Let me think ... get the Save a Tree people on the case for all the non-recycled paper that got used in those mailers ... the environmental people on line for all that toxic ink that went into the printing ... plus--I stiffen my nerve--I bet the League of Women/Men/Whatever Voters would love to take a look at the truth in campaigning angle.

"The name is Penny, buttmunch."

Unfortunately, my very restrained admonishment to the Rock in Black comes out all weird. I realize I sound like the little prophet guy in Twin Peaks. Why is it that when directors try to get all auteur-y, they use little people? I hate that.

Speaking of tiny creatures, Edward is not keeping up.

"Get into my jacket pocket. You'll be safe there," I whisper.

no! no pocket! no curses!

"I'm not going to curse you, but I might step on your accidentally, so just do it!"

The bear complies, and I can feel him trembling against my side. I'm pretty scared too. Just to makes the situation truly suck like the mighty wind, Slacker!Knut is bitching about something trying to cut him to pieces. I have to do something.

"These monsters, they're like living glass shards?"

I feel all three Knuts shrug as they try to synchronize their steps.

"Maybe if we could catch one."

BlackPants explodes. "Catch one? What have you been substituting for oxygen lately, You stupid prat. 'Catch me a monster so I can look at it, pretty please.' Why don't we just distract the bastards with you and the bear?"

no! no! edward isn't for slicing!

"Thou shall touch neither Penny nor, um, the small bear!!" WhitePantsKnut has a wonderful booming voice, but where did he pick up that diction? Still, nice to know that my Knut's basic decency is still around.

"It's okay, nobody's going to touch me. You need me, because I have powers that you don't. Besides, I have an idea."

It would have been more accurate to say I have a really half-assed idea, but I don't want to look half-assed in front of BlackPants. My underwear situation is bad enough, although I'm glad I wore a matching set today.

It occured to me that curses won't work here, this being mirror land and all, but something else might. I create a vivid mental picture and focus for all I'm worth. Then I wait.

Not for long, however.

"Dude! It cut me again. Wrecked my only shirt, too."

Aha!

"Hey, Shard Monster, why don't you take a load off and stick around for a while."

I feel the surge of power, but I can't see what's happening. It feels good, but somehow a bit off.

"PlaidKnut, what's going on?"

"PlaidKnut, what's going on?"

I consider the question. "Um, the inside of my chest is starting to look like a geological strata. Or it would if I could see it. Oh, and there's a monster in front of me. I can hear him breathing. He sounds like windchimes. Really sharp windchimes, with a bad attitude."

"Kill it!" Snidely says.

"No, don't!" Penny says, which is good, 'cause I don't know how to kill these particular monsters. Maybe a big broom or something.

"Don't kill it." She's repeating herself. Could be hypothermia. I'm feeling a bit woozy myself. What I wouldn't give for a microwave burrito and a two-liter of Barq's right now. "Capture it," she says.

"OK." I lunge in the dark and manage to grab the monster by its neck. The palm of my hand is shredded.

"Ow. I mean, I've got it. What now?"

"Whatever you're working on, do it fast," says Snidely. "I think they're massing for an attack. I can hear them whispering."

"If they attack, we will fight them," says Dudley.

"How? I can't even see to snark at them in this dark."

Man, these two are useless.

Oh no. I'm in curse-girl's pocket, I'm about to be shredded by bits of living glass and the leather pants men (and why aren't they showing thier underwear?) are snarking at each other.

Consider your options, Edward. And, girl, do it fast.

1) I could jump out of this pocket and run away.

Problem: I'd be shredded.

2) I could stay here, quietly, and hope they don't notice me under shreds-of-Penny.

Problem: I'm already screaming. They know I'm here.

3) I could stay here and scream like a girl.

I'm wearing a skirt, anyway (though it does still seem to be over my underwear. Perhaps the transvestive thing fooled the mirror?). I scream louder.

"Guys, I suspect, it's just an idea, that these mirror things are a way out of here, because they're mirrors, right?" Cripes. I think tension and cold are cutting off circulation to my brain. "I want get one, or maybe more to keep still on the ground. Yeah. Also, if you caught the thing, maybe that means that my pleasant suggestions in this world act like curses in the other one. That was my theory."

Did that make any sense at all? I'm not sure. I feel dizzy and claustrophobic, and the damned bear is screaming like a tea kettle.

"So curse them! Suggest them! Whatever! Just do it before I feel the need for a human shield." BlackPants is getting really tense. He seems to have absorbed most of the brains of the group, though. What is it about evil boosting the IQ? Where have I heard that?

"Hey, Mirror Guys," I begin in my most soothing voice. "Why don't you take a load off. Stick around a while. Relax... just... relax... relax..."

I clamp a hand over edward to cork his screaming. It becomes very quiet. Too quiet? I risk a whisper. "Is it working?"

I check the flyers choking the mail box.

"A Vote for Aeshma is a vote for change? Vote early, vote often?" Huh. "Hey, honey, there's some sort of a vote going on. Is this an election year or is it another poll to decide how Jilli should have her bangs cut?"

I ignore the little bear's screaming and the erosion of my chest and the stone cold and listen.

"I don't hear anything."

"You could be a little more aggressive with the cursing," says Snidely. "Try get lost. Drop dead. Go to hell."

