“No.” Gravel spewed out from his tires as he peeled out onto the road between a twenty-year-old tank of a sedan and a tail-gating oversized pickup.

“Scrap smells the Nörglein. He’s here. We have to stop.” I leaned forward between the seats reaching for the steering wheel. Too far. I needed to put both feet down and push my body halfway through the gap.

“The man said no.” Allie grabbed the back of my sweatshirt and yanked backward.

At the same time, Steve put his arm across the divide.

“But he’s here! The Nörglein is here. He’s disguised the place to keep me from finding him.”

“What can you do about it, Tess?” Donovan asked calmly. He let the pickup pass with a flash of lights and a blaring horn. “This elf is tricky. He’s smart. He’s mean. And he’s a shape-changer. For all we know he could be that big leaf maple tree ready to drop a thousand pound dead branch on us.”

“I agree. We can come back when we have more information and you are fit again.” Allie refastened my seat belt, and planted my cast back in her lap.

“You are in no condition to fight,” Donovan continued. “I can’t take this guy down with mundane weapons. And we have two humans on board who won’t survive a confrontation with a dark elf. Especially one as nasty as this one.”

“I beg your pardon. I know exactly how to fight a dark elf,” Steve interjected. “I’ve made it through all six hundred sixty-six levels of Halfling. I know how to wield every weapon in the game arsenal.”

Donovan and I both snorted in derision.

“It’s not the same, Steve. Believe me,” Donovan replied.

“Scrap . . .”

“Doesn’t like me. And I don’t like him. I can’t and won’t use him as my weapon.” Donovan clamped his mouth shut and sped around the ambling old Dodge.

“You’re going the wrong way.” I couldn’t let him get the last word.

“No, I’m not. We’re going to drive until you calm down. Besides, you need to show Steve and Allie the sights, like a good hostess. How about a late lunch at Timberline Lodge, then we continue around the mountain and take in the waterfalls of the Columbia River Gorge? Maybe dinner at Multnomah Falls Lodge. I’ve got a camera in the glove box. We can take lots of fun pictures. Then email them to your father.” He set his course.

“Tess,” Allie said hesitantly once Donovan had turned onto the major highway again. “Maybe we should call Gollum. He’ll know what to do.”

“I hate to admit it, but I think she’s right,” Donovan agreed. He didn’t look any happier than I did at the prospect. “Where is your boyfriend anyway?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” But, oh, how I wished I had the right to claim him as mine.

Donovan raised his eyebrows at that and peered at me through the rearview mirror. “He was your boyfriend in Las Vegas last year.”

Allie squeezed my knee in sympathy. She knew the whole story. Steve studied the autumnal colors, carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone. He must have learned about Gollum’s loyalty to his crazy, fragile, dependent wife from Allie.

“Where is he, Tess?” Donovan demanded.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. I know you. You wouldn’t let him disappear completely.”

But I had. Until yesterday.

“Leave her alone, Donovan. Gollum gave me an emergency number before he left Cape Cod,” Allie said. She whipped out her cell phone and pressed the first name on her speed dial. “Damn, no signal up here.”

Scrap laughed. Not yet, Allie. Not yet. I’ll let you call later. But not yet. What was he up to?

Protecting your heart as well as your ass. With that, he winked out in a puff of black cherry smoke.

Normally, I’d love to tag along on sight-seeing trips. There’s something exhilarating about playing with the water gushing off our mountain and then tumbling over steep cliffs, spraying droplets hither, thither, and yon, moistening neon lichens or carving rivulets in rock. Then there are the ones that careen down broken inclines, twisting and turning through channels gouged over aeons. Always the same, ever changing. A philosophy of life. Sacred since time began.

Water droplets forming rainbows in the sunshine are perfect hiding places for imps. Gives me practice in changing colors at will to match the arcing prisms.

Sigh. Another time I’ll wax poetic about waterfalls and bright leaves.

“What do you mean, Scrap?” Tess roused from her computer. Sunday night and she’d only written three new pages. But that’s three more than she’s written in ages and ages. This from a best-selling author who churned out a fat, fat, fat book every nine months or so until the dark side of life caught up with her.

I shouldn’t interrupt her, but this is important too. I’m hoping that once she’s talked to Mr. tall, lean, scholarly, and absent, she’ll feel better. At least maybe that huge gaping hole in her soul will shrink a bit.

How can I find true and utter happiness with my Ginkgo when my warrior is so sad and empty?

How am I going to find the time to spend with my beloved if Tess isn’t occupied with her writing? Her lack of a love life is putting a strain on mine.

“Letting Allie call him is the coward’s way out.” I feel like whispering because I know Steve and Allie are asleep in the next room. No sense waking them to share in this very private conversation.

“Calling him at all is the coward’s way out.” Tess plants her face in front of the computer screen and pretends to type.

I insert my cute little body behind the screen and peer out at her making funny faces.

She jerks away with a gasp. “Warn me next time you do that,” she snarls.

“If I warn you, you wouldn’t pay attention,” I pout with just a perfect bit of jutting lower lip that Ginkgo finds irresistible. Then I waggle the tip of my black and silver boa in her face. Pink is fine for daytime wear, and my favorite. For evening calls the black and silver is proper attire.

