The World in Play: The Body in the Computer Room 

San Francisco: Russian Hill
February
2003

"That vase has a spell on it," Pol said, pointing his fork at the daisies on the breakfast table.

They were in the dining room, with a view of a gentle but persistent rain that fell on the Golden Gate Bridge out the north window. The east window showed an equally wet Bay Bridge. Even the parrots were subdued, quickly eating on the bird table with little conversation or squabbling.

"Yes. Flowers stay fresh longer in it," Ann Grove said, pouring tea for herself.

"So does the teapot."

"It keeps the tea the way I like it," Ann said.

Pol nodded. "And the silver untarnished?" He twirled the fork, then took up a bite of perfectly scrambled eggs.

"Just some aids for modern living," Ann said. "The eggs, for example, came out of the pantry stasis spell, just as freshly cooked as they went in."

"It's gone. I can't keep it for very long."

"You've been doing it for less than a week. When you started, it was barely three minutes; now, it's nearly nine. Keep practicing."

"I thought it was just easier to cast."

"Probably that, too. Did Dr. Dakin discuss problems with true sight?"

"Other than not doing it in the middle of a crowd of strangers?" At Ann's nod, Pol continued: "Only that it's a basic spell. It's not protection, it's just an alert or a precaution."

"Yes. It's good for highlighting stationary spells, spells on things and places, doors, cars, candy and the like."

"She said I could use it on people, but carefully? She didn't have time to explain."

"Invoke it in a crowd and someone will probably notice. The person who notices may not be pleased to be discovered. It's also a little rude to focus it on one person. It's rather like asking 'are those real' about a woman's jewels."

Or her rack, Pol thought. A brief scenario involving Vivienne Avalos, the Woodside Academy girl with this year's biggest breasts, him asking a quick question and him equally quickly being flattened by Vivienne Avalos's soccer captain boyfriend flashed through his mind. He put those thoughts aside and considered the first part of Ann's comment. "Oh. Is this another unloaded gun?"

"It's another tool to be used with discretion, yes," Ann said. "On the other hand, it may keep you from walking into a trap or eating the wrong candy."

"In class, Dr. Dakin said most magic is in your head. Does that sound reasonable?"

"I find it so. And your other homework?"

"I'm working on it." Pol was silent a moment, then asked, "Did Dr. Dakin do some personal jiggery-pokery on me? I mean, last summer for her American Lit class I read every word of Moby Dick and now I've read Orlando and that Joyce thing and working on I, Claudius."

"Which Joyce thing?"

"The Artist thing."

"It's not on you."

He believed her. She never fudged about magic, or the nature of reality or possible blow back from poorly reasoned actions. On the other hand, she didn't give away information; she probably thought he had enough information to answer his own question. He considered the possibilities: "She did it to my books."

"Yes," Ann said.

"A fascination spell? And you let her?"

"I trust Libby's judgment in what you should read in AP English. She's far more aware of what is currently expected of a well educated young man of your social class and intelligence than I am. I don't know what you want to do after high school, but Moby Dick, Orlando and even I, Claudius won't interfere with whatever it is."

Taz came down the stairs and slid into his chair. He gazed at his empty plate for a long moment, then frowned at his empty coffee cup. "Umpf," he said, and rose to serve himself coffee, waffles and bacon. Sitting again, he drank half his coffee and began to focus.

"And the boys?" Ann asked.

"Ah. All the nephews were returned home: I counted them. Also, the tutor. I managed to avoid my sisters and make my escape. I shall rest today," he announced.

 After breakfast, Ann went out on her litter patrol. Pol went up to the library to begin his formal homework: reading for Dr Dakin's English class. He cast true sight and there on his copy of I, Claudius was the faint veil he now expected to see; this one was pale green. Huh, he thought. That's not fair. He sat, and regarded the book. That was all right, he could ignore it; although it was an effort. Maybe he'd have to open the book to get the full action of the spell. He flipped open to the book mark. Yeah, that's it, he thought before becoming fascinated by the narrator's description of his dinner with his grandmother.

He was vaguely aware of Taz when the older boy entered the library and settled down at the computer. His cell rang about an hour before lunch. He didn't recognize the number, but answered anyway.

"Logan!"

"Mom?" Pol said.

