Lady Taevyn: This chapter contains even more Gershom! And Sanura is very cute, yes. About rabbiting with the story…well, that'll depend on how much homework I end up having to do and such.

Lethia: Gershom is great fun, just you wait till you read this chapter.

Artzee: Egyptian Maus are not bald kitties. They are oh so adorably spotted kitties. Just google search images for Egyptian mau.

Jadesy: You may hug Hiroshi, but you may not stroke him…until I've decided how I feel, I claim him as my immortal, and therefore all stroking rights belong to me and me alone! (I'd claim Erik, but I kinda married him to Lenore, so…)

Der Drache Dame: Get another chapter of the prequel up…and maybe get another chapter ready for me to beta.

Sabriel: I'm glad you enjoy the two new immortals. Khaldun isn't one we're going to see often, but Gershom on the other hand… And I think it's a good thing that you still like Raghnall best, at least you're not fickle.

I'm sure you all know the spiel by now, I don't own Phantom, fic takes place about twenty years into the present, blah blah blah, REVIEW…

The young man with iron gray eyes regarded William with exasperation. "You are failing miserably," he informed William curtly. "You need to get the senior manager to retire as soon as possible. So far, you've done nothing to convince her you are capable of handling the business."

"She is a very cautious woman, Master," William replied worriedly, keeping his eyes on the floor. "Madam Johannson is determined to stay on for a full year before her retirement."

"And it is your duty to convince her otherwise," the boy snarled angrily. His plans were at a standstill, and would remain there until Rosalyn Johannson was out of the picture.

"She resists any form of persuasion I try," William defended himself.

The boy snatched the goblet of wine from his desk and threw it at the wall. It was as if everything was conspiring against him. He had to execute his plans as swiftly as possible; time was running out faster than he had first anticipated. Just four more and then…but how quickly will those four perform their duties? Damn that mule-headed woman! Perhaps I should have her removed from the scene in a more permanent way…No. That would ruin my plans entirely. It would be too painful then, and she would refuse. I need her to accept the proposal, or everything I've done thus far is for naught, and my plans will be utterly ruined. There's not enough time left to come up with something else, either.

"Clean that up," the boy commanded William tersely, gesturing to the pool of wine containing the shattered remains of the glass goblet. I need to get Johannson out of the Opera House. By the end of November, preferably. Earlier if possible. I hope the woman rots in Hell for the problems she has caused me…But wishing for that doesn't get anything accomplished right now. I could take care of it if I meet with her, but it's risky to do such a thing. If he sees…he'll figure it out, and that'll spoil the surprise. I need to get her out of the Opera House for a brief meeting. Then he'll never know. "William, I believe you should invite Madam Johannson out for supper one evening. Your cousin Justin is not invited, nor is your senior manager's family. Just the two of you, and myself. It would be delightful to meet this stubborn woman you are so incapable of handling yourself."

"As you wish, Master," William said, bowing his head in acquiescence.

Lenore immediately snatched Thomas' car seat out of Gershom's hands and, turning sharply on her heel, stormed up the front steps and into the manor. Bloody freak, inspecting me for signs of a scorpion bite!

"You look perturbed, chérie," Erik commented as he followed her into the entrance hall.

"What kind of idiot thinks there are scorpions in France?" Lenore snapped.

"A rather intelligent one," Erik replied. "I can think of at least five subspecies that live in France."

"Get out," Lenore gasped in shock. "Is our house scorpion-proof?"

"No. I didn't see it as a necessity, since the subspecies of scorpions seen in France have all been sighted in the southern areas of the country, near Spain," Erik said with a shrug.

"If one of them travels north, and stings me or the kids, I'll kill you for not taking every precaution," Lenore informed her husband.

"I suppose that's fair," he responded.

Gershom entered the entrance hall, looking around warily for scorpions, vultures, and any other threats that might be lurking around. He sniffed the air, and a look of shock covered his face. He sniffed again, and his expression turned to one of amazement and delight. "There is a great store of water here," he exclaimed. Not seeing the water, however, he dropped to the floor and began trying to dig through the marble in an attempt to uncover a spring that, to his way of thinking, must be buried beneath the sand.

"Leave the floor alone," Lenore hissed at the immortal.

"Fear not, woman, I'll uncover the spring," Gershom assured her. "Soon, we shall partake of its sweet waters while becoming acquainted with one another."

"If you want water, Gordon can get you a glass," Lenore told him, gesturing to the dog demon that was currently taking Erik's cloak to be hung up in the proper closet.

