The lizzies of Yessonarah lined the streets and watched in fascination as the embassies from ten nearby villages paraded down the central avenue. Each consisted of a village king, a witch doctor, and some fifty or more warriors, all wearing the paint and feathers of their people. As they passed the great temple pyramid, each looked up to the top. Tokkenoht stood at the top of the steps, her bright blue form standing out clearly in front of the granite and stone structure behind her. She didn’t mislead herself into thinking that they were looking at her though. They were looking at the god.

She peered back at the scaly form draped over the building, just as he gave a great snore. Yessonar had been asleep for more than a week. Occasionally he would snore, exhale a cloud of smoke, or roll over, but otherwise he was just like a giant statue of himself.

Walking around the corner of the vault, she looked out away from the city, past the lake, to the woods through which the lower portion of the River Ssukhas flowed. She could see, rising up above the trees, smoke from the camps of the humans who were searching the river for gold.

“How many are there?” came a deep rumbling voice from behind her.

“I do not know, Great Yessonar.”

“I count about five thousand. Are they causing any trouble?’

“Not really, Great Yessonar. Our king suspects they are not paying all their taxes. It is hard for our warriors to collect the king’s share of gold, because the humans all look alike to us.”

“Then perhaps you need some way to distinguish them.” He rose up on his four legs and stretched out his great wings. “I’m going to eat and then I must visit Tsahloose before I can fly back to my fortress. I will return in a few weeks time.”

“As you will, Great Yessonar,” said Tokkenoht with a bow.

The dragon usually shot into the sky so fast when he took off that it was impossible for one’s eyes to follow him. Not this time. He pushed off the top of the temple and glided over the forest, with only a couple of lazy wing beats. Flying over the lower river, he gracefully turned and headed west, before suddenly shooting up into the clouds. Only when the magnificent beast was no longer visible, did she turn and make her way down the great staircase.

When Tokkenoht reached the palace, it was a swarm of activity. A line of a hundred lizzies was carrying in great quantities of food through the side gate, and just inside, a makeshift kitchen was preparing that food and placing it on great platters to be brought into the throne room. The high priestess followed the line of servers carrying the platters into the largest room of the palace. It had been converted to a great dining hall. The king, his wives, and his advisors sat at a long table up on the dais, while the visitors from ten villages filled the rest of the hall. All four walls were lined with warriors of Yessonarah, each holding an upright spear. Already the assembly was becoming loud and boisterous.

“More ssukhas!” shouted Hsrandtuss, raising his cup.

Tokkenoht lifted a pitcher full of the intoxicating liquor from the platter of a food bearer, and carried it the length of the room to the dais. She filled the king’s cup, sat the pitcher down in front of him, and then reached up to straiten his gold crown. Then she sat down in the empty chair between him and Ssu.

“The king has had much wine already,” said Ssu, leaning over in confidence. “Perhaps you should not have filled his cup.”

“You will tell him he’s had enough then?” countered Tokkenoht.

Ssu hunkered down in submission.

Leaning back, Tokkenoht looked at Szakhandu, seated on the other side of the king. She rarely wore paint, but she was completely made up this evening. Her right half from the waist up, was bright red, while her left half from the waist up, the side facing Tokkenoht, was tar black. Her bottom half was reversed. She wasn’t wearing the gold necklace that she usually had on, and the priestess thought she saw it around Kendra’s neck. Instead, Szakhandu wore a necklace of gorgosaurus teeth, a symbol of strength that few females would have been allowed.

The king stood up, leaning over his table.

“What say my friends?” he shouted out, and the noise of so many voices slowly died down. “More food and more ssukhas?”

“We have food and ssukhas!” a voice shouted back.

Tokkenoht stared down from the dais as one of the village kings slowly got to his feet. He was a young, muscular male, with a very handsome tail.

“We have food and ssukhas at home!” Several lizzies around the village king hissed in agreement. “What we want is what we came for!”

Szakhandu stood up.

“What is it you came for, King Thikkik of Ar-kussthek?”

“We came for our females!” shouted the king. A dozen warriors around him stood up and hissed.

“What in the name of Hissussisthiss’s whiskers are you talking about?” demanded Hsrandtuss. “I haven’t raided any of your villages.”

“You have lured away our females with your unnatural, soft-skin inspired ideas about child rearing.”

“The way we raise offspring has nothing to do with humans!” growled Hsrandtuss. “It was my idea!”

