Eliot rifled through his notes.

Three pages of scribbled ideas based on what he could remember of Dream Magic, which it turned out was actually quite a bit.

If he went with the Dream Prison thing Jules used on Q that one time, he'd retain the most real-world memory, but given that it was an imprisonment spell, the content of his dream would be out of his control. Just anything most likely to terrify and disorient him.

So he filed it under the 'last resort' category and went on sorting through his memory for better options.

With A Dream Fantasy spell he'd maintain control of his own actions in the dream, and also choose the general framework, or 'plot points,' before going to sleep . . .

But once asleep his control over the specific flow of events, as well as how much real-world memory followed him in, would depended entirely on how he structured the math for timing out his spell's handwork and incantations.

The beats. The harmony.

Like music.

Dream Fantasy spells also allowed one to amend their own skill sets and talents. (Like say, if some boringass Magician in the middle of Nowhere Alaska wanted to fall asleep and be a Pirate for the night? Ta-da! Badass sword fighting skills! Because fantasy.) He figured that ability could be useful when it came to annoying Penny . . .

Material Girl needs to be sung over, and over, and over, he thought, focused on the minutiae of strategy . . . but what about surrounding details? . . .

He decided a full-on stage show would bug the fuck out of his potential rescuer the fastest.

Backup singers and everything . . .

With the show featuring, of course, himself.

I should at least try to have some fun with it, I deserve a little fun! He pouted to an indifferent audience of no one.

Maybe if I cherry-pick the right Psychic Communication spell and patchwork it into the Dream Spell in just the right spots? So it, like . . . blends in? He mulled over the idea. Maybe then I could drill into Penny's head and start pulling his attention my way even before the musical number . . .

El's mind buzzed through ideas at what felt like the speed of light.

He knew Penny wouldn't bother astral-projecting into his dream until he was deeply pissed off.

Especially not with this whole Thunderdome-ish, Magicians vs. Library thing going on.

But getting him to the point of stepping away from his role in the battle (whatever the fuck it was) would need to happen as fast as humanly possible. And that was going to be the biggest challenge.

No sane resistance movement would waste a Traveler's talent on the low-level bullshit. They won't have him working magic any random soldier could manage . . .

Which meant Penny couldn't just be annoyed by Eliot's dream. No. Whatever kind of show El sent flooding into the man's psychic mind needed to be distracting as fuck. A genuine threat to the success of whatever Top Priority Mission he was almost certainly handling.

It needs to be bad enough to force him away from the job and MAKE IT STOP!

. . . . What if I'm the world's most obnoxious, pretentious, wannabe "Creative Visionary" of all time in the dream? All fussy and melodramatic . . . he'd haaaaate that!

And Penny showing up would break the dream spell's illusions, so no matter how much or how little real-world memory followed Eliot into the dream, it would be irrelevant. Either his traveler friend would show up to rescue him, at which point he'd remember reality, or the dream would simply run its course and he'd wake up.

Just a normal dream. And I'd still be stuck in this goddamn room.

But reaching out to Penny truly was his only viable option, so he had to go with it.

Take the shot.

Showtime.

He parsed through his notes and condensed it all into a coherent spellmap. Then gave it a final once-over before heading to the bedroom door.

He listened carefully to make sure either Alice or Kady was in the main room with at least one of the dickhead strangers before making his next move.

Within a few minutes he heard Alice and one of the men.

Perfect.

"Attention people!" He demanded as the door flung open. "Since you assholes have me trapped in here and I'm probably going to end up having all the ancient magic my monster-buddy left me with fully goddamn amputated without my fucking permission, I figure you should at leastdo me the courtesy of a nice soothing dream in the meantime." He waved his papers in the air. "I even have a dream all sketched out out, I just need someone to check my math before I cast it."

The man scoffed. "Seriously? You're loaded to the tits with magic, shithead. Check your own math."

Eliot rolled his eyes, even though the man's reaction played right into his hands. "Right. Here's the thing, Captain Nosehair: having a lot of power isn't the same thing as doing spells. Spell math isn't my strong suit, so I don't wanna get some stupid little detail wrong and end up stuck in a dream about watching grass grow."

He turned his focus to Alice with a stare cold enough to cause frostbite. "Don't think this makes us friends again, but you're a math genius. And I can either be awake and stewing in rage for the next . . . however many hours I have left before being brain-raped, or I can spend it asleep and surrounded by beautiful men literally created to please me. I'd rather enjoy a tiny sliver fun. And you owe me, Alice. You know it. So check. My fucking. Math."

