There was silence in the car for a while. It wasn’t a very long while, because, well, Maggie was driving. Matana smiled at Ed every couple of minutes, indicating clearly to me that I could check off “sadist” as a fairly descriptive attribute. It probably was part of the whole vampire package.

I didn’t know how they sold becoming a vampire to the host. Pamphlets? “Blood-sucking…yeah, let’s put that in the negative category. On the good side? No need for orthodontists. Or dentists. OK… well. Um. No more sunlight? OK. Sunlight causes skin cancer, anyway. I never ate at breakfast places anyway. Um… I do miss the cheap movies, but, really, immortality means I’ll have time to watch everything in my Tivo queue.” Or maybe it’s something like that, “Draw your interpretation of this sketch, and we’ll invite you to Vampire School.”

I meet more vampires at Walmart than I can stand, really. (No one gets a symbiote from Bed, Bath, and Beyond. Unless that’s what those fuzzy bubble guys who do the scrubbing in the cartoons are. I always thought they were a type of alien. Mr. Clean, well, I’m not sure about him, but he does seem pretty suspicious, if you ask me. Ridiculously charismatic amongst a certain set, I’m sure.) You might get good teeth (they’re no longer exactly teeth if I understand it – the old ones rot out and you get these new crazy soul-sifting baleen things. On the other hand, I’m not a dentist.) but there’s no transformation of your fashion sense.

Maggie parked in a way that, surprisingly, didn’t have me biting my lip and worrying because I didn’t put the extra insurance on the vehicle. (I was already covered by my regular insurance and didn’t think to expect my ex-girlfriend to drive.) She got out and stretched for a moment, like she’d been caught in some sort of crouch all day. You know, like getting up out of your seat and straightening out.

No, wait, that was an invocation towards light. My bad. The light gathered around her in a sort of hazy aura that at first looked like dust motes, and then gained a little steam. If it hadn’t turned so dark outside you would have figured, oh, it’s the residual light from having the car door open, only then your brain would have to poke you a few times and say, “Wait, light doesn’t really work that way in this case.”

She moved out towards the Bad Thing and continued to gather glow. It might be a weird way to describe it, but it was at least accurate.

Matana melted out of the car (she really did move beautifully, and I don’t know if that was her or part of the package) and met up with Maggie on the right side. She didn’t illuminate, but she did kind of smoulder a little. The witches of smoke and glow. It had a poetic aspect to it. I got out to close Maggie’s door, while Ed got Matana’s. Hopefully they hadn’t left the doors open for a quick getaway.

“That’s… awful purty,” Ed ended up saying.

“It’s magic,” I agreed. I tried to sound more jaded than envious. I don’t want that kind of power – it’s like wearing spandex and a funny symbol – you’re always a target no matter who or what you serve.

Every once in a while, though, it’d be nice. Nice to make the world change the way I want it to, rather maybe than the way it just…does. I don’t believe the world’s out to get me. I’m the protagonist in my own life, not everyone else’s stories. If I was lucky I might make it to sidekick, or part of a group ensemble, or maybe even antagonist in someone else’s series. Not the focus of any story’s real intention, at least.

Of course, thinking like that gets you et by Dragons.

“What do they want us to do?”

“Standing there and gawking, while suited to your meager talents, is, alas, not conducive to our cause,” Magda said. “Stay quiet a moment while I look at what we have here.”

“It’s not a portal,” I said. I didn’t shout it at her, I just said it.

“Are you sure?” she asked, anyway. Her hearing was always better than mine.

“It’s what I do,” I snapped.

They focused the combination of light and mist into something kind of like a mirror, or maybe the term “looking glass” was far more appropriate. I had already seen the show, but I was vindicated somewhat from the harsh gasps the two of them gave at the sight.

Light and smoke both faded. “Explain,” Maggie said.

“The house is in a wrapper, kind of.”

“Like a present?” Ed asked.

“Yeah. It’s not an intrusion because it isn’t complete – the seam, so to speak, is there, it’s just so twisted in on itself that nothing can move through. Those in the house are probably seriously freaked out, but until they break the rules and let them in, they’re completely safe.” I looked towards where I judged the line to be. “It’s very clever, and it takes some serious power to develop, let alone maintain. Tell me about Sylvia, Mags. What is she?”

Matana drifted over, while Ed tried to make his brain follow the topology I suggested. He had his flashlight out again, and made some lines in the dirt while Maggie considered my question. “She’s human,” she finally said.

“As compared to what?” I asked. “I’m human, you’re human. Ask anyone off the street to do what you just did with the foxfire there and you’d be lucky to get more than a blank stare. Ed’s human. Heck, Matana was human.”

“Thank you for noticing,” the vampire said, her smile somewhere still in her expression, but mostly faded. Do faces experience screen burnout? Nevermind.

“Get to the point, E.”

“You just don’t like being wrong. I’m used to it. I am wrong most of the time, so it’s a comfortable place for me, the kind of place I can put my feet up on the table and belch if the situation warrants.”

“Um, E?” Ed asked.

“Yeah. The point. See, Sylvia didn’t just stumble upon the -cubi, Mags. She summoned them, didn’t she? Deliberately, which is why she maintained as much control as she did, drawing you out there.”

Maggie spat out a curse and looked away, but Matana nodded, slowly.

“She’s been into your head. And mine, too. Which means this is a trap.”

“And we’ve played into it?” Maggie asked, bitterly.

“Only kind of…” It came from Ed, and it was thoughtful, so I turned to listen.

It was not my finest moment. Of course, it came in what was certainly not my finest hour, and it was certainly not shaping up to be my finest day. I had taken it to be somewhat like expecting the whole Klingon, “Today is a good day to die,” statement to be a weather forecast. “Not looking good tomorrow, though. We’ve got a low pressure suicidal frenzy coming from the East, though that might make Thursday an awesome day to meet your maker.” On the other hand, I was alive, I was in relatively good health, I had rid my body of a great deal of demon rum (well, it wasn’t rum, and it wasn’t demonic, but it was still definitely an exorcism of sorts) and Matana’s hand had come off my arm as Maggie parked.

So it was actually turning around, all things considered.

Or was my hand on Matana’s?

We could argue it later. I wasn’t on my knees in the dirt. I focused on that for a moment. That and the fact that it looked like there was blood on the grille of Maggie’s car. Oh, Mags. Swerving into squirrels again, were we?

She kind of nodded to Ed, and then addressed Matana. “Is he sober?”

“He’s trying.”

“Yeah, but is he sober?” she stole my line. “Nevermind. We’ll do it the fast way. I can spare that.”

