DISCLAIMER: This resembles the original Fantasy you remember, but it's been extensively revised. Seriously. Read this one.

Oh, and remember that thing I mentioned about holding the second chapter hostage until my real fantasy novel, Racing the Dark, gets ranked above 200,000 on Amazon? Well, it looks like a few people bought my book because it's at 85,000 as I'm writing this. Yay! So, I'm giving you this chapter a day early. Want to read Book Two (Why I Should Have Learned to Use Chopsticks)? Then keep the rank above 100,000. I'll check in Sunday at noon. If it's sunk, then I'll just keep waiting a day and checking again. Again, all info about my book is in my author profile. Okay, then, enjoy. And review!

Book One: Why I Should Have Read the Fine Print

I was hot, I smelled like rancid fried chicken, and I could no longer fasten the top button of my jeans. In short, my life was not going precisely according to plan.

I hated the night shift. Only cuckoos--no pun intended-- came around, and most of them leered at me. Harvey, my toady manager, eyed me meaningfully from his office and smiled in a way that made my skin crawl. And to think, I was doing all of this for a barely livable ten dollars an hour! What had possessed me to major in history, I wondered dejectedly as I gave yet another balding, middle-aged man a "best of the breast" sandwich, trying to ignore his suggestive leer. Why not economics, or computer science? At least then I could be making some money right now, not desperately trying to find a job as a research assistant in a world where no one cares about the past.

"Serena?" Harvey called from the back room.

"What?" I pretended to be busily wiping the counter. Avoiding him was probably not the best method of dealing with his advances, but I knew that if I completely rejected him, I would be out of a job. As uninspiring as my life had become of late, employment still had its perks. Technically, of course, as the junior manager I should have been above such menial tasks as table-wiping and sandwich-serving, but we were understaffed and Harvey had put me on peon duty. I continued to wipe the table even though it gleamed with a suspicious shine.

"Can you come here for a moment?" he asked, obviously not fooled by my ruse. I sighed, and closed my eyes in a silent prayer.

"All right, hold on," I said, moving as slowly as I possibly could to the back office. I wondered what he had in mind this time, but predicting what path his amorous extravagances would take was almost an intellectual exercise at this point. Just last week he had given me a rubber chicken with a note that read: "I'm not chicken when it comes to luv." The 'u' in 'luv' had a heart in the middle. I nearly collapsed when I read it, and it was not from girlish enthusiasm. I told him, regretfully, that no, I couldn't go out with him this Saturday my poor sickly great-aunt needed me againHe was probably wondering why she hadn't died yet. Finally, my plodding footsteps brought me in front of the door and Harvey ushered me in enthusiastically. More enthusiastically than normal, even. My stomach sunk to the floor.

He sat down in the chair behind the desk but I remained standing, hoping to hold on to at least a little of my dignity. He toyed with several facial expressions and finally settled on one that managed to look desperate, odious and falsely sympathetic at the same time.

"Serena, I'm afraid that I have a bit of bad news."

I was baffled. This didn't sound like his usual approach. "What is it?" I asked cautiously. He ran his hand through his thinning, greasy brown hair, and his slightly heavy jowls shook with tension. Harvey was at least twenty years older than me, and had been reminded of the fact several times, but he didn't seem to care. In all his overweight, greasy glory, he was sure that I would see the light very soon.

"I've been getting reports." He waved his hand vaguely around his cluttered desk.

"What kinds of reports?"

"Well...the customers have been sending in complaints about your performance here. Under normal circumstances I would be forced to fire you, but..."

"What sort of complaints?" I asked, my annoyance showing. I would bet all my money--not much, mind you, but my own--that none of said reports existed. What was this bastard doing to me? Couldn't he see that I didn't have the time or temperament to play his little, stupid games?

"Well...um..." he stammered uncertainly. Apparently, he hadn't factored my anger into his pre-rehearsed speech. "Your...attitude," he said finally, visibly wilting under my angry gaze.

"What attitude?"

"Some say that you're...rude, yes, that's it, very rude to them. You don't show them the proper respect. You're always evading them. You won't recognize how wonderful they are and agree to..." He trailed off, turning slightly red in the face. Oh yeah, I thought, customers are saying this? How many of them have declared their love with rubber chickens?

"Harvey," I said, "this is ridiculous. You know perfectly well--"

"So, you see." He talked right over me, and I spluttered. "I just can't ignore this. But because you have been such a loyal employee, and because I have such a...personal interest in your welfare, I've decided to give you a second chance."

"Well, that's very nice of you, Harvey, but--"

"I thought you would appreciate it," he said complacently. "We can talk about it later, over dinner. Is tomorrow at eight o'clock all right with you?"

"It most definitely is--"

"Fantastic! I'll pick you up. Dress nicely, all right? We can work this out." He stood. "Tell you what, I'm sure that this news has upset you. Why don't you take the rest of the night off? Tom can manage on his own."

I stared at him, my mouth open to protest, but something in his expression stopped me. I knew that if I refused, I could kiss my job goodbye. Even so, I almost did it, but the thought of having to go begging my broke parents for more money stopped the words before they left my mouth.

"All...right..." I choked out, before I could think better of it. I let him hug me, even as the embrace lingered longer than was decent. Finally, I broke away.

"Good bye, Harvey," I panted, and ran out of his office. Tom gave me a pitying glance as I exited into humid, but remarkably chicken-free air.

---------------------

I ripped my clothes off as soon as I got home, and changed into some comfortable pink boxers and tank top. Mina, my wealthy roommate and the only reason I could afford the rent on a basement apartment in Georgetown, was, predictably, not at home. In addition to being ridiculously rich, she was also a bit of a nymphomaniac, which meant that I always had the apartment to myself on weekend nights. For a while I wandered around the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door and closing it without actually taking anything out. How dare Harvey do this to me? Wasn't that sexual harassment? I could call my lawyer, if I had a lawyer, but then I'd definitely lose my job. I could feel the walls of my apartment closing in, and I realized that I had to leave, or risk my sanity. I grabbed my keys and some sandals and walked outside.

Georgetown at night is a great place to be, and the balmy night air helped me to relax a little. Some pedestrians looked a little askance at my pink boxers, and the odd man in a car honked at me, but my mood improved exponentially as I walked. Taking a serious look at my life, I realized that I couldn't possibly take any more of Harvey, the self-appointed Casanova. I had to make a concerted effort to find a job, any job, right now. There had to be better opportunities out there for a college graduate. After about an hour, I found my way back to my street. My neighbor--I recognized her, but we had never met--was trying to drag several heavy-looking boxes inside, and some stray cat kept getting in between her legs.

"Kitty! Get away from here. Go, or I'll curse you!" she said, and I put my hands on my mouth. Yeah right, the lady looked about as dangerous as my sister's pet chinchilla.

"Um..." I said, walking up to her. "Can I help you?"

She peered at me from over the box she carried, which was about half her size. Apparently something about me shocked her so much that she dropped the box, narrowly missing the cat. It shot off immediately, having had enough near-death experiences for one night. We stared at each other, although I had to look down because she was at least a head shorter than me, which is saying something, since I'm 5'5" with my neck stretched out. She was middle-aged, and looked pretty, in an eccentric sort of way.

She fidgeted, tipping a huge, wide brimmed flower hat that looked, in the dim light, to be a strange shade of purple. I must have looked pretty unusual to her as well, although I couldn't imagine why pink boxers would induce such shock.

