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And Ellen, never at a loss for words, could only numbly shake her head while Jack replied to the doctor's questions.

Her baby was going to die. Her Lisa…

"Some coffee?" Jack asked softly, drawing her out of her inner storm for the few instants it took to register that he was speaking.

She looked at him, at the two Italian women mourning their own loss three chairs down, at the thin black man sitting across the room— his face as haggard as her own. Dimly she remembered that his wife had been in a car accident. She'd seen the orderlies wheeling her in from the ambulance, her features hidden behind the oxygen equipment….

"Ellen?"

She faced Jack, remembered his question. Coffee was an alien word that didn't fit into the context of her present emotional turmoil. She started to shake her head, then saw the doctor who'd questioned them earlier fill the doorway of the waiting room. Jack followed her gaze and stood up.

"Doctor," he began, "is there some…?"

His voice trailed off as he read the answer in the doctor's eyes. His daughter's death was reflected there. He saw Lisa's face in his mind's eye, her face alive with laughter, and knew he'd never hear her laugh again. Beside him, he heard Ellen moan. Turning, he took her in his arms and held her tightly in a blind attempt to ease her wracking sobs while the tears started down his own cheeks.

Linda Stinson unlocked the front door of Discount Den— a clothing shop at Bank Street near Laurier— at about five to nine. Locking the door behind her, she left her purse and knitting on the cash counter and went into the back room to open the safe. Humming to herself, she put the morning float into the till, then gathered up the green garbage bag from under the counter and took it out through the back door to leave in the alley behind the store.

As she started for the Laurier entrance where the garbage men made their pick up, something drew her gaze. She looked left, and for a long moment what she saw didn't register. The body of a wino lay there, collapsed over a suitcase, blood soaking the front of his shirt and pooling on the ground around him.

The garbage bag fell from suddenly limp fingers. She stared, her eyes feeding the horror to her brain as she fought to look away. A primal scream came surging up from her diaphragm and scraped her throat raw as it wailed forth. By the time the police were called and two squad cars had arrived, the investigating officers were unable to question her. Medics took her to the Civic Hospital to be treated for shock.

Peter woke up automatically when his inner alarm clock told him it was eight-thirty. It didn't matter that he hadn't had a decent night's sleep for two nights running, nor that he was exhausted from more than a lack of sleep. He lay for a few minutes, listening to the quiet in Cat's house, then swung his feet off the couch. He tugged on his jeans, slung his shirt over his shoulder, and padded upstairs. His reflection looked blearily back at him from the bathroom mirror. He used Cat's toothbrush and toothpaste. After washing his face, he rubbed his hand along his jawline, wishing he'd thought to bring along a razor. That'd have to wait till he got back to the store.

He paused in the hall, unsure as to whether he should look in on Cat or not. He knew she valued her privacy. If she was awake, she wouldn't take his waltzing in on her too kindly. On the other hand, he didn't want to knock on her door— waking her to see if she was awake.

After a moment of indecision, he went to the door of her room, pushed it ajar and peeked in. When she didn't stir, he crossed the room and stood looking down at her for a while. She was still asleep and seemed okay. One hand was under her pillow, the other lying on the sheet. She lay on her side, hair a wild tangle, face elfin.

In another age, considering her looks and her
sight—
if that was the right word; what she called her true dreaming— she'd probably be considered fey and persecuted as a witch. Instead she had some weirdo to contend with. Not to mention her delusions…

Peter sighed. He knelt down by the bed and studied her features. Where was she right now? Just sleeping like anybody else would be, or traipsing off through neverneverland, pursued by her psychic vampire? Her and a pack of Tiddy Men running across— He didn't even know what her dreamworld was supposed to look like. Like her books, he decided.

He shook his head and stood up, leaving the room as quietly as he'd entered. In the kitchen he wrote her a note and propped it up on a table at the bottom of the stairs, where she was sure to see it as she came down. After making sure the door would lock behind him, he stepped outside and pulled it shut.

He had to assume she'd be safe enough during the day, at least from the guy that Ben had dubbed the Dude. In her dreams… well, he just couldn't know.

