"Thomas Wolfe was almost right," Magenta thought as she Tetris-packed yet another bag into the Caddy's capacious trunk. "Maybe you can go home again, but do you really want to?"

Packing was the first problem. Audrey was a reasonably frugal traveler, and the blonde was used to taking advantage of that fact with her own lack of discipline. One never knew, for example, when that Wednesday Addams costume would be just the thing. And even when the destination was cold and foggy London, would it be really wise to travel without at least one inflatable pool toy"

Those days were gone, though, abandoned in the brides' headfirst push into the thickets of parenthood. Susie, it seemed, required more logistical support than an invading army, in addition to a state of the art backward facing child chair that took up half of the Caddy's rear seat and looked capable of withstanding a direct hit from a cruise missile.

And then there was the question of "home," itself. Where exactly was it' In the little apartment above her father's greengrocer shop where she spent her childhood" She had not been exactly unhappy there, and remembered that, because of the family business, they were never short of fruit or vegetables, though it seemed they only ate those that were wilted, bruised, other otherwise unfit for her father's water-misted display sculptures. As a result she will not touch a banana with the slightest of brown spots to this day, preferring a green fruit from which one can only remove the peel with a knife to a banana that shows the barest stain indicating its future spoilage.

Or was it at Harrow, where the lab counters were more marked by her personality than her bedroom, where the news had come that ended the first part of her life"

It was certainly not on the rentboy streets. There it was a different bed every night, and those nights on which she was without an invitation to stay were spent on the sidewalks, washing up in the lavs of chip shops and stealing to eat.

And what about Vienna" There she had a decent room, and even shared Alma Stuart's bed when the woman was feeling magnanimous or had no other more pressing infatuation. But that ended in heartache, too, and abandonment, and betrayal.

It seemed that home was right where she was, with Audrey and Susie and their known circle of friends and enemies. Perhaps home is what you leave to look for something you never had" The blonde turned a hatbox on edge and managed to wiggle it into the corner of the trunk.

And even if that were true" She would never let Audrey see the misgivings she felt about the adventure to come; she, Magenta, was the optimistic one, after all.

She had whistled when she began their packing; she whistled as she finished.

Packing can only go so far. There comes a point when you slam the trunk (twice, at least, to break down the corners of whatever is preventing it from closing), shut the doors, and leave whatever is left to the mercies of the sidewalk. The blonde slid into the front seat and cast a baleful eye at her daughter, an eye that was met with irises entirely too much like her own for parental comfort.

"I'm counting on a new Guinness Book of Records entry for early potty training, Pumpkin-of-mine. 'cause colonies have been established on alien planets with less stuff than we've got in your diaper bag."

The baby gurgled happily, if Magenta chose to interpret it as meaning, "In your dreams, blond mommy," well, that is a mother's right.

A kiss for Audrey, not exactly an apology but a prophylactic against guilt, and she put the big Caddy into gear and, trailing an apocalyptic cloud of dust, fishtailed onto the streets and beyond the borders of RhyDin proper.

"Time check, sweetie," the blonde cooed, always happier behind the wheel. Magenta aimed the great black chariot at a cliff edge, feathering the throttle as Audrey counted off the seconds. "Five, four, three, two..."

The Nexus flared just as they became airborne, and the heroic old car seemed to leap into it eagerly. Spectral hands groped at the windows, and an amputee's hook would later be found hanging from the driver's side door, but in moments the Nexus sparked again and the car landed with a heavy rock of shocks.

The M2 is the main route into London from Heathrow airport, and as famously crowded and infected with kamikaze drivers as any of the southern California freeways. The Caddy materialized between a venerable Checker and a Ford Prefect, occasioning the blaring of horns that would come to seem like herald's trumpets as the blonde wove the Caddy between lanes and toward the city ahead.