"Yes, sure," she said finally, unable to take her eyes off of me. She wiped her palms on her shapeless dress, and even in the lamplight the bright orange flower print stood out. I shuddered uncomfortably, and bent to pick up the larger box. She grabbed the smaller one and we made our way down the driveway. Hers was the only non-row house on the block. It was made of sturdy red brick, with ferocious carvings of lions flanking the front porch. She stumbled slightly on the staircase, probably because her eyes were glued to me the entire time, and I helped to steady her.

"Thank you," she said under her breath as she stuck her key in the lock. After a great deal of fumbling, she opened the door and we both deposited our loads inside. As impressive as the outside was, the inside boasted even more indications of extreme wealth. No one in our neighborhood was exactly needy, but this lady could have bought the Ritz Carleton if she wanted to, by the looks of it. Hanging unceremoniously in the front hall was a Picasso of the blue period, one I could bet was not an imitation. The other paintings I could see were all of superb quality, although I didn't recognize some of the artists. The rest of the decorations boasted as eclectic and exotic a mix as I had ever seen. Her floor was inlaid with marble, and mahogany West African carvings stood in niches on the walls. I must have been gawking, because she had to clear her throat to remind me of her presence at my elbow.

"Oh, sorry," I said. "It's just that you have the most incredible house. Did you travel yourself to find these things?"

"Oh, yes," she said, walking into the front hall and gesturing expansively. "Each one of my trophies has a story behind it. I'm a great traveler."

Some of her internal strength came across to me as I stared at her. Yes, I could believe it. As improbable as this tiny woman with strange taste in clothing was, she seemed able to take care of herself.

"Do you travel because of your job?" I asked.

"Why, no. I don't work. I am a Woman of Independent Means." I frowned. There were a lot of rich people with nothing better to do in DC--look at Mina, for example--but Petunia didn't strike me as quite that type.

"My name's Serena," I said, for lack of anything better. "I live across the street from you."

"Nice to meet you, Serena," she said, and for the first time I noticed that she had an accent, exceedingly faint, but it gave a strange lilt to her words not normally present in American English. "My name is Petunia." I shook her hand even as I stared at her with new amazement. Had I heard her properly? Petunia? For some reason, though, the name seemed appropriate.

Since she hadn't kicked me out yet, I turned to look at a picture on my right. It was a tiny watercolor of a woman and her baby lying among tall grass on some sort of plain. The woman looked young, perhaps twenty or twenty-one, and her long black hair was strewn about her. The baby was beautiful, with a dark thatch of hair and a beatific smile on his face. The two stared into each other's eyes, a deep blue that almost dominated the painting with its intensity. It was unsigned.

"Who painted this?" I breathed, unable to remember when I had been so moved by a piece of art.

"A good friend of mine," she said over my shoulder, and I jumped. I had not noticed her approach. "He painted this when he was only fifteen years old, and gave it to me."

"It's incredible," I said, still looking at the picture. "Only fifteen? How old is he now? He must be brilliant."

Petunia looked away from me, an unexpected pain in her eyes. "He's twenty-five, now. Yes, he is brilliant, but he has fallen away from this beauty. He has not painted in many years."

"God, why not?" I asked. For the first time I got a good look at her eyes, and was momentarily stunned by their violet. "It's a crime for someone to withhold a talent like this from the world."

I felt silly for being so melodramatic, but the power of the painting compelled me to make a statement like that. Petunia smiled and gripped my hand impulsively.

"You know, no one else here has understood," she said slowly. "But somehow, I thought that you would. You seemed to be the type of person to sense beauty." The moment hung in the air for a second, the two of us gripping the other's hands, staring into the other's eyes and sharing some sort of understanding. Then it fell away like so much sand and I turned from her.

"Thank you for showing me this place," I said, regretfully walking back towards the door. I was sure she didn't want me gawking any longer. Even so, a part of me knew that something much larger had just happened between us. She did not respond, even as I turned the doorknob. Just as I stepped into the street, I heard her voice. For some reason, I had been expecting it.

"Serena?" she said, quietly. I turned around.

"Yes?" I said.

"I'm going on a trip next week. I should be away for a month or more. I have several cats that need feeding...do you like cats?"

"I love them," I said, smiling.

"Would you like to house sit for me? I could give you a good wage...is $120 dollars a day all right with you? I know that it's probably not as much as you make at your current job, but--"

"I'll take it!" I interrupted quickly. A quick mental calculation revealed that nice large sum to be about 15 dollars an hour. A ridiculous amount for mere house sitting, but I wasn't about to quibble. This break seemed too good to be true. No more Harvey! I could hardly stand my luck.

"That's great. Come over tomorrow night and I'll give you more details. Is that okay?" she asked.

"It's great, wonderful, fantastic! Believe me, you won't regret this."

She laughed as I closed the door. Walking across the street, I wondered what had prompted Petunia to ask me, a complete stranger, to house sit for her. I wondered if she had an ulterior motive, but then dismissed the thought. Stranger things had happened, I figured. I skipped in through the front door and into my bedroom. What did I have to worry about? Finally, my life was going somewhere. That, at least, was true. If I had known where, though, I probably would have forgotten about the entire thing.

Then again, maybe not.

---------------------

"All right, Mina," I said forcefully the next afternoon. I didn't have work at the moment--not like I would have gone if I did--and as yet I had been unable to tell precisely what Mina did for a living. As far as I could see, she dated just about every guy that walked, and then slept off all the effort during the day.

"What is it?" she asked, yawning. She had been dozing in the obscenely expensive leather couch that she had bought for our living room. She was still wearing the red halter-top and black capris she had gone partying in last night. While our long blonde hair and light blue eyes had made a few people mistake us for twins, or at least sisters, Mina's clothing of choice was so wildly different from mine that people usually never noticed the resemblance. Looking at her now, I suppressed a small twinge of jealousy. Mina was the kind of person who never had trouble buttoning the top button on her jeans.

"We are cleaning this apartment."

"We'rewhat!" Mina exclaimed, suddenly sitting bolt upright. She stared at me with an expression of sheer horror. "You can't possibly mean that."

"Oh, yes I can," I said. "There comes a point in every woman's life where she just can't stand it anymore, and I've made it! Do you see this?" I asked, holding out my cut and bruised hand, recently injured by an offending pizza box.

"What happened?" Mina asked.

"I tripped on a pizza box, that's what. And not just any pizza box, aweek old pizza box. This apartment is a health hazard!"

Mina winced. "Sorry, Serena. I should have picked it up."

"Yeah, you sure should have," I said, stalking over to the television and coffee table. "And you should have picked this," I lobbed an empty soda can in her general direction. "And this, and every other damn thing--"

"All right! All right!" Mina wailed, cowering under my rain of trash. I relaxed a bit. "It's just that I never had to clean anything up before. I'm not used to it. I'm sorry, I'll help you."

I stared at her and then shrugged. "Well, Princess Mina," I said, dragging her off the couch. "First thing you can do is to clean every single piece of trash and food that you have left around this apartment for the past month."

"All right," she said contritely.

"Do you know where the trash can is?"

Mina stalked off, muttering under her breath, grabbing soda cans and paper plates as she went. I made a face at her retreating figure. My relationship with Mina wasn't exactly adversarial, but it was definitely contentious. More than anyone else I had ever met, Mina and I acted like sisters. We even looked like sisters and we definitely fought like them. Which was why, no matter how much we fought or yelled, no serious damage was ever done to our relationship. Fights were superfluous; we still loved each other.

About three hours later, the apartment was finally clean. Mina lay on the couch again, rubbing her back, which she claimed was sore from all the work. To be honest, though, I had certainly made my share of the mess. I barely recognized the place now; it looked so uncluttered. I glanced at the clock and let out a yell of surprise.

