Why in all the blessed gods and goddesses names did I set the alarm? What was I thinking?

Oh, yeah, I wasn't, and I forgot to turn the alarm off. NightOwl arrived and was actually good as gold for a couple of hours as I worked. Of course, he was in the kitchen annoying Achmed the whole time, so I didn't notice. At least, not until I heard some really horrifying Arabic, the kind Achmed should hope his mother doesn't find out he knows.

"Bob, leave Achmed alone!" I yelled. "He's not interested in you!"

"Don't call me Bob!"

Stupid, over-sensitive ... "I am NOT calling you NightOwl! It's dumb! Though not as dumb as that NightHawk thing you tried to talk me into. NightVulture, NightLeech, that'd work. Want me to call you NightLeech?"

So he appears in the doorway, lounging in that annoying boneless way that he either stole from James Marsters or JM stole from him. I prefer not to ask. "You could call me what you did last night," he grins. He's actually using his own accent for a change, that faint Irish curl that wanders up and down my spine.

And I should know better than to ask. "I--don't remember ..."

He strolls closer. Behind him, Achmed sighs and closes the door to the kitchen. "Something about 'lord' and 'god,' I was a little distracted myself."

"I was not talking to you."

"Well, there wasn't anyone else there, you must have been talking to me."

"Stop trying to do DeNiro."

And he's right behind me, reaching over to hit save on the computer, then closing it down. "Rather do you."

Which lead to one thing and then another, and now I'm listening to some perkier-than-thou DJ creature working at WSS, The Voice of Sang Sacre, announcing the weather. Partly cloudy, with chance of frogs. Bloody plagues.

"Can I kill him?" asks a familiar voice from under the pillow on the other side of the bed.

"Daytime, you can't go out."

"I'm willing to wait."

"Sorry. The job of holiday DJ is one of the more obscure circles of hell, he's already being punished. Tell me why you're here and not at home."

"Nope. We can talk about the bloodier side of Sears later. I want breakfast."

I don't even have to look to know he's staring at my neck. Note to self: remember the iron supplements.

I stagger through the sewers back the submerged strip mall that is my new home. Perhaps, I overindulged in the city's festivities last night, judging by the fact that my head feels like hell. By the time I decide which specific hell it feels like, I'm back to the "Sears" and am seeing the wonderful four post bed that been placed in my lair. It's an acceptable piece, twisted vines with the occasional skull for the posts and twisted nest of vines with evil looking ravens for the canopy.

I lay some wards and collapse into the welcoming bed. A good day, save for my gremlins being rather slow on the job. Sweet thoughts of vengence dance through my head as I drift off to sleep.

"Mi vida, I think we have a problem."

"What now? We haven't had anything but problems since we opened here in the strip mall from hell. I wanted another studio in the Bresilico right near Mario's taqueria but nooo."

"Hey, vampires are good customers. Siempre tienen plata y pagan bien."

"Yeah, they always have money becuase they steal it off of the bodies of their dead victims. But anyway, no quiero pelear mas. Estamos aqui. So what's the problem."

"Well, they didn't show up for their mambo class. Last night was the big graduation recital."

"Maybe they had better things to do on NEW YEAR'S EVE."

"Well, I wanted to go and talk to them. Find out what was up. So I went over to Sears and no estan."

"Well, that's weird. It's daytime. Where could they be?"

"Cenizas. All ashes. And there's some weird, I don't know, guy with a cape and glowy eyes. He doesn't look like he enjoys Papa Loves Mambo."

"We'd better go back to the hotel and find out what's going on." I close the lid on the old 78 player and turn off the lights in the studio. The neon sign blinks in the window, Dead Can Dance Studio. "When we get home, you'd better call and cancel the Hobbit samba class."

Gods, snerk, mambo, snerk t falling over

Gods. What time is it? Lords of All the Worlds...

...late. Well, that's good. Hungover? A bit, not too bad...

Warm arm.

Oh, gods.

I gingerly roll over and see who's there. The warm brown eyes, the dark red hair...

"Aimee?!"

"Yes?"

Oh. Oh, gods. Oh...

Memory surfaces like a submarine desperate for fresh air. "Oh. Oh!"

"Yes," she says, her smile warm.

"I'm so..."

"If you say 'sorry', I will smack you."

Was I that drunk? Really?!

And from deep down the answer comes: No. No, you really weren't.

"So," I say and clear my throat. "Uh..."

"Just like old times, eh?"

"Better," I hear myself reply. And realize it's true.

"I thought so, too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well..."

"'What now?'"

"Something like that."

"I guess we'll figure it out, huh?"