Again with the snap, and again with the fuzziness in my head being driven away by a wash of witchiness. A wallow of witchery. A wiggle of witch. I made a mental note to apply to some council of venery out there to make it a wiggle of witches rather than the traditional coven.

A guy can hope. I stood up slowly.

“I hate it when you do that,” I breathed out.

“You can be self-indulgent on your own time. Come on. I’ll drive your car.” She held out her hand for my keys, and Ed supplied them. Traitor. I’m going to start calling him “Teddy.”

“Why isn’t this my time? When does it get to be my time?” I was muttering.

Magda turned around and looked me straight in the eye. “Quit your whining. I indulged you plenty, as did Sylvia. Poor baby, survived a flick of a claw from a Dragon.”

“Really?” Ed asked Matana.

I saw Matana nod out of the corner of my eye.

“Wow.” Alright, the Teddy thing was out of line. I upgraded my opinion instantaneously. “That was stupid.”

I regretted my mercurial nature.

“That is a word that could be used for it,” Matana agreed. I already didn’t like the vampire, so she didn’t get a change in her status.

“So, what’s the plan, grand poobahstress?” Ed asked as he climbed into the back seat.

“Hey,” I noted. “You’re not allowed to drive this thing. It’s in my rental agreement and everything.” Really, it’s like a minimum $15 or so to add on another driver, and I know how many tickets Maggie has had for speeding.

Zero, but that’s not the point. She should get one every single day.

Maggie tilted her head and gave me a Look.

I relented.

She straightened the mirrors out before answering Ed. Matana did not wear a seatbelt. I suppose she’d just drain us of blood and heal herself if we got in an accident. It was something to look forward to, I guessed.

“Someone has declared war.”

“If it’s not a bug, I’m probably not of any help,” Ed noted, quickly.

“Why are you in the car, Ed?” I asked.

“She gave you this…look, and it said in my head, `And, Ed, if you’re not cooperating and in the backseat by the count of three, I’ll make it so every sunspider in a hundred miles thinks your place is irresistable.'” He reflected. “Maybe not in so many words.”

“Good man,” Matana smiled at him.

“Maybe, but I’m an awfully good exterminator, that’s for sure. So, what we saw wasn’t the realm of the exoskeletal. It was more a Boschian triptych with a side of gruesome.”

“You must have been drinking to make that comparison,” I muttered.

“Hey, I might have been an art major once upon a time,” he winked to take the mock-offended tone to the area of mock. Um. Or something like that. I may not have been drunk anymore, but I still get kind of lightheaded after Maggie’s trick.

“It was certainly a surrealist’s depiction of wherever the place was. And it was disturbingly…” he looked for a word. “Sexy.” He hurried to qualify, “but only in a very weird way. No one seemed to be enjoying themselves, except that they were, if you, um, see what I mean.” He waved his hands.

“The -cubi,” Maggie sighed.

“Somehow they’d attracted two with less than a dozen people,” I said. It sounded very flat. “But they’re beasts and we can’t beat them with broomsticks. What are you expecting Ed and I to do?”

“Be our male counterparts in the ritual,” she said. “I didn’t get much more in the way of specifics other than we needed some gender dualities.”

“Um,” Ed looked at me for help.

I checked the door, and it was locked. I gauged carefully what kind of injuries I would likely have to handle at about 70 miles per hour if I jumped out of the speeding car.

Maggie just sighed.

“It’s not like that, boys.”

Ed swallowed visibly, and while I was tempted to just tell him to spit, it didn’t seem like it would be as funny said aloud as it was in my head, so I stayed quiet.

“Um. If I say, `Good,’ you won’t hate me forever…or turn me into a frog, will you?” Ed asked, kind of in a rush.

Matana smiled at him and brushed his hand, making him jump. “No,” she said, and she purred. I mean, like, literally.

“Oh. Well. Good.” He gave me another desperate look.

“You got in the car,” I pointed out.

“You must have an unusual dentist, ma’am,” he said to Matana. “And I’m in over my head. I knew it would happen one day. I told my self, `Ed, that E fellow, he’s going to get you in over your head one day,’ and look where it is. Two hot chicks, some kind of ritual near a portal of agony and ecstasy, and I’m going to die, aren’t I? My mother will be vindicated. She always told me I was going to end up in something weird and wicked. She had a bit of the sight, Mum did. Weird and wicked.”

“A portal of agony and ecstasy?” I asked him.

“Hey, I don’t just read MSDS sheets. I can quote poetry, too.” He sighed.

“I like E,” Matana declared to Maggie. “He always gives us such interesting evenings.”

Great. The bloodsucker likes me. Did I mention it was not my finest day?

I was contemplating my drink the way someone does when they’re teetering farther on the edge of “actually drunk” rather than the “merely getting tipsy” portion they measure themselves as being. The, “Oh, this is really pretty liquid. Especially in this insufficient light. I’m sure it has amazing physical properties. Water’s pretty neat, too, you know. You can do neat things with water. I wonder if there are frozen martini planets in space,” kind of thoughts that drinking allows to float in my head, as if in a lazy innertube ride through the rivers of the mind.

There are things you can’t un-see, and I am ever so happy to be a rationalizing human being who can eventually desensitize and forget the events I’ve been unfortunate enough to encounter of that, “I’d like some brain bleach, please,” nature. While I’m in no hurry to experience any sort of dementia, there are certainly things I would pick and choose from, and if some fey being asks for some of my memories in return for a gift, I already have them organized and ready.

Of course, the measure of that is incredibly idiosyncratic. Some people, as I’ve noted, don’t want to think of their parents having sex. Or of that ridiculous scene in that movie they made merely to push the boundaries of what kind of gore they can show on screen. (Which I think is cheating the viewing public. Trust me, that squirming sense of discomfort your brain gives in thinking of the atrocities off screen is a thousand times more rich and unusual than the actual discomfort of the special effect. After a while all we’re marking down is the splatter patterns of dyed dark corn syrup or whatever blood substitute they’re using these days and ignoring the paid shrieks of the actors. Some of the artistry in gore comes from studio-made masterpieces, but it only suggests fear the same way it suggests its realer counterparts. Of course, it’s thinking like this that would have us critiquing the effects of a snuff film. “The melodrama of the last minute was ineffective,” the critics would say. “Not enough explosions,” we’d see on Twitter… Um, sober? Not so much.)