Gershom paused in his attack on the floor, staring up at her in confusion. "Glass? Is it another form of water?" he asked.

"Glass had not yet been discovered when he was made immortal, ma petite," Erik whispered in Lenore's ear.

"Glass is not a form of water," Lenore answered Gershom's inquiry. "It's quartz sand that's"-

"Sand. I have no use or need for sand. Sand is abundant," Gershom muttered, going back to his task of digging through the floor.

A mouse demon in a maid's uniform came scurrying into the room and threw herself underneath Gershom's hands. "Please, sir, you're ruining the flooring," she wept. "I'm responsible for the state of the floor in the entrance hall! I'll get the birch!"

"Move aside, girl!" Gershom commanded. "There is water in this place, and I will find it!"

"The floor," she wept in response.

Gershom shoved her aside in his urgency to get to the nonexistent spring he believed in. At that moment, Gordon reappeared and took Lenore's coat from her, then approached the insane man attacking the floor in search of water.

"May I take your cloak sir?" he offered.

"Are you mad? The sun would kill me without my robe," Gershom proclaimed.

"Gershom!" Lenore snarled, gaining the immortal's full attention. "If you want water, we'll have someone bring you a cup of it. Stop attacking the floor, it's not going to produce a spring without divine intervention."

"Cup…cup…I know that word," Gershom mumbled, once again pausing his attack as he tried to contemplate where he'd heard that word before.

"It's been at least seven thousand three hundred years since he's used a cup," Erik pointed out to Lenore in a soft voice.

"Why don't you handle him if you know so much about him?" Lenore snarled in reply, taking Sonata's car seat from Erik and preparing to take the children upstairs. Gordon ran over to her, eager to get the twins' coats and hats before she went up. "Gordon, would you be so kind as to deliver a stiff brandy to the master bedroom?" she inquired in a voice too low for Erik to hear.

"Of course. Master Dessler likes a touch of ice with his brandy, correct?" Gordon replied, not realizing she intended the brandy for herself.

"No ice in this one," Lenore instructed.

Gordon nodded and finished removing the twins' things. He turned to go, and Lenore began up the stairs. "Master Dessler, I'll have your brandy in the master bedroom in ten minutes, if that is acceptable," Gordon commented.

Lenore winced. Damn.

"I didn't ask for a brandy," Erik said, suspicion dripping from his voice.

Lenore picked up her pace, hoping to get up the stairs before Erik realized how Gordon might have gotten the impression that Erik wanted a drink.

"But your wife"- Gordon began to say.

"I just thought you might like one," Lenore interrupted, whirling around on the stairs. "It's been a rough day with the press and all."

"Seeing as how you're the one retiring to the master bedroom, I assume you meant the alcohol for yourself," Erik said, seeing through her lie.

"After meeting that"- (she gestured in Gershom's direction, who was oblivious to her gesture as he was busy digging for his fictitious spring again) –"who wouldn't need a drink?"

"Do not forget that you are breastfeeding, chérie," Erik returned sharply.

"Really? I breastfeed? I never would have guessed," Lenore spat back.

"Don't take that tone with me," Erik admonished.

"I'll take any tone I like with you," Lenore retorted.

"We'll discuss this later," he dismissed her, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Discuss my ass!" she grumbled, turning and continuing up the stairs. "Lecture me on why I can't have alcohol occasionally is more like it."

Erik growled softly as he watched her continue up the stairs, complaining to herself about his controlling nature no doubt. He had repeatedly told her that drinking while breastfeeding was bad for the children. It would decrease weight gain, and the doctor was already displeased with Sonata's progress. There was no need to make it worse.

"Is she your wife?" Gershom inquired absently, his fingers still burrowing into the marble.

"Yes," Erik answered. And it's moments like this when I wonder if it was a fool decision to marry her.

"I suppose that's good for you then. If she was your daughter, you'd have a time marrying her off." Gershom decided his fingers weren't making progress at an acceptable rate and drew his scimitar. "I've never seen such firm sand before…"

Erik managed to snatch the scimitar away just before it touched the marble. "We have tapped into the spring and brought it to the surface. If you care for a drink, I'll have one brought."

"Lead me to the spring, stranger. I must refill my water bag," Gershom stated.

"This way," Erik sighed, handing the weapon back to the madman and heading for the closest faucet.

William's heart began racing the moment he heard the office door click shut behind Justin. He was now alone with Madam Johannson, a perfect opportunity. If only it went as well as he imagined it.