London had been known as The Smoke in the bad old days, famous for fogs that killed, Jack the Ripper, and the juxtaposition of horrendous poverty and flatulent privilege. They all sounded preferable to Magenta, as she cut off a Bentley to a cacophony of horn, in contrast to the prospect of dredging through a past that was, perhaps, perfectly happy being left undisturbed.

In reply, the blonde swung off the M2 and onto the streets of London proper, sending a Mini Cooper careening off onto the shoulder. The Caddy seemed huge on the crowded streets, a Cape Buffalo running with a herd of deer.

"England is really a permissive society, lovergirl," she spoke as if Audrey had not dropped her bombshell of a question. "They let you drive on both sides of the road. The trick is to never let the other drivers see you sweat."

There was likely sweating aplenty going on behind the windshields of the vehicles unlucky enough to share the lane with Black Edith, but nary a one left the slightest scrape on her pristine exterior and, a short time later, Magenta squealed to a stop in front of an ornate ediface on Trafalgar Square.

Leaning back over the seat, as the mighty V-8 pinged and popped its way toward cool, she addressed their little passenger, who's grey eyes were wide with wonder at the sights and sounds that had accompanied her first encounter with English roads.

"This is the Grand Hotel, Snoozarama. It's like blocks away from a ton of tourist attractions. We'll set up base camp here and decide what the do next."

A ladylike lean on the horn produced, after some discussion during which Magenta's accent went all plum shaped, a small army of bellboys who labored under the load, shuttling it up to the brides' room in stages on an undersized elevator. Only after the help had been dismissed (blinking owlishly at the gold coins the blonde tipped them with, the couple's stash of pounds tucked away too well for easy access), did Magenta collapse on the bed, watching Susie practice rolling toward the edge next to her, and speak directly to Audrey.

"My old Da?" she said. "Babydoll he doesn't know anything. I don't know that he's even tried to find me after we planted Mum. So it could be weirdness, just so you know. But yeah, if he's still in the same place, we can go and shake the family tree. I only hope a limb doesn't fall on us when we do. First though, let's see if we can get something to eat. I'm dying for some beans on toast, and I bet the Pumpkin is ready for a little sumpin' sumpin' herself."

Prince Harry himself would have pricked up his ears at Magenta's accent as she called the front desk and selected a sampling of local delicacies for delivery, but the look in her eyes would have been more at home on the haunted Vienna streets than in the hallowed halls of Harrow.

While a well-fed Susie curled up to enjoy a good thumb'sucking with a blissfully sated expression on her little face, Magenta set to tackling her food order"beans on toast, mushy peas, and a pair of monolithic bangers"with an almost feral enthusiasm, only glancing up occasionally to study the spectacle of Audrey coming to terms with a British hotel cheeseburger.

There was nothing wrong with the sandwich per se, but its overall otherness was proving a challenge for the little brunette. The bun, it seems, tasted too, well, bready; and the patty itself had a lot more in common with beef than is the American norm; while the cheese clearly had a flavor of its own rather than serving as a slowly clotting lubricant to help the rest of the burger slide on down. The blonde cleaned her plate in jig time, and, grabbing one of her bags, slipped off into the bathroom to change.

When she emerged, Audrey looked up from the cheeseburger (which despite her heroic efforts still appeared quite substantial) in surprise. Magenta's blond mane was pulled back into a tight pony tail that tugged at the features of her face, and that face was scrubbed clean of makeup. The woman wore a masculine suit in a modern cut, with slim lapels and bereft of padding in the shoulders, and perhaps most surprising of all, seemed to be wearing no perfume at all.

She glanced at Audrey defensively as she straightened the jacket and studied herself in the mirror, perhaps somewhat disappointed at what little the outfit did to disguise the more obvious emblems of her femininity.

"He's an old man, ladylove," she explained. "No need to shock him any more than necessary, right?"

