Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Up in the sky, lookin' down the night
We are starlight, starlight
Between the moon and the city lights
We are starlight, starlight
Ooh, ooh
Starlight

—Andrew Creighton Dodd, Gannin Duane Arnold, Adam M. Watts, Ahmet Zappa, Shana Zappa, "Starlight" (Reservoir Media Music, Seven Peaks Music, Walt Disney Music Company, Dodd Music, Dying Ego Music, Ganologiks, Star Darlings Music Llc)

Between the Moon and the City Lights

Chapter One

"Thank you for calling Haven House. This is Giselle. How may I help you?" The woman who still wore her long hair in a rainbow of colors and hoped she would continue doing so when she was in her eighties grabbed a pen from her desk and moved the ruled notepad closer as she listened.

"On a bus, uh-huh," she said in an undertone, jotting down what the voice on the other end was saying. "Okay, and has a social worker been assigned yet?" She shook her head sadly. So many runaways came to LA hoping to make it in acting or music or modeling. The luckiest ones either went back home or they ended up in shelters like Haven House. "Well," she said, coaxing a cheerful note into her voice, "we do have space at the moment. When can we expect her? Yes, seven this evening will be fine. Will she have had dinner before she gets here, or should we have something waiting? No, that's no trouble." In Giselle's experience, a hot meal and a sympathetic ear were often the first step toward breaking through the walls of mistrust and fear that so many of these kids built up. On their own, they probably wouldn't be enough, not right away, but in her years of first working at and later running Haven House, she'd learned the importance of patience. She didn't need to know everything on the first night.

"Thank you, Officer. I'll look forward to meeting her."

She hung up the phone and looked at the notes she'd just written on the pad:

Emma Swan. Approx 10–12 yrs. Picked up LA Union terminal. Refuses to give any info beyond name. Aloud, Giselle said, "I guess she hasn't got a rank or serial number." She sighed. Haven House took in many a pre-teen runaway, but most of them were locals. Maybe this Emma was, too. Maybe she'd been trying to find a bus out of town instead of arriving on one. She shook her head. It was no use speculating. Not when she needed to make sure that a hot dinner and a clean bedroom would be both ready and waiting by seven PM. Tonight, she'd introduce herself to the newcomer and do her best to make her feel welcome. There would be time enough to get answers to her questions in the days that would follow. For now, the important thing was to give Emma a chance to catch her breath, relax, and learn that Haven House wasn't just a haven in name. It was a place where runaways could stop running and start rebuilding their lives, and Giselle wanted Emma to realize it.

Her phone rang again. "Thank you for calling Haven House. This is Giselle. How may I help you?" Her eyes widened as she recognized the voice on the other end before its owner introduced herself. "Jerrica?"

Jerrica still couldn't believe this was happening. Jem and the Holograms had disbanded—publicly—following their farewell tour in 1988. Kimber and Aja, together with Stormer and her brother Keith, had gone on to form Kaleidoscope Haze—a band that performed songs a little edgier than Jem might have sung, but a bit mellower than a typical Misfits item. Raya was now pursuing her MBA part-time, while giving drum lessons and occasionally helping out in her father's florist shop. Shana was the costume designer for a regional theater troupe, though she still took some commissions in the off-season. While she…

She didn't know what she wanted out of life, not really. Once upon a time, she thought she had: Rio, her sisters, and a house full of Starlight girls. And then a music career, with her sisters in the band and Rio behind the scenes, but it had all been to keep Starlight House open, keep the girls from getting split up and shunted to new placements. At least, that was how it had been in the beginning. And somewhere, somehow, she'd got caught up in the glamor and glitter, the fashion and fame… and the illusions that Synergy hadn't had a thing to do with creating. The music had been magic, but the magic had come at a cost. A cost she'd eventually realized was too high to keep paying.

So, there had been the farewell tour, the tearful goodbyes, the good wishes for whatever might lie ahead… And the moment when she straightened her shoulders, screwed up her courage, and finally told Rio that she and Jem were the same person.

He hadn't taken it well.

Oh, he hadn't taken it as badly as he had in that nightmare scenario Synergy had concocted. Hadn't accused her of making a fool out of him or told her he hated or despised her. (To be fair, even in that simulation it had been 'deception and lies' that he'd hated, but Jem was her disguise and if she'd kept him in the dark about that part of her life, then what else was she?) No, what he'd really said was, "I need time to process this. Don't… try to call me for a while." She'd taken him at his word. When she'd thought that six months might have been enough time, she'd reached out, only to find the number disconnected. Over the last few years, she'd made some half-hearted attempts to track him down, but they'd never gone anywhere.

Instead, she'd thrown herself into making Starlight House the best foster home for girls in the LA area she could and, thanks to the money she'd made as Jem, plus her ownership of Starlight Music, she thought she might have succeeded.

And then, out of the blue, Riot had reached out. He wanted Jem to headline a concert with him to raise money for Parkinson's Disease research. Two minutes into his pitch, his slick demeanor had fallen away and he'd confessed that his father had recently been diagnosed with the condition.

"I'm so sorry," Jerrica had said.

"I feel like I want to do… something," Riot went on. "I'm no doctor, no scientist… I'm not much of a soldier either, much to Father's chagrin. Music is all I know, so I'm hoping I can use that to help. The Stingers might not exist anymore," he added, "but Jem and I together… I think a lot of people would pay to see that."

"Jem retired after her farewell tour," Jerrica parroted, as she had so many times over the years to so many people. "She never left a forwarding address. I don't think she wants to be found."

"I see," Riot replied heavily. "Well, would you see if you can find out anything? And let me know if you do? This really means a lot to me."

"I understand," Jerrica said, doing her best to tamp down the surge of excitement. Part of her still missed the bright lights. Part of her always would. But she couldn't be Jem and run Starlight Music and run Starlight House. Mrs. Bailey was on-hand to help, but she was getting older and ten foster girls took a lot of care. But this was a worthy cause. And it was just one concert. And maybe a live album. And maybe, if she could bring in some extra help, however temporary… But for now, "Riot? Starlight Music manages other bands, you know. I'll… try to connect with Jem. But suppose I brought in some of our other groups? We have a dozen signed now. Once there's a date for the concert, I can see which bands would be free to perform."

"That… that could work," Riot said hopefully. "Maybe I could track down Minx and Rapture, too."

Five years ago, Jerrica would have left it at that. But she was a bit older now, and a bit wiser, and even they'd been rivals once, they'd also been one of the hottest bands of the decade. Inviting them would be the right thing to do. And it would probably sell more tickets. "I could even ask the Misfits."

"If I can't get Jem…" Riot replied, clearly considering the possibility.

"I don't even know what they're up to these days. Except for Stormer, of course."

"But you'll find out?"

"Yes," Jerrica agreed. "I'll do my best, anyway."

"I'll leave it with you then." But he didn't end the call just yet. "You know, with a live concert, especially if we're all going to perform together, we might need a good choreographer. Do you have anyone you'd recommend?"

Maybe it was just nostalgia talking, but one name immediately sprung to mind. "I think," she said smiling a bit, "I may know just the person."

Ten minutes later, she was on the phone to Haven House to connect with an old friend.

"Reuniting Jem and Holograms," Giselle repeated. "And maybe the Misfits and the Stingers, too?"

"That's the idea," Jerrica said. "I don't know if it'll work. I don't know if I can even find everyone. But it's for a good cause and…"

"And it'll be good to see everyone again," Giselle finished. "I stopped dancing professionally last year, but I still give lessons. The Holograms and the Misfits… your styles were so different. And with the Stingers in the mix… coming up with moves that can synthesize what each band represents… It'll be a challenge."

"Is that a yes or a no?" Jerrica asked.

"It's a… 'Let me think about it'. Give me a day or two. I have an emergency placement arriving in a few hours and I want to make sure I can get her settled in."

"I've had some of those," Jerrica said understandingly. "Let me know if I can help."

"I will," Giselle said. "And you let me know once the bands are confirmed and if I can't take it on, I'll pass you onto some of my colleagues who can."

After she hung up the phone, Giselle opened her desk drawer and pulled out a thick three-ring binder. Flipping through the pages, protected in clear vinyl pockets, she read again the newspaper clippings:

A merry Danse shines in Christmas panto

Dansing the night away

Giselle Dvorak Danses to her own tune

And her friends had thought that making 'Danse' her stage name would be too prosaic! She flipped the page and smiled sadly at the photo. She looked so… young. "Thirty-one isn't old," she told herself fiercely.

If it weren't for an injury she'd sustained during one fateful rehearsal, she'd probably still be dancing professionally even now. But while she'd initially thought she would make a full recovery, the leg had never been quite as strong as it had been before. She'd tried dancing through it and it had worked for a year or so. Then she'd come down wrong on her ankle, ruptured her Achilles tendon, and been told in no uncertain terms that her performing days were over. She could have taught dancing instead. She'd considered it. In the end, though, she'd decided against it. She'd been a volunteer at Haven House since her teens. After she'd finished high school, the administration had offered her a part-time paid position. Dancing might have been her vocation, but when a long space stretched between gigs, it was great to have something steady to pay the bills—especially when it was work you loved. Earning a degree in social work had meant that when a position for a full-time counsellor opened up, she'd been a shoe-in.

A bit wistfully, Giselle put the album away again. There was nothing wrong with a little nostalgia every now and then, but she had a new vocation now. Haven House was her life and had been for almost four years. And she couldn't say she was sorry about it. Even so, the thought of getting back together with Jem and the Holograms did give her a surge of excitement. Jerrica was an old friend. She and Jem had stood by her after that first accident, when she'd been drowning in self-pity and almost given up on walking again. Giselle owed her. Or maybe she did miss dancing just enough to choreograph one last show. Maybe. But tonight was the wrong night to dwell on it. She had other things to deal with that needed to take priority right now.

She left her office, turned, and mounted the stairs to the third floor. She checked the list on the wall, nodding to herself. Kids came and went at Haven House and sometimes, she didn't find out about a new arrival until a day or so later, but it looked as though there were still three vacant rooms available. She walked down the hallway to one of them and turned the knob. Giselle smiled. The bed was made, the carpet freshly vacuumed, and a finger on the dresser collected no trace of dust. She opened the window to let in some fresh air, before she left, closing the door behind her. She looked at her watch. It was a bit after six. That explained why the floor was so quiet; the residents would be at supper by now.

She'd just head down there herself and make sure that there would be something put aside for the new arrival. The officer who'd phoned earlier hadn't been able to confirm whether the girl would have had dinner before they brought her over. Even if she had, she might still be hungry. Giselle had learned that when it came to new arrivals, it was best to go in with as few expectations—but as many preparations—as possible. There would almost certainly be a surprise or two anyway, but she was used to that.

She was humming a bit as she made her way back downstairs. She didn't know a thing about Emma Swan beyond the few notes she'd jotted down earlier, but she was looking forward to changing that!

The girl with the long blonde hair and the world-weary expression sat unobtrusively in the inner office of the police station. She was tired, apprehensive, and doing her best not to imagine where she was going next. At least, she hadn't been locked up… yet. After the police officer had picked her up at the bus terminal, he'd brought her back to the station, sat her down in front of an unmanned desk, and told her to wait. She'd thought about trying to make a run for it, but there were easily over half a dozen cops in this inner office. She was sure to be spotted. As she watched, one officer got up and headed to the only obvious exit she could see. He lifted a white card attached to his belt loop and slid it through a scanner. Only then did he open the door. Emma groaned inwardly. Running was definitely out, unless she could get one of those cards.

Everyone around her was busy, but from time to time, someone had come to check up on her. One officer had given her a Mr. Cluck Kids Combo a while ago. She'd eaten the cheeseburger, barely tasting it. She was saving the fries and cookie for later. She glanced at the Archie Comics Digest that another officer had set down in front of her. Sometimes, she liked reading about perfect teenagers in perfect small towns, whose biggest worries were which romantic interest they wanted to go to prom more with or how to avoid getting in trouble for forgetting to do their homework. Too bad the second one never worked; Emma might actually have been able to use that advice.

More out of boredom than interest, she opened the digest and started reading.

"Emma?"

She looked up, startled.

"Time to go," the officer said, smiling just a bit.

Emma shrugged and put down the digest.

"You can take that with you if you want."

"No thanks," she said, not meeting his eyes or volunteering anything further.

"Suit yourself," the young cop said. "C'mon."

She obeyed, fighting the urge to ask about where she was going. Her social workers had never given her much information about her placements in the past and what they did tell her could have meant anything:

"They're nice people."

"They're rich people."

"They're well-off."

"You'll like them."

"They've taken in a lot of kids over the years."

"You won't have to change schools."

"You'll like your new school."

"It's a big house."

"It's a small house."

"You'll have a roommate."

"You'll have your own room."

They'd never lied to her, but they'd never told her anything she might have wanted to know before going in. She wasn't sure herself what she'd want to know, apart from the one question she couldn't ask. The one for which the answer had, so far, always been 'no'. Will they want to adopt me?

No matter how nice this officer was, Emma knew he wouldn't be able to answer that question either. And if he couldn't… then it didn't really matter where she was going, did it?

She slid off her wooden chair, grabbed the bag with the remains of her lunch from off the desk, and fell resignedly into step beside her escort.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

Giselle smiled at the girl, who stood before her with a canvas school bag dangling by one strap off a tense shoulder, a wrinkled Mr. Cluck bag clutched in one white-knuckled fist and a resigned expression on her tired face. "Emma? My name's Giselle. Welcome to Haven House." She met the police officer's eyes with an equally warm smile.

"Thanks for bringing her, officer. I can take it from here."

"We set a report to DCFS," the officer said. "You should be contacted by a social worker within the next few days."

Giselle nodded, but not before she saw the look of panic in her new charge's eyes. "That's fine," she said. "Emma's welcome to stay with us for as long as she needs to."

The officer nodded. "We'll be in touch if we uncover anything else," he said. "I'd best be heading back to the station." He hesitated. "You do good work, Ms Dvorak," he said. "Much as I wish we didn't have to contact you quite so often."

Giselle lowered her eyes, but her smile remained. "You won't mind if I take that as a compliment?" she asked.

"That was how I meant it," the officer replied. "Good night. And Emma?" he looked down at the girl. "Nice meeting you. Don't let it happen again." With a boyish smile, he turned and headed back to the squad car.

Emma watched him go.

"Emma?" Giselle turned slightly sideways and held the door open. "Come on inside."

Emma's shoulders slumped. Without a word, she shifted the canvas schoolbag higher onto her shoulder and obeyed.

Giselle followed her into the house and closed the door.

Emma wasn't going to like it here. She couldn't afford to. She wasn't going to like the friendly woman with the rainbow in her hair and the nice smile. As soon as someone figured out where she'd come from, she'd be shipped back to Massachusetts, so there was no point in trying to like it here when she wasn't staying.

"Tomato soup and grilled cheese okay?" Giselle asked.

Emma blinked. That was her favorite meal ever! She knew she shouldn't smile or nod or do anything except maybe shrug like it didn't matter one way or the other, but she ducked her head once and she felt her lips pull back, just a little.

"From what I know about the department," Giselle told her in a friendly fashion, "um… that's Los Angeles County Department of Children and Family Services—I don't know if they call it the same thing where you're from—you'll probably be here for a few days, while we try to sort out where you came from. Your family must be worried about you."

Emma took a bite of the grilled cheese, and her eyes widened when she saw the thick gooey strands stretch from the piece in her mouth to the rest of toasted sandwich in her hand. There was a lot of cheese between those two slices of bread, and it wasn't American slices either. It was a million times better.

Giselle smiled, as Emma took a spoonful of soup. "As I said before, this is Haven House. I'm not sure how much the police officer told you, but we're a shelter for homeless youth. Some of the kids here have been living on the street. Others ran away from bad home situations. Some kids stay here for a night or two. For others, this becomes their home."

Emma absorbed that, but she continued to eat in silence, as Giselle started explaining the house rules. She was used to hearing some version of those wherever she went. Only when the food was gone did she hesitantly ask, "Do I get to pick?"

"Pick…?" Giselle repeated.

"If I can live here or not," Emma clarified.

Giselle's smile didn't dim. "If we can't find your family, or there are reasons why you can't go back to them, and you go into the system here, it's not definite, but it's possible. Our long-term residents are usually in their teens, though, so it's more likely that a different placement will be found. I keep up with a lot of foster families in the city; there are some really great homes out there. Besides here, I mean."

Emma shook her head. "Nobody's ever been able to find my family," she announced flatly. "You won't either."

There were a million things Giselle wanted to say to that, but instinct told her to hold off. Instead, she pushed back her chair, bracing her hand on the table in case her leg buckled, like it still did on occasion. "Would you like anything else to eat tonight, or should I show you where you'll be sleeping?"

Emma pushed her chair back, too. Silent once more, she walked to the kitchen doorway and stood waiting patiently until Giselle joined her to lead her upstairs.

"I was thinking when your tour wraps up in six weeks, we could get started," Jerrica said with a smile in her voice.

"Uh…" Aja cast about desperately, trying to find the right words to say to her foster sister and the owner of her band's record label.

Jerrica picked up on the hesitation almost at once. "Is something wrong?"

Aja hesitated. "Well, nothing's definite."

"Aja?"

She wished she was standing in front of Jerrica now, instead of sitting in a hotel in Manchester, England. Some discussions were so much easier to have in person. "I just think that when the tour is over, I'm going to need a little bit of… downtime," she said unconvincingly. "We've been on the road for almost four and a half months. Some dates, I've been so jetlagged, I know I've been on autopilot. And Craig and Stormer…"

"Craig and Stormer?" Jerrica repeated. "What do they have to do with this?"

"Well, I'm not going to cut them out of the action, just because you want to resurrect Jem and the Holograms!" Aja exclaimed. "Kaleidoscope Haze is a team effort and they're both as much a part of it as Kimber and me." Plus, if I'm right, I think Craig's going to propose to me once the tour is over and once that happens, we're going to be planning a wedding instead of another concert and album. But until he does, that's something I'm not ready to share. If he does, you'll be the first to know. And if he doesn't, I won't have to go through the embarrassment of telling you I was wrong.

Jerrica absorbed that. "Speaking of Kimber, is she around?"

"Kimber?" Aja repeated. "Uh… let me check."

"No!" Kimber stage-whispered from across the room.

Aja winced. She never had been a very good liar. She tried, though. "Uh… I think she must have just stepped out," she said, hoping she was being convincing.

Jerrica's voice took on a new edge. "She's not just sitting in the room with you telling you to tell me she's not there, is she?"

Aja looked across the room at the redhead, who was still shaking her head and gesticulating wildly. "No, of course not," she said, quickly. "I'll ask her to call you when she gets in."

"Okay…" Jerrica said. "I should probably go anyway. I had another call beep while we were talking and I don't know if it's gone to voice mail. You guys are eight hours ahead, right? I'll be at the company until 1AM your time, so phone me there."

After Aja had said her goodbye, Kimber heaved a sigh of relief. "Thanks."

"You should call her," Aja said.

"I know, and I will," Kimber nodded. "Once I know I can talk to her like a reasonable adult and not go back to being nineteen and…"

"Immature?" Aja asked.

Kimber mock-glowered. "Younger," she said loftily. Then she sighed again. "I loved being a Hologram then. But now, it feels like it'd be a step backwards. But if I tell that to Jerrica, she'll tell me I'm being silly and I'll get defensive and before you know it, one of us will say something we don't mean and Jerrica will get bossy and…"

"You'll get immature."

"I'm mature!" Kimber snapped. Then she stuck out her tongue impishly at her blue-haired foster sister. "So there!"

Aja giggled. A moment later, Kimber joined in.

There was a knock on the door. Both young women went to open it, revealing the other two member of their band standing in the doorway.

"You two ready?" Craig asked.

"Yes," Aja agreed. "The way you've been talking up this restaurant, I hope it's worth it."

"It is," Craig assured her. "When I was with the Blue Bloods, we'd eat there whenever we were in Manchester. You'll love it."

"Our reservation's for seven," Stormer said. "We should get going." She frowned. "Kimber? Is everything okay?"

Kimber put her irritation at her sister aside and smiled at her bandmate. "Everything's fine," she said, linking her arm into Stormer's as Aja did Craig's. "Let's go."

Phyllis Gabor looked at the file on her desk and a slight smile twisted her lips. It took a certain level of guts to hop on a bus to LA and stonewall a couple of cops when you weren't even thirteen yet. It was the kind of thing she might have done, once upon a time. In her case, it would have been for the thrill of it all. She'd wanted danger and excitement, but Daddy's money had always helped to ensure that she had an out before things got too dangerous.

Funny now that she thought about it. All those rebellious acts, the petty crimes he'd kept out of the media—even when she'd thought having a bad reputation might be a bonus for her image, he'd been more concerned about the Gabor name—the lack of appreciation she'd shown for the money and gifts he'd thrown at her… and for all that he'd berated her, he'd still stood by her. He hadn't even mentioned how thin he'd had to spread his resources to buy her everything she demanded. She shook her head.

Daddy, remember when you promised me anything I wanted for my birthday? Well, I want a movie studio. You said ANYTHING!

She'd had no concept of costs back then. She'd known she was filthy rich, but she hadn't appreciated the difference in price between a Ferrari, a tropical vacation, and a movie studio. She also hadn't realized that when the Misfits movie had bombed and her father had said he was 'giving' the studio back to Howard Sands, what he'd meant was that he'd spent millions to buy the studio and sold it back to Sands at a loss.

He'd never recouped that investment, neither that one nor so many of the other monies he'd laid out to meet her ever-increasing demands. And when he'd died of a heart attack four years ago, once all the estate debts had been settled, Phyllis had found herself with a far more modest inheritance than she'd expected. She'd never thought that her money might run out; she'd seen the paychecks she'd received as the lead singer of the Misfits as chump change and spent it nearly as fast as she'd earned it. And now, she'd had no clue how to manage her finances and no idea what to do with the rest of her life.

That Jerrica Benton had come to the funeral had been surprising enough, though maybe she should have expected it from that kind of goody-goody. But when, some weeks later, she'd reached out and delicately asked Phyllis how things were working out and Phyllis had horrifyingly broken down on the phone and let all her anger and frustration and fear out, Jerrica hadn't mumbled some apology and hung up. She also hadn't offered a shoulder to cry on and a lot of meaningless sympathy. Instead, she'd offered to send over a member of Starlight's accounting team to help her get a handle on her finances.

The news hadn't all been bad. She might not have had a mansion, but a four-bedroom house in Beverly Hills' Doheny Estates neighborhood turned out to be well within her price range. She'd taken one of those career aptitude tests and winced at the list of options, actually laughing out loud when one of them had turned out to be social worker. Somehow, though, the notion hadn't left her alone. Pizzazz didn't do things like this. Pizzazz was a Misfit; the Misfits were wild and rebellious. The Misfits had also disbanded. Roxie was working on her GED and unlike Phyllis, she'd invested a decent chunk of her earnings, so she hadn't had to worry about working to pay her bills—at least, not then. Jetta had gone back to England. Stormer had her new band. And her?

She'd done two years of college at UCLA before she'd dropped out, and her grades hadn't been terrible. When she'd finally rung them up to inquire, she'd discovered that getting readmitted wouldn't be as difficult as she'd thought. She would keep most—if not all—of the credits she'd already earned, so it wouldn't be another four years on top of the two she'd already taken. For once, she'd put her reckless streak to good use and filled out the applications. Then she'd promptly forgotten about it until her acceptance arrived.

With her previous credits, she'd earned her BSW in two years and a summer semester. Another two at USC for her Masters'. And now, she'd been with DFCS for a year and a half and enjoying herself far more than she'd ever thought she would. She liked working with these kids. She couldn't help admiring most of them. She'd always been tough and scrappy, never taking crap from anyone, but she'd had her life of privilege and Daddy's bank account as a safety net. You couldn't say that for a lot of the children who turned up in her files, but they still had that same gumption. Even the quiet ones. Sometimes, especially the quiet ones.

"New case, Gabor?" one of her co-workers asked, seeing her reading the file.

Phyllis looked up. "New kid, Tersigni," she corrected. They were children, not statistics.

Carla Tersigni shook her head tolerantly. "Don't get too involved, Gabor," she said, not unkindly. "They'll just break your heart."

"I'd have to have one first," Phyllis shot back with a humorless smile. "Did you want something?"

"Just to remind you you've got a student shadowing you tomorrow."

Right. Fieldwork was a major part of the curriculum for social work undergrads and she'd put down her name to take on a student twice a week. She hadn't expected much to come of it; she was still relatively new at this, but her performance reviews had been good so far and the department was chronically understaffed. She nodded. "Got it. Got a name for me?"

"Nope," Tersigni said. "We're getting four of them. Maybe Azavedo," she jerked her head toward the supervisor's office, "is doing some kind of personality testing or maybe she'll have them draw straws, but I guess you'll find out who yours is tomorrow at nine."

Phyllis shrugged. "Well, when nine rolls around tomorrow, I'll be ready. Meanwhile," she sighed, "I need to see if anyone filed a missing persons report on a kid who showed up at the Greyhound terminal on a bus that made fifteen stops between Bangor and Downtown LA."

"Better you than me," Tersigni sniffed. "Hey. Good luck."

"Luck's for amateurs," Phyllis said, pushing back her chair. "Later."

Emma didn't have a nightgown with her, but Giselle made a monthly pilgrimage to the Los Feliz Flea Market for just such eventualities. Emma wasn't the first kid to turn up on her doorstep with little more than the clothes on her back.

"I think one of these might fit you," she told Emma, laying out a long-sleeved, pink nightgown with a picture of Barbie, a sportier, yellow, brushed cotton with vermillion collar and cuffs and a Snoopy picture, and a pale blue, two-piece pajama set that sported Jem and the Holograms. Emma's hand wavered between the Snoopy and the Jem, before hesitantly choosing the latter. Giselle smiled. "Jem fan?" she asked, in a friendly fashion.

Emma shrugged. "I think I heard them on the oldies station once," she said. "I never knew what they looked like until now."

Ouch. "Well, go ahead and try them on," she invited. "And we can pick out a couple of outfits you can change into over the next few days, too. We can wash what you're wearing."

"I brought socks and underwear," Emma said. "And another t-shirt."

"That's good to know," Giselle said. "You're still welcome to borrow anything that fits for as long as you're here."

Emma hesitated. "I… I might need a," she lowered her voice, looking a bit embarrassed. "I think I need a bra."

Her checkered button-down hung loosely enough that Giselle couldn't confirm it, but if Emma didn't need one today, she probably would need one soon.

"Well," she said, "most of the girls who come here are a bit older and a little," she smiled and dropped her voice slightly, "more developed. Bras need to fit properly, and while I don't think I have your size here, if you can manage until tomorrow, we can head out to Robinsons-May… uh," she noted Emma's blank look. "I guess they don't have that store where you're from. Anyway, there's one not too far from here. We can check them out in the morning." She could probably have told the girl that once she was in a more stable placement, her new guardian would take care of getting her whatever clothes she might need, but Giselle didn't like passing the buck more than she had to. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time that an 'emergency placement for a night or two' stretched to a month or longer.

Emma mulled that over for a minute before giving Giselle a cautious nod.

"Would you like me to take you back upstairs and help you settle in for the night?"

The girl shrugged, silent once more, but as she fell into step again beside Giselle, there was slightly less distance between them and her fingers were tracing the Jem and the Holograms logo on the pajama top almost reverently.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

Under the Little Mermaid bedspread and between the Aristocats sheets, Emma Swan clutched her baby blanket tightly. The blanket was the one link she had to her past, like Annie with her broken locket in that movie she'd watched on video in her last foster home, the night before Cecilia had left to go to her new family. Emma knew that Mrs. Malcombe had meant it to be a treat, or give some kind of message about not giving up hope—because a ten-year-old could really get adopted after all, but though she'd watched it through from beginning to end, all the while, she'd felt like a knife was twisting inside her. The movie was a fantasy. It wasn't real. And even if it had been, Emma was eleven.

Maybe Mrs. Malcombe had been trying to show them all that they could have been living at a place like Miss Hannigan's orphanage and that they ought to be grateful they weren't.

Emma hadn't been ungrateful; not really, but she hadn't enjoyed living there either. She'd learned to wolf down her food before a bigger kid swiped it off her plate. She'd protested the first time, but dropped the matter after the thief had offered her a knuckle sandwich. (Seriously? She hadn't thought anyone talked like that anymore outside of an old movie or a cartoon!) She and Cecilia had hit it off, though, even though the other girl had been three years younger. She should have known better: friendships didn't last. Maybe, if you got really lucky, you might run into someone you knew a few placements down the road, but Cecilia's new family lived in Pittsfield, about as far as you could get from Boston and still be in the same state. And Cecilia would never be in another foster placement again.

Great for her. Lousy for Emma. When she'd watched Cecilia get into the station wagon the next day, headed for a new life with parents who wanted her, Emma had known she couldn't stay. Mrs. Malcombe had told her that it would be her turn one day, but Emma had recognized the reassurance for the lie it was. Lately, she'd been getting good at that: being able to know when a person wasn't telling her the truth. It didn't work if they believed what they were saying, but Mrs. Malcombe hadn't.

Still, she'd gone into supper, as she was told and barely noticed when Trevor nudged her baked potato onto his plate and Janice speared her chicken cutlet. She'd just eaten the spinach left behind without really tasting it and not said anything when her slice of cake disappeared somewhere between the head of the table and her seat.

She'd raided the kitchen several hours later, just before she left that place behind for good. At least, she thought as she hugged her blanket to her chest, she hoped it was for good. She'd swiped the grocery money from the canister on the counter—there was a set of eight there and Emma had learned by accident that the money was kept in the one on the far right—to buy her bus ticket. She didn't want to face Mrs. Malcombe once she found out about that!

Her heart started to pound. If the Department found out what she'd done, would they send her to juvie like the O'Donnells had threatened four placements ago? Was it true that kids who were bad got worse placements? One of the other kids—Steven had been his name—had told her that there were some foster homes that the Department only sent troublemakers to and they could be as mean as they wanted to be because if a kid complained, the only other place to send them was jail.

"Steven!" exclaimed a girl's voice in her memory. "They don't send kids her age to jail. They put them in reform school!"

Emma had made the mistake of asking the girl what that was. The girl had smiled nastily. "It's a special jail, just for kids!"

She hadn't wanted to believe the older girl, but she hadn't been as good at knowing if someone was lying back then. She still wasn't sure how much of the rumors and stories she'd been told over the years had been true, but she didn't want to find out.

She should have given the police officer a fake name when he'd asked her. She'd decided to call herself Natty Gann, after another kid who ran away to look for her father. But she'd been flustered and scared and trying to get her bearings when she'd been stopped, and she'd given her real name automatically. It was written on the label of her jacket, the jacket she'd been carrying when she stepped off the bus into the sticky heat of downtown Los Angeles anyhow, and the truth would have probably come out then. Meanwhile, they knew her name, but nothing else. She'd learned years ago not to write down her address and phone number; she bounced around so often that she would have had to keep scratching those out. Emma hoped that they'd never find out where she'd come from. If they didn't know that, then they'd never send her back there.

And then maybe she'd be able to stay here until she found her real parents.

"Ms Gabor?" The speaker's tone of voice combined nervousness and firm resolution in equal parts. She looked up with a slight smile.

"My name's Phyllis," she said automatically. Her smile yielded to a frown. "I know you," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Don't I?"

"Uh… I'm not sure," the young woman with the small rhinestone stud on the right side of her nose and the jagged green lightning streak on the left side of her short dark-blonde hair answered. The streak was slightly faded, as though its owner had been trying to wash it out with limited success. "Maybe…? I'm your new intern."

"I figured," Phyllis said dryly. "Got a name?"

The young woman nodded. "It's Ashley. Ashley Larsen."

Phyllis's eyebrows shot up and her smile broadened. "I knew I recognized you!" she exclaimed triumphantly.

Ashley tilted her head to one side. Her eyes grew wide. "Pizzazz?!"

"It's been a long time since anyone's called me that, kid!" Phyllis laughed.

"I didn't recognize you with red hair!"

Phyllis grinned. "That was the point, kid," she admitted. "This isn't exactly the kind of gig an ex-rocker usually drifts into. I like making an impression, but I didn't need the tabloids watching my every move. Or I didn't want to find out that they didn't care what I was up to anymore. Going 'establishment' meant I didn't have to. "So, you're joining the force?"

"I don't know," Ashley said slowly. "I mean, I got into social work because I wanted to help kids in the system. Like me," she added. "I got bounced around from placement to placement for six years before I lucked out and ended up at Starlight, even if it took me a little while to understand how good I had it there. Now, I'm realizing that there are more options. I still want to work with kids, but I'm not sure if DFCS is the answer. That's what I'm hoping fieldwork will help me decide."

"I gotcha, kid," Phyllis said. "Well, I hate to break it to you, but part of fieldwork? Involves paperwork. So," she said, getting up from her desk, "follow me and I'll show you how our filing works."

Ashley nodded. "Uh… Pizzazz—sorry! Phyllis?"

"Yeah?"

"How'd you get into this?"

Phyllis shrugged. "Some families look like they have it all, but underneath? A lot of kids are hurting more than they let on. Turns out I'm pretty good at spotting that stuff," she added softly. "Except these days, I don't take advantage and pay 'em thirty bucks to let me into their house. Uh… sorry about that, by the way."

Ashley grinned. "Apology accepted. And… sorry I was kind of a brat back then."

"Hey," Phyllis said, "you weren't a brat. Kinda scrappy and a little bit punk, but those aren't things you need to apologize for." She held out her hand and, while she couldn't say she was surprised when Ashley took it, she wasn't expecting the wave of relief that washed over her and her own smile warmed.

"Reuniting the Holograms sounds wonderful!" Raya enthused. "Only, I won't be done with my classes and papers until June. Can't we hold off until summer?"

Jerrica squelched the sigh rising in her throat. "I've been hearing that a lot," she admitted. Aja had strongly hinted that her band would need some downtime after their tour. Kimber hadn't called back yet. And Shana was currently 'up to her elbows in sequins and satins' as she was working tirelessly to make 60s elegance look fresh and new for a summer stock production of Dreamgirls. She hadn't even tried reaching out to the Misfits, yet.

Contacting Stormer would be easy. And while she and Pizzazz weren't exactly close, they did keep in touch. Come to think of it, Jerrica thought with a pang, she wasn't at all certain that Pizzazz—Phyllis, now—would be on board with any of this. She'd once admitted to Jerrica that being a Misfit had let her let the worst part of herself run wild. These days, she was trying to distance herself from that rebellious phase. And, Jerrica had to admit, Phyllis's past did make her one of the better social workers when it came to establishing a rapport with the kids she handled. Do I want to take her away from that and throw her back into the patterns she's done her best to break out from? Even for a short time? And would she say yes, if I asked her? She hadn't heard anything from Roxie or Jetta in years.

"Hello? Jerrica?"

Jerrica blinked. "Sorry, Raya," she said into her phone. "I was just thinking. I guess summer is probably going to be best, after all. When are you free?"

This time, the pause was on Raya's end. "I'll have to check and get back to you," the other woman said finally. "I think I know the dates, but I want to be sure I'm not getting mixed up with last year. And Papi may need me at the store; June is usually a big month for weddings, but maybe I can work around that."

"Okay." Jerrica's eyebrows shot up. "Raya, I'm getting a beep; I'm going to let you go. Talk soon?" As soon as Raya acquiesced, Jerrica took the call that was waiting.

"Hello? Mrs. Harmon!" Jerrica exclaimed when the voice on the other end introduced itself. "How are you?"

"Lovely, Jerrica, and yourself?"

Jerrica coaxed a laugh into her voice. "Busy as always," she informed the social worker. "How have you been keeping?"

"Well, I've moved into administrative work now," she said. "Supervisory. I was actually calling today about a new case that's just come through. A girl of about eleven or so. She's currently in an emergency placement, but we're looking for something a bit more long-term."

"How long-term?" Jerrica asked, all business.

"At the moment, we're not entirely sure. She seems to have arrived from out of state, though she isn't providing details. We're making inquiries, of course, but so far, nobody's reported her missing. Of course, even when we do find out her particulars, it might take some time before all the paperwork gets sorted and arrangements can be made to send her back. Right now, we don't know whether she ran away on a lark or if there are more serious issues in play. Until we have all the facts, I was hoping that you might be willing to take her in."

She had a concert to plan and people to contact, but there was a child in need of help and Jerrica was in a position to provide it. She reached for her pen and flipped the pad she'd been writing on to a fresh sheet. "I guess you'd better give me the details you do have, then," she said, pulling her mind away from the Parkinson's benefit for the moment.

Emma awoke to a knock on the door and, for a moment, she didn't know where she was. Memory returned while she was still half asleep: more than three days on a bus out of Boston and it felt like she'd dozed for most of them. When she'd finally arrived, she must have given off some kind of 'runaway' vibe, because a cop had approached her before she'd even stepped out of the station, asking her who she was and where she was from. Then there had been the hours at the police station while she'd thought they were trying to find out who she was, but they might have just been busy with other stuff, until someone could be spared to bring her here.

"Haven House," she whispered aloud. It sounded like a nice place to be, but nice names didn't mean anything. She'd never been sent to a home called, "Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter" or "Bullies R Us," but they might as well have been. That Giselle person had been nice last night, but it probably wouldn't last. No matter how hard Emma tried to be good, she always did something that prompted a call to her social worker. She'd thought that good kids were supposed to be quiet, not make waves, and follow the rules, but then, she'd overheard Mrs. Flanders on the phone.

" I just don't know how to reach her. Her walls are up so high and nothing I do seems to crack them. I don't think this is going to work out."

Her social worker had been there to pick her up the next day.

Sometimes, being quiet worked longer, but the bigger kids quickly discovered that they could push her around and she wouldn't tattle or fight back. Eventually, someone at school would see the bruises, or notice that she wasn't getting enough to eat, or that she seemed 'jumpy' and she'd get shuttled off somewhere anyhow.

Lately, she'd started shoplifting. At first, it had just been for food, but then she'd realized that if nobody caught her, she could have Lion King pencils and Animaniacs shoelaces like the other kids at school, too. Besides, if not being a problem was a problem, then maybe it was better to be a problem after all! Until now, Mrs. Malcombe hadn't noticed, but that had probably been because she'd been busy helping Cecilia get ready to be adopted. With the younger girl gone, Emma had no reason to stick around, and anyway, it was just a matter of time before she was caught with something she hadn't paid for. Once that happened, she'd be off again and, for once, Emma hadn't felt like she wanted to wait around for the inevitable. If she was going to be leaving anyway, at least she could decide how and when.

There was another knock on the door.

"Emma? Are you coming down?"

"I'm getting dressed," she lied, pushing back the bedclothes. "Give me another minute."

She was hungry, and Giselle would probably still be nice for a little bit longer. She might even remember about the bra shopping she'd mentioned last night and not have something better to do today. She got up and looked at the new-to-her clothes. They'd been washed a bunch of times, from the look of them, but there were no faded stains and no holes. She'd had worse.

Her stomach rumbled and she reached under her bed for the bag from Mr. Cluck's. The food she'd left over was still there. Even if breakfast was gone by the time she got downstairs, she wouldn't starve. Then again, breakfast was probably going to be a lot better than cold, greasy fries and a cookie. She dressed quickly. When she opened the bedroom door, Giselle was waiting with a ready smile.

Emma returned it cautiously.

The dining room was set up like a cafeteria. Giselle showed Emma where to grab a tray and cutlery before she joined the line. "A lot of the people who live here are emancipated minors. We give them a place to live at a subsidized rent, and they work here or in the community." She frowned. "You know what an emancipated minor is, right?"

"Kind of," Emma admitted. "I know some of the kids back in Bo—" She caught herself. "Back where I used to live, they told me that if you could convince a judge that you could handle being on your own, then they could make it so you didn't have to be in the system, but I know I can't do that, yet."

"More or less," Giselle confirmed. "It's different depending on which state, but here in California, someone who's at least fourteen can qualify, if their legal guardian is okay with it, if they can prove they can manage their own finances, if they have legal work—no under the table stuff, and if the judge believes it's in their best interest." Her face grew serious. "Haven House isn't a regular foster home, though we are licensed for it. We're a refuge for teen runaways. We help them get settled and, if the only thing holding them back from emancipated status is a job, we do our best to find them one."

Emma nodded, but her heart was sinking. She wasn't a teenager and she wasn't old enough to be emancipated. There was no way she was staying here.

"Hey!" The red-haired guy behind the counter who was probably in his late teens gave her a friendly smile. "You're new, aren't you?"

Emma nodded again, this time more cautiously. A lot of big kids had smiled at her in the past—right before they insisted she give them her allowance (when she was lucky enough to have one) or a small keepsake she'd taken from an earlier placement.

"Emma," Giselle said, "meet Danny. He used to live here until recently and he ran our kitchen. Now, he comes in mornings to train Daria until she can take over." She waved at a dark-skinned girl who didn't look older than fifteen, who turned away from the griddle at the mention of her name, her curly hair straining under a plastic head covering that reminded Emma a bit of a shower cap, but not exactly. Daria grinned and waved back, before going back to the eggs.

"Came here when I was thirteen," Danny confirmed. "That was almost six years ago. I just got my own place last month. Where'd you come from?"

Emma shrugged. "Around."

"I get you," Danny said. "And don't worry. If it was a bad situation, the folks here will do everything they can to make sure you don't have to go back there."

How bad, Emma wondered, did it have to be, though? She hadn't liked living at the Malcombes, but they hadn't been mean or abusive. They might not have noticed the bullying going on behind their backs, but that had been about the other kids, not about them.

"Scrambled eggs okay?" Danny asked, serving spoon poised over the long metal basin.

Emma hesitated. "Could I have pop tarts?" She felt her face redden as she saw a look pass between Giselle and Danny. She should have asked for something healthier. Sugar was bad; she knew that. But it tasted so good!

Danny locked his blue eyes on Emma's for a moment. "We don't have pop tarts," he said, "but if you don't mind being a guinea pig…?"

"What?" Emma asked blankly.

"I'm experimenting with a new recipe," Danny explained. "Assignment for one of my cooking classes. I had to make enough for twenty-five, but I always do a few extra, just in case. Try these; tell me what you think." He placed what looked like two chocolate cookies on her tray. She eyed them suspiciously.

"They're really cookies?" she asked. "I-I mean, they… don't have carob in them, right? Or wheat germ?" The Swensons had been health nuts. And to make matters worse, they'd always made food that looked amazing, but tasted like sawdust, all the while enthusing about how amazing food tasted when you left out 'all that unhealthy sugar and salt'. Amazingly bad, in other words, Emma thought, wincing at the memory. She'd been glad to see the end of that placement. Spending her allowance on that pack of chocolate bars so she and the other kids could have some real dessert had been worth it. Even if they had kicked her out for 'corrupting and trying to poison' their own 'angels'.

"I promise," Danny said, adding a smaller scoop of scrambled eggs to her plate, a safe distance from the cookies. "I mean, I won't lie: there's healthy stuff in them, but I really worked to get them to taste okay, too."

Still not sure if she was about to become the butt of some joke, Emma cautiously broke off a piece of the cookie and popped it into her mouth. It was chocolate, but with a pleasant tang to it. Her eyes widened, and she picked up the cookie and took another bite. "What is this?" she asked, through a full mouth.

Danny's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Protein cookies," he said. "Chocolate, a bit of oat flour, cream cheese, honey…" He paused for a beat. "Also known as my Tuesday morning homework."

"Danny's taking culinary arts at LATTC," Giselle explained. "That's one of the colleges here."

"In other words, I'm a cooking student," Danny said. "One of my assignments was to come up with a high-protein breakfast to appeal to," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "fussy eaters."

Emma finished what she was chewing. "I'm not fussy," she protested. "I just like pop tarts." She eyed the last bit of cookie in her hand. "And these," she added, lifting the piece to her lips.

"Uh… some of us have to leave for school in, like, less than an hour," piped up an annoyed voice behind Emma.

Danny blinked. "Sorry, Juana," he exclaimed, plunging his spoon into the scrambled eggs. "See you around, Emma," he added, sliding a generous scoop of eggs onto Juana's plate.

Giselle smiled at her charge. "Would you like me to introduce you to anyone else?" she asked.

Emma shook her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw three kids get up, leaving empty space at the end of one of the long tables. "Can I sit there?" she asked, jerking her head toward that space.

Giselle nodded. "Of course. Take your time. I've got a few things I need to deal with, but I should be done by about ten. We'll go shopping then."

She'd remembered after all, Emma realized. She ducked her head once to agree, but as much as she tried not to show it, she was sure that Giselle had seen her smile.

Three hours later, a much happier Emma walked into Haven House beside Giselle, clutching a blue paper shopping bag with rope handles containing three training bras and two five-packs of underwear.

"Do you remember how to get back up to your room?" Giselle asked.

Emma nodded and headed upstairs. Once alone in the room—her room, at least for now—she carefully lifted each item out of the bag. Then, she opened the packages and ripped off the tags. The sign at the cash had said that you couldn't return undergarments if they were out of their original packaging, and Emma wasn't going to take any chances. She'd just put everything away in the three-drawer bureau beside her bed, when there was a knock on the door. "Emma?" Giselle's voice called.

Emma walked to the door and opened it.

"I had a call from DFCS just now," the rainbow-haired woman said seriously. "They've found a more stable placement for you." Something must have shown on Emma's face, because Giselle added, "You knew that this was just short-term, right?"

Yes, but she'd hoped it wouldn't be this short-term. She swallowed hard, but her voice was steady, as she asked, "When do I leave?"

"Tonight."

Chapter Text

Chapter Four

Emma knew she should have expected it. Giselle hadn't pretended that Emma was going to stay here, but she'd thought maybe, if they were trying to find out where she'd come from and ship her back there, she could still stay here until they did. Maybe they'd have more important things to worry about and they'd just forget about her and she could stay here until she was old enough to be an emancipated minor and not have to go back into the System. She should have known better. She never should have got her hopes up. She shouldn't have thought that Giselle would only want to take her shopping—at a real store, not Goodwill or some charity bazaar—if it looked like Emma could stay here for a while.

Without a word, she turned her back on Giselle, opened the dresser drawer, and took out her new clothes. Then, hesitantly, "Do you want them for the next kid my size?"

She didn't turn around, so she wasn't sure if the long pause was because Giselle was thinking about it or because she was either nodding or shaking her head as though Emma could see it. Finally, she heard Giselle say gently, "I bought them for you, Emma. They're yours to keep."

Emma nodded. Then she hauled her knapsack out from under the bed and unfastened the top flap. She could tell at a glance that there little room inside. Sighing, she turned back around. "Do you have a garbage bag?" she asked. "They won't fit."

"Why not just use the shopping bag?" Giselle suggested, jerking her head toward the bed, where the empty bag lay.

Emma blinked. Then she nodded cautiously. She should have thought of that, but every other time she'd left for a new placement, it had been garbage bags. She'd guessed that they were standard issue for kids in the system. Maybe it was different here.

"Emma?" Giselle asked. "You know, once you get settled, you can always call or pop by for a visit. Let me know how you're making out."

Emma sighed. "Every time I think I'm settled, I get sent away," she said. "I'll probably be back in—" She stopped. "Back where I came from," she finished, not saying where that was.

Giselle shook her head. "Well," she said, "you can still call, wherever you are. Collect, if you want to."

The bag rustled as Emma opened it wider. "Sure," she said, even though she knew she wouldn't. By tonight, this place would be a part of her past and she'd already found out that things hurt less if you never looked back.

By the time she'd finished packing up, Giselle was gone. Emma shrugged. Looking down, she saw the edge of the Mr. Cluck bag poking out from under the bed. The fries were soggy and disgusting, but she ate them anyway. The cookie was better… but not even close to as good as the two she'd had at breakfast. When Giselle came back upstairs a bit later to call her to lunch, Emma told her she wasn't hungry.

"Emma?" Giselle was at the door again. Not her door; not anymore. The door. The door of the room she'd slept in last night, which wasn't going to be her room after all.

"I guess you want me to leave the pajamas," Emma said dully without looking up.

Silence greeted her comment and stretched for an awkwardly long time before Emma cautiously raised her eyes. Giselle was still standing in the doorway. "You can take them with you, if you like," she said. "I don't usually have to find anything in your size."

Emma nodded. "Thanks."

"Supper's in an hour," Giselle continued. "You really ought to eat something."

"I'm not hungry," Emma said. Then a moment later, "Thank you."

Giselle sighed. "I'm sorry you're leaving us," she said. "If it helps, the department doesn't usually take a kid away from us if they haven't found a stable placement."

Emma shook her head. "I've never been longer than six months in any home, so I don't know why I thought things would be any different here."

"I'm not going to tell you it will be," Giselle admitted. "I can't see the future any more than you can. But I can't tell you it won't be either." Her gaze fell on the blanket on Emma's lap. "That's beautiful," she said. "It looks handmade."

Emma shrugged. "It's the only thing I had when they found me on the side of the freeway."

"What?"

"I was wrapped in it," she said, her voice steady and almost devoid of emotion. "I was a baby. Only just born, they said."

"Was there a-a car accident?" Giselle asked. "Babies can be pretty resilient; almost like… ragdolls. It's not impossible that you were thrown clear of the wreck—"

"There was no wreckage," Emma said. "No sign of my parents. Just me, wrapped in this. If it weren't for the name on it, they'd have called me something else," she added, holding the knitted fabric out so Giselle could see 'Emma' stitched in cursive onto a white triangle in one corner of the blanket in dark yarn. The girl's lips twisted in a bitter smile. "Sometimes, I wonder if maybe they just grabbed the blanket out of a Goodwill bag and my name's really Anna or Leia or something. Doesn't matter, I guess. If it came from Goodwill, so'd most of the things in here," she patted the knapsack on the bed beside her."

"I'm sorry," Giselle said.

Emma shook her head. "You didn't chuck me on the side of a freeway." She hesitated. "Did you?" she asked, sounding very small.

"No," Giselle assured her.

"I didn't think so."

Giselle sighed. "I'll let you know when supper's ready. Just in case you feel hungrier then. And if you'd rather eat up here, I can bring you a tray."

Emma nodded, but it wasn't until Giselle had one foot in the hallway outside that she called a soft 'Thanks' after the woman's retreating figure.

"It's not laundry day," Joellen exclaimed, seeing Jerrica coming down the hall with her arms full of bed linens. Then, hesitantly, "It's not, is it? Because if it is, I must've missed it."

Jerrica shook her head. At seventeen, Joellen was one of the last of the 'original' Starlight girls still in her care. Deirdre and Krissy still lived here while they attended college and helped out when they could, but they were both over eighteen and out of the foster system. The other girls had moved on. Jerrica heard from one or another from time to time, but she had other children in her care now, and one more was due to arrive this evening. "Actually," she said, "if you're not too busy, maybe you can give me a hand. We have a new girl coming. I was thinking we could put her in Terri's old room."

"Oh," Joellen said, with a frown. "But what if Terri…" She stopped. "Okay, I guess she's not going to pop in from Rutgers every weekend, but maybe when she's on vacation?"

"We'll worry about that when it happens," Jerrica said. She was proud that Terri had earned a full scholarship to college, even though she was a little sorry that the college in question was clear on the other side of the country. Rutgers had one of the best psychology programs in the country, though, and while Terri had overcome many of the superstitions and phobias that had plagued her when she'd been younger, she also had a burning desire to understand why she'd developed them in the first place and help others in her situation get beyond them. "Here."

Joellen took the pillow at the top of the bedding pile out of Jerrica's arms and followed her down the hall. "Do we know anything about the new girl?" she asked.

"Just a name," Jerrica replied. "Maybe that's better."

"How come?" Joellen asked, stopping in front of one the doors and, since she had one hand free and Jerrica didn't, turning the knob.

Jerrica sighed. "Because files don't always tell the whole story. When Ba Nee came to live with us, she was very shy and she'd just left a war zone less than two years earlier and her English wasn't very good yet. Her file said that her intelligence was below average. Actually," she added, "the report stated it was a bit worse than that—"

"Ba Nee?" Joellen exclaimed. "Are you kidding me?"

"I wish," Jerrica said. "When Dad agreed to take her, the social worker wasn't sure if Starlight house was going to be able to accommodate a girl with that level of disability—"

"Ba Nee?" Joellen repeated. "She used to help me with my spelling, even though she was two grades below me!"

"Yes," Jerrica said. "And once she got used to us, and started to come out of her shell, and once Dad found someone who actually spoke Vietnamese to test her properly," she added in an undertone, though one Joellen was clearly meant to overhear, "we realized how… inaccurate that initial assessment was. What I want you to understand is that they only tested her once and then, the results from that test impacted every other placement she had going forward. The people assigned to foster her assumed she wasn't very smart, so they treated her like she wasn't. Sometimes," she said, "people just… see what they expect to." She shook her head. "It helps to know the facts going in," she added, "but only if they're actually facts. So, let's get things ready for our newest foster girl, and we'll see what she's like when she gets here."

"Phyllis," Phyllis and Ashley both looked up to see a short woman, her dark hair cut in bangs with a high ponytail on either side, like the blonde in that new British girl band Phyllis had heard on the radio on her way in to work today. "Mind taking care of one last job on your way home? If your address is up to date, I think it'll be on your way."

Phyllis took the folder—a far lighter one than usual—with a raised eyebrow and glanced at the name. "This the kid you had me trying to track down yesterday, Azevedo?"

"It is," her supervisor confirmed. "We still don't have any leads."

"No missing persons report?" Phyllis asked. "From anywhere?"

"Two more besides the sixteen you left on my desk," Azevedo replied with a slight eye-roll. "But none of them for a female matching her description, even when you consider that blonde might not be her natural color."

Phyllis opened the folder and stabbed her finger down on the photograph. "My money says that's natural," she said flatly. "It's a lot easier to turn light hair dark than the opposite; trust me on this. If this is a dye job, it's either professional, or she started prepping for it a couple of weeks ago; it'd look brassy if she'd only started bleaching yesterday."

Ashley started to say something, but stopped. Phyllis looked at her. "Got something to add?"

Ashley scuffed her shoe on the carpet a bit nervously. "Just that I don't think professional dye jobs are in the cards for most girls in the system. At least, not here; I don't know if it's different in other jurisdictions."

"You're not wrong," Azevedo nodded, giving the intern a friendly smile. "Older kids might have part-time jobs and save up for something like that, but this girl doesn't seem to be older than thirteen, and she might be as young as ten."

"She's five-seven," Phyllis said, noting the detail on the top sheet. "Ten's kind of young for that kind of growth spurt."

"Agreed," Azevedo nodded again. "But it's not impossible. Unfortunately, the girl refused to tell us anything that might help us find out where she came from apart from her name."

"Which might be phony," Phyllis pointed out.

"Well, for now, let's act like it's not or we'll have even less to work with," Azevedo groaned. "Anyway, the cops brought her to Haven House yesterday, but that was just temporary. Mrs. Harmon's made some inquiries and you're to pick her up from there and bring her to Starlight."

"Jerrica!" Ashley exclaimed. And then, at the supervisor's startled look, she lowered her eyes again. "I lived there for more than five years," she said.

"Liked it?" Azevedo asked.

"Yeah," Ashley said, smiling. "Jerrica was great."

"I've heard good things about her," the supervisor nodded, "but it's always helpful to hear more of them from someone who was living with her for an extended period.

Phyllis cleared her throat. "So I'm putting in a little unpaid overtime after work, huh?" she asked with a sniff. She glanced at Ashley. "Wanna tag along and say 'hi' to the old place?"

Ashley grinned.

Emma ate her supper, barely tasting it. She thought a couple of the girls at the table might have smiled at her or murmured a 'Hey,' or some other greeting, but she hadn't been interested in making small talk. Now that she knew she wasn't staying here, there was no point in getting to know anybody. By a quarter to seven, she was sitting on a bench, her knapsack and shopping bag beside her as she waited.

She thought about running, but she had no clue where to go. She didn't know her way around and it would be dark soon. She didn't have enough money for a hotel and they probably wouldn't give a kid a room for the night anyway. At this point, she realized, her best bet was to go to whatever foster placement the system here had picked out for her. In a week or two, when she got her bearings and knew how to get to the bus depot, she could leave.

Unless things worked out better here, she thought, but then why would they? They never had before. Still, Los Angeles wasn't Boston. Maybe things would be different. Maybe. But she was probably just kidding herself.

"Emma Swan?"

Emma looked up at the two women and nodded at the older one, who seemed to have been the speaker. Not that she was old. Emma guessed she was probably in her late twenties, maybe early thirties, though she wasn't always great at judging ages. The other woman was probably five or ten years younger. Maybe even still in her teens. "That's me."

The first woman gave her a cool smile. "Name's Phyllis. This is Ashley. She's an intern."

"Hi," the younger woman said.

Emma shrugged.

Giselle came out of her office then. "Ashley!" she exclaimed, smiling broadly. Then she did a double-take. "Pizzazz?"

"Not so loud," Phyllis said with a grin. "You want the paparazzi bursting in here? Because I sure as hell don't!"

Emma blinked. She'd never had a social worker who swore before. Not that 'hell' really counted as a swear word, but it still wasn't the kind of language she'd been expecting. And what kind of social worker had a nickname like 'Pizzazz'? Or worried about paparazzi?

"Emma…?" Giselle's voice broke into her thoughts, and she realized that the woman had been trying to get her attention. This time her perpetual smile seemed to speak of relief.

"Sorry," Emma said. "What?"

"Normally," Giselle said, "when someone leaves Haven House for another placement, I don't get told where they're going."

"Policy," Phyllis-Pizzazz nodded. "Of course when someone lets the cat out of the bag…" she gave Ashley a glare, but there was a twitch to her lips that told Emma that she wasn't really upset.

"Sorry," Ashley murmured. "I was just… excited."

Emma's eyes moved from one face to the next as she tried to figure out what was going on and fought to recall any of the conversation she'd been tuning out a moment earlier.

"You're going to Starlight House," Giselle told her. "It's run by an old friend of mine."

"I lived there for almost six years," Ashley said. "I loved it!"

Emma raised an eyebrow. She'd been through more placements than she could count and while a few had been okay, at least at first, most had been forgettable and some had been awful. She'd never had a placement she'd loved. She couldn't afford to, not when she didn't know how long she was going to stay. She'd started to relax her guard here at Haven House, and look what was happening now.

"Yeah, Jerrica's good," Phyllis said, and Emma frowned. The social worker wasn't lying, but Emma had the sense that there was a lot more she wanted to say, and that it wouldn't be entirely complimentary.

"Good" probably means she's another health nut who won't let us watch MTV or eat without saying grace, Emma thought. Then again, Ashley didn't look to her like someone who would have loved living in a place like that. Not with her hair and nose piercing. Emma sighed inwardly. She'd never figure this out before she got there and it didn't look like she had a choice about going.

"Want me to grab your bag?" Ashley asked, as Emma slid off the bench and rose to her feet. "One of them?"

For answer, Emma grabbed both and held them to herself fiercely.

"Sorry," Ashley said at once. "Just asking."

Phyllis sighed. "Well, much as I hate to break up this reunion, the sooner I drop Emma off, the sooner I get to go home and put my feet up." She grinned at Emma. "You ready, kid?"

Emma nodded.

"I'll probably be calling on Jerrica in a week or so," Giselle said. "Maybe I'll see you then."

Emma shrugged. In her mind, she was already relegating Giselle and Haven House to the past. "Maybe…" she allowed. As she headed toward the front door between Ashley and Pizzazz, she completed her thought silently: …but I wouldn't bet on it.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five

Emma had been hoping for a quiet drive, maybe with the radio tuned to some decent music, but Phyllis wasn't having it.

"LA's got a pretty decent school system," she said. "I think you'll like it here."

Emma shrugged. She didn't much care about school, though if she sat at the back of the room and didn't call attention to herself, she could get through the day well enough.

Phyllis's eyes narrowed and a faint smile came to her face. "I'm not sure how it was back wherever you're from, but I'd imagine you'll still pass the fourth grade qualifying test."

"Uh, Phyllis—" Ashley started to say, but a bristling Emma interrupted.

"I'm in sixth grade!" she snapped.

Phyllis's smile grew slightly wider. "Sixth," she repeated. "Huh. Skipped a year?"

"What?"

"Well," Phyllis said slowly, "the police report we got estimated your age at nine or ten, so—"

"I'm eleven!" Emma interrupted.

Phyllis's eyebrows rose. "Eleven and in sixth," she said. "Okay. That stuff's always a hassle to fix once it's in our computer, but I'll try to get that taken care of before you register." She sighed. "If we knew where you were from, we could probably get your transcripts…"

For an instant, Emma's eyes widened. Then her face turned stony and she looked pointedly out the window.

In the front passenger seat, Ashley shot Phyllis a quick, surprised grin as they stopped at a red light. In less than five minutes, her mentor had managed to wrangle two new pieces of information to add to Emma Swan's file. It probably wasn't going to be enough to track down where she'd come from or who her parent or guardian was, but they were closing in on those answers.

Catching her eye, Phyllis grinned back. Hope you're taking good notes, Ashley, because Emma Swan won't be the only kid you'll meet who won't want to share her life story. Luckily, that old knack I've always had for being underhanded and sneaky? Sometimes it still comes in handy.

Emma couldn't help noticing the bounce in Ashley's step as they headed up the walk. Haven House had been big, but this place was a mansion. And it definitely looked like it was in better condition. It's just a group home, she told herself. Once she got inside, it was probably going to be all uncarpeted floors and boring furniture that made her think of the hospital rooms she'd seen on TV. She wondered if she'd have her own room. Sometimes she did. Sometimes she had a roommate. Sometimes she had more than one. She preferred her own room.

Ashley bounded up the stairs and stabbed her finger on the doorbell. A moment later, it opened and a young woman with shaggy blonde hair bursting out from under an ivy cap stepped out. "Deirdre!" Ashley exclaimed.

"Ashley?" the girl exclaimed, flinging her arms around the other woman with a squeal. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming? I thought it was a new—" She broke off abruptly, noting the other two people on the front step.

"It is," Ashley said quickly. "Emma Swan, Deirdre Baxter. Deirdre, this is Emma. And I guess you know…"

Phyllis was already stepping forward. "Phyllis Gabor," and then seeing the blank look on Deirdre's face shot a quick glance at Ashley and added a bit reluctantly, "Odds are, I was a bit of a Misfit the last time you saw me. Jerrica here?"

Deirdre's eyes widened. "Wait. Pizzazz?"

Phyllis rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. It's me. Don't shout it from the rooftops. And you're confusing the kid," she added, jerking her head in Emma's direction. "Can we come in?"

"Sorry!" Deirdre exclaimed. "I mean, of course! Come in! And Ashley, if you've got time, we have got to catch up!"

A few minutes later, Phyllis, Emma, and Ashley were sitting in a comfortable living room, while a young woman with shaggy blonde hair and warm smile set down a teapot and a tray of fruit and cut-up pastries.

"I'm not hungry," Emma said with a shake of her head, even as she looked longingly at a quartered sweet bun.

The woman—Jerrica—shrugged. "I didn't know you had to be for a sweet bun," she remarked. "If you change your mind, just help yourself."

Emma nodded tersely and hunched forward, doing her best to tune out Phyllis's voice as she gave Emma's particulars. Including the ones Emma realized she'd given away on the car ride over here. When Phyllis was done, Jerrica smiled at Emma, just like most of the other foster 'parents' did at first meeting. Emma knew it wouldn't last long. A week, a month, and the frowns would set in, then the lectures and nosy questions, and finally the phone call to get rid of her. Sometimes, Emma wondered why she ever bothered unpacking.

"Sounds like you've had a rough couple of days," Jerrica said. "Well, I'll ask Mrs. Bailey—she's the housekeeper here—to show you your room. You'll pass the common room on your way; a few of the other girls are usually there. Feel free to join them or, if you'd rather be left alone to settle in, that's fine, too. Quiet time's at nine; no loud music or socializing after that. Bedtime is normally at ten, but once you start school, if you really need to stay up later to finish your homework, talk to me about it and we can probably work something out."

Emma nodded.

Jerrica held out her hand and, after a moment's hesitation, Emma took it. "I hope you enjoy it here," she said simply, treating Emma's answering shrug as though it had been enthusiastic agreement. She got up and left the room, returning a moment later with a bespectacled woman with a motherly smile and a fashion sense that looked like it was a couple of decades out of date. So, this was Mrs. Bailey.

As Emma trailed the housekeeper out of the room, she heard Jerrica say, "Actually, Phyllis… if you have a minute, there's something else I wanted to discuss with you."

"A benefit," Phyllis repeated, as though she was trying to correctly pronounce a word in a foreign language that she was hearing for the first time. "I don't…"

"That's a great idea!" Ashley enthused. "Hey, remember when Deirdre, Becky, Lela and me had our own band? We were pretty good!"

"You were," Jerrica allowed with a smile. She turned back to Phyllis. "Do you think the Misfits might be interested?"

Phyllis sighed. "I get the feeling you talk to Stormer more than I do these days," she said. "I can ask her sure, but it probably won't help, seeing as I haven't had any contact with Jetta in years and the last time Roxie called, she was singing in some nightclub in Vegas.

"The Starlights could do it!" Ashley proclaimed. "A few weeks to rehearse and we'll be ready!"

Jerrica winced. "Uh, I'm sure you could be, but…"

"Oh, right," Ashley said. "Becky went back to her family and Lela left town. But I bet I can find two new singers! Let me ask Deirdre if any of the girls here now have any talent!" At that, she leaped from her chair and, forgetting all dignity, raced out of the sitting room.

Phyllis looked after her ruefully. "They any good?" she asked.

Jerrica hesitated. "Ashley started that band when she was thirteen. At the time, they sounded very good."

"Professional good?"

"Middle school battle of the bands winner good," Jerrica admitted. "But that was a few years ago."

"You're not seriously thinking of…?"

Jerrica shook her head. "But hopefully, she'll realize she's probably not ready on her own without my having to tell her."

"And see, this is why nice folk finish last," Phyllis smirked, but without the edge that might have been there in her Misfit days. "So, I don't know about reuniting the Misfits. Had any luck with Jem and the Holograms?"

"I…" Jerrica hesitated. "I reached out to Jem and she's willing. The others are on the fence. I think Kaleidoscope Haze is a lock, but as to whether Kimber and Aja would want to do a few songs with Jem too, I don't know."

"And Shana and Raya?"

"Timing is everything."

"Time was when I thought winning was," Phyllis said.

"Well, if we can get the bands back together, I'll call it a win."

"Ain't that the truth," Phyllis nodded. She leaned forward then, her expression intent. "You know…" she began slowly.

"What?"

Phyllis shrugged. "Can't believe I'm suggesting this but… you know part of what drew the crowds to our gigs was seeing our not-so-friendly rivalry and taking bets on who was going to come out on top each time."

"We didn't exactly want that rivalry," Jerrica said. "All we… all Jem was looking to do was help me keep Starlight House operational and for that, we needed money. Which Eric was controlling," she added.

"Well, he had an MBA and you had… Did you have college?"

"Just for a year," Jerrica admitted. "I had to drop out to run Starlight House. I know. It wasn't just about the money. I knew how my dad wanted the music company run and Eric had a different vision."

"Promoting 'trash'?" Phyllis asked.

Jerrica winced as she remembered the first time she and the woman seated across from her had crossed paths. "Sorry about that. Dad probably wouldn't have signed the Misfits but not because they were trash. Because… Harlequin doesn't publish superhero comics. Starlight had a certain sound and style it represented, and the Misfits weren't it."

"Apology accepted," Phyllis said. Then she added casually, "Eric was also embezzling from the company. He told me early on."

"I didn't know," Jerrica admitted, "not then. When we went over the books later, well, I wasn't surprised. Why are we talking about this?"

"Tangent," Phyllis said. "Sorry. I was meaning to suggest… our rivalry was a big draw back in the 80s, but now, well, I bet a lot of those old fans would buy tickets to hear us collaborate on a few numbers. A couple of medleys, maybe Kimber and Stormer could write us a few new songs…"

For the first time since the Holograms' lukewarm replies to her calls, Jerrica felt a stirring of hope. "That could work…" she said thoughtfully. "That could actually work."

The room Mrs. Bailey showed Emma looked okay. Actually, it looked a lot like the one Giselle had shown her at Haven House. There were a few personal touches, evidently left behind by a former occupant.

"Oh, Terri was very much into Raggedy Ann," Mrs. Bailey told her, when Emma picked the doll up from the pillow on the bed. "She had quite the collection. Most of it's in storage now, but she asked that we keep one of the dolls here when she left. To welcome whoever took the room next, so I guess it's yours now," she added with a smile.

"Uh… thanks," Emma answered. She thought she'd had a doll like it once, or at least played with one, though she couldn't remember when or where. Perhaps at one of her first foster homes, or in preschool or kindergarten.

"Well, would you like me to take you around to meet the other girls?" the housekeeper asked. "Or would you rather settle in?"

Past experience had told Emma that making new friends meant leaving them behind when she moved on. It was easier not to bother. "Settle in," she said, setting her knapsack down at the foot of the bed before she remembered her manners. "Please."

"That's fine, dear," Mrs. Bailey said. "I'll tell the girls. Though I wouldn't be surprised if some of them knock on your door this evening, you being new and all."

Emma shrugged.

"I hope you enjoy your time with us," the housekeeper continued. "Lights out at ten; I'll come back and knock around a quarter to to remind you. And if you change your mind about meeting the others, there's a common room at the end of the hall. There's usually someone there."

"Okay," Emma said, absently cuddling the Ragged Ann doll. "Thanks." She moved over to the window and pretended to be fascinated by the outside view until she heard Mrs. Bailey's footsteps recede down the hall.

"So, if Jerrica can't find Jem, and if the Holograms don't want to come back," Ashley finished, "that could be our big break!"

"Our big break?" Deirdre repeated skeptically. "We had a band when we were kids, we performed one number in the Jem Jam, we got our fifteen minutes of fame, and even though we kept practicing together until Becky and Lela moved out, we never went on stage again."

"Which is why a concert now would be our big break!" Ashley exclaimed.

Deirdre sighed. "We're two women down, in case you hadn't noticed," she said. "And I haven't had time to touch my guitar since I started college."

Ashley looked downcast for a moment, but then she perked up again. "When Shana left the Holograms to work for Liz Stratton, the band had auditions for a new member and Raya came aboard. I bet there's some other talent right here at Starlight House! We just need to find them!"

"We?" Deirdre repeated skeptically.

"Sure, you sound out the other girls and let me know when a good time to hold the tryouts would be. We can start rehearsing as soon as we find a drummer and a keyboardist."

"Ashley!" Deirdre exclaimed.

"Ashley…" Both young women turned to see Phyllis standing in the doorway. "I'm set to go. You need a lift, kid, or are you going to make your own way back?"

Ashley groaned. "It'll take me almost an hour on LA Transit," she said. "If you really don't mind…?"

"Well, I might have to dump you at the subway, if your front door's too far out of the way, but I can still probably save you some time. If you're ready now."

Ashley got to her feet with an apologetic look at Deirdre. "It's been great seeing you again," she said, giving Deirdre a one-armed hug. "Bye for now. I'll pop by in a week or so and you can update me on how the talent search is going."

Deirdre returned the hug awkwardly. Ashley and Phyllis were already halfway down the hall before she muttered, "I can hardly wait!"

The knock was polite and hesitant and Emma knew that if she ignored it, the person would probably go away. It was almost certainly Mrs. Bailey or, perhaps, Jerrica. They probably wouldn't send her away if she didn't answer, at least not on her first night. Still, this was a new placement in a new city and a new chance to start things out on the right foot. She got up slowly and opened the door partway.

It wasn't either of the two women she'd been expecting. Instead, an older girl, her dark hair braided close to her scalp and twined with brightly-colored strings and beads smiled in at her. "Hi," she said. "I'm Joellen."

"Emma," Emma said, keeping her face expressionless.

"Hi," Joellen said again. "I just wanted to see if you're settling in okay."

Emma shrugged. "You're a counsellor?"

Joellen shook her head. "I've lived here since I was seven," she said. "I'm seventeen now—the oldest one here still in the System—so I'm sort of the welcome wagon. On that note," she added, holding something out to Emma, "welcome." As Emma tentatively reached for the offering, Joellen continued, "I've got this book of origami patterns," she said. "They didn't have a swan, but I thought this looked close."

"It's not a swan?" Emma asked, surprised out of her impassivity, as she examined the folded paper construct.

"That was my reaction, too," Joellen said. "Believe it or not, it's supposed to be a pelican."

"No way," Emma said. She stroked the little bird gently with one fingertip and a small smile tugged at her lips. "Thanks."

"I'm glad you like it," Joellen said, grinning back. "I could lend you the book sometime, if it's something you want to learn."

Emma hesitated. "Maybe," she allowed. 'Sometime' all too often tended to mean 'never'. After all, even if she somehow managed to stay here until she was eighteen—and she wasn't holding her breath—if Joellen was seventeen, then she'd be gone in less than a year. Maybe the older girl meant well. She probably did, in fact. But Emma knew that even people who meant well often didn't have time to do half the things they promised to.

"Actually," Joellen said, "my room's just two doors down from yours if you turn left when you go out the door. If you're really interested and not just trying to be polite about it, stop by tomorrow after supper and I'll give you your first lesson."

That, Emma had to admit, sounded a lot less vague. "I'll think about it," she said slowly. "I-is that okay?"

"Sure," Joellen agreed, pretending she hadn't seen the quick flash of excitement in the younger girl's eyes. "Totally your call."

Muffled footsteps padded on the pile carpeting, drawing closer. "Lights out in ten minutes, girls," Mrs. Bailey's voice announced.

Joellen sighed. "You couldn't make it fifteen, just this once?"

"We both know it wouldn't be just this once," Mrs. Bailey replied crisply, her face coming into view through Emma's half-open doorway. "If you're not sleepy, you can read by the light of the streetlamp outside your window, just as you usually do."

Joellen flinched. "You know?"

The housekeeper's face was stern, but there was a crinkle in the corners of her eyes that suggested she wasn't nearly as disapproving as she seemed. "My dear, we can only control the lights in this house, not those outside of it. And, so long as you're awake enough in your classes to keep your grades up, I don't see as it's doing you any harm. But keep those grades up so you keep your scholarship."

"You know I will," Joellen grinned. "Nice talking to you, Emma. Hope I see you at breakfast in the morning. G'night."

"Night," Emma repeated. She glanced up at the housekeeper. "Night, Mrs. Bailey."

"Good night, Emma."

As Emma closed the door, her tiny smile broadened as she realized that, as miserable as she'd been all afternoon, she was actually having a better night than she'd imagined.

And less than an hour later, when sleep claimed her, it did so without the accompaniment of the sweet, haunting music that always seemed to accompany her in those brief moments as she passed from wakefulness to slumber.

Elsewhere

"I didn't expect you back this quickly," the youth said with a slight laugh. "Don't tell me you lost her?"

The Shadow had no facial features save for its glowing eyes, so it was impossible for Pan to tell whether it was amused or annoyed. "Not possible," it replied, and its dry conversational tone might have suited either emotion equally.

"Well then," Pan said, "what news?"

"The Savior did not hear the pipes this evening."

Pan shrugged. "So she didn't go to sleep sad and lonely. That happens occasionally, though I doubt it'll last long. Anything happen to cause her, uh, lack of misery?"

"A new caretaker in a new city," the Shadow replied. "But there's room to think that the walls the girl has erected to protect her most vulnerable feelings are beginning to lower."

A slight crease marred Pan's youthful forehead as he frowned, but his discomfiture vanished quickly. "As they do when she begins to hope that her life may change for the better," he said, affecting a shrug, but his smile seemed forced as he continued speaking. "Children are, at heart, optimists; when the cynicism sets in and hardens, that's when they truly begin to grow up. The savior, for all her tribulations, is still a child, it seems. And I shan't let Baelfire go to her until she grows up enough; otherwise there's no point to it."

The sound that emanated from the Shadow might almost have been a snicker. "They tell stories of you, you know," it said. "In the realm where the savior lives. And in those stories, grown-ups are scarcely held high in your esteem."

Pan smiled. "Well, there's a grain of truth in that, as there is in all stories. But grown-ups do have their uses if you know enough to exploit them. And besides that, the savior will hardly be able to give me the Truest Believer if she never grows up enough to produce him." The boy frowned. "Of course, if she finds her happiness now, she won't be of the right mind to believe she might find it with Baelfire. Our experiences shape us and, if she forgets what it means to feel lonely and unloved, then she won't feel the connection I mean her to when the Dark One's lost boy finds her in the proper course of time." He sighed. "I guess you'd better go back there. Keep an eye on the girl. And if, in a week's time, she still slumbers too soundly for the pipes to disturb her," a sinister smile curved his lips, "I guess we'll just have to take steps."

Chapter Text

Chapter Six

"Uh… yeah," Stormer said, "Aja and Kimber were talking about that a couple of days ago." She hesitated. "Well, I mean, it could be fun. Maybe. But what about Roxy? Or Jetta?"

"Is that Pizzazz?" Kimber stage-whispered, and Stormer nodded while making a shushing motion.

"He did?" Stormer said in surprise. "Well, okay, I mean, we are going to be in Dublin the day after tomorrow, so we can try. But why would Jetta…? Yes, I know Tech-Rat doesn't have all the answers." She waited for Pizzazz to pause for breath before continuing, "I'll check it out. A-and I'll see if I can come up with a new song or two while I'm at it. But without Roxy…" She sighed. "Okay. And by the way, how's Hana May?"

Kimber blinked at the unfamiliar name, but she knew she wouldn't get any answers until Stormer was off the phone. She waited for impatiently, checking her watch and wondering how five minutes could suddenly feel like such a long time. Finally, Stormer said her goodbyes and hung up.

"So…?" Kimber asked.

Stormer sighed. "Pizzazz wants to reunite the Misfits for the benefit."

"I didn't hear you tell her 'no'," Kimber said neutrally.

Stormer sighed. "I don't think it's such a bad idea. Especially if we also perform as Kaleidoscope Haze. I mean, we sing a few numbers with our old bands for old time's sake and then we go on like we have been. It's for a good cause."

"I know it is," Kimber admitted. "I just can't help thinking that it feels like a big step backwards."

"It's not a done deal yet," Stormer said. "Pizzazz spoke to Tech-Rat. He said Jetta's currently performing with some band in a nightclub in Dublin. I figure we can try to track her down when we're there."

"I thought that's what that call was about," Kimber said, running a finger gently over Stormer's wrist. Stormer smiled and covered Kimber's hand with her own. Kimber frowned. "Stormer? Who's… Hana May?"

"Sorry I'm late, Marisol," Phyllis said, almost as soon as she was in the door. "Had some last-minute overtime. She been any trouble?"

Marisol laughed. "This one, Ms Gabor? Never!" She smiled fondly at the little girl with white-blonde pigtails, who was lying on the rug with an open coloring book before her, her small face frowning in intense concentration, as she selected a green crayon.

"Oh, Hana May!" the sitter exclaimed. "Green hair for the princess?"

Hana May glanced up for a moment. "Uh-huh," she said seriously, before looking back down at her picture.

"There's nothing wrong with green hair," Phyllis said dryly. "Right Hana May?"

The girl looked up again. "Princesses can get any hair they want to cuz they're princesses," she said. "An' this princess wants green hair!"

Phyllis's lips twitched. "Well, she's the princess, kid. Let her have it." She turned to Marisol.

"The only rule she has to follow about her coloring is that she does it in her book and not on the walls," she said firmly. "Got it?"

"Yes, of course," the sitter said, her eyes flitting nervously from her employer to her charge.

Phyllis nodded, satisfied. "Kid's got an imagination. Try not to rein it in when you don't have to. How much do I owe you?"

After Marisol had gone, Phyllis smiled sadly at Hana May. "Gonna try calling your mother tonight. Want me to wake you up when I do?"

The little girl frowned. "No thank you," she said politely. "She don't want me no more, so I don't want her either." She went back to her coloring.

Phyllis sighed. "Roxy," she muttered under her breath, "you'd better tell me she's wrong, even if you don't really mean it, or…"

Shana winced when a sour note emerged from her bass guitar. "When was the last time I played this thing?" she muttered. She'd meant to keep at it; her love for music had been there long before she'd been one of the Holograms and giving up performing was never supposed to mean giving up playing.

She'd never had to design over five hundred and fifty costumes for a show before. Yes, a good number of them were matching dresses for the main characters, but each performer needed her gown fitted slightly differently, different body parts needed to be emphasized or de-emphasized, plus each main character needed at least ten costumes and one needed twelve! That was just for the leads; the supporting characters and ensemble cast needed their outfits, too—and this wasn't some high school production where the director could just instruct the actors to "bring in leotards," or "blue pants, white blouses."

Shana was up for the challenge. She'd worked hours, studying the fashions of the 60s and 70s, trying to narrow down the fashion options, reminding herself that amateur hopefuls at a Detroit talent night would dress to impress, but not in the hottest—and priciest—looks of 1964. She'd had to coordinate with the set and lighting designers to ensure that the outfits would stand out properly against the backdrops and look right under different lights.

Her work was done. The costumes were easily her best work ever. But it had been months since she'd touched her guitar and she couldn't remember the last time she'd had an uninterrupted hour to play. "Get it together, Shana," she told herself. "Jem's counting on you. You can't let her down."

She attacked the song on her music stand with new fervor. She didn't hit any more sour notes, but she knew her timing was off. She hadn't sounded this bad in she didn't even know when. "Practice makes perfect," she muttered. "It's just going to take a lot of practice."

And hopefully, by the time she made it back to Starlight Mansion, she'd be back up to scratch.

Roxy sounded half-asleep when Phyllis called. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I got a major headache. Too many clubs on the strip, too many bright lights…"

Phyllis had never been big on sympathy. "You could always come back," she said. "Riot's talked Jerrica into a major benefit concert. The Misfits could get a piece of it."

Roxy laughed. "Sure. Or we could host our own concert! A bigger, better one! Like the old days. And we'll raise more money! And then we'll spend it!"

"Benefit, Roxy," Phyllis said again. "Money's for Parkinson's research."

"Aww," Roxy whined, and Phyllis knew her former bandmate was pouting on the other end of the phone. "Can't we get a teeny weenie cut for ourselves?"

Phyllis started to laugh, but then her brow furrowed. "Roxy, are you drunk?"

Roxy giggled. "Not yet, but call back in an hour and I'll be closer."

"Roxy…"

"I'm in Vegas, baby! Gotta live a little!"

"You're supposed to be in Vegas making enough money to pay your bills, not blowing it on booze," Phyllis pointed out.

"But the booze is soooo good," Roxy giggled again. "And I gotta tip the bartender. And the bellhops. And the taxi drivers… And I gotta look my best on stage."

"And you haven't seen your daughter in almost a year," Phyllis snapped.

There was a pause. "How is she?" Roxy asked softly.

"She looks more like you every day," Phyllis said.

"Too bad," Roxy replied with a bitter laugh. "She was such a cute baby."

"Roxy," Phyllis said seriously, "come home. Hana May misses you."

"Soon's I have enough saved to get us a place in LA," Roxy replied, almost whispering now.

"And when will that be?"

"Crud!" Roxy exclaimed. "I gotta get on stage in half an hour. Talk later, Pizzazz! Give Hana May my best!" The line went dead.

Phyllis stared at her cordless phone for a long moment before she replaced it on its base to charge. "Damn it, Roxy," she muttered. "Your kid deserves way better than that and you know it. At least, you do if you aren't already too far gone to see it."

"A baby?" Kimber repeated. "Roxy has a—?"

"Hana May's five now," Stormer said. "So, she's not really a baby anymore."

"I-I know," Kimber said. "But still! Who's the dad?"

Stormer shook her head. "Roxy never told me. Or anyone, really. After the Misfits broke up, we sort of drifted apart. Pizzazz, or I guess Phyllis, now—still weird calling her that; she really used to hate that name back then—anyway, she called me last year, asking if I knew anything about four-year-olds. I mean, she knew some general stuff from her courses; I think she had to learn a bit about child development or maybe psychology to get her degree—"

"I still can't really picture her as a social worker," Kimber interrupted and Stormer shook her head.

"That's… She had her reasons," Stormer said. "I-I don't know if she'd want me sharing everything, but…" She frowned. "How much do you know about her past?"

Kimber's forehead furrowed. "I know her mother walked out on her when she was a kid," she said slowly. "And her dad… Okay, I don't know this. I mean, I only met him once, so it's more the impression I got than anything else, but it seemed like he threw money at her, when what she really wanted from him was time."

"Sounds about right," Stormer said dryly. "Phyllis got into social work, for pretty much the same reason she took in Hana May. Deep down, she really gets what it's like to be a kid and feel like the people who are supposed to be there for you… aren't. Even if they're there physically, they're not there-there. A lot of kids in that situation act out. Not all of them, but she did. I think that's why she works with kids now, and why she's good at it. Anyway, Roxy asked Phyllis to look after her daughter a year or so ago. Financially, things weren't going great for her and she took some job in Vegas that was supposed to pay well. Just for a few weeks."

"And…?"

Stormer shook her head. "We were all pretty wild when we were Misfits. Me included. Phyllis and I grew out of it. I'm not sure about Jetta; I guess we'll find out soon, maybe. But Roxy… didn't. She's still in Vegas and according to Phyllis, anyway, she still hasn't... settled, and it doesn't look like that's changing anytime soon."

"So she left her daughter…?"

"Vegas is trying to be more family-friendly," Stormer said slowly, "but being a single mother when you work nights is rough. Being a single mother when you work nights and love to party?" Stormer shook her head. "I think Hana May's probably better off with Phyllis."

"Somehow, I doubt that's what Hana May thinks," Kimber murmured.

Stormer winced. "From what Phyllis was saying earlier, the sad thing is that she might be starting to."

"Don't be nervous," Jerrica said at breakfast, passing the plate of scrambled eggs toward Emma.

"I'm not," Emma shrugged, sliding egg onto her plate and reaching for a piece of toast. "School's school."

"Yeah," a girl about her own age said, "but you won't know anyone there. Besides me and Stephanie, I mean," she said, nodding toward a petite dark-haired girl beside her. "We're the only ones here in middle school. Nicole's in elementary," she added, waving at a small girl at the far end of the table, "and everyone else is in high. I'm Casey."

"Emma," Emma said, spreading butter on her toast. "And it's not like I knew people at my old school, really."

"Well, you're here now," Stephanie said. "We can show you around at lunch."

"So you know where all the bathrooms are and the fastest way to get to class," Casey added.

"And if you're into Pogs, I know where the best players hang out."

"Anthony Martin isn't the best player!" Casey laughed.

A dreamy look came over Stephanie's face. "But he is the best looking."

Casey rolled her eyes. "She'll be asking him for extra coaching next," she muttered to Emma.

"I-I don't play Pogs," Emma admitted.

"So what do you like to do?"

Emma shrugged. "Stuff."

"Stuff's good," Casey said. "I like stuff."

Emma tensed. Sometimes she wasn't good at knowing when someone who acted friendly was actually laughing at her. And Casey did look like she was ready to laugh, but not meanly. She shot her a hesitant smile and when she received a warmer one in turn, she felt her tension ease somewhat. "I… uh… kind of like," she winced, "uh… Mary Chapin Carpenter." And now, they were going to know just how big of a loser she was.

Stephanie perked up excitedly. "I've got State of the Heart in my room! We can listen after school if you want!"

Emma exhaled and dug her fork into her eggs. "Yeah," she said, flashing a small, genuine smile. "Yeah, I would. Thanks."

Emma tried to concentrate on her new teacher's voice, but she didn't have a clue what was going on. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I-I guess we didn't cover that at my old school."

Someone laughed, and Emma felt her face grow hot.

"Trevor," the teacher—Ms Kogawa, Emma remembered now—said warningly. She gave Emma a sympathetic smile.

"Don't worry, Emma," she said. "We'll catch you up in no time."

Emma tried to smile back, but she had her doubts. She'd never been a great student. Being bounced around from placement to placement meant that she'd also changed schools numerous times, often more than once in the same year. When she was already struggling to keep her head above water and learn the material, those moves didn't help. Each time, there was the frantic scrambling to try to catch up where she was behind and not show off when she was ahead. There were new teachers to get used to, new kids to meet, and often different textbooks, too. And no matter what she did or how well or how badly she performed, she knew that at any moment, she might be whisked away to start over again with a whole new crowd of students and teachers who didn't know her and she'd be back at square one. After a while, she'd just tuned everything out and marked time until recess or lunch or dismissal. Why had she thought that things would be different here?

A folded slip of paper suddenly landed on her open World History textbook. Startled, she unfolded it.

I can help you tonight, if you want, Emma read. I love Ancient Egypt. She jerked her head up in the direction from which the note seemed to have come and saw Casey smiling at her.

This time, smiling back was a lot less forced.

Three nights later, Emma walked nervously between Casey and Stephanie, approaching a door at the end of the hallway of bedrooms. The guitar, already playing loudly on the other side of that door, seemed to blare all the more as they approached.

Casey hesitated only a moment before she rapped on the door.

There was no response.

"She can't hear us over the noise," Emma groaned.

"What'd you say?" Stephanie asked. At least, Emma guessed that was what she was asking; she wasn't very good at reading lips, but she couldn't hear her friend and it didn't take a genius to guess that Stephanie couldn't hear her either.

"I… said…" Emma said, speaking more loudly and more slowly, "she can't hear us!"

Stephanie shook her head and Emma couldn't hear what she said this time either.

Casey attacked the door with her fists, pounding rhythmically in counterpoint to the guitar solo in the room beyond.

Emma reached past her and tried the knob. To her surprise, it turned easily. The three girls looked at one another with raised eyebrows before marching into the room.

"Deirdre…" Casey began.

The blonde teen was lost in her music and didn't seem to be aware of her surroundings. Stephanie stepped smartly to the electrical outlet and unplugged the amp.

Deirdre blinked and looked around. "Hey, what gives?" she asked. "Didn't anyone teach you guys to knock?"

"We did," Stephanie snapped. "Now it's your turn."

"Yeah," Casey chimed in. "We're trying to study here and you're playing so loud that I bet they can hear you clear over in Orange County. So knock it off!"

Deirdre winced. "Uh… sorry, guys. Hey, any of you want to try out for the Starlights? Ashley's holding auditions on Saturday."

"Great for Ashley," Stephanie said. "Unfortunately, we've got a test to study for. So, how about playing without the amp?"

Casey and Emma both nodded.

Deirdre sighed. "Okay, you win. But think about the auditions. Ashley's going to look pretty dorky up on stage if I'm the only backup singer."

"Isn't that kind of Ashley's problem?" Casey asked.

Deirdre shook her head. "I know you only came here after she left but… when it comes to Ashley, her problems have a way of becoming other people's problems, too." She looked from face to face. "Besides, I promised Ashley I'd try to find a few new people and… you're here, so I'm trying."

Stephanie raised an eyebrow. "I'll give you that," she said. "You and that guitar are very trying. And we're trying to study."

"Okay, okay." Deirdre gave in with a reluctant smile. "But maybe check out the auditions anyway?" She looked from face to face. "Emma, right? Maybe?"

Emma swallowed hard. "There's nothing special about my singing," she said. "Thanks."

As they made their way back to Stephanie's room to resume their homework, Emma found herself humming absent-mindedly.

Casey groaned. "Can't get it out of your head now, huh?"

"Sorry."

"Nah," Stephanie grinned. "It's catchy. Like the flu."

"So, about the auditions…" Emma said slowly.

For a moment, neither of her companions said anything. "We can think about it," Casey said slowly, a moment later. "But it's not just the auditions. It's the practices if you make the band. There are probably going to be a lot of them and they're going to cut into homework and study time. I might be a whiz at history, but… you notice I didn't ask if you need help with math."

"Oh," Emma said, and decided not to admit now that she did need help with math, too. "Okay."

Then she smiled again, when Stephanie proclaimed, "Yeah, math's more my thing."

Pan was watching the night sky as the Shadow descended. "Well?" he asked. "How fares the savior-to-be?"

The Shadow's eyes glinted with something that might almost have been amusement. "Are you that eager to have your son remember you?"

Pan sighed. "No, though I wish Neverland's air would work on me as it does the Lost Boys, so I could forget him as thoroughly as he has me. Until I obtain the Heart of the Truest Believer, I'm vulnerable. At least, in the unlikely event that my dear spawn finds not only his memories, but the courage to do what he'll need to if he's to remove me from the board."

His brow furrowed. "If the Savior turns aside from the path Destiny means her to travel," he went on slowly, |on her new course, it's just barely possible that the Truest Believer will not be born."

"You don't trust Destiny to take its course, then?"

Pan smirked. "I never have, Old Friend. I never have. No, it's no fun sitting on the sidelines and watching the game unfold. I'd much rather place a few pieces of my own on the board." His expression turned serious once more. "So. What news do you bring?"

The Shadow shrugged. "She's slept far more soundly than usual these last nights. Even the pipes at their most mournful barely stirred her, and when they did, she but rolled over and slept all the more deeply. As far as I could see, her dreams were likely pleasant ones," he added.

"And she's happy in this new city she's come to?" Pan asked. "She has support? Friends?"

"My observations would seem to confirm on each of those counts."

Pan's frown twisted into a scowl. For a long, terrible moment, he said nothing. And then, all at once, his face grew bright and he smiled again. "Well, then," he said lightly, "I suppose we must do something about that." He cast pensive eyes at a gleaming star, the second to his left. "All right," he told the Shadow. "Summon them."

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven

The four band members looked at one another. "Well," Craig said slowly, "this is the place."

"The Grasshopper?" Kimber read the sign dubiously. "Did Tech-Rat say what kind of place this is? If I remember right, Jetta ran with a rough crowd before she became a Misfit. If some… bar fight breaks out and we're in the middle of it and we get arrested, I mean…"

"Well, they say there's no such thing as bad publicity," Aja quipped. "Normally, Jerrica might beg to differ, but since she's the one asking us to find Jetta, I think she'll probably be a little more reasonable than usual. Especially since Jetta was a Misf—" She glanced at Stormer and lowered her eyes. "Sorry."

Stormer shook her head. "Don't be. When we met Jetta for the first time, she was in the thick of a brawl."

Craig sighed. "Look, guys, the European part of the tour's over. Dublin was our last stop before we fly into New York and play our way back to LA. Jerrica changed our tickets to give us an extra two days here instead of flying out tomorrow."

"I was looking forward to three days in New York," Kimber groaned.

Craig gave her a rueful shrug, but continued. "So, we go in, we see if Jetta's here, we tell her about the benefit, and then, if she says yes, we've got a full day tomorrow to just… do that whole touristy thing in Dublin instead of Manhattan. I've never been to Dublin Castle and there are a bunch of museums worth checking out, too."

"And if she says no?" Kimber asked.

Aja laughed. "Then we still do that whole touristy thing, but we make time to come back tomorrow night and try one last time." She looked meaningfully at the others. "Ready?"

Stormer took a deep breath. Then she led the way up to the club door. "Guess we're not going to get any readier standing out here and talking about it," she said. "Come on, ladies and gentleman. We're going in."

As they walked past the club's foyer, strains of jazz music greeted them, growing louder as they made their way in. "This doesn't look like one of Jetta's usual hang-outs," Stormer whispered.

Craig looked around. "Do we take any table, or does someone have to seat us?"

"I don't know," Aja said. "I hope we don't need a reservation. I didn't think to call ahead."

"No worries!" a cheerful voice spoke up from close by and the four looked over to see a young woman smiling at them. "We've a crowd tonight, it's true, but there's space enough for you?"

Stormer and Kimber exchanged a glance. "Is she asking us or telling us?" Kimber asked, bemused.

Stormer shrugged, but the two trouped after the hostess and their bandmates to a round table with four chairs and a tea light candle that floated in water in a translucent red globe that was open at the top.

"Your server will be here in a moment with your menus?" the hostess said, though to their ears, it sounded once again as though she was asking.

"Sounds good," Aja smiled. "Thanks."

They looked around. The tables were nearly all filled, though there were still a couple of empty ones. The atmosphere was lively and the background music had them feeling good already. The server arrived and plonked down leather-bound menus before them cheerfully, and they smiled and reached for them.

"I'll give you a chance to look them over and be back in a few, shall I?" she asked, this time a definite question, and they nodded.

That was when a voice sounded over the speakers. "We'd like to thank you all for joining us this evening. To kick off our live entertainment, we have," the lights came up on a corner of the room, revealing a low stage with four people seated beside musical instruments, "Saoirse Howard, Ken Shaughnessy," at each name the performer bowed and the crowd applauded, "Mark Hanrahan, and Sheila Burns-O'Flaherty!"

As a woman with a large saxophone and two-toned hair cut and spiky, inclined her head, Stormer's jaw dropped. "That's Jetta!"

Neverland

Pan stood on the edge of the cliff, watching as the dawn broke. A familiar dark shape in the sky drew steadily nearer, angling its approach toward the island. The Shadow looked larger than usual today, more voluminous. As it came closer, Pan smiled broadly. The Shadow was, in fact, the same size as always, but from afar, it had been impossible to tell that it clutched in each wispy hand, a struggling young man. Each dangled by the scruff of their jackets—Pan had long got over his surprise that the fabric never ripped on these journeys—and both faces bore a peculiar mix of terror, fury, and resignation.

When the Shadow descended to no more than five feet above the cliff, it unceremoniously released its captives, who tumbled to the ground with near-synchronized yelps. The younger of the two rolled precariously close to the edge, but his companion managed to seize hold of his sleeve before he could go over.

"All right?" the elder asked, and was answered by a shaky nod. The younger spied something on the ground and handed it to the other with a quick smile.

Pan waited for his guest to don his glasses, before he beamed at them both.

"It's great to have the two of you drop in after all these years!" he proclaimed. "Welcome back, John… Michael. It's been far too long."

"Not nearly long enough," John said angrily. "What is it you want of us, Pan?"

Pan's eyes opened very wide. "Why, to reunite you both with your dear, beloved, sister, of course," he said with a laugh. "Come!"

John and Michael exchanged nervous looks. Both were all too well aware of the Shadow still hovering behind them, silently threatening. They could follow voluntarily, or they could be hauled along kicking and screaming as they'd arrived. John rose to his feet first, and then hesitantly extended his umbrella toward his brother. Michael took the handle and let John help him to his feet.

Gritting their teeth and wondering what new game was in store, they took the path away from the cliff, heading in the direction that Pan had gone.

If they'd passed her on the street, none of the four might have recognized her—not without her shaggy mane of wild black hair and the trademark white lightning bolt streak across her forehead and eyebrow. In jeans and a checkered button down, a vermillion-and-fuschia pixie cut, and understated make-up, she looked both tough and oddly vulnerable, in a way the Jetta they'd known never had.

Then she went into a saxophone solo, and the four exchanged glances and nods. "That's Jetta," Stormer said again, with a knowing nod.

"And she's incredible!" Aja breathed. "I don't think I ever noticed how good she was."

"That's because, back in the old days, she was as likely to beat up a heckler with that axe as blow into it," Kimber quipped back.

"Axe?" Craig blinked.

"Sax," Kimber said. "It rhymes. Also, I think I heard that when it comes to jazz, a lot of musicians call their instruments axes, whatever they are."

