Uh-oh. She wants to kill me.

"We are all one," says the Do-Gooder. "At least, we were. Now I am not certain. We may have diverged."

"May have? May have?" I'm hyperventilating. The mirrors are doing plastic rainbow things at the edges of my vision. I hold my breath.

"Thing is, see, we're all like, self-determined," says Wishy-Washy. "It's not like one of those Trek deals where I need them and they need me. It's more like, we each have discrete personalities, and re-integration might not be possible. You dig?"

"I don't want to be part of them," I say.

"But you are evil," says the Do-Gooder. "If I let you run amok, I will be responsible for the wrongs you do."

"Quite the conundrum," says Edward. "Are you familiar with Shun Kim's works on the divergence of magically created twins?"

"No," says Wishy-Washy. "But if it works for Crichton, it'll work for me."

"Maybe you could just tone them down a little?" Penny says. "I mean, this one's homicidal, and the good one . . ."

". . . talks--and apparently thinks--like a refugee from a bad fantasy novel," finishes the young woman. "I get that. It's possible. That's assuming I can get any of you back in one piece."

A sobering thought. My hands start shaking. I clasp them in front of me, annoyed. Evil shouldn't have anxiety attacks.

"I don't want you messing about in my head," I say. "Bring me back whole or I'll find my own way."

So nice to finally meet another Sang Sacrian, even under these circumstances. Actually, I kind of know Ms. Lizard by reputation - the journals, whispers in cafes - so this is like meeting an penpal, kind of. Best of all, she knows a way out!

Not all the Knuts are as optimistic as I. In fact, BlackPants!Knut looks like he might cut and run. I draw Ms. Lizard aside a little.

"Edward and I are whole beings, but these three Knuts were once one perfectly good Knut. They probably belong together, but they've been living independent existences. If they continue as three beings, the evil one will run for office or open a used car dealership or gods know what. That's not the worst of it. I'm afraid that the White Knight will kill himself in an effort to rescue a damsel or something. The Slacker seems harmless, but useless. His mellow could withstand nuclear attack. He'll probably end up haunting comic book stores for the rest of his existence."

Rebecca looks at the three Knuts. "The original Knut; what was he like?"

"Great guy, but with grey areas, as it was meant to be. I think so, anyway. I'd like to get him back."

BlackPants!Knut's hands are forming fists. Perhaps we should take action.

"I leave it to you. If you can integrate the guys, that would be great. If you can't, we'll just have to deal. All I can worry about right now is getting home."

(guys, I think I'll leave Edward to you more often. You write her better than I do.)

I hope those Knuts go back together. The seperate ones seem very ill-educated.

This Rebecca Lizard seems okay, though. I think Am talked about her once or twice. Perhaps she knows where Clovis is? As soon as Penny stops talking, I'll ask.

Hector is pulling urgently on my sleeve. "You need to find that bear..."

"Edward."

"And you need to find him..."

"Her."

"Now, before you're killed. Or forced to stand for election."

"Oh. Shall we, err, slip out the back door?"

"No- you go, I'll cover for you."

While Hector starts tap-dancing and singing something about evil gingerbread, I hurry out. I have to climb over a couple of fences and stake a Jell-O vampire (lucky I had that banana on me), but finally I'm in the street and away.

Where to go?

Wherever Clovis is, I guess, or to someone who knows thier way around. And, preferably, without being killed, eaten, tied up, catching the plague, cuddled by spiders, falling into the mirror world, getting caught by skelingtons, or meeting anyone dangerous.

Perhaps if I get though all of them in the next hour I'll be okay after that?

Rebecca seems to be pondering the Knut issue when something strikes her. "You mentioned an Edward."

"Yes, Edward's a living teddy bear, near as I can determine. He's in my pocket."

She! She is in your pocket

Edward pops his, er, her head out of my jacket, straightens her fur, and smiles ingratiatingly at Ms. Lizard.

Do you know where I can perhaps find Clovis? I would be most grateful!

Clovis? That names keeps coming up, and I don't like the sound of it. It makes me think of Clovis spear tips. Or maybe Clovis is like cloven. I picture a great devil beast with massive horns and hooves. Great.

