Chapter Fifteen: Phobos and Deimos

"Phobos wants to meet me." I repeat faintly. "Phobos. Your brother that you sort of didn't want me to meet, because you thought I might like him better? He's coming HERE? But why? And how does he know about me?"

You're lowering yourself to the floor to crouch by Cat as he plays with his new toy, your clawed hand stroking his back.

"We communicate. It's a bond, a mental bond. What I feel, he feels after a fashion. And he's terribly curious as to the strange fascination I've developed for a human girl. One who tried to kill me, no less. He may be rather stern with you at first. He has a long memory. But he is far more forgiving than I am. Just be polite and somewhat deferential and you ought to be fine. Now come, let's get you dressed. He will be here in a few hours. I specified after dark. He's in Iceland at the moment, feeding. It will make him even more docile."

Mechanically, I move toward the stairs and begin to climb them, knowing that I will find you in the bedroom when I arrive there. And so I do. You're in the corner, still holding Cat, who looks pretty freaked out at the sudden change in location. When you move to the bed and set him down, he wobbles a bit on his feet, then proceeds to make a thorough inspection of the comforter and pillows. I open the closet and look at the dresses, my mind reeling.

"Bill and Mike WILL try to come here, you know. Looking for me."

"As I have said, they won't be getting in until I am good and ready to deal with them, at which time I will dispatch them and feast on their flesh and fear. Perhaps, if it worries you so, my brother and I can both lie in wait for the boys and share a meal. Wear the blue one, Dream. It brings out your eyes."

"I don't want you to kill them though! They used to be my friends. I don't…I don't know what they are to me now."

I strip off my clothing and carry it to the bathroom hamper to deposit it, then I run cool water into the sink for a quick sponge bath. You are behind me in a heartbeat, wrapping your huge hand around my upper arm and whipping me around to face you. Your eyes are not orange now. They are red, and when you snarl at me there's anger in your voice.

"You'd best settle on which side you favor, Beverly. I will not have my revenge stripped from me simply because you haven't the stomach for it."

"You're hurting me."

"That is what I do, Dream." You growl, but you release my arm and take a step back, clearly aggravated. I rub the angry red marks on my skin where your claws grazed my flesh, tears welling up in my eyes.

"I'm on your side, Deimos. I chose you. I chose the monster, alright? But there's…there's history here that is a whole lot more complicated than what lay between Greta and me. You saw how badly that affected my emotions. Are you going to make me watch? You know I can't take it. I can't handle this. I'm not asking you not to do it! Just please, please don't make me talk to them, or see it happen, or hear it."

"You are ashamed of what you and I are to one another now, that you would hide it from your little Loser's Club before the end? No. You do not need to be present for the actual killing, but I won't have you cower away from a final farewell and a firm commitment to the path you've chosen. The path you dragged me down as well. Or perhaps you are embarrassed that you bedded an animal."

That stings worse than the scratches on my arm. My voice shakes a little when I speak. I reach up to smooth the fabric of your ruffled collar.

"You can accuse me of being a scared little girl and being squeamish and being weak. But please don't accuse me of being ashamed of you. I'm your lover now, remember? I wanted this. I wanted you. And I'm on your side. If you need me to prove my loyalty, then I will. I don't think of you as an animal, either. You're Deimos. You're my whole world."

Mollified, some of the fire goes out of your gaze. You lean down to press a kiss to my forehead, and I close my eyes and just focus on this moment. The scent of you, the warmth of your red lips on my brow, the way you almost tenderly tug me against you and stroke your fingertips down my spine.

"You are many things, Dream, but you are not weak. Now finish your grooming and get dressed. We will not talk of these things anymore for the moment. I have no wish to upset you before you meet my brother."

"Does he look exactly like you?" I turn back to the sink and begin to clean myself. You linger in the doorway, filling it with your immense form.