The skies were grey with a high overcast, soon to be actually dropping rain, so Magenta decreed that it was not a perfect opportunity to ride atop one of the double-decker busses for the half-hour trip to Wapping Lane and the family greengrocer shop. That treat, it seemed, would have to wait for later, and Edith would be called into duty again for the afternoon's excursion

The ride was charming, with the blonde enthusiastically pointing out sights and local color along the way, but after the trio (with Susie's sling over Magenta's shoulder) climbed out of the Caddy and took to the sidewalk, their erstwhile tour guide grew quiet. And when their destination appeared ahead, the blonde couldn't hold back a gasp of surprise and sorrow.

The shop had obviously been closed for some time, and looked like an empty socket where a tooth had been. Its windows were boarded, and the sheet metal signs that had advertized Benson and Hedges and Irn-Bru hung crooked and rusting.

"He kind of lost interest in things after Mum passed on," Magenta mumbled, as much to herself as anything, "but I never thought he'd let the shop go."

The entrance to the apartment was accessed by way of an enclosed stairway stuck like an afterthought against the right side wall. It was dark, and the stairs were uniformly cupped in their centers by generations of passing feet. At the top the trio encountered a second door, its window covered by a yellowing lace curtain within. Magenta rang the bell, and the sound of the buzzer inside took her back to her childhood in a brief but intense flush of sensation.

They heard a mumbled voice from within, shuffling steps, and then the door opened, releasing a rush of stale and musty scent indicating that it had been far too long since the rooms had received a decent airing out.

The man who stood in the opened doorway looked tiny, shrunken in a faded suit worn over a threadbare tee shirt, carpet slippers on his bare feet. He had a fringe of fine white hair circling his otherwise bald head like a downy halo, and the dark glasses he wore in the dim, unlighted room made it clear that he was quite, quite blind.

Time is a sneaky bitch. The moments following the door's opening dripped slow and reluctant, coating the brides with awkwardness, but they were only moments still, and in truth bare seconds had passed when Audrey startled Magenta with an elbow in the ribs and, simultaneously, the old man spoke.

"Yes" Yes" Who is it' What do you want' I told you I've already sent a check 'round for the electric!"

The blonde swallowed hard, holding Susie more closely against her breasts as if the child were an amulet that she could draw courage from.

"No Da, no, it's me, it's your...your Percy, come back to see you after all these years," Her voice was weak with uncertainty and guilt, and soft enough to disguise any changes in tone she had acquired through diligent practice and tracheal shave.

"Percy?" he replied, "Percy' No, my boy went off to the States, he works for that Dow Chemical. He's quite the success there, but ever so busy."

Tears wove their way down the blonde's face untouched. "No it's me, Da. Your Percy. I'm married now. I've brought my wife and baby 'round to meet you." Gently, as if she were handing a blown glass vase, Magenta reached for the old man's wrist, drew his hand up and placed it on her streaked face.

Liver-spotted and arthritic, his hand strayed over her features like a spider, tracing the richness of her mouth, the hidden blades of her cheekbones, the smooth arch of brows over her eyes, and the man's face came alight, his mouth (revealed to be missing several significant teeth) opened in wonder.

"It's you! It's my Laurel come back to me! I knew you would old darling; I've kept the place the same for you. I've waited and waited." With that he flung his wasted arms around Magenta and burrowed his head into her breasts, in the process nudging Susie in her sling who, with a fruity little giggle, poked a pudgy hand into the white down of his hair.

"No no no." Magenta put her hands on his shoulders and gently pushed him back. "I'm not Mum, she isn't coming back. It's me, Percy, with my Audrey and our little Susie. We need to talk, Da, we need to come in."

She wasn't blubbering yet, but all the signs were there. Still, she managed to lead the old man into the house, dragging Audrey behind her, and closed the door on this most private of family moments.

The light was dim within, but even so it was possible to make out the framed photographs that perched on every horizontal surface, obscured the faded wallpaper. The woman who peered out of them could have been Magenta, that beauty beneath which imperiousness lurked like a crocodile in a swimming hole, the same grace of form (although the creature in the early photos was of a less dramatic build than our blonde and, as time passed and was documented by the lens, became thicker overall, while the crocodile slipped ever more clearly to the surface).

