thanks for all the lovely reviews--here you go and enjoy!

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When I awoke, I found myself in a soft, comfortable bed. I sat up a bit groggily and looked around. I felt like I had woken up inside a wedding cake. Everything was covered in white lace and pink ribbons. I looked down and saw that I was wearing...a wedding dress. Or a portion of it, anyway. A small portion. It was white, skin tight dress with a long, transparent veil and a skirt that barely covered my ass. Which was a problem, because my underwear had disappeared, as had my bra. My hand flew to my neck and I let out a breath of relief. My necklace was still here.

I ripped the veil off angrily and stalked over to the closet. More lingerie. Well, disgusting, uncomfortable underwear was better than no underwear at all. I picked out the only pair of underwear that wasn't a thong and a sort of corset. I laced it up and felt somewhat better, but still undeniably naked with my ass hanging out of the skimpy underpants.

I poked around in some chests and found several sheets and pillowcases. I pulled out a dark red sheet and shook it out. This would do. I cut it down to size with my claws (I could change any part of my body I wanted as much as I wanted—I didn't have to go wolf all at once) and tied it around my waist like a sarong. I glanced in the mirror and grinned. I was covered—more or less--and I didn't look half-bad, either.

I took a deep breath and gathered my thoughts. Well, I guess I knew what The Disgusting Pig's business was. It was obvious that I was in a whorehouse of some sort. I was grossed out and extremely pissed off, but not as worried as I might be. I could change, after all. The big thing now was to get out. I crossed to the door and tried the knob. It was locked--but then, I was sort of expecting that. All I could do was wait.

To be safe, I changed and curled up in front of the door. I didn't want to be human if someone knocked me unconscious again. And if anyone came in there was always the option of tearing his throat out and running like hell. I suddenly had a mental image of Unknown Pervert drowning in a puddle of his own blood and growled with pleasure.

When the door opened, I sprang forward only to hit some sort of barrier and fall to the ground. I rolled to my feet and stood stiff-legged and snarling. Sir Formerly Uncle Mac stood there, smirking. He was pointing his wand at me.

"So predictable," he sneered. "How do you like your new accommodations? I have no doubt you have grasped the irony already. I've come to let you know that Ira is awaiting your invitation eagerly." He laughed at the expression of disgust that was apparently obvious even on my wolf's face. "I know what you're thinking. Your invitation? Preposterous. But you should know, my dear, that unless you comply, you will not eat, you will not drink, and you will not sleep. When you decide you want to get to know my good friend Ira a bit better, simply knock on the door and someone will fetch him. Good day to you."

If wolves gaped with open mouths, no doubt I would have done so. Unfortunately, they didn't, so I settled for ripping up a fluffy, beribboned pillow and scattering feathers around the room. Then I changed back and began inspecting every nook and cranny of the room in hopes of finding something useful. I found some interesting...er, accessories, but nothing that would help me escape. My stomach growled and I ignored it. I swallowed, trying to ease the dryness in my throat. With a groan of frustration, I flopped down on the bed and stared moodily at the ceiling until the door opened again.

I sat up quickly, expecting the Pervert or Bellum, but it was just a girl. A gloriously beautiful girl with a sheet of white blond hair, pale blue eyes, perfect skin, and a dainty, fairy-like figure. She managed to make the ridiculous French maid costume she was wearing look halfway decent. I was no chunker myself, but she made me feel positively manly. My eyes suddenly fell to the small figure at her side. It was a monkey—but not.

"Hermes," I blurted. "What are you doing?"

Monkey-Hermes glared and chattered angrily. "I'm getting you out of here, stupid."

"Do you need to be a monkey to accomplish this?"

"No, I needed to be a monkey to get her to come," he pouted. "I can't reveal myself to just anyone, you know."

"But a monkey?"

"Shut up, mortal," he snapped. "Or I might reconsider."

"Right," I muttered.

"Are you talking to Henri?" the girl asked. She had a heavy French accent.

"Is Henri the monkey?" I asked in French. "If so, then yes."

"You speak French? How wonderful! My English is not very good...Is he a sorcerer's familiar?" she asked, genuinely curious. "He spoke to me and said I must release you."

"He's a god," I said, with an accusing glare at Hermes. "Hermes. The messenger of the gods, the god of thieves, shepherds, merchants, and other random things. But he is not a god of monkeys."

