Rainbows End

The Front Bathroom Incident

Winston Blount called a couple of times during the next few days. His cabal was very anxious to talk further about "what we talked about." Robert put him off and refused to talk privately. He could almost hear Winnie's teeth grinding in frustration — but the guy gave him another week.

Robert had several more interviews with the real — well, he could hope it was the real — Sharif. They were a heartwarming reminder of the Good Years, and totally unlike his encounters with the Mysterious Stranger. The young grad student gushed semi-intelligent enthusiasm, except that sometimes he seemed fond of science fiction. Sometimes. When Robert mentioned this, Sharif looked stricken. Ah . The Mysterious Stranger strikes again. Or maybe there were three… entities… animating the image of Zulfikar Sharif. Robert began to track each word, each nuance.

Juan Orozco's compositions had blossomed. He could write complete sentences intentionally. The boy seemed to think that this made Robert Gu a genius of a teacher. Yes, and someday soon there will he chimpanzees who look up to me . But that thought did not escape Robert's lips. Juan Orozco was working to his limits. He was doomed to mediocrity, much as Robert himself, and spreading the pain of such knowledge was not appealing anymore.

The Mysterious Stranger stayed out of sight. Maybe he thought Robert's own need was the best salesman. The bastard. Robert returned again and again to the references the Stranger had given him. They described three medical miracles of the last ten months. One was an effective treatment for malaria. That was not such a big deal, since cheaper cures had existed for years. But the other two breakthroughs related to mood and intellectual disorders. They were not examples of Reed Weber's random "heavenly minefield." Both had been commissioned by the customers they cured.

So what ? Miracles happened in this modern age. What proof was there the Stranger could create them? He pulled up the documents the Stranger had given him. Their visual represention was as medieval letters of credit, envelopes sealed with wax. If one broke the metaphor, it was easy to look inside and see the lower layers, a few megabytes of encryption. Useless nonsense. But if you followed the metaphor from the top, then you found pointers to magic tools to employ the certificates, and other pointers to the technical papers that explained what these tools actually did with the underlying data.

For three days now, Robert had been digging through those papers. The old Robert would not have had the intellect for this. God had taken away his true and unique genius, and perversely given him this analytical talent in return. Playing with protocols was fun. Okay, another couple of days and he would put it all together — and call the Stranger's bluff.

Meantime, he was falling further behind in his work with Juan for Chumlig's composition class.

"Will you have time to work on my graphics suggestions?" Juan asked one afternoon. "Before tomorrow, I mean." That was when their current weekly project was due.

"Yes, sure." The kid had been great about working to Robert's directions. He felt a sliver of shame for not reciprocating. "I mean, I'll try. I've got this problem with some outside things…"

"Oh, what? Can I help?"

Lord . "Some security documents. They're supposed to prove that a, um, friend of mine was really involved in solving a… game problem." He made one of them visible to Juan.

The kid looked at the wax and gilt and parchment. "Oh! A creditat. I've seen certs like that. You — oops, yours has an outer envelope so only you can do all the steps, but see — " He grabbed the certificate and pointed where Robert should do what." — you gotta apply your own stamp first, and then you tear along the server line and you'll see a release like this." Phantom transformations spread in the air around him. "And if this friend of yours is not blowing smoke, you'll see bright green here and there'll be a written description of his contribution, backed by Microsoft or Bank of America or whoever."

Then Juan had to go help his mother. As he faded away, Robert studied the examples. He recognized some of the steps from the protocol descriptions, but, "How did you know all that?"

Foolish question. The boy looked a little startled. "It's just — it's just kind of intuitive, you know? I think that's the way the interface is designed." And then he was completely gone.

No one was home right now, so Robert went downstairs and fixed himself a snack. Then he played back the steps the boy had shown him. He had no excuse for further delay. He hesitated a moment more… then applied the steps to each of the "creditats."

Bright green. Bright green. Bright green.

The Mysterious Stranger didn't like to come visiting when Robert was indoors at home. Maybe the USMC was not as incompetent as the Stranger claimed. Robert began to look forward to his time away from home with anticipation and dread. Very soon he must decide. Was betrayal a price he could pay for a chance to be his old self once more?

Days passed. Still no contact. The Stranger wants me ripe for the picking .

When it finally happened, Robert was walking around the neighborhood, doing another interview with Zulfikar Sharif. The young man hesitated in the middle of a question and looked at him.

Miri — > Juan: I'm locked out!