"It's seven thirty!" I said, rushing to my bedroom.

"Don't tell me you have a date," Mina said.

"For your information, I do," I said over my shoulder as I took my shirt off and tossed it in a corner of my newly clean room. Old habits die hard, I thought ruefully. In a week my room would look exactly like its old self again.

"With who?" Mina asked.

"Harvey," I said.

Mina frowned. "Harvey...you mean Harvey the toad? You can't be serious. I'd thought better of your taste, Serena."

I smiled grudgingly. Mina had run into Harvey once, and had been decidedly unimpressed. "Yeah well, so had I." I sighed and started looking through my closet for something suitable to wear. "It's just that he's threatening to fire me if I don't go on a date with him and I don't know what to do..."

Mina knelt on the floor beside me and bit her bottom lip. "You mean he's...blackballing you?"

I stared at her blankly for a second before I realized what she meant. "Uh...I think you mean blackmail, not blackball, Mina. And, yeah, I guess that's one word for it." Mina always made mistakes like that, which were a little disconcerting because she spoke with a perfect American accent. She claimed to have been brought up in another country but she always changed the subject when I asked her precisely where.

"Don't do it, Serena. Never...you should never let someone intimidate you into doing something you don't want to. You end up losing everything that way. Who cares if you lose your job? I can help you out until you find something else, you know."

She stared at me imploringly, and for a second I actually thought she might cry. I felt--as I often felt around Mina--that I was only getting half the picture. Sure, going out with Harvey was probably a bad idea, but what did it remind her of that made her feel so strongly about it?

I sat down next to her. "Hey, thanks Mina. I didn't know you cared--I'm joking," I said when she started to look hurt. You know what? You're right. I shouldn't give in to that toad. When he comes by here I'm going to tell him exactly what I think of him."

I stood up and was about to close my closet when I caught a glimpse of my old pink boxers lying on the floor. The events of last night had seemed like such a dream that I actually hadn't remembered until this moment Petunia's unbelievably generous offer.

"I am such an idiot!" I started laughing uncontrollably and tossed myself down on my bed, scattering books.

"You sure seem happy about it," Mina said. "But what, in particular, are you an idiot about this time?"

"I won't have to borrow money from you. I already have a job."

---------------------

By the time Harvey pulled in front of the house, I was ready for him. I sauntered down the driveway, deliberately tacky in my worn, holey jeans and pink tank top.

His frown was full of paternalistic disappointment, like I was a child who had told a dirty joke at the dinner table.

"Why are you dressed like that? Serena, I told you we were going someplace nice."

I shrugged. "Oh, did you? I wasn't paying attention. Good thing you're dressed so...handsomely, then."

His jaw tightened. "Go back inside and change. I'll wait."

I started to laugh. He actually thought he had some sort of hold over me. "Oh, no need to wait, Harvey, dear. I'm not going."

"Not going? Serena, do you understand what you're doing? You job is at stake. We must discuss these...issues, and if you don't go out with me tonight--and on a regular basis--I'm afraid I won't be able to keep you on as junior manager."

Despite everything, the sheer audacity of what he was saying made me breathless. "You mean you'll fire me if I don't agree to go out with you?"

"That's putting it a little harshly, but, um, yes."

"I just had to make sure. Well, Harvey, my answer is unequivocally no. Under no circumstances would I ever agree to go out with a scumbag like you, even if yours was the last job on earth. You are a creep and a scoundrel. You're lucky that I don't sue you for sexual harassment. You have no right, doing this to me, making my life miserable just because you're desperate and want a girl to make you feel good about yourself."

Harvey stared at me in shock, and then glanced towards the doorway, where Mina was doubled over, laughing uncontrollably.

Jerkily, he walked back over to the driver's side and shoved his bulk back into the car. "Are you sure about this, Serena?" he asked.

Mina's laughter was infectious, and I found it difficult to stop long enough to answer. "Does the pope shit in the woods? Wait--let me rephrase that."

But he was already tearing down the street, his very exhaust fumes radiating injured pride.

---------------------

I wandered around the neighborhood for a few hours afterwards. I felt free, and the feeling was delicious. Finally, no more chicken hats, no more disgusting, horny managers. Now I could enjoy myself, and have more money to boot. A small part of me felt guilty for treating Harvey so badly, but when I reminded it of what he had done to me, it fell silent. In a fit of impulsiveness, I took off my shoes and began to run down the sidewalk to the evident amusement of fellow pedestrians. I laughed joyously, tossing my hands in the air to catch the late evening breezes.

When I made it back to my street, I wondered if I should just go home, but decided against it. At the moment, I felt magical, and I wanted a few more minutes of it. My eyes fell on Petunia's house, and I remembered my promise to stop by today.

I walked over and knocked on the door, wondering if my hand was really glowing or if it was just my imagination. Petunia opened it a crack and stuck her head through. When she saw me, she opened it all the way, her eyes widening. For some reason, it seemed strange that anything should surprise her, and yet both times she had seen me her reaction had been similar.

"Minako?" she asked, seemingly angry about something.

"Huh?" I said, staring at her a little askance.

"Oh, Serena!" she exclaimed, her body visibly sagging in relief. "I'm so sorry, I just mistook you for someone else, that's all. Come in!"

I walked in, surreptitiously wiping my bare feet on the welcome mat. I didn't want to drag twenty blocks of city streets through her gorgeous house. I noticed that the otherwise white marble of her floor had been overlaid with a curious pattern--a deep purple circle inscribed with a pentagon with lines from each of its points all converging in the exact center of the foyer. My feet carried me, almost involuntarily, to that intersection and I stood there, arms by my side, and my feet planted firmly on the marble. I couldn't explain it, but I felt a power in that spot. I closed my eyes for a moment, drinking it in. I could feel a glow permeating my body. Finally, aware of Petunia's presence behind me, I opened my eyes and fell into a more relaxed position. I turned around to look at her, a sheepish smile on my face. Something in her quizzical expression told me that she knew exactly what I had been doing--probably better than I myself did. She said nothing, however, and merely led the way to her library. We passed through her living room on the way and I quickly glanced around to see if there were any more pictures by the nameless virtuoso, but I was disappointed.

The library was magnificent--practically embodying a reader's every romantic dream. It was huge, about five hundred square feet, and paneled with dark mahogany boards. Every inch of the walls was covered with books and papers. Books littered the floor and countertops. There were two old chairs in the corners and a magnificent West African table made of balsa wood in the center. Behind the table was a very comfortable-looking large suede couch. Several of the books looked old enough to be in a museum, and a quick perusal of the titles revealed that several were in an entirely different language. Petunia made her way to the desk set in front of a bay window. She ostentatiously pulled the key from behind the bookcase on her left, unlocked the bottom drawer, and replaced the key, ignoring me so studiously that I wondered if she meant for me to note where she hid it.

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning. I'll be gone for a month, maybe more, so I thought that I'd give you an advance on your salary. It's only fair, don't you think?" As a matter of fact, I thought that it was more than fair--more along the lines of completely ludicrous--but it was all I could do to nod my head dumbly, staring at the wad of bills she held so carelessly in her hand. "Is $2000 dollars all right? If you need more I can get some--"

"No, no! That's fantastic!" I said quickly. My hand shook as she counted the bills into my palm. I thought I would faint from mere joy.

"Now," she said, businesslike, once she had finished. "You have to feed the cats twice a day. I left instructions in the kitchen. Only one lives here, and the other three stop by for visits. Now, if anyone brings you mice or anything else, don't be rude, just calmly explain to him that you don't eat those sorts of things, and then offer him one of my special kitty treats. We don't want to offend them, now do we?"