"Thank you for that news flash, mother," Hermes said caustically. "Now, come on, we have some errands to run before you get out of here."

"By errands, I take it you mean robbery," I commented.

"Exactly."

"What is he saying?" the French girl asked. If she thought it was weird that I was talking to a monkey who was really a god, she hid it well.

"We have to steal something before we leave," I told her. "I assume you're coming with me since he brought you."

"Leave?" she gasped. "We're going to escape?"

"I suppose," I shrugged. "If Henri decides to indulge us."

Hermes made an ugly monkey-face at me in response and scampered away. The French girl and I followed. Unconsciously, I moved less like a pissed off mother looking for someone to spank and more like...well, like the French fairy next to me.

"Hey, what's your name, anyway?" I asked.

"Gabrielle," she said. "And you?"

"Call me Ari," I said, and looked at her. "Aren't you a little young to be in a place like this?"

"Me? I'm old enough to be a veteran," she returned, laughing humorlessly. "Death Eaters kidnapped me while I was on my way to visit family. I've been here for six months."

"Did you...I mean, did they--"

"Yes," Gabrielle whispered, her lovely face contorting in pain and revulsion. "Yes."

We continued in silence. Hermes climbed onto my shoulder and whispered directions in my ear. I had no idea where we were going, but we seemed to be going down a lot of stairs. I nearly freaked when someone approached us in the hall, but Gabrielle turned her nose up haughtily and I followed suit. No one questioned what we were doing. We were just two whores with a schedule to keep.

"What—what are Death Eaters?" I asked after a few minutes.

"Horrible, horrible people who work for He Who Must Not Be Named," Gabrielle said, shaking her glorious head. "They are murderers, thieves, rapists...how is it that you do not know them? Are you foreign?"

"I'm American," I told her. "And formerly a—I don't know the French word, but the English call them Muggles. I didn't have any magic until a werewolf bit me and it sort of triggered it, I guess."

"A werewolf?" Gabrielle looked mildly appalled. "Oh, I am sorry..."

"For what?" I snorted. I looked around. "Do you have any idea where we are?"

"We're heading for the dungeons," she said uncertainly.

"Dungeons? You're kidding, right?"

Gabrielle gave me a look. "Some of the customers have... exotic tastes."

I closed my eyes. "Ewww."

Sure enough, we soon descended into a dark, gloomy dungeon with a wide variety of manacles, whips, chains, and stuff I didn't want to know about. I felt sick. I had been living with a grade-A pervert for the past three months. Gabrielle saw my expression and grimaced in agreement.

"What does Henri want us to steal?" she whispered.

"I don't know," I muttered back. "He won't tell me. We're almost there, though. Wherever we're going."

Suddenly a face I knew appeared and I dove behind a rack of mock torture devices. Gabrielle had the presence of mind to act like she was here for a reason and didn't protest as Dolohov leered and grabbed her ass before departing. I cautiously emerged and glared at the doorway through which Dolohov had departed.

"That pig!" I cried in outrage. "He's married!"

"Most of our customers are," Gabrielle said dryly.

"But he's married to my friend," I snapped. "Bastard."

"How did you end up here, then, if you're one of them?" Gabrielle asked spat.

"It's a long story," I said wearily. "But I'm not one of them, whoever they are."

Hermes directed me into a closet filled with leather undergarments and hopped off my shoulder to pull back a sliding panel.

"Enchantments again?" I asked, and he nodded his little monkey head.

I stepped through the door and froze, gaping. The room was occupied by a dozen naked women who bore a remarkable resemblance to Gabrielle, but they were even more perfect looking, if that was possible. I was beginning to get a little cheesed off. I wasn't used to feeling anything less than ravishing—or at least attractive, no matter what I told Draco. These—creatures—made me look like Homer Simpson.

Gabrielle poked me in the back and I moved to let her in. She looked around, unimpressed.

"Veela," she told me. "This must be for special customers or something."

"What's Veela?" I asked.

"They are. They're not women—human women, anyway. They're irresistible to men," Gabrielle explained. She added helpfully,"My grandmother was a veela."

"How exciting for you," I muttered. "D'you think they'll stop us?"

"No," one of the veela answered for herself. "Our orders are to seduce any man who enters."

"Oh," I said. "Okay. Sorry to bother you."