Juan — > Miri: Again?

Miri — > Juan: Yes again!

Sharif's earnest features took on the sly, greenish cast of the Mysterious Stranger. "How is it going, my man?"

Robert managed a cool response. "Well enough."

The Stranger smiled. "You look a bit peaked, Professor. Perhaps you'd be more comfortable sitting down." A car slid to a stop beside them. The door opened and the phantom graciously waved Robert inside.

"This is more secure?" Robert said as they pulled away from the curb.

"This car is. Remember, I have powers far greater than your little friends." He settled in the back-facing seat. "So. Have you convinced yourself that I can help you?"

"Maybe you can," said Robert, a little bit proud of how level his voice sounded. "I checked your creditats. You don't seem to know anything about anything, but you have this knack for bringing the right people together and being around when those people solve serious problems."

The Stranger waved his hand dismissively. "I don't know anything about anything? You are naive, Professor. Our world is overflowing with technical expertise. Knowledge is piled metaphorical light-years deep. Given that, the truly golden skill is the one I possess — to bring together the knowledge and abilities that make solutions. Your Ms. Chumlig understands that. Schoolkids certainly understand. Even Tommie Parker understands, though he has one important detail backwards. In me," another elaborate gesture, his hand flattening against his turtleneck shirt, "in me, you have the far extreme of this ability. I am world-class at 'bringing-together-to-get-answers.'"

And with an ego to match. How does he get his way when he's dealing with the Einsteins and Hawkings of this era? Surely he doesn't have everyone by the short hairs ?

The Stranger leaned forward. "But enough of me. Winnie Blount and his 'Elder Cabal' are getting desperate. I'm not exactly desperate, but if you delay more than another few days, I cannot guarantee an acceptable outcome. So. Are you on board or not?"

"I — Yes. I am." Twenty years ago, betraying Bob would not have bothered him. After all, the idiot was an ingrate. Now, no glib excuse rose to mind, but… I'll do anything to recover what I lost . "What is this biometric information you want on Alice?"

"Some sonograms we can't take in public. A microgram blood spot." The Mysterious Stranger pointed at a small box that lay on the seat between them. "Take a look."

Robert reached down… and his fingers touched something hard and cool. The box was real. That was a first for the Mysterious Stranger. He took a closer look. It was gray plastic without any openings or even virtual labels. Wait, there was the ubiquitous "no user-serviceable parts within."

"So?"

"So, leave that in your front bathroom this evening. It will do the rest."

"I won't do anything to hurt Alice."

The Stranger laughed. "Such paranoia. The point of all this is to pass unnoticed. Alice Gu is in public places several times a week. If ill were wished her, those would be the opportunities to take advantage of. But you and the cabal just need biometrics… Any other questions?"

"Not just now." Robert slipped the gray plastic box into his pocket. "I just can't imagine that twenty-first-century military security can be duped by something as simple as a drop of blood and some sonograms."

The Stranger laughed. "Oh, there's much more to it than that. Tommie Parker thinks he's covering the angles, but without my help you four would not even get into the steam tunnels." He looked at Robert's stiff expression and laughed again. "Think of your part as being the user interface." He gave a little bow. "And I am the user."

Robert made a point of taking the Stranger's gadget through the front hallway bug trap. The small box triggered no alarms he could see. So betrayal was as simple as walking into the first-floor bathroom and setting the box down among the bags and aerosols and squeeze tubes that were already piled on the side counter. Modern bed and bath products were a bastion of old-style physical advertising. After all, even the most modern folks had to take off their clothes and their contacts somewhere. But Alice and Bob had no style. They bought the cheapest commodity products they could find. The devil box fit right in.

Robert took a long shower. It would be nice to feel clean. He heard no strange sounds, saw nothing strange through the frosted glass. But when he came out of the shower, he noticed that there was no mysterious gray box either. Even when he pawed around the counter, touching every object there — there was no sign of the intrusion. The bathroom door had been shut the whole time.

Someone knocked on the door, happily following the family rules about not snooping through bathroom walls. "Robert, are you okay?" It was Miri. "Alice says it's dinnertime."

Dinner was a nightmare.

It was always tense when the four of them ate together. Usually, Robert could avoid such get-togethers, but Alice seemed determined to see him with the whole family at least once a week. Robert knew what she was up to. She was recalibrating, deciding if now she could lower the boom on her father-in-law.

