"Hi all," Jeanne breezed in to Geller's Books shortly after one.

Uriel's part-time assistant, Kathy, was behind the counter with Jeremy on the other side shuffling a deck of cards. "Uh, guess we'll have to finish later," Jeremy announced. "I think Ms. Geller has something up."

"That's okay," Kathy agreed. "I'll put the score pad in a safe place ... wouldn't want you to forget that you're down 120 points." She smiled as she picked up the paper and added: "That's a whole dollar-twenty you owe me, you know."

"Will you take a check," Jeremy asked.

"Sure."

"What about a Pole?"

"Only if he's over ten feet."

"Ouch! Come on, Jeanne. War council up-stairs."

The two threaded their way through the bookstore and up to the second floor living room where Uriel was answering Danny's questions about the Mississippi riverboat era ... or trying to, at least.

"The problem, Danny, was that there weren't any freeways ... or highways for that matter. There weren't that many people either. But the mighty Mississippi was like a highway - all kinds of traffic ... We'll come back to this later, okay? Have you eaten, Jeanne? ... Good. Now, we've got an appointment over in Corona in a couple of hours but, first, Jeanne, I've got a little job for you."

"Sure, what?"

"You see the paper plates?"

"Sure." Single paper plates were face down on the carpet but only around the edges of the room.

"Some of these are important, Jeanne. I want you to pick up only the important ones. Okay."

"Uh, sure ..." Jeanne walked toward the windows, then bent down and selected two plates. Moving to her right, she bent and picked up a third, then had to walk half-way across the room for a fourth. Finally she crossed back toward the door, gathering a fifth plate on the way and selecting a sixth a short ways from the door.

"Uh, I think that's all ..." she looked at them uncertainly.

"May I have them," Uriel asked. "Thank you. Now, if you and Jeremy would gather up the rest and put them in the trash, I'm going to lay out a couple more chapters for Danny. If he gets bored, he can come back here and read. Oh, one more thing - I need forty-five cents from each of you. Properly it ought to be thirty but you two will have to supply Danny's share - I don't think he has any change at the moment. I'll supply the remaining ten percent since, as your agent, that will be my cut."

Hands full of paper plates, Jeremy and Jeanne looked at each other, then Jeanne shrugged. "I haven't the faintest," she told him. "Hey, why the numbers on the plates?"

Jeremy shrugged. "Haven't the faintest."

"Beats me," Danny offered.

"Here," Uriel held out the plates Jeanne had selected. "You can chuck these too." Her eyes twinkled happily.

* * *

Danny was fascinated by the drive to Corona. While Danny was happily spotting taggers' works along the freeway, Uriel was explaining how freeway traffic was like - and unlike - navigating the Mississippi and how both, in their day, were important avenues of commerce.

At the same time, Jeremy - who had traveled from the streets of Cairo to the desert sands beyond the pyramids and from the teeming twelve lane freeways of Bangkok to the jungle trails of the Malaysian highlands - was equally fascinated, tracing their route on an LA-area map and, for the first time, grasping just how large a sprawling metropolis could become.

As for Jeanne, she was torn between the two, finding both boys' viewpoints fascinating in themselves and beginning to realize just how divergently two people could see the same things. And how much each saw that the other missed.

In the end, the trip was entirely too short and the car left the freeway, threading its way through a mixed office / industrial area, finally parking outside a sprawling warehouse bearing the logo: Magic, Inc.

Entering the lobby was like walking into a fantasy world. On one side of the lobby, a forest of trees were squabbling among themselves - silently, fortunately. On the other side, dark shadows stretched across a grassland which seemed to extend for miles. Suddenly, a huge foot came down from the darkness overhead, followed by another, stepping forward as a giant, dressed in medieval garb, stalked into view and then off into the distance, shrinking as he went. He too made no sound.

In the center of the lobby, a seven foot mantis-like insect bowed politely, asking - in an astonishingly human voice - who they had come to see and would they please sign in, offering a pen held in a clawed mandible.

Uriel did the honors for all of them - the two youths and the ghost were temporarily oblivious to everything except the three fantasies, each of them looking first one way, then, quickly, the other, afraid that they'd miss something.