Hermes chattered at me to get a move on and led the way across the room. He scampered up to the wall and indicated a small mark. It was the same one I had seen in the sky when the Order of the Phoenix attacked London. The nasty skull. Was that their sign, maybe? I pressed my thumb against it as he directed me and gaped as the wall simply disappeared. Hermes chattered and hopped up and down in excitement.

"That was kind of easy," I remarked, blinking and looking around at what looked like a bedroom.

"Ah, thats where you're wrong, my little darling," Hermes said in my ear. "It only works for a virgin."

I laughed. "How ironic."

"What's funny?" Gabrielle asked, and followed me through the doorway. "And how did you do that?"

"Hermes showed me where the button was," I told her, grinning. "And it only works for virgins."

"You're a virgin?" she asked incredulously. "How long have you been here?"

"Um, two hours, maybe?"

"Oh."

"Hermes," I whispered, "I still think this is too easy. I mean, wouldn't it occur to someone that a female might try to steal whatever it is we're trying to steal?"

"Not this one," Hermes replied. "Trust me. He's the most narrow-minded bigot you'll ever hope to meet. Consequently, he's rather shortsighted. And, anyway, not many people would have a god around to let them through the spells he put on that door. Very nasty, I assure you. The thing we want is in that wardrobe over there. Wait here. I'd better get it for you."

"So what do we do now?" Gabrielle asked.

I shrugged. "Hermes is getting what we came for. It's in the wardrobe. Wizard enchantments don't affect gods, you know."

"Well, what did he need us for?" Gabrielle asked a little irritably.

"Maybe he's not a virgin?"

As we giggled nervously, Hermes tugged open the door and hopped up and down, chattering. I reached into the wardrobe and picked up a plain gold bracelet. Hermes' stern warning not to put it on was completely unnecessary—I wasn't an idiot. But I nodded and turned it over in my hands. It had the initials R.R. engraved on the inside.

"What is this?" I asked curiously, and wrinkled my nose. It reeked of magic. "I mean, it doesn't look all that valuable. Smells like it could be, though."

"It's plenty valuable," Hermes told me. "Keep it safe; you'll need it later."

"Why can't you just tell me what's going on?" I demanded. "I know you all have some plan. You, Eros, Artemis, who else? What's in it for all of you?"

"Sorry, sweet, can't tell you that," he replied. "This is where I leave you. But I will tell you that your friend's hubby is currently passed out in the hallway and he's got some money in his pockets. Your kind of money, even."

"Why?" I wondered.

"This isn't the only place he visits," Hermes said.

"Bastard," I muttered.

"Oh, and one other thing," Hermes said. "When you use that bracelet, it would behoove you to mention that this brothel was once an orphanage."

"'Behoove'?" I smirked. "Have you been reading the dictionary again? You nerd."

"You are insufferably cocky, do you know that?"

"Didn't you say you were going?"

"Brat," Hermes muttered, and disappeared.

The monkey was still there, though. He simply wasn't Hermes anymore. Henri looked around, scratching his head, and scampered away. I looked at Gabrielle and took a deep breath.

"Right. We're on our own, now. Do you have any suggestions?" I looked at her French maid outfit. "Like normal clothes, for starters."

She nodded. "I can find some relatively normal clothes, yes."

"We should hurry—Hermes told me that Dolohov's passed out in the hallway and he has some money," I said, leading the way out. "Where's the exit, anyway?"

"On the first floor," Gabrielle replied. "But there are guards—and they took our wands--"

"I've never had a wand," I shrugged. "But I can do some stuff without one. You know, move stuff and set things on fire."

"Really? I've never heard of people being able to do that."

"My unc—the man I was staying with said that it was 'accidental' magic—the kind that wizards do before they've been trained," I explained. "He said that when they get their wands, wizards forget how to do it because they don't use it anymore."

"I never thought of that," Gabrielle said, sounding surprised. "Before I went to school, I did all sorts of strange things."

"Yeah, I—well, hello, Mr. Dolohov." I bent over and took out his wallet. "Fifty pounds...how many dollars is that?"

Gabrielle gave me a Look. "I'm French."

"Oh...right..."

"Come on, Melanie probably has something we can wear," Gabrielle said, tugging my arm.

"Who's Melanie?"

"She's across the hall from me. She's been here for years and years so she has some privileges," Gabrielle told me, and scowled down at her skimpy getup. "Including some say in her wardrobe."