"Madam, I've been thinking," he said tentatively.

"Well, that's a change," Madam Johannson replied, not even looking up from her work.

"I…I feel badly about my attempts at having you retire early," William continued, pretending to ignore the insult. "I'm afraid I was overconfident. I believed Justin and I could handle things, but I see now that we're not quite prepared."

"So youth isn't blind after all," she commented dryly. "Just stupid."

"I would like to make it up to you," William persisted. "Would you…would you have dinner with me tomorrow night at Le Train Bleu? Entirely on me."

The senior manager finally looked up, regarding William with a probing, curious stare. "Le Train Bleu?" she inquired, knowing full well that it was an extremely expensive restaurant. "Just you? What about Justin?"

"Justin had no part in my rather rude attempts to take over the business," William replied. At least Madam Johannson hadn't said 'no' immediately.

"Dinner at Le Train Bleu, just you and me?" she asked. William nodded. "Look, I'm very flattered, Steele, but I'm a married woman."

"No, Madam, it's nothing like that," William hastened to assure her. "It's merely meant as an apology for my poor behavior. Nothing more."

"Well…" Madam Johannson sighed, obviously debating over whether or not to come. "I guess I could. But just this once."

"Thank you, Madam. It means a great deal to me," William said, relief flooding his body. Master will be pleased. Thank goodness she agreed, I don't know what would've happened to me if she hadn't.

"Chérie, open the door," Erik entreated from the hallway.

"No," Lenore replied, standing inches from the door and glowering.

"I promise I won't lecture you," Erik said, attempting to gain access to the room.

"No good," she informed him imperiously. "The only way I'm unlocking that door is if you promise to let me have an alcoholic beverage tonight."

"Unlock the door," Erik implored her.

"Not until you promise."

"Tulia, open the door," Erik commanded.

Tulia gave a squeak and reached for the door.

"Open the door, and I'll personally flog you," Lenore informed the girl. She wouldn't really, but the threat would be enough to stop Tulia from doing what Erik said.

Tulia gave another squeak and took a step back from the door.

"If she attempts to thrash you for doing what I told you to, I'll intervene and see to it that she's whipped for her flagrant disregard of my authority," Erik told Tulia.

"And then I'd flog you for whipping me," Lenore threatened him.

"This is your last warning, ma chouchoute," Erik said sharply.

"Oh, what are you going to do from the hallway? Shout at me? Gee, I'm terrified," Lenore said sarcastically.

There was silence from the hallway. Lenore moved closer to the door to listen for the sound of a key being inserted in the lock. Surely Gordon or someone had a spare key to the bedroom. Lenore had the only key that she knew for a fact existed, and she clutched it tightly in her hand, glaring at the door as she waited.

Just as she was about to peer through the keyhole, she heard the key as it made its way into the lock. "Oh no you don't," she whispered, grabbing the chair she'd dragged over earlier and shoving it in front of the door.

Needless to say, Lenore jumped a mile when she heard glass shattering behind her. She whipped around and stared at the fragments of the stained glass window that now littered the floor. Erik climbed into the room, the arm he'd used to break the glass bleeding severely. Lenore gaped at him, her mouth hanging open in shock.

"I did warn you," Erik said softly.

"Will that be all, Master Dessler?" Gordon asked from the hallway.

"Yes, thank you Gordon," Erik dismissed the dog.

"But…" Lenore stammered, not able to say any more than that.

"You expected me to come through the door," Erik explained.

"You scaled the wall and broke our window," Lenore finally managed to snap. "Just to lecture me on why I can't have alcohol, right? That's the whole point, isn't it?"

"No, not at the moment," he declared. "One of the servants informed me you were sulking in here, not intending to come out until you had your way. I asked you politely to let me in, repeatedly, but you refused. You cannot afford to act like a spoiled child now that you have two children to be caring for. Also, you are the mistress of this house, and as such, you are expected to be present at the table when we have dinner guests. Gershom is waiting at the table as we speak. Change into something more appropriate and be at the table in ten minutes, or I'll return to assist you."

Lenore knew he had a good point; she wasn't being a good hostess. But then again, she wanted to have a drink tonight. She was used to getting what she wanted, and she wasn't about to let Erik guilt her into being a proper wife until she had his word that she could have a drink. As he swung out the window, she decided that she could wait out his resolve on the matter of alcohol and breastfeeding.