"There's nuttin here," Danny reported from the prairie scene. "I can see it but ... it ain't really here." A moment later, he added: "Th' bug's a costume. There's a lady inside," then "The trees are full of ... of gadgets."

"Like it?" the lady-bug addressed them when their attentions returned to her. "It's quite a show."

"Excellent," Jeremy affirmed.

"Like most awesome," Jeanne agreed. "What's it for?"

"The trees," the woman responded, "are for a theme park ride. The giant is a test for a new holograph projector. And I," she bowed slightly with her two left arms across her chest, "eat intruders and sales people."

"Sorry," she giggled slightly as the two younger mortals took a step backwards. "Sometimes, I just can't resist. ..."

"So why are they here?" Jeremy asked.

"We're trying to get the bugs out of them."

"Huh, but you're out here." Jeremy challenged.

"True," the lady-bug agreed, laughing, "but the trees still argue too much."

"Uh, yeah, ri-i-i-ight."

The bug cocked its head for an instant, then said: "Mr. Laramie's on his way out. Ah, there are couches," she gestured to her left, "somewhere in the prairie if you'd like to sit."

"Uh, thanks but why are you wearing the, uh, bug suit?"

"Field tests," she replied. "To see how people react and how well designed it is for the operator. For example, it needs a bit more weight in the thorax for a counterbalance - the abdomen is too heavy - and there are a couple of places where the harness chafes. Other than that, it looks a lot better than the costumes at most amusement parks, doesn't' it?"

"Is that where it's going?" Jeanne was examining the joints in the arms.

"No, this goes to the Natural History museum for the tour guides."

"Beautiful." Uriel laughed. "That should make the kids behave."

"If they don't," the mantis nodded, "we've got some lovely five-foot army ants. Here's Bob," she added as a man walked out of the endless prairie.

Unlike the giant who had vanished in the far distance, the new arrival appeared relatively near but, initially, indistinct. "I wish I could do that," Jeremy whispered to Jeanne and Danny.

Both the young witch and ghost erupted instantly, laughing.

* * *

Walking into the hologram had, by itself, been eerie enough but after encountering a beetle strolling along the halls with a basket of mail and passing a well-lit room where two swords were fighting it out, unsupported, the three younger visitors were beginning to wonder if the sign on the building was real.

Deeper in the building, Bob Laramie took them through an unmarked door, into a room which looked more like a beauty parlor or fancy barbershop than anything else. "Have a seat," he offered. "Lynne Worth's on her way to join us. But, first, would anyone like something to drink?" He crossed to a blank, white panel which swung open to reveal an elaborately complete wet bar. "Non-alcoholic," he added, noting Jeanne and Jeremy's interest.

"Lime and soda?" Jeremy asked, fitting himself into a chrome and black plastic recliner and trying to reach the controls which were better positioned for someone behind the chair.

"Pepsi, please." Jeanne requested, taking another of the pedestal recliners.

"Uriel? Still sour mash and water?"

"Neither, I'm driving. Make it two pepsi's."

"You have changed," Bob emphasized. "I figured you'd go for a weak one."

"More than you think," she answered. "But I'll take a rain check on a bourbon ... another time. You still like cassias?" She perched on a plain stool with her back to the mirrors.

"Can't stand the stuff," he grinned. "Never could and I don't drink. Ulcers," he added ruefully. "Sugar in the lime and soda?"

"Little bit," Jeremy confirmed. "Not sweet. Uh, that's a lot of trouble. Just make it a Pepsi."

"No trouble, I'll have one myself." The man turned back to the bar. "Be surprised what some people ask for. ... Some days I think we should have a full time mixologist on duty. ... Here you are."

"Now," he continued, "While we're waiting for Lynne, let's take a look at you, young man. Let's see what we have to work with." He carried his own glass to a desk with a computer terminal, touched a few keys and sat back as a panel in the wall opposite the mirrors came to life revealing Jeremy's own face, staring back at him.