"Um...no?" So I knew she was eccentric, but this was more than I had bargained for. Still, the cash was in my hand, and I was not one to complain. I could talk to a couple of cats if necessary. After all, I thought wryly, cats would probably be a lot better company than Harvey.

"Oh, and feel free to use the library. I know how big a reader you are."

She did? I wondered how, since I had never told her, and up until yesterday I hadn't seen her except from across the street.

"Well, that's everything, I think. Oh, and I hope you wouldn't mind dusting in here every once and a while. The library tends to get so dusty, for some reason."

"That's no problem," I said. I could not believe that I was getting so much for doing so little work. I would have cleaned out her entire house, top to bottom, gladly for what she was paying me. And use of this entire library? The very thought intoxicated me with longing. Suddenly, I couldn't wait to get her out of here. Petunia, obviously having decided that the meeting was over, led me back to the front hallway, and I contented myself with the knowledge that I would be able to examine the entire house in depth over the next month.

"Oh Serena, just one more thing. Could you help me carry my stuff to the car tomorrow morning? I'm getting too old to carry it all."

I looked at her critically. Something in her demeanor, despite her eccentric middle-aged appearance, belied all imitation at frailty. I shrugged my shoulders.

"Sure, that's fine," I said. After all, what harm could it do? I was probably overanalyzing the situation anyway.

The funny thing, though, is that I wasn't.

---------------------

The next day I left a sleeping Mina in our apartment and entered the crisp early-morning air to help Petunia. I couldn't remember if she had told me a specific time, so I had just woken up as early as my poor late-rising body could handle--about 8:00 AM. I was relieved when I saw her car in the driveway--a car that small, that old and that pink is hard to miss. It was a beautiful day anyway, so I didn't mind having to wait around a little bit. I settled on the doorstep and leaned my back against the door. Petunia must have forgotten to close it all the way, because it swung inward and I sprawled backwards into the foyer. I stood up quickly and looked around to see if Petunia was there, but I was alone with her luggage. I stood there awkwardly for a moment before I heard what sounded like mumbling coming from the library.

Intending to let Petunia know I was here, I walked forward. Petunia had left the library door open, so I figured she must have seen me coming, but when I reached the door I saw that she was bent over the desk, muttering to herself. I wondered if I should clear my throat or knock but curiosity held me back. She seemed to be rifling through a large orange carpetbag full of books. After discarding several, she picked one bound in faded black leather with some silver on the front. I watched in partial horror and confusion as she flipped through it and ripped a page out. I wondered what reason she could have to deface a book that beautiful, but she had already replaced the book in the carpetbag. Now she took, of all things, a pencil from the top drawer and bent over the paper with it, muttering something completely incomprehensible and then scribbling on the page. After ten minutes she seemed to have finished and straightened. She replaced the pencil and, without any point I could see, carefully placed the sheet of paper in the bottom drawer and locked it. As she turned to put the key back behind the shelf, she saw me. I jumped a little, blushing in embarrassment. Petunia didn't even blink.

"Oh, you're here," she said conversationally. "I didn't hear you come in. Well, let's get started, shall we?" She hefted the overstuffed carpetbag--patterned, I could see now, with bright orange flowers and peace signs--and toddled past me. I trailed her back to the foyer. Her luggage, stacked against the back wall of the foyer, consisted of two huge trunks and several miscellaneous bags of varying sizes lying about. I stared at the assemblage in horror. How could we possibly fit all of this into that little bug?

"How long are you staying away, again?" I asked, still eyeing the luggage.

"Oh, I don't know. More than a month, less than a year." I stared at her, but refrained from comment.

After some considerable straining and a small miracle, we managed to pack most of her luggage in the car. There seemed to be a distinct backward tilt to the vehicle, but I figured it would last the trip to the airport. For some reason, Petunia insisted on carrying the carpetbag by herself to the car even though it couldn't close fully and looked inhumanly heavy. Sure enough, she tripped on the sidewalk, and some of the books spilled out of the bag. I rushed to her side, at least as concerned about the contents of the bag as I was for her.

"Petunia, are you all right?" I asked while my eyes raked the ground greedily for the titles she carried. I discovered nothing particularly interesting, at first.

"Don't worry," she said, sitting up slowly. "I'm fine. Let's pick up these books." It was when I began to stack them back in the bag that I recognized the book she had torn the page from. The silver that I had vaguely seen from the doorway was actually a series of six embossed circles inscribed on the cover, with a golden circle in the middle. What little I could see of the writing was clearly not English. It reminded me of Chinese or Japanese characters. I wondered what it was, but almost immediately after I received that glimpse, Petunia snatched it up, looking at me with an unreadable expression. Finally, we were up again, and I placed the bag very carefully in the front seat of her car.

"Now, final items of business," she said, ineffectually running her hand over her frizzy hair. "Here is the house key." She handed it to me. "If I'm gone any longer than a month and haven't contacted you, you can call this number. It ought to tell you how to reach me, wherever I am." She handed me a card with a number based in Switzerland-- or at least of an office within the Swiss bank. "Well, that's about it," she said, smiling.

"I can't thank you enough for letting me do this--"

"Oh, it's nothing at all. You're doing me a favor," she said, patting me on the shoulder. I just stood on the front steps as she got inside the car. She started the engine, and I raised my hand to wave goodbye to her. At the last moment, she leaned out the window. She said something, but the rumble of a motor that was sadly out of repair made her words inaudible.

"What's that?" I said.

"Don't disappear until I come back!"

"Huh?"

"Don't forget to feed the cats," she said again, this time more clearly. I frowned slightly, and nodded, choking in the exhaust fumes as the old car puffed down the street towards Dulles airport.

---------------------

The next day passed in what I suppose you could call a flurry of uneventfulness. I woke up blissfully late, ate a leisurely breakfast, and then passed the rest of my day in a meticulous raid of Petunia's house. I searched everywhere for more pictures by the nameless artist who had painted the watercolor in the foyer. I almost felt consumed with the power of the painting, but despite my exhaustive efforts, I could find none others in the house. I felt unexpectedly depressed as I stood in front of the painting again, but I made a resolution in some strange, shadowy part of my brain that I would find this painter somehow, no matter how long it took.

Plaintive meows emanated from the kitchen, and I belatedly remembered that Petunia had mentioned something about feeding her cats. Although Petunia had already told me their names and shown me precisely what to feed them, the instructions were also taped to the refrigerator. A fact for which I was suddenly grateful, once I stepped into the kitchen and saw the brood that awaited my services. Pump--short for Pumpkin--was a formidable tabby with several scars in his yellow-orange fur that bespoke an ability to take care of himself. The cat sitting next to him on the counter was much smaller, much uglier, and at least as tough as old Pump. Cleo's fur was an indescribable mix, ranging from pure white to gray-blue. According to Petunia, Cleo and Pump were almost always together, although what possessed them to share the company of Jeannie, the third cat, I could not possibly fathom. Manicured, pampered and purebred, Jeannie the Persian was the only one of the cats to have a permanent indoor residency. Cleo and Pump didn't care much what they ate, but the Jeannie's cat food probably cost more than a fancy steak dinner at a French restaurant. A fourth cat sat in the kitchen as well, looking as though it fully expected a meal although I couldn't recall Petunia ever mentioning him. He was pure white, medium sized, with a surprising glint of intelligence in his blue eyes. While I didn't think he was mixed, I was hard pressed to name a breed. Then I noticed the circle of blue fur on his forehead, and I finally recognized him.

