My apartment is a modest but cozy two-bedroom in the east part of town. I have a decent sized living room. A well-equipped kitchen. I'm on the third floor. I wanted to be on the first floor, but those spots are at a premium. Most importantly, I have a large flat screen TV and a big cushy couch.

It was almost midnight. I'd been going over my budget and finances for the last hour. I was too tired to read anything after the meeting last night. Magic tends to take it out of me. Especially when I'm casting hard. But I couldn't avoid these forms forever. The loan papers for my bookstore were sitting on the coffee table where they'd been living for a week. This was my dream. My original dream, before I became a witch. I always wanted to run my own bookstore. Newt says books, the actual ink and paper kind, will be obsolete soon. That the digital versions will outpace and replace print. But I was stubbornly holding onto the idea that some people still want that experience. Of holding a book in their hands. Feeling the magic that has been weaved into the pages and words. Marinating the pages with their own emotions.

I even had the spot picked out. A building down on Shelby Street. Evergreens lined the small street from corner to corner. It was surrounded by galleries, restaurants with outdoor patios, and lots of pedestrian traffic. There was a beautiful park at the end of Shelby with the Santa Fe River at its shores. It was perfect. The building itself was probably a little more than I could afford, but it felt right. It had been a gallery before it closed, and a small printing press before that. I knew exactly where the coffee and espresso bar would be. Which area would hold the reading room. The building had been sitting for months unleased…waiting for me I think.

I'd filled out every box, every check mark on the forms, except one. The one requiring my signature. This was another turning point in my life. Another milestone. As soon as I signed my name, I'd be in debt again. With Dad's life insurance, I'd been able to pay off my student loans years ago. But I hadn't felt like this since I'd left El Paso. Committed to such a big change.

I squelched the nervous jittering of my stomach and signed, Virginia Walker. Then delicately inched the papers to the end of the coffee table.

"Now I just have to drop them off," I told myself, eyeing the papers.

Baby steps, Virginia. Baby steps.

I poured myself another glass of my favorite boxed red Cab and shoved the last piece of pizza down my throat. Resigned to being a mere mortal with only half an eye for the heavens, I turned on the TV. Then slumped down to hide from Fate in the folds of the couch. I finally found something to watch: Total Recall. The old one, not the new. Starring California's now governor.

Antoinette told me that Arnold, during his first run at office, sought out the American council. Asked them for help getting elected. They agreed and bound a type of alluring spell to him. I'm not sure what he gave them in return. The craft is sort of an underground business. Like the mob. But with fewer dead bodies.

I slipped further into the cushions and got sucked into the scene. It was the one where Arnold is caught cross-dressing and his face melts off to reveal his true nature. In our world, he'd be known as a Copycat…or a Shape Shifter. And he'd use energy from the Fabric, not technology, to change his nature, to shift his matter at a cellular level. But that's not important. The mind-numbing hypnosis I feel taking me the longer I watch, that is important.

Yeah, the weirdest movies relax me.

The dirty laundry sitting in a basket on the floor, next to the TV, I swear, it started mocking me. Especially the underwear. I stuck my tongue out at all of it and went back to Arnold.

I took a sip of my cheap but delicious wine and settled in.

That dress looks atrocious on him.

It was the last thought I had before passing out. Wine set upright on the couch, still in my hand.

…

I couldn't have been asleep for more than twenty minutes. I know because Arnold was now bonding in the cantina with his new mutant friends. I knew this movie well. The wine glass was still in my hand, half full, not a drop had spilled. Heh, go me. But I'd been sleeping pretty soundly. That kind of immediate hard core slumber that takes you like a coma. Your heart rate slows. Your mouth falls open from lack of muscle control and you drool onto a pillow…or your chest. But I was awake now. For no good reason. And then it hit me. I was having that same feeling. The one that I'd had the night before last in my library. Like someone is watching me. The hairs on my arm fluffed, raising goose pimples in lines from my shoulders to my wrists. That same quiet that filled the building filled my little apartment. Like the nature of sound was being suspended.

I startled as the television suddenly turned channels by itself. Landing on an infomercial for the ButtBuster. Was the Universe trying to tell me my ass had gotten too big? I giggled to myself then jumped as the television screen went blank. I held my breath. A thickness built in the air. The same tenseness, the same pressure.

Pop!

"Ouch!" It was louder this time. And my ear holes felt the pressure change. The sound of a thick fingernail flicking a coin reverberated off the walls, growing in intensity and volume. Then stopped abruptly.

"Shit!" I jerked my head back as something tried to manifest right in front of me. I could almost make out a form. It was round and shiny. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was struggling to exist, to cross the barriers from some other plane to this one. It flickered, then closed in on itself. The television rejoined normality too, changing back to my movie.

"Well…this is getting more and more curious."

I sat there for a minute, patiently waiting. But, apparently, that was the end of that particular little presentation.

I called my power, looking at my apartment with new eyes. The Fabric was as it always was in my place. Clear lines of gold light criss-crossed from one side of the living room to the other. They vibrated with a familiar and comforting hum.