When Rick awoke that morning and saw who was lying beside him in his big double bed, he knew he was in trouble.

"Oh, shit," he muttered, and stood up.

His head spun and his stomach lurched. They'd really tied one on last night. He stumbled into the bathroom and dry-swallowed three aspirin and two Turns as he relieved the pressure in his bladder which had woken him in the first place. Standing in the doorway of the bedroom once more— or rather, supported by the door frame because there was
no way
he could stand up on his own just yet— he looked at Debbie's big and beautiful body lying in his bed, vaguely remembered Stella being here when the two of them rolled in this morning, and wondered how the fuck he got himself into messes like these in the first place.

Bad enough that Bill had nixed the loan. Now he had to fuck it up with Stella as well. For a moment he tried to think of what he'd say to her. "Look, babe. It's not like what you think…."

Yeah. Sure. That'd go over really big with her. And if it wasn't like what she'd think, what the hell was it? He was up the creek without a paddle, but he had to do something. He had to make it up to her. Christ, if she took her money out of the store…

What had possessed him to bring Debbie here anyway? How could he have forgotten that Stella was going to be waiting for him? Well, he hadn't forgotten. Not really. At the point when he'd decided to come home, he just hadn't given a shit. So now what did he do?

He went into the kitchen, brewed a pot of coffee, and managed to bring two cups— hot and black— back to the bedroom without spilling them. First I'll sober up, he thought, and then I'll give Stel a call. He glanced at the clock beside the bed. Going on eight. She wouldn't be heading off to work for at least another fifteen minutes, and it might be a good idea to be a little more coherent than he was feeling right now before he tried to make it up with her.

"How're you doing, lover?"

Debbie was awake. To Rick's eyes she seemed none the worse for her night of heavy drinking. The way she looked, she could never look bad. She stretched languorously, aware of his gaze.

"C'mere," she purred and drew him into the bed. "Let's see what it feels like when we're not so fuzzy-headed."

Rick began a token protest, but she already had a hand between his legs and was drawing him, gently but firmly, down to her. Well, what the hell. Last night
had
been fast and furious. He might as well have something really worthwhile to make up for. He'd call Stella at work. That way she couldn't yell at him over the phone and her whole office know what was going down.

"Just like that," Debbie murmured as he stroked from her breast to the flat of her stomach to her inner thighs. "Oh, yes."

When Cat finally left Mynfel's wood behind, dawn was pinking the Otherworld sky and she was confronted with an unfamiliar countryside.

A valley lay below where she stood— a wide sweep of meadow and woodland divided by a slow-moving river. Beyond it forested hills marched on to the horizon. She'd never really thought of the Otherworld as being so broad before. That came, she realized, from always visiting one small corner of it. The moors, Redcap Hill, Mynfel's wood, the marshes to the south, the foothills of the northern mountains… She'd never gone westward before— not this deep into the wood and then beyond it.

Seeing the panorama spread out in front of her was like coming to the Otherworld for the first time again. What sort of people lived in this part of it? Were they hiding from the dream thief as well? Were their halls and homes lying empty?

A thin trail of smoke caught her gaze, its source hidden by a sweep of birch and trembling aspen. She watched it rise into the clear air for a long while, trying to decide whether or not to go down to it. She might be walking smack-dab into the middle of more danger, but she might also find someone who could help her where no one else seemed able or willing to. That in itself made it a risk worth taking. At last she put aside the warning tingle inside her and started down the slope.

She'd arrived in the Otherworld wearing faded jeans, a pair of rubber-soled Chinese silk slippers, and her favorite sweater— a motley-colored heather and brown affair that hung almost to her knees. She'd discovered long ago that she could choose what she'd appear in when she arrived in the Otherworld. Last night had been no exception. What she wore now was an old habit and didn't even require a decision.

By the time she'd crossed the first meadow, her slippers and the bottoms of her jeans were wet with dew. But rather than feeling discomforted, she was aware of a lightness inside her that had been missing for quite some time. If only Kothlen or Tiddy Mun were here to share this feeling of discovery with her. But Tiddy Mun was hiding, and Kothlen was dead… dead….

