The horses that thunder past are carrying disconcertingly familiar cloaked figures in black, and there's an ill wind blowing no good in the streets near my apartment. I'm getting the strangest feeling that something's watching me. Huh.

I keep seeing this flaming freudian symbol just on the edge of my peripheral vision, but every time I turn it's gone. Odd. Just to be on the safe side I pause beside a street light as a crowd of teenagers listening to Bangra and performing an impromptu Bollywood routine surge past, and I rummage in my carpet bag.

...TV Remote...wallet full of knuts and galleons...selkie skin...sonic transducer...light sabre... neurofen... tampons... Dime bar...five gold rings...four calling birds..silver hip flask of sloe gin... Aha! Excaliber. (Sheathed, natch)

Wonderful what you find in the Thrift Stores in this town.

Splendid. I draw my sword, scabbard and all, and buckle the belt around my waist. Damn. Wish the leather were black - doesn't really co-ordinate with the wardrobe. Hmph. Oh well, not to worry.

Wait, did that chick just say, "really powerful wizard"? Excellent!

I run up to the guy, but his back is to me and he's walking away like he has something on his mind. I slip my card into the hood of his cape, and hope for the best.

"Could you not, with the tiramisu? It wasn't quite the city being sucked into chaos, but it does shift balance enough that it shakes up Shadow. You can't keep offering it willy nilly."

"Err," I groan. Groaning seems relativly safe.

I think for a moment.

"NO tiramisu!" I manage, and then have to pause to think out the next part. I suspect my brain may have been damaged by whatever happened to me on the way here.

"Where am I?"

A wizard should be able to answer that, though I doubt he'll cope with the next one.

"I need to buy a house."

Darn it, that's the third time the manager's had to go up to the top row to stop the Nazgul from making so much noise. They've really got to stop stomping their feet and howling when Barad Dur shows up on the screen. Points for corporate loyalty, dudes, but there are some people in here who haven't seen it yet. Kind of funny, though, how they mutter when Frodo is on the screen. I think I heard the leader say, "I could have got him."

Oh, crap, now they're fighting over the jujubes, but at least they're being quiet, just hissing and poking at each other.

SA kind of goes still next to me, and it's not because Aragorn's on the screen looking battered and sexy. "What?" I whisper.

"Not sure. Something about gibbons. And tiramisu. Miracleman. I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Ah, crap, again? What's he doing now? Can it wait till the end of hte movie?"

"Sure, there's always enough trouble to go around."

"Cool."

"A house. Ah. I see. Then of course you want a powerful wizard as opposed to, say, a real estate agent!!"

I scratch my neck in frustration and my fingers encounter a card. Penny B. She'll have to wait.

Where was I? Oh, right.

"So, it's not gibbons then?" At her confused look I wave it away dismissively. "Right. So. A house. Fine." I glance at ita. "Cake? We got cake? It's not the 't' word."

I think I may have got on the wrong side of this Miracleman. Better explain, quick, before he blasts me or forces the t-word on me.

"Magic house," I say. Goddess, that was clear. "It's got to be a magic house."

"Well you came to the right town. This little townhouse we're in conveniently rests at the junction of two ley-lines and has a walk in closet that leads to any number of alternate universes as well as a wardrobe that goes to a somewhat annoying land full of talking lions and whatnot. Magic houses abound in Sang Sacre. The old real estate credo has been modified by the Sang Sacre Bureau of Commerce to read 'Location, location, enchantment."

ita's looking irritated. "Cookies? Lemon meringue pie?"

"Good."

I nod. The world goes black again.

"Aw, crap, there she goes again!"

I turn to ita (who I wish would stop polishing that blade in such a...meaningful way) and say "Looks like it's not gibbons. You don't appear to want food. I suppose you can go off and cavort with your doggies if you wish, though you're welcome to stay. This looks like she might sleep for a while and then she'll buy a house and undoubtedly unleash the forces of hell or the denizens of Ogden, Utah upon our fair and innocent *cough* town."

I wander back to the kitchen. "I wonder if this is another Gudanov situation. Maybe we should tell the Mayor that we have a new prospective citizen. And I think I'll have the roast beef."