"His features are somewhat more elegant, and his eyes are dandelion yellow. If you find me attractive, you may very well find him positively irresistible."

"You will always be the most irresistible creature in the universe to me."

"You need medication, my dear."

That makes me smile. Your tone isn't derisive this time, or mocking. Not like before when you were calling my sanity into question. If anything, you sound almost fond.

I'm looking forward to meeting your brother very much, although the thought of being in the same room with two giant man-eating clowns causes me the usual stab of megalophobia. Lover or not, you are massive. Your brother, while smaller than you are, will also be massive. I will be a tiny creature in a room with two behemoths who feed on my kind. So why am I excited rather than terrified? Bill and Mike have guessed at where I am. They could show up together any moment. Why am I not more frightened of this?

I don't know.

I move through the bedroom, naked, and open the wardrobe to pull out the blue dress you've requested. You watch me with your perfect orange eyes as I get dressed and take a seat at the makeup table to pretty up a little.

"Fluff your curls and wear red lipstick. And the shading above your eyes, I like the brown glittery color. No, not that one, the one beside it. Yes. The necklace I gave you, I wish you to wear it as well."

I sigh, putting down a makeup brush. "Do you just want to do this?"

"Do not be ridiculous, Dream. My hands are far too large to apply your face paints and creams and powders. I shall simply watch and offer suggestions."

"You are so controlling." I turn to look at you where you crouch beside the table, and you don't look upset at my statement. Mildly amused, if anything. And perfect, as you always look. I reach for a tube of red lipstick and touch it on carefully. "Will your brother knock at the door in his human form? Or just appear out of nowhere?"

"He will come up from the basement, I believe. We are used to traveling in secret, in subterranean conditions whenever possible. I believe he will announce his presence to be polite to you."

"I'm touched. Should I…warm up what's left of Greta for the two of you?"

"That would be lovely, yes. You may plate it as you see fit, to make it appealing to the eye. We do not normally eat in such a fashion, but I believe tonight will be special. He will remain here with us for a few days, I think. His curiosity about you is very great."

That information inspires an internal scream, but I force down the panic and lean in to begin applying the brown eyeshadow you favor.

"Should I make up a guest room? He probably doesn't sleep, does he. Just like you."

"He will recline in bed with us. It is large enough. You may sleep between the two of us and feel protected."

I slowly set down the applicator and turn my whole body to face you. There is no color in my cheeks. No color in my face.

"What."

"You shall sleep between Phobos and myself tonight. Fear not, he wouldn't harm you. This is not to be a sensual act. You would die."

"Deimos," I say carefully, and you tilt your head slightly. "You are scaring the crap out of me."

"Yes I know. I can smell your fear. It is delectable. I ought to frighten you more often."

And then you are rising to your feet to go to the closet, opening the door and rifling through it to find a nightgown you like the look of. You lay it on the bed for later. Cat, completely oblivious to the tense terror in the room, hops into my lap and begins to purr. I stroke his back with numb fingers, looking at the bed. Picturing not one but two giant man eating clowns in it, and one skinny and shivering food source lying frozen between them.

But still, despite the fear, there is a strange delight building in my stomach. A warmth. A yearning to meet your other half and see the two of you together. Cat puts his paws on the table and bats at my lipstick tube, sending it rolling to the floor. He dives down to chase it. I blink at him, watching his eager kittenish movements.

"Pierrot."

"Pardon?"

"You told me to give Cat a name. Pierrot. The Weeping Clown from France. He was famous for pantomime and commedia dell'arte in the late seventeenth-century Italian troupe of players performing in Paris. They were called the Comédie-Italienne. I remember from theater class. Pierrot was always depicted as pursuing the beautiful clown Columbine, who always left him in favor of Harlequin, another clown. I always felt bad for Pierrot. His costume is a little like yours, and he wore white face paint. It seems like a fitting name for a cat who belongs to a Clown."

You crouch down to pet the small black creature. Pleasure evident on your face.

