"Adam, what's wrong with you?" Jimmy said for the second time as Adam counted out the drawer from the first shift. Usually Adam's employer wouldn't hover over him while he tried to do his work, but today was an exception. Spence and Jimmy exchanged looks, which unnerved Adam even more.
"Nothing, just a little tired, is all," Adam said, wanting to believe his own words. Jimmy shook his head, which for him might have had ten different meanings.
The owner seldom showed up on a slow day like Monday, but today was unusual in that it wasn't slow. Adam thought Spence might have called him about the hour lunch he'd inadvertently taken when he went to see Moira, but wasn't sure. They tended to cover for each other when necessary, and calling the boss for any reason was not something Spence would normally do. But then, today had been anything but normal.
Jimmy was nearly forty, but possessed the perpetual youthfulness of many Asians; tall and wiry, he sprinted about the bar at his usual frenetic pace, pouring drinks, making coffee, running the espresso machines. The register had run out of paper, but since it was close to ten anyway, he went ahead and zeed it.
"I'm fine, really," Adam insisted, but a little of his annoyance slipped through his teeth. Something is wrong. I just don't know what it is.
The missing time bothered him, more because Spence suffered, working a heavy bar alone for an hour, when he should have been there with him to help. As to the incident itself, he felt vaguely disturbed, but not alarmed.
Now he had trouble counting money. As soon as he thought he'd counted a stack of fives, they were actually tens, and he had to start all over. Either the numbers blurred all by themselves or his eyes weren't working. On the fourth attempt, he managed to count all the bills.
Then his steel allergies kicked in with a vengeance. The coins started getting warm, no, hot, so much that he had to lay them out on the shelf under the bar and count them with a pencil eraser. Adam had never bothered to tell Jimmy about his steel allergies, as it never seemed necessary. But now the boss gave him strange looks, which made him lose count.
"You know, there is a flu going around," Jimmy said good-naturedly as he untwisted the espresso dispenser. "Working a job like this, I'd bet it'd be easy to pick up."
Adam felt bad, but it wasn't a flu; not that he'd know it if he had one, since he'd never been ill. A few times the Dallas heat made him a little dizzy and dehydrated, but a few minutes in an air-conditioned environment cleared that up. No, it wasn't influenza. But what the hell is wrong with me?
"Maybe you'd better go on home," Jimmy said. "I've got a lot of nervous energy today. I can handle the bar tonight. These ten-hour shifts you've been doing might not have been the best idea anyway," Jimmy said, his expression friendly but firm. Jimmy was not making conversation, he was telling him to do something. And he had better do it.
But when Adam looked up, Spence stood a few paces behind Jimmy, gazing at the boss. Spence's eyes glazed over, daydreaming or just plain tired. Adam had seen his friend's zombielike expression before, usually associated with working long hours, but not quite in this context. Sure enough, as Jimmy told him to go home, Adam saw Spence's lips moving silently, mouthing the same words, as if reciting a script for Jimmy to read.
Adam blinked, and what he thought was an odd scene now was not odd at all. Spence shuffled off to the back room. Jimmy poured espresso. A pinstripe-suited businessman read a newspaper at the counter. Music from Pink Floyd's The Division Bell trickled softly over the sound system. Business as usual.
Great. Now I'm getting paranoid, Adam thought. Maybe I'd better go home after all.
"I don't want to leave you hangin' like this," Adam began. "But at least I finally got the drawer counted. Thought I'd never get this thing tallied."
"Don't give it another thought," Jimmy said as he loaded more paper into the register. "You're doing a terrific job. I don't want you to burn out. You're my head man down here."
"Yeah, well . . ." He wanted to argue. He didn't feel good about leaving work like this, and under normal circumstances he would argue further. After all, he had car and insurance payments to make. But something within urged him to go home without complaint.
"Go," Jimmy said. "We'll survive."
