New Decameron Sixty-Nine: Katharine Kerr

Java

By Katharine Kerr

Part One: California

Java:

It took me a long time to decide to search for my birth mother. The thought of hurting my adopted family, particularly Mom, made me cringe. What if they thought I didn't love them? They'd done so much for me, the weird little waif with the funny name, loved me first of all, then gave me everything they could think of to build me up -- karate and charm school, horse camp and art lessons, good schools and best of all, a home. What if they thought I wasn't grateful?

Still, it was something I had to do, so when Mom called and told me she'd be in the city on my Monday off, I knew the time had come to tell her.  

“I'll take you out to lunch”, she said. 

When she turned up at my apartment, I was so nervous that I could barely open the door. Besides the decision, I had a couple of trivial things that were bothering me. Of course, she'd never see the tattoo under my jeans. The second thing she took care of right away.

"Java sweetie!" she said. "I love your hair. That short length's so good for you, and the color -- what do they call that?"

"Raspberry spice." I could have danced, I was so pleased. "You really like it?"

"It's modern, and you're young, and yes, I love it."

I grinned at her, and she smiled back. “I did it because I was tired of the same old look,” I said. “I felt like I wanted to update my brand. Do something to make me stand out a little.”

“That’s good. I know you’ve had some real disappointments lately, but I’m glad you’re moving on. Could this mean you’ve got your eye on some lucky man?”

“I’ll admit there’s someone I see around that I wouldn’t mind seeing more of. But really, I did it mostly for myself. Something new, y’know? To give me a lift.”

“Good idea! Hmm, maybe I should get mine cut, but I don’t think I’ll go raspberry.”

We both laughed. Her hair was getting more silver than brown, and she wore it pulled back and tied with a blue and fuchsia scarf. Her dress that day was just so Mom -- a stylish wrap in a nice indigo print, but at least one size too large.

"You should let me take that in for you," I said.

"Nah, it's so comfortable this way. Let's go. I'm starving."

We went a couple of blocks over to 18th Street near Mission and a little bistro I knew she'd like, because they had great salads. We sat outdoors at a little white table. San Francisco has a lot of places like this, nothing fancy, just good food, and you can sit outside and people watch if it's not too foggy and cold. I waited till we'd finished our lunch and gotten our coffee. As usual, she grabbed a couple of sugar packets for hers.

"I've been thinking, Mom," I began. "Do you remember my friend Bettina?"

"Vaguely. The little blonde with the great laugh?"

"That's her. Well, she just found out her dad has early-onset Alzheimer's."

"Oh no." Mom looked up from tearing open a packet. "Oh, sweetie! That's horrible."

"Yeah, it sure is. The worst thing is, it's hereditary. They know the gene, and they can scan a blood sample for it. She doesn't know whether to have the test or not, and she's going through hell over it."

"I'll bet she is. I don't know which would be worse, knowing you've got the gene or wondering your whole life if you do."

"That's the problem, yeah. So well, it made me think about stuff like medical history."

"Ah." She smiled, poured the sugar into her cup, and tossed the paper onto the table. "You're thinking about your birth mother."

"I am, yeah. How did you guess?"

"You're the right age, and after Bettina's news, well, it seems logical."

"That's true, yeah. I wish I knew if there was some hidden horror like that in my own DNA, you know? There's only one way to find out. But it doesn't mean I don't love you and Dad."

"Of course it doesn't." She picked up the second packet of sugar. "I always figured you'd want to learn about her one day. That's why I made you the memory album."

I relaxed. In fact, I felt really stupid for worrying so much. I should have known she'd understand.

"Although -- " Mom waved the packet vaguely in the air. "You've got a real problem, darling, when it comes to finding her. The police never could, you know. That's how you ended up a ward of the court. Everyone pretty much thought that she'd, well, passed away."

"I know. I just really need to see if I can find out something more. Even if she's gone, if I could find her name, and where she came from, there might be medical records."

"That makes sense. I'll be glad to help if there's something I can do. I'd just hate to see you really disappointed if there's nothing more to find."

"It'll be sad, yeah, but it's not like I've got real high hopes."

"That's a good realistic attitude." For a moment she concentrated on pouring the second sugar into her cup, then picked up her coffee spoon. "They say you can find just about anything with the Internet."

"Maybe so. And I've got the album to give me somewhere to start."

We let the conversation drift, then, to safer subjects, like how my little brother – also adopted -- was doing in college. No matter how understanding Mom was, I could never tell her my real secret. I'd seen my birth mother, not with my physical eyes, no, but in one of my visions. I'd never shared those with anyone, the strange things I saw in the even stranger places, the views of that other city that had haunted me for years. They came and went like dreams, except I was always awake when I experienced them.

So I knew my birth mother was alive. Somewhere.

We left the restaurant and turned up 18th to go back my apartment. We’d taken maybe five steps when I felt a shadow pass over me. I looked up and saw a bird circling overhead – an enormous bird with strangely smooth wings. It cried out, a huge rasping cry, then slowly turned transparent and disappeared. Mom caught my arm and steadied me. Only then did I realize that I’d come close to fainting.

“What is it?”

“Just one of my dizzy spells. I guess I need to eat more salt. Low blood pressure, y’know.”

Mom was studying my face with what my brother and I called “The Look”. It meant she figured you were lying, but she wasn’t sure if it was worth calling you on.

“Well,” I said, “you know I’ve had these spells my whole life. It’s weird, but they pass.”

“Weird, yes. That’s certainly true. If you need to see the doctor, remember that you’re still on our insurance.”

“Thanks, Mom. I will. I’ve got the card.”

When I got back to my apartment, later that afternoon, I dug out the memory album and sat cross-legged on my bed to look through it. My mom still isn’t what you’d call computer literate, and twenty years ago she was ignoring the subject altogether. Mostly the album contained yellowing newspaper clippings and photocopies of reports from the police and social workers. I knew the basics by heart.

I was found at about 2 years old trying to hide in a tiny park in San Francisco’s Tenderloin district. I was clutching a bright red toy lion. Around my neck the police found a pendant, and in the pocket of my frilly red dress, a note in very strange handwriting, saying "pleese luv mee babee." I could speak a little English with an accent more North of England than American, although a speech therapist told the social workers that it wasn’t truly English, either. I also knew a bit of some other language that no one could identify, not even a linguistics professor from the university at Berkeley. I did know my name: Java.  

I still had the lion and the pendant, a shiny copper disk, lacquered to keep it from discoloring. I could never find a mark on it, not even with a magnifying glass. The lion had gotten pretty shabby over the years, but I still loved him. In fact, although it’s kind of embarassing to admit it, I dyed my hair to match him. I didn’t set out to do that. It’s just when the colorist showed me various samples, I knew the magenta was the one I wanted. It was like I heard a voice in my mind, saying “that one!”

I gave the lion a hug, then got the pendant out of my jewellery box and took it over to the window to look at it in the sunlight. Although I’d never been able to understand why, I was certain that one day markings would appear on it with an important message. I stood next to the window, not in it, to make sure I didn’t block the late afternoon light. When I held the pendant up, nothing appeared that day, either, but it gave me a message all the same.  

I was living on one of those narrow streets around Mission and 18th that date from early in the city’s history. From the bay window of my second-story apartment, I could see right down into the street and across to the opposite side with no trouble. When I happened to look out, I saw a non-descript gray car park directly opposite my building. Someone got out of the driver’s seat, shut the door, then turned around and leaned against the car to look up at my window. Whoever it was could have been a girl or a guy. They were wearing jeans, a big, loose, zipped up navy blue sweatshirt, and a big billed cap, like those old ones they used to call “newsboy” caps when they were in style. My first thought was they moved like a guy, but then they curled their fingers on one hand and stared at their nails for a few seconds, a gesture that made me think “girl who’s afraid she broke one.”

Whichever. They looked up at my window, kept looking for more than a couple of minutes while they stared and I hid behind the pulled-back drape and waited. I tried to convince myself that they were looking for someone else, or maybe looking for an apartment to rent, but the pendant in my hand turned warm. I glanced at it and saw that it was glowing with a strange blue light, as if a gas flame played across the surface, but it never grew any hotter. Finally they shrugged, got back in the car, and drove away. The flame vanished, and the pendant cooled off.

Danger? I thought. Is it warning me of danger? Obvious, but oddly enough, I wasn’t sure. Maybe it meant something else. Maybe.

My phone whistled at me. I took it out of my jeans pocket: a text from my friend Mitsu. “wanna go eat and club 2nite”, she said. I did, but the blue flame I’d seen made me text back “no real tired work tomorrow early”. Which was true enough. I did feel really tired, all of a sudden, and I had to be at work at nine, not exactly the crack of dawn except when you’ve been out at a club till 2 am. 

So I stayed home. I tried to read on my phone, but I found it hard to concentrate. Every now and then I’d get the pendant, sidle up to the window, and look out. Cars went by and ordinary pedestrians. Twice I saw someone walking on the other side of the street who stopped to stare up at my lighted window. Both times the pendant turned warm and flamed. If it was a warning, if there were dangerous people watching me, why had they showed up now? Nothing had changed in my life since I’d dropped out of college.