"Because playing well breaks opens a lot of doors?" Craig guessed.

"Maybe," Aja was thoughtful.

Stormer waved them to silence. "People are looking at us," she hissed. "I want to hear this! We can try to talk to her after the set."

People were, indeed, sending disapproving glances in their direction. Kimber swallowed, took another gulp of her red lemonade, and tried to avoid making eye contact with any of them.

Wendy hadn't changed, John noted, as his sister approached. In the century or more since she'd come to Neverland, she hadn't aged a day. But as she drew closer, he could see that his earlier impression had been in error. Wendy had always been so ladylike—her dresses and pinafores spotless, her hair always neatly caught back with band or ribbon, never a wisp out of place. At least, that was the image John had retained of his elder sister—who was now not even half his age. Now that hair hung loosely about her shoulders. It was mussed and tangled, with bits of twigs and leaves caught in her curls, and it badly wanted washing. Her nightgown was dirt-streaked and one sleeve was half-detached from its bodice. John didn't care in the slightest. "Wendy?" he whispered.

She blinked at him for a moment. Then her lips parted in an incredulous smile. "John?" she asked hesitantly. Then she practically leaped toward him, flinging her arms about his midsection and pressing her cheek to his ribcage. "John!"

She opened her eyes on the younger man, smiling gently at her and embraced him in turn. "Oh, Michael! I-I scarcely know you. You're both so ol—so much older," she corrected herself.

"You're not," Michael whispered hoarsely.

She turned nervous eyes toward Pan. "How is this possible?" she asked, but there was a nervous tremor in her voice, nothing at all like the wonder that might have been in evidence when she'd first heard tell of Neverland and true magic.

Pan laughed. "I've been playing a long game, Wendy Darling," he said. "And since I always play to win, it's been necessary to send a couple of my playing pieces off to smooth the course. I trust them, you see," he added genially. "I know that they'd never allow any harm to come to you and since they've played their parts well, none ever has. Has it?" he asked, but though he smiled, there was something hard and dangerous in his eyes, warning her that if she didn't speak her next line properly, she would not enjoy the consequences.

She swallowed hard. "No harm at all," she said, forcing herself to smile. And when Pan seemed dissatisfied, she lowered her eyes demurely. "Thank you."

Pan grinned cockily. "You see?" he waved his hand expansively toward her, as he turned to her brothers. "She's been my honored guest all this while. And yet," his smile grew a bit wistful, "well, it hardly seems fair, her having a life of ease and freedom while the two of you go off on adventures for months and years at a time. No," he said decisively, "that won't do. Wendy," his eyes brimmed with new excitement, "it's your turn to complete a mission for me. I'm afraid you'll be leaving here shortly."

Wendy blinked. "Leave Neverland?" she repeated, uncertain she'd heard correctly.

"I know it must pain you, Wendy Darling, but you must. There's a task out there in the world you left that only you can do for me."

"Oh, it doesn't—" Wendy caught herself. "It doesn't seem right to… to leave you," she said, thinking quickly and praying she was being convincing enough. "Are you certain I must?"

"Alas, yes. Come," he said, gesturing toward the jungle. "We'll go to your cave, Wendy, and you can make us all some dinner so we can eat while I teach you the game. And perhaps you'll even be able to make me a pocket or two before you go."

"Okay," Craig said, after the set finished and the band disappeared through a door at the back of the stage area. "We found her. Now how do we talk to her?"

"Well," Kimber said, "our fans used to hang out at the stage doors."

"Yeah, and we'd leave out the side," Stormer said. "Anyway, we're not fans or groupies. We're friends. Former friends." She hesitated. "Former bandmates?"

Aja, meanwhile, had managed to flag down their server. When the young woman hurried over, she handed her a folded note. "Could you please see that Ms. Burns-O'Flaherty gets this?" she asked politely, also passing the woman a banknote sporting the face of a balding man with a long mustache.

The woman's eyes widened. "Miss, are you quite sure you've given me the correct note?" she asked. "I know you're not from here and I suppose our money might take a mite getting used to, but you've just handed me fifty punt!"

Aja smiled. "Just give it to her, will you?" she asked.

The woman nodded energetically. "I will," she assured her. "And thank you!"

"Nice," Craig said appreciatively.

"Hey, us rock star types are supposed to throw money around like it's water. Just trying to act the part," Aja grinned.

"Have I told you lately that I love you?"

"Not lately enough," Aja half-sang.

Stormer and Kimber rolled their eyes. "Those two really need to get a room," Stormer muttered.

Kimber nodded. "Tell me about it."

In the cave that Pan had decorated to resemble a bedroom from the world in which she'd once lived, Wendy looked from Pan to her brothers, fear and wild hope mingled in her eyes. "So, you want me to go back there," she said slowly. "To America."

"California, yes," Pan nodded. "There's a particular girl there, a bit younger than you. I want you to befriend her. For now, that's the only part of the game you need to know. When you come to a new section of the board, you'll receive further instructions."

Wendy frowned. "California," she repeated slowly. "Mother read us a novel once. I think," her voice turned soft with memory as her eyes took on a faraway look. "Why, it was The Young Miner by Mr. Horatio Alger! And he was in California during the Gold Rush! John, d'you remember?"

John nodded, a faint smile coming to his own face. "I do," he said. He sobered then. "But I'm afraid that the California Mother read about there doesn't exist anymore. Time might stand still here, but it's moved on rather back in our realm."

"I can see that it must have," Wendy acknowledged. "How long have I been here?" she asked with a faint note of dismay. "Looking at the two of you it must be at least twenty years." Her brow wrinkled. "More. Twenty-five? Thirty?"

It was Michael who spoke now. "Wendy, when we first came here, it was 1898. John and I have been back a few times, a month here, a year there, long enough to see how the world has changed, but not long enough to let us grow too much older at each visit. But over ninety-six years, those little visits add up."

Wendy paled and her hand flew to her mouth. "Ninety-six years?" she whispered. "That… that can't be."

"I'm afraid so," John said gently.

"But… but… Mother… Father… Nana? They're all…?" her voice broke.

Her brothers nodded. "Dead," Michael said gently. "I'm so, so sorry."

Wendy buried her face in her hands.

Pan cleared his throat impatiently. "You can catch up later," he snapped. "It's not as though you can possibly remember them much after all this time, so pull yourself together. The two of you are leaving at dawn."

Wendy lifted reddened eyes to her captor. "The two of us?" she repeated raggedly. "You're not letting us go at all, are you?"

"Well, not for good, of course," Pan laughed. "I don't like giving up my favorite toys, even if I might not play with them for a little while. But take some time to enjoy the twentieth century. Take in the sights. Enjoy childhood while you can." He nodded and made a quick hand-signal. "Michael and I will be here waiting once you've completed your mission."

"What? No!" Wendy cried, as the Shadow swooped into the cave and seized hold of her youngest brother.

"No harm will befall him," Pan called over his trailing shrieks, as the Shadow hauled him away. "At least, not so long as the two of you play the game properly. If not…." He shrugged. "Well, let's not talk about 'if not'. Right. I think that's everything. I'm off to have some fun. You two can spend the next few hours learning about the last century. A lot's happened in your world in that time and I'm sure John will want to get a head start on catching you up on that." A menacing note crept into his playful tone. "But keep the conversation to business; no sobbing and sentimentality here. Save that for when I can't hear it. You'll have a few weeks to get acclimated in the other place before you have to worry about meeting the girl anyway, so weep and wail on your time. For now," he chucked Wendy under her chin, "listen to your brother. You're going to an unfamiliar place and you need to know as much about it as you can. Every little bit you recall will help you, so try to pay attention. The Shadow will come to fetch you when it's time."

Some twenty minutes later, their server motioned for the four to follow her and she led them toward a door marked 'Only Employees May Enter Here/Ní Fhéadfaidh Ach Fostaithe Dul Isteach Anseo'.

Kimber squinted at the Gaelic. "Nee... feedfade ack fostaith dull is teach ansayo?" she read hesitantly.

Their guide winced as she held the door open. "It's actually..." she rattled off a phrase that Kimber knew she wouldn't be able to repeat to save her life and thanked her stars that the sign had been bilingual as they made their way down a hallway.

"Right," the server said, stopping at one of the doors and knocking smartly. It opened at once.

"Well," a familiar English voice intoned laughingly, "aren't you lot the proverbial sight for sore eyes! Come on in and tell me wot the bloody 'ell you're doing in Dublin!"

Emma was humming as she, Casey, and Stephanie walked toward their bus. Casey sighed. "Deirdre really did a number on you, huh?" she asked.

Emma blinked. "Sorry?"

"That song...?" Stephanie laughed.

"Oh," Emma winced. "Yeah, I can't get it out of my head." "

"Been there," Stephanie said. "Give it time." She frowned. "And considering that the auditions are in two weeks and then they'll be rehearsing, you'd better give it a lot of time."

"Maybe," Casey ventured, "they'll get some new material?"

"It'll probably be just as much of an earworm," Stephanie pointed out. A bit more softly, she sang, "I can see me standing on the stage, I can see me being all the rage..."

Emma's eyes widened. "You mean, there are lyrics?" she demanded.

Casey groaned. "Now, you've done it! We're just going to have to teach them to her."

"Uh, no," Emma said quickly. "It's okay."

"I'm just kidding," Casey reassured her. "They're pretty easy to remember once you hear them anyway. And you will be," she added. She paused for a beat. "A whole lot."

"Yeah," Stephanie said. "So you may as well stop fighting it. Because before the month is out, we're all going to be singing along! So..." She took a breath and began again.

"I can see me standing on the stage,

I can see me being all the rage,

I can see me going very far...

I can see me a star!"

Jetta heard them out, her expression unreadable. Finally, she shook her head. "Much as it might be fun to see the old gang again," her lips curled into a semblance of her old sneer, "well, maybe not Roxy, but Pizzazz anyway," she sighed, "I'm afraid it's not in the cards."

"What do you mean?" Aja asked.

Jetta sighed. "I dunno if the accent's a tipoff but... I can't join up with you Yanks without a proper visa and I have no idea how long it'll take to get one."

Stormer frowned worriedly. "How long did it take you the first time?"

"There was no first time," Jetta admitted. "I was in America on a lark, walked into a club and thought I could do a better job than the blighter they'd hired to perform. When the crowd disagreed, things got rowdy and you and the rest of the Misfits showed up and the rest, I suppose, is history."

Craig frowned. "Wait. So when you were a Misfit, you weren't legal?"

"Didn't seem to bother Eric at the time," Jetta drawled. "And anyway, Pizzazz's dad smoothed things over for me with Immigration back then. Don't ask me how he arranged it or what he arranged, but I didn't have any trouble while I was with the Misfits. Of course, now," she continued, "times have changed. I'm married. I live here in Dublin and I suppose you've noticed I'm not playing the same kind of music. So unless you've got a spot on the roster for a punk jazz band..."

"Maybe we do," Kimber said slowly. "I-I can call Jerrica tonight and see what she says. Because if she's okay with it, then maybe Starlight Music can help you with the paperwork this time."

"Would that be true for all of us?" a voice spoke from the doorway and the four members of Kaleidoscope Haze turned as one to see the other three performers who'd been on stage with Jetta standing behind them. "Sorry, love," the other woman—Saoirse—said, not sounding a bit sorry. "Me mum did try teaching me that listening at doors was a nasty habit but the lesson never stuck. So," she repeated, "how about it? We'd love to play for that concert, if you'll have us."

"Uh..." Kimber shot a look at Aja, who shrugged, as though to say, You got yourself into this one; don't look at me. Somehow, she didn't think that the Starlight label was interested in taking on a punk jazz group, or helping them deal with US customs and immigration. But looking at the three pairs of hopeful eyes trained on her, she swallowed hard and tried to smile. "Uh, let me talk to Jerrica about that, too."

She pretended not to see Aja wince.

Emma stepped a bit hesitantly into Jerrica's office. Jerrica smiled at her in a friendly fashion, and Emma relaxed a little. "You wanted to see me?" she asked her.

Jerrica nodded. "I was just wondering how your first days at school have been going."

Emma shrugged. "Good, I guess. Casey and Stephanie have been helping me."

"That's great," Jerrica said. "I know it's hard starting fresh, especially when you don't know anyone. I guess I just wanted to let you know that if you're having any issues, you can always come and see me and I'll do my best to help you work through them."

She'd heard that speech before, or others very like it. She knew that the right thing to do was smile, nod, promise she would... and never ever take Jerrica Benton up on the offer. She knew that the more of a problem she seemed to be, the faster she'd move on to becoming someone else's problem. And while Starlight House wasn't perfect—in her opinion, no group home ever could be—she had to admit that it was a better placement than she'd had in, well, ever. She didn't want to blow this shot and end up somewhere worse.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Jerrica's eyebrows rose. "I'm with someone," she called. The door opened to reveal Mrs. Bailey.

"Sorry, Jerrica," the housemother answered, "but I have Phyllis Gabor downstairs for you. She says it can't wait."

Jerrica sighed. "All right. Emma? Hopefully, this won't take too long. Why don't you go on up to the common room and I'll come get you when I'm done."

"Sure," Emma said, getting up and following Jerrica out. She waited five minutes in the hallway, before she headed for the stairs. Instead of heading up to the common room, though, she made her way down to the first floor, where she'd seen Jerrica head off to.

Voices reached her from the living room and she made her way there as softly as she dared. Probably, it had nothing to do with her. Phyllis probably had some other foster kid to bring in or maybe she was also the caseworker for one of the other girls here. Probably. Then she caught mention of her own name and she hurried to hear what was being said.

"Boston?" Jerrica's voice rose with a note of disbelief.

"We've had confirmation from Massachusetts social services," Phyllis said. "Emma Swan ran away from a foster home in the Greater Boston Area almost two weeks ago. Mass DCF sent us her file, complete with a recent photo. It's definitely her."

"So... what happens now?" Jerrica asked.

Emma could almost hear the eyeroll in Phyllis's voice. "Well, it's going to take a while," she said. "Mountains of paperwork, bureaucracy, red tape... and that's for both departments. We're looking at weeks, maybe months, before it all gets settled. In the end, though, she'll go back to Boston."

Emma had heard enough. She padded back upstairs, stuffed her belongings into her knapsack, opened the bedroom window and tossed the canvas bag out. Then, she carefully closed the window again and stole quietly to the stairs. If she had any luck at all, she'd be out the door, knapsack in tow again, before Jerrica and Phyllis emerged from the sitting room.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight

"She ran over a week ago," Phyllis said tersely. "Played it smarter than I would have: she bought a bus ticket from Boston to Bangor, stayed there for a couple of days from the look of it, and then bought another ticket in Bangor to get here. Foster only reported it last night."

Jerrica blinked. "Why would they have taken so long?" she asked.

"The department doesn't tell me everything," Phyllis answered. "But usually, when a kid runs away from a placement, Child Services sends someone to check out the home, too. Maybe the foster family wasn't up to code. Or they thought they weren't," she added.

Jerrica frowned. "You think they were afraid of losing their license?"

"That's my bet," Phyllis said with a disgusted look. "Stupid. I mean, sure, we'd ask the home a few questions—more about who the kid's friends were, if anyone had any ideas why they might have run, that kind of thing. We might take a quick look around to make sure everything looked normal, but..." She shook her head. "Yeah, maybe it's different in Boston, but out here, for all the vetting the department does before we approve a home for fostering, it's not like we'd shut a home down just because someone didn't change the batteries in the smoke detector, or there's a bottle of cough syrup on the counter instead of being locked in the medicine cabinet. That's stuff we look at during the initial assessments before we approve a foster home, but even if an investigator noticed now, they'd just tell the family what the issue was and what to do to fix it. For us to close a place down, it would have to be over something a lot worse. Now, maybe there was something worse going on up there, or maybe the foster home just panicked or hoped Emma would turn up on her own, safe and sound. Kid's got a history of running—we know that now—but on the other occasions, she was usually picked up within forty-eight hours and five miles of her foster placement."

"So, it's possible that, at first, they didn't report it, because they thought she'd be back sooner, and then they worried that they'd left it too long...?" Jerrica was shaking her head. "I-I mean, I can see the thought process, but we're talking about an eleven-year-old girl!"

A soft thump from outside the sitting room window startled her, and she whipped her head around in the direction of the sound.

Phyllis got up from her chair, quickly. "Keep your eye on the window," she ordered. "Give a yell if you seen anyone climbing down after that knapsack." She moved toward the door. "Meanwhile, I'll check the front door." She sighed in annoyance. "I know Jem and the Holograms had a rehearsal studio in this place, so there had to be good acoustics in there, but did they really need to be good enough everywhere else in this house to carry our voices out to the hallway?"

Aja waited until they were back at the hotel before she rounded on Kimber. "You know Starlight is strictly a pop label!" she exclaimed. "How could you offer to—?"

"Well, maybe it's time to branch out!" Kimber replied defensively. "Besides, I didn't promise, but that band was pretty good. I bet if Jerrica signed them, she'd be glad she did."

"Who said anything about signing them?" Craig interrupted. "Jerrica just wants Jetta to do the benefit. If her new band wants to be part of it, hey, our new band is going to be part of it, and I didn't hear you guys saying anything about the concert being strictly pop. Obviously, we need to talk it over with Jerrica, but getting Jetta and her group entertainment visas so they do the gig isn't the same as signing them to the label. Jerrica's usually pretty reasonable," he pretended he didn't hear Kimber's snort and went on, "I think she'll, at least, consider it."

"This is true," Aja admitted.

"But if she says no," Stormer said worriedly, "then what?"

Craig frowned. "Then Jetta used to be a Misfit, and Phyllis is involved with this thing. How about we ask her?"

"Works for me," Aja nodded.

"Hey, yeah," Stormer said, brightening. She frowned then. "Only... she never really did much of the paperwork. It was all Eric and sometimes, her dad."

"Well, Eric's still in prison, and Mr. Gabor is..." Kimber's voice trailed off and she lowered her eyes.

"Yeah," Craig said. "Still, if Phyllis wants Jetta—or, I guess we should be calling her Sheila now—on stage, then I think she'll figure out how to get the paperwork sorted properly. So, we call Jerrica, we tell her what's going on, and we go from there. Sound good?"

Aja beamed. The others nodded.

Emma's hand was turning the front doorknob, when she heard a firm voice behind her. "Emma." She half-turned, shoulders slumping in defeat. Then a new thought struck her. This wasn't a jail. She wasn't grounded. If she played this smart...

"Oh, hi, Ms Gabor," she said, forcing herself to smile.

"Going somewhere?"

Emma nodded. "Yeah, I told some friends I was going to meet them to study," the lie sounded convincing to her own ears. Then she saw Jerrica come out of her office holding a familiar knapsack. Crap. She twisted the doorknob, yanked the door open and started to run, ignoring the shouts behind her.

The Shadow found Pan at his thinking tree. "You're concerned," it noted, its voice dry and dispassionate.

Pan shrugged. "Faith, trust, and pixie dust have their place," he returned lightly, "but I like a little extra insurance. Wendy will do her best, I'm sure. But if it's not good enough... How fare our other interests?"

The Shadow shrugged. "Coming along. The boy has distrust enough for both, but as for the girl... she still sees only the bright side of magic. It will need dampening if she's to play her part when the time comes. Sadly for our purposes, the boy has already learned to keep his beliefs to himself. Already, too many people have told him that what he knows to be true is impossible. He's grown too wary to risk sharing his past with another. At least, for now."

Pan nodded. "I suppose that was to be expected," he admitted, disappointment heavy in his voice. "Funny, though. All of this has happened before, and it will all happen again. For there was another girl once who couldn't see magic's darkness until it engulfed her and brought her here. She learned her lesson in the end, but far too late to do her any good. Do you imagine," he asked nonchalantly, "that she might try to spare another from her sorry fate if she had the opportunity?"

The Shadow rippled as though convulsed by laughter, though it made no mirthful noise. Still, there was a note of good humor in its voice that hadn't been there before when next it spoke. "I don't think her conscience would let her do otherwise. Unless you forbade her, of course."

A sly grin spread across Pan's face. "Now why in the realms would I ever do that?" he asked with exaggerated innocence.

Phyllis swore audibly, as Emma tore down the front walk. "Jerrica," she warned, stepping out of her heels, "you aren't seeing this!" Then, she sprang forward, overtaking the girl and bearing her to the ground in a flying tackle.

"What the hell?" Emma exclaimed, struggling to break loose.

"Cant..." Phyllis grunted, "blast... you... for... language... without... being... a... hypocrite." She rose, pulling Emma up after her, "but if you think I'm gonna let you run, think again." Emma slumped in the social worker's grasp, but it didn't slacken. Phyllis sighed. "C'mon, kid. Let's go back inside and talk."

"I'm already packed," Emma muttered.

Phyllis snorted. "Yeah, I saw. Well, after we talk, you can unpack. From what I know of Jerrica, this little stunt isn't gonna be enough to make her give up on you, yet."

"Wait," Emma narrowed her eyes. "You mean... you're not..."

"Kid, do you have any idea how much paperwork needs to get approved before you go back? You might age out of the system before we figure out the best way to ship you across the country. Meanwhile, you stay here. Unless you've got some relative out there who can take you in."

Emma shook her head. "No," she said softly. "I haven't got any relatives."

"That you know of," Phyllis corrected her. "Maybe we can find one. Tell you what. We go back inside, we talk things over rationally, and then... I know a guy. He's good with computers and government systems and he owes me. You tell me what you know about your family history and I'll see what he can turn up."

"I was abandoned on the side of a highway in Maine," Emma said flatly. "That's it."

Phyllis's eyebrows shot up. "You never know, kid," she said. "That might just be enough. C'mon," she added more firmly. "Inside."

Emma's expression was skeptical, but she let Phyllis turn her around and steer her back toward the house. She didn't miss the strange expression on Jerrica's face as she passed. It looked almost as though the other woman was trying not to laugh. Evidently, Phyllis saw it too, because she immediately snapped, "Don't say it!" as she strode inside.

Emma shook her head when Jerrica pushed the candy dish on the coffee table in her direction. "I'll probably get carsick if I eat now," she muttered.

"That's happened before," Phyllis said calmly. "But I'm not taking you anywhere right now, so you might as well put your clothes away."

Emma blinked. "I thought..."

"Yeah, you did. You've got a good imagination, kid, but you don't have all the facts. Then again," she shrugged, "I don't either. So before I make you any promises, you happy here?"

"What?"

"You know, you're entitled to get your hearing checked on the department's dime, if you need it. Are you happy here?"

"I..." Emma stopped. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had asked her a question like that. She wasn't sure if she knew how to answer it. She didn't usually let herself care enough to think about whether she liked a placement or not. If she did, it hurt more when she left it. If she didn't, the days until she got shipped out again dragged forever. Keeping her head down, going through the motions, and trying not to make waves kept her life in a manageable rut. And if it didn't feel manageable anymore, at least she knew how to travel light when she was ready to run. "I... yeah, I guess so?"

Phyllis shrugged. "Okay." She smiled at her and then looked at Jerrica. "I'll be back in a couple of months to see how she's settling in."

"Wait." Emma looked at Phyllis, glanced quickly at Jerrica, and then back. "That's it?"

"For now," Phyllis said. "Look, kid, having no parents or other family sucks most of the time. In this case, though, it means that nobody in Boston is breathing down the department's neck ranting about not being able to visit you. We've got plenty of those cases here in LA, so I bet Boston's similar. At some point, we'll probably have to ship you back, but meanwhile, if you're happy where you are, there's no need to rush." She smiled. "In my opinion, ripping you out of school, right when you're starting to get used to the place would probably be a bad move. Might even give you a complex, what do you think?"

This was the second time in as many minutes that Phyllis had asked Emma what she thought. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to answer this time either, but she nodded cautiously.

"Right. In that case," she plucked Emma's knapsack off the floor beside the coffee table and handed it to her, "better get this unpacked. If you just threw everything in there, your clothes are gonna get creased if they're scrunched up in there for long."

Emma took it. "Thanks." She slid off the sofa.

"Emma?" Jerrica called after her. "If you want to talk later, I'm here."

Emma nodded. "Yeah," she said, sounding a bit dazed. "I know."

As she walked back up the stairs, she was still feeling a bit shellshocked. Deirdre had her guitar plugged into the amp again and the melody was reverberating through the second floor of the house. This time, though, her mind supplied new lyrics to the tune she'd been hearing for the last few days:

I can see me staying in this place

I can see a smi-ile on my face

I can see me saying loud and clear

That I'm staying right here!

And maybe she couldn't see her lips pulling back into a smile, but she could definitely feel them.

Jerrica hung up the phone again after talking to Kimber. Life seldom ran smoothly, but visa red tape wasn't the most major hurdle she'd ever had to face. Suddenly, holding the concert months down the road was starting to look like a godsend. She called Phyllis. "Hey. It's Jerrica."

On the other end, Phyllis sighed. "Don't tell me she ran again!"

"What?" Jerrica blinked. Then she smiled. "Oh. No, it's not about Emma. No, your tip about Jetta paid off, but there's a bit of a snag."

Phyllis listened. "That's not much of a snag," she scoffed. "If you recall, Eric was so desperate to sign the Stingers back in the day, that he gave them half our company. Still burning about that," she added. "Even if it really was his, the bastard took our name off the label and overnight, Misfits Music became Stingers Sound." A pause. "Crap, even after all this time, it still burns."

"I might have said 'stings'," Jerrica suggested and was rewarded by a chuckle on the other end.

"Or stinks," Phyllis rejoined. "But anyway, even if the company changed names, they still had the Misfits signed. Give me Riot's number. I'll bet he's still got some contacts in Europe from when he was starting out. If he wants the Misfits on stage, that includes Jetta. Let him sweat this one."

"And the band she's performing with now?"

Phyllis made a non-commital sound on the other end of the phone. "Hey, if he wants to handle their paperwork, too, the more the merrier, right?"

Jerrica sighed with relief. "Thanks, Phyllis. Kimber told me they're pretty good. If Riot doesn't want to bring them over, let me know. I can run it by Starlight's legal team and see what's involved and if we can go that route."

"You got it."

It was late, but Emma couldn't sleep. For the first time in a long time though, she was dreaming that maybe this could actually be real. Maybe it could last. Not forever; nothing lasted forever. But maybe she was here for months, or even years. Maybe she could stay until she was old enough to be an emancipated minor and live at Haven House!

Sleep couldn't overpower her tonight and she felt like she had too much energy to stay in bed. Barefoot in her nightgown, she quietly eased the door open and padded toward the stairs. As long as she was up, she thought, she might as well explore the house. Who knew? Maybe there was even a cupboard here that led to some magical winter wonderland! Nah. Now she was being silly. Still. What if there was? Had it been daylight, she probably would have been more sensible, but now, at night, anything felt possible.

She was glad that the stairs didn't creak as she made her way down.

Her eyes widened when she flicked on the light and found herself in a large room with a stage at one end. "Unreal," she whispered. It was like a school auditorium, only this one didn't double as a gym. She wondered if the kids here put on their own plays or fashion shows. (She also wondered why Deirdre couldn't rehearse down here instead of driving them all crazy with her practicing upstairs.) Hesitantly, she approached the stage. Once, a long time ago, she'd thought about performing in a talent show, but a cutting remark by another girl at the group home where she'd been living had made her reconsider and she never had gotten up on that stage after all. Now, she found herself wondering what might have happened if she'd gone through with it.

Slowly, almost as though some magic was pulling her toward it, she advanced to the stage, braced her hands on its edge, and vaulted onto metal pole of the standing microphone downstage center was cold in her hand. She didn't know how to turn it on, but then again, she didn't want to wake the house. Instead, she tightened her grip on it, took a deep breath, and belted out the lyrics she'd thought up earlier. Her lyrics. All hers.

I can see me staying in this place

I can see a smi-ile on my face

I can see me saying loud and clear

That I'm staying right here!

More words came to her now and she closed her eyes focusing on drawing them out, trying to hear Deirdre's guitar in the back of her mind accompanying her.

I can see me taking center stage

I can see me write on a new page

That I'm staying right here!

She exhaled, smiling broadly and feeling far more drained than she had less than an hour ago. If she went back to bed, she bet she could fall asleep now.

And then, soft enthusiastic applause startled her. She looked in the direction from which it had come and saw a side door she'd missed before. Standing in its doorway, Joellen beamed at her. "That was amazing," she breathed. "How long have you been writing songs?"

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine

Emma froze. "I... I..." She swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I just saw the room and the stage and... And..."

Joellen drew closer. "What're you so worried about?" she asked, still grinning. "Okay, next time, don't do this after lights out, but seriously, you're terrific!"

"I couldn't sleep," Emma said. "And when I saw the stage..."

"You know that band on your pajama top?" Joellen asked, grinning. "Jem and the Holograms was the first band Starlight signed after Jerrica took over the company. They used to put on concerts for us here."

Emma looked down at her pjs self-consciously. "I didn't know," she murmured.

"Yeah, I guess they were a little before your time," the older girl admitted. Her smile turned wistful. "Hard to believe it's been more than five years since the breakup. This room doesn't get much use now; I," she gave Emma a conspirational smile, "I come down here sometimes to study. It's quiet. Jerrica even let me set up a computer back here so I can write my papers. She doesn't know I'm here this late, though. At least, I don't think she does," she added. She smothered a yawn. "What time is it anyway?" she asked, looking at her wristwatch as she did. Her eyes widened. "It's after one! I totally lost track of the time! We'd both better get back upstairs. You won't tell on me?" she asked.

"Me tell on you?" Emma breathed. "I thought you were going to tell on me!"

Joellen shook her head, still smiling. "Let's just make this our secret," she said, sticking out her hand. "Deal?"

Emma took it. "Deal."

Wendy looked down from the window of her room and shuddered. She glanced frantically over her shoulder at her now-older younger brother. "Where... where's the ground?" she asked.

"It's a bit hard to see from this angle," John reassured her, "but it's down there. Remember how, even in our nursery, we couldn't see the street below?"

"Well, yes," Wendy said, "but we could still see the sky! Now, there's no ground, no sky, nothing but more stone and steel a-and windows that look like mirrors so you can't see past them!"

"I don't know that I'd like the neighbors being able to see our business," John commented wryly. "And the pavements and stars haven't gone anywhere. Shall we go out to see?"

Wendy shook her head. "Not if it means going in that narrow lift," she said. "I'd sooner take the staircase, if there is one. Or..." She stopped. "No. I... I wouldn't fly again, even if it was with fairy dust and not my being carried by that horrid shadow. I can't even think what I was thinking all those years ago when I went willingly. If I could have foreseen..."

John sighed. "There's no point rehashing the past," he said. "It happened. Now, if Michael's to have any chance at a future, we must fulfill our mission."

"You're right," Wendy said at once. "So, how am I to find this Emma, and what must I do to 'keep her on the proper path', as Pan put it?"

John took a breath. "Come with me," he said, leading her toward the writing desk at the opposite wall. Wendy perked up.

"Is that a typewriter?" she asked. "I'd heard of those, though I've never seen one before." She frowned. "But why is there a framed glass over it? And where's the paper?"

"Actually," John told her, "it's a computer. And we'd best get started teaching you to use one, because most students nowadays begin learning that in grammar school and it would look odd if you hadn't. Odder still if you gawp at the sight of one," he added, smiling a bit.

Wendy winced. "I shall appear rather ignorant, shan't I?" she said faintly.

"Well, I'd wager that if you went on a hike in the countryside, you'd know a thing or two about foraging and building shelter, wouldn't you?"

She turned hopeful eyes on her brother. "Shall we be doing much of that?"

"Sadly, no," John admitted. "So let's work on having you appear less ignorant." He reached past her to turn on the computer.

"Oh!" Wendy cried, as the screen lit up. Then, more softly, "Oh... It's not... magic. Is it?"

"Science actually," John told her. "We're ever so much more scientific now than we used to be. More than either of us could have imagined, in fact. Here," he hooked a chair with his ankle and pulled it toward them. "Sit." He handed her a thick... was that a book? Its yellow cover, while stiff enough, was far more pliable than any book cover she'd ever encountered. "DO'S for Dummies?" she read off the cover, aghast. "John!"

"Calm down," John said. "Don't be offended by the title. It's how I learned to use these beasts. Let's at least try to get started. While we're at it, it's pronounced 'doss,' not 'dues'," he added. "Short for Disc Operating System."

"Disc? Like for a phonograph?" Wendy asked, brightening.

"Not exactly," John sighed. And seeing that his sister was getting ready to ask another question, he went on, "Wendy, please. Just listen to me for a few minutes. I'll try to explain. And for heaven's sake tell me if I'm not being clear enough. You need to know how to navigate this time and place as though you were born to it. Let me help you get there. Michael's safety depends on it."

Wendy nodded miserably. "Of course, you're right," she said. "But how dare Mister..." she glanced at the author's name and finished heatedly, "…Mister Dan Gookin call his volume by such an insulting name!"

"I can't believe you went back to Starlight House without me!" Ashley moaned the next morning.

Phyllis tilted her head at her intern, an expression of mild exasperation on her face. "I didn't see any sign on the gate saying you could only pop by for a visit if you were on Department business," she pointed out. "You want to visit there, be my guest!"

"I know," Ashley admitted, "but it's kind of out of my way and after all the running around I've been doing, I guess I'm pretty ragged. It'd be nice to have a reason to stop in."

"Jerrica and your old friends aren't a good reason?"

"They are!" Ashley retorted. She paused. "But I don't want them to think I haven't got anywhere else to hang out. And… I'm not in the foster system anymore. Except if I go back on my own, it feels like it'll be me running back because I can't make it in the real world."

"Bull," Phyllis snapped. "We both know you're handling things. And if you miss your old life and your old family," she added, "at least you can go home again."

Ashley winced. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean…"

"Hey," Phyllis gave her a savage smile, "don't go feeling sorry for me, okay? I'm over it." She paused. "Well, as over it as I'm gonna get anyway," she said in a slightly more subdued tone. "If Starlight House still feels like home to you and you've still got sisters there, enjoy it while it lasts. Because," she added seriously, "nothing's gonna last forever." She sighed. "Grab those files and get your coat. We may not have Starlight House on the agenda today, but we've got a few other group homes to check up on."

"They know we're coming?" Ashley asked, obeying her instructions as she spoke.

"They know we can make unannounced visits," Phyllis said. "Every once in a while, I like to surprise them."

"You're thinking about that place Emma ran from in Boston."

"I'm thinking I want to know there isn't anything like that going on in LA on our watch. Let's go."

Phyllis phoned Roxy later that evening. "I've been thinking," her former backup singer said. "I think if I'm going to do this gig, I want some compensation."

Phyllis thought for a moment. "I'll pay your airfare," she said. "You can stay with me; I've got the room."

"I always wanted to stay at the Beverly Hills," Roxy said dreamily. "It didn't make sense when I was living in LA, but now…"

"Roxy I can't afford to stay at the Beverly Hills these days," Phyllis said. "Don't get me wrong; I'm doing okay. Maybe I don't have a mansion anymore, but I'd hardly call my place a dump. If it were, I'd never have taken in Hana May." She debated whether to point out that if Roxy was staying with her, then she'd have plenty of opportunity to spend time with her daughter, but decided against it. Roxy could connect those dots by herself. Phyllis hoped.

"Well, the way I see it, if you want the Misfits to perform at this little shindig, then this Misfit wants to get a decent slice of the proceeds."

"It's a benefit, Roxy," Phyllis reminded her.

"Yeah? Well I'd like to benefit, too. You want me? It'll cost you. Five figures and the first one better not be a one."

"What?"

"You heard me," Roxy sneered. "Think it over."

"Roxy…"

The line went dead.

Phyllis's nostrils flared. Of all the…! Who did that girl think she was? She thinks she's a Misfit. Back in the old days, we all would have put on that same prima donna act. Luckily, I think the rest of us have grown up. Stormer and Jetta are performing with other bands, and as for me? Well…"

She hesitated only a moment before she picked up her phone again and dialed a number from memory. "Riot? What do you mean, where'd I get your direct line?" she snorted. "You kept Eric's old number. Time was I think I must've dialed it in my sleep. Anyway, Jerrica been keeping you in the loop about the show? Yeah, we are. Most of us. Look, I figured you should probably hear it from me: Roxy's being… well, she's being me at my worst. Other worst!" she snapped, when Riot facetiously asked whether her former backup singer was currently pining for him. She winced. Back when they'd first met, she had fallen pretty hard for him, but she'd gotten over it fast. "Look, how badly do you want her to do the show?" She sighed. "That's what I thought. Okay. Well, the Misfits can perform on stage if we're a singer short. Might need to find a guitarist, but we've got enough time for that. Also, I was thinking. Not that I'm desperate to get back on the label, but, if Pizzazz were to launch a solo album, would Stingers Sound be interested? We could use the benefit to... test the waters. I mean, we know Stormer and Jetta want to perform a few numbers with their new bands, too. Can't blame 'em. But if they're doing that, then I want to sing a few numbers on my own. If those go big with the audience—and I think they will—we can talk more."

She smiled. Riot wasn't leaping at the suggestion, but she could tell from his tone of voice when he answered her that he was considering the possibility. He asked her something else and she rolled her eyes slightly.

"Yes, I'm sure Roxy's gonna flip when she finds out, but too bad. If she'd agreed to do the gig, you and me wouldn't be having this conversation. And unless you want to cough up eighty thousand minimum…" At Riot's startled squawk, Phyllis smirked. "Hey, if Roxy gets twenty thousand," she said, "Stormer and Jetta get the same, and as lead singer, I should be getting at least that much, but since this is for charity, maybe I'll settle for twenty k, too, instead of holding out for more. Oh, and on the subject of Jetta, how does the visa situation look?"

She smiled. It looked like it was going to involve a lot of government forms, but in the end, it was probably going to work out, both for Jetta and her new bandmates. "Perfect." And if Roxy thinks she can shake down a benefit for booze money, we'll get by without her. I may have put aside the bad girl image, but that doesn't mean I went soft!

Emma glowered at her math paper and tried to tackle the next problem. She knew this, darn it. Or she had when Stephanie had explained it. If the price of an eighty dollar coat increased by twenty percent, the new price was ninety-six dollars. But… If a ninety-six dollar coat's price was reduced by twenty percent, then why did the answer key at the back of her textbook tell her that that new price was seventy-six dollars and eighty cents? If five plus three was eight, then eight minus three was five! That was the way it had always worked before. So, why wasn't it working now?

There was a knock on her door and she got up in a hurry, hoping it was Stephanie.

It was Joellen. "Hey!"

"Hey," Emma said, trying to smile.

"I wanted to remind you that the auditions are after supper. You're going right?"

Emma shook her head. "I don't think I can write another song. And besides, all I did was put my words to some music someone already wrote. I can't write my own music."

"What's your point?" Joellen asked. "It's normal for composers and lyricists to team up. Think about Rogers and Hammerstein. Elton John and Bernie Taupin. Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus!"

"Who…?"

"Okay, that's mostly Pete Townshend," Joellen admitted.

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Emma, those lyrics you sang were great! And even if they hadn't been, with your voice, I think you have a real shot at getting into the band!"

"I…" Singing on stage in an empty room just to see if she could was one thing. Singing on stage in front of everyone else was something else. Something scary. But Joellen looked so hopeful. "I…" She shook her head. "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Okay," Joellen said. "As long as you'll really think about it and you're not just trying to brush me off."

Emma felt her face grow hot. She might have a 'talent' for writing song lyrics, but it looked as though Joellen had one for reading minds! She wished she could trade. "I've got homework," she said. Then, hesitantly, "Uh… do you understand percentages?"

Joellen smiled. "It's been a few years, but I can take a look." She sighed. "And if you really don't want to audition, that's up to you."

Guardedly, Emma smiled back.

The computer lesson over, John was introducing Wendy to another device with which she would need to familiarize herself—this time, for leisure purposes. She looked at the moving pictures on the glass screen and shook her head. "I wanted to go off with Pan's Shadow to see magic," she murmured. "If I'd only waited a few years, I would have had it right here."

"It's science and technology," John corrected. "Jolly fantastical, even so," he added with a chuckle.

Wendy smiled back. "How long have you been here?" she asked him.

John shook his head. "It's my first time in California," he admitted. "I've mostly been in England until now. Pan kept Michael and me in Neverland for about twenty-five years before he let us come back for the first time. I suspect he was waiting for our parents to pass on."

Wendy swallowed hard. "Do you know how they…"

"I do. There was a war—"

"War?" Wendy interrupted sharply.

"More than one, actually," John sighed. "This one, well, for a time it was called the Great War or the World War. Now, it's more often called the First World War—"

"First?" Wendy repeated. "How many…?"

"Two," John said. "The first started in 1914. Father…"

"He didn't go to fight, surely!" Wendy cried.

"No, no. Well," John said, "at least, I don't believe so. I-I couldn't really ask. But he was sailing to India on a passenger liner—the Persia—not some warship."

"To India," Wendy repeated slowly. "What happened?"

"The ship was sunk by the enemy off the coast of Crete in 1915," John said sadly. "Over three hundred people lost. Including Father."

"On a civilian ship!" Wendy exclaimed.

"In wartime," John said. "I don't know why he was aboard, not really. You remember he used to support the YMCA. Well, during the War there was a YMCA contingent going to help out our troops in Egypt."

"The YMCA? But Father was hardly young," Wendy protested.

John smiled sadly, "I think that I must be older now than he was when we left. He was only nineteen and Mother seventeen when they married, you know. Besides, even back in our day, they had lectures and other programs for all ages. At any rate, I suppose Father may have gone with that group. Or perhaps, he meant to sail on to India; the ship was headed there afterwards," he continued. "But then," a hint of bitterness crept into his voice, "there's no real way of knowing. All of Mother's and Father's friends are gone now, so there's nobody to tell us. Father didn't keep a diary, and I doubt the papers interviewed him before he set out. I suppose he just… wasn't important enough for anyone to record his reasons."

Wendy nodded slowly. "And Mother?"

"Influenza in 1920," John said heavily. "When we left Neverland that first time, it was 1923. The Shadow set us down in Kensington Gardens, but the city had changed enough that Michael and I scarcely recognized it. We found our old house, but at first we were afraid to ring the bell." His expression turned pained. "We didn't know then that Mother and Father were gone, but we'd been away nearly thirty years and not aged a day. We didn't know if we could explain ourselves! And then we saw strangers going in and out, and we thought perhaps, that they'd had more children after we were gone, or if they'd moved away, that someone might know where they lived now. Well, then," he amended. "And when we finally did ask—d'you recall Liza's friend Gwen?"

Wendy frowned. "Gwen…" Her face brightened. "Yes, of course! She'd often call round for Liza on her half-day off and they'd go to the theater or a concert. Is she still...?" Her face fell. "Of course she's gone now, too."

"She is," John admitted. "But in 1923, she was housekeeper for the Chartwells three doors down from where we used to live. Liza had married and moved away by then, but Gwen remembered. I told her we were distant relations visiting from abroad, and that this was the last address we had for the Darlings and were there any left? And that was when we learned," he added sadly. "She told us where we could find lodging. Pan had given us a bit of money; we didn't think to ask where he'd gotten it from, but it was enough to last us the week or two we had until the Shadow came back to collect us."

Wendy shook her head. "So short a time," she murmured.

"Well, he didn't want us aging too much, not then. After that, he'd send us back every now and then. He'd tell us what to look for, ask us what changes we noted. More children arrived from our world—not only from England either. The Shadow brought them from all over Britain, and then Ireland, America, Australia… Pan encouraged them to talk to us about the world they'd left behind." He sighed. "So, you see, he made certain that we were aware of how time was passing here, even if he only allowed us to visit for short periods. It's only been in the last two years that he's let us stay, and even then, we knew he could drag us back to Neverland without so much as a by-your-leave." His lip curled bitterly. "As he's done now."

"What does he want from us?" Wendy cried. "Who is this 'savior' and why is she so important to him?"

"I don't know," John replied. "But for Michael's sake, we need to ensure that she does what Pan wants her to one day. Even if we can't know exactly what that is."

"Part of the fun, I suppose," Wendy sniffed.

"Part of the game," John corrected. "I don't believe any part of it is meant to be fun. At least, not for anyone but Pan."

Wendy nodded grimly.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he said, realizing how foolish it was. The phone wouldn't stop ringing just because he'd said he was on his way. No, but I bet I could design something for that. A snooze alarm for a phone. Voice activated—nah; after four rings it would go to voicemail first. Maybe a voice-activated way to intercept the call before it diverts there, so that I'd have more time to pick up!

He snatched up the phone just in time. "Yes?" Then a moment later, "Pizzazz? It's been a long time. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Phyllis didn't bother to correct him. "I need you to find something out for me."

"I'm an inventor, not a PI," he informed her loftily, his whiny voice pitching just a touch higher than usual in annoyance.

"Unless you're selling your inventions, being a PI might just bring in more cash."

"It's not about money!" he snapped. "It's about challenge! And proving I can get the job done! And knowing I'm the only one who can!"

"Yeah?" Phyllis drawled. "Well before you go all Lex Luthor on me, I do have a challenge for you. And so far, everyone else who's tried it has come up empty."

"Oh?" Techrat snorted. "And what, pray, do you need me to do? Graffiti Misfits lyrics on the floor of the Mariana trench? Smuggle your master tapes onto the next space shuttle? Hypnotize Vivienne Westwood into giving you samples of her latest line gratis?"

Phyllis giggled. "You know, those are all pretty good guesses. And maybe I'll take you up on a couple of them at some point. Actually," she said slowly, "there's this kid I'm helping. Her parents abandoned her eleven years ago. Nobody ever found a trace of them. But I'm betting you might be able to…"

Techrat was startled enough not to answer right away. It was a full twenty seconds before he said, "That's… not one of your typical asks."

"Nice to know I'm not conventional," Phyllis said lightly. "Can you do it?"

"Fax me the details," he said. "I'll see what I can turn up."

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten

At Haven House that evening, Giselle softly closed her last photo album, but her hand lingered on the tooled leather a bit longer than it needed to, before she returned it to the shelf with the other ones she'd been paging through all afternoon. She didn't have to do this. Jerrica had asked for her help, but there were plenty of valid reasons for turning her down. She didn't dance much these days. She couldn't with her injury—not the way she'd used to. She could probably go to a party and sway in time with the music, but even if that was unlikely to cause her knee pain to flare up, there were other kinds of pain. After the kind of dancing she'd once done, what she could safely do now would be barely a wisp of a shadow of her old style.

She could still choreograph, of course. There was nothing wrong with her mind or her ability to visualize how a number ought to look, right down to the costumes, hair, and make-up of the dancers. But she wouldn't be able to demonstrate the moves anymore.

When she'd realized that her days as a performer were over, she'd put them behind her as best she could. It had been over a year before she'd been able to bring herself to tune into a music station other than KJOI or KMPC on the radio. (The first was easy listening, the second nostalgia and big band. Neither was the sort of music she could have pictured dancing to.) She didn't go to the ballet, or to musical theater. And until Jerrica's phone call about the benefit, she would have honestly said she hadn't missed any of it. Yes, dancing had been a major part of her life once, but it was all behind her now and she didn't need to be dragged back into that intensity all over again. It would mean a step backwards. It would mean sitting on the sidelines and telling herself that it was as good as being front-and-center.

It would mean helping old friends.

It would mean facing her demons. Or finding out if those demons were even waiting for her. Maybe, she thought wryly, they'd already moved on long ago, and here she'd been cowering in her corner afraid of a confrontation that would never take place.

She wrestled with herself for a moment. Then, she opened her desk drawer and extracted a video cassette. Giselle. Her namesake ballet and the one in which she'd made her professional debut at the age of sixteen, though she'd played the supporting role of Bathilde, not the lead. She slid the tape into the VCR and pressed play.

Funny. She knew the music. She remembered the rehearsals and the performances. Watching now, though, she felt a strange detachment, as though the girl on the screen wasn't really her. As though she didn't know those other dancers either, despite having gone on to perform with some of them in numerous other productions.

The music really was beautiful. And so was the dancing.

She watched the first act from start to finish without pause. Then she hit the Stop button and picked up her phone. "Hey," she said, when Jerrica answered. "I-I've thought it over and if you still need someone to choreograph the benefit… I think I can make that work. That's, if you haven't lined anyone else up, yet."

Part of her still hoped that Jerrica had. The other part leaped when Jerrica told her she hadn't and accepted an invitation to Starlight House next week.

Maybe she'd get a chance to see how Emma was doing, while she was there, too.

"Uh," Casey waved her hand in front of Emma's face to get her attention. Emma blinked.

"Sorry, what?"

Casey sighed. "You've been humming and tapping your fingers for the last ten minutes. Look, if you want to go to the auditions, just… go."

Emma shook her head. "I'm not getting up on stage in front of everyone. No way."

"Hey, it's just for fun!"

"Yeah, unless I'm somehow good enough to make the cut. Then it's on stage, live, in front of a million people."

Casey shook her head. "Actually, I sort of doubt that."

"But Deirdre said…"

"Emma," Casey said softly, "we're amateurs. That benefit's for the pros. Deirdre may play a good guitar, but there's no way she—or any of us really—are going to be good enough to get up there with Jem, The Stingers, the Misfits, Kaleidoscope Haze, and whoever else they sign; I overheard Jerrica talking about maybe bringing in some Irish jazz punk band, too. You really think a bunch of teenagers who never played a concert or cut an album are up to that level of competition? This is just for fun. No pressure." She shrugged. "Hey, if it makes you feel better, I'll get up there, too. I can't stay on key for more than half a verse, but everyone already knows that except you. And you know it now," she added, rising to her feet. "Come on."

Emma smiled. "Thanks, but… I'd better not. It's okay." Then, shyly she added, "But if you're seriously getting up there, I guess I can come and clap."

Casey shook her head. And then she gave a little half shrug. "Oh, why not? It's still early and we could use a study break. As long as we get back to this afterwards."

"Definitely," Emma agreed with feeling. "I still can't get percentages."

Wendy had always thought that she'd be glad to be out of Neverland, but the twentieth century was proving to be a nightmare of a different sort all together. It wasn't all dreadful, but it was strange and much of it was terrifying. She thought the clothing that John had purchased for her to be far more daring than anything she'd dreamed she might wear back in London. There, she'd envied the smart 'bicycling' suits with their bloomers that had looked so much more comfortable than skirts, but she'd had no bicycle and she'd known better than to ask for either the conveyance or the costume. Mother and Father would never have permitted them to her, though John might have received the first when he was a bit older. Now, though, she held the short trousers against her thighs, eyes wide. They'd expose her knees and several inches above that! Perhaps, if the stockings were high and thick enough…

…They were thick enough, and colored as bright as any Neverland flower, but they wouldn't come up any higher than her ankles! She looked at the shirtwaists. Some of these sleeves were so short! Others were tight, with no hint of any puffs! And some of the garments had no sleeves at all! Perhaps, they were meant to be worn as pinafores over the longer-sleeved ones. She tried holding that combination against herself for effect and made a face at the results. That couldn't be right. It occurred to her that John might not be accustomed to shopping for women or girls. Suppose he'd just grabbed an armload of clothing he believed would fit without considering how it was all meant to go together. That had to be it!

But then she realized that the clothing before her looked very much like that which had been worn by the people she'd seen on the television-box last night. This was how people dressed now. This was how she was to dress now. She couldn't possibly. What would Mother say if she could see her?

But surely, mother wouldn't have expected her to go about in the dry California heat—so unlike the jungle from which she'd recently arrived—dressed for the London of a century earlier!

Wendy made certain that the shades in her bedroom were drawn and the door latched. Then, heart pounding, she slowly unbelted the dressing gown she'd arrived in and drew her nightgown over her head. It took her longer than it should have to don the new clothing, but when she was dressed anew, she opened the closet and surveyed herself in in the full-length mirror that was fastened to the door.

"It's not ghastly," she whispered. "It's not ghastly at all." But her hair would be the better for a wash and a combing, and she rather hoped that she could dispense with ringlets and the curling rags for the styling of them in this time and place.

"Emma!"

Emma froze, when she recognized the young woman who was frantically waving in her direction, as she and Casey entered the auditorium. "Uh… Ms… Larsen?" she asked feebly.

"It's just Ashley," the other woman replied. "You're auditioning?"

"N-no," she mumbled. Then she nudged her friend forward. "But Casey is."

"Emma!" Casey hissed, as Ashley thrust a clipboard at her.

"Great!" Ashley enthused. "Just fill this out and give it back to me when you're done. Or pass it to Emma; there are more blank forms underneath." She glanced hopefully at Emma. "If you change your mind."

"No," Emma said firmly. "I don't sing."

"She writes songs," Joellen said, speaking up from behind and Emma whirled, horrified.

Ashley only beamed. "We can use that too!"

"I-I…" But Ashley was already halfway across the auditorium, squealing at another small cluster of girls. Emma looked from Joellen to Casey in horror. "Thanks a lot."

"Thanks for staying later," Phyllis sighed late the following afternoon. "Still want to do this when you graduate?"

In the passenger seat beside her, Ashley gave her a weary smile and nod. "I know it's not all 'heartwarming afterschool special' or 'movie of the week' territory, but I also know we're helping a lot of kids. Maybe not everyone and maybe not enough, but we're doing something and that's better than doing… nothing."

"Sounds like I haven't smashed your rose-colored glasses yet, kid," Phyllis deadpanned.

"It's 1994," Ashley rejoined. "I'm wearing contacts. Get with the times. Ma'am," she added, as an afterthought.

Phyllis snorted. "Say, Ashley?"

"Mmm?"

She hesitated. "That benefit Jerrica was talking about. If the Misfits are doing it as the Misfits and not just performing with the groups we're with now—or getting up there solo in my case," she added, "it looks like we're doing it without Roxy. Which means we're a guitarist short. We're also doing this for free, so anyone we bring is doing it for the thrills and the publicity. I'll hold open auditions if I have to," she added. "I might do it anyway. But before I do, seeing as time is of the essence and I don't have a lot of that these days, do you know of anyone who might be able to keep up with us?"

Ashley's eyebrows shot up. "I just might," she said slowly. "Mind dropping me at Starlight House instead of the bus stop?"

"No problem," Phyllis said. "I need to run a few things by Jerrica anyway. Might as well do it tonight."

Ashley grinned.

Mrs. Bailey greeted them at the door. "I think Jerrica's still in her office," she announced. "Though it is a bit late to call."

"That's okay," Ashley said. "I also brought Phyllis here to sit in on the callbacks."

"You what?" Phyllis asked.

"For my band…?" Ashley reminded her in a tone that implied she was stating the obvious. "Two members short? We put up posters at school to get more people trying out and the top ten get to play again tonight!"

"And you think some… high school kid has what it takes to perform with the Misfits?" Phyllis asked. "Kid, I may be hard up, but I'm not that desperate."

Ashley shook her head. "Come with me," she said, tugging at her boss's hand. Over her shoulder, she called to Mrs. Bailey, "Tell Jerrica where we are! We shouldn't be too long!"

Phyllis trotted to keep up, even as she protested, "Look. Ashley. I've got a lot on my plate right now and listening to a bunch of teenagers belt out cover tunes isn't my idea of—" Three yards from the auditorium door, she stopped short, zeroing in on the guitar riffs emanating from the room on the other side. "Who is that?" she asked.

"Deirdre," Ashley said proudly. "Getting ready to accompany the girls coming back in about an hour."

"Wait." Under fourteen, minors can only work vacations and holidays, but that can sometimes mean weekends. Fourteen or fifteen, three hours a day max on schooldays. Or is that different in entertainment? Damn, I'm living in LA; I should know this stuff in case I ever have to take some child star into care! "How old is she?"

"Twenty," Ashley informed her promptly. "She aged out of the system a year after I did, but Jerrica doesn't exactly turf us when we hit eighteen. Come on."

Twenty, Phyllis thought with relief. No legal barriers to long rehearsals, if we need them then. Maybe letting Ashley drag her over here wasn't going to be the useless sidetrack she'd thought it would be. A small smile played on her lips as she followed her intern into the auditorium.

"Missed you last week," a friendly voice called, as John passed the community center's front desk. He smiled at the teenaged girl sitting behind it.

"Sorry, I was unexpectedly called away," he said. "I had to take charge of my younger sister."

The girl blinked. "I didn't know you had one."

"She's been studying abroad for some time," John said, the well-rehearsed story coming easily to his lips. "Sadly, with our parents' demise, she's in my care now and I must confess I'd rather she be with me. Still…"

"Still?" the girl repeated, when John didn't continue.

He shook his head. "Wendy may be my sister, but I'm afraid I don't know her nearly as well as I should, what with our years of separation. And, well, I'm discovering that one can read a great deal on how to raise an older child—she's not quite thirteen, and yes, that is quite the gap between us," he added smoothly. "Unfortunately, it's one thing to study the psychology of a preteen. It's something else entirely to apply it to a living breathing example."

The girl giggled, but her expression quickly turned serious. "You know," she said, "you might want to look into Big Sisters. They helped me after my mom died, before Grandma took me in. I still keep in touch with Desiree even now."

"Desiree?"

"My Big Sister," the girl explained. "We got to be really close. And, you know, Dad wasn't much for 'girl talk' either. Desiree helped with that. Anyway, I'm pretty sure they've got a chapter here in LA. If you want, I can look up the number for you."

John smiled sadly. "I had thought of that," he said. "Unfortunately, there's a bit of a wait-list. Meanwhile," he shook his head, "well, she's not used to the city. The climate isn't what she's accustomed to and I'm afraid she's been rather sheltered. She hasn't been willing to venture out of doors much, and yet I must have her start school sooner rather than later." He assumed a worried expression. "I confess I'm at something of a loss. It's one thing to serve as swimming instructor to a dozen elementary school pupils three evenings a week. It's another to be charged with the raising of one twelve-year-old girl." He winced. "I'm trying not to think of the questions she might ask about," he didn't have to feign a blush for the next bit; a Victorian education for young boys had been extremely spotty on this topic at least, "well, about growing from a young girl into a young woman."

The girl's brown eyes sparkled with amusement, but there sympathy there, too. "Uh… well, is there a lobby in your building? Or a rec room? I mean, I don't mind filling in as a Big Sister until a real one comes along."

John let a relieved smile cross his face. "Would you do that? Truly?"

"Sure. Gran wouldn't like me going up to a single man's apartment, but she wouldn't have a problem with the common areas of the building. And once you can get… Wendy?" At John's nod, she smiled back. "…Wendy out of your apartment, we can work on getting her going outside." Her gaze fell on the clock on the opposite wall. "How about you get ready for tonight's swim class and, while you're doing that, I'll check my schedule for next week and see when I'm free? Sound good?"

"It sounds wonderful," John said with a sigh of relief. "You're a true friend, Tamara. We'll discuss this more afterwards."

"Good luck with those kids!"

John smiled. His luck certainly appeared to be on the upswing this evening…

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven

Ashley was right. Deirdre had talent. Or potential, at least. Phyllis considered. If Roxy had been the Misfits' sole guitarist, then the girl rocking it on stage would be out of the running. Oh, she was good, but if this was her best, then she wasn't nearly good enough. But it wasn't as though Phyllis didn't play herself. Sure, she'd played rhythm to Roxy's lead, but she'd let Eric talk her into that when he'd signed the band.

"You don't want to spread yourself too thin. If you're the main vocalist, why not let Roxy take lead guitar?"

She'd protested initially, not wanting to share the spotlight with anyone, even a fellow band member. Eric, though, had noticed early on that while she had the spirit, the talent, and the simmering ambition to do both, she hadn't had the willingness to commit to extended rehearsal time. Jamming with the band was fun. Putting in extra hours and training on her own time was work. Worse. It was boring work. She'd lasted less than a week before she'd backed down and admitted that Eric had a point, though she'd played the altruist and sweetly told Roxy that she was going to give her a chance to shine—if she could hack it. And Roxy had. The girl might not have been able to read sheet music—or much of anything else back then—but she'd had an ear that would have turned Phyllis's hair green with envy if she hadn't already been dying it that way…

"Well?" Ashley asked eagerly, breaking into her thoughts, as Deirdre finished her song, "what do you think?"

Phyllis hesitated. "It's a possibility," she allowed. "But don't say anything to her yet. I need to make a couple of phone calls."

Stormer wasn't just the band's keytarist. She also wrote and arranged their songs. If there was a way to rearrange the guitar parts so that she could take over more if Deirdre wasn't up for it… Phyllis rubbed her forehead. She really didn't have time to go scouting nightclubs or hold auditions. Deirdre was good. Maybe not great, but maybe just good enough. Good enough to make me look better, she thought, as a hint of her old attitude flared up but almost immediately settled down again. "I'll let you know, kid." She rose to her feet and exhaled. "C'mon. Let's check if Jerrica's free yet."

"You okay?" Stormer asked, resting a hand on Kimber's shoulder. "You've been quiet all day."

Kimber covered her bandmate's hand with her own. "Yeah, I guess. Being away from Jerrica… being away from the States for this long… It's just, I've felt so much… freer. To be who I am." She squeezed Stormer's hand. "To be who we are."

"We've still had to be discreet," Stormer pointed out. "Even here. We may be able to pick this up without needing a brown paper bag," she said, digging a copy of Diva out of her suitcase, "but then there are still plenty of people who want to keep us in the closet and then set fire to it. Being in another country might feel like we don't have to be as careful, but if the press were to find out…"

"I don't think most of them would care," Kimber said. "We're not that big."

"Yet," Stormer smiled. "But we're getting there. The benefit will probably help."

"True."

Stormer sighed. "You're worried about how Jerrica would react if she knew."

"I…" Kimber shook her head. "I'm worried about how she might react. I keep picturing telling her in my head and sometimes she's fine with it and sometimes she's… not. Anyway," she sighed, "it's not like she's never kept secrets from people she loves. Or loved."

Stormer blinked. "Should I ask?"

Kimber smiled. "Not yet. Maybe someday. Which," she heaved a sigh, "is probably, coincidentally, the answer to the question of if I'm going to tell her about us." She hesitated. "Did you tell Craig?"

"About us?" Stormer shook her head. "I thought that should be something we did together. But he's known about me since we were kids. How about you? You tell Aja? Or any of the others?"

Kimber looked down. "Would you believe that until we got together, I didn't know? I like guys, too. That made it easier," she admitted. "Almost married one, if you remember—"

"Proves nothing," Stormer deadpanned.

"Proves there was a time when I was ready to do anything to get away from Jerrica, even if I knew it was a big mistake." She winced. "Hell of a thing to do to Jeff. I know that now. I had feelings for him; strong ones. Maybe I did love him. I know I thought I did. But there's falling in love with a person and there's falling in love with the idea of being in love. Now," she said, squeezing Stormer's hand gently, "I know the difference." She shook her head. "No, I haven't told any of the other Holograms. Not yet."

"Maybe someday?" Stormer asked.

Kimber smiled. "Someday. No maybe about it."

Deirdre's mouth gaped open. "You want me to perform with the Misfits," she repeated, scarcely believing her ears.

Phyllis nodded. "That's about the size of it. I can have the agreement drawn up this; you can show it to whoever you want. There's no money, but you'll be seen. If you want to go pro after this, you'll have a leg up. And if you don't, it'll be something you can look back on."

"I… I…" She hesitated. "Is it okay if I take a couple of days to think about it?"

"Not longer," Phyllis warned. "If you say no, I've got to keep looking and I want to make sure we've got someone slotted before we start rehearsing."

"Got it," Deirdre nodded. "And thanks." She gave the two women a quick smile, before she left the room at a run.

Phyllis turned to Ashley. "That's generous of you, I gotta say," she remarked.

"Why?" Ashley laughed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, if she's joining with us, she probably won't have time for your Starlight group, right?"

Ashley blinked. "B-but I heard that Kimber and Aja are going to be performing with their new band for some numbers and with Jem for others."

"Yeah, Stormer too," Phyllis nodded. "But we're seasoned pros. Deirdre's good, but it's going to take some work to get her ready to keep up with us. She have a day job?"

"Yeah," Ashley nodded back. "She shelves books at her college library."

"She's a student, too," Phyllis said.

"Well, the benefit won't be until summer."

"Rehearsals will probably start right in the middle of finals. Is she taking summer classes, too?"

"I… don't know," Ashley admitted.

Phyllis sighed. "Well, I'll make sure she does before she signs the agreement. Honestly, kid? I've done it all: rocker, student, social worker… Each one's tough on its own. Combine any two and it's about three times harder. Luckily, nobody's got to do all three. Anyway, if she's not taking summer classes, it'll be easier. If she is, we'll try to work around them. But if you think she's going to have time to jam with two bands, plus prep for finals, plus probably hold down a part-time job? Something's gotta give and it's probably going to be the amateur band. Up to her, but if you do the math, there's really only one decent solution. Tell me I'm wrong."

Ashley shook her head. "You're not." She sighed. "Now I'm wishing I'd never talked her into holding auditions. There are going to be some disappointed girls around here if she says yes." She smiled sadly. "But seeing as I practically threw you at her, the last thing I want to do is make her feel guilty if she does."

Jerrica's eyebrows were climbing higher, as Phyllis updated her on the situation. "It's too bad about Roxy," she said finally. "I thought she was in a better spot, after you guys disbanded."

"She was," Phyllis sighed. "But unlike me, she didn't have a bunch of accountants helping her draw up a budget she could live with. Might take a while to blow that much cash, but," she sighed, "I burned through more. It just happened to be Daddy's."

"I didn't mean to bring up old memories," Jerrica said.

"You didn't. That was all me."

"Are things okay with her daughter?" she asked. "If you need some time to yourself, I know a couple of my older girls babysit. I can ask."

Phyllis shook her head. "Hana May's fine," she said, a bit of warmth stealing into her voice. "Once we get into rehearsals, I might need to take you up on that, but for now, I'm pretty good." She laughed. "Seven years ago, would you have pictured us having this conversation?"

"Not in a million years," Jerrica said with fervor and Phyllis laughed.

"So," Phyllis said, "no objections if Deirdre wants to jam with us?"

"Even if I had any, she's old enough to decide for herself," Jerrica said firmly. "What's the situation with Jetta?"

"Riot doesn't see any issues with her visa. Two of her band members, apparently, have some sort of criminal record. He told me it doesn't look serious enough to keep them out of the country, but it means more paperwork." She rolled her eyes. "Glad I don't have to deal with it."

"But he's keeping you in the loop?"

"Whether I want him to or not." She noted the look on Jerrica's face. "Fine, yes, I know I need to know this stuff. I just wish I could go to sleep and wake up and it would all be taken care of! But," she sobered, "since I know it won't be, I guess I better keep up with what's going on." She shook her head. "If this is what being a grown-up means, it stinks."

"Sometimes," Jerrica admitted and Phyllis snorted.

"Guess you'll be seeing more of me for the next little while," she said. "Hey, how's Emma doing?"

Jerrica smiled. "I think she's managing okay. Do you need to talk to her?"

"Not tonight. See ya."

When Emma entered the common room the following afternoon, the buzz of conversation greeted her, though not one of the dozen or so girls looked up. Emma didn't recognize all of them; either Starlight House had just taken in a bunch more girls, or at least four of them were from the neighborhood.

Emma winced. Crowds could go a few ways, in her experience: they might just ignore her and let her do her own thing. They might ignore her, even if she tried to strike up a conversation. They might make her the focus of their conversation… This was a mistake. She was going to turn right around and head back to her room.

"Just who does she think she is?" an angry voice rang out above the others and Emma froze. Great. Now they were going to ask her if she thought she was too good to associate with them. She just couldn't win.

"She thinks she's good enough to perform with the Misfits," another voice replied.

"Weren't they that group that always came second-best to Jem and the Holograms?" someone asked derisively.

"Yeah, well they weren't hiring and I guess the Misfits gotta take what they can get."

Emma felt herself relax. They weren't talking about her, after all. Her eyes darted around the room and caught Joellen's when the older girl looked up. Joellen smiled and waved her over. "Hey."

"Hey," Emma repeated. "What's going on?"

Joellen shook her head. "Turns out it's good you didn't audition; it doesn't look like the Starlights are going to perform after all."

"Oh," Emma said. She wasn't really surprised. The benefit sounded like it was for professional musicians, and she didn't think a few middle- and high-schoolers were really likely to be up there.

"Yeah, it's all Deirdre's fault," a girl a couple of years older than Emma interrupted.

"I don't know if I'd say it's her fault," Joellen said. "She got tapped to play with the Misfits, since their lead guitarist can't make it. This could be her big chance."

"Right," the other girl scoffed. "And any one of the Holograms would've left their band in the dust if a shot like this came their way, I'm sure. How can she be so selfish?"

"Actually," Joellen said firmly, "Shana did. That's why Raya joined."

"That's different," the other girl said unconvincingly. "Besides, she came back."

"And maybe Deirdre will, too."

"Not a chance."

Emma's mouth felt dry, but she heard her own voice saying hesitantly, "Does… does anyone else here play guitar? Or does someone have to?" Suddenly every eye in the room seemed to be trained on her, just like she'd been dreading. She took another breath. "When it's a school play, there's usually a piano, but not a guitar and somehow, it's all okay."

"Rock bands need guitars," another girl said, but she sounded uncertain.

"Who says?"

"Maybe we could find someone to replace Deirdre," someone else suggested.

"Hey, if the Misfits can replace their guitarist…"

"And if we can't find anyone, maybe all we need is someone on keyboard. Julie plays!"

The buzz of conversation began again, but with a markedly different vibe. Joellen squeezed Emma's arm. "Good thinking," she said with a friendly grin. "Now, if someone would only write another song to get rid of that earworm I can't get out of my head…"

Emma felt her hands starting to sweat. "I-I-I…" Time seemed to slow down to a crawl around her. "I'll think about it," she said finally. "Okay?"

Joellen beamed. "Sure."

"I don't understand," Wendy said, when John explained. "This girl is going to come here and I need to convince her that magic is real?"

"Real," John said, "and dangerous. It's hardly as though I'm asking you to lie, is it?"

Wendy shook her head. "No, but… why?"

"It's what Pan wants," John told her. "And Michael's life depends on it."

Wendy frowned. "He used me the same way, didn't he? Each time he sent you out into this world, he was dangling me as bait to keep you in line."

John raised his eyeglasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. "He hasn't held onto his power for this long without knowing the right tricks. Questioning him has consequences. If you're lucky, you're the one who faces them, rather than the person he's keeping back for… insurance."

Wendy pressed her lips together firmly and nodded. "What must I do? I can't introduce myself and then tell her, 'Oh, you should know: magic is real, and it's a nasty business, so steer clear'. They'd lock me in Bedlam."

"That sort of doesn't happen nearly as often as you'd think anymore," John told her seriously. "Not if you're no danger to yourself or anyone else. Now, if you were to try to leap off the roof and told the person stopping you it was because you'd copped a handful of pixie dust and could fly, that'd be a different matter, of course."

"Rather," Wendy agreed. "But how am I to steer the conversation in the right direction?"

John shrugged. "For now? I shouldn't worry. She'll call on you sometime next week. I've told her you're not used to Los Angeles and you're quite nervous about going out of doors."

"That much is true," Wendy muttered.

"I know," John's smile was sympathetic. "She's going to take you about and show you the sights; not to mention the route you'll need to take to get to school or the mall."

"In a motorbus?" Wendy asked, perking up slightly. "I've never been on one of those."

"You'd never used a computer until a few days ago either," John pointed out. "Can't say I saw you get this excited about it."

Wendy smiled. "But John, I'd always wanted to go in a motorbus, even in London. I can't say I ever had any desire to use a computer. Besides," she said, "I do believe a motorbus is a great deal easier to understand."

John chuckled. "Well, be that as it may, I'm sure that at some point, you'll find a way to bring magic into the conversation. When you do, be certain to stress the danger." His gaze was serious. "Just as Baelfire tried to do for you, all those years ago."

Wendy's smile froze and then dropped away entirely. "Yes. Of course."

"She wasn't wrong," Techrat rasped in Phyllis's ear several nights later. "I found the newspaper article on microfiche; newborn girl was found by a seven-year-old boy in Maine in October 1983. Both taken into foster care. Parents never found."

"Both," Phyllis repeated. "What happened to the boy?"

"He gave his name as 'Pinocchio,'" Techrat chuckled. "They never got another one out of him, but the boy wandered into a diner in the middle of nowhere. A waitress called social services, and when they got there, the kid was sitting in booth having breakfast. The social worker entered his name in the records as August Booth—when he was asked his date of birth, that was what he gave: no day, no year."

"Better than Pinocchio," Phyllis snorted. "But not by much."

"Agreed. He insisted the girl's name was Emma."

"Brother and sister?" Phyllis asked.

"Nobody did DNA testing, but the boy denied it and blood tests showed they came from different parents." There was a pause.

"Techrat? Still there?"

"Yeah," the raspy voice replied. "Interesting…"

"What?"

"Both children have rare blood types. Different ones. In Emma's case, there's an antigen present that's only been found in about a dozen cases worldwide. August's seems to be unique."

Phyllis shrugged. "Interesting, but not relevant. Science journals aren't exactly my favorite sort of reading material. Out of curiosity, though, got an address for this guy? It's a longshot, but maybe he remembers more than what's in the report you're looking at."

"Sorry," Techrat said. "Two months after he was placed in the System, he and three other kids ran away from the foster home where he and Emma had been sent. Over the next eleven years, two of the others surfaced, but nobody ever found a trace of him."

"How hard did they look?"

"Not in the reports," Techrat sniffed. "But a kid with no family, no records… He didn't leave much of a trail to start with."

"Lovely. That all you got?"

"No," Techrat said slowly. "It's not."

Phyllis waited. "You done milking the suspense, yet?" she asked after a minute of silence that felt far longer on the phone.

Techrat coughed. "Believe it or not, I wasn't trying to. The diner where those kids were picked up? About a week after that, another kid showed up at that truck stop. He was babbling on about a town that's not on any map and a missing father. His uncle turned up to claim him and search parties combed the area looking for the him, but to this day he's never been found. It's forest and woodland up there. People get can get lost easy enough, sure. All the same, that's plenty weird for a few square miles of Maine wilderness, and your little foster girl? Looks like she was found right at the middle of it."

Chapter Text

Chapter Twelve

On the other end of the phone, Phyllis's eyebrows shot up. "That other kid have a rare blood type, too?"

"A-negative," Techrat said. "Relatively speaking, it's not as common as some of the others, but I wouldn't call it rare."

"Don't suppose you have an address for him—how old is he now, anyway?"

"Twenty-two," Techrat supplied, "and I haven't got one handy. His uncle was living in Bayonne, New Jersey eleven years ago. Still is, but the last record I have for this Owen Flynn has him registering a 1985 Ford Econoline camper van. This was on June 28th, 1990—right as he was finishing high school. I don't show him at any fixed address, or any address at all after that date. He's off the map. Of course," he continued, "if you want me to work my magic, I enjoy a challenge."

Phyllis considered. "Don't bother. If he was easy to reach, I might have had a few questions for him, but even if he knows anything about Emma, it was eleven years ago, and she was a newborn." She hesitated. "Did he mention anything about her or the other boy?"

"Nothing," Techrat returned. "Nothing in the reports—and believe me, he had a lot to say—mentions him encountering any other children."

"Then don't waste your time digging. I doubt you'll turn up anything relevant to me right now. Thanks."

"Thanks?" Techrat repeated with a laugh. "You really have gone soft."

"Why did I say I'd do this?" Emma growled to her empty bedroom. "What makes me think I can write a song? I can't even read music, much less write it!" She also had an English essay due the day after tomorrow and she still hadn't finished reading the book, but that wasn't her fault, not exactly.

On her second day of class, Ms Kogawa had given her a two-page reading list and shown her the book case at the back of the room. "You can choose from any of the titles on this list," she said. "If there's a book you'd like that isn't on it, bring it in and clear it with me, first." She gave Emma another sheet. "In three weeks, I'd like to see a two-to-three-page essay from you that answers the five questions on this paper. See me, if you need any help."

Then she'd left Emma alone to make her selection.

"Ms Kogawa?" Emma heard a boy's voice behind her. "How come she has an extra week? It's not fair!"

"Emma wasn't here last week, when I gave the rest of you the assignment, Brian. Would it be fairer if she had less time?"

Emma stared at the wall of books. She didn't read very much; she didn't own any books, and whenever she moved to a new placement, she had to leave any library books behind to be returned. When she'd been very little, it hadn't mattered so much; picture books were short enough for someone to read to you at one sitting. Once she'd moved on to chapter books, though, it had been different. Three books left behind half-finished had taught her that it was better not to start something she wouldn't be around to read the end of. Hesitantly, she grabbed one of the thinnest paperbacks she could find, barely glancing at the cover. And then, for over a week, Missing May had lain undisturbed in her backpack, before Emma had accepted that she might actually be here long enough to have to do the essay.

And then, barely two pages in, she'd come across a passage that made her heart pound and her hands sweat.

…Before she died, I know my mother must have loved to comb my shiny hair and rub that Johnson's baby lotion up and down my arms and wrap me up and hold and hold me all night long. She must have known she wasn't going to live and she must have held me longer than any other might, so I'd have enough love in me to know what love was when I saw it or felt it again.

When she died and all her brothers and sisters passed me from house to house, nobody ever wanting to take care of me for long…

At that point, Emma had flung the book across the room. Only afterwards had she realized how lucky she was that she'd been facing a wall and not the window at the time, because she probably would have done more damage than just crushing the top corner of the book's spine. If she'd broken the window, Jerrica probably would send her away and Emma wouldn't blame her. Damn! Damn, damn, damn, damn! Why the hell hadn't she flipped through the book before she chose it?

Maybe she could have gone back to Ms. Kogawa the next day and asked if she could have more time and choose another book. But that wouldn't be fair. And what was she supposed to say? "The book makes me too sad to write?" No way would that work. And now, it was more than a week since she'd flung the book away. She still couldn't write this essay. She couldn't write a song. She…

There was a knock. "Emma?"

She was about to shout at whoever it was to go away, when she realized she knew the voice. It couldn't be, she thought. She slid off the bed and walked toward the door. "Who's there?" she asked, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice.

"It's Giselle. I came to see Jerrica and I thought that so long as I was here, I'd look in and see how you were doing. Can I come in?"

Emma opened the door to Giselle's warm smile. "It's you," she said flatly. She couldn't remember the last time someone from a previous placement had come to see her once she'd gone.

"I told you I'd pop in every now and then," Giselle reminded her. "How've you been?"

Emma was horrified to feel her face twist and her eyes were suddenly brimming and burning with tears. "Horrible," she said. "This is a great place and everyone's so nice, but my life still sucks! I thought… if I could just get a place where people cared, things would be great, but people care and they're not great and what if it's all me and—"

She felt muscular arms wrap around her tightly, pulling her close and she buried her head in Giselle's shoulder.

Jerrica paused outside Emma's room. She'd really meant to see how her newest charge was settling in long before this, but with nine other girls to look after, plus a recording company, and now a forthcoming benefit, there just weren't enough hours in the day. Had it not been for Mrs. Bailey, with occasional help from some of the older girls—including Deirdre and Krissy, who might always be her girls, even if they were no longer foster girls—she'd never have managed it. As it was, she should have made time for Emma long before this, certainly after the girl's aborted runaway.

She heard voices coming from the other side of the door, and was about to knock, when she realized two things: Emma sounded as though she'd just finished a good cry, and the other voice in the room belonged to Giselle. She listened carefully, making a conscious effort to focus on the inflexions and try to tune out what was actually being said.

After a few minutes, she moved on down the hall. Her instincts told her that if she knocked now, she'd be intruding on a private moment and, Giselle was a trained social worker. I'm not, Jerrica thought with a pang. After I lost my father, I had to drop out of school to keep Starlight House running, and then there was Jem. I'm good at what I do—both in the music business, and with these girls—but most of the time I'm winging it. Giselle's actually got the training.

Maybe, when things settled down, she'd see about finishing her degree. She shook her head ruefully. With ten girls in her charge, she'd never find the time to start. And really, for the most part, she did do all right. She'd always been the responsible, capable, older sister; the one who took charge and either got things done herself, or knew who to hire for the things outside her wheelhouse. Most of the time, that was enough.

All the same, she couldn't help but feel a pang that Emma had clearly needed someone to talk to, and she'd been busy with something else. Nearly a decade running a foster home and she still sometimes forgot that the children in her charge didn't always knock on her door when they had a problem. Sometimes, she had to intuit when things weren't right.

Thanks, Giselle, she thought to herself. I owe you one. And next time, she was going to make sure she didn't drop the ball.

John listened to the voices in the hallway, both cheerful as they approached the apartment door. "Why yes," Wendy was saying, "I did have a good time today. Perhaps we might meet again soon."

Tamara said something to that, which John couldn't quite make out, and then the two made their farewells. Wendy was smiling as she opened the door and stepped back inside, but her smile dropped at once. "She doesn't believe," she said angrily.

John frowned. "That magic is dangerous?" he asked.

"That it's real!" Wendy exclaimed. "Oh, she let me prattle on like a child half my age, indulging me, encouraging me, and then ending by saying how 'great' it would be if it were all real, though of course it can't be. I feel like such a fool!"

John clucked sympathetically and Wendy all but snapped, "Stop treating me like a child when I'm your elder sister!"

"I'm not," John said quickly. "And whether you like it or not, birth order aside, I am older than you are now, but that's not important. If you'll recall, you and I used to treat Michael the same way once we reached school age or thereabouts; it wasn't until the Shadow started coming to the nursery window that we began to take magic seriously." His eyes grew sadder. "Perhaps we didn't take it as seriously as we should have, though."

"Baelfire tried to warn us," Wendy said softly. "We didn't want to listen."

John removed his eyeglasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. "I know. Wendy… you have to convince her. For Michael."

Wendy flinched. And then her expression hardened. "If that's what Pan wants," she said slowly, "then he's going to have to help us."

"What?"

"If he wants Tamara to believe in magic," Wendy said firmly, "then she's going to need some sort of demonstration. Just like we did."

John gave her a quick jerky nod. "It makes sense," he said, "and I'll tell him, but… remember. This is his game. We're playing by his rules. And if we want him to make this job easier, he's going to set us a far harder task down the road. And that's if he even agrees."

Wendy swallowed. "If we fail, it's Michael's life," she reminded him. "If Pan's help comes at a price, it's one we'll have to pay later, but for now, if we're to succeed, we have to ask, John. We simply have to."

"All right," John acquiesced. "I'll tell him."

"What's this?" Ms. Kogawa asked, when Emma hung back at recess and thrust the envelope across the teacher's desk at her. The ink that spelled out Ms. Kogawa's name had smudged in her sweaty hand, and Emma winced when she looked at her fingers.

"Please," she said, "could you read it?" She and Giselle had worked on this last night, making sure that it explained everything Emma needed it to and didn't make her sound 'like a loser,' as she'd worried it might.

Ms. Kogawa smiled. "Would you like to go to recess while I do? You've still got another ten minutes."

Emma shook her head. "I'll wait." Then, belatedly, she added, "Thank you." There was no way that she was going to enjoy recess thinking of her teacher reading that note and wondering about what the reaction would be.

"All right then."

Emma watched Ms. Kogawa open the envelope, but she was too nervous to watch her reaction while she actually read the letter inside. Instead, she studied her fingers and wondered why she hadn't noticed how much dirt had accumulated under the nails. She'd cut them tonight, she promised herself. She'd—

"Emma?" Ms. Kogawa's voice startled her.

"Yes?"

"What kind of books do you like to read?"

Emma blinked. "I dunno," she mumbled. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had asked her that. Ms. Kogawa waited and Emma shuffled uncomfortably. "I guess… books about kids who find out who they are and where they belong. But not where they get passed around because nobody wants them or…"

Ms. Kogawa was already nodding. "I have one I think you might like," she said, already walking to the book case at the back and plucking one from the middle of the bottom shelf. "It's a bit longer, so I'll give you four weeks to read it and write the report, but on one condition."

Emma swallowed. "What's that?"

"That you come in here to work on it on your lunch break each day. You can start off by using that time to read it and come to me if you have any questions, either about the book or the report. It won't be enough time to get it all done; you'll still need to work on it at home, but this way, if you run into any problems, we can work on them together. The book is a little more challenging, but I think you'll enjoy it." She held the title out to Emma.

Emma took it. "The Witch of Blackbird Pond," she read aloud. "Is it about magic?"

"No," her teacher smiled. "Would you like one that is?"

Emma shook her head. "It's okay. I was just wondering." She winced. The book was probably twice as thick as Missing May, but it was also a second chance, and she didn't get those very often.

"Do we have a deal then?" Ms. Kogawa asked, smiling as she held out her hand.

Emma hesitated for a moment before she clasped it. "Deal," she confirmed, smiling a little, too and promising herself that she was going to call Giselle tonight and thank her for suggesting this approach.

"I hope you don't mind that we left Stormer and Kimber behind tonight," Craig said. "We've been joined at the hip for the whole tour, and I wanted us to have one night to ourselves before we get back to Los Angeles."

Aja smiled and absently tucked a lock of blue hair behind her ear. "Well, you've left it 'til the last minute then," she observed. They'd played ten concerts in twelve days and after tomorrow's gig here in San Francisco, they were practically going to be sprinting for the airport to catch their flight to LA.

"I know," Craig nodded. "And I'm sorry. I didn't want this to be rushed. Actually," he looked around nervously, "I pictured having a live band in the background and I'd have it all arranged."

"Sorry," Aja said, "what?"

"They'd strike up 'Love Story', or 'Can't Help Falling in Love' or…" He shook his head. "We never really found our song, did we?"

"Kimber and Stormer write our songs," Aja said in confusion. "I thought… I think they're great at it."

"They are," Craig said at once. "No, I mean… you… me… our song. I mean," he reached into his pocket and set a small box on the table. "Here. Please. It's for you."

Aja's eyes widened. Hesitantly, almost reverently, she lifted the box, opened it, and gasped at the marquise diamond sparkling from a white gold band. "It's beautiful," she breathed. She carefully slipped it onto her finger.

"Uh, in case you were wondering, remember last month, when Mary asked if she could borrow one of your rings to complete her look? I might have put her up to it so she could pass it to me to take to a jeweler and make sure I was buying something the right size." He looked up anxiously. "It is the right size, right? Because if it's not, we can modif—"

Aja pressed her lips firmly to his, wrapping her arms about his neck and stifling the rest of his sentence. Craig kissed her back fervently.

"I take it that's a yes?" he asked, when they parted.

Aja nodded. "It's a yes," she said, smiling and pretending she didn't hear the loud whispers of approval coming from the other restaurant patrons, nor the matching smiles on their faces. "It's a yes."

"I can't," Emma said apologetically when Casey asked. "English."

Casey groaned. "How much longer do you have to take lunch with Ms. Kogawa?"

"Until I've got the paper done," Emma sighed. "The worst of it is I probably would leave it for the last minute if she wasn't giving me time now."

Casey sighed. "I'd hate that. Having her breathing down my neck all the time."

"Nah," Emma replied. "She doesn't do that. She just sits at her desk and has lunch. She usually asks me how it's going or if I have any questions or stuff, and when I tell her 'no', she leaves me alone."

"Do you have questions?" Casey asked her.

Emma shrugged. "I dunno."

"Well, are you liking the book?"

"It's okay," Emma said. "I wish I could just read it without having to do the report. I mean, did you see the questions? 'Did you like the book? Why or why not?' I just like it. Like, do you like strawberry ice cream, why or why not? It either tastes good or it doesn't. Why do you have to pick it apart?"

"Because otherwise you won't get good marks?" Casey suggested, absolutely deadpan.

Emma laughed. "Did you read it?"

"No, I did A Little Princess."

"Is that like, some kind of fairy tale?" Emma asked skeptically.

"No… but it's kind of got a Cinderella in it," Casey said. "I think there's another copy on the reading shelf, if you want to try it."

Emma thought about it. "Maybe I better finish the one I have first."

Casey nodded. "That's okay." She thought for a minute. "You know, Stephanie and me, sometimes when we're stuck on something, it kinda helps if we try to explain it to each other. If you want to do that tonight, we can."

Emma started to smile, but then she shook her head. "You're always helping me," she said. "I… I feel like I'm mooching. I'm not good at any school stuff."

"Yet," Casey said. "And you're not mooching. Because you're going to help me decorate the common room for when Kimber and Aja get back next week. I told Jerrica I would, but… there's a lot to do and I don't know if I can get it all done on my own. Okay?" she added anxiously.

Emma's smile was back and wider than it had been the first time. "It's a deal," she said, shaking on it. And this deal sat a lot more easily with her than the one she'd made with her teacher last week!

Wendy had another visit from Tamara the following afternoon and while she was away, John entertained a guest of his own.

Wendy enjoyed the company. It had been a long time since she'd had another girl to talk with and she barely minded that her new friend was several years her senior and already a young lady! Her nervousness hadn't been feigned when Tamara had suggested they go for a walk about the neighborhood; she was not used to buildings that towered overhead and seemed to be built entirely of darkened glass, nor to the horseless carriages that seemed to speed past when the streets were clear and emit deafening trumpet blasts when they weren't. She missed the thrushes and chaffinches she'd used to see in Kensington Gardens, but while she hadn't seen any of those on the excursion, she'd cried out with delight at the sight of a large bird that Tamara identified as a hawk.

"I think it might be a red-tailed one," Tamara had said. "At least, I think they're pretty common here. I don't really know my birds all that well," she admitted.

"It's so majestic!" Wendy exclaimed, and Tamara nodded. Different though the wildlife might be in this new place, it was still more familiar to her than all of these glass-and-metal constructs, the bitter tang in the air, the dry heat, and the inventions that everyone else seemed to understand.

"If you like birds that much," Tamara suggested, "there's a sanctuary in Griffiths Park. It's about an hour away by bus," she made a face. "I don't have a car, sorry. Maybe we could go there some weekend."

"That sounds heavenly," Wendy breathed. "And I'm just as glad you don't."

She returned home to find John waiting for her with a serious expression.

"I've spoken with Pan," her brother informed her. "He agrees with your idea. Give him the time and the place and the Shadow will strike."

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirteen

Holding the end of a crepe paper streamer in one hand and a two-inch piece of masking tape in the other, Emma stood on the ladder and stretched to attach the decoration to the wall.

"Wait," Casey exclaimed. "Let me move it closer."

"No," Emma grunted. "I think I got it—" Her foot slipped from the top rung and Casey shrieked. Then she gaped when she realized that her friend hadn't fallen.

Dangling from the sill of a clerestory window by both hands, Emma struggled to pull herself higher. "Uh…" she realized that the sill was too narrow and the ceiling too close for her to sit. "I guess you can move the ladder after all?"

Casey hurried to obey. "That was amazing!" she said, as Emma stretched out a foot, gingerly feeling for a place to set it down.

"What? That I didn't break my neck?"

"Emma… you… you just did a pull-up!"

Emma set her other foot down. "Yeah? Seriously, it's no big deal."

"I can't do one," Casey said. "I don't think any of the other girls here can either."

Emma affixed the streamer and backed down the ladder. "Well, when you're getting chased by a gang of bigger kids and you can't outrun them, sometimes you can still get away from them." She sighed. "If you know a park where there are climbing bars, I can teach you."

Casey grinned and after a moment, Emma smiled back cautiously.

Jerrica didn't usually go to the airport to greet her bands when they returned from a tour these days. Of course, back when she'd first gotten started, Starlight Music had only one signed band, and she'd been its lead singer. Sometimes, though, Synergy had still arranged for Jerrica—or a reasonably accurate holographic facsimile—to be seated in the arrivals lounge, to keep up appearances. It also kept down Rio's suspicions, she thought with a pang, and wondered for what felt like the millionth time what might have happened if she'd told him from the get-go that she and Jem were the same person.

I read Superman comics when I was a kid. I used to think it was funny that Clark and Superman were both competing for the same woman, and she didn't realize they were both the same guy! It hadn't been funny when she'd been the one with the secret identity. She hadn't planned on it. She'd just been furious to find out that Eric was running a rigged contest to promote a band that had—to her inexperienced eyes—represented everything in the music industry that her father had opposed. Her father had given half of Starlight Music to his eldest daughter and the other half to his protégé. For Eric to then turn around and use that half to launch the Misfits had felt to Jerrica like a slap in the face.

She'd thought about starting a rival band to block Eric's play. Maybe, in the end, she, Kimber, Aja, and Shana would have still shown up at that Battle of the Bands, no matter how nervous she'd been about putting herself out there. She'd worried then that if word got out about a rock singer running a foster group home, it would have invited more scrutiny from social services. After all, everyone knew the stereotype about crazy schedules, long hours, frequent travel, wild parties—not that we did any of those, but people would have made assumptions.

The department would have wondered if Starlight House was providing the 'right' environment for the girls. And the first Starlight House was… well, it was kind of a dump. The girls were canvassing the neighborhood looking for odd jobs so we could buy a new fridge, for crying out loud! The wiring was always going; if that burglar hadn't accidentally started that fire, it might have burned down a few days later. I was barely twenty and in the space of a few months, I'd gone from big sister to foster mom and I didn't want anyone to think I couldn't handle things and see those girls get split up in other homes. It just made sense to let Jem be the rock star and keep Jerrica doing the administrative stuff. With Mrs. Bailey overseeing the day-to-day running, it worked fine. Except…

Not for the first time, she wondered what would have happened if Rio had been there the night she'd received the box with the Jem-star earrings. What if he'd been in the car with them when they'd found Synergy at the Starlight Drive-In? That night had been spent in a whirlwind of possibilities, each more exciting and outrageous than the next and before she realized what she and the others were getting into, Jem and the Holograms had been born.

I still could have told him. Right after the concert, I could have explained everything. So… why didn't I?

She'd been afraid of Eric finding out. Maybe, in light of the things he later proved capable of doing, that hadn't been as paranoid as it had seemed back then. A whispered confession overheard at the wrong time by the wrong people might have spelled disaster.

I still meant to tell him. At least, until Synergy warned me that if word got out about her capabilities, in the wrong hands, she could be forced to use them for crime. That spooked me enough not to want to tell anyone, not even Rio, at first. And then I was in too deep and there was no good way to tell him that wouldn't make him feel like a fool or a flunky. And by the time I decided I still had to try, it was too little, too late.

Not for the first time, she wondered where Rio was now. He'd been a great road manager and, with his talent for lighting and sound system, there was a good chance he was still in the industry, but in the years since he'd walked out of her life, she'd never heard a whisper.

"Your attention please," a pleasant voice came over the transom breaking into Jerrica's reverie. "American Airlines Flight 518 from San Francisco is now arriving."

Jerrica took a deep breath. Then she squared her shoulders, stood up, and walked to the double doors that led from the waiting area to the baggage reclaim, ready to welcome Kaleidoscope Haze when they came through.

Wendy accepted the heavy rectangle as gingerly as though it were a Neverland dreamshade thorn. "Must I?" she asked.

John nodded. "You need to get comfortable with these devices sooner, rather than later. It won't do for you to muff it in public."

Wendy nodded. "So I… I press the numbers in this sequence," she gestured to the paper before her, "and she will answer me?"

"If she's there," John said. "She may not be." He gestured to the charging base. "Set it back here when you're done. It loses power if it's away from it for too long.

Wendy swallowed hard. Then she took a deep breath and punched Tamara's number into the phone. "It's making a sound," she said. "But she isn't speaking."

"It's ringing," John said. "Wait."

The ringing stopped abruptly and Tamara's voice came on. "Hello, Tamara?" The voice hadn't stopped speaking. "It's Wendy. I should like very much to visit that bird sanctuary with you. Tamara? Tamara?" She winced as a piercing tone sounded in her ear and practically slammed the phone onto its base.

She looked at John. "I don't believe she's interested, but she might have told me instead of… of… blowing a policeman's whistle!"

John sighed and placed a hand on his sister's shoulder. "I think, perhaps, that I forgot to mention answering services," he said, the faint smirk on his face giving the lie to his apologetic tones. "We'll try this again."

"Again?" Wendy exclaimed. "Oh, no. Once was quite enough, thank you! If you wish to get your hearing assaulted, have at it. I do believe I'll simply withdraw!"

John shook his head. "Just so long as you don't hide under your bedcovers when you do it," he drawled. "That was childish enough in London."

Wendy's face reddened and she felt angry tears come to her eyes. "I am a child, in case you hadn't noticed! And I hate this place and this time and these infernal machines and I hate your sneering at me and acting all grown up. And I hate that you know so much about these things and I know nothing and you're a beast and I hate you, too!" And with that, she whirled on her heel and flounced out the nearest door, slamming it behind her.

Under the circumstances, John judged it wisest to pretend his sister hadn't just shut herself up in the clothes closet. After a moment, he exited the bedroom, closing that door softly behind him, though hopefully, loudly enough that Wendy would hear it and know that she was now alone in the room and that it was safe to emerge.

"It's beautiful," Jerrica exclaimed, taking in the diamond on Aja's finger and immediately looking up to smile at both her foster sister and her foster sister's fiancé. "You've got good taste in jewelry, too, I see," she added to Craig, immediately wincing a bit and hoping that her joke hadn't fallen flat.

Craig and Aja just laughed.

Behind them, Kimber and Stormer exchanged wistful looks. One day, maybe one of them would have the guts to give the other a ring like that. Or they both would. And maybe Jerrica would be just as happy for them. And maybe one day, there would be a ceremony for them that would legally unite them. It was coming, Stormer thought to herself. She believed it was. She just didn't think it was coming any time soon.

Something of what she was thinking must have shown on her face, for Kimber's gaze turned questioning. Stormer blinked, smiled lightly, and wished she could squeeze her lover's hand in public without someone suspecting that they were, in fact, lovers. Maybe one day, it wouldn't be such a big deal if they were.

"So," Jerrica said, "about the benefit…"

Kimber heaved a sigh. "Do we have to talk about it now? We're not even at the mansion, yet! I mean, would it truly be outrageous if we just had some tea—herbal tea—and cake and went to sleep and discussed things in the morning?"

Jerrica blinked. "I just wanted to make sure everyone was still on board, before we announced it."

"We said we were, didn't we?"

"Yeah," Jerrica said. "Over a month ago. We haven't mentioned it since. I didn't want to assume without checking." Sometimes, it felt like she couldn't win with her sister.

Kimber wasn't sure why Jerrica got under her skin. At the back of her mind, a small voice suggested that maybe she was jealous of Aja and Craig being able to declare their relationship and her sister was just a convenient target for her pent-up emotions. It sounded like something her therapist might have brought up, years back, when she'd had a therapist, to help her cope after her mother had died in that plane crash. Now, she exhaled noisily. "We'll talk about it tomorrow. Tonight? Let's grab some take-out on the way home and talk about something else when we get there, okay?"

Jerrica winced. In the rearview mirror, she took in the expressions of the other three passengers. All were weary. None were comfortable. She thought she caught a bit of sympathy in Aja's eyes; her foster sister had witnessed a many of these… what even were they? Not exactly arguments, not really squabbles, maybe just… talking past each other? Whatever it was, Aja got it in a way that Stormer and Craig simply couldn't.

Now, Aja said only, "Sleeping on it isn't a terrible idea. It's not like the contracts have to be signed before bedtime, right?" She smothered a yawn. "Speaking of which, I think it's probably past mine."