Adam nodded and winced at the headache he felt coming on, the kind usually brought on by proximity to caffeine, but he hadn't been anywhere near it. Allergies are in overdrive. Never this bad before. What gives? Adam frowned, wondering what this might mean for his continued employment at the Yaz.
As he left the Marketplace, he ran into Moira coming back in. She looked frantic, and perhaps a bit pissed off about something, but at that moment, incredibly sexy.
"My pile-of-junk car won't start," she said suddenly, waving a plastic key ring in the air. "Can you give me a lift home?"
Adam smiled as many different scenarios sprouted from his active imagination.
"Sure," he said. "I'm on my way home now."
"This early?"
Adam shrugged. "Boss let me off," he said, not going into any detail. If she thought I was coming down with something, which I'm not, then . . . He considered telling her about the missing time, but thought better of it. Adam wanted to put the whole incident behind him and get on with his life.
"Want to come over for a while?" Adam ventured. He was taking a gamble that Mom might be there, but she tended to work until at least ten or eleven. Of course, Moira had been over before, for dinner and movies, as a friend. His throat dried up, and his heart pounded in his ears as he considered something beyond that.
If Moira noticed, she pretended not to. "Well, we were going to go do something, remember? I don't have to go home."
"You look just terrific," he said, hoping he wasn't being too obvious. "What about your car?"
"I've got a mechanic coming over tomorrow to look at it. I'm about ready to drive it off a cliff. Empty, of course. If it can even make it to a cliff."
Adam nodded, grateful she hadn't asked him to look at it. He knew one thing about cars, and that was that the engine blocks were one big chunk of steel. Poking around under a hood would be the equivalent of sticking his hand in a blast furnace.
Adam's car was a new Geo Metro, a three-cylinder with a turquoise paint job. The door handles were plastic, as were most of the surfaces inside, a main selling point with him. It was the least painful for him to drive, easily insured despite his age, and the most affordable in payments and gas. Since he always went to full-service gas stations, to avoid handling the metal gas spouts, he needed to milk as much mileage out of his car as possible.
Moira had a little trouble getting her huge hair into the tiny car, mashing it against the car's roof in order to fit.
"How's your car holding up?" Moira said as she fiddled with the vents. "Must be nice having air-conditioning."
"It still feels new," he said. "Gets me where I need to go."
Adam dropped in a Blancmange tape, wishing he had bothered to put in a more impressive sound system, the one thing about an automobile that would have impressed Moira. She didn't much care for the large muscle cars or even slick sports cars, but she did love music, Blancmange in particular.
"So you went and got this," she said, looking over the cassette case. "Like it?"
"Love it," he said, really meaning it, even if he originally bought it in the event he drove her anywhere.
"Ever talk to your mom?"
Adam had forgotten all about calling her. He now realized that, since the weird experience in the empty mall space, he'd forgotten about the whole incident at the Wintons'. "Not yet," he replied.
With Moira so close to him, and catching occasional whiffs of her perfume, he forgot about Daryl and the whole sordid mess at the Wintons'. It's not my problem, he thought. Daryl can take care of himself.
"Moira, we've been friends for a long time." Adam heard his mouth working, and was uncertain where the words were coming from. "I don't know how to tell you this, except that I think you're really attractive."
Moira turned to look at him slowly, resolutely. He felt his male ego and other things withering under her look, like an African violet in direct sunlight. And he immediately wished time travel was possible, so he could recall the words.
"I don't know what to say," Moira said, obviously flustered. "I'm flattered. I'm sort of surprised. I mean, I thought you might have had something for Spence."
What?
"Spence is a good friend," Adam said quickly. "But I don't think about him, well, that way."
"Oh," she said. "But you do like me. That way."
He was about to say something, but his throat constricted. Had he spoken, it would have come out a squeak, and he knew it. He made do with a simple nod.
They rode in a terrible silence. A string of firecrackers going off in the backseat would have been a welcome relief of the quiet that fell between them, despite the music.
The tape switched over to side B before she said, "We are going to your house, aren't we?"
"Do you want to?" he said nervously. Then quickly amended, "Go to my house, I mean."
