When Alan peered through the front doorway of the Tibble house, he saw Augusta in a gray business dress, smiling and chatting with the cat woman and her three girls. The triplets stood politely and paid rapt attention--they were clearly the polar opposites of the house's former inhabitants, Tommy and Timmy.
The rabbit woman caught a glimpse of him. "Hello, Alan," she said welcomingly. "Come in and join the party."
The bear boy stepped inside hesitantly. "I hope this isn't a bad time..."
"It's never a bad time," said Augusta. Turning to the cat woman, she added, "This is Alan Powers, one of the fine, upstanding children who live in this neighborhood. He's also my friend. We've been through adventures you wouldn't believe."
The cat woman, who looked to be about six feet tall, leaned over slightly and shook hands with Alan. "Zoe Belnap," she introduced herself. "It's a pleasure to meet you. These are my girls, Amy, Becky, and Cally."
"Hello, Alan," said the triplets in unison. Given a closer look, Alan observed that each of the girls had a capital letter faintly inked on her forehead--either A, B, or C. There was no other obvious way to tell them apart.
Amy--the girl with the A on her forehead--giggled slightly. "You're cute," she remarked, gazing at Alan with what he feared might be affection.
"I saw him first," interjected Becky, the girl with the B.
"We all saw him at the same time," Cally, the girl with the C, pointed out.
"I know," said Becky calmly. "I was only making a joke."
Something seemed eerie and different about the well-behaved triplets, but Alan shrugged it aside.
Augusta patted him on the shoulder, which felt even weirder. "I'm giving Mrs. Belnap and the girls a tour of the Tibble house," she told him.
"I like what I've seen so far," said Zoe Belnap. She followed Augusta into the kitchen, with Alan and the girls trailing.
"These cupboards date back to the Victorian era," Augusta continued her spiel. "They're made of sturdy pine."
"Did you mention the house is haunted?" Alan chimed in.
"Haunted?" said Amy, her face lighting up. "Oh, how exciting!"
"Where's the ghost?" Becky inquired.
"In the cellar," replied Alan.
"May we go to the cellar and see the ghost, Mother?" Cally pleaded.
"Not now," was Mrs. Belnap's answer.
"I think you'd like the cellar," said Augusta. "It was remodeled over the summer. There's plenty of storage space, but no ghosts."
After she had shown Zoe and the triplets through the door leading to the cellar, she turned to face Alan. "That was uncalled for," she scolded him. "You don't know how hard it's been to sell this house, especially since the owner refuses to set foot in it."
"I'm sorry," said Alan, recalling the stories of weird occurrences that had circulated after the passing of Grandma Tibble.
Augusta smiled and laid an arm around his shoulders. She was going maternal on him, and it severely creeped him out.
"You came here for a reason," she stated.
"Er, yes," the boy responded. "It's Prunella. She injured her brain, and now she has memory problems."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said the rabbit woman.
"I was wondering," said Alan bashfully, "if you could check her out, and see if there's something in your books of alchemy that will help her."
Augusta sighed. "Even if I still had my Wicasta powers," she said in a discouraged tone, "healing the brain is a complicated business."
"But you're the world's greatest alchemist," Alan insisted. "If you can't help Prunella, who can?"
"If Rick were still around," Augusta reflected, "he might know what to do. Kron medical science is more advanced than ours."
"Where did he go?" Alan wondered.
"Back to Kron. He's helping to rebuild the time police. The Alliance is falling apart, and it needs the help of every member."
The immensity of the challenge boggled Alan's mind. Dark Augusta had wiped out six dozen planets, some of which had been critical to the Alliance's infrastructure.
"I...I guess that's more important than Prunella," he acknowledged.
"I'll do what I can for her," Augusta vowed. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a house to sell."
----
Mrs. Prufrock answered a ring of the doorbell. Augusta stood on the doorstep, her ears drooping a little, her blond hair bobbed and curled. Accompanying her was a little girl of almost three years, who appeared to be part rabbit and part dog.
"Is it true?" she asked expectantly.
"It's true," the rat woman replied. "The stone works."
Augusta could hardly contain her delight. Leaving her toddler in Mrs. Prufrock's care, she hurried to greet Prunella, who had changed into a dress and was talking into a cell phone.
"Hold on, Rubella," said the now-teenaged rat girl. "I've got company."
She laid down the phone just as Augusta's arms flew around her. "I'm so happy!" the rabbit woman gushed. "I didn't know if it would work or not. After so many years, you finally have your life back."