"Hold it," he demanded. The image shifted slightly, then froze. "Okay, now, let's see what you might look like - oh - about five, six years from now." The face on the screen lengthened slightly, the cheeks became thinner and the nose enlarged while the chin and upper lip darkened a half-shade.

"Hmm," he considered. "Let's change the hair style. Your present cut's fine for your age but you'll change it soon enough ... maybe like this." Laramie entered instructions, considered choices on the screen, then the still image shifted subtlety. The boy's long hair darkened slightly and either thinned or flattened as it was pulled back into a Paul Revere pony tail. A moment later, the image's hairline receded slightly, raising the forehead in paired widow's peaks.

Jeremy stared at the result, entranced. "You mean ... I'll look like that?" The man in the image looked back at him, calm, youthful, assured.

"Probably," Bob smiled. "If you work at it."

"Chill." Jeremy decided.

"Cute," Jeanne agreed with a note of sarcasm. "Terri would like just die."

"Relax, honey," a new voice interrupted. "It works both ways. You'll get your chance." The speaker was young, brunette and both casually attractive and businesslike at the same time. She took a seat at another computer terminal and, an instant later, had Jeanne on a second screen. "Hold it." The image shifted, then stabilized. "How about a soda, Bob?"

"Good bone structure, hmm, just how much of a man-killer do you want to be, honey?"

"Let's avoid the extremes, right now." Uriel suggested. "Unforgettable is not the objective."

"Okay. Ah, would you stand up, honey?" the woman addressed Jeanne. "Just walk around the chair. Now, pick something up off the floor. Good. Oh, is there a red box on the counter behind you?" In response, Jeanne turned to look but was interrupted almost instantly. "That's okay, honey. You can sit down again."

Jeremy's image had vanished, replaced by a full length image of Jeanne, turning, about to face away from the camera. The other screen still held Jeanne's full face, her tri-color cock's comb nodding to the left, her lips half-parted as if she were caught in the middle of a word.

"First the face," the woman decided, accepting a drink from her cohort. "Thanks, Bob. Now, lose just a little of the baby fat, not too much. Maybe just a hint of shade on the lips ... and the eyebrows ..." The face on the screen matured as she spoke, becoming almost sensuous. "Honey," she turned to face Jeanne, "I'm sorry but the comb's got to go." She gestured at the screen where the woman looking back seemed faintly supercilious, as if aware of the incongruity of her spiked, multi-toned hair style.

"Uh, a wig ..." Jeanne suggested.

"Wigs are useful, honey," the woman agreed. "But not on top of a frozen spike like that. Here," she turned back to the terminal, erasing the offending hairdo with swipes of the mouse. "Now we have something to work with." A whole series of hair styles fitted themselves to the woman on the screen, replacing each other with almost blinding speed.

"How about this?" the woman at the terminal suggested. On the screen, the woman's face was framed by a soft, feathery 'do which gave her an air of sultry elegance. Her 'come-hither' eyes and half-parted lips were an unmistakable invitation. Jeanne looked around.

Bob, at the terminal, was glancing from the screen to her with a nod and a pleased expression.

Jeremy, on the other hand, was almost blushing.

"Very nice," Uriel remarked, "for a street corner but a bit much for everyday use."

Part of Jeanne wanted to insist "It's perfect just like that." but the rest of her - including her 'talent' - spoke louder, saying "No way!"

"She needs to know," the woman at the terminal corrected, winking broadly. "Now, let's look at a more reasonable style." She turned back to the terminal, making small changes. Jeanne's lips - on screen - lost their emphasis, her eyes softened and her cheekbones became just slightly less prominent. The hair style was the same but, now, the woman on the screen was young but assured, graceful and ... still ... very attractive. It was the kind of face which would make men want to move mountains just to see her smile.

"Oh," Jeanne blinked, one hand moving of it's own accord, as if trying to pat the soft hairdo. "That's ... me ...?" Her voice was small as if afraid that too loud a word would make the bubble burst.

After a long silence, Bob spoke. "I think you've made your point, Lynne. Shall we get on with it?"

