

The Bared Heart

Jon Jacks

Other New Adult and Children's books by Jon Jacks

The Caught – The Rules – Chapter One – The Changes – Sleeping Ugly

The Barking Detective Agency – The Healing – The Lost Fairy Tale

A Horse for a Kingdom – Charity – The Most Beautiful Things (Now includes The Last Train)

The Dream Swallowers – Nyx; Granddaughter of the Night – Jonah and the Alligator

Glastonbury Sirens – Dr Jekyll's Maid – The 500-Year Circus – The Desire: Class of 666

P – The Endless Game – DoriaN A – Wyrd Girl – The Wicker Slippers – Gorgesque

Heartache High (Vol I) – Heartache High: The Primer (Vol II) – Heartache High: The Wakening (Vol III)

Miss Terry Charm, Merry Kris Mouse & The Silver Egg – The Last Angel – Eve of the Serpent

Seecrets – The Cull – Dragonsapien – The Boy in White Linen – Porcelain Princess – Freaking Freak

Died Blondes – Queen of all the Knowing World – The Truth About Fairies – Lowlife

Elm of False Dreams – God of the 4th Sun – A Guide for Young Wytches – Lady of the Wasteland

The Wendygo House – Americarnie Trash – An Incomparable Pearl – We Three Queens – Cygnet Czarinas

Memesis – April Queen, May Fool – Sick Teen – Thrice Born – Self-Assembled Girl – Love Poison No. 13

Whatever happened to Cinderella's Slipper? – AmeriChristmas – The Vitch's Kat in Hollywoodland

Blood of Angels, Wings of Men – Patchwork Quest – The World Turns on A Card – Palace of Lace

The Wailing Ships – The Bad Samaritan – The 13th Month – The Silvered Mare – SpinDell

Swan Moon – The Unicorndoll – Lesser Nefertiti – My Shrieking Skin – Stone in Love

Font of All Lies

Text copyright© 2019 Jon Jacks

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. It remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

Thank you for your support.

# Chapter 1

Have you ever found yourself caught up in one of those odd circles of – or rather, I suppose, _unrequited_ – love?

You know: you love this guy, who loves your best friend, who only has eyes for the boy who's wildly in love with you?

How do we get into these things?

Why does it happen anyway?

Surely, it means you're all on a similar level when it comes to looks and everything, right?

So why can't the ones who _want_ to be together be the ones who _get_ together?

You know; I get Cory, you get Jake.

All problems solved, right?

Only, yeah – it doesn't really solve it as far as Jake and Cory are concerned, does it?

*

Then again, it doesn't work out right for _us_ , does it, if it works out right for Jake and Cory?

I mean, _we_ don't want to settle for second best, do we?

Our hearts just wouldn't be in it.

And why we're on the subject of hearts, there's one thing that's always bothered me.

If we've got two eyes, two arms, two ears – well, we've got an awful lot of pairing going on in our bodies, haven't we?

So why just the _one_ heart?

It means that, to feel complete, to get our _two_ hearts, well, we just _have_ to find someone else whose heart is the perfect match for ours.

Only finding that person – it's definitely got to be the most difficult quest on earth, hasn't it?

You don't want to get something like that wrong, do you?

If you do, you've more or less just sacrificed your whole life.

*

Now Jake, he's okay; he's really nice, know what I'm saying?

Okay, okay – so I know what you're thinking; that I'm being unfair, that I'm leading him on rather than letting him down gently. And all so that I've got somebody running around after me, boosting my self-confidence whenever I'm feeling a little down.

Is that really how little you think of me?

Well how come no one seems to think that about Cory?

Doesn't he keep me hanging on, rather than letting me know out straight that there's no chance for me?

Every time I'm on the edge of accepting there's no hope for me, of breaking away from him, what's he do? – suddenly, like he knows I'm ready to pull away, he sorta shows interest in me again, chats to me, says hello – gives a few signs that, you know, maybe I shouldn't give up on him just yet.

He keeps that hope alive in _me_ so _he_ can walk around feeling wanted and oh-so important and desirable.

Whereas regards me and Jake; well, I really _do_ like being with him.

He _is_ nice; _sweet_ really. That's what _you_ , like a lot of the other girls, I guess, like about him – him being nice and all that.

Bless his little cotton socks.

But me, well; I'm not like the _other_ girls. I just see him as as being, you know, _friendly_.

I can't see him being anything more to me.

That's just the way our hearts operate, isn't it?

We've not really got much control over it, even though we'd like to think otherwise.

Sure, I'd love to be able to just think, Hey, know what; Cory's just not into me, so let's forget him, yeah?'

It would solve _so_ many problems in my life, right?

It's easier said than done though, as we all know.

Truth is, I _hate_ being so pathetic.

Maybe if I found someone else, then, Hey Presto, everything will suddenly all be magically perfect.

But don't you think I've been looking out for this Mr Right?

If he's out there, where is; that's what I'd like to know.

*

# Chapter 2

Is there no one in this world for me?

Am I so unusual that I never seem to be able find anyone to love me?