Maggie hadn’t shown up yet. We were in the same dive bar in Boulder that Ed frequents because he hasn’t graduated to having taste, yet. I don’t know if there’s a four year school for it outside the culinary arts. I guess it’s all in the mind of the beholder anyway. Eye of the ilithid? No, wait. It sold alcohol, the prices were satisfactory, and the service was as well. I wouldn’t eat here, but I try not to eat where I can’t see the food anyway. The amber light fixtures probably built ambiance that brought to mind episodes of the Brady Bunch I thought long buried in the darkest recesses of my brain.

At least it wasn’t, say, Bennigan’s. Their potato skins used to be good, but with that and their signature Monte Cristo, even with the side of broccoli I was probably courting death more specifically than in jibing with a Shadow King. A delicious, guilty death, but a hastened one.

“I think I’m hungry.” I said it to my glass. I had been holding it up like I was in black crystal thrall or something.

“I’m not drunk enough to eat after that,” Ed said. He took a swig out of the bottle. (He refused to drink anything that hadn’t been sealed before the bartender touched it, yet I knew he had a homebrew set-up at home. It just sounded like a lot more touching than a tap system, but what did I know? I just fought Dragons and discovered errors in the laws of space and time.)

“Maggie will know what to do,” I said. I said it like I believed it, like I had my faith in the Magster to work some miracles. “Anyway, it was probably an illusion.” I drank what was in my glass. That was the philosophical shot.

“No more for you if you’re invoking Mags. Bartender, cut him off. He’s crazy. Says he’s a wizard and can close rifts in space and time,” Ed spoke over me.

The bartender harrumphed, the only sign that he was even listening.

“Sooth,” I said. “‘Cept I’m no wizard.”

“True,” Matana said, settling down to the stool next to me lightly and silently. I likened it uncharitably like a bat finding its home stalactite.

“Heya, Ed, have you met Maggie’s latest exotic pet?” I asked.

Matana’s expression darkened, and Ed caught it. He pushed my glass away. “You’re done, E. You’re not becoming a mean drunk on my watch.”

“I’m not on your watch,” I muttered, and I stumbled as he pulled me away from the bar.

“Yeah, because you’re not sitting on my wrist. But you might be on my steel-toed boot pretty soon. I’m sorry, miss.”

“My name is Matana,” she said, with that silky hint of accent.

“I’m Ed. I run `Unwanted HouseGuests.’ Run them out of town, actually.”

“Are you secretly an Edward?” she asked.

“Not a chance. Family curse. I could have been a Teddy if my mom’s mum had her way, but someone decided on a little dignity. Last name’s more French, though, so the masculinity quotient may even out since it’s come up the bayou and not from wine country. Hey, E, are you going to be sick.”

“If I close my eyes I see it again. If I don’t close my eyes I get dizzy.”

“Maggie will be here soon,” Matana said. She lightly touched my elbow and I flinched enough that I hit Ed with my shoulder.

He hit me back.

I wobbled.

More than words came out in balance. I had at least made it into the parking lot before I desecrated the shrubbery with my nervousness and a bit of alcohol, and images of a place that couldn’t exist. A place where the angles were all wrong. A glimpse via a flashlight to what had to be an illusion. I believed in Euclid. I would clap my hands if it helped, but really, I had one arm on Ed, and the other on Matana for a moment, feeling incredibly weak.

That would, of course, be the moment Maggie drove up.

I drove up and parked in the same gravel area in which Magda had kicked up dust so few weeks before. Ed was leaning against his work vehicle and scowling at his smartphone as if his expression could pick up the right kind of signal to make it work. He twitched his nose a few times, and his frown turned into a wry grin as something he thumbed gave him an answer he liked. I moved over and waited for him to be done.

He had changed out of his work clothes, and was in the sweatshirt and jeans he practically lived in as a second house. (He kept that one very close to his chest, you might say.) I watched past him, looking at the anomaly he had warned me about, trying to figure it out for myself.

When I stop trying too hard, I’ve got a fair head for math. At least, for making sure my guesses are in the right overall area, if not always exact. I think that’s a good knack to have, honestly. In this case, my guesses all went kind of haywire, kind of, “This is higher math than I can handle.” The kind of thing I’d bring in a science fiction writer for, I think. I was wondering how to measure folded space without going inside and taking a ruler to the fold.

“So, I was thinking,” Ed started, “how do you measure folded space from the outside?”

I resisted the urge to laugh aloud.

“It’s easy,” he continued. “You use the reference points you already established. But I’m not a math guy. And, of course, I’ve never been here before. Passed it a few times, but you can see, it doesn’t look odd to anyone just driving. Maybe it’s a variable because of the speed of traffic – if we had a rush hour jam people might notice it, but I have to really stop and look before I see that it’s weird.”

I had been resting against his truck, too. When I moved, I lost the faint line I was looking at, so I nodded. “How did you find it in the first place?” I asked.

“I was trying to be surreptitious. You know, all sneaky-sneaky.” He grinned, and made tip-toeing motions with his fingers. “So after it took me a few minutes to figure out where the place needed to be, and a few turns up and down the road, I just brazened in, took the best parking spot, and, look there–” he pointed at the ground.

I moved over and saw just what he meant. I don’t have any hunting or tracking skills, either, but Ed has an attention to detail tuned to small crawly things that don’t belong. In this case, what didn’t belong didn’t crawl – it was like a cleaning commercial, actually. Things on the left were used and didn’t come up like the stuff on the right with the special brand name cleaner. In this case, it was like the stuff on the left had been used for a house, and the space on the right had been next to the road, or against the wilderness.

I moved around and tried to keep the strange line in space at an angle. Once it hit “sky” you couldn’t tell at all. I hoped it wasn’t intersecting any airspace. We’d have our own Bermuda Triangle scheme. (Or is it only a scheme when it’s a pyramid?) Not to mention all the utility questions I had in mind.

“What kind of witchery is it?” I breathed aloud. It wasn’t quite talking under my breath, but it was full of wonder. I’d never seen anything like it affecting my own world.

Maybe that was it. It could be an illusion – a matter of perception. A way of bending light or something else that just made it seem different. After all, a great deal of magic did have to do with prestidigitation, right? And headology. This would be a fabulous conjunction if…

I realized the second bit more belatedly than I had any right. There was no open door.

See, if it had actually been put somewhere else, but still evident, the door would have to be open. I didn’t hear anything, not a sound. I didn’t smell the wind of somewhere else. I didn’t taste the spheres of Beyond.

I picked up a rock and tossed it where I thought things might be. The rock itself underwent a kind of shimmery cartoon-like change, flattening and then turning in on itself and disappearing. The way cats sometimes do when they’re startled.

“Hah!” I exclaimed in triumph.

“That was…odd,” Ed said. “Hey, do it again so I can capture it on my camera and upload it to Youtube or something.”