She gave him a sly, mischievous look that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "Only if you have condoms."
Stunned, Adam focused on the road. Did I really hear that? Did she really say that? I don't believe it! The smile that spread on his face threatened to squeeze his eyes shut. Sure am glad I got that box of condoms to practice with. . .
"Don't look so surprised," Moira said casually. "You've been doing some, well, growing in the past year. And I've noticed."
He pulled into the drive of their modest home in the burbs, a four-bedroom brick house on Doucette Street, a few blocks off Cedar Springs. In an otherwise older section of Dallas, a developer built a whole street of new homes, each unit a mixture of contemporary and 1940's architecture. Their driveway was a horseshoe of brick, which swung around to a garage on the side. The house itself was white stucco with an oriental roof of white tile. Though not as luxurious as some of the older, larger homes a few blocks to the north, their home was above the standard of the average police officer. His mom's Taurus was nowhere to be seen.
As sex became an immediate prospect, Adam's knees threatened to buckle when he got out of the Geo. Moira grinned, reminding him of a predator, swooping in for the kill.
"Looks like your mom's somewhere else," Moira said, taking Adam by the arm. The gesture seemed to support him as much as anything; he felt dizzy suddenly. Dots clouded his vision.
"You're not a virgin, are you, Adam?" she asked.
"Huh?"
She giggled and pulled him closer. "You heard me."
He dropped the keys in front of the door. Picking them up, he said, "Yes."
"Good," she said. Adam didn't understand that reply at all. In fact, he didn't understand anything right then, as his brain had seized up completely.
He opened the door, fumbled with the keys some more, and dropped them.
"Leave them," Moira said. She closed the door, and they stood silently in the main entrance for a moment. Then Adam looked up, put his arms around her, and closed his eyes.
The kiss lasted an eternity. Somewhere in the base of his spine a light exploded, sending shock waves through his body. She returned the passion, reaching around his back and running dagger fingernails up and down his inflamed spine.
Beyond his closed eyelids he perceived a flash of light, like a camera bulb. The kiss closed, and he leaned back, his eyes still shut.
"You've done this before," she whispered, her breath brushing against his cheek.
He opened his eyes a bit, and noticed something different in her blurred image. Their noses were touching; their arms wrapped around one another.
When his eyes opened all the way, he stared.
Her eyes, which were once dark blue, had become emerald with no whites. The pupils, dilated, stretched vertically, in slits.
The rush of hormones leveled out and finally drained from his system, replaced now with a confused fear. Slowly, he drew further from her. Her arms relaxed, fell to her sides. Adam's arms released her, but remained in position, as if he were clutching a thick force field surrounding her.
The tips of her ears extended a full two inches above her enormous hair, tapering to points.
Adam stared. He stopped breathing, afraid to speak, afraid to move. No coherent thoughts formed as he stared at Moira, her eyes, her ears. Frozen in place, he felt the blood draining from him, the strangeness of the situation spraying ice water on his fire.
"My name is Ethlinn," she breathed, a slight smile creasing her alien features.
Light clouded his vision, and he became vaguely aware of his body folding into a heap on the floor. She grabbed his arms, breaking his fall, seconds before he passed out.
Presto pulled his '82 Camaro with the bashed-in front fender into the hidden recesses of a dark, empty alley, parked, and turned the engine off.
"I said, he'll be here," he said to the kid sitting next to him. "Do you think you can shut up for at least a minute?"
"Yeah yeah yeah . . ." the boy said, sounding bored. "Look, I told you, I've done this before. I know what I'm doing." His hair was long and matted, and his eyes wild and crazed. Presto hadn't wanted to take this kid under his wing and make him his new middleman, but his former lieutenant, Monk, now in jail for unpaid tickets, said he was clean and never did product. Presto had doubts, and expressed these to Monk, who replied offhandedly that Mikey was just naturally insane.