"Well, then," I declared. "It's off to Melanie's we go."

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but Melanie wasn't it. She was young—twenty five, tops. If she had been here for "years and years"...I didn't want to think about it. She was tall, blond, beautiful, and unmistakably a hooker—and proud of it. She ruffled Gabrielle's hair like an older sister and ushered us into her room with a curious glance for me.

"Who's your friend, Gabbi?" she asked, looking me over.

"Zis is Ari," Gabrielle said in English. "We are going to escape."

"Come again?"

"We are getting out of 'ere," Gabrielle said firmly. "And we need clothes."

"Now, hold on a minute," Melanie said. "Just how are you planning to accomplish this? Neither of you have wands and both of you together weigh about as much as one of the guards' toes."

"I don't need a wand to do some things," I said, looking Melanie in the eye. "We're going, so are you going to help us or not?"

"Don't say I didn't warn you," she said with a shrug, and opened her closet. "Then again, you probably won't be able to say anything at all once those trolls are finished with you."

"Trolls?" I asked uncertainly. "Is that a figure of speech or--"

"You must be new," Melanie said from the closet. "I wondered why I didn't recognize you. Yes, they're actually trolls. And as part of their payment, they're entitled to keep for the night whoever they catch trying to escape. Just so you know."

"Well, then they won't catch us," I said firmly.

"Yeah, okay," Melanie said, and tossed me some clothes. "Just don't expect to be able to walk for about a week, that's all I'm saying."

This only hardened my resolve. I wriggled into the skin tight jeans and pulled on a leather jacket over the corset top. I shot a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like a...well, like a hooker. Even with the belt, I was sure my ass crack was showing. Melanie's clothes were kinder to Gabrielle, who was smaller. In fact, they fit her perfectly. I scowled at this bit of unfairness, then noticed something.

"A hat," I said. "Gabrielle needs a hat."

"What do I need a 'at for?" Gabrielle complained. "It will muss my 'air."

"We need it to cover you hair once we get out," I said. "It's far too noticeable."

"What about you?" she asked plaintively. "'ow come you do not need a 'at?"

"I can change my hair color," I said smugly. "So there. Get a hat."

Grumbling, Gabrielle jammed a hat on her head and glared at me. The hat looked good. Resisting the urge to get mad about it, I motioned for her to take it off.

"Don't put it on till we get outside," I said. "You need to let them see your hair so that way they'll be looking for it."

Gabrielle looked confused, so I repeated it in French. She whipped the hat off in relief and fluffed out her hair. I rolled my eyes and turned to Melanie, who was holding out a pair of ridiculously high heels.

"Uh—no thanks," I said. "We're probably going to have to run. I think we're better off without shoes."

"Suit yourself," Melanie shrugged.

"Thank you for doing this," I said sincerely. "You won't get into trouble for helping us, will you?"

"Don't worry about it," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Just worry about getting yourselves out in one piece."

"Will do," I said, and left the room. Within two steps I had a massive wedgie. Grimacing, I attempted to pick it, and failed miserably. "This is unbelievable," I muttered. "So where's the exit?"

"This way," Gabrielle said, and set off down the hallway.

I tried to close my ears to the sounds coming from some of the rooms, but it was hard. The sounds were extremely loud, extremely enthusiastic, and extremely fake. It was disgusting. Gabrielle appeared not to notice it, and that in itself made me sick.

We didn't meet anyone. If I didn't know any better, I would have questioned such luck. But I had a funny feeling we weren't quite alone. Gabrielle slowed as we neared the lobby. I poked my head around the corner and and saw a bored-looking woman behind the counter who appeared to be painting her nails. Two nasty, burly monsters stood by the door, grunting and comparing their clubs. Wooden clubs. There was also a chandelier hanging from the ceiling and nice, fluffy (flammable) curtains hanging from the windows. I grinned. Easy as pie.

"My wand," Gabrielle suddenly whispered. "We can't leave without my wand."

"You're telling me this now?" I hissed. "Do you know where it is?"

"It's behind the desk in a vault," she answered.

"Tough luck," I said. "We don't have time to figure out how to open it. We'll be lucky to get out, even."

"But how will I get home without my wand?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," I said firmly. "When I say run, you run for the doors. Got it?"

