"There was a slight but unavoidable delay in recasting the transmogrification spell."

"Oh, I'll bet,"Trent said, grinning malevolently.

"Ramthonodox had a good time out there on the plains. Nothing left of Vorn or ... well, there wasn't much left of anything after old Rammy was through."

Trentshook his head slowly. "And Melydia?"

"Strangest thing. After it was all over, I heard her voice in the castle. Can't exactly figure out what happened to her. Got caught up in the spell somehow."

"Justice. The poetic kind, too."

"Perhaps."

"Well."Trent smiled at his brother. "It's nice to see you again, Inky."

"You haven't called me that in ... hell, I hate to think how long."

"About a century and a half? Longer."

"Not since you and I were at university," Incarnadine said.

"Which one? The one in Hunra, where we learned magic, or atCambridge , where we read natural philosophy?"

"I never liked Hunra much, I must say."

"Neither did I. It was a good thing Dad was so keen on us learning the ways of nonmagic universes."

"Of which this one is the most nonmagical," Incarnadine said.

"Well, Dad had a fondness for Earth generally, and for western European culture specifically."

"Not surprising, since this culture bears some resemblance to our own. He once told me he spent some time inEngland . That's why he gave us all English names, he said." Incarnadine sampled the sherry, then continued, "I've always thought he must have been Merlin."

"You think?"Trent thought it over. "Fantastic. I'd never considered it. But when you consider the time frame -" He shrugged it off. "Dad never did tell us how old he was, and I'm not particularly interested in researching his exploits."

There was a pause as Incarnadine stared into the fire. Then he asked, "Do you still hate me, Trent?"

"Whatever led you to believe I hated you?"

"Just a feeling."

Trentlooked away. "I don't hate you, Inky. You did come between me and my ambitions ... once." He sighed. "But that was centuries ago. I'm happy here. You can see that. The gateway disappeared, and I didn't know it for five years. I never planned on going back, you see."

Incarnadine nodded. "But when I die?"

"Do you plan on dying soon?"

"No."

"Well? Yes,I suppose I'm next in line for the succession, but I'm not interested. If I were -"Trent grinned cordially. " - I'd simply kill you now."

"You could, I suppose. Easily. No one knows I'm here. Officially I don't exist in this world."

Trentgot up and went to the bar. "Forget it. I've no interest in taking possession of a huge, drafty old castle that's a cross between a carnival sideshow and a sci fi movie." He made himself another whiskey and soda. "Besides, I own my share of useless real estate up in theBronx . At least I can hire a guy to torch an abandoned apartment building."

Trent's oriental servant opened the door and poked his head in. "Dinner, sir," he said.

"Thank you, Phan,"Trent answered as the door closed, then downed his drink in three swallows. "Well, shall we go in and eat?"

Dinner was superb, and mostly silent. There did not seem to be much more to talk about until coffee was served.

"Good food," Incarnadine said.

"Phan does a good job. He was raised in a French Catholic mission inPhnom Penh - learned to cook Parisian."

"Bestcoq au vin I've ever had."

"I'll tell him."Trent lit a cigar and puffed thoughtfully. "When was the last time you heard from anyone else in the family?"

"Oh, not so long ago. Dorcas dropped in a while back."

"How is our dear elder sister? She still married to that fat potentate who copulates with animals?"

"Nobody ever approves of in-laws. Besides, it's a religious ritual, common in his land."

"Disgusting. How about Ferne?"

"She hasn't shown up in years. I fear for her. She was a wild one."

"Oh, I've a notion Ferne's okay ... somewhere. And Deems?"

"Deems is still King of Albion, and loves it. He'll never leave the place. I don't blame him, it's pretty nice." Incarnadine drank the last of his coffee and sat back. "Then there's Uncle Jarlath -"

"To hell with Uncle Jarlath and the rest of the fossils. I couldn't care less."

"In that case, that's all the news from back home. What's new with you? Is there a woman in your life?

Or women?"

"Forgive me, Inky, but I don't feel like exchanging warm personal data with you just now. If you don't mind."

"Of course."

"I'm sorry. I didn't even ask about your current family. Uh, you do have one, don't you?"

"They're fine."

"What's the new one's name? I mean the wife."

"Zafra."

"Hmm. Sounds very nice."

"She is."

Another lull occurred beforeTrent said, "Where are you staying, Inky?"

"Hotel. I'm looking for an apartment in the city."