"Just a moment ..." Another view flashed on screen. This time, it was Jeanne's half-turned image. A moment further and the spiked hairdo faded away from this image, replaced by the softer hairdo and the new face. Another moment and the clothes changed, becoming slacks and a blouse. Her sneakers were replaced by low shoes.

At the same time, her stance changed subtlety. Her figure became straighter, more erect. Instead of a child, the figure on the screen was now a woman, caught in a graceful, if candid, pose.

"Well," Lynne spoke. "What do you think?"

"I wish ..." Jeanne breathed, so softly she was barely audible.

Abruptly, both screens changed. On each, the old and new images appeared side by side. The young and the mature Jeanne looked out side by side from the right-hand screen. From the left, the young and the mature Jeremy did likewise.

Seen together, the two pairs were not that markedly different ... but were also distinctly different - almost as if each were a pair of twins, one of whom had aged and matured, the other who had stayed young, juvenile.

"I don't understand," Jeremy had used the time to think. "Sure, maybe I'll look like that in six or seven years but what's the point?"

"The point," Uriel responded, "is that you can look like that today ... or, at any rate, by tomorrow. Jeremy, your requirements are more immediate but it never hurts to be prepared. I wanted both of you to have a choice ... and part of that choice is being able to look like someone who isn't a kid."

"It will help," Bob cautioned, "if they can act the part as well."

"Don't worry about," Uriel reassured him. "They'll pass muster. You just teach them to look the part."

"Always a bitchin' critic," Bob responded with an aside. But he seemed satisfied by her assertion.

* * *

The next several hours were possibly the strangest Jeremy or Jeanne had spent.

For Jeanne, loosing her spiked cock's comb was almost traumatic ... except when she remembered the woman on the screen.

Once the dyes and stiffeners had been removed and her own, soft-brown color restored - or, at least, as close as Lynne could guess, based on roots and recent growth - the hair was shaped and trimmed to fit a new, softer pattern.

The hair styling alone was an astonishing effect. Jeanne stared in the mirror, hardly recognizing the person who looked back at her.

* * *

Two hours more and Jeanne felt like she'd just completed a crash course in skin chemistry and dye-stuffs. The materials used at Magic, Inc., were not makeup - instead, transparent dyes and toners were applied to produce small changes, to enhance existing shadows and to alter the shape of her face but only in the slightest degree, never in any overt form.

The results were much more Jeanne, not less. But, at the same time, a quick treatment with an enzyme-dampened pad, followed by a wash with soap and water, would remove the make-up entirely.

With practice, Jeanne thought, she should be able to manage her own transformation in a matter of minutes.

The makeup, however, was only part of the course. Lynne had taken her to another part of the building where double mirrors, cameras and a wardrobe had provided the classroom for a second intensive in dressing and walking.

Returning to the original shop, Jeanne was dressed in loose slacks, a frilly blouse and comfortable shoes - despite the lifts and half-inch heels which changed her stance, her height and her movements.

As they entered, Jeanne found Uriel engaged in conversation with a stranger but, surprisingly, Danny was also there, hovering attentively but silently at the stranger's elbow. Then, suddenly, she realized. The slim young man in the sports coat - right down to his thin mustache - was Jeremy.

She studied him carefully. His face was older, looked like it would need a shave soon and ... was harder, worried, ... older in more than appearance. Jeanne felt a sudden softness as if she wanted to ... to comfort him and ... and she wasn't sure what.

She pulled herself together, then walked gracefully across the room and extended her hand. "Hello," she said. "I'm Jean Roblyn." Her voice was pitched low, not sultry, just assuredly firm.

Jeremy turned and took her hand in a firm but friendly grip. "Paul Reisenfern. Your servant, Madame." He bowed slightly, his accent clear but with a hint of foreign lands.

"Thank you," Jean continued. "I believe we could be friends."

"To my great delight," Paul responded, releasing her hand and turning slightly to offer an arm. "Might I have the pleasure?"

She took his arm and smiled.

They both paused for a long moment, looking at each other. Then, together, said, laughing, "Now that's magic!"

