“I’ll have to ask Allie if she’ll stay with the girls. It’s her last night in town.”

Go out with your boyfriend, babe. I’ll keep an eye on our girls. And I promise to fetch you at the least sign of trouble, Scrap urged.

“Um, have you seen the first two movies?” I asked.

“I rented them last week.” He paused to listen to a page in the background. “I admit though that I found the long sequences of special effects a bit boring on the small screen,” he said calmly. The page wasn’t for him. The next one might be.

“And I bet you were multitasking while they played so when there was a bit of plot and character interaction you missed them.”

“There’s a plot?”

“Not much of a one, but, yes, there is a plot, and a love triangle,” I explained.

“Could have fooled me.”

“On the big screen the special effects can be a bit overwhelming. They are indeed the stars of the show.”

“So do you want to go see it?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course!”

“Good. I should be free by five. We can grab some burgers and still catch the six-thirty showing.”

“Or the seven, or the seven-thirty. It’s playing on three different screens at different times at the neighborhood multiplex.” We laughed and hung up the phones. I hummed the love theme from the movies as I returned to the girls and the never-ending quest to help them delve into the depths of simple addition.

We skipped the burgers because Sean got delayed in an emergency surgery.

But he bought me popcorn and a giant soda to complete the movie experience and fill my empty tummy with empty calories.

“The first movie was based on a short story. Very loosely based,” I whispered as we took seats dead center in the theater. Midweek we had plenty of seating options.

“Have I read the short story?”

“Wouldn’t make any difference if you had. Other than the basic premise of a smuggler laying low while piloting an interstellar garbage scow, there’s no similarity. In the story the smuggler is old and retired. He’s recycling the Universe by moving one society’s throwaways to places where scraps are valuable. Making the pilot a younger man—played by the sexiest actor in Hollywood—and having him end up rescuing a gorgeous female diplomat on the run from terrorists are all new.”

The lights dimmed and the usual ads and previews blasted across the screen.

“Rumor has it, Holly composed the love theme music, but I haven’t seen her name in any of the official credits,” I dropped my voice to a whisper.

“By changing the plot I’m guessing the producers left plenty of room for sequels, and prequels,” Sean returned to the topic of the movie in hushed tones.

“Hollywood loves sequels ad nauseum. In this case they don’t have to worry too much about scripts and actors, though Malcolm Levi is mighty easy on the eye and really can act. These movies launched his career. I saw him in an historical drama as Attila the Hun. He did a great job.”

“So Hollywood spends most of their money on special effects. That’s what people pay money for at the theater.”

“Shush,” the couple behind us admonished us.

We slunk down a little lower in our seats, embarrassed.

“Should we have brought the girls and Allie?” Sean asked on a whisper as the movie opened with a long shot of a boxy and beat up spaceship hauling an uglier crate four times its size that leaked bits and pieces of garbage.

“I don’t think the girls are up to this yet. They’re having enough trouble understanding reality. This kind of fantasy would challenge them more than I want to have to deal with.”

“This isn’t fantasy, it’s science fiction!” the couple behind us insisted.

Sean looked as if he wanted to debate that issue. I touched his arm to quiet him. He turned his hand over to clasp mine.

We sat there like teenagers on a first date.

Sean’s cell phone vibrated and buzzed before the opening credits had finished. Not an actual ring, just an audible reminder that he had to answer the damn thing.

A dozen people in widely scattered seats turned and frowned at him.

“I’ve got to go,” Sean groaned. “Stay and watch the movie. Here’s cab fare home.” He reached for his wallet.

“Just drop me off at home. I’ve watched enough movies alone.” A gaping hole threatened to open in my chest. Loneliness, rejection, depression vied for dominance.

“Okay if I call you when I’m free?” He held my hand as we exited the theater by a back route directly into the parking lot without having to wind through a crowded lobby.

“Sure. I’ll be up. Most likely working, after the girls go to bed.”