In other words, Aja was advising her not to argue the point. Jerrica smiled faintly to let her know that the message had been received. "Sure."

"There's a dance class at the Y tonight," John said, stepping into the apartment and closing the door softly behind him.

Wendy shook her head. "Doubtless the dancing's different here, too," she said. "Likely they all… stand on their hands or-or-or spin on their bottoms or something!"

John raised an eyebrow. "I don't believe break-dancing is as popular now as it was a decade ago. It still goes on, but actually, I've enrolled you in ballet."

"Wait," Wendy said. "I was joking! Are you telling me that style of dance is real?"

"Quite," John said. "And rather interesting to watch, though I'll admit I was a bit scandalized the first few times I did. The technique is often quite splendid."

Wendy exhaled. "I can imagine so." Then she recalled the dancing that John had actually registered her for. "Ballet?" she said softly. "Real ballet? Like what I studied back at home? It hasn't changed?"

John coughed. "Well, as I understand it, some of the steps have been incorporated into more modern styles, but the class you'll be taking should be more or less the sort of thing you learned back then. Not that I would know if a particular step was introduced in 1850 or 1950, of course."

Wendy looked down at the still-stiff denim encasing her legs. She thought about the two skirts hanging in the closet. Both were shorter than she was accustomed to, but neither would be loose enough for ballet. "I shall need a costume, shan't I?" she said.

John nodded. "That's why I've come home to fetch you. Something like that will be… well, it'll be better if you try it on first. I've spoken with the instructor and she recommended several shops we might try." His smile turned serious. "Your class is an hour long. I'll be instructing swimmers at the same time, but I expect there'll be at least a half hour between the time your lesson ends and the time that I've showered and changed out of my bath costume." He smiled. "Of course, Tamara will be at the reception desk, and I believe you'll find it easier to talk to her in person than on your… infernal device?"

Wendy lowered her eyes in embarrassment, but John could see an answering smile curving on her lips.

Emma had to admit that she was making some headway with her report. The new book was interesting, and if the main character was also an orphan and a bit of a misfit, at least reading this one didn't feel like someone was picking at a scab on a half-healed scrape.

She pushed away her notebook with a sigh and looked at the time. She still had another hour to go before lights out. She thought about working on the song for the Starlights, but the words weren't coming.

Emma frowned. She'd come up with the first lyrics when she'd been in that auditorium. Maybe it would help if she went back there?

Hesitantly, she padded back down the stairs. It wasn't until she was in the auditorium and halfway to the stage that she realized she wasn't alone.

A head with a mop of bright orange hair poked up from one of the front row seats, and a surprised, but not unfriendly voice said, "Oh, hi!"

Emma swallowed. "I'm… I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't think anyone else would be here."

"I guess you're the new girl," the stranger said, still sounding friendly. "I'm Kimber. Jerrica's sister."

"Oh," Emma said. "I didn't know she had one."

Something hardened in Kimber's eyes. "She didn't mention me, I take it. Surprise, surprise."

Emma took a step backwards, and Kimber relaxed. "Oh, it's not your fault, uh…"

"Emma."

"Emma," Kimber repeated, smiling again. "I only live here when I'm in town and I've been on tour for months. I'm not going anywhere for a while, now, but I guess Jerrica probably wanted to wait until I got back before doing any introductions."

Emma's jaw dropped. "Wait," she blurted. "Wait. Kimber… Benton? Like… Kaleidoscope Haze Kimber Benton? Seriously?"

Kimber grinned. "That's me."

"I-I…"

"Hey. You want to head to the kitchen and grab some hot cocoa? I make a mean cup, even if I do say so myself."

Hot cocoa? With Kimber Benton? Feeling somewhat dazed, Emma managed a nod.

Wendy and Tamara were deep in an animated conversation when John approached the reception desk. "Sorry for the delay," John said. "A parent had some concerns about her child's progress and it took me some time to allay them."

Tamara rolled her eyes. "The hag in brown Gucci? She barreled past me about ten minutes ago, looking like a storm cloud."

"I can't tell Gucci from Gap," John shrugged. "But she was rather stormy." He turned to Wendy. "I trust you weren't bored?"

"No, not at all," Wendy said brightly. "Dance class was wonderful, and," she smiled at her brother, "you were right about the leotard not being too fast. All of the other girls were wearing the same thing." It would be some time before she felt truly comfortable in anything that clung to her body quite that tightly though, she thought to herself. Aloud, she continued, "Tamara was telling me more about the birds in Griffiths Park. In fact, she'd like to take me there on Saturday."

"That's okay, isn't it?" Tamara asked. "If you've made other plans, or…"

John shook his head. "No, we haven't. And I know Wendy would love it. In fact," he said, meeting Wendy's eyes with a meaningful expression, "there is something that I need to arrange soon and if the two of you will be off together this weekend, I believe that would be the ideal time for it."

Tamara grinned. Wendy's smile was a bit more forced, though only John noticed it.

Emma took a sip and set the mug down, an expression of sheer bliss on her face. "I never knew you could put cinnamon in hot cocoa," she said. "This is amazing."

"Raya introduced me to it," Kimber grinned. Seeing Emma's blank look, she said, "I was part of Jem and the Holograms before Aja and I joined Stormer and Craig to form Kaleidoscope Haze. Raya and Shana were the other Holograms."

"Oh," Emma said, wondering whether it would be too childish to run back upstairs and grab the pajamas she'd gotten at Haven House out of the clothes hamper to show her new friend.

"Yeah, it may not be as truly outrageous as chili and orange zest, but not everyone likes that much spice. I do, though," she added.

Emma took another gulp. "Maybe I should just stick to cinnamon."

She wouldn't get the PJs. The cocoa might be cold by the time she got back, and anyway, with laundry tomorrow, they probably already had that disgusting dirty clothes odor. But if Kimber was still here when the clean laundry came back, Emma promised herself she'd find some excuse to show them off. And maybe, just maybe, Kimber—and Aja—would autograph them!

Chapter Text

Chapter Fourteen

"You didn't know?" Stephanie asked with some amusement the next day.

"How could I?" Emma defended herself. "It's not like anyone told me! Not even when you guys all saw me wearing those pajamas," she added with a grumble.

Casey smirked, but not meanly. "I guess we thought you were wearing them because you knew the Holograms were all Starlight girls once. Before our time," she added. "Back when Emmett Benton was still alive. Okay, Kimber was his daughter too," she added, "and Raya only joined up when it looked like Shana was going to quit to be a full-time fashion designer… But Aja and Shana were totally Starlight girls!"

"What about Jem?" Emma asked.

Casey and Stephanie exchanged a look.

"Nobody really knows," Stephanie admitted. "According to the older girls—Joellen and Deirdre, I mean—she showed up to win Starlight Music's first Battle of the Bands and Kimber, Aja, and Shana were her backup. They were together ever since. At least until they broke up."

"Aside from that time when Shana left," Casey put in.

"Well, yeah, but that didn't last too long."

"I guess one of the Holograms must've known her," Casey said, looking puzzled. "I mean, it makes sense."

Emma nodded slowly. "So, after they broke up, what happened? I know Kimber and Aja are in Kaleidoscope Haze."

"Shana's a full-time costume designer," Casey said. "Like in theater."

"Raya went to college and she also works in her father's store," Stephanie said.

"What about Jem?"

Instead of answering Emma's question, both girls looked at each other and shrugged. "I dunno…" Stephanie said slowly. "She just… dropped off the scene after the breakup."

Emma frowned. "So she came out of nowhere, started a band, and then dropped off the face of the earth again?"

Casey shrugged again. "This is LA. That kind of thing happens a lot around here."

Emma's frown deepened. She couldn't quite explain it, but something just didn't feel right about the whole thing.

"Emma?" Stephanie asked. "Everything okay?"

Emma made herself smile. "Sure."

Stormer took a sip of strawberry milkshake and closed her eyes blissfully. "All the tours we did, all the cities we visited, and I still can't find another place that makes shakes like this."

Phyllis smiled back. "Hana May likes it too," she said. "She always gets the Elvis special."

Stormer looked down at the description on the menu. "I'm not big on bananas," she said, sounding apologetic. "Peanut butter's good, though."

"You always liked the simpler things," Phyllis said, a lot less nastily than she might have once.

"I never had the fancier things until I became a Misfit," Stormer laughed. Then, more seriously, she continued, "but fancier isn't always better."

The old Pizzazz might have cackled or jeered at that, but Phyllis just nodded. "Wish Roxy'd figure that out," she said.

Stormer sighed. "No luck convincing her to change her mind?"

"I'm not going to beg," Phyllis snapped, with a hint of her old attitude. "If she doesn't want to do the benefit, then the show goes on without her." She exhaled. "Honestly, I'd be less pissed if she showed the slightest interest in her daughter. Don't say it," she warned.

Stormer blinked. "Say what. Oh," she said softly. "Your moth—"

"I told you not to say it," Phyllis snarled. "I already said it first," she added in a more subdued tone. She exhaled. "One of my newest cases involves a girl whose parents chucked her on the side of the highway at birth. At least my mother waited until I was Hana May's age before she split," she added bitterly. "I guess thinking about that girl, seeing Hana May hurting—and she's hurting," she went on, "even if she's doing what I used to do and pretending she doesn't care—if Roxy can put her daughter through that, then I don't know who she is anymore."

"Maybe she just… got overwhelmed," Stormer suggested, bracing for a verbal blow.

Instead, Pizzazz just shook her head. "You don't think I told her there were resources she could draw on for help?" she asked. "I'm a social worker; I know what's out there. I even checked into what's available in Vegas, to make sure that there were programs. There are," she added. "Hell, I even offered to spring for a live-in nanny. She told me that if I couldn't look after Hana May, she'd have to get her into the system. I think when Jerrica brought up the benefit, part of me was even thinking that if Roxy came back here, if she spent a little time with her daughter, then maybe she'd at least try to get to a point where she thought she could be a mother again." She snorted. "That's what I get for being buddies with a do-gooder like Jerrica," she said, smiling thinly. "A bad case of optimism."

"It could still happen," Stormer said. "Maybe not this time, but this won't be the last time the Misfits reunite on stage."

"No, but assuming our newest guitarist can keep up with us and wants to continue, going forward? The Misfits will be performing with Deirdre Baxter instead of Roxanne Pellegrini, and I think we'll be just fine." She lifted her own nearly-drained milkshake up, clamped her lips firmly around the straw, and noisily sucked up the dregs.

Stormer winced.

Aja's eyebrows shot up. "So, Deirdre's going to be a Misfit?"

Jerrica smiled ruefully. "There was a time when we probably would've seen that as a problem," she remarked, "instead of the big break she needs."

"So, you weren't going to offer her a contract with Starlight?"

Jerrica looked embarrassed. "I should have. She's been right under our noses. But… I guess that was the problem. I got so used to hearing her practicing that I somehow didn't notice how good she'd gotten. Pizzazz—Phyllis—did." She shook her head. "I don't think the Misfits are getting back together permanently. It's my understanding that Deirdre's just replacing Roxy for the one benefit. But if Phyllis decides to start up a new band and Deirdre's part of it, then great. And if not," she added, "I am going to look at signing her. She's not ready to be a solo act, not yet, but we have a few up-and-comers who could use a solid backup artist." She smiled at Aja. "I know I needed a couple or three back in the day."

Aja smiled back. "Always happy to help."

"That's you," Jerrica said seriously. "Kimber…"

"She'll come around," Aja said. "She always felt like she was in your shadow and now she's afraid she'll be stepping back into it."

"She was never that," Jerrica murmured. "I've tried to tell her that so many times."

"But you called the band Jem and the Holograms," Aja replied, still smiling. "Jem," she repeated. Then, slightly more softly, "And the Holograms." She exhaled. "She felt lost in the shuffle, even if you didn't mean it that way."

"Did you ever feel that?" Jerrica asked.

Aja shook her head. "I would've said something if I did. Maybe it would've cleared the air early if Kimber had, but she didn't. She'll come around," she repeated, reaching out to squeeze her foster sister's shoulder.

Jerrica sighed. "I hope so."

Kimber looked at the agreement carefully, even though she didn't believe for a moment that her sister was trying to cheat her or lock her into unfair terms. Jerrica could be a pain, and she often was, though not as often as it had felt like when they'd been kids. Or even in the early days of Jem and the Holograms. All the same, she'd never resorted to the kind of smarmy, underhanded tactics that Eric Raymond had. There were never any hidden clauses or sneaky loopholes in her contracts.

Kimber felt a pang when she remembered how she'd nearly lost her half of Starlight Music to Eric's maneuverings. If Jerrica hadn't bailed her out… And here came the resentment at needing her older sister to clean up her messes, yet again. Kimber winced. Somehow, around Jerrica, she always ended up feeling like an inept teenager once more. She knew it wasn't Jerrica's fault. She didn't think it was her fault either. It was just… a thing, like they were locked into a pattern that neither one was sure how to break.

Kimber picked up the contract again. Why was she putting off signing it? Was it because Jerrica had agreed to it without consulting her? Because joining her sister on stage as one of the Holograms felt like a step backwards, even if it was just for one performance? Because she was afraid that more time with Jerrica would mean questions about whether she was seriously dating anyone that she didn't want to answer? "All of the above," she muttered under her breath. She picked up the phone and punched in a number from memory.

"Heyyy!" Stormer's voice greeted her. "Miss me already?"

"You know it," Kimber replied. "Just going over the contract for the benefit."

"Right," Stormer said. "I gave mine to my lawyer. She said he'll give me a call back within twenty-four hours."

"You've got a lawyer?" Kimber asked.

Stormer laughed. "You know how many times Eric tried to burn me? Yes, I have a lawyer. Hired her after we released our first single together," she added. "So, how are you doing?"

"I'm okay," Kimber said, smiling a bit on the phone. 'I'm Okay' had been the title of that single.

Stormer laughed again. "Just okay?"

Kimber sighed. "Just… Jerrica gets under my skin sometimes, even when she's not trying to."

"Uh-huh, I was noticing that last night."

"That bad?" Kimber groaned.

"Afraid so. I mean, I used to feel that way with the other Misfits. We may not be siblings, but we did spend a lot of time in close quarters, and I always felt like they just let me hang around because I could write songs, but otherwise, I would've been the mousy kid with horn-rimmed glasses that everyone ignores or started mean rumors about in those movies that are supposed to be about high school kids."

"Not my high school," Kimber retorted. "And I've never seen a blue-haired mouse."

"Eric made me dye it before he introduced me to Pizzazz," Stormer replied. "And before you ask, he made me ditch the glasses, too. They were cat-eye, not horn-rim, but why quibble? I've been wearing contacts ever since." A pause. "Craig was already dying his hair blue by then, and I thought it looked," she giggled, "outrageous. And even a little dangerous—"

"Craig? Dangerous?" Kimber snorted. "He's more teddy bear than grizzly, if you ask me."

"I know! But here, Eric was making me over and I guess maybe I felt if I couldn't be me, maybe I could be Craig. Or like him. Or… I don't even know. I was terrified and excited and I felt like a fake and I was afraid the other girls wouldn't like me and the fans would hate me and I just… wanted to grab onto something that still made me feel… like a Phillips, I guess. Even if I was trying to be a Misfit, too."

"You were a Misfit, Mary Phillips," Kimber said. "And I mean that in a better way than I probably would have when we first met."

"Hooboy," Stormer exhaled. "Talk about getting under each other's skin, back then!"

"Yeah." Kimber hesitated. "Uh, Stormer? Do you think your lawyer has time to look my contract over too? Maybe I'd feel less… whatever, if somebody not Jerrica just gave it a quick scan and said, 'Yes, this is a good deal. Yes, it's fair. Yes, it's industry standard'. Sorry if this sounds paranoid," she added with a sigh. "It's a charity benefit, so it's not like I'd be getting paid less than anybody else or anything; we're all working for free. I don't know why I'm so… so…" She took another breath. "Could she?"

"I'll ask," Stormer said at once. "If she hasn't got time to get it back to you right away, is it okay if she refers you to someone else at the firm?"

"Sure. Uh… how much will it cost?"

"They'll tell you that before you sign, don't worry. I'll call Myrna as soon as we hang up."

"Love you."

"Love you, too."

Kimber hung up feeling a good deal more relaxed than she had when she'd started the conversation. Maybe all she really needed to feel comfortable with the contract was another pair of eyes and an unbiased opinion.

Aja laughed when Emma hesitantly held out the pajama top, fresh from the laundry. "Sure," she said. Then she took a good look at the writing implement Emma was handing her. "Uh… that's a washable marker. Hang on; I know where the permanent ones are. Unless Joellen decided to reorganize," she added. "She used to do that a lot."

"Sorry," Emma said, feeling her face grow even warmer. Aja was nice. And real. She and Kimber both were. Not at all like Emma would have expected glamorous rock stars to be.

Right. And just how many rock stars—glamorous or otherwise—did she know? Emma shook her head slightly, as she followed Aja into the art room. "Here we go," Aja's blue pony-tail bounced a bit, as the young woman clambered up on a step stool and took down a box from a high shelf. She looked at the picture on the top. "Hooboy. That… I can't believe I was that young."

"You're not old," Emma said. "I-I mean, you're older than me, but you're older than me here," her finger stabbed the image on the top, "too."

"You're not helping," Aja said in a stage whisper, smiling broadly. "Here you go," she signed her name across the image.

Emma beamed. "Thanks!"

"So, how are you settling in?" Aja asked, sounding as though she was really interested in the answer.

Emma shrugged. "Okay, I guess. I mean, everyone's really… great."

"But?" Aja probed.

Emma shrugged again. "Nothing. I'm behind in my classes, but my friends are helping. I'm starting to find my way around the house." She paused for a moment. "And I put my own lyrics in a song once and somebody heard me and now I'm supposed to write a new song for Ashley and the Starlights and I can't even read music, much less write it…"

Aja clasped her shoulder. "You write lyrics?"

"Uh… once. But it was just one verse and it probably wasn't very good."

"If it wasn't very good, then they wouldn't want you to write more, would they?" Aja pointed out. She smiled apologetically. "I can't write music or lyrics, so you're one up on me, but Kimber does. If you want me to," her expression grew a bit more serious, "but only if you want me to," I can talk to her. She might have some pointers."

"I don't want to bother her," Emma hedged.

"That's why I'm volunteering to do it. Or, if you're stubborn like her and you want to do it all yourself, that's fine too."

"I'm not stubborn!" Emma protested. "Not very," she added a little more softly. "Um… if she really has time and she's really okay with it, then… yeah. Sure. Okay. But what if she hates it and thinks I have no talent?"

Aja shrugged. "Well then, I guess you'll just have to choose between taking that criticism to heart, or proving her wrong. Just like any other critic you'll run into."

Emma cautiously returned Aja's smile with one of her own.

Ashley stared at her academic advisor in horror. "That can't be right. I have to have done better than that!"

The bespectacled man with the comb-over regarded her sadly. "I'm sorry, Ashley, but I'm afraid that these grades appear to be accurate. If you'd like to appeal them, I can go over the process with you. In that case, your revised marks will replace your existing ones, but I should warn you that this will hold true whether they find that your professor graded you too harshly or too generously." He let that sink in. "It's encouraging that your work this past year has shown a marked improvement. However…"

Ashley winced. "Do I have any chance at all of getting into a reputable grad school with a 2.7 GPA?"

Her advisor paused for a moment. "UC Northridge would be a possibility. Were you considering out of state options?"

"I wasn't considering out of Los Angeles options!" Ashley exclaimed. "I… Northridge would be great; it was on my list already, but if that's my only choice and they turn me down, then I'm screwed!"

"Well, there's still time for you to raise your marks next semester, and if you do, it'll definitely put you in a better light as a student who showed steady progress after a rocky start—"

"And I'll be fighting solid 4.0s for a spot."

"You could also take some classes over the summer. Either to take some of the pressure off in your final year, or for extra credit. Either way, it would help, assuming you do well."

Ashley nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."

"And if your main reason for turning down out-of-town schools is financial, there are a number of scholarships available with qualifying criteria other than academic. You might want to explore those as well."

Ashley nodded again and managed a shaky smile. "Thanks again," she said. "It looks like I have some thinking to do."

"Here," Kimber dropped the contract on her sister's desk.

Jerrica looked up with a smile. "Thanks."

"I would've had it back sooner, but I wanted to show it to my lawyer first," Kimber announced.

Jerrica nodded. "Good idea," she approved, her voice just as warm as it had been a moment ago. "Will you be back at the house for dinner, or did you make other plans?"

Kimber blinked. "Uh… the house, I guess," she replied. "So, my lawyer. Stormer found her for me."

"Oh, are you working with Myrna, now, too?" Jerrica brightened. "She's great." Jerrica looked down at the pile of papers on her desk. "Anyway, thanks for signing. I was thinking of tacos for tonight, if that's okay?"

"Yeah," Kimber said, sounding a bit distracted. "Yeah, that's fine. Catch you later."

"Kimber?" Jerrica asked. "Is everything okay?"

Apart from my flex not being what I thought it would be, me still feeling like the baby sister, not knowing how to tell you about me and Stormer, and wondering why I just… feel like I'm going to blow up or fly apart or I don't even know what? She smiled at her sister. "Sure," she beamed. "See you at dinner."

"Oh, wow," Deirdre shook her head sympathetically and took another sip of her coffee. "That really bites."

"I know," Ashley said. "I mean, I admit I was a bit… Look, I told Phyllis you performing with the Misfits was fine. And it is," she said. "But I guess it bugged me a little. You getting your shot with the big leagues before I did." She smiled. "I won't pretend I didn't have some hopes. The benefit's going to be on TV probably, and even if it's not, there'll be publicity. I… thought maybe even if Jerrica didn't want to sign the Starlights, some other label would. Silly, huh?"

Deirdre laughed. "Last month, if you told me I'd be jamming with a professional rock band, I would've laughed in your face, so who am I to say it couldn't happen?"

Ashley managed a smile. "Yeah, well, unfortunately," she said, cutting into her chocolate molten lava cake and watching as the filling oozed out, "if I'm going to have any chance at going to a decent grad school next year, I need to get my marks up. And the only way I can do that… is if I drop Ashley and the Starlights and take a few summer courses." She heaved a sigh. "I feel awful; I know the girls must be getting excited about performing, but I guess that's not happening now." She stuck her fork into the cake, took a mouthful and chewed savagely. "I guess I'll have to swing by the house and tell the girls the bad news."

Chapter Text

Chapter Fifteen

"So, that's it?" Phyllis asked. "Jetta and her gang are cleared for entry?"

The answer wasn't long in coming. Jerrica's voice was clear on the other end of the phone, as she said, "contingent on their doing the benefit. I heard their demo and they're good. Really good," she added.

"Good enough that we would have tried poaching them from you back in the day?" Phyllis laughed, and Jerrica sighed.

"Probably, but since Jetta's one of them, I don't think I would have fought nearly as hard. Back then," she added."

Phyllis laughed. "I hear you. Okay. So. Jem and the Holograms are on the bill. The Misfits are on the bill. The Stingers—I assume—are on the bill. Kaleidoscope Haze—which includes two Holograms and a Misfit are on the bill. This Irish jazz quartet that includes a Misfit… And the Misfits are now including a Starlight girl…" she chuckled and Jerrica followed suit.

"We're just one big happy family, aren't we?" she asked.

"One big happy dysfunctional family, yeah," Phyllis smirked. "And we're gonna rock so hard that I bet we raise enough cash to cure Parkinson's in the next five years."

When the Shadow wasn't roaming the realms looking for Lost Boys or others who might further Pan's aims, it generally hovered near Neverland's ruler, but it only hovered in front of him when it had something to report.

As much as Pan loved good sport and adventure, he never forgot that, in addition to the usual mischief and hijinks he encouraged in his companions, he was playing one rather long game. So, when he stepped out of his lean-to to find the Shadow waiting overhead, he quickly rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stepped forward, a gleam of anticipation in his blue eyes. "What news?" he greeted his visitor.

For answer, the Shadow dipped its head slightly in what might be generously termed a bow. "You asked me to watch for another pawn," it replied. "It's surfaced."

Pan laughed. "So the game's on, then," he replied. "This should be fun. Who is it?"

For answer, the Shadow shimmered. Its form solidified, taking on the illusion of flesh, hair, facial features, and clothing. Even so, the young man looked curiously average. Pan rather thought him the sort whom one might see every day and yet be hard-pressed to describe a single feature. That sort of invisibility did have its uses. "Intriguing," he said. "Do I know him?"

The Shadow nodded. "He dreamed his way here over a decade ago," it said dispassionately. "He caught your interest for his belief in magic in a land that has none." Its features blurred again, now taking on the mien of a ten-year-old boy with haunted eyes and tight lips. "For a time, you even considered that he might be—"

"A Truest Believer, yes," Pan nodded, remembering. Like Saviors, Truest Believers cropped up every now and again, and while Pan knew that his power would be best strengthened by the heart of a Truest Believer of his own bloodline, the sand in the great hourglass at Skull Rock was draining away rapidly enough that he'd been willing to consider settling for second-best. "At least," Pan sighed, "until I realized that his belief in magic didn't stem from a leap of faith, but from his own lived experiences." His eyes brightened. "But even if he wasn't the right lad for the job, I've since learned he is destined to one day deliver the real one to me."

All fairies had the gift of future sight. Not all were as skilled in it as the Reul Ghorm, perhaps, but all—even a bitter and disgraced one who'd lost her wings—possessed the gift. He'd struck a good bargain the day she'd arrived on his island: he would grant her the shelter and survival skills she'd need if she was to make her home here. In exchange, she would use her talent in his service, whenever he might ask. He had the better end of that deal, he knew.

A feral grin split his face. "So, Owen Flynn has resurfaced," he said. "Well. It's still a bit early for the Truest Believer to appear, but it shan't be much longer." He nodded. "Not in the grand scheme of things." Businesslike, he nodded to the Shadow once more. "You were right to tell me. I do think we'll need keep a closer eye on him, so we can have him in position when it's time for him to make his move. So. Where is he, now?"

The Shadow returned to its usual appearance. "Los Angeles. Not far away at all from either the Darlings or the Savior."

Pan's grin widened. "Perfect…"

On the balcony of John's apartment, he and Wendy waited until the Shadow flew off before turning to each other with identical troubled expressions on their faces. "It's not that I can't do it, you understand," Wendy said hesitantly.

"Good," John nodded.

"Or that I won't. I know what's at stake… who's at stake," she amended, closing her eyes. "I'll play my part. Only…"

John exhaled. "Wendy… there's no 'only'. We may not be in Neverland right now, but Pan's still piping the tune, and we've no choice but to dance to it. He's talked in the past about letting us go one day. I suppose growing up means recognizing when one's just being strung along like a diabolo spool. He might toss us free for a brief spell, but then we're caught on the cord again. Pan won't change that; we're toys to him, and if he gives up his toys, he can't play with us anymore, d'you see? And since he shan't grow up, he shan't outgrow us, not ever."

"And if we've outgrown him?"

John shook his head. "Why should that matter to him?" His lip curled derisively. "He still wants to play."

Wendy shuddered. "But what's he playing at now, John? Why does he want Tamara to believe in magic? And who is this other person, this… Owen?"

"I don't know," John admitted. "But it's my job to see that he's in position on Saturday."

"Why?" Wendy demanded. "What can Pan want with him, with Tamara, with…?"

"I've learned," John said heavily, as he placed a comforting hand on his sister's shoulder that did nothing to comfort her at all, "that it's better not to wonder about such things. It's hardly as though knowing the answer would make us feel any better about what we're doing."

Wendy bit her lip and blinked back tears, as she thought about what might befall Michael if she or John were to balk at their instructions at this juncture.

John left Wendy in the apartment the following morning to 'catch up on more of what she'd missed'.

In other words, she'd proclaimed shrilly, you mean for me to watch more of that telly-vision box or read from that stack of dull machinery books you bought at the second-hand shop, while you go off doing who knows what!

John understood her frustration, but Pan had sent him on an assignment—one whose details his sister had heard last night as well—and he couldn't risk her showing shock or fear at some technological improvement that people in this time and place took for granted. Not when the person he was to approach might be just knowledgeable enough to guess what such ignorance could mean.

With these thoughts in mind, he now walked along Venice Beach, making his way toward a small vendor's stand.

The vendor was a young man; twenty-one or so, according to Pan's Shadow, but his hairline was already receding and there was a dead weariness to his eyes. Idly, John wondered whether the same look might be observed in his own face. Childhood trauma didn't always leave its stamp so obviously, but on some occasions, it could and did. Absently, John picked up a braided lanyard from the table and examined it.

"It's one of my better pieces," the vendor said softly. "If you're interested, I can give you a good price."

John smiled. "I am interested," he said, "but not in a single small purchase."

The vendor blinked. "Well, there's a lot more on the counter," he said, breaking into an answering smile. "Earrings, zipper pulls…" He stooped down for a moment, and when he rose again, he was holding a snail woven of the same flat, plastic cording as the rest of his wares. "I've been experimenting with these, too."

"Jolly fine," John said, with a low whistle. "Actually, I'm glad I came to the beach today. You see," he fished a business card out of his pocket (Michael had designed a number of them for various occasions, some time back), "I'm currently coordinating a craft fair. It's to be held in Griffith Park on Saturday, just by the bird sanctuary; you know the place?"

"I know of it," the vendor said, frowning a bit. "Never been, though."

"Well, I've had several of our scheduled vendors pull out at the last moment, and that frees up space for a few more tables. Normally, there's a fee to participate, but honestly, at the moment, I'm trying to ensure that there'll be a wide range of crafts on display and I'm scouring the streets and beaches looking for prospects. If you're able to get there by noon on the day, I'll waive the registration."

This time, the smile on the vendor's face reached his eyes and looked to have drained several years away from them. "That's… wow," he said, examining the business card that read J.N. Darling, Exhibition Coordinator, Vendor Relations. "Wow, yeah, sure. Sounds great. I-I'll be there. Uh…" He fished into his pocket and came up with a card of his own. "If you need to reach me, this is probably the best way," he said. "My flip-phone's on it," he added, as though John might have missed the contact information.

John nodded and extended his hand. "I look forward to seeing you there, Mr. Flynn," he said.

"Owen," the vendor said, clasping John's hand and giving it a firm shake.

Jerrica coaxed a note of sadness into her voice, "No, Ashley," she said sympathetically. "That's fine. Of course, your grades are more important. Don't worry about it. We've got a few other bands lined up." Then she hung up the phone and allowed herself a sigh of relief.

She'd seen the posters going up on the dormitory floor with more than a little apprehension. She'd never expected Ashley to try to start up the band she'd organized back in middle school, and she'd certainly never had any intention of having the band perform for the benefit. She should have headed Ashley off at the very beginning, but she'd forgotten how gung-ho her former foster daughter could be sometimes. And the girls had been getting excited, too. Jerrica felt a pang. She'd noticed that Emma seemed to be settling in, and that she'd also been getting involved with the band. She hadn't wanted to quash Emma's hopes, just when the newest girl in residence seemed to be starting to open up.

She'd even toyed with the idea that maybe, there could be a way of letting the girls open.

Rory wouldn't stand for it. The man was a professional and a perfectionist and the benefit was his idea. He'd probably pat her girls on their heads and tell them to run along and 'let the grownups work'. And while Jerrica couldn't say she liked his patronizing attitude, she also couldn't disagree that the benefit was looking for professional artists, not a group of enthusiastic amateurs who'd never performed on stage together.

Ashley's backing out pretty much pulled the plug on the Starlights' pitch. Jerrica wasn't going to have to be the bad guy and tell them that they couldn't go out there. This was for the best.

Her heart sank. She was still going to have to deliver this bit of bad news to them, though. And she would. Tonight, after supper, before they started practicing.

"She doesn't bite," Stephanie stage-whispered, nudging Emma forward into the common area. "Just ask her!"

"I can't," Emma protested. "What I wrote, it's… it's okay, but it's not something I'd want to show her."

"But it's something you want the Starlights to sing, right?"

Emma winced. She didn't have a good answer, but the last thing she wanted to do was show Kimber Benton—who wrote and performed her own songs all over the world—to see what she'd done. "Besides, I can't even write music and I bet my tune is something that I heard on the radio a long time ago and forgot about and now I think it's mine and…" Emma's voice trailed off, as she realized that Kimber was no longer seated on the sofa watching TV. In fact, she was walking over, leaving her keytar on the cushion beside her.

"Did I hear right?" she asked. "You write songs?"

Emma looked at the floor and jammed her hands in her pockets. "Sorta…" she muttered. "I mean, the lyrics are stupid and I can't write music…"

Kimber put a hand on her shoulder. "Come over here," she said, motioning to the sofa. "I want to show you something."

Shaking her head, Emma let Kimber lead her over. The rocker picked up a ruled notepad from the coffee table and, after frowning for a moment, set it down over her keytar case and leaned over it a bit awkwardly to write. "Sorry if it's messy," she said, scrawling several lines on the notepad. "Okay. Do me a favor?"

"Wh-what? I mean, sure! What do you need?"

Kimber grinned. "I just need you to read this out loud," she said, holding the pad out to her.

Emma blinked. "O… kay," she said slowly, squinting a bit at the lines. "It still feels like our first night together," she read. "Feels like the first kiss," she rolled her eyes a little. "It's getting better baby. No one can better this. Still holding on…"

"Sound familiar?"

Emma frowned. "Sort of. Yeah. That's Bryan Adams, right?"

"Number seven on the Billboard Hot One Hundred last November," Kimber nodded. "It's a great song. But the lyrics on their own? Well, you tell me: does it sound like Shakespeare to you?"

Emma snorted. "I understood them, so that's a no."

"You know what I mean!" Kimber laughed. "But listen now," she went on, opening the case and pulling out her keytar. She played the few bars that were the song's intro and then sang softly. "It still feels like our first night together. Feels like our first kiss…" She smiled. "Here's another one. Before both our times, solid hit, but when you look at the lyrics in isolation..."

Emma looked at the second sheet. "Oh, yeah, I'll tell you something, I think you'll understand. When I say that something, I want to hold your hand. I want to hold your hand," she rolled her eyes slightly, "I want to hold your hand."

"I know, I know!" Kimber exclaimed. "And don't think I'm slamming the Beatles; they were fantastic! All the same..." she bent over her keytar again and played the song, "When you add in the music, the lyrics sound so much better, right?"

"Yeah," Emma said, "but I still can't write music."

"Well, I can!" Kimber said. "Stormer can, too! I don't know if I have time to write the whole thing, but maybe if the three of us put our heads together…"

"I can't write music, like, at all," Emma said. "I can't read it. Plunk me down on a piano and I can pick out… "Doe-A-Deer" o-or the Brady Bunch theme. Maybe. But I can't—"

"Do you hear a tune in your head when you're writing lyrics?"

"Not an original one," Emma admitted.

"Well, maybe you just need a chance. And if you really can't, well, come and sit in while we work on it anyway. It's your song and you don't want us to set it to music you hate."

As if she'd hate anything that they wrote! Emma sucked in her breath. "You really want me to work with you?" she asked. "I mean, is this your good deed for the day or…?" She clapped a hand to her mouth, wondering where that had come from. It wasn't like it mattered why Kimber was offering to help. Emma should be jumping at this chance. Except it did matter. She wanted help, but not if it was because Kimber felt sorry for her or was hoping that 'helping the poor, unwanted, foster kid' would be good publicity or something. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

Kimber shook her head. "It's okay, Emma. Look, if you want to do this alone or… or not do it, that's okay, too. If it helps, if I could go back in time and offer my younger self some free help, she'd probably turn me down, too." She sighed. "I was kind of prickly back then. Actually," she said with a faint smile, "I think I was probably a little bit like you. So, maybe that's why I want to help. But I want to help, not do it all for you. Your call."

Emma hesitated. "And I can change my mind, right?"

"Any time you want to."

Emma took a deep breath. "Okay," she said, exhaling. "Okay. Let's do this." After all, the Starlights deserved a better song than she had a prayer of writing on her own.

"Now?" Kimber asked. And then, quickly, she continued, "I'm used to writing with Stormer more these days, but... sure, I used to write all the songs for Jem and the Holograms. Let's get started. If we're stuck," she grinned, "we can always call in Stormer then."

Working with Kimber, Emma lost track of the time, and it wasn't until she got up to stretch that she realized she'd missed dinner. She was glad that this wasn't like a couple of the group homes she'd lived in, where 'you snooze, you lose' had been the operating principle and not showing up for a meal meant you went hungry until the next one.

"That's outrageous!" Kimber had exclaimed angrily, when Emma had informed her. "C'mon. There are probably leftovers and if there aren't, I bet between us, we can cook up something!"

"Something," proved to be a stir-fry with more vegetables than Emma usually ate at one time and boiled chicken breast sliced in. Normally, Emma would have picked listlessly at anything this… healthy, but the sauce Kimber whipped up in a glass measuring cup, seeming barely to glance at the bottles she pulled out of the kitchen cabinet before adding a few squeezes of this and a generous glop of that, made all the difference. With a generous portion of the steamed rice that had evidently been part of everyone else's dinner tonight, Emma sat down to a late supper she thoroughly enjoyed.

Once she'd eaten, helped Kimber with the washing up, and thanked her profusely, Emma made her way to the common room. She'd barely gone two steps inside when the wave of gloom surrounded her. "What is it?" she asked, at once. "What's wrong?"

Casey and Joellen exchanged a long look. Then, Joellen said, "Ashley's dropped out of the Starlights. Without her… there's no band."

"And no performing at the benefit," Casey added dejectedly.

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen

Even a week ago, Emma would have shrugged her shoulders at the news. Upstairs, in the privacy of her room, she might have thrown a few things—if she'd thought the noise wouldn't bring people running—or disassembled her clock radio and tried putting it back together again. (She hadn't been able to do it successfully yet, but trying generally calmed her down, so long as she threw out the thing before she got too frustrated.)

Now, though, she shook her head. "No. No, we can still do this. I've been writing a song with Kimber all afternoon."

"That's great," Joellen said. "And I think we'd all love to hear it, but…"

"It's not fair," Emma said. "First Deirdre, now Ashley. I-I don't really know either of them well, but there are three other girls in the band and it's not fair to them!"

"I know," one of the three girls (Emma thought her name was Marla) agreed, "but what can we do? We're too new at this. We need strong singers and a great song before there's any chance of Jerrica saying 'yes'."

Emma took a deep breath. "I'll write the song," she said. "You guys rehearse. We've got this." And with that, she turned on her heel and marched out of the common room.

It wasn't until she was back in her own bedroom that she realized the enormity of what she'd stated. "What the hell have I just got myself into?" she whispered. "And how the hell do I get out of it?"

Phyllis held the phone away from her ear, but even at twelve inches distance, she had to wince at Roxy's shriek. "I can't believe you CUT me! And I had to hear about it on freaking KDWN! I'm a charter member of the Misfits! You can't do this to me!"

She waited for her former bandmate to pause for breath before interjecting coolly, "You said you wouldn't perform unless we met your price. Since nobody performing at the benefit is getting paid, that's not happening. So, since you're not going on, I found someone who will."

"Who? That Deedee Bratster, or whatever her name is?"

Professional, Phyllis thought to herself, tamping down her inner Pizzazz. Professional. She was a social worker, now. She'd learned to curb her temper, otherwise she wouldn't have lasted in the field for long. Right now, though, she wanted to screech back at her erstwhile bandmate. Instead, she replied calmly, "Deirdre Baxter, yes. She's a damned good guitarist."

"She out of diapers, yet?"

"Yes, she is," Phyllis retorted. And then, before she could think better of it, she added, "So is Hana May, for that matter."

"Don't you freaking dare!"

"She's your daughter, Roxy. You haven't seen her in over a year. Meanwhile, she's growing up and you're missing it. You can't get this time back."

There was a long pause. Then, Roxy said heavily, "Gotta tell you, Phyllis, I've had better times. But thanks for the guilt trip." The line went dead.

Phyllis stared at her cordless until a soft sound behind her made her turn. She stooped down to meet the steady gaze of the little girl before her. "How much of that did you hear?" she asked Hana May gently.

Hana May shrugged. "I dunno."

"Want to talk about it?"

The little girl shook her head.

"Want a hug?"

Hana May hesitated before giving Phyllis a cautious nod.

"Well, then," Phyllis spread her arms apart and let the phone fall to the floor, "come on over."

A moment later, she felt the weight of a four-year-old girl pressed tightly against her. "It's okay," she said softly. "It's okay."

"You gonna send me away?" Hana May asked, almost whispering.

Phyllis shook her head. "Only if your mother comes for you."

Hana May considered that. Then she hugged Phyllis harder. "Then I'm gonna stay with you forever."

Despite the rush of affection that engulfed her, Phyllis winced.

John stood on his balcony and waited. It was several minutes before he felt the familiar chill that told him he wasn't alone. Even so, it made him start when he saw the eyes that glowed in the shadows of the night.

"Well?" the voice rasped, and John swallowed.

"It's done. Saturday at noon. Griffith Park. You know it?"

The Shadow chortled. "Do you imagine there's a place in this realm I can't find when I wish? Or that you or your sister can evade my sight? I will be there at the appointed time. See that she is, as well."

A strong wind whipped John's hair about his face and when it faded, so had the malevolent presence. John lifted his spectacles and massaged the bridge of his nose. Then he went back indoors to coach Wendy on the part she was to play. For Michael's sake, they dared leave nothing to chance.

The words weren't coming. Emma sat at her desk and tried to forget that it was less than half an hour to lights-out. She'd rushed through her homework—it was probably full of mistakes, but it was done—on fire to write the new song, only to find that the words that had been buzzing in her head all day at school were gone.

"Come on," she muttered. "Come on…" Deep breath, she told herself. Relax. Don't force it. It's okay. C'mon, you've got this.

No, she didn't. She'd had it, but now everything had faded.

…Faded away. Emma frowned. The words she'd had earlier, there had been something about… something fading away.

She picked up the pen.

It's okay. You'll be okay.

Look at the ground. Let it fade away.

Well, it rhymed. It also made no sense. The ground couldn't fade away, and if it did, you'd fall!

…Unless you could fly.

We can fly. In the sky.

And look down on life.

She pushed back her chair, walked to the window and looked out. There was a full moon tonight, and with the street lamps below, the night didn't seem at all spooky. She squinted at the sky. While the moon was visible, she wasn't positive she could make out any stars. Between the moon and the city lights, it just wasn't dark enough to be sure.

Emma's eyes opened wide. She rushed back to the desk.

Between the moon and the city lights, we're the Starlights. We're Starlights.

"Emma?" There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Bailey opened it and poked her head in. "Light's out, dear. School tomorrow."

Emma nodded. "Okay. Just a minute."

"One," Mrs. Bailey nodded, and though her voice was firm, there was a twinkle in her eye. Hastily, Emma looked at what she'd written. It wasn't enough and it didn't feel quite right, but it was more than she'd had a minute ago.

Another knock. "Emma, now!"

Emma gulped and turned out the light. Then she turned it back on again, grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste, and stepped out into the hall. Mrs. Bailey, already further down the hallway, turned at the sound and sighed. "Next time, don't leave it for the last minute," she admonished, and pointed toward the bathroom, as though Emma didn't already know where it was.

"Sorry," Emma mumbled. "I just got caught up in…"

"It doesn't matter," Mrs. Bailey told her, smiling just a bit to soften her words. "But don't let it happen again."

"Yes, Mrs. Bailey," Emma nodded. "Thanks."

"Good night, Emma."

Saturday dawned bright and sunny, and Wendy awakened with a smile to feel the sun on her face. She yawned and stretched. Then her smile froze and faded. Today, she and Tamara were going to Griffith Park. She wasn't looking forward to it. She should be; she adored both birds and greenery, and it would be good to get out of this city that seemed taller than it was wide, even if John kept telling her that it was quite the reverse.

Funny, really. After a century in Neverland or more, one might think she'd had her fill of the great outdoors, but she had always loved birds and parks, as opposed to the wild overgrown Neverland jungle, were tidy, well-kept, civilized places. She'd warrant that the birds here wouldn't be carrying tales back to Pan, either.

But she knew that this would be no pleasant excursion. Pan's reach was as long as the game he was playing and, according to the Shadow, a day would come when he would make use of her.

"Your concern," the Shadow had rasped, "is to ensure that when that day comes, she's been predisposed both to the belief in magic and the fear of it. That is all you need to know."

Wendy had frowned. "But how am I to…?"

"Bring her to the park as she suggested, and the rest will fall into place. Peter Pan never fails."

"Well then, what does he need me for?" Wendy demanded.

The Shadow laughed cruelly. "Need? Don't put so much stock in your own importance, girl. Pan has chosen to use you, but he certainly doesn't need to. Of course, if you force him to choose another method, he won't need to see to your brother's safety either. It's all a matter of incentive."

For a moment, Wendy had glared defiance. Then her shoulders slumped and she nodded, defeated.

The Shadow floated smugly overhead. "Play your part properly, little pawn, and it shall be well with all of you." Then it was gone.

Wendy's hands were trembling as she started to dress. She had to do this. For Michael's sake, she had to lead a girl she liked, a girl who was fast becoming a friend, into a trap. For Michael's sake, she would do her best to succeed. Even as she hoped that her best efforts might somehow meet with failure.

Tamara came for her at half-past ten. "You set?" she asked.

Wendy nodded. "I've never been on a motorbus before," she said.

The older girl laughed. "Well, my grandma drives, but she's holding down a job down in the valley, so she can't take me places and I can't afford a car of my own, so here we go. You got everything?"

Wendy nodded. "I think so," she said, starting to feel a bit nervous about what was to come.

"Then grab your gear and let's get a move on. The bus is usually okay, but it can get held up in traffic sometimes. Oh, and grab some water if you didn't already. If you're not used to LA's heat, you're gonna need it more than I will."

Wendy nodded again. She'd already stuffed two bottles into her backpack, but she grabbed a third.

"Have fun," John said, waving them on. He gave his sister a meaningful look. "And be certain to act appropriately."

"Don't be stodgy," Tamara laughed. "Nothing wrong with being a little inappropriate sometimes."

Wendy smiled weakly at that. John chuckled.

"Have you got a minute?" Emma asked hesitantly, when Kimber looked up at a commercial break.

The red-haired woman smiled. "Sure. I wasn't really watching this anyway. What's up, Emma?"

A bit shamefacedly, Emma passed her the sheet of paper she'd been writing on last night. "It's… it's not how I want it to be. I thought it sounded great in my head, but…" She rushed headlong past whatever Kimber had been about to interject. "I know you told me that the music can make the lyrics sound so much better, but I just feel like… like they're almost right, but I don't know what's wrong with them!"

"Hey," Kimber said. "Hey. Relax. It'll come. Is this your first song?"

"Kinda," Emma said. "I-I mean, sometimes when I hear a song, I sort of make up my own verses. Or I change a line to make it funnier.

"Oh?" Kimber said, grinning. She reached for her keytar. "Uh… you've seen Star Wars and Beauty and the Beast, right?"

Emma blinked, but she nodded cautiously, not sure where Kimber was going with this. "Sure."

"Just wondering if you're saying you've ever done stuff like this?" she asked, playing a tune that Emma recognized at once. Then Kimber started singing and Emma broke into a startled smile.

Be. Our. Guest-
Be our guest
Now it's time to feel depressed
For we stormed aboard your starship
and put you under arrest.
There's a nice
Room for free
In block AA-23
Just a shorter term solution
While we wait your execution
You ran off
With the plans
But you fell into my hands
Now I'll push you back and onto Vader's chest!
Because I'm on your case-
where is the Rebel base?
You'll be our guest!
Be our guest!
Be our guest!

By that point, Emma was giggling, and Kimber stopped. "So, like that?"

"Not as good!" Emma managed to say through her laughter. "But yeah."

Kimber set down the keytar. "Honestly," she said, looking at the page, "I like this. You're right. It's not quite there, yet, but put it aside for a little, and then look it over again." Her eyes crinkled a bit as her smile widened. "Bet you'll see how to fine-tune something if you check it over after supper."

"You think?" Emma asked.

"Usually works for me."

"And if I'm really stuck, can I ask you?"

"If you're really stuck?" Kimber picked up her keytar again. "Be my guest, be my guest…"

Emma swiped up her paper from the sofa and went back to her room smiling.

Griffith Park was huge, Wendy realized. It might take days or even weeks to explore. In London, she'd thought Kensington Gardens to be vast, but this park might be larger than Neverland!

"I have a map," Tamara said. "It looks like the sanctuary's past the Greek theater and the tennis courts."

Wendy shook her head. "Could we… Would it be possible to walk about a bit afterwards?"

"I thought you'd like it here!" Tamara grinned. "Sure. Matter of fact, there's a trail that loops around the sanctuary. We can do that first, then see the birds, and then… as long as we're home by dark, we can check out more." She hesitated. "Unless you've changed your mind about the bird sanctuary, and you'd rather just explore?"

It was on the tip of Wendy's tongue to agree, but she thought better of it in time. For all her bravado last night, she wasn't risking Michael's life. Yes, he was grown now and older than she in years, if not by actual birth date, but he was still her baby brother and Pan's captive. She had to see this bit through. "No," she said, forcing herself to smile broadly. "No, I think I should like to see the birds first."

Tamara unfolded her map, checked her bearings, and gestured to the path. "Then come on," she said, with a slight laugh. "It's this way!"

They'd reached the public toilets when they saw a young man approaching them with a perplexed expression. "Hi!" said. "You girls know anything about a craft show on today?"

Tamara and Wendy looked at each other. "Craft show?" Tamara repeated. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't know there was one."

"I was invited," the man said. "By some guy," he fumbled in his pocket, "Here. He gave me his card and told me to be here by noon. I'm about a half hour early, but you'd think there'd be some signage or other vendors or…"

Tamara was reaching for the card when the sky suddenly turned dark overhead. Three sets of eyes turned upwards as one. And then three voices shrieked in terror—two genuine, one feigned—as the darkness streaked headlong toward them blotting out the daylight in its wake, a vast inky shadow with two malevolent glowing eyes.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seventeen

Eyes wide with terror, Tamara froze.

For one half-mad moment, as the Shadow dived down, Wendy wondered whether Pan had, in fact, ordered it to rip out her own shadow, as he'd sometimes threatened he might if the fancy struck him. It wasn't a farfetched idea; she'd seen Pan turn the Shadow loose on more than a few boys during her time in Neverland. Usually, there had been some pretext for it: Pan would declare that the hapless victim had allowed a pirate scout to slip too close to the camp or failed to forage as many berries as the others. Sometimes, though, Pan simply… got bored. While Wendy's first shriek had been part of the role she was playing, her next was genuine.

And then, a strong, warm hand gripped her arm and a voice, urgent and authoritative shouted, "Run!"

Wendy didn't have much choice. The man they'd just met was dragging her along, and when she turned her head, she saw that he had Tamara's wrist in his other hand. Struggling to break loose would slow them all down, and if the Shadow intended to do more than just frighten them—

—Then it would have overtaken them already.

…Unless it was playing with them, as a cat would a mouse.

Wendy wasn't about to wait around to find out. Stumbling and trying to match her strides to that of her new companion, she ran.

"In here! Fast!"

As one, the three stepped inside some sort of enclosure. Wendy heard a door slam and suddenly, all was blessedly silent apart from their labored breathing.

"Are you two okay?" the man asked.

Tamara and Wendy looked at one another. Both nodded cautiously.

"Good. Um… for the record, this is my trailer. We can hunker down here until that thing moves on. Hopefully, it can't get in."

It could, Wendy knew. If the Shadow wanted to, it could slip through any hole or crack, no matter how tiny, and she doubted that this… trailer… was airtight. Of course, if the Shadow were truly bent on harming them, it would be upon them by now. This was all part of Pan's game. Or plan. Really, it wasn't as though there was much difference between the two.

"What was that thing?" Tamara asked, nearly whimpering.

The man shook his head. "Never seen anything quite like it before," he said. "But if I had to lay odds? I'd say it was magic."

"What?" Tamara gasped. "That's not possible. Magic's… card tricks, and pulling rabbits out of hats and making doves fly out of pans. It's not… flying shadows." She took a breath. "It's not real."

The man shook his head sadly. "There was a time that I used to believe that, too," he said. "Unfortunately, I learned better." He held out his hand. "Owen Flynn."

Tamara took it uncertainly. "Tamara Williams."

"Wendy Muir," Wendy said, trying out the alias John had provided her for the first time.

Owen's smile was tinged with sadness. "I wish I could say it was a pleasure."

Near the entrance to the park, John stared up into the trees nearby. Not all of the shade overhead was due to their leafy canopy. John focused on two slits of light that no sun had produced and swallowed hard. "Is it done?" he asked.

The shadow drifted lazily closer. "They are joined," it replied. "The future appears to be secure. But your role in this is not yet complete. You will wait for them to emerge and approach them with Pan's proposal."

John swallowed hard. "Suppose they refuse?"

"I don't believe they will. But their response is not something within your control. If they need a greater incentive, it can be provided. Perhaps by you, perhaps by another."

"Another?" John's eyes widened behind his round eyeglasses. "There are more…?"

"Agents?" the Shadow laughed. "Surely you don't believe that Pan would pin everything on one, or even two operatives. You know Peter Pan never fails. Do you imagine he has no contingency plan in the event that you should? You aren't the first fish Pan has tossed back in the sea. You won't be the last. Play your part properly and your brother's safety will be assured, regardless of the outcome. But if I should detect some lapse of… enthusiasm, something to show that your heart isn't in your performance…" His voice trailed off ominously, and John gulped again.

"I'll do what's needed," he said at a rush. "That is to say, I'll do my best."

"That's all that's required," the Shadow replied. "Nothing more, nothing less."

With that, it soared back into the branches. John mopped at his brow with a cloth handkerchief—one of the few affectations he retained from a childhood spent partly in Victorian London—and settled back to watch the trailer and wait.

By the time Owen had finished his story, Tamara's mouth was gaping open. "So, your father…?"

"As far as I know, he's still back in that town," Owen nodded. "I never saw him again, but if the mayor had let him go, I know he would have called me or turned up at Uncle Ronnie's as soon as he got free."

"But you've tried to go back," Wendy said.

Owen exhaled. "I haven't been able to find the place again," he said. "After I finished high school, I spent six weeks in the Maine wilderness looking. I remembered the last town we'd passed through, Dad and me—a place called Thomaston—we filled up with gas there. And once I went back there, I recognized a few of the businesses we'd driven past on our way to the woods. But once I hit the forest…" He shook his head. "I felt like I was close a couple of times, but I never did manage to find it again."

He leaned forward. "Now, I work as a nature photographer. It gives me an excuse to travel around. And every place I go, I keep hoping I'll find some hint of real magic, like there was back in that town. At one point, I thought I might find the answer on one of the Native reserves, or maybe in the bayou, but," he sighed, "while I've met a lot of fakes and more than a few people I'd freely say were either spiritual or scary insightful, I can't say I've encountered anyone or anything magical." His expression hardened. "Until now."

"Uh," Tamara frowned. "I mean, no offense, but this is LA. Maybe we blundered onto some horror movie set and we got spooked by some… cheesecloth or something."

"Cheesecloth is white," Owen pointed out. "It doesn't have glowing eyes. And I've seen enough on-location shoots to know that the filming area would be cordoned off. There'd have been vans and boom mikes and klieg lights around. Not to mention that as soon as we started screaming, somebody would've yelled 'cut' and either apologized to us, or, more likely, started screaming about how much money we'd cost them by spoiling their scene. That was magic."

"Tamara," Wendy thought it was time for her to speak up now, "I… I do think he could be right." She let out a deep breath. "John and I had another brother," she said, almost whispering. "He was carried off by a creature very much like that. Perhaps even the same one."

Tamara's eyes widened and Owen's face grew harder. "You never mentioned that," she said. "I-I mean I know we've only met recently, but I've known John for months and this is the first I'm hearing of another brother."

"Would you have believed either of us?" Wendy asked softly. "If you hadn't seen the Shadow for yourself?"

Tamara was silent.

Owen hesitated for a moment. Then he opened up a small refrigerator at his elbow and withdrew several cans of soda. "I think we have a lot to talk about," he said slowly, setting the cans on the table. He got up and walked several steps to a small cabinet, opened it, and took out a package of cookies. The cellophane crinkled loudly as he ripped it open. "And since we might be here for a while, I guess we might as well dig in…"

Aja had just been about to warm up with her guitar when Emma eased the auditorium door open. The blue-haired woman looked up with a smile. "Emma, right?" she asked, setting down the instrument. "How's it going?"

Emma froze. "Okay, I guess," she said. "Thanks. I… I didn't want to bother you. Sorry. I'll just…"

"No, it's fine!" Aja laughed. "Come on in!"

Emma took a step backwards. "No, seriously. It's okay. I…" She smiled sheepishly. "I was just trying to find a quieter place to do my homework. The dorm floor—"

"Too much noise?" Aja asked knowingly. "Guess some things never change."

Emma didn't think she'd ever get used to how… normal… these people were. "Um, actually, it's more like the bathroom's off the common area and you guys get better TV shows than I ever got to watch in Boston. I keep hanging out when I shouldn't be."

"Ah."

"B-but if you're rehearsing, I can go someplace else!" Emma said quickly.

Aja grinned. "I don't have anything to rehearse for. I was going to get a practice session in, but I can do that later. Do you usually work in here, or in one of the backstage rooms, like Joellen?"

"Uh… last time, I was backstage," Emma said, "but seriously, it doesn't matter. I just need to figure out this essay."

Aja glanced at the book Emma was clutching. "Hey, I remember that one," she said. "Do you like it?"

"More than I expected to," Emma admitted. "But it's still hard reading about how Kit just… doesn't fit in."

Aja nodded. "Been there, done that."

"You?" Emma blinked.

Aja shrugged. "When I was your age, well, I wasn't the only kid in my class with a Chinese mother and an American father, but when you add in that I was an orphan in a group home, kinda geeky, and already dying my hair blue?" Her smile widened. "Okay, that last bit was me owning my 'not fitting in'. I figured if everyone already thought I was a freak, I might as well go all the way. Jacqui and Emmett let me; they figured it was something I needed back then and maybe they were right."

"Jacqui and Emmett were your foster parents?" Emma asked.

"Yeah. Jerrica and Kimber's mom and dad," Aja said softly. "After my folks died, I got placed with them. I won't pretend we were best friends from the start," she added. "Jerrica and Kimber were pretty tight and I don't think they were thrilled with the idea of sharing their folks with a stranger."

"Been there," Emma said with feeling.

"They came around," Aja said. "But it was a lonely few weeks."

"I just worry that I'm reading too much into Kit," Emma said, tapping the book. "Like do I think she's lonely and scared because I am, or is that what…" she looked at the cover, "…what Elizabeth George Speare really meant us to see her?"

"You know," Aja said, "it would be a lot easier if we could just call her up and ask her."

"Could we?" Emma asked, brightening.

"Only if you can find her in the LA phone directory, and I don't even know if she lives here."

Emma groaned. "It was a thought."

"It wasn't a bad one. But you know, the thing about literature is, if you can find anything in the book to back up what you're seeing, you're on pretty solid ground. So, is there anything in there that supports your thoughts on Kit?"

"Only on practically every page!" Emma exclaimed, brightening.

"Well then give those as examples in your essay!" Aja said. "And hey, if you want me to look it over when you're done, maybe I can give you some tips."

Emma lowered her eyes. "Maybe," she said. "Thanks." She wouldn't, of course. Aja might be nice, but she was also a big-time star and she had to have better things to do than work on the essay. She'd already helped point her in the right direction. No, Emma thought, the rest had to be up to her. She smiled weakly and wondered why she felt guilty when Aja grinned back.

"It's quiet out there, now," Wendy ventured after some time had elapsed. "Perhaps, we might risk looking outside?"

"Oh, no way," Tamara exclaimed. "If I peek out the window, there's going to be a glowing magical eye peeking back at me. I know it's a trope that the black guy always dies first in horror movies, but this black girl isn't taking any chances!"

A sharp rap on the trailer door made all three of them freeze. Wendy sighed. "Oh, very well," she said, getting up.

"No," Owen said. "It's my trailer. I'll do it."

"That makes no sense," Wendy protested, but Owen was already hefting a large wooden bat out of bin she hadn't noticed earlier.

"By the way, Wendy," Tamara frowned, "I thought you were John's sister. How come you've got a different last name?"

Wendy was glad for John's coaching. "Because," she sighed, "it can be very tiresome sharing the same surname as a character in a popular book. John doesn't care, but I've decided to use Mother's maiden name for now and change it legally once I'm of age." A pang struck her. Would she ever truly be 'of age'? Or did Pan mean to keep her a child in Neverland forever once this task was done?

Tamara, however, broke into a startled laugh. "Wendy Darling?" she gasped. "Oh my god! No wonder!" She grinned. "I guess that explains why the shadow came looking for you. Probably needs you to sew it onto Peter Pan's foot!"

Wendy laughed weakly. "I suppose so," she murmured, thinking that her face might be looking quite green. One learned fairly quickly in Neverland never to joke about Pan or his Shadow, and while she had tried to make her way through the book John had given her, she'd been so incensed by the drivel that she'd shoved it into the deepest recess of her bookshelf before she'd got more than four chapters in.

Owen, however, was opening the door. "Am I glad to see you!" he said. "Did I get the day for the show wrong?"

John stepped inside the trailer. "I see you've met my sister," he said. "Hello, Wendy." He turned back to Owen.

"You're his sister?" Owen exclaimed.

"I knew she was going to be here today," John said smoothly. "Though I'm afraid the plug was pulled on the exhibition at the eleventh hour. A paperwork issue," he said, looking a bit embarrassed. "I was able to contact the other vendors, but when I tried your phone, there was no reply and no opportunity to leave a message."

Owen winced. "I never did figure out how to set up voicemail," he said apologetically. "We've… uh… had some excitement."

"A shadow," Wendy said. "John, it was horrible. So cold and cruel and…"

"Yes," John said, his expression serious. "I know."

"You… know?" Tamara said.

John sighed. "It's not the sort of thing one can generally discuss unless one's certain how the topic will be received. I'm still not entirely sure it's safe to bring up, but since you've encountered it, I suppose I'd best tell you what I know. For some time, now, I've been involved with hunting creatures like that."

"Hunting?" Owen repeated.

"Creatures like what?" Tamara asked.

"Magical creatures," John replied.

"Magic," Wendy repeated. "John, do say you're funning with us." She looked from Owen to Tamara and back to her brother. She had to do this properly. "When the Shadow was chasing us, I thought... I-I mean we all thought... but surely, I mean, now that we're out in the sunlight again, it... it couldn't have been. What I mean to say is that Magic simply can't be real. It can't!" For once, she was grateful that Pan had sometimes insisted she make up stories to quiet the younger Lost Ones when homesickness overtook them. She was drawing on that skill now, as she turned artful eyes on Owen. "Can it?"

John sent her a fleeting look of approval before he took a breath. "It would be more accurate to say that magic isn't native to this world," he said. "It doesn't belong here. I've been tasked with routing it out, and perhaps one day, finding its source. And destroying it."

Owen's eyes opened very wide and a wondering smile broke on his face. "Tell me more," he said, leaning forward intently.

John gave Tamara a lift home. "I'll be in touch when I can," he said, when he dropped her off.

"But… won't I see you at the Y this week?" she asked.

"Sadly, no," John replied. "I've already arranged for a replacement to take over my swimming classes." He shook his head. "They were only ever a cover for my other operations. But now, my work will be taking me farther afield. I'm afraid it will be some time before our paths cross again."

Tamara frowned. "But they will cross, right? I-I mean, knowing what I know now, I'm not just going back to… to…"

"Being a college student with part-time employment?" John asked with a smile. "For now, you must. From time to time, I may reach out to you with the suggestion of a skill you might seek to acquire. For the time being, though, I would urge you to continue with your existing plans. And as there will be a physical component to your training, I would suggest that you keep up with some form of sport."

"No problem," Tamara said. "I've been doing track and field since I was a high school sophomore. Not giving that up."

"I'm delighted to hear it."

Tamara opened the car door, then turned to John with an anxious look. "You won't forget me, John, will you, when the time to destroy the magic comes?"

John's smile broadened. "You're part of the Home Office, now, Tamara. You and Owen will both have your part to play when that day arrives. Be ready."

Tamara nodded solemnly. "I will be."

"I don't understand why you needed me for that," Wendy told John, once they were alone in the car. "Couldn't you have approached them on your own?"

John shook his head. "Owen, perhaps," he admitted. "Though it would have been more difficult. True, I could have still lied to him about a craft show—perhaps not at that park, but some other place where Pan's Shadow could strike with no other souls about, but as for Tamara…" His expression turned wistful. "Even children today are far more cynical about magic than we were, too quick to grow up and stop believing. Owen believes because it was shown to him and because his father was lost to him through it. Tamara has no such experience. She needed to be shown and I couldn't do it without making myself appear to be a fool. Or a masher," he added.

"A masher?" Despite her annoyance, Wendy's lips pulled into a teasing smile. "You?"

"We've been apart for years, Wendy," John reminded her. "For all you know, I might be. I'm not," he added hastily, "but Tamara can't know that. And if I were to try to lead her to some secluded place where the Shadow could reveal itself to her, but not to a crowded public, she'd surely protest. At that point, even if the Shadow did appear, she'd think it some trick on my part to, well, to gain her trust, or have her see me as a hero or some such."

Wendy nodded slowly. "She did think that it might have been a bit of cheesecloth or some… movie film work. Did she mean the sort of thing I've been watching on that television machine?"

"A bit more sophisticated than a magic lantern, isn't it?" John smiled. His expression turned serious. "You were needed in this, Wendy, because in this circumstance, Tamara trusted you more than me. And because Pan has it in his head that she and Owen unite in this and you were the catalyst that drew them together."

Wendy heaved a sigh. "Well, it's done now," she said. "So, Michael is free?"

"Not yet," John replied. "Uniting Owen and Tamara was a task Pan set for me, and I judged that using you to achieve it would be the likeliest way for me to succeed. But your task hasn't begun yet. It couldn't until you became familiar enough with this time and place to pass notice."

"And now?" Wendy asked nervously.

"Now, there's a girl in a foundling home whom you're to befriend. And later, when the time is right, you'll betray her."

Chapter Text

Chapter Eighteen

Things were starting to come together, Jerrica thought. Shana had told her last night that the Dreamgirls costumes were done. "Once I see the actors in them and make the last minute adjustments, I should be able to get a flight out of Sacramento into LA. I'll tell you when," she said.

"That sounds great," Jerrica said with feeling. "Raya's still in school, but with Aja and Kimber both here, we can rehearse using our original arrangements."

"Original," Shana said with a happy sigh. "That sounds so much better than old."

"We're not old," Jerrica said teasingly. "We're just experienced."

"Which is another nice way of saying old."

"Older," Jerrica said. "Older."

Shana mulled that over. "Actually, I think I prefer 'established'. Makes us sound like we still got it."

"We never lost it," Jerrica assured her. "Once we found our sound, we were here to stay."

"Music is magic?" Shana asked teasingly.

"You know it. Call me once you've booked your flight."

"Can do."

Jerrica's next call was far less enjoyable. "In prison," Jerrica repeated, dismayed, but not really surprised.

"I'm afraid so," Riot replied. "After the Stingers broke up, Rapture's con games and swindles became more and more… grandiose. Unfortunately, as I understand it, she took up with a partner who was, charming, debonair, cultured…" Jerrica could just imagine the smile curling his lips as he continued, "I imagine he reminded her of me."

"No doubt," she murmured, her voice absolutely deadpan while her eyes rolled.

"Well, from what I've been able to uncover, the pair of them swindled a good number of people out of their life savings, but when the police began to close in, her partner fled with most of the money, leaving her, um, holding the bag. She's currently serving a ten-year sentence, and I understand that once she's been released, there are several countries in Europe that may request extradition if the statute of limitations hasn't expired by then."

"Terrific," Jerrica groaned. "So, the Stingers…?"

"Minx won't take my calls," Riot admitted. "After the Stingers broke up, she took it hard. Then when she and I broke up, she took it harder. The truth is, I don't have her number. The last time we spoke, she was heading back to Germany. That was two years ago, and I don't know if she did go back or if she's still there. Of course, if Jem would like to do a duet, I'm happy to, and I'll be performing a few of the singles I've released since starting my solo career."

"I think that could be arranged," Jerrica said, smiling just a bit. "I'll put out some feelers, too. Maybe we can still find her. That is, if you want her in the show. I mean, if it'd make things uncomfortable…"

"It's for a good cause," Riot said. "Seeing her again may not be easy, but I think we've all grown up these last few years. At least, I hope we have enough to leave our dirty laundry in the hamper and act like professionals instead of petulant brats."

"Is that how you saw Jem and the Holograms?" Jerrica asked, thinking she was teasing, but not certain if she should be asking.

Riot chuckled. "Your sister at times," he said, "but never the rest of you. Though I did wonder what Jem ever saw in that soundman of yours, particularly since you seemed to be so devoted to him." He paused for a moment, before continuing anxiously, "I'm sorry. You did know about that, right?"

Jerrica swallowed. "Yes, I knew," she said. "In the end, I guess Jem's a big part of the reason Rio and I aren't… together anymore, but we had some good times." It was the truth, she knew, even if Riot probably thought she meant it a different way. Jem had been the main reason they'd broken up.

"Well, if you ever want to get together and talk about it over coffee," Riot said, "I'm no Rio, but you have to admit, our names are fairly close…"

Jerrica laughed, startled. He was right. How had she not noticed it before? The 'I' sounds different, she thought. Ree-oh. Rye-ot. Somehow, I never noticed the spelling. "Maybe sometime," she murmured. "Anyway, I have a few things I need to take care of, but we'll be in touch, Rory. Bye."

It wasn't until she'd hung up the phone that she realized she'd called him by his legal first name instead of his stage name this time.

"Hey, Emma!"

Emma looked up. "Oh, hi, Julie." She broke eye contact quickly. Julie was nearly sixteen, and in Emma's experience, most older kids in group homes either ignored or bullied the younger ones. Up until now, Julie had ignored her.

"How's it going?"

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Uh… good?" she replied, wondering what the other girl's angle was.

"Can't wait to hear your song," Julie said. "I heard it's gonna be really good!"

Emma felt her heart begin to pound. "Who told you that?" she asked faintly.

Julie grinned. "Well, everyone! Word has it that Kimber thinks it's totally outrageous and Joellen thinks you're some kind of genius and…"

They did? Seriously? Emma wished she could sink through the cushions on the sofa and end up in some… place that wasn't on any map so nobody could follow her!

"Emma?" Julie was waiting patiently for a reply and Emma blinked. Julie repeated, "I was just wondering when you think it'll be ready?"

Emma swallowed. "I don't know. I've had a lot of school work to catch up with."

"That's okay," Julie said. "There are just another three weeks or so until we're off for the summer! You'll have plenty of time to get it done before the benefit!" She was practically quivering with excitement. "This is gonna be so good!"

Emma forced herself to smile until the older girl left. Then she gave in to the sickening dread filling her stomach. She was going to let so many people down…

"You have to, Wendy," John repeated. "Michael—"

"I know!" Wendy hissed. "I know! But I can't. I can't… make myself befriend this girl. Friendship just happens."

"You managed with Tamara," John pointed out. "Even with Owen."

Wendy shook her head. "That's different. They're grown-ups. And me, well, obviously, I'm not, but after all the years I've lived, I feel quite grown up. I barely had friends my own age in London; all of the other girls thought themselves far too grown-up to make up stories and far too ladylike to play at pirates. I suppose this… Emma Swan… will talk of nothing but fashion and flowers, unless it's to gossip about our classmates or their mothers or… Oh! I couldn't bear it if she's like that, John. I shan't be able to play at being her friend; if I must, I shall simply scream!"

"Well, you don't know what she's like, yet," John reminded her. "So don't go imagining things before you meet her. Perhaps she'll be more of a kindred spirit and you'll get along like a house on fire."

Wendy winced. "I'm not sure that'll make the job easier." John opened his mouth to say something, and Wendy continued snappishly, "I know, I know! I'll do as I must. You don't have to remind me. But John, do you think that if I do this thing for him, Pan might finally let us all go?"

John forced himself to smile. "I suppose it's possible he might," he agreed, even though deep down, he didn't believe his own words for a moment.

Emma slammed the heel of her hand down on the stapler and heaved a sigh of relief. Her report on The Witch of Blackbird Pond was finished. At this point, she didn't really care if it was good or garbage, it was done.

Actually, that was a bit of a lie. She did care. She couldn't remember the last time she'd worked this hard on an assignment. At the back of her mind, there had always been the expectation that she'd be off to a new placement before she got her grades back. It was hard to get invested in school when you weren't hanging around long enough to know how you were doing until your next school (or, sometimes, the one after that) finally got your grades. She'd cared enough not to risk failing a grade—most of the time, she already felt like a bit enough loser without having to stay a year behind—but she'd been satisfied enough with a bare pass on most assignments.

She wasn't used to having friends help her study, or a teacher who didn't care if she sank or swam so long as she wasn't whispering in class. She wasn't used to mattering.

And she didn't know how long it could possibly last before she got bounced to a new foster home, but she'd shoved a black garbage bag into her knapsack, just in case. If she did have to move on, she was taking all her new clothes and school supplies with her!

A buzz of excited conversation greeted Emma at school the following morning.

"You're going to River Way?" she heard someone squeal. "Me too!"

"Oh," another voice wailed. "I wish you were coming to Idyllwild!"

The first girl made a disgusted noise. "I tried, but as soon as my folks saw that the full name was Idyllwild Arts, they vetoed. I'm lucky they didn't ship me off to MIT for the summer!"

Emma turned to her friends. "What are they talking about?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

Casey sighed. "Sleepaway camp. There are a bunch of them around and even though everyone's known where they're going for months, now's when they start figuring out who else is going."

"Yeah, except for the ones who're joined at the hip and already made up to be at the same one," Stephanie remarked.

"Oh," Emma said. "Uh… do we, I-I mean, do I…?" If 'everyone' had been signed up for months already, Emma suspected she'd be spending her summer at Starlight House, and even if it was kind cool (okay, really cool) to live in place where rock stars popped in and out all the time, with the other girls gone, she was going to be pretty lonely a lot of the time.

Stephanie grinned. "Starlight runs a day camp in the city. We all go there. There's a sleepaway camp, too, but that's for thirteens and up."

"But there's the camping trip at the end of summer for the elevens and twelves," Casey added. "One week in Topanga State Park," she clarified with a dreamy sigh.

"For me, too?" Emma asked. "I mean, is it too late for me to sign up for any of that?"

Casey laughed. "It's not just Starlight girls at the camp," she explained. "Other kids have to sign up, sure. But if you're a Starlight girl, you're automatically in."

"Seriously?" Emma asked, smiling back just a bit.

"You know it," Stephanie said. "And we're gonna have so much funnn…."

Casey flung an arm around Emma's shoulders. A few weeks ago, Emma probably would have tensed or frozen, but now she just wrapped her own arm about her friend's shoulders and continued up the walk into school.

It hardly seemed fair to Emma that Ms Kogawa didn't have her paper graded for her when she got back from lunch. She'd been the only one to hand hers in that morning, the rest of the class having submitted theirs what felt like ages ago. She couldn't believe she was actually excited to get the report back. Usually, she just wanted to get the thing done and not have a teacher on her back bugging her for it.

"Teachers eat lunch, too," Stephanie laughed, when Emma complained about it on the way home. "Plus, Ms. Kogawa teaches English to the other two grade sixes also. You'll get it in a day or so."

Emma sighed. "Yeah, I guess I just… I think I might have done okay on this one." She made a face. "Of course, if she's gonna flunk me, she can wait till next year to hand it back. If I'm even still here by then."

Stephanie frowned. "You're going away?"

Emma stopped. "Uh… maybe?"

"Wait," Casey said, her expression worried. "Where? When? Did you get a letter from your parents?"

"Huh?"

"Most of the time," Stephanie said, "when a girl comes to Starlight House, it's because she doesn't have any family. There was one girl, though who found her dad. He was a Vietnam vet and he had amnesia for a while and forgot about her, but then he got his memory back and she lives with him now. Otherwise, once you're here, you're probably here until you age out. Unless you're not happy," she added worriedly. "Is that it?" she asked. "I-I heard you tried running away when you first got here, but I thought things were okay, now."

Emma's eyes widened as her friend's words sank in. This wasn't a temporary placement, or at least, it wasn't supposed to be. This was home. Unless her parents did show up after all. And even if they did, maybe she didn't want to be with them.. Not when they'd chucked her on the interstate eleven years ago and—so far as she knew, anyway—never looked back once. Maybe she'd been so caught up in the idea of having a family, that she hadn't stopped to notice that she might already have one. "They're okay," she said softly, wonderingly. "They're better than okay."

"But you said you might be—" Casey started to say, her eyes still concerned.

Emma shook her head, smiling now. "Never mind."

"Raya!" Jerrica's lips curled into a smile, when she saw her former bandmate's name on the caller ID. "How's it going?"

Raya sighed cheerfully. "Well, my exams are behind me, and Aurelio is working full-time in Papi's store, now, so I'm actually free for rehearsals whenever you're ready."

Jerrica felt a heaviness slide off her shoulders. "That's great! Shana's arriving on Monday, so we can get started then."

"That sounds wonderful," Raya replied. "Oh, there's one other thing. I've just received a letter from a Mr. John Darling who's hoping to enroll his foster daughter at Camp Starlight. I guess he must have got my address from an old flyer," she added, and on the other end of the phone, Jerrica nodded. Two years ago, Raya had been the camp's enrolment coordinator—a fancy name for processing registration forms. Her busy schedule had meant that she no longer had time to take that on, but last year, she'd still received a number of applications that she had duly forwarded.

"Well, send it my way," Jerrica said. "I think we can still squeeze one more in." She reached for a pad and pen. "Do you have her name handy? I can just jot that down now."

"Sure," Raya said. "It's Wendy. Wendy Muir."

Chapter Text

Chapter Nineteen

Emma was used to getting her assignments back marked up in so much red ink that they looked like they'd been in a horror movie. (She hadn't actually seen any horror movies, not yet, but she'd heard about them from other kids in some of her group homes. They'd always told her that she was too young for them, and while she hated being told so, going by the stuff they were describing, she wasn't sorry that no one had ever invited her to watch one.) Usually, no paragraph of hers could expect to be spared from having half its content crossed out, circled, or criticized. Sometimes, it was her handwriting. Emma wasn't sure if it was worse when a teacher scrawled their dismay at her messiness, or when they wrote it so neatly that it made her own work look even worse in comparison.

So when she got her book report back, Emma took in the red ink with a weary resignation. Then she saw the large B+ circled at the top and her jaw dropped. That… that had to be a D+, right? Ms. Kogawa just had rotten handwriting and some of her letters looked too much alike. Or could a teacher be… what was that learning problem again? Dilatia? Dyslexia. That must be it. Wait. Had she just written, 'Good insight!' in the margin? Emma flipped to the next pages. I like this interpretation… Nice phrasing… This is a good summary, but it should be at the end. There was a long red line in the margin after that one, which ended in an arrow, some five paragraphs later.

On the final page was a short note. Emma squinted at the cursive, trying to puzzle it out. Emma, I love how you've connected with these characters! You clearly state what you intend to show and you follow through admirably. Going forward, work on your organization and watch out for run-on sentences. Great effort and keep up the good work!

Emma looked up to see her teacher's eyes on her and smiled. Then she quickly slid her paper into her workbook, so it wouldn't get creased, and shoved it into her knapsack.

Stormer looked through the peephole and smiled as she unlatched her front door. "Hey," she said, as she held it open.

Kimber gave her a watery smile. "Is it okay I didn't call first?"

"Of course," Stormer assured her, stepping aside. "What's up?"

Kimber shook her head. "Oh, Jerrica was just… I don't even know." She stepped inside and waited for Stormer to close the door. "She started asking if there was anyone special in my life these days, and… and I didn't know how to answer. And I guess I must have waited too long, because she got that smile on her face and started asking me all kinds of stuff, like, 'What's his name?' and 'How long have you been going out?' and I just…" She heaved a sigh. "I blew up, shouted it was none of her business and stormed off. Bet she thinks I've gone off the deep end, now."

Stormer put a hand on her shoulder. "She thinks you're her immature little sister who wants to keep secrets like she was still twelve."

Kimber groaned. "Great."

"Well, you are keeping secrets."

"Yeah, but I don't want to," Kimber admitted. "I just… I don't know how to tell her." She squeezed Stormer's hand. "I'm not ashamed, you know."

"I know." Stormer sighed. "I wonder if Craig suspects. He's pretty sharp about this stuff. I haven't told him, though. Not because he wouldn't be cool, but… I thought it should be coming from both of us."

"It should," Kimber admitted. "And I'm okay if you want to tell him. But with Jerrica, it's… harder." She sniffed. "Even if she's one person who'd understand about living a double life."

"Huh?" Stormer blinked, and Kimber suddenly remembered that there were some things Stormer still didn't know about Jem and the Holograms.

"Nothing," she said quickly, with a nervous smile. "Absolutely nothing."

Shana greeted Jerrica warmly at the airport, but waited until she was seated behind her friend and foster sister in the limo before she said, "Okay. Now, what's wrong?"

Jerrica winced. "Mostly nerves, I guess," she said. "It's been a long time since we were all on stage together."

"Mostly?" Shana pushed.

Jerrica sighed. "Had a blow up with Kimber this morning."

Shana rolled her eyes. "Is that all?" she teased. "I mean, that only used to happen on days that ended in 'y'."

"Yeah, when we were teenagers," Jerrica replied. "And, okay, when she sang with the Holograms," she added in an undertone, "back when she thought Jem was upstaging her and blamed me for letting it happen."

Shana eyed the back of the limo driver's head and nodded, thinking to herself how easily Jerrica was slipping back into the fiction that she and Jem weren't the same person whenever an outsider was present. "So…?"

"So, I asked if she was seeing anyone and when she didn't answer, I…"

"You needled her?" Shana asked innocently.

"No! I…" She sighed. "Okay, maybe I needled her a little bit, but I thought it was just girl talk and somehow, it hit a nerve and she totally overreacted. I don't know why," she added. "It was just… off."

"Maybe she was having a bad day," Shana suggested.

Jerrica nodded slowly. "Maybe," she agreed, but something about her tone told Shana that she wasn't fully convinced.

Wendy looked at the two pieces of shimmery fabric in horror. "I'm to swim in that?" she exclaimed. "Amongst boys and girls both?"

John cocked his head at her. "And what, pray, did you wear to swim in whilst in Neverland, when you were the only girl?"

"As though Pan set me loose to swim!" Wendy exclaimed. "When I needed a wash, he plunked me down amongst the mermaids and gave them leave to drown me if I ventured too close to the boundary of their lagoon." She snorted. "They'd have probably drowned me anyway, if he hadn't ordered them not to, and that didn't keep them from playing at it!"

"And doubtless, while you were having your wash, you were wearing that romper-and-frock you wore in London," John teased. "Shadow brought it special for you, did he?"

"At least the lagoon was deep enough, and the reeds made a proper screen for when I was ready to come out," Wendy allowed, her face turning a shade of dark pink. "And a fine gentleman you've turned out to be for even inquiring about it!" she added.

John laughed. "I think you'll find that bathing costume to be on the modest side, compared to what the other girls will be wearing, and it's rather a bit more than the boys shall be," he pointed out.

Wendy's blush deepened. "I… I daren't," she stammered. "I couldn't! It's not decent. E-even Pan didn't make me swim with the boys!"

John smirked. "Welcome to the twentieth century, dear sister. Now, do try to blend in."

"How'd you do?" Casey asked eagerly. "C'mon, we want to know if our coaching actually helped!"

Emma shook her head and clutched the manila envelope more tightly. "I don't want to look," she admitted. "It's probably all a bunch of incompletes anyway. I mean, I've only been here for a few weeks and they probably didn't get my records from Boston, yet." She winced. "At least, I hope not," she added.

"Oh, come on," Stephanie coaxed. "If you don't look, you'll just worry more. Look already!" In a more serious tone, though still smiling, she continued, "You don't have to tell us if you don't want to."

"I…" Emma took a breath. "I just don't want you to be disappointed if it didn't help," she said. "I've never really been good at school. At least, not since second grade," she added. That had been when she hadn't been able to coast on her general knowledge and had changed schools five times in two semesters, found herself too far behind in some subjects and far enough ahead in others that she'd spent those classes daydreaming—and then missed when everyone else caught up and moved ahead. After that, she'd managed to keep her head down and squeak by, but she didn't dare hope for more than a pass.

"So look at it later when you're alone," Casey said. But look at it." She paused. "Actually, look at it before we get back to Starlight House, because Jerrica's going to need to see it to sign and then file it away for September."

Emma's shoulders slumped. "Great. Maybe I can just toss it and tell her the wind ripped it out of my hands."

"What wind?" Casey asked, pointing toward the limp flag hanging from a nearby rooftop.

Emma sighed. "It figures." She thrust the envelope to Stephanie. "Here. You open it. Just tell me I didn't flunk. I don't know what I'll do if I have to do sixth grade over without you guys."

Stephanie hesitated. "You sure?"

Emma nodded.

"Okay." Gingerly, she eased the envelope's flap up and slid the cardboard three-fold out. "Uh… Emma?"

"I flunked," Emma whispered. "Didn't I?"

"Noooo…" Stephanie said. "You didn't."

Emma looked at the cardboard her friend was holding out to her and blinked. There was only one D. There were a couple of Cs. And… "Very funny," she muttered. "Now, seriously, show me mine instead of yours."

"Emma," Stephanie said. "That is yours."

Emma's jaw dropped. "No way," she breathed. "Where did all those Bs come from?" she blurted. "And…" And that wasn't a D at all. It was an A. Still stunned, she looked from one friend to the other. "My grades," she whispered. "They don't suck!"

Both of her friends broke into peals of laughter. "C'mon," Stephanie said. "Let's go get ice cream to celebrate!"

Back at Starlight House, the reunion of the Holograms was underway and punctuated by hugs and squeals of delight.

"How long has it been?"

"You look amazing!"

"This is going to be so much fun!"

Jerrica broke away from the huddle first. "Everyone ready to get down to business?" she asked cheerfully. "Or do we need a little more time?"

The other young women looked at one another, and then back to Jerrica. "I guess we're ready," Shana said.

Aja had already moved toward the office door and was scanning the hallway beyond. "Coast's clear," she said with a smile. "Go for it."

Jerrica nodded. She took a deep breath. And then, for the first time in nearly five years, she whispered, "Showtime, Synergy."

They were almost two hours later than usual getting back to the house. Emma turned nervously to her friends. "We won't get in trouble, right?" she asked. "I got kicked out of one place for coming back a half hour late. Her face burned at the memory. Her teacher had told the class that if they had any trouble with their homework, they could see her after class. She'd screwed up her courage after days of deliberating to approach the woman, who had been sitting in the teachers' room, chatting with a colleague, oblivious to the third-grader standing patiently but nervously in front of her.

When the other teacher had finally moved away and Emma had tentatively held out her homework, Ms. Daley had shaken her head. "I'm sorry, Emma. I've got to take my son to karate practice and I'm running late. Why not stop by Tuesday at lunch?" She frowned. "You know, if you only paid more attention in class instead of staring out the window… Anyway, let's make up for Tuesday, okay?" And then she was gathering up her coat and purse and leaving Emma behind without as much as a goodbye.

By the time Tuesday had rolled around, Emma had been in another school in another part of Boston, struggling with another math teacher, and she'd completely forgotten about that appointment.

Now, Casey grinned. "I called Mrs. Bailey from the ice cream parlor. We're fine."

Emma heaved a sigh of relief, as Stephanie pulled open the manor door. "Why's it so quiet?" Stephanie asked. "Where is everyone?"

Casey frowned. "Wait. The concert this summer. You don't think…?"

Stephanie's eyebrows climbed. "Only one way to find out!" she exclaimed. "C'mon!" She seized Emma's and Casey's hands, and took off down the hallway at a brisk trot, breaking into a run before they'd gone more than a few paces.

Stephanie hesitated before the auditorium double doors. "I don't hear anything," she said."

"Hello?" Casey teased, tapping her head. "Soundproofing anyone?" So saying, she tugged on one of the doors. As it opened a crack, the sound of an electric guitar met their ears.

The rest of the Starlight girls were already seated in the audience, and up on the stage were five women with hair ranging from blue through pastel pink with purple, mauve, and orange in between. The music was upbeat and bouncy, and the girls realized at once that they'd been lucky enough to walk in during the song's introduction.

Emma recognized Kimber and Aja at once. The others looked familiar too, though it took her a few seconds longer to connect them to the other three faces on her pajama top. Kimber looked up from her keytar and sent the girls a friendly smile, as the lead singer gripped the center mic firmly and began to sing.

Everything's gone downhill

We can recapture the thrill

Don't say that we're through

We're gonna make it good as new

Gotta get it, gotta get it, gotta get it back in shape…

Emma felt her heart beating faster. The pink-haired woman's voice was pure and clear, carrying easily over the music and sweeping her away with it. One day, she thought fiercely to herself, I'm going to write a song and I'm going to imagine her singing it. She smiled at her folly. As if an 80s rock star like Jem would ever sing one of her songs!

She followed her friends to a vacant row of chairs and sat down to enjoy the rest of the concert.

Roxy flung the newspaper across the room with a shouted expletive. "Who cares about the Misfits reunion!" she yelled. "It's not even a real reunion without me there!"

Someone banged on her wall and she hurled a shoe at the spot from which the sound had emanated.

She couldn't let this stand. Any day now, some reporter was going to shove a mic and a camera in her face and ask her how she felt about the band going on without her, or why she wasn't with the band, or whether she had a relationship with her daughter—of course they'd know about Hana May, they were reporters! And…

And what if they didn't come seeking her out after all? What if she ended up like the fifth Beatle or the fourth Marx Brother? "I'm twenty-seven," she muttered. "I can't be washed up yet!" Sure she could be. Ask most of the actors who'd played kids on 80s sitcoms. There were probably a dozen of them just in this apartment building!

Her solo career was tanking. She didn't want to rejoin the Misfits, but she didn't want them to perform without her. How dared they go on if she wasn't there! She'd show them! She would! Maybe she didn't know how to do it, but she knew exactly who to go to for advice on that score!

She grabbed her phone and dialed for directory assistance. "Uh… Los Angeles," she said. Then, "No, sorry. Lancaster. I need the number for the Los Angeles prison. Yes, I do mean 'California State Prison, Los Angeles County'!"

As she waited on the line, she was drumming her fingertips on the dresser impatiently. Maybe it was dumb running to Eric Raymond again like she had back in the day, but he was one person she could count on not to rat her out, even if he turned her away. And if he was willing to help, "then I'll be back in business…" she murmured, her lips curving upwards in a nasty smile.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty

Emma didn't care that she'd come late to this concert. She didn't care that until Giselle had given her those PJs, she hadn't had a clue what Jem and the Holograms looked like and wouldn't have been able to name a single one of their songs without the radio announcer identifying them as the performers. Her heart seemed to soar and she knew she had a wide grin pasted on her face, as Jem's pure soprano rose above the Holograms' breezy notes in song after song.

Funny. She'd always thought she liked edgier songs with intense, driving percussion and wailing guitars, but this music seemed to wrap itself around her and transport her somewhere almost magical. I wish I could write a song like these, she thought. I know Kimber showed me that the lyrics aren't always anything special until they're set to music, but I wish I could write music like this!

"Emma?" Stephanie nudged her. "You okay?"

Emma nodded. "Sure."

Stephanie looked as though she was about to probe further, and Emma didn't want to explain. After all, what could she say? I'm upset that whatever song I write won't sound professional enough? Hello? I'm eleven. And Kimber did say she'd help me with the music. Maybe it'll be… okay. She doubted that, but she still pulled her lips back into another grin, leaned back in her seat, and tried to let the music carry her away once more.

Normally, Roxy found driving was a surefire way to calm down, but as she sped southwards, it felt as though her roadster was running on pure rage. At least, it did, until the engine coughed, sputtered, and died on I-15 a bit past Halloran Springs, in the middle of the Mojave Desert. "I can't believe this," she muttered.

Swearing, she got out, popped open the trunk, and grabbed the empty gas can. She couldn't remember how far back the last service station had been, but she knew that if she started walking, she'd eventually find an exit and exits meant service stations.

She grabbed a 20-ounce water bottle irritably and wished she'd had the presence of mind to bring a tote bag with her when she'd left the hotel. She couldn't hold onto a second water bottle if she was also carrying the gas can. Well, with any luck, she'd find a place to fill up before her water ran out, and if she couldn't get a lift back when she did, she was fairly sure she'd be able to buy another bottle for the hike back.

It was over two hours before she spied the service station, and even then, she had to pinch herself to be sure it wasn't a mirage. Roxy gulped the last of her water—it was disgustingly warm by now, but at least, it was wet—and approached the pump. She reached into her pocket for her wallet and froze.

There were no pockets in her leather skirt suit. Her wallet, she remembered now, was in the glove compartment of her roadster. She was in the middle of the Mojave Desert, out of water, with no cash and no wheels.

Roxy wanted to cry. Instead, she stalked over to the phone booth beside the service station and stabbed her finger down on the zero button. "I want to place a collect call," she informed the operator. "To a Rory Llewelyn in Los Angeles."

Rory massaged his forehead. This was one complication that he did not need. "I'll have someone pick you up in a few hours," he said heavily. "And I'll arrange a tow for your car."

"I'd have thought you'd do more," Roxy said, forcing a sob into her throat. "After everything we were to each other."

"After everyth— Roxy," Rory said, keeping his voice even, "we were rivals. Friendly rivals, most of the time, I grant you, but apart from one short fling five years ago that I think we can both agree was never going to go further than it did, we really haven't been anything to each other."

Roxy ruthlessly tamped down the retort she wanted to make—hadn't she promised herself long ago not to tell him about… Never mind! She swallowed hard. "You're right," she said. "And maybe I've just been fooling myself that I could make it in Vegas. About that benefit you're doing, the truth is, I need money. I'm not doing so good, you know."

"It's a benefit," Rory confirmed. "Nobody is getting paid for it, including me."

"I understand that now," Roxy said. "B-but couldn't I do the show anyway? For the exposure?"

"Roxy…"

"Please, just for old-time's sake!" To her horror, she wasn't faking her desperation. She needed this. Well, this and a Long Island iced tea, but she could wait until she was back in civilization for that, as long as it didn't take too long.

There was a long silence. Finally, Rory spoke again, his voice nearly emotionless. "I'll have someone on their way to rendezvous with you within the hour. You're at a rest stop?"

"No, I'm in… Baker."

There was another pause. "It's going to take about three hours to get there, longer if traffic doesn't cooperate. Okay. What's the address where you're at?"

"Uh… It's a Chevron on Baker Boulevard. Hang on." She left the receiver dangling, as she went inside to ask the attendant for the address and dutifully reported back. "Uh, Rory? I told you my wallet's back at the car and I'm sort of out of water and I don't know if they'll let me hang around if I don't buy something. I saw a Western Union sign at the counter could you…?"

Rory sighed. "Sure. I'll wire you a few hundred and make sure you're booked into a decent hotel once you get into town. We'll discuss the benefit further tomorrow. And Roxy, the money I'm wiring you is to cover what you need now, plus any incidentals you might incur at the hotel. Don't go overboard."

Roxy smiled triumphantly. "Sure thing, lover."

"That's over," Rory told her firmly. "Are we clear?"

Her smile dimmed slightly, but she couldn't afford to alienate him now. Besides, she thought practically, Rory was likely to be a bigger help to her than Eric Raymond could possibly have been, even were he not currently rotting in jail. "Absolutely."

That evening, Emma carefully ripped the front pages out of the notebook she'd been using for math since she'd started school here. On a fresh blank page, she slowly, carefully wrote:

Come with me
I'm chasin' dreams, makin' history
I'll find a way and a place to be
Far away, findin' new memories

Wait. She wasn't going to be singing this on stage. This might be her song, but the Starlights were a group. She crossed out the 'I's.

Come with us
We're chasin' dreams, makin' history
We'll find a way and a place to be
Far away, findin' new memories

No good. 'Us' didn't rhyme with the other lines. But the other lines worked so well! And the words that rhymed with 'us'… Okay, 'fabulous' wasn't terrible, but this wasn't a song about how great the band was. The band was going to be great—she hoped! But if they were that great, then the song should speak for itself. Or rather, it shouldn't speak for itself. A line Ms. Kogawa had told them about writing stories came to her mind: Show, don't tell. The song was supposed to show how good the band was, not tell everyone they were fabulous! Bus… cuss… fuss…

Come with us,

We're chasin' dreams upon a (something) bus

No. They wouldn't have a bus on stage and who cared how they got there! She wasn't feeling it. She ground the heels of her hands to her forehead. The last three lines were so right just like they were! Emma thought about. Then, she took a deep breath, crossed out the 'us' and wrote 'me' again.

Come with me
We're chasin' dreams, makin' history
We'll find a way and a place to be
Far away, findin' new memories

She wasn't sure if she was allowed to do that: start with a 'me' and end with a 'we', but it rhymed and it sounded right. She had to trust herself. Even if she wasn't used to it, not for stuff like this. But the first verse was working. She had to have faith that the rest would too.

Run on faith and we'll be okay

Emma looked at the line she'd just written. She liked it, but it was a little long to start the next verse. In the first verse, her first line only had three beats, not seven. Maybe the second one had to start the same way. She started to scratch the line out, then paused. Maybe it wasn't the wrong line. Maybe it was just in the wrong place.

"If this isn't how the next verse starts," she murmured, frowning at the page, "then what is?"

She took a deep breath, stared at the page before her, and thought some more.

Craig looked at the two young women standing apprehensively in front of him and smiled. "Well, I guess I should say 'congrats'," he said. "Took you two long enough."

"You knew?" Kimber asked, noting that Stormer didn't look very surprised.

Craig shrugged. "I thought it might be something like that, but I figured if it was, you'd tell me when you were ready. Who else knows?"

Stormer shrugged. "I guess, just you… unless Aja's also guessed."

Craig's expression turned serious. "I'm flattered," he informed them, "but she really ought to know, too."

Kimber gave him a slight nod, but her voice was worried. "What if she takes it badly?"

"I don't think she will," Craig replied. "But if she does, at least you'll know."

"She'll want me to tell Jerrica."

"She might," Craig admitted. "And that's another decision you'll need to make. But when there are four people in a group, three of them can't keep a secret from the other one. Well," he smiled, "unless they're planning a surprise party, and then it's short-term. Are you two embarrassed?" he asked slowly. "Or ashamed?"

Kimber clasped Stormer's hand tightly. "No!" she exclaimed. "Of course, not! But…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "But, I guess I'm scared. I don't want Aja to look at me… at us… differently."

Craig sighed. "Well, do you think you can keep hiding what's going on from her indefinitely? Sooner or later, someone's going to slip up. If you're lucky, she'll guess it, just like I did. If you aren't… Honestly, I think she'd take it better if she hears if from you than if she reads about it in the tabloids."

"No one believes the tabloids," Kimber muttered.