“I can’t do it, Scrap. I can’t call him out of the blue. I don’t know what he’s doing, how he’s coping, where he’s living.”

“What if I could show you?” I slip through the computer screen—these new flat pieces are more porous to my kind and it’s easy.

“It’s after midnight. He’s probably sleeping. And I don’t want to see who he’s sleeping with.”

“Not to worry. He’s awake. I promise you we’ll just take a quick peek from the chat room. If things get embarrassing, we’ll dart back home so quick you won’t have time to blush.” I let the barbed tip of my tail glow a little, green with lust. I’d love to see what goes on in that household. If Tess knew what a voyeur I’d become she’d spank my bottom good and hard.

Oooooh, if only Ginkgo would do that!

“I hate the chat room. I’m in no condition to fight whoever is guarding it today ...”

“So stop with the excuses. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, dahling. I would never endanger you. I just wish I could lick that wound and make it better.” I pout again. Imp spit works wonders on demon tags and infections. We have a natural antibiotic attuned to our warriors. Sprains, strains, and breaks are beyond our healing ability though.

Only the person who broke a heart can repair that kind of wound.

“Okay.” She gives in reluctantly after a long silent pondering.

I bounce to her shoulder and whisk us through the dimensional portal and into the white nothingness of the chat room before she can change our mind. I spot a few doors here and there, some on the edges in neat rows; some randomly placed above, below, and in the middle. There are glass doors, brass doors, leather curtains, and painted screens. Little ones, human size ones, bigger ones, and giant openings with no visible cover at all. Pick a dimension, any dimension; the chat room opens to all of them, anywhere, anywhen.

Tess stands unsteadily on one foot blinking rapidly. Her cast has paled to a translucent echo of the real thing. Reality twists and fades in the chat room. It also grows big and fast and slams you in the face. You never know.

“Don’t think about the cast, babe. In here you can put your foot down without danger. I can see the bruises and torn muscles. They are healing clean, but slowly.”

“It’s the dragon growing from butterfly size to nearly fill the room I’m scared of.” She points needlessly to the bright blue and yellow scaled beastie.

“Oh, yeah, the J’appel dragons. That skinny Larper quaking on top of his closed portal must have stumbled on the guardian’s real name.”

For the uninitiated, Larper stands for Live Action Roll Playing gamer. They stumble into the chat room all the time without knowing how they got here. Most of them have enough sense to back out by the door they came in by. A few don’t realize they are beyond reality and keep plowing forward, hoping to find Impland—the freeze-dried garbage dump of the Universe. Lots of magical artifacts end up there and are highly prized by critters more dangerous than the J’appel dragons. I’ve given a couple of those artifacts to Tess.

Tess stomps over to the Larper who’s hunkered down with his hands over his head. “What did you say to him?” she demands.

“I ... I ... said ... hello.”

“Crap. That’s what the dragon changed his name to about a minute before you came through. Call his real name and he grows to dragon size until he decides to change his name again. Now get out of here.” She pulls him off the splintery wooden door with chipped white paint and tarnished metal fittings, opens it, then shoves the poor mite back where he came from.

“Um . . . Tess,” I call as I flit over to her shoulder. “I think we need to get out of here. We’ve attracted some unwanted attention.”

“No kidding. Do we have to fight?” She takes up a stance en garde.

“Not here, babe. Just follow me.” I lead the way around the perimeter of the room without true dimension. I’m an imp. I know how to use the chat room. I’ve learned a few tricks over the decades. I may be small but I’m tricky.

The dragon lowers his head, swinging it in a wide arc, sniffing. He’s nearsighted. Great. Those are the most dangerous kind. He can smell Tess and me but he can’t see us. So he’s going to flame us just in case we don’t belong here.

At the last possible second I drag Tess into a side corridor I discovered while doing research on that magical diamond Donovan tried to give her as an engagement ring. It’s back in Faery now where it belongs, but, oh, it was a gorgeous ring. Both Tess and I lusted after it.

Dragon flames lick my hind end. “Stop that.” I slap the beast’s nose with my tail. His snout helps me beat the flames down to embers.

He backs off, looking hurt and confused, as if his mother had just reprimanded him for overcooking his dinner.

I’ll have to remember that next time.

“Oh, my!” Tess covers her heart. A tear trickles down her cheek. She’s looking through a little window into Gollum’s home office. He’s staring at his computer. An image of the Nörglein and a lot of text in Italian fill the twenty-four-inch screen. I think that’s the language, though it looks a bit like German. He speaks and reads both—modern and medieval.

Tess half reaches out as if to caress his face, or run her fingers through his fine silver gilt hair.

Her hand lingers, fingers frozen half reaching for him. She forgets to breathe. The single tear gains sisters.

Her other hand clings to the pearls as if to a lifeline.

“I’d forgotten how tall he is,” she whispers. “He needs to fix those glasses. They keep sliding down his nose.”

His hand reaches for the phone.

I grab Tess and drop her back in her own office just as the first chirp comes from her landline.

She stares at the phone as if it’s an alien being singing the “Halleluiah Chorus.”

It might be.