Tonight she was steelier than ever, and it didn't help that Robert had serious things to hide. Maybe she had some special reason to be suspicious. He noticed that Bob and Miri were doing all the running back and forth to the kitchen. Usually Alice helped with that. Tonight she sat herself down in her usual place, and grilled Robert in her merciless, casual way: how was school going, what about the project with Juan. She even asked about his "old friends," for God's sake! And Robert explained and smiled and prayed he was passing the test. The old Robert never had trouble stringing people along !

Then Bob and Miri were sitting down to eat. Alice shifted her attention from her villainous father-in-law. She chatted with Miri in the same friendly, interested tones she had used with Robert. Miri replied with precision, a detailed summary of just who and what was good and bad at school.

For a while Robert almost relaxed. After all, they were here to eat. Surely that couldn't give him away.

But something was up, and it wasn't just his imagination. Bob and Alice got into a discussion of San Diego politics, a school-bond issue. But there was an edgy undercurrent; some couples really argue politics, but this was the first time Robert had ever heard that from these two. And every so often Alice's clothing flickered . Around the house in the real world, Alice Gu wore a dumpy hausfrau dress that wouldn't have been out of place in the 1950s. When she flickered, it was virtual imagery, nothing like Carlos's old-fashioned smart T-shirts. The first time it happened, Robert almost didn't notice — partly because neither Bob or Miri reacted. Half a minute later — as Alice gestured emphatically about some outstandingly trivial election issue — there was another flicker. For an instant she was dressed in something like naval whites, but the collar insignia said "PHS." PHS ? There were lots of different Google hits on the abbreviation. A minute or two passed, and she was briefly a USMC full colonel. That , Robert had seen before, since it was her true rank.

Bob said mildly, "You're emoting, dear."

"It doesn't matter," Alice said curtly. "You know that. The point is" — and she continued chewing on the school-bond issue. But her gaze wandered around the room, eventually riveting on Robert. It was not a friendly gaze, and even though her words were unrelated to Robert Gu there was a sharpness in her voice. Then, for almost two seconds, she was wearing a civilian business suit with an old-fashioned ID lanyard. The ID bore a familiar seal and the letters DHS. Robert knew what that meant. It was all he could do not to flinch back. She can't know everything ! He wondered if Alice and Bob were silently coordinating all the scary signs, conspiring to panic him into confession. Somehow, he didn't think Bob was that adept.

So Robert just nodded and glanced casually around. Miri had been quieter than usual. She was staring off into the distance, and looked as bored as a thirteen-year-old can look when she's trapped at home with her parents rattling on about Things Not Important. But this was Miri Gu, and this was not the twentieth century. Most likely she was surfing, though usually she disguised such absences when she was at the dinner table.

Alice slapped the table, and Robert's eyes jerked back to her. She was glaring at him. "Don't you agree, Robert?"

Even Louise Chumlig couldn't glare more aggressively than that.

"Sorry. My mind wandered, Alice."

She waved her hand abruptly. "It doesn't matter."

And then golden letters spread silently across the air. Miri — > Robert: Don't worry. She's not mad at you.

Miri was still gazing into nowhere. Her hands were in plain sight and motionless. She was that good with her clothes. Okay, but what in hell is going on here ? That was the message he wanted to send back, but short of finger tapping, the best he could do was give her a quizzical look.

Alice rattled on, interrupted occasionally by Bob, but now Robert was not living in stark terror. He waited another three or four minutes, and then excused himself.

Bob looked a little relieved. "We don't have to talk so much about the bond issue, Robert. There are other — "

"No, that's okay. I'm the fellow with homework these days." Robert pasted on a smile and retreated up the stairs. He felt Alice's rifled gaze following him every step. If not for Miri's silent message, he would have run up the stairs.

And so far, Alice hadn't ventured near the front bathroom.

He did have homework. Juan came over and distracted him for almost half an hour with his explanations of immersive outlines. Robert was supposed to have such an outline ready for tomorrow's progress report in Chumlig's class. Juan went away pleased. So was Robert; he had made up for several days of inattention. He fooled around with Juan's templates till he could implement everything. By God, we should be getting an A for cross-support . The kid's prose had become almost serviceable — and this immersive he had constructed, it was beautiful. He was aware of Miri helping to clean up after dinner and then coming up to her room. Bob and Alice were just sitting in the living room. He set an activity alarm on the first floor, and for a while he forgot himself in the making of more and better refinements to his graphics.

