A note about this file:
This is the "Alex" stuff, in chronological order. The breaks indicated by lines and "(amount of time) passes" are the so-called chapter breaks, where I stopped writing a scene; the indication of how much time passes will be removed as this story develops, as will the breaks themselves. Until I get more than a bare-bare bones outline done, however, they will remain.

Please do not give out the address of this page or link to it. Thank you.


In the beginning...

Michael paced worriedly. What was happening? From beyond the bedroom door, he heard Melanie scream again and stopped in his tracks.

"Please relax, Your Majesty," Andrew Corando said. "It's perfectly normal. Any time now, the midwife will come tell you you're a proud father. There's nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure? She sounds like she's in so much pain."

"Your Majesty knows that I am still unmarried, but I'm told that it does hurt. It's all right, really, Michael," he went on, dropping the formality. They were old friends, after all, and there was no one around to hear. "Jess screamed just the same--louder, probably--and she lived through it."

Another sound, softer than the last but still a cry of pain, was followed by the thin wail of a newborn baby. He waited for the door to open, but as the minutes ticked slowly by, he began to worry again. Just as he decided to go in anyway, a second tiny voice joined the first. Soon, the midwife emerged, smiling brightly.

"Congratulations, Your Majesty," she said with a curtsey. "You have a daughter. And a son. Would you like to go in and see them?"

Almost before she had finished speaking, he was through the door and at Melanie's bedside. The Queen was radiant in spite of the sweat and disarray brought on by hours of labour. She held the twin babies, now quiet, one balanced on each arm. "Aren't they wonderful?" she asked quietly.

"Yes." It was all he could say for a moment. The wonder of seeing his children--tiny miracles!--had stolen his words. "May I... May I...?"

Her smile broadened a little. "Here. Hold your daughter for a bit. I think your son's getting hungry."

He carefully picked up the little girl. As Melanie began to feed the boy, he wondered, "So now what?"

"Hmm?"

"Names, love."

"Oh... We had names picked out, didn't we?"

"I suppose so."

"Second thoughts?"

"Well, no."

"Luckily, we had a name for a girl and a name for a boy. Since we got both, why don't we just use both names?"

"I guess that makes sense. I'm sorry, Mel. I guess I'm a little silly right now."

"So that means I've got James Robert--"

"For his uncles--"

"And you've got Alexis Michaela."

"For her grandmother and for me. What a lovely name. Alexis." The girl opened her eyes and smiled, as if recognising that she was being discussed. Michael gasped in surprise.

"What's wrong?" his wife asked, concerned.

"Her eyes."

"What about them?"

"Mel, she's got my eyes."

Melanie stared at him, shifting James slightly in her arms. "I thought that didn't happen. What do the succession laws say about that?"

"It doesn't happen. The laws don't specify male or female, because there never was a woman with the eyes. I was under the impression that when the Cat God blessed the line, He had said it would always be a son."

"I thought it was just whoever would grow up to be best-suited to rule. Nothing says a woman can't be a good ruler."

"I guess not. It's just that..."

"...this is Planiel, and women here leave if they're very strong-willed at all. Yes. Maybe that will change."

"Maybe." He smiled. "Well, no matter what becomes of her, she's a darling little girl."

"A credit to the Daemnian line. I'm sure she'll grow up to be a beautiful woman and a wonderful Queen."

"She will. I know it." He smiled down at his daughter for a long moment. Transferring his gaze to his wife and son, he frowned. "Mel?"

"What's wrong, love?"

"Are babies supposed to be that pale?" He nodded at James. Alexis was a healthy-looking, pinkish ball of giggles; James, on the other hand, looked almost pasty in comparison.

Melanie frowned. "I don't know. I've never had a baby before, but-call in the midwife, please, Michael. He feels as though he's getting weaker. I think something may be wrong." Panic began to show in her face, drawing her eyebrows up and together and tightening her mouth. "Go get her!"

He opened the door, still holding his daughter. The midwife was still waiting there; he beckoned to her and explained what was wrong. The woman lost some of her own color and dashed past him, throwing a command over her shoulder to get out of the room and take Alexis with him.

Alexis began crying almost immediately. He supposed she was hungry, too, but he was rather at a loss over what to do about it. He rocked her and cooed to her, trying everything he knew to get her to stop. Finally, she sighed and settled into a gentle sleep.