"Yeah, it's great," said Prunella, who was one inch shy of being as tall as Augusta. "Thanks for all the help."
Mrs. Prufrock led the little girl into another room, where her adopted son Graham was playing with building blocks. "I need you to watch Petula for a minute," she instructed the boy. "Don't let her swallow anything."
"Okay, Mom," said Graham.
The two children sat in the middle of a ring of blocks--Petula, almost three, and Graham, almost six. Petula's awkward movements and her mismatched face and ears were a source of constant amusement to Graham, who did his best not to laugh.
As he watched, Petula picked up a yellow block and laid it across her palm. In a surprisingly elegant gesture for a toddler, she waved her other hand above the block--and it vanished.
"Hey, where did it go?" Graham wondered.
Petula waved her hand in the other direction, and the block suddenly reappeared.
"Cool," said Graham in amazement. "Do that again."
----
"Poor Prunella," said Arthur dolefully.
"Yes," his mother agreed. "That poor girl." They were seated together at the kitchen table, and Arthur was staring thoughtfully at an almond croissant his father had just baked.
D.W. had brought home a copy of Teen Herd magazine which someone had discarded at the school library, and was browsing its pages on the couch, with a Tibble twin on either side. "There he is," she said excitedly, pointing to one of the pictures.
"Who's that?" Timmy asked.
"Justin Timberlake," D.W. replied. "He's, like, so cute."
"What does he do?" inquired Tommy.
"I think he's, like, a singer, or something."
D.W. turned the page, and a headline caught Timmy's attention. "Are...you...hot," he read.
"I'm not hot," said Tommy. "In fact, it's kinda cold in here."
"Hey, D.W.," asked Timmy, "why do you say 'like' all the time?"
"Because it's, like, the cool thing to do," the girl answered. "You should start."
"Okay," said Timmy. "I'm, like, hungry. I think I'll, like, get something to, like, eat."
"Me, like, too," added Tommy.
The twins hopped down from the couch and rushed into the kitchen. "Hey, Mrs. Read," they called out, "got anything to eat?"
"Arthur hasn't touched his croissant yet," said the aardvark woman.
"I will, Mom," her son snapped.
"I'm so hungry, I could eat a whole box of Twinkies," Tommy boasted.
"I'm so hungry, I could eat a whole Thanksgiving turkey with all the trimmings," Timmy one-upped him.
Upon hearing the twins' reveries about food, Mrs. Read grimaced, rose from the table, and hurried up the stairway and into the bathroom.
"What's wrong with her?" Timmy wondered.
"I guess she's sick, or something," said Tommy.
By the time Mrs. Read had taken care of her business and returned to the kitchen, the Tibble boys had helped themselves to some carrot sticks and were at D.W.'s side once again.
Arthur broke the depressed silence. "Mom, I'm thinking of running for student body president."
His mother smiled. "That's wonderful, dear."
"I think I would do a good job," the boy continued. "I know a lot of ways to make the school better."
"Go for it," Mrs. Read encouraged him. "Make the best of the time you have left here."
Arthur's eyes widened. Was his mother serious this time?
"Ever since the Crosswires moved out of their mansion, your father's business has gone way down," she went on. "We're barely scraping by now. There's a baby on the way, and Grandpa Dave really belongs in a home."
"But he is in a home," said Arthur.
"A different kind of home," Mrs. Read clarified. "A retirement home, where he can get better care."
"Oh."
"Your father and I have talked about this a lot. We think the best way to get back on our feet is to sell the house and move downtown, where there are more potential customers."
"Downtown?" Arthur gaped.
"You and D.W. would go to a different school," said his mother. "A bigger school, with more kids. More kids means more friends."
"More kids means less attention," Arthur disagreed. "I like being in a small class. Mrs. Krantz may be a little weird, but she spends time with each one of us."
Mrs. Read sadly lowered her eyelashes. "I wish it didn't have to be this way--but tomorrow morning, your father and I are going to the real estate office, to put the house on the market."
"T-tomorrow?" Arthur stammered.
"Don't worry," his mother tried to calm him. "We aren't moving right away. It can take a long time to sell a house, maybe as long as a year."
Her words fell on distracted ears. For Arthur, it was the end of the world all over again. This time he didn't face a planet-destroying monster, but the loss of his friends, his school, the neighborhood he knew. Precious little time remained to enjoy these things.
"I'll do it," he said aloud. "I'll run for student body president."
----
to be continued