Lord ! An hour had passed! He took a quick glance downstairs. Nobody had been to the front John. There was a pending message from Tommie Parker. The cabal wanted to know when or if he was going to come through with his contribution.

He looked downstairs again. Strange. He couldn't see into the living room anymore. Normally that was on the house menu, but now it was as private as the bedrooms. He stood and walked over to the door, quietly eased it open half an inch, snooping the good old-fashioned way.

They were arguing! And Bob was white-hot. His voice grew louder and louder, finally breaking into enraged shouting. "I don't give a fuck if they do need you! It's always just one more time. But this time you've — "

Bob hesitated in midflame. Robert leaned forward, ear to the door. Nothing. Not even the mumble of circumspect speech. Son and daughter-in-law had taken their spat into ethereal realms. But Robert continued to listen. He could hear the two moving around. At one point, there was the sound of a hand slapping down like a pistol shot. Alice whacking the dinner table? There was half a minute of silence and then a door slammed.

Vision returned a second after that. Bob was alone in the living room, staring at the door of the ground-floor den. He stood there for a few moments, then circled the living room and dropped himself down in his favorite chair. He pulled a book off the coffee table. That was one of the three physical books downstairs — and even it was a just-in-time fake.

Robert Gu quietly shut his bedroom door and returned to his chair. He thought a moment, then tapped on his virtual keypad.

Robert — > Miri: What was that all about?

Miri was twenty feet down the hall. So why didn't he just walk a few feet and knock on her door? Or present virtually? Maybe it was the habit of staying out of her way. Maybe it was easier to hide behind words.

Maybe he wasn't the only one hiding. It was almost a minute before a reply floated back.

Miri — > Robert: They're not mad at you.

Robert — > Miri: Okay. But what is the problem?

Miri — > Robert: There is no problem. That was the whole message, but then Miri sent another.

Miri — > Robert: Alice is getting ready for some new job. That's always hard on her. And then Bob gets mad. There was another pause.

Miri — > Robert: This is Corps business, Robert. I'm not supposed to know about it. You're even more not. I'm sorry. EOR

EOR That was space cadet for "that's all she wrote." Robert waited; nothing more came. But this had been more real conversation with Miri than he'd had in two months. What did that little girl do with her secrets? They were surely more significant than he had ever guessed. She had better communications facilities than all of twentieth-century civilization, but her prissy standards kept her from sharing her pain. Or maybe she has friends she can talk to ?

Robert Gu, Sr., didn't have any friends, but he didn't need any; tonight he had plenty of crisis and suspense to distract him. He kept an eye on the front bathroom, and another on the door to the den. Bob was still reading, every so often sliding a look of his own at the den.

"Is now a good time for us to talk, Professor?" The voice came from just behind his shoulder.

The shock all but levitated Robert from his chair. He swung on the sound. "Jeez!"

It was Zulfikar Sharif.

Sharif backed away, startlement in his face.

"You could have knocked," Robert said.

"I did, Professor." Sharif sounded faintly hurt.

"Yes, yes." Robert still hadn't figured out all the quirks of Epiphany's "circle of friends" feature. He gestured for Sharif to stay. "What's on your mind?"

Sharif did a creditable job of sitting on a chair without sinking halfway through. "Well, I was hoping we could just talk." He thought a moment. "I mean, we might continue with my questions about your Secrets of the Ages"

Still no action downstairs. "… Very well. Ask." So who is this ? True-Sharif? Stranger-Sharif? SciFi-Sharif? Or some ungodly combination? Whatever, it was too much coincidence that he showed up just now. Robert sat back to watch and listen.

"um… I don't know." Miserably forgetful? But then Sharif abruptly perked up. "Ah! One thing I'm hoping to get at in my thesis is the balance of worth between the beauty of expression and the beauty of underlying truth. Are they separate?"

A question to be answered in cryptic depth . Robert paused significantly and then launched into flimflam. "You should know by now, Zulfi, even if you can't create poetry yourself, that the issues can't be separated. Beauty captures truth. Read my essay in the Carolingian . …" blah blahblah

Sharif nodded earnestly. "Then do you ever expect an end to one and therefore the other? Beauty and truth, I mean?"

Huh ? Now, that was sufficiently bizarre to derail him. Robert parsed and reparsed the stupidity. Will you run out of beauty? And the answer for me is yes; I cant create beauty anymore . So maybe this was just Stranger-Sharif jerking him around while they both waited for the little gray box to do its thing.