"Fine," Alice sighed.

"Wait!" The man interjected just as Alice reached through their prison wards to take the papers from Eliot. "Give me those notes, I wanna see 'em first!"

"Be my guest," El shrugged. "Not like I can stop you."

Alice shot him a stealthy do you know what you're doing? Look.

He tried to send her a quick glance of 'yes, it's all a plan' before her charming and cheerful cohort got close enough to notice their silent communication.

"See?" Eliot said as the guy snatched his papers away from Alice. "I told you. It really is just a fucking Fantasy Dream spell." He crossed his arms and fell casually against the doorframe. "Prison doesn't suit me, and sometimes a girl just wants to have fun. Hell, you can even cast the damn spell if you want."

"I think I'll do that!" Nosehair snapped.

"But don't try any tricks or I'll know it right away!" Alice cautioned with an almost theatrical stern look. A look juuuuuuust on the tipping edge of too much.

Perfect! Eliot thought, closing the door and settling himself on the bed while Nosehair went over the spellmap. Now when I disappear he'll get all the blame.

Not Kady.

Not Alice.

His goal wasn't only protecting the two women. He also hoped that being seen as a spectacular git who let Eliot break out right under his nose would throw off the man's confidence so much that he'd turn in a weak and fumbling speech when it came time for him argue in favor of allowing non-consensual Magic Siphons.

El did, afterall, plan to join the fight after resurrecting Q. So the result of this vote did matter whether he managed to break free or not. And that meant Kady and Alice had to appear as far removed from helping him escape as possible.

Both women stood in favor of instituting an official No More Magic Theft policy, and that opinion alone would make them both natural suspects in aiding his escape. They had to go into the upcoming debate with maximum credibility.

So I set up this jackass to take the blame, and he steps right into the trap. HA! What I lack in academic skill, I make up for in tactical genius! Eliot couldn't help but wear a smug grin at the thought of his own cleverness.

He listened as Nosehair began the first incantation . . .

Getting sleepy . . . getting sleepier . . . sleepier . . . sle-

Eliot stood in the wings watching his performers rehearse, the music playing just loud enough for them to hear and stay on beat.

"Maxwell, if you bump into Kyle one more time, I'm giving your part to the understudy!" He barked. "And Steven, you keep mixing up the choreography. It's down three steps, arms out, pivot stage left, thendown three more steps, arms down!"

"Sorry Mr. Waugh," the man replied.

"Run it again, from the top."

Technically Eliot was in the show too, but since he already knew each step well enough to do it blindfolded, a stand-in took his part for most rehearsals. That way he was free to deal with other shit.

The shit of running a show . . . and where the FUCK is my new headset?! He wondered, more annoyed by the second.

A minute or so later the skinniest man on earth sprinted up to him, headset in hand.

"Here you go," he panted, trying to catch his breath.

"Grand. And we made sure this one works, right?" Asked Eliot, placing the thing on his head and adjusting mic. "Because the last two were busted old pieces of crap."

"This one works," The other man assured him. "I tested it myself."

"Thank you, Morris."

"It's Marvin."

He could tell the poor the sharp-elbowed guy was quaking beneath his too-large t-shirt. "Oh, you poor thing," he cooed. "Look, I know I'm a raging bitch with no patience when it comes to doing live shows, but you have no idea how much goddamn information I've had to cram into my brain in a really short amount of time!"

"Sounds stressful, Sir."

"It is!" Eliot said with a deep, beleaguered sigh. "This is our final week of rehearsal, our troupe is doing four numbers, the original stage manager quit last week so I stepped in. I'm the lead choreographer on our acts and my colleague is frankly underqualified-no, scratch that, Roland would be qualified if this was the '70s and everyone still worshipped Cabaret-not to piss on Fosse's genius, he was a genius, but can we say 'dated as fuck'? Because, yeah. Dated as fuck. And my vision demands 'now' choreography! 'NOW' Melvin! What doesn't Roland understand about that?!"

"Again, it's . . . it's Marvin, Sir."

"Right, of course," El shook his head, feeling the teensiest (rare) twinge of guilt. "I must be getting you mixed up with our prop manager."

"Her name is Molly."

"Shit! I'm disgusting, aren't I?" He groaned. "But who the fuck is Melvin?! Someone around here is a Melvin!"