"Pay attention, Logan," Lisa Wilson-Turner said. "I can't reach Quinn..."

"He quit."

"Don't interrupt. So I need you to call the limo service — look in the card file on my screen — and tell them I want three stretch limousines at the airport in 90 minutes. Oh, and tell Alejandra I want dinner at 1930. I know it's short notice, but I'm sure she can..."

"Mom!" Pol yelled.

"And I'm glad to see you, too, Logan. In fact, meet me with the limo and we'll ride in together. I have to go."

"Mom! What airport?" Pol yelled, but his mother had rung off.

"Yelling into a phone doesn't actually help," Taz said.

"And it's a complete failure as an Attention Getting Device," Pol said. "But nothing ever interrupts my mother."

"Your mom's in town?"

"It didn't sound like it. Not yet, anyway. She's in a plane, I guess. She was in Brazil. I didn't know she was coming here and not New York. I didn't know she was leaving Brazil."

"What's the number?" Taz demanded.

Pol looked at his phone again. "It's not her cell," he said. He pushed redial and waited. "And it's busy."

"Let me see." Taz took Pol's phone. "Let's try this." He pushed numbers.

"What are you doing?"

"Changing the last number. They have phones in airplanes now. The permitted phones all belong to the airline, not the passenger, so maybe all the numbers are in order, like Stanford's dorm phones are. Ah. Hello? May I speak with Ms. Turner? Mr Madison? How do you do. Mr. Madison, are you by any chance in an airplane? And where is the plane going? No, I'm not a terrorist. I'm only a nephew. I'm in San Francisco, I'm supposed to meet my aunt, and this is the number she gave my mother, or at any rate, it's the number my mother gave me, but apparently somebody's copied it wrong. Seat number? Charged to your seat number? No, I didn't know that. How much? That's outrageous! My apologies. No. This is all I was given and I need to know where I'm supposed to be to pick her up. Thank you. If you call 415-555-2662 later today or as soon as you can after landing and leave your home number or local number and the amount of the charge, I'll arrange to reimburse you. You're welcome. Have a pleasant landing." He rang off.

Pol was speechless in admiration. For off the top of his head lying, Taz was better than anyone he'd ever hung out with, and that included Seth Palma ranting on about art critics.

"Yes, it's a plane, and the destination is Terminal 4, SFO-International, with an ETA of 1339. Apparently, the seat number is the last three digits of the phone number."

Pol focused on the immediate problem: "Jesus. She wants a limo, she wants dinner. It sounds as if she doesn't remember Quinn and Alejandra quit."

"Did she hire new staff?"

"She asked for them, not for anyone else, but it's possible she's just using their names for any new staff," Pol said, calling his home land line. "She's not real good with new names for new workers; I mean, I still don't know if Kimberly is this Kimberly's real name. All I get is the recording at the house. I don't know, I guess the house is still closed up, the way Ann left it. I haven't been back since that first week I was here." He thought for a moment, then: "Did you go up or down on that last number?"

"Up."

"I'll try one seat down."

"Lucius?" his mother's PA asked.

"Good! Kimberly, listen..."

"Logan Powell Turner, get off this line. I'm busy."

"The staff quit and the house is closed," Pol said quickly. Into the sudden silence at the other end, he hurried on: "There's no one to meet you, there will be no dinner, and none of the beds are made. I can't help, my credit cards are still stopped."

"Why didn't you tell us all this?"

"My mother knows, she and Dad stopped the credit cards, and I know she got Ann's letter about Quinn and Alejandra quitting when it happened. I can't do anything about the limo or the dinner. Or the sleeping arrangements."

"No, I guess you can't." Another silence, then Kimberly said, "But you'll met us at the terminal to explain. I'm not taking the heat for you on this one."

"I don't expect you to," Pol said, but Kimberly had rung off. He looked at his jeans and T-shirt. His mother would have a lot to say about his clothes. She always did. "I need a suit," he said. "And shoes."

"Check the closet," Taz suggested. "I'll tell Zomas we'll be out for lunch."

"OK: got your tele-charm?" Taz asked. He and Pol had teleported down to Tom Rivera's garage to pick up Ann's Jaguar. With the continuing flux of construction and all the new security, Taz didn't want to try to teleport into the airport proper. He was dropping Pol off at the international gate.