"But you don't know this dude," Presto said. The boy irritated him. He reflected that it would be easier to make the exchange himself, go home, and start stepping on a ki of coke by himself, without Mikey's help. But he needed to train a middleman, if only a temporary one, and acquaint him with his supplier. Until Monk got out of jail, he would have to make do with temps.
He even considered recruiting Daryl Bendis, one of the few regular customers who appeared to have a brain, but figured he'd be watched after the fiasco at the Wintons' mansion. Maybe later, he thought, after things cool down.
That is, if he didn't kill Mikey first. The boy started humming a few bars of an Ozzy Osbourne tune, tapping his feet on the rusted floorboard, and playing drums on the dash. Not cool. Simply not cool.
"So what's he going to be driving, huh, boss?" Mikey chirped, peering down the darkening alley. He had an annoyingly high voice for a boy, but then he was only sixteen. Maturity, and intelligence, had not occurred yet.
"You'll see," Presto growled. Wonder where Daryl is right now? "It'll be here in a minute."
From one end of the alley came a strong gust of wind, sweeping litter past the Camaro. Mikey stopped all noise and movement. He stuck his head out the window. "There's not a cloud in the sky. This a storm or what?"
"Sit tight," Presto said, grinning sardonically. "It's almost here."
A jet-black Volkswagen beetle with blackened windows pulled in behind them, drove past, and proceeded to the end of the alley. As usual, the driver was invisible.
He's going to crap his pants when he hears this guy, Presto thought, trying hard not to laugh.
The beetle parked, but its engine remained running. Thick gray exhaust clouded around the vehicle.
"That's him," Presto said, pulling a shoebox full of fifties and twenties out from under his seat. "Give him this. He'll give you something. It's that simple."
Mikey said nothing as he climbed out of the Camaro. He gave a Presto a nervous, worried look, and for a moment looked like he was about to bolt.
"What's wrong?" Presto said evenly.
"Uh . . . nothing. Just smells like something died in this alley," he said before he walked up to the bug.
That could be arranged, Presto thought as he opened a bottle of Evian.
Adam woke in his bedroom, fully clothed, lying on his bed. He wanted to believe that what he saw was a dream; no, not a dream, a nightmare.
I was trying to get laid. And Moira turned into an alien.
Voices filtered in from the living room. Moira's, and another, a male voice.
". . . should have waited until after Lady Samantha broke the spell before dismissing the glamories," the man said with an actor's voice that reverberated throughout the house. "But at least you brought him here, to the Gate. Does he know anything yet?"
Adam propped himself up on his elbows. I just woke. Or did I? This sounds like part two of Nightmare On Elm Street. Or Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
"I don't think so," Moira said, her words softer and difficult to hear. "I've been with him since the King Gated us to this human realm, and from the first moment we assumed our identities, he was completely ignorant of his elven identity. I just hope he recovers soon."
Adam moved to his feet and silently crept to the door.
"Lady Samantha works effective spells. Where is she now?"
"Dealing with a potential Unseleighe infestation," she said. Adam understood none of it. Mother's a cop, not an exterminator. What in the world are they talking about?
They whispered something among themselves, then became silent.
"Adam. Come in here," the man said loudly. "We have a great deal to discuss."
Geez! How did they know I was awake?
He considered bolting through the window, but by the time he got the outer screen off, they would have caught him, or whatever. Besides, he wanted to know what was going on. Moira and a stranger are in our house. I'm going to find out how he got in here, and what he wants.
"Adam, there is an explanation for what you saw," Moira said. The hair on the back of his neck stood erect.
Taking a deep breath, he walked down the hallway and stopped at the edge of the living room, then peered around the corner.
Moira and a strange man sat on the couch, opposite the home theater system. Neither seemed particularly alarmed that he was awake. In fact, they seemed eager to talk to him. Moira's eyes and ears were the same as he remembered from the nightmare. The stranger, who was a large blond man, had the same features, though his pointed ears looked to be much longer. He seemed older, too, as did his dress. His right arm had been bandaged with gauze between the elbow and shoulder, and a bit of blood showed through. Aside from that, he looked like he'd just walked out of a fifteenth-century portrait.