"Artemis!" I leaned down and pat him gently on the head. "Geez, you little freeloader! I wondered where you went after you got sick of Mina's pampering. All the way across the street, huh? Wow, you must really have it tough." For a strange moment I had the distinct impression that Artemis was embarrassed, because he shrunk under my hand. "Oh well, I forgive you. So, what's your pleasure?" I asked, opening the cabinet and gesturing towards the various cat foods. Artemis jumped up on the counter and walked purposefully towards the specialty brand that Jeannie ate.

I smiled. "Spoiled brat."

After all the cats had been fed and were sunning themselves lazily on the back porch, I decided it was time to see the library. I paused a minute in the doorway to take in the beauty of the books. Here was heaven, handed to me on a silver platter. I let out an excited whoop of delight and raced inside. My enthusiasm received a check, however, when I realized that over half of the books were in same not-quite-Japanese that I had seen earlier. Sighing, I peeled myself away from the strange books and looked around for anything else that looked interesting. I walked to the balsa wood table in the middle of the room, wondering why it was suddenly so uncluttered when it had been buried in books yesterday night. In fact, the only things left on the table were a cardboard box filled with some paperbacks and a small, leather-bound book in the center of the table.

Despite myself, my heart raced as I reached for it--while it clearly couldn't have been the book Petunia was looking at this morning, it bore an uncanny resemblance to it. Embossed on the worn leather cover was a single silver circle. I don't know what I had been expecting, but I was unreasonably disappointed when I opened it and found nothing--not even strange writing, just page after blank page. It looked like some kind of journal, but why would Petunia clean up her entire library and leave a journal in the middle of the table? The only writing of any kind was on the inside cover, in the form of an inscription written, surprisingly enough, in perfectly intelligible modern-day English. It read:

---------------------

Beyond the Mirror lies the Lady's key

You who hold this: write, so unseen eyes can see.

---------------------

The meter is a little skewed, I thought.

I closed the book and put it back on the table. My curiosity was finally satisfied, however, when I peeked into the box and discovered Petunia's stash of trashy romance novels.

Several hours later, buried neck deep in cliché-spouting heroes and languishing, though sharp-tongued, heroines, I glanced at the clock. Four already? I stretched, and reluctantly contemplated getting up. Mina had asked me to run to the store and get some wine and hors d'oeuvres for an intimate dinner she was planning with her latest fling--a stock broker named Englebert, or something equally ridiculous. I looked back at the book I was reading. Well, I ought to just finish the chapter, I thought, Mina won't mind.

Then I heard an ear-piercing screech, thin but plaintive, like a ghost screaming for revenge. The book fell from my suddenly shaking hands, and I looked around, terrified. I was alone...except for Artemis.

"Don't you ever do that again! You scared the shit out of me!" I was still struggling to control my breathing. Not looking repentant at all, Artemis meowed loudly at the clock.

"What are you, my keeper?" I said. "How'd you get in here, anyway? Fine, all right, I get the picture, I'm going to get the stuff, I promise." Artemis looked appeased, and I sighed in relief. I opened the door and stalked out, trailed by a particularly persistent white cat. It seemed almost as though Artemis knew I had promised Mina to get the food. He expressed every intention of tailing me to the supermarket, and I stared at him critically.

"You know, maybe I can serve her kitty fritters for appetizers instead of bothering with the supermarket--" I covered my ears at the volume of Artemis's wail, and then laughed. "Serves you right, you little busybody."

Despite my protests, Artemis nipped my heels on the way to the grocery store and back home. I thought he would follow me inside the apartment, but it looked like he had decided his work was done for the day, and took himself off without so much as a goodbye. I might have had time to consider his extremely disconcerting behavior had Mina not attacked me the moment I entered the door, leaden down with groceries.

"Oh, Serena!" she said, not offering to help me bring the bags into the kitchen. "Where have you been! Engie's going to be here any minute now!" At the sound of her pet name, I almost died of laughter.

"What are you sniggering at?"

"He has such and awful name!" I said, unable to stop myself. "I mean, almost anything would have been better. Even Barney, or Mortimer, or...or...Herman!" I started laughing again, but stopped short when I noticed the stricken expression on Mina's face.

"Herman..." she whispered, her hand over her mouth. Her eyes suddenly clouded with tears and she ran to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

---------------------

Mina quickly recovered from her unexplained bout of female hysterics, and emerged from her bedroom perfectly composed and immaculately dressed.

"What's that smell?" Mina asked, her nose high in the air. I shrugged my shoulders, too busy trying to decide if Worstechire sauce would be a decent substitute for molasses.

"It smells like something is...burning! Serena...you didn't?" She asked.

"Didn't what?"

Now that I thought about it, there was an interesting smell in the air.

A brief flare of light in the oven finally alerted her. "The fish!" she wailed, running towards the now-smoking range. "My beautiful fish! Serena, how could you? You know that you can't cook!"

"But...but...I thought I'd save you some time...and..."

Mina looked like a vengeful goddess, her hands wrapped in oven mitts, holding a pan of unidentifiable charred black bits in front of her.

"You do not cook fish at five hundred degrees--"

"But you said you were running late, so I thought--"

"...underany circumstances! What are you making over there?"

"Well..." I said, moving surreptitiously to hide the Worstechire sauce.

"Never mind. I don't want to know. I might get an ulcer. Before I say something that I regret..." She shook the tin of charred fish for emphasis, and I winced. God, but that smelled awful. Couldn't she just dump it in the sink instead of waving it under of my nose?

"Get out of my house."

"But it's not your--"
"Get out and don't come back until Engie has left!"

I opened my mouth to argue, and then shut it. I had obviously been outvoted. Trying to bear my shame bravely, I walked to my room, grabbed my pajamas, and stalked out of the house. Mina's angry blue eyes bored into my back on the way out.

So much for a pleasant evening at home.

---------------------

Jeannie greeted me with consummate politeness at the door. She purred with the force of a broken carburetor while rubbing her nose on my pants leg.

"You're hungry, aren't you?" I said. I looked around, but Artemis was nowhere in sight. Probably a good tactical maneuver, considering my mood. I allowed Jeannie to lead me to the kitchen. Pump and Cleo hadn't made an appearance for dinner either, it seemed. I fed Jeannie perfunctorily, and then sat at the counter myself, trying not to feel too angry with Mina for kicking me out. She always got like that when a member of the opposite sex was involved.

I sighed. Outside, storm clouds darkened the sky prematurely, a fitting reflection of my mood. I stared into space for nearly an hour, and when I came to, Jeannie had disappeared and the first fat raindrops were splattering against the windows. I thought of settling in the library again, but my jaw-cracking yawn made me think I ought to just give up on the day entirely and go to sleep.

I undid my braid, grabbed my pajamas and trudged desultorily up the stairs. I hoped that Petunia kept a spare bedroom, but the only other rooms upstairs were a bathroom, a linen closet, and two locked doors. I wondered why she had left her bedroom door wide open, but understood as soon as I entered that sanctuary. Jeannie was sleeping, her furry, overweight mass sprawled across the queen size bed. It looked sinfully comfortable, I just hoped Petunia wouldn't mind if I slept on her bed.

Outside, a storm raged, rain pelting the windows and the wind howling through the trees. My growling stomach seemed to be performing counterpoint to the thunder, so I headed back downstairs to the kitchen. Petunia had some delectable goodies sitting in her fridge, and I couldn't let all of that perfectly good ice cream go to waste.