"Charm, ID, both phones --cell and crystal, foldable sign with Mom's name in big letters, and a hundred bucks in tens and twenties and change just in case. I'm as ready as I can be."

"I've never met your mother."

"She's busy a lot. I'll call when I know what's going on."

"Charm activation word? Spell it," Taz said.

"I know," Pol said. "X-X-X-X-X."

Pol waited at the passenger gate, neatly positioned beside a man holding a very professional sign bearing his mother's last names.

The passengers started trickling through the double doors. He heard Kimberly talking while she was still in the passage way: "...in this order. I'll be in the customs line. Remember: don't touch the through luggage. Tony, you'll take the models' luggage." She burst through the doors, followed by the two interns, glanced at the chauffeur, turned her head, and not breaking step said, "Lisa, the limo's here. And Logan is waiting." She strode past Pol with no further sign of recognition and headed toward the luggage carousel, the interns hurrying after her. Behind her came Pol's mother and her dresser; behind them came a gaggle of models and chaperones and tour guides; last came the photographers and their assistants. After a gap came the rest of the passengers, no doubt including the unknown Mr. Madison.

By the time that happened, Pol, after a quick kiss on the cheek from his mother, was tagging along after her. "Hi, Dorotha," he offered the dresser. He was ignored, but that was the reaction he expected.

His mother said, "I wish you hadn't fired Quinn and Alejandra, Logan. Not right now, at any rate."

Pol started to ask about the letter Ann had sent, but his mother's attention was grabbed by one of the chaperones. By the time his mother turned back to him, she appeared to have forgotten her comment and he had decided if she wasn't going to listen to him, he wasn't going to try to explain.

They moved to the customs inspections. Lisa Wilson-Turner said, "And you're camping out with a friend?"

"I'm staying with Ann Grove," Pol said.

"Oh, good," his mother said.

There were seven custom agents. The photographers hadn't trusted their cameras to the cargo hold and were already passed through. The models and their chaperones were opening their luggage on two tables.

One of the photographers asked Pol's mother where they were staying.

"Where are we staying, Kimberly?"

"The downtown Savoy Executive," Kimberly said, turning away from the agent who was frowning at a large creamy ovoid object emerging from elaborate packaging. "Three nights for the models, the chaperones, and the guides; four or until everything is out of customs for the camera crews and their equipment." She turned to reassure one of the models who had started fussing about her...rio egg? That's how she made it sound. The customs officer didn't like it, but Kimberly had all the paperwork, and the rhea egg was admitted to American soil.

"Dorotha, I need you now," Kimberly said.

Dorotha joined Kimberly at the customs table. Pol saw the dresser was carrying a large briefcase. It appeared sturdy rather than fashionable and required an effort from Dorotha to put it up on the table. It was chained to her wrist and was locked. Kimberley produced two keys and opened the case. Dorotha began laying out small velvet, leather or polished aluminum cases while Kimberly offered more papers to the custom agent.

"Have you receipts?" the agent asked.

"No: these came with us from New York, They belong to US citizens who loaned them to us for the shoot."

Pol glanced at the small cases, each with the logo of some jeweler or other: Cartier, Tiffany, Alex Bittar, Belenky Brothers...He recognized most of them.

"There is no tariff," Kimberley said. "This is what we took out of the country, this is what we brought back." She pointed to two small stacks of paper. "And the inventories are identical."

A second agent appeared. They quickly set up a small production line: Agent One read from Inventory A, Dorotha handed the item to Agent Two, who opened the item, inspected the contents, closed the case, slapped a seal on it, and handed it back to Dorotha who placed it in the brief case. Agent Two made a check mark in Inventory B. The process went fairly quickly.

Jacques leFevre landed at SFO Gate 2. His luggage was coming out onto the carousel along with the rhea egg in its special traveling case and all the other impedimenta Pol's mother's party brought with them.

His eye was caught by a large handcase chained to a middle-aged woman wearing sensible shoes and a gray dress so bland it was nearly a uniform. Her dark hair was in a smooth helmet under a maid's cap. She waited patiently until the younger woman, holding a sheaf of paper called her forward. He moved around the carousel, away from the cluster of three very attractive anorexic young women in extremely fashionable clothes and two older women in basic suits waiting at the wheel along with random passengers from gates 2 and 4. He was now slightly in back of the customs agents and their table, which, not incidentally, permitted him to look over the second agent's shoulder at the contents of the jewelry cases.