She was still sleeping when the midwife emerged from the bedroom. Before he could speak, the woman said, "Your Majesty is very fortunate. Your son will survive." Michael breathed a sigh of relief, but the midwife wasn't finished yet. "His body is weak; there is only so much space in a woman's womb, and sometimes when she carries twins, the children receive unequal amounts of care from her body. I suspect that our new Princess is as strong and healthy as ever a babe was born. The Prince will gain the strength he lacks, but not for some years yet, probably." She paused. "He begins to show the signs of the Birthing Fever. It strikes just after birth, and usually strikes only children who will one day be mages."

"That's good."

"Perhaps not as much so as Your Majesty thinks. Your son will almost certainly be a mage; however, he may lose sight or hearing. Some extreme cases lose both, but I do not believe that he will."

"But he will survive."

"He will, Your Majesty. The Fever disables; it does not kill. It is my personal theory that some children are not strong enough at first to bear the weight of the power they will one day wield. Their bodies adapt, but sometimes forget to take care of other senses. The Prince should be through the fever in a week or so."

"Surely his sister can't get this fever from him."

"It does not seem to be contagious, Your Majesty."

"Then could I take her back in to see her mother? She sleeps, but I think that she will be hungry when she wakes. I think she was before, but she calmed down."

"Certainly, Your Majesty."

Going back into the room, Michael took a deep breath. He will survive. But without sight or hearing, perhaps. Or both. Perhaps the God really does mean for Alexis to have the throne.




He'll never suspect. Now is the time to strike. The dark-haired man slipped easily past the guards. Apparently Michael had ordered them to stay outside while he went into the library--probably to get something to read while the Queen saw the babies put in the nursery. They knew him well; they just nodded and let him through. The fools. I should have done this earlier, before those brats came along. Three days old, and already threatening him. The girl would be Queen someday. Well, he'd just see about that. When he was done, she would be in no condition to claim the throne--or if she did, she would be open to suggestion.

Michael was staring out at the sunset. He turned to see who had interrupted him and smiled. "Hello there."

The man bowed and replied, "Hello, Your Majesty. Wonderful night, isn't it?" He stepped out to join the King on the balcony. "Some of Nature's finest work."

Michael nodded. "Indeed. What brings you out here?"

"Nothing much. I just... I just needed to tell you something. Your Majesty."

"You can drop the formality. Please. What is it?"

"You have an enemy in the court."

"That's nothing new."

"He is even now acting out a plan to kill you. You should be very careful."

"To kill me? Oh, he'll never get past the guards."

"But you're standing on an open balcony. A knife thrown, an arrow shot... He could climb up the wall. There are enough handholds." He knew; he'd checked. "But perhaps it's much simpler than that. Perhaps he's already past the guards."

Michael stared at him for a moment and took a deep breath, intending to alert the guards. Before he could, the other man dealt him a blow that left him sinking to the ground, unconscious. Another few moments' work, and the King was over the balcony's railing, falling to the river on whose banks the castle was built. He would be dead in a few minutes, maybe less.

The assassin did not wait to hear the splash; he merely turned and walked out the door, making his expression seem concerned. "Pardon me," he said to one of the guards, "but can you tell me where the King is? I thought he must be in the library, if you were here, but..."

The guards exchanged looks and rushed into the room. He called in, "I'll just go look for him in his rooms." Making every effort not to smile, he wandered off.




"You Majesty, forgive me, but..."

"Go away." The words were half-sob.

The Countess sighed and tried again. "You Majesty, you must remarry."

The Queen finally looked up. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and dark circles showed under them. "My husband's dead. He fell in the river; they can't even get his body back so that I can give him a proper funeral. And you want to talk of remarriage?"

"If Your Majesty will forgive me, you are in no shape to govern this country, and the children are too young. We need a King."

"It's only been three months. Give me more time."

"With all due respect, Majesty, we have no more time. Duke Andrew is managing to keep us in one piece, more or less, but there are some things that need royal approval, things that only the ruling Monarch can initiate. You must remarry."

It went on for hours--it always did. Finally, though, the Queen sighed and admitted that she did have to remarry. It was a step--before, she had always denied it. "But who?" she whispered.