Except for my two decisions, to stand out from the crowd and to look for my birth mother. Thinking that made me paranoid. What if some group of people had been secretly watching me, and I’d never noticed, but one of them was in the café that afternoon and heard me talking with my adopted mother, and now the heat was really on. Maybe there was a vast conspiracy, and they – I stopped myself there. Paranoia is a form of vanity. I remembered reading that somewhere online. It’s true. I wasn’t important enough to be the victim of some secret supervillain organization. This isn’t the comix, I told myself. And the government sure wouldn’t be interested. Even the local social workers stopped checking in once I turned eighteen.

I put the pendant away, went to bed, and even managed to sleep.

I was working as a clerk in a cool little store called The Beyond Shop over on Valencia Street. It carried all sorts of miscellaeneous stuff: mostly occult books, but also tarot cards, candle-burning supplies, the kind of herbs people used for magic rites, and anything else that the owner found that he thought went with the theme. Frank was an old hippie guy, with gray hair tied back in a leather strip and bad taste in loud shirts, usually purple. He couldn’t pay me much, but he was the nicest boss I’ve ever had, and my parents were helping me with the rent, anyway. Besides, I got to read the stock when business was slow, so I could search for more information on my visions.

The store was long and narrow, kind of dim in the back because the only windows were at the store front. Down the middle ran a couple of narrow rectangular tables crowded with sale stuff and baskets filled with packets of bath salts and herbs. While I kept an eye out for shoplifters, most of this stuff was too cheap to bother stealing. We did carry a few valuable things, mostly first editions of occult books, including a couple by Aleister Crowley, that I insisted on keeping behind the counter at the front of the store. Frank tended to be pretty careless with them, or else he was just too trusting, a relic of the Sixties, I guess. 

The morning after my lunch with Mom, I was tidying up a display table toward the back while Frank helped a customer at the counter who wanted to look at one of the valuables. There were a couple of other customers, including this skinny white guy with greasy short hair. It was a warm day, but he was wearing a black leather jacket with convenient pockets, so I kept an eye on him. The customer who was looking at the books thanked Frank.

“I’ll be back for one of these on payday,” he said. “Gotta get to work now.”

With a friendly wave, he left. When Frank put the first book back on the shelf, he had to turn his back. The skinny guy darted forward, grabbed the second book, and rushed for the door. I yelled, “Hey, stop!” Frank spun around. The skinny guy flung the door open and ran right smack into another white guy who had just opened the door to come in. Skinny guy yelped. I screamed, “Thief!” New guy grabbed the skinny guy, who twisted and swore but couldn’t break the grip. Frank ran forward and snatched the book back before it got damaged.

New guy frog-marched Skinny back into the store. I grabbed my phone and called 911. They said they’d send the cops. At that – I’d put the phone on ‘speaker’ on purpose – Skinny burst out crying. I had no sympathy for him, but Frank had the look he got when panhandlers came in, that is, the look of a guy who’s an easy touch.

“Frank, no,” I said, “we can’t let him go.” I turned to the other guy and recognized him right away, but I kept things formal. “Thank you so much, sir. I hope you weren’t hurt.”

“Not at all,” he said. “My name’s Zak, by the way.”

 I’d seen him go by the store maybe twenty times, striding along, always in a hurry, the guy I’d mentioned to my mother. I’d had my eye on him, all right, and now here he was, just as good-looking close up as he was from a distance.

“I’m Java, and yeah, that’s my real name.”

Skinny made a sudden jerk and lunge in Zak’s hands and nearly broke free, but Zak grabbed him again. He got hold of one of Skinny’s arms and twisted it behind his back.

“Don’t move, or you’ll break it,” Zak had a spoken accent, slightly clipped, slightly back in the throat, that made me think of the North of England guy who played Dr. Who on TV.

Skinny moaned and went on crying. At this point a pair of cops opened the door and hurried in. When Zak let him go, Skinny sat down on the floor with snot running down his upper lip. Frank, bless him, handed the kid a couple of tissues. 

While Frank talked with the police, I had a chance to look at our white knight. In his gray suit and blue shirt -- and a tie, I might add, though he'd loosened the knot -- he looked so totally out of place, standing next to the display of tarot cards and incense, that I wondered why he'd decided to come into the shop in the first place. Dark hair, cut short but not nerdy, blue eyes, he was tall with the kind of body you only get if you work out a lot. Sexy, in other words. He stood with his thumbs hooked over his belt and his head held high while he listened to Frank answering the cop's questions. The cop had a few for him, too.

“I work in the bank around the corner,” Zak told them. “I walk by here every day to get to the public parking lot. Today I thought I’d go in and take a look.”

The cop had a few more things he wanted to know. When they were done, Zak turned to me.

"I like the color of your hair," he said.

Hell! I thought. He must be gay. It was, after all, an odd thing for a guy to say to a girl he'd just met. He tilted his head a little to one side and studied my face for a moment.

"Well?" he said. "Aren't you going to say thank you?"

"Thank you." I said it because I couldn't think of anything else to say.  

The way he was studying me, so carefully, thoroughly, as if he expected to find some kind of weird rash on my face, began to annoy me. I turned away, and I think I was planning on rearranging the books behind the counter, just to distract myself. I don't remember, because the shelves were gone and I was looking into the other city.

Low buildings, stucco, painted white, scattered along a winding street. In front of me stood a tall structure with a central tower rising above it, dominating the street. On its walls, painted designs, dolphins in stylized waves, a chariot pulled by pale green horses, drawn to look like part of the waves. From the tower, a voice drifted down, but as always, I could understand nothing of what it was saying.

I heard voices speaking English -- Frank's, Zak’s -- and I was sitting on the floor behind the shop counter. The other city had disappeared.

"Java, crap!" Frank said. "You okay?"

"I guess so." As I got up, I realized that I was going to have a bad bruise next to my new tattoo. "What happened?"

"You fainted," Frank said. "Jeez, this whole thing, the scumbag, the cops, it must have gotten to you. Or, wait, you're not pregnant, are you?"

"Women don't faint when they're pregnant! You've been watching too many late night movies." I concentrated on rubbing the sore muscle around the bruise. "Besides, I'm not much of a candidate for a second virgin birth."

Frank laughed, the cops laughed, but Zak only smiled with an odd little predatory twist of his mouth. I was suddenly sorry I'd made that joke.

"You better go home and get some rest," Frank went on. "I'll take over here. You get sick leave, remember."

"Thanks," I said. "That's probably a good idea." 

I went to the back room and got my jacket and purse. When I came out, Zak had left the store. I could have kicked myself in the sore spot, I was that disappointed, but as soon as I got outside, I saw him, waiting by the curb.

"I'm trying to hail us a cab," he said.

"Us?"

"Yeah, us. You look half-starved, and so I'm taking you to lunch."

"Oh, are you? What if I have somewhere else to go?"

"Do you?"

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. All at once he smiled, an open charming sort of grin that gave him a dimple to go with the blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm a geek, you know. No manners."

"It's obvious, yeah."

"Do you want to go? Please? All open and above board. That’s why I’m looking for a cab. I’ve got a car, but I know you won’t want to get into that."

"Okay, but," I said.  "No cab.  There's a cool Indian restaurant just up the block.  Let's go there, and I pay for my own food."

"You sure? You can't make much salary in a place like this."

"I'm sure."

I smiled, and in a minute, he smiled, too.  "Okay," he said.  "Let's go.  Notice, please, how I am not asking you if you can walk that far."

"I did notice, thank you."

"But y'know, I mean, hey, you did faint about 10 minutes ago."

"I do that a lot. Don't worry about it. Low blood pressure. I guess I should eat more salt."

"Indian food's good for that. Let's go."

The lunch was fine.  We chatted, he told me his last name, Forrest with two R's. I told him mine, Camolese, and when he looked surprised, I mentioned that I was adopted.

"So you're not really Italian, then."

"No, nobody knows what I am. I was abandoned as a baby."

"Jeez, I'm sorry."  He genuinely did look sorry, too.  "I had the usual privileged white guy upbringing.  My parents lived in Westwood.  It's part of LA."

I wanted to change the subject.  "Don't tell me you're a Dodger fan."

"Hell, no!" He laid his hand over his heart.  "Not since I moved here. Giants all the way."

When he lowered his hand, he made an odd gesture with it, a quick motion with his forefinger as if he were drawing something in the air.  I had no idea what. He looked at me with a faint smile. I was too puzzled to respond.

"Do you want coffee?" he said.

"Yeah, good idea."  

He turned in his chair and gestured at the waiter in a perfectly normal way.

The bill came. We settled up and walked outside together.  On the sidewalk we stood for a couple of minutes in one of those awkward silences that happen when you don't  really know someone.  I took out my phone.

"You'd better get back to work," I said.  "It's two o'clock, and I bet you're late."

"Well, actually, I lied.  I don't work in the bank."

"You what?"

"Lied."  He grinned at me.  "Actually, I'm a lawyer.  I didn't want to say that where the cops and that kid could hear me."

Plausible, maybe, but.  A large but.  "And why should I believe you?"

"Because I'm not lying now."

"Yeah?" I was more glad than ever that I'd paid for my own lunch. "Well, thanks for the company."  I turned and walked off as fast as I could.