"I suppose… there could be an end." And then he thought about the other half of the question. "Hell, Sharif, truth — new truth — ended long ago. We artists sit atop a midden ten thousand years deep. The diligent ones of us know everything of significance that's ever been done. We churn and churn, and some of us do it brilliantly, but it's just a glittering rehash." Did I just say that ?

"And if they're linked, then beauty is gone too?" Sharif had leaned forward his elbows on his legs, his chin cupped in his hands. His eyes were large and serious.

Robert looked away. Finally, he choked out, "There is still beauty. I will bring it back." I will regain it .

Sharif smiled, mistaking Robert's assertion for some general faith in humankind in the future? "That's wonderful, Professor. This goes beyond your essay in the Carolingian ."

"Indeed." Robert sat back, wondering just what in heaven's name was going on.

Sharif hesitated a moment, as if uncertain where to go next. "At the UCSD library, how has your project there progressed?"

Still no action downstairs. Robert said, "You see some connection between my art and… the Librareome?"

"Well, yes. I don't want to intrude, but ultimately what you do at UCSD seems to be very much a statement about the position of art and literature in the modern world."

Maybe this was SciFi-Sharif, trying to figure out what Stranger-Sharif was up to. If only I could use one against the other . He gave his visitor a judicious nod. "I'll talk to my friends about this. Maybe we can arrange something."

That seemed to satisfy whoever-it-was. They set a time for another chat, and then the visitor was gone.

Robert turned off circle-of-friends access. No more surprise visitations tonight.

And downstairs, there was still no action. He watched through the walls for almost fifteen minutes. That was certainly a productive use of time. Think about something else, damn it .

He blew off the top of the house and looked across West Fallbrook. Un-enhanced, the place was very dark, more like an abandoned town than a living suburb. The real San Diego had less skyglow than he remembered from the 1970s. But behind that real view were unending alternatives, all the cyberspace fun Bob's generation could have ever imagined. Hundreds of millions were playing out there tonight. Robert could feel — Epiphany could make him feel — the thrum of it, beckoning. Instead he tapped out a command Chumlig had mentioned; here and there across North County, tiny lights glowed. Those were the other students in his classes, at least the ones who were studying tonight and had any interest in what the others were doing. Twenty little lights. That was more than two-thirds of the class, a special kind of belief circle, one dedicated to pushing up their cooperation scores as far as possible. He hadn't appreciated how hard these little third-raters were working.

Robert ghosted over the suburbs, toward the nearest of the lights. He hadn't tried Epiphany's "out of body" feature before. There was no feeling of air flowing past, or motion. It was just his synthetic viewpoint slewing across the landscape. He could still feel his butt on the chair in his bedroom. And yet he understood why the directions said to do this sitting down. The viewpoint swooped down into a valley with a speed that was dizzying.

He drifted into a welcoming window. Juan Orozco and Mahmoud Kwon and a couple of others were gathered in a family room, marking out possibilities for tomorrow's exchange with Capetown. They looked up and said hi, but Robert could tell they weren't seeing much more than his icon hovering in the room. He could be present virtually, perhaps even look as "real" as Sharif usually did. But Robert just hung in the air, listening to the talk for a few moments and —

Alarm notification!

He cut the connection and was back in his bedroom.

Downstairs, Bob had wandered out of the living room. He stood by Alice's door and knocked gently. As far as Robert could tell there was no answer. After a moment, Bob tucked his chin in and turned away. Robert tracked him up the stairs. The sounds of footsteps came down the hall. Bob knocked on Miri's door, the way he did most evenings. There was mumbled conversation, and Miri's voice saying, "G'night, Daddy." It was the first Robert had heard her call Bob that.

Bob's footsteps came nearer; he paused at Robert's door, but he didn't say anything. Robert watched him through the wall as Bob turned and was swallowed up by the privacy of the master bedroom.

Robert hunched over his desk and stared into the downstairs. Alice hardly ever stayed up much beyond Bob. Of course, tonight was not your usual night. Damn. You screw your courage up to an act of family betrayal — and then fate dumps problems all over your dishonorable intent. But even if Alice camped out in the den, eventually she'd have to use the bathroom. Right?

Twenty minutes passed.

Alice's door opened. She stepped out, turned toward the stairs. Use the ground-floor bathroom, damn you . She turned again and paced angrily around the living room. Paced? There was precision and power in every motion, like a dancer or a martial-arts nut. Not like dumpy frumpy Alice Gong Gu, she of the mild round face and the shapeless dress. And yet this was the real view. It was her real face, even if it was tense with pain, and drenched in sweat. Huh? Robert tried to follow her gliding dance in close-up. The woman was dripping sweat. Her dress was soaked, as if she had just finished a long, frantic run.