"I suppose." On impulse I kiss her. "Y'know...I really did miss you."

"Good."

You realize this doesn't let you off the hook for my missing Carpenters collection.

Damn.

I spend all night and all morning wandering through the Greenwood. I see a band of outlaws passed out in the trees with empty bottles of mead and a fondue pot. I see an unshaven park ranger who looks like he's been running for days following a track. I see a Questing Beast drinking from a stream . . . it raises a hoof to its mouth and slips into the brush just in time for me to tell some guy named Pellinore that I haven't seen any Questing Beasts, no sir. He throws me a cloak and tells me to cover my shame. An oddly metaphysical request, I think, so I just nod and pull it over my head instead.

I have the feeling that I'm being followed, but every time I turn to look there's no one there.

The sun has passed straight overhead when I think to ask someone for directions. The birch I ask first is too busy chatting with a pair of chickadees to be helpful. The maples are sleeping. I finally rouse a crotchety oak, who tells me that the best way to get out of the Greenwood is to head for its center. Before I can ask him which way that is, he's snoring loudly.

It's surprisingly easy, actually. The center is, well, it's in, whereas I've been walking out. So I start walking in, and suddenly I'm at the edge of some tracks which run southwest to northeast. And somebody's standing next to me. It's the bitch.

She looks younger, and not quite solid. I can see through her, like stained glass. She looks up at me, blinks, then looks back at the tracks. She sits, and turns to lick her crotch.

"A ghost dog," I say. She ignores me. "You look nothing like Forest Whitaker." At that she leaves off the exploration of her genitals and gives me a pained look.

"Nice to have a companion," I say. "I've been gone a while. Can I pet you?"

She doesn't answer, but I reach down and find warm fur where nothing solid appears to be. I scratch her ears and her nose and under her chin. Her eyes half-close in pleasure.

"Good dog," I say. "What's your name?"

She looks at me as if to say, Look, buddy, I'm not the ghost of Mr. Ed. You handle the talking, all right? If you're up to it, that is.

"Oo-kay. How about . . . Eleazar? El for short. Or Zar."

She wags her ghost tail at Zar. I feel wise and benevolent.

"Well, Zar, let's see if home is still there." I cross the tracks, and she follows me towards Dogtown.

Never did run into Aimee, although I finally found DX Machina's place, which is actually called Milo's. Bunch of little green buggers spiking the drinks and throwing their voices, but a fun time was had by all, especially when someone cast a goblin levitation spell. I have a vague memory of catching a horse driving sleigh home - about 40 feet above street level.

I think I'll wander around town today - check out some of the neighborhoods. Mrs. Thorne has been great, but I thnk I should find a more permanent place to live. Dalrymple sounds interesting. Maybe I could even afford to buy a cottage if the Instagolem (TM) take off.

Never got back to the bar after the First Night festivities. Saw some good stuff, including a buncha ice sculptures, and a Miss Gulch impersonator. Lots of fun. When I stopped by this morning, Phred reported that it had been a fairly good night, nothing too rowdy. Well, except for one thing...

"The only thing out of the ordinary was this little pack of gremlins showed up looking to start some trouble. Nothing too bad at first, teasing the bird, swiping drinks. The penguin tried to shoo them out, but they wouldn't go. I was too busy at that point to do anything about it. Well, then one of the little buggers decided to give Captain Charpe a hotfoot. Gremlins ain't the brightest little things, ya know?

"Anyhow, after Charpe, Chopper and the rest of the orcs finished with them, the little varmints were cowering in the corner over by the jukebox, so I took pity on them and sent them over to the Goblin Market."

"Why the Goblin Market?" I asked, mightily confused. "Jilli has no use for gremlins."

"I didn't send them to Jilli. I gave them a copy of that flyer Clovis keeps posting on the bulletin board looking for minions. I figure once he gets through with them, they'll be wishing the orcs had thrown them out into the sunlight instead."

"Are you nuts? Jilli will kill us both if she finds out. What were you thinking?"

"Boss, I just wanted them out of the bar. Gremlins is nothing but trouble. Besides, we may have bigger problems. The Captain questioned one of the little buggers to find out where they came from. Guess who sent them here."

"No idea. Not Gudanov's style. Someone with an absolutely infantile sense of humor?"

"They said it was Aeshma..."

Cue double take. "That's impossible. We killed him. We watched those two orcs eat him, and then stiff us with the bill."

"He's a wizard, There's dead, and then there's dead. Captain Charpe is worried. He's got the cadre on alert."

"Damn." Okay, now what? Last time he was in town, Aeshma tried to wipe out the entire city. Maybe it's time to break out those travel brochures.