"Hey, wait!" He came running after me.  "Can I see you again?"

I paused and looked back.  "No.  Nice meeting you, but no."

I walked on, and this time he didn't follow.

When I got home from work, the first thing I did was get out my tablet and hit the Internet.  I found the California Bar Association and looked up Zachary Forrest. Was I surprised -- he really was a lawyer.  The picture matched him, as did the location of his firm’s office.  It turned out he was fluent in Spanish and specialized in immigration issues, which explained why he’d joined a practice in the Mission District.

Later that evening, when I talked with Mitsu on the phone, she pointed out that I wasn't rid of him yet.

"He knows where you work."

"Yeah, he sure does.  Crap."

"Lawyers don't take no for an answer just because, y'know."

Zak wasn’t the only one who knew too much about me. In the middle of the night, when I got up for the bathroom, I looked out the window and saw Newsboy Cap again. A tall fellow who might have been black was standing with him. As I watched, they got into the little gray car and drove away. I had a hard time going back to sleep.

In the morning, when I was getting dressed for work, I decided to wear the warning pendant, but I kept it under my white Giants tee shirt.  All that day, I jumped every time the shop door opened or a guy in a business suit walked by the window.  Zak, however, stayed away until nearly closing time.

I was cleaning the glass counter at the rear of the shop when he walked in. I had a bottle of ammonia cleaner in one hand and a wad of paper towels in the other, and by then, I was so nervous that I never thought to put them down.  I reminded myself that Frank was in the back room if I needed help. Zak walked down and stopped a few feet away from me.  He looked gorgeous, damn him, even with the sad-eyed look he gave me.

"I just wanted to tell you that I really am a lawyer," he said.  "I didn't lie about that."

"I know. I looked you up on the Bar website."

"Good. Thanks.  And I really didn't want to announce it in front of the cops. It would have made everything too complicated."

I sighed.  I hated admitting he was right, but he was. "I can understand that."

He grinned at me. I felt an odd sensation just at my breastbone. The pendant! Zak was staring at my chest, but not in the usual guy way.

"Hey, are you an android or something?"

I glanced down. I could see a gleam of light through the thin cotton of the shirt. I had no idea of what to say. I set the bottle of cleaner down on the counter and laid my hand over the spot.  Crap, I thought, what is this thing?  I reached into the shirt and pulled the pendant out.  It was glowing a steady pale blue.  Zak gasped aloud.  All of a sudden he went down on one knee in front of me.

"Domna," he murmured.  "Your highness. At last!"

My hand tightened on the pendant. We slipped into the Other City, but I  also saw the shop. For the first time I was in control of the experience.  I looked down at the man who was both Zak and someone else.  His face -- his skin -- mine, too -- we were both a rich tan color, darker than a suntan, kind of coppery. We're not us here, I thought. This can't be taking place now.

With that the vision faded.  I stood in the shop with a wad of damp smelly paper towels clutched in my left hand and a white guy in a gray business suit kneeling. his head bowed, in front of me.

"What the fuck?" I said. "Zak, get up!"

He did, smiling all the while, his face pink in sheer embarrassment.

"You've got to know," he said. "Your hair -- "

"I don't know, but dammit, you're going to tell me."

"Yeah, I will, but not here. When’s closing time?”

“Soon.” I turned around to look down the length of the shop toward the front door.  "Him again? I don't like the look of this."

“Who?” He looked where I was pointing.  

Just outside the shop door, loitering by the curb but looking straight at our window, stood two people, one a large and obviously ripped black guy, the other the ambiguous white person in the newsboy cap that I'd spotted staring up at my apartment.

“They were watching my apartment last night. And the night before, or one of them was. This pendant kind of warned me about him.”

"Get in the back room!” Zak’s voice turned urgent.  "If you hear trouble, call the cops.  I'll deal with this."

"What? No, I mean, I'll -- "

"It's my job.  I'm the head of your honor guard."  He grinned at me, then turned deadly serious. "Get in the back.  Is your boss here? Good. You'll be safe there."

Frank, however, came strolling out of the back room.  "What's all this?" he said.  "Something wrong?'

"The guys outside." I pointed at the windows.  "Zak thinks they're here for trouble."

"Huh. The cops warned me this might happen.  That kid who tried to steal the Crowley book, the shoplifter? Part of a druggie gang." He glanced at Zak. "Be careful from now on.  I appreciate the good citizen act, but it might make your life difficult.  If you guys want to leave by the back door, it's available."

"Sounds like a good idea," Zak said, "but not until I know you're okay."

"Thanks.  I'll just call the cops. I've got a direct number."  

Frank moved away and turned his back to the window before he took out his phone.  Zak and I stayed where we were to keep an eye on the pair outside. They didn't seem to be in any hurry to come in.  The big guy was leaning against a newspaper box and looking bored. Newsboy Cap was examining her/his fingernails again.

"What's all this about the color of my hair?" I said.

"It's the royal color."

"Well, mine is a dye job."

"Of course.  It always is. No one has real magenta hair.  Why did you choose it?"

"To match the color of this plush toy I have. I had it when I was found. As a two year old, I mean."

"Oh yeah?  Is it a lion?"

"Yeah. I suppose that means something."

"Probably everything."  Zak paused to stare at the window.  "Here's a cop car.  Let's hit that back door."

I led the way into the back room.  Frank hurried over to the front door. The black and white patrol car was just pulling up at the corner. Two officers got out and strolled over to our pair of watchers.

"See you tomorrow," I said to Frank.

"Don't promise," Zak said.  "You might not be able to get back in time. But I'll do my best."

I would have argued, but we had no time for that. I grabbed my purse and jacket from the table in the back room and unlocked the door.  Zak and I trotted out, and I shut it firmly behind us.

The door opened out onto a narrow breezeway, home to a lot of garbage bins, a bad smell, and rats.  We hurried down it and came out in the middle of a block on Guererro.  Zak led the way down to our right.  We walked as fast as we could without attracting a lot of attention from the people passing by.

"My car's this way," Zak said.  "So those guys know where you live?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid so."

"Let's hope the cops keep them busy.  We've got to get the lion."

"What?"

"If I'm right, you'll understand.  If I'm wrong, I'll apologize.  Hell, I'll grovel! I'm sorry for all the mystery, but I don't know if the watchers are good guys or the biggest danger in the world, and I don't want to find out which the hard way."

Zak had parked in a public garage a couple of blocks away, a big echoing concrete building stuffed with cars.  We reached it safely, but while he was paying the charge at the window, my pendant began to heat up as well as glow. 

"I think we may be in for trouble." I laid a hand over the metal disk.

Zak muttered something under his breath.  He grabbed my hand and hurried me along the rows of parked cars to a modestly gray Audi sedan. "Get in and buckle up," he said.  "I may have to do some defensive driving."

"I hope to god you’re trained in it, then."

"I was. In Switzerland, no less.  Let's go."

I followed orders. The pendant was giving me some serious heat.  As soon as he started the car, I reached into my shirt and pulled it out.  We drove down the exit row of the garage at a decorous three miles an hour or so, then out only to pause across the sidewalk. This close to rush hour cars jammed the street in front of us.   A couple of pedestrians stopped and gave us dirty looks for blocking their path, a guy and a young woman.  The guy was mostly involved with eating a burrito. 

The woman looked at me through the window and did a double-take. She was model thin, too thin, really, hollow-cheeked with deepset hazel eyes and dark hair, an Irish-looking tip-tilted nose. She was doing more than looking at me. I could feel something touch my mind.

“Zak! That girl! The pendant’s turned up to high.”

Zak hit the accelerator. I yelped, but somehow he jammed the Audi into the traffic pattern without causing an accident.  We sped up to the corner, ran through the intersection on a yellow, and turned down  in the direction of San Jose Avenue and the freeway entrance.  The pendant cooled off.  I was surprised to find I could talk normally.

"That girl back there.  She was one of the bad guys?"

"I don't know.  That's the problem.  I don't know which is which. I do know that one faction is bad news, and the other is just -- well, let’s say just concerned. One side, The Society, won't be for us or against us.  The Blood Lodge is something else again."

"Blood Lodge?”

“Yeah, creepy people given to disgusting practices. Magical practices.”

“Sounds like the name of a metal band. But it’s not so great when it’s for real.”

“Yeah.” He glanced at the rear view mirror.  "They're not following.  I never thought I'd be glad that the city has the parking problems it does, but today I am. God knows where they had to leave their car."

"What I wonder is why everyone's converging on me all of a sudden. Among other things."

"I'd like to know that myself."  He swung out around a bus that was belching black smoke.  "I'd walked by your store a couple of times, always meant to go in, and then when I saw the color of your hair through the window, I knew I had to."

"Just coincidence, huh?"

"No. Nothing in this game is going to be a co-incidence. I must have gotten a message.  I just wouldn't have known that's what it was."

“A message? From whom?”

“Your subconscious mind. You must have been broadcasting it.”

“What? I wasn’t. I would even know how.”

“Not consciously, no. That’s why I said subconscious mind.”  

What do you say to a statement like that? Nothing, that's what.  "Did my subconscious tell you where I live? Because we're going in the wrong direction."