He had heard the exchange between Lisa Wilson-Turner and Kimberly. He was thoughtful as waited for an available agent. The Savoy Executive. Where, besides downtown is that?

Eventually, the models and chaperones were packed into one limousine, the photographers and their assistants into a second, and Pol, his mother, Kimberly, Dorotha, and the interns, whose names no one had mentioned to Pol, in the third.

"And what are you going to do during your vacation?" Lisa asked.

"Vacation started last month, Mom, and I'm taking a couple of interim classes."

"Oh, really. What are you taking?"

Pol suddenly realized there was no way he could tell his mother about the lessons in true sight or the enchantments on his books. It would certainly lead to the witchy aspects of Dr. Dakin, and possibly to the spells in his bedroom, getting snacks out of stasis and living in the same house as a boy who was sometimes a long and sometimes a junior at Stanford. He wasn't ready to share all that with anyone, even, or maybe especially, one of his parents; certainly not with Kimberly or the interns. "The Early 20th Century English novel," he said. "And special studies in math." Well, he thought, it's the truth, just not all the truth, and it's not as if she's really interested anyway.

"You didn't bring any luggage? We'll have to do something about your clothes," Lisa said. "That Gucci won't do --it looks like last year's."

The Savoy Executive: Knob Hill

Much later that afternoon, Pol locked the bathroom door behind him and called Ann on his crystal phone: "My mom seems to want me to stay."

"Where, exactly?"

"Oh, the Savoy Executive, most of the seventh floor. It looks like I'll be here a couple of days, and she wanted to go out with me and buy some clothes," Pol said. "She says I'll need a tux and some other clothes. She didn't listen when I said I'd go over to Russian Hill and get some of my own, she just told me to wait. So I waited around for her. Then she said one of the interns would take me, and I don't want to stand around in my shorts with some girl who's only a couple of years older than I am while she's forcing this year's fashionable tux on me. Probably that ugly green shade Adam wore to fall prom...."

"Pol! Relax. First, no one tries on a dinner jacket in his shorts. You wear a dinner jacket over an evening shirt and pants, and you try it on that way. You're not going to be obliged to disrobe and stand around in your skivvies. Second, you're going to need more than evening clothes."

"I know! I'm going to be sleeping in the computer room, and Kimberly and both interns run in and out, so I've got no privacy. I need pajamas."

"I'll bring you some pajamas," Ann said, as if she were writing a list, "and everything else. You really don't want a flashy closet spell spewing out dinner jackets, fresh laundry and the like?" She sounded amused.

Pol ignored her tone and said, "Right."

"Don't worry. You'll have enough for five days, daily and school wear, contemporary California party dress, and pajamas. And a robe. Shoes. Anything else? No? Meet me in the lobby in forty-five minutes. I'll take the UUV. Do you want a dinner jacket?"

"No, but maybe I'd better have one. It may get Mom off my case. But not green, OK?"

"No, of course not. Don't be silly, Pol."

The parking valets eyed Ann's UUV skeptically. "It's really legal?"

"Observe the license plate," Ann said. "Standard passenger vehicle plates. It's an Urban Utility Vehicle. Put it somewhere for me," she said and stepped out of the Ugly Utility Vehicle. "I'll be a while, an hour or so. Hello, Pol."

"Hi."

Ann indicated two suitcases and a clothes-folder to the waiting porter. "Pol, what room?"

"Suite 701."

"Have you eaten?"

"Sort of," Pol said.

"Then we'll go to the Comstock Café. Taz was out, and I haven't had tea yet."

"It's still pretty confused up there. My stuff might get shifted some place."

"All right," Ann said. She turned to the porter: "Put everything in the check room. We'll pick it up there."

She ordered three different sandwiches; some side dishes, including a small potato salad; a desert involving raspberries, sour cream and crushed sablons; two glasses of milk, a large glass of orange juice and a pot of green tea. She ate half a sandwich, half the raspberries and sablons, and all the tea.

He ate almost everything else. "I guess I was hungry."

Ann nodded. "Is your mother interviewing staff?"