She shook her head, trying to recapture the positive feeling that had dissolved as soon as she'd thought of her friends. She didn't have much success. She watched a pair of swallows chase each other across the meadow, spied a barn owl dozing high in a gray-trunked ash. She felt the sun on her face. The sky was blue above her, the air filled with bird song. Slowly some measure of that feeling returned. The ache remained, but if she just didn't think about it, it was almost bearable. By the time she'd gained the farthest end of the last field and was pushing her way through the undergrowth of the birch and aspen copse, she had almost succeeded.

It was almost as though none of the terrible things had happened. Almost, she was her old self, curiosity prickling in her as though she were one of her four-footed namesakes. Almost…

Becki Bones opened one bleary eye, then the other, focused them, and pulled a face. "You look like hell," she said, sitting up. "What time did you get in last night?"

Mick shrugged. "Sometime after three."

He bent down to tie his shoelaces, and Becki made a small noise when she saw the dried blood on the back of his head.

"What happened to you?" she asked.

Leaving the bed, she padded over to him and gave his head a critical once-over.

"Ben and I had a run-in with a weirdo last night. He set into us with a homemade cosh."

He gave her a brief rundown of the previous night's events. Becki sat on the bed, running her hand through her hair and bringing the spiked locks to attention while she listened. When he was done, she shook her head.

"You're not going to work," she said, more a command than a question.

"Got to. There's too much shit piled up for me to take a day off, you know what I mean? The weekend'll be here soon. I can rest up then."

"Mick…"

"Hey, I'm okay. It looks worse than it feels."

Becki sighed. Then she asked, "Militant cats? Was that for real?"

"Doesn't seem real now, but I know what I saw."

"And guys that can step into your head?"

"Didn't happen to me, babe. I'd rather go for the Bela Lugosi scene anyway."

Mick stuck his two index fingers along the sides of his mouth as he spoke and pretended to have a go at her with the makeshift fangs.

"Get real," Becki told him, pushing him aside.

Mick grinned. "No vampires. Just a crazy— and that's plenty, don't you think?" He finished tying his shoelaces, then stood up from the bed. "Though it'd make a helluva better story the other way."

"Was that your wife or your girlfriend?" Debbie asked.

She sat in a chair by the mirror, combing out her silvery blond hair. When she was done, it fell in a thick mane down her back. She started on her eyes then, leaning close to the mirror as she applied a dusty blue eyeliner. Her eyes were a dark gray, large and attractive. Her nose was small, mouth full. She hadn't bothered to get dressed yet, and Rick found it hard to concentrate on what she was saying.

"Was who what?" he asked.

"That woman last night— the one who stormed out as we came in. Bill's talked about her before, but I could never figure out which she was from what he told me."

"Oh, her," Rick murmured.

Debbie grinned. "Let me guess. It was your cleaning woman— pissed because you haven't paid her this month. No! It was your cousin, just in
from
Arnprior for the week."

"She was my girlfriend, Stella."

"Poor Stella. I'll tell you, Rick, you're great in the sack— especially when you're sober— but you don't know shit about how to treat a woman out of bed."

"Yeah, well…"

Debbie laughed at his discomfort. "Maybe you can convince her that
I'm
your cousin."

"I've got to make a phone call," Rick said, and beat a hasty retreat.

Debbie had finished making up her face by the time he returned. She slipped into her bra and turned her back to him. "Hook me up, will you?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"What's the matter?" she asked as he fumbled with the clasp.

"You're not going to believe this."

She turned when he was done, found her panties lying under the dresser where she'd flung them last night, and waited for him to continue.

"Well?" she asked finally.

She turned to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, a look of confusion on his face. Maybe she'd been teasing him too much, she thought. But she did feel sorry for Stella. If she'd known Stella was going to be here last night… Though come to think of it, she
had
known. She'd just been too tipsy to really think about what they were doing to her. Debbie pitied any woman who tried to build any sort of a meaningful relationship with a guy like Rick. They never changed.