Like Carlos Rivera.

It couldn't be. Alice never got stuck in a foreign language, or in a particular specialty. In any one particular specialty. But he remembered the web discussion of JITT. What about the few strange people who could "train" more than once, who became ever more multitalented, until the side effects finally destroyed them? Where would such wretches get "stuck" if there were dozens of imprints to fall into?

Alice's gliding dance slowed, stopped. She stood for a moment with her head bowed, her shoulders heaving. Then she turned and walked slowly into the front bathroom.

Finally, finally. And now I should he overcome with relief . Instead, revelation bounced back and forth in his mind. This explained so many little mysteries. It contradicted several certainties. Maybe Alice hadn't been gunning for him. Maybe she was no more his enemy than anyone in this house.

Sometimes things are not as they seem.

It was very quiet. The old house in Palo Alto had had little squeaks and thumps, and sometimes Bob's PC playing stolen music. Here, tonight… yes, there were occasional sounds, the house settling into the cool of the evening. Wait. In the utility view, he saw that one of the water heaters had kicked in. He could hear running water.

Not for the first time, Robert wondered what kind of magic that little gray box was. It had not triggered the house watchdogs. Maybe it wasn't electronic at all, but nineteenth-century gears and cogs driven by a metal spring. Then it had disappeared from Robert's own naked eyesight. That was something new, not a visual trick. Maybe the box had sprouted little legs and scurried off. But whatever it was, what would it finally do ? Maybe the Stranger didn't need a little blood. Maybe a lot of blood would suit him more. Robert sat stock-still for a second and then bolted to his feet — and froze again. I was so desperate . Credibility is not important if the victim wants to believe so hard that truth must be what the liar claims. So the Stranger had mocked the notion that hurting Alice would be worth such hugger-mugger. And I, desperate, smiled and was convinced .

Robert was out of his room, and flying down the stairs. He dashed through the living room and pounded on the bathroom door. "Alice! Al — "

The door opened. Alice was looking at him, a bit wide-eyed. He grabbed her arm and dragged her into the hallway. Alice was not a large woman; she came easily in his grasp. But then she turned, taking him off balance. Somehow his feet got tangled in hers and he slammed into the doorjamb.

"What! Is it?" she said, sounding irritated.

"I — " Robert looked over his shoulder, into the brightly lit bathroom, then back at Alice. She was dressed in a robe now, and her short hair looked as though she had washed it. And everybody is still in one piece. No pools of blood… except maybe where my head hit the doorjamb .

"Are you okay, Robert?" Concern seemed to rise above her irritation.

Robert felt the back of his head. "Yeah, yes. I'm pretty robust these days." He thought about how he'd come down the stairs. Even when he was seventeen years old, he had never skipped four steps at a time.

"But — " Alice began. Clearly she was more concerned about his mental state than anything else.

It's okay, Daughter-in-Law. I thought I was stopping your murder, and now I find it's a false alarm . Somehow he didn't think that would be a satisfactory explanation. So why was he down here in the middle of the night, pounding on the door? He looked into the bathroom again. "I, um, I just needed to use the John."

Her sympathy frosted over. "Don't let me keep you, Robert." She turned and headed for the stairs.

"Are you okay, Alice?" Bob's voice, from the top of the stairs. Robert didn't have the courage to look, but he could imagine Miri's little face staring down, too. As he stepped into the bathroom and shut the door, he heard his daughter-in-law's tired voice. "Not to worry. It was just Robert."

Robert sat on the can for a few minutes and let the shakes die away. Maybe there was still a bomb here, but if it exploded, none but the guilty would be blown apart.

And neither did he have the little box that was the point of the comedy. When he showed up at the library, he would be empty-handed. So ? After a moment, Robert stood, and looked into the real glass mirror. He favored his reflection with a twisted smile. Maybe he should just bring them a fake; would Tommie even notice? As for the Mysterious Stranger, perhaps his spell had been broken… along with all hope.

His eyes strayed to the countertop. There, sitting away from the clutter, was a small gray box. It hadn't been there when Alice left. He reached down. His fingers touched warm plastic. Not an illusion. A greater mystery than all the flash and glitter that he was just becoming accustomed to.

He slipped the box into his pocket and quietly returned to his room.

17