The rest of the living room seemed normal. In the center, facing each other, were two gray couches and a matching chair. The coffee table was a solid cube of granite, decorated with a vase of lilies and a china tray of empty lead crystal liquor decanters. An antique buffet with its usual collection of art deco bric-a-brac lined one wall, and a long mirror framed with flowery Greek columns hung over it. Overhead a 1930s ceiling fan turned placidly on its lowest setting. The room had its usual cozy charm, which was spoiled by the two aliens now occupying it.
He closed his eyes, leaned against the hallway wall, and slid down into a crouch.
"I'm not seeing this," he moaned to no one in particular.
"Adam," Moira said sharply. "Quit being silly. Get in here."
"Lady Ethlinn," the man gasped. "Dare you speak to King Aedham that way?"
"This is a drastic situation. He will understand, once he returns to his normal self."
Adam opened his eyes against his will, stood, and entered the living room. The man and Moira sat comfortably on the couch as if they belonged there; he felt a twinge of jealousy that, given the strange circumstances, seemed completely out of place.
"Sit," Moira said.
"No," he said resolutely. "Not until you tell me what's going on." He peered at Moira and rubbed his eyes. "What happened to you?"
"Perhaps we should tell you," the man said, "what happened to you."
As the man spoke, Adam realized he simply could not be a human being. Not only did he speak with a deep, bass voice, it had a metallic ring to it. A robot? An android? A Vulcan? What is he?
The man turned to Moira, looking annoyed. "Lady Samantha should be here to dismiss the spell. As long as he remains human, it will be impossible to convince him who he really is."
"I know it would have been better," Moira said apologetically. "But she simply could not be here. Remember, we are having to maintain our human covers, as well as watch for the Unseleighe. Samantha was doing both."
Are they talking about my mother? he thought. She's the only Samantha I know. Then, Someone must have slipped me some LSD. This is a very real, vivid hallucination, caused by drugs. He focused on the man's pointed ears. It's the only explanation.
"This isn't real," Adam said simply. "I'm going to close my eyes. And when I open them, you're going to be gone."
Adam closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were still sitting there.
"Young King," the man said, "I know this must be a shock, but please listen to me." He stood, towering above Adam like a giant, having a good six inches or more on him. Adam took a few steps back, then stood firm. This was, after all, his house, and this man was an unwelcome intruder. But this intruder wore a period costume, straight out of the Middle Ages, or perhaps from the distant future. The tunic was a light tan, with tight-fitting sleeves pulled back over his thick, muscular forearms, and folds that covered his waist. A thick leather belt secured loose trousers of the same, linenlike material. His boots were black leather, and gold embroidery trimmed the edges of sleeves and boot cuffs; in all, a striking outfit. But in Adam's home, it was completely out of place.
At first glance the intruder reminded him of Prince Valiant in the old Sunday edition cartoons. He had a strong, handsome face, with all the stereotypic lines of a heroic figure. His eyes were emerald and slitted, just as Moira's continued to be. Pointed ears protruded from his blond, shoulder-length hair like antennas.
Moira looked on with concern, all the sexiness she'd radiated during the ride over here now gone, replaced by this insane mixture of stage costuming and special-effects makeup.
"Please believe me," the man said, his arms spread in a gesture of pleading. "While I don't expect you to remember, I am Marbann of Avalon, faithful subject of the Tuiereann Crown. I fear I come with sad news." He looked down, his posture radiating grief. "Your father is dead. The Unseleighe murdered him shortly after they invaded the castle."
Adam laughed. "My father is in Canada. Marbann of what? Avalon? What is that, an insane asylum?"
Marbann ignored him. "Since the King is slain, you are the new King of Avalon. I have come to serve you."
Adam crossed his arms and regarded him with cool skepticism.
"The Gate through which I passed is located in yon glass screen," he said, pointing to the Sony TV.