Magenta blinked beneath the onslaught of those frozen eyes, settled the man in a stuffed chair, the fabric in its arms worn to the strings, and pulled Audrey in close against her.

Perhaps the discomfort in Audrey's voice was enough to steel the big blonde's nerves; at any rate she dropped to her knees on the threadbare carpet and took the old man's hands in her own.

"Yes," she said, her voice stronger now, "Audrey is my wife, and we're very happy together." She raised one of his hands to where Susie's little starfish fingers could grasp it with the child's already unusual strength.

"And this is Susie, Susanna Quentin, she's your granddaughter, Da, you're a grampa now."

The man's face seemed to light up from within at the touch of those tiny fingers and a smile (that seemed to find itself in unfamiliar territory) tried to bloom there. It was at that point, though, that the child, perhaps bored with the game, released her grip and let his hand fall onto the slope of Magenta's breast.

It lingered there for a moment, just long enough for its nerves to send a signal to the old man's brain, causing him to jerk his arm away as if he'd been burned, and lurch unsteadily to his feet.

"Lies!" he wailed, "you've lied to me. You're not my Percy. You'll get nothing from me, you schemers. Now get out, get out before I get the Filth after you!"

Magenta tried to begin to explain, but the truth was just too difficult to spell out in a way that he could grasp. How to explain her breasts and their baby, or even her unexpected last name" And truth be told, her father was not in a listening mood. He had the door open now, and his voice was rising, his breath ragged behind it, and his entire fragile body seemed trembling on the brink of collapse.

"Out!" he screamed. "You'll get yourselves far from here if you know what?s good for you.?

It all seemed a great entertainment to Susie, who clapped her little hands and bubbled happily, but Magenta's control broke like a dam giving way, and she was sobbing helplessly as she grabbed Audrey's hand and cowered toward the open door.

Magenta clung to Audrey's hands as she was gently seated on the slick gloss of the Caddy's hood, and only when she was secure there did she disengage and uncoil the fingers of her right hand to reveal a small snapshot preserved in an L-shaped fold of transparent plastic. It was, of course, a picture of her mother; young, slender, beloved of minor poets.

Wiping away a tear with her wrist, the blonde bent the plastic open until it snapped, letting the pieces fall to Edith's side, and studied the image for long moments before speaking.

"She didn't raise me to quit, ladylove. This isn't over until I say it is."

Gently, she disengaged Susie's sling and slipped it over Audrey's head, the child within burbling softly as she was snugged against Little Mommy's breast. Unencumbered, the blonde released her hair from the tight ponytail, shook it out until it fell loose and wild over her shoulders, and slid off the waxed black steel and onto her feet.

Like an ancient pirate's captive treading the plank, she mounted the enclosed stairway again. Her father had not locked the door, and Magenta did not knock but swung it wide and strode on in.

The old man, his voice high and nervous, began to remonstrate yet again, but Magenta spoke over him as she walked to where he stood, trembling in his anger and confusion.

"No, Da, no you will not do this to me." She grabbed his hands, helpless in her grasp, and lifted them to her waterfall of hair, brushed them once against the miraculous swell of her breasts.

"I was your Percy, but there is no Percy anymore. My name is Magenta, and I have for some years now lived as a woman. Audrey Horne is my wife, and I've taken her last name. Susanna is our daughter, and the mechanics of that miracle are our business alone."

The old man made wordless noises of protest, but she continued.

"I am all you have now, Mum is gone, and I won't let you shame her, or harm yourself, with this foolishness. Do you honestly believe that if it were you that had gone first she'd be holed up in the dark like this waiting to die, that she would have lost the shop, that she would turn me away, not out of disbelief but out of sheer cowardice? I don't think so."