"An you please, fair inhabitants of the mirror dimension, molest us not in our passage through your fair realm," suggests Dudley the Do-Gooder. "Stand aside and let us pass!"

"who talks like that?" asks Edward.

"I don't know, babe," I whisper.

"I'll handle the cursing," says Penny. "You guys just keep walking!"

We keep walking. It's horribly cold, and my insides become my outsides become my upside-downsides. I miss my couch.

And suddenly, light blinds me. I cover my eyes and lower my head, blinking to readjust. "What happened? Where are we?"

"A hall of mirrors," says one of us, I'm not sure which. "Does this mean we're out?"

"I don't know," I say. "I've never been here."

"I can't see," says Penny.

"Me neither." Something brushes against my leg. I lean down to pick it up--it's some sort of paper. I squint at it. It looks like an election flyer. "Vote for Aeshma!" with lots of bullets for dicatorial experience and something about rounding up the opposition.

"Dudes, is it an election year?"

"Probably both," I mutter.

I sit at the table pouring over the 'Fuzzy Pumper Orthanc' instructions, wondering why in the hell they are written in Hellspeak. My command of the language is poor at best, but I'm fairly certain that the play doh we've been using to make orcs is actually ectoplasm. That would explain their come-to-life-run-amokedness.

I rub my jaw and stare at the box on the counter. A disturbing thought crosses my mind. The kind of thought that seems to take on a life of its own, as soon as you think it. I know the next few moments will probably lead to some horrible, yet zany, situation, but screw it. Ya only live once, eh?

I get up, reach into the Fuzzy Pumper box, grab up some writhing orcs and throw them into the electric mixer. From under the counter I haul out some flour, and brown sugar. I turn on the mixer and watch as both completed orcs and half formed ones scramble to get out of the way of the beaters, running around the bowl like some crazed marathoners being chased by a chainsaw-wielding maniac. I trip up the quicker ones with a wooden spoon and grin as the beaters reduce them back to demonic sludge. When little more than a clotted paste is left, I add the other dry ingredients. I grate fresh ginger and add it to the bowl, followed by butter and salt. A quick turn with the bread mixer attachment gives me a large brown lump of mealy dough.

This, I plop onto the counter. It gives a kind of yelp, which I end with a backhand from the wooden spoon. Grabbing up the rolling pin, I knead and stretch and roll the dough until it is long and flat.

Turning back to the counter, I search through the cluttered gadget drawer and eventually find the cookie cutter box. I rifle the contents of the box and extract several cutters. They are copper and in the shape of creatures from the Cthulhu Mythos. Just holding them gives a sense of dread in the pit of my stomach.

I pause.

No going back from here.

But like mad scientists have done throughout the ages, I simply shrug and turn back to my creation.

My tongue periodically hangs from the side of my mouth as I cut, and I hum Wagner's 'Flight of the Valkyries'.

"What are you doing, dear," Elena says from the parlour.

"Demon gingerbread," I respond, cutting furiously.

"Oh, that's nice. I like Mal, could you make gingerbread Mals?"

I pause. "No. They don't make those cutters."

She shrieks with laughter at something on the TV. I don't think she heard me.

I turn back to my task. Now cut, I lay the cookie-demons onto a baking sheet. I grab up a scorched oven mit and edge close to the oven. Pulling open the door very quickly, I surprise the fire Afrit within. Before the little flamer can project a gout of fire at my face, I toss in the cookie sheet and slam the door. It howls with rage, swearing in arabic. The little djinn is not happy.

Trapped, it has no choice but to obey my wishes. I whisper that the cookies are to be cooked perfectly and the little monster growls in dissatisfaction. I know that it'll obey though. I have sixteen dozen cherry pies to prove it.

I barely wait a minute when a hoarse voice emits from the oven. "Done, you ill-begotten-son-of-a-donkey..."

I don't let it finish the insult, opening the door with a flourish. Ready, it gives a toothy grin and prepares to crisp my loins...or it would have...had I not had the extinguisher handy. I give it a face full of foam and the little bugger falls over choking. As it gags, I grab the tray of cookies, and once again, slam the door.

Ignoring the Afrit's protests and threats, I dump the hot ginger-demons onto the counter. I watch the pile of cookies for several minutes. They begin to twitch, then to move about slowly. One by one the netherworldly desserts stand.

Triumphant, I look up and yell, "THEY ARE ALIVE! ALIVE!"

"It's a little late to think about finding breakfast, isn't it?" I ask.

She nods. "There's also the matter of the perimeter breach on your secondary property. You might want to look into that before the pancakes."

"What?"

"The hall of mirrors. It's being used for dimension-hopping."

Well, fuck, of course. After I bought the ground and persuaded the traveling circus to leave behind the hall of mirrors for me, I'd sort of forgot about locking it up from anything but the physical realm. Even in an ordinary mirror-hall, all those reflections over and over could provide a focal point for a power that would be....

I take off running towards the ex- circus grounds. My twin stands where she is, smooths her hair down, picks a loose flyer off the ground. A Vote for Aeshma is a Vote for Change! it reads. She regards the colors of the slick, oily ink on the paper; then sets it back down on the sidewalk. When she walks away again, there's a patch of moss growing there.

Triumphant, I look up and yell, "THEY ARE ALIVE! ALIVE!"

t oh, dear