"I don't think so. We haven't been out to the house. It's messy; nothing's been decided. She's talking about a reception here on Sunday and something at Mills College tomorrow, but I don't know what happens after that."

"I included your books and laptop. Your laptop has a new cover only you can open. Close it and put it away when you're not using it. If you're still here Monday morning, I'll pick you up in the Jaguar."

He felt himself relax a little. "I wondered how I was going to get to class. It's really crowded. I'm on a roll-away in the computer room, and like I said, there's no privacy."

"Let me know if she sends anyone out to the house. The wards are still up. You and your mother can get in, but no one else alone can."

"No one's had any spare time yet. There's a lot of fuss, and phone calls, and print-outs or faxes, and people waiting to see her...."

"Nothing to do with you," Ann said. "Not everyone's preferred style of work is the same. You seem to function best, for the moment at least, with a firm routine that includes four meals a day and privacy for homework. If meals are too erratic up in the suite, your immediate life-style should include coming down here for breakfast, lunch, tea and possibly dinner. Charge it to your mother or I'll supply you with funds."

"OK. It used to bother me a lot."

Ann shrugged, dismissing the past. "As I said, it's nothing to do with you. If you're done, I should go up and say hello to Lisa."

Alarmed, Pol looked at her.

"Pol, I'm a friend of your family's, because if I'm not, why are you staying with me?"

"Oh. Right. OK: you're a friend of ours. Does Mom know that?"

Ann's House

On Sunday afternoon, Taz regarded his guardian with surprise, which then shaded into suspicion: "You're going to Pol's mother's party? Really?"

"Yes," Ann said.

"And Martin's going too?"

"Yes."

"How'd you get him to agree to that?"

"I explained I needed an adult heterosexual male to help with my cover story."

"Which is?"

"Non-cougar female friend of the family. I don't want Lisa Turner to worry I'm debauching her son."

"Is that something she might think?"

"She has a very conventional mind. The only originality she possesses is focused on fashion and layouts."

"So meeting a vampire is...? "

"It's so remote a possibility it won't even occur to her. Martin plays human very well."

"This one is nice, too," the parking valet said.

"Thank you. And slightly better adapted for a San Francisco rainy season," Ann said. She and Martin walked into the main lobby as the valet slid into the Jaguar's driver's seat.

"Oh," Martin said.

"What?" Ann asked.

"A detective," the vampire said. "He comes around the White Elephant and the Bar, sometimes the Lounge; not often."

"No tape, no fuss," Ann murmured, "no uproar inside. Why is he here, I wonder."

"Even detectives have social lives," Martin said. "Ah, I'm Martin, but who are you this time?"

"Still Ann Grove."

"Right," the vampire murmured, then: "Charles: I don't think I've ever seen you north of Market."

"Job-related errand," Charles said. "And I'm done."

"Ann, this is Charles Brozzio. Broz, Ann Grove."

I don't know how he does it, Charles Brozzio thought, watching the couple enter the hotel. He always has a woman around. And they're all different: I've seen him with a leftover hippie, a couple of suit and heels business types, a weird Goth, that really plain looking singer with the smokey voice and now this fashion clothes horse with the frosty eyes who has to be at least 45 — the only thing they have in common, besides him, is that they're all sexy as hell. Anyway, back to Bryant Street, then home.

"So he's not in the loop," Ann commented, as they rode the elevator up.

"Not as far as I know," Martin said. "Oh, he knows about the Folsom Street Irregulars, but he doesn't know about me and that we watch for vampires as well as simple gay bashers. That's fine with us. How long do we have to stay?"

"Miss Manners writes one must stay at a cocktail party at least an hour."

"You read Miss Manners?"

"It's part of my daily briefing. I don't really know why that's the polite timing, I do know that rudeness is noticed. Most of the time, I don't want to be noticed," Ann said. "I will probably need to talk with Pol. He finds time with his mother stressful."

"Come over here," Pol said. "Nobody uses the breakfast table but me. She's been asking about you. I don't know what to say."

The movable walls on the seventh floor had been re-configured to make a suite containing one large living room totaling 800 square feet, with five other rooms, four full bathrooms and three half baths, with a shower and a commode each. The living room had a wall of windows over looking across city to the Bay Bridge and the Berkeley Hills. Tucked in the left corner of the living room was an empty dining area. Pol and Ann sat around the round table.