Walking over to the window, she ignored the glass that crunched beneath her slippers. She stuck her head out and watched him descend the wall. When his feet hit the ground, she spoke. "I'm not coming to dinner. Not until you promise to let me have a drink." As an afterthought, she added, "And not until Gershom leaves. I'm not eating with any member of your family except the one that raised me."

Erik stormed back into the house, all but stomping. She was acting like such a child! Sulking, whining, and being disobedient until she got what she wanted. It was no way for a woman her age to be acting at all. When she'd informed him she wasn't going to dinner, Erik had almost started back up the wall. But he wasn't going to go to the trouble of scaling that wall again. He had another solution.

Gordon seemed confused by Erik's request, but scurried off to do his master's bidding. Erik took the stairs two at a time, and waited for Gordon's return outside the door to the master bedroom.

"Chérie, I suggest you change your mind concerning dinner," Erik called in as Gordon handed him the object he'd asked for.

"Only if you change your mind about letting me drink," she replied.

Erik grimaced. He hated to do this. He'd already broken a window to get to her, but sometimes, sacrifices must be made. He plunged the axe into the door.

"What are you doing?" she shrieked from inside the room.

"Removing an obstacle," Erik replied as he wrenched the axe free for another swing.

The door was jerked open almost immediately. "Look what you did to our door!" Lenore gasped, surveying the damage.

Erik merely shoved the axe into Gordon's hand, took Lenore by the arm and dragged her out of the room. "I understand Hiroshi spoiled you," Erik said as he pulled her down the hallway to the stairs. "You are used to getting everything you want, no matter how bad it may be for you. It's time you realized that you can't always have your way. Occasionally, you have to make sacrifices."

"All I want is one drink," Lenore snarled. "I haven't been allowed any alcohol since January! It's the beginning of November now, and I just want one little drink. It's not a crime! I made the sacrifice while I was pregnant, but I refuse to make that sacrifice anymore."

"It's bad for the twins," Erik reminded her.

"One drink isn't going to kill them," Lenore replied.

Erik stopped and grabbed her shoulders, looking into her eyes. "Please stop this," he pleaded. "I've waited one hundred and fifty years to have children, Lenore. A hundred and fifty years! I don't want you taking the slightest risk that might compromise their health. These are the only two we'll ever have. Can you understand it? Can you understand my concern?"

"I can," Lenore replied. "But you're going to worry yourself into exhaustion over nothing. They're kids, Erik. They're going to get sick sometime, they'll break bones. They can't be perfect, no matter how much you want them to be."

Erik knew she was right. But he felt that he should do everything he could to keep them safe and healthy. But she's right.

"One drink," Erik sighed. "Extremely watered down."

"Slightly watered down," she argued.

"Half and half," he suggested as a compromise.

"I suppose that'll do," she conceded.

Gershom looked at his handiwork and smiled. He'd done an excellent job. Certainly his host would be pleased.

"What"- the woman started to say when she walked into the room. She turned and glared at Gershom. "You bloody idiot!"

Gershom wasn't sure what she was so angry about. The table had been far too high, so he'd rectified the problem by slicing off part of the legs and dropping it down to a height at which it could easily be eaten off of while lounging on cushions, as was proper. Then he'd retrieved a sufficient supply of cushions from the room of strange benches that were covered with pillows. He had taken great care in arranging the cushions for comfortable seating. Cushions were a luxury he hadn't had since his banishment.

"You do not approve of the way I arranged the seating?" Gershom asked, certain that was her problem. He'd placed cushions for her directly next to her husband at the head of the table. Most wives wanted to sit as close to their husbands as possible. Especially when a man had more than one wife. The closer you sat to your husband, the more affection he held for you. But the way the two had been bickering earlier, perhaps she wished to be seated as far from him as possible.

"You murdered my table," she informed him.

"It was not alive to begin with," Gershom told her gently. Obviously her mind was not in tact.

"You cut off the legs! It's ruined now!"

"It is at a good height for eating now," Gershom corrected.

"It was fine where it was, if you'd sat in the chairs like a normal person!"

"Chairs are for dignitaries and kings," Gershom replied, wondering what kind of simple woman in the desert would think herself of such high authority that she actually had chairs, much less used them.

His host whispered softly to his wife, and after a few moments she nodded and took a seat on the cushions. Clearly the man knew how to pacify his insane wife and keep her quiet.

After his host took a seat, a few men entered carrying bowls. Gershom was delighted to find these bowls contained water. He snatched his from the man who had it almost immediately, and drank deeply, not spilling a drop. Water was not to be wasted. He almost drained the contents, leaving a small amount, and Gershom set it down to be consumed later.

