THREE

ABIGAIL II

Slowly the surface of the mirror cleared of the rat's ugly face and a new image swirled into focus. Abigail squinted in dissatisfaction at the blurry picture and shook her head. It was only a few feet away, for crying out loud. She sent a quick shock through the creatures astral umbilical cord and the picture suddenly came into sharp focus. (Accompanied by a yelp and a string of curses.)

The rat, it seemed had taken a perch near the rusty chandelier and was viewing the rooms occupants from a birds-eye-view. "Don't get too close," Abigail warned through the glass, "I'm sure those Ministry blokes will be wearing contacts."

The imp obeyed and took refuge behind the chandelier's stem, peering out cautiously.

Madame Paltra had decided to rest her ample bottom on a kitchen stool leaving the plush couch for her visitors. Abigail watched her gesticulate animatedly, bobbing her head up and down as she both nodded and shook her head simultaneously while her mouth never ceased movement. Haggis sat almost motionless with her strange, stretched smile still plastered benignly on her face as she politely sipped her tea. The old man, Amon, made no pretense of his boredom. His not-so-furtive side long glances at the television set made it very clear he had no interest in anything Madame Paltra had to say. (Truthfully, Abigail couldn't rightly blame him.)

Madame Paltra either did not notice her guest's lack of enthusiasm or didn't care as her lips only moved faster and faster as her monologue progressed. "I want to hear what they're saying," Abigail commanded, tapping the glass.

"Of course, as your lordship wishes," the rat said. "Would her lordship like me to fetch her some tea and crumpet while I'm about it? Ow! Ow! Okay, lay off. I'm doing it, I'm doing it!"

The next minute the imp's voice came through perfectly mimicking the conversation it hear. "...Really can't stress enough how pleased I am that you've dropped by to check on our progress. Lord knows, it's been hard. It's been a long hard six years but I'm proud to say we've taken the little monster well in hand."

"Beat her often?" Amon asked, not looking away from his cooking show.

"Oh, yes. All the time." Amon nodded his approval and she continued. "George is especially good at it, you understand. I usually leave it to him. I personally don't have the stomach for such things. I can't abide violence of any sort." (Abigail snorted, remembering a vase that had just missed her head not five minutes before.) "I consider myself the more nurturing and loving of the two of us. I've tried my best to take the monster and induct some morals and civilization into her but, as you know, it is an uphill battle. These types of creatures don't usually cotton much to such things as 'love' and 'friendship' or 'family'."

"You seem to have performed admirably," Haggis said, tipping her tea over her stretched lips. "She is certainly an adorable little specimen. Those big dark eyes, that innocent mouth. I can see audiences simply eating her up." Madame Paltra simpered. "Yes," Haggis continued, "under the circumstances you and your husband have done a bang up job. Particularly your husband if indeed he was the disciplinarian. These magician types can be very spiteful and dangerous to those they consider to have harmed them."

"Well, see now," Madame Paltra said, thinking as fast as she could. "I wouldn't go so far as to say George was the only disciplinarian. That thing has received its share of whippings from me, mark you. All for it's own good, of course. Oh, you haven't the faintest notion how many nights I would lie awake in worry that my very life was at risk. The agony I had to contend with while old George slept the sleep of the blissful.

"He had nothing to worry about, of course, with him always brown-nosing the whelp with candies and the like. All the while leaving it to me to lay down the law. I can tell you, it's been a long and harrowing experience."

"I'm sure it has," Haggis said soothingly while Madame Paltra dried her eyes on a ragged handkerchief. "It sounds as though the pretty little tyke was positively feral."

"They sure can be," Amon said, rubbing his chin in a sage-like fashion. (His eyes were now glued to an acne commercial.) "That's how I got this here limp." He indicated his left foot. "I was given charge of this one magician boy and everything was going along swimmingly (I would water-board him every now and then) when one day, out of the clear blue sky, he up and turns on me. Pulverized the entire house, he did. And we never did manage to sweep up all of Martha." He shook his head solemnly. "To this day, I still can't imagine why he done it. They're all rotten to the core, I say. Just plain evil and rotten to their very core."

Madame Paltry had grown very pale during the telling of this tale and Haggis rushed to assure her. "But it would seem you have had better luck than our poor Amon here. You have served your Queen and country very well. We all salute your service."

"Anything for the flag," Madame Paltry muttered, regaining her poise. (Or what passed for it.) "It has been an honor and a privilege to serve. Oh, by the way, it is really of no importance of course, but George and I have been wondering... Well, mainly George. It's mainly George who's been wondering..."

"What's got your goat, then?" Amon asked, distractedly.

"It's our monthly stipend. You know, for taking the thing into our home. I'm afraid the Ministry has missed the past few months and with times being so tough and prices so high-"

"My dear Madame," Haggis said, a hint of coolness entering her voice. "Surely a patriotic lady such as you understands that under difficult circumstances, such as the extreme deficit our government is now facing, certain sacrifices have to made all around. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Oh, yes! Yes I would, indeed! No other thought ever entered my head. Anything for the flag and G-d save the Queen and all that."

"Good," Haggis said, sitting back and sipping her tea. Madame Paltry had started to sweat profusely and Haggis seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. "In any event, we've seen the child and all seems to be in order. She looks to be well suited and will fit in perfectly with what we have planned for this season."

"That's wonderful!" Madame Paltry gushed. "It is such an honor to be chosen. I daresay, George and I will become right famous and will have to be giving interviews every which way." Amon grunted something noncommittal. "And I'm especially looking forward to the special gifts that the Ministry offers with the honor."

Haggis stood up and retrieved her fur coat. "Ah, I'm afraid that custom has been discontinued. After all, if the Ministry is taking her off your hands you'll have a lot of expenses freed up."

"Yes, of course," Madame Paltry said, "anything for Queen and Country."

"Come along, Amon," Haggis said, striding to the door. The old man stood up and stretched his lanky legs. "You have three days to get her ready," Haggis now stood in the open doorway. "We'll pick the little darling up then and take her to the training camp. After that, you can expect to see her on all channels. The Games should prove very exciting this season."

And then, the lady named Haggis looped up and her non blinking eyes stared right through the mirror and met Abigail's eyes, almost as though she could see her. "May the odds be ever in your favor," her stretched lips said, and the two stepped out and closed the door.

Abigail let the image fade as the tired imp returned to it's prison. "CHILD!" she heard the muffled cry of Madame Paltry through her closed door. "CHILD! GET DOWN HERE AND CLEAN THIS RUDDY VASE YOU BROKE!"

Abigail just sat there on the floor in the middle of her pentagram. A numbing coldness had seeped through her and she felt herself begin to shiver. They chose her for the Games and she knew very well what that meant.

Her shaking hand dug frantically into her pocket and extricated a tiny locket. It had long since gone green but Abigail still considered it beautiful. Tenderly, with loving care, she opened it and held it close. A woman looked at her from a creased and faded paper within the locket. A woman with large dark eyes and straggly black hair. Abigail closed her hands tightly around the tiny ornament, and although the rest of her felt cold, her hands felt warm.


For all of you who are worried, we will be getting right back to Bart. So worry not.