It was amazing how easy it was to ignore him as I opened the box.

I can’t tell you what was in the box, of course.  The chefs probably had some kind of illicit portal to heaven that they sliced thin and then drizzled a devilishly rich sauce on to hide their theft from the angels.  Or maybe the angels were in on it, bored of ambrosia and baklava (if such a thing is possible.)  (Maybe Uriel is allergic to nuts.  That would explain a few things.)

I mean, I am just listening to the lies my tastebuds told me.  I’m innocent, man, just the force of delivery.

Rent-a-Wreck stared at me for a while as if trying to get me to talk through the sheer force of his presence.  Then he started muttering in what was probably some kind of ancient fey language, except for the bit about my mother being an aardvark.  (She wasn’t, but I figured that to be self evident.)  Instead, he went strolling across my bookshelves, kicking the occasional mass-market paperback as if he had opinions.

When I sat back with a satisfied sigh, he looked at me again, giving me what was likely a pure 1960s Spockian Eyebrow.

“Hey, you’re the one who shows up unexpected and uninvited,” I said, putting my hands up in the air.  I felt too good to argue, so I surrendered from the first.

“I am not uninvited.  You accepted the mission.  I am certainly part of it.”  He actually crossed his arms and glared at me.

“Wow, is the mission how to banish you forever?” I asked, sounding at least mock-enthused.

“I have not even begun to annoy you,” he frowned.

“Are you going to read my Spider-man graphic novels and then spoil the endings?” I asked.

He shook his head and looked confused.

“Are you going to paint my nose in egg whites while I sleep?”

He shook his head again.

“Are you going to kill my potential girlfriend?” I snarled that one, but I managed to not make it a full yell.

“No!  No, that is why I’ve arrived!” he responded.

“Then talk,” I slammed the spoon down on the counter.  It made enough of a noise that I had to keep myself from jumping.  He flinched.

“You have not used the stone,” he said.

“Darn right I haven’t.  I have no idea what I’m supposed to use it for.  Do I break it and six fairy godmothers come in some kind of Bollywood moment and take me away to Calgon world?  Do I eat it?  Do I stuff it in the mouth of a Dragon and faint until I’m back home?  Because that’s what happened to the last fairy gift I got.”

“Whoa.  Whoa.”  He put his hands out and shook his head.  “Maybe you shouldn’t have sugar before bed or something.  Infinity within, infinity without, but the rock is our promise.  We can… we can do something for you.”

“That almost sounded like a straight answer,” I growled.  “All I have to do is let you pull some kind of Morden, `What do you want?’ scene and be held to you forever.  Maybe I want a little less weird in my life?  Maybe I want to have a girlfriend, a normal, non-witchy girlfriend, and a chance to read my trade paperbacks, and maybe even catch a movie.”

“Self pity is a terrible color on you,” Rent-a-Wreck said.

“It’s not self pity.  I am not a freakin’ wizard!”

“Shhhh!  You will scare the neighbors.”  Rent-a-Wreck sat on the shelf near the Stephen King books my sister sent me.

“Like the firetrucks and the dead woman didn’t freak them out enough?” I fumed.

“Mortals have a fabulous ability to veil themselves from reality, and I expect they are weaving their blinders of rationale as we speak.  Sit down.”  His voice filled with power for a moment, and I found myself sitting where I hadn’t realized I was standing and yelling at the small man on my bookshelf.

The Small King.

Oh.

Duh.

“I am sorry, your majesty.”

“Hah!”  He laughed.  “And I am sorry that you are incorrect.”

I gave him my best Spockian Eyebrow reply.

“You are a Small Wizard, but a wizard nevertheless.”

I swore.

“Nevertheless, I said.  Peredur has great hopes for you, but I don’t expect you enjoy being a Dragon’s pawn.”

“I never understood the wizard-Dragon relationship.  I thought the world Beyond thought I was more of a George than a Merlin.”

He cackled.  “And I am not the Seven King, but that is neither here, but only there.”

“You’re not the Seven King here, but you might be where you… are?” I tried.

“Precisely, and yet completely incorrect.  The first messenger explained in part.  I expect you shall weather the weather just fine, but can you be in lien or on loan alone?”

“I don’t–”

He cut me off, and there was the faintest hint of majesty to it.  “Test your own mettle.  You had a simulacrum made.  Where is it now?”

I was horrified at the thought.  “The Shadow King…”

“Ah yes, but just as you say you are not a wizard, he can only be so much you.”  His manner had changed, and I saw less of the little green elf and more something perfectly comfortable with the world outside, a master of it, provided that world was about four feet shorter than the one I knew.

“Wait.” I thought quickly.  “Can I use that?”

“No.  You are not a wizard.  A wizard could, perhaps, throw a Shadow of the Shadow in the way.  You can only close doorways.”

I was disappointed.  I had had the inklings of a plan.  An idea.

“Do not look so glum, E, my good fellow.  You are not a wizard… but you know of at least a few places to find them.”

“And I am owed a favor in advance, is that it?”

“I am not a wizard, either.  So let us talk of your dead friend.  Perhaps Peredur’s beloved is not the only one to build simulacrums.”

“Sylvie’s alive?”  I felt something tight in my chest give way, and I felt suddenly far more tired than I had any expectation to be.

“And your Rohana is more of a witch than either of you think.  She is, however, not of the lineage that has drawn to you.   Think of this as a trap that you have escaped.”

I frowned.  “You don’t have to pay the deductible.”

“Hah!  A handful of leaves and twigs may have their electronic counterparts.  We do not go away just because your dreams have changed their venue.”  He smiled a little.  “Not any of us are what we seem today.  Tomorrow, we again become something of what we always were.”

“That’s the kind of philosophy I expect from a self-help seminar.”

“Your dreams do not run on calendars and fountain pens.”  He shrugged.  “You complain at the same time that you want something different.  That you do not want the wills of those in the worlds intersecting and overlapping to present to you.  Do you ever wonder how you were chosen for this particular magic?”

“If you say that my sister is a hidden Jedi, I will squish you,” I said, but I was smiling.