"Okay, the entertainment magazines," Craig replied. He shook his head. "Look, I'm not going to tell her. But think about what I'm telling you. Sometimes, you're so worried about what would happen if a secret gets out that you blow it up bigger than it ever was."

Kimber nodded. "Maybe," she said reluctantly, "but I can't help thinking that this is pretty big." She turned anxiously to Stormer. "You won't tell her either, will you?"

Stormer shook her head. "Not unless you're okay with it," she said quickly, but the look she flung at her brother told him that she and her now-declared girlfriend weren't entirely on the same page.

"Aja?" Jerrica asked, "Has Kimber given you the new arrangements for 'There's a Melody Playin',' yet?"

Aja blinked. "I didn't know that there were new arrangements," she said. "Jazzing things up for the nineties?"

Jerrica smiled at that. "It's actually for an idea that Phyllis brought up. You know some of our songs and some of the Misfits' songs kind of… play off each other. She thought we could lean into that a bit for some collaborations."

"Ahh," Aja grinned back knowingly. "Something tells me that we're matching that one up with 'There Ain't Nobody Better'?"

"Well, it's the same music," Jerrica shrugged, though her grin widened belying the nonchalance of her tone. "Anyway, Kimber was supposed to get the sound a little closer to Kaleidoscope Haze's: a little edgier than we did it, but lighter than the Misfits did. I take it she didn't mention anything to you?"

Aja shook her head. "And she's off cruising with Stormer," she said rolling her eyes slightly. "As usual."

"I never imagined they'd get so close back when the bands were starting out," Jerrica remarked.

"Yeah, well, these days, I think Kimber spends more time with Stormer than she does with me. I guess they're more on the same wavelength," she added. "Anyway, if she's already done the arrangements, they're probably up in her room. Want me to go get them?"

Jerrica considered. "She hates it when I go poking through her things, and since she's been a little touchy lately, I guess it can wait." She sighed. "I hope she gets back soon, though."

Aja nodded. "Mind you, she's not usually so uptight around me. How about, we give it another hour and then, if she hasn't come back or checked in, I'll see if they're lying around in plain sight for you."

Jerrica smiled again, this time a bit sadly. "I wish she and I were closer than we are now," she admitted. "It feels like there's a wall up between us that never used to be there."

"She'll come around," Aja assured her at once. "Meanwhile, give her space. And if you need to tell her something you think she'll resent, ask me to talk to her. Maybe she'll take it better if it's coming from me instead of you."

"Maybe," Jerrica said, her smile fading a bit more. "Thanks."

Aja had met Kimber for the first time when she'd been ten and Kimber eight. Over the years, she'd learned that her foster sister could be a bit of a slob, and from sharing numerous hotel rooms with her, Aja knew that little had changed on that front. At least, Kimber was usually good about keeping her half of the room clear.

Now, taking in the chaos in Kimber's bedroom, Aja's heart sank. Where might those arrangements be? She didn't want to go digging through all the desk draws and rummaging in the dresser. Even if Kimber hadn't been the sort to care about her privacy, Aja felt uncomfortable doing it. That Kimber did care made it worse. Wait. On the desk, under a haphazardly-thrown blazer, she could see a thin pile of papers. Maybe that was it, and she didn't have to look further.

She lifted the blazer and froze. There were papers there, yes, but not the ruled musical pages that Kimber used for her compositions. As far as Aja could see, they appeared to be blank. They also appeared to be underneath a magazine with a cover that showed a woman in a gold top hat and black lingerie, squatting, with a white jacket half on and half-off. It wasn't the picture that threw Aja off, though. It wasn't the title—the name Diva meant nothing to her. The subtitle, however, brought her up short. "The lesbian lifestyle magazine?" she said aloud, just as she heard a step behind her.

She turned, to see Kimber standing in the doorway. "I-I was just looking for the arrangements," she said quickly, realizing too late that she was still holding the magazine. "I didn't mean to… I-I'm sorry, I…"

Kimber made a choking noise. The blood seemed to drain from her face, as she mumbled, "I can explain…"

"Hoy there, new girl!"

Startled, Deirdre looked up at the loud greeting and smiled back a bit nervously. "Jetta," she replied, trying to play things cool. On the one hand, this woman had been the bane of her foster family not very long ago. On the other hand, she hadn't done anything lately, and the Misfits and the Holograms had long since made up. On the other hand, that didn't mean Jetta wasn't planning something now. On the other hand, Deirdre reminded herself, as of a month or so ago, she was a Misfit herself, now, even if it was just for this one reunion show. But even if there wasn't all this history, this was Jetta—a bona fide 80s rock star! Then again, Deirdre had been hanging around with 80s rock stars since she was about eleven. They were just people! "Hi," she added, lowering her eyes shyly.

Jetta's grin broadened as she came closer, and now Deirdre realized that there were three others trailing behind. "These days, it's Sheila," she said. "These are my mates: Saoirse, Ken, and Mark. Word on the street says you play some kushty guitar."

Deirdre blinked at the unfamiliar word. "Is that good?" she asked, feeling her face grow hot.

The other woman, Saoirse, chuckled in a friendly fashion. "It's a compliment," she assured her. "Promise."

"Oh," Deirdre said. "Uh… I-I guess. I mean, Phyllis—Pizzazz—thought I was good enough. I mean…"

"Hey," Mark—boy was he handsome—said easily. "Relax. If you're jamming with the Misfits, you must be plenty good. We were wondering if you wanted to practice with us."

"If you can play punk jazz," Ken interjected.

Deirdre hesitated. "I… I've done some Saccharine Trust covers and," she swallowed guiltily, "NOFX. Just for fun," she added hastily. "Not on stage." And Jerrica would probably kick her out of Starlight House if she ever laid eyes on some of their album cover art!

Sheila made a show of looking around the room. "I don't see a stage here," she noted. "You know 'We Became Snakes'?"

Deirdre nodded. "Sure."

"Key of D," Mark said, his voice shifting at once from playful to professional, as he opened his own guitar case. "You play backup this time, and once we see what you can do, maybe you'll get a chance to take lead."

Deirdre nodded again. She took a deep breath to prepare herself and thought a quick prayer before she slung her guitar strap around her neck.

Please, don't let me screw this up!

"I'm sorry I took so long to tell you," Kimber finished. "And I wish you hadn't found out like this, but I was afraid you might…"

Aja exhaled. "Well, I guess that means all those times we were double-dating when we were younger, I never had to worry that you were going to steal my boyfriends."

"Like I was saying," Kimber reminded her, "it's not that I don't care for guys, too. Just that I don't care for them as much as I care for Stormer. But," she went on seriously, "I wouldn't date someone I knew you were into behind your back, even if you weren't already seeing them. If you were, then I probably wouldn't date them at all," she added. "I know I acted all boy-crazy back then, but anyone who would fool around on you—or any other girl—would fool around on me, too. Plus, making a play for someone already taken is just low," she added.

Aja nodded. "It's going to take some getting used to," she admitted. "And I'm probably going to mess up and say something wrong a few times."

"I've been there," Kimber said slowly. "Loads of times."

Aja laughed and after a minute, Kimber joined her. "You'll tell me if I'm out of line, right? I mean it. Don't just laugh stuff off if it's not funny. If I upset you and I don't realize it, you need to let me know."

Kimber nodded. "It's a deal." Something about Aja's expression made her ask, "What?"

Aja hesitated. "Are you… still okay sharing hotel rooms?"

"Am I okay?" Kimber repeated. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, I mean…" Aja took a deep breath. "I'm messing up, right? I just thought, if you were… Because I'm not… I mean…"

"You're wondering if I'm attracted to you and I've been fighting those feelings all this time?" Kimber asked gently.

"Kinda, maybe?" Aja asked, looking away.

Kimber shook her head. "Aja, you've been my sister for so long I can barely remember a time when you weren't. I love you, but not like that!" She grinned as Aja heaved a sigh of relief, and added, "Now, if you're asking whether I'd rather room with Stormer…"

Aja giggled. "Well, after Craig and I tie the knot, I'd say that's going to be a distinct possibility!"

Kimber's eyes opened very wide. Then a guffaw escaped her. "I can't wait!"

Emma had never been to a real day camp before. Summers were usually spent at the park, and sometimes, she'd run into some sort of supervised group and tried to slip in unnoticed. Early in the session, she could even get away with it for a few days. Sooner or later, though, someone would draw her aside and tell her that there was a fee to join and if she wanted, she could bring the registration form home "for her mother to sign her up." Emma would take the form, smile politely, and drop it in the nearest garbage can on her way back. The first couple of times, she'd been hopeful, but it hadn't taken her long to understand that there was simply no money for 'extras' in her life.

She looked around now at the wide, green, expanse where several dozen boys and girls milled about excitedly. Joellen, waved to beckon her over with one hand, her other brandishing a large, white, poster-board sign on which, "Girls, 11–12" was written prominently in a rainbow of Magic Marker.

A broad smile, one she was wearing more and more often these days, spread her lips, and she picked up the pace to reach the older girl, as she saw Casey and Stephanie hurrying in the same direction.

"Great," Joellen said. "You found us."

"Kinda hard to miss," Emma murmured, jerking her head toward the sign, and Joellen chuckled.

"Yeah, that was kind of the idea." She turned to another girl whose hair hung in tumbled sandy-brown ringlets. "Wendy, I'd like you to meet three of your bunkmates. Emma, Casey, Stephanie," she went on, "this is Wendy Moore.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-One

Wendy looked at the three girls standing before her and the smile froze on her face. She didn't want to do this. She couldn't! She had to. Michael was depending on her and Peter Pan never failed and rarely forgave those of his minions who did. And whether she liked it or not, she was one of his minions. Her shoulders slumped.

"Hey," Joellen said, concern writ large in her brown eyes, "what's the matter?"

Everything. And she couldn't say a word about it. She bit her lip. "Muir," she whispered, pointing to the name tag that Joellen had just pinned to her camp shirt. "It's spelled M-U-I-R, not M-O-O-R-E." It was close to her second name, Moira, which was why she'd chosen it. That and she really did have some distant relations in Scotland with that surname and that spelling. At least, she thought with a pang, she'd had some about a century ago, when she'd left her house in Bloomsbury forever. Who knew whether they were still about now?

Joellen grinned. "Sorry! Your guardian registered you over the phone; I guess we took the name down wrong. Here," she scratched something on her clipboard. "C'mon. Let me make you a new nametag and… problem solved!"

Wendy nodded and tried to look happy. If only all her problems could be dealt with so easily!

Phyllis gritted her teeth, while she listened to what Rory was telling her. "Guess I ought to give you some credit for telling me face to face instead of calling me during business hours and leaving a voice mail," she said.

Rory smiled. "Well, it did cross my mind," he admitted suavely. "But I think you deserve better."

"Don't we all," Phyllis snorted. "So, you're bankrolling her at the Hilton?"

"Redbury," he corrected. "I couldn't very well leave her in the middle of the Mojave."

Phyllis sighed. "No, I guess not. So."

"So," Rory repeated. "I don't suppose there's any way that you'd consider letting her perform with you? I've done some research and her career… Well, she doesn't seem to have much of one at the moment. Giving her some exposure now might change that."

Phyllis raised an eyebrow. "When I'm not trying to fit back into my leopard prints, I'm a social worker with the DCFS. Nobody promises anybody that they can keep churning out platinum albums and Grammys, year after year. If the music gigs aren't coming, let her train to do something else."

Rory nodded. "I know, but she's still hoping for a comeback and she told me she's willing to do the benefit, even there isn't any money involved."

Phyllis shook her head. "Baxter's already signed her contract. You want to buy her out and stick Roxy back in? Because that'd be a damned shoddy thing to do to that kid."

"You surprise me," Rory said slowly. "It strikes me as exactly the sort of thing you might have done ten years ago."

Phyllis shook her head again. "If that's how it strikes you, then you never knew me at all," she retorted. "Yeah, I might have pulled stuff like that to sabotage a rival band," she went on, remembering with a pang how she'd got her father to buy Howard Sands' movie studio, just so she could ruin Jem's movie. "But not my own! Do me a favor: do a little more research. Find out how many concerts Roxy's either cancelled or just not shown up for in the last couple of years. Track down the people she's been working with and ask them what they think of her. Then tell me what turns up. Or better yet, don't tell me. I don't need to know that bit. Just tell me if you still think I should hire her."

Rory frowned. "You're sure she's that big a liability?"

Phyllis sighed. "I try not to believe everything I read in the tabloids, but when even the mainstream entertainment mags don't have much to say and less of it's good… Do the research, Rory. Find out what's facts and what's gossip. Until you do, the subject is closed."

Rory nodded. "With the benefit less than six weeks away, I'll get my people on it this afternoon. Nice seeing you again, Pizzazz."

"It's Phyllis, now."

"I know."

Emma was having the time of her life. The other girls were great. Nobody was hassling her for being in the System, when more than half the camp was. She wasn't the best artist in her bunk or the fastest runner or the most talented dancer—she'd been thrilled to find out that the dance instructor was Giselle from Haven House—but she wasn't the worst, either. And even though she was the only girl in her bunk who couldn't swim, the only who was afraid to put her face underwater—and came up sputtering and coughing when she did—nobody cared.

On her second day of camp, she was splashing about in the lake, having fun with Casey and two of the other girls, when she spied Wendy sitting by herself, some distance away, with an unhappy expression on her face.

Just then, a bucket of lake water emptied over her head, and she gasped and coughed, as some of it went up her nose.

"Emma!" Casey exclaimed, laughter dying on her lips. "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to… Are you okay?"

Emma was still coughing. She turned to her friend, wiping her streaming eyes with one hand and covering her mouth to block her coughs with the other. As soon as she could, she gasped, "I'm okay! It's okay."

"I thought you were ready for it." Casey was still apologizing.

"I should have been," Emma admitted. "Don't worry about it."

"You sure?"

For answer, Emma brought her own pail up and flung its contents over her friend, who squealed, ducked under water, and surfaced, splashing Emma as she came up again.

The water fight continued for another few minutes. When Emma looked to where Wendy had been sitting before, the other girl was gone.

In her hotel room at the Redbury, Roxy stewed. She was back in LA, but Rory hadn't been to see her. He hadn't called. All he'd told her was that he'd pay for a week here—room and security deposit only; not room service and that he'd speak with Pizzazz. So far, she hadn't called either.

Well, fine! Roxy didn't want to get another guilt trip about Hana May. A new thought struck her. Suppose Pizzazz showed up here with Hana May? Roxy couldn't see her. If she saw her, she'd either run away or take the kid back and neither option would be good for either of them. If Pizzazz was such a great social worker, you'd think she'd know that Roxy wasn't mother material and never had been! The absolute best thing Roxy could do for her daughter was stay out of her life. She could be the cool, glamorous mom who Hana May could point to from afar and follow in the tabloids and never realize what a mess she actually was under all the bright lights and makeup. Besides, having a four-year-old trailing around was going to seriously cramp her style. You couldn't bring a four-year-old into a bar. You couldn't bring a four-year-old into a nightclub and expect her to stay in her chair while you performed. And the money she was making now wasn't enough to pay for childcare and the pick-me-ups she needed to get through her day. And that thought brought her back full circle to her first ones: Hana May didn't need to know just how screwed-up her mom was.

Roxy bit her lip. She really was a screw-up. No money, no career, no friends, no clue how to be a mother… Her eye fell on the small refrigerator under the desk. Maybe the previous occupant of the room had left behind a sandwich or something. She opened the door and her face lit up. It wasn't a room fridge, it was a bar fridge. And its contents promised to get her out of the sorry funk in which she currently found herself…

Wendy scaled the cork oak's knobby gray bark, welcoming its roughness on her bare arms and legs. Neverland was a jungle and many of its trees were thinner with smooth bark that proved a greater challenge. In the early days, before Pan had kept her shut up in a cage more than he let her roam, she'd become quite adept at climbing. It was hardly something that young ladies of a better class ought to have been doing, and perhaps, that was why she'd liked it so.

She wondered sometimes whether Pan had indulged her because he loathed grown-ups and their rules and responsibilities and the way they tried to force their children to grow up and… restrict themselves so quickly, or whether he'd always meant to yank her new freedom away and wanted to ensure that it would hurt her more when he did.

Why did Emma have to be so… nice? Why couldn't she have been sullen and hateful and a whiny little crybaby or a talebearer and hanger-on of the sort Wendy had detested when she'd been at school? Here, she'd barely exchanged two sentences with the girl and she already wanted her for a proper chum. Instead, she was going to… to… take away everything Emma had found. She would have to destroy this girl's happiness, if it was the last thing she did!

She didn't want to. She didn't know how she could. But she would have to. There was no choice.

Wendy crushed her fists into the bark of the cork oak rested her cheek against the solid trunk, and wept.

Emma wasn't sure if she should have wandered off so far from the others. She'd waited until free swim was over; one of the lifeguards had impressed on them the need to stay with their 'buddies', even if they were staying in the shallow water, and there had been no fewer than three drills to hammer the point home. Each pair of swim buddies had been given a number. When the lifeguard blew her whistle for the drill, buddies needed to join hands and shout out their number in order, while raising their clasped hands. "If one of you needs to come out to use the bathroom, you both do. Give your pair number to the lifeguard before you leave the waterfront, so we know not to drag the lake." Emma had been fairly certain that the lifeguard hadn't been joking.

Wendy hadn't gone into water. It wasn't compulsory; campers were supposed to stay in the area during free swim, but didn't need to go in if they didn't want to. Emma didn't imagine that the other girl had gone far, but the campgrounds were vast and there were areas where there seemed to be enough tree cover that Emma thought it must be forest.

It was to some of those trees that Emma drew now. She hesitated before passing into the wooded area, making certain that she could still see the cleared land. The last thing she wanted to do was get lost.

From not too far away, she could hear muffled sobs. Frowning, she turned her head toward the direction from which they were coming and then tilted it upwards. She took a few more steps closer. She thought it was Wendy, but through the branches, she couldn't be sure. She debated turning back. Clearly, whoever it was had come this way hoping for a bit of privacy. But, Emma realized, she couldn't just leave her alone, not when she was clearly upset. Instead, she called upwards, "Hey. Girl? Why are you crying?"

Wendy felt her heart plummet to the pit of her stomach, though she'd spent enough time in trees while being attacked by pirates' cannonballs and Lost Ones who always claimed to be 'just playing' to keep her perch and not let her emotions make her clumsy. In fact, it was far safer not to admit to having them, whether one was a well-bred young lady in London or a terrified girl at the mercy of a boy tyrant. It was self-preservation and force of habit that led her to swipe at her eyes and reply at once, "I'm not crying." Her voice barely trembled, she noted with some satisfaction.

Emma tilted her head to one side. "Uh-huh," she said flatly. "Seriously, what's wrong?"

I've been ordered to break your heart and destroy your happiness, and while I don't want to do it, my brother will die horribly if I don't. Of course, she couldn't say that! Unfortunately, she hadn't prepared a plausible lie for the occasion. And as she was, by nature, a truthful girl, she was hard-put to come up with a story on the spot. A story! Her eyebrows rose. She did know many stories; she could recite those at the drop of a hat! She just wasn't very good at concocting them on her own. But perhaps…

"Oh, well," she said. "You see, I was imagining that I wasn't in a tree at all. I'm in a tower," her voice took on a dreamy quality. "And there are no doors, so I can't escape. I've been cutting off my hair and saving it to braid into cords to make a rope ladder, but it won't reach more than halfway to the ground, and I've been at this for years and years and it's all so… hopeless!"

Despite herself, Emma found herself smiling. "Well," she said slowly, "I… guess someone could climb up the walls of the tower and help you get down."

Wendy blinked. "Y-you mean a handsome prince?"

Emma shook her head and gripped the tree trunk firmly. "Who says a princess can't do the rescuing too, sometimes? Hang on, Rapunzel," she laughed, "I'll be right up!"

And never mind that she'd never climbed a tree in her life before…

It had been like pulling teeth, but Roxy had finally managed to worm the location of the Misfits' practice session out of Riot. She was going to prove to them that she still deserved to be performing on stage with them! After all, she was a charter member of the band. She'd been there before this Baxter kid, before Jetta, hell, before Eric Raymond had caught them playing for tips in a grungy dive in Fairfax, around seventy miles north of San Jose and wondering whether they were ever going to get their big break. She'd had what it took then, and she had it now! She did, and she was going to prove it! She…

A hard, driving guitar riff startled her, and she ducked behind the support pillar in the auditorium. She couldn't see the band, so she guessed they couldn't see her either. She had to time this right, wait for her moment…

Damn, they sounded good. Hardcore good. Roxy risked taking a nervous glance at the stage, sliding along the surface of the pillar. There was Baxter, standing in her old place, and Pizzazz hadn't been lying when she'd said the kid could play. Then she leaned into her microphone, and Roxy felt her heart sink. The kid could sing, too.

Roxy stood in the shadows for another few minutes, before she carefully slipped out of the auditorium.

Nobody even noticed her doing it.

Roxy bit her lip and stalked hurriedly toward the parking lot. She'd never get back with the Misfits now. Well, not unless she played dirty.

Just like the good old days…

Wendy watched Emma's progress carefully. The other girl had tried shinnying up the trunk, but her efforts had been in vain. If she'd been trying to evade the pack of Lost Ones, they'd have had her trussed in a wicker cage by now. (Not that such a thing wouldn't happen eventually anyway. Pan often allowed her to think she stood a chance of escape, and even though she knew that a thought from him would turn a sturdy limb into a pliable vine—if he didn't choose to cause it to splinter instead—he always seemed to sense when she'd finally dared to hope that she'd actually gotten away, only to turn the tables on her in an instant and let the boys haul their 'Wendy-bird' back to her coop.)

After the first few failed attempts, though, Emma took a step back, sizing up her objective. Then she moved back several yards for a running start. When she was almost to the tree, she leaped, her palms landing flat on the lowest branch. As Wendy observed, the other girl pulled herself upwards, flipped into a handstand with a grace that even cat-like Felix had never matched, and then twisted right-side up, her feet firmly on the branch and her hands grasping reflexively for a branch just overhead. Walking sideways, she made her way toward Wendy's position and clambered up toward her. "Hey," she greeted her. "So, where's that hair ladder?"

Wendy giggled and tried not to feel guilty about what she was going to have to do.

"I must say, I was surprised when you asked to see me," Eric Raymond said, sounding every inch the business executive he'd been when Roxy had first laid eyes on him. If she focused on his face, she could easily believe that he was still wearing a suit and tie instead of a blue chambray shirt and the denim jeans she'd glimpsed before he'd sat down at the table opposite her.

Roxy shrugged. "Yeah, well. I need your help."

Eric's eyes narrowed. "Anything for a friend, of course," he said. "Though if it's something of a personal nature, I'm sure you know that all conversations are monitored here."

Roxy looked pointedly at one of the notices affixed to the wall that confirmed his statement. "I can read, you know," she snapped. It had just taken her a lot longer to be able to say it truthfully.

Eric only shrugged. "Delighted to hear you're doing better. Well, then. What sort of help were you looking for?"

Roxy winced. "Pizzazz is reuniting the Misfits and she's cut me from the roster. I want to know how to get her to change her mind."

Eric smiled. "Funny you should mention that," he said slowly. "It wasn't so long ago that she asked my help to get someone else to change their mind."

"Yeah?" Roxy snapped. "So?"

"Let's just say that the method she employed would hardly sit well with her current employer," Eric replied. "Now, obviously, I don't have all the facts, but you might want to talk to Serena Tannin for full details."

"Who the hell is Serena Tannin?"

Eric smiled. "Back in the day, she was the lead vocalist of the Limp Lizards. And let's just say that there are reasons that the fortune and fame acquired by the Misfits always passed them by."

"Yeah," Roxy shot back. "Because they were lousy, amateur hacks!"

Eric's smile became a knowing sneer. "Were they?" he asked slowly. "Were they really?"

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Two

Roxy's eyes narrowed. "Just what are you insinuating?" she demanded.

Eric shrugged. "If I were you, I'd look at their music reviews from their inception until, oh, about three months before that first Battle of the Bands that Starlight Music sponsored. And then," he said, "I'd ask myself what could possibly have changed."

Roxy shook her head. "I know you picked the competition for that contest," she said, taking care not to state aloud that Eric had rigged it by deliberately choosing bands of a far lower caliber than the Misfits to highlight their talent. Her lips curled in a sneer when, as though it were yesterday, she could hear Stormer's voice asking whether it wouldn't be better to win fairly.

Pizzazz made a rude noise. "Fair, unfair, who cares? What's important is that we win. And this way, we're gonna."

"Yeah," Stormer said, "but if we're already the best, then why do we have to compete against the worst bands in town? How does that prove anything?"

"Listen," Roxy snarled, "when that Battle of the Bands is over, everyone is gonna go home talking about how fantastic we were. Not, 'Yeah, they were good, but there was a lot of great talent besides.' Not, 'If it were up to me, I would've picked the first runner up.' All they're going to remember is the Misfits and how we blew the competition away. Got it?"

"I-I guess," Stormer said uncertainly, and Eric suavely changed the subject.

"I did," Eric confirmed. "But Stormer's protest did make me think. At that time, the Misfits were still virtual unknowns. It occurred to me that inviting one group that was already gaining traction as a… band to watch… would make you look even better when you outshone them. However, it was necessary to ensure that you would outshine them. And frankly, Emmet Benton's philanthropic activities meant that when I acquired my half of his recording studio, finances were a bit leaner than I'd hoped. Oh, I could keep the studio running, but after signing you, arranging the competition, and crafting the publicity campaign, well, apart from my not having the resources for it in the first place," he smiled, "let's just say that it wouldn't have gone well if I had been caught paying your stiffest competition to… choke."

Roxy's eyes grew wide. "You mean Pizzazz paid them to take a fall?"

Eric shrugged. "Just speculation. It's not as though I can prove anything. The only people who are certain to know the truth of it are Pizzazz herself… and Serena Tannin. I'd suggest doing a bit of homework and then, well, perhaps Pizzazz will find it in her heart to offer you your old place back with the band. I would imagine that at that point, your rehearsal schedule would keep you far too busy to have time to think about going public with your findings."

Roxy smiled.

"So, you're writing a song, truly?" Wendy asked, her eyes lighting up. "How very exciting!"

Emma shook her head. "It's not, really. It's a lot of work. And I keep hitting rough spots where the words aren't right."

"But you're still doing it," Wendy said, thinking how very different this was from Neverland, where one didn't need to do anything remotely resembling 'work' unless Peter thought it might be fun to make you. "Why?"

Emma shrugged. "I dunno. Everyone thinks I'm… good at it. Maybe it's my… thing. But it's still hard."

"You could give up," Wendy said.

"If I do that, then the Starlights don't have a song for the show," Emma said. "They're counting on me."

"Even though you aren't good at it?" Wendy asked, frowning a bit.

"I don't know if I am or not," Emma admitted. "I never tried before. But maybe with Kimber helping with the music, it'll be okay. I don't know. But I want to see if I can." She smiled uncertainly. "Does that make sense?"

Wendy squeezed her arm. "Of course it does," she said warmly. "And if you'd like to share your song with me, perhaps I can help you polish it, some."

Emma brightened at that. "Sure, I could do that," she said, and Wendy smiled back.

"I suppose we ought to be getting back to the others," Wendy sighed. "Thank you, Emma. I think you're the first friend I've made since I came here."

Emma felt herself warm at the words. "I guess I know what it's like to be new," she said. "A few months ago, I was living in Boston. I ran away from my foster placement and ended up... here."

Wendy's eyes widened. "Did you really?" she asked. "Oh, I wish we had more time. I'd like to hear more!" In the distance, they heard a counsellor's whistle blow to signal the end of the activity and time to regroup and she sighed. "Could you... do you think, that perhaps, after camp, we could go off together and talk more? I shan't be able to sleep tonight for wondering about all your adventures if you don't tell me this very day!"

Emma laughed. "It's not really that exciting!" she protested. "But... sure. I just need to let Joellen know and see if there's anyone else I need to get permission from."

"Anyone... else?"

Emma, already starting to shinny down toward the ground, looked up at her new friend with a sigh. "I've been kicked out of too many placements because I broke the house rules," she admitted. "I don't want to screw up, now that I'm finally in a good one. C'mon," she said, as the whistle blasted again. "Let's hurry."

"Mrs. Bailey?" Casey approached the housekeeper with a worried expression on her face. "Have you seen Emma anywhere?"

Mrs. Bailey opened her mouth to respond, but Casey kept talking at a breakneck pace. "We were going to play Monopoly before dinner, but she wasn't in the common room, and she wasn't at supper either. I haven't seen her since we got back from camp, and…" She finally had to pause for breath and the housekeeper could finally get a word in edgewise.

"Emma's actually out with a friend she made earlier in camp," she said. "I believe they're at the mall now. She knows to be back by lights-out, so I'm sure you'll see her later."

Casey's eyes lowered, but she did her best to smile. "Later," she repeated, trying not to sound too disappointed. "O-okay."

"Casey? Is anything wrong?"

Casey shook her head. "Of course not," she said a little too cheerfully. "I guess Emma must have said something about it and I… forgot. Thanks, Mrs. Bailey!" She spun on her heel and practically ran down the corridor.

Casey knew that she and Stephanie weren't Emma's only friends, but she'd thought that they were her closest. She didn't really mind if Emma was meeting other girls at camp either. But for Emma to just… go off without a word when they'd already made plans? That hurt. With a sigh, Casey headed back to the common room, hoping that the girls already there would have the TV tuned to something good.

Jerrica's eyebrows shot up, when Shana told her who her visitor was. She hadn't been expecting a call, not from her nor from anyone else, but she made her way downstairs to her sitting room, pausing at the kitchen to make sure that there was hot water in the kettle and ask the two girls sitting there if they could get some quick refreshments together.

She saw that Phyllis had already settled into one of the comfortable chairs, and was examining one of the knickknacks on her desk—an abstract blown glass piece that Kimber had given her several birthdays ago. Her guest set the piece down again gently, as Jerrica entered.

"Come to see how Emma's doing?" Jerrica asked, and Phyllis blinked.

"Actually, no," she said, "but we can cover that, too. I had a note to pop by next week about it."

"Um… okay," Jerrica said, feeling a little confused. "Then…?"

Phyllis sighed. "I need some advice, I guess. I might place foster kids, but you work with them every day. I've got this situation. If I were the kid, I'd want to know, even if I'd probably scream about it afterwards, but Hana May isn't me and I'm too emotionally involved to be sure I'm not projecting. So."

"So," Jerrica repeated, waiting.

After a moment, Phyllis sighed again. "I… uh… know I'm not great at thanking people, but I'm glad you were there when I took her in. I didn't know the first thing about raising a kid, except," she winced, "I knew I didn't want her to be the spoiled brat I turned out to be."

"Used to be," Jerrica corrected, with a smile, and after a moment, Phyllis smiled back.

"Yeah. Anyway. Roxy's back." She saw the surprise on Jerrica's face and nodded slightly. "Guess Riot didn't tell you."

"No, he didn't," Jerrica replied, shaking her head. "Back with the Misfits?"

"Back in town."

"Oh." Jerrica waited, but Phyllis didn't say anything else, as the silence stretched. "And…?" she prompted finally.

"And she hasn't mentioned Hana May. She hasn't shown the slightest interest in how she's doing, much less in seeing her. So far, the kid doesn't know. I'm pretty sure that if I tell her, she'll just get upset. But am I talking about her, or about me?"

"Your mother," Jerrica murmured, bracing for an angry retort which didn't come. Instead, Phyllis nodded in resignation.

"Ran out on me when I was about Hana May's age and I've never seen her since," she said dully. "I used to think maybe she'd come back to get me one day, but Daddy wouldn't let her take me and sent her away before I even knew she was there." She winced. "I spent a few years making his life hell, because it was easier for me to blame him for something that never happened than admit she didn't want me."

"From what you're saying, Roxy doesn't want her."

"Maybe she does," Phyllis said. "Maybe she just doesn't know it. Or maybe she knows how big a mess she is and she'd rather Hana May doesn't see her like this. Or maybe I do want her, so I'm not pushing hard enough for Roxy to take her. Or maybe I'm just," she swallowed hard, "doing exactly what I thought Daddy was doing and trying to protect Hana May from her and one day, when Hana May finds out that her mother was back in town and she didn't get to see her, she'll blame me for it and she won't believe me when I tell her that Roxy…" She started at the pressure on her hand and realized that Jerrica was squeezing it.

"Hey," she said. "You'll figure this out."

"Sure," Phyllis muttered. "And she'll hate me anyway."

"I doubt that."

"Yeah, well, that's because you're an annoying Pollyanna."

Jerrica shrugged. "I'll take that as a compliment. And it doesn't make me wrong." She smiled. "You've got this."

"I don't," Phyllis sighed. "But thanks for the vote of confidence. So. How is Emma doing?"

They hadn't stayed long at the mall. Window shopping didn't hold either girl's interest for long and while Wendy had seemed oblivious to the watchful eyes of the retail workers, Emma could feel herself tense. It wasn't like she didn't have money; Jerrica gave all the Starlight girls a weekly allowance and she'd been saving. But every suspicious look made her feel as though they knew about how she'd sneaked into movie theaters without buying a ticket back in Boston, and how she'd filched chocolate bars from her classmates' lunches and school supplies from their desks. Maybe it was all her imagination, but it seemed to her that they, that everyone really, was just waiting for her to put a foot wrong. Well, she wasn't going to, so there!

It wasn't until they left the mall for a nearby playground that Emma truly began enjoying herslef. Wendy might have been better at scaling the climbing bars, but her own trick of pulling up to a handstand rung by rung worked nearly as well, so long as she didn't pay attention to how high up she was. Finally, she sat down at the top of the apparatus. After a moment, Wendy joined her.

"I say," Wendy said, "there's quite the view. A pity we can't build a treehouse in that oak," she added, waving toward a nearby tree. "That would be simply marvelous."

Emma tilted her head quizzically. "Does everyone talk like that in England?" she asked, not meanly but curiously. "Simply marvelous. I say." She remembered another word her friend had used earlier. "Quaint?"

Wendy blushed. "Well, they did the last time I was there," she mumbled. "At least, my set did." She caught the twitch of Emma's lip as she pronounced the word 'set' and winced. "I've just done it again, I suppose."

"It's okay," Emma said with a shrug. "Until I came here, I'd never met anyone who wasn't from Boston or New York. At least," she frowned, "I don't think so. Maybe…" she shrugged again. She'd been through so many foster placements and changed schools so many times, that she'd stopped trying to get to know the people she met. She knew it wouldn't be long before she'd be gone again, so there hadn't been much point to it. Unless someone volunteered their information, she no longer asked. "I was just wondering."

"Oh, no offense taken," Wendy said at once. "I suppose it's just one more way in which I never quite fit in anywhere."

Emma blinked. "You, too?" she asked.

Wendy paused. "But surely, you must fit in here! Why look at how those other girls are mad to be with you."

"Still can't get used to that," Emma admitted. "I mean, I'm used to it happening whenever I get to a new place because I'm… new. I'm not used to it lasting this long, though."

"Perhaps, you ought to enjoy it as long as you can?"

"I'm trying to," Emma said with a small smile. "But sooner or later, they're going to figure out that I'm not anything special and then I'll be right back where I started." Her face fell. "Unless they ship me back to Boston before that. Actually, no, then I'll really be right back where I started."

Wendy sighed, thinking about her own temporary respite from what was now her normal existence. "I… know what that must feel like," she admitted softly. "There are places I've been to myself that I'm in no hurry to return to."

"Want to share?" Emma offered.

Wendy shook her head. "Another time, perhaps?"

"Sure."

She heaved a sigh of relief. Then she pasted on a bright smile. "Race you down!" she exclaimed, already springing for the tree trunk.

"Hey! No fair; I wasn't ready!" Emma exclaimed, laughing as she hurried to do the same.

"Relax," Stephanie said, giving Casey a friendly poke. "She's allowed to make friends besides us."

Casey sighed. "I know! That's what I keep telling myself! But still, she meets someone new… with a fancy accent… and perfect hair… and…"

Stephanie shook her head. "Her hair isn't all that perfect. Plus her teeth are crooked. Anyway, just because Emma hung out with her today doesn't mean she won't hang out with us tomorrow. Maybe we can ask them both to sit with us at lunch."

Casey wrung her hands together nervously. "What if she's a snob? What if she's boring?"

"What if she's nice?" Stephanie countered. "What if she's cool?"

"Then what would Emma need us for?"

Stephanie tilted her head. "Are you suggesting that we aren't nice? Or cool?"

Casey smiled faintly. "No. But we don't have that accent."

"We also don't have crooked teeth. Bet everything works out."

"So, Pizzazz paid you to take a dive," Roxy repeated.

"Well, yeah," Serena replied. "But—"

"Hey, I get it," Roxy cut her off. "You needed the money and it was the gig that kept on giving. I don't blame you."

Serena started to speak again, but Roxy was already pushing her chair away from the table. "Anyway, thanks. That's all I needed to know. And hey, if this works out, maybe you'll finally get the chance she paid you to give up. Win-win!"

"Roxy," Serena called after her. "Wait! It's not what you—" But Roxy was already pushing open the glass door of the coffee shop and hurrying down the boulevard. Serena shook her head and looked at the half-full latte that the white-haired woman had left behind on the table. "...Think," she finished softly.

She re-entered Starlight House feeling like she was floating on a cloud. They'd gone back to the mall for dinner at the food court, where she'd started to tell Wendy about her life in Boston. She hadn't gone into too much detail; opening up, especially about the more painful bits, didn't come easily to her, but she'd said more than she'd thought she would and if Wendy had been a little bit too sympathetic, she hadn't made her feel like a pathetic loser either. She was brought back down to Earth by a voice calling behind her, "Emma, might I have a word?"

Emma looked into the kindly face of Mrs. Bailey. "I-I got permission to stay out, as long as I was back by lights out," she said. "It's nowhere near that late!"

Mrs. Bailey shook her head. "Oh, I know that, sweetheart," she said. "I guess I'm just a little surprised that you didn't mention your plans to your friends."

Emma blinked. "My…" All at once, her jaw dropped. "I-I didn't think they'd…" She winced. "I never meant—it's just…" Her eyes were burning and she whirled around quickly, flinching as the housekeeper laid a hand on her shoulder. Whispering now, Emma said, "They don't hate me, do they?"

"Of course not," Mrs. Bailey reassured her. "They're a bit hurt and confused, but they wouldn't be either of those things if they hated you."

"In the other group houses," Emma mumbled, and Mrs. Bailey noted that she did not call them homes, "other kids were sometimes friendly, but nobody cared if I went or stayed. You just… I just… kept my head down, tried not make waves…"

"Well, you've certainly started lifting it here!" Mrs. Bailey remarked. "Emma, whatever things were like in your past, that's not how it is here. Unless you want it to be," she added.

"I don't," Emma replied. "And I didn't mean to ditch them." She looked up hesitantly. "You're really sure they don't hate me?"

"You've got almost an hour till lights out," Mrs. Bailey said. "Why not go up to the common room and ask them yourself? And don't think you need to choose between them and your new friend either. Friendship is a two-way street, so I can't tell you that you can have as many friends as you'd like, but you certainly don't need to restrict your circle to the same two girls." She smiled. "Maybe next time, you'll all go as one big group."

A tentative smile played on Emma's lips. "Maybe…" she said thoughtfully. "Maybe. And I'll go find Casey and Stephanie now." She started down the hall, but turned back just before she reached the stairs to say, "Thanks, Mrs. Bailey."

"You're quite welcome."

Phyllis made a face as she held the phone away from her ear. Roxy always seemed to get louder after she'd been drinking. "It's late," she snapped. "You've been partying. Call me when you're sober."

"Oh, I'm sober enough for this!" Roxy laughed. "I've been talking to Serena Tannin. And if you don't want the tabloids to know what you did to her, you're gonna let me back into the Misfits. And you're going to get Stormer to write a bass guitar solo in every number we do—even if there wasn't one there in the first place!

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Three

Phyllis looked at Roxy in disbelief. Shaking her head, she murmured, "Are you for real?"

If it had been the old Pizzazz, raging and shrieking, Roxy might have been able to keep her temper. The woman who scoffed dismissively at her and made her feel like she was back in grade school and being called on to read aloud when she barely knew her ABCs brought her rage to the boiling point. "You still think you have it all?" she demanded. "Cushy job, Beverly Hills mansion, a comeback concert in the works, huh? Well don't discount all the little people who got you where you are, because we can take it all away in a heartbeat!"

Phyllis blinked. "How much did you have to drink before coming over here?" she sighed.

"Don't change the subject!"

"Roxy…" Phyllis sighed. "Look. Go home. Uh… back to the hotel. Sleep it off. Call me when you're sober, if you still remember this conversation. We'll talk then."

"You can't get rid of me that easily!" Roxy snapped.

"No," Phyllis replied, "but building security can." She reached for the phone. "Do I need to call them?"

Roxy pushed back her chair and stood up, slamming her hand down on Phyllis's desk. "I'm gonna call you in three days and you'd better come across with what I'm asking, or I'm going to the press!"

Phyllis hesitated. Then she said, "The latest issue of Variety comes out in two. It'll feature an interview that Serena and I did together, where I fess up to all that. Now, you can start the gossip mill running early if you want to, but in less than forty-eight hours, it won't matter."

Roxy's jaw dropped. "You're lying," she stammered. "There's no way in hell that you'd—"

"I also spoke to Riot. The Limp Lizards are going to be the benefit's opening act." She shook her head slowly, but she was smiling. "These days, I help kids. Some of them are every bit as messed up as I was. It's… kinda weird trying to be a good example, but I'm done with trying to sweep my old crap under the rug. Actually," she went on, "I think it helps: knowing that the social worker telling them they can turn their lives around did some wild stuff when she wasn't much older than they are, but got past it lets them know there's hope for them, too." She met her former bandmate's stare levelly. "Just like there is for you, too."

"If I sober up and turn into you?" Roxy scoffed. "No thanks. And if you're lying about that interview," she added, whirling on her heel and heading for the door, "you can kiss your establishment life goodbye!"

The door slammed behind her.

Phyllis winced.

"Well?"

Wendy sighed. "I'll do what I have to. I just wish I could have done it without… meeting her." John removed his round spectacles and polished them with his finger and Wendy tutted at him. "Now, you know that's only going to smudge them," she said, reaching for a paper handkerchief—a tissue—from the cardboard box on the dresser and plucking the offending object from his hand. "Here."

John took them, smiling a bit quizzically at her. "Still trying to mother me? Even now?"

"I'll always be your elder sister, John," Wendy told him primly. "No matter how young I stay."

"And because you're the responsible one, you'll look after Michael as well, right?"

Wendy nodded glumly. "I only wish she wasn't so… nice," she admitted. "If we'd been at school together, I daresay we'd have been such good chums."

"I wish I could tell you it was possible here," John told her softly. "But good chums don't do as you must. At least, if you intend to keep on being a good sister."

Wendy nodded again. "You and Michael are all the family I have left now," she said. "I shan't let either of you down." She heaved a great sigh. "Or Pan either."

"And then she just laughed in my face!" Roxy finished. "To think we used to be friends!"

Stormer smiled weakly. "Well, you were trying to blackmail her…" she murmured.

"I shouldn't have had to! The Misfits were a team!" Roxy snapped. "All for one, one for all!"

"Uh…" Stormer twisted her fingers together and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "I… guess I don't remember it being like that."

Roxy's eyes seemed to bulge. "What?"

"I don't remember it being like that," Stormer repeated, her voice steadying. "I remember being thrilled to be a Misfit, sure. I loved performing on stage and when we were up there, we were fantastic."

"The best!"

She wasn't finished. "But when we weren't on stage, I didn't feel like I belonged. It's funny," she continued. "In high school, I always did feel like a misfit—small 'm'," she added. "When you and Phyllis found me and told me the name of the group, it felt like I was taking that label and owning it. The truth is," she sighed, "I wasn't… I only ever wanted to perform. I wanted to win awards, but not if I had to cheat to do it."

"We didn't have to," Roxy protested. "But it was fun!"

"Not for me." She took a breath. "Do you remember when we wanted to get into Howard Sands' mansion, after Jerrica and the Starlight girls moved in?"

Roxy grinned. "Sure!"

"Do you remember how?"

That was harder. The white-haired woman frowned for a moment. "Yeah… yeah!" she said, smiling once more. "We bribed that little blonde girl… Amy? Ashley!"

"No," Stormer said. "I bribed her. Pizzazz was a billionaire's daughter, but when she told you pay Ashley the thirty bucks, you didn't point that out. You passed the buck and told me to do it."

"So? Why didn't you say 'no'?"

Stormer sighed. "You don't know how many times I asked myself that question. Oh, not about the thirty bucks; I mostly forgot about the whole thing once I started getting royalty checks from our first album. But about why I always ended up playing the patsy? I guess it was because I'd always been the oddball until then, and if bribing a teenager here and switching a dressing room sign with a janitor's closet sign there meant I was suddenly one of the cool kids?" She winced. "Let's just say I wasn't going to say what I was thinking and risk getting kicked out of the band." She saw Roxy start to open her mouth and went on quickly, "It doesn't matter whether you actually would have done it; it's what I felt would happen. Right or wrong, it doesn't matter. I wanted to fit in, and if pulling dirty tricks and shelling out petty cash was what it took, I told myself it was a price I was willing to pay." She sighed. "Let's agree I had self-esteem issues back then. I still do. My point is, we were a band. We had some great times. But we were never the three… or four musketeers. We just weren't."

Roxy's jaw was gaping by the time Stormer was done. "What's happened to you?"

Stormer shrugged. "I dunno. Guess it took me a little longer to grow up."

Roxy's incredulity gave way almost instantly to rage. "Grow up?" she repeated, slamming her coffee mug down on the table so hard that it shook. "Well, if you and Pizzazz are what pass for adults around here, it's a damned good thing I'm not one of you!"

"Roxy…"

"Never mind!" she leaped to her feet, practically knocking her chair backwards as she did. "I'll just take my fun-loving, immature self elsewhere!"

And with that, she flounced out of Stormer's apartment, slamming the door behind her.

"So," Casey said, smiling at Wendy. "You're from London, right?"

Wendy nodded. "Yes, though it's been some time since I've been back. I'm told it's quite changed."

"It can't have changed that much, though," Stephanie protested. "I mean, how long has it been since you left? You've still got an accent." She clapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry," she added quickly. "No offense meant."

"Nor taken," Wendy assured her. "It just feels as though London was another life. I can hardly remember it now. Were I to return, I feel as though I'd scarcely recognize it."

The other three girls absorbed that. Then, Stephanie nodded. "So, what sort of things did you like to do?"

"Oh dancing and drawing," Wendy said slowly. "I did like jumping rope. And going on outings to parks and museums."

"Is that where you learned to climb trees?" Emma asked.

"In a museum, you mean?" Wendy murmured innocently, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. The other three girls giggled and a moment later, Wendy joined in.

"What kind of music do you listen to?" Casey asked. "You into MCC like Emma?"

"Emceecee?" Wendy repeated blankly. "Oh, but I did like going to concerts in Kensington Gardens and Mother did take me to see the Nutcracker the…" Her voice broke. "The Christmas before I lost her," she whispered.

"Hey," Stephanie said. "Hey, sorry. We didn't know."

"Well," Wendy said, with a forced smile, "how could you have?"

"I've been in foster care since I was eight," Casey said. "And Stephanie since she was five."

Emma raised her hand resignedly. "I was found on the side of the highway as a newborn. I've been in the system my whole life."

"Oh my," Wendy murmured. "I-I can hardly imagine."

"Yeah, well, life sucks sometimes," she said. "Uh… sorry about your mom."

Wendy nodded. "Just as you said," she replied. "Life… 'sucks'." The word fell awkwardly from her lips and she rather hoped that she'd only said something slangy and not vulgar. Then Emma smiled and the other two girls laughed and for a moment, Wendy almost felt like she belonged.

"You've been pretty quiet," Kimber remarked.

Stormer blinked. "Sorry, what?"

"Hey. Is everything okay?"

The concern in Kimber's eyes made her smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just had a run-in with Roxy."

"I think Jerrica mentioned she was back in town," Kimber nodded. "Bad?"

Stormer frowned. "You know," she said slowly, "I'm not so sure it was. I-I mean, she got mad when I didn't go along with what she was saying and stormed off." Her lips twitched. "Yeah, she stormed away from Stormer. Sounds like it should've been my exit. I know. And it wasn't great getting screeched at," she added, wincing a bit. "But… I finally got a chance to talk about some of the stuff that always bugged me."

"The stuff that had you drowning your sorrows with a three-scoop hot fudge sundae and a double vanilla coke at that night club?"

"You forgot the banana," Stormer said, smiling a bit more.

"Yeah, well, bananas are evil." Kimber replied with a straight face.

Stormer giggled at that and Kimber joined in a moment later. "To answer your question," Stormer said, her face turning serious once more, "yeah. I mean, back then, I just threw a tantrum and walked out. This time, I don't know. I just said what was bugging me like a normal person and she had the tantrum. Weird."

"Weird?" Kimber repeated. "You do mean weird-weird, right? I mean, that's not the new slang for 'great'?" With an exaggeratedly worried look, she added quickly, "I can still say 'outrageous' without sounding dorky, right?"

"You can say 'groovy' for all I care," Stormer assured her. "But no, I mean weird. Kind of... freeing, actually." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "You know I'm a couple of years younger than the other Misfits. I always sort of felt like they were doing me some big favor letting me hang out with them. Don't say it," she added.

"Say what?"

"Whatever you were going to say to cheer me up. Back then I didn't know any better. Now," she shrugged, "I do. I guess I just feel like Phyllis, Jetta and me? We all grew up and grew out of the dirty tricks and ditched the rebel attitude. I mean, I think we'll probably pick that last part up again when we're up on stage, but when the show's over, we'll just go back to who we are now. Roxy's still… Roxy."

"You okay?"

Stormer grinned. "I'm okay," she sang softly. "I have faith in myself..." Her smile fell away. "I guess I just… wish I had more in Roxy." She blinked. "Whoa. I think that's why I'm still a little down. Not because I'm hurt by what Roxy said to me, but because I'm sorry she's still stuck back there and we've… moved on." She sighed. "I wish we were in one of those old-time musicals where you go into this big production number and by the time you're done, everyone's smiling and singing and dancing together and you just know that everything's going to work out."

"Welcome to the real world," Kimber sighed. "Of course, if you think a bit of jamming will help…"

Stormer thought about it. "Know where I can get a spare keytar?"

Kimber beamed.

Emma hadn't looked at her song lyrics in over a week. When she pulled out her lined notebook and reread what she'd written, her eyes widened. "No way," she whispered. "It's… it still doesn't suck."

But it was still only one verse and a line that didn't work to start the next one. Emma took the cap off her pen and set it on the other end so she wouldn't lose it. Then she frowned at the page. She still liked that line. What rhymed with 'okay'? Lots of things. Bay, day, way… away. That might work. After all, starlight came from stars and stars were in the sky, away from the ground. One eyebrow rose.

Run on faith and we'll be okay

Watch the ground as it's fading away

Oh, she liked the sound of that! It still didn't feel right to begin the next verse, though. She looked at what she'd already written. Her first verse started with a short line. Three words. Three beats. Either the second verse should do the same thing, or she should make the first verse's line longer. Emma shook her head. She liked the first verse just the way it was. Okay, so then…

She nibbled briefly on her pen cap and thought. If the ground was moving away… was the song about going to the stars? To space? She'd never been that into science fiction, but she'd picked up a few things from Saturday morning cartoons and the odd TV show in some of her foster situations. Bits and pieces, really, not much she could use… A line surfaced in her memory; she couldn't say from where. Something about the 'space-time continuum'. Emma had no idea what that meant, but if space and time went together… Maybe she could use that. She considered.

Time and space

All right. That was her three beats. What came next? Well, if she was writing about running away to the stars, leaving everything behind… what could you outrun in space? UFOs, asteroids, Darth Vader, Superman—nah, only if you had super speed. Besides, why would you want to outrun Superman unless you were a criminal? But this wasn't about running away. It was about running to or toward or past. It was about forgetting all that stuff that got you down and leaving it behind in the dust. Was there dust in space? Asteroid dust, moon dust… but that was… It was dusty. Dull. Not what she wanted. She wanted… Her eyes opened wide. She looked at her page again.

Time and space

She hesitated. Then she added,

Like stardust they will blow away

That… worked. She was smiling and nodding as she looked at the other two lines she'd written. If they ended the verse…

Time and space
Like stardust they will blow away
Run on faith and we'll be okay
Watch the ground as it's fading away

Yes! Smiling, she leaned down and wrote some more:

Up in the atmosphere we can disappear

Hearts will collide

And, just like that, she hit another wall. She had no idea what came next. After frowning at the page for what felt like a solid ten minutes, she pushed it aside and got up. Then, after a moment's hesitation, she caught up the paper again and headed downstairs.

It wasn't as though there weren't a few musicians in the house right now! Maybe one of them could help her!

"Hey, Emma!" Kimber stopped playing long enough to introduce her to Stormer. "How's the song coming?"

Emma hesitated. Now that the moment had come, she was suddenly loth to hand her words over. No matter what Kimber had shown her a week or so ago, her lyrics were going to sound so… babyish. Maybe they'd be okay if they were set to the tune of 'Old MacDonald Had a Farm', she thought dryly. Aloud she only said, "Here," as she held out her page.

Kimber scanned the lyrics carefully, nodding a bit as she read. Then she handed the paper to Stormer. "You write better music than I do," she said. "What do you think?"

Stormer's eyes narrowed. "It needs more."

"I know," Emma said. "But it took so much out of me writing these two verses, I wanted to know if what I had was any good or if I should just rip it up and start fresh!"

"Don't rip it up," Stormer told her seriously. "But don't go thinking you've got a verse and a chorus either. I think you have two verses. You still need a chorus. And maybe a pre-chorus and a bridge…"

"Pre-chorus? Bridge?" Emma repeated, frowning.

"Well, a bridge is a couple of lines that sort of comes between two rounds of the chorus. Like in "One Moment in Time," Stormer explained. "You've got your stanzas," she continued, playing soft accompaniment on her keytar:

Each day I live

I want to be

A day to give

The best of me

I'm only one

But not alone

My finest day

Is yet unknown

"That Diana Ross?" Kimber asked, with a frown.

"Whitney Houston. For the '88 Olympics," Stormer corrected. "There are another couple of stanzas like that before you hit the chorus." She closed her eyes and rose to her feet, concentrating.

Give me one moment in time

When I'm more than I thought I could be

When all of my dreams are a heartbeat away

And the answers are all up to me

Give me one moment in time

When I'm racing with destiny

And in that one moment in time

I will feel eternity

The words seemed to burn into Emma's heart. She felt like she was soaring with the melody. "Whoa," she whispered, as Stormer opened her eyes once more.

"I know," the blue-haired woman laughed. "It's that intense, isn't it? But the bridge… that's what comes after the second chorus. Here." She played the notes of the chorus once more, but she didn't return to the slower, measured lines of the earlier stanzas. Instead, her voice rose in a strong crescendo as she belted out,

You're a winner

For a lifetime

If you seize that one moment in time

Make it shine

"And then you repeat the chorus again," she went on. "It just… takes it to a new level."

"I get it," Emma said. "What was that other thing? A pre-chorus?"

"Well, it's sort of like a bridge that segues... um… connects… the verses to the chorus. It sort of helps with the build-up. Here, let me see if I can come up with something that works with what you've written so far… and I'll show you what I mean."

She looked at Emma's paper again, frowned, smiled, and frowned again. Her fingers strummed lightly on the keytar, stopped, then started again with a slightly different melody.

Come with me
Chasing dreams, making history
We'll find a way and a place to be
Far away, finding new memories

"That's not…" Emma whispered, eyes round. "Is it really that good?"

"I told you," Kimber grinned. "With the right music…" She leaned over to look over Stormer's shoulder and joined on the second stanza.

Time and space
Like stardust, they will blow away
Run on faith and we'll be okay
Watch the ground as it's fading away

"I see what she means, though," Kimber said. "It needs something before the chorus."

"What chorus?" Emma asked.

"The one you haven't written yet," Stormer said, with a laugh. "But when you do..." She bent down and unzipped a large bag beside her. "Lemme just make you a cassette of the tune I'm hearing. If it's not the song you're hearing, don't worry about it; it's your song, not mine. But it'll at least give you an idea of the meter you're probably looking for."

"Meter?" Emma repeated. "I-I don't know the metric system very well."

"Not that kind of meter," Stormer explained. "I mean, like, the beat."

"Oh," Emma felt her face grow hot and Kimber gave her arm a friendly poke.

"You'll learn," she said. "We did."

"You think I can do it?" Emma whispered. "Like, you don't think I'm crazy for thinking I can write a song when I can't even read music?"

"But you can read English," Kimber grinned. "You work on the lyrics; let Stormer and me help with the music. Bet between us, we can create something…"

"…Truly outrageous?" Stormer finished.

"Now you're talking!"

"So, now you've befriended all of them," John translated flatly after Wendy had made her report.

The girl shook her head. "If you must know, it's they who've befriended me. And really, John, where's the harm in that?"

John shook his head. "Haven't you been hurt enough, Wendy? You know this can't last. And anyway, I thought the plan was to monopolize Emma's attention until those other girls drifted away, and then abandon her yourself. Not to join their little clique."

Back in London, Wendy might have stamped her foot, but she'd been here long enough to recognize how childish that would seem. "Oh, you're just a boy and you don't understand!"

"I do understand," John informed her icily. "You want friends about you, and you're prepared to abandon Michael and your mission if you can have them." His face twisted into something so ugly that Wendy scarcely recognized him. "Well, aren't you a selfish little beast."

"That's not fair!" Wendy protested furiously. "None of this is! How do you expect me to win Emma away from her friends when they all live together and I come back here at the end of the day? If you want me to have any chance, you need to… to tell the authorities I'm a foundling and get me placed where she is!"

"If it were that simple," John said, his voice still cold, "don't you imagine I'd have done so from the start? Oh, having you declared a foundling is easy enough. I could place a call to the authorities right now and tell them that I've lost my employment, am about to lose this flat, and can't see my way to looking after you and they'll likely take you at once."

"Then… I don't understand," Wendy said with a puzzled frown.

"Do you imagine that the place where Emma's living is the only house where orphaned and abandoned girls might be sent? There are more than eighty-one thousand children in foster care in this state alone. Nearly half of them are looked after by relatives, but many are billeted with other families and more than eight thousand five hundred are in group homes like she is. Once you're taken into care, while it's likely you'll remain in this city, I can't even promise you that much. And as for the odds of your ending up in the same group home where Emma is…"

"Well, couldn't we… I don't know, ask them? The authorities at Emma's residence or the authorities who'd decide where to place me, I mean. We could tell them I've already made friends there and I'd want to be with them and surely—"

"At best?" John said. "Yes, we can ask. Perhaps, the person in charge of that group home could request to foster you specifically—unless the home is already at the maximum capacity allowed under the law. There's still no guarantee that petition will be granted. And meanwhile, it's not even certain that you'd be able to stay there while the matter was decided." He sighed heavily. "Don't think Michael and I didn't look into this, back when we still thought that there was a chance we could convince Pan to let us take you out of Neverland. It's all very bureaucratic now and the government keeps rather good records of all the children it oversees. The days when one could leave a swaddled infant in a basket on a doorstep with a note asking the residents to 'please look after our little one' are long gone, and you're rather too big to swaddle anyway," he added with a weak smile.

Wendy didn't warm to it. "Don't be such a silly," she snapped. "And don't you dare say I don't care about Michael, when you know perfectly well that I do! I can't help liking the company of girls my own age enough to forget myself for a time, but you needn't worry. I shan't forget what I'm doing here, no matter what you think!"

This time, when she stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her, she managed to find herself in the hallway beyond instead of in the bedroom closet.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Four

Rory Llewellyn listened intently. "I appreciate your letting me know, Pizzazz," he said. "I doubt it'll be a problem, but I'll inform our PR people, all the same."

"Hey," Phyllis said. "I could be wrong."

"You must admit that to go from wanting to participate in the benefit to wanting to sabotage it is a bit of a stretch."

"You ask me, Riot," Phyllis said with a tinge of sadness, "Roxy doesn't care one way or the other about the benefit. She's miffed because we replaced her and now she wants to get back at me and she doesn't care who or what else gets hurt in the process."

"You sound fairly convinced. Why?"

"Because," her voice sounded tired on the other end of the phone, "back in the day, she wouldn't have been the only one with that mindset. Or do I need to refresh your memory?"

"No."

"We do have one thing going for us," Phyllis said a bit more brightly.

"Oh?" Riot said. "And what might that be?"

"When it came to dirty tricks," Phyllis said, "Roxy could come up with more ideas than I could and I wasn't exactly a slouch in that department. But when it came to executing them? I was the one with the bottomless bank account. Crude stuff like grabbing a fire axe and trashing the stage? Sure. But if she has to bribe a worker to get inside… how much money did you give her out of the goodness of your heart anyway, Llewellyn?"

"A thousand in cash and a week at the Redbury. I'm paying her room service tab, too," he added.

"You're a good man, Rory," Phyllis said seriously.

"Kind of you to say so," Rory bantered back. He sighed. "I've done that checking you suggested and…"

There was a heaviness in his voice as he let it trail off that prompted Phyllis to ask, "That bad?"

He sighed again. "Suffice to say that if you were to bring her back into your band, I'd probably need to take out a considerably larger liability policy. And the number of no-shows she's accrued… Let's just say I'd need some ironclad guarantees that she'd be on stage, committed, and stone-cold sober before I'd consider having her perform."

"Yeah," Phyllis said, blowing air out through her bottom lip. "I sorta figured."

The fast food restaurant was noisy, even though the lunch rush had been over for an hour. Deirdre was working here for the summer, and this was her first break since her co-worker had given her this message. "Hi, Phyllis," she said, projecting rather than shouting to be heard over the crowds. "Yeah, tomorrow at four-thirty works; I'll see you there. Sorry about the noise."

She hung up the phone with a smile on her face. As she made her way to the ladies room to freshen up before her break was over, she completely missed the white-haired woman in sunglasses, whose nose was buried deep in a book she wasn't reading. The smile on the white-haired woman's face was nearly as broad as Deirdre's, but it was a great deal nastier.

"Hey! Hey, you! Yeah, you, in the cap!" Deirdre turned in response to the rough voice shouting loudly behind her. "I thought it was you. Deirdre Baxter, am I right?"

"Uh… yeah," Deirdre tensed as she recognized the woman now approaching her at a trot. "Roxy, right?"

"You remember!" Roxy sounded genuinely pleased.

Deirdre nodded, but her answering smile felt stiff and tight. She did remember Roxy, but not with fondness. "What can I do for you?" she asked, her tone guarded.

"Nothing," Roxy said. "I heard you're taking over for me in the Misfits and… I just wanted to let you know: no hard feelings."

"Yeah?" Deirdre said, wondering whether Roxy had a twin sister nobody else knew about.

"I mean it," Roxy assured her. "Yeah, I'm ticked off that Pizzazz cut me, but… that's between her and me, yannow?"

"Uh… okay," Deirdre said. "Thanks. Um… I'm sort of running a little late right now, sorry. Was there anything else?"

"Huh?" Roxy blinked. "Oh. No, you go do what'cha gotta. But if you've got some time, like tomorrow, maybe… Well, I know I blew my chance of getting back together with the band, but maybe I could teach you some of the notes I played that weren't in the original arrangements." She smiled self-consciously. "Sometimes, when I was up there, I sort of got into the moment and started improvising. Fans used to love it," she added wistfully. "Maybe if you learn some of those riffs, it'll be… Nah. It won't be as good as being up there myself, but it'll be… something. What do you say?"

Deirdre hesitated. "I'm starting at five a.m. tomorrow; I'll be done at one. There's someplace I need to be at four-thirty, but… How long do you think it'll take?"

Roxy smiled at the yearning in the younger woman's eyes. "For you to figure things out?" she asked. "Not very long." In an undertone, she added, "not very long at all…"

"So," Kimber asked. "How about it?"

Stormer hesitated. "I… What if someone sees?"

"Well," Kimber said slowly, "we can either say we were scouting out a possible opening act, or we just didn't know." She winced. "I thought maybe we could go out together somewhere and not have to pretend. That's all."

"I hear that," Stormer admitted ruefully. "Well, if we go to the Palms, we definitely won't. Only thing is, that place gets a lot of celebrities. Joplin used to go there. And Jim Morrison. What I mean is, if some photographer is there hoping to snap a celebrity photo… Craig already knows about me and if my folks don't suspect it already, well, I think they'll be cool once the initial shock wears off. But are you ready for Jerrica to find out?"

Kimber swallowed. "I…" She took a deep breath. "Well, it's not like she doesn't know about secrets."

"You've said that before," Stormer said with a puzzled frown. "I-I don't want to pry. Unless you're bringing it up because you want me to pry, I mean."

Kimber shook her head. "I don't," she admitted. "Oh, what the heck? If anyone asks, we've heard about the place and we were curious to see what it was like. That's not a cover story; it's the truth! We're going!"

Stormer grinned. "You're on. I'll swing by Starlight House after my Misfits rehearsal and pick you up… probably at eight. I'll call if we're still going strong at seven-thirty."

"Sounds like a plan," Kimber nodded. "Do they have a dress code?"

"I dunno, but if I were you, I'd wear something glamorous!" Stormer shrugged. "Or outrageous. Like always."

Kimber laughed.

Emma was trying to remember the melody that Stormer had written for her on the spur of the moment the other day. She thought she almost had it, but then it sort of seemed to blur into "Don't Stop Believin'," or maybe some song she'd heard/watched on MTV she couldn't recall the name of now.

She looked at what she'd written down already.

Come with me
We're chasin' dreams, makin' history
We'll find a way and a place to be
Far away, findin' new memories

Time and space
Like stardust they will blow away
Run on faith and we'll be okay
Watch the ground as it's fading away

Stormer had said that she needed some sort of 'hook' that would flow into the chorus. Emma wasn't completely sure she understood. She didn't even have a chorus yet. Frowning, she read over what she'd written. Okay. So if the song was about leaving the ground, about flying, then…

Up in the sky, lookin' down the night
We are the Starlights, Starlights

That… that actually didn't suck.

Between the moon and the city lights
We are the Starlights, Starlights

She hesitated and then added one more word on a new line:

Starlights

She had a chorus. She wasn't sure about a hook, but she had a chorus and it didn't suck. She couldn't wait until she saw Stormer or Kimber again.

Deirdre stuck one hand in her pocket, reassuring herself that her wallet was still there. She'd never been to this neighborhood alone before, and if she couldn't find the address soon, she was just going to turn around and head right back to the Westlake/MacArthur Park subway station and take the B-line home. All the same, her other hand was sweating as she clutched her guitar case tightly.

Unexpectedly, an arm wrapped around her shoulders and she stifled a shriek as a boisterous voice exclaimed, "Great! You made it!"

Deirdre exhaled. "Roxy! Don't sneak up on me like that; you almost gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry," Roxy said, not sounding at all miffed. "I'll do better next time."

Deirdre frowned, but decided not to ask what exactly Roxy intended to 'do better'. "So… where's the recording studio?"

"Well, it's not exactly a recording studio; more like a place to jam. And it's not too much farther," Roxy said. "Just turn left here and…" she pointed to a windowless warehouse with boards nailed over its windows, "it's just in there."

"There?" Deirdre repeated. "That place looks like it's been condemned!"

"Yup," Roxy nodded. "Has for years. Back when the Misfits were just getting started, we used to play in there all the time. That's your guitar?" she asked abruptly.

"Uh…"

"Great!" Roxy didn't wait for an answer. "You go in and start tuning up. I'm just going to run into the grab a few cold drinks for after."

Deirdre eyed the structure dubiously, as Roxy produced a key and turned it in the lock. There was a loud click, and then Roxy tugged on the door and it grated open.

"Still works after all this time," Roxy said, satisfied. "Well? Go on?"

Still hesitant, Deirdre obeyed. "Where's the light switch?" she asked. "Roxy, are you sure this place even has elec—"

The door slammed shut behind her and then Deirdre heard the key turn in the lock once more. "Hey!" she yelled. "Roxy? Roxy, this isn't funny! Let me out! C'mon, I gotta…" Her voice trailed off as the realization hit. "I got a rehearsal with the Misfits at four-thirty…"

…And Roxy had lured her here in order to keep her from making it.

"Okay," Jetta said, tapping her watch irritably. "Where's that blighter got to? It's already a quarter to five."

"Maybe she got caught in traffic, or there was a holdup on the subway," Stormer suggested. "Or she got sick."

Pizzazz shook her head. "She sounded fine yesterday. Damn."

"Well," a merry voice called from the doorway of the rehearsal studio, "that's always a risk when you're dealing with amateurs."

"Roxy?" Pizzazz asked, spinning to face the newcomer. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Roxy shrugged. "Deirdre did some heavy partying last night; I saw her at the Viper Room. Except when I left at ten, she was still there and tossing back Long Island iced teas like coca-colas. She was talking about how excited she was to be jamming with you guys and kept repeating the address. I thought I'd just pop in and make sure she got here okay in the end, and if she didn't," Roxy held up her guitar case, "I figured I could sub, so you guys wouldn't be wasting your time."

Pizzazz's eyes narrowed. "Yeah?"

Roxy held up her right hand, palm facing outwards, thumb pinning down her pinky finger, and the other three fingers straight up. "Scout's honor," she said sweetly.

Pizzazz shook her head. "Since you're here," she said, "you might as well tune up. I'll be back in a minute."

Roxy grinned. "All right!"

Pizzazz gave her a tight smile and headed down the hall toward the bathroom. Ducking into the alcove between the men's and ladies' rooms, she grabbed the receiver off the wall phone and punched in a number. "Jerrica? Phyllis. You seen Deirdre today? Uh-huh. Yeah, I thought so. Not sure, yet, but she hasn't shown and Roxy's here. Damn right, I think something's up. No, I think I got this, but I'll let you know if I don't. Later."

She replaced the receiver and stalked back toward the rehearsal room, cursing under her breath.

"I will not panic," Deirdre told herself firmly. By now, her eyes had adjusted to the dim light that filtered in through the slats over the windows, at least enough that she could move about without walking into things. "I will not panic. Just because I'm in a bad part of town, locked in a warehouse, probably about to get fired from the Misfits for missing rehearsal, and the only person who knows I'm here is the person who locked me in is no reason to panic."

She wished she had a phone. One of those mobile ones she was seeing more and more people carrying. Even if hills and high rises blocked too many signals, making coverage spotty—or so she'd heard, maybe one would have worked here.

Was there a phone here? Deirdre shook her head. She could make out shapes: shelving units, stacks of something that, when she brushed her hand over one, were probably pallets or maybe lumber. She couldn't make out anything that looked like a phone and, anyway, this place was boarded up with no electricity. (She'd already found a light switch and tried it to no avail.) Even if there was a phone, it probably wouldn't be working.

Maybe she could get the boards off one of the windows. If the wood was old, it might be rotting. She made her way to one of the shelving units and tested the shelves. They seemed sturdy enough. Carefully, she scaled her way up until she could reach the window beside it. She groaned. Of course the wood would be nailed to the outside. "Help!" she called, willing someone to hear her—someone who wasn't a gang member or a drug lord or…

Calm down. Even in bad parts of town, there are plenty of good people.

Yeah, but could she count on one of them hearing her? Maybe she should try another window. She climbed back down carefully, feeling for the footholds that she couldn't see until she was on solid ground once more. She started for another window. Halfway there, her foot stepped on something that gave way and she screamed, as her leg plunged into empty space up to the top of her thigh! She tried to pull herself free, but she didn't have the leverage. She was kneeling, one leg pressed to the floor, the other dangling through the floor, well and truly trapped, with no idea how—or if—she was going to get out of this.

"I will not panic," she said aloud, a quaver in her voice giving the lie to her statement. "Roxy knows where I am and she wouldn't just leave me here to starve. Sooner or later, she's going to come back and get me out. I know it."

Or, at least, she hoped so.

"Uh… Jerrica?"

Jerrica turned to see Starlight House's newest resident standing nervously before her. "Hi, Emma," she said, her thoughts still on the phone call she'd received several minutes ago. "Hey, can we talk later? I've just had something come up."

Emma nodded. "Uh… sure. Um, is Kimber here?"

"She'll be back later," Jerrica said at once. "I'm sorry, Emma. I really need to go. I heard from Mrs. Bailey that you've made some new friends at camp," she added. "Why not invite one of them back here next week, okay?"

She spun on her heel and was halfway down the hall before Emma mumbled another 'sure'. The young girl bit her lip. She'd been used to being pushed onto the sidelines back in Boston, but she'd thought Starlight House was different. Maybe Jerrica just had a lot on her mind. Maybe in a little while, she'd come back and they could talk.

Or maybe, Emma thought with a familiar pang, now that she'd 'settled in' and wasn't so new, Jerrica just didn't have time for her anymore and Starlight House was just like every other placement she'd had after all.

There was less light in the warehouse now, but as shadowy outlines blurred and dimmed, it seemed to Deirdre that her ears were growing keener. Background noises came sharply into focus. The slow drip of water from some unseen pipe or leaky faucet was now so loud. Creaks and cracks set her teeth on edge. All buildings made noises, she knew. Even Starlight Mansion wasn't totally quiet. There was the hum of air conditioning and electricity. During the day, laughter and chatter and running feet filled the air. At night, there was the steady sound of breathing, punctuated by the slight grate of bed springs as one girl or another moved in her sleep. And even with the windows closed, you could tell when it was windy from the way leaves and branches blew against the walls and roof.

Somehow, those same familiar sounds seemed a lot scarier when you were stuck with your leg in a hole in the floor, your other leg was cramping up really bad, and you were all alone in an unfamiliar neighborhood.

Her breath caught. That last sound hadn't been a drip or a creak. It sounded like something running or skittering across the floor. She swallowed hard. Make that somethings. Probably mice. Her heart seemed to plummet into that same hole that her leg was stuck in. What if it was rats? And if the noise she was hearing was any indicator…

What if it was a whole lot of them?

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Five

"Thanks for meeting me," Emma said and Wendy smiled.

"I'm so glad that you chose this place," she said, looking around admiringly at the kiosks in the mall's food court. "I never saw anything like this in London."

Emma blinked. "You mean, London doesn't have malls? Or food courts?"

"I…" Wendy hesitated. "Well, I suppose it must, but my parents never allowed me to visit one." She sniffed the air. "What is that aroma?" she asked suddenly. "It's coming from over there," she added, rising to her feet and taking Emma's hand.

"Umm…" Emma smiled, as she realized where Wendy was leading her. "That's popcorn shrimp."

"Popcorn?" Wendy repeated blankly. "I-I'm not sure I…"

"They don't have popcorn in London?" Emma asked, frowning. "Seriously?"

"I'm sorry," Wendy felt her face flush. "I'm sure there must be, but I've never had any. Is it a spice for the shrimp, then?"

Emma shook her head, her annoyance and worry over Jerrica's distraction fading away, as she realized that Wendy needed a quick crash course in a few basic food options. "No, it's… the shrimp is fried and," She took a deep breath. "You know what? Let's get some. I've got my allowance. Do you have any money?"

Wendy nodded. "Some, but I don't know if it's enough," she admitted. "I'm used to pounds, shillings, and pence."

"What's a shilling?" Emma asked. Then, almost at once, "actually, forget it. Let's see how much you have. If we've got enough between us, we can have the shrimp now and then?" She smiled. "There's a movie theater in this mall. Maybe we can catch a show and get some real popcorn."

Wendy squeezed her hand. "Oh, yes, please," she beamed. "Let's!"

For a moment, Emma felt a pang. "Yeah," she said. "I just…" If they saw a movie, she was going to miss supper, and she was supposed to tell Jerrica or Mrs. Bailey if she was. But it was Mrs. Bailey's day off and as for Jerrica? Emma winced. Jerrica probably wouldn't even notice that Emma was gone.

"Emma?"

Emma pushed down her hurt feelings and smiled broadly. "Just thinking about the camp trip to Disneyland tomorrow. C'mon. The theater's this way. I hope there's something good playing."

The rehearsal was getting into full swing and Roxy had never felt better. The music was pulsing about her and inside her. She didn't feel like she was playing the song. Rather, she felt as though she'd become an instrument herself and the song was playing her. The good old days were back as though they'd never gone and she was at the top her form. She was—

Something was off. It took her a moment to realize that it was the amp. It took one more for her to notice that she the only one playing, that everyone was staring at her, and that Pizzazz was holding the amp's electrical cord doubled over and tapping it against her free hand. She took her hands off the strings. "Uh… guys? What's up?"

Phyllis took a step forward. "Roxy, where's Deirdre?"

Roxy pasted a smile on her face. "How the hell would I know? That's kids today, for you. No sense of responsibility."

"Roxy," Phyllis repeated, "where's Deirdre?"

"I have no idea," Roxy insisted. Then, "Hey!" she yelped, as Phyllis grabbed hold of her wrist and jerked her hand up and forward.

"Uncross your fingers and answer the damned question," Phyllis snarled. "Where is she?"

Roxy's eyes darted around the room, looking for a friendly face. She was met by a mix of bewilderment, worry, and simmering anger. She swallowed hard. "Westlake."

"What?" Stormer exclaimed.

"I-I just wanted to prove to you guys I still had what it took to be a Misfit, so I locked her in a warehouse down there. I was going to let her out after the rehearsal."

"You're a cute hoor, aint'cha?" Jetta sniffed.

"Did you just call me a whore?" Roxy demanded, rounding on her.

"I called you a tosser!" Jetta retorted. "You ever stop to think about what might happen if someone happens on that kid before you get back to her?"

"Let's go," Phyllis snapped. "Stormer, call Jerrica and tell her what's going on. Roxy, what's the address?"

"Am I back with the band?"

Phyllis hesitated. "Well, I gotta admit you sounded pretty decent. If you can stay sober… why not? But Deirdre stays," she added.

"Hey, no worries," Roxy said with a satisfied grin. "It's at 1988 Slifer Street."

Phyllis gave her a curt nod. "You got that, Stormer?" she asked.

Stormer nodded.

"Great. I'll start over. The rest of you, follow in your cars." She shrugged. "Or don't. Your call. But make sure Jerrica knows what's going down."

Jetta sidled over to her. "Just so you know," she said in an undertone, "if that geebag's back in, you can count me out."

Phyllis sighed. "I get you, but I didn't think she'd give up the address unless I told her what she wanted to hear." She gave her a reluctant smile. "Did you drive here"

"I took a bus," Jetta replied, her eyes narrowing a bit at the change in subject. "I was worried I'd drive on the proper side of the road instead of mixing it up the way you lot do."

"How about riding shotgun with me to Westlake? Let's see what kind of shape Deirdre's in before we do anything drastic."

"This isn't drastic," Jetta retorted.

"I know. But come anyway."

Jetta shook her head. "It won't change my mind," she said, but she followed a half-step behind Phyllis, as Stormer went to make her phone call.

"Uh… Jerrica?" Joellen had been waiting patiently for Jerrica to end her phone call, but something about her foster mother's face checked her. "Maybe it should wait? I mean, she'll probably be home soon."

"I'm sure she will be," Jerrica nodded. "I just hope she's okay."

"Well, yeah," Joellen said. "She's probably just out playing with friends and forgot to check in."

Jerrica blinked. "Sorry, what?"

"Emma!" Joellen exclaimed. "I thought you knew."

"Knew what?"

Joellen shifted uncomfortably. Then she sighed. "She wasn't at supper tonight and nobody's seen her since about an hour after everyone got back from camp. I know she's made at least one friend there and, the other day, they went to hang out together, only she cleared it with Mrs. B that time. I… take it that she didn't ask you today?"

"No," Jerrica said a bit tightly. "She didn't."

"Wait. Then, who did you think I was talking about?"

Jerrica shook her head. "It's okay, Joellen. Do me a favor? When Emma comes back, ask her to see me, no matter how late it is."

Joellen winced. "I didn't mean to get her in trouble," she said.

"I know. But Starlight House has rules, and if Emma's broken one, I need to understand the reasons why." She took a breath. "Meanwhile," she said, a bit too briskly, as she changed the subject, "what activities have you got planned for your girls for the coming week?"

After calling Jerrica, Stormer made one more phone call. This one was also to Starlight Mansion, but not to the main line. After a moment, Kimber answered. "Hey," Stormer said in response to Kimber's greeting. "Just letting you know I might be a bit later."

"Rehearsal running long?"

Stormer hesitated. "Actually, it just wrapped, but Deirdre never showed and Roxy… did." It took her another minute to divulge the particulars. "I'm just headed to Westlake now," she finished. "I have no problem bringing Deirdre here afterwards, I mean, I'm sure she's okay. I mean, I hope…"

"Hey," Kimber said. "I get it. It's okay. I don't think the Palms is going anywhere anyway, but the important thing is to find Deirdre and make sure she's all right." She heaved a sigh. "Roxy's really… I mean, back in the day, I guess…"

"Yeah," Stormer said. "I know. We—all of us Misfits—pulled crap like this. But we're not spoiled kids anymore. We grew up. At least," she added, "the rest of us did."

"I know," Kimber said. "If anything happens to Deirdre…"

"I'll call you as soon as I know anything. Love you."

Kimber hesitated only a moment, before replying softly, "Love you, too."

With her bedroom door closed, it was safe to say it.

Eyes closed, Deirdre whimpered softly. She felt cold; whatever her leg had plunged into was damp, and straining to haul herself out had only succeeded in dislodging her shoe. Her stockinged foot had gone numb, while her other leg felt like it was laced with bands of fire.

At least, she didn't hear the skittering noises anymore.

She wondered how long it would be before anyone came. The warehouse had looked like it was condemned. Maybe they were just going to bulldoze it without checking if there was anyone inside.

A harsh grating noise opened her eyes instantly. A dim shaft of light fell before her, followed almost at once by a painfully bright beam and she cried out and flung a hand in front of her face as she squeezed her eyes shut once more.

"She's here!" a voice exclaimed. "Baxter, hang on. We're getting you out of this."

She gulped in fresh air and, as someone knelt beside her, she gasped, "I'm stuck. I c-can't move."

"Yeah, luv," another voice said with a London accent, "sorta guessed from the look of things. You hurt or just trapped?"

"I… don't know," Deirdre admitted. "I was cramping before, but I don't feel anything now."

"Pizzazz?" the voice called.

"Chill, Jetta," the first voice answered. "I heard." Deirdre felt a hand on her shoulder, as Pizzazz continued talking.

"Okay, kid. Looks like you put your foot down on a storm drain, and it was so rusty it disintegrated under you."

Deirdre took a breath. "Can you get me out?"

"Yeah, kid. That's the plan. Gotta warn you, though, if your plans for the evening didn't include a visit to the ER, they do now."

Deirdre exhaled. "Roxy… said she wanted to teach me some of your old arrangements," she said. "I feel so stupid."

"Nah," Pizzazz said. "Stupid would be if you trust her again after this. Do you know if you're bleeding?"

Deirdre shook her head. "I don't think so, but I don't know."

"The metal's pretty corroded," a new voice said. "Bet it'd break apart completely with a good kick."

"Yeah?" Jetta said. "Cor, let's see that. Uh, Baxter, I'd tell you t'hold still, but I guess you're doing that already. Stormer, you want to grab hold of her, in case she drops all the way down?"

"One sec," the new voice said, and Deirdre felt two hands lock around her upper arm. "Okay. Go for it."

There was a dull crack and Deirdre started to plummet, but Stormer had a strong grip and another pair of hands seized hold of her other arm, tearing it from her eyes, but holding her steady. "You're okay, kid," Pizzazz told her. "We got you."

Gasping, Deirdre nodded, even as they pulled her away from the hole in the floor. By the time her gasps gave way to sobs, she was already wrapped in a blanket, there was a makeshift bandage (Jetta's scarf) wrapped around her leg, and she was almost outside.

"Uh, hey," a brash voice she remembered all too well said breathlessly. "Sorry my little joke got out of hand, but I was going to come get you later and now that I'm back with the Misfits—"

"You're what?"

Deirdre did a double-take. She and Phyllis had spoken in near unison.

"We had a deal," Roxy sputtered, now looking disbelievingly at Pizzazz.

"You lied to the kid," Pizzazz said tightly. "I lied to you. You're not going onstage with us, Roxy. Not this time. Get some help, get your act together, and down the road? We can talk about it. But not now."

"You've got to be kidding me!" Roxy snapped. "After everything we've been through together! And it's not like you didn't pull stuff like this back in our heyday!"

"Yeah, I did," Phyllis agreed. "The thing is, Roxy? Me and the rest of us grew up. Stormer," she said, "Get Baxter to the hospital. I'll be right behind you," she added, projecting to be heard over Roxy's furious protests. "Oh, and someone call Jerrica."

"Shouldn't someone call the coppers?" Jetta asked.

Pizzazz flinched. "Yeah," she said, shaking her head slightly. "Someone should."

"Wait what?" Roxy said. "No way! This was… it was just a joke, for crying out loud!"

"Look around, you blighter," Jetta snapped. "Nobody's laughing."

"You wouldn't," Roxy said, looking around at a sea of cold, unfriendly eyes. "You…" She spun on her heel and ran into the night.

Phyllis watched her go and took a deep breath. "Let's get Baxter to the hospital," she said. "We can worry about Roxy later."

Deirdre said nothing, as Stormer and Jetta helped her into the back seat of Pizzazz's BMW 325i. Once that was done, Stormer got into the front seat and Jetta took the back on the opposite side. It wasn't until Pizzazz started driving that she glanced in her rearview mirror at the white-faced girl and asked, "So, further to what Jetta was asking about before, are you going to press charges?"

Deirdre blinked. "Charges?" she repeated.

"Not a lawyer, kid, but I got a feeling that if locking a kid in a closet gets you brought up on false imprisonment charges, locking you in a condemned building does, too. It's worse if you do it to a minor, but that doesn't make it any less illegal when you do it to an adult."

"I-I don't know," Deirdre stammered. "I just want to go home." She winced. "We had a rehearsal, right? I missed it. I…"

"Oh, for crying out loud, nobody expects you to start jamming now!" Phyllis snapped. "You don't look like you're too badly hurt. The cut on your leg looks nasty; you might need stitches and a tetanus shot, if you're not up to date with one, but they'll probably let you go home tonight. Assuming they do, my advice to you is to take a good hot bath, listen to your favorite music, and eat something chocolaty."

"I'm… sorta more into butterscotch ripple," Deirdre said.

"Hey, I'm flexible." She smiled. "Get some sleep. I'll call you tomorrow to let you know when the next rehearsal is. You don't have to decide about Roxy tonight either," she added, "but I'd write down everything I remembered about what happened while it's still fresh in your mind."

Deirdre hesitated. "What would you do? If you were me?"

Phyllis frowned. "When I was your age? How much did Jerrica tell you about the dirty tricks we Misfits used to pull?"

"Uh… didn't you call social services on her when me, Ba Nee, and Krissy ran off?"

"Guilty," Phyllis admitted with a sigh. "Guess I sort of leaned hard into the whole 'bad girl rebel' image back then, and to tell you the truth, I'm kind of grateful that Jerrica never called the cops on us in those days." She shook her head. "I don't know why she didn't, but she could have. But back then, I was kind of wild, damned reckless, and I still thought that if things got really intense, Eric Raymond's lawyers and Daddy's money would get me out of stuff. I didn't wise up until a few years later."

"And now?"

"Now that I am social services, I guess I know how many people I would have screwed if Jerrica hadn't been able to pass their inquiry. And considering how overworked the department is, well, sometimes I want to dig up that old file, find out who was assigned to look into it and apologize, but then I decide to leave well enough alone." A thin smile came and went. "And okay, I still hate apologizing and getting caught. But enough true confessions. When I was your age, I wouldn't have called the cops. I'd have tried to handle it myself—or with the rest of the band and Eric's goons backing me up. You know how they say, 'Don't get mad; get even'?" Her smile was back and it was vicious. "My answer to that back then was, 'Why not both?'" She exhaled. "But that was back then, when I thought everything was one big joke and the only thing that mattered was winning the next battle of the bands."

"So, you're saying…?"

"I'm saying that it's a choice you need to make for yourself. I'm not telling you to press charges. Despite everything that's happened tonight, Roxy's still one of my oldest friends. If what happened tonight had happened to me instead of to you, I'd probably tell her I wanted her out of my life, but I wouldn't call the police on her. But it didn't happen to me, she's not one of your oldest friends, and you're not one of the kids whose… fates I have to decide for their own good. So, I'm not gonna tell you not to press charges either. You're an adult, and you get to make up your own mind. You can ask anyone you want for advice, but at the end of the day, it's going to be your decision."

Deirdre swallowed. "I… I need to think."

"You do that, kid," Phyllis said with rough gentleness, "but write down what happened tonight."

The rest of the trip to the hospital passed in silence.

Kimber's face had grown paler by the time Stormer was finished talking. "And Deirdre…?"

Stormer waved her hand in the general direction of the stairs that the younger woman had ascended a few minutes earlier. "She's okay," Stormer reassured her. "The hospital wanted to be sure she had a lift back, and since I was coming here anyway, that wasn't a problem. She was pretty shaken up when we found her, and besides that gash on her leg, she's got some bumps and bruises, but nothing serious."

"I'll go up and look in on her before we go," Kimber said.

Stormer nodded. "Uh… Kimber?"

"Hmm?"

"Something Phyllis said a little while ago got me thinking. How come you guys never called the police on us back in the day?" She winced. "All those stunts we pulled… We could've really hurt you—o-or worse—so many times, so…?"

Kimber sighed. "Sometimes I wanted to," she admitted, "but Jerrica never did. Maybe she thought it would have played into the Misfits' 'bad girl' image and made you guys more popular, or maybe she thought we'd come out on top if we took everything you were dishing out and still won…" Or maybe she was worried that, in order to swear out any kind of complaint, she'd have to give her real name. Even if Jerrica handled the paperwork, if Jem had had to take the stand in court, she would've had to state her true name for the record.

Stormer shook her head. "Well, tell Jerrica I said 'Thanks', I guess," she said. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry about the trouble I put you through."

"Eh," Stormer shrugged, "it's all in the past. Let me just check on Deirdre, and then we can get out of here."

Roxy was still fuming as she drove through West Hollywood. What the hell had happened to her friends? When had they gotten so… boring? And goody-good? Didn't anyone but her remember what being a Misfit was supposed to be all about?

"Winning is supposed to be everything!" Roxy snarled under her breath. "I was there! I proved I still had what it took and Pizzazz yanked it all away from me! How could she?"

She ran a red light and flinched, startled, when a horn honked behind her. She raised her middle finger and screamed a profanity that didn't travel outside the confines of her car. Then she hastily checked her rearview to make sure that there was no police car behind her and, reassured that there wasn't, kept driving.

She turned onto Santa Monica Boulevard, her anger still simmering, as she drove past the many bars and nightclubs. People were sure having a good time tonight, she thought bitterly. She oughta be too! If not for stupid Pizzazz and stupid Deirdre and stupid Jetta and stupid—wait. Was that Stormer? With Kimber? Heading into what was only the most famous lesbian bar in LA? A slow smile spread Roxy's lips. Oh, she could use this! She just had to figure out how!

Emma hadn't realized how late it would be when they got out of the movies. Well, she'd had some idea that it might be after lights out, but not that it would be nearly eleven by the time she got back to Starlight House! She probably could have just squeaked in under the wire, but Wendy had pleaded with her to help her get home.

"I should be terrified," Wendy had protested. "All these streets. All these people! And if I were to take a wrong turn, I might be miles out of my way before I ever realized it. Please, Emma, you simply must see me home! It shan't take long."

"I don't really know LA that well, myself," Emma protested feebly, but she was having a great time, she didn't want to go back to Starlight House and leave Wendy quite yet, and, well, either she was already in trouble for not telling anyone where she was going and missing dinner and staying out longer wasn't going to change that, or she wasn't, because nobody had even noticed she was gone, just like most of the other places she'd lived in. Sure, Mrs. Bailey had caught her the other time, but Mrs. Bailey wasn't there, and it wasn't like anyone else would miss her.

Apart from Casey, Stephanie, maybe Joellen…

She hadn't been spending much time with them lately, she thought to herself. They'd probably forgotten her by now. Or they were ticked off because she hadn't been spending as much time with them. Or they thought she was in her room writing the song. It would be fine.

Except that by the time Emma had walked Wendy to her building and then made her way back to Starlight House, it was five to eleven.

She turned her key in the lock and the door opened noiselessly. She hoped that the burglar alarm wasn't on; she had no clue how to turn it off. After two tense minutes, she breathed a sigh of relief and crept upstairs.

She eased her bedroom door open carefully, flicked the light and stifled a scream of alarm. Jerrica was sitting on her bed waiting.

"Did you eat dinner?" Jerrica asked, her tone neutral.

Emma nodded.

"Are you all right?"

Emma nodded again.

Jerrica's lips thinned into a firm line. "It's late. Go to bed. We'll talk in the morning. Nine-thirty in my office."

Emma started to nod, before she remembered. "B-but tomorrow's the camp trip to Disneyland. The bus leaves at eight!"

"I know," Jerrica said. "And there'll be other opportunities to go. There's a trip planned for August, too. Right now, if I can't trust you to come home when you're expected, I can't trust you on a camp trip either. I'll tell Joellen to let you sleep in tomorrow."

"But—"

Jerrica shook her head. "I'm sorry, Emma. Good night."

She left, closing the door behind her. Emma stared after her.

"Not anymore, it's not," she muttered miserably.

Stormer left her apartment at ten the next day. It was a beautiful morning, and she decided to go for a walk. She was just passing a park, when she heard someone call her name. As she whirled in the direction of the speaker, she felt her smile freeze on her face.

"What's the matter?" Roxy said, rushing up. "No hello for an old friend."

"Hello, Roxy," Stormer said carefully. "What do you want?"

"Just wanted to know if the kid can take a joke, or if I need to head for Mexico."

Stormer put her hands on her hips. "Why ask me?" she asked. "Deirdre's the one you should be talking to."

"Actually," Roxy said, "Deirdre's the one that you should be talking to."

Stormer blinked. "Come again?"

Roxy smirked. "Kaleidoscope Haze doing well?" she asked. "Climbing the charts, building a brand…"

"Get to the point," Stormer sighed.

"The point is that I saw you and Kimber heading into the Palms last night and," she reached into her purse and pulled out a Polaroid, "even if I was too slow to catch you on film going in, it was worth the wait to catch you coming out." She raised her eyebrows. "Then again, you haven't exactly done that, right? Come out?" She smiled. "I got four pics last night; this is just one of them. The other two are… safe. And they'll all stay that way. As long as Baxter keeps her mouth shut. If she doesn't, then Jerrica Benton and Rory Llewellyn each get a special delivery. Think you'll still fit Starlight Records' image once these come out? Or have a place in the benefit?" Her smile broadened. "And think about the effect on poor, sweet, Kimber? She tell her big sis yet?" Roxy sniffed. "Didn't think so. Get Baxter to back off and this goes away. Otherwise," she smirked, "your careers will!"

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Six

Emma hadn't slept well the previous night. It was hard to sleep when it felt like there was a piano dangling over your head by a fraying cord and you couldn't get out from under its shadow. When sleep finally did claim her, it wasn't for long; the sun was just cresting the horizon, its rays filtering through the linen-gauze curtains on her window when she opened her eyes. For a moment, she lay there, reveling in the peace and silence. Then she remembered the events of the previous evening, and her heart seemed to sink to the back of her ribcage and down into the mattress.

She was out of here. She knew it. Oh, Phyllis had said that it might be ages before they shipped her back to Boston, but Emma knew that Jerrica wasn't going to want her to stay here now. She'd really screwed things up this time, and she had nobody to blame but herself. If she'd only asked permission to go to the mall. If she'd only called to tell them she was there. If she'd only phoned to say that her friend either needed a walk home or maybe even a lift… Instead, she'd just gone off without a word to anyone. She'd been kicked out of other placements for less.

Emma rubbed her eyes and pushed back her blankets. The air conditioning seemed to be up a little high, at least, her arms were all goose-pimply. She tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom, came back, and got dressed. Then, she pulled out her trusty canvas knapsack and began to pack.

"This is a surprise," Kimber said, greeting Stormer with a smile. "I wasn't expecting to see you until rehearsal." Her smile dropped. "What's wrong?"

Stormer heaved a sigh. "We… kind of have a problem," she said.

Kimber took a deep breath. "How bad?"

For answer, Stormer held up a Polaroid and Kimber's breath caught. "How…?"

"Roxy."

Kimber bit her lip. "What do we do?"

Stormer hesitated. "Well, she says she won't go to the media if Deirdre doesn't press charges."

"Do you trust her?"

"Does it matter?" Stormer asked. "She has more photos besides this one. And as long as she does, she can use them to… to get back with the Misfits. Or get me to write her a guitar solo. Or…"

"I get the picture," Kimber said. She took another deep breath. "I guess we'd better get Aja and Craig and tell them what's going on. Whatever Roxy decides… it's going to affect the band, so that impacts them, too."

"What about Jerrica?"

Kimber swallowed hard. "I'm working up to it."

"All right," Jerrica said, when Emma shuffled resignedly into her office later that morning. "I'm listening."

Emma shrugged and stubbed the toe of her shoe into the one of the maroon swirls on the red carpet beneath her feet.

"Emma?" Jerrica prompted, "Why did you miss dinner?"

Emma shrugged again.

"Where were you?" Jerrica asked, her voice still gentle.

"I dunno," Emma mumbled.

Jerrica sighed. "Mrs. Bailey can use a little help cleaning up the dining area," she said finally. "It shouldn't take too long. Come down to the auditorium when you've finished."

Emma nodded, her posture still tense. She started when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I know you were looking forward to the trip, Emma," Jerrica said. "At least you'll have another chance to go next month."

Hardly daring to believe her ears, Emma lifted her head, the faintest glimmer of hope in her eyes. "You're not calling my social worker?"

"Phyllis is a friend of mine," Jerrica said. "I probably will call her later today. But not about you. Actually…" Her voice trailed off.

"Jerrica?" Emma asked after a long minute.

Jerrica smiled. "Actually, when you're done helping Mrs. Bailey, you can have some time to yourself until after lunch. Come down to the auditorium around two."

Emma tilted her head to one side, frowning a bit. "Um… okay. Why?"

"See you at two, Emma."

It was a dismissal, and not the one Emma had been expecting. She smiled cautiously at Jerrica before heading to the dining room to find Mrs. Bailey.

"I'm okay, really," Deirdre said, smiling a bit when she lifted the lid of the cardboard box and saw the individual sweet potato pecan pie nestled inside. "Twenty-seventh Street bakery?" she asked.

Shana nodded. "I remembered how much you used to love these," she said.

"I still do," Deirdre replied, lifting out the round pastry. "What's the occasion?"

"I figured after last night, you deserved a little pick-me-up."

Deirdre smiled. "Thanks."

"How are you doing?" Shana asked seriously.