As I sat there contemplating the possibilities, the laundry basket spoke to me again. Something about domestic responsibilities.

What the hell, I'm already awake.

I downed the last of the wine and eased into my bunny slippers. Given to me by Holly–a particularly gifted witch in our coven, an Animora. She can speak to animals. No, the irony was not lost on me.

I took the long walk to the basement laundry room. Since it was well past midnight, it was a lonely walk. I could wait to do laundry at Antoinette's. I spend most of spare time there anyway. My coven is my family now. With Dad gone, and Mom hiding up in that cabin in Colorado. And Antoinette has a nice house. She says she's my sugar momma. And that she's going to have to make me her non-sexual domestic life partner one day. That's true enough to not be funny.

But dammit, it had been too long since my last relationship. Ok, so, it had been a year. But that's an eternity to a witch. That was another little surprise for me when I crossed over. Before I was a witch, when I was, more or less, a normal person, I had what I considered a normal sex drive. But now, I was hungry all the time. Hungry for love, for passion. And I took it in whatever form it presented itself. I had never found women attractive. At least, not in the carnal sense. But now, I found boobs eternally fascinating for some reason. I got why men stared at them so. Antoinette calls me 'trisexual'. She thinks it's hilarious.

"Hey, Virginia."

Speaking of sexual.

"Hey, Oscar." It was the new guy from apartment forty-four. I had met him a few weeks ago as I was bringing in groceries, and he was bringing in furniture. Oscar and I had been running into each other ever since he moved in. He had a basket of laundry too. "Getting in some midnight fluff and folds?"

"Yep. I finally got tired of turning my t-shirts inside out. You?"

"Yeah, just dropped mine off." I chose not to mention my lack of clean underpants.

Oscar was a little taller than me, maybe a little older, had dark wavy shoulder-length hair and deep set dark eyes. His nose was slightly crooked, like it had been broken. You wouldn't know unless you really stared. Which I was. His smile was dazzling white. His skin was a delicious and touchable honey-brown. He's what James would call a Mexilite. I would not call him that. Or call anyone that. Oscar was a little shorter and little darker than my type. But damn, was he gorgeous.

"So what brings you to the laundry room at such a late hour? Did you have to work late or something?" I gently and politely probed him for his occupation.

Please don't be a musician. I thought, subsequently annoyed that Newton had gotten to me.

"Oh yeah, we have a new stud at the ranch. Guy has an attitude."

I frowned. Stud? Ranch?

"And it's getting colder with the sun going down earlier. So I stayed back and helped Jules put blankets on all the horses."

I made a little 'ooh' motion with my lips.

"Yeah, I work at a ranch. A horse ranch." He smiled that friendly big-toothed grin. "I'm a horse trainer."

"A horse trainer." I repeated. Sounding confused.

"People keep their private horses on our ranch. Mostly rich people. I train them for shows, or just riding, make sure they're taken care of. I don't have kids and"

He hesitated and blushed.

"What?"

"They're sort of my kids I guess."

Well that's adorable.

"Horses are magnificent creatures."

"Yes. They are."

He studied me for a second. "You ride?"

"Oh, no," I laughed. "I'm not terribly ah…athletic."

He scanned me, in my jeans, t-shirt, and dammit, my bunny slippers, and grinned slyly. "I wouldn't say that." Then shifted his basket under his other arm. His other tanned muscular arm. "It's a good feeling. Riding I mean. I can take you out some time. If you want to learn. I'm a good teacher." He grinned lopsidedly.

I just bet you are.

"Sure. That'd be great." I smiled back. The thought of riding still terrified me. But the thought of holding onto his waist, made it a tad more alluring.

"Well, I'll let you get to some clean clothes." I finally blurted out, standing in the hallway grinning stupidly at him.

"Alright, it was good to see you again, Virginia." He continued down the hall.

I think we had just flirted. Did we just flirt? Had we finally almost made a date?

Ugh, I'm totally off my game.

I waved goodbye to Oscar, still flirting for all I was worth in my faux furry rabbit shoes and started walking back to my apartment. I turned a corner, and almost killed an old man.

"Mr. Bushwell!" The eighty-something year old lump of grumpiness growled at me and continued on his way. He shuffled off around the corner without saying a word. I shrugged and turned to continue my trek, but stopped midway down the hall. A curious feeling poked at my subconscious. It yanked on my insides, then on my power. The hallway dissolved into its component parts. Thin horizontal wisps of emotional energy filled the hall. The echoes of so many humans living together in such close quarters. But the thing that had poked at my mind, was not that. It was the wicked blue and slimy bogey perched on the hallway wallpaper, hanging from its four limbs, dripping goo from a row of sharp teeth. And it was looking right at me.

I stepped backward, around the corner from which I'd come, and flattened myself against the wall. Suddenly, I wondered if this was what I'd felt earlier. And the day before that. But that thing didn't look complex…just nasty.

A bogey in our world is not something superstitious. They're not from another world. They're from our world. Created by humans. They are a collection of our emotions, bad intents, our vitriolic gestures and actions. Like negative residue.

