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"If the insult is severe, yes, we can," Pony said. "
Sekasha
are divine warriors, who answer only to the gods."

"We have the right," Stormsong said. "Our training guides us not to take the options allowed to us."

"Look, if I'm insulted, I'll punch the guy myself. As far as I'm concerned, you guys are just here for oni and monsters with sharp teeth."

"Yes,
domi
." Stormsong gave an elaborate bow.

Pony looked unhappy but echoed, "Yes,
domi
."

Which didn't make Tinker happy, because she felt like she was somehow the bad guy for not letting them lop off heads right and left. Worse, she
knew
it was all really Windwolf's fault because her life gotten weird the exact second that he entered it. Suddenly she was very annoyed with him, but didn't want to be, which made her grumpier. She tried to ignore the whole confusing swarm of emotions and thumped over to the video rental section. The
sekasha
and stinging feelings, unfortunately, followed close behind.

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She'd never actually rented a video from Eide's before and their categories confused her. There seemed to be two of every category. "Why two?"

"These are bootleg copies with subtitles in Low Elvish." Stormsong pointed out a sign in Elvish that Tinker had missed because a male elfin customer stood in front of it, flipping through the anime.

The elf noticed Stormsong with widening eyes, bowed low, and moved off with a low murmured,

"Forgiveness."

"The other elves—they're afraid of you?" Tinker noticed that all the elves in the store covertly watched the
sekasha
and had cleared out of their path.

"If they do not know us, yes," Stormsong spoke quietly so her words wouldn't carry. "You are one that sleeps in the nest of dragons. You do not know how rare we are—or how dangerous."

"What makes you so special?"

"The Skin Clan did; they created the perfect warrior."

Tinker was afraid to ask how this gave them the right to preform indiscriminate head-lopping, so she focused on why they were here—to rent
The Wizard of Oz
. Knowing that Pony would be watching the movie with her, Tinker scanned only the translated videos. Unlike the originals in their glossy colorful boxes, the translated videos had plain white covers with Low Elvish printed onto the spines. She pulled out one at random and studied it. The movie was
The Wedding Singer
which had been translated to
The
Party Singer
. Was it a bad translation or was there actually no Elvish word for wedding? How could the elves exist without the most basic of life ceremonies?

Tinker put the movie back, and scanned the shelves.

Stormsong had been searching too, and now pulled out a box and handed it to Tinker. "This is it."

The translator hadn't even tried to find Elvish to match the words
Wizard
and
Oz
. Instead, the title was phonetically spelled out.

Tinker turned and found Tommy Chang leaning against the end of the DVD rack, watching her with his dangerous cool. He was wearing a black tank top that showed off the definition in his muscled arms, a corded leather bracelet, and his signature bandana. Tommy organized raves, the cockfights in Chinatown, and the hoverbike races—the last being how she knew him best.

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"Hi, Tommy." Somehow, the normal greeting sounded dorky. Something about his zenlike menace made her feel like a complete techno geek. If she didn't watch it, she ended up overcompensating around him.

He lifted his chin in acknowledgement. "I wasn't sure if they'd let you out." He glanced toward Pony.

"They keep you on a short leash. In a dress, even."

"Piss off." That was a record.

"Aren't we touchy now we're an elf?"

"Excuse me, but I've had one fucked-over month."

"So I heard." And then, surprisingly, he added. "Glad you're still breathing."

"Thanks."

"You still going to ride for Team Tinker?"

She felt a flash of guilt as she realized that she hadn't thought about racing in months. Last she had heard Oilcan had taken over the riding. "How is my team doing?"

"It's been Team Big Sky's season since," he lifted a finger to indicate her appearance, "the whole elf thing."

That made sense. Oilcan was heavier than she was, had a different center of gravity, and was less aggressive on the turns. Team Banzai would have lost their edge when the oni stole Czerneda's custom-made Delta. That left John Montana, captain of Team Big Sky, with the only other Delta in the racing circuit, and his half brother, Blue Sky, a good match to her build and skills.