"I'm okay, I guess," Deirdre replied. "Mostly." She sighed. "I keep going back and forth on whether to involve the police. I mean, I don't think Roxy meant for me to put my foot through a rusty sewer grate and spend a few hours with my leg in the muck." She winced. "I don't think she even thought about it."

"Well, whether she meant it or not, you did," Shana said. "If nobody had found you, it could have been pretty… bad."

"So you think I should press charges."

"I didn't say that."

"So I shouldn't press charges?"

"I didn't say that either," Shana replied. "Part of growing up means that you get to decide how you want to play this. I can give you advice, but I can't make up your mind for you."

"Okay, well… what would you do if you were me?"

Shana frowned. "I honestly don't know. I guess I'd think everything through, weigh out the pros and cons, and figure things out from there."

"You're no help," Deirdre said without heat. "You know that, right?"

Shana shrugged, not in the least bit offended. "Just know what you'd be getting yourself into and weigh that against what Roxy might do next time if she keeps getting away with things. And then decide how you want to proceed."

Deirdre took the plastic knife and fork out of the box and sliced off a wedge of the pie. "Why can't it be this easy?" she asked, spearing the wedge with her fork. Halfway to her mouth, the wedge broke and fell back into the rest of the pie.

"You were saying?" Shana asked with a smile.

Deirdre sighed.

"It's not that easy," Kimber was protesting.

"Come on," Stormer said. "She's your sister. Of course, you can talk to her."

"But what if it doesn't work out?" Kimber said. "What if it ends up like some… some B-movie plot where she kicks me out and says she never wants to see me again?"

"I doubt that's going to happen," Stormer said. "But even if it doesn't, you can always crash at my place. Wait. You have savings, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Kimber said automatically. "But moving in together would still work," she added with a hesitant smile which Stormer returned.

"Hey!" Both young women turned in response to the breathless voice and running feet coming from behind.

"Oh," Stormer forced her smile wider. "Hi, Emma."

"Wasn't there a Disney trip today?" Kimber asked.

Emma shrugged. "I didn't feel like going," she said, not meeting Kimber's eyes. "But," she held out a sheet of paper, "I wrote more of the song. Could you please look at it and tell me if it's any good?"

Kimber was already shaking her head. "I-I'm sure it's fine," Kimber said.

"But what about the music? And I don't know; the chorus feels… off somehow."

"Emma," Stormer said, "uh… now's not the best time. Why don't you look over the lyrics, polish them up, and maybe later, we can go over them, if you're still not sure?"

"But…"

"Later," Stormer repeated, and Kimber nodded. The two walked away at a faster clip than they had been.

"Later," Emma echoed faintly, to their retreating backs. "Uh… sure. Okay."

She wasn't sure whether either of them had heard her.

"Kimber," Raya said worriedly, "Stormer, you… you have to tell Jerrica. If Roxy does leak those photos, Jerrica has to be ready for it."

"It's not fair," Shana said. "You're not hurting anyone; you're both adults; how is it even anyone's business?" She shook her head. "You don't have to answer that. I get it. It just… stinks, is all."

Aja sighed. "Be that as it may, Raya's right. Jerrica needs to know." She hesitated. "If you don't want her to know everything, yet… you could just… say you were meeting someone about a gig and you didn't know what kind of place it was—"

"Everyone knows what kind of place it is," Stormer broke in.

"I didn't," Raya protested.

Kimber shook her head. "It's no good, you guys. We can't keep this under wraps forever. As long as Stormer and me are together, stuff like this is going to happen and the more it does, the harder it's going to be to deny." She reached for Stormer's hand and squeezed it. "We do have to tell Jerrica," she said. She swallowed hard. "Somehow."

And then a new voice spoke from the doorway. "Tell me what?"

Emma sat on her bed and looked at the knapsack at her feet. She'd been expecting Jerrica to ship her back to Boston, or at least call Ms. Gabor to find her another placement. At first, it had been a relief that she had "only" gotten grounded and stuck with extra chores.

But Kimber and Stormer had brushed her off, just like Jerrica had yesterday afternoon. She was sure that Wendy had gone on the trip with the rest of the camp. Just like Casey had gone and Stephanie had gone and—Emma's heart seemed to fall all the way down to the pit of her stomach—suppose that Wendy, Casey, and Stephanie got to talking and realized that they all had way more in common with each other than they did with her? What if, by the time they got back, they all realized what a dweeb she was and didn't want to hang out with her anymore? Or… Casey and Stephanie had been hurt before because Emma had started spending time with Wendy. Suppose Wendy let it slip that they'd been out late yesterday and the other girls ditched her for good?

She brushed the knapsack gently with one stockinged foot. Maybe she oughtn't to unpack it quite yet. Depending on how things went later when the other girls got back, maybe she wasn't going to stay here after all.

"Jerrica?" Kimber ventured. "Uh… say something?" Her sister had heard her out in silence, her expression betraying nothing.

Finally Jerrica sighed. "Well, Roxy's threat… it's not the end of the world. And I appreciate knowing before the media does. It means that we have time to figure out how to spin this."

"What do you mean?" Stormer asked.

Jerrica took a breath. "There's a good chance that the reputable outlets won't listen to Roxy, and nobody believes the tabloids anyway. But if they do, well, I know a few things about deflecting suspicions," she said straight-faced, "and our PR department has experts. We can deny or dismiss and it'll probably blow over." She hesitated. "This time, anyway."

"What are you saying?" Kimber asked.

Jerrica fixed her sister with a serious expression. "I'm saying that if you two want to keep your relationship a secret, it's not going to be easy. Once Roxy puts the story out there, even if almost no one takes it seriously, a few people will wonder. Every time you two are seen alone together, they'll be asking if you're 'just friends' or more." She gave Kimber a sad smile. "You know how you hug people when you get excited? Someone could… twist that. And hiding a part of you, living a double life… it gets hard sometimes."

"You think we should own it," Stormer said slowly, and Jerrica saw a faint smile and a knowing look pass between the former Misfit and her younger sister. There was a definite connection there. Jerrica wondered how she'd missed it until now.

"That won't be easy either," she cautioned. "Living with a secret is hard. Getting it out in the open is hard. You two are going to have to… pick your hard." Her eyes locked first on Kimber and then Stormer. Her smile was back, but her voice when she spoke again was deadly serious. "Whatever you decide, Starlight Music will back you professionally and I'll back you personally. That's a promise."

"Hey, they locked me in a trunk once and I almost went into a trash crusher," Ashley said, breaking a bit of the edge off of her chocolate chip muffin. "Believe me, I get it."

"But you didn't press charges," Deirdre said.

"I was thirteen. And the way it happened, I didn't have to; the cops or, I guess 'the People' did it for me."

Deirdre frowned. "The people? What people?"

"People versus Eric Raymond? Guy was scum, but he had some darned good lawyers back then." She shrugged. "I heard it all caught up with him again a year or so ago and he's behind bars now. S'cuse me for not being all torn up about it. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes and all that."

Deirdre sighed. "I just don't know what to do. I mean, I don't think Roxy meant to do any real harm…"

"Besides replace you in the Misfits. And is there a breach of contract clause in your contract? Like if you skip rehearsals or something?"

"I think so," Deirdre admitted. "Jerrica went over it with me, but it all sort of feels like a haze now. I need to reread it."

"Yeah, because if there was, it would mean that you could get into real trouble for it. And what if you'd been so freaked out over being trapped in there that you'd decided being a Misfit wasn't worth it and you tried to back out?"

"I really need to reread it," Deirdre repeated. "Not that I'm backing out," she added seriously. "But it's something I should be sure I know."

"My point is that Roxy could have seriously messed things up for you, even if you hadn't got hurt. But since you did, if Pizzazz hadn't got her to say where you were, it could've been days before anyone found you."

"Roxy would've let me out before that," Deirdre protested.

"Probably. But what if she…" Ashley thought for a moment. "Okay, work with me on this: it was already dark when Pizzazz and the others got there, right?" When Deirdre nodded, Ashley went on. "Suppose after the rehearsal, Roxy was tired. And she starts thinking about the neighborhood where she left you. Not a great part of town to be alone in late at night and it's not like she's going to ask anyone to drive down with her to help her release the girl she kidnapped a few hours ago. She tells herself it's not safe for her to go back there at this hour. Locked up in that warehouse might not be fun, but you'll be fine there overnight and she'll let you out first thing in the morning. Only she oversleeps. She wakes up, looks at the time, has places to be…" Ashley stopped when she noticed that her friend's face seemed to have grown a shade or two paler. "I'm just saying… Roxy might not have meant to do anything more than keep you from making the rehearsal, just like Eric probably didn't mean to do anything more than use me to keep Jem and the Holograms from making it to the Battle of the Bands concert. But I almost got to reenact that Death Star trash compacter scene solo and you could've…"

"Yeah," Deirdre said heavily. She raised her burger to her lips and took a large bite. After she'd swallowed it she took a gulp of her soda and fixed her friend with a forced smile. "Thanks, Ashley. I… guess I've got to think this through a little more."

"Well," Stormer said hesitantly, "that went a lot better than I expected."

Kimber nodded, but something made her say, "You know it's not over, right?"

"Well, yeah. We have to decide what we want to do if Roxy goes ahead with the photos." Stormer pursed her lips. "Frankly, part of me just wants to make a statement to the press now and get the whole thing over with."

"There'll be a backlash," Kimber warned. "I don't know how bad, but… we might lose a lot of fans."

"Or we might not," Stormer said. "Or we might gain new ones. Or… I mean, if our fans won't accept us for who we are, then are they really our fans?"

"Maybe I don't want to find out, okay?" Kimber retorted. "I like our fans. I don't want to find out that… that…" Her voice trailed off. "And I still don't know how okay Jerrica is with all of… with us."

Stormer blinked. "I thought she took it pretty well."

"Yeah, professionally, she was great. The label's going to back us. The PR department will spin things our way. Great."

"So…?"

"So, as our boss, Jerrica's behind us one hundred per cent. But as my sister…?"

"Wouldn't it be the same? Or even more so?"

Kimber sighed. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But with Jerrica, sometimes it's hard to be sure. She's so good at keeping things in sometimes…"

"Is she?" Stormer asked in surprise. "I never noticed."

"Like I said," Kimber sighed again. "She's really good at keeping things in." She hesitated. "You know something? Wait in here," she motioned to the auditorium they were walking past. "I'm going to go talk to her again."

"You sure?"

"About talking to her? No. About wanting you to hang around in case it doesn't go well? Absolutely." She fixed her girlfriend with a desperate look. "Please?"

Stormer exhaled and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. "O-okay."

Jerrica looked up as Kimber reentered her office once more. She immediately started straightening the papers that cluttered her desk. "Was there anything else?" she asked, smiling slightly. "I thought we were done."

Kimber took several quick breaths. "I… just wanted to make sure you were… okay with… with me and Stormer."

Jerrica shrugged. "I'll admit it kind of took me by surprise, though maybe it shouldn't have. Thinking back now, it… well, it clears up a few things, I guess." She gave her sister a tired smile. "I suppose I got so used to hiding my own secrets, I wasn't really looking to uncover anyone else's."

Kimber smiled back. "It won't hurt the Starlight brand?"

"It might," Jerrica admitted. "But you're my sister and I'll stand with you, no matter what."

Kimber's smile dropped. "But?" she snapped.

Jerrica blinked. "But…?" she repeated in confusion.

"But I'm your sister? So no matter how ashamed of me you are, you'll still stick up for me in public?"

"What?" Jerrica gaped. "Kimber, that's not what I said!"

"Oh, so you won't stick up for me?"

"Of course I— Kimber! What do you want me to say?"

"If you have to ask, there's no point telling you!" Kimber retorted. "Argh! I should've known this would happen."

"You should have known what would happen?" She had no idea how or why the conversation was spiraling in this direction. "What did I say? Kimber, please, talk to me."

Kimber was shaking her head. "But I'm your sister. 'But'. Not 'and'. Thanks, Jerrica," she said quickly. "It's great to know that, at least publicly, we Benton girls stand by each other, no matter how embarrassed we feel in private. And you don't have to worry about anyone catching me and Stormer holding hands in the common room or anything." She whirled on her heel and turned the doorknob. As she stomped out, she added, "Soon as I find another place to live, I'm out of here."

"Kimb—!"

The door slammed shut before Jerrica could utter the second syllable.

Stormer looked up at the sound of footsteps. After a moment, her face relaxed in a smile. "Hi, Emma."

Emma looked down nervously and mumbled a greeting. "I thought Jerrica was going to be here."

"I think she's in her office," Stormer said. She frowned. "Everything okay? I thought you'd be at the day camp with the other girls… Or is it a day off today?"

Emma's shoulders slumped. "It is for me," she said, still mumbling. "I screwed up."

Stormer took a breath. "Uh… you want to talk about it?"

Emma shrugged.

"You want to just sit down here and not talk about it?"

Another shrug and a cautious nod, as Emma slid into a seat two chairs away from her. Stormer regarded her for a moment, before sliding over to the chair directly beside her. She started to put an arm around Emma, but when the girl stiffened, she withdrew it and apologized.

"'S'okay," Emma said. Then, more quietly, "I really wanted to go to Disneyland today."

Stormer hesitated. "Oh," she said finally.

"But I messed up like I always do and Jerrica said I had to stay and I hate her and my life sucks but what else is new?"

Stormer shook her head. "Sometimes," she ventured, "things just… stink."

"Uh-huh."

This time, when Stormer put a hand on her shoulder, Emma didn't pull away. After a few minutes, Emma said hesitantly, "I think I finished the song."

"You did?" Stormer said, smiling. "That's amazing! Do you want to show it to me?"

Emma nodded. Then, nervously, "You don't mind?"

"No!" Stormer exclaimed. "Really, I'd love to see it if you want to share."

Emma eyed the singer nervously. Finally, convinced that the young woman wasn't just being polite, she practically leaped to her feet. "I'll be right back!" she said, taking off at a run.

Stormer settled back in her chair to wait. When she heard the door open again a few moments later, she turned around with a smile, but it wasn't Emma who came in this time.

"Stormer, c'mon!" Kimber snapped. "We're going."

Stormer rose to her feet at once. "But I…" she started to say, just as Emma reentered, a piece of ruled paper clutched tightly in one hand.

"Hi, Emma," Kimber said quickly. "Sorry, but Stormer and I were just leaving."

"Leaving?" Emma repeated. "But I thought…"

Stormer looked from Emma to Kimber and sighed. "I'm sorry, Emma," she said reluctantly. "Can I look at it next time?"

"I… sure," Emma sighed. "No problem."

"Stormer," Kimber urged, "c'mon."

"I'll be back," Stormer said, but she let Kimber yank her away.

Emma forced herself to smile until the two women were out the door. Then she trudged back upstairs, flung herself face-down on her bed, and let the paper fall to the floor.

"I don't think you did anything wrong," Aja reassured Jerrica. "Not objectively wrong anyway."

The relieved smile that had already begun to curve Jerrica's lips froze. "What does that mean?"

"It means that sometimes, when you spend a lot of time rehearsing in your head how you think a situation is going to go, and you're bracing for the worst, it doesn't always register that the other person isn't following the script you wrote for them."

Jerrica winced. "I can think of a few times that happened with me and Rio," she admitted.

"He hated deception and he despised lies," Aja remarked and Jerrica snorted.

"And yet, he was two-timing me. Or he thought he was."

"Oh he was," Aja said. "He was seeing you… and then you on the side. Twice as much time as he thought he was spending with you."

"I was making a fool of him," Jerrica reminded her sadly.

"No, he was doing that all by himself," Aja drawled. "Now, would he have felt like a fool for not realizing that you were still the same person no matter what color or style you wore your hair? Sure and he would've deserved to for being that clueless, but unless you'd done some big reveal on Jerry Springer with him sitting up on stage with you in front of that live studio audience, that still wouldn't be you making a fool out of him." She sighed. "Kimber will calm down. You know she always does."

"Yeah," Jerrica nodded. "But," she looked up with a pained expression, "should she?"

"What?"

"I never suspected that she and Stormer were… more than just good friends," Jerrica said. "I didn't think that either of them was…"

"Into girls?" Aja supplied.

Jerrica nodded. "I guess, with Stormer, I have an excuse, but Kimber's my sister. I've known her all her life. If I didn't know this about her, was she really good at keeping it from me, or did I just not want to? And if I didn't want to know something that important, then what does that say about me?"

"I don't know if keeping your own secrets is supposed to give you some… supernatural power that lets you know when other people are hiding things of their own from you," Aja sighed. "But I think the fact that you're asking yourself these questions says a lot." She gave Jerrica a friendly slap on the shoulder. "Most of it good," she added. She sighed again, but this time she was smiling. "I'll talk to Kimber once she's started to calm down."

"Thanks."

"Phyllis Gabor, speaking." Her eyebrows shot up when the receptionist told her who was on the line. "Yeah, put her through."

"Pizzazz?"

Phyllis sighed. "I hope you didn't ask for me by that name, kid."

"No," Deirdre said nervously. "I remembered. Or, at least, Ashley reminded me. I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have called during your office hours, but I thought I'd change my mind again if I didn't just push ahead with it."

Phyllis winced. She'd suspected the kid was rattled enough to back out of her contract and truthfully, she couldn't blame her. Well. She could, but she wouldn't. If Baxter had been any other kid, if Baxter had been one of her cases, and she'd told Phyllis she wanted to drop the band after what she'd been through, Phyllis knew she wouldn't have encouraged her to stay with it. She wouldn't have discouraged her either; she just would've told her to make sure she understood what the consequences of the decision might be.

If they could find a new guitarist—maybe one of Jetta's people, if Jerrica didn't have anyone up for the job in Starlight's talent stable, then she was willing to let Baxter go without executing the penalty clause in her contract. No, California didn't have a cooling off period on this kind of contract, but with everything the kid had been through, she could… She blinked. "Sorry, Deirdre, I zoned out for a sec. What was that last bit?"

There was a moment's hesitation. And then, Deirdre said firmly, "I know she's a friend of yours and I'm sorry if this makes things awkward between us, but… I've made my decision. I'm going to press charges."

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Phyllis took a deep breath. "You sure about this, kid?"

"Pretty sure," Deirdre said. "I get it if that means you want me out of the band, but—"

Phyllis cut her off. "Nobody wants you out of the band including me, got it? Sorry," she added, forcing the word out. Even after all this time, apologies didn't flow naturally to her lips. "You just threw me off for a sec."

"You mean... you're okay with this?"

Phyllis hesitated. "If I said I wasn't, would you drop the idea?"

"No."

"If she comes to me for help, I'll connect her with a good lawyer," Phyllis informed her. "Long as you're good with that, give her hell."

"Really?" Deirdre sounded shocked.

Phyllis took another breath. "I won't deny we're old friends, any more than I'll pretend I wouldn't have pulled a stunt like that back in the day. But that was back in the day." And even if more than half the time, it was Eric and his goons doing the real dirty work, I still cheered them on, she thought with a pang. Then she remembered what her therapist had said about not beating herself up for past mistakes and continued. "If she'd done it to me, because of our shared history, I'd probably deal with her myself and keep the cops out of it. Thing is, she did it to you. And…" Damn. She hated thinking this way, especially about someone who mattered to her. But she'd spent long enough in her profession that she was thinking this way. "If she did it to you, she might have done it to someone else who didn't report her. Or she might do it again. You do what you gotta do, kid. See you at rehearsal tomorrow."

She hung up the phone knowing she'd said all the right things. But she still felt like crap.

Emma wondered how she could have been so stupid as to think running away to California would solve all her problems.

"You know, with your looks, you could be a model. Or a movie star!"

She'd started to shake her head and demur, but her new friend kept nodding.

"Seriously, Emma. Do you know how many women in Hollywood dye their hair blonde? And you've got it naturally!"

"I can't act," she'd protested. Sahara hadn't been put out.

"So, you can model. Look, when you're old enough, you should go to LA. I bet you get discovered as soon as you arrive and one day, I'll see your face in a magazine or on a poster and think, 'I knew Emma Swan before she got famous!"

She'd been discovered as soon as she'd arrived, all right—by a cop hanging out at the bus terminal. So much for the 'open call' ad she'd ripped out of some magazine in the library. By the time she'd been brought to Haven House, it was too late. Still, Giselle had been nice. Emma wouldn't have minded staying there, but Starlight House had been pretty good, too. She'd been doing well in school. She had friends. Everyone had seemed so nice!

So, of course, she'd gone and screwed herself over. At least, she told herself, she was used to getting in trouble when she messed up and ignored when she didn't. Maybe it would be easier, now that she knew that Starlight House was pretty much like most of her other placements, after all. She knew how to get by for the most part: keep her head down, stick to the rules, and when she just couldn't stand it anymore, hop on a bus—Greyhound or city, depending on how much money she could accumulate—and enjoy a little freedom until she got picked up again.

Maybe if she saw another notice about auditions, she'd take a shot at it. Hadn't Giselle said something about needing to prove you had a job to be an emancipated minor? Well, once she got a part in a movie, she'd probably be making enough to support herself and more!

Until then, well, she'd just have to toe the line and not give Jerrica another reason to ground her.

"Well?" Kimber said, when Stormer was silent for too long. "Say something!"

Stormer hesitated. "Uh…"

"Uh-oh," Kimber said. "I know that look."

"What look?"

"The one where you're trying to tell me in a nice way that I'm wrong and you can't figure out how, so you try to think about a subtle way to change the subject?"

Stormer winced. "Am I that obvious?"

"Yeah, kinda," Kimber said. She sighed. "You think I overreacted?"

"I wasn't there," Stormer reminded her. "It just… doesn't sound to me like Jerrica said anything that terrible."

Kimber flopped dejectedly down on Stormer's bed. "I was afraid of that."

"Maybe there was something in her tone?" Stormer ventured.

"No," Kimber sighed again. "There wasn't. I just… I don't think I expected her to take it so well and I couldn't believe it when she did and…" She groaned. "I messed up. Again."

Stormer sat down beside her and gently squeezed her shoulder. "She'll understand."

"I'll have to apologize," Kimber muttered. "I hate that."

"She'll accept it."

"I know. She's the mature one."

"You're mature too. Sometimes."

Kimber snorted. "Not often enough."

"Apologizing when you're wrong is also a sign of maturity, yannow."

"Maturity sucks sometimes, yannow?"

Stormer smiled. "Yeah, sometimes. Wanna head out to Long Beach tomorrow and catch a marionette show? They still give out ice cream after the production."

"I'm not too mature for that," Kimber said slowly.

"Puppet shows or ice cream?"

"Both!"

There was no answer when Jerrica called Stormer's home number. She looked at the clock on the opposite wall. Kimber had bolted out half an hour ago. At this time of day, though, she—and Stormer—might well be stuck in traffic. Or they might have gone to a restaurant or movie to unwind. Or…

Jerrica told herself firmly that there was no reason to worry. Kimber would be back once she'd calmed down and they could talk things out then…

She was so going get everyone on the Starlight label a cell phone going forward. Yeah, they weren't always reliable right now, something to do too few towers and too many skyscrapers as she understood it, but the technology was improving and meanwhile, she'd still have a better chance at getting through!

And angry as Kimber had been, her sister would probably just hang up on her.

Jerrica looked at the time again and a new realization struck.

It was a quarter past two and she'd told Emma to…

She didn't swear, but that didn't mean she never wanted to. Pushing back her chair, she jumped up and headed out of her office at a run, whispering, "Showtime, Synergy," just before she opened the door.

Emma looked up at the knock on her door and braced for the worst. "Yes?" she called.

After a moment, the door opened and Emma's eyes widened. "No way," she whispered, as a pink-haired woman with heavy eye makeup in a darker shade of the same color stepped inside.

"Emma?" the woman asked, smiling. "Hi. I'm Jem."

Deirdre swallowed hard. She felt as though she'd been talking for over two hours straight, though the station clock on the wall showed that it had been scarcely forty-five minutes since she'd sat down, and the officer had been asking her questions throughout.

"According to the medical report, you suffered numerous cuts and abrasions, and required a tetanus shot and four stitches."

"That's right."

"Nothing more serious?"

"No."

The officer pushed the pages toward her. "Thank you, Ms. Baxter. Now, I need you to read over carefully the statement you've just given me and note any errors or corrections. If you're satisfied, sign here," she inscribed a large 'x' at the beginning of a line and circled it, "initial here," she repeated the operation, "and again, here… and here." As Deirdre picked up the papers, the officer continued. "We'll take it from there."

"What's going to happen to Roxy?" Deirdre asked. "I-I mean, is this going to ruin her life?"

"If she did what you claim," the officer said slowly, "then she may have ruined her life. In any event, that's for the legal system to decide. You've done the right thing coming forward, Ms. Baxter." As Deirdre reached for the crutch she'd been leaning on when she came in, she continued, "I hope you have a full and fast recovery."

"It just seemed like everything was going so well," Emma finished. "And then I blew it, and I've got nobody to blame but myself! Wendy seemed so lonely, and I know I should've asked if I could go out and meet up with her, only…"

Jem was still smiling. "Only?" she prompted gently.

Emma rubbed the toe of her shoe into the carpet. "I already got permission to miss supper and hang out with her last week. I didn't think Mrs. Bailey would let me again and I thought it would be worse if I did it after she said 'no'."

Jem sighed. "It sounds like you've had to deal with a lot of rules and restrictions," she said.

Emma shrugged. "I'm used to it."

"And nobody told you that things are a little more laid-back here?" Jem asked.

Emma blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Jerrica and Mrs. Bailey like to keep this place running like a well-oiled machine, but that doesn't mean it's necessarily a tight ship. There are rules," she said seriously. "They need to know where you are, and you're not allowed to hurt yourself or anyone else. Everyone's got chores—what're yours, by the way?"

"I helped Mrs. Bailey after breakfast," Emma said, "but that was just because I didn't get to go on the trip. I'm supposed to dust in the common room this week."

Jem nodded. "Do you feel you're worked harder than the other girls?" she asked. "Or that it's not fair that you're all expected to help out?"

Emma shook her head. "No, of course not. I mean, it doesn't mean I love tidying up, but I get that it has to be done!"

Jem nodded. "That's right." She sighed. "If you want my two cents, I think Jerrica should have heard you out last night, but it was late, you were both ti—probably tired, and she probably wanted to deal with the issue after you were both rested."

"But by then, everyone else was off on the trip," Emma said, not bitterly, but despondently.

"There'll be other trips," Jem pointed out.

"Yeah, but will I even be here? How many times do I get to screw up before Jerrica sends me back? Or my paperwork comes through and I go back to Boston?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Or my real parents show up with some good reason why they chucked me on the freeway eleven years ago."

Jem winced. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Why would you?" Emma asked. "I didn't say until now."

But I bet it was in your file, and that's still sitting on my desk. I've been so busy, I didn't get the chance to really read through it, and then you seemed to be settling in so well, I didn't think I had to. But I should have.

"You know," Jem said, "I bet if you tell Jerrica what you told me, she'll understand. It's hard settling into a new place. It's hard believing that it's long-term when your other placements haven't been." Emma frowned. She could swear that she was hearing a jam session down the hall, but nobody else was supposed to be here. Where was the music coming from? She pulled her attention back to what Jem was saying.

"And sometimes it just…"

Emma's eyes widened. The music was louder and the tempo had picked up. A microphone materialized in Jem's hand, seemingly out of nowhere. And now, over the music, the pop star sang.

Takes work to move a mountain
Takes work to cross a stream
But when you're aiming at high stakes
It's worth the work it takes to build a dream

Takes work to go the distance
Takes work to see it through
So when you feel you're on the spot
Give it all you've got to make your dreams come true Good things don't come easy
Knocking at your door
But if it's worth the havin'
It's worth the workin' for Takes work to find a rainbow
Takes work to travel far
But though your dreams seem far away
They'll come true someday

Jem put an arm around Emma's shoulders and the girl smiled cautiously.

You'll reach that shining star!
You'll reach that shining star!

After leaving a much more cheerful Emma, Jem made her way back to her office. "Show's over, Synergy," she whispered. A moment later, Jerrica sank down in her chair.

Kimber still wasn't picking up. Neither was Aja. Jerrica hesitated only a moment before calling Shana. "I've had better days," she said with a sigh, when her friend answered.

"Haven't we all," Shana replied cheerfully.

"It just… feels like I keep messing up. I thought I was supporting Kimber, and that went sideways. I disciplined a new girl for staying out past curfew and after Jem had a chat with her, I found out that maybe I should have tried to do that last night, no matter how late it was and… maybe let her go on that darned trip—"

"Hey, who is this tense and negative person pretending to be Jerrica?" Shana deadpanned.

Despite herself, Jerrica chuckled. "You've been waiting all this time to throw that line back at me?" she asked.

"It was a great line," Shana said. "And really? Kimber will calm down. Aja and Stormer will see to that much, if she doesn't do it on her own. As far as the other business, curfew's a serious thing. How old's the girl?"

"Eleven."

"No way should an eleven-year-old be out past curfew. You remember how your mom came down on us when we tried it?"

"Yeah, but we knew better and we were just… rebelling," Jerrica said. "I'm not so sure that Emma's the same." She hesitated. "And maybe I'm letting Jem take over again and neglecting Starlight House, like I used to."

"Delegating things to Mrs. Bailey isn't neglect. If it were, no single parent could have a full-time job. And Jerrica, kids need boundaries. And consequences. I don't think missing a trip to a crowded theme park, when you can't trust a girl to follow rules and stay with the group is all that harsh."

Jerrica found herself nodding. "And even if it was, she just got a visit from Jem, complete with an impromptu musical number."

"Softy," Shana teased. "Which song?"

"Takes Work."

"Mega-softy."

Jerrica chuckled. "Thanks."

"Don't get all mushy," Roxy warned, as Stormer sat down opposite her. "This ain't the kind of place you and your girlfriend were at the other night."

Stormer shrugged and tried to pretend the jab didn't sting a little. "Being attracted to women doesn't mean being attracted to all women, Roxy," she said, not quite able to avoid sounding defensive. "But since you asked me out," she added slowly, "if you're… curious, I can see if one of my other friends might be interest—"

"Stuff it," Roxy cut her off. "The only thing I'm curious about is whether you got that Baxter kid to keep her trap shut or—"

"Roxanne Pellegrini?" a voice said from behind her.

"Who wants ta know?" Roxy demanded, whirling around. Her features relaxed when she saw the boyish face of the officer standing to her left. "Sorry," she said, with a grin. "Yes, that's me. You a Misfits fan?" She pulled out a pen and poised it over her napkin.

The officer shrugged. "I was once," he said. "Unfortunately, I'm here on official business."

Roxy sighed. "Is this about those parking fines in Vegas? Because I can explain."

"That's one for the LVPD," the officer said. "Ms Pellegrini, I'm afraid I'll have to place you under arrest on suspicion of kidnapping."

"What?" Roxy's eyes grew wide and she opened her mouth to protest, but a second officer that she hadn't noticed standing several feet away cut in smoothly.

"Would you please stand, place your hands on the table and spread your feet apart?"

"I don't spread my legs for just any guy," Roxy blustered, but she still rose to comply. Her gaze locked on Stormer.

"You," she hissed. "Did you have something to do with this? You were supposed to talk to her and get her to drop this! You mess up just like always?"

"Ms Pellegrini," the first cop said before Stormer could respond, "you have the right to remain silent. If you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law…"

Kimber looked up when Stormer returned. "How'd it go?" she asked, one white-knuckled hand braced on the counter. "Is she planning to—"

Stormer didn't answer. Instead, she crossed purposefully to the shelf in the living room that held what could generously be called a liquor cabinet—a couple of bottles of red wine, a six-pack of beer, and a fifth of rum, its seal still unbroken. She reached for the rum. Two inches away from the jar, her hand froze. Then she shook her head, sighed, headed back to the kitchen, and angrily poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe.

She was ladling a third heaping spoonful of sugar in, when Kimber asked, "That bad?"

Stormer plunked the sugar in, spoon and all, and carried the mug to the table without stirring. She set it down heavily on the table. "She just got arrested in front of me," Stormer said. "I-I knew if Deirdre made the report, that was what was probably going to happen…"

At once, Kimber was standing behind her, one hand on each of her lover's shoulders. "Can you handle it?" she asked.

Stormer sighed. "I'll have to. It's not even that I don't think she deserved it, but… she used to be one of my best friends. And, I guess, in some ways, I still think she is. And I watched them cuff her," she said, a note of horror creeping into her voice.

"Yeah."

Stormer shook her head. "That could have been me, or Pizzazz, or Jetta back then, if you guys had… I mean, we did stuff like that all the time, and I knew it wasn't right, but I never stopped to think that it wasn't legal. I don't think any of us thought about consequences. We were kids!"

"We all were," Kimber said. "But most of us grew up."

"Did we really?" Stormer asked. "Because it all feels like yesterday."

Kimber's eyes grew very wide. "I think we did." She exhaled noisily. "And I guess I'd better prove it. To me, if not to you, anyway."

"Huh?" Stormer glanced over her shoulder at Kimber nervously. "What do you mean?"

Kimber shook her head, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face. "I mean, I'm pretty sure you're right and I overreacted to Jerrica earlier. I better call her." She winced. "Maybe your first idea about cracking open the rum was a good one."

"You think so?"

Kimber shook her head again. "Not really. But you might want to put on a fresh pot of coffee."

Emma looked at her lyrics again and frowned. She kept going back and forth. Sometimes, she thought that they were the best thing she'd ever written. Other times, she thought that they were utter garbage.

Maybe I'm right both times, she thought glumly. It's the best thing I've ever written, and it's utter garbage.

Her eyebrows lifted. Actually…

She knew what the problem was and she thought she knew how to fix it. The problem was, she didn't know if she could.

A clatter of running feet and a cloud of excited chatter and laughter told her that the rest of the girls were back. Emma eyed the doorway of the common room and considered whether she could get back to her room before anyone noticed, but it was too late.

"Emma!" Stephanie exclaimed. "I'm so sorry you couldn't make it! Were you sick? Are you better?"

Emma shook her head. "No, I'm fine," she said. "I… I've been working on the song lyrics."

"You have?" Suddenly Julie was leaning on the arm of her chair, an excited gleam in her eyes. "Did you finish?"

Emma swallowed hard. "I think it still needs a little work. Only…" Her mouth was suddenly dry.

She'd said one word too many. Already, Marla was at Julie's elbow, the same expectant expression on her face. "Only?" she repeated.

Emma took a steadying breath. "I… I think we need to change the name of the band."

"So… uh…" Kimber kept her eyes on the ground. "I might have overreacted before."

"I see," Jerrica said carefully.

"I guess I'm tired of always messing up and then running to you to fix things."

Jerrica abandoned the pretense of going through the paperwork on her desk and met Kimber's gaze fully. "Roxy taking advantage of a situation doesn't mean you did anything wrong," she said.

"If we hadn't gone to that bar—"

"Then she would have found some other leverage." She shook her head. "Look, I admit I don't fully understand what you're dealing with. I know a thing or two about living a double life, but… I also know that's not exactly the same thing."

Kimber shook her head. "It's not. But I guess you can relate a little."

"Maybe," Jerrica said. "My point is, she locked Deirdre in a warehouse. She tried blackmailing you and Stormer. She wants what she wants and she doesn't seem to care who she hurts in the process."

"Winning is everything?" Kimber quipped. Then her smile fell away. "Crud, it's like déjà vu all over again."

"So, we're good?" Jerrica asked, holding out her hand.

After a moment, Kimber took it. "Yeah, we're good."

Jerrica smiled. "Great. And you'll stay for supper? Actually, I think Emma might be feeling a little low. I tried cheering her up before, but it's going to be hard for her hearing everyone else talking about the trip she didn't go on."

Kimber's eyes widened. "Oh my gosh! She needed help with her song and I was so angry I barely noticed she was in the doorway when I yanked Stormer out of here. Where is she? I got to make this up to her!"

Jerrica came around from behind her desk. "The common room is probably the right place to start. If she's not there, maybe someone's seen her."

"It's perfect," Julie said.

Emma exhaled. "You're sure? I-I mean I didn't want to come in and start telling you what to—"

"No," Marla grinned. "It does sound better. There are a lot of groups now that don't have a 'the' in front of their name. This works."

"But the music…"

Kyla picked up her guitar. "The melody's fine. It needs a couple of tweaks, but nothing serious. Now, if we add chords," she continued, "and if we change the key from C to F major…" She gave Emma an apologetic smile. "Sorry, but it's better for my voice.

"I was writing in C?" Emma asked. "I didn't know. I can't read music."

"You were singing in C," Marla explained. "It doesn't matter. I mean, it does for certain instruments but… nobody here plays brass or woodwinds."

"Okay," Emma said, not really any the wiser. "I mean, if you think it works in F, go for it, I guess. But I don't have the music written, just the lyrics."

"It's okay," Kyla said. "I have an ear for this."

So saying, she began to play softly, slowly at first, nodding to herself as she found the notes.

"That's… it sounds…" Emma stammered wonderingly.

Kyla grinned. And then, she began to sing.

Come with me
We're chasin' dreams, makin' history
We'll find a way and a place to be
Far away, findin' new memories

Time and space
Like stardust they will blow away
Run on faith and we'll be okay
Watch the ground as it's fading away

Up in the atmosphere
We can disappear, disappear
Hearts will collide

Up in the sky, lookin' down the night
We are Starlight, Starlight
Between the moon and the city lights
We are Starlight, Starlight
Ooh, ooh
Starlight

"What do you mean I don't get a phone call?" Roxy shrilled. "I know my constitutional rights!"

The desk sergeant rolled his eyes. "You know what you've watched on prime time TV," he drawled. "Out here in the real world? You can call a lawyer, a bail bondsperson, or someone else who can help get you released from custody. If you have minor children, you can call to make childcare arrangements for them. Otherwise, as you've already been told, you have the right to remain silent."

Roxy flinched. Then she took a breath. "Someone who can help get me released from custody, huh?" She smiled. "Yeah, I wanna call Rory Llewellyn at Stingerz Sound."

"Is that your attorney?"

"No, but he's gonna get me out of here."

The officer shrugged. "No problem. But just so you know, we're only barred from listening to phone calls between an attorney and their client."

Roxy shrugged. "I don't have a lawyer, but if anyone can hook me up with one, he will."

"No problem." The desk sergeant beckoned to a nearby officer. "Show Ms. Pellegrini to one of our courtesy phones, O'Connor," he ordered. "Then take her to holding."

"Don't suppose I can get a little something to soothe my nerves?"

The desk sergeant shrugged and glanced at O'Connor. "Get her what she wants from the vending machines, up to five bucks." He turned back to Roxy. "If you're still here in the morning, think about what you'd like off the breakfast menu at Jack in the Box."

"What?"

"Take it or leave it. Now, do you want to make that call, or not?"

Roxy sighed, defeated. "Yeah."

The sound of applause greeted the end of the song, and the girls turned to see Jerrica and Kimber standing in the doorway.

"Emma, you wrote that?" Kimber exclaimed. "Those lyrics are truly outrageous!"

"That's good, right?" Emma asked uncertainly.

"That's great!"

Jerrica nodded. "It's got a good sound, and Kyla, it's perfect for your range."

Marla squealed. "We're gonna knock 'em dead at the benefit!"

The smile froze on Jerrica's face. "Benefit?" she repeated.

"Yeah, for Parkinson's. Just because Ashley can't go on doesn't mean we can't!" She grinned. "We can't let you down."

Jerrica swallowed hard. "Girls… the benefit is for professional bands only. You've done a great job with this song, but… you won't be performing at the show. I'm sorry."

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"That's not fair!" Kyla squealed. "We're great; Emma's song is great. You even said so!"

Jerrica shook her head. "And I meant it. Kyla, you've got a great voice, you've really got a handle on that guitar, and Emma," she smiled at the younger girl, "I can't believe you wrote those lyrics at your age! But that doesn't mean you're ready to perform at the benefit."

"But Ashley said…" Marla protested. "I mean, that's why the Starlights, or I guess we're Starlight now… that's why we held auditions!"

"And even if Ashley's had to leave, so what?" Julie demanded. "Kyla's good enough to sing lead!"

"At any high school talent show, absolutely," Jerrica nodded. "Maybe even Star Search. But as good as you guys are, you're not ready for this."

"But we—" Emma looked desperately at Kimber.

Kimber shook her head. "Emma… you never told me this was for the benefit. I-I would have explained to you that…" She took a breath. "The top high school basketball team isn't ready to go head to head with the bottom team in the NBA." She pressed her lips together in an apologetic smile. "Keep at it and in a few years, you might be on that stage. But not now."

"But…"

Jerrica shook her head. "I'm sorry girls. No."

One by one, four pairs of eyes lowered and four sets of shoulders slumped in defeat. After Jerrica and Kimber left, though, Emma lifted her eyes again and they were blazing. "We're getting up on that stage somehow," she snapped. "We just need to figure out a way!"

The desk clerk looked up sourly. "You're back," he said.

"Rumor has it you've got Roxanne Pellegrini in custody."

The clerk sighed. "And I heard the aliens landed in Simi Valley last week. You gonna go check that one out, too?"

"Can I talk to her?"

The clerk rolled his eyes. "We've been over this before, Ms Montgomery. First, I'm not confirming she's here. Second, even if she is here, we're not letting the press—or the reasonable facsimile you represent—inside. It's in everyone's best interests that she not talk to you guys. So, how about you give me one good reason why I should let you and that tabloid news program you work for get a scoop now instead of waiting for the police blotter tomorrow and heading off to the courthouse for the arraignment with all the serious reporters."

"We dated for three months, Darryl," Ms Montgomery wheedled.

The clerk shook his head. "You've dated a lot of people. You hit them all up for favors, Connie?"

Constance Montgomery shrugged. "Hector Ramirez trusts me to pay our sources well for their info. You might call that 'favors', but I call it, 'you wash my back and I'll wash yours'."

"Ramirez," the clerk sniffed. "That sleaze gives the legitimate paparazzi a bad name."

"But he pays well."

The clerk snorted again. "It's not for the money," he said. "And it's not because you and me dated for a couple of months. It's because I wrote her a fan letter when I was nineteen. I never got a reply…"

"You're miffed about that?" Constance asked, trying to sound sympathetic.

"I'm not that big an idiot," Darryl snorted. "No. Three months after I wrote to her, she was on one of those trashy morning talk shows and she was laughing with the host about the, I quote, cringe-worthy letters she was getting. And she handed a stack over for the host to read. And he did. Out loud. Now, granted? At nineteen years old, Shakespeare I wasn't. But I put a lot of work into what I wrote and even if she didn't mention my name on air, it didn't do a lot for my self-esteem to have my best efforts turned into a joke."

He picked up a folder from this desk, got up and walked to the photocopier. "Anyone asks where you got your hands on this, I hope you'll be at least as sensitive as she was and keep my name out of it," he said, as he laid the three sheets in the feeder and pressed the print button.

Constance took the pages with something approaching reverence. "Thanks, Darryl," she said with feeling. "Why did I ever let you go?"

Darryl shook his head. "Was probably the nicest thing you ever did, Clash. Take care of yourself."

"You, too," she said gently. Then she slid the pages into her purse and added crisply, "And if you hear anything else that might interest my employer, feel free to call me. Always nice to catch up with an old friend."

"That was rough," Casey said, putting a hand on Emma's shoulder.

Emma shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You sure?" Stephanie asked. "Because if you did, we'd listen."

"Nah," Emma sighed. "I shouldn't have got my hopes up. Kimber said it: high school basketball doesn't go up against the NBA. I'm only in middle school." She forced herself to smile. "But thanks, guys." She took a breath. "If you don't mind, I… sort of don't feel like hanging out right now. I think I'm just going to go to my room, put on some headphones and pop in a cassette."

"If you change your mind before lights out, just knock," Stephanie said.

Casey nodded.

"Sure," Emma said, knowing all the while she wouldn't. "Later."

"Emma wasn't even on the outing!" Wendy told John with a groan. "When I asked after her, her friends informed me she'd stayed out late without permission and wasn't permitted to go! Had I known, I might have stayed home, too, particularly since it was your idea for me to draw her into mischief!"

John sighed. "I'd hoped if she violated their rules, she'd seem like too much of a handful for that foundling home and they'd send her elsewhere. A miscalculation."

"Well, had I known, I would have stayed home, too," Wendy retorted.

"You didn't care for the amusement park?"

Wendy sucked in a breath. Then she exhaled and turned blazing eyes on her brother. "Do you know, they've made a ride that treats of Neverland? A-and Pan's this carefree, happy… child! While we get tied to masts and forced to walk the plank and it's the pirates doing it! They've made Pan the hero! A-and Captain Hook is a caricature and a humorous one at that!"

John nodded. "I'm sorry. If I'd remembered, I would have warned you."

"You told me about the book," Wendy remembered. "I thought that would be bad enough. But this… If I didn't know better, I'd have thought Pan had a hand in its creation, the better to lure more boys to him the way he did me that first time!"

"He might have at that," John said. "Remember, children visit Neverland in their dreams. And Pan can spin a pretty fantasy when he wants to, as we all know. Well… all children, except one, grow up. And some of them become park ride designers. Or they adapt children's fantasy novels into motion pictures. Or they write children's fantasy novels based on threads of half-remembered dreams."

Wendy swallowed hard. "Jimmy?" she whispered.

"James Matthew Barrie," John confirmed. "You remember then. How Pan always made sure that Neverland seemed a grand adventure to him. He never let him see the darkest corners for what they were. And one day, when he'd had a string of unsuccessful theatre credits to his name and creditors at his door, he had the inspiration to write a new play about a boy who never grew up. And since then, Pan's hardly wanted for new companions when he tires of the old ones."

"I wish he'd tired of me long ago," Wendy heaved a sigh.

John's face grew troubled. "No, you don't," he said seriously. "Pan might see us as tools and playthings, but when he grows bored with those, he doesn't always lay them aside or abandon them. Oftentimes, he smashes them instead."

Wendy bit her lip and nodded. "They mean to go back again next month," Wendy she said. "If they mean to take us on that ride again, I shan't be able to bear it. I shan't, John!"

John nodded. "Well, if you can complete your task within the month, I shouldn't think you'd need to," he replied, and though his eyes were sympathetic, his voice mirrored the bleakness in hers.

Morning dawned and Emma felt no better. Marla, Julie, and Kyla joined her at the breakfast table to commiserate, but neither they nor Casey nor Stephanie could get more than an occasional monosyllable out of her as she stirred chocolate powder into her milk and picked at her pop tart.

She was thinking of feigning a stomach ache and begging off from going to camp, but she'd been kept behind yesterday and it hadn't exactly been a vacation. Besides, just about everyone her age that she knew was going to be there.

With a mental sigh, she joined the others outside to wait for the bus, just as relieved that Jerrica wasn't standing there to see them off.

Phyllis was just about to leave for the office when the phone rang. "I can get that for you Ms Gabor," Marisol said, just as Hana May knocked over her plastic cup of orange juice.

"Oh no!" the little girl exclaimed.

Phyllis sighed. "Better mop that up, Marisol; I'll get the phone." She hoped it wasn't Roxy calling again. Last night had been upsetting enough. She still wasn't sure whether her former bandmate and friend (former friend? After last night, Phyllis wasn't sure…) had hung up on her, or whether she'd been yanked away when she'd started swearing.

She grabbed the receiver. "Yeah?" she asked.

"Phyllis. Rory. I… have a question for you."

"Make it fast, I'm running late," she snapped. An instant later, she registered the slight hesitancy in his voice. A bit more gently, she added, "Is everything okay?"

"I'm not sure," Rory said. "I… Does Roxy have a little girl, about… four years old or so?"

Phyllis's eyebrows shot up. Automatically, her eyes flicked to the kitchen table where Marisol was gently sponging Hana May's sticky hands with a damp washcloth. "Why do you want to know that?"

"Does she?"

Phyllis paused for a moment. "Yeah, she does. Why?"

She heard Rory swallow on the other end of the line. "Because, according to Roxy, I'm her father."

"I missed you yesterday," Wendy said, as Emma set down her swimming gear in the pile with the other girls' belongings.

"I got grounded for coming back after lights out," Emma admitted.

Wendy gasped. "Oh, no! Is that because you were out with me? How ghastly!"

Emma shrugged. "Not your fault."

"But you missed the outing!"

"Yeah, uh… could we not talk about it?" Emma said quickly. "I don't really want to know how much fun you guys had."

"Oh, it wasn't nearly as much fun as you'd think," Wendy said. "Or perhaps, I'm not the sort to find it so," she added. "Honestly, the queues were so long and the rides were so short, that…"

Emma raised an eyebrow. "You sure you're not just saying that to make me feel better?" she asked, smiling a bit.

"Well… perhaps just a bit," Wendy allowed. She sighed. "I forgot. Your power."

Emma shrugged. "I don't know if it's my power, or just that I can't believe you seriously didn't enjoy going to Disney, but thanks for trying." She shook her head. "Actually missing out on that wasn't half as bad as what happened afterwards."

"What do you mean?" Wendy asked.

Emma told her.

Phyllis sucked in a breath. "You're what?" she shrilled. Dimly, she was aware that Marisol and Hana May were both staring at her. Making an effort to steady her voice, she said more quietly, "Don't spring stuff like that on me out of the blue, will ya? Your timing really sucks."

"It knocked me for a loop, too, when she told me. But we were… together about five years ago. It didn't last long and she never mentioned anything…"

It was on the tip of Phyllis's tongue to ask if either of them had used protection, but her gaze fell on the little girl sitting at the table with a frightened expression and she reminded herself that birth control wasn't a one hundred percent guarantee and that she wasn't one bit sorry that Hana May was in her life. "She has a kid," she said finally. "She'll be five in October."

"And you're looking after her?"

She only paused for a beat before she replied. "Yeah."

There was a long pause. "Can I see her?"

She wasn't awake enough to deal with this now. She needed another coffee. Or maybe something stronger. No, scratch that. A stiff drink this early in the morning was the last thing she needed and it wouldn't help her judgment any either. "Sure," she said finally. "Call me tonight. We'll set up a time." She ended the call.

"Who was that, Auntie Phyl?" Hana May asked.

Phyllis looked at the little girl fondly. "Oh, just an old friend. Hana May, do you ever wonder about your daddy?"

Hana May shrugged. "I don't got a daddy."

"Well, do you ever wish you did?"

Hana May shrugged again. "Dunno," she said. Then, more brightly, "Marisol said we're gonna go to hear a concert in the park!"

Phyllis smiled. "Sounds like fun," she said wistfully. "Tell me about it later?"

"Okay!" the little girl said. "Bye!"

It wasn't until she was out the door and walking down to her car that Phyllis's smile dropped away. She liked Rory. Time was when she'd fallen hard for him and, while he did possess a calculating streak she recognized all too well, there was a decent guy under it. But as for being a decent father? She'd never thought of him as parental material. Then again, until she'd brought Hana May into her home and heart, she'd never considered whether she herself might be either.

And now? She found herself wondering whether she'd been pushing so hard for Roxy to come back into her daughter's life because deep down, she'd known that Roxy wouldn't. And she'd come to love the little girl whom she was doing her best to bring up properly. But Rory? If he wanted Hana May, he could probably get awarded custody relatively easily.

Phyllis winced. If Rory was Hana May's father, then that was almost certainly for the best.

At least for Hana May.

But it was going to rip a chunk out of her heart so big, Phyllis doubted it would ever get filled again.

Get a grip, Pizzazz. He just wants to meet her. That doesn't mean he wants to take her away!

But it didn't mean he didn't either.

Yeah, a stiff drink didn't sound half bad.

Except that she had a full roster of clients to see today and she wasn't the wild child she'd been a decade ago. With a sigh, she decided she was going to grab a coffee on her way into work after all and hope it didn't make her any more jittery than she already felt.

Wendy frowned as Emma finished talking. "So… you're just going to leave it like that?" she asked.

Emma blinked. "Uh… yeah. What else can we do?"

"Do? Why, you ought to be performing on pavements, i-in parks. You ought to have enough people hear you and like you that they'll set up such a clamor and your Jerrica will simply have to allow you onstage."

Emma snorted. "Yeah, right. It takes time to build up a following. The benefit is only a month away."

Wendy frowned, thinking. "Well, are you lot going to be in attendance?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Well, if you are, then perhaps you can slip out of your seats at some time and slip onto the stage. Once you're up there, I'm sure you'll be smashing."

Emma shook her head. "And then we'll be grounded till we turn eighteen."

"Surely not, if you're as talented as you think. Your public would never stand for it."

Emma shook her head again. "It's a nice idea, but I don't think so."

Wendy thought for a moment. "What if there was a way?"

"How?"

Wendy hesitated for a moment. "Promise me you'll keep practicing. That way, when the moment comes, you'll make a fine showing."

"Wendy—"

"Promise!"

Emma knew it was impossible, but Wendy sounded so certain. "I'll talk to the others," she said finally. "It's not up to me alone. But what did you have in mind?"

"Well, that'd be telling," Wendy laughed. "Just trust me and be ready."

"Okay…" Emma said slowly, just as Joellen came to tell them that lunch was over and that it was time for soccer. Emma got up at once and beckoned to Wendy to follow her.

Wendy hung back. She'd done it. She'd gotten Emma's hopes up and this time, when the girl broke the rules, it would be in so spectacular a fashion that she'd almost certainly be sent elsewhere.

She smiled. Once her mission for Pan had been discharged, Michael would surely be safe. Her smile fell away. Unfortunately, she had no idea yet how she was to get Emma and her friends up on that stage at the benefit.

Officer Darryl Tapia looked up from his cup of coffee when he heard footsteps. He nodded a greeting toward the newcomer. "Sorrento," he said. "How goes it?"

"The usual," Sorrento shrugged. "People are idiots."

"Not news," Tapia said with a snort. "Don't tell me. Someone called their best bud and told them exactly where the loot was buried?"

"That happens more often than you'd think," Sorrento replied. "I mean, we do tell them that any calls they make that aren't to counsel are going to be monitored; do they think it's something we make up to scare them?"

"Hey, it works in school." Tapia affected a deeper voice. "And this will go down on your permanent record."

Sorrento snorted. "Guess they figure we just do random spot checks, like border crossings and they might get lucky."

"So, you heard a murder confession?"

Sorrento shook his head. "No, but there's a washed-up rocker who's got a kid with a record company exec who used to have a band of his own."

Tapia frowned. "You talking about Pellegrini?"

"And Rory Llewellyn."

Tapia let out a low whistle. Then he shrugged. "Not exactly what you'd call news these days."

"Maybe not, but it was to Llewellyn."

As Tapia listened, a faint smile came to his lips. Something told him that he and Connie were about to have another conversation, and he was definitely looking forward to it!

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"Hey, Emma?" Emma looked up at Joellen's cheerful voice. The older girl fiddled absently with a bead at the end of one of her many dark braids. "I was wondering if you'd like to work on the end of camp production?"

Emma's eyes narrowed. "The what?"

"Well, on the last day of camp, we put on a show. Counsellors for campers, I mean. There's singing and dancing and it's a lot of fun."

"Okay…" Emma said, "but I'm a camper."

Joellen nodded. "Yes, but you write songs and we… don't."

"I wrote one song," Emma countered. "And I can't write music, just words."

"That's fine," Joellen replied. "We usually don't write original music, we just come up with new words to an old song. Bonus points if you can riff off the title, like… uh… I dunno, 'The Starlight Bunch' instead of 'The Brady Bunch' or…" Her voice trailed off. "You can see why we can use the help," she said with a self-conscious smile. "So, how about it?"

Emma pressed her lips together. She was still upset about the benefit, but maybe if she wrote some good songs for the camp, Jerrica would change her mind! Then she remembered that the benefit would be held before the last day of camp. So much for that idea. Still, Joellen looked so hopeful, that Emma didn't want to turn her down outright. "I'll think about it, okay?"

Joellen grinned. "Sure. Let me know by the end of the week?"

"Yeah," Emma said. With any luck, Joellen would have picked someone else by then anyway.

"What's the matter?" Kimber asked, sitting down beside Stormer and looking down meaningfully, to where the blue-haired woman's fingers were twisting in her lap.

Stormer shook her head. "I guess I've never been very brave," she said.

"Hey, you're braver than you think," Kimber said. "It took guts to walk away from the Misfits and record a single with me back then."

"That wasn't guts; that was frustration," Stormer countered.

"And those publicity shoots Eric set up after he signed you? I still get dizzy just watching the footage of you guys on those stunt bikes done up like guitars."

"Does it count as courage if you only got up on the thing because you were afraid of looking like a wuss if you wouldn't?"

"It does in my book," Kimber said, smiling a little. "So…"

Stormer took a breath. "So, I'm not ashamed of who I am and I'm not ashamed of us. All the same, what Jerrica said about owning our relationship, getting out there with our story before Roxy—or anyone else—does… it sounds great. In theory," she added. "But… I don't know if I'm ready for it to be out there. I'm not saying I want to hide," she said quickly. "But I mean, there has to be a middle ground between keeping it secret and broadcasting it to the world. Why can't we just… go up on stage and rock the audience and not make a big… statement about stuff that's nobody's business anyway?"

"We can," Kimber assured her. "Look, Jerrica may have suggested coming out, but… she should know better. It's not like she's never had secrets she wanted kept out of the press."

"You keep bringing that up every so often," Stormer observed. "Is it… something you can share now?"

Kimber sighed. "Not really. Sorry. I guess I'm frustrated about it, but I shouldn't mention it if I'm not ready to tell you the whole story. And maybe I am, or I would be, but… it's not my story to tell."

"But our relationship is."

"Yeah. If we both decide we want to." She leaned over and gave Stormer a quick peck on the cheek. "Until then, we can keep our private life private."

"Until the next time someone catches us doing something in public."

Kimber nodded. "Well, we can worry about that when it happens. And hey, people aren't as narrow-minded now as they were thirty years ago. Maybe by the time word gets out, nobody will care anyway."

Stormer thought about that. A tiny smile curved her lips. "That would be… something," she murmured. "We spend days… weeks… agonizing over whether to tell. We brace for the backlash, screw up our courage, and make a statement… And the whole world shrugs its collective shoulders, yawns, and says, 'Oh…kayyy, but when's your next album?'"

Kimber winced. "I don't know if that would be a good thing or a bad thing."

"Me either," Stormer admitted. "But it would definitely be a thing." She giggled. And after a moment, Kimber did too.

"Riot," Jerrica repeated. "That's…" She paused and then continued wryly, "all right. Maybe it's not so shocking. Roxy never struck me as his type, though."

"Not every hookup is true love," Phyllis pointed out. "Sometimes it can just be a night of fun."

Jerrica was silent for a moment. Then she said, "But sometimes the nights after that night of fun can be… I mean…"

"Just say it, Sandra Dee," Phyllis snapped, but there was less anger than resignation in her voice. "She didn't plan on getting a kid out of it."

"And it sounds like she never told Rory about her until now either."

"No," Phyllis said. "When he called me, he swore that had he known, he would have been there from the start. I believe him," she added. "I guess Roxy had her reasons. No point now in getting into what she should have or could have done. She didn't."

She paused for a moment. "Don't know why I'm spilling my guts to you," she went on gruffly. "You're just gonna tell me that if Rory's her father, she should be with him, right?"

Jerrica hesitated. "I think that if Hana May were a couple of years older, and she wanted to stay with you, a judge would be more likely to listen to her, but… she's four. It's not really about 'should' or 'shouldn't'. It's about what'll probably happen if Rory decides he wants her."

"Tell me something else I don't know," said Phyllis. "Damn. I love that kid. And if I thought Rory would be a lousy parent, I'd fight tooth and nail for her. But I don't think that. And a messy custody fight is not what that kid needs."

"What are you going to do?" Jerrica asked.

"Rory wants to meet her," Phyllis said dully. "I'm going to find a time. And then, if he wants her… I'm not her legal guardian. Roxy just asked me to look after her over a year ago and I said yes. There's no paperwork. Under those circumstances, there are legal options I can explore, but I don't know if they'll be in the kid's best interest."

"Is there a lawyer with the department you can talk to?" Jerrica asked. "Or do you want me to make a few calls?"

Phyllis hesitated. "I don't want the department involved," she said. "Not unless I've got no other choice. Or, at least, not until I've gone over my place with a fine-toothed comb and made sure that if a colleague were to show up for a surprise home safety inspection, I'd pass with flying colors. Yeah. If you can make a call or two… yeah. Thanks."

"A hundred thousand bucks?" Roxy gaped. "Where the hell am I supposed to get my hands on that kind of money?"

"If you don't have anyone to post bail for you," the judge replied, "you may contact a bail bond agency to make arrangements. Until then, you're remanded to Century Regional Detention Center in Lynwood to await trial."

Roxy shrank back as a bailiff approached. She cast a pleading look at the public defender she'd met that morning. "Can't you do something?"

The attorney shook his head. "Not about this," he said, not unkindly. "I'm going to do everything I can to get you out as soon as possible, but meanwhile, you have to go to jail."

Roxy put up a token struggle as the bailiff took her arm to escort her to the courtroom door, where two uniformed women waited, but with her wrists cuffed, she knew she couldn't escape. If she tried, she'd just be digging herself in deeper. So she squared her shoulders, straightened her chin, and ordered her knees not to knock as she pasted a defiant expression on her face and let him lead her away.

Kimber looked up as the courtroom door opened, and a woman wearing a stylish trench coat, turban, and dark glasses hurried out. "Well?" she asked.

Stormer pulled off the sunglasses. "A hundred g's," she said.

Kimber let out a low whistle. "Have you got it?"

"I can get it," Stormer said. "But I don't think I can get it fast. I need to call my accountant to make sure, but I think most of my money is tied up in investments. I just don't keep that much cash lying around."

Kimber frowned thoughtfully. "Well, then, I think we have two options. We can talk to Jerrica—"

"Ask her to help me get the person who kidnapped one of her girls back out on the street? I couldn't."

"Okay," Kimber said. "In that case, we need to talk to a bail bond agency. If we lay down about ten percent, they'll front the rest." She hesitated. "The catch is that if Roxy makes a run for it, they'll hire a bounty hunter to bring her back. Plus you'll lose your ten percent."

Stormer nodded slowly. "I can get ten thousand together, and if it comes to it, I can afford to lose it. I don't want to, but Roxy's still a friend. Even if she's been acting like a jerk lately."

Kimber smirked. "That's a mild way of putting it. Especially coming from a Misfit."

"Former Misfit," Stormer sighed, but she was smiling a little. "And I know she's been dealing with a lot over these last few years. That doesn't excuse what she's done, but I just… want her to know that she still has a friend, if she wants one." She sighed again. "Does that sound totally off-base?"

"Nah," Kimber said, elbowing her playfully. "Just sounds like one of the reasons I'm glad I know you."

"Yeah?" Stormer asked, smiling just a little more.

Kimber nodded, her blue eyes wide and guileless. "Yeah."

"It's a nice idea," Julie said, "but…"

"Hey, what if one of the bands pulls out at the last minute and there's a hole in the line-up?" Emma said. "If we're ready, we could step in!"

"But Jerrica said we're not ready," Kyla protested.

"Yeah, and she's right. But we could be. Or we could be better anyway." She hoped. It had sounded so much more possible when she and Wendy had been talking about things, but now her earlier doubts were resurfacing. Maybe this wasn't going to be such a good idea, after all.

"Wait. You guys. Remember Laura Holloway?" Marla said slowly. Julie and Emma looked blank, but Kyla nodded.

"She wasn't here for very long," Kyla said with a frown, "but yeah, I remember."

"Well… she got to perform with Jem and the Holograms."

Emma leaned forward, interested.

Kyla's frown deepened. "It was just one number with them, not a whole benefit."

"Yeah, but I bet we could be just as good as she was, if not better."

"How about this," Julie said. "The next time Jem comes to the mansion—and with the benefit coming up, you can bet she's gonna—we can perform for her and ask her if we can go on. If she says 'yes,' then Jerrica will have to go along with it."

Marla grinned. "Good thinking."

"We're gonna have to be really good," Kyla warned.

Emma smiled grimly. "We will be," she said.

"Well, in that case," Julie said slowly, "we're going to need more songs."

Emma's smile suddenly felt strained. What on earth was she getting herself into? "Uh, sure," she said, hoping that nobody else heard the anxiety in her voice.

Roxy looked around glumly. She didn't have a cellmate; apparently being famous had a few perks, but that was the most that could be said for the accommodations. She tried to tell herself she'd lived in worse-looking dives, but the truth was that she hadn't. Her old neighborhood had been working-class, but if the walls of her bedroom had been this bleak, she'd never known, for her father had wallpapered over them. Once she'd joined the Misfits, Pizzazz had set them all up with her dad's money until they'd made enough to buy their own pads. In Vegas, she might not have stayed in the ritziest places, but they'd been a far cry from what she was looking at now!

Despondently, she sank down on her bunk and fought to stay angry. If she didn't stay angry, she was going to get scared. If she got scared in a place like this, she was dead. Hadn't she seen enough prime time TV and movies of the week to know that much? She couldn't look weak and she couldn't appear vulnerable, no matter what.

"Pellegrini!"

Her head jerked up. "Here!" she gasped. Then she scowled. "I mean, who wants ta know?"

"Grab your stuff and come with me."

Roxy blinked. "What stuff? What's going on?"

A tight smile cracked the woman's face. "You just made bail."

"I'm okay with it, really," Deirdre sighed. "I mean, it's not like I'm afraid she'll try again." She sighed. "Actually, I'm still kicking myself for falling for her trick in the first place."

"Don't," Jerrica said. "The Misfits used to pull that kind of stuff all the time, but that was a few years ago and most of them grew out of it." She frowned. "I can still give you that phone number, if you want."

"For the counsellor?" Deirdre shook her head. "I don't think I need to. I-I mean, okay, if I start having trouble sleeping or I start getting scared of being in dark storage spaces or something, sure, but… I think I'm managing. Really."

Jerrica nodded. "All right. But if that changes… All I'm saying is that if someone were to call you a weakling because you had to get stitches in your leg, you'd know that they were being ridiculous. If someone were to call you a weakling because you had to see a therapist…"

"I know," Deirdre said firmly. "And it's great knowing that if I need one, it won't be a problem. But for now, I've been pouring everything I've got into my guitar and after a couple of jam sessions, everything's pretty much under control."

"And Roxy being out on bail won't change that?"

Deirdre shook her head. "I don't think so."

Jerrica nodded. "Okay."

"It's done?" Kimber asked, as Stormer came out of the office with an unreadable expression.

"Yeah," Stormer said, "but not by me. The guy called the prison to make the arrangement and found out that someone had beaten me to it."

Kimber blinked. "Who?"

"That's what I'd like to know!"

The gate opened with a loud creak and Roxy stepped out. She looked around and broke into a broad smile when she saw who was waving at her. "I knew you'd come throu—!" she started to gush.

"Hey, Roxy!"

She turned automatically at the sound of her name and several flashbulbs exploded before her eyes. "Hey! Quit it!" she snarled.

"Roxy!" Another voice to her left.

"Roxy!" Her right.

Voices were jabbering at her, overlapping, and she couldn't separate out what each one was saying. And then someone shoved a microphone into her face and demanded loudly, "Is it true that you abandoned a toddler so you could party it up in Vegas?"

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty

"Get out of my face!" Roxy snarled. "All of you!" She wanted nothing more than to grab one of the cameras or mics and feed it to its owner, but the picture of the cell she'd just left was still fresh in her mind and she didn't think that attacking a reporter in full view of the county lockup was the smartest thing she could do.

And then, someone flung a jacket over her, pulling it up to partly cover her face, and a familiar voice said, "Keep your head down and move!"

Time was when she would have followed that voice without question and, while that was no longer true most of the time, it was today. She hurried to the waiting car and all but collapsed into the front passenger seat.

"You okay?" her rescuer asked.

Roxy nodded. A small smile, one that was—for once—missing its all-too-habitual sneer, flitted across her face. "Yeah," she said softly. "Thanks, Pizzazz."

Stormer turned off the TV with a sigh of irritation.

"I outgrew Hector Ramirez ages ago," Kimber remarked.

"Yeah, well, you've got good taste," Stormer said. "On the one hand, Roxy was ready to do this to us, so maybe I shouldn't feel bad for her. On the other hand…"

"She used to be one of your best friends and you're a good person, so you do feel bad for her."

Stormer shook her head. "She was ready to drag us through the mud if Deirdre didn't drop the charges."

"And if Deirdre had, then Roxy would've still been using the photos as leverage. Bet her next move would be to get us to push Pizzazz to let her back with the Misfits."

Stormer thrust her hand angrily into the bowl of potato chips on the coffee table. "She might have been one of my best friends, but you know her pretty well, too," she sighed. "How did we all… get like this?" She smiled, as Kimber rested a hand on her shoulder.

"We grew up and stopped fooling around as much. She grew up and… started upping the ante."

"I guess that's one way to put it." She gestured at the TV. "As much as I want to think that's going to blow over…"

"It will," Kimber assured her.

"Yeah, but the stuff they were saying: about the shows she's cancelled, the drinking… disturbing the peace… I forget, were you watching when they showed the pictures of those hotel rooms she trashed?"

Kimber nodded. "Maybe it wasn't her," she said unconvincingly.

"What?" Stormer snorted. "She went out shopping and while she was away, some deranged creep broke in and deliberately destroyed her room so she'd look bad?"

"You guys did it to us," Kimber said. "Or Eric's goons did anyway."

"No," Stormer sighed. "A time or two, it was us. Only I don't think Roxy has any enemies now who would stoop to that level." She winced. "I think if she was just getting trashed in the tabloids, it would blow over. Nobody pretends that Ramirez is a serious journalist. But wild parties, cancelled engagements, getting blacklisted from two major hotel chains… I don't know if Roxy can come back from this."

"I'm sorry," Kimber said.

"Me too." She put her hand over Kimber's and gave it a squeeze.

"You want to see her?" Phyllis asked abruptly. "Hana Mae?"

Roxy snorted. "Probably give the kid nightmares if she sees me looking like this." She glanced nervously at her rescuer. "She know anything about what's going on?"

"No, and I'd like to keep it that way," Phyllis shot back. She sighed. "I've called Marisol and told her to stay inside with her. Much as I want to think the press would go easy on a kid, I can't count on it."

"Marisol?"

"Nanny. I work full-time, remember?"

"The pantsuit and scarf gave it away." She frowned. "How'd the press find out about me?"

Phyllis shook her head. "I didn't tell them, if that's what you're wondering. But Hector Ramirez broke the story. And you want to know who one of his up-and-coming employees is?"

Roxy hesitated. "Do I?" she asked.

"Clash."

Roxy growled something Phyllis was glad Hana Mae wasn't in the car to overhear. Then, in a louder mutter, "I'll kill her."

"That's it," Julie said, as the last chords of Kyla's guitar faded away. "We either quit now, or we take a couple of weeks off so I can get my voice back. I don't think I can sing another note tonight."

"Well, it sounds great," Emma said. "Seriously. You guys all sound great."

Kyla turned to her with a thoughtful expression. "Emma, you know, you could sing, too."

Emma took a step backwards. "Me?" she said, feeling her hands go clammy. "No. No way."

"I don't mean lead," Kyla said. "Julie's got that nailed, or she will have so long as she was exaggerating about losing her voice…?" She ended on a question and shot a glance in the other girl's direction.

Julie nodded. "I'm fine for now, but I want to stop before I overdo it."

"I hear ya." Kyla turned back to Emma. "But we could use some backup vocals. Here. I just want to see how this sounds. Sing your chorus and don't stop when I come in?"

Emma raised an eyebrow, but she took a breath and sang softly, "Up in the sky, looking down at the night…"

Kyla joined on the next line, but the notes she sang weren't the same ones that Emma was singing. "We are Starlight, Starlight."

The line sounded richer now, and somehow fuller. Emma stopped. "How…?"

Kyla shrugged. "Harmony's kind of my thing. Keep going."

Smiling now, not just in nervousness but with a touch of wonder, Emma obeyed.

Between the moon and the city lights

We are Starlight, Starlight…

Roxy walked into Phyllis's house with more than a little trepidation. Immediately, a dark-haired woman with East Asian features bustled into the hallway to greet them. Phyllis took a deep breath.

"Roxy, this is Marisol. Marisol, Roxy. She's Hana Mae's mother."

The smile on the nanny's face froze. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she said, and though her voice was warm, both Phyllis and Roxy caught a guarded note in her tone.

The old Pizzazz probably would have flown off the handle on Roxy's behalf and fired the nanny on the spot. The new one remembered all the times that Hana Mae had asked when her mother was coming back and how those pleas had slowly lessened and tapered off. Both she and Marisol had been there to observe it. She thought about the conversations she'd had with Roxy and tried to recall how many of them had taken place when Marisol had been present. And Ramirez was sleaze, but if Marisol had caught his show this morning, his hatchet job was probably coloring her perceptions.

Phyllis shook her head. "Roxy's been going through stuff," she said. "It's been a lot. Where's Hana Mae?"

Marisol's smile grew warmer. "The little angel's just down for her nap. Should… should I wake her?"

It was Roxy who answered. "No, let her rest. I've waited this long to see her again, I can wait another hour or so."

Phyllis opened her purse and pulled out her wallet. "I've cancelled my appointments and I'm staying in today," she told the nanny. "Here. Take the rest of the day off, and I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Marisol ducked her head once. "Of course, Ms Gabor. And thank you," she added, taking the money.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Roxy snorted. "Thought she'd never leave."

"Hey," Phyllis said, "she's great with Hana Mae. And she'll warm up to you, too, once she gets to know you."

Roxy sniffed. "Who says I'm sticking around that long?"

Phyllis started to retort, but then she realized that Roxy was pulling the same tough-girl act she always did when she was feeling vulnerable. Phyllis bit down on the inside of her lower lip. She could relate. She placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Bet you'll feel better after a long hot shower and a nap yourself," she said.

Roxy didn't answer. But when Phyllis tugged at her wrist, she offered no resistance and let her friend lead her toward a guest room.

"Thanks for picking her up, Pizzazz," Rory said.

Phyllis affected a nonchalant attitude. "Hey, any time, Riot."

"How is she?"

She sighed. "Ask me in a day or two. Right now, it's kind of hard to tell." And kind of hard to talk about when I don't know how awake she is and how much she'd going to overhear.

"I understand," Rory said. "Actually, I was wondering if we could meet face to face to hash out some of the details about the benefit."

"I thought Jerrica was handling that," Phyllis said.

"She is, but there are still a few things I want to discuss with you."

"Such as?"

There was a long pause. Then, Rory said, "I'd really rather not get into it over the phone. Could we meet for lunch on Wednesday? You can name the time and place."

"Um…" She reached for her appointment calendar. "Okay, I've got a client to see in Boyle Heights at twelve-thirty. If you don't mind a late lunch, we can do El Tepeyac on North Evergreen at two. It shouldn't be crowded at that time."

"That works," Rory said. "So. You like Mexican food."

"I like their Hollenbeck burritos," Phyllis countered. "See you on Wednesday." As she hung up the phone, she was wondering what the hell was so important that Rory needed to tell her to her face. At least, Wednesday was only two days away. She could live with the suspense until then.

Jerrica was passing by the common room, when she heard the music. She smiled to herself. The girls were clearly over their disappointment. She'd been worried about Emma. The girl had talent and determination, but she was sensitive and from the little bit that Jerrica could tell, she was used to being shunted aside, and denied most of what she requested.

Part of Jerrica wished that she could give the girls their chance to perform, and had it been purely a Jem concert, she might have considered it. The benefit, however, was the wrong venue. Every participant on that stage was going to be a seasoned professional with at least one hit album to their name. As proud as she was of her kids, they just weren't ready.

Listening to the song now, she had to admit that they were good, though. In a couple of years, if they stuck with it, they might just have a chance at turning professional. If that was what they wanted, Jerrica knew that she would give them the help they needed. Right now, though, she had to review the costume designs Shana had dropped by earlier in the day and decide on the look she wanted.

All the same, she waited for the music to end before she stepped away from the common room door.

A half hour later, Phyllis opened the door to Hana Mae's room to find Roxy standing by the little girl's bed, looking down at her.

"She got so big," Roxy murmured, turning to go. "She was just a baby when I left her with you."

Phyllis followed her out. "She's not much more than a baby, now," she said. "It's not too late."

Roxy snorted. "Some mother I am. You don't think she's better off without me?"

Phyllis sighed. "I don't have them here, but there are a couple of pamphlets I've got at the office you should look over. I'm not going to pretend that every kid belongs with their biological parents, but usually, that's the preference. There are workshops… counselling… I can connect you with the coordinator."

Roxy looked away. "Maybe."

"You could talk to Rory, too. I mean, more than you have been."

"And then we get married and Hana Mae gets a nuclear family and we all live happily ever after?"

Roxy's bitter sarcasm wasn't lost on Phyllis. "I didn't say that," she said. "I just think that maybe it'll be easier to raise her if he's in the picture. That doesn't mean he has to be under the same roof, but he called me after you dropped your bombshell, and he wants to meet her."

Roxy shrugged. "I don't mind. You can set something up."

"It might be better if—"

A small, tremulous voice interrupted their conversation, drawing both their attentions toward the open door and the small girl standing in front of it, her face nearly as white as her pigtails. "Mommy?"

"How do I do it?" Rory asked plaintively, and Jerrica remembered once more why she'd briefly dated the man. Underneath the suave self-assurance still lurked a terrified little boy and there was a part of Jerrica that earnestly wanted to protect that child. Forging a long-term relationship with him was another story, however.

"Do what?" she asked.

"If she were sixteen… I have some experience talking with teenaged girls. Though usually," he added, "they were squealing and trying to tear my clothes off or get me to sign their arms."

"Hardly typical behavior," Jerrica noted, deadpan.

"It was for me," Rory replied. "Please don't roll your eyes so strenuously," he added. "I can hear them on my end."

Jerrica snorted into the phone. This was the Rory she'd broken up with. "You were asking about Hana Mae."

"I've never been a father before," Rory said. "Not that I know of, anyway." The last was muttered under his breath.

"Well, it's not all fun and games," Jerrica said. "If you want to be a father, it's not just about being the fun dad who takes her to the amusement park and buys her candy."

"I know. I wouldn't really know how to be a 'fun dad' anyway," he added. "Though I do know better than to pack her off to military school, when she's old enough."

"You never know," Jerrica said, "she might want that. Either because she wants to follow in your footsteps, or because she'll find out you hated every minute and decide to go there just to prove she's her own person." She paused for a beat. "You may not know teenaged girls as well as you think you do, if you don't consider that possibility."

"Well, there are a few years to go before I have to deal with that. But if I meet her, when I meet her… what do I do? How do I act?"

Jerrica hesitated. She'd been a foster mother for years, but most of her girls didn't have their parents or extended families in the picture. Ba Nee had been a happy exception. "Be open to anything," she said softly.

"Pardon?"

"Try not to go in with a set of expectations. No matter what Phyllis tells you about Hana Mae's interests or personality, that might not be how she acts around you initially. Or it might be. Don't make major plans for your first meeting. At that age… You might want to take her to Disneyland and plan on spending the day there. And she might have the time of her life, or she might run away screaming when she sees The Evil Queen or Captain Hook." She paused. "Or she might just be upset that she's missing her cartoons."

Rory made a small noise that told Jerrica that he was listening. "What would you suggest?"

"Make the first meeting short. Remember: she's only four. Her attention span might be just, like, ten minutes or so."

"Don't take her to the movies," Rory said. "Got it."

"Try doing something at home with her. Maybe arts and crafts or coloring. Or take her someplace close by for ice cream," she added.

"So, ice cream is okay, but candy isn't?" Rory said, half-jokingly.

"What would you rather have?" Jerrica asked. "A dad who shows up in your life every so often, buys you a whole lot of stuff, and then goes back to his world until he decides to spend time with you again, or a dad who becomes a part of your life, listens to what you have to say, is there for you when you act out, and maybe can't remember your birthday and doesn't take you anywhere but the park, but when he's with you, he's not taking business calls or reading the paper, he's there?" She paused. "All I meant was, don't shower her with gifts for a week and then go back to the music industry and have your admin send off a monthly child support check. If you want to be more than just her biological father, then you need to invest in the relationship."

"Do you think, maybe, setting up a time when Pizzazz can be with us would be a good idea?"

Jerrica smiled. "Honestly? Yes. And maybe, Roxy, too."

Roxy held out her arms wide and Hana Mae ran into them. "Hi, baby," she whispered.

Hana Mae hugged her back fiercely. "You gonna stay?" she whispered.

Roxy squeezed harder. "You bet'cha kid," she said. "You bet'cha."

"Forever?"

The smile froze on Roxy's face, but she sounded sincere when she replied, "For as long as you need me."

Phyllis turned away, but not before Roxy saw her disapproving look.

Wendy looked up when John came through the front door of the apartment. "I shan't give up," she said with a groan. "But this is far more difficult than I'd thought!"

"Still no progress?" John asked, hanging his hat on the stand in the tiny vestibule.

"Oh, I've convinced her to disobey a number of the rules that place has laid down for her, but when she does, they may make things less pleasant for her, but there's no indication that they mean to pack her off. Not even to boarding school!" she added.

John sighed. "I don't believe Father meant that to be a punishment, truly," he said. "It was meant to prepare you to take your place in society."

"You make me sound as though I was to be a-a debutante, when we had neither the money nor the connections to dream such a thing!"

John shook his head. "I keep forgetting how times have changed," he said. "That rubbish is less important now; there's not been a debutante ball at court for nearly forty years. Were you to attend a boarding school now, though, it's entirely probable that you'd meet girls and perhaps boys from all walks of life, and the connections might be useful down the road."

"Boys?" Wendy exclaimed, startled. "How… astonishing."

"If you're here past the summer, you might expect the same," John pointed out. "Though for Michael's sake, we might hope you aren't."

"They barred her from the outing to the amusement park," Wendy groaned. "But they promised her she'd have another opportunity. I tried to pretend that I thought the whole thing beastly and that she'd be better off running away, but she told me she's been in places that were so much worse, and…"

"And…?" John prompted.

"And she'd miss me, too much," Wendy said with another groan. "Her other friends, too, of course, but… Do you know how long it's been that anyone has truly wanted me for me? Not as leverage to keep you in line. Not as a curiosity to be trotted out when the youngest boys are homesick and Pan thinks they'll be right as rain with a good bedtime story. But simply because… they liked me?"

"She can't go to Neverland," John pointed out. "And you can't stay here. Not forever. One way or another, the two of you will be parted. The only question is how much more it's going to hurt when it happens."

Wendy nodded miserably.

"Say," John said suddenly, "do you think she might run off if you chose to run with her?"

Wendy's eyebrows rose. "Perhaps…" she said, considering. "Perhaps, she would, at that…"

Phyllis was going over some reports and thinking wryly that she'd resented it when her father had brought his work home with him. Then again, what she'd really resented had been that his work had never stopped. He'd go to her guitar recitals with a pager in his pocket, step outside the hall before she ever went on, and return long after she'd finished. When she'd blown up at him, he'd asked her whether she would have preferred he not go at all. The day she'd said 'yes' had been the last time he'd ever attended.

She wasn't going to make that mistake with Hana Mae. Sure, she brought home work, but she tried to save it for when Hana Mae was asleep. And if the little girl was awake and needed something, Phyllis was quick to push away whatever she was working on and get back to it later. So far, the arrangement was working.

She got up and stole down the hall, following the sound of Roxy's voice.

"…married the princess and they lived happily… ever… after!"

Phyllis smiled. The light in Hana Mae's room was out, meaning that Roxy had either been making up the story or telling it from memory. She was good at both. After a moment, Roxy joined her in the hallway.

"She's sleeping," Roxy said with a sigh. "And I'm beat."

"Yeah, well, you've been through a hell of a lot," Phyllis said.

"I know. Hey. Thanks for getting me out."

"What are friends for?"

Roxy winced. "Thanks for that, too."

"I'm going to sit up for a bit," Phyllis said. "Still got some stuff to review. I can break out a Viennetta if you want."

Roxy shook her head. "Nah, I'm not hungry. Might just go out and get some air. I've been cooped up since…"

"I hear you," Phyllis nodded. "Lucky for you, this is a pretty safe neighborhood, but watch yourself anyway."

"Always do," Roxy said. She went into the spare bedroom and emerged with her purse a moment later. "Well. Bye for now."

Phyllis nodded absently, going back to her home office and her folders. Absorbed in her work, she didn't realize how much time had passed until she finally pushed the last item aside and realized that it was after two in the morning. No wonder she was feeling tired! She frowned. She hadn't heard Roxy come back. Maybe she'd… No, she would have had to buzz to be let in. Phyllis groaned. "If you went on a bender, Roxy, I swear…" she muttered.

She went into the spare bedroom, half-hoping that Roxy had somehow managed to get in after all. The bed hadn't been slept in. But on the leopard-print bedspread was a sheet of notepaper.

Pizzazz, it read, thanks again. Tell Hana Mae I love her and I'm sorry, but she doesn't need me. She has you.

It was unsigned. Then again, it didn't need a signature. Phyllis crumpled the note, feeling her heart plummet down to her stomach. Damn it Roxy, she thought, she's just a kid! How the hell can you do this? And how the hell do I break it to her? She was about to shred the note when she thought better of it. Maybe Roxy would be back when she'd cooled down. But if she wasn't, if she ended up going to jail—or worse, on the run from the law—one day, Hana Mae might want proof that her mother had loved her. If that day ever came, she'd have it.

Phyllis uncrumpled the note again, laid it flat on the desk, and set a large book atop it to smooth out the creases. She didn't think she'd be able to sleep now, but she knew she was going to try. Hana Mae was going to need her tomorrow, and she owed it to the kid—and to her clients—to at least try to get a good night's sleep. And if she had to call in tomorrow to be there for the kid, then so be it!

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-One

"Uh… Shana," Shana looked up to see Aja standing nervously in the doorway. "Do you still… do commissions?"

Shana laughed. "Sure, when I've got time! The benefit's taking up a lot of it, but when that's over, I should be free. Why?"

Aja looked away. "I was wondering if you could design a wedding dress."

Shana jumped up and took Aja's hands in her own. "For you? Of course!"

"I don't want to take advantage of our friendship—"

Shana interrupted her before she could complete the sentence. "You'd better not be even thinking of paying me," she snapped. "And what's with this 'friendship'? The last I looked we were sisters!"

Foster sisters, technically, but Aja knew that Shana's mock outrage would morph into genuine hurt if she were to add that qualifier. They were sisters by choice and had been since they were twelve. "Sorry," she said at once. "I didn't want to make you feel like I was trying to score a free dress."

"Call it a wedding present," Shana said firmly. "And tell Craig I've got his tux covered too."

She didn't tack on an 'or else', but Aja heard one all the same and smiled her gratitude.

"Hey, kid," Phyllis said, "morning. Time to get up."

Hana May opened her eyes, stretched, and yawned.

"Sleep well?"

The little girl rubbed her eyes. "Is Mommy here?" she asked. Then she frowned. "Did I just dream she came?"

As much as Phyllis wanted to confirm it, she'd never lied to the kid—except about Santa Claus, so far, and yes, fine, she was probably going to tell her there was a tooth fairy in a year or so, too—but she wasn't going to start lying about the important stuff now. "You didn't dream it, Hana May," she said soberly.

A wide smile split the child's face. "Then where is she?" she asked. "Did she sleep here? Is she in the kitchen already?"

Phyllis put a hand on her shoulder. "She left," she said.

Hana May frowned. "Where did she go?"

Phyllis sighed. "I don't know."

"When's she coming back?"

"I don't know that either."

"Is she coming back?"

Phyllis tried to smile. "I hope so."

Hana May looked away. "I don't."

"Kid…"

"It's not fair!" The sentence seemed to explode from her mouth. "Why'd she even come if she was just gonna go? I thought she was gonna stay here with us forever! I thought…"

Phyllis had never thought of herself as especially loving, but she acted on pure instinct as she folded the girl into a hug. "I know," she said. "I know."

And for a few minutes that felt like forever, she let Hana May cry. Gradually, the sobs faded to whimpers and the child relaxed. Phyllis shifted her onto her lap. "You up for a story, kid?" she asked quietly.

Hana May gave a slight shrug.

Phyllis held her tighter. "Once upon a time, there was a princess with long green hair. She had a mommy and a daddy who loved her very much. But the princess's mommy didn't like living in the castle. She wanted blue skies and open fields and lots of adventure. And even though she loved her daughter and the king very much, that didn't stop her from getting up one day when the princess was about six and walking out of the castle and never coming back."

"I'm not six," Hana May protested.

"And your hair's not green," Phyllis smiled. "But I can tell you a different story if you want."

Hana May shook her head. "I wanna hear this one," she said, settling back in.

Phyllis nodded. And then she continued trying to turn her own life's story into a tale suitable for preschoolers.

"So, I won't be in today," Phyllis finished. "Can you call my appointments and let them know I'll be in touch tomorrow to reschedule? Just tell them I had an emergency situation," she added.

"Ain't that the truth?" Louisa Azavedo sighed in commiseration. "You sure today's going to be enough?"

"Let's take it one day at a time," Phyllis said. "Hana May's a tough kid. Today might be all we need; I'll let you know if it isn't."

"Think her mother's going to turn up again?"

Phyllis had been asking herself the same question. "Hard to say," she admitted. "I think she was happy to spend time with her daughter yesterday, but… she's got issues and they aren't all legal ones. She's not under house arrest or wearing an ankle monitor or anything. I know she's been working in Vegas for the last couple of years. Nothing stopping her from going back there, so long as she's in town on the trial date." She sighed. "If she does, and then she pulls another disappearing act, it's going to hit the kid hard. But I don't gotta tell you that."

"No, you don't," Azavedo said. "Well, if there's anything we can do for you besides the time off, let us know."

"Thanks," Phyllis said. "I'll be in touch." She was smiling a little as she ended the call. Once upon a time, she might have tried toughing out a situation without letting anyone else know what was going on, much less asking for any help or accommodation. But she gotten a little older and a little wiser… and a little girl who needed her. And she had to admit that it was a good feeling to know that there were people around who had her back if she needed them.

"What are these?" Wendy asked, gesturing toward the sheets of paper that Joellen was beginning to distribute.

A row of narrow, beaded braids flew smoothly in a half circle as the older girl turned around. "Permission slips," Joellen grinned. "There's a concert coming up to benefit Parkinson's. Since the concert is organized by Starlight Music and…"

"And we're Starlight Camp!" Wendy exclaimed.

"Yup! The camp's run by the Starlight Foundation, which is run by the music company, so every so often," Joellen's grin widened, "we get perks like this."

"You mean," Emma's eyes widened, "we're going to the concert?"

"That's what I mean," Joellen nodded, putting a slip in Wendy's outstretched hand.

"Uh… what about me?" Emma asked.

"You're a Starlight girl, Emma," Joellen said. "Jerrica or Mrs. Bailey will take care of it for you."

"Oh, right," Emma mumbled, flushing a little. A small smile played on her face. She turned to Wendy. "Can I catch up with you later?" she asked.

"Of course," Wendy said. "Why?"

"Oh," Emma replied, "I think that maybe, just maybe, there's a way for the Starlights to play that benefit after all…"

"But I didn't abandon her," Rory protested. "I didn't know she existed until two days ago, and if I'd known it sooner, I would have been there!"

Phyllis fought down a surge of temper. "You don't work with kids like her day in and day out, Llewellyn, I do. I'm not blaming you, but whether you knew about her or not, you haven't been in the picture until now. Last night, her mother walked out on her for the second time. As far as she's concerned, you walked out on her before she was born." Rory started to say something, but Phyllis wasn't done. "I know that's not fair to you, but Hana May is four. She's not so good at seeing things from different perspectives, yet. She's not ready."

There was a long silence. Then, Rory asked hesitantly, "How about if you brought her to a park and I met you there? Let me see her, let me talk to her. She doesn't have to know who I am yet, but we can meet, we can talk a little, we can start to get to know each other…"

Phyllis considered. "No gifts," she said.

"Pardon?"

"I'm going to have to take a raincheck on our lunch date, I think, but there's a park three blocks away from me I'll find out what it's called and get back to you; for me, it's just 'the park'. Anyway, I'll tell you when I'm taking her there, but if she's tired or cranky or bored, we won't stick around for long. If you show up, I'll introduce you to her as a friend of mine. But don't give her a toy or a candy. Don't try to win her over at the first meeting. And if she just says 'hi' and then runs off to play on the slide, don't take it as a rejection. She has to get to know you."

"I won't push," Rory promised. "I just want to see her."

"Seeing her won't be a problem," Phyllis told him. "But if you want a relationship, that's not going to happen overnight. She needs time."

After she hung up, Phyllis whispered to the empty kitchen, "…And so do I."

"I don't understand," Marla said. "So, we're going to the benefit. Jerrica said we're not—"

Emma interrupted her, excitement trumping politeness for once. "Yeah, but once we're there, I bet we can find a way to get backstage, and if we can do that, then maybe when they break between sets, we can just run on."

Kyla frowned. "Don't they have security? What if we get arrested?"

"Jerrica won't let that happen," Emma said.

"If it's even up to Jerrica," Julie said. When the other three girls turned to look at her, she took a hesitant step back. "I'm just saying she doesn't own the stadium. She might be able to ask whoever does to let us off with a warning, but if they say no…"

"Guys," Emma said, "seriously? We get up there, we start playing, and once they hear us, they won't let us leave the stage 'til we're done. We just have to be amazing, that's all."

"No," Kyla said. "Not amazing. Outrageous!"

"Or at least, professional," Marla nodded with a grin. "Let's get back to practicing."

"Roxanne?"

Startled, Roxy whirled to face the person who'd just called out to her. Her eyes widened. She recognized him, too. "Link?" She broke into a broad smile. "I haven't seen you since Philly! What the hell are you doing in LA?"

Link grinned back. "I'm a mover these days, babe," he said. "Just got paid to freight some family's stuff from West Philly to San Pedro. I was going to head back, but my boss called and offered to pay me to stick around so I can move some other folks from Westwood to Center City over the weekend." He chuckled. "Of course, I said yes. So, I'm doing a little sightseeing for the next couple of days. How about you?"

Roxy hesitated. "Oh, I'm… hanging in," she said. "Hey, you want to grab some coffee and catch up?"

Link nodded. "Sounds great. Oh, uh," he reached into his pocket and came up with a small notepad. "My wife, she's been a Misfits fan from way back. I kind of think one of the reasons she took a chance on going out with me was because I told her I went to school with you and she wanted details. Somewhere along the way, we started talking about other stuff, but… yeah. Guess you could say, you got us together. Anyway, she asked me to bring her back a souvenir, and I know she'd rather have your autograph than some Hollywood mug. You mind?"

Roxy laughed. "Hey, no prob. Got a pen?"

Link was married. Pity; she'd been thinking that maybe the two of them could recapture what they'd had long ago, after she'd dropped out of high school, before she'd lit out for the west coast. But even if that wasn't about to happen now, Link was still a good guy and, at least for a minute, he'd made her forget the mess she'd been making of her life. And clearly, he'd married a woman with good taste, she mused, smiling just a bit as he handed her a Pilot V7.

"Hangin' in, new kid?" Deirdre looked up from tuning her guitar and smiled nervously at Jetta.

"I'm okay, I guess," she said. "It's all… starting to sink in. I'm jamming with you guys, and… in a few weeks, I'm going out on stage and it won't just be the audience in the stadium; it's going to be on TV."

Jetta nodded. "Yup. Nervous?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

Jetta laughed. "Hell, yeah," she said. "But don't let it show. You're a Misfit, now, Baxter. You're tough, you're fearless, and you don't take no guff from nobody, you get me?"

"I don't feel like a Misfit," Deirdre protested. "Or maybe I do… but it's 'misfit' with a small 'm'."

"A misfit among Misfits?" Jetta asked.

Deirdre winced. "Yeah."

"Well, come and jam with the rest of my crew, then, for a bit," Jetta grinned, gesturing toward the three other musicians, who were setting up at the opposite end of the room. "Hey, and maybe you can help us come up with a name for our ensemble, 'cuz so far, we haven't yet hit on one."

"I-I'm not great with names," Deirdre admitted, already getting to her feet.

"Well, neither are we, so you're in good company. You need the sheet music, or can you pick it up on the fly, like?"

Deirdre hesitated. "I'm pretty good at improvising once I know the song, but maybe I could start with the music, if that's okay?"

"Fine with me, lass," a dark-haired man smiled at her. He thrust forward his hand. "Ken Shaughnessy. Trumpet. I don't think we were rightly introduced before."

"Uh… Deirdre Baxter. Guitar," Deirdre replied. She hesitated. "I never really thought a trumpet could sound punk until I heard yours."

Ken laughed in a friendly fashion. "I'm not the first. Won't be the last. So. Shall we see what a trumpet, two guitars, a keyboard, and a sax can sound like together?"

Deirdre nodded, dimly aware that she was still smiling and hoping she didn't look nearly as scared or foolish as she felt. "I'm game if you are," she brazened. "Let me see the music."

Catching up with Link hadn't been nearly as much fun as Roxy had hoped it would be. Once upon a time, she'd been the West Philly girl who'd left her old gang behind and struck it rich in Hollywood with a hot rock band. Now, her career was more or less in the toilet, and Link had a wife, a kid on the way, and a steady paycheck. From what he'd told her, the other Red Aces were also doing well. Maybe they weren't raking in six-figure paychecks or getting their pictures in the papers, but they were working, raising families, basically living the dream.

Why the hell had she walked out on Hana May? What had she been thinking? Roxy heaved a sigh. She'd been thinking that she didn't want her daughter to know how big a screw-up she'd become. The more time she and Hana May spent together, the greater the likelihood that her secret would come out.

She slumped. She'd been so worried that Hana May would find out she was a terrible person that she'd walked away first. And in doing so, she'd managed to prove that she was a terrible person.

What had she done?

She needed a drink. Something stronger than coffee. No. No, she was better than this, or at least she would be. She had to be. She made her way back to the hotel. Somehow, she doubted that Rory was going to keep footing the bill for it now. He hadn't told her otherwise, but who said he'd have the guts to tell her to her face—or ear—that he was cutting her off? Maybe he'd just tell the hotel staff he was paying through the week or something and leave it to them to throw her out. She'd better find someplace cheap to stay for now. Some hostel or… or… Wait, did the Y only rent to men, or did they have rooms for women, too?

If they didn't, maybe they could point her in the right direction. She started to flag down a taxi, then stopped. If the Y was close enough, she could walk. She just needed a phone book so she could check the address. The hotel probably had one, but she was going to keep an eye out for a phone booth on the way, just in case they didn't.

Rory didn't usually visit playgrounds. Even as a child, he'd only gone under duress. He looked around quickly. One eyebrow quirked up and he made his way to the sandbox and sat down on a bench beside a woman wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat that completely hid her hair and a pair of dark sunglasses. "The leopard-print jacket gave you away," he said.

"Shh!" Phyllis stage whispered. "First, it's fake and second, Hana May thinks it's Dalmatian."

"Huh?"

"I told her I bought it off Cruella De Vil, okay?"

"I watched that movie," Rory said. "She didn't actually make that coat in the end."

"Yeah, well, Hana May hasn't seen it either; just clips on Disney."

"Is that still on the air?" Rory asked.