She nodded, looking scared but resolute. I focused my mind on the bottle of nail polish remover and knocked it over with my magic. The woman let out a cry of of annoyance as it spilled all over the desk. Then I set fire to it and she screamed. The two guards looked up, startled, and stared dumbly.

"Don't just stand there, you idiots, get over here and put it out," the woman screeched.

The trolls lumbered over and started whacking at it with their clubs. I fought the urge to laugh as their clubs caught fire without my help.

"Run," I hissed, and sprinted for the door—which turned out to be locked. "Shit."

"You," said an icy voice behind me, "are beginning to irritate me, my dear niece."

"I'm not your niece," I said, turning around. "And I'm not your whore."

"Of course not," Evil Pedophile agreed amiably. "You are my good friend Ira's whore, as you so charmingly put it. And he's on his way to fetch you right now, in fact."

That scared me. I don't know what it was about this Bellum person, but the mere thought of him turned my intestines into jelly. I didn't reply because I was too busy dodging the magic he threw at me with his wand. I don't know what you'd call it—spell, curse, hex, whatever—but it was nasty enough to blow a good-sized hole in the door.

"You want to play?" I muttered. "Fine. I'll play."

I focused my mind on his wand as he raised it and moved my hands like I was breaking something over my knee. The wand snapped like the twig it was and the Pervert stared at it dumbly for a moment. Then he turned his attention to his robes, which I had thoughtfully set on fire for him. For good measure, I set the curtains ablaze as well—there was no such thing as too much confusion, at this point. I looked around frantically for Gabrielle and saw her crouched behind the desk with the woman, whispering furiously. I beckoned to her frantically and she darted over and slithered through the hole in the door. I looked at it dubiously. Would I make it? I'd have to.

I took off the leather jacket and stuffed it through the hole before wiggling and scraping and pushing myself through. I was just about through when something grabbed my ankle. I looked back to see a badly burned, extremely pissed off face glaring murderously back at me. Curling my lip, I jerked my ankle out of his grasp and kicked him full in the face as hard as I could, wishing I had taken Melanie's heels. His head snapped back and I scrambled to my feet, looking for Gabrielle. She handed me my jacket and we took off through the crowd, who didn't seem to notice us until right then.

Then he appeared. I glanced back and saw Ira Bellum following us at a brisk walk. Okay. Okay, think. Hair. I ducked and weaved through the crowd, changing my hair so that it was straight and blond. Not bright blond or pale blond, but a nice, nondescript, easily overlooked sort of blond. Gabrielle hurriedly stuffed her hair under her hat.

"Switch jackets with me," I panted, slowing to a walk. "We need to blend in."

It took all the willpower I possessed not to break into a run or look back. By now my feet were starting to hurt and the wedgie was becoming unbearable. I noticed Gabrielle wincing with each step and saw that her feet were bleeding. Shit. She was leaving footprints. I looked around frantically and saw a mother trying to muscle several children into a taxi cab. I half-carried Gabrielle to the cab and practically threw her in. I slid in after her and slammed the door shut in the angry mother's face.

"Go," I said frantically.

"Where to?" asked the driver.

"Anywhere!" I moaned. "Please, just go."

He went. I looked back and saw Bellum about half a block away from where we had left, staring around helplessly. I sighed and leaned my head against the seat, suddenly dizzy.

"We did it," Gabrielle whispered. "We did it!"

We caught each other's eyes and started giggling hysterically.

"We're not safe yet," I warned her when I calmed down.

"No," she agreed. "But we're free."

"Are you two goin' somewhere in particular?" the driver asked irritably. "And ye could speak English, if ye don' mind."

"Sorry. Where's a cheap thrift shop?" I asked.

"Dunno what ye want one for," he grumbled, looking appreciatively at my top in the rear view mirror. "But I know just the place."

He let us out in a kind of dingy looking neighborhood and pointed out the thrift shop. I thanked and payed him and tapped Gabrielle on the shoulder. But she was looking across the street at a pub sort of squished between two taller buildings. I had the feeling that only we could see it. I squinted at the sign. The Leaky Cauldron. Huh. Weird.

"Gabrielle?" I said, tugging her sleeve. "Come on. We need to get different clothes."

"That place," she breathed. "Oh, Ari, we must have a guardian angel with us."

"Something like that," I agreed. "Come on."