I was throwing away the container when the power went out. I tried to whirl around, but the edge of the sink got in my way. I gripped my stomach and cursed. This day just wasn't working out properly at all, I thought as I bumped my way out of the kitchen, trying to find an alternate light source. After considerable bumbling, tripping and cursing, I found a candle nearly as fat as my fist and some matches hidden behind the cat food. I looked outside, wishing that the rain would let up so that the power could come back on, but it only poured harder. After I lit the candle, I had to shield my eyes from the suddenly bright flame.

The flickering light did make everything look a little eerie, though, and the storm outside didn't help the atmosphere. I felt like I had somehow wandered onto the set of a bad horror movie. Any second now the killer was going to call...I screamed, rather loudly, when Pump and Cleo scuttled into the kitchen. Save for a condescending glance, however, they ignored me entirely. Taking a deep breath, I managed to make it back to Petunia's room without mishap.

Jeannie, if it was possible, had taken up more of the bed than before. Almost as if in anticipation of my designs, she had stretched her ponderous feline body to its limits, sprawled at precisely the angle to allow me the least use.

"Move, Jeannie," I said, trying to push her over without dripping wax all over the bed. She meowed, swiped at me with a delicate paw, and did not move an inch. "Jeannie, please be nice." A hint of desperation entered my voice. My day just couldn't possibly be this bad. Kicked out of a bed by a cat? I refuse!

"Jeannie!" This time my request was accompanied by a helpful push across the bed. She screeched, but as far as I could tell, she still hadn't moved. From the coiled tension in her raised paw, I had a feeling she would hit me with those untrimmed claws if I tried it again and I was too tired to duke it out with a pampered feline.

"Fine, have it your way," I said. If this day was going to be bad, I thought philosophically, there was nothing to stop it from being awful. I raided Petunia's linen closet for sheets and brought them downstairs to the couch in the library. I set up my "bed" as well as I could, careful to avoid setting anything on fire with the candle. I sat on the edge of the couch, placing the candle on the balsa wood table. I wondered if I should just go to sleep, when a glint of reflected candlelight caught my eye. It was the blank book that I had found earlier that afternoon, still on the table where I left it.

I picked it up and fingered the embossed circle on the front. Although I knew the pages were blank, I wished it were as mysterious as I had hoped it might be. For a moment that afternoon I had really been excited. I lay back on the couch, wondering why I felt such a strange attachment to it. Idly I opened the book again, and what I saw nearly made me drop it.

Although every page had been blank a few hours earlier, the first few pages were now filled with the unintelligible characters I had seen in Petunia's other books. But while the others had been clearly printed, this, just as clearly, was someone's handwriting. It even looked like fresh ink. My heart was racing and my head felt so woozy for a moment I was afraid I might faint. All my sense of logic rebelled against this, but my eyes persisted in seeing handwriting. I had locked all the doors before I left, and even if someone had broken in, why would they do nothing more than write strange characters in a blank book and leave? I wondered if perhaps I had missed the writing earlier, but I knew it wasn't true. I definitely would have noticed this.

With hands shaking so badly I could barely manage it, I turned the pages. It looked, if anything, like some sort of journal entry.

Then I noticed something strange appearing on the back of one page. Even as I watched, an unknown hand scribbled across the previously pristine surface. Now I could barely breathe. Shock was the only thing keeping me from dropping the book.

The writing was in English. Each page of the unknown language was being translated for me, by whose or what power I could not begin to guess. I quickly turned to the next few pages, and saw that they were being translated as well. After the last word was translated, the original text faded, leaving only the words I could understand on the back of each page. It took several minutes of staring blankly at the book, but I finally managed to regain some semblance of calm.

I opened the book to the first page, unsure of what to expect, but excited all the same.

---------------------

The 6th day of the Horse moon:

I don't even know how I got involved. Well, I know, but even now it seems like some sort of delusion. I've avoided doing this, writing in the book, the Lady's journal. The emperor--the late emperor--gave this to me before he died. The plague, of course. These days it's either the plague or the sword, never something comforting, like old age or even honorable, like ritual suicide. He said he was my father. I don't know if I believe him, and yet if I don't believe him what am I doing here, in this forest, on a quest I'm half-convinced will kill me before I'm even half-way there? Gods, why would the Emperor have traveled all the way to the microscopic fishing village of Asai, struggled to stay alive so he could speak to stupid, confused, lonely me and then die on Mother's bed? These are the questions I ask myself away from Ashitare and Genro. They don't know what went on between me and the Emperor and I have no desire to tell them. Even if I am his son by blood, it changes nothing of what I am, and perhaps I would have taken on this duty regardless. The only thing the knowledge would change is their perception of me, and I believe that would be intolerable.

But the book. I can't get away from the thing, and for whatever reason, I have to write in it. It says so in the inscription, after all: "You who hold this, write..." Oh, the Lady's sense of humor is legendary, but I had never expected to be a first-hand victim of it. The whole land, the whole country, even the southernmost islands are slowly dying under the curse of the Kojin's plague and she does nothing! Well, that's not exactly true. How can I claim she does nothing when no one can find her? Which is why I'm here. I, Ashitare and Genro have left our dying village to try to find the Lady, perhaps the only one who can save us all from the Kojin. The Emperor promised me this book would lead me to her, but I wonder how. The inscription is so little to go on, and yet I have no other choice. My training at the monastery prepared me for fighting, not riddle-solving. The three of us have done the best we could, of course. We are heading towards Jin-roh, the Mirror city. It seems the best answer to the second half of the riddle. The fastest way is through the Fugira pass in the Iru mountains, but Ashitare worries that we'll be too vulnerable there. I see his point, but Genro and I agree that avoiding the mountains by water would take too long. The longer we take, the more people die.

I don't know what else to write in this damn thing. How can it matter? I'm just losing more sleep talking to myself.

Mamoru

---------------------

I fell asleep with the book tucked securely against my chest, dreaming of foreign men in an alien world.

---------------------

I was not surprised to see Engelbert's car still parked outside that morning. Clearly, last night Mina had gotten precisely what she wanted. This was not unusual. What made me grin was the knowledge that, for once, so had I. Today my head was filled with thoughts of the innocent-looking little book, tucked safely under my arm as I let myself into the apartment.

The kitchen was a disaster area. It seemed, from the debris, that Mina had gotten started a little earlier than she had originally intended. The remains of my burnt fish and the apple pie that she had baked herself lay strewn across the counter and the floor. I followed the trail of pie fillings to Mina's bedroom, where the sounds of heavy snoring still emanated. I avoided the mess ruefully, grateful at least that my room had been spared. I grabbed some casual clothes and went to the bathroom for a quick shower.

As I lathered my hair I thought more about what I had read last night. In the clear early-morning light, my experience seemed less bizarre and more exciting. What exactly had I read? Who was this Mamoru, and what world had I been given a glimpse into? Although I knew that my own curiosity had driven me to find the book, I couldn't help but feel that someone, somewhere, had orchestrated this whole thing, and that I had played my part perfectly. Perhaps Petunia is behind this, I thought, remembering her enigmatic looks and comments. She certainly had some involvement with this other world. Most of the books in her library, in fact, were from there. There were a million questions I wanted to ask her, but unfortunately Petunia was god-knows-where, so I was on my own for now.

Mamoru intrigued me. What kind of man would take on a task as daunting as his, with the clear knowledge that he had no chance of survival if caught by this seemingly all-powerful enemy? I wondered what he looked like. Ruggedly handsome, hopefully, with powerful arms, and large, well-defined hands...

"Serena! Are you in there?"

I dropped the soap. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be out in a minute."

I was changing when I remembered that I had left the book lying on my bed in plain sight. I don't know why, but I had a sudden irrational fear that if I left it alone for another second, I would never see it again. I ran to my bedroom, wet hair still dripping, and found Mina sitting on the foot of my bed, the book in her hands. Her eyes held a curious expression, much more serious than I had often seen her.