“Eh,” I shrugged. “They’d only think we were doing it for a special effects class or something. We’re being tricked.”

“Is someone going to jump out and say we’re on Candid Camera?”

“Cantrip camera, maybe.” I shook my head. “I wouldn’t walk in there – what happened to the rock might be a warning that the place is twisted. You know, like leaving someone’s monitor display turned to the side or something. But it isn’t a doorway, it’s all just hidden.”

“Pretend for a moment that I understood. I kind of get the idea that if we went up to it and we weren’t Bugs Bunny or Duck Dodgers we wouldn’t survive the trip. Question is, who hid it?” He put his phone away and went into the passenger side door. He came out with a couple industrial flashlights, handing one to me.

“I think it’s a good question, but tell me why you do?” I asked.

“Because people hide things for one reason – to make sure other people can’t find them. But you do that for two reasons, both of which seem like the same thing but have different emphasis. It’s like nests. You want to keep your eggs safe for you, and you want to keep them safe from someone else. It’s the, um, for and from that make the difference.”

“Right. Did Sylvie do this as a panic mode or did something do it to her?”

“What you said.” He nodded and flashed the light towards the line as it was fading in the darkness. I heard him gasp, and I turned to look at what it revealed.

I have been driving long enough now to know better than to look directly at the fellow who suddenly appeared in the seat next to me, but I still had to fight the instinctual swerve away I did with the steering wheel in lieu of my entire body teleporting. Or whatever unreasonable if possibly rational instinct the brain has upon such situations.

(There’s a little digression here about how a little of the cyberpunk I’ve read disappoints me on this note, especially compared to the juncture of man and machine in real life. The brain doesn’t come with instincts about “driving,” or “riding,” which is why practice is what lays down the pattern in our heads. Too much of the cybernetic stories seem to be about adjusting to what’s already there, just now made of a different matrix. Our body knows how to use legs and arms. I like the weird stuff, which in this case is to say how man (or woman – I’m using it in the “mankind” sense) adjusts to wings, or tails, or rototiller tailbone attachments, or whatever the new black is in the cyberverse.)

Which is to say, I knew a little of how a blink dog felt, I think. Phase spider? Whatever unlikely dimensionally dooring…yeah, there it is again. I would still refute being obsessed with portals. It’s becoming a weaker and weaker defense, though, lately. And I think Fourth Edition AD&D introduced a race of ‘porters. (Well, I don’t know if it made away with encumbrance…nevermind. My Dungeon Master views anything past First Edition with a great deal of suspicion, but we’ve been playing a homebrew hybrid for years anyway. This is a gamer geek flag wave. See my flag? It is waving.)

The reason such creatures came to mind is that from the corner of my eye, the fellow on the seat looked kind of like the kobold out of the Monster Manual. A little doggish, although not quite as pronounced a jaw, but something in my glance immediately brought that label to mind.

“Would you mind buckling your seat belt?” I finally managed. It wasn’t quite as eloquent as the shout, scream, or grunt of surprise I may have made during the wrangling of the car from where it attempted to escape its lane, but it sounded pretty cool to me. “Cool,” in this case meaning non-plussed, as if I was gifted with the particular traits of inability to be surprised by anything, able to roll with the flow, like dice off a duck’s back. No, wait, that wasn’t quite right… Unfazeable. That’s the word.

The little man (really, he was no taller than a six-year old) fastened the seat belt. He pointed to the warning on the sunshade that suggested children stay in the back because of attendant air bag risks. “Kelpies doona come with air bags,” he said.

A bit heavy on the accent, but I got it. “Not even rigged out of those weird seaweed with the air bladders?”

“Nay,” he replied.

“Neigh,” I agreed with what I hoped was a subtle flaring of the nostrils. I don’t think he got it. So, kobolds weren’t really Celtic, which is the best I pegged his accent, and stated as such I risked the wrath of many linguicians. They had, wossname, spriggans. I tried to remember what spriggans looked like, but besides the really obnoxious nymphlets with a taste for bear sidekicks in the latest Elder Scrolls games, I couldn’t really bring an image to mind.

“An ya mixed up with witch business?” he asked. At least, I think it was a question and not just a sigh and a shake of his head to mean that I was a silly one or however he called it.

“Witches kiss almost as good as crazy girls,” I said, keeping my focus on the road ahead.

“Aye!” the creature chuckled. “An less likely to put you inna doghouse save literally.” He seemed pleased with himself, almost as much as I was with my “Neigh” response. (I was just being a good Neighbor. Nevermind.)

“Hounded as we all are from women,” I agreed. “But besides sharing our comparisons of the gentler gender, what are you doing in my car, and who are you. In whatever order.”

“An we were jus’ doin’ so fine, sharin’,” he complained. “This car belongs to me, an’ I’m its master.”

“Your name is Rent-a-wreck?” I surmised sarcastically.

“Nay.  I be usin’ it temporarily as my vehicle.  You’re involved in small stuff, are ye na?”

The first part almost made sense.  The question, though, didn’t make any sense until I capitalized one of the words.  The Small Kingdoms.  Oh dear.  “Perhaps incidentally. I’ve a… friend who introduced us.”

“Aye. A Thomas.”  It seemed to matter to him.

“Would a Jack have been better?” Hey, I read.

“Power of names, but we be foolin’.  Ye’ve no idea wherefore the King be playin’ games with a wee bit of wizard like ya?”

“Never met the fellow.  And to sound kind of mercenary about it, he hasn’t given me any reason to help out except for sending a troll to my doorstep.”  I belatedly remembered the rock, but, well, except for some cleavage jokes it was just a token of good faith, not payment, right?

“Sir Darius is na only a knight of the Small Ways.  He wears a mark such as ye, na that of a Shadow King’s, but puissant enow.  He’s known seven kingdoms and heralded for most.  Powerful friends ye must hae.”

“I think I followed what you said but it still didn’t make any sense to me.  Yeah, I know I’m marked.  Got that part.   And yeah, that was his name.  I’d forgotten, although it’s not like I’m spoilt for choice when it comes to trolls.  I’ve only really met the one.”  I was nearing my exit, and it was taking some concentration.  Rent-a-wreck was playing with the switch for the glove compartment with his foot.  I tried ignoring it.

“Less’n your marked by Dragons, we suppose.”  The little man sighed.  “The courts are curious and ye might do well to stay home to the solstice, stay to places that are loved by their keepers, na such as this where any man can take control.  I’m a beastie that loves iron, so no comfort for ye there, ye being a reader an all.”

“What about fibreglass?” I caught myself asking.

“Gremlin poop,” he retorted.  His accent was completely gone for a moment.