"I'm . . . I'm not sure, ."

"Would it be dehumanizing of me to make everyone wear name tags? It would, wouldn't it? Anyhow Marv, On top of the whole choreographer issue, the lovely gentlemen running our control booth needs so much hand-holding I may as well do his job for him too-only I physically can't since I'll be on stage!"

"Sir, should I maybe bring you a nice soothing cup of tea?" Marvin suggested.

"A tea would be lovely," Eliot replied. "Thank you. Anything but peppermint. And in a thermos, if you don't mind. So it stays warm."

"Good Christ, El!" his best friend's voice sounded off behind him as Marvin scuttled away. "Why are you always such a goddamn Princess the week before opening night?"

He spun around to face her, waving away the criticism. "It's part of my process, Margo. Do we have wardrobe thoughts?"

"We do." Margo held out a sketch pad. "I still think it's dangerously late in the game to be redesigning our Madonna's wardrobe. Could blow up in your face," she fanned through pages looking for the right one. "Which would be fine my me if I didn't also have my name attached to this show."

"Oh come on, Don't be dramatic! I'm not reinventing the wheel," Eliot insisted. "Changing my back up dancers' vests to lavender sequin while hers stay in basic black was an easy switch, now we just have to take her dress from an exact Material Girl replica to something more . . . referential."

"Modern, but with a few nods to the source material, right," said Margo. "You've said it a million times. Okay, here," she found the right pages. "So the first thing, we bring up the hemline to the knee, we get rid of that giant bow in the back and make it a smaller bow tied at an angle on her side-either at the waist or the hip. And it could be sequined too if you want, to match your dancer's vests."

"Interesting idea . . ." Eliot chewed his lip. "And what's this other sketch?"

"This is actually my favorite," said Margo with a sly smile. "We tighten the skirt, give it a high slit, drop her neckline by an inch and add one strap, a twisted fabric slanted across the chest right to left with one small bow-or maybe two really small bows at the end if the strap, and a bigger bow up here at the shoulder. Not a stiff bow. Something lose, with movement."

"I love both of those ideas so much, how can I choose?!" He draped his arms around Margo's shoulders and gave her a long, affectionate squeeze. "You're too good at this. It makes my whole life harder."

Margo flipped her sketchbook shut and smiled up at her friend. "That's only because you don't have a real life outside the stage, sweetie."

"I'd have one if you didn't chase away all my boyfriends, precious darling," He shot back, while returning her warm smile.

"Hey, I liked that slouchy book nerd you were almost with for like a second!" Margo insisted. "Not my fault you sabotaged it. Jesus, that feels like forever ago, doesn't it?" She sighed. "What was his name again? Cody? Cameron?"

Eliot pondered the question. "Ummmmmm, I think it was . . . Q something." As soon as he said the words it was like a lighting bolt to the back of the brain. A sudden shock.

He couldn't dredge up a single mental image of this 'Q Something' person, but he knew in his gut that the man needed to be rescued from . . .

From something. And . . . and it's all on me . . . and-

Margo snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Hey! . . . where'd you go?" she asked. "And why do you suddenly look so worried?"

. . . Penny Adiyodi can help me! I need to get here!

"Penny Adiyodi!" Eliot cried out with deep urgency. "He needs to come to opening night! He needs to!"

Margo frowned. "The theatre critic? Honey, everyone wants him at their show on opening night. No way is he gonna take a call from us, we're not famous enough. Yet." She reached up and gently stroked her friend's face. "But we're gonna get there someday, right?"

"No!" Eliot insisted. "No, he has to come! To this show! I need his help!" he could see Margo's look of confusion turning to actual worry. "I-I mean, I need him here 'cause . . . because this show will clearly be so greatit deserves his immediate attention!"

His friend opened her mouth as if to argue, but seemed to decide it wasn't worth the effort. "Fine," she threw her hands in the air. "I'll have the PAs start making calls. But don't hold your breath, okay?"

"I won't," Eliot lied before running onstage. "Lewis!" He called out to his stand-in. "You can head home, I'll take it from here. And Justin!" He said, switching on his headset. "Hey, Control Booth! Wake the fuck up, please. I want full volume on the music, full lighting plot, and I need perfect timing on those spot cues, got it?"

"Uh . . . y-yeah. I got it."

El didn't have time to give a shit whether or not Justin was smoking weed on the job again. All he could think about was saving Q. The guy he could barely remember.

