wrod

Am-Chau hooks up the television while I forage around for snacks. She mutters something about channel 666 getting the best reception.

"I like the newscaster's cape. A vast improvement over the Naked News," I note as I pile up a bunch of cushions and blankets.

"A brown suit would not go over in Blood." Am-Chau takes a few crackers on her napkin and we both watch the news. Do I imagine it, or does Edward look a bit sheepish when a riot is mentioned?

"That's what we were running from," Am-Chau says. "Can't imagine how it started." There's definitely a, well, tone to her voice, but I don't feel comfortable asking about it. Edward busies herself drawing tiny pentagrams in some ashes she's found by the hearth.

"You and Edward are welcome to stay, if you don't mind roughing it."

"That's okay. We'll call a cab; I just need a piece of paper."

I unearth a ragged sheet of looseleaf which Am-Chau scribbles on before folding it into a tiny airplane. I open the front door and she hurls it straight into the air. We watch as it self-corrects and spins merrily among the snowflakes. Just then a sleek black cat walks in. It looks to be part Siamese, and has a little white splash on its chest.

"Ooh, pretty cat. What are you doing out on a cold night? Am-Chau, do you know whom this cat belongs to? There's no tag."

"I suspect it belongs to you. Pets have a way of finding their own homes around here. Be careful with magical familiars, though, they can be a huge pain in the arse." She motions for Edward, who scampers over with her arms raised. As Am-Chau tucks the tiny bear into her pocket, a silver sled pulled by a team of nine wolves pulls up to the curb.

"Here's my ride. Thanks for helping us out. We'll be sure to make it to your housewarming."

"March 1, potluck. Oh, and feel free to bring a friend if you like."

clovis! clovis! and jilly!

"Hush, you." Am-Chau waves as she climbs into the sled. "See you later!"

I watch them fly down the street before closing the door. I notice a cat flap that wasn't there when I moved in. Sigh.

I turn to the cat, who has already settled herself on a cushion in front of the television.

"You know, I've always wanted a pet called 'Damned Spot'. Could you handle that?" The cat gives me a look of pure disdain.

"Oh, fine, you prissy creature. How about 'Raven'?" The cat thinks it over for a moment, then begins to purr. I open my only can of tuna and spread half of it on a napkin. Now I'll have to buy stuff for the cat as well as myself.

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Furniture arranged. Booze chilling and/or aging. Food arranged. Shovel walked. Flowers in vases. Stereo hooked up. Party Favours ready.

I wonder how many people will actually show up to my housewarming? I should have made a list of all the paper airplanes I sent out. Oh, well.

"You all set, Phrancis?"

Phrancis nods his assent and waves at us to take off. For once, Phred, the bird, and I actually leaving with a comfortable margin of error to get to Penny's party. Things are looking even better when I'm able to flag down a cab in under a minute. We pile in and set out for Dalrymple.

It's a lovely night. There's still some snow on the ground, rare in these parts, and it hasn't gotten grungey yet, so the lights sparkle off it.

"So, boss, what did you get for Penny's housewarming gift?"

I give him a puzzled look. "I thought you were going to get it."

"Nope, I'm sure you said you would take care of it."

"No way, we were talking about it in the bar, remember, and you said... Oh. Wait. Now I remember..." It hits both of us at the same time. We look at the penguin sitting between us, who is now staring up at the ceiling, whistling nervously, and trying desperately to ignore us.

"Okay, we have no gift." I see a convenience store on the corner, and tell the driver to pull over and wait.

Phred and I enter the store and split up. I head for the liquor aisle, and grab a couple of bottles. When I meet up with Phred at the counter, he's carrying a largish box. "What'd you get?"

"It's an InstaGolem®. They're the latest rage."

Yup, that's what it says on the box, "The Latest Rage!!!" I look around the store. The only alternatives seem to be Slim Jims or cartons of cigarettes, so we pay for our selections and head out. If it's new, she probably doesn't have one, right?

The cab is waiting, so once again he head off into the evening.

I take one last look in the mirror before heading out the door. Makeup's good, clothes are both tight and sparkly, boots are made for walkin'. I pick up my purse and leave.

Two minutes later, I reenter the house, grab Penny's housewarming gift (a cutting from my peppermint rosebush), and leave again. Oops.

I throw a crimson cloak over my new dress (white, Empire style, sleeves and hem bordered with delicate gold embroidery) and wait for the carriage to arrive to take me to Penny's. I hope she likes the housewarming gifts. I'm giving her a sgian dubh, because you never know when you'll need a good small knife in these parts, and a set of coupons for free skating lessons down on the canal.

Cripes! What if people bring their familiars? Don't panic. Don't panic. I have herring, tuna and Vienna sausages, which should cover a number of bases. Ooh. And sunflower seeds. I can put all the animal food on my sushi plates, maybe in the sun room.

Music? Ack. Don't worry about it. If my CDs don't cover it, my guests can make their own. I wonder if I should have made more vegetarian food?

I think I'm done. The place looks quite pretty with all the cushions and the fairy lights. I, on the other hand, look like hell. I quickly hide my work clothes and the laundry basket and fling my teal silk tunic over my black pants. The new beaded Persian slippers I got this morning fit perfectly, as if my feet have grown into them. I try not to think about that.

Just in time. The first guest has arrived.

"Dammit," Bob complains, "where is everyone?" The obnoxiously dexterous vampire circles me on his ice skates and even skates backwards for a little as he scans the half empty ice rink.

Fortunately he's staying in reach so I can grab onto his sleeve to gain momentum whenever I find myself slowing down. "You do know that mosh pits aren't approved of in skating rinks. It's generally considered rude to run into other people."

"Yeah, all the cool folk are somewhere else. Did we miss a paper airplane invitation or something?"

"I don't think so. Help me to the side, I want to check something." OK. so his help looks more like we really planned to do a bit of tango, but it felt nice so I won't complain. I had no idea the guy had a secret urge to play Scott Hamilton--or, more likely, that absolutely scrumptious Russian skater that stripped down for a worldwide audience at the Olympics last years.

Once I'm securely holding on to the railing, I reach into the pocket of my polar fleece jacket and pull out my Palm Pilot (ss). A few taps of the stylus on the screen, and it's updating itself off the wireless network.

"Oh, that's where everybody is! Housewarming at Penny's."

"Who's Penny?" Bob asks as he practices spins. Gosh, it's too bad the skating federations have those pesky rules about passing genetic screenings, the guy's good. Stupid speciesists.

"You know, I know I'm supposed to know, but I think your butt in those pants has caused my short-term memory to fragment on me again." Damn it, I said that out loud. The grin I get does not help matters. "But I'm pretty sure she did a lot to help clear up the mess in the Late Disturbance."

"So let's go party crash and meet the lady. Should we take weapons?"

Fair question, it is a Sang Sacre party. "Small ones, I think, the invitiation doesn't say anything about any particularly lively party games. You are your own weapon, and I've got a dagger in my bag, that should be sufficient. But we do need a present."

"What do you take to a housewarming? I'm assuming this is not just another word for firebombing the place."

"You're very strange. Why don't you leave the present to me."

"OK." But before we go, I let him off the protect-the-person-who-falls-on-her-butt-alot leash and watch him do a couple of turns around the ice without encumberance. Yep, a quadruple toe-loop. And it's my bed those cold feet hang out in. It's a good life.

or, more likely, that absolutely scrumptious Russian skater that stripped down for a worldwide audience at the Olympics last years.

(Alexei Yagudin. Who should totally play Spike if Joss ever does Buffy on Ice.)