Well, that is, someone who loves me, whom I love in return.

_That's_ the hard bit isn't it, truth be told?

Is love all just some fairytale, concocted to make us feel inadequate, lost: lonely?

The more you search for it – come on, be honest, I'm sure you agree with me really – the more it seems to elude you. Like you're setting up such high standards for someone to fulfil, that there's never going to be anyone you meet who'll match them.

And just as they say most lonely people feel even worse at Christmas, when they see everyone else enjoying themselves, out with friends, or family, well, for people like me one of the worst days has got to be Valentine's Day, right?

You just know, don't you, that the card you're _really_ waiting for is _never_ going to drop through your letter box?

*

Didn't I already admit I'm being ridiculous?

I _know_ I just need to get over Cory; to move on.

Why _wouldn't_ I know that?

The thing is, no matter how low you feel, you know there's always a friend you can talk to who'll somehow make you feel even worse.

You know; they make out they'd never have got into this position in the first place, right?

They're so much more _intelligent_ that you, obviously!

Yeah, I wish _I'd_ been born with the fabulous gift of hindsight too.

Don't you think I _know_ I've played it all wrong?

I'd _thought_ hanging around with Jake would make Cory jealous; but all it's done is given Jake hope that I might yet fall for his charms!

Yeah, some hope Jake!

I mean, Jake's _okay_ , see?

But he's, as I've already said, the sort of guy you like as a _friend_. Well, okay, the kind that _I_ see as friend – and nothing more, honest.

He's not, you know, the sort who pulls all those other switches in your mind, your body; that's just the way life is, isn't it?

It's not my fault.

I mean, I know Jake's always had a _thing_ for me, as they say, even though he tries to hide it; but you can always tell, can't you?

Just as you can always tell, truth be told, when someone's just _not_ into you.

And unfortunately, Cory comes into that second category.

*

So, you might be wondering, just what is it that Cory's got that Jake hasn't?

Come on!

Do I _really_ need to tell you that?

Cory is just one of those guys who you just know will make everything in your life feel finally complete. Without him, it's like there's a hole in my life – my heart.

He's the missing piece I need to make me feel fully whole!

You know how it works; how some guys get you all flustered whenever they're around.

Trouble is, you end up making a fool of yourself in front of them no matter how coolly you try and handle it.

You try and ignore them; make out you're not interested, that you even consider them arrogant, a bit stupid – and what happens? You come across like you're trying too hard to make your point, like it's all so obvious that that's _exactly_ what you're trying to do.

_Drat_!

Why isn't there some sort of instruction booklet we're born with that warns you not to do stupid things like this? I mean, a red light flashes in a car when you're doing something wrong; why can't we have similar flashing symbols in our heads?

_Alert_! – you're making yourself out to be a real dork!

What would the symbol be, do you think?

A dunce's hat doesn't cut it.

You feel far far _far_ worse than you could ever feel sitting in a classroom corner wearing an idiot's hat.

You just wish the earth could swallow you up; just wish your face didn't feel so hot with embarrassment.

Why don't we get classes on this?

I'd attend every one.

I'd be top of the class; I'd make sure of that.

*

_Oh oh_!

Don't look now, but there's a magpie over there on the grass!

Look away.

Look back.

Wow, great – there's a _second_ one!

The _first_ must have flown away, see?

Not that I'm superstitious, of course, but it's always best to play safe.

I've got enough things going against me without inviting more trouble into my life.

Today, of all days, I don't want bad luck following me around.

I've finally managed to figure out something _positive_ I can do to begin to solve my dilemma.

I mean, I can't just go around doing the same things each week hoping Cory's just going to somehow change his mind about me, can I?

Going to the same old cafes. The same old mall shops.

Hoping's he's going to be there too.

But he hardly ever is. And when he is, he's with friends, and yeah, sometimes, I'm afraid, with a girl on his arm.

What's she got that I haven't got?

Well, not that it's always the _same_ girl, of course.

It's always a different girl.

Like he can get anyone he wants.

So, maybe, I should just fess up that I'm never gonna be good enough for him.

I can't go on torturing myself in this way, seeing him pass me by with another girl, my mind suddenly awhirl with thoughts about all the fun they'll be getting up to together.

And if I don't see him; well, whaddya know, that's even _worse_!

I can imagine all sort of fun things he and some girl's involved in!

I know, I know: I'm _pathetic_.

I _know_!

I should forget him. Move on. Find someone else.

But do you really think I _want_ to be this way?

I can't _help_ it!

So stop _judging_ me, right!

What did I say about there always being some friend who can make you feel even worse by stating the blooming obvious?

*

Okay, so let me explain just what I _can_ do about my problem.

Well, _our_ problem, really, as you're one of those girls with a thing for Jake!

And it _is_ a problem!

I mean, I'd heard it's a problem that's confounded the greatest minds for eons. They even have a name for it; it's called Squaring the Circle.

The Circle of Love, see?

But welcome to the Great Minds society; I've got it all figured out, at _last_!

