A/N: During both world wars, the Young Men's Christian Association (YMCA) supported troops at home and abroad. According to their (UK) website, "An unbelievable £158 million was spent on cups of tea and other refreshments, £55 million on relief stations at home and in France, £7 million on notepaper for over 200 million letters home, £1m on sports, concerts, etc and £850k on putting up families of terminally ill soldiers who would otherwise not get a chance to say goodbye.

"Over 40,000 volunteers gave their time and left their homes and families to follow the troops and go wherever they were needed, and many lost their own lives in the process, either from injury or illness..." The P&O passenger liner S.S. Persia was indeed bringing YMCA volunteers to Egypt on its way to India, when it was torpedoed and sank off the coast of Crete on December 30th, 1915.

Chapter Nine

Emma froze. "I... I..." She swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I just saw the room and the stage and... And..."

Joellen drew closer. "What're you so worried about?" she asked, still grinning. "Okay, next time, don't do this after lights out, but seriously, you're terrific!"

"I couldn't sleep," Emma said. "And when I saw the stage..."

"You know that band on your pajama top?" Joellen asked, grinning. "Jem and the Holograms was the first band Starlight signed after Jerrica took over the company. They used to put on concerts for us here."

Emma looked down at her pjs self-consciously. "I didn't know," she murmured.

"Yeah, I guess they were a little before your time," the older girl admitted. Her smile turned wistful. "Hard to believe it's been more than five years since the breakup. This room doesn't get much use now; I," she gave Emma a conspirational smile, "I come down here sometimes to study. It's quiet. Jerrica even let me set up a computer back here so I can write my papers. She doesn't know I'm here this late, though. At least, I don't think she does," she added. She smothered a yawn. "What time is it anyway?" she asked, looking at her wristwatch as she did. Her eyes widened. "It's after one! I totally lost track of the time! We'd both better get back upstairs. You won't tell on me?" she asked.

"Me tell on you?" Emma breathed. "I thought you were going to tell on me!"

Joellen shook her head, still smiling. "Let's just make this our secret," she said, sticking out her hand. "Deal?"

Emma took it. "Deal."

Wendy looked down from the window of her room and shuddered. She glanced frantically over her shoulder at her now-older younger brother. "Where... where's the ground?" she asked.

"It's a bit hard to see from this angle," John reassured her, "but it's down there. Remember how, even in our nursery, we couldn't see the street below?"

"Well, yes," Wendy said, "but we could still see the sky! Now, there's no ground, no sky, nothing but more stone and steel a-and windows that look like mirrors so you can't see past them!"

"I don't know that I'd like the neighbors being able to see our business," John commented wryly. "And the pavements and stars haven't gone anywhere. Shall we go out to see?"

Wendy shook her head. "Not if it means going in that narrow lift," she said. "I'd sooner take the staircase, if there is one. Or..." She stopped. "No. I... I wouldn't fly again, even if it was with fairy dust and not my being carried by that horrid shadow. I can't even think what I was thinking all those years ago when I went willingly. If I could have foreseen..."

John sighed. "There's no point rehashing the past," he said. "It happened. Now, if Michael's to have any chance at a future, we must fulfill our mission."

"You're right," Wendy said at once. "So, how am I to find this Emma, and what must I do to 'keep her on the proper path', as Pan put it?"

John took a breath. "Come with me," he said, leading her toward the writing desk at the opposite wall. Wendy perked up.

"Is that a typewriter?" she asked. "I'd heard of those, though I've never seen one before." She frowned. "But why is there a framed glass over it? And where's the paper?"

"Actually," John told her, "it's a computer. And we'd best get started teaching you to use one, because most students nowadays begin learning that in grammar school and it would look odd if you hadn't. Odder still if you gawp at the sight of one," he added, smiling a bit.

Wendy winced. "I shall appear rather ignorant, shan't I?" she said faintly.

"Well, I'd wager that if you went on a hike in the countryside, you'd know a thing or two about foraging and building shelter, wouldn't you?"

She turned hopeful eyes on her brother. "Shall we be doing much of that?"

"Sadly, no," John admitted. "So let's work on having you appear less ignorant." He reached past her to turn on the computer.

"Oh!" Wendy cried, as the screen lit up. Then, more softly, "Oh... It's not... magic. Is it?"

"Science actually," John told her. "We're ever so much more scientific now than we used to be. More than either of us could have imagined, in fact. Here," he hooked a chair with his ankle and pulled it toward them. "Sit." He handed her a thick... was that a book? Its yellow cover, while stiff enough, was far more pliable than any book cover she'd ever encountered. "DO'S for Dummies?" she read off the cover, aghast. "John!"