"That's proper, it's not just gossip. You're living in my house, and she's your mother. She's permitted to ask questions about your situation. Tell her the truth: You've met some of my friends, we eat regular meals, we do Tai Chi in the park, you go to school and I've approved your vacation schedule. If she wants to discuss school curricula, I'll be happy to schedule a meeting for all of us with Principal Gordon or Libby Dakin."

"She never bothers with stuff like that. OK, yeah, that'll probably work. Has she been asking about me?"

"In a general way. Apparently she likes your new clothes."

"She says this suit is Gucci?"

"Close enough. If she asks how you got it, tell her you found it in your closet."

"I did. Is that OK?"

"It's true, and leaves the explanations to me. Hold this," Ann said, handing Pol a brushed aluminum cube.

"What is this?" Pol asked,

"An alarm clock. With some helpful additions." Ann touched Pol's forehead with one hand and the folding clock with the other.

Pol blinked. Ann is even smoother at magic than Dr. Dakin, he thought. I know something happened, but I can't tell what. "So?" he asked.

"So when all this party fuss is over, take it to your room and open it up. After 2130 no one but you will feel totally comfortable in your room. That feeling of unease will gradually intensify, and everyone else should be driven out of here by your normal bedtime."

"OK," Pol said.

"The repulsion will be in effect until 0800, by which time you should be up and dressed."

"Aids to modern living," Pol muttered.

"Nothing dramatic; just useful. Finished your homework?"

"Mostly. I don't want to practice the extra curriculum — " Pol paused as Ann laughed quietly and said: "Very discreet" in an approving tone, then picked up again: " — here and I'm not done with the math problem set."

"Do both if you can," Ann said. "I'm not sure anyone here will notice true sight; no one I've met so far would. Your math teacher will probably understand if you don't finish; at least this time. How are you getting along with Kimberly and Dorotha?"

Pol wasn't surprised that Ann knew about Kimberly and Dorotha. She found things out. "Do you know the interns' names, too?"

"Madeline Troche and Antonia Bertoia," Ann said. "How are you getting along with them?"

"They like the suit, too, or say they do. OK, I guess, but I was glad not to have to shop with Madeline. Kimberly and Dorotha are impatient with me, but they've always been that way and I can ignore that. I hide out here, or take a book downstairs with meals. There's a pool."

"And back to center," Ann said, very softly.

Those were the customary closing words their Tai Chi leaders used. He nodded. "Mom says she's going on to New York next week. I can last here till then."

Together, they moved out of the relative privacy of the small alcove and back into the swarm of guests and servers.

Ann parted from Pol and, according to the dictates of good party manners, mingled. She ended up with the assistant curator of textiles from the Mills College Art Museum and Pol's mother. When the curator took her leave, Ann would have moved along, but Lisa had some unexpected questions:

"Where does your friend buy his clothes?" Lisa said.

Pol joined them. He had acquired a full plate of hors d'oeuvres and was frowning at one of them.

"Some place in Boston," Ann said. "He's been going to the same tailor for years."

"He makes traditional worth looking at, and that's not easy to do. Is that grey hair natural?"

"As far as I know. He's said that it's a family feature from his mother's side."

"He seems to have a certain charm."

"Yes," Ann said. "I think that's an acquired skill." She seemed amused.

Pol didn't know why she was smiling, but at least she hadn't been annoyed at Lisa's persistent personal questions. He looked over at Martin: he didn't seem to be bored, which was fine.

Kimberly came up. She took in Ann's pants suit — silk, black cowl blouse with matching green trim, dark green jacket, pale green trousers — and jewelry — a brooch of emeralds and black blister on the jacket and mismatched earrings: one a large baroque black pearl, and the other a complicated knot in twisted metal — with a quick glance, then murmured something to Lisa that Pol couldn't hear. His mother frowned for a moment, then carefully smoothed her face and murmured something back.

Pol wasn't really paying attention. Martin was surrounded by most of the models and some of the chaperones. Martin wasn't doing anything to attract all that attention that Pol could see, so he decided to invoke true sight. No one was watching him.  He was startled by the result: Martin was wrapped in a tangle of glowing ropes.