"No—we have to go into that pub," she said firmly. "We will be safe there. I can contact my sister's family and--"

"No," I said quickly. "Oh, no. I'm not going back into the wizarding world. I don't know who to trust or what's going on or anything. I'm staying in my own world, thank you."

"They are good people," she assured me. "I promise you."

"No," I said again. "I want nothing more to do with wizards and witches and magic. You go on—you belong there. I don't."

"What will you do?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"I—I'm not sure," I said, heart sinking. "Find a place to stay, a job—I'll figure something out. You should go—someone might have followed us somehow."

Gabrielle embraced me tightly. "How can I ever thank you, Ari? I'll never forget you. Never."

I hugged her back. "Maybe we'll see each other again someday. Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Good-bye." She kissed me on both cheeks and darted across the road.

I watched as she disappeared into the pub and took a deep breath. I was alone. But I still had a good portion of my money—well, Dolohov's money. I walked into the thrift shop and nodded to the fat, middle-aged woman behind a desk. She stood up.

"Can I help you?" she asked, looking me over dubiously.

"Please," I replied, mimicking her accent. "Do you think I could trade these clothes for something here?"

"Why would you want to?" she asked suspiciously.

"Because they're about three sizes too small and I got them from a prostitute," I said bluntly. "Please. I need clothes."

"Alright, lass, alright," she said. She glanced at my feet. "Are you daft? Where're your shoes?"

"Er—I'll be needing some shoes, too," I admitted.

"Well, let's see what we can find for you."

Clucking like a mother hen, she led me to a rack of women's clothes. I found some jeans that fit me and a loose button down shirt. I picked out a long jacket with pockets on the inside and put it all on. I folded Melanie's clothes neatly and handed them to the saleslady.

"How about shoes?" I asked. "I've a little money--"

"No, no," she said. "These clothes are hardly a fair trade for what you've taken. Take a pair of shoes and another shirt and we'll have a bargain."

"Thank you," I said gratefully, and tried on sneakers until I found a pair that fit.

I also found a scarf that I could wrap around my head and would have taken that instead of an extra shirt, but the saleslady insisted that I take a shirt, too. I didn't have socks--or a bra--but I felt much better. I stood up and saw the saleslady looking at me curiously. I raised my eyebrows questioningly and waited.

"Are you in trouble?" she asked bluntly.

I hesitated, then answered, "A bit. I need a job and a place to stay. It would help me a great deal if you could point me in the right direction."

"Jimmy's place," she said promptly. "My youngest brother. He owns a pub not too far from here. He'd take you on. You tell him Martha sent you."

She gave me directions and I set off, feeling a bit more calm. I was reasonably confident that I wouldn't be found. To the Pervert, I was a spoiled rich girl. He'd never think to look in this sort of neighborhood. Well, normally, he'd be right. But desperate times call for desperate measures and all that.

Jimmy's place was just as run-down as everything else, but it at least looked clean. This was encouraging. I pushed open the door to find several men at the bar. They turned and looked at me curiously before turning back to their drinks. The bartender, a not-quite-old man with sandy hair and a big nose, acknowledged me and nodded to an empty seat. I took it cautiously, looking around.

"Is Jimmy around?" I asked uncertainly, fingering my head scarf nervously.

"You're talking to him, sweetheart," the bartender answered jovially. "What can I do for you?"

"I need a job," I said without preamble. "I can cook, clean, whatever you need me to do. Martha said you were hiring."

Well, that wasn't exactly what she said, but I didn't want to sound like a charity case—even if I was. Jimmy's eyebrows rose slightly, but he nodded.

"I could use some help," he said. "What's your name?"

"A—Alexandra," I said. "Alexandra Rodriguez."

"That Spanish?"

I smiled nervously. "Si, señor."

"You speak it, too, or is that all you know?" he asked me.

"I speak it well enough," I replied. "My grandmother was Colombian."

"Well, then, Alexandra Rodriguez," he said. "We pay four-fifty an hour. You'll be working as a cook and barmaid four to six days a week from eleven in the morning to eleven at night with plenty of downtime in between. When can you start?"

"Today?"

Jimmy blinked. "What, right now?"

"Well, no, I need to do a few things first," I said. "When should I come back?"

He considered. "Folks will start coming in for supper at around six-thirty. Be here at five so Callie can show you the ropes."