"Calm down," John said. "Don't be offended by the title. It's how I learned to use these beasts. Let's at least try to get started. While we're at it, it's pronounced 'doss,' not 'dues'," he added. "Short for Disc Operating System."

"Disc? Like for a phonograph?" Wendy asked, brightening.

"Not exactly," John sighed. And seeing that his sister was getting ready to ask another question, he went on, "Wendy, please. Just listen to me for a few minutes. I'll try to explain. And for heaven's sake tell me if I'm not being clear enough. You need to know how to navigate this time and place as though you were born to it. Let me help you get there. Michael's safety depends on it."

Wendy nodded miserably. "Of course, you're right," she said. "But how dare Mister..." she glanced at the author's name and finished heatedly, "…Mister Dan Gookin call his volume by such an insulting name!"

"I can't believe you went back to Starlight House without me!" Ashley moaned the next morning.

Phyllis tilted her head at her intern, an expression of mild exasperation on her face. "I didn't see any sign on the gate saying you could only pop by for a visit if you were on Department business," she pointed out. "You want to visit there, be my guest!"

"I know," Ashley admitted, "but it's kind of out of my way and after all the running around I've been doing, I guess I'm pretty ragged. It'd be nice to have a reason to stop in."

"Jerrica and your old friends aren't a good reason?"

"They are!" Ashley retorted. She paused. "But I don't want them to think I haven't got anywhere else to hang out. And… I'm not in the foster system anymore. Except if I go back on my own, it feels like it'll be me running back because I can't make it in the real world."

"Bull," Phyllis snapped. "We both know you're handling things. And if you miss your old life and your old family," she added, "at least you can go home again."

Ashley winced. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean…"

"Hey," Phyllis gave her a savage smile, "don't go feeling sorry for me, okay? I'm over it." She paused. "Well, as over it as I'm gonna get anyway," she said in a slightly more subdued tone. "If Starlight House still feels like home to you and you've still got sisters there, enjoy it while it lasts. Because," she added seriously, "nothing's gonna last forever." She sighed. "Grab those files and get your coat. We may not have Starlight House on the agenda today, but we've got a few other group homes to check up on."

"They know we're coming?" Ashley asked, obeying her instructions as she spoke.

"They know we can make unannounced visits," Phyllis said. "Every once in a while, I like to surprise them."

"You're thinking about that place Emma ran from in Boston."

"I'm thinking I want to know there isn't anything like that going on in LA on our watch. Let's go."

Phyllis phoned Roxy later that evening. "I've been thinking," her former backup singer said. "I think if I'm going to do this gig, I want some compensation."

Phyllis thought for a moment. "I'll pay your airfare," she said. "You can stay with me; I've got the room."

"I always wanted to stay at the Beverly Hills," Roxy said dreamily. "It didn't make sense when I was living in LA, but now…"

"Roxy I can't afford to stay at the Beverly Hills these days," Phyllis said. "Don't get me wrong; I'm doing okay. Maybe I don't have a mansion anymore, but I'd hardly call my place a dump. If it were, I'd never have taken in Hana May." She debated whether to point out that if Roxy was staying with her, then she'd have plenty of opportunity to spend time with her daughter, but decided against it. Roxy could connect those dots by herself. Phyllis hoped.

"Well, the way I see it, if you want the Misfits to perform at this little shindig, then this Misfit wants to get a decent slice of the proceeds."

"It's a benefit, Roxy," Phyllis reminded her.

"Yeah? Well I'd like to benefit, too. You want me? It'll cost you. Five figures and the first one better not be a one."

"What?"

"You heard me," Roxy sneered. "Think it over."

"Roxy…"

The line went dead.

Phyllis's nostrils flared. Of all the…! Who did that girl think she was? She thinks she's a Misfit. Back in the old days, we all would have put on that same prima donna act. Luckily, I think the rest of us have grown up. Stormer and Jetta are performing with other bands, and as for me? Well…"

She hesitated only a moment before she picked up her phone again and dialed a number from memory. "Riot? What do you mean, where'd I get your direct line?" she snorted. "You kept Eric's old number. Time was I think I must've dialed it in my sleep. Anyway, Jerrica been keeping you in the loop about the show? Yeah, we are. Most of us. Look, I figured you should probably hear it from me: Roxy's being… well, she's being me at my worst. Other worst!" she snapped, when Riot facetiously asked whether her former backup singer was currently pining for him. She winced. Back when they'd first met, she had fallen pretty hard for him, but she'd gotten over it fast. "Look, how badly do you want her to do the show?" She sighed. "That's what I thought. Okay. Well, the Misfits can perform on stage if we're a singer short. Might need to find a guitarist, but we've got enough time for that. Also, I was thinking. Not that I'm desperate to get back on the label, but, if Pizzazz were to launch a solo album, would Stingers Sound be interested? We could use the benefit to... test the waters. I mean, we know Stormer and Jetta want to perform a few numbers with their new bands, too. Can't blame 'em. But if they're doing that, then I want to sing a few numbers on my own. If those go big with the audience—and I think they will—we can talk more."

