It's all up to Rebecca now. I stand by and let her work, and I keep my hand over Edward. The wretched little furball is evil! What's worse, she's really cute, so she can probably get away with all kinds of malfeasance.

I think about what the Knuts said about balance. In my experience, there's always plenty of evil around, no need to find more. I'm all for a bit of snark, a dollop of sarcasm, and a healthy dose of skepticism, but pure black hat evil is not my style. I suddenly feel very tired. How will all this turn out.

Rebecca is muttering to herself. I turn to see what she's up to when another damned paper airplane hits me in the temple. Dammit. How do these things cross dimensional portals? Are we behind a dimensional portal? Why did I spend all those hours in science class surreptiously reading novels?

The message is really hard to read. It's in some kind of magic legalese that I'm not in the mood for. Someone has done a Coles Notes fortunately, in pink highlighter at that.

"What the hell? Is this an election year?"

The superintendent is about to speak when a paper airplane hits her in the side of the head. Penny's already reading hers. A third plane circles over our heads, then splits into three. One plane hits Dudley, another hits Snidely, and the last lodges in my ear.

The superintendent seizes the plane and stuffs it into a pocket. She seems preoccupied.

"Enough debate," she says. "Five you are, and five you'll stay. Leave the hall immediately when you get back to Sacre-space."

"What are you going to do?" asks Penny.

The superintendent slips on a pair of leather gloves. At least, they look like leather. "I'm going to work out some of my frustrations on the Shard you let in here. Now, step closer."

We all take a step towards her.

"Not to me," she says impatiently. "To each other." She pulls out something that looks like a camera.

"Pictures! Edward needs a comb!"

"It's not a camera," says the super. "It's a Re-Dimensionalizer 2200. Autofocus, zoom, works in all fourteen known dimensions. Now, I just need to set it for three--" she fiddles with a dial on top of the thing. "There. Now, move closer, please. Penny, step in front of Good Guy Knut. Edward, I can't see your face."

We jostle to and fro. Snidely mutters to himself. Finally the super seems satisfied.

"All right, everyone. Now give me a barbaric yawp."

"YAWP!"

Pink ribbon pushing pulling stretching suffocating, through mail slot bicycle pump flesh resisting, itching sweating lungs unfolding. Eyelid fireworks skull soccer toes curling--breath, and blur, and finally focus.

"Ow."

"We're home," Penny says. She seems a little disappointed. I suspect that she is not pleased with the fragmentation that has occurred. I don't know what to say to make her any happier about it.

"Home!" Edward hops out of Penny's pocket and runs from the hall. "I'm coming, Clovis!"

"Damn it!" Penny starts after him, and I follow. The super--I think Penny said her name was Lizard, and I wonder if she's the poet I recall having read in the Dogtown Review--told us to get out of the hall right away. I turn to make sure the others are following, but only Wishy-Washy is there.

"Where did he go?"

"Who, Snidely? I don't know. He must have come around before the rest of us did. Bad guys are always doing that."

"So they are." I sigh as I step out of the hall of mirrors and into the air of Sang Sacre again. I wonder what it is I've set loose on my beloved city. And that's the first time it really hits me, that I'm home. After all that time underground, I'm back where I belong.

"Did you read this thing?" asks Wishy-Washy. "I can't make head or tail out of it."

I recall the paper airplane, and I unfold it to read. It's from Hec. It takes me a minute to get my head around the archaic legalese, but when I figure it out I laugh out loud. It feels good.

Wondering through the cold streets, I'm suddenly struck down by a... paper aeroplane? Huh. It's from Hec.

legalese... pink highlighter... I don't bother reading it. A quick look at the headers, and I know what has to be done. Edward will just have to look after herself for a while- I'm sure Clovis can cope with that.

First locate the closest source of mythical energy.

You've got to have something to trap an evil election candidate in.

I run though the streets, shouting, "Clovis! Clovis, where you are?"

(That nearly fits the "Scooby Doo" theme tune. Clovis snacks? Sounding better every minute.)

Something trips me, and I sprawl into the gutter. An election flyer. Wow- what a great policy! I'd vote for this guy.

Do you suppose bears get a vote in Sang Sacre? I hope so they do.

"I'll ask Mr. Charpe, Phred, but we've got ourselves a bit of a situation here right now, so it could be awhile." Sergeant Pit Chopper hung up the phone and walked back into the office where Captain Rockhard Charpe grimly considered the pair of faces glaring back at him from across a shabby wooden table. They were obviously Elvish, tall and lithe, with flowing blonde hair and pointed ears. They were dressed in bright red breeches and cloaks, in sharp contrast to the dull green jackets the two orc militiamen were wearing. But it was their faces that Charpe was looking at in wonder. Their faces were identical to those of Charpe and Chopper.

"Let's go through it again. You just suddenly appeared in our barracks, and you have no idea how you got here. Is that it?"

The Charpe!elf gave the real Charpe a nasty look, and spoke in a cultured, vaguely otherworldly voice that held just a hint of disdain, "Yes, that is it. The sergeant and I were in our barracks, we looked at the mirror, and then we were here, with you chaps holding weapons to our throats. As I said before, I am Turotulco Keensight, Major in His Majesty's First Keebler Regiment, and this is Sergeant Callow Stringplucker."

"Did you hear that, Pit? The poncey gits were just minding their own business, and then they just happened to pop in here by accident. Don't you just hate when that happens, Pit?"

"Yes, sir, I hate accidents. Usually means it's gonna be a real bad day," came the answer.