"I don't, but good. If anyone's watching, it'll throw them off."

"Watching on what?"

"The astral plane."  He was grinning as he studied the traffic around us.  "How's that for an answer?"

 If he hadn't be driving, I would have kicked him.  Instead, I said, "It's a lousy one.  The planes are discrete, not continuous."

"Whoa! You do know something about what you sell."

"Business can be slow.  I read when it is."

By then we'd come close to merging with the freeway. "Turn around when you can.”

He did. I gave him directions, and we reached my apartment without any trouble. He insisted on dropping me off right in front so I could go upstairs while he found a place to park.

"The less you're out on the street right now," he said, "the better. Don't open your door to anyone but me."

Good idea. I got into the building and dashed up the stairs, rushed into my apartment, and checked all three tiny rooms before I locked myself in.  No one there but my magenta lion, sitting on the dresser in the bedroom.  I picked him up for a hug.

"I always knew you were important," I told him, "but I thought it was just as a souvenir."

He looked at me with his yellow glass eyes and sewn-in smile, my toy from my other life, or so I started thinking of him once I grew old enough to think such things.  My hidden, mysterious other life, that I used to believe took place in that other city. Now I wasn't so sure, thanks to that vision in the shop.  A past life, maybe, or more likely, some kind of a vivid dream, and if it wasn't real, then the woman I'd seen couldn't be my birth mother.  The few certainties I had about my early life had just dissolved like ice spilled from a soda onto a hot sidewalk.

The front door intercom buzzed.  I carried the lion with me into the living room and set him down on the coffee table before I went to the door. I flicked on the 'com and heard Zak's voice. I let him into the building, but I kept the safety chain on the door to the apartment itself. When he got to the door, I made sure it was him and only him before I opened it all the way.

"God and the saints must be with us," he said, smiling. "I found a parking place near the Mission."

"A miracle, you bet."

He came in and looked around the room while I locked and chained the door.  The lion looked back at him.

"May I pick him up?" Zak said.

"Sure."

He took the lion in two hands and turned him over on his back.  For a minute I thought I was dealing with some kind of pervert because he cradled the upside-down lion in one hand and began feeling its stomach with the other.

"Hah!" Zak said.  "There's something inside this thing.  I figured there would be. We'd better cut it open -- "

"The hell you will!" I grabbed the lion back and hugged him.  

"We'll argue about it later. Since they know where you live, we'd better get out of here.  Grab some clothes, will you?  Just in case we can't get back by tomorrow. And anything else that came with you."

"Came with -- "

"From where you were born.  Java, I'm sorry, but this will sound crazy.  But you weren't born in this world. Neither was I, so I know."

I stared.  He looked so normal.  He had a law degree.  He couldn't have been crazy for his whole life, or he never would have made it through law school. 

"There's no time to explain." Zak said. "We've got to get moving.  For the sake of all the gods, old and new, will you please grab some clothes so we can get out of here?"

“And just why should I trust you? For all I know, you could be going to murder me.”

“What’s your pendant doing?”

He had me there. A soft cool glow and nothing more.

“Oh okay,” I said. “But you can’t blame me. I mean, we only met a couple of days ago.”

“Actually, I met you when you were a baby. I was only five at the time, but I remember you.” He gave me a grin. “You look a lot different now.”

“What? Wait, I get it, you’re lying again.”

“I’m not.” He turned solemn. “I promise.”

The obvious finally occurred me. “You must have known my birth mother.”

“Oh yeah, my whole family did.”

Words stuck in my throat. Answers. He had answers.

“Java, please! Come with me! We’ve got to hurry.”

"Answer me one thing, and I will." I found my voice at last. "Assuming you're not a nutcase and all that.  What other world?"

"Okay, you asked for it.  What would you say to Atlantis?"

"Bullshit!"

"I thought that's what you'd say.  Jeez, you've got a filthy mouth for a princess!"

"Oh shut up and stop teasing!" 

"I'm not teasing.  It's the truth. We are descendants of people who lived in Atlantis.  Now will you hurry up? We can argue about it in the car."

I grabbed clothes and stuffed them into a carry-on bag.  I took a pillow case off my bed for the lion. I also shoved some make-up into my usual shoulder bag. I came out of the bedroom to find Zak looking through my memory album.

"We're taking this too, your highness."

"Okay, but would you stop calling me that?"

"Why?" He waved the album in the air.  "What I just read pretty much confirms it. You've got to be her."

"Who? I suppose I'm the missing heir to the throne or something really trite like that."

"Missing, yeah, but there's no throne to speak of and if there were, it’s already got claimants all nicely lined up ahead of you, so you're safe.  Which neither of us will be if we don't get out of here."

I put the album in the pillow case with the lion.  He took the carry-on, but I held onto the two souvenirs that were turning out to be so much more than memories.  We left the apartment, and as I locked the door, I wondered if I'd ever see my place again. The thought made my stomach twist.  We hurried down the stairs. When we reached the front door, I waited off to one side while Zak opened it and looked out.

"Wait here. I'll get the car.  If I don't come back in twenty minutes, don't go outside.  Go back to your apartment.  Call the police and describe me as a stalker who gave you trouble. I'll need to be found and that should make them look for what's left of me."

Before I could answer, he grinned at me and slipped out the door.  I waited in the cold little lobby and prayed that no one else would come downstairs or come in.  I kept track of the time on my phone. It dragged, but twelve minutes later, Zak's car pulled up outside.  I stepped out, but I made sure I saw him in the driver's seat before I ran over.  I got in and put the full pillow case at my feet.

"Buckle up," he said. "We may be in for a wild ride."

But by then, it was five o'clock, and city traffic had congealed. Zak glanced at his phone app, muttered something in a language I didn't know, and stuck the phone into its holder on the dash.

"All the important traffic routes show dark red," he said. "Let's hope that's not an omen."

"Very funny. Not." 

He laughed like a maniac and proceeded to drive like one, too, just in slow motion, dodging through the cars and making sudden turns. Yet I always felt he knew exactly what he was doing.  He was in control, the risks were minimal.  That defensive driving course he'd mentioned must have been a good one, but he needed to pay attention to the road. Even though questions were burning in my throat, I kept them shut up in my mouth.

We doubled back onto Dolores heading south, turned onto 18th, used that to get up to Twin Peaks, went through assorted twisty streets on the edges of sudden drops, drove down and out to the avenues. We made it across Golden Gate park without being ambushed despite all the trees and fetched up on Park Presidio. A carpet of cars slid north at maybe ten miles an hour, except when it stopped for red lights.  Zak slithered his way into the pattern.  

"We're crossing the bridge?" I said.

"Eventually. If we're lucky." He glanced at me.  "Keep on the lookout for pedestrians.  If someone's waiting for us, they'll be more mobile than we are."

"Waiting? Like with a gun?"

"Hell no, not in the middle of the city!  The lodges have better weapons than that.  I just hope they have the sense to avoid taking other cars with us." 

Taking us where? I wondered. Probably to wherever you go when you die.

The light changed. We crawled on.

The closer we got to the Golden Gate bridge, the slower the traffic became.  When we finally inched our way up to the actual bridge, it was six o'clock and the fog was rolling over bridge and bay in enormous gobbets of pale gray cloud.  When I looked out to the west and the ocean I saw the gold and magenta glare that meant the sun still existed somewhere behind it. Without that you might have doubted it did.

With traffic so slow it seemed safe to distract the driver.

"Uh, Zak? Where exactly are we going?"

"A safe house over in Marin."

"Safe house? You mean like drug dealers have?"

"Not exactly like that, of course." He glanced my way and grinned. "But it's safe. The lodges probably know where it is.  They won't be able to find it anyway."

"You're just full of riddles, aren't you?"

"Part of my legal training.  Look, it's one thing to know intellectually where a place is. It's another thing to actually arrive there if you don't belong to it."  He paused to stare out the windshield.  "Good. The accident sign isn't lit.  Things should move a little better soon."

They did, if you remember that "better" is a relative term. We started across the bridge at maybe 12 miles an hour, still slow enough for me to keep looking around us.  For all I knew, someone evil followed us -- just a few cars behind -- or maybe in the other lane -- or on foot in the pedestrian walkway -- waiting with some magically powered weapon that would capture or kill us.  

Or up above.  As we passed under the north tower, I looked up and just managed to turn a scream into a choked off "what the fuck?"  On the lowest cross strut sat an enormous winged creature. Pale gray fur covered its body, but its enormous pinkish wings were bare skin.  It lowered its evil little head on its long skinny neck and opened its black beak. It had the same silhouette as the vision bird I’d seen a couple of days earlier.

"What's wrong?" Zak said.

The moment he spoke, it disappeared.

"I saw something," I said, "but I guess it wasn't really there. Visions, y'know."  My voice was shaking and swooping. "Imagination."

"I doubt it. What did you see?"

"This huge winged beast, but it wasn't a dragon."  A fragment of high school science drifted to the top of my mind.  "It looked like one of those flying dinos.  A pterosaur."

"Thank god." He sounded sincerely relieved.  "Yeah, it was your pterry, then.  Look, the pendant gives you the power to see them when they’re in this world.  No one else can, not here. They're kind of like a guardian angel."

