Roger and Jean arrived at the Hanging Gardens almost instantaneously. However, instead of it bustling with the activity of tourists and academics, the lights were dim and the halls were eerily silent.

"Well, this is creepy," Jean observed mildly, looking around. "It must be nighttime here."

"Hadji probably didn't want to meet in broad daylight, when just anyone could see us. No wonder he sent the message at a time the exhibit was closed." He was looking around as well; the place was filled with ancient statues and pottery, just the sort of things Jean would like. "Hmm.I wonder why they ever decided to reconstruct the Hanging Gardens of Babylon?"

"Hey, if they can build a replica of the Parthenon in Tennessee." she replied, a slight frown on her face. "Do you think he's already here, or are you supposed to wait for him?"

"If Hadji said to meet him, he's got to be here already. We should look for him -- he's probably just set up in some special part of the exhibit, with music and dancing girls and all that."

"I'm sure scantily-clad women dancing will go over big in the modern Middle East," she said dryly, as they began walking through the darkened corridors. "Shouldn't I be wearing a veil or burka or something?"

"Genii have been around for thousands of years, long before any of the modern religious taboos began," he replied knowingly. "So what you have on is fine for an audience with Hadji."

"Thousands of years, 'eh?" she repeated, investigating a glass case full of clay tablets. "Is that how long you've been around too?"

"No Mistress, I'm quite a bit younger than that," he replied hastily, feeling a little flutter in his stomach. He didn't want her to continue that line of questioning; she might end up asking about things he'd rather keep to himself, things like when and where he was born and if he had always been a genie. Not only wasn't he supposed to volunteer information about his previous life, he didn't *want* to tell her about it. The memories it brought up, especially from near its end, were far too unpleasant. As always, he pushed those feelings to the back of his mind. "Now Mistress," he said, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction. "I would like to ask a question about your modern world."

"Go ahead." She was walking a few steps ahead of him, looking at a group of stone vases on display.

"While we were at brunch, I noticed something strange about your friend Gary."

"What did you think was strange?"

"Now, I realize that times have changed, and things are different today than they were in the past," he said, their footsteps echoing in the darkened halls. "But if you could please tell me when men started wearing earrings."

"The 1980's," she replied, not missing a beat.

He cocked his head. "How'd you know that one so fast?"

She grinned, looking at him through the glass of one of the exhibits. "My grandmother told me."

"Your grandmother?"

"Yeah. She was a teenager then -- she's got some great stories about what it was like back in the twentieth century; you know, before we became civilized."

Roger chose not to comment on that. "I'll bet," he said, pausing at the junction between two parts of the exhibition. He listened carefully. "Do you hear that?"

"Yes, I do," she said, facing in the direction he'd indicated. "And you were right, it does sound like music. He must be down that way."

Roger kept himself from an 'I told you so' as they both headed towards the source of the mysterious sounds. It took them a few minutes, but the faint noise grew louder as they approached the end of a long hallway.

"A utility room?" Roger said, reading the sign on the door. Now he was starting to feel a little uncertain. It wasn't like Hadji to do anything halfway, and a meeting in a broom closet wasn't exactly his style.

"Is that what it says?" asked Jean.

"Yes. Hey, I thought you could read this stuff."

"Not modern Arabic -- that's a little after my frame of reference. Now if it was hieratic or Linear B."

"I see," he murmured, but he made no move towards the door. He stared at it, as if something might come leaping out the second it was opened.

"Aren't you going to go in?" Jean asked, after a few moments.

"I don't know.something just doesn't seem right."

"What, is your genie-sense tingling or something? Or are you just worried about your meeting with Hadji?"

He put on his best look of righteous indignation. He wasn't about to show his Mistress that he was nervous about this. "Certainly not," he declared, pushing open the door and stepping inside.

There was a brief sensation of falling, which he recognized as teleportation, and he instinctively closed his eyes. When he opened them, what he saw wasn't what he'd expected. It wasn't Hadji's court, or a banquet, or dancing girls. It wasn't even a broom closet. It was a large, empty room -- too big to have been contained within the exhibit hall -- and painted entirely in red.

He took a few steps forward, looking around, but there was nothing to be seen. Just the red walls, ceiling, and floor. That bad feeling he'd had outside was growing stronger.

"What is this place?" Jean breathed.

Roger turned, about to tell her that they were getting out of there, but before he could say anything he was cut off by another voice. It was female, and it reverberated scornfully off the blank red walls.

"What is this place?" the voice repeated mockingly. "It's a trap."