"InManhattan ? You'll be lucky to get on a five-year waiting list for anything reasonable. Unless you're talking about spending big money."

"I'm somewhat financially embarrassed at the moment."

Trentsmirked. "Tricky getting used to a hard-physics world again, isn't it?"

"Very. The credit card I materialized to pay for the hotel disappeared a microsecond after I put it back in my wallet - which vanished not very much later."

Trent's look was detached, analytical. "If you're that far along already, maybe I would be taking a big risk trying to knock you off right here and now." Then the smile resumed. "Just kidding, brother."

Incarnadine's hand came up from beneath the table gripping a large revolver. "Just in case you're not,"

he said. "This won't last a minute, but a second is all it would take."

Trentlaughed. "One thing I would never, never want to do, Inky, is underestimate you." Then he suddenly frowned in mock indignation. "Really, Inky, that was uncalled for."

"Sorry." The gun disappeared. "You've been making what I took to be veiled threats all afternoon.

Sorry if I've misinterpreted."

"You have. I should apologize, though. Inky, I don't want to hurt you, or get in your way ... or do anything, really, but continue leading my life. All I ask is that you leave me alone."

"That is not an unreasonable request," Incarnadine said. "I might ask the same of you."

"Then let's bury the hatchet. Let's agree to disagree, live and let live, and all the rest of that stuff."

"Let's." Incarnadine rose from the table.Trent did not.

"Inky, I've been meaning to comment - your disguise is pretty good. It's not magic, but it's a fair makeup job. How did you do it?"

"I went into a costume shop, bought some stage makeup, this wig, and the moustache. A few age lines here and there, a touch of pancake ... " He shrugged. "Yoursis magic, I suppose."

Trentsnapped his fingers and the years melted away in an instant. Incarnadine beheldTrent as he had looked the last time they had seen each other, sometime in the late 1950s.

"Pretty neat," Incarnadine remarked. "You seem to have no trouble with the Arts here."

Trentshook his head. "Rudimentary stuff."

"Effective, though. I should ask you to give me lessons. But now,Trent , I have to go."

"Phan will drive you back toNew York. "

"I wouldn't think of it. Can you call me a cab?"

"We're out pretty far. Inky. Phan can run you into Great Neck, though, and you can get a train for the city."

"That suits me."

"It's been nice."

"Goodbye,Trent ."

"And keep in touch,"Trent added, smiling pleasantly.

Seven.

Wilmerding,Pennsylvania.

OHMYGAWD. SATURDAY NIGHT and no date. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Invoking all deities, great and small.

Sheila turned the water in the tub on and yanked up the thingee on the spigot that made the water come out of the shower head.

Oh Jesus H. Christ on the proverbial crutch. Sorry, sorry, don't mean to offend any supernatural personages. Can't afford that, not with the way things have been going. Oh hell.

She looked in the mirror. Same face. It doesn't go away, doesn't change. Still Sheila. Who did you expect?

Another Sa-tur-day night and I AIN'T got no-BOD-y ... da da da da da dee dee dum dum DUM - She let the ratty old robe drop and looked at herself. Her breasts seemed to sag just a little lower than they did the last time she'd looked at them. Mygawd, could this process be taking placeovernight? Did they go - plop - just like that? Or was it her imagination?

She couldn't quite see her butt, though she knew she was okay in that department, at least. Thank heaven for small favors. She wasn't going completely to pot. Her weight was fine.

Oh, for Christ's sake, stop this damn fixation about the body, okay? So you're getting older. It's inevitable. Completely natural process. Everything's fine. Just ... fine. So you've had two horrible marriages. Great. So you hate your job. Okay, so you hate the goddamn world. So what? That's life, kid.

The bathroom filled with steam and her image grew misty and faded. Faded away.

She wiped the mirror with two fingers and saw one green eye peeking back at her. Still there, Sheila?

Still there.

She got in and the water was a little hot, so she adjusted it. She let the spray sting her until it cooled down, perversely enjoying the discomfort.

No date. No men in her life. No men anywhere. No guys at work she wanted towork with, let alone go out with. The bar scene was deadly. 99.99999 percent of the men shedid meet were: (1) pinheads; (2) multiple-attempt losers (like herself!); or (3) married. Most of them, it seemed, were (3). Why was she always meeting married men she liked? Some weird psychological thing, no doubt.

She poured a cold gob of Herbal Essence into her hand, slapped the stuff on her head, and smooshed it around until it lathered.