Another man entered the room and approached Gershom, reaching for the bowl. Gershom leapt to his feet and threw the man to the wall, pinning him there. "Bandit!" he accused fiercely, drawing a dagger and preparing to slit the man's throat. Of course, he could not murder the thief in his host's tents without his host's approval. "He attempts to steal water from you, and your guests," Gershom informed his host, waiting for permission to take the wretched bandit's life.

"He wasn't attempting to steal it," his host replied calmly. "His intention was to refill your bowl."

"Is that the way of it?" Gershom questioned his captive.

The man, his eyes wide and staring straight ahead, managed a small nod.

Gershom consulted the sky for a moment. "It seems the vultures are nowhere near. Your life will be spared this once. But if I find you have lied, the vultures will be waiting for you."

He released the man and returned to his seat. The man grabbed his bowl, hurried out, and returned within thirty seconds with the bowl refilled. Gershom wasn't sure this young man was entirely trustworthy; he'd have to keep an eye on him.

"You have given me a generous supply of water," Gershom remarked, turning his attentions to his host. "I should know your name, so that I may return the favor one day."

"My name is Erik," his host supplied.

Gershom took it in stride; he was far from home and foreigners always had strange names. "If I am unable to return this favor here on Earth, then we shall feast together in God's kingdom above."

After a few moments of silence in which the meal was brought forth, Gershom decided he should learn about Erik, the man God had sent him to meet.

"How many wives do you have, Erik?" Gershom inquired conversationally.

"Just this one," Erik said, a small smile on his face as though he was laughing at some secret joke.

"Well, she does seem quite a handful," Gershom mused. "But surely many men have offered you their daughters in exchange for water. Were those daughters all so ugly that you could not bear their image?"

"My wife has many faces, many personalities. I find that having her is like having multiple wives," Erik responded.

"But you have a great store of water; you are quite clearly a wealthy man. You should have the proper amount of wives for your station," Gershom observed. "When I take my first wife, you'll have any daughters she bears."

"I thank you for your kind thoughtfulness, Gershom," Erik said. "I graciously accept your offer."

Erik's wife smacked him upside the head.

"Erik, is your wife suffering permanent illness? She's rather violent, and she seems to be delusional, by all those strange things she speaks about," Gershom noted.

"He's not taking anymore wives," the woman declared.

"Chérie, he"- Erik began to say.

"Why were you so quick to agree, hm? You don't love me anymore, do you?"

Gershom stared at the woman in wonder. Chérie must be her name, as Erik had called her that once before. "Chérie, surely you know that love is irrelevant in a marriage," Gershom declared. "What matters is that your husband can provide you with water, and that you bear him sons in return."

"What did you call me?" the woman asked, the look in her eyes reminding Gershom of a vulture ready to swoop in upon its prey and deliver a finishing blow.

"Chérie," he replied honestly. He couldn't afford to lie; he had to live a good life so that he could be accepted into Heaven. "It must be your name, Erik has called you Chérie twice now." He paused briefly. "Oh, forgive me. It must be a shortened version of your full name. I didn't mean to sound too familiar." He struggled to bring to mind names that might begin with 'cher', finally coming up with one. "I'm truly sorry, Cherith, I meant no disrespect."

"That's not"- Cherith began to say.

"Silence," Gershom breathed. "I hear something…" And indeed he did. A bell was ringing somewhere in the tents, and Gershom had the feeling it did not hold a positive meaning. Just as he was about to rise and determine what had caused the bell to ring, a man with six arms stepped into the room, holding a terrified woman who wore an extremely short skirt and a jacket that matched the skirt overtop of a white shirt. She had a bag over her shoulder. Most likely a bandit, come to steal gold or water.

"I've caught an insect," the man proclaimed. "May I eat it, Erik?"

"I assume you're a reporter, madam?" Erik addressed the female bandit.

"Oui Monsieur Dessler," the woman replied. "I've come to ask you and your wife a few questions."

"Liar!" Gershom hissed. "You are clearly a bandit. You think that because you are a woman, no one will believe you to be a thief. But I know better. Admit the truth and apologize for your deception!"

"I'm not a thief," the woman argued.

"The press robs people of their privacy; in a sense, you are a thief, Madam," Erik responded.

"Let me eat her, Erik," the man holding her said. "I haven't eaten a mortal in so long."

"This is Veleno," Erik informed Gershom. "Do you think I should let him eat this woman?"