She leaned close and kissed the hairless crown of his head, releasing his hands. Finding a pen on a clutter of end table she scribbled circles on the back of the photograph until the ink began to flow, and then scrawled the name of their hotel, their room, the number of their telephone there, and folded his arthritic fingers around it.

"You thought I was her. Maybe in a sense I am. I am at least part of her, and part of you, and I'm going to make you come back to the world again. You've lost a wife, and that is a terrible thing. You've lost a son, and I accept the blame for that. But you've gained a daughter, and a daughter in law, and a granddaughter. There are no fair trades in this hard world, but that is as equitable as any dare ask of it."

She stepped back, drew a breath, and continued.

"You are my Da, and I love you. I am your daughter, Magenta Horne, and I will teach you to love me. But you have to take the first step. Instead of worshiping these images of the dead, listen to them. If you do, she will tell you to call me, Mum will tell you, your dear lost Laurel will. And when you do, I'll answer."

She knuckled away a final tear and, taking Audrey's hand (who had of course followed her, fierce in her own love and protectiveness), she walked out the door and down the stairs.

Behind her, the blind man stared at the scrap of a photo in his hand, as if he could force his eyes to see it again, and listened to the disembodied voices from the thousand graven images surrounding him.

While the volume of Susie's outburst might have been enough to startle the legendary ravens of far off Tower of London into flight, it somehow (along with Audrey's words) coaxed a smile from the blonde that gradually morphed into laughter.

"Atta girl, Snoozy. That's exactly how I fell inside. If I have to act grown up, I can at least take comfort that you've got the primal scream thing covered for me."

She reached over and took one of Audrey's hands in hers, just swerving enough to send a Citroen into a lamp post in the process.

"I think we can leave the Queen for the moment, ladylove. After all, "her majesty's a pretty nice girl, but she doesn't have a lot to say.?" A glance at the little brunette makes it clear that the blonde takes a perverse pleasure in allusions that are out of Audrey's temporal frame of reference.

"No, what I think I really need is a big fat pint in a dingy little pub, and maybe a plowman's lunch to wash the taste of adulthood out of my mouth. I'm not sure what the law says about bringing Pumpkins into a public house, but I can only hope that somewhere along bloody Wapping Lane we can find a landlord who's willing to bend the rules for the sake of a pretty profit.?

When the trio had parked and entered, however, they found that the pub's interior was quite a contrast to its disreputable facade. Instead of the expected darkness, dartboards, and dilapidated snooker table (probably with torn felt and stains that could tell of either clumsy drinkers or the most recent gang rape), they found a bright space whimsically decorated with plastic flowers, sequined stars, and paper lanterns; and featuring a small stage, flanked by artificial palm trees, containing a microphone stand that fairly shouted karaoke.

The landlord, too, was unexpected; a dapper little man sporting a paisley vest and a porkpie hat, as well as a neatly trimmed Van Dyke. He lifted his head as they entered.

"You're a little early girls, but they'll all be showing up soon," he began, and then noticed the sleeping child in her baby sling. "Is that a prop, now" I must be falling behind the times...." He was silenced by a sleepy gurgle from Snoozy, and he quickly stumbled out an apology to Audrey. "Sorry miss, you can guess what I thought, I suppose. Don't see a lot of breeders here, if you get my drift."

He served them sheepishly, Magenta ordering a pint of the house special, and the brides were left alone with their confusion, but for a blessedly short time.

Within minutes of their being settled, in fact, the regulars began to pour in. Transvestites of every level of flash and fancy; from the local Bobby in his first dress, nervously scanning the crowd for his mates, to practiced drag queens of marvelous wig and regal elegance. And among them, delicate as violets blooming in a bed of tiger lilies, the true transgenders, drawing comfort from the company whose biology that had so recently and bravely abandoned.

In this assemblage Magenta didn't stand out; there were others who could rival her height, if not her beauty. So if she drew glances (and she did), they were either appreciative or envious. Audrey, however, was a true object of curiosity, to be surreptitiously studied, and the subject of the occasional remark passed from queen to queen behind lacquered claws.