Now was the time to suggest it. "Your Majesty, if I may suggest Duke Andrew? He's almost running the country already, doing a good job, and everyone knows that if... If you hadn't married the King, you would have married the Duke."

The Queen sighed and sniffled a little, still on the verge of tears. "You're probably right. Probably. He's asked me. He's been pressuring me, too, but he's been much kinder about it than most of you have. Yes, I think so. Will you go get him for me, please?"

The Countess left, smirking, to find a page to summon the Duke to the Queen's chambers.


7 years pass


"Well?" Andrew asked impatiently.

"You'd have to get a mage to confirm it, Majesty, but I believe she has Manifested."

"No mage comes into his power that early."

"Forgive me, Majesty, but I simply cannot find anything wrong with her."

"Fine. Bring me a mage."

"Yes, Majesty."

The mage only confirmed what the physician had said. At the tender young age of eight, the Princess Alexis had come into her power as a mage. Normally the power came sometime during puberty. The mere thought of his stepdaughter Manifesting so early chilled Andrew to the bone. It meant that she would be extremely powerful. He had not been particularly kind to her; what if she wanted revenge? Then he smiled and nearly laughed at himself. Apprentice-mages were never particularly good at being subtle with their power, and any outright attempt would mark her as the perpetrator. Each mage's power had a distinct signature, after all. He was safe.

The mage told him the next day that Alexis was more powerful than anyone had suspected; in fact, she was the most powerful mage the worlds had seen for centuries. Suddenly she was an unknown quantity again, unpredictable and possibly dangerous. There were tales of the old high-class mages working spells that covered or transmuted their signatures; who knew what she could do? Surely there was some way to control her.


5 years pass


Alexis sat on a small chair beside her bed. In front of her, on a table, was a bowl of water. It was perfectly still, and the inside of the dish was glazed with something shiny and grey. She was doing her best to concentrate on the bowl. Or, rather, the surface of the water--and what she could see there.

At last, she put all of the distractions that came into her thirteen-year-old mind away, and she let her power lead her, sinking deeper into the trance. She began to see images on the water, exactly as her teacher had said she would.

She was so deep in the trance that she did not hear the door open. Andrew walked in, stomping and seething and generally looking angry. He looked down at her, obviously considering something. "Alexis," he said softly. She didn't respond, of course. He smiled a thin, evil smile. "Well. Perhaps you can give me what your mother can't. She's so sick I don't dare touch her." Still no response. The guards outside the door shuddered, but dared not say anything against the King.

"I'd intended to punish you for breaking that crystal vase while you were practicing that spell, you know. But it was so expensive. Perhaps a simple beating isn't enough."

Alexis still didn't say anything, intent on the images in the scrying dish. Andrew watched her for a long, silent moment before he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her out of her chair, shoving her onto the bed. Stunned by having been wrenched out of her trance, she didn't even know what was happening until he was already forcing himself on her. She screamed and fought against him, but he was older, bigger, and stronger. She could not stop him.

Long after he had left, Alexis stopped crying. Numbly she called a servant to help her change, but thought the better of it and sent the woman away. She managed to get into a clean, untorn dress alone. She went through the motions of living for the rest of the week without really noticing what was happening around her.

Not ten days later it happened again. Andrew had found an easy target--one who could not overpower him in any way, as long as he caught her at a moment which left her too stunned or weak to react with magic. And she could hardly stop learning and practicing magic--she was so powerful that to stop half-trained would be worse than having no training at all. He planned to enjoy dominating her in this new way, just as he had enjoyed abusing her mentally and physically earlier in her life.

A single day after the fourth such incident, Alexis appeared in the Armsmaster's office. "I want to learn to defend myself," she whispered.


2 years pass


She heard the door crash open, but didn't move. It wouldn't do any good. As he knew, she was too drained, magically, to do anything to him. He was standing in the doorway; she couldn't get away. The door slammed shut again and she heard him breathing heavily as he crossed the floor to stand by her bed.

"Hey."

She still didn't move.

He slapped her. "Wake up!" And then he got impatient and turned her over himself. His hands, though clean, made her skin crawl. It was as if he contaminated her just by touching her. She made a feeble attempt at struggling, but he was still stronger. He was also very used to her little routine, after nearly two years. A short struggle, then unconsciousness. He didn't care; he could sate himself just as easily without her awareness as with it.

