The first thing to do is search Gert's room for clues. I need to know how long she's been planning to go bad, any hints about where she might go. I stalk across the lobby, through the big glass doors out to the courtyard. Gert's quarters are out back.

"Specially designed, handcrafted by ghouls, cost a fortune. Ingrate." I mutter under my breath. I'm not really sure exactly how I intend to face down a chaos demon. I'll worry about that later. Right now, I'm only thinking about Fiel and Enano and the others.

I grab the door handle and turn. She never locks it because, well, 8 foot chaos demon. It opens a few inches then bangs against something. I give it a couple of shoves but I can't budge it. I take a few steps back and give the door a stern look.

"No tengo tiempo para jugar. Abre." It's harder than it should be, but the door finally slides open enough for me to squeeze in. I gingerly put my foot through and brush up against something hard. I clap my hands twice and the lights come on. Gert loved the clapper.

"Huh?" I look down and see a chaos demon on the floor. "Didn't expect that."

I close the door. Light glints off the mirror hanging on the back of the door. I stoop down to try to check on Gert. How do you check a demon's pulse? All of a sudden, I'm feeling a little woozy.

"Whoo, head rush. I better sit down for a second." Gert is stirring a little, I think. "Gert, are you ok?"

"She's out like a light, but I'm feeling just fine, not that you asked."

I jump up and whirl around. The room is spinning slightly. Damn, head rush again. Once my vision clears, I see her, uh I mean me. Did I get a boob job?

She lunges for me. Damn. She found external stimulus first.

Still, it's a lunge. I can do this. I cross my arms, over hers, collapsing them. I'm tugged suddenly down -- she's bending and rolling. And throwing me.

I twist, slightly, and help her by diving over, rolling twice shoulderfirst as we go down.

Which gives me the edge -- I know I'm better at front dives than at back rolls.

But her first motion is backwards, before I can reach her, and we're even again.

Mean streets. The mean streets are remarkable free of litter, and lined with tastefully painted houses fronted by trees.

Except that one. Purple, with green trim?? Not to mention the lawn gnomes. I ignore the Gay Vampire Porn vendors and walk up to the front door. The doorbell plays a snippet of "How Much Is that Doggie in the Window," and my ire is further fueled.

I kick the door open. Ugh--it's worse than I thought. Chintz. Doilies. Paisley wallpaper. Stripes on the hardwood. And a gas fireplace.

"Listen up, people! This place looks like Hildy and Laurie had a fabric war. I hereby condemn this property for crimes against good taste, and for clashing. You've got thirty seconds to clear out."

A group of bewildered young people appear from the stairs and the various rooms. "What's the what, dude?" asks a fellow wearing an alpaca sweater, sweat pants and sandals with socks.

I tremble with rage. "Out, before I make an example of you!" They don't move until the house starts shaking. Green shoots climb out of the beige shag, and flowers sprout from the plaster Springer Spaniel beside the living room door. "I reclaim this property in the name of the Earth, and of good taste!"

After that they clear out remarkably quickly, leaving the stench of patchouli behind them. The odor is soon masked by the smell of growing things. The floors buckle and split, and the walls collapse into loam. A hundred years of growth happens in minutes, and soon a grove of old oaks stands in place of the monstrosity.

I breath easier. Mean streets are just fine. Ugly, that's another matter. Now. Where did that fellow with the socks and sandals go?

Hector- brave, bitten, burned Hector- and I crouch behind the couch, enjoying the pleasing sounds of Miracleman scorching a ferret out of the heating vents.

'Dagfari?' I ask, silently.

//Here, lady. What is it now?//

'We need to know what will happen we kill the evil twins.'

//Oh. You mean the fact that I've suddenly become semi-detached is something to do with what's going on all over?//

' You have an evil twin?'

//Yes, lady. Fully equiped, didn't the real estate man tell you?//

'I guess I didn't take it in,' I admit. 'Anyway, hit the books, would you?'