I grinned.

“An were you told of another messenger?”  Accent returned.

“Uh, yeah.”

“He speaks partial sooth.  There be three in total.  Must be.  An your witches, they will na protect you.”  The little man laughed, a whistling sound.  “Do na fail to notice the small things.”

“I’ll sweat them, don’t worry.  Hey, what’s with the accent?”

“Tradition, wizard.  An it’ll hide me from your enemies by being so daft.”  He disappeared, then, but I knew he would.  The seatbelt retracted and I never even swerved an inch.

For all that the sun hides behind the mountains fairly soon on in a Colorado afternoon, until it does it can be a blinding aggravation to drivers headed on the fastest freeways. Things get to be kind of black and white (whereas the lack of light can give things strange color. You ever notice that? Maybe it’s just me…) while you’re trying to anticipate shapes and unexpected movement as potential dangers since you lose the whole picture to the retina-violating sunshine.

Colorado has a ridiculous number of clear days per year, although we tend to forget it’s kind of a desert. Sunshades should be more of a requirement than the ubiquitous clear sodas and snowboards, but since I don’t wear glasses I often forget about them until moments like this, where I’m banging my steering wheel in aggravation because everyone ahead of me also has forgotten the presence of the giant semi-perpetual nuclear explosion just eight light-minutes away.

Sometimes my view of myth and science collide in strange ways. Aside from all of the details regarding the mystical power of the sun (usually related to “illumination” on a grander scale than an epiphany, but still a matter of suddenly whisking away the shadows from a truth, even should that truth simply be, “Dude, you’re supposed to be dead!”) and its role in myth (between Amaterasu and Ra and the rest, I don’t see it as gender confused – I think its avatars cloak themselves depending on the needs of the times) I think of all of the connections with our planet and our worldview. Will future generations have myths of Mars and the moon? Does the Beyond touch the planets we haven’t yet realized? Did Jupiter lose a band of colour because of a coup somewhere in a myth we do not have the processes to comprehend, let alone touch?

I have acquaintances who straddle these worlds, so to speak. Who can talk geology and yet how some mountains are made of sleeping giants at the same time, and yet, there’s a disconnect I feel. How can both things be true at once? The literal and the figurative circle each other like opponents in a boxing ring, each looking for a weakness in the other the one can use to press an advantage, and reason laughs just as madly as faith.

It’s like my saying that the world I live in is a small place. There’s a statistic my mom quoted me (often – and usually had more to do with teaching me to drive rather than the actuarial data) about how most accidents happen within ten miles of your home. Well, who goes out more than ten miles from their house on any kind of regular basis? I think it also brought home the idea of how small communities used to be. My world is a small place, but how would I have measured the world within, say Ivan? Or the world the President of the United States must live in? (And how strange the transition from the world in which he grew up?)

And how strange a world for Matana, for example? The world she grew up in, and then the worlds shown her by her parasite? You must grow into different worlds, and visit new ones in relationships. Who knows how many you ever travel, let alone live in at once? There’s my work worlds, and my little world inside this car, trying not to interact too closely with any other individual carworlds.

Sylvia talked about her world expanding. Does it get bigger or do you just change places? (I’ve played gaming scenarios that could argue either, but not even many of those systems would allow you tools for the measuring.) Mine has changed significantly, even if I could not (would not!) wander into some of the places I’ve visited again, I could suggest that every step into the future is one I walk into a new place.

Some people would have road rage by now. I, instead, have road philosophy. Which is probably closer to road rash, I think. At least the sun was a degree or two more hidden by the horizon. That only left the smell of the dog food factory as one of the reasons this is one of my least favourite parts of the route.

Well, that and realizing I’d missed my exit.

My phone rang. I hit the speakerphone button because I’m responsible like that, at least in a rental. (It still distracts you, but so does talking to the person in the other seat.)

“E here.”

“So,” Ed drew the word out a little. Lots of “o”s in that word.

“So?” I cut him off.

“You sure about that address?”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“I found where it should be.”

“And?”

“So, magic and mathematics have a common ancestor, right?”

“I don’t know that that’s true.”

“Remember that bit in Harry Potter where the house number was missing unless you spoke the secret word and then everything expanded? Or the bus bit in the movie.”

“Um, yeah, but I don’t remember what any of that was called. Something in a bad latinesque analogue.”

“Squeezus Like a Toothpaste Tubus. Yeah. I think something like that happened here. There’s something I can’t see wrong with it.”

“But it’s wrong, right?”

“Right, it’s wrong. And I’m sure if I were a math guy, mathmetician, this would have to do with radiuses and tesseracts and stuff.” Only he didn’t say “stuff.”

“It’s not a giant silver sphere.”

“Nope.”

“Good, I hate those.”

I travelled in silence for a moment.

“I can’t take a picture of what’s not there. Of nothing, you know? If nothing is something.” Ed was struggling.

“That’s not true – with pictures you can have a negative.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny. I meant on this cellphone thingie. I totally forget about it because no one wants pictures of the spiders in their attic. They just want them to go away.”

“I’m at least forty minutes away, still.”

“I’ve tried hailing the house. All hailing frequencies, including honking my horn. You think they had a horn on the Enterprise?”

“Oh, I’m sure it comes standard. Look, if it’s that weird, go home. I’d hate to have you sucked in to some kind of dimensional pocket.”

“Sure that ain’t a euphemism for some Venusian bootie?”

“No, I think we settled on `flytraps’ for that. I’m on the turnpike.”

“‘Kay. I’ll hang around here a little bit longer, and I’ll call if I leave or something interesting happens.”

“Deal.” We did our little phone closure pieces, and I watched the line of red lights in front of me. At least the sun was out of my eyes, right?

“This is witch business,” said the fellow in the seat next to me, just as I settled back into the rhythm of driving.

I don’t think I’m an exception in any case when I say I don’t like it when people hang up on me. I try to be solicitous and let people know when I’m leaving the conversation. I understand it when people have to go unexpectedly, but I like the whole, “Talk later,” or “Mm-bye,” or distracted whatnots that with their small rituals close the…well, yes, maybe I have a little bit of an obsession. Closing portals is what I do. I may be a one trick pony (you can see me waggling my eyebrows, right?) but it’s my trick, and I’m an awesome pony. Woman, get on my horse.

No, wait, that’s not what that phrase means. Any of them.

Ahem.

Starting over, yes, I might have a problem. I always get one step into those solutions, and then get lost. Sure, I admit I have this problem and then what? I should look up the second step, I think.