"A real bad day," Charpe repeated. "We've been having a lot of those since Aeshma came back to town. You fellows know Aeshma, don't yeh?"

"I've never heard of the chap," said Turotulco offhandedly, leaning back in his chair. "But if he's causing you trouble, I think I should like to meet the fellow."

Charpe leaned in towards Turotulco, his face only an inch or two from the Major's. "You know what I think? I think you two are his spies. That evil wizard sent you here to make sure the militia was removed from the picture when he sent in another invading army."

Turotulco, removed a handkerchief from his pocket, and dabbed it at his face. "Evil wizard? Come now, if anyone would be in the hire of an evil wizard, it would be an orc, not an elf."

As Charpe thought about this last, Chopper motioned to follow him out of the room. Charpe closed the door behind him. "He's a point there, sir," said Chopper. "Remember, we're the ones who switched sides."

"True, Pit, but if they're not his spies, how did they get here?"

"Sir, I had a call from Phred. He said that someone enchanted all the mirrors in town, and that folk's opposites were stepping out of them. Do ya think?"

"Those fops are our opposites? Actually, that makes sense. We're going to need more information."

Charpe went back into the office and faced the two elves. "On your feet! We're gonna go have a drink."

Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Edward has escaped to find his Satanic overlord. Well, I, for one, am not going to waste my time chasing a tiny stuffed toy around town any longer. It looks ridiculous, I'm tired, and there are too many issues to think about. BlackPants!Knut is out there somewhere, and I have an apparently urgent message in my hand.

Let him win? Who's he? Who sent this? What is going on, I ask myself for the 27 thousandth time today. Behind me, WhiteKnut is laughing.

"What's up, Knut? Good news?"

"...and a policy of, uh, education in the Mystical Arts, uh, and increase in the Evil Incursion Defense budget perhaps...Hector will you stop that tap-dancing, you really suck at it."

Just then a paper airplane shoots through the window, arrowing for between my eyes. I incinerate it.

"Where were we? Yes, right. What other policies should we infuse into our candidate? I, personally, would like a tax break for magical research..."

"Boss?"

"It's criminal, really, that I can't write off my books and potions and whatnot. I could really use the extra beer money to be frank..."

"Boss."

"Also, perhaps we can do something about the continuous use of foodstuffs as minions..."

"Boss!"

"What?!"

"You better read this."

Sighing I take Hec's message. "'Let 'em win'? What sort of nonsense is that?"

"Maybe he's thinking that with, you know, all the headaches he has to deal with Aeshma will abdicate quickly."

"But...but...but that's...that's letting him win."

"Yeah, but the prize sucks. I guess."

"But, Hector...that's letting him win."

"Yes, boss, I understand that, but what I think Hec's saying is..."

"But..."

Aimee lays a hand on my arm. "MM...shut up. Let the wookie win."

"A wookie, certainly, fine upstanding folks, wookies...but Aeshma is..."

"Evil."

"Right."

"But that's not why you're upset."

"It...might be."

She sighs. "It's not and you know it. It's letting Aeshma win that bothers you. You're far too competitive."

"I just don't like the man is all," I mutter.

"There there. Calm down. Have a cookie." She hands me what smells like a gingerbread cookie. It's shaped like a creature out of nightmare.

"Vote for me!" it squeaks. I feel it's oily mental presence attempting to subvert my will.

I eat it. It's not bad.

Nothing compares to sitting bundled on your couch, fire merrily crackling, cats dozing, husband doing something fragrant and fattening in the kitchen, watching television. It's good. It's more than good - it's shiny.

My comfort is somewhat disturbed when a paper airplane hits me in the head. I unfold the gorram thing; it's from Hec. Something about by-laws. Huh. I start to read it, but then something on the screen catches my eyes.

"Holy shit!" I grab the remote and hit realtime rewind. "Brian! Get up here! You will not believe what Jayne and Simon just did!"

Brian comes running into the room, a heaping plate of cookies in one hand. "Wait a sec, let me get settled."

He plunks down beside me, rearranging the blanket and cats. I grab for the plate; Hec's note is still crumpled in my hand. It hinders my gathering of food. I drop it to the floor. Brian shoots me a look and picks it up.

"What's this?"

"I dunno. Hec sent it. Something about civics, I think."

Brian tosses it into the fire and offers me a cookie.

"Thanks." I take a closer look. "What's this? A lamb?"

"Goat. Eat up, I've got like a thousand of them."

"Let him win?" I look at Bob, who's lounging by the fire. Ten minutes later, I get my brain back from the happy, lustful place it always goes to when I gaze on Bob with the firelight on his cheekbones and the highlights in--

"Argh! Stop flexing like that, I need to think. And no, not about that."

Bob sighs. "Why not? It's a simple plan, let the nutcase win."

"But--he's unleased unspeaking evils on the town!"

"Yep."

"And caused destructive chaos and upset--and the donut shop burned down!"

"I don't htink he did that."

"He could have, it wouldn't have if he weren't here."

"True. But, still, let him win."

"Then he'd be in charge!"

"Yep."

"Of Sang Sacre!"

"Yep."

"Of our town, our very own mystic town, where everything's just the way we like it ..." I fade off. "Oh."

"Yep."

"Our town."

He starts crawling towards me. "Our town."

"Where everything works the way we want it."

"Uh huh."

"And he thinks ..."

"Yep."

"That's evil."

"Wish you'd thought of it?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Good. Now stop frowning, we've got more research to do."