"They're extinct!"

"Not at home they aren't.  That’s where the pterries are from, and when they’re there, they’re physical, and anyone can see them."

Home. Atlantis.  I shut my eyes for a moment in the hope that when I opened them, I'd wake up from this cruddy dream and be back in my own bed in my apartment.  Without Zak, no matter how sexy he was. The hope failed.

At that point we drove onto the solid ground of Highway 101 in Marin County.  I'd never been so glad to get off the bridge in my life. I at least had the option of getting out of the car and running away if traffic slowed down again.  The traffic chugged up Waldo Grade, but once we were through the rainbow tunnel, cars began peeling off at various exits to the bedroom communities along 101.  The pattern speeded up. We began to outrun the fog and drive through sun. Now and then, though, a gray paw of fog would drift its shadow over us.

"Say, Zak?"

"Yeah?"

"You told me you had a typical white privileged guy family."

"No, I didn't.  I said I had a typical privileged white guy upbringing. My family was anything but typical."

"Lawyers!"

"Gotta pay attention to what we say, yeah. The family were exiles.  That's why I specialized in immigration law, in fact.  I know what it feels like, always wondering if you're going to be forced to leave.  Not by the US government, in our case, though." 

"Are they still here?"

"No."

His voice had changed to something grim and dark.  He was concentrating on the freeway ahead, his mouth in a little twist as if he'd just bitten into some sour.

"Are they dead?"

"I don't know."

I wanted to ask more.  I had questions buzzing around me like a swarm of flies. But the set of his shoulders, the grim stare ahead, the tears, even, just under his careful words -- I shut up.

We left 101 and took Lucas Valley Road west, heading toward the ocean, but long before we reached it, we turned off onto a little feeder road.  By then the fog had fallen far behind.  Sunlight lay like gilding over the wild hills around us, green with spring grass, dark-mottled with live oaks on the crests and chaparral down in the valleys.  Beautiful, but the pendant turned warm and began to heat.

"Trouble!" I said.  "Just ahead."

"There's a gun in the glove compartment," Zak said. "Do you know how to use one?"

"What? No!"

"Do you know how to drive?"

"Yeah, but -- "

"Good. You drive. I'll shoot. If I have to. I'd rather not."

Zak drove the car over to the side of the road and stopped in a patch of dead pale grass.  "Besides," he said, "we'll probably get there a lot faster if you're driving."

"Hey, I don't speed."

"Not what I meant. I phoned ahead when I was getting the car. They know you’re on the way, and they’ll adjust the road. C'mon, switch places with me."

We got out of the car and ran around it like actors in some old silent movie, but I wasn't laughing.  I slipped into the driver's seat and adjusted it to fit while Zak rummaged in the glove compartment and brought out a really serious-looking black automatic pistol.  He checked the ammunition clip and nodded in satisfaction.

"Seat belts," he said.  "Just in case you need to speed like a bat out of hell. Now listen. Keep on this road, but we're looking for a narrow lane off to the left.  It usually appears in the middle of some trees, but it might not this time."

"What --  No, wait. I know.  You'll explain later."

"It'll explain itself."

The Audi was beautifully easy to drive.  We headed down the road at a comfortable speed toward the soft mounded hills, pale green with spring grass and crowned with live oaks.  My country, I thought, forget this princess stuff.  I reminded myself that we were in the solid, real world of California.  

Then the road shimmered like a mirage.

All around us the landscape turned lush, tropical. Palms, tangled underbrush, ground cover of tall green plants I'd never seen before -- and dead ahead of us across the road sat the little gray car I'd spotted outside my apartment.  I hit the brakes. We skidded to a stop about ten yards before a collision.  Out of the underbrush came the ambiguous person and the tall black man.  They waved and smiled as if we were meeting up for a picnic. Both of them wore baggy shorts and loose t-shirts, good for the stinky humid climate, but Newsboy Cap still wore the cap. Zak opened his window all the way.  As soon as my hands stopped shaking, I opened mine.

"Bastards," Zak said, but quietly.  "Don't turn off the engine.  If I yell drive, can you spin the car and peel off? We might need to get back in the other direction."

"I can try.  I'm not promising anything."

"If you hit one of them, it'll be no loss to either world.  Here they come."

Zak leaned out of the window.  He held the gun up, braced in both hands, while he rested his forearms on the windowsill. They both flung their arms into the air, higher than was strictly necessary, and stopped where they were.  The black guy made a funny gesture with his right hand. A gleam of light – he was wearing a ring with a noticeably large green stone. Zak relaxed, but only slightly.  The guy began speaking in a language I didn't know. Yet it had a resonance for me, somehow familiar, almost in a bizarre way comforting even though I couldn't recognize a word. It too reminded me of the North of England Dr. Who accent. I finally remembered the technical word: glottal. That’s what some of the sounds were.

"Speak English," Zak’s accent had grown thicker. "She doesn't understand the other."

"Sorry," he said, and he too had the accent.  "Look, there's no need for you to wave that pistol around.  We don't mean her the slightest harm. You recognized my sigil.  You should know we don't go around killing people."

"No, you just want to kidnap her.  I mean, here we are.  You're pretty damn clever with your gates. I've got to hand you that."

"Thanks." He grinned and lowered his hands.  He took one cautious step toward the car and then bowed to me, a big, sweeping, old-fashioned bow. "Domna Javalan, I salute you. My name is Aralo, or you can call me Earl, as I'm known back in your world."

I had no idea how to answer that.  Newsboy Cap lowered their hands, too, but stayed where they were.  I came face up against my prejudices. I'd assumed the white person was in charge, but no, the black man was obviously the leader of this pair.

"What do you want?" Zak said.  "Besides the domna."

"You must know what we're looking for."  He spoke a few words in "the other."

"No, I don’t know, and I bet she doesn’t, either."

Earl looked skeptical and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts.  For a couple of minutes he and Zak stared at each other, while I began to sweat. I hate heat and humidity.  I could hear insects whining in the jungle.  Some sort of large moth or butterfly flew into the car and began flapping around.  I'd had enough of being scared out of my mind without having to deal with bugs, too.  I was willing to bet that the two guys could play their macho games for hours while I melted and got bitten.

I laid one hand on the pendant and thought of my guardian angel, whatever he was.  I could remember his image so clearly, clinging to the bridge strut. I leaned out of my window and yelled, "Pterry, help!"

Aralo started to laugh, but he cut it short when we all heard a faint cry, then a screech of rage.  Down the pterry came with a huge flap of pink wings.  I could smell him, a scent both sour and yet pleasant, like the best red wine vinegar or maybe a bottle of vanilla extract that gone a little off.   He was no image.  With a spray of dust and torn leaves he landed next to the Audi and extended his head to me.  I scratched him under the chin, mostly because I didn't know what else to do.  He made a little clicking noise and half-closed his eyes.  He was covered in gray downy feathers, like those on a baby bird.

"Put us back, Aralo," Zak said.  "The pterry looks hungry to me."

Newsboy Cap took a couple of big steps back.  Their face had turned pale, almost bloodless.  Aralo held his ground.

"Look. Let's compromise.  Of course I'll send you back. I have no intention of holding you or anyone against their will.  But why don't we put the matter before the Isis? That's where you're going, isn't it?  Take us with you."

"I don't have the authority for that.  And it's the Holy Isis to you, buddy."

"Very well.  Her Holiness who should not be named.  How's that?"

"Better." Zak made a little gesture with the gun.  "But I can't take you there. I have no authority to admit anyone but royalty, and you're not."

The pterry stopped clicking and stretched its neck to look over the Audi.  It made a sound half way between a growl and a sputter. Drool spilled from its beak and dripped.  

"Good gods!" Aralo stepped back. With a wave of his hands, he began to chant in the "other".

I saw the ring flash, but I heard only a few words before he, Newsboy, and their car disappeared. So did the tropics.  Ahead stretched the familiar California landscape in the cool bluish light of early evening.  The pterry's image sprang into the air and slowly faded away.  I was sorry to see him go.  I flicked on the headlights, started the car, and drove off down the old familiar road.  Zak let out his breath in a sigh of relief and put the gun away in the glove compartment.

"Zak?  Where in hell were we?"

“Home.”

“Home? You mean Atlantis.”

“No, I mean where our ancestors ended up. The refugees. Atlantis is dead and gone.”

“How did we – oh wait. That ring Earl was flashing around.”

“That and some kind of magic, yeah. I have no idea how it works. It’s called a phase change, and that’s the total sum of what I know about it.”

That I could believe.

A narrow road opened up in the midst of a grove of live oaks.  Beyond those trees I could see a green canyon between two low hills. I made the turn onto what proved to be gravel and slowed way down.  When I glanced at Zak's smartphone in its holder on the dash, I saw nothing but a pale blue screen.

"Google hasn't gotten here yet," Zak said, and he laughed.  

"Oh shut up! It's not funny."

"As your highness wishes."

 "You really mean it about this royal blood crap, don't you?"

"I'm dead serious.  I thought most girls wanted to be princesses. Why aren't you thrilled?"

"I'm not most girls. I wanted to be a star athlete."