//I'll try not to hurt them,// and the snarky house is gone.

"Do you know what's going to happen?" Hector whispers urgently.

"Sorry, I don't. If I'd lived here longer I might be able to make a guess- but I think it all depends on who wins these fights. Past expericence says that either the evil twins win, and the balance is tipped to evil; or the good wins, vice versa.

"In Hunklejelly's famous book, 'Turning Points In Reality: Space, Time, Magic and the Interbalances Thereof' he says that..."

I break off as Hector screams. Having got the hang of this moving lark, the house shifted on its own, spitting the ferret out onto the carpet, and putting poor Hector back into the wall.

It's a lovely day despite my hangover from a night of bar-hopping. The flood of evil reflections has pitched the city into semi chaos. I smile as I ride by a burning building that so recently was dispensing sugar coated fried dough rings.

I arrive outside of my old foe's residence. There seems to be quite a commotion going on, excellent. I incant my dread curse of solicitation and ride off as the ground cracks open and demons begin to pour out. Demons selling cable service, dish service, vacuum cleaners, knives, newpapers, and a hundred other products. Demons recruiting members for any number of demonic cults. Demons asking for vote in the upcoming elections to determine the new leadership of the special hell being constructed here. Demon Amway representatives. Even members of the Spawn Scouts selling cookies or tickets to Spawn Scout events.

Lovely day.

"Say, Miracleman, do you have any idea what happens if you kill a magically engendered evil twin?"

"Nope. I may have to find out, though."

Just then the house lurches and the EvilMiracleFerret pops out of the woodwork. I leap, tackle and snatch him up. "Quick! A bag or a box or some--"

Too late. I'm staring at my own face. He spits and knees me in the groin.

"I'll find a way to do something to you," he shouts. "I'll find a move you can't anticipate and then we'll see who's real and who's DEAD!!"

"Very...witty. The repartee," I gasp, rolling undignifiedly on the floor.

"Oh, and that was fucking Kevin Smith dialog," he mocks. His long black trenchcoat tramsmutes to bat-like wings. "I'm outta here."

And then the doorbell starts ringing. Alot.

Poor Hector. I help him out, giggling all the while, as the doorbell starts to ring. Who now? Oh, dear. He looks so upset.

"I saw- outside- dear lord!" he gasps, and then faints. Turn and turn about. I catch him, and look over the prone figure at Miracleman, who seems a little distressed.

Hector is obviously not up for answering the door. I squint through the peephole and see a dozen, no, a hundred ugly salesmen on the front porch. How did they get through the damned barriers?

I call the Instagolem. They have a rubbery texture and a greenish tint, but otherwise seem fine.

"Get rid of the solicitors. Violently. When they're gone, guard this house and don't let anyone in, unless someone in this room says it's okay."

I open the door just long enough to let the golem out. Within seconds the sound of slaps and squealing fills the air. I turn to Aimee, who's on the floor beside Miracleman.

"Where's the kitchen?"

She gestures towards the back of the house. I head over and start gathering ice and dishtowels. I have a feeling there's going to be a lot of bruising in our collective future.

"Two months of service free when you sign up for a lifetime contract with Infernal Digital! How many times have you asked yourself, 'Why can't I get any Infernal reception here?' Well, now you can! And the best part, the service is free! We just take the minutes off your life span!"

"I don't know about you, sir, but dust is my nemesis. It creeps into the cracks and crevices, and even when you can't see it, it's there. Our new Vortex 12000 is guaranteed to pick up all the dust in your home, as well as any unwanted ambitions, dreams or household pets. And the best part? No bags to empty, ever, because all the waste is deposited in the deepest layers of the Abyss, where you'll never have to think about it again for as long as you live!"