Phyllis shrugged. "No, but you can rent some of the old episodes at Blockbuster."

"Ah." Rory leaned forward. "I took your advice. I didn't buy her a pony. But if a Good Humor truck comes by, I'd like to treat both of you, if that's all right."

"Much safer than C.C. Brown's," Phyllis smiled approvingly. "I'm really trying to keep her off the celebrity circuit." She glanced toward a corner of the sandbox. "Hana May," she called, "I'd like you to meet a friend of mine."

"Friend?" Rory repeated.

"Take it slow," Phyllis murmured. "She's just had her mom walk out on her. I don't know how she'll react to her dad showing up out of the blue. Let her get to know you first."

Rory didn't answer. He was watching the little girl with the white French braid approach. "Hi," she said. "I'm Hana May."

"Hello, Hana May," Rory said gravely. "I'm Rory."

Hana May smiled. Then she looked at Phyllis. "Can I play, now?" she asked.

Phyllis shot Rory an apologetic look, but Rory was already leaning toward her. "Can I play, too?" he asked.

Hana May giggled. "You're too old!" she exclaimed.

Rory pretended he didn't hear Phyllis's snort. "You might be right," he admitted. "But it looked like you were having a lot of fun." He sighed. "That's not something I get enough of."

Hana May mulled that over. "You can watch me play," she offered generously. She pointed to another bench, closer to the corner where she'd been previously. "There."

Rory cast a glance in Phyllis's direction. Phyllis nodded. "All right, then," he said. "And thank you."

Hana May shrugged.

She'd bought the auburn rinse at a drug store and applied it after taking a scissors to her long white hair. Roxy wasn't entirely sure she liked the results. She'd braided it into two plaits and then snipped them off, leaving her with a short and mostly-even bob. When she'd applied the rinse, though, the color had come in patchy. She squinted at the label as she held the box with dye-stained fingers obscuring the writing. It looked like you didn't always get the results you wanted if you weren't using the rinse over your natural color.

I was trying to get back to my natural color! Roxy thought to herself. It was a rinse. She could wash it out. She looked at her watch. Damn. There was no time. And even if there had been she was trying not to be recognized. The Roxy everyone thought they knew wouldn't be caught dead looking like this!

She reached for the pamphlet she'd picked up on a table near the front desk. Yep. The meeting was at seven-thirty and it was five to. She sighed. She'd probably hate it and never go again anyway. Yes, she would. She would until the trial anyway. She had to show that she was trying to get her life under control, so maybe the judge would give her a break.

And so maybe, she could be around her daughter and not realize that Hana May was a million times better off without her.

Running out on Hana May might've been a cruddy thing to do, but at least she knew that Phyllis was taking good care of her. With Phyllis, Hana May was never going to wake up crying in the middle of the night with nobody to hear her because Mommy had just run down to the bar for a minute that had stretched to an hour. Or because Mommy had ordered a bottle from room service and was currently passed out on the sofa. Or because…

Roxy bit her lip. Yesterday had been great, but it couldn't have lasted. It wouldn't unless she did something about it.

She locked the door behind her and took the elevator down to the basement.

"Hi, are you here for the meeting?"

Startled, Roxy took an involuntary step back. "Uh… yeah," she snapped. "That okay?"

The woman held up her hands, palms up and out. "Yes, of course. Welcome. I'm Michelle."

"Uh… Roxanne." There had to be a million Roxannes in LA. She had enough on her mind right now without having to remember a fake name.

"Welcome," Michelle said, smiling gently. "Is this your first time at an AA meeting?"

Roxy nodded.

"Welcome," Michelle repeated. "We'll get started in a few minutes, so if you want to get yourself a cup of coffee and some cake, help yourself. It'll still be there after the meeting, too."

"Uh, thanks," Roxy said, looking around. Funny. She recognized some of these people. Or maybe it wasn't so funny. This was Los Angeles and plenty of people in show business drank or took harder stuff. That was Connie Long. She'd used to co-anchor California Beat back in the day. Roxy vaguely recalled reading something about how her contract hadn't been renewed after too many missed shows. And whoa, she'd recognize Devon Silverstone anywhere! Still had those blue eyes that sparkled when he smiled at you. As though he'd read her mind, he looked up and grinned. She smiled back weakly and looked away. Her eyes slid over a willowy woman about her own age with long blonde hair. Slid… and snapped back. For a moment her mouth gaped open. "Minx?" she blurted in disbelief. "Is that you?"

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Two

Minx started. For a moment, her gaze travelled over Roxy from top to toe. Roxy felt her confidence wilt as she realized how she must appear to the other woman: lousy haircut, patchy color job, neutral cosmetics… Her clothes were designer, but they'd been stuffed in a suitcase when she'd left Vegas and she hadn't bothered to send them out for ironing, so they looked grungy and not fashionably grungy either. Time seemed to freeze as Minx smiled coldly, her nose tilting upwards. "This is not the right time or the right place to ask for an autograph, meine leibe. You'll have to send a self-addressed envelope to my fan club office, like everyone else."

"Huh?" Roxy was too taken aback to feel anger, at least not right away. "Minx, it's Roxy! Don't you know me?"

Minx's eyes widened slightly. Then, her nose rose higher. "I can't say the name rings a bell," she murmured, already turning away.

Roxy took a step forward. "Now, hang on—"

And then another voice spoke and, while it didn't shout, it seemed to resonate and carry around the room. "If everyone could please take your seats," Michelle said, "I'll call this meeting to order."

Roxy shot a baleful look at Minx's retreating back, but she found a seat at one end of the half-circle of chairs and slid into it. If this turned out to be the mistake it was looking like, she'd be able to get out of here without tripping over anybody else's feet!

"So," Rory ventured, "did I pass?"

Phyllis tilted the receiver away from her lips to sigh. "If you're asking whether she talked about you when we got home, the answer's no. Give her time. Let her get to know you."

"I know, I know," Rory said. "I guess I was hoping we'd see each other and there'd be this instant connection, like…"

"Love at first sight, parent-child style?" Phyllis asked dryly. "Welcome to the real world."

"She's a sweet girl," Rory said. "I want to see her again soon. If she wants to see me, I mean."

Phyllis considered. "I'll sound her out on the idea," she said slowly. "If she's okay with it, we can set up another meeting."

Rory hesitated. "I'd like to see you again, too," he said quietly.

She hadn't expected that. "To talk about Hana May?" she asked.

"And other things," Rory replied. A decade ago, he would have been flirting, but this evening, he sounded serious. A decade ago, she would have thrown herself at him, but how much of that would have been about wanting him for himself, and how much would have been about wanting him because he'd wanted Jem? "I enjoyed our time together today, too, Phyllis," Rory continued. "If there's already someone in your life, then we can pretend I never said what I just said, but if there isn't… would you be open to doing something together, just the two of us?"

Phyllis's eyebrows shot up. "You're asking me on a date," she translated.

"Yes."

A decade ago, she would have been over the moon. Now, though, "I'll have to check my schedule. And just so you know, I'm not exactly a wild party girl these days."

"I'm not looking for a wild party girl."

"And I'm not a goody-goody like Jem, either."

"My only interest in Jem these days is professional."

"Had a fight?"

"We would have had to have been together for that," Rory sighed. "There was attraction, but at the end of the day, I think she and I are better as friends than lovers."

Phyllis laughed suddenly. "Would you listen to us? When did we all get so mature?"

"Responsibilities have a way of doing that. So, was that a yes?"

"It was a maybe."

"Still better than a no," Rory said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "I'll be in touch."

As they ended the call, it occurred to Phyllis that mature people could still flirt after all.

Roxy wasn't sure what she'd been expecting from the meeting. From what other people had told her, it had sounded like it would be a whole bunch of people crying about how their lives had been in the toilet because of the awful, awful booze, but now everything was sunshine and rainbows and a Jem hit since they'd sobered up!

The reality hadn't been nearly that awful. Sure, there had been a few speakers who had made her roll her eyes and she'd had to bite her tongue not to mutter something snarky under her breath about bringing veggies and dip to the pity party potluck. There had also been speakers who had caught her attention by admitting that their lives were still pretty messed up, and that they were still working on 'rebuilding a bunch of bridges they'd burned', but that coming to these meetings helped them see that they weren't alone. (Maybe she'd still rolled her eyes at them, but not nearly as much.)

She hadn't spoken. Neither had Minx. After the meeting, when everyone had gone back to the refreshments tables, she'd slipped away, mumbling something about finding the ladies' room in case anyone was about to waylay her and ask her what she'd thought or whether she'd be back.

Back in the elevator, she pushed the button for her floor. Maybe this was a first step: she wasn't rushing out to a bar for a drink after the meeting. Maybe she was just tired. Maybe she didn't need any more bad publicity, if she drank more than she planned and did something that would work against her when her court date came up again. "One day at a time," she muttered, repeating a catch-phrase that she'd heard enough tonight to have stuck in her head. "Or one night, anyway. I can get through tonight without a drink."

What was Minx's problem anyway? The blonde had always been stuck-up and spoiled, kinda like Pizzazz used to be, minus the loyalty and the sense of humor. And yet, here she was in an AA meeting. No need for her to go sticking her nose in the air like she was so much better than everyone else. "When was her last hit single?" Roxy muttered derisively. Damn, she could use a dr— She choked off the thought before she could finish it. She absolutely was not going to get hammered tonight. And if she was, it wouldn't be because Ingrid "Minx" Kruger wouldn't give her the time of day!

No, she was going to… to… Just what the hell did she do these days when she didn't have a gig and she wasn't out partying? "Damn, I'm pathetic," she muttered as the elevator doors opened. Her shoulders slumped a bit lower as she made her way back to her room.

"There's something missing," Emma sighed. "It just sounds… babyish."

Wendy clucked sympathetically. "However do you mean? I thought it sounded wonderful!"

"That's just…" Emma felt her face grow hot. "I was going to say it was just because I was the only singing it, but I don't mean it like that! It's… I don't know how to write music. When I sing it alone, it sounds fine, but when we all sing it together, we're all singing the same thing and…" Her eyes widened slightly. "Harmony. That's it. We shouldn't all be singing exactly the same notes, but I don't know how to write other notes. I didn't even write these; Kimber did."

Wendy frowned, considering. "Well," she said slowly, "I suppose that there are two ways to go about it. We can… find a piano and see if we can learn what notes sound best played together through trying different combinations, or we can go to the library. I'm sure that there must be some book that lays it all out."

"I don't need somebody shushing me every time I want to say something," Emma groaned. "And I'm no good at looking stuff up." She winced. "But even if we found a piano, it's not like I can read music."

"No," Wendy said, smiling just a bit, "but I can."

Emma started to smile back. "There are a couple of pianos at Starlight House," she remembered. "I don't know if I can reserve one or if we'll have to hope that one of them is free when you come over, but I can find out."

"Yes," Wendy enthused. "And I'll ask my brother if he knows of any others, in case the ones you know of aren't available." Impulsively, she squeezed Emma's arm. "It'll be grand!"

Emma's eyes widened at the contact, but after a moment, she clasped her friend's shoulder warmly. "Yeah," she repeated. "Grand."

Pan heard the Shadow's report with a frown. "She's still happy," he repeated. "Still feeling… loved?"

"It would seem so," the Shadow replied dryly. "And much as it pains me to report, I don't believe our agent is shirking her mission. Hope is a powerful thing and where it flickers, with the right fuel, it will flame."

"Ah but some flames rise up for but an instant and then burn out," Pan replied. "Visit Wendy in another night or two. Impress on her the importance that she keeps playing the game. Show her what illusions you like to make your point, you know well enough the sort that will spur her forward. And then sit back and wait."

The Shadow shook its head. "You're that sure she can accomplish her task," it marveled. "Despite all setbacks."

Pan smirked. "Have you ever known me to fail, Shadow?"

"Never," the Shadow admitted grudgingly, and Pan laughed.

"I've no intention of starting now. Be off, then. Report back to me when you've done."

Despite his contemptuous tone, he gave his oldest companion on the island the courtesy of watching as took once more to the skies, only returning to camp when its inky blackness had become indistinguishable from the gathering storm clouds overhead.

"Emma?" Emma looked up to see Casey standing before her. "Want to go downstairs and play table tennis?"

Emma shook her head. "I'm no good at that."

"Neither am I," Casey informed her. "But we can still have fun playing."

Emma bent over her notebook again. "No thanks."

Casey sighed dramatically. "You never want to do anything with me or Stephanie anymore," she protested. "If you're not with Wendy, you're doing stuff for the band! Aren't we still friends?"

Emma let the notebook fall to her lap. "Casey! Of course we are! You and Stephanie are the first friends I made here! It's just that the song I wrote… it needs another verse, and I can't make the words come!"

"Maybe you're trying too hard," Casey suggested. At Emma's questioning look, the other girl continued, "Sometimes, when I'm trying to write a composition and I can't find the right words, I go do something else for an hour or so. Sometimes I go for a walk and think about it, but a lot of times, I watch TV or I put on cassette, or I play a game. And then when I go back to the composition, somehow, the words are there."

"But," Emma blinked, "don't you run out of time? I mean, if you're doing other stuff, what happens if you're having so much fun, you don't go back to the composition?"

Casey shrugged. "I tell myself how much time away I'm going to take and I try to stick to it."

"And that works?" Emma had a hard enough time staying focused on schoolwork when she liked the subject.

"Well," Casey said, shrugging again, "I guess, maybe, I try to start my compositions earlier than the night before they're due, so I have time to take those breaks."

Emma groaned. "I knew there was a catch."

"Give it a try," Casey said, almost pleading. "Stephanie's so much better than me that it's no fun playing table tennis with her. And if you want," she suggested, "I can listen to your lyrics afterwards."

Emma was relieved that Casey hadn't offered to help her write them. Maybe they weren't coming as easily as she might have liked, but they were all hers. She sighed. "Okay," she said, getting up with a smile. "I'll give it a shot. Let me put this back in my room and we'll go down there together."

Casey smiled back.

"And then he asked me out," Phyllis finished.

Jerrica was silent for a moment. Then, she asked carefully, "So…?"

"I don't know," Phyllis admitted, lifting her coffee mug and taking a sip. "Time was when I thought he and me could have something. Of course, the fact that he was putting the moves on Jem at the time might've had something to do with it."

Jerrica smiled. "You did have that rivalry going on back then."

"Yeah." She winced. "Part of me wonders if he's only interested in me now because Jem turned him down."

Jerrica shook her head. "As far as I know, they haven't spoken in years. I think Jem's pretty much moved on."

"With Rio?" Phyllis asked in a tone that might almost have been sympathetic.

Jerrica shook her head. "No, she's currently unattached," she replied.

Phyllis snorted. "Well, good. I mean, the guy was playing both of you, right? At the time, I was furious I couldn't get him away from Jem, but if he was fooling around with the two of you behind each other's backs, he'd have cheated on me in the end, too."

"I…" Jerrica swallowed. "It wasn't like that."

Phyllis's eyebrows shot up. "You mean, you weren't exclusive?"

Jerrica said nothing, but a flush spread over her cheeks. Phyllis laughed. "Next you'll be telling me it was a threesome!"

Jerrica shook her head. "It wasn't," she mumbled. "I just… thought we had… more than we did. So, it was fine with me if he spent time with Jem. It wasn't behind my back. I knew all about it, but I thought it was okay. I thought we were okay. And then I found out we… weren't."

"So, he dumped you for Jem and then he dumped her? Or she dumped him?"

"She liked him," Jerrica said softly. "As a friend. When she saw things were going further, she came to me. We talked about it. Then Rio and I talked about it. Things were said. By all of us," she clarified. "Some of them… hurt. And in the end, we all went our separate ways."

Phyllis shook her head. "And now you and Jem are working together," she said. "You gonna be okay with that?"

Jerrica nodded. "She's a professional. So am I. We're managing."

"Yeah." Phyllis took another swig of now-lukewarm coffee. "Well, if you ever decide that being a professional sucks, give me a call. I still have a few dirty tricks up my sleeve and I can't think of a nicer person to use them on, if you want me to."

Jerrica shook her head, but a small chuckle escaped her and Phyllis smirked.

"No, don't," Jerrica said. "Seriously." She hesitated. "But thanks, anyway."

"Hey," Phyllis answered, "what are friends for?"

Marisol was giving Hana May her dinner when Phyllis walked in. "That looks good," she said, eyeing the macaroni and cheese casserole. "There any left over?"

"Marisol made a whole pan!" Hana May proclaimed. "She said you'd be hungry when you came home!"

Phyllis smiled at her nanny. "You were right," she admitted. "Thanks." She meant it, too. She'd only hired the woman to look after Hana May, but Marisol seemed to be unable to cook a single serving of any meal. She glanced at the pan. There were easily three or four servings left. "Uh, does this freeze?" she asked. She never could remember the rules, especially when it came to pasta.

"Oh, yes," Marisol assured her. "Just let it thaw in the fridge before you reheat."

"Thanks." She bent down to look at Hana May. "Hey, kid," she said. "What did you think of Mr. Llewellyn yesterday?"

Hana May shrugged. "He was nice."

"Would you like to see him again?"

"Sure."

"Okay," Phyllis said.

"Phyllis?"

"Hmmm?"

"Is Mister Loo-lin your boyfriend?"

Phyllis blinked. "Why? Do you think I need a boyfriend?"

Hana May shrugged. "He was nice," she repeated.

"Well," Phyllis said slowly, "right now, he's just my friend."

"So, if he's your friend, and he's a boy," Hana May said with a giggle, "then he's your boyfriend!"

Phyllis searched for the words to explain the difference between a 'friend who was a boy' and a 'boyfriend' in terms a four-year-old could grasp, but Rory's earlier phone call was also weighing on her. If he was interested in exploring a relationship with her, then Hana May's assessment, while not quite on the mark today, might become accurate down the road. If that happened, would Hana May remember this conversation later and think that Phyllis had lied to her? Or would she be confused? Phyllis closed her eyes briefly. It had been a long day and she was tired. "Whatever, kid," she said cheerfully. "Whatever."

Roxy pawed frantically through her suitcase. She knew she had a mini of scotch in there somewhere, or was it rum? It didn't matter. She needed it. Her life was in the toilet and the enormity of what the future might hold was weighing on her tonight and she couldn't face it alone. She'd made it almost a full twenty-four hours without a drink, but enough was enough; she needed a nip of something and she barely cared what!

She could go to a bar, but with her luck, someone from that meeting she'd been to would see her going in or coming out. Probably Minx. And the next time Roxy went back, the blonde would be smirking at her. She'd probably tell everyone at the meeting. She could hear it now.

…And while I've been strong enough to stay clear of strong drink, I saw Roxy go into a bar barely a day after coming to last week's session!

She'd never live it down. She could picture the looks of pity, of disgust. They'd probably kick her out. Maybe they'd even blacklist her so she couldn't go to any other meetings. She couldn't deal with that. She absolutely had to find that bottle!

She yanked out clothes and flung them willy-nilly about the room. Toiletries and cosmetics followed. Her guitar picks. And then, her hand closed on something smooth, hard, and flat. What the hell…? She looked at the book and her gaze softened. My First Reader. She remembered Ba Nee giving it to her when she'd been at a different low point in her life. At the time, she hadn't believed that her life could be any better than the pile of crap it had felt like then. But things had gotten better. No. She'd made them better. She'd read every word of that book, not caring that everyone else she knew could already do so easily. Well, maybe she'd cared a little bit. At least, she'd cared enough not let anyone catch her stumbling over the words as she fought her way through the slim volume. And no, finishing the reader hadn't made much difference to her finances or her career… but it had made a difference for her.

Roxy sank onto the bed. And then, not really paying attention to what she was doing, she opened the reader to the first page. "I see the boy," she read aloud softly.

She'd learned how to read at twenty. It had been hard, but she'd managed. If she'd been able to do that, then she could learn how to stop drinking at twenty-seven. "I see the boy," she whispered. "See him run…"

Wendy pushed open the door of the flat and sighed. It was so strange and so unfair! Today, she'd gone searching for some of her favorite puddings. Nothing so elaborate as spice marble cake or the vanilla blancmange that Liza had poured into a mold to set—so that it came out looking rather like a crown with rounded 'fingers' instead of pointy bits at the top—and then garnished with pansies. No, she'd gone looking for a shop that sold syllabub or treacle tart or even bread-and-butter pudding. She'd visited the food courts of no fewer than four shopping malls and not a vendor had known what she was on about. Fancy never having heard of syllabub!

Dejected, she'd finally purchased an order of popcorn shrimp and a cinnamon apple pie. The shrimp had tasted far better that evening when Emma had introduced her to it, and the pie had been a fried rectangle of filled dough, not a proper wedge slice, nor a half-moon or triangular hand-pie. Fancy fried rectangular pies!

"Nothing fancy about this lot," she muttered to herself. "It's simply peculiar, that's what!"

As she shut the door behind her, she realized that she was alone in the flat. Right. John had mentioned that he'd be a bit late getting back as he had to… to… Well, truth be told, she didn't recall what her brother had said he'd needed to do. Doubtless something quite important that she couldn't make head nor tail of, and that he couldn't properly explain. Really, this was all getting rather tiresome. In fact, sometimes she thought that John had grown rather tiresome, but then she quickly reminded herself of the days and weeks when she'd yearned to see him again, if only for a moment and she was ashamed.

"Oh, John," she whispered. "I was always the eldest. How could you grow up before me and leave me so far behind?"

Her eyes burned and she swiped angrily at her tears. No point being a bigger baby than she already felt! She blinked. When had the sky grown so dark? Surely the sun hadn't already set in the few minutes since she'd stepped inside.

The darkness surged inside the room engulfing her with a soft, sinister, and all-too-familiar chortle and Wendy screamed.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Three

Cold. So cold it burned. It seeped under her clothing, it froze her eyes, her fingers, and her toes, and she could feel her breath—hard, sharp icicles before her. Alive, she thought frantically. I am still alive! But for how long? How long could she last in this cold in her absurdly unsuitable clothing and sandals? How long would Pan's minion play with her before it tore away her shadow? And when it did, could it possibly hurt more than this freezing darkness?

And then, she heard a voice, brittle and mocking in her ears. "Ah, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy. One thinks you've become quite the lazy little girl."

"No," she protested, trying to shout to be heard above the howling winds. "No… please!"

"You have a task to complete," the voice continued in a sinister sing-song. "Are you certain you haven't been shirking?"

"I haven't!" Wendy cried. "Please, you must believe me!"

The gale winds rose to a screaming pitch and Wendy tried to cover her ears, but her arms were blocks of ice, too heavy to lift. And then the voice spoke again.

"Pan's patience grows short, little Wendy-bird. As does your tether. Before either is at an end, you will succeed in your mission, or others will pay the price!"

Screaming, Wendy struggled against the inky blackness, which wrapped itself all the more tightly about her. And then, without warning, it released her!

Off-balance, her eyes squeezed shut against the light that suddenly filled the room once more, Wendy crashed heavily to the ground.

She couldn't say how long she lay there, shaking and whimpering. It was only when John found her on the floor some time later and took her in his arms that she was finally able to let her sobs come.

"I can't believe you wrote this!" Marla gushed. "I thought what we already had was good enough, but this is… is…"

"It's da bomb!" Julie exclaimed. When the other three girls turned to look at her, she quickly broke eye contact and scuffed her shoe on the carpet. "It's just something my brother used to say," she mumbled, and Kyla put an arm around her.

Emma hesitated. "Did I… miss something?"

Julie shook her head. "It's not… I… My brother said it all the time. We lived in a tough neighborhood before I came here." She winced. "I came home from a friend's house one day and there was yellow tape around our house. The social worker said… a drive-by. I don't know if Mike did anything… if they thought he did, or…" She drew a shuddering breath. "He and my folks were in the living room, and a car went by and…" Her voice trailed off, as she shook her head. "He was fifteen. I'm fifteen now. I…" She sucked in a breath. Then, softly, "Well, now you know how I got to be a Starlight girl," she said with a sad smile.

Emma took a step closer. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything," Julie assured her. "I just said something without thinking about it, and it wasn't until I said it that I remembered the last person who used it around me was Mike and…"

"It's okay," Kyla said softly.

Emma wasn't sure if she should stay or go. In most of her foster placements, opening up the way Julie had was asking for trouble. Sympathy was rare. More often, such admissions were met with either derision, or an angry retort that just about every other kid in the system had some tragic past and it didn't make them special. Emma wasn't going to go that route. Finally, she said, "I heard kids in Boston say it, too. 'Da bomb.'"

Julie looked up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She couldn't remember now if it had been any kids she'd actually known, or if she'd just heard it on TV. "We can do this stuff tomorrow, if you want," she added, holding up the sheet of paper with the new lyrics.

Julie half-rose. "No. No, I'm okay," she said at once.

"You're sure?" Marla, silent until now, asked the question almost in unison with Emma.

"I will be," Julie said. "Really. Singing helps."

"Okay," Emma said. "But anytime you want to call it a day…"

Julie nodded. "Thanks."

John found his sister curled up on the floor in the fetal position, whimpering softly. "Wendy!" he exclaimed, kneeling by her side. "Wendy!"

"C-c-cold," Wendy whispered faintly. "So cold. I n-never knew."

"Wendy?"

She didn't open her eyes, but her cheek lolled against his arm when he half-lifted her torso. "Do our shadows keep us warm, John?" she asked through still-chattering teeth. "Is that why ripping them away kills us? Because we freeze to death?"

John held his sister tighter as she trembled. "You're not freezing to death, Wendy," he whispered gently. "And you still have your shadow."

"Do I?" she asked. "Are you quite sure?"

For answer, John carried her toward the window. "Here," he said, holding her hand up before the glass. "Look. Look at the wall. See? That's your hand."

Wendy opened her eyes slowly. Smiling, John held up his free hand, contorting his fingers so that the shadow it cast on the wall resembled the head of a dog. A breath of air escaped Wendy's nostrils, almost like a laugh.

"You remember!" she said, for one moment back in the nursery of their home in Bloomsbury over a century earlier.

"How we got Michael to sleep?" John asked. "Of course. "Here. You do one."

And she did, raising both hands up to cast an eagle's silhouette on the wall.

John countered with a camel's head, which Wendy followed with a rabbit. By the time he'd produced a duck—the last puppet he knew how to create with only the one hand, Wendy was giggling. A bear's shape appeared on the wall beside it and with a mock growl, pounced on the duck.

Laughing, John dropped the illusion, splaying his fingers wide. He took a breath. "Are you quite all right, then?" he asked.

Sobering somewhat, Wendy nodded. "I think so," she said. "Pan's Shadow came at me."

John's expression hardened. "Did it?"

"It seemed to think I've been shirking," she said. "As if I could, with poor Michael a prisoner in Neverland!"

"Pan's a child," John pointed out. "Patience doesn't always come easy to him." He shook his head. "It would serve him right if his haste had him come a cropper one of these days."

"Don't think I haven't hoped for it," Wendy murmured. "But Peter Pan…"

"…Never fails," John finished with a sigh. "Well, since you're doing his bidding, it's safe to say, neither will you."

"But what should I do if the Shadow comes back again?"

John cast about looking for some words of reassurance, but found none. "What could you do?" he asked finally. "But rest assured, I'll be here to pick you up again, should that happen."

Unless it gets to you, first, Wendy thought, but she kept silent, as though voicing the words might make them reality.

"Hey," Stormer said, pausing before the cracked-open door, "they sound pretty good."

Kimber nodded, but her smile was tinged with concern. "I want to think that they're just practicing in case there's an amateur talent show coming up," she said carefully.

"But…" Stormer prompted.

Kimber sighed. "But I remember what being a teenager was like. You still have this idea that if you're in the right place, at the right time, and impress the right people…"

Stormer nodded. "It could happen," she said. "I wouldn't have been a Misfit if Phyllis hadn't found me performing at a club on," she smiled with a touch of embarrassment, "Amateur Night. But you're right. It doesn't happen often."

"And I bet you weren't eleven, or even sixteen," Kimber added, noting the ages of the youngest and eldest performers in the band.

"Nineteen with an ID that said I was twenty-three?" Stormer replied, her embarrassment growing a bit more pronounced. "Hey, the place wouldn't let anyone in who wasn't legal drinking age."

"Not judging," Kimber grinned back. Her expression turned serious once more. "I just hope they're not thinking that if they can impress Jerrica enough, they'll have a spot on the benefit bill. Reality's gonna really bite hard if they do."

Stormer shook her head sadly. "Rejection's part of showbiz," she said. "It's a lousy part, but it's something they're going to have to deal with. At least, this time."

"Well, maybe they are just rehearsing for a talent show or something," Kimber said unconvincingly. "At least, I hope so."

The two women continued down the corridor, the strains of music growing fainter behind them.

"I'm sorry, Jerrica," Synergy told her. "The reasons why my existence must be kept secret have not changed. My holographic powers still surpass anything that current technology is capable of replicating, and so long as that holds true, there is still the danger of what might transpire, should I fall into the wrong hands.

Jerrica nodded sadly. "I was afraid of that, but I thought I'd ask."

"Is there someone new in your life?" Synergy asked, and for a moment, Jerrica felt like she was twelve once more, having a heart-to-heart talk with her mother. Perhaps that wasn't as strange as it might have appeared at first blush: when her father had created Synergy, he'd poured a lot of Jacqui Benton into her voice and personality.

Maybe that was why Jerrica was sure she was blushing. "No," she said at once. "Nothing like that. But… Pizzazz brought up Jem and she thought that Rio was fooling around with her and… the best I could come up with made it seem like I didn't care if he was dating other women on the side, when—"

"When you would have cared, had the other women not been you."

Jerrica nodded, but she was frowning, too. "I should have cared more, even back then, because Rio thought he was dating another woman. Two, if you count Jamie," she added, even though that holographic alter ego hadn't lasted long. "And I think I did. Some." She sighed. "It wasn't fair. He even guessed it once and I had you throw up a hologram of Jem to throw him off, when I should have just confirmed it."

"Perhaps," Synergy agreed. "But if he was willing to date Jem when he didn't know that she and you were the same person, there is a high probability that he would have been willing to date other women, even had he known the truth then. I suspect that the hurt and betrayal you felt later when the two of you parted ways for good would have been far sharper had it come when you shared your secret with him."

"It did come when I shared my secret with him," Jerrica reminded her. "Maybe if I'd told him sooner, he wouldn't have felt guilty about dating Jem and then felt… betrayed when he found out the truth. Maybe he could have handled it if I could have trusted him!"

Synergy made a sympathetic noise that sounded so exactly like her mother's that Jerrica almost wished she could hug the computer. She looked up to see that the holographic simulacrum was sitting on the console beside her. "You'll never know that for certain, I'm afraid," Synergy's voice was kind. "But what's prompted this conversation now? Has Rio come back?"

Jerrica shook her head. "No," she sighed. "I was just… having a conversation with Pizzazz, I mean Phyllis. Eight years ago, I'd never have considered telling her, but now, I want Jem to do this benefit. And maybe afterwards, she won't go back into retirement so fast. But I don't want to go back to the double life and the lies and the hiding and…"

She sighed.

Synergy was silent for a moment. "I can't make your decision for you, Jerrica," she said finally. "But whichever course you choose, there will be risks involved and you can't anticipate all of them. I can only trust that you'll consider your options and choose wisely."

And did choosing wisely always mean choosing right? Jerrica wondered.

Emma looked up when Stephanie sat down across from her at lunch. "Hey." Then she saw the other girl's expression. "What's the matter?"

Stephanie hesitated. "Can I ask you something kind of… bad?"

Emma frowned. "Bad, how?"

"Bad, like I think I already know the answer, but I want to know if I'm right."

Emma swallowed, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. "Is this… I know we haven't been hanging out as much, but I've been rehearsing with the band and it's been eating up a lot of free time. I know it's not fair and once it's over—"

Stephanie shook her head. "No, it's not about that, though Casey and me do miss you. It's… did you call me and Casey 'great sillies' and 'gigglemugs'?"

"What?" Emma's jaw dropped. "No, of course not!"

"Empty-headed poltroons?"

"Huh?"

A smile was tugging at Stephanie's lips now, as she continued. "Heinous harridans?"

"Does that even sound like anything I'd ever say?" Emma demanded.

"No," Stephanie said emphatically. "It doesn't."

"But then, why…?"

Stephanie sighed. "Because when I asked Wendy if she knew where you were, she told me that you didn't want to talk with either me or Casey, and that you'd told her that we were… all those things. What's a poltroon, anyway?"

"I have no clue," Emma said. "I've never heard that word before."

"Neither had I, until Wendy said you'd said it."

Emma shook her head, scarcely able to believe her ears. "What else did she say?" Emma asked.

"Only that if we asked you, you'd deny it because you didn't want to hurt our feelings."

"But you came to me anyway," Emma said slowly.

"Well, I wasn't going to believe Wendy without talking to you, first!" Stephanie exclaimed. "Look, you've been busy lately, and you were kind of shy when you first came to Starlight House, but you've never been mean."

Emma sighed. "Thanks." She frowned. "You don't believe Wendy, right?"

"I couldn't before and I don't now."

"Thanks," Emma said again, but her eyes were troubled. "I don't understand why she would have said those things." She paused for a beat. "But I'm going to find out."

Wendy looked up as three shadows fell across her picnic table. "Emma!" she greeted her friend. Her gaze traveled to the other two girls. "Casey," she said with a bit more strain in her voice, "Stephanie, how nice to see all of you!"

Emma didn't beat around the bush. "Did you tell them that I was trash-talking them to you behind their backs?"

Wendy flinched. "I-I don't know that I've heard that word before," she said, though she imagined she could guess at its meaning.

"That's okay," Stephanie said, her voice hard. "None of us had ever heard of gigglemugs or poltroons until this morning."

"But they don't sound like compliments," Casey added.

Wendy looked from one face to the next. "I-I didn't mean…"

"You didn't mean what?" Emma asked. "You didn't mean to lie to my friends to… I don't know, try to get them to dump me? What the hell is going on?"

"Emma!" Casey gasped, clapping a hand to her lips.

"Appropriate, under the circumstances," Stephanie muttered.

"No!" Wendy exclaimed. "That wasn't at all what I meant to do!"

Emma's eyes opened very wide. "You're lying to me," she said, sounding stunned. "That's exactly what you meant to do. Why?"

Wendy lowered her eyes. "B-because you're the first true friend I've ever had and I didn't want to share you!"

Stephanie's mouth hung open for a moment, and she took a step toward the stricken girl, but Emma's expression didn't thaw.

"I don't have a lot going for me," she said coldly, "but I do have this one talent. Call it a superpower if you like, but I've always been able to tell when someone's lying. So try telling us the truth. Am I really your first friend?"

Wendy nodded frantically. "Yes!"

Emma's expression thawed for a moment as a rush of warmth flowed over her. "Why did you try to break us up?"

Wendy hesitated. "I…" She looked at Casey and Stephanie. "I'm sorry."

"That's not an answer," Stephanie said.

"I-I know. I wanted Emma all to myself. I did. Truly. I know it was wrong of me, but I had hopes…"

Emma blinked. "I-I don't get it. You're telling the truth now, but you weren't before, I don't…" Her breath caught. "You said I was your first true friend. "I asked if I was your first friend. You said yes, but…" she drew another breath. "Wendy, are you my friend?"

Wendy smiled. "Yes, of course!" she exclaimed, but Emma's expression had hardened again.

"I should've known," she muttered. "What was the plan? Were you softening me up, so I'd tell you which boy I liked, so you could tell everyone else? Hide my clothes while I was showering after swimming?" Both had happened to her before.

"No!" Wendy cried. "Of course not! I—"

"Then why?"

Wendy looked down. "I can't tell you."

"Can't? Or won't?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Forget it. We're done here." She spun on her heel and stalked away. Her friends gave Wendy a brief glance before turning and following.

"I don't get it," Aja said with a puzzled frown. "Why now?"

Jerrica sighed. "Because when Kimber and Stormer came to me to ask how to deal with Roxy's blackmail attempt, I told them that owning it and getting ahead of the rumor was one option, and that living a double life could be pretty stressful. And ever since then, I've been thinking. For the last eight years, there's been no Jem, no trying to be in two places at once, no juggling two lives and trying to remember what Jerrica should know and what Jem should know and not slipping up…"

"And now, Jem's back," Aja said, understanding.

"Now Jem's back. And I don't want to live a double life anymore. I was hoping I wouldn't have to, but Synergy reminded me again of the risks if her hologram technology were to fall into the wrong hands."

"Yeah," Aja said, "but she's downstairs behind an illusion of a wall and she's… sort of big and heavy and hard to make off with. How big a risk is it?"

Jerrica shook her head. "I don't know. Even if the odds are ten thousand to one, there's that one chance. It's easy to think everything will be fine, but if it isn't, if someone uses her to commit crimes, that'll be my fault."

"Pretty sure it'll be the crooks' fault," Aja countered, "but I hear. So…"

"So," Jerrica sighed, "it's back to the double life. Until the benefit. Then Jem goes back into retirement. This time, for good."

"Emma!" Wendy exclaimed the next day. "I've found a piano! Now we can experiment!"

Emma looked at her coldly. "Experiment?" she repeated as though Wendy had spoken a foreign language.

Wendy's smile dimmed. "Well… yes. For your song. The harmonies. I-I thought we could find them together."

Emma shook her head. "No thanks," she said, her voice almost a monotone. "The band and me can work on those."

"But I thought we…"

Emma's gaze seemed to bore right through Wendy. "There is no 'we'," Emma informed her. "There's me and my friends… and then there's you."

"I'm your friend, too!" Wendy said desperately.

Emma shook her head. "No," she said, sounding both surprised and disappointed. "You aren't."

"Please! I-I'll prove it to you."

"You can't," Emma said. "It's like I told you before: I don't know how, but I can always tell when someone is outright lying to me. You are now and you were yesterday. I've been trying to figure out why, whether it was something I did, or whether it's just some game you're playing until you get tired of me and start laughing at me to my face, instead of behind my back—"

"I'd never!" Wendy interjected.

Emma's lips twitched. "Well, that's something," she said. Her voice hardened once more. "But it's not enough. Don't talk to me again." She stalked off to join Stephanie, who was standing by a cluster of trees some distance away.

Wendy watched, a wave of cold dread washing over her, as she recalled her last encounter with Pan's Shadow.

Joellen smiled at the three girls. "Well, there is a piano in the main hall," she said slowly. "We're using it for the camp talent show. The hard part is booking time on it; you can't be in there alone without supervision, and if some of the other people in the show need time to practice, you can't monopolize it during every free period." A puzzled frown came to her face. "Why not just use the one at Starlight House?"

"Same issue," Emma shrugged. "One piano, a bunch of kids and…" she winced. "I-I'm really not very good at it. I want to experiment, see if I can figure out how to do the harmony, but to everyone else, it's just going to sound like I'm banging on the piano, when I'm trying to find out what works."

Joellen thought for a moment. "Maybe there's a way," she said slowly. "I-I don't want to get your hopes up, especially with the benefit coming up; it might not be available."

"What?" Casey asked.

"Wait," Stephanie said, with dawning excitement. "You mean the one in the re—"

"Yes, but let me make sure it's possible!" Joellen interrupted. "And there's still the supervision aspect. Look. Let me… talk to Jerrica. I'll get back to you tomorrow."

John was back when Wendy returned home. He took one look at his sister's stony expression and moved to set the kettle on. "Bad day?" he asked.

Wendy sat down heavily at the table. "She has magic," Wendy said.

John blinked. "That isn't possible."

"Oh," Wendy said hurriedly, "I don't mean she can cast spells or fly or anything. But she can tell when someone's fibbing and she caught me out." She groaned. "She asked me if I was her friend. Now she knows the truth."

John didn't speak for a long moment. Then, "How much have you told her."

"About Pan?" Wendy laughed bitterly. "Nothing. Who would believe me?"

"If she can tell when a person's lying, I daresay you've your answer," John said dryly, "but all the same, it's a relief you didn't."

"Is it?" Wendy asked. "Of course, if I tell her the truth, then Michael's life is forfeit. But if I fail, Michael's life is forfeit, just the same. Oh, John. Whatever am I to do?"

John set a cup of tea down before her. "You're going to drink this," he said. "And then, you're going to have a good supper and go to bed. Perhaps befriending Emma is now out of the question, but that was never a requirement."

"But…"

"Pan wants her to be miserable," John reminded her, "wary, mistrustful, and above all, separated from Starlight House and any other place that might show her the warmth and affection that would allow her to find her place in the world. You were hoping to entice her to run away?"

Wendy nodded. "Or at least, make her other friends cross enough with her to shun her before I abandoned her, too."

"It was good thinking," John agreed. "But since it hasn't worked as you'd hoped, well, I suppose the other alternative would be to have her sent away."

"From Starlight House?" Wendy asked. She frowned. "Well, yes, I can see how that would work, but how am I to arrange for that to happen?"

John smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, you're a smart girl, Wendy. I'm quite certain you'll concoct something…"

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Four

Phyllis stood before her walk-in closet, eyeing her options with distaste. When the hell had she gone so… establishment? Tailored suits and blouses, casual t-shirts and jeans… and very little in-between. More to the point, very little that she wanted Rory to see her in when they went out tomorrow. It had made sense at the time: she'd given up the rebellious bad-girl rocker act, she'd been raising a toddler, and she'd wanted to dress in a style that wouldn't make her stand out for all the wrong reasons at the office or at Hana May's nursery school. She still dressed fashionably, but she'd ditched the low-cut leopard-print junk to act—what she'd told herself was—her age. Tonight, though, she wanted something more… fun.

She hesitated only a moment before dialing a number. "Hey, Stormer. You doing anything this afternoon?" She smiled. "Feel like going shopping? I could use a few things." Stormer would never outright say if the outfit she picked was awful, but Phyllis had known her long enough to pick up her friend's obvious tells. If Stormer told her that it was stunning immediately, then it was. But Stormer was an awful liar, and if she stammered, if her smile seemed forced, if she hemmed and hawed, Phyllis considered herself expert enough to gauge from those reactions just how much of a fashion faux pas it would be. And while, even now, the two of them had very different styles, Phyllis knew that she could trust Stormer to distinguish between, 'Not something I would wear' and 'Not something anyone in their right mind would wear.' Phyllis was shooting for something in-between, but closer to the former.

For now, though, it was Marisol's day off. She threw on some items from the casual side of her wardrobe and headed into the kitchen to start breakfast before Hana May woke up.

Roxy hadn't had a drink in two days and YMCA hostels didn't have room service. She glanced at her watch. Forty-nine hours, seventeen mi—What the hell was wrong with her? Did she miss drinking so much that she had to keep track of exactly how long it had been since…? Yeah. Yeah, she did. And she wanted the stuff so bad it hurt, but her life was in the toilet and if she'd gotten anything out of that meeting, it had been the realization that drinking might help her forget the crap she was dealing with for a little while, but it wouldn't fix it.

"What if forgetting's good enough?" she asked herself aloud. Actually, forgetting sounded pretty damned good. Forget running out on Hana May. Forget the mess with that Baxter chick who'd stolen her place. Forget the court date and the threat of prison and the way Minx had sneered down her nose at her. Forget that she was a washed-up has-been at twenty-nine, who'd probably been blacklisted in Vegas after skipping out on her last gig without a word. Forget that she'd turned her back on a benefit concert that might have led to a comeback. Yeah, forgetting really did sound pretty damned good.

She looked at her watch again. It was nearly eleven. The closest bar opened at three. She could hold out until then. At least, she thought she could.

She grabbed her jacket. Maybe she could get a six-pack to tide her over until then.

"Hey," Casey said softly. Emma looked up. She'd been sitting on the wide window sill, her knees to her chest, looking out at the grounds of the Starlight mansion. She forced herself to smile. "Hey."

"You okay?"

Emma shrugged. "Sure. I guess. I mean, it hurts knowing that she was just stringing me along, but I'll get over it."

Casey sighed. Then, she grabbed a chair and pulled it closer. "Why do people do stuff like that anyway?" she asked.

"Beats me," Emma muttered. "It's not like I ever did anything to her; if I had, I'd understand it. Well, maybe." Her voice broke a bit on the last word, and she swiped angrily at her eye. "I'm fine!" she snapped, when Casey put a hand on her shoulder. Then she shook her head and tried to smile. "Seriously. I'm okay. I just… want to be here for a little, all right?"

"Sure," Casey said.

Emma turned back to the window. She heard a scrape as the chair moved away. When she looked around a few minutes later, she saw that Casey was sitting some distance away, her nose pointed down in a book. Emma allowed herself the slightest of smiles. She had real friends here, the kind who were there if you needed them, but who were okay if you needed time for yourself, too and didn't think you were stuck-up, just because you felt like being alone. When she returned her gaze to the window a moment later, she felt some of the tension go out of her shoulders and she closed her eyes and exhaled. Sometimes, she thought, you can have a day when some terrible stuff happens and still call it a good day. Sometimes.

Jerrica frowned thoughtfully, considering Joellen's request. "I have to agree with you," she said. "Since Emma's started writing songs, she's really started coming out of her shell. And I know that she and the girls were disappointed when I had to tell them they couldn't play the benefit, but they're still showing the discipline to keep practicing." She smiled. "All right. I'll check when the recording studio at Starlight Records is available. Aja knows the equipment better than anyone else; we need to factor that in, too. But if we can find a time when the studio is free, Aja's around to keep an eye on the equipment, and you're able to keep an eye on the girls…"

Joellen grinned. "They can rehearse at the record company?"

"They can rehearse at the record company." She hesitated. "But don't tell them anything until you and Aja have the logistics worked out."

Joellen nodded, still beaming. "All right!"

"So, that's why you never went goo-goo eyes over Rory or Rio," Phyllis said, smiling just a bit, as she sat in Stormer's Saab in the parking lot of one of LA's better shopping malls.

Stormer smiled back weakly from the driver's seat. "I thought it'd be better if you heard it from me, in case Roxy told you first."

"Yeah, I get it," Phyllis nodded. "And while I'd be lying if I said I suspected it all along, I'd also be lying if I said I was shocked."

"And it's okay?" Stormer asked, and Phyllis snorted.

"With me? Sure. I've met enough folks in the music industry to figure out that I'm more interested in whether they can carry a melody and show up on time to rehearsals than who they're sleeping with." Her face turned serious. "I've met teens in foster care that ended up in the system because their parents didn't want them around once they came out, too. Kids whose parents sent them for what they call conversion therapy," she added, "and blamed them when it didn't work."

Stormer winced. "My folks still don't know," she admitted. "Or maybe they figure if they ask me no questions, I'll tell them no lies."

"I can believe that," Phyllis nodded.

"I'm lucky Craig's always been there for me. And now, well, Kimber of course. And Aja and Jerrica. And…" She met Phyllis's eyes with an expression that was equal parts hopeful and apprehensive.

"You know I am, kid," Phyllis said. "And if I don't hug you, it's just because I've never been big on touchy-feely stuff, and with the benefit coming up, I'm trying to let my inner mean girl out to play again. Don't worry," she added. "Between my day job and Hana May, I can't afford to let her get up to the sort of tricks she used to, but the fans are expecting her, so…"

"Hey, you don't have to tell me about being in the closet," Stormer chuckled, and Phyllis laughed. "I'm not really out, not yet," she added. "And yeah, I know that the more people we tell, the sooner the word's probably going to get out, but for now, Kimber and I are sort of… keeping it to people we think we can trust."

Phyllis nodded. "In that case, I'm glad you think I'm one of them."

"Ready to hit the mall?" Stormer asked, hitting the button to unlock her car doors.

Phyllis unfastened her seatbelt. "No time like the present," she said, glad for the change to a less-charged topic of conversation. "No time like the present."

It was half-past two and Roxy couldn't wait any longer. She grabbed her purse, making sure that her credit card was in her wallet. She frowned, trying to remember how much balance she had left available. She'd used to be good with numbers, even when she hadn't been able to tell one letter from the other. At least, she'd been able to add up the figures, though she'd trusted Eric and Stormer to explain the various taxes, fees, and surcharges. She might not have known her earnings to the penny, but she'd never had to worry about rent or groceries. Now, she wasn't sure if she had enough for a beer.

She sighed. "If I don't, here's hoping the Calabria Lounge won't expect me to pay up until I'm ready to go." They wouldn't be able to get the drinks back from her by then. And maybe someone would recognize her and offer to buy her a drink anyway.

If not, she'd have to look at other options: dine-n-dash, get rowdy and hope to get thrown out, pretend to pass out and then act as though someone had stolen her wallet while she'd been sleeping…

Did they still make you wash dishes if you couldn't pay?

Maybe the card would go through. Otherwise, she might just find out the answer to that question.

Roxy was making her way down the street and wishing she'd taken her car. She knew it was better that she hadn't, not where she was heading. She was facing a court date in the not-so-distant future. She had to make sure she didn't have any more run-ins with the law until after that happened, and considering that she was planning to drink until she forgot how badly she'd mucked up her life so far, she sure as hell wasn't going to want to be driving when she was done. Or maybe she would want to be driving, she thought darkly, and so now, while she was still sober enough to think about consequences, she was making sure she wouldn't have the opportunity.

She wasn't paying attention to her surroundings, and her foot came down hard on someone else's. Startled, she stepped backwards, came down wrong, and went sprawling. "Shit!"

"Are you all right?" a man's voice asked quickly, and Roxy found herself looking into a pair of intense blue eyes, as a firm hand reached out to help her up.

"I'm fine!" Roxy snapped. "Next time, watch where you're going!"

"I think I saw you at the Y last night," the man said, taking hold of her arm with his other hand and gently pulling her upright. "I'm—"

"—Devon Silverstone, yeah, I know." Roxy said pulling free as soon as she was standing.

"And you're…"

"Don't act like you don't recognize me!"

A puzzled look came to Devon's face. "I-I'm sorry," he said. "I'm afraid I don't."

All at once, Roxy remembered. The hatchet-and-dye job she'd done on her hair. Maybe Minx hadn't recognized her, after all. "Roxy," she muttered. "We met on Magic Island, a few years back, for that TV special."

Devon's eyes widened and damn if that didn't make them look even more arresting. "Roxy, of course!" He shook his head ruefully. "If you'd prefer, I can make myself disappear, but if you'll let me, I'd like to buy you a cup of coffee to make up for, well, all of this."

"Coffee?" Roxy repeated.

Devon sighed. "Look," he said, lowering his voice, "honestly? I've burned a number of bridges over the past few years. That wasn't my first meeting last night. I went through some bad times, but I've been doing better for six months, now. Well enough to tell my agent I'm ready to go back to work. Unfortunately, Hollywood has either forgotten about me… or they remember me for all the wrong reasons. I just got off the phone with my agent. I was hoping he'd have some good news for me, but he didn't. And right now, I'm about this close," he held his thumb and index finger up about a half-inch apart, "to chucking six months of sobriety and hitting the first pub I can find. That's not your problem, I know," he added, "and I'm not asking you to play therapist, but maybe just… coffee and talking would be enough to hold me until tonight."

"Tonight?" Roxy echoed, wondering when she'd turned into a parrot.

"There's another meeting at… Sorry, I'm blanking on the name of the church, but it's about six blocks from here and it's got a blue door. I'm sorry. If it was later in the day, or if it was the weekend, I'd call my sponsor, but he's working now. I have a few other people I can call, but if they're busy, I…" He hesitated. "I don't think I can deal with much more rejection today. And now, I'm putting you on the spot," he added apologetically. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I'm not trying to guilt you into anything."

Roxy hesitated. "Well, it's not like I've got anything better to do," she muttered. "Yeah, sure. Let's get that coffee. And, uh, Devon? My life isn't exactly Grammys and platinum albums right now, yannow? Not sure talking to me's gonna help anything, but, well, I… guess I sort of know where you're coming from." She paused for a beat. "Actually, I… was going for something a little stronger than coffee, myself, so if you're looking for someone to talk you out of a good time, I'm probably not the right person."

Devon absorbed that. Then he smiled. "Well, maybe we can talk each other out of one. And if you want to hang out until that meeting starts, if you feel up to joining me… No pressure," he added and Roxy laughed.

"That better not be your idea of a date, because more coffee and stale donuts sure as hell isn't mine."

"Ah, but that's one of the selling points for this locale," Devon beamed. "The donuts will be fresh. But that's not till later," he added, when Roxy chuckled again. "Meanwhile, I do know a place with better coffee than they'll be serving tonight. If you'll allow me…"

Several hours later, Roxy made her way back to her hotel room. She was tense and jittery; a gallon or so of strong coffee would do that to a person. She'd also probably polished off a box of doughnuts on her own. (Devon had been wrong: they'd been at least a day old, but she was a sucker for Boston creams and you didn't have to make small talk if you were stuffing your face.)

She was, however, stone-cold sober.

Yay, me, she thought, tugging off her boots. She was too caffeinated to hope to sleep tonight. She definitely wasn't used to this much sugar in her system, and Devon was a nice guy, but nice guys were so not her type. At least, when she was drunk, she didn't feel this lousy.

That came when the drink wore off, she reminded herself. Until it did, though, she felt like she was on top of the world. Right now, she just felt hyper and tightly wound.

It wasn't too late. She could still find a bar and kick back. She was tempted. She sort of wished this dive had a bar fridge, or that she could order a beer through room service. This place didn't have room service. There was a convenience store in the lobby, but they just sold sodas and snacks and they were closed now.

How badly did she want that drink?

She looked at the five-inch stiletto-heeled boots she'd just shed and rubbed her ankles. There was no way she was getting back into those things. She looked around for her track shoes and, when she didn't see them, sank back down on her bed. She didn't really want to go out again at this hour. This place wasn't in the safest part of town, and it was only going to get more dangerous as the night wore on. She sighed. "Fine," she said aloud to nobody. "I'll stay in tonight. Happy?"

She'd probably have that drink tomorrow, but tonight, she was going to check what was on TV, and take a long hot shower. Maybe, by the time she was out, her caffeine high would wear off and she could get some sleep. And by the time she woke up, maybe that bar she'd been planning to visit would be opening for business.

"You look pretty," Hana May said at breakfast the next morning.

Phyllis smiled softly. "Thanks, kid. Cheerios?"

Hana May considered. "Rice Krispies," she replied.

Phyllis waited, and when Hana May repeated her request, she locked eyes on the four-year-old. "Rice Krispies, what?" she prompted.

"Rice Krispies, pl—." A crafty look came onto the child's face. "Frosted Flakes, please."

Phyllis laughed. "You know I don't buy that junk."

"Would you buy some, please?"

"Nope."

"But Tony the Tiger says they're grrrrrrrreat!"

Phyllis chuckled. "Yeah, well if someone paid you a few bucks to say something was great, bet you'd say it, too."

"Only if it was great," Hana May said. "Or it'd be lying." She frowned. "Tony the Tiger doesn't lie, does he?"

Phyllis sighed. "No, but just because he thinks they're great doesn't make him right." She wasn't yet ready to explain to Hana May that a cartoon mascot was a drawing with a voice actor behind it. The kid was still too young to be disillusioned. "They taste good, but all that sugar will rot your teeth. You want to start kindergarten toothless?"

Hana May shook her head.

"Cheerios or Rice Krispies."

"Rice Krispies, please."

"Comin' right up." She poured some into a bowl and added some sliced strawberries before pouring in the milk. "Eat up, kid. You've got a big day ahead of you."

Hana Mae nodded happily. "I'm gonna see Barney and play in tar!"

Marisol laughed. "I don't think Barney's going to be at the La Brea tar pits," she exclaimed. "But maybe some of his relatives will be…"

"Really?"

Phyllis hid a smile.

Rory's face lit up as Phyllis sat down. "You're looking well, Pizzazz," he said. And then, almost at once, consternation creased his face. "I'm sorry. I should have gotten the chair for you."

Phyllis made a scoffing sound. "You were already sitting, and I can get my own chairs."

"It would've been gentlemanly."

Phyllis tilted her head. "You just call me a lady?" she demanded, smirking an instant later to let him know that she was only feigning offense. He laughed.

"Perish the thought." He smiled again. "It's good to see you again."

"Yeah, it's been three whole days."

Rory laughed, but he sobered at once. "I hope you believe me when I tell you I had no idea about Hana May. Roxy never said a word. If there's anything she needs—"

Phyllis cut him off with an upraised palm. "She's fine. Look, I get that you want to get to know her, and if she's okay with that, so am I. But she has everything she needs." She leaned forward, her gaze intense. "It may not be everything she'd like, but it's good for her not to have everything she wants." She took a breath. "If you want into her life, I need you to be clear on that. Don't buy out a toy store or show up with a custom wardrobe or whisk her off to Europe for some daddy-daughter bonding time. Take her for ice cream, sure. Get her a teddy bear or a Barbie, no problem; hang onto the gift receipt in case she's already got one. But don't play Santa and show up once a year with a big bag of goodies. Be a dad and be there when it counts."

Rory blinked. "Whoa. Where's this coming from?"

Phyllis didn't back down. "From a former spoiled brat who got everything her heart desired from her dad except time and attention. Instead he threw presents at me. For the longest time," she continued, "I thought it was because he wanted to shut me up. Now, I think he just… didn't know how to be a single dad with a small kid. I don't want Hana May to turn out like I used to be and I don't want you to make my dad's mistakes. We clear?"

Rory nodded. "Very much so. And I do understand. My own father… I certainly don't come from old money. Or new money," he added. "I'm from a military family; I'm not sure if you were aware. But that's not important. I do know what it's like to want a relationship and get…" He winced. "Well, in my case, it wasn't gifts and cash." He shook his head. "My love of music… He saw it as some kind of failing. I spent most of my childhood and adolescence trying to mold myself into his picture of the ideal son without giving up the things that made me feel the most like… me."

"Your music?" Phyllis asked, shocked.

Rory nodded. "He came around. Eventually. But it took years of radio silence and my mother collapsing from the stress of seeing the two of us at each other's throats the one time I went back to try to talk to him before we could reconcile."

Phyllis winced. "I'm sorry." Things had never been as bad between herself and her father that they'd had to reconcile, but she found herself wishing once more that she'd had the opportunity to have a real conversation with her dad before he'd passed.

"Don't be," Rory said, with a bit of his old, easy charm. "We're in a better place now."

"Lucky you."

Rory's eyes widened, when he realized that something had hardened in Phyllis's expression. "Did I… say something?"

Phyllis sighed. "Don't worry about it."

At that moment, a waiter came over to ask if they were ready to order and they told him they needed more time and quickly picked up the menus they'd been ignoring until now.

Wendy sat on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest. Emma might forgive her in time, but how much time would Pan allow her? There was no way to be certain. Days on Neverland were as long or as short as their ruler willed, and when he was caught up in some game or adventure, he tended to lose sight of everything else. She might have weeks, or even months. She might have hours.

She had to behave as though Pan might yank her leash at any moment. She didn't have the luxury of time. She had to ensure that Emma would lose the home and security she'd so recently acquired. And if she couldn't coax Emma into breaking too many house rules, and she couldn't turn the other girls against her, what else was there?

She lifted her head, thought about Michael, and felt steely resolve settle over her like a smooth cloak. "I suppose I must contrive to create a situation where something dreadful happens and Emma gets the blame for it," she said aloud. It wouldn't matter that Emma couldn't be tempted into breaking rules—or worse—if everyone around her could be made to think she had!

Phyllis came home in a good mood. Hana May and Marisol hadn't returned from La Brea yet, so she sank down into an armchair with a sigh. It was good to have a few minutes to herself. It never lasted. Sure enough, the phone rang less than five minutes later. She debated letting it ring through to voice mail, but picked up on the third ring. What if something had happened to Hana May? "Hello?" After a moment she snorted. "Should've known it'd be you, Jerrica. Can't wait to hear how it went with Rory, huh?"

"Actually," Jerrica said, "I was calling about something else. I've had a call from our legal team about Kerry O'Flaherty."

Phyllis frowned at the unfamiliar name for a moment. Then she remembered. "Jetta's husband. Right, she told me he was having some issues with his visa."

"Which we were trying to unravel," Jerrica confirmed.

"From the tone of your voice, I get the sense that it's not good news."

"Afraid not," Jerrica said. "I didn't want to tell you until we knew for sure. Our legal team thought it was maybe some other Kerry O'Flaherty and the records got confused or combined or…"

"Okay," Phyllis said. "How about you cut the crap and just say it?"

Jerrica sighed. "You're right." She took another breath. "Nine years ago, Kerry O'Flaherty was arrested in Belfast. He was accused of being involved with the IRA, found guilty, and sentenced to four years in prison."

"What? Nine years ago… he must've been a kid!"

"He was fifteen," Jerrica confirmed. "But because of that record, the State Department won't grant him a visa. I'm sorry, Phyllis."

"That is so... I mean, I get it, but… fifteen?"

"I know," Jerrica said. "So. Which one of us gets to break it to Jetta?"

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Five

"You must be having me on," Jetta said, looking stunned.

Jerrica sighed. "I wish. I'm sorry. We're trying to talk the State Department around, but as it stands…"

"As it stands, he can't get in." Jetta shook her head. "Well, that's just naffing."

"Starlight Records has pyrotechnicians," Jerrica said. "I can set you up with one of them. They're very good."

Jetta sighed. "Yeah, sure. I can't say Kerry didn't warn me something like this might happen, but I thought he was overreacting, know what I mean?" She turned to Phyllis. "He was a stupid kid! Like we all were!"

"Yeah," Phyllis nodded. "Unfortunately, because of his record…"

"He didn't do anything!" Jetta exclaimed. "I mean… he wasn't a terrorist. He was a dumb kid who was bouncing a ball against the side of a house. The peelers were sure that the bounces were some kind of code to let whoever was inside know to lie low."

"Peelers are police?" Jerrica asked.

Jetta nodded. "He didn't know who lived there, or that the coppers had been keeping an eye on it acos they thought the owner was IRA. And I'm not saying he wasn't," Jetta added. "Might bloody well have been, but Kerry didn't know! And when they grabbed him and stormed inside and found the house empty, they wouldn't believe him when he said he hadn't been trying to warn anyone!"

"Don't you guys have lawyers over there?" Phyllis asked.

Jetta lowered her eyes. "Barristers, yeah. He had one. For all the good it did him. He doesn't talk much about what happened, but when we got serious, he told me about his past." She sighed. "Truth be told, he didn't go into much detail and I didn't press him for it. He went to the Republic of Ireland when he got out, I was doing a gig in Galway, we took to each other and," she shrugged, "we've been married since a year ago March." Her lips twisted and she brought her fist down hard on the arm of her chair. "It's just so bloody unfair!"

"That's life for ya," Phyllis said, and though her tone was dismissive, there was compassion in her eyes. "So. If you want to go back there, I'll talk to Rory about letting you out of your contract."

"No," Jetta said almost at once. "No, you won't get rid of me that easy. I've got a new band now, and as much as I wish Kerry could be here, this could be our big break. I'm staying."

"Whoa," Kyla's eyes were as wide as saucers. "Is that… us?"

Joellen beamed at her. "With a little help from a professional sound system," she informed them cheerfully.

"I can't believe it!" Julie squealed. "We sound…"

"Fresh!" Marla interjected. "Absolutely fresh!"

Emma was still staring at the recording equipment. "I never thought I had any talent," she whispered.

"Are you kidding me?" Joellen exclaimed. "Give it a couple of years, you guys, and you might be back here for real, recording your first album!" She grinned. "Pack up your stuff; I just gotta run to the little girls' room and then we can head back to the mansion."

As soon as she was out of the room, the four girls looked at one another. "A couple of years?" Marla repeated. "We're ready now!"

"I know," Julie said. "If we could only make everyone see it…"

"Sorry!" Raya apologized again. "I've been rehearsing, I promise! I don't know what's got into me!"

"It's not just you," Shana sighed. "It's all of us. You, me, and Jem haven't touched a mic in eight years, and Kimber and Aja got too used to a different band with different rhythms and different people and…"

"We're different," Aja summed up. She sighed. "I guess we all thought we could just… pick up where we left off and be ready to perform like we'd never split up."

"You mean… All those old musicals… lied?" Kimber asked, in a tremulous voice, eyes very wide. "B-but that's outrageous!"

Raya snickered. Kimber giggled. It only took another moment for Shana, Aja, and Jem to join in. Somehow, even though Jem had been the last to laugh, she was also the first to sober.

"Point taken, Aja," she said, wiping at her eyes. "But we need to be back up to snuff before the benefit and that's only a couple of weeks off, now. So let's get back to it."

"If I might make a suggestion," Kimber said, "why not try a different number next?" She played a familiar opening on her keyboard. "This one sounds appropriate…"

Jem and the other three holograms exchanged smiles. A moment later, Jem picked up her mic and the band followed Kimber's lead.

We've just been playing
Fooling around
While everybody else is out there covering ground
We've gotta take a whole new tack
To get back on the track
And it's time we get started
Getting down to business…

"That's a blow," Rory said. "How's she handling it?"

Jerrica sighed. "Well, we've hooked them up with one of our techies, but obviously, Jetta's band—"

"—It has a name, right?"

"I was afraid you were going to ask me that. Let me spell it for you."

She did. There was a long pause. Then, Rory said hesitantly, "Sail ar an immel?"

"Not exactly," Jerrica admitted. "Jetta pronounced it for me, but I can't remember it now. It's easier if I just keep calling it 'Jetta's Band.'"

"As long as they tell the presenter how to introduce them," Rory said. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"Just that Jetta's husband knows their lighting and tech specs inside and out. Starlight's people are good, but there's a learning curve. I don't suppose your father could…?"

"Sorry, Jerrica," Rory sighed. "Dad's connections are military. It's not like he can just phone up the State Department and make this mess go away. Is Jetta having second thoughts?"

"Nope. But she misses her husband and I know she'd rather he was here. If there's anything you can think of…"

"I'll try," Rory said, "but don't hold your breath."

"I won't," Jerrica said. "But thanks for trying anyway." She hung up the phone, pasted a bright smile on her face, and headed outside to see how the girls were spending their Saturday.

"Well?"

Wendy looked up at the impatient note in her brother's voice and glared. "Don't have a go at me, John! She won't speak to me and I daren't press it. I'm sure in time she'll relent, but I can't say when!"

"And Michael?"

Wendy got up and spun away. "You're a jolly beast to bring him up when I can't do a thing about him! D'you think I've forgotten? I can't force Emma to forgive me, and even if she does, I'm going to have to work bloody fast if I'm to betray her badly enough and it's hard enough to put that out of my head when I'm trying to grovel and ask for a second chance I know I'm going to muff!"

There was no response to her outburst. The silence stretched for what felt like an interminable amount of time, but after nearly a century in Neverland, Wendy was used to interminable amounts of time. Still, she was startled, when John's hand came down reassuringly on her shoulder.

"Perhaps, it is a bit much to expect," John said thoughtfully. "What is this Emma like? What's important to her?"

Wendy shrugged. "She's a jolly good sort. She's hoping to find her parents one day, but even if I were to pull a rotten hoax and tell her they were waiting in the next street and had sent me to fetch her, she would know I was lying. And anyway, I don't think I could be so horrid. Why I should deserve to be given away!"

"No," John said. "And I would imagine that a home for motherless girls… They must be used to their charges running off to pursue some clues to a lost relative. I doubt they'd turn Emma out for that. What else?"

"She writes songs," Wendy said. "That foundling home… the person who runs it is organizing some concert for a disease." She frowned. "I'm not sure I understand that part. But Emma and some of her friends at that home, they're planning to perform there."

John frowned thoughtfully. "I may have an idea," he said slowly.

"Well… what is it?" Wendy asked, a trifle waspishly when John didn't elaborate.

"I've various papers and references. Forgeries, of course," John went on, "but rather good ones. Enough to profess experience at a number of unskilled tasks. Concerts, plays, pantomimes… There's always a need for backstage help, and you don't need a theatrical background to move heavy crates about or sweep up." He peered at Wendy over his horn-rimmed spectacle. "I'll try to find out more about this concert, but if you could come across a handbill or some other advertisement—note the location if it's pasted somewhere you can't remove it so you can take me there—that will be helpful. I'll find out what credentials they require and, if I don't already possess them, I'll procure them."

"Bully for you," Wendy snorted. "And what am I to do while you're sweeping up backstage?"

John shrugged. "Well, once I've a legitimate reason to be there, I shouldn't think it much of a trick to smuggle you inside. Once I have, I suppose you'll find ample opportunity to carry out the task you've been charged with. And then, Michael will be released," a hopeful smile spread John's lips. "And perhaps Pan will let us all go free at last."

"Rory!" Phyllis exclaimed, hearing his greeting on the other end. "How the hell did you even get this number? I'm working here!"

"Sorry," Rory apologized suavely. "But it seems that you've been invading my thoughts to the point where I can't get any of my own work done, so I thought it only fair to invade yours."

"Yeah? Well, you're talking to the gal who got the highest-ever score in Space Invaders. Repelling invasions is sort of what I do."

"And was this in a public arcade, or your own personal machine?"

"What's that got to do with it?" Phyllis blustered, knowing she'd been busted.

Rory chuckled. "I was wondering if you and Hana May were free for dinner this Friday. Whatever you and she'd like, whether it's fine dining or takeout from Mr. Cluck's."

Phyllis hesitated. "Make it an early dinner. Her bedtime's seven-thirty. Actually, takeout sounds good. Let me sound her out and I'll call you back."

"You sound tired," Rory said. "Is everything okay?"

Phyllis sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine. Let's just say that my work-life balance is a little screwy right now, but I got this."

"If there's anything I can do…"

"You're doing it," she said, after a moment. "I don't know how much time I'd have to just chill if you didn't get me to take a break every now and again."

"We could catch a movie this evening."

"Don't push it."

As she hung up the phone, Phyllis found herself smiling. She wasn't mooning over Rory and making a fool of herself anymore like she once had. Things between them had settled into an easy friendship. Could it be more than that? Did she want there to be? Did he? Still smiling, she shook her head. She wasn't going to rush into anything, but takeout in front of the TV with a handsome guy and a cute kid sounded a lot better to her now than it might have six or eight years ago.

Roxy woke up in surroundings that definitely weren't her room at the Y or her digs in Vegas. They weren't totally unfamiliar to her, but it took her a moment to get her bearings.

She'd gone to another meeting last night at Devon's invitation, and though she'd made some quip about how it wasn't exactly the sort of venue she usually went on a second date, but while she couldn't say it had been fun, she'd felt a lot better when the meeting was over than she usually did after a date.

They'd gone out for more coffee (and fresher donuts) afterwards and talked. About what, Roxy couldn't recall right now, just like she wasn't entirely sure how she'd ended up here.

She frowned. Had she gone for drinks afterwards and blacked out? It wouldn't be the first time, if she had, but she didn't feel the least bit achy or nauseous. The sunlight streaming in through the Venetian blinds didn't stab into her eyes. She wasn't sweating or dizzy.

She wasn't hungover.

Then…

Bits of last night came back to her. She'd been exhausted. Between the enormity of everything that had been happening recently, the intensity of the meetings, stress, worry, and just plain losing track of the time on top of that, it had been after one in the morning when she'd got up to leave the restaurant.

"You can't go on public transit at this hour!" she heard Devon's voice exclaim in her head. "Especially not to that neighborhood."

Evidently, she hadn't. She was lying on a bed in a room with too many personal effects—none of them hers—to be a hotel's. She could see posters advertising magic and variety shows on the walls, a top hat hanging on a hook near the window, and a collection of books on a shelf with titles that suggested that they contained information on magic tricks, illusions, and escape artistry. She frowned.

A moment later, she got up and realized she'd been sleeping in her clothes, but that there was a terry robe on the back of a nearby chair. A nice idea, if she'd brought a change of clothes, but she hadn't. She opened the door and found herself facing a living room. Devin was sitting on the sofa reading. She could see that there was a regular pillow to his left, and a rumpled blanket half-on the sofa, half-on the floor.

He looked up. "Morning, Roxy. You sleep okay?"

She blinked. "Uh… yeah. Thanks. I-I should probably go."

"Sure you don't want some breakfast before you do? I'm no chef, but I can make decent pancakes and I can probably fry a mean egg or two."

Roxy smiled. "Thanks, but I should get back to the Y and shower. Feeling kinda grungy."

"I can spot you a t-shirt and sweats if you'd rather shower here," Devon offered. "There's a laundry room at the end of the hall if you want to wash what you're wearing," he added delicately.

Right. Tops and pants were one thing, but if he kept women's underwear around, she was going to be more creeped out than appreciative. She shook her head.

"Nah. I'm good. But thanks." The situation seemed to call for a little more, so she added, "Really. Thanks."

Devon looked disappointed, but he didn't push. "Okay, if you're sure," he said. Then, more seriously, "Are you okay?"

Her first instinct was to make some smart-assed crack about… something. Her second was to just do the polite thing and say she was. She went with her third. "I'm better than I was," she said, smiling a bit. "Thanks."

Jetta looked at the other members of her group and sighed. "It's just not the same, is it?" she asked.

Saoirse shook her head. "It's not just that it's not your Kerry doing our sound-and-light show. Jerrica's people are fair decent, but it's something whopper we're after needing and I don't believe they've got it in them."

Ken nodded. "Here's a thought. A lot of Kerry's ideas came from a few gigs he had working with stage magicians, illusionists, and the like. If you know of anyone in these parts what might in that line of work and after lending us a hand…"

Jetta frowned. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "I did know someone back in the day. I have no idea what he might be doing now, but I can try and find out." She sighed. "And meanwhile, let's not give up on the techies we have, because if I can't find the bloke, or if he's not interested in helping out, they're all we have, right mates?"

The others nodded and Jetta smiled. "Guess my first step's to call Pizzazz once she's done with her day job. If she doesn't know how to reach out to the guy, she'll find out…"

Emma saw the sign-up sheet in the common room first. "Guys," she said carefully, "this might be what we're looking for!"

Julie frowned. "I don't get why you're so excited. So, they're looking for a few people to help out backstage at the benefit. It's going to mean a lot of running back and forth, grabbing water and snacks for a bunch of performers, and trying not to trip over wires or get in everyone else's way. Plus, we probably wouldn't get out to auditorium to actually hear the music."

"If we were helping out Jem and the Holograms or Kaleidoscope Haze, or maybe even the Misfits, that would be okay," Marla said. "But it says here that you'll be assigned wherever needed. Sometimes, celebrities can be… nasty."

Emma considered. "I'm used to nasty," she said. "But anything that gets us backstage at the benefit is something that might get us center stage if we play our cards right."

"Emma…"

"Oh, come on. Maybe at intermission…"

"I don't know," Kyla said. "I'm sure they've got security back there."

"Yeah," Julie said, "but they'll be expecting the fans to rush the stage while the bands are up there. If the stage is empty and we're waiting in the wings..." She smiled. "It could work."

"Or we could get caught and thrown out," Kyla said.

"Or we could see a chance and take it!" Marla countered.

"I think it's worth a try," Emma said.

"Me too," Julie said, reaching for the pencil that dangled on a string beside the sign-up sheet. "Well?" she asked, as she wrote her name. "The rest of you in or what?"

"I am," Marla said, taking the pencil as Julie finished.

"Me, too," Emma said.

Kyla sighed. "Oh, all right," she said. "Count me in, too. Somebody's got to make sure we don't get arrested…"

Craig set down his drumsticks. "All right," he said. "That's enough."

The three women sank down onto their stools, sighing almost in unison.

"Yeah," Craig said. "That's what I figured."

"Sorry," Kimber said. "I guess it's a lot more work practicing for two bands at once."

"Tell me about it!" Stormer groaned. "The benefit's less than two weeks away and we need to get everything right, but these long hours! I think they're wearing on Jetta, too. Or she might just be missing her husband," she added.

"We can call it a day for now," Aja said. "But if it really is too much, if we have to pick one band…?"

Kimber shook her head unhappily. "I don't want to have to. But if it comes down to it, I'd rather stick with the band I'm with now than try to hold on to the past, no matter how great it was back then."

"Same here," Stormer nodded.

Aja gripped the pole of her mic for emphasis. "Then we're all on the same page. Great. Okay. Let's rest up tonight. Go out, do something fun that has nothing to do with music. Or stay in and sleep," she shrugged. "We'll pick this up tomorrow."

Craig got up with a smile. "It's been a while since we went roller-blading," he suggested.

Aja winced. "I'm so out of practice, it's not funny. But if you want to," she slid her arm into his, "I'm happy to sit on the side and watch."

"Or we could stay in and watch a movie."

Aja leaned her head against his chest. "We could…"

Kimber looked at Stormer, who smothered a yawn. "I don't think I've slept more than four hours in the last forty-eight," she said. "I'm going to do something about that."

Kimber nodded. "I'm going to relax in a hot bubble bath first. And then, if the lyrics for our new song don't come to me in there, I'll probably join you…"

"Pizzazz? You still there, mate?"

Phyllis held the phone to her ear for another moment. "I can track him down for you," she said finally, "but I think you should know. Devon Silverstone's career tanked a couple of years back after his agent dropped him for cancelling too many shows at the last minute. I was back in school at the time and I wasn't exactly paying attention to the rumors—not enough to try to find out what was going on with him."

Jetta sighed. "Well, see what you can find out," she said heavily. "I don't want someone unreliable, not this close to the performance, but if there was a good reason for those cancellations, that's another story, innit?"

"Will do. And hey, talk to Jerrica. Somehow or other the special effects at Jem's shows were always next level. If the guys she's giving you aren't up to snuff, find out who she's using."

"Now that's an idea," Jetta replied. "I'll suss her out."

"Jem's special effects crew?" Jerrica repeated. "Uh… well, I know we've been scrambling to find someone good since Rio Pacheco's no longer with the band. I think we're also setting them up with someone from Starlight. If the people we sent over aren't working out, I can see who else I have at this short notice. Leave it with me."

Jerrica hung up the phone and sat at her desk, a worried expression on her face.

Shortly, there came a knock on her study door and Raya entered, carrying a cardboard tray with two cups of coffee from an artisanal shop several blocks away, and a clipboard under her arm. "I have those figures you asked me to check on," she announced. "I thought we could have something to drink while we look them over."

"Sure, that's fine," Jerrica said absently.

"Everything okay?" Raya asked.

Jerrica sighed. "I just got off the phone with Jetta. She wanted to know who Jem and the Holograms use for special effects. Obviously, I can't tell her—"

"—about Synergy," Raya finished her sentence. "So, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I can tell her that they're booked solid, but if she asks me for a name, so she can call them herself, I can't just… make one up." She winced. "Almost makes me wish for the old days, when we weren't all on the same side and I didn't have to feel guilty about not helping them out."

"Is that what you've decided, then?" Raya asked, her voice carefully neutral.

"I want to help them," Jerrica said miserably. "I just don't see how we can."

Raya frowned for a moment, thinking. Then her eyebrows shot up. "What if Synergy creates holographic technicians who… act like they're doing the work, when really, it's all her?"

Jerrica started to smile, but then her face fell. "To do that, I'd have to have the Jemstar earrings close by at all times. Considering that Jerrica's going to be running all over the building during the show, that's not going to be feasible." She exhaled heavily. "Still, that's a better idea than anything I was thinking of. Maybe I'll talk to Synergy later. She might have some suggestions."

She picked up the coffee cup Raya had given her and took a sip. "This tastes amazing," she sighed. She took another breath. "Okay. Let's go over those figures."

Phyllis was back from her lunch break and already thinking about dinner tonight. Rory was bringing takeout over at six—nothing fancy, just burgers and fries. Well. With the concert coming up, she'd have the burger with a homemade tossed salad, dressing on the side and maybe swipe a couple of fries from Rory when his back was turned—she did need to get back into her bad girl image, after all. Not from Hana May, though—that would just be mean.

Her phone rang and she picked it up absently. "Gabor here. Sorry, who…? Oh. Oh, right. What can I do for you?" She listened to the voice on the other end and her smile faded. "Is that really necessary? The reports I've been getting say she's really adjusted well. I know. It was just temporary, but the kid's been bounced around so much and now that she's settled in… Well, yes, I do agree that it's better to do it now, instead of in the middle of the school year…" She sighed. "Sure. When did you have in mind? Any way you can make it closer to two? I know there's some stuff going on right now she won't want to miss. Yeah, I hear you, but try. Yeah, I'll tell her. Thanks."

She hung up the call and massaged her forehead with one hand. A week or two. Damn, she hoped it would be 'two'. She had a pretty good idea about the atmosphere at Starlight House right now, with everyone getting excited about the upcoming concert. If it were up to her, she'd let Emma Swan stay, at least until after the show. The problem was, it wasn't up to her, it was up to Massachusetts DCF. And now that they'd finally got the paperwork sorted on Emma's case and found a placement for her, it was just a question of finding someone to make the trip down to LA to bring her back.

It wouldn't take much longer now.

For Emma's sake, Phyllis hoped it would be long enough.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Six

"If there were more time," Synergy said, "it might be possible to create more micro-projectors that would allow me to project my holograms, even if you weren't close by. Unfortunately, some of the components would be difficult to source. Your father made numerous business trips overseas to procure what was necessary. Some of the corporations he worked with then are no longer operating, or have restructured and are no longer producing the necessary materials."

Jerrica frowned. "Can you elaborate?" she asked.

Synergy whirred for a moment. Then she spoke again, as serenely as ever. "When your father conceived the Jemstar earrings, the Cold War was very much in effect. Many of the companies that your father approached were pursuing means of containing a Soviet threat. At the time, holographic technology was relatively new, and although your father created me and the earrings for entertainment purposes, the military was looking at different applications. However, holographic technology was later deemed to be too costly and not effective enough for their purposes. Most of the funding was either stopped or reallocated to other projects. Some of the people your father dealt with have retired or moved onto other projects. It may be possible to track them down, but it wouldn't be feasible to have additional micro-projectors in place in less than two weeks."

Shana frowned. "What about if we moved you to the stadium, like we had to when we played for the president?"

Jerrica shook her head. "That worked when it was just Jem and the Holograms, and we still ran into trouble for a bit. With so many different bands and so many people running around backstage, I think there's too great a risk of damage."

"I would tend to concur," Synergy interjected.

Jerrica sighed. "Okay. In that case, we'll just have to do what we were planning: let Jetta and her crew use some of our technical people and hope that's enough."

"If I may," Synergy spoke again, "if Jetta was impressed by Jem's earlier lighting and special effects, I have recordings of most of your old performances, with Rio's designs. If you are willing to share them with your technicians, I can provide them."

Jerrica's eyes lit up. "You're a lifesaver, Synergy. Thank you!"

"Silverstone?" The clerk at the supermarket service desk consulted a chart. "He's got lunch in ten minutes, if you don't mind waiting."

Jetta nodded. "Yeah, that'll do," she said. She'd arrived at the store at a quarter past twelve, hoping to catch Devon on his lunch break. It had taken her five minutes to locate someone who could tell her where to find him. She looked around. Maybe this wasn't the place one expected to find one of the world's premier illusionists, but it seemed clean, and it appeared to be doing a brisk business. Unless that's an illusion, she thought dryly. There was a magazine rack opposite the service desk and she picked up an entertainment magazine and rifled through it while she waited.

"Jetta?" a light voice called, and she looked up into a pair of warm blue eyes. "It's been some time."

"Uh, yeah," she answered. "How're you keeping, mate?"

He gave her a good-natured shrug. "Hanging in is probably the best way to put it. What can I do for you?"

Jetta hesitated. "Guess you heard about Starlight's charity gig for Parkinson's? I need a special effects guy and I was wondering if you were up for it."

"Share my stage secrets?" Devon chuckled. "That part of my life might be behind me, but I'm still not ready to tell everyone how the magic works."

"Then don't," Jetta said. "I want Saol ar an Imeall to put on a show that people will be talking about for years. If you can do that for us, you don't have to tell us how. Or are you really happy doing this?" she asked, gesturing at the store.

Devon regarded her for a moment. Then, quietly, he said, "This is good for me. Hollywood, entertainment… it's a fast life and I wore myself out trying to keep up. Maybe this isn't glamorous, but it's honest work and I don't feel half as much pressure to keep coming up with the next best trick."

Jetta frowned. "I won't deny I've heard a few rumors."

"They're probably true," Devon admitted easily. "But I've been sober twenty-one months and eleven days now, and I'm not sure I'm ready to jump back on that treadmill."

"Heard, mate," Jetta said. "I'm not asking you to perform on stage, but if working behind the scenes is still too much, it's been nice seeing you again. And I'm glad to hear you're doing decently." She smiled and turned to go. She'd made it five steps before Devon called after her.

"I'm not sure," Devon said. "I'm really not. But… let me talk things over with my sponsor and I was planning on going to a meeting tonight. Maybe come back the day after tomorrow?"

Jetta nodded. "Will do. And if the answer's 'no', I'll let Jerrica work her, uh, Starlight magic. End of the day, we're on the bill because we sound great. The sound-and-light stuff is extra. We'll get by."

Devon smiled. "Thanks, Jetta."

"You want to what?" For a moment, the last six years slid away and Phyllis was gone. The furious screech that escaped her lips could only have come from Pizzazz.

Rory held up his hands placatingly. "I want to pursue custody," he said. "Look, as it stands now, Roxy's in no shape to be her mother, but if she beats the charges against her and she decides to take Hanna May, then you have no standing to oppose."

"And if you get custody, then you take her away!" Phyllis snapped. "Damn it, I know she's not my daughter, but I've been her mother for almost a year and a half! If Roxy is willing and able to look after her, I won't lie. Part of me will want to hang onto Hanna May and not let her go, but I will. I will, because Roxy's her mother and if she's finally realized it, if she can put her daughter first and not spend her nights clubbing and her mornings hungover, then… then Hanna May's her daughter and she belongs with her. But—"

"Hanna May's my daughter, too," Rory pointed out. "I know I haven't been in her life until a couple of weeks ago, but that's because I only found out about her existence a couple of weeks ago. I would have been around a lot sooner if I'd known—"

"But you weren't and I have been!" Phyllis snapped. "Look. Hanna May likes you. She liked your coming over with dinner last night. In time, she might be okay with living with you, but not now. Like you said, it's only been a couple of weeks. It's too soon!"

Rory shook his head. "I'm not trying to take her away from you, Phyllis. Actually, I was thinking that maybe…" He reached for her hand. "Maybe we could both raise her. Together. I," he gave her a hopeful smile, "I think we could have something, you and me. Something serious."

She snatched her hand back. "Really too soon!" she replied.

"Phyllis…"

She pushed back her chair from the table, conscious of the stares from the other restaurant patrons. Well, let them stare.

"Phyllis, wait!"

"Screw you, Llewellyn!" she called over her shoulder, and she kept walking out of the bistro, down the block, and into the parking garage toward her car.

She realized that her hands were shaking as she put the key into the ignition. She couldn't lose Hanna May. She just couldn't.

"Whatever's this for?" Wendy asked, catching the bundle that John tossed to her.

"Clever disguise," her brother remarked. "I tried to get you into the benefit, but it seems the only children allowed backstage are Starlight girls." He rolled his eyes skyward. "Somehow, the fact that the foundling home is funded by the record company promoting the affair grants that lot priority. At any rate, you won't get in as yourself. So, try on that uniform; there's time enough to get it altered if we need to. You'll need to keep your hair up the cap at all times, keep your head down, and try to speak as little as possible."

Wendy held up a pair of coveralls. "You mean for me to pass for a boy," she said.

"A young man, actually," John said. "It took a bit of research, but I found out the name of the company that supplies caretakers to the venue. Mind, they're called janitors or custodians here, but seeing as we both speak the Queen's English, I daresay if either of us should slip up, we can easily and truthfully say that that's what they're called on our side of the pond. I've managed to get us both on the company's books and assigned to working at the benefit."

"How?" Wendy asked, her wide eyes betraying her shock. "We've no references, no contacts—"

"We've Pan," John said tersely. "You and I aren't the only agents he has dancing to his tune. He has others. I don't know who they are. Perhaps we've passed them on the street a dozen times. Perhaps one is in the flat beside ours or across the hall; we'll never know unless Pan allows them to reveal themselves to us. At any rate, I sent word that we needed a plausible reason to be at that concert and Pan followed through with these."

"I-I can't quite believe it," Wendy said faintly.

"Believe it," John replied. "Peter Pan…"

Wendy swallowed hard. "…never fails," she finished sadly. "All right. I suppose you'd best tell me the rest of what I need to know."

"Well?" Emma asked hopefully. "What do you guys think?"

"You guys sound amazing!" Casey gushed.

"And I love the song!" Stephanie exclaimed.

Marla frowned. "But…"

Casey and Stephanie exchanged a glance. "It's just…" Stephanie hesitated. "You look really… stiff up there. About all that's moving are your lips and your fingers."

"You're not making eye contact with the audience," Casey said.

"Well, we won't be able to see everyone when we're onstage!" Kyla exclaimed.

"Yeah, but you should at least be looking out at the crowd. You guys were all looking down."

Julie frowned. "I… guess we could learn some dance steps."

"Oh, there is no way we can work in choreography!" Kyla snapped.

Emma swallowed hard. "I… I don't really dance."

"You don't have to," Stephanie said. "You just need to, sort of… sway to the music."

"I don't know," Emma said dubiously. "I'm not great with rhythm." Her eyes widened. "But Giselle Dvorak is! And she's been here helping the Jem and the Holograms with their sets!"

"Great!" Kyla said. "The next time she comes, we can ask her! I bet, if we wait till she's done with Jem, she'll have few minutes."

"We might need more than a few minutes," Marla murmured.

"A few minutes are better than nothing," Kyla countered. "At least, we can try!"

"Okay," Marla said. "But I'm going to go to the library tomorrow after camp and see if they have any books on dance steps. Just in case we need more."

"It's really coming together," Kimber breathed, as Stormer showed her the new arrangements for their songs. "And it's going to be great. We're going to be great." She grinned. "Outrageous, even."

Stormer smiled, but there was sadness in her voice when she replied, "Here's to the day when telling the world about us won't be so outrageous."

Kimber covered Stormer's hand with her own. "It's going to happen," she said. "Look, a few years ago, I don't think I even knew there was a name for what we have. I remember this sitcom about a girls' boarding school. One of the girls was into sports and hated skirts, and wasn't interested in dating, and another girl started making comments about how maybe she was 'strange'. If I remember right, the athletic girl started freaking out and thinking there really might be, uh… I think the exact words were, 'something wrong' with her."

"I'm guessing that if it was on prime-time TV, they didn't go any further than that," Stormer snorted.

"Are you kidding?" Kimber asked. "They couldn't even say 'lesbian', but they definitely made it clear that girls who weren't into guys were weird." She pasted on a too-bright smile. "But, hey, later on in the episode, she met a guy and fell for him, so yay, happy ending, right?" She shook her head. "That was fifteen years ago. I'm not saying things are easy now, but… they're getting easier."

Stormer took a breath. "They aren't easy enough," she said. "I… I'm okay with your sister knowing, and maybe a few other people, but I don't want to put it… out there. And, I mean, it's nobody's business, really."

"No, it's not," Kimber agreed. "Though every time I see another tabloid article about how boy-crazy I am, I feel like giving them the real scoop. But if I do…"

"There'll be no stuffing that genie back in that bottle."

Kimber nodded. "So, we hold off for now, until we're both ready to take the plunge and deal with the consequences."

Stormer winced. "It's going to be a long wait."

"We've got time," Kimber grinned with an easy shrug. "And we've got each other."

Stormer squeezed her hand.

Roxy rounded on Devon at the refreshments table after the meeting. "You couldn't have told me that you were doing the benefit before the meeting?" she demanded.

Devon blinked in confusion. "I wasn't sure if I was going to before the meeting," he said. "I was approached, yes, but it would be my first time doing anything showbiz related since I started recovering and I wasn't sure if I was up for it."

"And now that they've told you it's a good idea, you're doing it."

Devon sighed. "They didn't tell me it was a good idea. They helped me weigh out my options and consider the outcomes. I'm the only one who can decide if I'm going to do it."

"But you are."

Devon nodded. "I think I'm ready."

"Well, that just SUCKS!" Roxy exclaimed. She drew back her arm and hurled the contents of her coffee cup at him, spattering his white shirt, particularly the arm he'd flung up to protect his face.

All conversation stopped apart from several very audible gasps. Roxy didn't wait for anyone to approach her. Head down, she stomped out of the meeting as fast as her stilettos would allow.

She didn't snap a heel until she was halfway down the block.

"Uh… guys?" Jerrica looked uncertainly from Phyllis to Rory. "Everything okay?" Her gaze had swept past Aja and Jetta, both of whom nodded at once.

Phyllis and Rory exchanged a look. Finally, Phyllis huffed, "I'm a professional!"

"I don't doubt it," Jerrica said. "But that doesn't answer my question."

Rory shook his head. "You don't have to worry about anything interfering with the benefit," he said, with a good deal less heat. "As for the rest," he continued, "it really doesn't concern you."

She flinched at the warning note in his voice, but also noticed that Phyllis wasn't contradicting him. "Okay," she said uncertainly. "But if there's any way I can help…"

"Not with this," Rory said firmly. "Now, what's the next order of business?"

Jerrica squared her shoulders. If they didn't want to talk to her, that was their call. Especially if it didn't concern her. Even if she was concerned. "Well," she said, "we need to talk about technical run-throughs and schedule a time for each band. There are no other performances scheduled at the venue during the ten days before the benefit, so that's a big enough window. Anyone want to call a slot now?"

She felt the tension in the room lessen a bit, but as the discussions wore on, it never dissipated entirely.

"That was intense," Kimber remarked. "For a minute there, it was almost like the old Pizzazz. Any idea what's eating her?"

Stormer shook her head. "She hasn't told me anything, but if I had to guess… she and Rory have been going out. Maybe they had a fight."

Kimber winced. "That would explain a lot." She shook her head. "Rotten timing if they did, what with the benefit so close. Well. Maybe they'll patch things up."

"Maybe," Stormer said, "but I'm just glad that she and Rory aren't planning any joint numbers. There's a big backstage area. Maybe things will be all right if they can stay out of each other's way."

"If," Kimber replied dubiously. "If."

"Cor," Jetta breathed, "you're a regular wizard, aren't you?"

One corner of Devon's mouth quirked up, but all he said was, "I prefer the term illusionist. Except that, after some thought about our previous discussion, I've changed my mind. Today," he continued, "I am going to show you and your regular tech people how the magic works, so that you can use it for your future performances."

"Hang on there, mate," Jetta said, her eyebrows coming together in a frown. "You're going to be there, right?"

"I'm afraid not," Devon said regretfully. "One thing I've learned on my road to recovery is recognizing when I might be putting myself in a place from which it would be easier to relapse. Fame and hype are addicting and even if I won't be out on stage," he continued, "the atmosphere at the benefit will be charged. Six months, a year from now, I might be able to handle myself there, but not today. And since there really isn't much time before the benefit, it's probably best we not assume I'll be up for it." He gave her a crooked smile. "Hey. Six months ago, I'm not sure I could have even stepped foot backstage even at a time when there were no crowds and no cheers. So, this is progress."

Jetta put a hand on his arm. "Five years ago," she said, "after the Misfits broke up, I joined a band called the Screaming Zombies. At first, it was a scream. We felt like we were on top of the world; we could have it all; there were no rules," she shook her head. "Guess you know what I'm talking about."

"I do," Devon nodded. "There's no feeling like that euphoria."

"No," Jetta said, "but a couple of our members tried to hang onto that feeling constantly." She shook her head. "We lost our bass player to an overdose."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Jetta sighed. "I guess you could say it scared me straight. I went back to the UK, did some thinking," she smiled wearily, "did some wandering… and eventually I turned up in a pub in Dublin, got recognized by an up-and-coming band who invited me to do a number with them and here we still are." She shook her head, but she was still smiling. "I'm trying to say, mate, I guess I understand what it is you're fighting."

"Thanks."

"You've got support?"

"Yes."

Jetta's smile warmed. "Well, good, then. And if you ever do feel up to seeing us up there, reach out and I'll fix you up with tickets. And if you don't, that's all right, too."

There was absolutely no fun, Roxy thought, in trashing a seedy hotel room. The place was already a dump. Worse, the furnishings had been built to take a pounding. After a frenzy of smashing her guitar case into as much as she could, she thought the case had got the worst of it.

It just wasn't fair!

Her life was in the toilet and the one guy she'd started to think she could count on was now working for that damned benefit! She had no friends, she had no job, she had no boyfriend… She was glad Hanna May wasn't around to see her like this. Leaving her with Pizzazz might just be the one decent thing she'd done. But maybe, if she had her daughter with her, she'd have a reason to turn her life around…

And maybe if she performed at the benefit, if she could prove that she still had fans who wanted to hear her, then she could settle down here in LA. She'd be back living the high life, she'd have a Beverley Hills mansion and get to the right parties again and wear custom-made designer clothes and get her own perfume line and celebrity endorsements and she'd finally feel good enough about herself to be a decent mother!

And all she had to do was get on stage and show the audience what she could do!

"I can do that," Roxy whispered, feeling a small wisp of hope spark deep within. "You bet your sweet ass I can do that!" She opened her guitar case and, finding that the instrument inside was undamaged by her previous frenzy, heaved a sigh of relief.

Stephanie was passing Jerrica's office on her way up to the common room, when her ears pricked up. She looked up and down the hallway before sidling to the door and pressing her ear to it.

"…back to Boston? But she's come so far, Phyllis! Yes, I know. I know I'm…" Jerrica lowered her voice and Stephanie wasn't sure of the rest of the sentence, but she only knew of one girl here who had arrived from Boston!

So, she had overheard Emma's name as she'd been walking past. And from the sound of it, Emma wasn't going to be here much longer.

Heart pounding, she crept away from Jerrica's door as silently as she could. Then she practically ran upstairs.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Stephanie sank down onto one of the wide window ledges in the common room, her heart thundering in her chest. Maybe she'd been wrong. She hadn't heard both sides of the conversation. She wasn't even positive she'd heard Emma's name; she'd only thought she had. Before she did anything, she should talk to Jerrica. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding.

She stared out the window blankly, not really seeing anything going on outside.

Until she saw the mansion's gate open and Jerrica's Saab drive through. Stephanie winced. So much for talking to Jerrica, at least right now.

She hunched forward and drew her knees to her chest, half-hoping and half-dreading the moment when one of the other girls would ask her if she was okay, but everyone seemed to be hanging on Lindsey Pierce's interview with some boy band on KBOT TV and nobody paid her any notice.

Stephanie thought about joining the group clustered around the television, but decided against it. Instead, after a few more minutes, she slipped out and headed back to her room, where it would be quieter and easier to think.

Phyllis's phone wouldn't stop ringing. She wished she hadn't given Rory her work number; he'd called five times to talk about their last meeting. If it had been about the benefit, she would have gritted her teeth and dealt with it, but this felt like… like…

…Like he was using Hanna May to lock her into a relationship. If he got custody, he would take her away and then, if Phyllis decided that things weren't going to work out between them, then she'd never see Hanna May again!

It did no good to remind herself that, at least on paper, she had no legal right to that little girl. If Roxy had demanded her daughter back, Phyllis wouldn't have been happy to lose her either, but she would have let it happen.

Really? If I thought she'd leave Hanna May alone in a hotel room in the middle of the night to go clubbing again, I'd be okay with letting her leave?