"Pierrot. Yes, that will do nicely." And you touch his collar to cause silvery letters to appear. "Your name is Pierrot now. You will be safe and warm and fed for your entire life."

You look up at me, grinning with sharp teeth. "I cannot relate, though. If there was another suitor who captured your affections, I would kill him without hesitation. Why Pierrot did not simply murder Harlequin is a mystery to me."

"Maybe because he wanted Columbine to choose him freely, without being forced. Not everyone relishes the feeling of being kept like a pet."

You move behind me, and a moment later you are clipping the diamond necklace around my neck.

"Although I do consider you mine, you are not a pet. You are aggravating and dangerously cheeky food. Finish your face paint and come to the kitchen. I do not want you to risk getting blood on your clothing, so wear an apron. There is one in the kitchen cabinet where the mop and broom are kept. There is much to be done, and we…"

You trail off as the distinct sound of knocking comes faintly to us from downstairs. Startled, I look wildly toward the hallway.

"Is that Phobos?"

"No. It is Bill." You sniff the air, and your eyes shift to red. I can't even breathe for a second.

"Deimos please! Please, not now! Just…can't you make him go away?"

But you are already prowling toward the stairs, your fangs lengthening. Your form growing slightly. Drool forming on your chin.

"Oh, I intend to make him go away. Forever, in fact."

"Your brother will be here soon!"

"I shall save the little stuttering bastard in the basement then. For dessert."

"Deimos I'm begging you! He doesn't know for certain that I'm here! He can't know! If he opened that door, what would he see?!"

You pause at the top of the staircase, glaring down at the front door.

"He would see what I wish him to see. A ruined and moldering house with no one inside."

"Then let him see it and leave!"

"He will wish to explore, I would imagine."

"Can't you change his mind? You're powerful! You can do anything! DO SOMETHING!"

I am pulling on your arm, but I might as well be trying to hold back an agitated elephant. A snarl rises in your throat. One fist slams against the wall hard enough to leave a hole in the plaster. A hole that seals itself the moment you pull your arm back.

"He will continue to return, Beverly. There WILL be a showdown. And he will die."

"It doesn't have to be today! Please!" I'm close to tears, desperate to put this off just a little while longer. I need time to come to terms with it. I need time to steel myself against it. I need time to numb my emotions. I need time.

Your red eyes slide to one side, watching me. A miracle, then, as you huff out an explosive sigh and turn away from the stairs.

"Fine."

No sooner has the word left your mouth then the entire house rocks with the sudden impact of a powerful wind. The window at the end of the hall darkens as thick black clouds roll in from nowhere, laden with freezing rain. Hail begins to fall from the sky, pelting madly against the roof and walls.

Outside on the stoop, just pushing the door open hesitantly, Bill Denborough shrinks back from the stench of dust and mold and rot that the house exhales. The sky has opened above him, a massive storm venting its rage on Derry. He is soaked to the skin even before he has time to pull shut the door again and run back to the car, where Mike Hanlon waits in the driver's seat. He has to yell over the sound of the hail and the wind and the rain.

"THERE'S NOTHING INSIDE! IT LOOKS JUST LIKE LAST TIME! I CAN'T TELL IF SHE'S HERE!"

Mike yells back, but you've lost interest again, and the magic that allowed me to hear Bill even across the yard and above the storm fades. The two boys drive away, lost in curtains of gray rain. I am frozen at the top of the stairs for another few moments, until I hear you tinkering in the kitchen down below.

You can control the weather.

I shouldn't be surprised. Nothing should surprise me at this point. But nevertheless, I am stunned.

You actually have control over the weather itself. What else can you control? Death, the wind and rain, the contents of an entire house. What is real anymore? Do you have your hands dipped into the living ether of the entire world?

I slowly descend the stairs, and when I reach the kitchen as well I stand in the doorway and watch you as you withdraw plates from the cabinet to set the table in the formal dining room.