That routine was dangerous for him, though. This time she went limp, one hand sliding under her pillow and the other arm half hanging the bed--but she did not allow herself to black out. Instead, she curled her fingers around her hidden dagger and waited. When she was sure he had let his guard down, she made her move. As quickly as a striking snake, she brought out the dagger and maneuvered it into a position which must surely have been uncomfortable for him.

Surprised, he backed off. She followed, and he retreated another step. She kept going until he was trapped in a corner. "Listen very carefully," she told him. "You are going to leave, and then you are going to stay away. You will never enter these rooms without my express permission, and you will never, never touch me again. The next time you try, I will use this dagger. I don't intend to let you have another try at me, Andrew. Besides," she added, "if I castrate you, you can't do this to anyone else." Her expression grew thoughtful, and then regretful. "No, not today. I've given my word, and I never break that. So this time you get away. But next time I won't hesitate."

She stepped to one side, lowering the blade, and he fled.


2 years pass


Michael looked around what had come to serve him as his house--a room, bare of any furniture beyond a bed, chair, and closet, with a dirt floor. It was unremarkable, which was exactly the point. There was a makeshift fireplace in one wall; he turned once more to face it, staring into the flames. He smiled, thinking to himself, I think I almost like this better than the castle. Almost.

The door opened behind him. "Yes, Barry?" he asked. Barry had found him after his supposed death, nursed him back to health, and insisted on acting as his servant. They had set up a partition in the one-room house, complete with a sort of door-shaped hole covered by a length of fabric, and Barry lived on the other side of it most of the time. He took care of Michael's needs, especially the ones that required going out of the house.

Barry cleared his throat. "Ah, some'n t' see ye, Majesty," he said nervously.

Michael blinked in surprise. "Barry, no one's been to see me since you found me."

"I know, Majesty, but 'ere's some'n 'ere now."

"Who is it?"

"She asks m' not t' say, Majesty."

"She? Oh, then she's safe. Planielan women aren't known for brains or brawn--just looking pretty. Send her in, I suppose."

"Actually, Majesty--"

"Just send her in."

"Yes, Majesty." Barry left the room again, and Michael heard the murmur of voices outside. The door-curtain rustled, and he knew he was alone with his visitor.

"Good evening, Your Majesty." A smooth, velvety voice, with none of the overtones that screamed "commoner". His visitor was a noblewoman.

"Good evening, m'lady. And whom do I have the pleasure of greeting?"

A warm chuckle. "I would suggest that you turn around and find out."

He did. Standing just inside the semi-circle of firelight, smiling slightly, was a woman who was too obviously his daughter. A younger, female copy of his own face stared back at him. To his surprise, she was dressed in breeches, not skirts. Even more startling was the sword hanging at her hip.

"Alexis?" The name was almost a gasp.

Her smile became slightly crooked as it broadened and she replied, "Most people call me Alex now." She considered him for a moment. "It really is you."

"And it really is you," he said, recovering his composure. "How did you manage to find me? And why?"

"As to the first..." She shrugged. "A hunch, at first, followed up on by asking about. You have been quite good at hiding yourself, but I have ways. My own senses. Magic. And blood calls to blood, if you ask it to."

"It does?"

She nodded. "A lot of mages don't realise that, or don't know how to invoke it. But it does."

"Well, that's the how; what about the why?"

"May I ask you something before I answer that?"

"I don't think I have much of a choice. Ask away."

"Why haven't you reclaimed your throne?"

He sighed. "When I ask how things are going... outside... Barry always tells me things are 'fine.' As far as I can see, everyone is getting along rather well without me. My first duty is to the country, not to myself. Stirring up trouble just to regain the throne is probably not in the best interests of the country."

Now it was Alex's turn to sigh. "I hadn't thought it possible. You really are that far behind on the news."

"Excuse me?"

"How, exactly, did you arrive at the conclusion that you should do nothing?"

"Long hours of consideration, naturally. I talked a lot about it with Barry. He really helped."

"I see." She was quiet for a long moment. "Things aren't really 'fine.' Andrew Corondo married Mother after you 'died'--I hope you had at least gotten that much."

"No, I hadn't. That alone tells me something. Go on."

"He keeps wanting to get us into wars we can't win and don't need, for one thing. He actually wanted to attack Saransia."