Yeah. Right. "So where's the hidden camera?" Adam tried desperately to find humor in this whole thing, and failed miserably. He'd seen complicated stage makeup before, including good prosthetic Spock ears and contact lenses, but this job was as good or better: there weren't any seams. If I'm not hallucinating, this must be a joke. But why today? Why not April first or Halloween or some other traditional day for practical jokes? But this guy's not a kid; he's at least thirty, and he looks very serious about all this.
He must be psycho.
"I don't think he believes us," Moira said. "Perhaps we should contact Lady Samantha now?"
Marbann looked thoughtful. "Perhaps you're right."
"If I am the King," Adam said, "and you are here to obey me, then obey this. Get out. Both of you. This isn't funny anymore." He turned to Moira. "What's going on here, Moira? Is this a joke? I thought you . . . liked me."
Moira looked hurt. "I do, my King," she said. "But it's not the same anymore. Perhaps if we'd had more time as humans, I might have fulfilled your desires."
"My what? Oh, that. So what's changed, aside from the fact that you've turned into an extraterrestrial?"
She crossed her legs, a very Moira-like gesture, and regarded him with surprise. "But my King, we have not been properly wed. We're not even betrothed!"
That did it. "I'm calling the cops. You can play your games with someone else. This has been a really crappy day. I'm not in the mood for this elaborate joke." He paused, reflecting. "You know, someone sure put a lot of work into those outfits."
He reached down for the phone and put the receiver to his ear. Nothing. He tapped the hook several times. No dial tone. The phone was dead.
Adam slammed the phone down. "Cute. You disconnected the phone."
"Your Majesty—" Marbann began.
"Oh, Marbann. Give it up. He'll never believe us as long as he's human," Moira said, and sighed. "Lady Samantha did a remarkable job in blocking his past. She's the only one who can bring him back."
Adam started walking backward, toward the front door. He reached in his pocket, but his keys weren't there. There, on the floor. Where I dropped them. He picked them up by the plastic handle.
"You must believe me!" Marbann pleaded, following him into the entrance hall, moving with amazing swiftness. Adam thought he was going to tackle him, but he stopped just short of running him over. "This is no prank!"
"Get away from me!" Adam shouted. The man was just too big to move that fast. Confusion surrendered to fear as he bolted out of the house.
I've got to call the cops, he thought as he pulled the Geo out of the driveway, the little three-cylinder engine showing surprising power in the Dallas heat. He drove down Cedar Springs at breakneck speed, hoping a cop would pull him over, but he saw none as he sailed past nightclubs and a Chinese restaurant. He squealed into a convenience store, parked, ran for a bank of pay telephones, and dialed 911.
After the bell tone came a hiss, a crackle, and a familiar voice.
"My King, please come back," he heard. Marbann? He looked into the receiver, half expecting to see the intruder's face there.
He dropped the phone, picked up the next one.
"Adam, if you have to call the cops, call your mom." Moira? How the hell are they doing this?
He reached for the next one, which rang before he touched it. Pick it up or not? Not.
Back in the Geo, he pulled back into traffic, driving a little slower now. It would do no good to contact the police by causing an accident.
But when he looked in his rearview mirror, he saw Marbann sitting in the backseat.
He slammed on his brakes. Behind him, a pickup screeched to a halt. Profanity followed a loud horn blast. He turned to look in the backseat, which was empty.
Maybe I'm on acid after all, he thought. Should I even be driving? Cars and trucks honked as they passed him. Or should I sit here and block traffic? His hands and legs shaking, he urged his car forward, taking deep breaths, calming himself. I didn't see that. I didn't see that at all.
As soon as he felt collected enough to drive, he found the expressway and drove at a sedate 55 mph to the police station where his mother worked.
Upstairs in Homicide, the girl working the desk smiled and waved him past. Everyone knew him here, although it had been weeks since he'd visited his mother on the job.
He walked into her office and closed the door behind him. Sammi was talking on the phone and peeling an orange at the same time.