"That sounds great," I said gratefully. "Um...is there a clothes store around here? I need to buy some—some clothes."

Jimmy smiled sardonically. It looked kind of strange on a man of his age. "Really? Clothes?" He chuckled as I blushed and called out, "Oy, Callie!"

Callie appeared, and I couldn't quite keep myself from staring. Callie was fourteen or fifteen, with multicolored hair pulled into pigtails, a spiked choker necklace, tons of eyeliner, multiple tattoos, fingerless gloves, and about thirty piercings distributed between her eyebrows, ears and nose. My eyes drifted to her cutoff jeans and midriff-baring Sex Pistols teeshirt. I found myself wondering how she managed to blow her nose.

"Callie, this is Alex," Jimmy said. "Take her down to Martha's will you?"

"Sure, Dad."

I resisted the urge to smack Jimmy. What kind of father would let his kid run around looking like that? Once we were outside, I turned to Callie a little uncertainly.

"I've been to Martha's already," I said. "She pointed me to your dad's place. The thing is—I need to buy some underwear and bras."

Callie pointed to the shopping bag at my side. "Is that all you have?"

"Er—yeah. And what I'm wearing."

"Well, you need more clothes," Callie said decisively.

"I need underwear more," I said firmly. "And I need to save the money I've got until I find somewhere to stay."

"Oh, we've rooms above the pub," Callie told me. "Dad can just take the cost out of your paycheck. Come on, Auntie Martha probably has some cheap bras. Then we'll go find you some knickers."

"Okay," I said dubiously.

Martha greeted us warmly when we walked into her shop and asked me if Jimmy had helped at all. I told her that he had been very helpful, and thanked her for pointing me in the right direction. I then picked out some bras that fit me decently as well as more shirts and jeans. Then Callie took me to a little WalMart-esque sort of store and I bought enough underwear to last me a while. Then we returned to the pub and it was like someone had pushed a fast-forward button.

Callie showed me to my room and helped me put away my few belongings and led me down to the kitchen. Soon people started coming and Jimmy yelled orders to Callie, who barked out instructions for me like a general. A pierced, tattooed general. But she got me through the cooking of strange English foods. Well, it wasn't so much the dishes that were strange as the way they were prepared. I don't know, I guess I was just confused by the lack of olive oil and oregano. Anyway, it was a highly stressful experience and I almost forgot to talk with an accent a few times, but Callie was too distracted to notice.

When it was finally over, I collapsed in my new bed and all but passed out. I didn't sleep very well, though. I kept having nightmares in which Bellum had caught me or I'd lost the bracelet Gabrielle and I had stolen or Draco turned up and died or other strange events. I woke from these nightmares panicked and sweating and not knowing where I was. It was a relief when morning came.

I rose a little after dawn and took a quick shower before dressing and heading downstairs. Callie was already up in full punk-rocker regalia, eating cereal at one of the tables. She looked up as I entered and motioned for me to sit. When I did, she wordlessly shoved a piece of paper at me across the table.

I glanced at it and my mouth fell open. I must have looked truly alarming, because Callie jumped up, ordering me to put my head between my knees.

"I know what to do," I said irritably, but did it anyway.

When the faintness receded, I looked at the flier again. There was a large picture of me—my senior portrait. How had they gotten hold of that? Katerina Ariadne Metaxas, proclaimed the heading. Underneath, it continued, wanted for murder and arson. Five feet, six inches, approximately nine stones. Brown hair, green-hazel eyes. American. Also speaks French, Italian, Spanish, Greek, and Russian. It gave a contact number.

"Is it true?" Callie asked.

"I—I don't know." I was dizzy. Had people died in that fire? But they're wizards, for crying out loud. They couldn't put out a little fire? But Uncle Mac—I could have broken his neck. I didn't even think of it at the time. "It's not what it sounds like."

"Really? I don't know how many different ways you can take 'murder' and 'arson'," Callie said, and peered curiously at me. "You don't sound American."

I shrugged and gave a hollow laugh. When I answered, I dropped my fake accent. "I speak five languages with a perfect accent. English isn't all that hard."

"So you admit that this is you, then?" Callie said.

"Yes." I swallowed.

"Are you going to explain how 'murder' and 'arson' can mean something other than 'killing' and 'fire'?" she asked. "Cause I'm kind of curious, to tell you the truth."