"Attention everyone! I have decided we're going to get Penny Adiyodi here on opening night. We're going to fucking will him here. Right into the front row, okay? We're gonna rehearse our asses off, and while we do, I want you all completely focused on just two things: making the show perfect, and summoning Mr. Adiyodi to this theatre. Like . . . like magic. Forget about your bills, debts, spouses, kids, pets, whatever. Every brain cell you have needs to fixate on Mr. Adiyodi seeing this show, got it? Great! Let's make it happen, people!"

Eliot had no clue why he was so sure the insane plan would work, but as he handed his headset to a stagehand and moved onto his starting mark, he looked like the definition of pure confidence.

Penny Adiyodi is going to show up, and he WILL help me save Q. I know he will. Show up Penny, show up Penny, show up Penny . . .

Okay, lead in music, faux-Madonna and I spin toward each other, land in standard dance pose, I've got her left hand, her right arm is on my shoulder, then one foot slides toward downstage, we're pressed flush as hands pointing upstage rise. Our bodies tilt downstage a little, I go under her arm, step back and twirl her in, then dance her back to starting mark.

She sings first lyric riiiiiight . . . PERFECT! he thought as she hit her cue exactly on point:

"Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me,

I think they're oka-ay,"

Backup Dancers:

"Okay!"

She takes a step toward me, and I step toward her for my line:

"But if they don't give me proper credit,"

Both of us:

"I just walk away-ay!"

We slide around each other and switch spots so I'm surrounded by the lavender-vest guys and she's got the basic black. Now three side-steps down the stairs for:

Just her:

"They can beg and they can plead but

theeey can't see the light,"

Her Backup dancers, gathered around and leaning toward her:

"That's right!"

Now my turn:

"'Cause the boy with the cold hard cash is-"

Both of us:

"always mister ri-ight."

As he swiveled around and pressed against the dancer stage left, he resisted the urge to look over his shoulder and make sure she was doing the same with the correct backup dancer as well.

The urge was powerful, but at this point he just had to let go of stage managing and trust everyone to know their shit.

So I can focus on Penny Adiyodi, Penny Adiyodi, Penny Adiyodi . . .

Both of us push away two advancing backup dancers, then choose and dance with another one, then we're dancing two steps up stairs and down three. Two up, down three, two up, down three, repeat, repeat, repeat while:

Both of us:

"cause we are liiiiiiving in a material world,

and I am a material girl.

You know that we are living in in a material world,"

Switch to the dancer standing behind us, arms locked for the lift/spin down last three stairs:

Still both of us:

"and I am a material girl!"

Just me:

"Some boys romance,

some boys slow dance,

that's all right with me.

If they can't raise my interest then-"

Me and backup dancer while I lead, moving us stage right:

"I have to let them be-e."

Faux Madonna, same choreography moving stage left:

Just her:

"Some boys try and some boys lie but

I don't let them play-ay,"

Her and dance partner:

"No way!"

Just her:

"Only boys and save their pennies

make my rainy day-ay!"

Now we all sing, and please GOD let everyone hit their marks and cues! Fucking please!

"Cause we are living in a material world,

and I am a material girl.

You know that we are living in in a material world,

and I am a material girl.

Living in a material world,

and I am a material girl . . ."

As planned, by then a few of the lavender vested men and black vested men had switched places. He and faux-Madonna collected little trinkets from them while gliding across stage in opposite directions as the song went on.

They re-joined one another at center stage, and once again danced together (while checking out and making flirty eye contact with their eager flock of backup dancers).

Just Backup dancers:

"Liv-ing in a material world.

Material!

Liv-ing in a material world,"

And on, and on.

Penny needs to show up, Penny needs to show up, Penny NEEDS to show up!

It ran through Eliot's mind on a ceaseless loop all the way through first rehearsal.

And second rehearsal.

And eighth rehearsal.

He and his troupe were midway through their 22nd iteration of the song when Penny finally came storming down the center isle.

"OKAY, I NEED YOU TO SHUT THIS SHIT DOWN RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!" He bellowed.

For a split second El was shocked. But when he turned to face his dancers, they were all frozen in place. Perfect statues. And then he remembered exactly what was happening, and why.

"Penny!" He cried out, leaping off the stage and running toward the furious man. "Look, I'm sorry about all the torture, but I'm stuck in my room at the apartment, magical wards have me trapped, and if I don't escape there's a good chance I'll end up having a bunch of my leftover monster-magic stolen from me! I need that magic! I fucking have to escape, and you're my only ticket out. Please! Travel into my room, wake me up, and we'll go from there!"