She smiled. Riot wasn't leaping at the suggestion, but she could tell from his tone of voice when he answered her that he was considering the possibility. He asked her something else and she rolled her eyes slightly.

"Yes, I'm sure Roxy's gonna flip when she finds out, but too bad. If she'd agreed to do the gig, you and me wouldn't be having this conversation. And unless you want to cough up eighty thousand minimum…" At Riot's startled squawk, Phyllis smirked. "Hey, if Roxy gets twenty thousand," she said, "Stormer and Jetta get the same, and as lead singer, I should be getting at least that much, but since this is for charity, maybe I'll settle for twenty k, too, instead of holding out for more. Oh, and on the subject of Jetta, how does the visa situation look?"

She smiled. It looked like it was going to involve a lot of government forms, but in the end, it was probably going to work out, both for Jetta and her new bandmates. "Perfect." And if Roxy thinks she can shake down a benefit for booze money, we'll get by without her. I may have put aside the bad girl image, but that doesn't mean I went soft!

Emma glowered at her math paper and tried to tackle the next problem. She knew this, darn it. Or she had when Stephanie had explained it. If the price of an eighty dollar coat increased by twenty percent, the new price was ninety-six dollars. But… If a ninety-six dollar coat's price was reduced by twenty percent, then why did the answer key at the back of her textbook tell her that that new price was seventy-six dollars and eighty cents? If five plus three was eight, then eight minus three was five! That was the way it had always worked before. So, why wasn't it working now?

There was a knock on her door and she got up in a hurry, hoping it was Stephanie.

It was Joellen. "Hey!"

"Hey," Emma said, trying to smile.

"I wanted to remind you that the auditions are after supper. You're going right?"

Emma shook her head. "I don't think I can write another song. And besides, all I did was put my words to some music someone already wrote. I can't write my own music."

"What's your point?" Joellen asked. "It's normal for composers and lyricists to team up. Think about Rogers and Hammerstein. Elton John and Bernie Taupin. Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus!"

"Who…?"

"Okay, that's mostly Pete Townshend," Joellen admitted.

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Emma, those lyrics you sang were great! And even if they hadn't been, with your voice, I think you have a real shot at getting into the band!"

"I…" Singing on stage in an empty room just to see if she could was one thing. Singing on stage in front of everyone else was something else. Something scary. But Joellen looked so hopeful. "I…" She shook her head. "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Okay," Joellen said. "As long as you'll really think about it and you're not just trying to brush me off."

Emma felt her face grow hot. She might have a 'talent' for writing song lyrics, but it looked as though Joellen had one for reading minds! She wished she could trade. "I've got homework," she said. Then, hesitantly, "Uh… do you understand percentages?"

Joellen smiled. "It's been a few years, but I can take a look." She sighed. "And if you really don't want to audition, that's up to you."

Guardedly, Emma smiled back.

The computer lesson over, John was introducing Wendy to another device with which she would need to familiarize herself—this time, for leisure purposes. She looked at the moving pictures on the glass screen and shook her head. "I wanted to go off with Pan's Shadow to see magic," she murmured. "If I'd only waited a few years, I would have had it right here."

"It's science and technology," John corrected. "Jolly fantastical, even so," he added with a chuckle.

Wendy smiled back. "How long have you been here?" she asked him.

John shook his head. "It's my first time in California," he admitted. "I've mostly been in England until now. Pan kept Michael and me in Neverland for about twenty-five years before he let us come back for the first time. I suspect he was waiting for our parents to pass on."

Wendy swallowed hard. "Do you know how they…"

"I do. There was a war—"

"War?" Wendy interrupted sharply.

"More than one, actually," John sighed. "This one, well, for a time it was called the Great War or the World War. Now, it's more often called the First World War—"

"First?" Wendy repeated. "How many…?"

"Two," John said. "The first started in 1914. Father…"

"He didn't go to fight, surely!" Wendy cried.

"No, no. Well," John said, "at least, I don't believe so. I-I couldn't really ask. But he was sailing to India on a passenger liner—the Persia—not some warship."

"To India," Wendy repeated slowly. "What happened?"

"The ship was sunk by the enemy off the coast of Crete in 1915," John said sadly. "Over three hundred people lost. Including Father."

"On a civilian ship!" Wendy exclaimed.

"In wartime," John said. "I don't know why he was aboard, not really. You remember he used to support the YMCA. Well, during the War there was a YMCA contingent going to help out our troops in Egypt."

"The YMCA? But Father was hardly young," Wendy protested.

