palace had nothing to rival it. He'd had a special use in mind for the freeform blue pool with it's whirlpool water jets, which Linda had amazingly referred to as a bathtub, and it had nothing to do with bathing. Yesterday, however, he hadn't quite gotten around to trying it out, being rather preoccupied elsewhere. Today, as he passed by the pool-tub, he vowed to remedy that oversight.
But outside on the terrace, the pale sliver of the waxing crescent moon had risen halfway into the sky, still visible against the blue thanks to a cloud on the eastern horizon which still obscured the sun. The sight of the moon in that setting brought back the memory of his museum visit, the knowing that the people of this dimension had gone there. The idea frightened him, maybe because he was unable to stop himself from imagining what it had been like. No air. Somehow that seemed appropriate. He doubted he'd be able to breathe there anyway. Breathing had been difficult enough for him in the museum, just thinking about it. But could that only be another symptom of whatever was wrong with him? He didn't think so. Not directly, at least. This morning's episode had been very much like a mini-moon madness. At the museum he'd felt nothing like that. No matter how much pain he'd ever had to endure to prevent himself from morphing (and the last full moon had been one of the worst ever, as futile as it had turned out to be), he'd never had trouble breathing before. Unless they were both simply reactions he had to this place. That was certainly possible. Although he wouldn't like to say so to Virginia, he didn't think he could spend the rest of his life here where the ground was covered in concrete and the only woods were artificially planted and covered with the grime of an impossibly populous city. Not that it wasn't incredibly interesting to visit, or that he wouldn't stay here anyway if that was what Virginia wanted. He could tolerate that a lot better than he could living without her, he was sure of that. Maybe the whole thing was rooted in the lack of magic here. He'd never liked magic, personally, but then he'd never really stopped to consider the alternative (though he really didn't think even his imagination could have ever conjured this up), though he hated to think of magic or its lack thereof having any kind of effect upon him.
Cripes, do you have to analyze everything??? His brother's voice was as clear in his mind as if he'd actually been there speaking, even after all these years. He smiled. The two of them had argued continuously, it seemed, though he'd usually just given in and let Rafe win, since his brother had apparently viewed everything Wolf did as a personal competition. He'd never understood why, since from his point of view Rafe was not only better looking, but so perfectly comfortable with what he was. But this particular argument wasn't one Wolf had been willing to let go. He'd been trying to figure out exactly what it was about the full moon that affected them and Rafe had, predictably, sneered. So Wolf had lunged at him. And, as usual, lost the match.
"Are you okay?" asked Virginia, bringing him abruptly back to the present. He realized he was still staring at the moon and tore his eyes abruptly away.
"Yes, I'm fine now," he said. "I was just thinking about my brother, that's all"
"You have a brother?" she asked.
He realized then that he'd never told her anything about his family.
"Yes, I have two sisters, too, but they didn't really grow up with us," he said. "Rafe - my brother - and I went to live with an aunt when I was eleven and he was ten. Our sisters were younger, and they went to live with some cousins who didn't live very close to us."
Virginia nodded.
"Is that what happened after your parents were killed?" she asked.
He blinked. How did she know that? Or had she just assumed that was what must have happened?
"You told me about what happened to them," she explained, apparently seeing his confusion. "When we were in Little Lamb Village."
"Oh." He wondered uneasily how much and what else he had told her.
"You don't remember that?"
He shook his head. "No," he said.
She nodded. "You only told me that they were dead and how it happened," she explained gently. "You didn't say anything else about your family at all."
At that moment, Justine brought their breakfast out. The smells wafted enticingly over from the tray she carried. Wolf's mouth began to water as soon as she opened the door, but he waited patiently until she'd set their plates on the table. He looked down at the large omelet of mushrooms, yellow cheese and some sort of green vegetable, the two slices of buttered toast, and the measly four strips of bacon on his plate, but decided not to complain since he knew Virginia wanted the woman gone as fast as possible. But then as she set down a pitcher of orange juice, which he detested, she said, "Is there anything else I can get you?"
"Could I have some milk?" he asked before he could clamp his mouth shut, though he heroically managed to remain silent about the bacon. After Justine had left to go after his milk, Virginia, who had looked up in alarm at his request, smiled at him and moved all her bacon to his plate.
"Thank you," she said.
"Oh, but Virginia, this is yours! I can make myself some more later."
"Wolf, I'll be doing good if I can eat this whole omelet. I don't need bacon too. Really."
He nodded, picked up his fork, and poked at the omelet in front of him. The green stuff was broccoli, which he thought looked far too similar to beanstalk. Deftly, he pulled all of it out and laid it aside. He was nearly finished dissecting it when Justine finally returned with a crystal pitcher of milk and the thickest newspaper he'd ever seen: rolled up, it must have measured six inches in diameter.