"Deimos?"

In response, you merely growl. Still annoyed.

"Did you make it rain the day Georgie went missing?"

"Of course. I am very fond of the rain. Darkness and wild weather appeal to me. I believe I will let the storm rage on for a bit. Phobos enjoys it too."

"And the day I came here?"

"Yes, though my intention was not to draw you here."

"You're amazing."

"Parlor tricks. Warm the meat, Dream. He approaches."

With a last shiver, I shake off the unpleasant feelings and panic I'd just experienced. Bill and Mike are gone. It will be a little while before they try to come back again to conduct a more thorough search. I have room to breathe, and we have a guest coming.

I move into the room and open the fridge, taking the parcels of Greta out of the crisper and arranging them in a roasting pan. Just below body temperature, you said. Christ…there isn't a setting for that on the stove. You and your brother eat people. You would eat me if I wasn't your mate. I would be dead, and on a plate like Greta.

There is a whoosh from the other room as you light the fireplace with your mind. I put the remains of a human being I went to school with on a plate, and I add parsley and a drizzle of melted butter to the platters. Sorry, Greta. I am so sorry.

I make up a fried chicken breast for myself. I whip a potato with sour cream and butter and garlic salt. I do not look at your plates while I do this. I simply do as I must. I make dinner for two monsters and a person.

Then it happens. It happens.

I hear, I FEEL, a second being in the dining room with you. The door to the basement opening, closing. Soft laughter. The tinkle of bells, an unfamiliar pitch. I lift the platters of human and chicken flesh in my hands, and I move to the partition. Then I push through, a smile on my face. A false smile plastered there with fear and love and anger and longing and adoration.

Two Clowns stand in the dining room. One about six inches shorter than the other. Elegant features. Dandelion colored eyes. Immaculate satin gray regalia. He moves forward to take the platters from my hands.

"These are heavy for you, Beverly Marsh." Phobos tells me. He smells of spun sugar and incense and warm cat fur and cream and fresh mown grass. I melt, my whole heart expanding. "I will take them." He says, reaching out. I give him the platters.

"Phobos?"

You come forward, watching me. Watching him. He is beyond beautiful as he carries the plates to the table and comes forth again to take my hands in his. A true Gentleman Monster. Large gentle eyes, tall in stature but not intimidatingly so, the same markings that you have. He puts a gloved hand beneath my chin and tilts my face to the light, studying me.

"Yes, Morsel. I am Phobos. And you are Beverly. You attempted to kill my brother." His voice remains soft, but he lowers his head slightly, his eyes looking deeply into mine. "Do not make such an attempt again."

"I…I won't. Sir. It was a mistake."

He smiles, and I'm not even slightly surprised to see that his gleaming white teeth are just as sharp and numerous as yours.

"Accidents do happen, Morsel. But if another 'accident' should occur, I assure you that what happens to you will be nothing of the sort. Now, enough unpleasantness. I would hate for you and I to get off on the wrong foot. It would make things quite awkward down the road if you and Deimos elect to have offspring."

"What?"

You say something to your brother in a low, growling language that hurts my ears. It is strange and alien, snarls and clicks and huffs. He speaks back, and you speak again. During the conversation, I look from one to the other in trepidation. Offspring? And why would any kind of argument make things awkward with Phobos if you and I decide to have a litter of little monsters? Would I even be able to conceive? You said yourself that you ate all others of your kind. What's to stop you from eating your own children, if it's even possible to make them?

Finally, you look down at me, and beside you your brother also fixes me with his calm yellow stare.

"Perhaps I should have mentioned this before, but if you wish to bear my clownlings, you will need to mate with both of us within a 12 hour period. We shared one body for so long before I split my energies that there is no possibility of conception without his assistance. Now, I believe everything is prepared? We ought to eat together, at the table like civilized creatures. I see you made a plate for Pierrot as well. That was quite kind of you. I am very fond of him."