John smiled sadly, "I think that I must be older now than he was when we left. He was only nineteen and Mother seventeen when they married, you know. Besides, even back in our day, they had lectures and other programs for all ages. At any rate, I suppose Father may have gone with that group. Or perhaps, he meant to sail on to India; the ship was headed there afterwards," he continued. "But then," a hint of bitterness crept into his voice, "there's no real way of knowing. All of Mother's and Father's friends are gone now, so there's nobody to tell us. Father didn't keep a diary, and I doubt the papers interviewed him before he set out. I suppose he just… wasn't important enough for anyone to record his reasons."

Wendy nodded slowly. "And Mother?"

"Influenza in 1920," John said heavily. "When we left Neverland that first time, it was 1923. The Shadow set us down in Kensington Gardens, but the city had changed enough that Michael and I scarcely recognized it. We found our old house, but at first we were afraid to ring the bell." His expression turned pained. "We didn't know then that Mother and Father were gone, but we'd been away nearly thirty years and not aged a day. We didn't know if we could explain ourselves! And then we saw strangers going in and out, and we thought perhaps, that they'd had more children after we were gone, or if they'd moved away, that someone might know where they lived now. Well, then," he amended. "And when we finally did ask—d'you recall Liza's friend Gwen?"

Wendy frowned. "Gwen…" Her face brightened. "Yes, of course! She'd often call round for Liza on her half-day off and they'd go to the theater or a concert. Is she still...?" Her face fell. "Of course she's gone now, too."

"She is," John admitted. "But in 1923, she was housekeeper for the Chartwells three doors down from where we used to live. Liza had married and moved away by then, but Gwen remembered. I told her we were distant relations visiting from abroad, and that this was the last address we had for the Darlings and were there any left? And that was when we learned," he added sadly. "She told us where we could find lodging. Pan had given us a bit of money; we didn't think to ask where he'd gotten it from, but it was enough to last us the week or two we had until the Shadow came back to collect us."

Wendy shook her head. "So short a time," she murmured.

"Well, he didn't want us aging too much, not then. After that, he'd send us back every now and then. He'd tell us what to look for, ask us what changes we noted. More children arrived from our world—not only from England either. The Shadow brought them from all over Britain, and then Ireland, America, Australia… Pan encouraged them to talk to us about the world they'd left behind." He sighed. "So, you see, he made certain that we were aware of how time was passing here, even if he only allowed us to visit for short periods. It's only been in the last two years that he's let us stay, and even then, we knew he could drag us back to Neverland without so much as a by-your-leave." His lip curled bitterly. "As he's done now."

"What does he want from us?" Wendy cried. "Who is this 'savior' and why is she so important to him?"

"I don't know," John replied. "But for Michael's sake, we need to ensure that she does what Pan wants her to one day. Even if we can't know exactly what that is."

"Part of the fun, I suppose," Wendy sniffed.

"Part of the game," John corrected. "I don't believe any part of it is meant to be fun. At least, not for anyone but Pan."

Wendy nodded grimly.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he said, realizing how foolish it was. The phone wouldn't stop ringing just because he'd said he was on his way. No, but I bet I could design something for that. A snooze alarm for a phone. Voice activated—nah; after four rings it would go to voicemail first. Maybe a voice-activated way to intercept the call before it diverts there, so that I'd have more time to pick up!

He snatched up the phone just in time. "Yes?" Then a moment later, "Pizzazz? It's been a long time. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Phyllis didn't bother to correct him. "I need you to find something out for me."

"I'm an inventor, not a PI," he informed her loftily, his whiny voice pitching just a touch higher than usual in annoyance.

"Unless you're selling your inventions, being a PI might just bring in more cash."

"It's not about money!" he snapped. "It's about challenge! And proving I can get the job done! And knowing I'm the only one who can!"

"Yeah?" Phyllis drawled. "Well before you go all Lex Luthor on me, I do have a challenge for you. And so far, everyone else who's tried it has come up empty."

"Oh?" Techrat snorted. "And what, pray, do you need me to do? Graffiti Misfits lyrics on the floor of the Mariana trench? Smuggle your master tapes onto the next space shuttle? Hypnotize Vivienne Westwood into giving you samples of her latest line gratis?"

Phyllis giggled. "You know, those are all pretty good guesses. And maybe I'll take you up on a couple of them at some point. Actually," she said slowly, "there's this kid I'm helping. Her parents abandoned her eleven years ago. Nobody ever found a trace of them. But I'm betting you might be able to…"

Techrat was startled enough not to answer right away. It was a full twenty seconds before he said, "That's… not one of your typical asks."

"Nice to know I'm not conventional," Phyllis said lightly. "Can you do it?"

"Fax me the details," he said. "I'll see what I can turn up."