Ann frowned at him. "Rude to focus on one person," she said.

"Yeah, but...Do you see that?" he said softly

"Later," Ann said. She began her own farewells to Lisa.

Apparently Martin heard her, despite the cocktail party chatter. He disentangled himself and joined Ann.

"Interesting couple," Lisa said, watching the pair leave. "Vintage Armani couture for her and Saville Row via Newbury Street for him." She turned to eye Pol assessingly, then shook her head. "His style needs some experience. Is he around much?"

"Not a lot. His daughter hangs out with Ann more often." Pol handed off the nearly empty plate to one of the servers. He had not enjoyed the pine nuts and chopped dates wrapped in seaweed.

"He has a daughter?"

"Julia. We went to the ballet together." That's true, and harmless, Pol thought.

"You're seeing a girl?" Lisa asked.

Wrong again! he realized. "Mom!" he said aloud. "She's fourteen! She's in middle school! I went to The Nutcracker with Ann and her and some of her school friends and Hal and Dilys. Ann said that it was a good production by an excellent company and we all might as well see it for the first time now and get it over with." But Lisa's attention had been claimed by one of the chaperones half way through Pol's statement.

Eventually, the crowd thinned, then vanished. As the last guest left, Lisa went off to her room. Pol snagged another plate of the least lethal looking canapés and took it over to the breakfast table and started on his problem set. Kimberly ordered the interns and the hotel clean-up staff around; the models and their chaperones disappeared; and the photographers and their assistants ate the rest of the canapés and made serious inroads in the remaining liquor before Kimberly noticed.

"We're going out for some dinner," Pol's mother said. "I don't quite know how long we'll be. You'll probably be asleep by the time we get back."

"OK, Mom," Pol said.

"Did you get enough to eat?"

"No; I'm going to go down to the Café when I get my homework done."

"All right then. Have a nice evening."

"Sure, Mom," Pol told Lisa's back as his mother and Kimberly gathered up the interns and left the suite.

Pol looked over the books his mom had ordered either Madeline or Victoria to get for him: he had a choice of The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, Phineas Gage, the last Harry Potter, and The Revenge of the Whale. He took the Whale and went down to dinner. The Comstock Café's dinner menu was on the basic side, but Pol didn't mind. He asked for two orders of ribeye steak and fries, and started in on the book. The waiter brought an unordered salad, a side dish of grilled green beans and a garnish of pan-fried mushrooms, but only one order of fries.

Pol didn't know how Ann had managed that, but he was pretty sure that was her doing and not his mother's. A glass of fruit juice or mixed vegetable juice always came with whatever breakfast he ordered, too. He glanced around, saw no one looking at him, then cast true sight, and inspected the salad. Nope, no trace of a spell. Well, it had been just a thought. Another thought was that he didn't really have to check if he was being observed. He didn't wave a wand, mutter a chant or make a mystic gesture, he just called it up. No one could tell what he had done, as long as he didn't make the mistake of focusing on an alert and sensitive individual.

He ate everything, not hurrying, and was through the first two chapters when he finished. He ordered his usual dessert: a piece of cheesecake. It wasn't as good as Zomas's, but it was still pretty good. He signed his name and room number on the check, then started across the lobby to Sundries, where he hoped to find a different brand of shampoo, one that didn't smell like lilacs.

The small store was a perfect test place, offering lots of stuff to look at, with the clerk as the only other human present. Pol cast true sight. Most of the items were simply items. Some of the perfumes, both male and female, had an enchanted glow to them, as did some of the souvenirs. What did startle him were the multiple glows in the condom section. So what do the enchantments do? he wondered. Were they like ads: Buy THIS! or were the spells designed for full operation only after the foil wrapper was opened or the perfume was applied? The spells certainly added more choice, if you knew they were there, but offered no real help in making up one's mind. Fortunately, he was here only for shampoo. He found an unscented, unenchanted brand and bought it.

Back in the suite, Pol settled in front of the TV. He watched for a while, then gathered up his laptop, books, new shampoo, and his alarm clock. He considered the clock for a moment, then cast true sight. It displayed a glow, even in its closed state, but that wasn't surprising after all. He went down the short hall to his temporary room, his true sight still active. He came to an abrupt halt: there was a pale violet glow on the computer room door.