Phobos goes to the kitchen to fetch my food, ever helpful. My brain flips into the same kind of numb panic that struck me with the force of a physical blow on the day you popped out of a projector and nearly bit my head off. I reach out blindly to grip the back of one of the chairs, all the strength leaving my body. I barely situate myself over the seat before collapsing into it.

You and I have only just made love! The thought of being intimate with your brother too?! When I know you harbor a concern that I might prefer him to you? When Bill and Mike are only temporarily chased off and might return at any time to discover their childhood friend engaged in some kind of messy Clown orgy? I have never in my life wanted to get drunk as badly as I do now. Or wanted to bolt for the hills and run screaming into the night. Terror withers my bones and causes the color to leave my face, replaced with a sickly gray pallor that only victims of war crimes and accused witches being led to the stake bear.

Either ignoring my state of horror or politely waiting for it to pass, you and your brother sit at either end of the table, switching to English to continue your chat.

"I brought down tonight's dinner just yesterday. A childhood tormentor of my mate's. It was my very first act of vengeance on behalf of a human." You tell Phobos proudly. He lifts a chunk of Greta to his lips and effortlessly bites through the flesh and bone. I look away, staring at the chicken breast on my plate as though held the answers to the million questions my brain is shrieking at me.

"Well done! Although this food did not suffer nearly enough, brother." Phobos says, chewing. But he nods toward the window, where the hail is still pelting against the glass with a vengeance. "We ought to go hunting together later. I sense a great many minds troubled by the storm. There are power outages. You know how I love creeping up on nervous prey in the dark."

You chuckle, ripping into your own healthy portion of the woman whose dentist widower will never have the chance to grow to resent.

I am sitting between two enormous beasts who are eating human meat.

"Pass….salt?" I whisper. Your huge white fingers curl around the salt shaker, claws clicking against the glass, and you indulgently hand it to me.

"Eat your dinner before it gets cold, Dream. You must be famished. She has had a rough day, brother. Witnessing the pain of another living creature upset her greatly. She ran away yesterday."

"Did she then? What odd behavior for a mate. Was this before or after your intimacy?"

"Before. I believe it somewhat precipitated the experience."

Phobos looks me over, intrigued. I feel like some sort of zoo animal.

"How did she handle mating? She seems quite small."

At this, oddly enough, you look slightly uncomfortable. I have never seen you look uncomfortable before.

"Ah…yes. About that. I took on a human form."

Your brother's eyes shift back to your face, widening slightly. He wipes his lips on a napkin and lifts the ludicrously tiny water glass to drink from it. There is silence until he sets it down again.

"You did what now?" He asks politely. You growl, annoyed.

"I know it seems ridiculous to you…"

"It does, rather. Was it the human form that your Morsel fell in love with initially? Or perhaps the Spider?"

"Heart of the Void, Phobos. Now you're mocking me."

"Not at all, brother. It may be for the best that you took on a more manageable form for her first time. Not every woman is the same, or can handle the same things. During my love affair, I remained as the Clown at all times unless we were on a date."

I drop my fork.

"You've been in love?! With a human? You said date. You DATED? Who was she? When was this?! Are you still together? What happened to her? Did Deimos know? How did you meet?! How long did it last?! Did she fall in love with your Clown form?! I'm not the only one this has happened to?! Deimos why didn't you tell me?!" The words come out in a breathless rush. I'm not as insane as I thought! There's at least one other person out there who knows what it is to love one of you! And I have to know everything.

You shrug as though it mattered very little to you, but Phobos smiles and nods once.

"Yes, Beverly. I have had a relationship before. It lasted a year before she eventually was compelled to leave by factors beyond her control. We have recently rekindled our closeness. She lives in California, on the west coast. I visit her from time to time, although she is married to someone else now. We meet in secret."

"What's her name? What's she like? How did you meet?"