"What?"

"I was the big girls' sports star in high school.  But once I got to college, there was real competition. I just wasn't good enough for the track team. Close but not quite.  Same with soccer.  It broke my heart. That's why I dropped out of school.  I didn't want to get a lousy degree in Recreation and teach PE in high school.  I wanted to go to the Olympics and run for the gold. I realized it would never happen."

"I'm sorry." He sounded like he really was. "Do you still run?"

"Every morning, yeah.  In Dolores Park, so it's uphill and down."

"I run, too.  From now on, we'll have to go out together."

"What? Why -- "

"I can't guard you if I'm miles away, can I?"

I wanted to argue, but after what had just ocurred -- "Okay, yeah. Hey, what about your law practice? Don’t you have to get back there tomorrow?"

"I have two senior partners. I’m just the new guy. They understand that I disappear now and then. They probably think it's drugs."

"Not funny."

He winced.

I shut up and concentrated on my driving. We bumped along for a couple of miles, scattering gravel, through thick, green, spiky chaparral to either side.  After all the talk about Atlantis and other worlds and Holy Isis, I was expecting some exotic temple, but instead we came out of the canyon into a farmstead.  A big, old, wooden Victorian house, with a central turret and a wide front porch, sat in the middle of vegetable gardens and fruit trees.  I could see small outbuildings off to one side.  Right in front of the house a dead lawn stretched out in a half-circle.

"Park there," Zak said.

I did.  We got out of the car, and I retrieved the pillow case with the album and my lion. Zak took my carry-on from the back seat.

"How am I supposed to act?" I said.  "I mean, what's the etiquette here?"

"For you, ordinary polite society.  I'll need to watch my step."

"Like the commoner you are, huh?"

"Exactly that."

Twilight was settling in and the sky turning dark.  Yellow lamplight gleamed in the front windows of the house, turning it into a picture of welcome.  The front door opened, and a woman came out onto the porch. She stopped under the porch light, stared at us, then walked down to the top step.  Slender, with perfect posture, she moved like a dancer in her long green skirt and loose flowered tunic.   She was middle-aged, I guessed, with gray streaks in her cropped dark hair and a face that had seen a lot of trouble, judging from the deep lines.   She called out in "the other". The only word I could pick out was Zacaro, which I took to be Zak's real name. He answered, and she smiled as she came down the steps. As soon as she reached the ground, Zak knelt on one knee, carry-on and all.

"My dear Domna Javalan," the woman said.  Her clipped, glottal accent was quite strong. "I'm so glad we found you."

"Thank you," I said.  "I'm not sure what to think."

She laughed in a long pleasant peal.  "I'm sure you're not.  I'm Amelia, servant to Her Holiness, and I used to be a member of your mother's retinue."  Her face turned grim, and she paused.  "Your poor mother."

My heart thudded.  "Please tell me," I said.  "Is she dead?"

"We don't know, but I shan't lie to you.  Whatever the truth may be, it won't be good."  She glanced Zak's way.  "You may rise."  She looked at me again.  "You should allow your guardsman to carry your burdens."

Although she smiled, I felt like a clumsy oaf, standing there holding a pillow case printed with Mickey Mice.   

"These are the only things I have from my past," I said.  "I didn't want anyone else to carry it.  My album of clippings from my adopted mother, and then a toy lion."

At that Zak raised his head and gave me a significant look.  I realized that he was waiting for permission to speak.  He'd transformed so fast from that California smart-mouth guy with a gun that it made me feel really uncomfortable.  I dithered, and Amelia either didn't notice or pretended not to.

"Come in, come in," Amelia said.  "I'd love to have a look at those.  Her Holiness is deep in meditation, but later she'll wish to meet you."

The front door led into a hallway that looked like it would run the length of the house.  To one side stood an open door into a living room. The warm golden light came from a pair of lamps sitting on end tables beside a battered old sofa.  I assumed they had a generator in one of the side buildings.   All of the furniture looked old but comfortable -- a gray sofa, some leather arm chairs, a couple of small tables.  At one end of the room was a fireplace with a wooden mantel.  Over it hung a big painting of a woman that I at first assumed to be the Virgin Mary, like the picture in my adoptive grandparents’ house, but then I looked more closely.  She was dressed in black robes, not blue, and on her head was a silver head dress decorated with the horned moon. Her skin was a warm reddish-brown.

"The Holy Goddess," Amelia said. "Isis of the Egyptians, but of course, the worship came from us originally."

'Us', I assumed, meant people from Atlantis.

"Come sit down. You must be tired."  She paused, then held her hands over her head and clapped them three times.

In a moment a young blonde woman, dressed in jeans and a tunic flowered like Amelia's, hurried into the room.  At the sight of me, she began to kneel, but Amelia waved her up.  

"Zora, take the bag from the guardsman and put it in the best guest room.   Then have Cook put together some refreshments.  Iced tea would be good."

"Of course, ma'am, " Zora said.  "And the guardsman?"

"Oh, yes, he'll need a place to stay, too. He can have that blue room at the back."

"Um, now, excuse me," I said, "but I have to get back to the city.  I may be some kind of princess, but I've got this job.  I've got to open the store tomorrow morning. They depend on me."   

Amelia looked shocked for a long moment, then smiled with a little shrug.  "There must be someone you can call when you're ill or the like."

"Yeah, but I bet my cell phone won't work here."

"Not normally, but we have a device.  You may call in later, once we decide how long you'll need to stay." 

Her smile had vanished. She looked at me with the stern eyes of someone who was used to commanding and being obeyed. What was I going to do? Walk out on my own? Without even a phone to call for help? I could guess that Zak would take her orders over mine. Besides, these people had the answers I wanted: who was my mother? where was she now?

"Thank you," I said, "that will certainly do."

She smiled, all sweetness again.  She and I sat down in the leather armchairs with a little table between us.  Zak sat down on the floor near my feet.  He looked up and shot me his desperate look. I remembered a movie I’d seen about Marie Antoinette. I figured I could act like the royals in there.

"You may speak," I said.   

"Thank you, your highness.  Lady Amelia, in that sack is a toy lion in the royal color.  There's something inside it.  The princess hasn't given me her permission to cut it open."

"You're not going to ruin my lion," I said.

"My dear princess," Amelia said.  "If someone hid something inside without damaging it, then there must be a way to get the something out of it again."

"Of course! Sorry!"  

At that point Zora returned, pushing a tea cart like the ones you see on BBC shows, with sandwiches, cakes, big glasses of ice tea, the works.  I waved her away. "Only tea for me. I'll eat in a bit. Do serve my guardsman."  

While she served Amelia and then Zak, I opened my pillowcase and took out the album.  I handed that over to Amelia, then brought out my lion.  When I looked closely at his stomach, I saw a line of hand stitching to one side, tucked under his fur. The thread matched the color so well that you wouldn't see it unless you were really looking for it.

"This probably could be pulled out," I said.  "Is there a pair of little scissors I could use?"

Amelia nodded Zora, who trotted off.

"My apprentice," she said.  "We all serve a term as a servant while we learn the ways of the Goddess. Not of course that we'd expect such a thing of you, your highness."

"I don't mind helping. I've taken care of myself for years, y'know."

"How you've suffered.  It's very sad."  She meant it. Not a trace of sarcasm showed up in her voice.

Zak just managed to stifle a laugh. I shot him a dirty look, but he winked at me. Fortunately Amelia was sipping her tea and didn't notice.  I was glad he wasn't going to grovel 24/7. I liked the old Zak better.

The girl returned with a pair of embroidery scissors.  I took them and patted the lion's tummy.  I could definitely feel the lump that I'd always assumed was just aging stuffing material.

"This won't hurt," I said to him. "I'll be real careful."

Amelia and Zak both leaned forward to watch me.  Zora had come into the doorway and stood watching as well.  I plucked out the cut thread and examined the wound.  Sure enough, the edges had been neatly tucked under by someone who meant the lion no harm.  Had my mother's fingers sewn this seam? I stroked it, then reached inside. My fingers touched paper.  I pulled out an object wrapped inside a wad of yellowing paper covered with writing of some kind.

"That must be in our language," Amelia said.  "Do you know how to speak it, Javalan?"

"No," I said.  "Wait.  There's something inside."

I unwrapped the brittle paper and found a golden key, about 3 inches long in the antique style, a little rod with flanges at one end and a metal loop at the other.  I turned it over and over, but I couldn't find any markings on it.  Amelia was perching on the edge of her chair.  I handed her the papers and the key.  Zak rose to his knees to watch, and Zora took a few steps into the room.

Amelia held the papers up to the lamplight and frowned.  She studied each side, she turned them this way and that, she shook her head with a scowl.  "It must be some kind of code. Domna, if you would hand these papers to Zacaro? Perhaps he knows something about this?"

I handed them over to Zak. Amelia continued studying the key.  First she rubbed it between her fingers; then she muttered a few words over it; finally she sang a single -- word, I guess it was, or a single vowel, a long, vibrating Ohhhh.  From the sour look on her face I could tell that none of these things had had any effect.  She handed it back to me.

"I suppose it unlocks something important," she said, "if we ever find whatever that is."