"Does the term 'white slavery' mean anything to you?" I asked, looking her in the eye. She looked blank. "No? Do you know what prostitution is?" That got her attention. I laughed humorlessly. "Brings a whole new meaning to the term 'sex slave', doesn't it?"

"That's...that's sick." She looked sick. "You were—I mean, did you--"

"No. I was only there for two or three hours," I told her. "I escaped with another girl. That's why I set the fire. As for murder...it was in self defense."

"These were all over the place," Callie told me. "You'll have to stay upstairs until we can get you out of here. We'll get you a plane ticket and--"

"A plane ticket is useless to me," I said grimly. "I don't have a passport, first of all. And second, I think someone might just recognize me at the airport."

Callie thought for a minute. "You'll stay here."

"And hide upstairs for the rest of my life?"

"People will start to forget after a few weeks," Callie said confidently. "And in the meantime, we'll disguise you."

"How?" I asked. "I don't think dark sunglasses and a trench coat are going to cut it."

I didn't like the look in Callie's eye. "Leave it to me," she said, getting up. "You eat your breakfast while I go explain to Dad. When I come back, we'll get to work on your disguise."

"You're sure this disguise will work?" I asked dubiously.

"Trust me, Alex--or Katerina or whatever your name is--you won't even recognize yourself."

I didn't like the sound of that. But I found some yogurt and fruit in the kitchen and munched in silence, staring at the flier. Had I really killed the Pervert? Who the hell was he, anyway? And who was looking for me if he was dead? I thought I knew the answer to that last one. Ira Bellum. I shivered. Would it be better to just go wolf and disappear into the countryside? No, he knew I was a werewolf. I was probably safer here in the city.

Callie found me sometime later and brought me up to her room. Jimmy assured me that he believed me and would do everything he could to help. He also assured me that Callie knew what she was doing. With this in mind, I sat in a chair as she directed me and took a deep breath. Suddenly I heard a snip and jumped up.

"Sit down," Callie ordered crossly. "Do you want a disguise or don't you?"

"What are you going to do to my hair?" I demanded.

"I'm going to cut it off," Callie said honestly. "Sit down."

I sat, trembling. My hair. Maybe I am vain, but come on! She was going to cut my hair. My beautiful, dark, curly hair. My crowning glory. Okay, so it wasn't dark or curly at the moment, but still. I felt queasy. I kept my eyes squeezed firmly shut throughout the ordeal and pressed my lips together to keep myself from screaming. When it was finally over, I turned to look at myself in the mirror and promptly passed out.

Callie must have taken advantage of it, because when I came to, my entire face was on fire. Filled with dread, I raised a hand to my nose. Oh, God. One, two...eyebrows? Three. Ears? Five in one, six in the other. I opened my eyes to see Callie's face floating above me. She looked pleased with herself at first, then alarmed as I lunged upward.

"You little rat!" I cried, sounding like a strangled goose. "I'm disgusting!"

"I think you look great, but that's beside the point," Callie grunted, trying to throw me off. "The whole point is to make you look different. Which you do."

Well, that was true. With effort, I released her and turned to the mirror. Okay, so maybe it wasn't that bad. The earrings were actually kind of cool—if you ignored the rings in my nose and eyebrows. The haircut was undeniably atrocious, but with liberal amounts of hairspray, maybe...well, no. There was no getting around the haircut. I looked at my clothes. Callie saw me looking and nodded.

"You'll need some new clothes. You can borrow some of mine for now." She held out a black tank top and a pair of suspiciously familiar ripped jeans.

"Hey!" I cried. "You ripped my jeans!"

"It's a disguise, remember? Hurry up, people will start coming in for breakfast soon."

Feeling scandalized, I pulled on my jeans and the tank top, which left much of my midriff bare. I noticed Callie staring and crossed my arms over my belly self-consciously.

"What?" I snapped.

"Nothing," she said, jerking a little. "You have an amazing body. I'm jealous."

"Yeah, well, I'm an athlete," I said, somewhat mollified. I started for the door. "Are we going, or what?"

"Not quite yet," Callie said, advancing on me with a bottle of hairspray and a handful of jewelery.

Here we go again. I sighed and surrendered to the inevitable.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

tee-hee! prostitute to punk-rocker! oh, Ari, Ari, Ari--what will become of you?

Review, my ducks.

Shai