It struck me then…did it belong to Mr. Bushwell? Had he done something nasty? Nasty enough to create the thing. Or was it just following him?

One thing was certain. It had noticed me. And was afraid. Bogeys don't want to be seen. They want to wreak havoc quietly in your mind. Whispering ill-thoughts in your ear and pulling on your worst fears. They are blights and congestion in the Fabric. Like bad acne.

I had to get rid of it. It was running around my apartment building. And I couldn't have that. Even if it did belong to Mr. Bushwell, and he was a crusty old man, I had to dispel it. I would do him this favor.

I snuck my head around the edge of the wall to get another look. The thing was still hanging there, mindlessly eating at electrical energy from just inside the wall. Waiting for me to pass. As I was about to step around the corner, someone touched my left shoulder.

"Whoa! Easy tiger. What're you doing?"

"Antoinette, I told you a thousand times not to do that!" Antoinette has this creepy way of popping up next to you. "And I'm scoping a bogey…wait, what are you doing here?" I looked at her face: a red glittery crescent-moon decorated her right side temple, dipping onto her cheekbone, long black fake eyelashes fluttered from her top lids, and her lips shined with gloss and that same sparkly red tint. Bejeweled leather arm braces poked their heads out from under her jacket sleeves.

"What? I was working tonight. And you called me. So I came."

"No, I didn't."

"You didn't?"

"Nope."

"Hmm…maybe you ass-dialed?"

"My phone is in my apartment on the coffee table right now."

"I could've sworn…" Antoinette removed her phone from her purse and checked the 'recent calls' list. I was not on it.

"Oh." She spoke the word, the single word, that meant so much between us. She'd received a call from me, or someone, or something, inside the Fabric. What sleepers would call a coincidence. This kind of thing happens a lot between us. She shrugged, "I felt like I needed to be here I guess."

"Maybe you're here to help?" I nodded to the thing around the corner.

Antoinette stepped around me and into the hallway. Then looked over her shoulder, "What?"

I rolled my eyes, "Call your power witch."

Bogeys are strong enough, dense enough, to cross the unseen barrier. Being a Weaver is not necessary. Even normal people can feel them. They call them ghosts. Ghosts are real. But these aren't ghosts. Ghosts are more complex, complete echoes of a mortal life. Or spirits who hang on to the mortal world, not realizing they aren't part of it anymore. Bogeys are annoying bits of crud. Like that forgotten leftover meatloaf you put in the fridge. But unlike the rotting meatloaf, bogeys can influence.

Antoinette growled at me and called her power. A soft vibrating warmth caressed the air. "Oh," she said, side-stepping back around the corner. "Ewh."

"I know right?"

"Miss V, you know I can't do a whole lot inside this building. We're on the third floor. The ground, she's…far away. And there are walls everywhere. Closing us in." Antoinette's voice trailed off. This happened to her almost every time she came over. Almost every time she entered my building. Or any building. Another reason we spent more time at her place.

I could see the look in her eyes. And I knew what she was thinking. That urge that comes over her when she feels trapped by man's constructs. She was ready to shed her clothes, run downstairs naked, and out the door. Into the night and into the nearest woods.

One thing was for certain. My good friend and sister Antoinette Black, will never be able to live in New York City. She'd be arrested for indecency and building a tree-house in Central Park.

Me? I know where the ground is. It's down there. And the Fabric is everywhere. I'm never without my power. I'm never alone.

"All I have is my lighter." Antoinette pulled out her Zippo and flicked the wheel.

"Hey! Put that away. I don't wanna burn down the building just to get a bogey."

"I can't really help you anyway," she said and shrugged. "Not without Newton."

Without our amazing caster, a spell between us would take longer. Things living in the Fabric without a physical form? This was more my arena.

"Right. No problem." I took a deep breath and turned the corner again, with Antoinette at my back. The nasty thing shuffled up the wall a few steps and stopped, ogling me. Daring me to move forward. I did. Two cautious and careful steps forward and stop. I put my hands up in the air, on either side of it. I pulled on the lines. You know when you get a particularly nasty tangle in your hair? And it takes some doing to get the strands free? This was just like that.

It screeched and snarled. I pulled and pulled, the mess of fibers that made up its being began to unravel. It scuffled to the ceiling but I held on. The mass of blue at its center dissolved into finer softer ones. I gave one last tug down, it gave one last shriek, the lines vibrating hotly and smoking. The intersecting lines in the Fabric, where it had been traveling, settling into a powdery mist then straightened.

"See?" I nodded to Antoinette. "Easy peasy." It was easy. But I was extra tired now.

"I guess so. But you're staying at my place tonight," she wrapped her arm under my elbow and pulled me close. "I got the creeps now. I keep telling you to just move in with me anyway. When are you going to start listening to me?"

I smiled weakly at her. "Someday my friend. Someday." We gathered my overnight bag from the apartment, my wet clothes from the laundry room, and left.

See you around Oscar. I thought. I was really hoping we'd have another run-in that night. But now, I'd have to wait for fate. If the Fates saw fit to put us together again.