She remembered again the night that Roxy had called her up, giggling and slurring her words and telling her to come to Vegas for a weekend and loosen up…

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Phyllis hissed. She glanced at the digital clock and groaned. She needed to get up in another hour and a half if she was going to be out the door in time to make it to work. She was too awake now to fall back to sleep and it was too early to be up.

On the other end of the phone, Roxy emitted a raucous laugh. "It's party time!" she exclaimed. "C'mon, Pizzazz, I'm holding a beer for you! Why don'cha drive on up?"

She sucked in a breath. "Because it's four o'clock in the morning in LA and Vegas is more than four hours' drive!" she snapped.

"So, fly! That's only an hour. You used to be funnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!" she whined.

"So did you," Phyllis retorted. "You really having fun right now?"

Roxy giggled, but there was a frantic note to it beneath the surface. "Sure I am!" she insisted. "Great city, great club, great music, great booze… what's not fun?"

"If you're really having such a great time, then why are you calling me at this hour? Look. Go home. Unless your babysitter is cool with hanging around this late, you really ought to get back so they can go home."

There was a long pause. Then, "Babysitter?"

Phyllis's hand felt like ice around her phone receiver. "Roxy," she said, fighting to keep her voice level. "Who's looking after Hanna May?"

"I locked the hotel room," Roxy said. "There's security. She won't even know I'm gone."

Roxy had left a toddler alone in a hotel room. Phyllis sucked in a breath. "Give me your address," she said wondering how her voice was still so even, when she wanted to scream, rip the phone out of the wall, and throw it out her bedroom window. "I'll be in Vegas on the next flight."

And it sure as hell wasn't going to be for a party.

Roxy had seemed more relieved than anything when Phyllis had offered to look after Hanna May for a while. "Just until you get your act together," she'd assured her.

And Roxy had sighed and admitted that maybe the Las Vegas strip wasn't the best place for a child. Phyllis had been back at the airport, a confused little girl in tow, before she'd realized that the work day was almost over and she hadn't even bothered to call in sick.

Luckily, her supervisor had been understanding when she'd explained that there had been a family crisis.

"Sometimes, even when the work day is over, you're not off the clock," she'd told Phyllis. "If it happens again, call sooner. And Phyllis? Don't do it too often. Burnout is one of the hazards of this profession and as well as you're doing, I'd hate for you to take on too much too soon."

She was going to have to childproof the house. Hell, she was going to have to make over one of her spare bedrooms. The kid was too big for a crib, but would she need railings on her bed? Toys. Phyllis needed to get toys. What else, what else?

The enormity of what she'd just done crashed down on her. What the hell did she know about toddlers? (Being able to throw temper tantrums in her teens and twenties wasn't exactly a good qualification.) How had she started her day by answering a drunken phone call at four AM, only to find herself with a not-quite-three-year-old in her charge less than twelve hours later?

"Azevedo?" she ventured with uncharacteristic hesitancy, "I think I'm gonna need a week to sort things out."

There was a moment's pause. "You've got the PTO accrued," her supervisor said. "I'll take care of it."

Phyllis exhaled. Then she smiled down at the little girl whose hand she was holding. "It's gonna be okay, kid," she said. "We can make this work."

She'd call Jerrica when they got back to LA. Yeah, the kids at Starlight House were a few years older, but some of them might have arrived when they'd been Hanna May's age. And if Jerrica couldn't help her, she'd know someone who could.

Of course, Phyllis knew she could have spoken with the department, but she wasn't sure if she wanted one of her colleagues stopping by her apartment on a professional visit. It would feel too weird. And what if someone decided that Hanna May needed to be in some group home, because Phyllis wasn't a certified foster parent or…?

She was being silly. She knew she was being silly. Probably. But she still wasn't going to take the risk.

Besides, Roxy hadn't seemed to be doing that well in Vegas. Maybe in a week or two, she'd be back in LA, knocking on Phyllis's door and asking to crash on her couch until she could find something more permanent.

And Phyllis would let her, of course. And she'd hook Roxy up with whatever parenting and counselling resources she might need to give Hanna May a good life. Meanwhile, at least in the short term, Phyllis could look after Hanna May and give Roxy a chance to really take stock.

This would work. She knew it.

The phone was ringing again. Angrily, she got up and walked down the hallway, glad she'd only installed one in the kitchen and one in her home office. She could still hear the noise as she made her way to Hanna May's room, but it was faint now enough to be a minor annoyance.

She opened the door and looked in on the sleeping little girl—with the light coming in from the hall behind her and the window opposite, she could see her well enough, slumbering peacefully without a worry in the world.

Phyllis shook her head, as a sad smile came to her face. "It's okay, kid," she whispered. "I can worry enough for the both of us."

"Stephanie?"

Go away, Stephanie thought desperately. Please, don't come in.

Her prayer went unanswered, as the knob turned and Jerrica entered. "You're missing supper," Jerrica said, coming forward to brush her cool hand on Stephanie's forehead. "No fever, but, are you feeling okay?"

Stephanie took a deep breath. "Is it true you're sending Emma away?" she asked, fighting back tears.

Jerrica's eyes widened. "How did you hear—?" She took a breath. "Never mind. It's hard to keep secrets with so many people living here. I'm not sending her away, Stephanie." Stephanie started to smile, but Jerrica wasn't finished. "She is going to be leaving us, though. A place has been found for her in Boston. I-I know you two are friends, but this is out of my hands."

"No!" Stephanie whispered. "No, it's not fair!"

"I know," Jerrica said sadly.

"When?"

"In a couple of weeks. Hopefully, after the benefit, but I just don't know."

"She's been working so hard on…" Stephanie's voice trailed off. "On that song."

"Uh-huh," Jerrica nodded. "I've seen her. I haven't had time to listen; I've been breathing this benefit morning, noon, and night, but I'm definitely going to do my best to make time for her before she goes."

"And we'll have a going-away party for her, right?"

Jerrica hesitated. "We can try, but… Stephanie, who else knows about this right now?"

"Just me, I think." She lowered her eyes. "I-I was passing your office yesterday. I didn't mean to hear, I…"

"It's okay," Jerrica squeezed her arm reassuringly. "Listen, I don't want the other girls to know, yet. And if we started planning a party, they'd have to. Before we go ahead with it, let me talk to Emma and make sure it's something she really wants, okay?"

"I could ask her."

"Not yet," Jerrica said. "I want you to leave that with me. Please."

Stephanie lowered her eyes. "Okay," she mumbled, and Jerrica squeezed her shoulder again.

"Come downstairs when you're ready to eat. I'll tell Mrs. Bailey to save you a plate," she said gently. Then she left, closing the door behind her.

Once in the hallway, she breathed a sigh of relief. Emma had been making such progress! She was going to be sorry to see her go. And as much as she did think that Stephanie had a point, and that Emma should be told what was happening, Jerrica had read the girl's records. In the last four years, she had run away from no fewer than eight placements—several of them more than once. She'd even tried it here when she'd thought she might be sent away, Jerrica remembered. Under those circumstances, she didn't think that it would be wise to let Emma know what was in the offing too far in advance. Los Angeles could be a very dangerous place for an eleven-year-old girl on her own, and if Emma bolted, if anything happened to her, Jerrica would never forgive herself.

She only hoped that, when the time came, Emma would forgive her for her secrecy.

Roxie pulled the few remaining bills out of her wallet, and emptied the coin-purse part. She bit her lip. This wasn't going to last long, not even with her room at the Y and the basic foods she was buying. What would she do when it was gone?

Her eyes fell on her guitar case. She could sell it. Maybe some auction house would be interested. If not, a pawnshop might be. Whatever they paid would be more than she was likely to earn going forward. After Hector Ramirez had run his segment on her legal issues, her agent had all but dropped her.

"No, I'm not firing you. I'm just saying that until this blows over, I'm not sure I can find you work with a singing telegram company. Nobody wants to be associated with you."

"I thought there was no such thing as bad press."

"Roxy. You kidnapped a teenager."

"She was twenty!"

"If you think that's helping your case, then maybe you can find a gig closer to home. In Fantasyland! Look, Roxy, save your dimes for the next few months. Give me a call when the court case is settled. Until then…"

She sighed. "Yeah."

Damn, Lonnie was a jerk, but no other agent was willing to touch her now either, and Lonnie was the only one who'd even suggested she call him 'down the road'. She was done.

She reached for the guitar and sighed. So many memories. So many dreams. She'd been playing for loose change in front of the Metro Rail stations when Eric had found her a lifetime ago. She'd only had the guitar a few months then and she still couldn't quite believe she owned something that gorgeous. She'd sold off a lot in the last few years, but until now, she'd never contemplated giving this up.

A thought came to her and she smiled. Maybe, just maybe, there was another way.

"So," Emma said, "I think I might have another song idea. You know, in case the crowd wants an encore."

"That's outrageous!" Casey exclaimed. "And now that you know how to write songs, I bet this one'll be even better, right Stephanie?"

Stephanie blinked. "Uh, yeah," she said vaguely. "Sounds good."

"Stephanie?" Casey asked, "Are you okay?"

Stephanie forced herself to smile. "Sure. Never better."

Emma frowned. "No," she said. "Something's wrong."

"Wrong?" Stephanie echoed. "No, what could be wrong?"

"You tell me," Emma said.

Stephanie shook her head. "I can't. I mean, there isn't anything. I mean…" She got up and hurried out of the room, "I-I have to go!"

Emma and Casey looked at each other. "What was that?" Emma asked.

Casey shook her head. "I don't know, but I'll try to find out later, once she's calmed down."

Roxy swallowed hard. She hadn't done this in years. She was used to playing for larger crowds, crowds that paid money to see her before the performance. Crowds she couldn't see in the dark when she was blinded by the stage lights and high on excitement.

She was sorry she'd washed out the lousy hair rinse. A look in the mirror had confirmed that she had about a quarter inch of her natural color back at the roots; she was still debating whether to re-dye it white again, let the auburn continue to grow out, go with some other color, or shave her head. Meanwhile, she pulled her LA Dodgers cap a bit lower, so it almost completely hid her newly-short hair.

She'd gone for a t-shirt and jeans today; none of the leopard prints or too-tight mohair sweaters she'd become famous for.

"When you got it, you got it," she whispered to herself, as she set down her guitar case in front of Pico Station, hoisted out her guitar and slung the strap over her neck. She left the case open and, after a moment's thought, placed a five dollar bill and a handful of loose change inside. Then she hiked up the strap so that the guitar sat at chest height, positioned her fingers on the strings, and struck up a fast driving rhythm. Then she started to sing and it didn't matter anymore that she was busking outside a metro station. She let the music take over and transport her back to a better time and place.

Hey, I'm gonna change my luck

I'm gonna change my luck somehow

I'm gonna find another connection

And take a whole new direction

I'm gonna change my luck right now

I'm gonna change my life…

She barely noticed when a passerby dropped money into the open guitar case. She just kept playing.

The social worker from Massachusetts DCF was apologetic on the phone when Phyllis got the call. "I know this has been dragging on for months, but something's come up and the person we had slated to come down for the Swan girl won't be able to make it for another two weeks at least. I hope that's not an inconvenience."

Inconvenience? She'd been trying to figure out a way not to have the kid yanked away before the benefit concert! Aloud, Phyllis said, "Hey, these things happen. No sweat. I'll let the head of the group home know. Just give me a heads up when we're back on track."

She ended the call with a smile, pulled Emma's folder out of her desk, and dutifully jotted down the new information.

Then she picked up the phone again to tell Jerrica.

"You all right?"

Stephanie looked up from the book she was pretending to read to see Casey and Emma peering at her, worry writ large in their eyes. She nodded and pasted a grin on her face. "Sure," she said, trying to sound okay. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"We don't know," Casey said. "That's why we're checking up on you."

"Well, you don't have to," Stephanie said. "Everything's fine."

"Uh-uh," Emma said. "Not buying it."

"You calling me a liar?"

They were, or at least Emma was, but even she knew better than to say it that way. "I'm saying you can't kid a kidder," she said. "Something's up. What's going on?"

Stephanie swallowed. "I…" Jerrica was trusting her. "I-I…" She'd promised. "I'm sorry," she whispered, not sure if she was apologizing to Jerrica for what she was about to do, or to Emma for what she was about to say. "It's just that I…" She couldn't do this. She leaped up from her bed and pushed past the two other girls.

"I have to go!" she cried, hurrying out of her room.

Emma and Casey looked at one another, and then at the empty doorway. "Um…" Casey said. "That was…"

"Definitely not all right," Emma finished.

"Another two weeks?" Jerrica repeated. "That's wonderful. I know Emma's been looking forward to the concert and I was dreading having to tell her she'd be missing it." She sighed. "No, I didn't tell her anything. I was trying to find the right words." She winced, but chuckled a little at Phyllis's reply. "Kimber's hard at work on another song right now. She's got enough words to look for. But thanks for telling me."

She hung up the phone with a smile. Two more weeks. If it weren't for the benefit, she'd think about giving Emma that Disneyland visit after all, but there was just no time. Maybe there would be when it was over. The concert was eleven days away. After that, Jerrica knew her schedule was fairly solid, but maybe she could clear a day from it. Or maybe someone else could take Emma. Or maybe there would be more time.

Jerrica was no stranger to bureaucracy and it was very possible that Emma would be staying with her beyond those two weeks. It was also possible that whatever snarl was currently holding up Emma's transfer would sort itself out overnight and a social worker would show up tomorrow. Not very likely, of course, but still possible.

For that reason, Jerrica resolved that she wouldn't say anything to Emma just yet. Why raise her hopes, only to dash them if things didn't work out? And also for that reason, Jerrica decided, she wouldn't say anything to Stephanie either.

Roxy counted up the bills and change now filling her guitar case and let out a low whistle. All told, there was a bit under three hundred dollars in there. Not bad for six hours work, she thought. Not bad at all. Nothing like the money she'd raked in as a Misfit, or even in Vegas, but it was enough to pay for groceries, another week at the Y, and if she did this a few more times, maybe she'd be able to check into someplace a bit better.

She had a list of meetings in the neighborhood; she knew there was probably one somewhere close by tonight. It wouldn't be the same if Devon wasn't there. Her lip curled. It wouldn't be the same if Devon was there, the creep!

She wasn't being fair, but hell, she was a Misfit. Fairness wasn't part of the job description! Was a Misfit, she thought. Past Tense. They had that Starlight kid now; the kid who'd got her arrested and wrecked her life.

Not that her life hadn't been a mess in the first place.

She'd made almost three hundred dollars today. You didn't collect that kind of dough busking in front of a Metro station if you didn't have something going for you.

And if she could just get on that stage at the benefit, she'd prove to everyone that she could still wow the crowds and the Misfits would beg her to come back!

He was waiting outside the building when Phyllis left. She shook her head. "You know, stalking isn't cute or funny!" she snapped.

Rory flinched. "You stopped taking my calls," he said. "I didn't know how else to reach you!"

She put her hand on one hip and glowered at him. "Did it not occur to you that I don't want to be reached?" she demanded. "If it's benefit-related, talk to Jerrica. If it's publicity-related, talk to Raya. If you're looking to book the Misfits for a gig, we're just coming together for the concert and then going back to our lives, so save your breath and get out of my way!"

"And if I want to see you again?" Rory pressed. "Or Hanna May? Phyllis… I-I don't know what I said that was wrong. I like you. I like kids. And I'm really starting to love my daughter. Would it be so terrible if we… stayed in each other's lives and took things one day at a time until we knew where we were going?"

Phyllis's expression thawed slightly. "It wouldn't be terrible," she admitted. "But the optics…"

"Optics?"

She took a deep breath. "Okay. Roxy's having issues, but she's still a friend. More to the point, because of who I am and where I work, like it or not… There've been enough stories about kids being wrenched away from their parents by overzealous social workers. You and me working together to get full custody of Hanna May, you know what the tabloids are like."

"Does the press have to know?" Rory asked.

"Did they have to know about Roxy getting arrested? They'll find out. Hell, Roxy might even spill the story hoping to drum up some sympathy. Crud, Rory, just because I grew up and grew out of dirty tricks doesn't mean I forgot how to play them. It's a page straight out of Eric Raymond's playbook!"

Rory frowned. "Are you sure? I mean, have you spoken to anyone in your department about this? Maybe they can help you get ahead of this."

"I don't have custody of her," Phyllis said. "Not legally. It's all informal. I'm afraid that if I involve the department, they'll tell me I can't look after her indefinitely, not without doing the RFA training course and getting certified as a foster parent and until I've got those credentials, they might say she needs to be placed somewhere else. I can't do that to Hanna May."

"But you don't actually know if any of that is true." Rory frowned. "Or do you? I mean, you work…"

"If I don't ask questions, they won't wonder why I'm asking them," Phyllis said. "Maybe I'm being paranoid. Maybe I'm being stupid. Probably," she admitted. "But I'm not rocking the boat. And I can't be in a relationship with you if you're going to pursue custody."

"Would you want to be in a relationship with me if I wasn't?" Rory asked slowly. "If I just… let things go on as they are, as far as Hanna May is concerned? Informally?"

Damn it. What was it about Rory Llewellyn that made it so hard for her to think clearly? She wasn't the same hormonal twenty-something who'd made a fool of herself trying to win his heart while he and the other Stingers had been laughing up their sleeves. All the same, when he asked that question, all the arguments she'd been mustering seemed to splinter and shatter and fly around her head.

"I don't know," she said finally. "I just don't know."

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Stephanie wasn't at dinner. Emma and Casey tried to ignore the empty chair, but during the course of the meal, their eyes kept straying to it uncomfortably. They tried to chat about other subjects, they smiled, they nodded, but the conversation was strained.

"You've known her longer than I have," Emma said finally. "Does she… get like this a lot?"

Casey shook her head. "I remember she was like this a little when Terri left."

"Terri?"

"She and Stephanie were sort of like Joellen and you," Casey explained. "And then she aged out and got a scholarship to some college in…" she frowned, "not New England, I don't think. Um…" She turned to the left. "Kayla, you're good at geography; is New Jersey in New England?"

Kayla shook her head. "Middle Atlantic."

"Thanks." Casey turned back to Emma. "Middle Atlantic," she continued. "And as soon as Stephanie found out about it, she sort of… started spending a lot of time alone."

Emma sighed. "I get that," she said. "I've bounced around a lot in the system. I didn't have a lot of friends; it only hurt more when I had to go or they did. Usually, it was me," she admitted, "but when it wasn't, I didn't know how to deal. Except by running." She smiled tentatively. "This is the first place I've been in a long time where I think I'm going to be around for a while."

"Good," Casey said, smiling back. Then her expression turned serious again. "But that still doesn't explain why Stephanie's upset now."

Emma frowned. "I guess she'll… tell us when she's ready," she said slowly.

"I hope so," Casey said with feeling.

The older girls were coming around with dessert now, and Emma's eyes lit up when she saw what was on the platter. "I have got to find out where Mrs. Bailey buys these brownies," she exclaimed, reaching for one.

"She doesn't," Casey informed her. "But if you ask her, she'll show you how to make them…"

Devon wasn't at the meeting Roxy attended that night. She wondered why that irritated her. He hadn't phoned her today either. Or maybe he had and the clerk at the front desk hadn't passed the message on.

Who was she kidding? He wasn't going to call! He was probably asking Jem out for a date at this very moment; he'd had a thing for her since the first time they'd met! That didn't make it mutual, Roxy reminded herself. Jem hadn't been into him eight years ago, so why would that change?

Eight years ago, she was smooching it up with Rio behind Jerrica's back, that's why! Now that he's out of the picture…

Oh, what the hell did she care? Devon was a nice guy, but nice guys were a dime a dozen.

Yeah? Then how come I can't seem to find one all that often, and when I do, they don't stick around?

Anyway, she didn't want Devon or anyone else who was involved with that stupid benefit that had ruined her life! Angrily, she opened up the door to her room, slammed it behind her, and flung herself down on the bed. What was she supposed to do with her life now? Flip burgers? She could almost see Clash gloating. And Hector Ramirez would… would…

…Would completely ignore her; washed-up has-beens were pretty much par for the course in LA. The thought was hardly comforting. Bad publicity was a million times better than no publicity! Roxy groaned. She had to do something to bounce back from this! Something that would win her back her old fans and maybe some new ones too!

She just didn't know what yet.

Wendy applied herself to her arts-and-crafts project—a keepsake box made of flat wooden sticks with rounded ends—and cast a sidelong glance at the fair-haired girl sitting at the next table. Emma had barely touched her own pile of Popsicle sticks (a curious name; Wendy wondered how they'd come to be called so). Instead, she sat lost in thought, sometimes picking up a stick, examining it as though it was different from the others before her, and then setting it down again.

After a moment, Wendy pushed back her chair and walked over to her. "Perhaps I could help?" she asked hopefully.

Emma looked up startled. Then she shook her head. "I don't think so," she said, but if her voice was weary, it lacked the cold edge that had come to punctuate most of Emma's words when addressed to her.

Wendy pulled out the seat across the table from Emma and sat down. "Emma… I… I'm awfully sorry about… before. I haven't many friends here and when I thought we might actually become chums, I… I suppose I was so afraid you'd change your mind I thought it might help if I was your only friend. It was beastly of me," she added. "Could… could you give me a second chance?"

Emma didn't say anything for almost a moment. Then she shrugged. "I guess I've needed some of those, too," she said.

Wendy smiled. "What are you making?"

"I don't know," Emma admitted. "I thought about doing a cabin, but… I always do those. I want to be a little different."

"I see," Wendy said. "I'm only making a keepsake box myself. I can't imagine that's especially original either."

Emma sighed. "Well, at least when we paint them, we can make them look good." She gave Wendy a resigned smile and reached for the bottle of paste. Wendy's eyes widened, as Emma held it upside down over one stick and squeezed out a thick white droplet.

"Is that how you do it?" Wendy asked. "I-I've been taking the top off mine entirely and using a brush!"

Emma's eyebrows shot up. This time her smile was a bit warmer. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "it's probably less messy that way. But if we don't wash the brushes fast when we're done, we might ruin them."

"Are you busy?"

Jerrica looked up at the question and smiled at Kimber. "For you, Sis? I think I can take a break from all of these… benefit logistics." She winced. "I forgot how much work this kind of thing could be. Rory's handling a lot of it, but…" She shook her head. "Sorry, Kimber. What's up?"

Kimber sank into the armchair in front of Jerrica's desk. "Do you ever want to just make a statement to the press that you're Jem?" she asked. "Forget about the secrets, the hiding, the double life, and just say… This is who I am, love it or lump it?"

"The press?" Jerrica shook her head. "Not really. I like having the kind of downtime I'd never be able to have if the truth got out. Rio on the other hand…"

Kimber shook her head. "Think he'd have stuck around if he'd known from the start?"

Jerrica winced. "I wonder that sometimes. I think if I'd told him the truth when he first started showing he had feelings for Jem, maybe if I'd come clean then, we could have had a good laugh together and moved on. And then," she sighed, "I think about how nervous I'd have been about him accidentally blurting out the secret in some interview or calling me Jerrica in a tech rehearsal." She put a hand to her forehead. "But he really should have known long before Raya did…"

"Rio?" She stood there, still wearing the gown she'd been wearing onstage just an hour earlier, but her features were no longer disguised by Synergy's 'magic'. "Please. Say something."

Rio was gaping at her, eyes wide. "All this time…" his voice sounded strangled. "When I've been beating myself up over seeing another woman behind your back, wrestling about whether to tell you, and then every time I thought I knew which one of you I wanted to be with, the other would say or do something that kept me hanging on and all this time, it was you all along?"

She could hear the hurt and betrayal in his voice and she took a step closer. "I-I wanted to tell you, but Synergy said that if too many people found out what she could do, somebody might be able to reprogram her and use her to commit crimes—"

"And you thought I'd do that?" He was angry now and Jerrica couldn't blame him.

"No! Of course not! But it had to stay a secret and that meant that the only people who could know were the ones who were the rest of the band and only because they were with me when I got the earrings."

For a moment, Rio's expression smoothed and he started to nod. Then his features hardened again. "What about Raya?" he asked.

"Raya?" Jerrica repeated.

"She wasn't part of the band then. Does she know?"

Jerrica swallowed. "Only because she saw me transform when I thought I was alone. And she kept that secret for weeks, until after the talent contest when she realized I'd gone behind a curtain to change and the stagehands were about to open it."

"Gee, for someone so careful about her secret, sounds like you got pretty careless a few times. Not around me, I notice. So, Raya got to prove to you that she could be trusted and you never gave me a chance? Not that I should have had to prove anything to you," he added bitterly. "After all the years we'd been a part of each other's lives, you should have known."

Jerrica's mind was spinning. This had to be a nightmare. Where would it end? Where could it end? She tried to babble apologies, but it was clear that her words had less substance to them than one of Synergy's holograms. When Rio told her that he couldn't be around her right now, but that he'd try to call her in a while, after he'd had time to process things, she'd nodded and told him she understood, but deep down, even then, she'd known it was over and she couldn't blame anyone else for it besides herself.

Kimber winced. "I'm sorry," she said. "You never gave me the… details."

Jerrica shook her head. "I wasn't looking for a shoulder to cry on or an I-told-you-so. I can't say Rio didn't have a point. And if I had it to do over," she added, "I don't know if I'd do anything differently, and I don't know if it would have been better if I had."

"It sucks, though," Kimber said.

"Yeah." She tried to smile. "How did we get on this subject?"

"I… don't like keeping secrets," Kimber said. "I-I mean, I'll take yours to the grave with me if you want me to, but mine? Or mine and Stormer's? Lately, I've been feeling like holding a press conference, telling everyone about us, letting it all out…" She sighed. "And then I think about getting grabbed by a bunch of drunk guys who think I just need to be 'shown a good time' like I'm living in some B-movie. Bags of hate mail. Ticket sales tanking. And, Stormer never had the kind of support you guys have given me, not really. She hung out with the other Misfits, but she never thought she could go to them with any real problems. And even if she tells me she's okay with going public, I'm afraid she'll just be saying it because she doesn't want to lose me. And she wouldn't!" Kimber added fiercely.

"But deep down, you worry that Stormer won't believe that," Jerrica guessed.

Kimber nodded. "I don't really want advice. You gave us that already. But it's just so hard keeping it all in sometimes, you know?"

"I do know," Jerrica nodded. "And I wish I could tell you that everything would be fine no matter what you decided, but… it's taking a risk and once the news gets out, you can't walk it back if it blows up, not really. People might forget as soon as the next celebrity news hits the tabloids, but until that happens, it could be rough." She reached for her sister's hand. "But whatever happens, you've still got me. And at this point, that goes for Kimber, too."

"Think you'll ever tell her about Jem?"

Jerrica hesitated. Then she gave her sister a sad smile. "I guess that means you haven't."

"I'd never—!" Kimber exclaimed. "Not without your permission!"

"I didn't think you had," Jerrica reassured her. "But even before I knew about your relationship, I knew you were close. I thought it might have slipped out."

"It's come close to a couple of times," Kimber admitted, "but if she somehow knows, it's not from me."

Jerrica smiled. She thought for a moment. "Once the benefit is over," she said, "I think Jem's going back into retirement for good. Once that happens… If the two of you are together, then Stormer's as good as family already. So, maybe once the benefit's done, it'll be time she did know… the family secret?"

Kimber squealed and flung her arms about her sister. Jerrica hugged her back.

Wendy burst into the apartment with a bright smile on her face and a new skip in her walk. She was actually humming when John came into the sitting room from his office. "You're in a fine mood," he remarked.

Wendy beamed at him. "I've wonderful news! Emma and I are friends again!"

Now John smiled back. "Well, that does make your job easier, doesn't it?" he replied.

Wendy's smile faltered. "I-I suppose it does," she murmured.

"Oh, not this rubbish again!" John groaned. "Please, tell me you're not forgetting the reason you're here after all. Because I can assure you that Pan hasn't!"

Wendy's lip quivered. "Yes, very well, I know," she said. "B-but these last days have been dreadful. It's been like a wall's sprung up between me and Emma and now it's down and it's simply lovely. Can't I just… be happy for that? Just for a little?"

John sighed. "How happy do you imagine Michael is right now?" he asked.

If there had been any hint of anger in her brother's voice, Wendy rather thought she might have called him a beast, perhaps flung something at him, and flounced into her bedroom, but John just sounded miserable. For the first time, Wendy saw worry lines etched into his forehead. At least, she hoped that they were worry lines, for although John might be some years older than her now, they surely couldn't be wrinkles.

"Yes, I understand," she said in a more subdued tone. "B-but surely we can still be friends for a little while yet, can't we?"

John sighed again. "If it gets you close enough to her, certainly."

Wendy was no longer smiling as she clomped miserably into the kitchen.

Roxy ignored the billboard advertising the return of Jem and the Holograms for one night only. She averted her eyes from the side of the bus proclaiming that the Misfits were back… with Deirdre Baxter's image right where hers was supposed to be.

For a moment, she thought about calling Pizzazz or Jerrica or Riot, pleading for another chance at the benefit. No. She had her pride. And the Baxter kid had a restraining order out against her. Roxy couldn't get within a hundred yards of her. If she showed up, even in the audience, she might be arrested. If she ran out on stage, security would yank her off before she got through her first number. Damn it!

If it wasn't for that restraining order... if Pizzazz hadn't practically jumped to replace her when she'd initially refused to do the benefit instead of trying to convince her to reconsider… If…

Hell. Her life was in the toilet and it was her fault, but things never would have got to that point if she'd had better friends! And Jerrica Benton had been so quick to help Pizzazz out after Harvey Gabor died. Where had she been when Roxy needed a hand?

"Make one little mistake," she muttered. Crud, it wasn't like she'd set out to do anything more than keep Baxter out of the way for a little while. Nobody had asked her to try climbing shelves in the dark. Yeah, maybe Roxy shouldn't have locked her in, but it wasn't her fault that Baxter had been so reckless!

She stamped down the flickers of conscience that pricked at her. She couldn't afford that now. She had to stage a comeback and busking wasn't going to cut it. She needed more eyes on her.

She needed to play the benefit.

And she'd be so damned good that the crowds wouldn't let anyone yank her off the stage!

"Stephanie." Stephanie looked up reluctantly at Casey's voice. "What's going on?"

"Uh…" Her eyes darted left and right. "I-I…"

"Emma's off rehearsing with the Starlights, if that's what you're wondering. What's going on?"

Stephanie swallowed. "Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"No," Casey said with a frown. "Not until I know what it is."

"Then I won't tell you," Stephanie said firmly.

Casey shrugged. "Fine. Then I'll tell Jerrica you're hiding something." She turned on her heel to go.

Stephanie swallowed. She had nothing to worry about. Jerrica knew what was going on, after all. But that didn't mean she liked the idea of one of her best friends running to tell on her. "It's nothing bad," she protested.

"Then why won't you tell me?"

"Because I had to promise not to, okay?" she snapped. "Jerrica made me promise!"

"What?"

Stephanie shook her head. "Please… just… leave me alone."

Casey frowned. "But if she knew how upset you are, maybe she'd want you to talk to someone. I mean, this isn't like you."

"I'm fine," Stephanie insisted. "Please, don't tell her."

"All right," Casey said. "I won't tell Jerrica."

She saw the relief on her friend's face and wished she didn't feel like she was doing the wrong thing. Did Jerrica really know what was going on? What if she didn't? What if there was something really wrong?

It wasn't until she'd left the room that she realized that she hadn't promised not to talk to Mrs. Bailey!

"Auntie Phyllis?"

Phyllis looked across the table at her young charge. "What is it, Hanna May?" Then, at once, "Don't talk with your mouth full."

Hanna May finished swallowing. "When is Mr. Loo-lin coming again?"

She'd been wondering if that was going to come up. "Do you like Mr. Llewellyn?" she asked.

Hanna May nodded. "He's nice."

"Nice, how?" Phyllis asked. "Because he buys you stuff?"

"Yeah."

"And if he didn't buy you stuff?"

Hanna May shrugged. "He's still nice. He plays with me in the park. And he likes to sing with me."

"He does?" Phyllis asked, smiling.

"Uh-huh. Now a rainbow will greet us, now nobody can beat us …"

Phyllis's smile widened. "Now our luck will change somehow," she joined in. "Our time, our time is now."

"You know that song, too, Auntie Phyllis?" Hanna May asked.

Phyllis nodded. It had been one of the first songs that the Misfits, the Stingers and Jem and the Holograms had collaborated on. And Rory had chosen to teach Hanna May that one instead of Old MacDonald Had a Farm or even one of the Stingers' non-collaborative hits. Maybe he'd just picked a song with lyrics that a four-year-old could understand and didn't need a 'mature' content warning. Or maybe there was another reason. "You bet I do, kiddo," she said. "Hey. Want me to teach you the rest of the words, so you can surprise Mr. Llewellyn the next time you see him?"

Hanna May nodded. "Now?"

"Well, finish your supper first. Guess you want dessert, too?"

"Yeah!" Hanna May exclaimed. "Marisol made mamon cakes!"

"Whoa!" Phyllis replied, beaming back. It wasn't just because the little girl's excitement was contagious; she liked the Filipino mini-chiffon cakes, too. "Guess we can't let those go to waste, either! Okay, kiddo. Supper, dessert… and then, singing!"

Hanna May nodded energetically and speared another piece of fish stick.

Jerrica sighed. "I'll take care of it, Mrs. Bailey, thanks."

"I wouldn't have bothered you," the older woman apologized, "but Casey's worried and Stephanie has been withdrawn for the last day or so. She doesn't seem to want to open up to anyone, including me, not that I pushed very hard. She's got her walls up, that one. I hope she's just moody and it's not anything more serious…"

"I know what it is," Jerrica said sadly. "I'll talk to her. In fact," she scribbled a message hastily on a notepad. "If you could give her this, please? I'm asking her to come see me after supper tonight. And thank you."

Phyllis wondered why she was hesitating. Back in the day, she never would have. Back in the day, she'd been a spoiled brat living off of Daddy's millions and throwing tantrums into twenties. People grew up. People learned that actions had consequences and some consequences were scary. But Pizzazz wasn't scared of anything, she reminded herself firmly. And even if Phyllis was a little scared, growing up didn't mean giving into fears. It meant knowing the risks, understanding the risks, and taking the plunge anyway if the reward was worth it. It meant thinking before acting, not going off impulsively to do whatever the hell you felt like. But she did feel like doing this, even if it did scare the hell out of her.

She reached for her phone and punched in the number.

"Hey, Rory. I'm making a lasagna on Wednesday and it's going to be a lot for two people. Why don't you come over and help us eat it?" One corner of her mouth quirked up at Rory's reply. "Sure. I mean, what other reason could there be? Yeah, okay. Hanna May kinda misses you." She sighed and added softly, "And I guess I do, too…"

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Stephanie listened while Jerrica spoke, but while she smiled briefly to hear that Emma was staying a bit longer, her eyes were somber by the end. "So, she's still going," she said.

Jerrica nodded. "Yeah. I hoped it wouldn't happen, not for a long time, if ever, but… it's happening."

"It's not fair."

Jerrica sighed. "No," she said, "it's not. But sometimes, life's just… like that. At least she'll be here until after the benefit. We've got a little time."

"She won't get to go to Disneyland," Stephanie said. "You promised her!"

"No," Jerrica shook her head. "I didn't promise. I couldn't. I told her that there would be another trip next month, but how could I guarantee that she wouldn't get sick, or that the bus wouldn't break down, or—"

"That she'd get packed up and shipped back to Boston?" Stephanie muttered. "Yeah. I get it. Can't she, at least, go to Disneyland before she has to leave? Somehow?"

Jerrica sighed. "Things are really heating up with the benefit. There's no way I, or any other adult here, can take her to Anaheim for the day until it's over. Maybe there'll be time then, but I can't be sure of that; it depends when the social worker arrives."

"Can you find out?"

"Not usually," Jerrica admitted. "I'm sorry."

Stephanie sniffled. "Yeah, like that helps. Can I go now?"

"Stephanie, you won't tell Emma or the others?"

Stephanie wanted to nod, but she also wanted to be honest. "I don't know if I can promise that," she retorted. Then she whirled on her heel and practically ran out of the office, pretending she didn't hear Jerrica calling after her. She half-expected Jerrica to jump up and chase after her. Part of her hoped she would, and she waited just outside the office uncertainly, but then the phone rang and she heard a muffled groan, followed by Jerrica's calm 'Hello, Rory.'

Right. The office phone had Caller ID. And 'Rory' was obviously someone important. Stephanie caught the word 'benefit' and her expression hardened. Of course, it had something to do with the benefit! Jerrica had already made it clear that that was the most important thing going on right now! Stephanie strode off, her head down and her shoulders forward, feeling very much like a bull getting ready to charge.

"It's no good," Casey said. "I don't mean the song; that sounds amazing. But you guys just…" She hesitated. "You're stiff," she said finally. "It's like… the only things moving onstage are your lips and your fingers. Could you, maybe, I don't know… sway? Or dance?"

Kyla shook her head. "I've got all I can handle trying to sing and play guitar at the same time!"

"Emma," Marla said, "maybe if you could dance a little, it would be enough. You're the only one not playing an instrument."

"I-I can't dance," Emma said, backing away. "Seriously, I have trouble with the Hokey-Pokey!"

"Well, you need to do something," Casey said. "Otherwise, you might as well be mannequins up on stage."

"I know who we can ask," Julie said hesitantly. "I-I mean, she's probably really busy with Jem and the other acts, but… Emma, you were at Haven House before you came here, right?"

Emma shrugged. "Yeah, for a couple of days, why?"

"Because the lady who runs it, Giselle? She used to be a professional dancer. She does choreography now. That's why she's been here at Starlight House a lot recently; she's helping with the benefit."

"So she's already busy," Emma said. "She probably won't have time."

"We can still ask," Kyla said.

"And even if she does have time, if she's a professional, she'll probably want a hundred bucks an hour or something!"

"I've got twenty," Julie said.

"Thirty-five. I think," Kyla chimed in.

"Ten," Marla said.

Emma swallowed. "I've got thirty," she admitted. It wasn't really hers; it was all that remained from Mrs. Malcombe's grocery money, but she couldn't refuse to contribute when everyone else was anteing up. What if it's not enough?"

"We're not asking her to teach us the Sleeping Beauty ballet!" Julie exclaimed. "Just a few moves so we'll look less… wooden on stage. Even if we can only afford a half an hour, it'll still be worth it."

"I don't know about that," Emma murmured, but the other girls didn't seem to hear.

"Okay," Marla said. "She'll probably be by sometime this week. Once she does, we'll wait until she's got a minute and we'll ask her. I mean, what have we got to lose?"

Emma had an answer to that, even if it wasn't one she knew how to put into words. She was used to being let down by people she'd thought she could count on. She liked Giselle, and in her mind, Emma wanted to believe that Giselle was different. But the only way she could keep believing that was if she never put that idea to the test. If she never asked Giselle for help, she could keep right on believing that Giselle would help, if she only knew that Emma wanted her to. But if she did ask and Giselle said no, then the image Emma had constructed of Giselle in her mind would be ruined and she didn't want to risk that happening. But if she couldn't find a way to articulate those thoughts to herself, she'd never manage explaining it to her friends.

Instead, she smiled, she nodded, and she hoped that the next time Giselle showed up at Starlight House, it would be when she and her friends were back at camp.

Wendy was dancing. Her blue silk dancing frock floated about her as she twirled, one arm curved gracefully about her head. She could hear the dancing teacher's instructions and she smiled, secure in the knowledge that she was executing them perfectly.

She turned to face her teacher and screamed to see a faceless, ink-black shadow with two eyes that glowed white. The shadow loomed over her and she tried to flee, even as two smoky hands seized her. And then the floor disappeared from beneath her feet as the dancing room vanished. She was in the open sky, her legs kicking out futilely and she sobbed when she realized that she was soaring over the ocean. The shadow dove down through the clouds with dizzying speed and Wendy beheld an all-too-familiar coastline.

"No!" she cried. "Please! I'm doing my best! I am! I am! I—"

Her protests became a shrill, wordless shriek when the shadow dropped her.

She was falling, she was falling, she was falling, she was…

…Screaming as a hand gripped her hair tightly and swam inland, towing her painfully behind. Her head was above water, so she could breathe—except for when a wave washed over her and she coughed, sputtered, and jerked, sending a fresh wave of pain to her scalp.

At those times, she heard a musical, malicious laugh and her heart sank. Her captor had to be a mermaid, and those who inhabited Neverland weren't anywhere near so lovely as the books of fairy stories she'd read when she was younger had made it seem. They'd tried to drown her before, but Pan had stopped them that time.

"Spoilsport!" one of the mermaids had exclaimed with a pout.

Pan had laughed, but there had been no warmth in it. "I'm not done playing with her, Voona. Once I get a new toy, I won't mind if you break this one, but so long as she's still useful or… fun, or I, at least, haven't tired of her, she's all mine."

Had Pan grown tired of her? Wendy wondered. Or had he tired of her failure to get Emma sent away? Her captor hadn't drowned her yet, she reminded herself, so this was probably another one of his cruel games.

Another wave washed over her and every thought save survival fled from her mind as she coughed and choked while being dragged relentlessly toward shore.

Wendy's scalp was on fire. Gradually, she realized that her captor was no longer gripping her hair, that she was treading water on instinct in some sort of cave or grotto, that she couldn't touch the bottom and had no idea how deep the water was or how long she could stay afloat, but her legs kept churning water and she did her best not to panic.

And then she heard an all-too-familiar voice. "Halloo there, Wendy!"

She forced herself to smile. Pan wouldn't like it if she seemed unhappy to see him. "Hello, Peter," she managed.

"Welcome back," Pan said lightly. "I've missed you."

"I…" She swallowed. "I hadn't expected to see you again so soon."

Pan shrugged. "Things have changed. I have it on good authority that Emma Swan will be leaving Starlight House in less than three weeks. She's being shipped back to that 'Boston' place like a misdirected package."

Wendy heaved a sigh of relief. "So, that's it then?" she asked. "I can stop tr-trying to take away her happiness?"

Pan shook his head, still smiling. "Nope," he said. "Our agreement's still on. Your brother's safety in return for you successfully completing your task. You, Wendy-bird," he continued, and her blood ran cold at the pet name. It had been a long time since he'd used that endearment or one like it, but he never had without doing something dreadful immediately afterwards. "No fair foisting the job off on a bunch of grown-ups," he continued. He raised his hand and a wave surged up beneath her, lifting her and carrying her around a bend and into a small, round chamber where the waters were gathered into a calm pool. And above that pool dangled a large wicker cage, its bars spaced far enough apart for her to see the captive within. And hanging from the bottom of the cage were a number of rocks, each roughly the size of a grapefruit.

"Michael!"

"Wendy!"

Pan leaped into the air between the siblings, blocking their view of one another. "You need to get Emma away from Starlight House," Pan said. "Before the grownups come to collect her. You need to be the cause of it. Or…" He waved his hand and the vine holding Michael's cage aloft suddenly slackened and the cave dropped several feet. Brother and sister screamed. Pan chuckled and waved his hand once more. The cage returned to its previous height.

"If you fail in your mission," Pan said with a savage smile, "then the day that Emma Swan returns to Boston, you will return to this place. Just in time to see your brother plummet to his doom!"

"No!" Wendy exclaimed. "How can you be so… horrid?"

"Play the game, Wendy," Pan smiled. "Then I won't have to be. Here," he added, tossing her a Never-fruit. "Catch!"

Wendy obeyed automatically, and as her hand closed around the small missile, the waters of the pool began to spin faster and faster. Her legs flew out from beneath her as she found herself sucked into the maelstrom. She tried to scream, but a wave slapped her in the face and she coughed and choked, thrashing about as Pan laughed, until…

…She kicked free of the covers, and continued to thrash about until she realized that she was lying on a mattress and if she was somewhat damp, it was owing to her own perspiration. She was back in her bed in her room. It had all been a dream.

She should have been relieved, but it had seemed so real! And her bedroom was stifling. Had something gone off with the cooling machinery? She swung her legs over the side of the bed, rose to her feet, and walked to the window. There was a screen, she reminded herself. The Shadow couldn't get to her here. Or perhaps, it could, but it couldn't carry her off; not through a screen! It would be perfectly safe to open it. All the same, she stared at the windowpane for a full five minutes before she raised it.

The air outside seemed a bit cooler, but there was no breeze and, after a few moments, Wendy closed the window again. On her dressing table, the peculiar little clock with neither hands nor face but only glowing red numbers told her that it was just past two in the morning. Far too early to be awake, she thought.

Her covers had come untucked while she'd been flailing about and she turned on her lamp so that she might see what she was doing when she set to putting them right again. Sighing, she seized her bedlinens by the bottom corners and shook them vigorously.

A small, yellow object rolled out and onto the floor. Wendy began to tremble. She stooped down to retrieve it and held it up to the light where the faint, wavy, green lines and gleaming blue speckles were more readily visible. She was holding a Never-fruit.

"Was that necessary?" the Shadow asked dryly. "It would seem that the Savior will be back on track to fulfill her destiny regardless of your little… plaything's… actions or inactions."

Pan smirked. "Yes, well. Destiny's destiny, you know that as well as I do. But just to wait patiently for it to take its course when you can give it a little nudge? Where's the fun in that?" He shrugged. "Besides, that was never the only reason."

"Oh?"

Pan sighed. "The game's getting boring, I'm afraid. Sometimes switching out a piece or two can breathe a bit of new life into it."

"So you'll keep the girl in the other land then."

"Oh, don't be daft!" Pan scoffed. "She may be interesting, but she's fairly useless. No, once this adventure is over, she'll return to me and her brothers will continue as they have been."

"With the threat to Wendy's safety to keep them in line," the Shadow nodded and Pan laughed.

"When it comes to that sort of leverage," he said with a sinister gleam in his eye, "one girl is worth twenty boys."

"I wasn't expecting to see you again," Eric said as he smiled at Roxy across the round Formica table.

Roxy swallowed. "Uh, yeah. Well, I was hoping you could give me some advice. I'm still not having any luck getting back with the Misfits and I was hoping maybe I could, um, make a last-ditch effort on the night of their big comeback. Only I need to talk to them alone before the concert."

Eric shrugged. "Why come to me?"

"Because," Roxy admitted, "you're about the only person left who's still talking to me and might be able to help."

"Sorry," Eric shook his head. "I don't have those connections anymore, and if I did, I certainly wouldn't disclose them over a monitored conversation in a minimum security prison. I'm trying to put those days behind me," he added self-righteously and Roxy bristled.

"So, basically, I'm screwed," she said.

Eric shrugged. "You never needed my help to find a way into places you had no business being. If you need help, you might want to remember I'm not your only resource. Try Starlight Mansion."

"What?" Roxy leaped up and planted her hands on the table. "There is no way I'm throwing myself at Jerrica's feet!" She slid back down in her chair when she realized that two guards were fast approaching. "Sorry."

Eric shook his head. "Not at all. And that wasn't what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" Roxy demanded, a trifle less belligerently.

Eric shook his head. "You're a smart girl with a decent memory, Roxy. Perhaps it'll come to you in time."

He nodded to the guards. "Thanks for paying attention. I believe my guest and I are finished now." He smiled at Roxy. "Aren't we?"

Roxy sighed. "Yeah."

She watched as one of the guards led Eric out of the visitors' hall. Then she headed back to the bus stop still frowning as she mulled over what Eric had said. She had an idea that he'd been trying to answer her question in a way that the guards wouldn't find suspicious, but she wasn't sure what he'd been hinting at. She was still trying to puzzle it out when the bus arrived.

"Stephanie, has Giselle shown up yet?"

Stephanie turned to face Julie and shook her head. "I don't think so. Why, is she coming today?"

"I hope so," the other girl said. "We can really use some help with our dancing. On stage," she added.

Stephanie frowned. "Did Jerrica say you could?"

"Well, she didn't say we couldn't," Julie hedged. "At least, not since the last time we asked her. If she sees how good we are, then maybe…"

Stephanie sighed. "She won't," she said. "You know she won't. She never does." Head down, she started walking off, pretending she didn't hear Julie calling after her.

"Stephanie? What do you mean, she never does? This is the first time we've asked her! Or wanted to show her. Or… Stephanie!"

"Hey, thanks!" Roxy called after the passerby who had dropped a ten-dollar bill into her guitar case. The man didn't turn around, but Roxy wasn't put out. She probably didn't want to get a good look at the guy's face; if she ever met him again, she wouldn't want to know he'd seen her at a point this low. She pocketed the morning's haul, put her guitar in the case, latched it, and headed for the kiosk in the middle of the park.

No amplifiers meant she had to sing louder than usual to be heard, and her throat was feeling a dry. She couldn't afford to be hoarse, not when busking in the park was the only thing she had going for her.

She could always see if Mr. Cluck's was hiring.

No. No, she couldn't. If she did that, she was as good as admitting that there was no coming back from where she was, no second chances. If she did that, then the meetings might not be enough to keep her away from the bars.

She hadn't had a drink in nine days. She really wanted to say that she hadn't had one in ten tomorrow. If she could really ditch this thing, then maybe she could see Han—

Her breath caught. The little girl with the white pigtails, her hand clasped firmly in that of a young East Asian woman… that was Hanna May!

They hadn't seen her yet. And they might not even recognize her if they did; sunglasses and her new haircut might be enough of a disguise. If it wasn't, though? If it wasn't, she had to get out of here before they spotted her. She couldn't face her daughter now. Not until she was back on her feet, not facing criminal charges, had a better way of earning money than panhandling in parks… Oh, hell. There was so much to do and she couldn't deal with it now, but there was no way that she could take a chance on Hanna May seeing her.

Kiosk forgotten, she took off at a run, guitar case in hand, like Maria flipping Von Trapp singing 'I Have Confidence'. Which, Roxy knew, was so damned far from the truth. She had no confidence. She had no career. She had no prospects.

She had to get out of here.

Giselle smiled at the four girls standing before her. "What were you looking for?" she asked. She'd already waved off their offer to pay her for her help with a laugh. "Did you want to do a dance break in the middle of the song, or did you just want to move around a little onstage?"

Emma and the others looked at each other. "How about both?" Kyla suggested. Then, quickly, "Or is that asking for too much?"

Giselle shook her head. "It's not, but... that's… really hard to pull off. In the movies, they usually record the voice track first and then dub it in. Live on stage? It takes a lot of training and, even then, many people can't manage it. You need more breath when you're exercising—and make no mistake, dancing is exercise—and you need more breath when you're singing. Now, if you want to have some band members on stage who are just there to dance and maybe do some back-up vocals when they aren't dancing, that's do-able. Otherwise…"

"Otherwise," Julie said, "I guess we just need some tips on how to move around so we don't look so stiff."

Giselle smiled. "Now that we're agreed, how about you guys sing me your song and I'll see what I can come up with…"

Phyllis sat in her home office and tried to focus on the reports in front of her. Damn it, when had she started second-guessing herself? She'd used to be impulsive. And tough. And mean. She'd taken crap from nobody and she'd considered basic politeness and respect beneath her.

A lot could change in six years.

Most of the time, Phyllis had to admit, she liked the person she was now: more settled, more responsible, less angry. The kind of person who could be trusted to look after a small child and not run out on them when they got bored.

Realization hit her and she shook her head. "Too bad you didn't stick around, Mom," she murmured. "Not because it's your fault I turned out to be such a rotten teenager; I've worked with enough families by now to know that some kids end up the way they do even when the parents do everything right and I probably would've been one of them anyway. But I think you might have liked seeing how I turned out in the end." One lip curled wryly. "Or maybe you'd just call me 'establishment' and tell me that you could never be tied down to a desk and a nine-to-five job and you can't believe I'm happy." Not that her job was always nine to five, she thought. And not like Mom had actually worked. With Daddy's money, she hadn't had to. Phyllis never had found out why her mother had left. Daddy had never spoken of it and, after a while, Phyllis had stopped asking. And she'd only been a year or so older than Hanna May—old enough to know that her mother wasn't happy, but too young to understand why. She'd tried to figure it out over the years. In every psychology course she took, she'd looked for her mother in the case studies. She'd found stuff that had resonated, of course, but nothing that completely explained what had prompted Marnie Smithfield Gabor to go out for a drive one day and never return. She wasn't really surprised: she'd been relying on memories over a decade old to try to piece together the woman her mother had been and then attempted to analyze her based on those hazy recollections. Of course she'd hit a wall. At the end of the day, though, she didn't need to understand her mother in order to live her best life. She just needed to trust herself and make the right decisions.

She winced. It was hard to find the answers when you didn't have all the facts. Maybe that was why she'd been thinking of her mother tonight. This whole… on-again off-again with Rory was weighing on her. She wasn't sure if she was doing the right thing by taking this chance, but it felt right and letting her old, impulsive self out to play wouldn't hurt anyone. It couldn't. It shouldn't.

Phyllis pressed her hand to her eyes and hoped she hadn't just made a huge mistake.

"You look ghastly," John said at breakfast.

Wendy added a spoonful of fresh berries to her porridge, ignoring the bowl of stewed prunes on the table. (Really, if they were popped into that microwave thing to cook, did it truly count for proper stewing?). She added cinnamon, nutmeg, and a dollop of honey and stirred it silently, before adding a moat of milk. Then, still without acknowledging her brother, she thrust her spoon in, and raised it to her lips.

It was sweet. Far sweeter than the fare she would have received in London before Neverland, but it seemed to congeal into a lump as she swallowed.

"Wendy?" John peered at her over his spectacles. "Are you ill?"

She shook her head. From the pocket of her dressing gown, she took out the Never-fruit and set it on the table. "Pan chucked it at me," she said hoarsely. "Last night."

John shook his head sadly.

"You don't sound surprised," Wendy said.

"D'you think you're the only one he summons back when he thinks the task he's set is dragging on too long?"

"He has Michael at the mermaid's lagoon, and if I don't act quickly he'll drown him! Or the mermaids will."

"Pan," John said decisively. "The mermaids never bother the boys." He sighed. "And Pan may have just been lighting a fire under you. It's possible he staged the whole thing and as soon as you were on your way back here, he had Michael moved someplace safer. Perhaps, he even let him out to play with the other Lost Ones."

"He never did for me," Wendy informed him.

"Pan doesn't care much for girls in Neverland," John said thoughtfully. "It's something Michael and I wondered about. Michael thinks it's because most boys… haven't much to do with girls until they're old enough to think about courting. Or, at least, they hadn't back when we all lived in London. Perhaps, Pan thinks that being friendly to you is a sign of growing up."

"Well what if it is?" Wendy asked hotly. "Would it be so terrible if he stopped seeing everything as some great game?"

"It would be to him," John sighed. "So…?"

Wendy swallowed another spoonful of porridge. "So, nothing's changed, except that Pan wants me to act quicker. I still have to coax Emma into doing something so horrid that her foundling home sends her away again. And I still have no idea how!" She took deep breath and let it out with a sigh. "But I must," she went on with weary resignation. "I've no choice."

John pushed back his chair and walked around to her side of the table. He squeezed her arm reassuringly, but his voice was as bleak as hers when he nodded and said, "That's right. You don't."

The next day at summer camp, Wendy did her best to act friendly and agreeable, tamping down the inner voice that told her not to do what she was planning. Every time it reared up, she thrust her hand into her pocket where the Never-fruit nestled and thought of Michael.

"That concert sounds like great fun," Wendy exclaimed. "And you'll be singing on stage?"

Emma sighed. "Well, we want to. Jerrica said it's just for the professional bands, but we're hoping we can sneak backstage and maybe run on during a break between acts." A flush of pink came to her cheeks and she lowered her eyes. "Sounds kinda silly when I say it out loud, huh?"

Wendy shook her head and smiled a bit too broadly. "Silly?" she repeated. "Not a bit of it! Why, you'll be simply splendid. We've just got to find a way for you to go up on stage and show everyone!"

Emma snorted. "Yeah," she said. "How?"

Wendy's smile became a narrow slit as a gleam came to her eyes. "Oh, I think I might have some ideas…"

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty

"So, have you guys set the date yet?" Kimber asked, trying hard not to smile at the dreamy look in her foster sister's eyes, the same look that was now mirrored in the eyes of her fiancé.

Craig cleared his throat. "We… uh… we're still trying to decide on the venue. We kind of want to keep things low key. Not a JP wedding," he added hastily, "but no media circus either."

"Unfortunately," Aja said, "this is LA and, well, even a city hall wedding is kind of a big deal. I mean, Marilyn Monroe and Joe DiMaggio got married there. We sort of want to do our own thing without someone saying we're just trying to copy…" She sighed. "I don't care, not really. I mean, wherever we pick, someone's done it first, but I want it to be our day, our wedding, not 'a pale imitation of Liz Taylor and Richard Burton's', if you know what I mean."

Stormer nodded. "No Montreal, no Botswana. Got it."

Aja sputtered. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Stormer nodded. "In Montreal, the reverend only agreed to marry them if there was no publicity. And they really wanted to keep it a secret the second time."

Aja groaned. "So, we're not even the first ones who didn't want flashbulbs popping in our faces."

"You say that like it's weird not to want to have the media hiding behind every tree," Kimber said. She smiled. "Of course, you could always have it at Starlight Mansion…"

"It's on the shortlist," Craig admitted. "But right now, Jerrica has her hands full with the benefit and there's still going to be clean-up work when it's over. We don't want to assume she's okay with hosting a wedding at the mansion when she's just too… nice to say no."

"Besides," Aja said, "if we have it at the mansion, it'll be because it's the best possible place and not because we couldn't find anywhere else."

"You'll write our wedding theme, though," Craig grinned at Kimber and Stormer, "won't you?"

"Of course!" Stormer exclaimed.

"Outrageous!" Kimber chimed in.

"Uh… not too outrageous," Aja cautioned. "A little tradition is good, too."

Kimber giggled. "Trust us."

She went to a meeting and debated whether to speak. She'd gone up on stage in front of crowds of over a hundred thousand people without getting stage fright, but in front of a room of maximum thirty-five, she hadn't been able to get a word out. Later, at the refreshment table, it felt as though everyone had come over to introduce themselves, tell her she was taking the first step and she should be proud, and offer what she supposed was meant to be well-meaning support, but Roxy felt like they were all talking past her. Like they had some checklist of platitudes they had to spout and tonight, she just wasn't in the mood. She smiled, she mumbled her thanks, and she stuffed her face with plain cake donuts (the chocolate glazed had been snapped up within seconds of the meeting adjourning) even though she normally hated them, because nobody expected her to talk with her mouth full.

Roxy left as quickly as she could, feeling almost as miserable as she had when she'd arrived. And she only knew one surefire way to banish that misery, at least temporarily.

She bought a bottle of Tanqueray gin at the first liquor store she came across. A quick stop at Ralph's for a quart of grapefruit juice and a few non-perishable staples and she was on her way back to her room. She didn't plan on coming out again until she'd run out of food or booze, whichever came first.

"It looks a million times better!" Casey exclaimed when she was done applauding.

"Well, I don't know if I want to go that far!" Marla laughed. "But it's an improvement."

"Hey, Stephanie," Emma said, "you've been pretty quiet. Didn't you like the new routine?"

Stephanie managed a weak smile. "Yeah," she said, a bit too heartily, "it was great! B-but I have to go, now." She spun on her heel and practically ran out of the common room.

The other girls looked from one to the other. Emma's jaw set. "Because that doesn't look like anything suspicious at all," she deadpanned. Then she hurried after her friend.

Roxy woke up with a splitting headache. Why the hell was the sun so bright? She fell back into bed with a groan. Through bleary eyes, she could just make out the gin bottle, more than three quarters full beside an open carton of grapefruit juice.

How many shots had she poured? Four? Five?

She groaned. She did not want to get up and face the day, or really, anything other than another drink. But in order to get another drink, she was going to have to get out of bed, walk to the table, grab the bottle, and twist off the cap. Right now, that sounded like too much work. And wasn't she supposed to be quitting this stuff?

Her head was pounding and she sank back into the bed. Then, all at once, she clapped a hand to her mouth, rolled to the edge of the bed, and disgorged the contents of her stomach into the wastepaper basket on the floor by her pillow.

When she was done, weak and shaking, she rolled away from the edge again, buried her face in her pillow, and whimpered. Was this what dying felt like? She gripped the edges of the pillow fiercely and hoped her suffering would end soon.

Emma had finally succeeded in cornering Stephanie. "Okay," she said. "What's up?"

Stephanie's eyes darted from left to right. Seeing nobody nearby, she shook her head. "Nothing."

"You're lying."

"I'm not!" Stephanie protested, but Emma's glower only deepened.

"You're hiding something," she accused. "I don't know what it is, but every time we're together, it's like you just… clam up and go away." Her eyes narrowed. "Has Wendy been saying stuff about me again? I'll kill her."

"No!' Stephanie said. "It's not Wendy, it's… Jerrica."

Emma blinked. "Jerrica? Seriously?"

The other girl shook her head. "I-I didn't mean to overhear. I was going by her office and she was on the phone. Emma, after the concert, they… they're sending you back to Boston."

Emma reeled as though struck.

"She asked me not to tell you until she got the chance," Stephanie went on, "and I was trying, but it's been so hard…"

Emma shook her head. "No," she whispered. "No, they can't do that. Not when I've finally found someplace I belong!" And now it was her turn to break and run, even as Stephanie called apologies behind her.

Emma had never been down this corridor before, past the auditorium and the change rooms, and… Just what the heck else was down here anyway? She didn't much care anyway, so long as nobody found her. She just needed a quiet place where she could wrap her head around the idea that she was probably about the only Starlight House girl who wasn't going to live here until she aged out. Or until her parents came for her, she thought. Yeah, like they'd go looking for the baby they chucked on the side of a Maine Interstate clear across the country, about as far from Maine as you could get without leaving the country! If they ever went looking at all. Chucked on the side of the Interstate. If that had been an accident, they'd had eleven years to notice she was gone!

She continued down the corridor, noticing that there didn't seem to be any doors on either side, nor at the end. That was weird. What was the point of a hallway that didn't go anywhere? Maybe it just looped around. Head down, she continued. She was calming down and with the loss of that anguish-fueled energy, her head was beginning to pound and her eyelids were feeling heavier. She let them close and kept walking, one hand brushing against the wall—

And then, suddenly, the wall wasn't there and she fell sideways into empty space.

The heaviness in her head vanished. So did the hallway. She was sprawled on a tiled floor in a room of chrome accents and sleek, ultramodern décor. And against the opposite wall was something that looked like a cross between a hi-tech computer and the biggest electronic keyboard she'd ever seen!

Aloud, she whispered, "What is this place?"

"Jerrica, there is an intruder in my command center."

Despite Synergy's calm voice, Jerrica tensed as the speakers in her earrings crackled to life. "How did they get in?" she asked, fighting not to panic. If it was that smarmy guy Eric had hired long ago… Jerrica had never seen him in the flesh, but the simulacrum of his face that Synergy had recreated was burned into her brain.

"I believe that it is one of your charges," Synergy replied, her voice never changing its timbre. "Emma Swan."

"Emma?" Jerrica repeated. Well, that was a relief, but it still didn't answer the question. "But how…"

"She inadvertently passed through the holographic wall that shields this room from detection."

Jerrica exhaled. "What is she doing now?"

"She appears to be exploring." There was something in Synergy's voice that might almost have been termed wry humor. "I believe that I can occupy her curiosity temporarily, but it would be a good idea if you were to intervene before she begins to have questions that you might be hard-pressed to answer."

Jerrica nodded. "Got it. I'm—"

The door of her office burst open and Stephanie flew in. "Jerrica!" she cried. "I-I didn't mean to tell her, but she kept after me and after me a-and…"

Instinctively, Jerrica's arms curved around the distraught girl and she was glad that her cybernetic companion could hear everything that was happening in the room and understand the reason that she was about to be delayed. Hopefully, Synergy would be able to stall Emma for a few minutes longer.

Emma tentatively approached the largest screen. "What is this?" she murmured.

The screen lit up. And a modulated female voice said, "This is Music Instructor: a voice-activated prototype. Test mode currently running."

Startled, Emma took two quick steps backwards. "Uh… s-sorry!"

"Do you wish to take a music lesson?" the voice continued.

Emma blinked. "I-I can't play music. Seriously."

Lights blinked. There was a whirring sound. And then the voice said, "Commencing beginner course, level one, lesson one. Please position your fingers on the keyboard as marked."

"Huh?" To Emma's astonishment, the keyboard console she'd seen previously now bore ten colored dots. Evidently, she was meant to place her fingers there. She hesitated for a moment, but her curiosity won out and she obeyed.

"Thank you. Now. Watch the screen and play the proper note when prompted."

"Wh-what if I break something?" Emma asked nervously.

"You cannot break me by following proper the operating instructions," the voice replied calmly. "This note is called C." A clear tone filled the room. "Press the proper key when ready."

Emma obeyed.

"Excellent. This note is called G. Press the proper key when ready…"

She had completed two lessons and was practicing her 'c-chords' when Jerrica arrived and her newly-won calm evaporated.

Jerrica forced herself to meet Emma's accusing eyes and her brittle question with honesty.

"Is it true?" she demanded. "I'm going back to Boston?"

Jerrica nodded. "Massachusetts, at least," she said. "I don't know for sure whether it's Boston."

"But Phyllis said I'd be here till I aged out!"

Jerrica reached out to her, but when Emma backed away, she didn't push it. "She said you might be," she corrected. "And it was a possibility, but it looks like things aren't going to go that way. I'm sorry."

Emma's lip curled back angrily. "Like that helps," she shot back. "Please, don't send me back! This is the first place I've ever felt like I belonged! I-I haven't even got to Disney, yet! And the benefit—"

"You'll be here for the benefit," Jerrica said quickly. "As for Disney, I'm trying to make it happen, but I can't promise. I'm sorry," she said again. "I-I wish there was some way to make it up to you."

Emma took a deep breath. "How about if you let the Starlights play at the benefit?"

Jerrica's breath caught. "Emma…"

"Look, just… Give us a chance. Listen to us play. If we tank, we tank, but if we're at all good, let us do one song! Please!" A bit more softly, she added, "One song's all we've got anyway unless we do a cover or something."

"Emma," Jerrica repeated, and something in the girl's guileless blue eyes tore at her heart. "Let me think about it, okay?"

That was more than she'd dared hope for, even if it was less than she wanted. "Okay," she agreed. "Should I go up and pack now?"

"I think it's still a little early for that," Jerrica said, trying to smile. "It's still more than a week before…"

"I'd rather be ready," Emma said. Then, hesitantly, "What is this room anyway?"

Jerrica hesitated. "Before my father died," she said slowly, "he was working on a computer that would be the ultimate audio-visual entertainment synthesizer." A smile tugged at her lips. "That sounds like a mouthful, I know. Anyway, he didn't get to market it and I don't really know everything about how it works. I… guess if I had experts look at it, they could probably figure everything out but, well…" She turned her attention to the screen.

"Hello, Synergy," she said.

The screen over the keyboard flickered. Wavy lines scrolled downward for a moment. And then, they coalesced into a face, a face with mauve skin and lavender-gray hair held back by a plum sweatband. The eyes were lilac blanks with neither iris nor pupil. The lips, however, were smiling. "Greetings, Jerrica," they said.

Emma started. "I-I didn't know you had a face!" she blurted.

"Would it have made a difference?" Synergy asked.

Jerrica touched her shoulder. "Emma, my mother died in a plane crash when I was your age. When my father was looking for a template," seeing the blank look on the girl's face, she said, "a model for Synergy, he wanted to use her face and personality. He had to make a few changes, though," she added. "He couldn't bear to make her identical to Mom in the end, but Synergy is still a lot like her and, maybe it's silly, but I worry that if technicians took her apart to find out what makes her work, either they'd destroy Synergy's personality, or they'd figure that out too and program her into every computer they produced. And even though I know that Synergy's a computer program, she's also very real to me and I don't want thousands of Synergies out there anymore than I'd want thousands of me or you or any of the other girls here."

Emma looked down. "I-I thought she was just a music program."

"I am that," Synergy broke in gently, "and a great deal more." Emma looked up at the screen once more. The purple-hued face was smiling gently and its blank eyes seemed to be focused on her as it continued, "Most of my other capabilities would not be relevant to you now, however."

Emma dipped her chin down and then lifted her eyes once more. "Is it okay if I come back here?" she asked. "For more lessons? Until I have to leave, I mean."

Jerrica hesitated.

"I would not mind that, Jerrica," Synergy said. "I do not receive visitors often."

Jerrica smiled at that. "Okay," she said. "Emma, as long as your chores are done, you can come down here after supper. But," she continued seriously, "I don't want the other girls coming down here. Synergy isn't a toy and if everyone knows about her, it's just a matter of time before someone else comes in and," she shook her head, "brings a drink in with her and accidently spills it on a console. Or a fight breaks out and someone smashes into a control panel. If anything happens to Synergy, I don't know if I'd be able to fix her." She shook her head. "I know you're upset that I asked Stephanie to keep your leaving a secret and you have every right to be, but I'm asking you to keep Synergy a secret now. If you can do that, then you can come down here for more lessons as long as you're here."

Emma nodded. "I get it," she said. "I won't tell anyone." She'd be long gone before anyone got suspicious anyway. "And about the benefit…?"

"I'll think about it," Jerrica repeated. "No promises."

After Emma had gone upstairs, Jerrica rested a hand on Synergy's console. "Did I handle that right?" she wondered aloud.

The screen came to life again and Synergy's face smiled out at her. "I don't believe that there was any harm done," she replied. "When you first brought me here, I considered the possibility that one or more of the girls might discover me and I prepared contingencies for that eventuality."

"Music lessons," Jerrica smiled.

"It seemed like a plausible explanation for my presence. One you bolstered adequately." There was a pause. "And since Emma will return, the next time she does, she will find a doorway in place of the holographic wall that she stepped through today."

Jerrica nodded, but her eyes were worried. "I never liked keeping secrets," she said. "Even Jem, especially Jem. But I told Stephanie to keep Emma's leaving a secret. I told Emma to keep you a secret. Where does it end? When does it end?"

Synergy waited for a moment before she answered. "It ends when you're ready to end it," she said. "But understand that while secrets can come with a heavy price, so can openness. You need to decide for yourself the price that you're willing to pay."

"That doesn't help," Jerrica said sadly.

"I know."

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Synergy was nothing more than a series of highly-sophisticated computer programs. Sometimes, Synergy sounded almost exactly like the woman she'd been modeled on. Sometimes, talking to Synergy was almost as good as having a heart-to-heart talk with the mother she'd lost fifteen years earlier. Sometimes.

Devon Silverstone had barely stepped into his apartment when he heard the phone ring. He debated answering it for a moment. He'd spent hours going over special effects planning with the stadium's tech team while doing his utmost to give them the information they needed while holding back as many of his personal trade secrets as he could. It was a fine line to tread, but he'd done it easily enough in the past. With a bit of practice, he hoped he'd get used to doing it again.

And the phone was still ringing.

It might be one of the tech people with a question. He really wanted to unwind right now, and he debated not answering, but he didn't have voice mail set up, and it might be important, and they'd probably keep calling if it was. He grabbed the receiver. "Hello?"

He barely recognized the ragged voice on the other end. "Devon?"

Barely. "Roxy? Is that you?"

A muffled sob. Then, "C-can you meet me?"

"She what?" Kyla squealed.

Emma shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, but unable to fully hide her smile. "I guess she feels bad about my going back to…" Suddenly, hiding her smile got a whole lot easier. "…Boston," she finished, her voice a bit lower. "Maybe this is a consolation prize, but I'll take it."

Julie wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I'd pass up the chance in a minute if you could stay," she said, with a catch in her own voice. "I mean, I've wanted for us to go up and perform, but…"

"Not like this," Marla finished.

Emma swallowed. "Hey. In another seven years, I age out of the system. Once that happens, I'll be back." She hesitated. "You'll be here, right? I-I mean, still in LA?"

The three girls looked at one another. "I don't know," Kyla admitted. "Seven years is a long time. But probably."

"We'll keep in touch," Marla said firmly. "Once you get settled, write to us with your new address. Who knows?" she added. "Maybe I'll win a scholarship to MIT and come find you!"

"Meanwhile," Julie said, "if Jerrica's going to hear us, we should probably rehearse if we don't want to blow our chances. Hey, Emma," she added, "you want to do some of the backup vocals?"

Emma took a step backwards. "I-I don't sing," she said.

"Yeah, you do," Marla countered. "You had to do it to teach us the song. C'mon." She cleared her throat.

"Look at the atmosphere," she sang. "We could disappear…"

"Disappear," Kyla chimed in.

Julie joined on the next line. "Hearts will collide."

Emma took a deep breath and added her own voice to the others':

Up in the sky, looking down on life

We are starlight, starlight

Between the moon and the city lights…

It did sound better, Emma realized in surprise. A small smile played on her face, growing broader as the lyrics poured forth from her lips.

Roxy accepted the Styrofoam coffee cup gratefully, but turned down Devon's offer for something to go with it.

"I guess you know you look like hell," Devon said.

Roxy gulped the coffee and winced when it scalded her tongue. "I feel like hell," she admitted. "I'm trying to stay off the stuff, but last night, I went to a meeting and then I got back to my room and cracked open the bubbly. Okay, it was cheap gin, but it got the job done."

Devon clasped her shoulder. "You don't have a sponsor yet, do you?"

"Sponsor?" Roxy repeated. "Do you know how many years it's been since anyone offered me an endorsement deal?"

Devon shook his head, but he was smiling. "I meant an AA sponsor. Someone you can call when you're feeling like you're on the edge and about to fall."

"Oh. Uh, could you?"

Devon shook his head again. "Sorry, but first, I don't think I've been sober long enough to sponsor anyone and second, well, it's… recommended that your sponsor isn't someone you could, um, feel romantically attracted to. It's not a hard-fast rule, but usually men sponsor men and women sponsor women. Unless they're into same-sex relationships, and comfortable with everyone knowing about it," he added.

Roxy winced. "Yeah, I've got enough rumors going around about me already without giving the tabloids something new to wonder about."

"I mean," Devon said, "it's fine to call me if you need a friend, but you should have a sponsor, too."

"So, how do I get one of those?"

Devon smiled. "At a meeting."

Roxy shook her head wearily, but she smiled back.

Wendy stomped into the apartment and slammed the door behind her as hard as she could. John looked up from his coffee cup. "You know," he remarked dryly, "we do have neighbors who might not appreciate every time you storm inside in a huff."

"Bother the neighbors!" Wendy snapped. "And better you give me some of that brew instead of the bull you usually hand me."

John's eyebrow shot up. "Uh, just so you know, in this place, 'bull' means something rather cruder than a second brew of tea."

"Take it how you like it," Wendy retorted, "but I'll have coffee just the same."

John shrugged, but he got up and took another mug from the drainage tray by the sink, carried it over to the coffee pot and filled it three quarters of the way. "You'll want cream and sugar, I expect," he said, bringing the sugar bowl to the table with the mug before heading for the fridge.

Scowling, Wendy raised the mug to her lips, took a sip, and made a face at once. Then she seized the sugar spoon and added two heaping spoonfuls to the drink. "That's nasty!" she exclaimed. "How can you drink it?"

"Acquired taste," John informed her with some amusement. "Now, suppose you tell me what's bothering you? And then, if you truly mean to acquire this taste, perhaps we can head to the shop across the street and we can start with a latte. Perhaps a gingerbread-flavored one."

Wendy shook her head. "Bother the latte," she muttered waspishly. "I-I thought I had a way to do what Pan wanted and get Emma cast out of that place. I was going to persuade her to perform at that concert after she'd been expressly told she couldn't. Either she or I would sabotage one of the other bands' equipment so that they couldn't go on and then she and her band would run on stage in the confusion. I'd see to it that the blame for the destruction would fall on her shoulders."

John nodded. "That sounds like it could work," he admitted. "With us working backstage and Emma and her band in the audience, we could probably make it happen. She turned you down?"

"She got her guardian to consider letting them perform a-as a sort of going away gift!" Wendy snapped. "Why would she sabotage anything if she doesn't have to?"

John shrugged. "Obviously, she wouldn't," he replied. "But why should that stop you, when she can still take the blame for it?"

Wendy's eyes widened. And then a dreadful smile sprang to her lips as hope soared in her heart once more.

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-One

"Hey, kiddo," Phyllis smiled at Hanna May across the breakfast table. "You haven't touched your eggs."

Hanna May looked at her. She looked down at her plate. Then, slowly, deliberately, she set down her fork, lifted her index finger, and set it down gently in the middle of the eggs. "I touched them," she said seriously, and Phyllis fought not to laugh.

"Great. Now, how about eating them?"

Hanna May shook her head. "They're yucky," she said seriously.

"Yeah? What's yucky about 'em?" Phyllis asked, not in the least offended.

Hanna May shrugged. "They feel funny in my mouth and they're too cold."

Phyllis sighed. "Well, maybe if you hadn't left them so long…" she replied.

"They were yucky when they were warm, too," Hanna May informed her.

Phyllis considered. "Would you eat them in a burrito?" she asked.

Hanna May perked up. "I can have a burrito for breakfast?"

"If you'll eat it. Will you?"

Hanna May nodded. "But no hot sauce."

"How about ketchup?"

Hanna May nodded again.

"Sold!" Phyllis proclaimed. She practically ran to the fridge. There was leftover rice from the night before. She grabbed that, together with a red pepper and an avocado. Then she took a can of black beans out of the cupboard. She was in the middle of mashing a quarter cup of them when the phone rang. It was Rory.

"Sorry to call this early," he apologized, "but I didn't want to bother you at work."

Her irritation subsided slightly. "I'm trying to get breakfast on for a…" she glanced at Hanna May. No way was she going to call the girl a finicky eater when she was within earshot. "…A discriminating palate," she finished. "And I need to get out the door in about twenty minutes." Marisol would be here in ten. Phyllis hated to leave the washing up for her, but there was no help for it today.

"Then I won't keep you," Rory said. "I was wondering if we could go over some of the details for the Misfits' appearance at the benefit. I thought maybe I could swing by this evening visit with Hanna May for a bit, and once she's in bed, we could discuss business."

Phyllis considered. She did need to do something with the rest of the can of beans. "You like chili?" she asked.

"I do," Rory replied.

She'd been half-hoping he'd say no. "Dinner's at six-thirty," she said. "If you're late, we're starting without you."

Rory chuckled. "Then I won't be late. See you at dinnertime."

Phyllis hung up the phone. She'd ask Marisol to make the chili. At least it came together fairly quickly. Meanwhile…

She assembled the burrito and set it down before Hanna May just as Marisol bustled in. A quick greeting as she jotted down the instructions, a kiss to Hanna May and she was out the door, ready to face the LA traffic and try not to succumb to road rage on her way to the office.

Stephanie was in the common room watching television. She started when Emma sat down on the sofa beside her. "Hey."

"H-hey," Stephanie said.

Emma shook her head. "I just wanted to tell you, it's okay," she said. "I'm not mad at you anymore."

Stephanie blinked. "Really?"

"I'm still upset," Emma clarified. "But it's because I'm leaving, not because you weren't going to tell me. Jerrica and I had a talk."

Stephanie heaved a sigh. "I'm glad," she said with palpable relief. "I-I really didn't want to keep secrets from you. If Jerrica hadn't—"

"I get it," Emma cut her off. "But let's not talk about it anymore." She looked at the TV screen, where a horse-drawn wagon drove across a dusty road, two adults on the seat and three girls in the wagon behind. "What is this show?"

Stephanie's eyes lit up. "Little House on the Prairie," she said. "I've got all the books. The show's not exactly like them, but it's good, too."

Emma watched as the scene cut to the inside of a store, where the girls were sitting on a countertop while another woman spoke in a friendly fashion, but there was something about her that Emma immediately disliked.

"Isn't it something, the way they sprout up?" she was saying. "My Nellie outgrows her shoes before she can even wear the shoes out. Of course, they are better quality than the average."

Snob, Emma thought, as the other woman told her that the shoes would do fine.

The snobby woman named a price.

"Three dollars?" Emma repeated and Stephanie nodded.

"It's about a hundred years ago. Stuff was cheaper back then." She motioned to the screen. "Mrs. Oleson's horrible, but her husband's really nice."

A slender man was explaining that the girls' shoes were to be charged.

At that, Mrs. Oleson answered, "Why, Nellie has two pair of shoes that are practically like perfect, and she has grown right out of them. And I was going to give them to the needy in Mankato, but I think I should give them to the needy right here in Walnut Grove!"

She'd been watching the show for all of two minutes and she already hated this woman! "How can she talk like that right in front of them?" she demanded.

Stephanie shrugged. "She's a horrible person and she doesn't have a filter. The places are real, by the way."

"The places?" Emma repeated blankly.

"Walnut Grove, Minnesota," Stephanie explained. "Mankato. And other places in the books, like Pepin, Wisconsin and De Smet, South Dakota. One day," she said dreamily, "I'm going to go and see them."

"Why?" Emma asked.

"Because that's where Laura lived!" she pointed to the second of the three girls on the screen, a child Emma thought was about her age or maybe a little younger. "When she grew up, she wrote the books about what it was like back then. There are museums all over and I want to see them all!"

Emma couldn't imagine what would be so great about going to museums. She'd been on school trips to Boston historical sites before. There were only so many times you could stand behind velvet ropes while someone told you how the furniture and clothes were all handmade. But Stephanie was her friend, so all she said was, "Cool. I hope that works out for you," and hoped she sounded like she meant it. Then she settled back on the sofa to watch.

Emma thought that the performance was going well. True, she was no expert, but it seemed to her that everyone was singing on-key. The music was steady with none of the hesitations and lags that marked her own music lessons (all two of them, so far). Giselle's tips on 'moving naturally with the music'—Emma agreed with her that it wasn't exactly dancing—appeared to be paying off; they weren't standing stiffly on stage anymore.

But Jerrica's expression was completely unreadable as she watched from a front-row seat in the auditorium. A couple of times, Emma saw her nodding, but her face remained impassive, even somewhat disapproving, going by the faint frown.

Finally, the last notes died away and Jerrica rose to her feet. For an agonizing minute she regarded them silently. Finally, Kayla ventured to say, "Well?"

Jerrica exhaled. "Well," she said slowly, "I have to say I'm impressed. I can see how hard you've been working on this."

"So, we can perform at the benefit?" Emma asked.

Jerrica was silent. The seconds seemed to drag by as her lips pressed together. Then, "I'm not promising. This is a joint production with Stingers Sound and I need to discuss it with them too. But," she smiled for the first time, "I'm going to push for it."

The girls started to cheer. Jerrica held up a hand.

"Don't get too excited. It's not a 'yes' yet."

"But it's not a 'no'?" Emma pressed, and Jerrica's smile widened as she nodded.

"It's not a 'no'."

The girls exchanged excited looks. They still had a chance. They still had reason to hope.

"Okay, you guys!" Marla said. "Let's take it from the top!" Then, with a quick glance toward Jerrica, she added, "If that's okay?"

Jerrica nodded, still smiling. As the girls began to play again, she took her leave, wondering how she was going to broach the subject with Rory.

The meeting wasn't terrible tonight. Roxy still hadn't spoken up about her 'journey', but when one of the other attendees had gotten up to tell about hers, there had been enough to the story to resonate a bit with what Roxy had been going through. No, Clarice wasn't a singer, but she'd grown up in the slums of West LA with a life very reminiscent of Roxy's own in Philadelphia. She'd sucked at school and checked out mentally years before she'd dropped out. Feeling adrift, she'd turned to drink.

Roxy had no trouble relating to that part. She hadn't gotten into booze when she'd hung out the Red Aces. She'd belonged with them, just like she had with the Misfits. But when the band had broken up, and the gang had moved on, Roxy hadn't known what to do with herself. She'd had prospects, and a couple of romantic relationships. She'd had Hanna May. But she'd also had a lot of long, lonely hours between gigs, no real friends, and a baby she didn't trust herself to be a decent mother to. That had been when she'd started drinking.

Afterwards, at the refreshment table, she'd squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and approached Clarice.

"I've never been a sponsor before," the other woman had admitted. "But I wouldn't be five years and two months sober today if my sponsor hadn't decided to take the plunge, even though she wasn't sure if she was up for it. If I do this, though," her smile fell away and her voice took on an added seriousness, "if there ever comes a time when I really feel out of my depth, I'll tell you. If that happens, we'll figure out together what the next steps should be."

"You mean, you'll find me another sponsor?"

"I mean that I'm not some guru with all the answers. There's a story about a man… or a woman… who gets lost in a forest. They wander around, probably going in circles, not finding the way out. And then they see someone else walking close by. They hurry over, sure that they've been saved. Only to find out that the other person has been wandering around even longer. The first person is about to give up. But then the newcomer says, 'Hey. I can show you which ways not to go, because I've already been down them. And you can show me the same. And together, we'll find the right path.'" Clarice smiled. "Now let's take the analogy further. Let's say that the first person gets… I don't know… bitten by a venomous snake. Or eats some bad food. And the second person doesn't know how to heal them but they remember that on one of their wrong turns, they found some… hermit who knew a thing or two about cures. Well, would you rather the second guy kept randomly slapping leaves on the wound or boiling whatever roots they could find into tea hoping that they'd get lucky and hit on the cure? Or would you rather they went to find that hermit? Either way," Clarice continued, her green eyes shining with intent, "I'll check with you first. That cool with you?"

Roxy nodded slowly. Clarice held out her hand. Roxy took it. And she started to think that maybe, things might work out after all.

"Well," Aja said slowly, "I know they've been working hard on it…"

"I've heard Emma's lyrics," Kimber put in, "and they're solid. Stormer and I helped her with the music…"

"They aren't really that much younger when we were when we got started," Raya pointed out. "And it's not like we've never had a Starlight girl perform at one of our concerts."

Jerrica nodded slowly. "Jem got a fan letter from Laura just last week," she said. "She's doing well at Julliard and she's debating whether to apply to graduate school or try to strike out on her own as a performer. She's been doing a few gigs in Greenwich Village right now."

"And she got her start performing with Jem and the Holograms," Shana said.

"Yeah," Jerrica replied, "but it was just a guitar solo in one of our songs, not a whole number on her own."

"Still," Raya said, "there's precedent. And if it's a question of scheduling, how much over can it really go? How long is their song anyway?"

Jerrica's expression relaxed slightly. "About three minutes, fifteen seconds."

Kimber laughed. "So, it's not 'The Day the Music Died' or even 'Bohemian Rhapsody', then. I think we can find room for another three minutes or so."

Jerrica looked around the room. "If we were shooting a music video," Aja said slowly, "every second would matter. But this is a benefit concert. Didn't we factor in time for encores and improvisation?"

"I hope so," Shana said. "Seeing as we've got a couple of straight-up jazz bands plus one punk jazz on the bill. Find me a jazz group that doesn't improvise. I'll wait."

"What did Riot have to say?" Raya asked.

Jerrica winced. "I haven't mentioned it to him, yet."

"Well, talk to him, for pity's sake!" Kimber exclaimed. "He knows you; he knows you wouldn't want to give the girls a chance to shine if they didn't have talent."

"Besides," Shana said, "the worst he can do is say no."

Jerrica nodded. "And if it means that Jem and the Holograms have to cut a number or turn down an encore?"

"Can we please drop 'Taking a Train'?" Kimber pleaded. "I can't believe you guys paid me for writing that one!"

"Well," Jerrica admitted, "we were on a tight schedule and we were short one song for that album."

"Next time," Raya said, "let's just do a cover of 'Shadows of the Night'. Or one of your mom's hits. Sometimes, I still hum 'First Love' when I'm not thinking about it."

"Motion seconded," Kimber proclaimed, not at all offended.

Jerrica grinned. "I'll call Rory tonight."

"What on Earth is this for?" Wendy asked, taking the smooth rectangle from her brother. "If this is meant to be me, it's hardly a decent likeness."

"Union card," John said. "Sorry, but there aren't very many twelve-year-olds in the workforce these days, or hadn't you noticed."

Wendy blinked. "I-I hadn't," she admitted more quietly. She knew that some of the Starlight girls had work, but it was mostly the older ones and mainly for pin money. Even the few nearer her own age who had posts did things like walk dogs or deliver papers, and only one or two afternoons a week. How had she not seen this?

"Anyway," John said, "if we're working backstage at a respectable venue, we need to be union members. And since neither of us is, I'm afraid it's forged credentials for us."

Wendy read the name on hers. "Angela Wendt?"

John smiled. "In case I slip up and call you 'Wendy'. It's common enough to refer to people by their surnames here and sometimes, even those might be turned to nicknames."

"So, you're Johnson, then?" Wendy asked.

John shook his head. "No, I've been answering to John for so long that it seems odd being anyone else. I've changed Darling to Darryl, though. Less sniggering that way."

Wendy frowned. "How come you get to keep your name, then?"

"Because," John said, "we haven't yet decided whether Emma's to know you're at the concert. When it looked as though she wouldn't perform, you might have persuaded her to sneak backstage and try to seize her chance, but now that it's looking more and more likely that she'll be doing it with the blessings of her guardian, perhaps you'll need to be more covert. And if that's how we're to play it, then she mustn't know you're there. So, it's an alias for you, and one that protects you in the event that I flub my part. And if Emma does recognize you, despite your disguise—you'll have one, never fear—cries your name, and you should react, you can just…" he gestured with his hands, "…give her that well-bred look down your nose, ask her if you've met, and tell her she must be confusing you for one of her peers. Frightful coincidence, your surname and all, but clearly her mistake."

"I suppose," Wendy said dubiously. "It seems rather… skilamalink. Emma's no great silly, you know. I'm not at all sure she'd be convinced by such a story."

"If it comes to it," John said, "I can come along calling for 'Angela' and send you along on some errand. You'll get by."

Clearly, there was no convincing him otherwise. "If you say so," Wendy gave in, but she wasn't nearly as reassured as her brother doubtless expected her to be.

"Seriously?" Emma squealed, as her friends cheered. "You mean it?"

Jerrica nodded. "I got the go ahead from the producer. One number. You'll open for Jem and the Holograms. After that…" She hesitated. "Well, honestly, I don't know if there'll be anything else in the offing. There will be a lot of people watching and they may see something in you that they want to promote, but," she looked apologetically at Emma, "you'll be off to Boston, and" she looked at the other girls, "I'm not comfortable with the rest of you taking this seriously before you're done with high school. But it's an opportunity, and I think you should make the most of it."

The girls hugged one another. "We will!" Kyla exclaimed. "We will! And thank you!"

Emma cheered just as loudly as her friends, but she was getting a sinking feeling in her gut. It didn't matter how well they did. In less than two weeks, she would be gone, and who knew whether she'd ever see any of these people again?

Roxy looked at the scrap of paper in her hand with Clarice's phone number written on it. She should call. She really could use a drink right now. Except that the last thing she wanted to do was sob into the phone to someone who was pretty much a total stranger. She needed something to fortify herself.

Right. She couldn't talk to someone about how bad she needed a drink unless she had a drink first. What the hell was wrong with her? She snorted. "Hi," she said aloud with a too-chipper smile. "My name is Roxy and I'm an alcoholic! And I'm gonna prove it by going out and getting myself some al-co-hol!"

But if she did that, then how would that look when she had her day in court?

She was trying not to think about that. If she thought about that she was going to need a drink.

And what about the daughter she'd sneaked out on and run from in the park?

She was trying not to think about that too. If she thought about that… yeah, yeah, she knew the drill.

And who was going to hire her if she was too wasted to go onstage half the time and just wasted enough to make a fool of herself the other half?

G-d, she needed a drink now.

Devon would probably give up on her if she did. Or not give up but give her some 'It's not you, it's me' line about how he just couldn't deal with what she was going through without it pulling him down too and he needed 'space'. Just like most the other guys in her life. And here she went with the pity party.

Well. What the hell kind of party was it without a dri—

She snatched up the receiver and practically stabbed her finger down on the number pad. "Clarice? It's Roxy. I… I really want a drink right now, but I don't want a drink right now. You get me? Dumb question, right? Like how can you get me when I don't get me? I don't get anything but hammered and I don't know how to stop—Huh? Um… Yeah, I'm at…" She grabbed her room key. The address was engraved on the tag attached to it and she read it off. "Half an hour? I think I can hang on that long. Maybe. Yeah. Yeah, I'll be here. Yeah." She hung up the phone. Clarice was on her way here. To help her. She'd be here in half an hour.

Fully fifteen minutes had gone by before it occurred to Roxy that she hadn't said 'Thank you'.

Wendy stared at her reflection in the looking glass with a dubious expression. "I look like a child playing dress-up in her father's work clothes," she said. "Perhaps if I put my hair up? Or chopped it off?"

"How many women do you see here with their hair up?" John reminded her.

"Well… could I not dye it blue or turquoise or some other outlandish hue? And perhaps pierce something other than my ears?"

John blinked. "How would that help you look older?" he asked.

"It…" Wendy sighed. "Oh, I suppose it wouldn't. I'm just hoping to fit in better is all."

"Has Emma told you to change yourself?"

Wendy looked at him askance. "No, of course not."

"Made it seem like she wouldn't be seen with you unless you threaded a rhinestone hoop through your septum?"

"Septum?" Wendy blinked at the unfamiliar word and John brought his finger to his upper lip and moved it upwards till the knuckle touched lightly the separation between his nostrils. She shook her head. "No, and I'll jolly well hope she doesn't or I'll have to… to… to revise my opinion of her! I-I was thinking of a silver hoop here!" She touched the corner of one eyebrow. "Perhaps a rhinestone stud off the side of one nostril. Nothing ostentatious."

"I wouldn't," John said. "If it were to catch on something and cause you to bleed, well, I should imagine iodine to be scarce in Neverland." He waited for his sister to lower her eyes before he handed her a flat cap and a pair of spectacles with lenses that reflected her face when she peered at them, precisely like a looking glass. "Tuck your hair in the cap. Practice with the spectacles; they're tinted to protect your eyes from the sun outdoors, so if you're wearing them indoors, you'll have to get used to things looking a bit more obscure. I can… make an appointment for you at one of those places where girls go to purchase… powder and rouge and such. They can show you how to do it in a way that makes you look older." He smiled. "Not fast, mind you. More… sophisticated. How does that sound?"

Wendy sighed. "It sounds lovely," she said, but she wasn't smiling. "A-and I suppose it will help." She steeled herself and met her brother's eyes. "For Michael," she said, forcing down her pangs of conscience.

John nodded. "For Michael."

"Excuse me!" Rory exclaimed, covering his mouth in consternation as Hanna May giggled.

Phyllis smothered a grin of her own, as she drawled, "Don't sweat it. You're not the first person I've heard belch before. Besides, in some cultures, it's a compliment to the chef."

"And you feel complimented?" Rory asked hopefully."

"Nah," Phyllis replied. "But Marisol made the chili. I'll pass on your appreciation to her. In words," she added, not hiding her smile this time.

Rory nodded. "Do you need some help with the washing up?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Get back to me if I ever host a dinner party for twelve. We're talking three bowls, three spoons, three glasses, a pot and a ladle. I got that. Meanwhile, if you want to be useful," she added, "you might want to read Hanna May a story."

"Not a bedtime story!" the little girl exclaimed. "I'm wide a-wake!" She brought her fingers to her eyelids and held them up for emphasis.

Rory chuckled. "Let's make it a story-story. We can always say it's a bedtime story if you feel sleepy when I finish. Okay?"

Hanna May slipped her hand into his. "Okay. I'll show you my books." She tugged at his hand. "C'mon!"

"Can't think where she gets her take-charge attitude from," Rory murmured to Phyllis, as he let himself be dragged off.

Phyllis smothered another smile as she stacked the dirty bowls and started carrying them over to the sink.

"Feeling better?" Claire asked and Roxy gave a half-shrug.

"A bit, I guess," she said. "I don't need a drink as bad as I did, but my life is still crap and not looking a whole lot better sober than it would drunk." She sighed. "Okay. I know. If my brain was a car, the booze is behind the wheel right now, and I guess that's probably just as bad as if it were me boozed up behind the wheel of a real car."

Claire nodded. "I like the way you phrase it," she said. "Kind of a bit more colorful than 'We admitted that we were powerless over alcohol – that our lives have become unmanageable.' It took me until my late thirties to finally accept that if I could just quit drinking whenever I wanted to, I would have stopped before my husband and I split and he got full custody."

"But you got back in with them, right?" Roxy asked.

Claire shook her head gently. "Blake and I are civil to each other, even friends, but… I hurt him pretty badly when I was out of control. We're both going for therapy now—not couples therapy, because we aren't a couple anymore, but… I'm learning to recognize that heartfelt apologies don't always get you everything you hoped they would and sometimes, things don't go back to how they were. Susan and I are getting to know each other again. She was eleven when Blake and I split. Before that," she sighed, "she had to deal with a lot of things that never should have been put on her shoulders. Thankfully, she's gone from not wanting anything to do with me to being willing to give me a second chance. We're taking things slow: we meet for coffee every couple of weeks. The last few times, it's been more comfortable and I'm hopeful, but it's baby steps." She winced. "I hope Keith gets there one day."

Roxy pressed her lips together for a moment. Claire's son had been Hanna May's age at the time of the divorce. "Think Hanna May and I have a chance?"

"I do," Claire said sincerely. "You're getting help a lot younger than I was and from what you're telling me, your friend took charge of her before things got really bad for you."

"I left her in a hotel room so I could go party!"

"Yes. You did. But it doesn't sound to me like you ever called her 'Mommy's little mistake' or worse." She shook her head. "Drinking didn't just ruin my life; it ruined my husband's and it ruined my kids'. Just like it's ruining yours. But you're trying to turn things around and there's still time to give your daughter some good memories."

"If I can face her," Roxy said.

Claire nodded. "I think that once you start feeling better about yourself without needing a drink to get there, you'll be in a position to do that. And that's not something you have to do alone. In fact, I'm not sure if it's something you can do alone." She held out her hand. "Fortunately, you don't have to."

Roxy hesitated for a moment before taking it.

"If you're up for some homework," Claire went on, "after I go, I'd like you to make a list of at least five things that pick you up when you're feeling down, and that don't involve alcohol or any other drugs."

"I don't do any other drugs," Roxy said quickly, and Claire smiled.

"Then you're ahead a few other people I know," she replied. "You don't have to show me the list, but keep it handy. And the next time you start to feel like you need to drink, try doing one of the items you'll be listing instead."

"I don't write so well," Roxy said dubiously.

"Use a tape recorder, then," Claire said. "But try?" She smiled when Roxy nodded. "Call me anytime if you feel a need. Otherwise, I'll see you at the next meeting."

After Claire left, Roxy went over the high points of their conversation in her head. She knew that the older woman was right: she needed to find better ways to cope when she was feeling down. And she didn't have to look far to find a 'Like what'. Music had always been her outlet, but busking in the park wasn't enough. She needed it all: bright lights on stage, roaring crowds in the dark, a mic in her face and her fingers on her guitar strings. She didn't need an alcohol high then; she could soar on audience vibes.

The drinking had really been a way to hang on to those contact highs in the times between that final encore and the warm-up act clearing the stage at the next show. If she could get up on stage again, not in some artsy little coffee house—there were probably still a few left that booked live entertainment—and not in Vegas, her reputation with promoters was currently in the toilet, but let her get a few gigs under her belt in LA and they'd forget all that and beg her to come back… Yeah, if she could get noticed again here in LA, score some positive reviews, then things were sure to turn around. She needed a chance. That was all. Just one chance.