The focal point of the evening soon drew all attention from the brides, however, as a disco ball was set in spinning motion above the little stage and a spotlight welcomed the first volunteer.

The performers ranged from the horrible to the ethereal, but there was a sweetness and an optimism that blessed both good and bad. As one torch song followed another, as a Streisand was replaced by a Dietrich, and her by a would-be Gaga, the blonde clapped loud and louder, her mood buoyed by the atmosphere at least as much as by her second pint of Boddingtons.

When her hands were sore with applauding, she leaned close to Audrey, already lifting the clearly enamored Susie and her sling from the girl.

"You said anything I wanted, ladylove. Will you sing for me?"

When Audrey finished, Magenta stood to lead the applause and, once the little brunette had hopped down off the stage, wrapped her in a sloppy hug. The muffled squeals that erupted from between the brides gave evidence to the fact that Susie found being the baby filling in a mommy sandwich the absolute height of infant humor.

Several of the pubs more flamboyant patrons had congratulatory drinks sent "round, and before long the trio found themselves sharing a boisterous table with a half dozen of the local birds of paradise. Audrey was soon the center of attention, probed for fashion advice and subjected to blushingly explicit questions about the mysterious workings of the female anatomy. The elegant Goth queen who had offered encouragement before, and went by the name of Morgue-Anna La Fey, soon christened the brunette with the nickname "GG," which puzzled Audrey.

"Gigi?" she whispered, leaning toward the blonde.

"It stands for Genetic Girl," Magenta said.

By the time last call sounded the blonde was forced to admit that, while she wasn't likely to fall on her face in the process of carrying Snoozie to the car, she was at least a pillowcase or two to the wind and not confident in piloting Edith with her usual prowess. So, once the child was snugged into her baby seat, Magenta passed the keys over to Audrey and slid into shotgun position.

"S"funny how fast things can turn, babylove," she murmured, forehead savoring the cool firmness of the passenger window. "What a roller coaster of a day, huh' But you know what? I'll never be a son again, and gods know whether I'll have a chance to be a daughter. But being a wife flat out trumps both of them hands down. "Be your baby?" You bet your sweet bippy I will! Take me home, dear heart, ravish me while I'm in this vulnerable condition, and then feed me something deliciously British and boiled and grey. Tomorrow we're off to the hallowed halls of Harrow!?

As the immortal bard put it, "Sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care, the death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, chief nourisher in life's feast."

It apparently does wonders for a hangover, too, and is even equal to an overdose of jellied eel and Scotch eggs. That would seem to be the case, at any rate, since Magenta seemed in quite rude health when she lept out of bed the following morning (and "rude" is indeed the appropriate term for any such leaping that takes place before 7:00 a.m.).

"Rise and shine, my pretties," she called out, her voice muffled by the rugby jersey she was pulling over her head. It seems that the blonde was going sans costume today, just the snug rubber-buttoned rugger shirt emblazoned with the name of the Wolf and Jury (a souvenir gifted to her by their table mates of the night before), a pair of cuffed denim short shorts, and low-topped blue sneakers sans socks.

"The old school is just minutes away by the Tube, so we'll let old Edith take the day off later. She can join us later if she wants." The latter whispered mysteriously; Magenta was feeling feisty indeed.

In short order, then, they were out of the London underground (Manhattan subway's proper sister), and walking across the manicured grounds and the elegant and ancient brick and stone buildings.

"Elmfield was my old house," the blonde murmured with something akin to pride, her accent going all plum shaped, as she pointed at one such structure, market by the strangely elegant external chimneys. We had a smashing cricket team in my second year, our bowler went on to play for England, and once pitched against the Baggy Greens."

So lost was she in her narrative that she failed to notice that the trio had picked up a small train of followers, all in their boater hats, blue jerseys, and lighter slacks.