Everyone looked at Zak, who was frowning at the papers. He shrugged and glanced at me.

"Go on, you can speak," I said.  "You're not my dog." 

"Thank you, your highness. This has to be some kind of code.  The letters are from the ancient alphabet, our aleefvet, to give it its real name, but it makes no sense at all."

Amelia tightened her lips if she'd bitten into something sour.    

"However," Zak continued, "if this is written in our language, then I can begin to make some sense of it.  I'm betting it's a simple letter substitution.  If it is, I can guess at the noun inflections, try them out on a grid, that kind of thing.  Maybe I can get some vowels and work from there.  If you'd like me to try, Honored Amelia, I'll need paper and pencils. A lot of paper, I bet."

"Of course. And do you have any proper clothing with you?"

"None.  We had to leave kind of suddenly."

"No doubt." Amelia turned to Zora.  "There are trunks in the attic with clothing for a guardsman."  Her voice wavered, and she bit her lip.  In a few moments she spoke again. "Left from my son.  He was about Zacaro's height." She paused again. "Give him whatever he needs. You may both go now."

Zak rose and bowed all round. Zora was smiling at him in a way I disliked, as if she was thinking of something else he just might need. Talk about broadcasting! The man radiated sexy, I swear.  I forced myself to look at Amelia rather than stare as they left the room. Besides, I did have some manners.

"I'm so sorry," I said.  "I take it your son isn't with us anymore."

"I'm afraid not, no.”  She paused to look up at the painting over the mantel. "Our Lady teaches us to love life but accept its end.  Death is a new beginning, and we must go on.  Though losing those we love is still bitter and hard."

"Especially when you don't know if they're alive or not."

"Like your mother, you mean.”

“Yes! Please, I’ve wondered for years – can you tell me – “ 

My voice choked, and I felt tears in my eyes. Amelia leaned over and patted my hand. Once I’d recovered, she sat back in her chair and had a sip of her iced tea.

“Miatalan was her name.  She was the domna, a very high rank before -- " Amelia looked at me for a moment, then sighed. "Before she disgraced herself."

I winced. I realized that I'd been daydreaming about a warm lovable mom like my adopted mother.  "Was it because she was pregnant?"

"Heavens, no!  Although, really! birth control exists in both worlds, you know, and she could have used it. But she didn’t consider consequences, not our Mia. No one knows who your father was.  A commoner, most likely, since she refused to say.  But these things happen. No one will hold that against you.  Among us, royal blood passes in both the male and female lines. Your blood was tested at your birth, and you carry the royal markers."

My mouth had gone dry.   "Then there was something else," I said.

"Yes, she was a thief. You might as well know the worst.  Oh, not some ordinary burglar or some such thing. Nothing low or -- what do they say here? Not street crime, I think the phrase would be."

I nodded to show she'd gotten it right because I didn't trust my voice.  With this kind of news to top it off, the day caught up with me like a smack in the face.  Amelia leaned forward in her chair to study me.

"Shall I stop? You're exhausted, and here I've been giving you sad news."

"No, please go on.  I want to know it all."

"Let me get you more tea."  She stood up. "You shouldn't wait upon yourself."

I allowed her fetch me a plate with sandwiches as well as the tea.  Although I thought I couldn't possibly eat, I took one bite for politeness' sake, and hunger took over.  I hadn't eaten anything since fruit and coffee back at 8 a.m.  Amelia smiled as I chowed down on the very good bread, watercress, and cheese. She sat down and waited for a few minutes before going on.

"Your mother," Amelia said, "was raised at home, back on the other world, in very luxurious circumstances.  I have no idea what went wrong, but she was always a headstrong, rebellious girl.  She began stealing little things, jewelry, toys, that sort of thing, at an early age.  And her temper tantrums -- the stuff of legend! We all hoped that once she had the baby -- you, that is -- she'd grow up and stop her silly acting out.  She did love you.  Never ever think she didn't.  She tried to be a good mother."

"Thank you.  I was wondering about that."

Amelia tapped the album in her lap.  "I glanced at this when you gave it to me.  I saw the note she left.  It was the best she could do, I'm sure."

I had the awful feeling I was going to cry again.  Amelia pretended to look at a couple of pages of the album until  I managed to snuffle back the tears. 

"Finally she stole something that was very dangerous indeed," Amelia continued.  "A manuscript of an ancient ritual. Several other secret things.  She refused to give them back or listen to reason.  She’d hidden them somewhere. So she was sent to me, with her new baby, you that is, to do penance and to, or so we hoped, see reason at last.  We failed her.  She ran away.”

She paused, thinking something through. I finished one sandwich and started on the second.

“At that time, we had the safe house in a different place,” Amelia continued. “Where doesn’t matter. Mia left a very clever trail that made us think she'd gone back to Ey Rejjan.  By the time we realized she hadn't, she'd disappeared. And so had you. We had no idea at first that she could come to this world."

I had eaten all I could.  I put the plate and glass back on the end table between us.  Amelia turned a few more pages in the album and shook her head.

"We searched for her for years in the other worlds," she said.  "When we finally found a clue, we started looking here. It was much too late by then. We had no idea you'd been abandoned, adopted.  We assumed that she was alive somewhere, probably married or at least connected with a man who'd take care of her and her child.  She was vey beautiful, you see. Obviously we were wrong."

"That's why you think she's dead, isn't it? Because you couldn't find her?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

I stroked the lion's magenta mane and called up the few memories I had of her: a beautiful woman laughing as she held me close, a terrified woman pushing me out of a car.

"Kurritay," I said, "Java, kurritay!  What does that mean?"

"Run," Amelia's voice had turned soft.  "Run, Java. When did your mama say that?"

I shrugged. 'When' had no meaning to that tiny child.  "I did run. It was dark, and I ran across the street to the park where we went sometimes to play.  I hid under the climbing dome with my lion.  The next thing I remember is a policeman with a flashlight looking at me.  Everything's blurry after that."

"I see."  She closed the album and rested her hands on it.  "I'm very glad you were safe." 

I realized that she too had come close to weeping. We sat that way for a couple of minutes in the silent room.  Finally Amelia sighed and turned to me.

"Do you know what a pterry is?"

"Yes, I've seen mine. He followed us here."

"Good. The pterry's the one who found out that you were still in San Francisco. Mia bonded you to him when you were an infant.  He could only come here in the astral form and then only for a few minutes at a time, but he searched until at last, you dyed your hair, and he saw you. They have a way of recognizing their bonded human, but they need a clue to start with if the human's in the midst of a crowded place like a city. They're not very intelligent, but they're very loyal."  She paused for a laugh.  "I'm the one who wasn't very intelligent!  We focused our search on her, not you.   It never ocurred to me that you would have been separated.  We were so lucky that he focused on you."

That was the comfort I had, then.  She was a thief, she slept around, but she did love me.  I thought of Mom, my adoptive mother.  Yes, I'd been lucky, all right.  I'd had the mother I wanted for all those years, and I still did.  

“Can pterries send thoughts to your mind?”

“No. Why?”

“Because I dyed my hair because I kept thinking I wanted to change things somehow. I mean, I never wanted to be a flash girl. I used to have long hair and never wore make-up, but about a month ago I kept thinking, ‘I’ve got to change. I want to change’. And for like the first time in my life, I starting thinking about dying my hair some outrageous color.”

Amelia went very still for several minutes. Finally she said, “Zacaro needs to know about that. It might not mean anything. I hope it doesn’t.”

“It could mean something dangerous, couldn’t it?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“The things she stole,” I said. “I know someone else is looking for them.” I told her about our encounter with Aralo from The Society. “Zak can tell you what they said when they talked in the old language.”

Amelia nodded to show she’d heard me, but she said nothing for a long time. Outside the crickets chirped, and the lamplight glowed as warm and golden as before, but I felt as if I were floating free of the earth, swept away on the wind. All the Atlantis stuff made sense so long as I thought about it by itself. But when I tried to match it up with everything else I knew about the world – I began to wonder if I’d fallen in with a lot of crazies. But there was the pterry and the way he smelled and the way his feathers felt when I scratched his chin. That was real. At least some of the rest of it had to be real, too.

Amelia turned in her chair to gaze up moist-eyed at the picture of Holy Isis. I figured she was praying and kept quiet. I was having trouble putting coherent thoughts together. Bits and pieces of the peculiar information I’d heard skittered around in my brain like drops of water on a hot griddle. None of them made sense. I could be sure of only one thing: danger.

Amelia turned back with a sharp sigh. “Well,” she said, “Her Holiness has finished her meditation, but she tells me she’s very tired. She’ll meet you in the morning.”

Not praying. Communicating. I tried not to gape.

“Okay,” I said. “I guess I’m staying here tonight?”

“It would be best, and possibly longer. I need to consult with Zacaro.”

I heard footsteps in the hall, and Zora appeared in the doorway. “Honored One?” she said.

“Yes?” Amelia said.

“The guardsman doesn’t want to sleep in the room you gave him.” She sounded ever so slightly sour about it. “He says he needs to take his mattress off the bed and sleep in front of the domna’s door.”

“That’s doubtless wise. Not very comfortable for the poor boy, but wise.”