And if nobody seemed likely to give her one, now, she'd just have to take one!

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Two

Emma looked at her friends dubiously. "There's no way Jerrica's going to let you guys go out on stage dressed like that," she said. "Seriously."

Kayla shrugged. "Probably not," she admitted. "Even if Madonna performs in stuff like this all the time. But we can still try."

"And if Jerrica vetoes," Marla added, holding up several scarves and shawls, "we can always cover up a little more."

Julie beamed. "Actually, considering that we're calling ourselves 'Starlight'," she said, tugging at a gauzy blue shawl that twinkled with sequins, "maybe this would work." She draped it artfully over her white bustier. "What do you think?"

Marla squealed. "Oh my gosh, that's so fresh!" She hesitated. "We need another two, though."

Kayla and Julie looked at each other. "Shana," they chorused.

"Huh?" Emma said, looking from one girl to the other and wondering what she was missing.

Marla grinned. "Shana Elmsford. One of the original Starlight girls, one of the original Holograms, and the one who designed all their original fashions!"

"Almost all," Kayla interjected.

"Okay," Julie said, "but it's a lot easier to get hold of her than Regine Cesaire. Unless one of you has her phone number?"

The other girls shook their heads and Julie nodded. "Then Shana it is. I think she's coming over around suppertime to jam with Jem and the other Holograms. Maybe we can grab her before they start."

Emma nodded with the others, a small smile forming on her lips. It faded quickly. For a moment, she'd almost forgotten that she was going to be leaving in less than two weeks.

As soon as the song was over, Jetta took a step toward Pizzazz. "Okay," she said, "what's eating you, lass?"

Phyllis shook her head. "I'm fine," she said, annoyed to hear a defensive note in her voice.

Jetta wasn't buying it. "You made a pig's ear out of that last number," she said. "Pressure getting' to ya?"

"No," she snapped. "I'm handling it."

Stormer looked dubious, but she said nothing. Somehow, the sympathy in her eyes only infuriated Pizzazz more. "I said, I'm fine!" she insisted.

"I-I know," Stormer said quickly, dropping her gaze. "Sorry…"

She sighed. "Nah, it's not you. It's," she took a breath, "work, and Hanna May, and stuff with Rory and Roxy reaching out—"

"Roxy?" Deirdre repeated nervously.

"Relax, kid. Even if I wanted her back, you've got that restraining order." She shook her head. "I guess I just wish that she hadn't dug herself into a hole that deep is all. Maybe I could have given her another chance. And I probably will, down the road," she admitted. "But not now." She shook her head. Roxy had called an hour before the rehearsal, pleading to perform with the Misfits. Once Phyllis had turned her down, though, Roxy's conciliatory tone had degenerated to abusive fairly quickly."

"You sure you want me?" Deirdre asked. "I-I mean, if you want to help her… Look, I want this. I know it's the biggest chance I'll probably ever get, but I also know that you've worked with her before and that makes a difference. You won't have to keep... modifying the choreography, and—"

Phyllis shook her head again. "You're doing fine. And Roxy's… out of practice," she went on diplomatically. "Plus you haven't missed a rehearsal and she hasn't come to one. At this point, you're better. So, down the road, if she's got her act together? We can cross that bridge then. For now, she's out, you're in, you get me?"

Deirdre nodded.

"Okay," Phyllis snapped. "So, seeing as someone seems to be wondering if I've still got what it takes, let's try that number again. From the top. And Deirdre?" She grinned. "I want you to give that guitar solo everything you've got."

Kimber looked up when she felt Stormer's hand on her shoulder. "Hey," she said, squeezing it.

"Hey, yourself." Her eyes fell on the photo album open on the coffee table. "Old memories?"

Kimber nodded. "It feels like being one of the Holograms was forever ago. Looking at these pictures…" Her voice trailed off. "I feel so old now."

"Nah," Stormer said lightly. "You're older, not old."

Kimber snorted. "Thanks for not saying I'm young at heart. That's like telling me I've got a great personality if I ask you if you think I'm ugly."

Stormer made a scoffing sound. "Like I could ever think you were ugly."

"Well," Kimber said slowly, "when I was eight, I tried to give myself a home perm. Let's just say I'm glad nobody snapped any commemorative photos."

"Bet you still looked cute," Stormer said, trying not to laugh. "You always do."

"But will you still love me when I'm sixty-four?"

"Forever and ever amen." Stormer chuckled. "Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to get out a little tonight. The New Beverly is showing Singin' in the Rain at midnight and, well, Debbie Reynolds was my first crush when I was twelve, even if I told everyone it was Gene Kelly."

"They're both hot," Kimber said thoughtfully. "I think I like that scene where—"

"The sound goes haywire and Lina's saying 'Yes, yes, yes'?"

Kimber giggled. "I did like that one," she admitted. "But I was really thinking of the bit where Kathy's dubbing the lyrics and she says, "Nothing will keep us apart. Our love will last—"

"Till the stars turn cold," Stormer finished with a sigh. "They just don't write dialogue like that anymore…" Her voice trailed off. "Kimber?" She waved a hand in front of her girlfriend's eyes. "Earth to Kimber…"

Kimber blinked. "Till the stars turn cold," she repeated. "That's… This afternoon, when we were fooling around before rehearsal, that bit you were playing…" She hummed a few bars. "Dah-dee-da-doo till the stars turn cold! Stormer! I-I think that could be a new song!"

Stormer shook her head, but she was smiling. "I think that means we're giving Gene and Debbie a miss tonight."

"We'll go after the concert," Kimber promised. "Meanwhile," she added, brushing a stray lock of blue hair away from Stormer's cheek, "staying in has a lot to recommend, too…"

Shana listened intently as the four girls outlined their dilemma. From time to time, she jotted down something on a notepad. When they were done, she frowned for a moment.

"Okay," she said. "So you want the costumes to play up the whole 'starlight' theme, you don't want to look like little kids on stage, but at the same time, you don't want to look like…" she looked for the right phrase. "You don't want to look like little kids playing dress-up with sheer skirts and feather boas either."

"That's it exactly," Kyla sighed with relief. "I mean, I want to look older, but not like I want creepy older guys to hit on me!"

Shana shook her head. "Some creepy older guys will do that even if you're dressed like one of the nuns in Sound of Music and look like you're twelve, I'm sorry to say; that's why they're creepy older guys. But probably not as many." She thought for a moment.

"Well, I don't have time to create something entirely new from scratch but… I just finished over five hundred designs for a musical production. Let me go over some of those drawings tonight. I think I remember a few that I can make work for you with a little tweaking. Ask me tomorrow?"

She barely had time to set down her pad and pencil before the four girls squealed and flung their arms about her.

John sighed. "Very well," he allowed reluctantly. "I do see the problem."

Dressed in the tradesman clothing that her brother had procured for her, Wendy sighed too, but with relief. "No matter what we do, I fear I can't change my appearance enough to pass for an adult."

"Not with regular measures, no," John agreed.

The hopeful smile that had been forming on Wendy's lips died. "What can you mean?" she asked nervously.

John was silent for a moment. "You do understand," he said finally, "that while this is a land without magic, that refers strictly to spells and spell casters and suchlike. Magical items still retain their power, though of course, one can't craft them here."

"I-I don't understand," Wendy said. "If they can't be crafted here, then what use even mentioning the subject?"

John smiled. "Because they can be crafted elsewhere and brought here. Under the circumstances," he continued, "I daresay that it's something that might be arranged." He took in the mounting horror on his sister's face and touched her shoulder lightly. "You might want to make an early night of it," he suggested. "And keep the window barred and the curtains drawn. I'll need to go out tonight, though it shouldn't be for long. I'll lock the door when I do, and if you'll feel better putting the chain on, I know well enough how to open it from the other side."

"You're going to summon… it," she said. "Aren't you?"

"Unless you know of another being that can cross over between this realm and a magical one. Do you?"

Wendy shook her head. "I'll put the door chain on."

Phyllis noticed the floral arrangement on the hall table as soon as she walked in. "It came an hour ago," Marisol informed her, smiling.

"They're bee-you-ti-ful!" Hanna May crooned.

Phyllis had never been big on receiving surprises. Too many times, they came with strings as well as wrapping paper and bows. "There a card?" she asked curtly, feeling a twinge of guilt when she saw the worry in the little girl's eyes.

"How come you're mad?" she asked. "Don't you like 'em?"

Phyllis took a breath and let it out slowly. "I'm fine, kid," she said. "I've just been working hard lately and flowers… uh…" What the hell was wrong with flowers anyway? Marisol had already put them in water, for crying out loud. It wasn't like she had to do anything but look at them. "They don't last for very long," she finished. "In a day or two, the petals will start falling off. They'll wilt or look brown or…"

Hanna May shrugged. "But they look beautiful now," she said. "Isn't that okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah, kid," Phyllis admitted. "I guess it is. I was wondering if there was a card, though, since I don't know who sent them."

"It's there, Ms Gabor," Marisol said, motioning to a small envelope propped against the vase that Phyllis hadn't seen.

Phyllis picked it up and opened it. Her eyebrows shot up. "It's from Mr. Llewellyn," she said. "Guess he liked coming over the other night."

"Does that mean he'll come again?" Hanna May asked.

"Do you want him to?"

The little girl nodded. "He's nice," she pronounced. "And I think he likes me."

Phyllis nodded. "I think he does, too. Well." She sighed. Time was when she hadn't had to be all nice and polite, but she wanted Hanna May to learn good manners and she knew she had to model them for her. "I guess I'd better call him to say 'Thank you,'" she said. "And maybe I'll see if he wants to come over again sometime this week. Sound good?"

Hanna May nodded. "Maybe he'll come early so we can play Candy Land!" she said. "He told me he always wanted to, but we didn't have time last week, so now we will."

Phyllis fought not to laugh. "Sure thing, kid," she said. "I'll see if he can come over in the afternoon instead." She glanced at Marisol. "There any coffee brewed or do I need to put a pot on?"

"I can do that for you, Ms. Gabor," the nanny said. "It only takes a few minutes."

Phyllis nodded. "Thanks." She headed off to her home office to call Rory in private. Maybe she had a camera around here somewhere, too, she reflected. She wasn't usually sentimental, but maybe she could still snap a photo of the flowers before they started wilting. She'd have to see.

"But I'm getting better!" Roxy insisted into the phone. "I'm going to AA. I haven't had a drink in forever!" She hadn't had a drink in three days. It only felt like forever. The voice on the other end of the call was firm. Her face fell. "Yeah, sure. Thanks." She hung up the phone. "…For nothing," she added to the empty room.

That was the fourth agent she'd called. There were plenty more in the Yellow Pages—this was LA, after all—but she didn't think she could handle more rejection right now, not without breaking that three-day record.

She shook her head sadly. And then she donned her oversized cap and sunglasses, grabbed her guitar, and headed out. Time to do the only kind of music gig she could still get. With any luck, she'd be able to eat tonight and pay another week's rent on the room.

And maybe one of the people walking by while she was busking her heart out would turn out to be an agent and take a chance on her!

"Do you hear screaming?" Emma asked, suddenly alert.

There was indeed a high-pitched shriek coming from down the hall and growing louder as its owner sped toward them.

"It's not a fire," Joellen said. "The alarm would've gone off by now."

"Is someone hurt?" Kyla asked.

"I don't think…" Casey said. "It sounds more like—"

Julie tore into the room brandishing a brightly-colored poster. "We did it!" she shrieked. "We're in!"

"Sorry, what?" Emma asked, getting to her feet.

Julie thrust the poster at her. "Read it!" she ordered. "The official line-up for the benefit! Read the last line!"

Emma's eyes dipped rapidly down the list of names. "And introducing…" Her eyes widened and a stunned smile came to her face. "Starlight?"

"We're in?" Kyla exclaimed.

Julie's head bobbed up and down rapidly. "We're in! Where's Marla? We gotta tell her too!"

"She's helping Mrs. Bailey in the dining room," Casey said.

"Not for long!" Kyla squealed. "C'mon!" The crowd of excited girls streamed out of the common room and Emma let the wave of euphoria carry her out along with them.

Let the world try to keep us apart

We will not be controlled

Our love's as strong now as it was at the start and it'll lasssst

Till the stars turn cold!

Till the stars turn cold!

Stormer's keytar strains faded and she and Kimber looked around the room. For a moment, there was silence. Then Jem and the others broke into applause.

"It's a winner!" Raya pronounced with a smile. "The only question is, whether it becomes one for Jem and the Holograms… or," her smile dimmed somewhat, "Kaleidoscope Haze."

Kimber and Stormer exchanged an awkward glance. "Well," Kimber said, "since Stormer and I collaborated on it—"

"I-I don't mind, not really," Stormer said at the same time. "I mean, we own the rights, no matter who records it… right?"

"How about this?" Aja suggested. "Jem and the Holograms perform it at the benefit, but it goes on Kaleidoscope Haze's next album. And after that, if Jem wants to come out of retirement again and do a cover, well, it's not like you aren't on good terms with the creators."

Jem hesitated. "Is that okay with you two?" she asked. "I mean, you did both create it and I'm only here now because of the benefit; it's not like I'll be doing many more performances. So, if you want to…"

Stormer shook her head. "No, it's fine. It's not," she cast a sidelong glance in Shana's direction, "like that part in Dreamgirls where Dena steals Effie's song, just when it's starting to take off. You can perform it at the benefit. And maybe," she added, "if you can use one more person doing backup vocals…"

"I think we can work that out," Jem nodded. "And thanks."

"Don't thank us yet," Kimber cautioned. "We still need to tweak the arrangements. And we've only got a few days left to do it."

Jem nodded. The benefit was now five days away. The sooner the final version of the new song was ready, the better.

Four nights later, John left the apartment again several hours after dinnertime. Wendy looked up when he returned. "I suppose I needn't ask where you've been at this hour," she said. "The Shadow wanted another meeting."

John nodded. "As a matter of fact, yes. But it's one I was expecting after our last conversation."

Wendy sighed. "With the benefit tomorrow, I can't say I'm surprised either, though how either of you think I'll be able to pass for a grown-up in any attire is—What's this?" she asked, looking at the small capsule-like pendant John held out to her, which dangled from a slender chain. "That leaf inside: it's not a clover, surely; there are too many leaves. But why show it to me now? Is this some… jewelry that only adults are permitted here? Because that would just be silly!"

John smiled. "It would indeed. And yes; it's a clover. A six-leafed clover, to be precise. The Shadow brought it all the way from Oz."

Wendy frowned. "Oz? I-is that some posh way of referring to Austria or Australia?"

"Australia, actually," John admitted, "though it wasn't so until several decades after we all left here. But it's also a magical realm. And the clovers there—those with six leaves, anyway, which I've been led to believe are quite rare—they, well, they let you change your appearance as well as the Shadow can." He handed her the pendant. "As I told you a few days ago, there may not be any magic in this land, but magical devices brought over from elsewhere still act as they're meant to. Wear that and you won't be Wendy Darling dressing up in tradesman-garb. You'll be whoever you wish to look like, though I don't know how it works if you try to be a different height." He shook his head apologetically. "It's all illusion, of course. So, if you put on a cap," he pantomimed doing so, "and it ends up… falling down to where your head actually is…" Here, he brought the flat edge of his hand to chin level, "It might look a trifle peculiar. Or the illusion might work after all. I don't know; I've never used one of those plants."

Wendy's hand closed around the pendant. "If you don't know…"

"I'd suggest you practice now. Experiment, if you like. But try not to choose a face that would be overly conspicuous. And," he exhaled, "I think it's meant to disguise your voice, too, but I'm not certain."

"And you're only giving this to me now?" Wendy exclaimed. "With the concert tomorrow?"

"I told you," John said, "these clovers are quite rare. The Shadow's been in Oz for days hunting for one and he brought it as soon as he found it. He and Pan want this mission to succeed badly enough to trust you with magic to get it done, so please," he said seriously, "do your best to… harness… the clover's magic and do what you must."

Wendy slipped the chain around her neck with a sigh. "I suppose I've no choice," she replied. "All right then. How do I make this… work?"

John frowned. "According to the Shadow, you need to think about the form you wish to take on and the clover will make it happen."

"As simple as that?" Wendy asked. She closed her eyes and focused. "Have I done it?" she asked.

John shook his head. "No. But practice makes perfect. So, go practice. Perhaps, in front of a looking glass, so you'll know if it succeeds?"

"And if it doesn't?"

John swallowed. "Then, I'll have to let the Shadow know and he may need to instruct you."

Wendy shuddered. "Rather not!" she managed. "I-I'll do my best."

She turned on her heel and hurried to her bedroom. She'd witnessed the Shadow's idea of 'instruction' first-hand in Neverland and she had no desire to be on the receiving end! She simply had to get this right on her own…

"What's that?" Stephanie asked, as she came into Emma's room.

Still holding the baby blanket, Emma shook her head. "The group home I was in back in Boston had a few things of mine. Ms Gabor brought them over when she came by to rehearse this afternoon."

"But," Stephanie frowned, "you're going back there soon, right? How come they didn't just give it to you when you got to Boston?" She winced. "Sorry. I didn't mean to…"

Emma sighed. "It's fine. No. It's not fine. But it's going to happen and you mentioning it isn't going to make it happen faster. And… I've given up trying to make any sense of the system," she said.

"The system?"

"Foster kids system," Emma said. "I guess you call it something different here. All I know is, it moves slow unless it doesn't; then it goes super-fast. It's stacked against us kids and it does a lot of crazy, stupid things and it never tells you why, or it does tell you why, but the reason it gives is just as crazy and stupid." Absently, she brought the blanket to her cheek and leaned into the softness. She wrinkled her nose. The blanket had been delivered in a plastic bag with the clothes and small keepsakes she'd left behind and whoever had gathered it all together hadn't washed her dirty clothes first, so a stale smell still clung to it. She didn't care. She was used to that, too.

Stephanie reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "I wish you didn't have to go," she said. "I'm going to miss you."

Emma gave her a sad smile tinged with bitterness. "I guess people don't come and go much around here, huh?"

"Not usually," Stephanie admitted. "Mostly we're here until we age out, and even then, Jerrica's pretty good about letting us stay as long as we're either in college or working and not just hanging around watching TV."

"Yeah, well, you get bounced around as much as I have and you… learn not to get too attached to people. For a while, I thought this place was different and maybe it is. For you. But not for me."

She started to fold the blanket.

"Is that your name on it?" Stephanie asked.

Emma nodded and held it out to her friend. "I really hope so. I was found on the side of the highway as a newborn wrapped in it. It'd be kind of funny if my parents had named me… Leia or something, but wrapped me up in some blanket they'd had lying around that was a hand-me-down from a cousin and they just assumed from the name on it that it was me." She sighed. "When I ran, I got on a bus in Brookline and we'd just got into New York City when I realized I'd only reminded myself to put it in my knapsack, but I hadn't actually done it."

Stephanie nodded her understanding. "I lost my parents in a plane crash," she said softly. She rolled up her sleeve to reveal a silver bracelet made of thick intertwined links. "It was my mom's," she said. "When we got the news, my grandparents wanted to take me, but then my grandpa had a stroke and grandma said she couldn't look after him and me. She told me she hoped he'd get better and that I could come home soon, but… he didn't. Anyway, before the social worker came, Grandma gave me this. She told me it had been my mother's and Mom would have wanted me to have it. I had to get a few of the links taken off so it'd fit, but I still have them." She squeezed Emma's shoulder. "It's the last thing I have from her." She gave Emma a watery smile. "I'm glad you got your blanket back."

"Me too," Emma said. "Uh… could I be alone for a bit?" she asked. "I'll be down for supper."

"Sure." She shook her head. "This is so unfair."

"Story of my life," Emma sighed. "But thanks."

After Stephanie was gone, Emma finished folding the blanket. Then she crammed it into the largest outside pouch in her knapsack and zipped it closed. She'd put it in the laundry when she got where she was going, but she wasn't going to risk forgetting it again!

Roxy still didn't have a plan for getting her life back together. She'd been to two meetings in the last four days and she'd spilled out her cheap gin and not bought any more, though she would have been lying had she said she hadn't thought about it.

She was doing all right with her busking, though it being LA, there was a lot of competition. She'd been getting up earlier to be sure of finding a decent spot. She was wondering whether it would be worth it to apply for a permit. They weren't needed in most neighborhoods, but if she wanted to play on the streets of Santa Monica or Beverly Hills, it was the only way. It would probably mean fewer street performers competing for cash, but it would also mean more rules about where she could and couldn't perform, how long she could perform, and probably a bunch of other things she'd never be able to remember to keep straight. For now, she'd keep on going like she was going and hope for a break.

She saw a handbill advertising the benefit tonight and sighed. That would have gotten her noticed for sure! If there was only some way that she could get past security and get out on stage!

A slow smile came to her face when she saw the Starlight Records logo. Starlight wasn't just a record company; it was also a group home for foster girls. And if Jerrica Benton still had her little band of teeny-boppers, if they were going to be at the show, hanging around backstage, then maybe there was a way she could get out there after all…

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Three

John was reading the newspaper when he heard a throat clear before him and he looked up. His eyes widened. "Baelfire?" he gasped. "How did you find me? Wait. Did Pan… send you?"

The youth smiled. "I guess you could say that," he replied. "How are you?"

"I-I'm well enough," John said, smiling back. "But what does he need you to do that we aren't already and that the Shadow can't?"

Baelfire's smile broadened. And then, he reached into his shirt and withdrew a pendant that hung on a chain about his neck. A small green plant gleamed within. John recognized it at once, but before he could fully process what it had to mean, his friend had vanished and his sister stood in his place.

"It appears," Wendy said primly, "that when one takes on the guise of a person they know, the clover changes one's voice to match. It doesn't seem to let me change it otherwise," she added at a rush. "That is, well, the first time I went to the library, I truly meant to read more about inventions and science and everything else different here but it was so…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "…Overwhelming," she finished. "I went to look for something familiar and found a book about the French Revolution with portraits of Marie Antoinette. And every time I went back to the library, I took some time with that book or another like it. I did read about automobiles and television and electricity, of course, but after an hour or two, I…" She smiled self-consciously and grasped the pendant. Almost at once, her features shifted. Her hair lengthened and turned curlier, settling into an elaborate style as it lightened to powdered gray. Her button-down blouse and corduroy trousers became an elegant gown that was cut low and flattered her new physique. Face paint made her lips very red and her skin—tanned from weeks under a Los Angeles sun—very pale.

"I can copy the look," Wendy said. "But I don't imagine she spoke English and, if she did, it probably didn't sound like a Bloomsbury native's." She gave her brother an apologetic smile. "It seems as though, if I don't know who I'm supposed to sound like, I'll just sound like me."

By the time Wendy had finished speaking, John had recovered his composure. "Well, stick to faces you know, then," he advised, "or practice speaking in a lower register. Or keep at it," he added. "It might be that you can change your voice with a bit more effort." He patted her shoulder. "But it's a jolly good effort, Wendy; make no mistake." He chuckled softly. "For a moment, I truly thought it was Baelfire standing before me."

Wendy exhaled. "Did you ever see him?" she asked. "In Neverland? Is he still there?"

"I did," John nodded. "I haven't these last times when Pan's summoned us back, but I'd imagine he's still about. That is to say, I hope he is."

"But you don't know," Wendy said.

John shook his head. "No. But he's clever and good at keeping out of Pan's way when it's best not to attract his attention."

Wendy gave him a stricken look. "That's always, John," she pointed out.

"Well, yes, but sometimes more so than others. He always talked of escape, mind, and I daresay if any of the Lost Ones have a chance at it, he does."

"Unless Pan caught him at it and decided to make an example of him."

John nodded tightly. "Well," he admitted, "there is that…"

Wendy swallowed hard. "I'll keep practicing. And hoping I can do what I must before it's too late."

John nodded again.

"I'm with, uh, the Indie Buskers Club," she said, giving the name of one of the up-and-coming bands that had been on the bill.

The security guard at the stadium door gave Roxy a bored look. "Got a pass?"

Roxy massaged her forehead. "Uh, yannow, I was running late; had to drop my kid off at daycare and… I left the pass on the hall table. I just came here from Burbank on Metro; it's gonna take me three hours to go and come back. Can't you trust me?" she flipped up her shades and blinked at him in a way she hoped made her look innocent and trustworthy.

There was no warmth in the guard's smile. "Look, sister, you can get your pass, or you can wait till the rest of your band shows up and get one of them to vouch for you. Or you can buy a ticket off a scalper and catch your idols on stage with everyone else," he added.

"But…"

The guard made a shooing motion. "No pass, no entry. Beat it."

Defeated, Roxy trudged away. So much for that idea. But there had to be another way inside. Maybe she could buy a ticket. Once she was inside, she could figure out how to sneak backstage! With a new spring in her step, she went in search of the box office.

In the hallway behind the staff door, Wendy—currently wearing a maintenance uniform and the face and figure of a woman some twenty years her senior—observed the exchange with interest. She'd never seen the young woman before, but she knew desperation when she heard it. She wondered why it was so important for the woman to get backstage, but then, it didn't really matter.

What mattered was that the woman clearly had no business being in this part of the stadium, but she wanted to be so very badly.

A dreadful hope began to burn in Wendy's heart as the realization struck: there was a way that she could save Michael. And the six-leaf clover and the desperate woman were going to be of great help in allowing her to do so!

Jerrica led the excited girls down the hallway. "Do we each get our own dressing room?" Kyla asked breathlessly.

Bringing up the rear, Kimber giggled. "Jem and the Holograms are sharing a dressing room!" she exclaimed. "Well, I mean, Aja, Stormer, and me share one as part of Kaleidoscope Haze and," she glanced at Aja, "Wait, does Craig get his own room?"

"He and Rory are sharing along with a couple of other guys. I think Jetta's gang is also sharing two with a couple of other bands."

Jerrica nodded. "Sorry, kids. We're all roughing it this time."

"It's okay," Julie said. "It's great just knowing we're going out there!"

Emma didn't say anything, but her smile felt like it was pasted on. Tomorrow, maybe the day after, she'd be on her way back to Boston.

"Hey," Marla said, "what's in the backpack?"

Emma tensed. "Oh, just stuff." She shouldn't have brought it; she knew that. But she also knew that she'd been yanked away from other placements a lot sooner than she'd expected. And while she didn't really think that there'd be a social worker waiting at the stage door to bundle her onto a plane or bus or whatever, she wasn't taking any chances. She didn't have so many belongings that she could afford to leave any behind. Between now and the time she left, she wasn't letting her knapsack out of her sight.

Roxy wasn't surprised to find that the box office was sold out. She'd hoped that the security guard had been wrong, but apparently, he'd known what he was talking about. She heaved a sigh. She knew where the scalpers were likely to be. She also knew that she probably wouldn't be able to meet their price, not with the stadium completely sold out.

But maybe there'd be some amateur. Someone who'd bought a ticket for a date weeks ago and then broken up with them and was just looking to recoup what they'd paid, or even sell at a discount.

It wasn't likely, but she was feeling desperate. Steeling herself, Roxy headed toward a nearby park where she knew that scalpers had used to hang out, back when she'd last lived here. With any luck, they'd still be hanging out there, or someone else would be able to point her in the right direction.

She didn't notice that she was being watched.

"Wendt."

Wendy started, but relaxed at once, when she realized that it was her brother calling her.

"Don't just stand about lollygagging," John chided. "Haven't you work to do?"

Wendy opened her mouth to reply, as John continued.

"Well, find some."

Wendy bristled. "There was a woman at the gate earlier," she said. "She wanted to come in, but the guard wouldn't allow it. I was wondering if…"

"A lot of people want to come backstage before an event like this," John told her. "They're kept out so they don't get in the way and don't harass the talent."

"Yes, I know," Wendy snapped. "I'm not half so silly as you seem to think! But perhaps letting one come in to get in the way could work to our advantage. A-and I do believe that this was more than some… fanatic seeking an autograph."

John frowned. "Well, if she approached the gate, then the security cameras would have captured her picture." He watched his sister carefully and smiled to realize that she'd been in this time and place long enough for him not to have to explain his meaning. "There may be a way to view the film. I'm not saying that will help, but… I've lived in this city for a year or so. There's a chance I'd recognize the woman you saw. And even if I don't, perhaps you're right: there might be a way to use the distraction she's sure to provide in a way that benefits us."

Where the hell was she going to get four hundred dollars for a ticket? A day's busking hadn't totaled half that amount and she had to budget for food and groceries! The face value of the best seats in the house was only a hundred and twenty-five and the seat she'd been trying for hadn't been anywhere near the stage!

Roxy groaned. Nobody was going to pay that kind of money for a lousy seat. Except, that as she stormed off, she glanced back over her shoulder to see some other guy open his wallet and hand the guy she'd been talking to a number of greenbacks and walk away with two cardboard rectangles that looked to be the same color she'd been negotiating for.

With a sigh, Roxy made her way back to toward the stadium. There was still a tiny possibility that there'd be someone looking to unload a single ticket at face value, though she knew her odds weren't good. Still, what exactly did she have to lose besides a couple of hours she could afford to waste anyway?

She wished she'd brought her guitar. Maybe she could've made a few more bucks off some more impromptu busking before anyone challenged her right to be there while she was at it.

John smiled at the security screen. "Roxanne Pellegrini," he intoned. "The only original Misfit to turn down a chance to appear at this event. She's had a run of troubles lately, mostly of her own making and, when she had a change of heart and asked to rejoin the group, they'd already replaced her. She… took the news hard and resorted to activities of…" John paused and then continued speaking a bit more briskly. "Well, come to think of it, there's nothing questionable about the legalities of her deeds, they were blatantly not so. At any rate, she's barred from the venue as a result of her attack on the young lady selected to replace her." His eyes narrowed and he pointed to a different screen. "Not that she's allowing such a prohibition to deter her," he added.

Wendy frowned as she watched the young woman tug unsuccessfully at a locked door at the back of the stadium, raise her hands in exasperation and then run to another door and try again. "Then what can she be doing hanging about?" she asked. "I mean, if she knows she's muffed her chance to rejoin her old chums."

John shrugged. "She's always been a bit of a wild sort from what I recall. And I've been in this city off and on for a number of years, so I can recall number of stories from her years with the Misfits. Obviously, I can't know the specifics of her presence here now, but I'm confident in saying she's likely up to no good." He shrugged. "And yes, you can use that," he added with a faint smile.

Wendy started to smile back, but then she squared her shoulders and raised her chin. She didn't want to do this. She liked Emma. She didn't have a choice. Peter Pan never failed and he was merciless with those who did. She couldn't afford to be one of those and Michael couldn't afford for her to be either.

"Well, then," she murmured, jamming her hands into the pockets of her uniform trousers. "I suppose I'd best get to it before she gives up and goes off for good."

Roxy was, in fact, getting ready to give up. She'd been hoping that someone might have wedged a door open to let in a breeze, or perhaps because they were going in and out with equipment. She'd been hoping that maybe there was a window she could get to that didn't have bars or grating covering it. Or that she'd be able to tailgate in on the heels of someone making a delivery or…

"E-excuse me?" A small voice cut into her thoughts and she whirled to see a girl of about ten or eleven standing in an open doorway. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Roxy affixed a relieved smile. "Yeah, kid. I got locked out and I lost my pass. Any chance you could let me in?"

The girl hesitated. "I suppose I could," she said, considering. "If the price were right."

Roxy's eyes narrowed. "How much we talking, kid?"

Again, she hesitated, thinking. One corner of her mouth quirked up. "Make me an offer," she said. "As soon as this thing finishes, I'm leaving and I won't get far without funds."

Roxy fumbled in her pocket for the wad of paper bills. "I can give you… seventy-five," she said. "Take it or leave it."

The girl smiled and stuck out her hand. "Please enter," she said, holding open the door as the money changed hands."

Roxy didn't need to be told twice. "Thanks, kid," she said, as the door closed again, this time with her on the right side of it.

The girl put the money in her pocket. "Emma," she corrected. "Emma Swan."

Wendy's heart was pounding as she watched Roxy hurry down the corridor. Well, she thought as she shed her illusion, she'd finally done it, hadn't she? That horrid woman was backstage to do who knew what and when she was caught, Emma would take the blame for it.

And yet, perhaps the woman wouldn't be caught. And perhaps if she were, she wouldn't accuse Emma after all. And perhaps, Emma would be believed when she denied her part in the matter.

There was still so much that could go wrong. Wendy groaned inwardly. She'd made a beginning, but she wasn't done yet. She had to go further. Looking at the bills in her hand, she rather thought she knew how, too.

Swallowing hard, she put her fingers to the clover pendant around her neck and thought of Emma once more.

Roxy flattened herself against the wall as the five musicians hurried past without noticing her. She recognized Jetta at once.

She had never liked Jetta. The English saxophonist had gotten under her skin from the start and the Misfits hadn't needed a fourth member in the first place. But Jem and the Holograms had been hyping up their search for a new drummer when it had looked like Shana was leaving the band and the Misfits had needed a similar publicity boost.

Now, she made her way to the dressing room from which the musicians had emerged, fully expecting it to be locked. To her pleasant surprise, it opened easily. They weren't expecting to be gone long, Roxy realized. Either that, or they were way too trusting.

She spied the saxophone case at once. There had to be something she could—Aha! She grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall, opened the case, and discharged a liberal amount of the foam into the bell of the instrument. It overflowed into the case and spilled onto the table it was resting on. Pity. She'd been hoping that Jetta wouldn't notice anything was wrong until she blew into it. It couldn't be helped.

She grabbed a scissors and stabbed it into a nearby drum. Her gaze fell on the guitar cases, but she decided against it. Even if the scissors could cut the steel strings, it would probably take too long. She had to get out of here. At least, she thought with satisfaction, Jetta wasn't going to be able to play tonight.

"One down…" she whispered as she stole out of the dressing room in search of her next victim.

"Back so soon?" Kyla asked, when Emma entered the dressing room.

Emma gave a guilty start. "I just… needed to get something," she said.

"Just so you know," Kyla said, "you can change your mind." Seeing her friend's blank look, she prompted, "about going on stage with us? We'll get a mic set up for you in the back and you can…" she waved her arms back and forth and swayed, "…to the music."

"Oh, uh…" Emma shook her head. "No thanks." She unzipped her knapsack and plunged her hand inside. She rummaged about for a moment and then withdrew it. "Must've forgotten it or put it down somewhere," she muttered loudly, as she rezipped it. See you."

"Bye," Kyla said, going back to tuning her guitar. Funny. She could've sworn that Emma had been holding something in her hand when she'd come in, but it had been empty when she'd left. Had she put whatever it was inside the backpack? Kyla shook her head. It wasn't any of her business and she hadn't really been paying close attention. And one of her strings was definitely too loose. She picked up her hex key and tackled the truss rod.

In the maintenance closet, Wendy wiped her sweaty hands on her denim trousers. The money that Roxy had given her was now, quite incriminatingly residing in Emma's knapsack, buried just far enough down that Emma wouldn't notice it when she opened it, but any serious search would turn it up with little effort. That might be enough.

Realization struck. It would only be enough if this 'Roxy' woman was caught and if she named Emma Swan as the person who had let her in. Wendy had heard the phrase 'no honor amongst thieves', but might there be some amongst saboteurs? Would Roxy even recall the name or face of the girl who had helped her?

She couldn't afford to take chances. Wendy clutched at the clover pendant once more. Emma was going to need to take more money and more items that would be quickly missed, and she was going to need to do it soon. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

A moment later, Emma Swan—or at least someone with her likeness—stepped cautiously out of the maintenance closet and picked her way down the hall.

"Hey, did you change your mind?" Kyla asked. "I see you changed your shirt back."

Emma blinked. "Huh?"

"You were wearing a green one ten minutes ago?" Kyla prompted. "Actually, it looked better on you, if you want my opinion."

Emma shook her head blankly. "I've been wearing this top all day," she said. "I just came in to grab my water." So saying, she unbuckled one of the side pockets of her knapsack and pulled out a clear plastic bottle."

"I know you were wearing a different top when you came in before," Kyla insisted.

Emma frowned. "I haven't been back here until now; no offense but," she smiled apologetically, "Stephanie made me a tape of her Mary Chapin Carpenter record and I wanted to hear it someplace where nobody was rehearsing or tuning instruments or whatever."

Kyla blinked. "I know I saw you," she said. "Unless you've got an identical twin or something."

Emma shook her head slowly. "I don't think I do," she said. "But since I never knew my parents, I… Uh, if you see that other girl again, can you… see if you can keep her here until I get back? I'm going to see if Jerrica has anything I can do."

"Yeah," Kyla said, still looking puzzled. "Sure."

"I thought you should see this, sir," the security guard beckoned.

Rory came over to the guard's screen. His eyebrows drew together in a frown as he muttered an expletive. "How did she get in?"

"Not sure," the guard said. "I know one of my colleagues turned her away a couple of hours ago. Do you know who she is?"

Rory nodded. "Her name's Roxy. She used to be a Misfit, but she turned down the offer to perform." His frown deepened, as he watched her push open a door and disappear. "What's she doing in there?"

"Sorry, Mr. Llewellyn," the guard said. "We have cameras at the entrances and in the hallways. And in the performance area, of course. But we don't put them in the dressing rooms. "I'll get a couple of my people to apprehend her. Should we call the cops?"

Rory considered. "No. Not until I talk to her, anyway. She's been going through a rough patch recently and if there's a way to deal with this without making things worse for her, I'd prefer that. Just… bring her to my office. Oh, and if she's done anything besides sneak around backstage, let me know that, too."

"Will do, Sir."

As the guard got on his walkie, Rory brought his hand to his forehead. He'd told the truth: he didn't want Roxy to be in any more legal trouble than she was already dealing with. But their past romantic entanglement was another wrinkle. He could appreciate the poor optics of having the mother of his child arrested, if that relationship came to light. And Roxy might well announce it if she thought that it would work in her favor. He could weather that, he thought. Phyllis likely could, too. But he'd be damned if their daughter wouldn't be able to leave her home without worrying about some paparazzo leaping out of the bushes to snap her photo! Much as it galled him, he'd do what he had to in order to protect Hanna May—up to and including letting Roxy perform tonight, if it meant she'd go away quietly afterwards.

If Giselle was surprised to see Rory Llewellyn on the other side of the door when she opened it, she didn't show it. "What's up?" she asked.

Rory gave her an uneasy smile. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

Giselle hesitated. "I'm… supposed to check the stage and see if there are any adjustments that need to be made for some of the dance routines, and I promised Starlight that I'd watch them one last time. I think they just need reassurance, to be honest, but don't most of us?"

Rory nodded automatically. "All the same, you're one of the only people backstage right now who isn't rehearsing or getting ready to go on. I need another pair of eyes."

From somewhere down the corridor, Giselle could hear a woman's angry voice and the sound of running feet.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Roxy is in the building."

Giselle's eyes widened. "How?"

"We're working on that," Rory said tersely. "It's more important that we find out where she is now. There are a lot of screens and while security has been informed to be on the lookout for her, you know her well enough to identify her on sight." He winced. "There are a lot of bands performing tonight and, unfortunately, the way she's dressed, she doesn't exactly stand out. We should have caught her before she got in, and believe me, I'll have words for the head of security when this is over. Meanwhile, though," he sighed, "would you mind just having a look at the screens and seeing if you can spot her?"

Just then, Jetta stormed up, brandishing what appeared to be a foaming saxophone. "Llewellyn!" she barked. "We've got a saboteur backstage and I need a new axe!"

"Axe?" Rory repeated. Then he blinked. "Oh. You mean a saxophone."

Jetta didn't smile. "Yeah, but if I find the blighter what did this, I'll need what you first thought I meant, too!"

Giselle sighed. "I'll see what I can do," she told Rory, who sighed with relief before turning his attention back to Jetta.

Giselle didn't have the patience for this. As a performer, she'd been on many a screen, but she found watching the array tedious. She tried to watch the live feeds, but there were over two dozen screens and she found herself reacting to every bit of movement, whether it was a performer, a crew member, or even a stray bit of paper blowing under an air vent.

Suddenly, she sat up straighter. "What on earth…?" she murmured.

She pushed back her chair; she needed a break anyway. And then she was heading down the hall and knocking on one of the dressing room doors.

Deirdre opened it. "Danse!" she greeted her with a grin. "It's been ages."

"I know," Giselle said, resting a hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "And I wish I was here to catch up, but… Is Pizzazz around?" Funny how quickly the old name came back to her.

"Yeah, I'm here," Phyllis said, coming forward. "Rory told me what's going on. If you need my help…?"

"I do," Giselle said, "but not for that. Phyllis… you got Emma Swan's files from Boston in the end, right?"

Phyllis's eyebrows shot up. "Yeah, weeks ago, but I don't have them on me. I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not exactly wearing my social worker hat right now."

"No, I know, but…" She paused, hunting for the right words. "I saw something on the cameras," she said. "Or someone. O-or… two…" She took a breath. "Off-hand," she said, "do you recall whether Emma's records mentioned anything about a sibling—a-a twin sister?"

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Four

Phyllis blinked. "Like I said," she began, "I don't have her records on-hand, but I think I'd remember something like that. Why?"

Giselle didn't answer at once. After the pause grew long enough to become awkward, she swallowed. "Can you come with me to the security office? I think I'd better show you something…"

"Yeah, that's her or her double," Phyllis said disbelievingly, as she looked at the two feeds side by side. "Any chance the time-stamp's off on one of the cameras?"

Giselle shook her head. "I thought of that, too. They're both accurate. Plus…" She pointed to one of the live feeds on the array. "And…" she pointed to another one.

Phyllis sucked in a breath. "Well, I know one way to get to the bottom of this. Where are those spots?"

Giselle consulted a chart. "One's near the backstage bathrooms and one's by the concession stands in section H level two."

"I'll take the bathrooms," Phyllis said. "Once we get this settled, I'll be able to get back to the band that much quicker." She frowned. "Or, is your knee…?"

Giselle smiled. "Thanks for asking," she said, thinking for the barest instant about how the Pizzazz she'd met some seven years earlier would never have shown any such concern. "It's one of my good days. I might have to take the elevator instead of the stairs, but I'll be fine." She sighed. "Wish we had walkies like the guards. Or… you've seen those mobile phones?"

"Yeah," Phyllis sighed. "Even thought about getting one, but then I'd keep it on me all day. And then anyone could reach me whenever, even when I don't want to be reached."

"You could always, just… not pick up."

"Why have a phone on me I'm not going to answer?" She smiled. "We'll meet back here when we're done."

Roxy added another boot to the three in the supply closet. That made three band members who were going to be frantically trying to get into costume and wondering where their other one had got to. She'd also managed to grab a scissors, but with the maintenance coverall she'd appropriated from several hanging on a rack, it was a lot easier to slip into a chaotic dressing room and slip a small item into her cart. And if they told her that now wasn't a good time to come in, she could just mumble an apology and back out. To actually get close enough to sabotage a costume was trickier, and took longer. And the scissors she'd obtained were standard general-purpose scissors, not dressmaker shears. Using them to try to cut through any kind of sturdy fabric would slow her down; her best bet was to snip some of the threads in the seams. Again, though, that took time and the longer she stayed in one place, the better the odds that someone would get suspicious.

She needed something more. And then, a broad smile spread her lips as her gaze fell on the shelves of cleaning supplies. Liquid soap was slippery, and if it happened to be pooling outside a dressing room or two and then someone emerged at a run…

Yeah, that ought to do it! And she knew just who to do it to…

She grabbed a couple of bottles and added them to her cart before heading off once more.

Jerrica was trying to multitask when Giselle and Phyllis sought her out, but as it became clear what they were talking about, she gave them her full attention. "Emma doesn't have any family," she said finally. "Not that we know of, anyway."

"I didn't think so," Giselle nodded. "When she was at Haven House, she told me that her parents abandoned her when she was a newborn. But the cameras show her in two places at once, and we've been trying to figure out how that can be possible."

"And don't ask if one camera thinks it's in a different time zone," Phyllis added. "We checked that first thing."

Jerrica nodded. "Okay. Well, it's definitely something worth looking into, but right now? Roxy being here is a little more of a priority. I'll try to talk to Emma before the show, but…" she gestured to the papers on her desk and the multiple overlapping windows on her computer monitor, "I've kind of got a lot on my plate."

"And like a good little worker bee, you're trying to clear it all before show time," Phyllis teased with a smile that was a good deal friendlier than it might have been eight years earlier.

Jerrica shrugged expressively. "Someone has to," she said. "You know yourself how much can go wrong."

"Yeah, and with Roxy here, there's that much more," Phyllis nodded. "Okay. Giselle and I'll take another quick look at the cameras. Then I'd better get back to the Misfits, myself." She looked from one woman to the other. "You find out anything I need to know, you tell me, got it?"

Jerrica and Giselle both nodded. Jerrica made a show of picking up one of the papers on her desk.

As soon as she was alone again, she murmured, "Synergy? Tell me you don't have anything to do with this?"

At once, a warm synthetic voice came over the speakers in her Jemstar earrings. "I do not, Jerrica. However, I will initiate a scan for foreign holographic activity in the stadium."

"How long will that take?"

"I cannot be certain. So far, my sensors have not detected any unaccounted-for holographic technology sophisticated enough to project realistic illusions such as those I am able to create. However, you must know that your father built me more than seven years ago and that while my projectors were ahead of their time then, technology is always improving. If someone has created a device with more advanced holographic capabilities, there is a non-zero possibility that I am too primitive to detect it."

Jerrica's shoulders tensed. "I understand," she managed. "Please keep trying."

Roxy was still a higher priority, she told herself, but she hoped that Synergy was wrong about more advanced technology. Maybe Jem was only coming out of retirement for this one evening, but she still didn't want anything in the stadium besides Synergy that would be able to see through that persona to the woman beneath!

Wendy made a show of cleaning the administrative office. She'd learned the task well enough, even if Liza had been the nursery maid, oh so long ago, mother had insisted that she at least learn how one went about dusting and mopping and polishing.

"When I was a girl," Mother had said, "there were times when my mother took a chance on some untrained rustic for a scullery maid, provided she came with good character references. In general, the girls were quite willing to work, but coming from cottages with dirt floors and oftentimes poor lighting, they didn't always know how to clean everything as thoroughly as one might have liked. Fortunately, those we hired were always quick to learn; I don't believe Mother ever needed to show them how to do a thing more than once or twice, but she did need to show them."

"Did you have to show Liza, Mother?" Wendy had asked.

"Oh, goodness, no! Liza came with a wealth of experience," Mother had laughed. "But when you were a very little girl, and John was just a baby, and Michael wasn't here yet, there was a time when Liza had to go away for a few weeks to care for an ill relative and we hired on her niece, Polly. And Polly did have rather a bit to learn…" She smiled at her daughter. "And I taught her, as I'm teaching you."

Those lessons were standing Wendy in good stead now, as she dusted the office and swept the floor. It was while she was cleaning a large cabinet in the corner that she realized that one of the doors bore a large dial instead of a knob. Her eyes widened. In her limited experience, a safe such as this would be used to store valuables. And if they were to go missing…

She gathered up her cleaning supplies hastily and tore off in search of her brother.

"So, if you find Emma," Jerrica was saying, "tell her I need to talk to her. And," she hesitated, "bring her here. Tell her the stadium is confusing, or… uh… anything else, but if it's the real Emma, no harm done and if it isn't, I'm probably the last person she wants to see and as soon as she's out of sight, she'll take off. And since there's reason to believe that she's got something like my earrings, she might be able to pose as someone else."

"Or, Emma really does have a double," Kimber suggested. "I do. In Morvania."

Jerrica frowned. "Maybe… but given the choice between there being an eleven-year-old Emma look-alike running around the stadium before a show, and someone with state-of-the-art hologram projectors, if I had to gamble, I know where I'd put my money."

"We'll keep an eye out," Raya said. "For her and for Roxy."

"I guess we're too close to show time to rehearse without getting more stressed," Aja admitted. "Let's split up and fan out."

John heard his sister out silently until she was done speaking. Then he shook his head. "If it were just a strongbox, I could probably get the lock off or pick it with little difficulty, but the safe you're talking about has a combination. It requires more skill than I have to open. More to the point," he continued, "it requires more skill than one might reasonably expect an eleven-year-old girl to have. If you were to contrive to place the contents of the safe in Emma's bag, at best, they might think her an accomplice to the true thief. But that would only have them looking for another individual. At worst, they'd know her for an innocent at once and still set off looking for that other individual."

"But they wouldn't find him. I-I mean me. I'd be in disguise. And they still might think Emma involved."

John shook his head. "Too much risk for too little gain. And unless you know where the security cameras are, I'd be very careful about using the clover in here."

Wendy blinked. "Cameras?" she repeated faintly.

"Yes, like the ones in the control room that let us watch Roxy." Behind his round spectacles, his eyes widened. "Wendy. Tell me you haven't been taking on other likenesses."

"I thought…" Her voice faltered. "I-I wanted it to look as though Emma was pilfering from the other performers. So I took on her form…"

"And then you changed back to 'Angela Wendt'?" At her faint nod, John began to swear. "If they saw you— How can you possibly explain…? Bloody hell! You've made a right bollocks of it, haven't you?"

"M-maybe they didn't see."

John's face twisted unpleasantly. "The cameras record everything," he reminded her icily. "If you were careless, if they caught you changing, then once they review the tapes, they'll know! How in the hell could you be so blasted stupid?!"

Stung, Wendy shot back, "Because I forgot! Because I've had so much on my mind and so much here is still so new that I bloody well FORGOT!"

"Keep your voice down, you idiot!" John ranted. "I have to figure out how to contain the damage you've done and I can't do it with you screeching at me!"

"Don't worry!" Wendy snapped. "I'm going!"

"Where?"

"Away from you!" Wendy retorted, crossing swiftly toward the door. "I'm sorry I made a mess of it, but you've no reason to be so… so… BEASTLY! And I shan't stand for it a moment longer!" With that, she pressed down on the levered handle, pushed the door open, and took off at a run. The door slammed shut behind her

"Wendy!" John shouted, charging after her. Then, he remembered. "Wendt!" He thrust the door open once more. The hallway beyond was empty. "Wendy?" he whispered.

There was no answer.

"So, anyway," Jerrica sighed, "that's what we're dealing with." She'd thought long and hard before telling Rory; he had enough on his plate already, but this was important. "I know a bit about the theory behind holographic technology; my father dabbled in it and Starlight Tech has built on his work, to the point where we've been using it for some of Kaleidoscope Haze's special effects, so I guess it's possible that's what our doppleganger is using, but if so, it's way ahead of anything my father or Starlight's development team ever came up with."

Another time, she would have hesitated to say anything with Phyllis in the room. She wasn't comfortable divulging as much as she had, even if she knew that it was likely paranoia and nobody was going to suspect that Jem herself was a holographic alter ego. However, in the years since Jem and the Holograms and the Misfits had first launched, Phyllis had become one of her closer friends. More to the point, she'd already seen Emma's double on the security screen, so it was no good trying to hide it. Now, the green-haired woman shook her head. "As if we didn't have enough trouble," she muttered.

"So, if you see Emma—either Emma—get her to come and see me. Ideally, we'll find both of them and get to the bottom of this."

"And if you only get one?"

Jerrica winced. "I really don't want to involve the Starlight girls in this, but Emma's made friends. Hopefully, they'll be able to ask her a few questions that only the real Emma would know the answers to. I hate putting them in that position…"

"Hey," Phyllis shrugged, "you're not asking them to break the law. You're not even putting them in any danger." She frowned. "On second thought, maybe we'd better check her for weapons when we find her."

"What?"

The look in Phyllis's eyes was dead serious. "I've dealt with kids as young as seven or eight who were packing knives for protection. Silverware knives," she added quickly, seeing the dawning horror on Jerrica's face. I wouldn't peg Emma for one of them, not from everything I've read in her files or observed first-hand. If I'd suspected she was, you'd better believe I would've warned you. But there's another Emma at large and we don't know anything about her. I don't think we can assume she's unarmed. And if she isn't… maybe we have to consider that she could be carrying something a little worse than a silverware knife. So let's all be careful and hope we can handle the situation before anyone gets hurt. Agreed?"

Jerrica heaved a sigh and nodded. "Agreed."

Jetta accosted them in the hallway, the members of both her current and former bands behind her. "You'd better do something, Llewellyn," she warned with a dangerous edge to her words.

Deirdre held up the remains of her guitar. The neck and body had been broken into two pieces, still held together by strings. One of the Irish musicians held a lone cymbal. "When you find the scanger what lifted this 'un's mate, I'd like a word," he snapped, just as Stormer came hurrying up. One black key was missing—clearly pried off—from her keytar.

"Sounds like I'm not the only one with a problem," she said apologetically. "I wish it could wait, but there's no way I can go on with this."

Rory pressed a hand to his forehead. "One of you," he said, "I don't care who; just nominate someone to go around to the bands. Get me a list of what's missing, destroyed, or otherwise unusable. I'll try to find replacements before the show. Oh, and get the specifics." He shot Jetta a glance. "I know there are about a dozen different transpositions for a saxophone and I don't want to find you an E-flat alto, just to have you tell me you want a B-flat subcontrabass."

"It's B-flat tenor," Jetta replied. "But thanks for asking, mate."

Rory shook his head. "Make sure it's on the list; I'm not going to remember that now."

"I'll do it," Stormer said. "Anyone got a clipboard?"

"Ask at the information desk," Rory said. He heaved a sigh. This was going to be a very long day, but it still might not be long enough to get everything ready before the concert. And while he normally wasn't a violent man, if Roxy had been standing before him right now, he suspected that it might take every ounce of self-control he had not to wring her neck!

Phyllis tensed when the phone rang in the dressing room. "Rory?" she snapped, picking it up. "You found either of them?"

It wasn't Rory. But it was for her. As she listened to her housekeeper's frantic stream of verbiage, her eyes grew wide as her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. "Which hospital?" she barked, when Marisol paused for breath. "Okay. I'm on my way."

She took a breath and caught Stormer's eye. "Hana May was at the park. She was climbing the monkey bars and she fell. Marisol told me she was up pretty high," she added dully.

"Hey," Stormer said, "she's going to be okay."

"I know that!" Phyllis snapped. "I mean… I mean, she has to be. Anyway," she took a breath. "You've got Kaleidoscope Haze. Jetta's got… whatever the hell her band is called; I can't think straight." She grabbed for her purse. "Tell Jerrica to take the Misfits off the bill. And if she asks…" Phyllis doubted that she would; Jerrica might be a goody-goody, but she wasn't an idiot, "no, she is not to put Roxy on the bill as a last-minute addition to fill the gap. The other bands can get encores; let Starlight play a cover, I don't care." She remembered something else. "But if you can use a second guitarist, see if you can find something for Deirdre to do, willya?"

Stormer nodded. "You've got it. And… if there's anything I can do…?"

"I told you what to do," Phyllis said, gripping her arm fiercely. "Now, go do it."

Stormer wasn't done. "A-and if I do see Roxy, do I tell her about Hana May?"

Phyllis hesitated. On the one hand, Roxy had abandoned her daughter. Abandoned her to someone she could trust, sure, but she'd still walked out and if it had been anyone other than her old friend, Phyllis would have stated outright that they didn't deserve to have a child, social work classes be damned. On the other hand, Roxy was Hana May's mother. She had a right to be informed. But if she were to choose to walk away again… Or if the vandalism and sabotage she'd got up to got her arrested, then telling her about Hana May would do Roxy no good. It might be kinder to keep quiet. Might. But at the end of the day…

She shook her head sadly. "She's the kid's mother," she said. "You have to tell her."

She smiled wearily at Stormer's nod of approval. Then she snatched up her jacket and hurried out the door.

Stormer was suddenly conscious of the other eyes trained on her. "I guess you all… heard?" she asked faintly. She turned to Deirdre, who had gone rather pale. "We actually can use another guitar, if you're up for it?" she said. At Deirdre's quick nod, she smiled. "Okay. Let me talk to Jerrica and then, I'll coach you through our numbers. Okay?"

"Okay," Deirdre said, looking like she was still processing what she'd just seen and heard. "Hey. Stormer?"

One hand on the doorknob, Stormer looked back over her shoulder. Deirdre smiled. "Thanks."

Roxy's eyes lit up when she saw the dressing room with the huge yellow star and Jem's name penned in sparkling blue cursive letters beneath it. Yes! This was going to be just like the old days! She turned the knob cautiously and smiled when it opened. Oh, this was perfect! Sheet music, costumes, props… She moved inside swiftly and snatched up a dress. At least, she tried to. Her hands plunged right through the spangled creation. Startled, she looked up. The opulence of the dressing room had yielded to the drab walls of a store room. The furniture was gone. How…?

How didn't matter, she realized. This was a trap! She had to get out of here before it was—

"Hello, Roxy," Jem greeted her from the doorway, two security guards behind her.

—Too late!

"I figured she wouldn't know that with some of us playing in more than one band, and so many bands participating, nobody had a private dressing room. Add in the rivalry from a few years back and…"

"You set your trap with the right bait," Rory finished. "I'm surprised she didn't realize something was wrong as soon as she opened the door and saw that it was a storeroom, though."

Jem smiled. This was the tricky part. "Kaleidoscope Haze uses holographic projectors for their special effects and we had them here for their set. I asked Aja to put a projector in the storeroom. The technology isn't flawless, but with the right conditions, it can fool you. At least temporarily. Or at least, it fooled Roxy."

It had to be Kaleidoscope Haze, Jem reflected. Jem and the Holograms had been retired for six years and were only back in the spotlight for this one night. For them to trot out this cutting edge innovation—especially when they'd really been using it all along, so it would all appear to be 'business as usual' would raise questions. Or maybe, Jem thought, she was overthinking it. At any rate, Rory seemed to be buying the explanation.

"So, it's all taken care of," he nodded. "Apart from having to secure last-minute replacements for instruments and costumes."

"Shana's helping with the costumes. There should be a truck arriving in the next forty-five minutes with the costumes she's done for her most recent show. She got the okay from the production company now that the show's over, so long as we thank them and plug their next show during the concert."

Rory smiled. "Well, that's something. Don't suppose you or Pizzazz have connections with any instrument rentals in case my contact doesn't come through? I'm waiting to hear back."

"Pizzazz?" Jem repeated. "I-I can call her, but I think she has other stuff on her mind right now." Seeing his surprised expression, she realized. "You haven't heard. Rory, Pizzazz had to leave. Her little girl had an accident and she's at the hospital."

Rory's heart began to pound. "Something's happened to Hana May?"

Jem told him.

Stormer shook her head sadly. "I guess there was no good way out of this," she sighed. "Roxy's one of my oldest friends and I'm sorry that it's come to this, but… I know she's had issues for some time. I can kind of understand why she did this, but that doesn't mean she was right. Is she going to go back to jail?"

"I don't know," Kimber admitted. "She was out on bail for a different sort of crime. I don't know how it works if they pick you up for something else." She winced. "It's not something I ever thought I had to know until now."

"It's a good thing Starlight's tech team came up with those holo-projectors and Roxy didn't get a chance to trash them."

Kimber nodded. That was the official story, not the real one: Starlight Records had been experimenting with various technologies and, when Kaleidoscope Haze had been signed, the record company had designed the projectors for the band. They weren't as versatile or sophisticated as the Jemstar earrings, but they had the advantage of being 'cutting edge' rather than 'so far advanced that using them would draw the attention of the very elements that Synergy had worried over, back when Jerrica had first considered telling Rio her secret.'

The projectors were quite a bit larger and less subtle than the ones Emmett Benton had created almost a decade earlier, but suitable for their purpose. And now, they'd been able to use them to trap a saboteur. And while Stormer knew about them, she still didn't know the half of what was really going on.

Kimber resolved then and there that once all this was over, she'd tell Stormer everything. Jerrica had given permission to tell her about Jem, but if Stormer was going to share her life, then she wanted to tell her everything, or at least as much as she could. She didn't understand holo-technology much herself, so it wasn't like she could relate the finer details, but Stormer probably wouldn't want those anyway. She would, however, likely remember the times when Jem and Jerrica had been seen together—thanks to Synergy. And she might remember other incidents, too, if she thought back.

"Kimber?" Kimber blinked. Stormer was waving a hand before her eyes. "You okay? You look like you're a million miles away."

She forced herself to smile. "I'm fine. Just… thinking."

"Anything you want to share?"

Kimber shook her head. "Not yet, but maybe after tonight." She slid her hand into Stormer's. "That okay?"

"Sure," Stormer said, sounding a little surprised. "Whenever you're ready to tell me… whatever."

She'd make sure that Jerrica knew what she was planning to divulge, Kimber decided. And that Jerrica was okay with her divulging it. She was tired of the secrets and half-truths, tired of the subterfuge and keeping other people's secrets. It was time to come clean. At least, she thought with a wince, unless Jerrica had a good reason why she shouldn't.

"Oi! Get back here, you little git!"

In response to the furious cry, Jem and Raya hurried toward its source, nearly colliding with a woman in maintenance coveralls. She murmured a quick apology, barely noting that the woman had done the same. Rounding the bend, they saw Jetta's bandmate Saoirse hurrying toward them. "Did you see her?" she demanded.

"Who?" Raya asked. "The stagehand?" She glanced over her shoulder automatically. "One passed us—"

"No!" Saoirse snapped. "Kid, about ten or eleven. Long hair, blonde, red sweater and about a hundred quid what used to be in me wallet in her pocket!"

Jem's eyes widened. "We'll tell security," she said at once. "We'll find her."

"Right," the musician said. "I'll spread the word to the other performers. If she stole from me, she's likely stolen from others, too."

Jem nodded. "Come on," she said to Raya. "Let's check the cameras first."

"You don't think one of the Starlight girls…" Raya started to say.

Jem heaved a sigh. "I hope not, but there is one girl here who answers that description and I'd like to rule out the possibility that it's her if I can."

"Wait," Raya said. "Is that the one who… showed up in two places at once in the security feed?"

Jem nodded heavily. "Emma," she said. "Her name's Emma. Emma Swan."

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Five

Roxy paced the small office with no small irritation. The single window was secured by a reinforced grate. The desk was clear and the padded chair and sofa showed few signs of wear or tear. She tried the door and, when she'd opened it a crack, the beefy guard in front of it turned to face her.

"You need anything?"

"A lawyer," Roxy snapped with a show of bravado. "Can you get Johnnie Cochran or Bobby Shapiro on the horn?"

The guard's lips twitched. "Afraid not, Ms. Pellegrini," he said, not unkindly. "The cops should be here soon. Once you're down at the station, I guess you'll be able to make a call if you need to. Right now, if you need the ladies' room or something from one of the vending machines, I can take care of that. If you're bored, I've got today's paper; you can read the first two sections now and the rest when I finish them, if you're still here."

"Terrific," Roxy muttered. There had to be a way out of this fix! Maybe there was. If she could get out of this room, maybe she could lose the guard! "Actually, um, the ladies' room is a good idea."

"Sure," the guard said. He pulled out his walkie-talkie. "Martina to the security office, please. Martina to the security office."

Roxy blinked. "Who's Martina?"

"Well, I can't take you to the ladies' room," the guard chuckled. "Or protect you once you're in it."

"Protect me?"

"Way I hear," the guard said, still smiling in a friendly fashion, "you pissed off a lot of people, male and female. If you were to run into one of them in the bathroom, I'd think you'd want a bodyguard with you. She'll be here in a couple of minutes."

Roxy sighed. "Great," she muttered, retreating back into the office and closing the door.

Kylie looked up as the door opened. "Hi, Shana," she greeted the elegantly-dressed young woman standing in the doorway. "What's up?"

"Is Emma Swan here?" Shana asked.

Kylie shook her head. "It was getting a little crowded in here, she said," she explained. "And I guess she might have been a little bored. She said she was going to see if there was any other place to hang out."

Shana sighed. "Thanks. If you see her, could you tell her that Jerrica's looking for her?"

"Uh, yeah," Kylie said.

Julie looked up from the sheet music on the desk before her. "She's not in trouble, is she?"

Shana hesitated. "No, but tell her Jerrica's looking for her and it's important."

Both girls nodded. "We will," Julie assured her.

Shana nodded back. "Thanks."

Rory was having an agitated phone conversation. "Well, if you don't have a keytar handy, who does? No, I already called them! And no eight-string guitar either." He sighed. "I'll ask if they can manage with a six. Or… you said you had a twelve? I'll find out. Meanwhile, start prepping what you've got. I'll get back to you. Thanks, Charlie. I appreciate this."

He ended the call. "Two down," he murmured, stabbing his pen down to the left of the next name on his list. "Twenty-five to go." He dialed the number beside the name. "Yes, hi, Fred? Rory Llewellyn from Stingers Sound, how are you? Yes, I know it's been a while. Fred, I'm in a bind. We've got a concert starting in less than three hours and thanks to an act of vandalism, I have eight bands with unusable instruments. I was wondering whether—Yes! I do have a list. You're sitting down? Okay. First item: One keytar…"

Maybe, just maybe, he thought with renewed hope, the curtain would rise on schedule and eight bands would have the tools they needed to make tonight a benefit to remember!

Giselle's eyes felt as though they were filled with sand. She'd been poring over the security tapes, watching one blurry image after another, trying to zero in on, well, she wasn't entirely sure what. She'd seen Emma's image captured numerous times, but it was hard for her to know whether she was looking at the girl who had briefly been a Haven House guest of hers before moving onto Jerrica's place, or the stranger with her face.

All at once, she clapped a hand to her mouth. Her other hand came down hard on the button to pause the tape.

Less than two minutes later, she was knocking on a dressing room door. When Raya answered it, Giselle practically flung out the question. "Is Jerrica here?"

"I am," Jerrica said, coming to stand behind Raya. "What is it?"

"I have to show you something," Giselle said abruptly. "On the tapes. And you're going to want to be sitting down for it."

"Why?" Jerrica asked. "Is this about Emma? Or Roxy?"

"Emma," Giselle said. "And if you don't see it for yourself, you're not going to believe it…"

Roxy looked the slender woman up and down with a smirk. "You really think you can handle me?" she demanded.

The woman shrugged. "I guess I'm up for it. Shall we?"

Roxy waited until they were out in the hallway before smashing her stiletto heel down on the security guard's foot. At least, that was the plan. Instead, her shoe came down on empty air. Off-balance, she staggered, as a firm hand grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. "OW!" she shrieked. "Let go!"

"You really need the ladies' room?" her captor demanded. "Or was this just a trick to get away?"

"I need it, I need it!" Roxy yelped.

"Then sit down," the guard propelled her to a bench, "and take off the shoes."

"You need backup, Connie?" the first security guard asked.

Connie frowned. "Yeah, this looks like a two-person job at that." She glowered at Roxy. "Shoes."

Roxy glowered back and began to unbuckle her left stiletto under two pairs of watchful eyes.

Jerrica rewound the footage for the third time. "How is this possible?" she asked.

Giselle shook her head. "You got me."

"I-I thought I knew something about special effects. Maybe Devon…?"

Giselle shook her head. "I know the guy's an illusionist, but why would he do something like this? It doesn't make sense." She hesitated. "But I can sound him out if you like."

Jerrica considered before nodding her head slowly. "I don't think it's him, but sound him out anyway. Maybe someone he knows?" She shook her head, as she watched the stocky, dark-haired maintenance woman morph again into the slender, blonde preteen.

"I wonder," Giselle murmured. "Is that a grown woman somehow… transforming into a little girl, or a little girl transforming into a grown woman? A-and if she can do something like that, is either one of those forms the real her, or are they both illusions?"

"I'm more interested in who she is, what she wants, and why she's doing this," Jerrica replied. "And keep an eye out for Emma. The real Emma," she added. "Once we know where to find her, whichever one isn't there must be the double."

Giselle nodded. She got up to leave, and then turned back with a worried expression. "Are we sure that's the only illusionist? What if there are a whole bunch of them?"

Jerrica sucked in a startled breath and let it out. "Let's hope not," she said. "This is already getting weird enough. Find Devon. And if you see Emma on your way…"

"I'll tell her to find you."

"No," Jerrica said after a moment. "Better bring her to me instead. And let the others know, too—the Holograms and Kaleidoscope Haze, I mean." She definitely didn't want all eight bands hunting for someone who looked like the person who'd sabotaged their gear. Best to keep this to the group she trusted most.

"Got it."

After the former dancer had left, Jerrica tugged absently at an earlobe. "Synergy?" she asked, "did you catch all that?"

"I did, Jerrica," the computer's calm voice replied. "Unfortunately, I have no further data to provide. I am still failing to detect any holographic technology not previously accounted for."

"Could our doppelganger be using some of the holographic technology that is accounted for?"

"Unlikely," Synergy answered at once. "That equipment is far too heavy to transport by hand, and has an extremely limited range. Your intruder seems to have already surpassed that range."

Jerrica exhaled noisily. "Okay. Thanks anyway." She wished that Synergy could interface with other computers. If she could have hooked up with some scientific database to access the most recent papers on holographic technology, she might find some clue there. Unfortunately, Synergy couldn't access any information that hadn't been programmed into her databanks. One day, she might be able to 'surpass that range', but today wasn't that day.

After a moment, she shook her head and got up. There was still too much to do—as Jerrica—before show time.

Stormer came into the dressing room and stopped short. "Emma?" she asked incredulously. Startled, the little girl looked up. "What are you doing in my purse?"

For answer, Emma shoved the bills she was holding into her pocket and took off at a run.

"Oh, no, you don't," Stormer said, moving to block the door.

Undaunted, and without hesitation, Emma delivered a hard kick to Stormer's shin. "Ow! You little—"

She made a grab for Emma, but the kick had knocked her off-balance and the unexpected pain made her slow. The girl darted past her and into the hallway. Stormer followed as best she could. Rounding a bend, she stopped short. There was no sign of the young girl. "Where did she go?" she asked a blue-clad maintenance worker.

The other woman frowned. "Whom do you mean?" she asked in a voice with a crisp British accent.

"The kid!" Stormer exclaimed. "She must've run right past you!"

"Sorry, Miss," the worker said. "I haven't seen anyone."

"But…" Stormer took a few more steps, "but where could she have gone?"

The worker shrugged eloquently.

Stormer wasn't giving up that easily. She hurried down the hallway once more, but she failed to glimpse her quarry. Angry and confused, she headed back to her dressing room.

Wendy brushed at her blue coverall and heaved a sigh of relief.

Emma had found a quiet nook in one of the equipment rooms and was happy curled up with a fan magazine and a Mary Chapin Carpenter cassette Stephanie had made from her album playing on her Walkman. The final notes of "It Don't Bring You" faded and Emma hit eject to flip the tape over and listen to it again. She pulled out the cassette and groaned as a long loop of tape trailed from it. "Seriously?" she muttered. Pushing herself up, she made her way to the door, hoping that someone around here had a pencil she could use to fix this thing.

As soon as she stepped into the hallway, she realized that something felt off. When she'd gone into the equipment room, things had been busy and hectic, but now the agitation felt different. The energy felt angry somehow, and the people she passed weren't talking nearly as animatedly. Instead, they murmured in whispers, casting furtive glances.

And then she heard her name mentioned.

"…don't really believe she's got a double, do you?"

"We don't really know much about her. She did get into some trouble for shoplifting back in Boston."

Emma froze. How did they know about that? The same way they always do. Gossip is the only substance that travels faster than the speed of light. I know that and I'm not even a science geek!

She stepped hurriedly back into the equipment room and pulled the door shut behind her, listening for the footsteps and voices to pass by.

"Don't suppose there's any way you can just let me out of here and not turn me over to the cops?" Roxy asked.

"They're on their way, Ms. Pellegrini," the guard replied.

"Yeah, well, you can always decide to not press charges."

Rory was waiting outside the office where she'd been earlier, and he'd evidently caught the last part. "Actually, they can't," he told her with a shadow of his old smug smile. (And god, why did his voice still do things to her stomach, even when he was delivering bad news?) "They aren't pressing charges, Roxy. The stadium may or may not; that's up to their legal team. However, the property damage you caused? The instruments, costumes, and props that we're trying to replace at this late hour? Even if I might be willing to forgive that, I don't think the bands will."

She thought she heard a glimmer of hope in his pronouncement and grabbed at it. "Couldn't you talk to them? I-I don't have the money to make good, not now, b-but," inspiration seized her, "if Stingers Sound will sign me, you can, what's-it-called, garnishee…? You can garnishee my takings until it's paid off! C'mon, Llewellyn, what good is suing me gonna do? I ain't got it, so you're only gonna push me into bankruptcy and you still won't get squat from me. Maybe we can work something out."

Something seemed to soften in Rory's eyes. "Maybe," he said slowly. "Maybe we can. But if we can, that's something that my legal team and yours will have to hammer out."

"B-but if this goes to court, then I'm going to jail for sure!"

"Maybe it won't. Maybe we can settle this out of court, but we're not settling it right this moment. You need a lawyer and… We need to talk about something else. Something more important."

Roxy made a scoffing sound. "What could possibly be more important than this?"

Part of him wondered about the wisdom of telling her. There wasn't anything that she could do now, and with the police likely moments away, it occurred to him that informing her now bordered on cruelty. But she was Hana May's mother, and that fact trumped everything else. He took a breath and gripped her hands in his. "Our daughter."

Emma couldn't hold it in any longer. She needed a bathroom in the worst possible way. Fortunately, she'd spotted one on her way here and it wasn't far. She eased open the door and checked to ensure that the cost was clear before she bolted.

She was in luck. The ladies room—a doorway without a door in the concrete wall with sinks and stalls beyond—was unoccupied. She went quickly. When she was done, she checked the hallway once more. Nobody was in sight. She was about to hurry back to the equipment room when the approaching sound of running feet froze her in the doorway.

She stepped back in and put herself to one side of the doorway, waiting for them to pass by. The tread was light, she realized. Probably one of the Starlight girls. Hesitantly, she peered around the corner of the doorway and saw the back of a figure about her own height with long blond hair. At the corner, the other girl turned, looking left and right, just as Emma had done a few moments earlier. Then she cast a glance behind her and Emma stifled a gasp.

She was staring at her own face.

She shouldn't have used the clover again, and she certainly shouldn't have used it to take on Emma's form. Wendy knew this. She'd already done more than enough damage and been spotted doing so. Emma was, quite neatly, 'framed'. (Not a term she'd been overly familiar with in her London days, but she'd caught the sense of it from a television program she'd watched not that long ago.) She'd been tired of being Angela Wendt. She wasn't comfortable with having to act like a grown-up, not in this time and place, where the expectations of adulthood often seemed so different from what she'd been brought up to believe they entailed. Had she remained in Bloomsbury instead of being trapped in Neverland, why she'd likely have been a wife and mother. She might have led charity drives or cooked food for the sick. She'd been too early for the women's suffrage movement by a decade or so when she'd left, but had she stayed in London, she might very well have campaigned with the Pankhursts or some of those other women who had been in the history book she'd found on John's bookshelf. Most of topics had been rather dull, but she'd pored over that chapter, examining the grainy photographs for some hint of a kindred spirit.

Whatever turn her life would have taken, though, she was quite sure that she'd never have trained for any sort of profession. Here, virtually every woman she'd met had some sort of work outside the house, or they were at university or searching for employment. Their lives were more hurried than Mother's had been. The social events she'd seen depicted on television bore no resemblance to the evening parties and balls that her parents' set had attended.

And she had no idea what to do as a 'maintenance worker' that wouldn't arouse suspicion, so she'd mostly been walking about as though she knew where she was going and praying that she wouldn't be challenged. She'd imagined herself under scrutiny every time she'd encountered other people, and there were so many of them here. It was easier to be a child.

And she knew that the more Emma was seen going places where she ought not to be, the worse it would look for her, even if Wendy did nothing further to incriminate her.

She hadn't expected to be spotted by the one person who would know her at once for an imposter.

For one terrifying moment, she locked eyes with the girl she was impersonating.

Then she whirled and ran.

"Hey!" Emma shouted. "Wait! Wait!"

She tore off in pursuit of her look-alike, but the other girl was faster. Emma tried to keep her in sight as she sped, rubber-soled shoes pounding on cement flooring. And then, someone stepped into her path and she couldn't slow down in time and the both went down in a heap. "K-Kimber!" she gasped. "There's someone here who looks just like me and—"

"I know," Kimber groaned. "Unfortunately, we don't know who's who, so… I guess you'd better come back with me now. We'll try to find the other one and, once we've got you both together, we'll get to the bottom of it." She managed to find her feet and extended a hand to Emma. "It's going to be okay," she said.

Emma took her hand. "You… you're not… freaked out that someone's… running around with my face?"

Kimber smiled. "Let's just say that it's not the first time. Next time you get the chance, see if you can find a photo of Queen Adriana of Morvania and we'll talk. Come on."

Emma let Kimber pull her up. "What about…?"

"We'll find her," Kimber assured her. "Meanwhile, let's make sure we know where you are. Come." So saying, she let go of Emma's hand, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and steered her down the hall.

"Emma?" Wendy froze, her fingers on the buckle of Emma's knapsack.

"Yes… Julie," she said, remembering the other girl's name at the last instant.

"Jerrica's looking for you."

"I know," Wendy said quickly. "She… she just gave me something for later. I'm putting it in here."

Julie frowned. "Uh… okay," she said. "Hey, when did you change clothes?"

Wendy thought quickly. "I-I had to. I leaned against a filthy wall and came away with soiled clothing."

Julie's frown deepened. "Have… you been learning some new words? Like with a thesaurus?"

"I…" It was on the tip of her tongue to tell the other girl not to be silly, when she thought better of it. "Well, yes. I have."

Julie grinned. "Well, maybe don't use them as much. You sound like someone out of an Enid Blyton novel."

"Oh?" Wendy smiled back hesitantly. "I-I'm not familiar, but perhaps I ought to be."

The buckle came undone, and she quickly slid the envelope inside and resealed the knapsack. "Um… good luck with the song."

Julie gasped. "It's bad luck to wish someone good luck!" she exclaimed. "You should say, 'Break a leg'!"

"Oh." She really didn't want to ill-wish the other girl, but Julie seemed to be waiting expectantly. "Well… break a leg, then."

"Thanks."

Once outside the dressing room, Wendy darted into a bathroom and locked herself in a stall. A moment later, Angela Wendt emerged and hurried away.

"Wait!" Emma exclaimed, as she and Kimber walked past a familiar door. "My knapsack. I was listening to a cassette and… I-I need a pencil. When I took out the tape…"

"I hear you," Kimber said. "Okay." She pulled the door open. "Go for it."

"Emma!" Julie exclaimed. "Back again?"

"Uh… yeah. I need my knapsack," Emma said, picking it up.

"Hey. How come you changed back? And those clothes don't look dirty at all."

Emma blinked. "What do you mean? Why should they?"

"B-because," Julie said, "you were just in here a minute ago wearing something totally different and…"

Emma backed toward the door. "No," she said. "That wasn't me. But I saw who you meant. I—"

"Emma!" Kimber called. "Jerrica's waiting!"

Emma slid one arm through both shoulder straps and hoisted the knapsack onto her back. "I gotta go!" she exclaimed, hurrying out and leaving a bewildered Julie behind.

In the hallway, Kimber said, "Sorry about that. We know there's something screwy going on, but Jerrica's trying not to stress everyone out more than they're already stressed, so we're trying not to let word get out that there's someone here who's a dead ringer for you."

"B-but who is she?" Emma asked. "Do I have a twin sister I was separated from at birth or…?"

"That's what we'd all like to know," Kimber said. "For right now? We need you to be somewhere safe and stay there. Then if we see this… other Emma…

"I know, I know, you'll know for sure she's not me. Okay, I get that, but… when you find out who this other person is, I want to know too. Promise me you'll tell me whatever she tells you."

"Absolutely," Kimber said at once. "I promise."

Emma sat in the office, hugging her knapsack She probably shouldn't have brought it with her, but she was so used to being moved from placement to placement with no warning that, ever since she'd found out that she was going back to Boston, she hadn't wanted to let the bag get too far away from her. If Child Services showed up at the concert, they'd probably give her a minute to grab her things from the dressing room. They might not be willing to drive her back to Starlight House. And yes, Jerrica would certainly ship it up to her, but it would take time for it to reach Boston, time for a social worker to drive it out to her, time when she'd be cut off from the few possessions that were truly hers.

In the hallway, she could hear an angry babble of conversation. It sounded like 'fake her' had been doing a lot of damage, from sabotaging equipment and instruments to outright theft! She was suddenly relieved that Kimber didn't think it was her and was keeping her safe. There were two of them, as crazy as that sounded. Whatever the stranger with her face had done, it wasn't her, and while Emma knew she couldn't prove it right now, at least the cameras showed she had a double and, unless there was some way of tying her in to that double's actions, Kimber would stick up for her and Jerrica probably would, too.

It was a relief not to be suspected when things went wrong, she thought with a smile, as she unfastened the knapsack to dig out her pencil case.

As the top flap fell back, Emma froze. That… that wasn't hers…

Her hands shaking, she pulled out the open white envelope and removed a small wad of cash. And just underneath it, she realized with a chill, were a flat box with a clear plastic cover that displayed an assortment of mini-tools, a pocketknife, and a pair of scissors.

It only took a second for her to realize how bad this looked for her if anyone saw her with this stuff. But how was she supposed to get rid of it now? "I am so screwed," she whispered aloud, as she shoved the money back into her knapsack. How the hell was she supposed to explain this?

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Six

Emma swallowed hard. She could probably just tell Kimber or Giselle or Jerrica or pretty much anyone. They'd believe her.

Except that up until now, they've been blaming my double for everything. If I'm found with the money, maybe they'll think I've been the evil twin all along. Or that she switched places with me. I could get rid of the money, hide it somewhere… but if I step out of this office, they'll think I'm the double. They won't listen to me then.

They wouldn't ship her back to a Boston group home. Her next placement would be juvie!

Her best chance, she decided, was to wait until Jerrica or one of the others came to check up on her and then tell them about the money. They'd believe her. They'd have to. It was the truth!

And she'd just do her best not to think about all the other times in her life when she'd told the truth and not been believed. These people were different.

She hoped.

Jerrica heaved a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Kimber. I'll go talk to her."

"I tried to tell her we knew it wasn't her," Kimber said, "but I don't know if she believed me. She's settled in so well with us that sometimes, it's easy to forget…"

"About the baggage some of our older girls come to us dragging?" Jerrica finished with a weary smile. "I know. You were on tour when she arrived, but her walls were up so high… Between Casey and Stephanie and Joellen, she started feeling safe enough to take them down, but every setback—and there were a few—you could see she was expecting we'd send her away again."

"And now we are," Kimber murmured. "There's nothing we can do? I mean, if you told DCFS we still wanted to keep her, couldn't they…?"

Jerrica shook her head. "If she was closer to aging out of the system, maybe, but… she's eleven. She ran away from Boston, and we knew from the start that she was probably going to have to go back there one day."

"Probably?" Kimber asked hopefully, but Jerrica was already shaking her head.

"Bureaucracy takes time," she said. "I guess I was hoping it'd take long enough for her to, if not age out, at least hit emancipation." She sighed. "Even if it was a longshot. Well," she got to her feet, "the next time I book you in for a venue in the Boston area, I'll try to arrange for you to have an extra day, so you can look her up."

Kimber frowned. "Will DCFS up there just… tell me where she is, if I call and ask?"

"No, probably not," Jerrica admitted. "I'm not even sure if they'd tell Phyllis. But if Emma were to write to us with her contact information…"

"Outrageous!" Kimber grinned.

Jerrica smiled back. Then, she exhaled and rose to her feet. "I'll have that talk with her now; it's only going to get harder to find the time closer to the show."

"She's still going to perform, right?"

"If she still wants to," Jerrica nodded. "Did Shana show you the costumes she made for them?"

Kimber shook her head. "But I bet they look amazing."

"They do," Jerrica assured her, as she made her way to the door.

Rory pressed a hand to his forehead. "So you thought that if the other groups couldn't go on, I'd have no choice but to allow you on stage? And then… what? Accolades from the critics and a new record deal?"

Roxy swallowed. "It sounds dumber when you say it than when I thought it. You promise you'll tell me when you know about Hana May?"

"I promise," Rory assured her. "And I'll tell her you were asking about her when I see her."

"She won't care," Roxy said. "She hates me. Or she doesn't know me, which is just as bad."

"I don't think she hates you," Rory replied.

"How can she not?" Roxy asked. "I gave her away!"

"You asked a friend to look after her until you had your act together."

"Some friend." Then, quickly, "I know. I didn't mean that. And I've been trying. I-I'm going to meetings. I haven't had a drink in a week. Even though I could really, really use one right now."

"I can get you a coffee," Rory offered.

"Oh, hell, yes."

Rory chuckled. Then, still smiling, he asked, "How the hell did you get in here anyway? We locked all the doors that weren't guarded."

Roxy shrugged. "Bribed a Starlight girl a few bucks. She introduced herself to me. Amy… Emmie? Blonde kid, about ten or twelve. Hey! Where are you going?"

Rory glanced over his shoulder. "To get you that coffee. We'll talk more when I get back." After he spoke to Jerrica!

Emma knew that she was supposed to stay in this office, but her stomach wouldn't untwist from the knots in which it had wrapped itself. She had to find Jerrica and talk to her, tell her that she hadn't stolen any money or sabotaged any equipment or any of the other stuff her double was doing. She could stash the tools somewhere first. Probably the most sensible thing. She thought about hiding the money someplace else where she could get it back later, but someone else might find it and pocket it. Best to turn that in before anyone looked through her bag. She could tell the truth: that it had been there, she didn't know how it had gotten there, but it hadn't been hers.

Wait. She'd been in some… pretty rotten placements in Boston. If she had to run again, the money would come in handy. A new thought occurred to her: Suppose Kimber or Stormer or even Jerrica had left her the money as a going away present? What if someone wanted her to have it, not to frame her, but to help her? If that were true, then she couldn't just throw it away!

But it wasn't like she could go around asking people if they'd slipped her an envelope of cash.

No, the smart ploy was to get rid of the tools; turn them in or hide them, it didn't matter. She'd say nothing about the money unless she was sure that the money in her bag was the money that had been stolen. Otherwise, she might be turning down a gift and letting the real thief get away with the money. Yes, she'd keep the money and ditch the tools.

Hoisting her knapsack onto one shoulder, she cautiously opened the office door and stepped into the hallway. After she'd gone a ways and made several turns, she realized that she wasn't entirely sure where she was or where she needed to be. One corridor looked much like another and the stadium was huge. She heard voices coming toward her and, remembering that she was supposed to be staying in that office, she quickly darted into an alcove. She thought one of the voices belonged to Jerrica, but she wasn't about to step into view until she could confirm it. For now, she flattened herself against the wall and waited as they drew closer.

"I don't think it was Emma who let her in," Jerrica said. "We know she has a double running around. We have proof."

"Proof of two of them," Rory said. "That isn't proof that they're not working together. Or that one of them was committing vandalism while the other helped Roxy." He frowned. "Is there anyone who can vouch for her? Your Emma? Has she been in someone else's company this whole time, or did go off by herself long enough to have done all of… this?"

Jerrica swallowed. "She's been off by herself for a couple of hours at least," she admitted. "But I don't believe it's been her. Rory, I've gotten to know her. She's a good kid. I mean, she's stayed out late and missed curfew a time or two..."

"Do you know where she was when she did?"

"Yes! She made a friend at day camp and they were hanging out in the mall."

"Did you see her there, or is that what she told you when she came back?"

"Rory!" Jerrica exclaimed. "You've never even met Emma! Why are you jumping to… to condemn her?"

Rory shook his head. "Because somehow, my dear Jerrica, you've managed to make a career in the entertainment industry without losing your wide-eyed optimism. You still see the best in everyone unless they give you a reason to think otherwise. And with the talent you manage? Jem and the Holograms, Kaleidoscope Haze, Arala Duchesne… all these clean, wholesome ingénue types, well who can blame you? Me on the other hand? Well, if you recall, the Misfits hardly had the market cornered on dirty tricks. And it's not as though Minx and Rapture had to twist my arm to get me on board with their antics. It's fair to say that we fed off of each other. So, when you tell me that your charge seems to have an evil twin—"

"—I'm really not comfortable calling an eleven-year-old 'evil'—"

"—A twin with a moral compass in desperate need of a course correction, then," Riot amended without missing a beat. "Honestly, Jerrica, I need to know why you're so sure that one, 'your' foster wasn't working with her double and two, whether it's only today that this double has turned up. For all you know, she's been around for weeks, hiding in plain sight. For all you know, the girl that you believe is Emma Swan right now isn't, and hasn't been for a long time. Did you even search her belongings to see if she had anything she shouldn't?"

Jerrica shook her head. "I was waiting until we had them both together for that. But, if it'll put your mind at ease, we can go talk to her now. Come on. This way."

She gestured in the direction that they were both already headed and both hurried along, passing by the alcove where Emma was currently hiding without noticing her.

Emma exhaled heavily as the footsteps receded in the distance. If they'd stumbled upon her now, they'd mistake her for her double. She just had to get to the office—

—The office that she wouldn't be able to get to before Jerrica and the guy she'd been talking to would and they'd find it empty. She could say she'd gone to the bathroom and got lost coming back. First, though, she had to ditch the stuff in her backpack. She unbuckled the top flap and pulled out the burglar tools. She dropped them into a garbage bin in the corner. The money was another story. She needed that. But it wasn't hers. But she couldn't throw away money!

Maybe… maybe she could hide it somewhere for now and explain later, after they caught fake her. She just had to—

They were coming back. "Check the cameras," the man was saying and he sounded angry. "Get a lock on both of them. We'd better ask security for some walkies so we can stay in touch. We'll get them."

Jerrica murmured something indistinct but there was no mistaking the worry in her tone.

In the alcove, Emma felt her heart pounding like a metal band's bass drum. How could she have forgotten about the cameras? If they'd seen… Frantically, she looked up and found herself staring directly at a lens which pivoted slowly to the right before swiveling back and past her to the left, a blinking red light above it. It had seen her. It had caught her throwing out the tools, maybe even caught her holding the cash. And there were cameras in the office too.

She could explain. If she spoke to them right now, they'd believe her. They'd have to.

Why would they have to? she thought bitterly. It wasn't like she didn't look guilty. And how many times had she been blamed for stuff just because she'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, or someone had ideas about foster kids and group homes and… It wasn't like she hadn't put a foot wrong since she'd come to Starlight House. She'd stayed out late. She hadn't always done her homework. She'd gone off with Wendy without telling people where she was going or when she'd be back. Despite the house rules, she'd often neglected to make her bed and 'tidying' her room usually meant throwing the stuff on the floor under the bed and into the closet. Any one of those things could—and had—gotten her bounced to a new placement back in Boston. Why should here be any different? And, knowing the consequences, why did she keep acting up? If she'd only behave, maybe someplace would keep her.

But not Starlight house. Even if she'd been perfect, they'd still be sending her away.

She cast a furtive glance up at the camera again. She couldn't stay in this alcove. She had to get back to the office. It was the one place where she was supposed to be and once she got back there, she could work on a story to tell Jerrica about why she'd left.

She refastened her backpack and headed back the way she'd come.

She barely had time for a startled shriek when someone grabbed her arm and yanked her through an open doorway. She stopped struggling when she recognized her captor. "Wendy?"

"Emma!" Wendy exclaimed. "Oh, thank goodness I've found you."

Emma struggled out of her friend's grasp. "Not so loud!" she stage-whispered. "Wendy, what are you doing here?"

Wendy giggled. "Oh, I, um… have a brother who works here. When I found out about the concert, I pleaded with him to let me come to work with him, just for the day. But then," her eyes grew wide. "Oh, Emma, is it true what I've overheard? Someone's been… vandalizing the performers' belongings? I heard them say that they thought it was you, but surely that can't be!"

Emma shook her head emphatically. "It's not. But," she winced, "I can't prove it. I-I don't know what to do. I thought Jerrica believed me, but I did something stupid and I don't know if she will now. I didn't think anything could be worse than going back to Boston, but what if they lock me up in juvie here until I'm eighteen?" She'd never been in court before. She had no idea what kind of sentence she'd face if she were. She didn't think they'd try her as an adult when she was only eleven, but as for the rest? The money in her backpack that wasn't hers, even if she somehow got to keep it, it was only a couple of hundred dollars. She didn't think that would begin to cover the damage. Maybe she'd have to work it off. But that might take years. Decades, even. She realized that Wendy was saying something and she blinked. "What?"

Wendy hesitated. "I'm just saying… perhaps you ought to leave. You can run off on your own before they question you or arrest you or…"

Emma's shoulders slumped. "Sure, but there's security everywhere and they're all looking for me. I'll never get past the door."

Wendy smiled then. "Well, not on your own, but… I'd wager my brother might help…"

John looked at the two girls standing in front of him with equally hopeful expressions. Wendy finished her tale with a heartfelt plea. "Can't we help her?"

She was good. Years in Neverland had clearly honed her theatrical skills and she'd always had an imagination and a knack for telling stories. Still, he knew that he couldn't acquiesce at once, not without arousing the other girl's suspicions. So he affected a serious frown, scratched at his chin, and let a full fifteen seconds tick by.

Then he smiled. "Sure," he said. The relief on Emma Swan's face was worth it.

Emma looked at the tarp dubiously. "Are you sure about this?"

John nodded. "I'm off to pick up takeaway for dinner in ten minutes. When I leave, you'll be in the back seat of my car under the tarpaulin. I'll find a place to let you out and you can make your way from there." He smiled. "It will work, so long as they don't search the car."

"But the cameras…"

John smiled. "As it happens, I know a thing or two about how they work, and how they can be made not to." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a device that looked a great deal like a television remote. "As long as we don't encounter anyone in the corridors, we should be all right," he said. "The cameras will go temporarily offline as we pass and come back up some thirty seconds later. If they stayed down longer, it would arouse suspicion, but for such a short time, with so many people moving about and coming and going… I think we'll slip past."

Wendy cleared her throat. "Perhaps I could create a bit of a diversion. Just in case."

John frowned. "Best not get too fancy. Simple solutions are usually best."

Emma looked from one to the other. "Have you guys… done this before?"

John sighed. "Let's just say that I know what it is to be alone in the world and fall under suspicion through no fault of my own. Someone helped me once when they had no reason to. I suppose you could say I'm paying it forward." He smiled and Emma nodded slowly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

John took another breath. "You've everything you need?"

Emma nodded again. "I wish I could say goodbye to everyone." She wished she could be at the concert. She wished she could hear them performing her song. "Could you maybe… let me off someplace where there's a… like a TV display and they're showing the concert?"

John shook his head. "I wouldn't know where to find one of those at this hour. During the day, perhaps an electronics store, but those are sure to be shuttered now."

"Right." Emma sighed. "Wendy? Would you tell them I'm sorry? Starlight, I mean?"

Wendy smiled. "Of course." She flung her arms around Emma. Emma stiffened and hugged her back a bit awkwardly.

"I'm gonna miss you, too," she mumbled.

"And I, you."

John cleared his throat. "I think we ought to try heading for the parking garage. It may take a few minutes longer if we're to avoid search parties." He motioned to the doorway. "Come along, then. And Wendy…?"

"You needn't worry about me," the other girl said with a weary smile. "I think I can throw them off your trail. At least until you've got well away."

John gave her a searching look, as though he suspected that she might be up to a bit more than that, but all he said was, "Thanks."

As soon as Wendy was sure that her brother and Emma were on their way to the garage, she gripped the six-leafed clover pendant firmly. This time, she'd paid careful attention to the clothing that Emma had been wearing. She smiled when she saw that the clover's illusion had included Emma's backpack.

She opened it and her eyes widened. Just like the clover had been able to duplicate the voice of the person she was purporting to be (as long as she knew what they sounded like), it had also conjured up the items that Wendy had known should be in the backpack. The burglar tools and money were clearly visible when she raised the canvas flap. As for what was below, Wendy wasn't sure. It might be clothing, or rags, or just some random fabric, but that wasn't the important thing, was it?

Smiling, she made her way down the hall toward the office where she'd seen Kimber bring Emma on the security cameras. She didn't bother trying not to be seen; if someone did intercept her before she reached her destination, then so much the better.

"What's this?" Roxy asked, taking the business card Rory handed her.

"An attorney I've had occasion to work with in the past. She's a friend who's helped me in the past when some of the Stingers… activities were taken a bit too seriously to be laughed off as high-spirited pranks. I know she was able to get Minx out of more than a few tight situations."

Roxy hesitated. "I-I can't pay her."

"I know. This is on my dime. For old times' sake."

The edges of the business card were digging into her sweaty palm. "Why are you doing this for me, Llewellyn? You don't do stuff out of the goodness of your heart, not without some other angle. Why?"

Rory shrugged. "Well, I could say that I'm becoming altruistic in my old age. Or that I don't want Hana May to ever find out that her father tossed her mother to the wolves and let the justice system do its worst to her. Choose whichever answer infuriates you the least." He flashed her a hint of his old, charming smile.

Roxy shook her head. "Unreal," she muttered. "Hey," she called as Rory turned to go. "Thanks. And, uh… could you let me know how Hana May's doing? Just if she's okay?"

Rory nodded and his smile softened. "When I know something, I'll call Theresa," he jerked his head toward the card, "and tell her to pass the message on. That's assuming you're going to call her."

"Yeah," Roxy nodded. "Good assumption. Guess I'll… be seeing you, whenever."

Rory nodded back. "I think it's a safe bet our paths will cross again. After all, we do have a number of mutual contacts, don't we?"

Roxy looked down, but she was smiling just a bit. "Yeah."

Wendy didn't have long to wait. The office door was abruptly flung open and Jerrica and the other man, the one with the long blond hair hurried in. "Emma!" Jerrica exclaimed. "Where have you been?"

Wendy affected a shrug. "It was dull sitting here and waiting," she said. "I went for a walk."

"I told you to stay here," Jerrica protested. She didn't sound nearly so cross as she did disappointed.

Wendy shrugged again. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Actually," the gentleman said, "there's something we need to clear up, first. Emma, I'm afraid that we need to check your bag."

Wendy's eyebrows shot up. "What? Why?" she asked, clutching it to her.

"It's just a precaution," Jerrica said quickly. "You can stay here and watch."

"No!" Wendy exclaimed. "No, you mustn't! It's mine, and I-I won't have you pawing through it."

The gentleman sighed. "You have a choice. You can open it here in front of us, or I can turn you over to security and they'll go through it."

"What kind of choice is that?" Wendy asked, still hugging the knapsack.

"We'll be careful with your belongings," the gentleman said. "And I'm not saying that there's anything in there from the souvenir stand that you shouldn't have, but if we find it, we'll return it to them and consider the matter closed. If security finds it, it'll be a more serious matter. It might mean police involvement. So, Emma. What's it going to be?"

Wendy swallowed theatrically. Then, she sighed. "Oh, very well," she murmured. "Here."

Jerrica gave her a reassuring smile, which vanished as soon as the gentleman raised the flap. "Emma?" she asked.

Wendy shrugged. "Sorry?" she asked, with a faint smile.

The gentleman shook his head. "It looks like we're going to have to involve the police after all," he murmured.