She looked up, saw Adam, and said to the receiver, "I've got to go now. Let me know about the tests."
Adam began rattling off the encounter. "Mom, you're not going to believe this, when I got home with Moira, there was this guy sitting in the living room, well, no, I went to bed or actually took a nap, then . . ."
Sammi held a single hand up, a gesture which silenced him.
"Hold it right there," she said as she peeled the orange. "I didn't understand a single thing you just said. Sit down and start at the beginning."
Adam sat in the plain wooden office chair and tried to relax. Where do I begin? What do I tell her?
"I think I'm seeing things," he said, hoping he wasn't tripping on LSD after all.
"I see things all the time," she replied simply. "For instance, I'm seeing this orange. I see you. Can you be a little more specific?"
Adam frowned, accepting the likelihood that anything he said would seem insane anyway. "I've had a really crazy day," he began, deciding to leave out the part about the missing time at work. Let's start with Moira. . . .
"Jimmy let me off early today, and when I was leaving I gave Moira a lift, since her car wouldn't start. When I got in the house she, she . . ."
"She what?" Sammi asked.
Tried to rape me? No, not quite. "She grew ears. And her eyes changed color."
"You mean that all this time she didn't have ears? I guess under all that hair . . ."
"No, no," Adam said, shaking his head. This is coming out all wrong. "Let me skip that. There was this guy in the living room of our house. He said his name was Marlboro of Avon or something. I asked him to leave and he wouldn't. And he kept calling me King Aid Him or some shit."
"Watch your mouth, young man," Samantha admonished.
"I don't know who he is, or why he was there. Moira knew him or something." He hesitated before asking the next question, ransacking his memory to make sure he had it right. "They said you would know what was going on."
His mother looked grim. "Did he say his name was 'Marbann of Avalon' by any chance?"
Adam's eyes became very big. "Yes. How did you know? Do you know why they were there?" Then, "Who are they?"
She met his questioning look, asked him, "You don't recognize him?"
Say what? Adam leaned forward in the chair, his hands fidgeting. "Should I?"
"Then it has happened," she said softly, but Adam had the distinct feeling she was not speaking directly to him.
Sammi stood and holstered her Glock. "Did you drive here?"
Adam nodded. "Who is he, Mom?" he asked plaintively, hoping she could somehow explain all the weirdness away.
"I don't have time to explain," she said, picking her purse up. "But this Marbann is a friend. I'll explain everything when we get home. You follow me."
"But . . ."
"No buts. I'll tell you later. This office is no place for explanations."
During the ride back to the house, Adam tried not to think about anything. But his mind continued to spin. She knew about Marbann, at least, knew he was 'of Avalon.' What in hell's name is going on here?
He resisted an urge to turn off and start driving anywhere, as far as he could. In the little Geo, which still had a full tank, this would be quite a distance, particularly with the twenty-dollar bill he had in his wallet. New Mexico was within driving range. But something urged him to stay behind his mother, proceed to the house, and see what this was all about.
They both pulled into the drive, parked, and started for the house.
"Mom, don't you want your gun ready or something?" Adam said nervously.
"Don't be silly," she said. "Marbann would never harm either of us." She paused at the door, added, "You, in particular."
It's all probably a big joke. If it is, Mom looks like she's really into it.
Adam followed his mother into the living room, where Moira and Marbann were still sitting. Marbann sat on the couch, calmly reading a Newsweek. Moira was buffing her nails and didn't seem to notice them when they entered.
"My lady," Marbann said, standing. Then, bowing briefly to Adam, said, "Thank the gods the King is safe."
Adam rubbed his eyes, studied his mother's face. No answers yet.
"Marbann," Sammi said, and embraced him. The man, or whatever, kissed her on the cheek.
Now Mother looked afraid . . . or was it grief? What is she grieving over? Adam thought frantically. The loss of our sanity?
"They have finally slain the King," she said sadly, in a tone of voice Adam had never heard her use before.
Adam stepped closer, not liking the idea of this creature being so close to his mother. "Mom, what the hell are you talking about?"