“He says he needs to be inside her room, though, in case something appears.”

At the thought of a “something” appearing, I decided that I wanted him there for more than one reason.

“As he thinks best,” Amelia said. “I doubt if anything can break through our seals, but it’s best to be safe, not sorry. Don’t worry about the protocol. Javalan’s blissfully unaware of any of it, you know.”

Zora pushed out a smile. I smiled, too, as graciously as I could. 

“Will he join us for dinner?” Amelia said.

“He asked for sandwiches in his room. He’s using that as an office, he said, so he can work on those papers.”

“Very good.” Amelia glanced at me. “Is there anything you need, Your Highness?”

“I’ve got to use my cell phone. And I need a needle and thread so I can fix my lion.” All at once I yawned. “And a shower would be wonderful. And an early night. I won’t need dinner.”

“All easily arranged.”

Zora hurried off, then returned with a small basket of sewing supplies. “I’ve put clean towels in your bathroom, Your Highness. And soaps and lotions.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Zora hurried out again. Amelia got up, and so did I at her gesture. She led me out of the living room and across the hall into a small room furnished with a desk, several chairs, bookshelves, and a spherical something on a wooden stand that at first I took for a globe. When she flicked on the desk lamp, the globe shape dissolved into an assemblage of silver wires with a smartphone in the middle. At one side an opening gave access enough for one hand.

“I’ll take ours out.” Amelia did so. “And you put yours into that red slot.”

When I followed orders, my phone lit up just like always. “I guess I can text one-handed.”

She smiled and handed me a small stylus. Since I was so used to using both thumbs, the stylus proved to be easier than poking at the letters with one finger. I sent my adopted mom a reassuring note, “admitting” that I was taking my vacation from the store so I could spend some time with a friend. Hey, it was true as far as it went! I told her that he was a lawyer, because I knew she’d assume “boyfriend”, and she’d like the idea that he was a professional, not one of my usual grubby musician guys. I texted Frank, too, and then Mitsu. She texted right back. Frank had already called her “just in case” much earlier in the day.

“Off with ur lawyer friend he said is he cute he must be have fun I need $ glad to work for u”

I texted back a thank you. A couple more messages had arrived from Frank.

“A weird guy was in here just as I was closing up. He said he knew you. Wanted your phone number. I said no, leave her a message. Gave him paper and a pencil. He pretended to be grateful but I could see he was pissed off.” That was the first one, and then, “Good thing Mitsu will be working. I didn’t like him one fucking bit. Don’t know why. He wrote Remember me? Jim Tolstoy hope you are well see you soon.”

“What do you think of that?” I said to Amelia. “Tolstoy? Like, yeah, I really believe that’s his last name.”

“I don’t like it in the least. Here, let me give you your phone back. And then I’ll go tell Zacaro while you rest. Just come with me.”

The suite turned out to be done up in a pretty blue and white, a bedroom with a big double bed and a bathroom with the necessary stuff and a walk-in shower. Zora had put my lion, carry-on, purse, and the sewing basket on top of a small wooden dresser.  I shook out the clothes I’d brought, then showered. Clean towels, soap, lotion – after the day I’d had? Wonderful! The apprentice had even brought me a sleeveless nightgown. After the shower I lay down on the bed, pulled a patchwork quilt over me, and fell straight asleep with the bedside light on. I woke up a couple of hours later when Zak shoved open the door and came in, carrying a narrow mattress. I’d been expecting a fancy uniform for an Atlantis guardsman, like out of an opera, you know, red, with gold braid and lace. Instead, he was wearing a pair of narrow green khaki trousers and a camo print shirt in greens and browns, a very typical military shirt, loose, buttoned up the front, lots of pockets. I sat up.

“I don’t suppose you cracked that code,” I said.

“Give me a break!” He flopped the mattress onto the floor. “It’s worse than I thought. I’ll be right back.”

Zak left, then returned in a couple of minutes with a blanket and a pillow, which he flopped on top of the mattress.

“Can someone really break in?” I said.  

“Probably not, but I don’t want to take chances.” He grinned at me. “Besides, I need protecting myself.”

“From Zora.”

“You guessed it. I don’t suppose you were jealous or anything.”

“I wouldn’t tell you if I was.”

“Hah! That means you were.”

“Wasn’t! Well, maybe a little bit. Just on general principles.”

“That’ll do.” He grinned again. “For now.”

While I tried to think of a smart reply, he ducked out of the door. He returned with the gun from the glove compartment in one hand and a stuffed pillowcase dangling from the other. He put the gun on the nightstand and tossed the pillowcase onto a chair.

“More clothes,” he said. “Amelia’s son must have been just my size, poor guy.”

“What happened to him? Do you know?”

Zak’s expression turned grim. “He was executed as a traitor when the regime changed back home. The military tried a coup. It failed. He was one of about fifty officers they hanged. Making an example, y’know, for the rest of us commoners.”

“Shit!”

Zak winced. “Will her highness please remember that royalty don’t use words like shit?”

“She’ll use them when she wants to. Hangings? Regime change? Blood lodges? And you want me to be polite? I don’t give a flying fuck about Atlantis. I don’t want to be one of your crummy princesses!”

“You don’t have any choice. Can’t you see that? That Tolstoy guy – bad vibes, as Frank would say, which tells me that the wrong people know who you are and where you are. This isn’t a game where you can say it’s time to go home and cash in your chips. The DNA scan they did when you were born means you’re a player with your life on the table for an ante. The only question is which side are you going to take? And there’s more than two.”

I stared.  

“I’m sorry.” Zak softened his voice. “I hate this. I liked being an immigration lawyer in California. Loved the Mission District, its people. Well, that’s over for me. My family bound me to your family when you were born. That’s when I saw you -- at the ceremony. So here we are.” He paused for a long minute. “I’ll do my best to protect you. Me and the pterry both. But you’ve got to impress people enough to gain more followers, or neither of us are going to live to get old. Understand me?”

I nodded. No words.

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “And the first thing is, you’ve got to learn the language, because sooner or later, we’ve got to go home.”

“What if I abdicate? I mean, there’s got to be a way to say I don’t want it, you can have it. I bet there’s some stupid bitch of a princess who’d love to go up a step.”

“She wouldn’t be able to unless you’re dead. You’ve got the blood, Java. Look, you don’t know what that means yet. But Atlantis – home – Ey Rejjan, that’s the modern name. The whole thing’s based on blood. Who’s got what genes. It used to be a matter of who descended from whom. You wouldn’t believe the elaborate family trees they used to make. Now they’ve got the DNA technology from this world, which makes everything easier – and worse. And when you’ve got the right blood, the royal blood, there’s no way out.”

“Y’know, I’m beginning to understand my mother. The temper tantrums, the stealing stuff, running away. Why she brought me to California. Amelia said Mama loved me. I bet she wanted to spare me all this -- ” I stopped myself from saying ‘shit’. “All this awful stuff.” 

“Maybe so. I – hold on. Stealing things?”

“You don’t know? Yeah, that’s how she acted out. She stole stuff when she was a kid, and I guess she stole something really dangerous when she was a grown-up, before she ran away. Ritual stuff. Magic.”

Zak knocked the full pillowcase off the chair and sat down hard.

“You weren’t ready for that,” I said.

“No, I wasn’t. How much worse is this going to get?”

“Don’t ask. Something might tell you.”

He managed a smile. “Your loyal retainer could use a drink.”

“Do they have anything like that?”

“Here? Of course not. Holy. Pure.” 

“Zora didn’t strike me as pure.”

“You’ve got to remember that we were never influenced by any of the big religions in your world. Never bought into that womanly honor stuff. They define purity differently at home. Sex is okay. But liquor or drugs, no, if you’re a priestess, strictly forbidden.”

“Okay. I’ll file that data away.”

He sighed. “It’s been a long day. How about some sleep?”

“Good idea. That mattress looks kind of thin. Are you really going to sleep on it?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Yeah. As a matter of fact, you do.”

He gave me a wonderful smile. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe dying young will be worth it after all.”

“Don’t keep bringing that up, will you?”

Zak grinned again and began to unbutton his shirt. He took it off, and the tee shirt under it. I thought of the first time I’d seen him, and yes, he had to work out a lot to get those muscles. I pulled the nightgown over my head and dropped it on the floor. He got up and came over to sit on the edge of the bed next to me.

“You’re sure about this?” he said. “After all, I’m just – “

“A commoner, yeah, yeah. Like I care! Besides, it’s something of a family tradition, sleeping with commoners.”

He laughed, then caught me by the shoulders and kissed me.  

******************************************

"Cakes and sandwiches," he says, happily. "That's a good supper. And we should save some for breakfast, alond with this coffee, which I've put into my pouch for the morning."

"I really liked the lion," Maya says. eating. "And she's a lost princess of Atlantis!"

"Do you want to be a lost princess?" he asks. He gives a piece of smoked salmon to the cat, who purrs loudly in response.

"Not in that world! It seems like it's a lot of trouble. I'd rather just read about it." She yawns. "Maybe we should sleep now? That was long."

"I brought another one down with us, and it's short," he says. "A new story from Robert Reed. It's called Innocents of War."

Maya takes it, and they read.