They were coming for her. Their faces were ugly, sneering. She didn't have to hear Them to know what They were saying. It was the only thing anyone ever said when They looked at her. "Cursed! Cursed! You are a curse upon us!" This time, They said something different, and They moved toward her. Covering Their mouths with scarves and their hands with gloves, They grabbed her. Some of Them jabbed at her with sticks. She tried to break free, to wrench her wrists from Their grasp, but They held on. Something big and dark swung at her head, and the world turned black.

Melanie awoke in a strange place. She was on a bed in a room, and she was frightened. Who brought her here? More importantly, where was here? Someone she did not know came into the room. The girls looked at each other without saying anything. Melanie tried to warn the newcomer, to keep her back, but she kept coming. Foolish girl! Didn't she know?

The other—Susan—reached out to touch Melanie's wrists, and she slapped her hand away. Susan smiled, but Melanie knew better. She was The Curse; people never smiled at her unless they were going to do something particularly nasty. That didn't mean she did not deserve it, being accursed, but it still hurt her not to be able to trust anyone. Susan was confused, but she still smiled. She placed a cloth on the little table next to the bed and left the room. Trying not to touch anything else, Melanie craned her neck to look into the mirror next to the bed. She saw a dirty face, wild hair, and wide, sunken eyes.

I look like a curse, the girl thought. Susan came back into the room with her mother. The mother began saying things, but Melanie couldn't understand, couldn't hear her. She held a glass of water and a small white pill. Through signs, the mother finally communicated that Melanie was supposed to use the water to swallow the white thing. The girl, understanding at last, promptly took up the rag and used it to pick up the glass. Rags were easier to burn than glasses. It was a nice rag; pity they would have to burn it, but that's the price they had to be willing to pay, taking her in like this. Melanie tried to sign, to ask them something, but she was having trouble making herself understood. Suddenly the room went all funny, like looking at a pot of boiling water, only it was the room that was moving. The girl's eyes became heavy, like iron, and she fell asleep. It was not a pleasant sleep, though, for as she slept, she dreamed They came to her, and burned the room with her in it. That's the price others pay...

Peter was waiting in front of the house when Susan's cab pulled up. To his surprise, instead of his sister, he received an armful of blanket-wrapped girl, who looked to be about Lucy's size.

"Bring her inside, Peter," Susan said, moving around the automobile to pay the cabbie and receive her bags.

Peter grunted, "Nice to see you back, Susan."

With the girl in his arms, he had to stretch to reach the knocker. A stout, elderly woman in a checked dress and frilly cap answered the door.

"Mrs. Mandrow?" Peter inquired.

The woman looked up, bewildered. "Yes, what do you want?"

"I'm Peter Pevensie, the student wanting to rent the house."

Mrs. Mandrow's scowl disappeared. "Oh! Come in, it's all ready for you." She gestured to Susan, just approaching with her bags, "Is that your sister?"

Peter nodded, "Yes, that is Susan; Susan, this is Mrs. Mandrow; she's leasing the house to us."

The kindly lady pointed to the girl in Peter's arms, "And who is this?"

Peter looked at Susan.

"A friend," was all Susan said.

Peter cocked an eyebrow and looked up to see the same expression on Mrs. Mandrow's face.

"Well, you can put her in here on the settee in the sitting room until she wakes."

Mrs. Mandrow walked into the house, motioning Peter and Susan to follow her as she did so.

"We don't really live here much, you know," she said.

"You don't?" Peter asked as he took the suitcases from Susan, his arms finally free of the girl.

Mrs. Mandrow shook her head. "No, we just bought another place over in Chelsea. Of course, we still own this house, but you are welcome to stay as long as you like. I was just making sure everything was in order for you."

"Thank you, Mrs. Mandrow; this is a wonderful house," Susan said graciously.

"Humph!" the old woman snorted, "I suppose you know we bought this place from Digory Kirke, your professor friend? He grew up here with his parents and his mother's brother and sister, the Ketterleys."

Peter followed Mrs. Mandrow up to the bedrooms. "I knew he grew up here, but he never mentioned anything about an uncle."

"No, he probably didn't; I never met them, but—" Mrs. Mandrow leaned forward conspiratorially—"I hear his uncle was a magician, dabbling in wizardry. They say he brought a witch-Queen from a different world."

Peter's eyes grew wide at the words "witch-Queen." Mrs. Mandrow took that as disbelief. She relished the chance to impart a bit of gossip.

"Yes, and she created such a hullabaloo as was never seen before or since, and then disappeared! Mr. Ketterley went crazy after that—if it was possible to be any crazier than he was before—but I hear he never did a lick of magic after that witch-Queen disappeared. Well," she continued, moving out of the room and down the stairs, "you're all moved in, then. Here's the keys to the house, and I'll be leaving you to get yourselves settled."

"Thank you, Mrs. Mandrow," Peter called. The woman waved, and turned to hail a cab.

Peter entered the sitting room, where Susan was tending the mysterious girl. "'Witch-Queen from a different world,' did you hear her say that? I'll bet he found a way into Narnia." He snapped his fingers at the idea. "Maybe that's how he knew so much about it! Think of it Susan: the Professor was there when it all began!"

Susan looked up at her brother and rolled her eyes. She went back to tending the mysterious girl.

Susan entered the King's College on Denmark Hill and sighed. It was only her second semester, but she knew what was coming.

"Oh, look! There's Susan. Did you find any alternate dimensions in America, or is it only for the British?"