That's bad, he thought. Or is it? I don't know; I know there's a spell there, but I don't know what spell it is. It could be something messy and unfunny but OK, like the bucket of water that drops all over the first person through the door, but can I count on that? What would Mom do if I got myself disappeared? What would Ann say if I were stupid enough to get caught like that? If I was disappeared, she'd have to come after me and this time she really would be pissed. His hands were shaking a little as he set his stuff on the side table beside the door and pulled out his crystal phone.

"Yes, Pol?"

"The door to my room's glowing violet," he said.

"Stay away from it," Ann said at once. "Where are you?"

"Outside the computer room, in the little hall."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes, everybody else is out to dinner."

"Stay away from it," she repeated. "I'm coming. Hold on."

No footsteps sounded on the thick carpet, but Ann walked down the short hall from the living room. As she came up beside him, she eyed the door. "Good call."

"What's inside?" Pol asked.

"I don't know. The entire room's under a stasis spell."

"Can you get it off?"

"Yes, that's not the problem: it's a human spell and I can deal with it. The question is why is there a stasis spell on your room in the first place."

"Uh..."

"Exactly." She was silent a moment. "Who was in there last?"

"I don't know. I was out of there by 9 o'clock this morning; I went down for a swim, came back to the suite at 11:30, had lunch, hung out, then I changed clothes about 3 o'clock, before the party."

"When did you get your laptop?"

He glanced over at the table. His books, laptop and the alarm clock Ann had given him were still laying there, along with the new shampoo. "Then. I settled in the breakfast nook, which is out of the way, you saw it, and stayed there until the first guests came. Nook is a really stupid word. Nook. It even sounds dumb. Nook."

"Pol."

"Yeah. Sorry. That was it. I ate dinner downstairs, came back up, watched a video, and decided to get ready for bed. I've been back about an hour."

"So who knows you're here alone?"

"Mom, Kimberly, the interns, the hotel waitstaff who were here cleaning up as Mom left and who were gone when I got back upstairs; anybody in the hall or lobby when Mom, Kimberly and the interns left... . I don't know."

"Step back," Ann said.

"Uh, it's locked," Pol said. He unlocked the door with his key-card.

"So when was it locked?"

"I don't know. Like I said, I left here about 3 o'clock and haven't been back in since. When the staff started setting up in the living room, Kimberly told Toni to lock it, but I don't know when she did it. Not good?"

"I don't know." Ann shook her head. "I need to know what's inside, though. Step over there," she said, and nodded towards the door to the living room.

Pol moved along the hall and waited.

Ann didn't move or speak for a moment, then said, "I think it's empty, but don't come any closer." She turned the handle and opened the door.

"Ah," she said. "Technically, it is empty."

Pol came up beside her and looked in. The room had been tossed and there was a pool of blood on the carpeted floor. He did not know who the dead man lying on the bloody floor was.

"Pol: Listen. The stasis spell stopped when I opened the door. If I had done this, I would have left a tell-tale tied to the breaking of the spell, so let's assume somebody else knows you've found the body or at least that someone has found the body. And since the body was frozen immediately after death --the blood's still fluid-- , it's as if the body died 30 seconds ago, when you were the only one in the suite. What happens next?"

"Why?"

"Not now, we'll do that latter. What we'll do now is assume the caster is calling the police at this moment. You put your hand on the handle, getting your fingerprints on it, then pick up all that stuff on the table, and drop it —right here— as if you were startled by the glimpse of the body.  Go back to the living room and call hotel security. I'm going to age the scene so it appears the body died —when did you leave the suite?"

"About three hours ago, what with dinner and shopping and watching TV."

"Good!  That's enough time play with. Go call the desk."

"Hotel security is coming," Pol said, as she joined him in the living room.

"Good. Call your mother."

He speed-dialed his mother's cell. "Voice mail."

"Ask her to call you."

"OK, now what?" 

"As soon as there's a knock on the door, call my cell. Put the crystal back in your pocket, don't use it, use your cell. I'll arrive back here soon after our conversation."

"I need to know why!"

"I'll explain my reasons as soon as we're alone again.  My word."

There was a knock in the door. Ann smiled at him: "Call me, now," she said and vanished.

He stood up, clutching his phone, then he called her as the knock was repeated.