Raising their own offspring, rather than leaving them to the mercy of predators, had in fact been Szakhandu’s and Kendra’s idea, but Tokkenoht certainly wasn’t going to contradict the king.

The horrible red head turned toward them. Lady Iolana Staff felt a thrill of fear as the great yellow eyes met her own. It was by far the closest she’d ever been to a tyrannosaurus. The great black body pivoted toward them and took a single step in their direction. She could hear it sucking air through its fist-sized nostrils even at a hundred yards away.

“You mustn’t be frightened,” said her father’s voice at her shoulder. “You must never be frightened.”

“I can be frightened, can’t I?” wondered Benny Markham.

“Quiet,” said Mr. Staff. “Everyone take careful aim. Remember what we talked about. You want the spot right between those useless little arms. I shall be very cross if anyone shoots it in the head and ruins the trophy.

Iolana raised her rifle to her shoulder just as the monster took a second step toward the group of humans and lizzies. In her peripheral vision, she could see Benny, Walter, and Augie doing the same thing. Although just outside the range of her eyes, she knew that Ascan was as well.

“Not yet,” said Mr. Staff. “Let’s see if she’ll get a little closer.”

It seemed as if the creature simply went from standing still one moment, to running at them with the speed of a locomotive. Opening its great jaws, it unleashed the most horrible roar that could be imagined. All four of the others began firing, but even with the tyrannosaurus bearing down upon them, Iolana could feel her father’s eyes watching her rather than the beast. She fired ten perfectly centered rounds in eight seconds, before calmly dropping the clip from the bottom of the rifle and slapping in another. The second clip proved entirely unnecessary, as the monster dropped to the ground, her massive blood-red head still fifteen feet away.

Iolana flipped on the safety and slung the rifle to her shoulder before turning to Mr. Staff, who stood smiling at her, his own firearm still cradled, unused, in his arm.

“Well done,” he said.

“Sweet Kafira, full of grace, thanks for our protection,” whispered Walter Charmley.

“No offense to your beliefs,” said Benny, “but I’d like to thank whoever invented the repeating rifle.”

“Oliver Winston-Davies,” said Iolana, stepping away from the others and toward the tyrannosaurus. “In 1855. Thankfully ours are rather improved over his model.”

“Be careful Iolana,” called Ascan Tice. “Make sure it’s dead before you get too close.”

“She’s dead,” replied Iolana, reaching down and placing her palm against the blood red skin just behind the creature’s still open yellow eye.

The monstrous hind leg kicked into the air. Several of the others jumped, and Benny let out a squeak.

“It’s nothing but her reflexes,” said Iolana. “You were the queen of your world, weren’t you?”

She then turned and sat on the creature’s neck. “Let’s have a photograph, then. Are you ready, Mr. Buttermore?” She placed the butt of her rifle on the dinosaur’s jaw, holding it upright beside her. She lifted her chin and smiled with only a little bit of a smirk.

Edin Buttermore was indeed setting up the hatbox-sized camera on its tripod.

“Almost ready for you, My Lady. Let’s adjust the focal length. Here we go. Now hold still… There we have it. That will make a spectacular print.”

“I’m surprised you were willing to carry all that equipment out here into the wilderness,” said Benny.

“These are some of the first good dinosaur pictures,” said Buttermore. “I could get famous from these. Besides, I thought it would be a good idea to be out of town until the Drache Girl left.”

“It’s not your fault that her picture just appeared in all of those books,” Benny replied. “She knows that. Senta’s quite reasonable. Not that I’m saying I wouldn’t have chosen to get out of town, had I been in your position.”

“I knew that photo would be trouble years ago when I took it. I didn’t even want to. But how do you say no to Zurfina?”

“A naked Zurfina, at that,” added Ascan.

“Yes, well, even Senta couldn’t say no to her. As I recall, she didn’t want to sit for the picture, and it turns out, I suppose, she had good reason.”

Iolana stepped away from the dead tyrannosaurus as the lizzies hurried forward and began hacking at the neck.

“Careful there!” yelled Staff. “Cut down a little lower!”

“All in all, I think it’s been a very satisfactory day,” said Augie.

“That it has, Lord Dechantagne,” said Benny.

“The proper address is ‘My Lord’,” said Augie.

“We don’t bother with all of that,” said Staff.

“No, we don’t need to bother with all that,” said Augie.

“The next man who calls me Sir Radley may wind up with my boot stuck up his keister,” continued Staff.

Both Benny and Ascan glanced at Iolana to see if she would blush at her father’s colorful language, but she just grinned.

