I make my way to Milo's after a day of fruitless searching. I don't know what I'm looking for, really, only that I keep walking into walls and stumbling off of curbs. Something's not right.

There's no one here except a talking penguin wiping off glasses behind the bar.

"DX here?"

The penguin jerks his thumb towards the upstairs, then mimes his head settling into a pillow.

"Sleeping? Oh. I can wait." I settle into a booth, and Zar lies down across my feet.

The penguin looks pointedly at the clock.

"Yeah, it sure is late. Can I get a pint while I'm waiting?"

The penguin sets down the glass and points at the door.

"Hey, look. I won't be any trouble. I'll sit here quietly and drink my beer and pet my dog."

The penguin looks confused.

"Does that jukebox have any Johnny Cash?"

Random impressions drift through my feverish dreams, coming from the crystal. I react to some: Green Acres proves that Miracleman is evil; it's lucky Johnny Cash remains unplayed; stranger still is a mambo troupe dissolving into a cloud of dust.

The last one I put down as impossible, a combination of fevered dreams and the budding telepathic link with the house. That's proceding apace, as it tries to take care of me.

I dream again, things the house is telling me; how it died, where it lived, how it moves, how it escapes total extinction on sunny days, how it knows Milo's (the building), how it can take me anywhere I like, how it hates that I used Miracleman's money to pay for it.

I really must get around to shipping in some cabbage leaves from home.

Dammit! The streets are nearly deserted, and the penguin is turning off the lights at Milo's. Memo to self: buy a watch, and actually look at it from time to time.

I jog to the door and jump inside before the bird can draw the bolt.

He shakes his head.

"One glass of merlot, and I'm outta here." I press a gold coin to his flipper.

There's no one else here but a large, um, golem drinking a pint and rubbing the area between his feet. At least, I think he's a golem. I feel a momentary stab of guilt over my recent experiments. I shake it off. Instagolem (TM) is just a marketing name, it has nothing to do with the real thing, if this is what I'm looking at. I'm not close enough to check for writing inside the mouth, but he couldn't possibly drink beer with a maw full of paper.

I walk over, trying to look friendly and professional. Given that I have a pack full of weapons and am out of breath, this is difficult, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Mind if I join you?" I ask.

"It's a free country." His voice is like rockslide. His brow ridges come together with a clink. "Is it?" He seems genuinely puzzled.

"It was free when I got here, but lately I'm wondering." The penguin brings my merlot. The giant and I toast. Now that I'm close, I see that he's got some sort of spectral being with him. A guardian? A haunting? I don't smell evil here, just dust and shale.

"What brings you to Blood?"

The searching look comes back. "I'm not sure. I have something to do. Something to find. I must find. . . her."

The penguin is starting to get really annoyed. He makes shooing gestures. If he was capable of making a fist, he would do so.

I refrain from shrugging. How would a penguin bounce a human, even a short human, never mind a stone giant? Rather than cause trouble, I tip the bird another gold spot and grab my coat.

"I have no where to go." The giant seems very depressed.

Sigh. This is probably an incredibly stupid move, but. . .

"Listen, I live at a boarding house. Mrs. Thorne would be happy to have you stay for a day or two." Or maybe she can tell if you're trouble or not, I add to myself.

He thinks a moment. "Does she take pets?"

"Oh, sure. As long as he doesn't chase cats." What on earth is accompanying this guy? Ah, well. In for a penny, in for a pound.

The penguin follows us to the door and flips the latch before we've cleared the porch. The giant doesn't make any effort toward conversation. Just as well. I have to think of what I'll tell Mrs. Thorne when we get home.

Newly angered, I prepare my attack on my old foe. The first one will be simple. I summon a few shadow demons and magically stuff them into a FedEx envelope. Shadow demons are the most dreaded fiends around, but they are easy to summon and with their venom and ability to phase in and out of shadow they can sometimes get a cheap kill. Also, they ship easily.

"Deimos, fill out this shipping label. Send it to my foe."

My faithful minion fills out the address without delay. "Who should I say it's from boss?"

I draw upon the knowlege I've soaked up from this world to produce a valid sounding mystic institution. "Say it's from Hogwarts University."

"Um, Hogwarts is..."

"Is what?" I demand.

"Um, a really good idea."

"Ah good, finish up and I'll take it off to have delivered today." I start to look through my supplies to being setting up a more serious attack.

"Uh boss, I don't think they deliver any sooner than overnight." Says my minion as he tries to figure out which delivery method box to check.

"No, you can get them to deliver something across town the same day. You just have to threaten them correctly." Ah, I find the skull I'm looking for.

"All finished boss."

"Good, let's get this sent off and pick up some supplies for the real work."

"Federal Express."

At this time of night? The delivery man looks pale and drawn. I'm instantly suspicious.

"Sign here, please."

I scrawl across the electronic pad. Not my name, of course, no use giving that power to anyone. Let them seek to do ill to David E. Kelley. The bastard.

I examine the label. "Hogwarts? Never heard of it."

"Harry Potter," Hector says, reading over my shoulder.

"Who?"

Hector sighs. "Really, boss, you gotta pay more attention. Harry Potter. The books? The movies?"

"That disfigured child in the glasses, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"Why would he send me...?"

"No, boss. It's fiction. Hogwarts isn't real."

"Oh." I ponder that a moment. "OH!"

"There it is," Hector grumbles.

The envelope shakes a bit in my hand. I think I hear an evil chortle.

"I see. Well, then. Get me a box, please."

Hector does. I conjure a UPS label and fill it out. The delivery address is obscured, but a simple enchantment assures it will go back to the original sender. I mark the box (not usually found on UPS labels) "SUPER REALLY URGENT!! GET IT THERE NOW! YESTERDAY EVEN."

"Hector, can you take this to the local UPS establishment?"

"It's closed, boss."

"Oh, just drop it in the night slot. They'll deliver it first thing."

"You're slightly paranoid, aren't you?"

"More than slightly."

(Could I ask a little favor? I never give the penguin any dialogue, and I really rather you guys didn't, either. Feel free to use him for anything else (sticking him to a wall with velcro is always comedy gold), but please don't have him speak. If you want to interact verbally with a bar employee, I really rather you did it with Phred or Phrancis or even me. Thanks.)

Sorry, DX. I fixed the post to make the penguin mute, but threatening. Is that okay?

(Not a problem, David. Or Penny.)

(edit: Mute is fine.)

I feel unequipped to thank this woman for her hospitality, so as she leads me towards the boarding house I try to make conversation. I'm a bit rusty.

"What year is it?" I ask.

She raises her eyebrows at me. "2003. Just turned."

"2003 . . ." Thinking in terms of the human calendar is an effort. "That means I've only been gone a year."

"Oh? Where were you?" she asks.

"Underground."

"Oh. Really? Listen, if it was my place I could maybe let you lay low a while, but I really like Mrs. Thorne, and if there are cops looking for you . . ."

"No. No cops."

"Government? I'm sympathetic, believe me, it's just--"

"It wasn't that kind of underground. It was more the underground kind of underground. Deep within the earth, that kind of thing. Crust and mantle and tectonic plates."

"You don't say. I'm Penny."

"Knut." I take her hand very carefully. She doesn't seem particularly fragile, but I'm fairly certain her bones aren't made out of granite. "Penny . . . have we met?"