"I know what you're thinking--what do I need a juicer for? Well, sir, the truth is, nobody needs a juicer. But I'll give you this juicer for free, if you'll attend an orientation session with me and sign a contract which obligates you to sell 200 juicers and bring in just one person a week to our recruitment, er, orientation sessions. Don't call it a pyramid scheme! Call it Mom!"

I am beset by foes I know not how to fight. Though I run, they follow. Though I deny them, they press me with the hard sell. I would lash out, but I see men and women in neatly pressed suits perched in the trees, briefcases clutched in their talons, waiting to swoop in with personal injury lawsuits. I am trapped.

I claim a spotty credit record, and they speak to me of financing, of secured credit. I tell them I am incompetent, and they request that I sign over my power of attorney. I back up against a lamp post and thank the gods that I have no cash on me. I need help.

I hear barking then, and Zar comes trotting through the salespeople. An idea strikes me. I crouch to speak to her, which gives me a momentary respite, as the pitchmen are momentarily taken aback by my apparent madness.

By the time she is gone, however, they have redoubled their assault. I am weakening. Perhaps ita would like a set of ginsu knives. An ab-roller could really help me with those trouble spots. I wonder if Rogaine could grow hair on a stone head?

Just as I am about to start reciting my credit card number like a mantra, I hear the cavalry arriving. The cacophony of barks and growls sounds like an orchestra playing the strains of salvation. The Well-Behaved have arrived. Pugs and Retrievers and Mastiffs, Afghans and Daschunds and Saint Bernards, and mutts, wonderful, beautiful mutts, they seize at pants legs and seats and chase the rabble off. Who better to handle unwanted salesmen than a dog? The streets are soon clear save for a few pamplets, and Zar rubs against my leg, requesting a thank you rub behind the ears. I give it to her.

"Good save, Eleazar."

A ragged Shih Tzu comes trailing around the corner after the others, panting. She stops and looks up at me as if to ask if this is really necessary.

"I think the bulk of them are on their way out of town by now," I say. "There'll be stragglers, but you can take a break." I pick her up and turn towards Miracleman's place, hoping the house hasn't moved again.

It's morning in Sang Sacre, but instead of the usual sunshine and birds singing, the atmosphere in the Old Quarter is dreary and oppressive. Aeshma's back, and a lot of weird stuff's been going on. He's already sent one batch of minions to the bar, and I'm waiting for the next shoe to drop. I turn onto Andre, and head for number 33. The front appears intact. That's always a good sign. I walk in the door to find find Phred sweeping up some rather large piles of dust. The penguin is valiantly trying to maneuver the Hoover onto another big pile, holding on for dear life as the big machine trundles across the floor. I intercept him, and take over the vacuuming. "What happened?" I ask Phred.

"Bunch of vamps came in last night looking for trouble. They found it."

"Huh?"

"They showed up just before closing, 'bout ten of 'em. "Phrancis was still here, the bird, me. The only customers left were Chopper, Ragman, and Harrass." He chuckles a bit at the last. Nobody interrupts the orcs while they're drinking. "Whole thing was over in a couple of minutes. None of 'em got away. Phrancis got nicked by some kind of enchanted blade, but he should be okay. Just made him weak as a trolliwog." He reaches behind the bar, pulls out a golden blade wrapped in a bar towel, and hands it to me. "I can't touch it. Makes my skin crawl. Anyway, Chopper and the boys went out to see if any more were about, but they didn't see anything. Didn't think it was worth waking you up about."

I start to examine the blade. On the handle there's an inscription that reads, "Property of Aeshma the Terrible. If found, please drop in the nearest mailbox," and it listed an address in the Quarter. Funny guy, Aeshma.

"Okay, as long as Phrancis is... What the..." We're standing back by the office, and I glance over to the bar, where the penguin is standing, staring into the mirror behind the bar. As I watch, a penguin doppelgänger steps out of the mirror and faces the original. "Oh, god, no!" I mutter, as I pick up the nearest bottle, and throw it into the mirror, shattering it into a million tiny fragments, as the penguins duck for cover.