"So—you going back to riding?" Tommy asked.

"I don't know. A lot of shit has hit the fan that I need to deal with before I can think about that."

A flash of Wyvern red outside made Tommy look toward the store windows. "Yup, a lot of shit."

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Her loft smelled of garbage. Months ago—a lifetime ago—she, Oilcan, and Pony had eaten, washed dishes, left trash in the can to be taken out, left, and never come back. Stormsong was too polite to say anything, carefully sticking to Low Elvish. Even after they'd opened the windows and let in the cool evening air, the place depressed Tinker with its ugliness. She had lived alone at human speed, always too busy cramming in what was important to her to deal with beautifying where she lived. Most of her furniture was battered, mismatched, used stuff that she had picked up cheap. The couch had been clawed by someone else's cats, the leather recliner was cracking with age, and the coffee table was scrap metal she'd welded together and topped with a piece of glass. The walls had been painted dark green by the loft's last occupant—not that you could see a whole lot of the color as her cinderblock and lumber bookshelves covered most of the walls and overflowed with her books. She had nothing beautiful—everything was just serviceable and in need of a good cleaning.

She knew it could be made pretty. She had time now, if she wanted to take it. The place could be cleaned, painted, and furnished. She could even hire carpenters to make her bookcases and kitchen cabinets. There was no room, though, for all the people in her life now. The place was for one busy person who was barely there or a married couple with no interests outside of each other. Windwolf would never fit—his life was too big—and she didn't want to live without him. Without Pony. And of late, not without Stormsong either.

She didn't fit into her old life anymore. This wasn't her home anymore, and it saddened her for reasons she couldn't understand. Perching on the couch's overstuffed arm, she tried to cheer herself up with an inventory of what had replaced her old life. A stud muffin of a husband with wads of cash who was crazy in love with her. A luxurious room at the best enclave. Fantastic food for every meal. A best friend who was even now sitting beside her on the couch, eyeing her with concern.

"What is wrong?" Pony asked quietly.

"I think I'm homesick," she whispered and leaned her forehead against his shoulder. "Look at this place.

It's a dump. And I miss it. Isn't that the stupidest thing you've ever heard?"

He pulled her into his lap and held her in his arms. "It is not stupid. It only means you lived with joy here, and it is sorrowful to put joyful things aside."

"Bleah." She sniffed away tears that wanted to fall. "I was lonely, I just never let myself know how much.

I made the computers all talk, just so I felt like someone else was here."

"You can grieve for something lost, even if it was not perfect."

The front door opened and Oilcan walked in. "Hey," he announced, not noticing that he had started Stormsong to attention. He balanced boxes and a carton of bottles. "I didn't think you would have anything to eat here, so I brought food." He settled the various boxes onto the coffee table. "Hey, what's with the sad face?"

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"I'm just tired." She didn't want him to know how lonely she had been, or think that she was unhappy with her life now. "I've been having all these bad dreams. It's put me on edge. It's like I've been rubbed down to all nerves."

"Ah, yeah, that can happen." Oilcan had suffered from horrible nightmares when he first had come to Pittsburgh. For that first year, she'd climbed into his bed late at night, armed with boxes of tissues, to get him to stop crying. It was one of the reasons she led and he followed despite the fact he was four years older.

"Scrunches?" He asked her if she needed to be held, just as she had once asked him.

"Pony has it covered." She leaned against Pony. "What's in the boxes?"

"Chicken satay with peanut sauce." He lifted up the first lid to show off the skewers of marinated chicken. "Curry puffs, fried shumai, Thai roll, Pad Thai noodles, and Drunken Chicken."

He went into the kitchen to collect dishes and silverware.

"We'll get fat eating all this." She helped herself to one of the Thai rolls, dipping it in the sweet chili sauce.

He must have come straight from the Thai place because the thin fried wrapper was still piping hot.