"Do they have talking animals in America?"

"Susan, I'm thinking of becoming queen someday. Do you think you can teach me how?"

It didn't end in the classroom either. The teachers were not satisfied that she simply not mention her Narnian life directly.

"Miss Pevensie, this is a medical university for people serious in study to become doctors and nurses, not young students with wild imaginations who want to become storytellers. I would ask that you please refrain from any references to a lifestyle beyond that which is typical for a woman your age."

"Susan, I realize how vivid dreams must be, but you speak as if you were twenty years older than you are. Please try to live your own age, because until you are older, there is no way to say you have been."

They were nice about it (as nice as teachers can be) but very firm: Narnia could no longer be a part of Susan's life if she were really serious about becoming a nurse. It was either nursing or Narnia, but she could not have both, according to the teachers. Susan's troubles did not end there, for not only were there the other girls and the teachers, but there was also Benton Northwyn.

Every day, as Susan was on her way to physiology, he came from the other direction, from psychology. She began to look forward to that hour when they would pass. Eagerly she would look for him: his tall, strong body, impeccable dark hair, and last, as she passed, his mischievous green eyes, watching her as she walked by. It took a few weeks, but finally, Susan saw him as they ended up walking out of the university at the same time. She walked beside him in silence for some time.

"I'm Susan Pevensie," she began.

"Benton Northwyn," he replied with an amiable smile, and Susan thought she had never heard a nicer name for a boy.

That was the beginning, and they talked many times after that. She was studying to be a nurse, he a psychiatrist. Susan secretly hoped they would work together in the future. Susan trusted Benton, and eventually told him about Narnia and how hard it was to be teased about something so vivid in her memory.

Benton looked at her with those bright green eyes and said—rather bluntly—"You'd better just forget it, then."

Susan was crushed at his words. "Why? Don't you believe me?"

"I believe that you imagined things with your brothers and sisters, and I believe that they might have been so real to you that your mind interprets the imaginary as reality, but trust me, Susan, when I say that it's just not practical to believe in going to another world and living there for several decades, and the whole 'trip' taking no time at all."

Susan stood, her mind whirling that Benton of all people would say these things to her. "It was not a trip! It was real! I didn't imagine . . ." Her voice faded as she considered the possibility, which seemed like something a grown-up would certainly say, but hearing it from Benton, she found herself more inclined to believe it.

He stood with her. "Susan, it's a petty child's game, and it's not worth losing a friendship or a grade over, so let's just forget the whole thing and move on." He tipped her chin up and smiled at her. "There are more important things to discuss than the reality of Normina."

"Narnia," Susan corrected him without thinking. Benton raised an eyebrow and chuckled. Susan giggled, took his proffered arm, and the two walked away together.

Not far away, at the Birkbeck campus, Peter was having his own struggle, one against silence. He forced himself to stand still as he stood before his instructor, who took his time in reading Peter's thesis paper.

That thesis paper was important to Peter. In it, he had to take and defend a position for or against the old monarchial system England had been under for so long. He was one of the few students to defend a pro-monarchy position. Having reigned himself as High King of Narnia, he drew upon this firsthand experience to adequately outline this position.

At long last, the professor laid the final page of the document on his desk, but still made no comment. He looked so long at Peter that the younger man began to think he'd done something wrong.

"What sort of man are you, Peter?"

The professor's voice made Peter jump. He puzzled at the question. "Sir?"

"You among all the other students of your position write the most intimately on the workings of a monarchy. You, more so than any of the other students, are respectful to all the professors, and, in case it has escaped your notice, they regard you as their leader, a position you take to naturally and humbly. I ask you again, Peter Pevensie: what sort of a man are you?"

Peter took a deep breath and decided to tell Professor Humphries the truth. "Professor, during the holidays I had some-well, I guess you could call it transcendental—experiences."

Professor Humphries rolled his eyes and sank his head onto his hands. "Oh dear, this doesn't have anything to do with your being king, does it? What was the place?"

"Narnia, sir."

The professor suddenly looked sharply at Peter. "You are a growing man, Peter; you know as well as I do that all that talk about 'other worlds' is stuff and nonsense, for little boys. Whatever you think happened, I assure you it was only your imagination!" The professor calmed down some and placed a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Peter, you are like a son to me, and it pains me deeply to see you clinging to childish fancies like this."

Peter looked away. He couldn't deny that Narnia was real, but where would it get him if he chose to defend it? He recalled what Aslan had told Edmund and Lucy at the end of the world: "You will know me by a different name." In Narnia he may have been Aslan, the Great Lion, but in England he was known by a different name and in a different form. The fact remained: he was still Aslan.

Peter turned back to Professor Humphries and said, "While I cannot affirm my experiences in Narnia, I cannot refute them, either. This I know for certain: Professor Kirke once told me, 'once a king in Narnia, always a king in Narnia.' I now understand what that means. Narnia may have been a fantasy, but the lessons I learned there were very real. Whether I really was High King Peter or not, that does not mean I cannot behave as one who has been king."

Professor Humphries looked upon this young student, who seemed to age ten years in the time it took him to speak. As he stood there, the old professor nearly believed that, though he had been to the royal court many times, here for the first time, in this antique classroom, he was in the presence of a true king.

He regained his composure as a dubious professor and replied, "Well, I'll accept that explanation for now, but see that you do not refer to Narnia any more. Some of the other professors will think you have gone mad."

Peter smiled. This was a request he could manage. "Yes, sir, I won't speak of Narnia while I am within the university."