"You should have him cut off one of her hands, to teach her that stealing is a crime," Gershom said sagely.

"Veleno is not eating her, nor is he cutting off any body parts," Cherith stated firmly.

"We can't let her go, chérie," Erik pointed out. "She'll tell others where we live, and then we'll be overrun with these pests."

"Erik, our house is huge. We have multiple guest rooms. There's no need to kill her," Cherith reasoned.

"You intend to keep her prisoner until her death?" Erik inquired.

"No, just until we can be sure she won't tell anyone else where we live," Cherith argued.

"A spectacular plan, except that it would never work," Erik replied.

"Oh, just let me eat her. It solves the problem, does it not?" Veleno said.

Erik sighed heavily. "Fine, eat her. But do it somewhere else, please," Erik finally granted.

"Erik! You can't let him eat her! She doesn't deserve that!" Cherith snapped.

"She is a bandit, and deserves a worse fate than being consumed by your cannibalistic servant," Gershom contradicted.

"How old are you, insect?" Veleno inquired.

"Twenty five," the woman replied, though she was clearly at least thirty.

Veleno licked her neck. "Thirty three. You have a taste of fine age to you. You will be delicious. Not as delectable as a younger meal, but still tasty enough to my liking," Veleno commented as he began dragging the woman from the room. She began screaming.

Rosalyn stepped out of the taxi after paying the driver and made her way to the doors of Le Train Bleu. William had a few errands to run and had told her he'd meet her there. All she had to do was inform the staff that she was under the reservation 'Steele'.

She was wearing a nice, but rather modest dress. She didn't want to give young William the wrong impression. She was rather certain his intentions were more on a romantic level than he claimed. Sighing and preparing to put up with a foolish young man's flirtations for the evening, she walked into the restaurant.

The moment she said the word 'Steele', a waiter began leading her through the tables filled with chattering customers. When the waiter finally seated her, she was shocked to find a boy barely out of his teens already at the table, his blonde hair falling into his iron gray eyes.

"Please have a seat, Madam Johannson," the boy said, his voice colder than death and dripping with danger. "I'm well acquainted with William Steele, and I'd love to have a chat with you."

Against her better judgment, Rosalyn found herself taking the seat he offered. "What's your name?" she asked the boy.

"That's not what I'm here to discuss," the boy replied carelessly. "I'm here to discuss your early retirement."

Damn Steele. He set me up, getting me to come here and have his friend try to intimidate me into early retirement. I can't believe I fell for the whole apology crap.

"If you think you're going to frighten me into retiring, you're wrong," Rosalyn informed the boy.

"Whoever said anything about frightening?" the boy said, a grin full of malice on his face.

"I think I should go now," Rosalyn said firmly, scooting her chair back.

"You'll stay," the boy stated.

Rosalyn was about to tell him that he couldn't boss her around when she realized her body seemed to have frozen. She tried to stand up, but her legs wouldn't comply.

"I'm afraid you can't leave until I've finished rearranging a few things," the boy told her. "Don't even think of calling for help; it would be a futile exercise even if I allowed it."

Rosalyn was as close to panic as she could come. Her body wouldn't move, her voice wouldn't work, and she could feel things shifting in her mind. She battled against these shifts in her mind as much as she could.

"Don't fight me, you'll only make this take longer. And besides, it's for Lenore. Don't you want to do this for her? Don't you want her to be happy?"

"Oooo, Rosalyn's mind is being messed with! Poor Rosalyn," Tammy commiserated.

"I know who that boy is," Hiroshi said smugly.

"That's because you peeked into my mind and memorized the plot of the story," Tammy mumbled grumpily. "Stay out of my head from now on, or else!"

"Or else what?"

"Don't make me break out the shocky spork!"

Hiroshi managed to combat his fear of said spork by summoning his resentment over of his captivity in this mortal's dorm room.

"Anyways, review, and all that jazz…don't forget to check out Der Drache Dame's prequel and review it too," Tammy said. "And if you can't find Drache Dame, just go to my profile, and select favorite stories, cuz the prequel's listed as one of my favs."

"Perhaps we should go shopping, creampuff," Hiroshi suggested. Shopping always seemed to soothe the authoress, which resulted in the shocky spork staying in the desk drawer for at least a week if not longer.

"Are you paying for whatever I want to buy?" There was a brief silence. "I didn't t think so." Tammy sighed and retrieved the shocky spork from the drawer, using its persuasive powers on Hiroshi so that he would decide to fund the next shopping trip.