"I took the liberty of getting you the Sunday paper," she said. "Will there be anything else?"
Both of them told her no and breathed a sigh of relief when she actually went away. Wolf had been prepared for her to stand over them and clean up after their every move as had been done the day before. He picked up the pitcher.
"You want some?" he asked.
"No, I don't like milk."
"Huff puff, more for me then," he said as he filled his glass.
"Wolf," she began, "Did you really mean that about making up your own recipes?"
"Of course I did," he replied, surprised. "Did you?"
"Yes," she said, then looked away and laughed, almost to herself.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing," she said. "It's just that, well, before I ever knew the Nine Kingdoms existed I used to dream about someday opening my own restaurant. I thought all I needed to make that dream come true was to have a man who was interested in food as a partner."
He had his fork halfway to his mouth, but stopped and put it back down on his plate.
"I guess I could try to do that," he said hesitantly, privately marveling at the machinations of destiny. He had still been a little worried about his fixation on food, and here she had wanted someone like that! "But, you know," he added, "I usually like to eat what I cook . . ."
"No, Wolf, don't worry about it," she said. "I don't know, it's just not important any more."
As soon as he had taken the last bite, Justine appeared instantly to clear away the dishes, making him wonder if she'd been staring at them the entire time they ate. To pass the time until she left, Virginia picked up the paper and unrolled it. Wolf would have beaten her to it - he was very curious about her world, but was slightly afraid of finding a headline about a moon landing. But the bold print on the front page only screamed cryptically: War Renewed in Bosnia. He hoped Bosnia wasn't nearby.
Virginia methodically separated out the paper into different sections: Sports, Business, Entertainment, Travel - that looked interesting - a small section of colorful pages, and a booklet. He picked up the booklet. TV Guide.
"What's this?" he asked.
"Oh, that just tells you what shows are going to be on TV this week," she said. She'd already explained the concept to him the day before.
He opened it and began flipping through the pages. Suddenly a small quarter-page advertisement caught his eye. It was a picture of an island with a snow-covered mountain at its center and several castles scattered throughout the surrounding woods. But beneath that, as if in a reflected image, a city very much like the one he was in was depicted. The words beneath it read, The 10th Kingdom. Below that were several small pictures of different people.
"Look at this," he said, turning the page so Virginia could see it. "It's a TV story about Cinderella and Snow White!"
She bit her lip. "I hate to disappoint you, Wolf, but those things are hardly ever any good. It's just a collection of famous people the network put together to entice people to watch. You probably wouldn't even recognize Cinderella or Snow White at all, they've probably changed their stories so much. If there's even any real plot to it, which I doubt."
"Oh." There was something about the picture which intrigued him, regardless. He turned it upside down to get a better view of the city. "Is this New York?" he asked her.
"Yes, it is," she said, studying it. "Oh, I remember this now. It was on before, earlier this year."
"You've seen it, then?" he asked.
"No. I wouldn't have wasted my time."
"Oh." He was unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.
"It's not that I don't like fairy tales . . . I mean, stories about Snow White or Cinderella, it's that I just don't have any faith in the television industry being able to tell them. That's all. But I really do love this kind of thing. I always have."
He was about to ask her if they could just watch it anyway, but something stopped him. Instead, he asked, "Do you know the story of the Tenth Kingdom, then?"
"No," she said. "What is it?"
"The Tenth Kingdom was an island that disappeared centuries ago. A lot of centuries ago. At least that's what it was supposed to have been. It's really only a legend."
"Do you mean Atlantis?" she asked.
"What's Atlantis?"
She told him.
"No. I don't think it had anything to do with a volcano, or with the island sinking. And I don't think it was quite that long ago."
"Well, what is the story?"
"I don't know. It's only a legend - everything I know about it I just told you: It was an island and it disappeared. Eight to ten centuries ago, more or less. I was hoping you could tell me."
"No, sorry, she said. "Was this one of the things you learned in school?"
"No." Where hadhe heard it? In prison? It all seemed so vague.
"Look," she said, "If you really want to watch it, we can do that. It's not like we have to be somewhere - when is it on, Friday? I just don't want you to be disappointed, that's all."
He smiled at her, happy she wasn't too set against seeing it. She could be right, of course, about it being only a terribly written play, but then it was also possible he'd find some interesting things out about his own world. There were several things which seemed strange to him about the connection between the two places - first, how the history of his world had found its way to hers, and second, why both traveling mirrors he'd seen had led to the exact same place. He was delighted to think that the story might hold some clues to those questions. But he got even happier when Justine left a few moments later and he finally got a chance to try out the new bathtub.