"He's mad! Their army, last I heard, was at least four times larger than ours, and much better-trained."

She nodded. "It's perhaps seven-to-two now, but we still don't have a prayer."

"I take it the Council didn't approve?"

"That's the other thing. I had to persuade him that it wasn't a good idea; he's disbanded the Council. I think it was when I was about five that he got us into a legitimate was with Council approval and took advantage of an old, obscure law that says the King has the right to overrule any Council decision during war. He disbanded the Council and declared himself dictator for life or some such nonsense."

"Can he do that?"

"No one ever thought that someone would do something like that," she pointed out. "Without exception, the black-eyed kids have kept their vows about protecting the country. And I'm the first female to have them, so there's never been a king who hasn't had those vows to keep. If it really had been in the country's best interests, it could have been excused, but... Anyway, there was nothing in the law to prevent it."

"Great."

"He's fairly abusive to a lot of people he interacts with, too." Did she wince as she said it? "Lately, he's been raising taxes to pay for something he wants to build--a house all built of glass that forces exotic flowers to bloom in winter, trees to bear fruit out of season, that sort of thing."

"So things aren't all 'fine.'"

"No."

"Why didn't Barry tell me any of this?"

"You're not going to like it if I suggest what I'm thinking."

"Unfortunately, I'm already wondering myself. On the other hand, it would be just as reasonable to assume that you want someone to kick Andrew off the throne for some twisted purpose of your own."

She nodded. "It would be. Which is why I think I'll leave now and give you time to think it over."

Can I send Barry with a message for you when I'm finished thinking?"

"If you still feel he's reliable. If not--well, if you trust me, give him this before he comes." She handed Michael a small glass vial. "It will ensure his, ah, docility, and once he's back here he won't remember anything."

"Thank you," he said as he accepted the vial. "You've given me a lot to think about."


6 months pass


Alex almost jumped at the knock on her door. Telling her reflexes to calm down, she called out for her visitor to enter.

It was Barry, her father's servant. She smiled as a closer examination revealed that his eyes were vacant, focused only enough to allow him to walk without running into anything. He had undoubtedly been fed the potion she had left with her father.

"Yes, Barry?" she asked.

"A message for you, Highness." His voice was dead. "Michael says--'Tell her I have thought, I have questioned you, and I have decided. Andrew is a snake, or a sick animal. I think his servant should conveniently disappear and would be glad of a replacement or disguise, should she be so disposed. I trust her to decide the right time to implement the plan and will help as much as I am able.'"

"Very good. Thank you, Barry. Now, carry this message back: 'I thank you. The servant will be taken care of, and a replacement will come with me next time I visit. The sleeper will wake with no memory when the sun rises. More details on my next visit.' Do you have that?"

"Thanks. Servant taken care of. Replacement next visit. Sleeper wakes sunrise no memory. Details next visit."

"Good. Go tell Michael."

"Yes, Highness."

As she watched him leave, a slight smile played around her lips. Her father believed in her, or at least didn't believe in Andrew. It was a step forward, even if the right time for the coup might not come for years. She went back to the letter she had been writing.

James, the most amazing thing has happened. The one we wished for came around. And Mother recently told me that there were linens missing again. She suspects the chambermaids...


3 years pass


"So, where are you from, anyhow?" Jonathan asked Sean, pouring himself another glass of wine. "I've never really heard you talk about 'home'."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me. I'm in the mood to believe almost anything right now."

"You know how in fantasy fiction you get the idea of other dimensions, other worlds that exist in the same space as this one, but separate?"

"Yeah."

"That's where I'm from. Another world. Or another dimension. Whatever."

"But if these things exist, why don't we know about them?"

"Because most of you guys don't have the means to get there."

"Which would be...?"

"Which would be magic."

"And I suppose everyone's a mage over there."

"Well, sort of. Not really. But a higher percentage. Maybe fifty, sixty percent. And most of them are low-level mages--this world knows them as psychics."

"But why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are there more over there?"

"Oh. Because while you guys were developing technology, we were developing magic. We're still pretty primitive over there--middle ages or something--but we sure cast a mean spell."

"Sean, are you drunk?"

Sean looked down at his glass. "Probably. I shouldn't have told you that. But ask me again when I'm sober and I'll tell you the same thing."


6 months pass


"Hold on, Sean," Alex said.

"Huh?"