Rain beat against the wide windows of the promenade deck as the massive form of the S.S. Lady of Angels descended through the clouds. The dirigible, one of the largest in the air, had made the trip from Los Angeles to New York in just over twenty-six hours, almost two full hours ahead of schedule. In a few minutes, the mooring team would have it fastened to the ground at LaGuardia, and its passengers would be disembarking. The great golden craft was one of the latest generation of airships. Massive, as if someone had turned the Empire State Building on its side and launched it through the air; fast, propelled by six huge steam powered propellers; but unlike the other two dozen gigantic vessels at the airport, the Lady of Angels had only a few passengers—the four members of the rock band the Ladybugs, their managers, staff, and crew.

“Is it going to be raining at Shea Stadium?” asked Ruth De Molay, her island accent a blend of American and British dialect.

“Yes,” answered Alexa Rothman, “but don’t worry; you’ll have a cover over you.”

“I assume the electrical will be covered too,” said Ruth, but to this there was no answer.

“We’re on the radio-vid again,” said Steffie Sin, peering at the nineteen-inch monochrome monitor on the wall. A female reporter spoke into a microphone.

“It’s less than two hours before what some have dubbed ‘the concert of the century’ tonight at Shea Stadium, where performing live for the first time in ten years, the greatest rock combo of all time will begin the American leg of a historic world tour.” The image on the screen switched from the attractive female reporter to images of thousands taking their places in the stadium. “The Ladybugs burst onto the world stage in 1963, the head of the female invasion with their cover of Buddy Holly’s Peggy Sue. This was followed by a string of hits, most written by the band’s four members. At one point in 1965 the group held sixteen spots concurrently on Billboard’s top one hundred singles chart. Releasing two to three albums a year and maintaining a grueling tour schedule kept the Ladybugs at the top, but then in 1967, weary of life on the road they moved to their studios in the Virgin Islands, where they released such cutting edge studio albums as Blessed Nobody, Platinum Dream, and the self-titled double album. Even as their last two albums were being marketed however, longstanding personality and management conflicts within the group broke it apart, and in 1970 the band split up, many believed forever. Now, five years later, hot on the heels of the Christmas release of Rebel Girls, the band makes its triumphant return to the concert stage.”

The great dirigible had dropped below the cloudbank now, turning majestically to start its final descent. Stretching out into the distance, one could make out the pillars of smoke rising from a thousand different smokestacks, each belonging to one of the many, many gigantic steam engines that provided electricity for New York City. The reporter on the radio-vid continued.

“We have confirmation that the band’s airship is now arriving at the airport. All four members are confirmed to be aboard. As everyone knows, the Ladybugs are Steffie Sin, Penny Dreadful (born Penelope Dearborn) both of Los Angeles; Ep!phanee (born Theresa Maria Bergman) of Stockholm; and Ruth De Molay, a native of the Virgin Islands. Ep!phanee and Dreadful have both released a series of successful solo albums while Sin and De Molay have released music more sporadically, the latter focusing on a successful movie career while the former has spent a great deal of time in seclusion in Switzerland.”

“Turn that shit off,” said Penny.

“I want to hear what people are saying about us,” replied Ruth.

“Don’t pay any attention to her,” said Steffie. “She’s just pissed off because they used her real name on the air.”

“Penny Dreadful is my real name. I had it legally changed.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but at that moment the captain’s Texas drawl came over the speaker.

“Attention passengers. As we come in for a landing at LaGuardia, I’d like to express thanks on behalf of myself and the company to all of you for flying Pan American Lines, and on a personal note I’d like to say what a privilege it is to pilot the greatest musicians of all time to their first concert of the decade. The crew and I will be looking forward to transporting you safely to Chicago in two days time. In the meantime, break a leg. Here in Queens, the temperature is a balmy 62 degrees and the local time is 6:55 PM.”

“She has a lovely voice,” said Penny.

“She doesn’t know shit about music though,” said Steffie. “If we’re the greatest musicians of all time, where do you rate Mozart, Beethoven, or Enrico Caruso?”

“Do we have time to get to the stadium?” asked Ruth.

“No problem,” assured Alexa, “assuming Piffy has her hair done.”

The last two hours had been spent getting ready for the concert. The band members had donned their custom-made outfits, each a very expensive update of the costumes they had worn on their 1964 tour. They consisted of spandex leggings and a matching bustier. Penny’s was bright red to match her hair which been carefully formed into faux dreads. Steffie’s was black, contrasting with her platinum blond tresses, which were braided into two massive pony tails and interwoven with white and black ribbon. Ruth’s outfit was blue and a blue headband held her natural dreadlocks back.