I don’t think there’s a twelve part program for quitting Dragons. Really, I don’t think I was ever addicted. Then I say something like, “They’re after *me*,” with a little bit of emphasis on that last word, and I sound like I’m in denial. You see my quandry? Of course, psychotherapy probably isn’t the solution. I could try and ask Peredur about his mother, maybe run the MMPI, see if there’s Rorschach analysis on the patterns of smoke damage he’d leave behind in disintegrating me… (And where’s my Acme Reintegrator Gun? It’s not like I don’t have enough life-shattering ka-booms!)

So, Sylvia. Boulder is at least an hour’s drive, and worse depending on weather and traffic. I had been trying to be gallant in offering her the ride, and, well, without being a “creeper” I was also aware that I had control of the transportation. That way we didn’t have to muss with parking logistics and the rest, especially knowing that her car was shared amongst her roommates and she’d been monopolizing it to take care of me. The practical side of it stunk, but I can do gallant, right?

I looked at the empty apartment and swore. I’d read Niven’s essay against teleportation at an early enough age that even were I a full-blown wizzy wiz McWiz (thanks, troll) I don’t think I’d be able to believe in such spells. I know that there are shortcuts with portals, but while it changed the measure of distance, I am also personally aware that opening and closing portals come with effects. Maggie and I had probably weakened some barrier near Sylvie’s place with our banishing of the -cubi. All of which was useless meandering because I wasn’t able to create portals, but trust me, worrying and wishing are like fraternal twins.

Maybe I misunderstood that last bit. Maybe her roommates grabbed her for a sorority tickling session, and she just dropped the phone and is too busy ripping off clothes and playing with pillows and feathers would be flying across the room, and… I don’t think my fantasies are particularly strange, actually, just my timing.

Switching my thoughts around at least 120 degrees (because 180 is just a mirror reflection and 270 is just weird), I called Ed.

After a few minutes of catching up, (“What have you been up to?” “Slaying dragons, I guess,” “I hear ya, we’ve all got our demons to face. [Epithet] those [bleepin’] pine beetles, by the way. Great convention but dismal prospects. So, is it time to schedule your biannual?”) I made my plea.

“This is going to sound kind of strange,” I warned him.

“E, as one of your friends, I’m kind of used to it by now. What is it? Multitentacular cloud babes from Jupiter? I think I’ve got a mixture for that.”

I found myself grinning. “You’re a good friend, Ed. I’ve a girl up near Sugarloaf.”

“Oh. Oh? And? She’s a cat vampire or something?” I think it was an anime reference.

“Nah, just a witch,” I said. “And something funny just went on, so what’ll be fifteen for you will be almost ninety for me. I’ll owe you one.”

“Another witch? Yeah, you’ll owe me. Well, I guess frogs are a kind of exterminator, too.”

I chuckled. I didn’t think Maggie could turn anyone into a frog, but who was I to put limits on her?

He mused for a moment and got the address. “Mrs. Mollins will be pleased if I can reschedule. I was going to interrupt her` Wheel of Fortune’ time or something. Um, E?” Ed sounded worried.

“Yeah?” Worried meant he was about to ask me something reasonable that had to do with the real world, and not wherever it was my brain usually functioned.

“Shouldn’t you be calling the police or something? I mean, if she’s got ants or any wiggly-nasties, I’ve probably got it. If she’s got, I don’t know, cultists or anything, I’m just another hostage.”

“You’re a good friend, Ed.” I sighed.

“You say that now. When you have to come rescue me and I make you pay up by buying the drinks and singing at karaoke, we’ll see what you think.” Ed has been trying to get me to do karaoke with him for ages now. Could be worse. Could be that he wanted me to go bowling. (Nothing against people who like it, but it’s super loud and those yawning pits where the pins go give me the heebie-jeebies.)

“Seriously, Ed, if there’s anything weird, call the police. I’m on my way now.” Well, I had to put on some clothes, but I cradled the phone against my ear with my shoulder and started the process by choosing a pair of pants.

“Anything weirder than you getting spooked and sending me to ogle your new girlfriend? I can handle that. I’m on the case, man.” He said his goodbyes, and I got dressed and into the rental, heading West.

“Hi!” There really wasn’t any reason in the world for me to feel guilty, visions of girls naked in jello being completely reasonable fantasies, all things considered. So there was no reason to feel like my, “Hi!” was a little rushed, a little loud, a little too friendly. I’ve had days where it seemed like my volume control was off – where stress made it sticky towards the loud side or something, but as far as I knew, this wasn’t one of them.

“Um, hi. You sound better,” she said, and I was completely overanalyzing her tone of voice, I know, but was there a little bit of reluctance there? A little bit of distance?

“I believe I have you in part to thank for that,” I said, trying to make it sound casual at once but also giving credit where credit was due. “So, thank you,” I added just to be certain.

“You’re welcome,” she responded. No, I wasn’t imagining it.  There was a certain flatness in her tone, and it wasn’t exactly distant, but more, I don’t know…wary?

“I got your message,” she started.

I was hit with this sudden, instant decision point, do I interrupt and try to downplay it as nothing important, or do I let her turn me down? The instant passed me by, and I had to focus to hear, “–love to go. I’ve just not been there before, so I’m not sure – is there a formal dress etiquette? White tie? Black tie?” she asked.

I blinked. I hoped I didn’t leave her waiting too long as I processed an answer. “No, I mean, I thought to dress up in Denver was a silk shirt, jeans, and maybe a pair of boots,” I offered. I couldn’t remember anything more than, “Not fat, compliment something specific,” rules about when women asked about clothing and added, perhaps belatedly, “But I’ll be in something a little nicer. It’s my treat and all.”

“That works,” she decided, and it sounded definitely more confident. “Is it too late to make reservations?”

I glanced at my watch. “Shouldn’t be. You’re not skipping class on my account, right?” I asked, trying desperately not to sound like a parent.  I wasn’t that much older than her, right?

I could hear her smile. “No, we’re good. Um.” Then there was a hesitation I could feel rather than hear. I waited it out. “There’s not going to be anything weird between you and Maggie, right?”

I considered. “No. We’re over,” I said, maybe a bit too quickly, but what the heck. “I mean, I hope we can be friends. I think she wants to be, and, well, I’m just glad that it’s a possibility.” I shrugged, but I didn’t know if she could hear it. “We can work well together, but that’s all it should be. Work.” I was probably being a bit too candid.

“Good. And, um, your guardian and guide?”

I was tongue-tied for a minute. “That shouldn’t be a problem,” I managed.

“You’re not one of Matana’s thralls or anything, right?” she asked. I could tell she was teasing.

I laughed. “This was not the third-degree I was expecting!” I protested.