A blast of cold air hit Virginia in the face as she opened the glass door to the refrigerator at the convenience store just around the corner from their apartment. The Murrays had stocked it quite well, but they just hadn't figured on having a wolf live there. Oddly enough, there was still plenty of meat - that could be kept in the large freezer, and they had filled it to capacity. What they hadn't bought much of was milk, which she found quite understandable. She scooped up the gallon jug by the pink carrying handle, then supported it with her other hand, just to make sure the thing didn't slip off. The bottom of the container was already wet and it made her hand feel slimy.
There was a fairly long line at the register, and she found herself standing part of the way down one of the aisles. She noted with amusement the large display of condoms to her right, and passed some of the time entertaining herself wondering what Wolf would make of them. She doubted he'd seen them - she was sure he'd have mentioned the outlandish advertising printed on the boxes if he had. The line had nearly allowed her to leave the aisle when she saw them: Home pregnancy tests.
Her period was already three days late, though she'd told herself that it could just be because of all the emotional strain she'd been under for the past month. But she knew, especially considering Wolf's prediction, that it was also quite possible she was really pregnant. Still, she had no direct proof, and was unwilling to visit a doctor simply to find out: They may have been living in total luxury, but in actuality they had very little cash - only her last paycheck from the Grill and what little she'd had in savings. Her medical coverage had ended with her job. On an impulse, she picked up one of the boxes and took it with her.
Wolf was just putting the finishing touches on their dinner when she got home.
"Oh, huff, puff, good! I was starting to get worried about you," he said.
"It was just crowded," she told him, handing him the jug of milk. "I'll be right back."
She shut herself in the bathroom and took the pregnancy test out of the shopping bag. Yes, she thought, she really needed to get this over with. Thinking about it was starting to consume her. She'd never noticed before how many pregnant women there were in the city. On the way home alone she'd seen three, and all she'd done was walk around the corner. Once she'd taken the test, if it turned out she wasn't pregnant, she could finally go on with her life. And if she was, well, she'd think about that when she knew for certain. Purposefully, she tore open the end of the box and took out the directions.
Wolf had spread a sheet out on the floor in front of the giant screen television that dominated the living room. He thought they could eat dinner and watch The Tenth Kingdom at the same time, but he was afraid of ruining the white carpet. Oh, well, he thought, It looks a little like we're having a picnic now and that's nice, anyway. The TV was already on, droning its way through a multitude of commercials. He found many of them more intriguing than the plays they were scattered through - it amused him to figure out what tools they used in this dimension to sell things to people. So far he'd noticed that they used a lot of sexual suggestion. The one that was on now, for instance, seemed to consist of nothing but that: Two people, in different cars, were staring at each other out their windows, obviously mutually attracted. Wolf actually stood and watched it, even though he was in a hurry to get dinner out, because the man in it reminded him vaguely of a wolf. But he couldn't have been, of course. Not in this dimension. Nor was the character, he concluded, after watching the end. They guy'd had a baby daughter in the back seat, and so obviously had someone else for a mate. It was not even a very good commercial, he judged, since he still had no clear idea of what it was trying to sell. There were some cryptic words at the end: Passat, by Volkswagon, but even if he'd known what they meant, he didn't think it would be enough. Huff, puff, if you want to sell something, you shouldn't make people wonder what it is, he thought as he hurried back into the kitchen to get the food.
"Oh, my God," she murmured.
Virginia stared at the thin, pink plastic wand in her hand, unable to quite take in what it was telling her. The white indicator panel will turn pink if you are pregnant, the directions had said. She'd wondered how pink it was supposed to turn, and what she was supposed to think if it came out with only a slight blush. But she needn't have worried. The thing was positively neon. Wolf was right. She was pregnant.
Still, she couldn't seem to take her eyes off the wand. She heard Wolf call to her from the other room, but took no notice. I don't feel any different at all, she thought. And I must have been pregnant for what, almost three weeks now? No morning sickness, no cravings - nothing! Shouldn't I feel different somehow if I'm really pregnant? Yet there was the indicator in her hand. And Wolf had somehow known, too. How?
Thinking of him made her realize he was shouting from the other room.
"Virginia!!! Come here! You have to see this!"
Numbly, she walked out into the living room, still holding the wand, looking up at the television just as the music faded from the title scene.
"Oh, you missed it!" he exclaimed, disappointed. "You should have seen . . ."
"Be quiet!" she snapped. The opening words, spoken in a voice-over by an actress, riveted her:
"My name is Virginia and I live on the edge of the forest."
He started to say something else, but stopped. Both of them stared, their mouths open, at the actress who had evidently been speaking. Her costume was unmistakable: She was wearing clothes identical to the ones Virginia had worn threadbare during their adventure in the Nine Kingdoms.