"I'm afraid so," Marbann continued, glancing at Adam, who flinched when their eyes met. "The Unseleighe have assassinated the royal family, seized the palace, and are now searching this human city for Prince—no, King Aedham." He bowed again, this time more elegantly, before Adam. "I am at your service, Your Majesty."
Sammi turned to Adam and said, "The time has come for an explanation, young King."
Adam started walking backward down the hallway. Then he turned and fled into the bathroom, slammed the door shut, and locked it.
Wonder what kind of LSD it was, he thought morosely as he sat down on the closed toilet lid. Who did it, and when? Was it in the 7UP I had this morning? Product tampering? Practical jokes by the clientele of the Yaz?
Then he saw the chain mail vest, which looked like it had been blown open by a shotgun blast, lying on the floor next to the john. In the sink lay bits of bloodied cloth. He remembered the stranger's bandaged arm.
He sensed their approach to the bathroom door. "This isn't going very well, my lady," he heard Marbann say from the other side.
No, it couldn't have been at the Yaz. Spence wouldn't drug me. Maybe those weird chicks in the leather who were leaving Skary did . . . something. But what? Did they prick me with an LSD-tipped pin when I wasn't looking? Wouldn't I have felt something?
"Adam, come out here this instant," his mother said angrily.
"Not until you tell me what's going on," he said, starting to sweat in the windowless bathroom. "If this is all an elaborate joke, I think you've had your fun by now. If this is Candid Camera or Totally Hidden Video or something entirely new, you've had your laugh." He looked around the bathroom, checked the medicine cabinet. "Nope. No camera in here. Looks like it's out there somewhere."
"Aedham, this is not a human prank," Marbann said.
"It's useless to reason," Sammi said. "I'm just going to have to . . ."
The little lock on the doorknob popped out, then the knob started to turn. Horrified, Adam looked on. How are they doing that? Then, How did she find a screwdriver that fast?
He grabbed the blow-dryer and held it up, like a club.
The door opened. Marbann and Sammi stood there, looking at him with—what, pity? Then he saw his mother in the darkened hallway. Like Moira, she now had pointed ears and green cat's eyes.
Adam stepped backward, pulling the blow-dryer's power cord taut.
"Get back!" Adam screamed, and turned the blow-dryer on.
"Or what?" Moira said from behind the both of them, sounding amused. "You're going to style our hair? Got any gel?"
"I mean it!" Adam said, then felt suddenly silly. But if those prosthetic ears are wax, then—
He stepped forward with the blow-dryer and turned it on "HOT—HIGH," grinning as he waited for Marbann's ear to melt. His stomach curdled as he caught a whiff of the man, an acrid but clean smell, definitely not human.
"Don't be ridiculous," Marbann said, plucking the blow- dryer from his hand. "You still think you're a human. How terrible that must be."
Adam pushed his way past them, started running down the hallway, intent on getting into his car. New Mexico looks pretty good right now.
But as he reached the end of the hallway, a bright light flashed past him. Something hit his back and caused him to stumble, but whatever it was cushioned him as he rolled into a wall.
He lay there, unable to move for several moments. Moira, Marbann and his mother stood over him.
"Are you hurt, Your Majesty?" Marbann asked with sincerity.
"Uh . . . I don't think so. But I can't move."
"The effects of the low-level bolt will wear off," his mother said. "Marbann, would you carry him to his room?"
"Certainly, my lady," Marbann said, then scooped him up in his arms as he would a load of laundry and started down the hallway, sideways. "My, young King, you have grown even as a human," Marbann said good-naturedly as he deposited him on his bed.
Adam said nothing, resigned to the long wait it would probably take for the hallucinogens to filter out of his body. And when I wake up, I'll either be in prison or an insane asylum. Under the circumstances, he looked forward to those prospects.
"Now, young King," his mother said, leaning over him. "You will go to sleep. Then I will conjure a spell to break a spell."
Against his will, he did as he was told.