“You just seem to have a whole lot of weirdness going on that I’m not used to.”  She laughed.  “Well, I mean, I did just join an actual coven of witches, I met a vampire who is studying werewolf physiology, and I have a date with a fellow who had a run in with a Dragon.  So maybe it’s me.”

“It’s a date then?” I asked.  I tried to make it sound funny, kind of casual.

“Hah!” She laughed.

I don’t know what made me say it.  Maybe I was under some kind of spell.  “I talked to Rohana,” I admitted.

Sylvia’s demeanor changed, and I could feel a chill coming from her voice. “Oh. What did she have to say?”

“Something about naked jello wrestling, but I kind of got stuck on the image so I don’t know if there was anything else,” I admitted, somewhat teasingly. Hey, a guy can hope, can’t he?

“Hah! She would!” I heard, accusingly. “Tell her I saw you first.”

“Dibsies. Gotcha,” I grinned.

“Nah, I can handle her,” Sylvie sounded amused. “Super strength glue when and where she’s not expecting it. Hexes that ruin the elastic in her underwear, if she wears any, that tart!  That sort of thing.”

“Now, girls, don’t fight over me.” A little bit of taunting in my voice.

“We only fight for principles,” Sylvia suggested. “This isn’t fighting.  This is…  guerilla man-staking.”

“I know what ‘painstaking’ is. Man-staking? Should we go back to the Matana question?”

“Maggie’s had you tagged as hers for too long. Besides, competition is good for us.  We’ll use you for…” she took a moment to let my brain fill in all sorts of unlikely scenarios, and then ended with, “practice.”

“Not target practice, I hope.  I think I’m scared.”  Well, if I hadn’t had the aforementioned run ins with Dragons, I might have found this scary.  Relationships… alright, they still had their fears, but I was ready for them.

“You’re the one who did full disclosure.” I was about to protest and explain my non-jerkhood when she added, “You should be.”

“Oh. Thanks,” I said, the smile set to take the bite out of the sarcasm.

“Anytime. Do you need a ride?” she asked.

“How about I pick you up?”  Awfully gallant of me, eh?

“Bit of a drive,” she mulled aloud. “But I won’t turn it down.” There was a loud knocking sound. “That must be one of my roommates. Hold on a second,” she said.

I heard her crossing the room, and opening a door.  There was a banging noise, like something hitting something wooden.  Well, as much as I could tell in the translation from audio to digital and back.  I heard something like a shriek cut off as my phone suddenly flashed, “Call lost,” and the number of minutes we’d stayed connected.

I stared at the phone for a moment, waiting for her to call back.

I hope I have never, ever, in my life, claimed to be smart. Maybe smart-aleck’d, but I hope I have never given the entirely false impression that I was possessed of any particular kind of genius.

I reflected on this as it hit me in the shower that the troll (if he had a name I’d forgotten it) called me a Dragonslayer.

I knew that to be wrong. In my heart of hearts I knew Nellie was alive and out there somewhere. I couldn’t recall whether or not I had been ejected back through the portal back into my native plane of origin through her or my own doing, but some part of me knew she was still alive.

My memory had a chance of being faulty, especially when considering that it had also had parts of it gone walkabout. I didn’t come out of it with a note, or runes scratched into my forehead saying, “I’ll be back.” I came out of it with bad dreams about wolves. Large wolves. They might be giants, even.

I did think about what it meant to be a Dragonslayer, and something in me knew I wasn’t… I don’t know …changed enough?

Something of the Shadow King had touched me. Robbed me, more like, from the way I was feeling, but …heck, I’m a guy. I say I work from my gut because working from my heart is a girlie, girlie measure.

But word on the street meant people were talking about it, and my street is a many-fabled land indeed. One of the houses on the block, so to speak, was Nellie’s, and I didn’t want to be called a liar when she tore the hinges off her own front door and started shouting about the kids on her lawn, metaphorically speaking.

I could only continue to deny it, and make it clear it wasn’t out of any sort of sense of modesty. (The way I pranced around nude now that Doloise was– the way I didn’t have any clean towels sort of proved it.)

Maybe I wounded her and now I could spread scary stories of the brooding, injured beast, plotting revenge at any time.

Stories like that just don’t impress the smart women. Something about, “Sure, you’re fun to hang out with, and I really like you, but I don’t want a semireptilian myth breathing on me while I share serious cuddle time.” I mean, who can blame them? That’s a pretty big shadow to get out from under, let alone with which to share the spotlight. I mean, let’s face it, Sylvie has had much less of conscious brain time (although to be fair, she did share some of my thoughts while in the shower) than Nellie has, and I wouldn’t sleep with Nellie.

Ahem. One thing at a time, E.

As far as I knew, once an incubus had been banished, it had been banished, but really, our introduction did have a lot to do with an increased…um… passionate mood? Plus, it’d been the best kiss I’d had in a long time.

I was considering that idly, leaning back on the bed when my phone rang. Have I mentioned that I love my phone? Sure, it doesn’t get reception in the Beyond, but I still had notes. If I’d been smart, I’d have taken pictures. Published them and called them art. Of course, the gravestones and weirdness of Ivan’s world were really Ivan’s art. Maybe I could set up a charity for old Russian wizards. Or orphans.

I didn’t recognize the number, but it was local.

“Hi, is this E?” the voice was kind of breathless, a little girly. I’d like to say I never forget a voice, but it’s mostly that I can recognize if I’ve heard one before, not necessarily who it is attached to… and this one I’d heard before and, well, it didn’t ring any bells as to who it was attached to, but since it definitely wasn’t a Dragon, I was game.

“Um, yeah,” I said, with the eloquence you’re beginning to suspect of me. That’s me, Mr. Smooth.

“Hi!” she said again. “This is, um, Ro. Rohana. I left you the books at the hospital?”

“Oh! Hello! I meant to call you and thank you. I’m enjoying them quite a bit.” I was trying not to be awkward, but what were the odds?

“I’m so glad! I was afraid you’d probably read them, but Maggie said that she hadn’t seen them at your place, so I figured it was worth the risk. Besides, the whole place was beginning to smell like a greenhouse and I thought maybe you’d like something to take your mind away from the pain rather than just your nose,” she giggled.

I smiled. “You guessed right. Where do I know you from?”

“You argued with me about getting a sundae back a few blocks from Dairy Queen on Colfax,” she said, sounding a little bit older.

“I did?”

“You’d taken a blow to the head, I was pretty sure. So maybe you don’t remember. But I’ll give you this one. I’m emergency services.”

“Oh. Oh! I remember.” I grinned. “You’ll have to forgive me, I’d been hit by a car.”