"Tsugi Tremor is her name. She is a fierce warrior among her people, member of a family of professional assassins for hire. Her husband Lester is one of three brothers in the family, and he is decidedly not warlike. Tsugi and I met when she was searching for a lost child. Unfortunately, I had already consumed the girl. Tsugi was livid and fearless. She actually challenged me to battle! I was somewhat taken aback, unused to anyone not being afraid of me. I found her fascinating, and elected not to kill her. Over time we grew close. Quite close. We fell in love. But eventually her duty to protect the Tremor bloodline caused her to take her leave of me. She is not human, strictly speaking, but rather a demigoddess from a noble Japanese family. Our affair occurred over a hundred years ago. She could not have foreseen that she would one day fall in love with a member of the very family that she was charged with protecting. I hold no ill will toward Lester Tremor, or any of the rest of the Tremors. There is one in New York actually, here on the east coast. I watch her from time to time, although she does not know it. Her name is Holly, and she lives under the protection of a powerful sorcerer. He and I had a run-in of sorts last year, but we came to an understanding."

"He's a threat, brother." You growl. Phobos smirks.

"A slight one, Deimos. But what is life without a little challenge."

I'm beyond mystified and thrilled. Phobos is in a clandestine relationship with a married…did he say demigoddess?!... in California! And another Tremor under the protection of a sorcerer he has an 'understanding' with?! It's absurd and wonderful at the same time, and I can't stop smiling. I look to you.

"When were you going to tell me?"

"I fail to see how my brother's love life is of concern to you, Dream. He is his own creature, as I am. I did tell you that he was far more gentle of the two of us. I am not gentle. I would have killed the woman for her impudence. She would not be the first godling I have consumed." You grumble, and savagely rip into another chunk of Greta. I can't stop grinning.

"So you still see this…this demigoddess? Behind her husband's back?"

"I do not concern myself much with morality."

"You actually make love? In THIS form?"

"Of course. She insists. What sort of lover would I be if I denied such a simple request?"

I sit back in my chair, a little breathless, and I look to you. My enormous, perfect Clown. Armed with new knowledge that has completely changed not only the way I see you, but also the way I see myself. I am not alone anymore in my attraction. I'm not sick. The fact that there are such things as demigoddesses and sorcerers doesn't bother me as much as it probably should. I mean, just yesterday you brought a cat back to life. The universe, as you once told me, holds many strange and wondrous things.

The rest of dinner goes well, although you seem moody and aggravated. I can't imagine why, but I trust that you'll tell me at some point. When we've finished eating, it is plain that you and your brother are nowhere near sated. Again the growling, clicking, hissing language that is equal parts bear, crocodile, large cat, and something darker and wilder. Older than human memory. I listen, looking from one white face to the other, as I begin clearing the table. The two of you retire to the living room, followed by Pierrot, and when I join you there I find you both in similar crouches near the fireplace. Phobos chitters a little laugh, pleased with something you've said, and you growl happily. Then you turn to me.

"We are going hunting together, Dream. Do not fear, you will not receive any visitors this evening. The Denborough boy and his little sidekick have taken shelter from the storm in their home and will not be out for the rest of the night. Phobos and I will return before midnight to rest with you. Do not leave the house."

"I won't."

And then you are both getting up, moving together toward the silent basement door that creaks wide at your approach. There will be nightmares for some unfortunate soul tonight. Nightmares, and pain, and death. Something that has never happened here in Maine before will happen…instead of one Clown, there will be two. Bill would lose all the color in his face, knowing this. Lord, anyone would.

I wait until the creaking of the steps has stilled and there is only the sound of the rain pelting the roof, and then I pick up Pierrot and climb to the second floor. I feel bizarre, as though I'm drowning in some strange dream and can't wake up. I want to ground myself somehow, make myself feel a semblance of normalcy. So I set Pierrot down on the bed and go to the desk. Tilting my phone against an antique picture frame, I find a streaming news station and turn up the volume. Just wanting to see a little of the world outside this tiny town with its affable monster and terrified bleating sheep.