“I’m ready,” said Ep!phanee standing in the doorway in her own blue outfit, her bright blue hair styled into two buns, one on either side of her head.

The great dirigible made its landing and the crew began hustling instruments to one of the six large airflivvers parked nearby. The band waited impatiently beneath the humongous fuselage for their vehicle to be ready. Each had pulled on their goggles. The air, while breathable, would burn one’s eyes in a very short time without protection.

Alexa stepped close to them. “We’re going in four separate flivvers.”

“Why?” asked Ep!phanee.

“Safety.”

“They got another death threat on me,” said Penny.

“It’s that damned song,” said Steffie. “I told you it was going to be trouble. People aren’t ready to accept homosexuals.”

When Senta woke the next morning, she assumed it was very early, as there was hardly any light coming in, even though all the curtains were open. Then she heard the distant rumble of thunder and looked at the clock. It was almost eleven. She stretched decadently across her bed. That bed had cost as much as the average working man made in a year, and was the only one she’d even been in, at least since she’d been fully grown, in which her feet didn’t hang over the bottom. As her hand stretched across, she felt the other side—the empty side.

She really didn’t expect Baxter to be there. He almost never was by the time she got up. But when he was there, he was a horrible, insatiable monster. She smiled slyly at the memory of last night, and yesterday afternoon, as she rolled over.

On the far side of the room, Aggie, the lizzie dressing maid, was carrying hangers full of dresses to the closet.

“Bring me my foundations,” she said.

The lizzie started and hissed.

“I’ll wear that green walking dress. Yes, the one with the white underdress.”

Aggie bobbed her head up and down to indicate she understood. The lizzies were surprisingly good at helping human women get dressed. Senta had been to a number of lizzie villages and two of the great lizzie city-states, and she knew how they festooned themselves with paint, feathers, and beads. She supposed it really wasn’t all that different than dressing in gingham, lace, and make-up.

“Paint,” she said to herself.

Mistaking her meaning, Aggie rushed over to the vanity, where on rare occasions, Senta applied rouge, eye shadow, and lip color.

“No, not now. After.”

When Senta stepped off the bottom of the staircase, she found her lover and her child in the parlor. The former was reading the paper and the latter was pushing herself along on a two-foot-tall, three-foot-long wooden iguanodon. Each of the creature’s four feet was attached to a pair of small wheels. A miniature saddle was fixed into the creature’s back, making it just high enough that little Senta could reach the ground with her tiptoes and propel it.

“What’s this then?”

“Brilliant, isn’t it? Mr. Dokkins made it. I thought it was a wonderful idea, since the real ones proved too scary.”

“Lift your feet a moment, Pet.” The little girl did so. “Uuthanum tachthna. Now just think where you want to go, and you’ll get there without having to push.”

Within moments, Sen was zooming around the room, nowhere near the speed of a baby iguanodon, but much faster than she would have been able to on her own power. Senta dropped down into a plush chair and draped her left arm and her head over the chair arm.

“Come and give kisses,” she ordered.

Sen raced by, crashing into the coffee table, backed up a bit, and turned to kiss her mother on the cheek. Then she was back to zooming around the room.

“I take it the morning post has arrived,” said the sorceress.

Baxter lifted the paper he was reading in reply.

She walked to the foyer and retrieved the stack of letters from the small silver plate on the table by the door. Flipping through them, she found among several bills, a letter addressed to her from Dr. Agon Bessemer. She smiled, as she picked up the silver opener and cut through the envelope. Back in the parlor, she plopped back into the overstuffed chair and read through the message.

“I have a letter from Bessemer,” she said.

“I saw that,” Baxter replied without looking up.

“He’s invited us to spend some time at his fortress. We will be leaving in four days time.”

“We who?”

“Why, all of us.”

“Traveling overland through unexplored wilderness, presumably on foot, through wild lizzie territory, with vicious dinosaurs all around?”

“I’ve made the journey before. We’ll be perfectly safe.”

“It’s not safe for a child. Even if we all arrive in one piece, that fortress is no place for her either—surrounded by lizzies, without another human face.”

“Nonsense, we’ll be there.”

“For that matter, I don’t think it’s a safe place for Zoey.”

Senta let out an exasperated sigh. “They worship dragons as gods!”