"Give that back!" I said, quickly pulling it from her grasp.

"What is it, Serena?" she asked with a strange intensity.

I opened my mouth to answer, but thought better of it. She would think I was crazy, and I didn't really want to share this with anyone. I was afraid that if I told someone the spell would be broken, and I would lose my chance for adventure. Thankfully, however, Artemis saved me the trouble of responding. He appeared almost as if by magic in my bedroom, meowing to Mina insistently. She left, but it almost seemed as if he had nosed her out of the bedroom. Just before he left, he glanced at me with a disturbingly perceptive gaze.

Two hours later, after Mina had left and cleaned up the apple pie, I went to my room and pulled out my Tae Kwon Do uniform--a physical workout might relieve some of my pent-up energy, at any rate. Artemis knelt on the edge of the living room, looking as though he had every intention of watching me practice. I took this at face value, not wanting to really consider the implications of Artemis's intelligent blue-eyed gaze.

For the next two hours I kicked and punched my way to physical exhaustion, which did a great deal for my mental state. Throughout the entire practice, Artemis regarded me with the same appraising stare. I found myself performing harder kicks and forcing myself past my old limits just to impress him. It was ridiculous, of course, but then, so was reading journal entries written by some man from another universe. Finally, touching the borders of total exhaustion, I showered again.

I wandered around our kitchen for a while, opening and closing the fridge without taking anything out. I was too nervous to eat. Finally, I sat on the couch and turned on the television. I couldn't tell you what show I watched, because my brain had ceased to function. One can only keep up a fever pitch of emotional intensity for so long. I dimly noted Mina's return to our apartment, but nothing else seemed to register until ten o'clock. I checked the book again automatically, and closed it abruptly when I saw new writing. Mina's eyes were glued to the television, and she barely grunted in acknowledgement when I told her I was going to Petunia's for a few hours. I practically ran across the street, making it to the library just in time to close the door on Artemis. Panting with my back against the doorway, I opened the book, glad that the translation had already had time to finish.

---------------------

The Seventh day of the Horse moon:

Someone knows where we are and suspects what we're doing. I don't want it to be the Kojin, but I can't imagine who else it could be. Gods, but did he have to get so close this soon? Why not after we make it through the Fugira pass? Ashitare's right, convenient though it may be, we don't have a prayer of defending ourselves up there against a well-planned ambush. But it will take too long to go by sea and at this time of year, who knows what the winds will do? I've gone over this a thousand times in my mind, but I can't seem to see a way out.

The five men who attacked us today were masked and hooded as some of the masterless ronin, but only very unusual ronin would ride such fine Hokusai stallions or wield any weapons at all, let alone both short sword and long sword. In fact, it seems quite clear that they have a master and I wish I couldn't guess who that is. We escaped, but I think too easily. I have an immediate distrust of any enemy who does not make an honest attempt to kill me. It generally means they have even less pleasant things in mind.

Like killing us in two days when we reach the Fugira pass.

I have been trying to understand what purpose this journal may serve, but no answer has presented itself. I thought, at first, that perhaps the Lady read what I wrote, but if she did, she would know what is happening to Umeru, and I cannot believe that she would abandon us to this fate. I can't shake the feeling, though, that someone is reading this, somewhere. There is always a possibility that this journal is a trick of the Kojin, but I suppose that that is a risk I must take. In two more days will reach the pass. I only hope that we will survive whatever awaits us there. But, then again, no one ever told me this would be easy.

Mamoru.

---------------------

Another day passed much like the previous. I even washed, starched and ironed my Tae Kwon Do, much to the amusement of Master Mehra when I went to practice that evening. After I returned home I didn't even bother to shower before reading the third entry.

---------------------

The Eighth day of the Horse moon:

---------------------

Things are too peaceful. I kept glancing over my shoulder all day to make sure we weren't being followed, but I still can't shake the feeling. I wonder if the Kojin is somehow tracing us, but I have no defense against his magic. For all I know, he's managed to tap into the power of the seventh moon. I should pray not. If he has, we're doomed from the start.

Maybe my fears are unfounded, though. It's possible that those who attacked us yesterday were just ronin looking for a fight and no one associated with the Kojin has caught up with us or knows where we are going. Ashitare, Genro and I are still agreed on the Fugira pass, but they are just as worried. I came up with a plan in case something actually does happen, but I pray it won't.

It scares me, sometimes, when I think about how many people are depending on us--and most of them don't even know it. Sometimes I'm terrified that the future of Umeru lies in our ability to find the Lady. And that makes me want to curse the Lady for putting us all in this position in the first place, for disappearing when everyone needs her.You, whoever you are reading this, besides myself, pray we don't all get killed in a few days.

Mamoru

---------------------

It occurred to me I was no longer content with just reading about his adventures. If there were no entry tomorrow, then I would know that something had happened to him, but what? I didn't want to be a spectator. I didn't quite understand his mission or his world, but I understood his danger. But how could I help him? Somehow Petunia had bridged that gap between our two worlds, but I certainly wasn't Petunia and the woman herself was unavailable for questioning.

For lack of anything better to do, I went back across the street to Petunia's and fed the cats, all four of whom were waiting in the kitchen when I arrived. Then I went to foyer and started pacing, first tracing the path of the marble circle and then going from point to point on the pentagram. I continued this until my bruises from that night's practice started aching and I sat down in the middle of the floor, where the lines from the pentagram corners converged. I still had no ideas.

My cross-legged position on the floor, however, did remind me of something Master Mehra always told us. You never find answers by pushing for answers, he said, you find answers by listening to them. Which had always sounded a little nonsensical to me, but at this point I was willing to try anything. Placing my hands on top of my knees, I dropped into meditation with automatic ease and hoped that my need to help Mamoru would send me the right answers.

Listen, Serena, I told myself. Stop talking and just listen.

And then, almost as though I had invited them in, images began to appear in my mind. I sank into as deep a level of meditation as I had ever been. I was hardly aware of my surroundings except for the knowledge of the power that buffered me. I was sailing down a passageway, floating bodiless past countless closed doors until I stopped in front of one. Slowly, the door opened and I stepped inside.

I stood in a darkened room, well kept, but not sumptuous. The muffled sounds of a large crowd came through the floor. Blinds had been pulled over the windows, and the only light came from three torches against the walls. Rice mats covered the floor, and a low table stood in the center of the room, surrounded by ten men kneeling on pillows. They all wore slightly curved swords on their backs, and black clothing. A large map lay in the middle of the table, which appeared to be the center of a heated discussion. I moved in closer, and saw that it was a map of a large island, probably part of an archipelago. I stood near the table, wondering why no one noticed me. Whatever language they were speaking wasn't English, but I gradually began to understand them anyway. The black-clad man at the head of the table spoke in a mild voice, but his narrowed black eyes, misshapen nose and bloodless lips spoke of violence.

"They will be at their most vulnerable in the Fugira pass. We do not know what aid the Lady has given them, but with the honorable Kojin's protection and our superior numbers, our victory is assured regardless. The ground is treacherous and narrow, allowing them no room for maneuvering or escape. The Kojin has given me an amulet that will magically block the only possible escape route on the west side." He pointed to the map. "Your job will be simple. Allow them to enter on their own, surround them, take them captive. You may hurt them, but not too seriously. Under no circumstances are they to be killed!" He looked around the room silently, and the torchlight flickered in his beady black eyes. The men lowered their gazes and shifted uncomfortably.

"Rest assured the Kojin will reward you handsomely," he said.

