"You're hitting on me?" I cried. "When you slept with my dad? Sick!"

"Don't act so disgusted," she said, sliding her hand down to the middle of her dress, exposing more leg. "I can see where your eyes keep going."

I forced my gaze upward, into her blue eyes. "Is that why you asked me up here? To sleep with everyone in the Deebes family? Hey, once you're done doing me, I have a grandpa in Boise..."

She dropped her hand to her side and scowled at me. "Being disrespectful seems to be a family trait!"

"No offense, but I'm not a big fan of sloppy seconds."

We frowned at each other for a few moments.

"Do you know what happened to my dad? Did he die? Is he a cartoon like Harris?"

"Your father is very much alive."

"Then why I haven't I seen him? Do you know where he went?"

"He's here, Drew. He's here."

"Have you seen him lately?"

She glared at me, shook her head. "Not after we split up. He's slowly been distancing himself from me the moment we came back from the incident."

"Do you know anyone named Heinreich Baubels?"

She paused and thought a moment. "It's...not ringing any bells. We do have a Professor Bubbles, but I don't know where he is right now."

"Why did you ask me up here?" I asked.

"I wanted to see what Jack's son looked like. Honestly, I was impressed until you opened your mouth."

I rolled my eyes. "I still don't understand. Why was it so horrible for you and dad to sleep together? Why was there a law against it to begin with?"

She glanced at a clock on the wall. "Keep your eyes on me for the next...thirty seconds."

I sighed, doing as she asked. "Okay?"

All of a sudden, I was looking at a real woman. Her hair took on the darker straw color of real blonde hair, her bosom and hips shrinking to realistic proportions, the titanium white paint that represented her dress turning to silk.

Thirty seconds later, she turned cartoon again.

"That's what happens when a noid and a doodle does it. At first, it happened once every couple minutes, but over the years, it's stabilized."

"I know it's not any of my business, but does it help to...sleep with him some more?"

"I really don't think so. I mean, I tried it, but I didn't notice much of a difference. I still turn real twice every hour, thirty seconds to the hour, and after the thirty mark."

"So that's all it does?" I said. "It doesn't produce a child or anything?"

She burst out laughing. "You're funny." But then the amusement left her face for some reason.

"I don't get it. What's so illegal about it? It only affects you, right?" Not wanting to imply that I wanted anything to do with her, I quickly added, "I mean, if my dad's girlfriend turns human once and awhile, he shouldn't go to jail over it..."

Holli shook her head. "Let me show you something."

She led me over to a corner of the room featuring shrine devoted to...The Union Plaza Hotel,of all things.

Surprised, I pointed at an old photograph of the front of the building. "Hey! That's-"

"That isn't what I want to show you," she interrupted.

Her slender hand pointed to a glowing hole floating in the air a couple inches away from the wallpaper.

It was only about the size of a half dollar, but I could see enough through it to startle me.

The hole overlooked a real living room. Faded, lumpy furniture, unflattering dingy lighting, a spider web in the corner nearest the hole, fading cracked interior paint. An emaciated gangly teen smoked a cigarette while practicing guitar in front of a Ramones video on a flat screen TV. The video appeared to be a bootleg because the picture kept freezing up.

I stared in puzzlement. "What is this?"

"It's a rip in the fabric of reality," Holli said. "I think it has some connection to one of the spikes of power."

"So ...your having sex did this?"

She looked at me like I were an idiot. "No. It just made it bigger. Big enough for me to get out."

"Is...that how you met him? Were you just kind of...stalking him from that hole?"

"It's not like that," she said. "We had a connection."

"Sure," I said. "Stalkers never say that."

She sighed. "Drew, have you stopped for a moment and thought about where cartoon and comic book characters originate from?"

I shrugged. "Uh...the illustrator imitating other artists and using design formulas, occasionally using real life models for reference?"

"That's not where they come from," she said. "That's only the language."

I furrowed my brow. "I'm not following you."

"Drew, Cool World exists with or without the artist. I had an existence, a life, long before your father ever started drawing me."

I thought about it for a moment. "So...you're saying...you're all a bunch of living, breathing ideas?"