I give the bear my scary teacher look. "Edward, who is Clovs and why are you looking for him? Also, are you by any chance, evil????"

The scary teacher look doesn't frighten me, you know. Well, only a little bit.

"I'm Clovis' minion," I say proudly. "I've got to find him and help out with whatever he needs me to do."

"Yes, but are you evil?"

"Of course." I roll my eyes, which probably isn't very effective. "You didn't expect a talking teddy bear to be good, surely?"

The women are whispering to each other.

"What about the balance? Doesn't that mean anything to you people? Putting us back together will just leave you with the same goody two-shoes loser you started with. This all started because the balance was out of whack, right? Well, who's to say it was tilted towards evil? Maybe it was tilted the other way, and keeping me separate is one way to set things back to right again."

"Or perhaps," says the Do-Gooder, "putting us back together is the only way to balance out your evil."

"Please. Do you really want my baser instincts clogging up your moral certainty? Wouldn't you rather stay the pure and unblemished self that you are right now, without having to deal with the occassional desire to throttle furniture movers and drunks?"

"I have nothing against furniture movers."

"You will, if we're put back together."

I can see the giant gears grinding in fits and starts through his head. "Perhaps you have a point," he says after a while.

The gingerbread demons take to the streets.

The Hounds, having given up their pursuit of entering dimension X via the angles of the world, trot down the back alleys and side streets. They carry hand-written election flyers in their toothy maws. Whenever the diminuative monsters encounter a denizen of the Blood their tactic is to swarm the unfortunate individual, bite, claw and tear, then to leave the campaign flyers stuffed in the ragged wounds. From the ginger-hound's point of view, things are going swimmingly.

The Deep Ones mostly hang around the numerous fountains in town. They refuse to go into the fountains after discovering that gingerbread and liquid equals a squishy death, but find comfort in staying near the water. Being cunningly evil, the little ginger-terrors have taken to ambushing pigeons and seagulls. They know better than to kill the animals, but brutalize the birds as much as they can, before loosely attaching election flyers to their feet. When released, the result is a flock of bleeding birds that drop gore-covered campaign promises on unsuspecting crowds all over the city. The Deep ones then bide their time, nibbling on their fingers and toes.

The Cthonians take to the bowels of the earth. Being geniuses, they had the foresight to shellac themselves, ensuring that their cookie bodies did not break down too easily. The Cthonians are forced to carry the flyers in their mouths, but are none too bothered by the situation, as they are telepathic anyway. Their means of delivery is novel, but not unusual in Sang Sacre. Tunneling into the sewer system, the tentacled ginger-snakes creep into homes via the pipes. More than a few citizens are a little put off by the feeling of slimy tentacles carressing their bottoms as they sit on their toilets. Others find themselves stepping on drool-covered flyers lying haphazzardly on their stairs or in their hallways. Ambulances are busy today. The city has never seen so many accidents related to slipping and falling.

Calm, cool and collected, Ginger-Nyarlathotep wanders through parks and playgrounds, shaking babies and kissing hands. Most of his encounters usually end up with people running away in terror, but one stands out. After a particulary vigourous shaking, the dark lord found himself staring down a man bearing a cross.

"Get thee away, evil creature," shouted John-Q-Public.

Nyarlathotep blinked. A silence ensued.

"I said, leave," bellowed John-Q-Public once again.

"Vote for me, " croaked Ginger-Nyarlathotep.

"What?"

"Vote for me."

John-Q, clearly confused, scratches his head with the cross. "But...its not an election year."

Impatient at the best of times, the Dark Lord abruptly ends the conversation. With its penetrating gaze it destroyed John-Q-Public's mind and crafted it into one more to its liking.

"I say, vote for me, slave. Deliver flyers! Find more voter-slaves"

John-Q, thoroughly unhinged, began salivating and weeping. "Must vote...must vote...must vote..."

As the fellow ran off, pamphlets in hand, the Dark Lord raised its cookie arms to the sky and squeaked in triumph.