"Feed the body, feed the soul, you sleep better." Oilcan handed her one of the plates and found room for the others on the crowded table.

"Feed on spirits," Stormsong added as she examined the bottles of alcohol. "Hard cider, vodka coolers, and beer?"

"Beer is for me. Figured I'd bring a mix for you guys."

"These are good." Stormsong handed a cooler to Tinker. "The cider carries less of a punch, so Pony and I should stick to those."

"Ah, leave the hard drinking to me." Tinker twisted off the top. Half a cooler, a curry puff, and a plate of pad Thai noodle later, she realized that the rubbed-raw feeling had vanished, and the loft felt like home again.

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Tooloo had mentioned that the movie was old, but Tinker was still surprised when it started in only sepia tones. Dorothy was a whiny, stupid, spoiled brat who was clueless on how to manage a rat-sized dog.

When Tinker had been Dorothy's age, she had been an orphan and running her own business. Esme identified with this girl? That didn't bode well.

The Earth the movie showed was flat, dusty, and featureless. Tinker was with Esme—why would anyone pine for that?

"Is that what Earth is like?" Pony asked.

"I don't know—I've never been to Earth." Tinker groaned at yet another stupid thing that the girl did.

"I'm not sure I can take a full ninety minutes of this."

"It—changes," Stormsong said.

And change it did as a tornado sucked the house up into the air and plopped it down in glorious color.

Dorothy's dress turned out to be blue checked and she acquired glittering red high heels that they called

"slippers," the source of Esme's overalls and red boots in Tinker's dream.

It took Tinker several minutes to realize how Glinda the Good Witch worked into her dream. "That's Black. She had the wand and the crown. And she was crying."

"I think I would cry if I was stuck in a dress like that," Stormsong said.

Tinker had to agree with that assessment. Tiny little people in weird clothes surrounded Dorothy and talked in rhyming singsong voices.

"Oh, this is so weird," Tinker whispered.

"Does this make more sense in English?" Pony asked.

"No, not really," she told him. "Do they ever stop singing?"

"Not much," Stormsong said as the munchkins escorted Dorothy to the edge of town and waved cheerfully good-bye.

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"Oh, of course they're happy to see her go; she's a cold-blooded killer," Tinker groused as Dorothy discovered a talking scarecrow. "Oh gods, they're singing again."

Dorothy and Scarecrow found the apple trees that threw fruit, and then the Tin Man, whose first word was "oilcan." Tinker huddled against Pony, growing disquieted.

"What is it,
domi
?" Pony asked.

"How did I know? I didn't see this movie before, but so many things are just like my dream."

"Maybe we did see it and forgot," Oilcan said.

"Something this weird?" Tinker asked. "And we both forgot?"

Pony's lion showed up next. Tinker scowled at the screen. It annoyed her that she didn't understand how she had dreamed this movie—and that her dream self had cast Pony in such a cowardly character. "All these people are dysfunctional, delusional idiots."

Finally the foursome plus dog found the wizard, who turned out to be a fraud.

"What was this dream trying to tell me?" Tinker asked.

"I am not sure," Stormsong said. "Normally an untrained dreamer borrows symbols uncontrollably—and this movie is rife with them. Everything from the Abandoned Child archetype to Crossing the Return Threshold."

"Huh?" The only threshold crossing Tinker knew about related to chaos theory.

"Dream mumbo jumbo." Stormsong waved a hand toward the television screen.

The wizard/fraud had produced a hot air balloon, and was saying good-bye. ". . . am about to embark upon a hazardous and technically unexplainable journey to the outer stratosphere."

"Dorothy is taking a heroic journey," Stormsong continued. "She crosses two thresholds, one out of the protected realm of her childhood, and the other completes her journey, by returning to Kansas. If you were familiar with this movie, I would say you were seeking to move past your old identity and claim one that reflects growth. The tornado could be a symbol of the awakening of sexuality, especially suppressed desire."