"Might we be of assistance, ladies?" asked the boldest of the group.

"I was just conducting a bit of a tour," Magenta began. "You see, this was my old..." and here she paused in confusion, looking to Audrey for help. She probably had nothing to worry about, of course, since few of the boys were really paying attention to anything she said, and fewer still were staring anywhere near her worried eyes.

"My son went to Harrow, and all I got was this lousy tee-shirt."

Magenta bought it for Audrey in the bookstore, patiently explaining to the brunette that it would be pointless to complain that there were none with the option saying that one's wife had gone to the hallowed institution.

Otherwise the trio had a relaxing afternoon, strolling the elegant and manicured grounds, watching the cricket and rugby teams at sweaty practice, and enjoying the loll of students between classes, their lazy casualness all at odds with the formal sameness of their uniforms.

As they were preparing to leave, however, their erstwhile escort from earlier came running up all out of breath, boaters in hands to keep the flat straw hats from blowing off in their haste.

"We did it," announced the ringleaders, shaking a jingling ring of keys. "Would you like to see our rooms" We have wine there, and even some marijuana. We could have a little party."

Susie let off an air-raid siren of a howl in protest for being so blatantly ignored, and Magenta turned to Audrey, an unspoken question in her grey-eyed glance.

"It's your play, lovergirl," the blonde's look clearly said, "I do hope you've got a trump tucked away somewhere?"

The blonde jingled the keys on her belt, unhooked them and gave them to the Snoozer, a loud but probably not sanitary rattle, and treated Audrey to a haughty smile.

"I already have a set at home, ladylove. It's not like I spent all my time in science lab, you know."

With Snoozie seeming intent on earning her nickname anew, the brides decided that they'd had enough of Harrow for the nons, and hopped a tube back to the Grand Hotel. It was only after they'd returned to their room, and tucked the child into the middle of the oversized bed, pillow bunkers on each side of her and Audrey's new tee shirt irredeemably lost in the clutch of one chubby fist, that they noticed the bedside phone, blinking like the bubblegum machine atop an antique police car, and emitting a peculiar dry metallic click with each blink.

"It can't be the gendarmes," Magenta murmured, picking it up and punching a button, "there's nothing they can pin on us, is there?"

She listened quietly, wonder washing over her face like an image sliding into focus in a viewfinder. When she finished listening, she set the phone gently in its cradle, as if it were something fragile and rare.

"It's him, Audrey, my Da, he says he's waiting down in the restaurant. Gods, I wonder how long he's been there!" The blonde fell into a flurry of changing, finally settling on a modest but pretty sundress, sandals, and a faint floral scent.

"I hate to wake Susie, but I want you there, girlfriend. Maybe if we tuck the tee shirt in with her she'll forgive us?" This proved to be the case, and the baby barely burbled her faint displeasure at the manhandling, dropping off immediately once the sling was secured over little Mommy.

It took them awhile to spot Magenta's father. The old man had obviously encountered a bath and a barber since they'd seem him last, and his suit, though dated, was sporty in an 70s kind of way, just the thing a squire might sport when trying to win his love away from a minor poet. He even sported a bowler hat set jaunty on his balding crown.

More surprising still was his companion, a vision in black and pale skin, studs and piercings. She was at least a foot taller than he, but she stood with him demurely as they responded to Magenta's gasp"

"Ah Percy, or Marigold is it, no, Magenta, that's it. Can you forgive an old man for his foibles" You were right, Laurel would want me to get back into the world and, as luck would have it, I met this charming woman while waiting for you. It is surely fate, as she was looking for you and your lovely bride too! I believe you know miss Morgue-Anna" I may not see anymore, but I've senses enough to tell me that she is a very beautiful woman."

The Goth queen tugged his arm close, and rubbed against him like a cat.

"You just go on believing that as long as you can, sweetheart," she purred, throaty and seductive, "after all, who knows the secrets of the human heart?"