* * *

"No sir, nothing," the nondescript man was reporting. "There've been fifty people in and out of that church, half of them kids but none of them fitting the description. As for the warehouse, there've been some gang members cruising the neighborhood but no stops and no attempts to enter. ....No sir, I don't see how we could be blown. ... This has all been deep cover. No evidence of penetration. ... Of course we're continuing surveillance. Here and up north in what's it's name and the corporation. ... Look, you know what it's like in the field ... No sir. We'll keep on it ... Yes sir." He hung the phone up and growled at the instrument.

* * *

Next week, they'd been told, they should come back for a second course - when they would learn how to use alterations and 'revisions' to change appearances quickly, assuming a disguise on a disguise, so to speak. "Not strictly part of 'personal appearances' usual work," Lynne had told them, "but you'd be surprised how often celebrities find it advantageous to be able to 'blend in' with a crowd. Of course," she'd added, "they always keep the dark glasses and minks on and then blame us because people keep staring but - what the hey? It's all part of the game."

"Trouble is," Jean had complained as they left, "I'll have to undo all this 'fore I get home. The hairdo Mom will love - she never did like the jive style - but the rest of it would simply freak her out. You're lucky," she turned to Paul / Jeremy. "You can keep it up. You do look good, you know."

"Yeah ... but I feel funny when I look in the mirror," he'd confessed. "Uh, you look good too. And it's not just the makeup," he added, diplomatically. "You've been acting different, too."

"It does make a difference," Uriel assured both of them. "If you act grown up, that's how people will see you."

"Hey, uh, I gotta question," Danny interrupted. "Somethin' I don' understand."

"What's that?" Uriel asked.

"How'd y' find this place, anyhow? I mean it's like ... miles an' everythin' so ... so busy."

"I called first, then I checked the address against a map. After that, it was just figuring the easiest route."

"But ... I don' understan' t' map," Danny complained.

"But that's simple," Jeanne spoke up. "Everyone ..."

"Yes, Jeanne?" Uriel questioned.

"Well ... ah ... Haven't you ever used a map, Danny?"

"No! Never went nowhere," Danny explained. "Show me."

The request made sense and Jeanne spent the rest of the return trip tracing their route on the map and explaining the symbols - and the assumptions - which were part of the map. The assumptions surprised Jeanne - these were things she'd never thought about and wouldn't have until she found herself teaching someone else. After all, everyone knows that north is at the top, don't they ... Don't they? After all, it is a natural law of the cosmos ... isn't it?

During the lesson - and the drive - Jeremy was silent.

* * *

"Well, mon? Anythin'?"

"Nuttin. Absolutely nuttin."

"M'ear in th' department says th' same. No smack turned in t' th' evidence room an' nothin' new on th' street."

"Then t' twenty keys are still in t' warehouse?"

"Likely mon."

"I say le's take it. T'night."

* * *

"Danny," Jeremy addressed his friend. "When you were up in the tree, did you have any trouble hearing me?"

"No," the ghost considered.

"And I didn't have any trouble hearing you. I'd like to try something. Could you, ah, go some place and then tell me when you get there? Without coming back, I mean?"

Suddenly he felt his friend leave and then heard: "I'm at t' warehouse. That okay?"

"Uh, sure," Jeremy responded. "Hey, anyone hanging around now?"

"Place is empty," Danny reported.

"Is the, uh, junk still up in the ceiling?"

"There's sumthin up here," the ghost reported.

"Uh, fine. Hey, this works great." Jeremy lapsed into thought.

* * *

The man in the silk suit looked up from the desk. "Word is," he began, "that nothing's been turned in. So, twenty keys are twenty keys. Take a couple of soldiers with you tonight and pick up the goods. ... Quietly," he added, remembering again the burning man.

* * *

"I've got some news, Jeremy. About Mrs. Gerrity." Uriel's voice as she set the phone down was soft.

"What?" Jeremy was trying to imagine the worst. "Is she ..."

"She's in the hospital in Santa Rosa." Ms. Geller spoke quietly. "She had a stroke and she's been in the hospital since last week."

"But ... is she ...?"

"My friend talked to a nurse at the hospital," the woman continued. "They think she'll recover but ... they say she's having memory problems."