Wars for oil and money. Scandals among the wealthy. Deforestation. Extinctions. The obligatory feel-good stories that mean very little next to the horrors. I only half-listen, but my soul feels calmed by the soothing drone of other human voices at least.

There's a little side drawer in the desk, and I slide it open to see what it may contain. An embroidery ring with a pristine white cloth already stretched through it. Colored threads in neat rolls lined up beneath. And a packet of needles. Well, why not? I select some red thread and a needle and begin to clumsily embroider a little heart.

"….and in other news, the high-profile killing of Darien Alcroft, an influential head of state in Great Britain, has been linked to the infamous Tremor Family. A group of vicious killers for hire that are rumored to be responsible for killings across the globe…"

My head snaps up, and I stare at the little screen just as an image of a handsome blue-eyed man flashes across the digital display. Tremor? As in….Phobos's lover Tsugi? Her family? Killers for hire. I've never even heard of them before, and now I've heard the name twice in one night? This can't be a coincidence.

I reach for my phone, and the news has shifted to something else mundane and unimportant. My heart is hammering in my chest. I need to find these people somehow. I need to find Tsugi. There is only one other person in the world who is in a relationship with a White Clown, and I am desperate to find her. Talk to her. Learn from her. But how do you find even one member of a family that doesn't want to be found?

Google searches turn up nothing, not a single damn thing. Just more news stories, pictures of some of the family members. They're all gorgeous, and they're all 100% off the radar. Just some vague guesses at a compound in the wilds of northern California. I check every method for searching out people, and it yields no fruit.

"Please. Come on, please." I whisper. I don't know how angry you'd be if you knew I was trying to find Phobos's lover. But I NEED to find her! She's actually mated with him in his kill form. Loved him for a century. Knows his moods. Has she met you? Is she eventually going to want offspring with the monster she loves, and require your attentions as well to complete the act? My hands shake as I scroll through page after page of useless bullshit, becoming increasingly frustrated and desperate. I throw down the phone and toss aside the embroidery in my lap, getting up to pace.

I could just ask Phobos to put me in touch with her. But he might say no. You both seem very private, and very protective. How then?! HOW!

And then, all at once, it comes to me.

There's a Tremor in New York. Just one. Phobos said so. What did he say her name was? Hannah? Heather? She lives in New York, under the protection of some kind of wizard or something.

Magic does not exist. Don't be stupid.

I kneel down and pick up the phone again. And there on the floor, tapping in just three words; I find a clue.

Wizard. New York.

Dozens upon dozens of hits follow this simple search. Only one name.

Stephen Strange.

This has to be the one. Has to be. I search feverishly for a number. An address. Anything. Anything at all.

The clock on the mantle ticks off the minutes as I hold my breath, dry-mouthed and scared and hopeful and excited. A half hour goes by. Then an hour. But at last, down some Reddit rabbit hole dedicated to conspiracy theorists and believers in the paranormal, I find ten digits. 'Called this guy once', the poster writes, 'But he hung up on me. So much for getting some lessons in arcane knowledge lol.'

I scribble them down on a cream colored piece of writing paper with a fountain pen, and I carry paper and phone with me into the closet. I don't know why I do this. It's not like I can hide from you, really. But I feel a little safer when I'm seated on the floor among the dresses and the clean sweet scent of the lotions and soaps in their basket.

With hands that shake so badly I have to make four tries, I dial the number. We are in the same time zone. It has to be eleven at night there in New York. Does the Tremor girl live with her wizard protector? Could I get her number out of him if not? Will he even speak to me? Will she? How do I explain why I'm calling? What I want? I can't just blurt out my situation, not without exposing you. But Phobos said he and this man have an 'understanding'. Maybe I won't need to say much of anything.

I dial the number.