Ten minutes later, I stood on the sidewalk outside my condo in the rain, watching his taillights reflect like blurry demon eyes in the puddles. “Is this what my life will be like if I stay with Sean?” I asked the ether.

Probably, Scrap answered. He alighted on my shoulder and tickled my ear with his boa.

“Will I ever get used to knowing his work is more important than I am?”

No.

“Something to think about anyway.”

I spent the rest of my evening surrounded by the girls helping Allie pack. I made popcorn for them and let them drink soda. We giggled and made sure Allie took her bride magazines with her.

She made a point of showing me where she’d hidden the revolver in my walk-in closet since she couldn’t take it on the plane and didn’t trust it in her luggage.

Eventually, we settled the girls in bed and I curled up on the sofa with the laptop while Allie channel surfed for something more interesting on the TV than travelogues.

“That was fun,” I confessed while I waited for the computer to boot up.

“More fun than dinner and a movie with your boyfriend?”

I had to think about that a moment.

“Maybe not. But I’ve missed girl giggle fests as much as sharing a movie with a friend.”

“I think you are fully mended now, Tess. I can leave you with a clear conscience. Except I worry about you alone with the girls.”

“We’ll manage for the few weeks until you and Steve come back. And we’ll fly east for the wedding. I’ll make sure you get your full share of godparent time with them.”

We laughed together.

Around midnight, my phone rang. I took it in the bedroom. Alone. “Hi, Sean,” I said with only a brief glance at the caller ID.

“You’re still awake, good. I was afraid I’d wake you.”

“I told you I’d be working. I finished another chapter.”

“Did you miss me?”

Did I? Sort of, but not nearly as much as I thought I would. “Of course,” I lied.

“Tess, I looked up your professor on the Internet,” he said. Was that a trace of guilt in his voice?

Every nerve ending in my body froze.

“There are a lot of holes in his profile.”

“I know.”

“Did you know he’s married?”

“Yes. He and Julia have been together since they were children, married quite young and stayed together.” Sort of.

“So there’s nothing between you?”

“Not anymore.”

“I’m guessing he was one of your mistakes, one of the reasons you want to go slowly in our relationship.”

I gathered my courage, as if preparing to face a demon in a full fight. “I’m over him.”

Liar! Scrap sneered at me from somewhere else.

That’s right, they are my daughters too. And I won’t let Tess change her mind about raising them. Not that she could with that magic bond and all.

Tess needs to realign herself with her former life as a Celestial Blade Warrior. When I get back, we’ll do a little meditation so that she can connect with her friends at the Citadel.

As I hightail it through the chat room, I note that the Sasquatch are back on duty. They’ve kinda been quarantined since that little kerfuffle with a rogue portal underneath Donovan’s uncompleted casino at Half Moon Lake. Donovan lost a lot of money when we imploded his investment in order to close the portal.

He has recovered financially. I don’t know if his agenda was truly damaged or not.

Speaking of which, I wonder if he knows that Tess is Lady Lucia’s descendant. If he knows, that would explain his unrelenting pursuit of her as his ideal mate, the mother of the children he craves, the matriarch of his planned homeland for half-breed demons. The connection is another form of power. He thrives on power.

I land on the boundary of the two point five acres Tess used to own. She and her late husband, Dill—Doreen’s brother—bought this place for many reasons. The special energies of the place are particularly inviting. Calm, peace, security.

Since time out of mind, this plot of land is where treaties were signed, alliances negotiated. All welcome without prejudice. That invitation is stronger now that Dad and Bill run a B&B here. Actually, Bill owns it. Dad put it in his name for arcane tax reasons. And Bill has no demon blood in him, dilute or otherwise. Dad has a drop more than Tess but super recessive. He’s never even heard of the Warriors of the Celestial Blade.

The land has a Neutral owner once more.

Except...