“You told me how they treated Bessemer before. Even now, not all of the lizzies have accepted him. But he’s big enough to take care of himself.”

“We will discuss it after dinner,” said Senta, standing up. “Now I have business elsewhere.”

“You’ll be home for tea, at least?”

“Probably not.” She exited through the foyer, taking her handbag from the hook as Cheery opened the front door for her. Outside, she stopped and looked at the overcast sky. It was windy and it was cold. She held her hand out—no rain and no snow. There probably wouldn’t be any more snow this year.

“Good morning, all,” said Peter Bassington walking jauntily into the dining room.

“Hi, Uncle,” said Sen from her seat atop a pile of mail order catalogs.

“Good morning, Peter,” said Baxter, watching him sit down and then pushing a platter of white pudding toward him. “You seem in good spirits.”

“Why wouldn’t I be in good spirits? Why wouldn’t anybody? We’re here in Birmisia, the weather is warming up, there’s plenty to eat, and no one to tell us what to do. Isn’t that right, sister?”

Senta didn’t answer. She was staring off into space.

“Sister?”

“What?” She blinked and looked around, her eyes finally settling on him. “Oh, do you still live here?”

“Don’t mind her,” said Baxter. “She’s got her mind on important things and can’t be bothered with us mortals.”

“Well, I’m a journeyman wizard now. I passed my test. Maybe I could help you with whatever you have going on, sister.”

“That’s half-sister,” said Senta. She rose out of her chair as if gravity didn’t exist for her and stepped around the table, pausing just long enough to bend over and bite Baxter on the ear, before leaving through the kitchen door.

“I think she’s getting meaner,” said Peter, frowning and reaching for the toast.

“Get Mr. Bassington some eggs.” Baxter snapped his fingers at one of the lizzie servants. “Like I said, don’t mind her. She’s got something on her mind and forgets the ordinary things—like the fact that we have feelings.”

“Well I shan’t mind her. Life is too good to go around worrying about things.”

“So, what are you doing on this thoroughly wonderful day then?” asked Baxter.

“Oh, I’m going to fiddle around for a couple of hours, and then I have a lunch date.”

“Oh? And where are you taking Miss Bassett?”

“It’s not with Abigail. I’m taking out Lucetta Hartley.”

“I don’t think I know that family.”

“They’re just here from Brechalon—Langsington.”

“Well, you certainly seem to be a popular fellow,” said Baxter.

“I know.” The young man grinned. “None of them ever noticed me back in Brech, but here I’m that popular.”

“I’m sure you can attribute some of that to the fact that your sister is letting you spend her money as freely as you can.”

“Yeah. Do you think she’d let me buy a steam carriage? That’s really the only reason I’m not completely irresistible.”

“I know for a fact that Senta will have nothing to do with a steam carriage,” said Baxter. “She doesn’t like them. And part of your resistibility has to do with your being a dunderhead.”

“Hey! She said I could buy what I wanted. Besides, I don’t see you with any of your own money. How much did that fine suit set you back?”

“You watch your mouth if you don’t want it smacked,” said Baxter.

Peter raised a finger, threateningly. Baxter gave him a withering look.

“I wasn’t referring to your spending habits,” he said, “but to your jumping from one young lady to another. You’re going to burn all your bridges. You know they all talk to each other, don’t you?”

“There are plenty of fish in the sea,” grumbled Peter, bothered less by the criticism than by the fact that Baxter didn’t seem to be afraid of his magic.

“That may be, but a good fisherman doesn’t poison the water.” Baxter wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it onto his plate. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Sen and I are off to ride a dinosaur this morning.”

“You can’t take a baby on a dinosaur.”

“I’m not a baby,” said the little girl. “I’m three.”

“You see there,” said the man, standing up and scooping the girl up into his arms. “Come along, my darling. Let’s get my riding clothes on.”

Peter watched him leave and then turned his attention to his breakfast, just as the lizzie brought out two basted eggs on a plate.

“You should listen to him,” said a sultry female voice. “I would imagine he’s been with many women.”

Peter looked around, not seeing anyone at first, and then the coral dragon rose up from the other side of the table, taking Senta’s vacated seat. She reached out her scaly arm and picked up each of the remaining platters one at a time, dumping their contents onto Senta’s barely touched plate.

“What do you know about it, Zoey?” asked Peter.

“Hardly anything, which is only slightly less than you.”

“Hardy har, har.”