"Oh ... but that's ... she's been having ..."

"Yes, you told me. And how you'd been covering for her. Jeremy, I'm sorry."

"Oh ... uh, thanks ... but ... it's better knowing that she's ... being taken care of."

* * *

That evening, after dinner, Jack Carmine appeared.

A short time later, Jeanne - sans makeup and looking, well, not exactly 16 but younger again - also appeared. "Mom almost wouldn't let me out," she reported. "She loves the hairdo but she ... I think she thinks I'm seeing some guy. Anyway, she wouldn't let me go until she lectured me again on safety and all. Mothers are so ..."

"Motherly?" Uriel suggested.

"Yeah, well, I guess she worries."

"All mothers worry," Uriel informed her. "It goes with the territory. Look, be nice to her. She's seeing her little girl growing up and that's hard. Real hard." Uriel smiled reflectively and a bit sadly.

Before Jeanne arrived, Jeremy had already looked over Carmine's proposal and agreed - with one change. He'd already photocopied his own yellow sheet - his International Certificate of Vaccination - then blacked out his name and address before photocopying the sheets again. The relevant immunizations, Jeremy insisted, had to be entered on his new copy ... "There's no way I want to repeat those," he'd stated bluntly.

Thus, while Jeanne - Jean Roblyn - was arranging the details of her own secret identity, Jeremy and Danny had quietly slipped out.

Jeremy's first step was to change to his old levis and a dark knit shirt he'd picked up at the Goodwill store across from the shopping center. Then, rolling his old knapsack into a small package, he dropped the bundle into a plastic shopping bag. Last, pulling on a ball cap and a worn jacket - also from Goodwill, he and Danny had slipped out the back door.

* * *

"Intruder." the voice spoke softly into the mike. "Alert all stations. Looks like one ... hell, it's a kid. What's he ... keep your eyes open ... he's going in ...are the camera's rolling ... they'd better be ... Damn, he just hit the circuit breakers."

Outside the packing crate but inside the building, lights flared.

"It's okay, the cameras are compensating ... yeah, he's looking for a way up ..."

"Just hold and watch," the voice of the nondescript man came over the circuit. "Don't spook him. You're sure there's no one else?"

"Station two - all clear."

"Station three - clear ... hey, wait a minute. Two cars approaching, slowly. Wait one. Yes, they're wearing gang colors. Blues, they're either Flash Boys from east or Zips from up north. They've parked just around the corner, ... getting out ... they're on foot, moving in. Six ... no, seven, eight. Two drivers in the cars. Can't tell if they're armed or not ... "

"Assume armed," the nondescript man cautioned. "Stay sharp, I'm moving backups in. What's happening inside?"

"He's climbing the uprights. No good. Hey, what th' hell?"

"What is it?" the nondescript man barked.

"Not sure ... cameras don't show enough ... he's up ... he's inside ... switching cameras ... going in the bathroom ... uh huh, he's moving the ceiling ... Yeah, he's got it! ... "

"Intruders coming in," another voice spoke up. "They're moving down toward the back ... I think they just saw the lights ... looks like they don't like it ... what's going down here anyway?"

"Station two - incoming. Car approaching. Looks like three inside. They're heading straight for the warehouse."

"What's going on?" the nondescript man's voice was agitated. "The inside man - what's he doing?"

"Putting the package in a backpack.." the answer was terse. "I think he just heard something. He's listening. He just killed the lights upstairs. ... He's crouching by the hole at the back. Not moving."

"Damn. What's outside?"

"The first bunch are spread out along the sides of the alley. A couple of 'em are headed back here. One of 'ems inside ... just killed the lights ... yeah, he's in position below the office ... another's in ..."

"Three coming down the alley," another voice interrupted and was interrupted himself as the hidden party opened fire.

"Move in! Move in! Shots fired! All units move in!" The nondescript man's voice was anything except nondescript.

* * *

For a timeless non-second, the universe became a single, brittle, frictionless point.

* * *

Wherever it was, it was dark! Jeremy crouched, motionless, feeling cautiously in the darkness. It smelled damp ... and vaguely familiar.