"Truly talented artists don't get ideas," she said. "The tap into Cool World."

"Does that mean Wolverine is around here somewhere?"

She shook her head. "I don't particularly care for Logan's mood swings."

I laughed. "How does that even work? I mean, Catwoman was based on Bob Crane's real ex-girlfriend..."

"That's only an ingredient, Drew. I'm talking about the moment when an artist puts a pencil to paper and churns out a graphic novel in twenty four hours because it `practically wrote itself.'"

"I thought that had to do with deadlines and energy drinks."

I could tell she was losing patience with me, but I wasn't an artist or a spiritualist. I worked for H and R Block. "You still haven't explained how you and dad met."

"Look. Cool World exists on a separate plane, a wavelength or something that sometimes overlaps your world." She touched her palms, slowly sliding them together. "When that happens, and the right artist is present at the point of contact..."

All of a sudden, her voice took on the tone of a swimsuit model explaining the effects of K-Y Jelly. "That's when special things start to happen!" She rubbed her hands together in a way that seemed to illustrate sex. "Big things. I mean major."

Her tone of voice made it sound like she were talking about erections, but she instead gushed out, "Mickey Mouse. Krazy Kat. Superman. Captain America. Casper. The Mysterious Cities of Gold."

That last one went right over my head. "What?"

"Never mind," she groaned. "The point is, Cool World is where the big ones come from. And if the right artist just so happens to be in that spot and that spot happens to be within a hundred yards of a spike?" She made a noise like she were being sexually pleasured, continuing in breathier tones. "That's when the real magic happens! That's how I was able to cross over!

"I started little at first, reaching out of the paper, testing Jack's limits, and then I grabbed him."

She let out a moaning giggle that made me feel awkward and uncomfortable. "Oh...kay. Thanks for the explanation."

I glanced at the rip in the fabric of space/time again and frowned. "How do you see anything through this?"

"That's not the only hole. There's another in my bedroom."

I gave her a dirty look. "I think I'll pass on that one."

"It's not what you think," she said.

"Of course it's not."

She shook her head. "I have a device that can see into your world, but it's heavy. You'll need to come into the other room so I can show you."

I was becoming weary of these constant attempts at seduction. As cute as she was, I couldn't make myself not think about dad stripping naked and...ugh.

"All right," I groaned. "This had better not be a trick."

She led me into an adjacent room, a big dark place with wide spreading windows draped in flowing curtains, and a bed with tiger striped coverings, some dressers, a nightstand, and little else. A bust of some generic rock and roll guy decorated the wall above the nightstand. I only mention this last item because I kept squinting at it, trying to figure out who it represented, and never figured it out.

She pulled a dresser aside, revealing another small hole in reality, this one overlooking a messy bedroom, filled with posters for rock bands I'd never heard of, punk rock gear, and art supplies.

A teenage girl with multiple piercings and spiky purple dyed hair sat on a bed with Ipod buds plugged in her ears, mumbling along to some song while she sketched pictures like one of those psychics who did automatic writing.

"See?" Holli whispered. "She has the connection. Her room is directly above a spike, in the same rental property your father once lived in."

She marched over to a wall, pulling the cord on what appeared to be a hide away bed, but instead of bringing down a bed, one of those Rube Goldberg-esque telescopes they sometimes used on weird cartoon shows plunked down on the floor.

The animated woman turned a few dials, pulled some levers and turned a crank, stooping to peer through the eyepiece.

Apparently not satisfied by the view, she made some adjustments to the dials, levers and switches.

"There," she said with an air of triumph. "Take a look."

I bent over and peered through the lens, and as I did, I felt Holli pressing her body against mine. I tried to ignore it.

Once my eyes focused on what I was seeing, I had no trouble continuing to ignore her.

On the teen's paper was a drawing of myself, looking through a telescope, with an animated slut wrapped around me.

"Her name is Dane Gatson," Holli said. "She's very promising, don't you think?"

I swallowed. "This is insane."

I stepped away from the telescope. "That's interesting. I think I'm beginning to underst-"

Before I could finish the sentence, she pushed me against a dresser and kissed me, sliding a hand into the back of my boxers.