Peter took two more bites of his breakfast then called for a lizzie to bring him a cup of tea, which he carried out into the garden. Sitting in a wrought iron chair, he sipped the drink as steam rose up and tickled his nose.

“You could catch a chill out here without your coat on.”

“I might be able to catch some peace and quiet. If only.”

“Nobody wants the dragon around.” The smooth metallic body curled around him until the spiky, whiskered face was right in front of his. “I could get a complex.”

Senta walked slowly across the parlor, leafing through the letters from the morning post. She stopped and held one up in her fingers.

“Another letter from Lord Dechantagne,” she said. “Shall I burn it, like the others.”

“Yes,” sighed Zoey, sprawled across the sofa, still in her nightgown though it was well past 1:00 PM. “Wait. No, yes, maybe. I don’t know. No, I want to read it.”

The letter exploded in a bright flash, leaving only a single ember, which drifted down to the floor.

“Oops. Too late.”

“Fine. I really didn’t want to read it.” The dragon in human form leaned back and moaned pitifully. “How could he treat me so terribly?”

“You really must snap out of it, Pet.”

“But he broke my heart!”

“Your dragon heart will not be broken by anything as unimpressive as a human boy.” Senta sat down next to Zoey and ran her hand over her hair. “Augustus is just a boy, and boy’s are even worse than men. They are capricious, self-involved, immature little creatures. Forget him. You’ll be better off, I assure you.”

“But I love him.”

“You need to get away for a while. Next week, I’m leaving to spend a fortnight at Dragon Fortress. You must come with me. We’ll do nothing but relax and indulge ourselves. Those lizzies will faun all over you, you know. They’ll treat you like the goddess you are.”

“You just want to push me at Bessemer.”

“I don’t. I don’t even know that he’ll be there. He spends most of his time these days visiting the lizzie cities. And if he is there, you don’t have to see him if you don’t want to. I promise.”

“Last time I went there with you, I was kidnapped.”

“Well obviously, that won’t happen again,” said Senta. “Between the two of us, there’s nothing in the world to threaten us. Now, I’m going to Bryony’s for tea. Why don’t you get dressed up and come with me?”

“I don’t feel like eating and I don’t feel like watching you torture Bryony.”

“Suit yourself,” said the sorceress, standing up. “Rezesic idium uuthanum tortestos paj.”

With a pop, Senta disappeared from her parlor, only to reappear on the front step of the Baxter’s lovely little cottage. She rapped her knuckles on the door. There was no answer. She repeated the procedure, but still nothing. She turned the doorknob, but the lock was engaged. With a snap of her fingers, she magically unlocked it. Then turning the knob, she let herself in.

The house appeared empty. She walked slowly through the parlor, into the dining room, where she noted the table was set with place settings, but no food was in evidence. She turned and walked down the hallway until she came to a door. She opened it and looked in. Three-and-a-half-year-old Kerry Baxter sat in the center of his bedroom floor, playing with tin soldiers. He looked up.

“Hello little Baxter,” said Senta. “How are you today?”

“I’m hungry.”

She reached into the air and a chocolate biscuit appeared in her hand. She bent down and handed it to him.

“Where is your mommy?”

“Mommy’s sleeping.”

“And where is Sen?”

“She’s not here.”

Turning, Senta continued down the hall, opening another door to see Sen’s empty room. The next door opened into the bathroom. That left only one more door at the very end of the hallway. Senta stopped and knocked quietly. She heard something on the other side, but couldn’t tell if it was words or something else. She opened the door and found Bryony lying across her bed, fully clothed.

“Why Bryony Byenthal,” said the sorceress, stepping to her side. “Why ever are you just lying around when you could be up fixing my tea?”

“I had just finished cleaning up breakfast, when I got the most dreadful headache.” The woman’s voice was barely audible and she began shivering as soon as she stopped speaking.

“Teigor tachthna uuthanum Senta,” said Senta.

“What are you doing? Are you casting a spell on me?”

“Not on you. Rather on my errant offspring. She should be along soon.”

“You don’t need to bother her. I’ll get up and make tea in just a moment.”

“Oh, I’m afraid you won’t,” said Senta.

She reached down and wiped two fingers across Bryony’s fevered brow, bringing them up to examine the blue perspiration. The stricken woman watched, her eyes growing even larger and rounder than usual.

“I have the sweat. I’m dying. Senta, you must promise to take care of Kerry for me. I know you’ll lure Kieran back to you. Just promise me to take care of my little boy too.”