"I said, hold on. I think we should take a break now."

"I know you don't need it, and I know I don't need it. What's up?"

"I need your permission for something, Sean."

"Since when?"

"Since it involves your mind. I need you to be my guide, in culture and language as well as in finding this place."

"I see. You want to pick it out of my mind with magic, don't you?"

"Yes. You've lived there for years now, and I've studied it for a long time, but study is no substitute for experience. And magic's quicker anyway."

"All right. I suppose we'd better do this now; we're getting close."

"How close?"

"Hear the water?"

"Yes."

"It's just over the rise, and that's the River."

"Oh. All right, if we're that close, let's do it on the other side."

"I'm not going to ask," Sean muttered.

"Good, because I probably couldn't explain it anyway," Alex replied cheerfully. They hiked over the rise and easily crossed the River. Once across, they stopped and looked around.

"Somehow, I expected it to be more different," Alex commented. "It is a different world, after all."

"Wait until you see the cities. You'll still be complaining, but not about the lack of differences."

She ignored him for another moment. "All right, let's do this. Sit down," and he did, as she did likewise, "and open yourself to my presence."

Sean did his best to follow her directions and relaxed as he felt the knowledge flowing from himself to her. When it was all done--perhaps moments later, perhaps hours--she blinked in surprise.

"It's that bad?"

"And that good. It has its uses."

"It really isn't all that different." In anyone else, he would have labeled the facial expression one of wonder and awe.


Days pass


"Jonathan, I'd like you to meet someone," Sean announced. "This is Alex. Alex, this is Jonathan."

Jonathan turned and found himself looking into eyes the colour of midnight. They were truly black, not the dark brown that most people would have called "black"; the irises were only a shade or two lighter than the pupils. Set in a pale face framed by raven's-wing hair, the first impression they gave was one of drama.

"It's Alexis, actually," the owner of the eyes said, "but no one's called me that in years." She spoke with an accent he couldn't identify, somewhere between Irish, English, and French. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," he replied. He wondered if he sounded as dazzled as he felt. Something about her had touched him deeply, though he didn't know what.

She broke the somewhat awkward silence by looking down at her watch. "I'm sorry to run off, but I have an appointment to keep. I'll see you later." And then she was gone, as suddenly as if she had never been there at all.

Sean grinned. "Don't worry. She has that effect on people. Especially men. I think it's mostly just that her colouring is so dramatic and she doesn't hesitate to let you know she's not afraid of you."

"So who is she?"

Sean shrugged. "She's... Alex. As you get to know her, you'll see what I mean. She's very unique."

"So tell me about her uniqueness."

"Well... She plays the harp, for one thing. In theory, she could play the big orchestral harps, but I've only heard her play a smaller harp. Like the ones you see in medieval illustrations of bards. She also has an exceptional singing voice. On the other hand, she's the best swordswoman I've ever known."

"She is?"

"Does that surprise you? Yes, she's very good. You should watch her fighting sometime. Anyhow, she's also a high-class mage." Jonathan stared at his friend. "Yeah, I know. You couldn't sense her. It's because she's got so much power and so much skill that she can afford to waste some on shields so heavy that nothing can get through. And when you sense a mage, that's what you're sensing--the tiny leaks in shields that allow power to show through. Fortunately, most mages aren't skilled enough to get through those places. Alex is, though. She's probably the best and most powerful mage alive."

"I didn't know that. About sensing mages, I mean."

"Neither did I, until she told me. I trust her on this, though. If anyone would know, she would."

"Enough about what she does. I asked you who she was." He smiled. "What's she like?"

"Strong-willed. Intelligent. She's a very justice-oriented person; she'd make a good leader of almost anything because she believes very strongly in being absolutely fair. And do yourself a favour--don't cross her. She has a nasty temper, and once she's angry she stays that way."

"Sounds complex. She wants to be fair, but she holds a grudge. Doesn't she ever do anything for revenge?"

"In general, she tends to get mad at people who do unfair things, so revenge doesn't conflict with that. She's actually fairly rational--if someone doesn't deserve punishment, she does her damndest not to deal it out. I think she must have been a chivalrous knight in a previous life or something."

"She sounds inhumanly good. Really, Sean, she has to have some faults."

"Oh, she does. But--"

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the phone ringing. He cursed and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"


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