"Rrrrrrrgh," Penny groaned, raking a hand through his hair. "Prisoner? For real?"

"Yes!" Eliot replied, quickly ascending from desperate to frantic.

"Wait, is that the reason I just got the psychic link-up for a global vote on an official Magic Siphoning policy?"

"YES!" Eliot yelled. "And if it doesn't get banned, I am turbo-fucked, Penny! And I don't know how much time I have to spare here, so . . ." he clasped his hands and quivered in Penny's general direction like a starving orphan boy. "Please? . . ."

"FUCK! FINE!" Penny growled, gritting his teeth. "But you have no clue how serious shit's gotten out there, man, so I'm only doing this once, okay? Sorry, I know you're doin' it all for love and I respect the hell outta that, I'd do the same thing in your shoes, but there are entire worlds at stake here, so . . . y'get one." The man held up a single stubborn digit. "One favor."

"Thank you!" Eliot gasped, and the next thing he knew he was back in his bed, with a cranky Penny looming over him.

"Okay, where d'you wanna go?" he asked as El sat up and rose from the bed.

Eliot meant to reply immediately, but then a strange detail caught his attention and gave him pause. "Penny, why are your clothes all scorched? And . . . smoldering?"

"Oh," he sighed. "Turns out there's an actual Phoenix in Phoenix Arizona, and she's got intel for us. She also might donate a few magic feathers to the rebellion. But I gotta keep traveling in and out of proximity every time she sparks up. And . . . she combusts, like . . . often. Without warning. Which, I don't know if that's the usual deal, but-"

"Riveting story, Penny, but we need to leave now!"

"Right. Sorry. Where to?"

Eliot was stunned to suddenly realize he hadn't considered the 'where to' question.

"It's gotta be someplace close," Penny added. "I used up too much magic as it is just traveling here."

El grappled with a way to perhaps help them both. "I've got a ton of that fairy heroin stuff hidden under my bed, you could do a line and then you'd have-"

"That shit doesn't work on Travelers." He shrugged. "Maybe 'cause we're already magical creatures, I don't know. Just know I tried it a while back and got nothing."

Dammit! Well, I guess we're going someplace close then. So where to? . . . Where to?. . . "Oh!" Eliot took a card from his back pocket and handed it to Penny. "This address!"

He grabbed his satchel full of fairy dust, and off they went.

"Wooooooow," Penny breathed, staring out a large window when they popped in at their destination. "That's an amazing view!"

"Craig!" Eliot called out. "Craig, are you here?"

A handsome-ish man Penny didn't recognize bolted into the room, clearly shocked as his eyes darted between the two 'intruders' in his home.

"El?" The man gasped. "U-um, don't take this the wrong way, but h-how did you-"

"I teleported us in," Penny said with a wave. "Hi."

"Of course," Craig nodded. "Naturally."

Eliot only had a moment to feel relieved and amused before Penny's eyes blew wide.

"Duuuuuude," he said. "Yeah, you need to get outta town as fast as possible, man. Word just went out that you're missing. Most of us won't give a shit with everything else going on, but there is a small faction of radicals who think any Magician that hasn't joined the rebellion is a straight up traitor."

"Are you shitting me?!" Eliot yelped.

"I wish I was, but nah," Penny shook his head. "They're all idiots, obviously, but their magic game is tight, and they're gonna be out for blood."

Elio groaned, sagging, amazed at how many things could go so right and so wrong at the same time.

"I swear I really would help," Penny assured him with a rueful shrug. "But that Phoenix has important intel, and it's takin' every scrap of magic I got to keep myself from burning to death every time she goes all flame-y. But seriously, I'm rooting for you." He gave Eliot's shoulder a gentle pat. "Good luck. And it was nice to meet you, Craig." he said with a quick smile before disappearing.

Eliot turned to his friend with a somewhat forced smile. "Hiiiiiii, Craaaaaig," he trilled. "It's nice to see you . . ." He paused for a response and got nothing. Just pursed lips and curious eyes. "Are you glad to see me?"

"Mmhm, mmhm." Craig replied. "I am happy. But in the last ten seconds I've compiled a very large list of questions."

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

[UP NEXT: escapes, and bunnies, and bones, oh my!]