I agree. Let's jam.

Aimee and I grab out stuff and head out of the tavern. We check all the roads ahead, but see no sign of the wraithy one. We don't need to ask directions to find Miracleman. I am guided by infallible instinct, she by the call of magic.

Of course, anyone could find Miracleman's tower now; lighting is shooting from the weathervane up into the sky.

Say, Aimee, what's the market for teachers like around here?

"...the what?"

"The Axe of Gor-Thraun the Maker. It's a dwarf axe."

"Is this it?"

"No, that's the Axe of Nibbelungingungingung. Try the hall closet."

Clouds rolling in, hellish spam, a bra...

...a bra? What?

The niggling little voice in the back of my head has been jumping up and down and waving its arms for some time now. I let it talk.

Oh, crap on a cracker. For the luvva all the demonic hordes of Ur-Mu. By all the stone-cracking thunderous shouts of the Dark Giants Beyond The Mountains.

Shit.

Her? But that was...that was all...

I never did lift that curse did I? You know how it is, so busy, things slip by...

She's probably really pissed.

"HECTOR! We need to strengthen those wards and barriers NOW!"

"How strong?"

"As though all the darkness in all the worlds has decided to sell us Amway...today!"

Teachers? Good ones? I heard excellent. Those without powers tend to not last long.

Hey! Does that boogey man guy still hang around Miracleman?

He has a boogey man? News to me. I don't actually know the guy, I'm just trying to find a market for my new invention. I asked about teaching because I have a feeling that this sales meeting is not going to go well.

Not an unreasonable feeling, given that a ring of fire has just sprung up around Miracleman's lair. Also, that suit of armor appears to be moving and heavily armed.

Sigh. So much for my dreams of sudden wealth.

"Gods, she's coming up the walk! She's got reinforcements! BATTEN DOWN THE HATCHES!!"

Huh. Ring of fire means he knows I'm here. He may have taken away my magic, but he couldn't touch my telepathy. Hector! That was his name.

I push my fingers to my temples and close my eyes. I search for Hector's IP address in my head. There it is.

Hector, tell him I'm not angry. No harm here. With Penny. Business. Big money. Let us in!!!

"So, do we have enough champagne on ice?"

Phred closes the door to the walk-in refrigerator, and turns to face me. "Should be. Just as much as we had last year, and I'm not sure we'll have as many customers as last time. I told you ya should have advertised more. That Prancing Pony outfit took out a full page ad in the Gazette about their party."

"What, that new joint over in Dalrymple?"

"Not just Dalrymple. They're a chain. They opened places in Blackwell, Bresilico, and over in Greenwood, too."

"How did I not know this? Oh, right, I was busy trying to make ends meets running this place in the midst of disaster after disaster. Not that I'm bitter or anything." I stop a sec to catch my breath, and to let my temper subside a bit. "So what are they like?"

"The usual chain stuff. Very short waiters dressed as hobbits. Beer, mead, basket of carrot sticks on every table... It's a fad. Oh, they have a website."

I go back into the little office and sit down at the computer to check out prancingpony.com. There's a menu. My god could it be any cheesier. "Wings of Power - Try our nine wings for mortal men doomed to cry... with joy because they're so good." "Orlando's Bloomin' Onion?" I make some little gagging noises, and head back out of the office.

"Okay, Phred, you've got the bridge. I'm gonna head home for a bit, get changed, and then go catch TTT again, and some of the First Night stuff. I'll probably swing by again just before midnight. See ya then."

Phred waves, and I start to head off for the festivities, when a thought strikes me. "Phred, do me a favor, will ya? Give the good folks down at the health department a call, and ask them if they realize that The Prancing Pony's waiters are serving their customers while barefoot. Seems as I recall that's a health violation..."

Wings of Power - Try our nine wings for mortal men doomed to cry...

bwah.

"Boss...I got a funny feelin' in my head..."

"I told you not to mix cough syrup and vodka!"

"No, no...a lady's voice. Sayin'...she's not mad at you? She's here on business?"

Hm. Could be for real. Or, vengeful wench that she is, she could be callously using Penny B. as a Trojan Horse.

Or it could be even more devious.

Or not.

Or...

Aw, to the Seventeen Hells of Ripping, Shredding and General Unpleasantness (including Using THAT Tone) with it.

"Let them in."