Something eats away at the neutrality. I can peel threads of power out of the air around me. They come from every direction, every dimension. They twine together. They twist into arrows seeking a way of penetrating the boundaries of this dimension. They burrow upward. They spiral downward. Little bits here and there, not so much as to draw attention, unless you are looking for it.

They seek the crystal ball. It is a focus. It draws diverse strands of life together from this place and that.

A whiff of something elusive crosses my nose. I follow that thread as far as I can without going into the chat room.

I have smelled that particular odor before. Sort of imp. Sort of something else. Something older and rotting with insanity. There are cracks in the diamond we sent back to Faery. Energy leaks through those cracks.

The ball is funneling energy into the new dimension from every crack and crevice that no one thinks to shield. Like from the ring. That needs to stop. Who can control it? Who should be the one to claim that new dimension and shape it?

Not the Nörglein, that’s for sure.

I creep around to the sloping cellar door against the outside foundation. Overgrown shrubs hang in shielding blankets of intertwined branches over the door. The big oak crowned in mistletoe with a swing slung from the limbs in the yard shadows it. Even if the Powers That Be have set a watchdog here I do not believe they will notice me. Watchdogs get lazy if they are not challenged. The deal Tess signed in blood guarantees that unauthorized personnel cannot come here.

I’m not exactly authorized anymore. Just because I shouldn’t come back here doesn’t mean I can’t. Tess and I lived here almost three years. I know secrets about this place outsiders will never find.

If I pop into the chat room and back inside the cellar, the transition will alert someone. I need to be sneakier.

I flit from shadow to shadow watching and sniffing for any trace of observers. Ah, there in the oak hangs a bat, upside down with wings only partially wrapped around him. He’s awake. No self-respecting bat from Earth would show his face with the sun nearing high noon. It’s too small to be a Damiri. Must be someone else. Someone to be avoided.

The presence of a bat almost guarantees that Tess will stay away from here. She hates bats.

I fold the shifting light around me, circling with the wind like a fallen leaf—there are lots of those around. The bat ignores me when I land on the old slats of the door. There’s a gap between two of them, just a teensy bit wider than the others.

I squeeze through into the dank and moldy cellar.

Mold! Glorious mold. It permeates the dirt walls; it hides in the corners near the floor. And it tops the discarded jars of jelly Mom put up. Clearly Bill and Dad don’t clean down here like they should. They’ve moved the washer and dryer up to the attached apartment for convenience.

Of course the mild repulsion spell MoonFeather placed on the armory door beneath the stairs would make even the most insensitive feel prickly and uneasy.

The padlock on the door is firmly in place. As it should be. But what’s a mere padlock to an imp?

I slide underneath the door into the closet that has been a priest hole, a station on the Underground Railroad, and housed Tess’ collection of mundane and not so ordinary blades.

She took all the good stuff with her. Most of it’s in mini storage now. But she left a few cheap replica weapons just to make it look like she doesn’t have an armory elsewhere.

I stashed the crystal ball here because of the magical shielding MoonFeather added.

And there it is, sharing a shelf with a stiletto. It glows and pulses, more powerful now than before. It pulls energy into itself.

I am afraid of what I will see if I look too deeply into the swirling milky depths of the sphere.

But look I must.

First I light a cigar, one of my favorite black cherry cheroots. Three quick puffs and I feel fortified to face anything.

I expect to find spirals of malicious black sparked with red embers, something stark and barren and evil.

Much to my surprise, I find green and blue with pink and white sparkles. The entire globe is filled with The Essence of Faery. Not just the little patch Tess and I explored.

Faery lost more energy than we could account for while a smarmy producer kept twenty real faeries imprisoned in his casino in Las Vegas. Tess and I rescued the faery dancers. We thought we closed the portal that brought them to this world. Apparently, we didn’t seal it tight enough. Faery is still leaking.

All that energy in the new dimension is waiting for a hand or mind to turn it to good or evil, a haven for refugees, or a hiding place for outlaws and renegades.

And the crystal ball is the only portal.