“A car? I wrote a Dragon in my report.”

“You did?”

“Of course not, silly.” She laughed. “Officially it’s a missing black SUV, but you talked in your sleep.”

“Oh.” Is there anyone in the world comfortable with that thought?

“Got you again,” she teased.

I groaned.

“Hey, you made it easy for me. Anyway. I um…” She took a breath. “I wanted to know if maybe you wanted to go out sometime?”

I paused. “Sure!” It was pretty easy, really. I mean, she didn’t follow all the rules, but she asked and, well, I was available.

“Would tonight work?” she asked.

Sylvie! “Um, I am kind of already…” I thought quickly, “scheduled for tonight.”

“Oh.” She did sound disappointed, which caused immediate conflicting feelings in me. Disappointment that I disappointed her, and then a surge of self-esteem, and, well, other stuff.

I didn’t know if I was really scheduled for tonight, but having a backup plan is a sneaky snaky thing to do and always gets you in trouble in the sitcoms.

But I didn’t say I was smart.

I just wasn’t stupid. “Um, are you part of the coven?” I asked, carefully. She knew Mags, and Mags would only know a broom closet as some place to make out.

“Adjunct, why?”

That was a fancy word. I dithered for a moment.

“You’re going out with Sylvie, aren’t you?” she asked. She laughed. “I should offer to naked jello wrestle her.”

I couldn’t help it. “Yes, you should.”

She laughed again. “I’d win. Call me. My schedule varies, mostly night shift, but I’ll fit you in somewhere.” She gave it a moment. “That was pretty good innuendo, wasn’t it? I’ll leave you with that, cutie.” She hung up.

I took a deep breath and the phone rang in my hand again. I nearly dropped it out of surprise, but my reflexes were a bit faster than my wits.

It was Sylvia.

I slept like a rock might sleep, given from all of the evidence that rocks didn’t move around much on their own.  I was more sedentary than sedimentary, but…

The stuff of life occupied me a good part of the next day.  My bureaucramancy was in fine fettle.  Patience gets you a long way, as does having a good attitude.  If you can make the person on the other side laugh they’re more likely to go that extra step, let alone that extra mile.  Especially when you’re dealing with bureaucracy it is important to remember that each of those people along the path has a role to play.  Of course, some of those roles are to stymie you, especially when dealing with insurance agencies.  I don’t hold it against them…much.  OK, I rarely hold it against the individuals, just the policies that make it seem like they can’t spend any of the hard-won cash I’ve given them on, you know, my needs.

I got a rental car organized and left a note on the voicemails of my caretakers that I was doing fine and didn’t need their help today.  I went grocery shopping.

I also asked Sylvia out on a date.  It’s a lot easier to do when you only have to record it, and you have unlimited chances to repeat yourself and sound your best, even if the eighth take didn’t have the same obvious spontaneity.

I have never been sure of the precise combinations of words to make asking someone for a date sound reasonable, especially out of the blue. I can kind of break it down a little.  There’s the standard greeting, the identification of the person doing the asking, the sweetening (maybe softening) of the person being asked, usually in conjunction with their identification, then the event information, and then the plea.  Does the word “plea” sound too desperate?  Say, rather, the invitation, perhaps?

At any rate, broken down into so many modules (do my summers spent doing a little programming here and there come out that much in my speech?) it seems like there’s still a great deal of personalization that can be made.  After all, I could identify myself as “Count No-one” (of the No-one Trust, of course) and my sweetheart as “She of the Fangless Smile,” although I wouldn’t recommend either.  I could soften things with, “For you have my throat in your hands,” but again, that kind of sweet-talk is only going to work for a specific type of personality.  The event should show some kind of connection with things you’ve already discovered about your intended date, whether it be, “A consummation of our parents’ plans for grandchildren,” or simply, “two tickets to that thing you love.”  (Again, these examples are probably best never, ever used, but maybe if you smell right you can use that latter.)

I tried to wing it, first.  Give it that kind of off-handed, casual feel.  Failure of “ums.”  The “um” is not your cool, casual friend.  It’s a sign of nervousness or inability to choose, or worse, inability to leave silence alone.  Silence is a good thing.  Silence gets you in trouble a lot less than actually saying aloud those dumb things you were thinking.

Try number two was made while I was still verbally berating myself for try number one.  Try number three I almost missed completely as I hit the wrong button.  I wrote down the details on try number four so that I could say it clearly and managed to garble it while choking on my own spit.  Try number five was missed while I was still coughing and hacking.  Try number six sounded great, but then I pressed “re-record” again, out of habit at that point.  Try number seven sounded almost mechanical.  Try number eight was well-rehearsed, smooth, and acceptable.

Your mileage may vary.

I remembered she’d ordered something fairly spicy at the restaurant, so I wanted to take her to a place that had great spices, as well as other options in case that was an exception to her eating habits.  I was split as to whether or not to go out of my normal habitat.  Part of me said that if this developed any further, we’d be spending most of our time on my personal map, and part of me said to take every advantage I could, rather than having to feel like I was a fish out of water at the same time I was busy with the awkwardness of an actual date.

You can just take someone out for dinner, but it’s good if you have a follow-up plan, provided they don’t have some kind of curfew.  I’m sure there’s dating guides for vampires and the like that talk about that awkward early breakfast at the 24-hour diner, but I am just guessing because I don’t date vampires.  I am about to take a student out on a date, though, her yes answer pending, and that means being cognizant of the stresses of college, from being willing to take a no seriously during finals, to not getting in the way of homework.  Just because I didn’t get my degree didn’t mean I wasn’t aware of the particular cycles of school life.  (The low and high tides of homework, the seasons of needing advisor attention, the overall agriculture of it.  Maybe there’s a better metaphor, but it seemed to me like you were farming for a certain production of paper, or somesuch.)

My follow-up plan was, weather depending, a little bit more experimental.  I was offering to take a walk with her (no collars or leashes necessary) either amongst some botanical sights, or a more cynical tour of some of the local woo-woo scene.  I didn’t phrase it that way, of course.  I happened to enjoy looking in various new age stores and laughing at the merchandise the way jaded fashion gurus sit at the shows, sipping their presumably-coffee, judging mercilessly the designs and models who walk by.  (Don’t laugh too much, though – there are several magicians in fashion, just as there are several wizards who take the shops seriously.)

I didn’t say it was a great plan.  I could have taken her to something I knew I liked.  That way at least one person was having a good time.  That had its appeal, too, if I was feeling cynical.  It wasn’t the kind of message I meant to leave, though.  Maybe that was mumble number five.