I sucked in my breath. Of course I knew what they were talking about. They knew what Mamoru was doing. He had no chance of escape; these ten men would easily capture him and his friends, and I had no idea what these men planned to do with them afterwards.

"Any questions?" the man asked.

After a moment, one man cleared his throat reluctantly. "The horse-moon is a lucky time for warriors, Ushiro-sama...could we not wait until the rabbit?"

The man shrunk under the leader's scornful gaze. "Who would you rather believe? Out-of-date superstitions, or the power of the Kojin? We have no time to lose. Leave now if you want no part of the rewards." At some unseen signal, the men bowed and rose from the table. Even as they did so, I felt the scene fading.

---------------------

My eyes snapped open. For a disconcerting moment, I could not remember where I was, but soon things settled into place. God, but that had been so real! Could I really have been in the middle of the foyer this entire time? Artemis was rubbing his nose insistently against my fingers. He looked worried, so I rubbed his head.

I considered what I had had just learned and my stomach knotted. I had to save him. Somehow, I had to warn Mamoru about what was happening. Even if it took more time, he would have to go by sea around the mountains to avoid the ambush. It occurred to me that my experience might have just been a product of an over-active imagination desperate for adventure. As soon as the thought occurred, however, I dismissed it. The diary wasn't a dream, and the meeting had been too realistic and detailed in too many places. I knew nothing about this culture, and I could not have confabulated that entire scene, I was sure of it.

Which meant that I had to take action. I took two minutes to scribble out a note to Mina, informing her that I would be away for a few days and not to worry. I went across the street and slid it under the door so I could avoid any awkward questions Mina would ask. As I entered Petunia's house again, I noticed Artemis trailing me. I didn't even bother to wonder why he was there. Once inside, I paused and took a few necessary moments to calm my breathing.

Obviously, I had to warn Mamoru. Which meant that I had to somehow get to his world. The only problem was, I had no idea how to do that. I was pacing the pentagram again, thinking about Petunia and any clues she might have given me, when I remembered the strange scene in the library. At the time I had just figured she was muttering garbled English, but now it seemed far more likely that she had been speaking in another language. She had been scribbling something on a piece of paper, I remembered, and she had put it in a drawer. The same drawer she had almost ostentatiously shown me how to unlock the day she paid me. Suddenly everything clicked into place. If there was a way I could travel to Mamoru's world, it would in the library, in that drawer and probably on that sheet of paper.

I wondered, as I took the key from behind the left hand bookshelf and opened the bottom drawer, whether I had suspected all along that Petunia was a witch. I wondered if she had set me up.

Artemis paced in a circle beside me, periodically meowing.

"Don't worry, Artemis. I know what I'm doing." I said, more to comfort myself than him. In fact, I had no clue, but I refused to let such trivialities get in my way.

The drawer opened easily, and I felt Artemis crawl into my lap so that he could look inside as well. The contents were, as I had expected, quite messy, but the torn page sat on top. Artemis peered inside and then gave me a look that I half suspected was disbelief.

"You did not just raise your eyebrows, did you? Right, that's funny since cats don't even have eyebrows."

Artemis let out a meow that sounded a bit too much like a chuckle and bounded off my lap.

Shrugging my shoulders, I picked up the paper and closed the drawer. I experienced a brief moment of panic when I realized that it was not written in English, not even in the not-quite-Japanese characters of Mamoru's world, but then I noticed that English translations had been penciled in underneath.

"She translated it!" I picked up Artemis in my enthusiasm, but he yowled his displeasure and I quickly put him back down again. Standing up, I turned on the desk lamp, and put the paper underneath the light.

At the top, scribbled below the characters, I read: "Short term teleport between worlds; rating: novice." Great, I thought, easy was just my style. I scanned further. "This spell will last exactly one day from the time of casting, and then will return the caster to his native world. Beware, embedded spells, like the embedded language spell, have been known to have extremely dangerous and unpredictable affects on the novice. Never repeat-cast. Repeat casting may have unforeseeable negative consequences for the novice practitioner." I frowned; I had never expected a spell book to read so much like a technical manual. Bored with the warnings, I jumped ahead to the actual spell.

"Clear a space about four feet in diameter around you. Remove all easily movable objects, such as books and candles. A chalk circle may be drawn to facilitate this process, but it is not necessary."

I cleared away the clutter, and then moved the table, just to be sure. After a moment's hesitation, I moved the journal as well. If something happened, I didn't want to lose it, and there had to be a reason why the spell called for the removal of all easily movable items. I decided to forgo the chalk since I didn't know where any could be found, and I didn't feel like taking the time out to look. Ready, I returned to the page.

"Stand in the middle of the circle, palms upraised. Remain in this position until enough power is drawn." I paused there. Enough power is drawn? How was I supposed to do that?

I continued reading. "First, invoke the spell-type by chanting 'Tervali' in a loud, clear voice. Chant the name of the world you wish to travel to next and finally chant the name of the person to be used as a locator. Novices must note that when traveling between world-gaps the only sure way of locating the spell is through the use of a person. Places may be used by more experienced practitioners only if one has a clear mental image--otherwise the teleport may negate itself and leave the caster in limbo. For this reason, we recommend name locators almost exclusively. If you have called enough power, you will be transported instantly. Remember to wait an interval between chants, and be warned that too much power or too little could prove fatal in this spell. Of course, if the destination or purpose is fixed in your mind clearly enough, the actual chanting is unnecessary, but this method is not recommended for beginners."

That was it. No more helpful hints, no more instructions. And this was easy? I couldn't believe it. God forbid I should ever try a hard spell. I thought of going back up and finishing the introduction, but I figured that it would be about as incomprehensible as the rest, and I didn't want to confuse myself. Taking a deep breath, I walked to the center of the library. I knew that if I didn't do it now I would lose my nerve entirely.

"Wish me luck, Artemis," I said. I only had a day, it seemed, but that would be enough to warn him. Artemis stared at me sadly.

That warning about power levels struck me ominously. This definitely ranked up there with the stupidest things I'd ever done in my life, but somehow I didn't care as much as I should have. Taking a deep breath, I began. I held my hands out, palms facing towards the ceiling. I closed my eyes and breathed regularly. I had an impression that "taking power" was probably a lot like meditation, just a little more aggressive.

As if I had removed a mental dam, I felt myself tingle with a force I could barely contain. I allowed it to flow for some time, feeling giddy, but a sharp meow from Artemis stopped me before I drew too much. I trusted him as much as I did anyone, I supposed.

"Tervali," I sort of sang-spoke, dragging the vowels out to make them feel grander. I felt the power within me subtly change.

"Umeru," I chanted in the same way. The feeling of dislocation was instantaneous. My body felt as though it were poised between two worlds. The real danger of this spell became suddenly, frighteningly, clear. Eternal limbo was not my idea of a life-well-lived. One last word and hopefully, I would be there.

"Mamoru." I said, and for some reason I invested his name with more meaning than I had originally intended. The last sound I heard from my world was Artemis in the library, meowing mournfully.

---------------------

I landed with a thump before a campfire. I winced, and looked around. In front of me were two men busily engaged with their meal. One had a shaved head with sharp, chiseled features. The other had long brown hair tied back in a ponytail and a thin, almost girlish face. They stared at me with their hands on their swords, but they seemed to recognize that I was no threat to them in the classical sense.

A brisk wind informed me why.

I had landed in the middle of Mamoru's camp, naked .

(Seriously, folks, consider buying my book. Not if it's going to take the food from your dog's mouth, or anything, but just if you like the excerpt and wouldn't mind supporting a fellow author and fanfic lover.)