Over at Amishone Park, there's the oriental gardens, with the lake, the island...

You can't see where this is going, can you?

Admit it; I can see it on your face.

The way your brow starts creasing up when you think someone's talking rubbish.

You didn't know you did that?

You certainly didn't know that _everyone's_ noticed, _that's_ for sure!

So, let me finish; _then_ judge me, right?

On the island, there's the Love Bell...

You really _don't_ think it's a good idea, do you?

I can tell – it's that kinda fierce frown, whenever I say things like this.

I can read you like a book sometimes; you should know _that_ by now!

It's a look that says you wanna say I'm just being so incredibly stupid once again!

I get it.

_You_ think it's all so perfectly childish, right?

But what's the harm in _trying_?

We just take the boat out there, ring it – thinking of the one we wish to be with _eternally_ – and some goddess or other watches over us and makes sure it all comes true!

No, wait; course, I don't mean I want _you_ to come with me!

I mean, sure; you see that kinda thing a lot these days, and why not? I'm opened minded about these things.

And some are just out there for the lark anyway, truth be told.

I can always go with Jake–

Wow, there's _that_ look again!

_Suddenly_ , it goes from being childish to something you don't think it's something I should be getting Jake mixed up in, yeah?

Let's face it; all this supposed concern for me, it's all really down to this Jake thing, right?

You think going around with him is just leading him along; giving him the wrong idea about how I feel about him.

Look; I've made it quite plain I'm _not_ interested in him in _that_ way!

What _else_ am I supposed to do?

If he had any sense, he could move on; I mean, we could still be friends, of course, as I've _told_ him.

I wouldn't want him to feel like I'm _completely_ shaking him off!

He just needs to find someone else to _love_ , that's all!

And no, no, no; I'm _not_ being a hypocrite, thank you!

I've let him know where we _stand_ ; and I've _apologised_ for that.

Has Cory done that for _me_?

Of course he hasn't!

As far as I know, I'm still in with a chance with him – I mean, the way he talks to me, sometimes, or looks at me; all the signs are there that he _is_ interested.

I'm _sure_ of it!

Well, not _that_ sure that I'm going to just suddenly blurt out that, maybe, he should ask me out!

_That_ would be _crazy_!

If he's interested, as I'm sure he is really, it's up to _him_ to ask _me_ out!

_You_ know that; _I_ know that!

I'll tell him out flat – it can't be _me_ he's thinking of if he wants to ring the bell!

Otherwise, just how confusing would all this be for that poor goddess if we got _her_ mixed up in it?

*

# Chapter 3

The Island of Love isn't really the place you want to be seen on your own, is it?

I mean; you might as well be wearing a t-shirt proclaiming Lonely Saddo.

_Damn_!

But all I've got to do is get out there on the boat, ring the bell, wish for the love of my life to at last put in his appearance – and, well, yeah, where's the harm in that?

Worst thing that can happen is that I've had a wasted trip to a beautifully romantic island – on my own.

Maybe, just maybe, I'll see some guy out there on his own who's gone with the same idea in mind...

Yeah, that _would_ be nice.

Especially if it were Cory.

Yeah, I know; pathetic is my middle name.

*

Maybe, just maybe, I've heard it all wrong about how this Love Bell thing is supposed to work.

I mean, everywhere I look, there are couples; and all of them already pretty much romantically involved, the way I see it.

Another thing – they ring the bell together. Then they put some little padlock on a nearby, elaborately wrought fence.

Not that you can see much of the fence.

It's more like a wall of padlocks. With bows, ribbons, tags, dried roses.

I didn't bring anything like that with me.

And of course, I didn't bring the boy either.

Perhaps I _should've_ brought Jake...

Then again, no – that would've been like tying myself to him, way things seem to work out here.

Like you're locking yourself to the one you love for life.

Woow!

I'm not ready to make a commitment like that!

No, not even with Cory.

I mean, he's _okay_ but...

*

I ring the bell anyway.

And all I'm thinking about as I do it is – why can't the ground just swallow me up?

I mean; this is so, _so_ embarrassing!

One minute, you're following this sweet little track winding its way through all these beautiful flower beds; the next, your caught up in a line for what I thought was an entrance through a gate into another part of the garden.

Then, suddenly, I'm standing in front of this blooming golden bell, hanging beneath what I'd taken to be a rose arch.

What could I do?

Just walk by, like I'm wearing that saddo t-shirt but with a massive Told You! on the back?

So I stood by it, took out a piece of paper I had in my pocket, pretended to read it with a tear in my eye.

'A letter,' I explained in hushed tones to those curiously watching me. 'From my boyfriend: in Afghanistan!'

Then I rang the bell.

I even got a smattering of applause.

*

# Chapter 4

Yeah, yeah, yeah; it was pretty low of me, wasn't it, making out I've got some young grunt who can't wait to head on home and get his arms wrapped tightly about me?

But come on; just what _was_ I supposed to do out there?

I'm surely entitled to maintain _some_ small residue of pride!

Besides, it would be nice if it were only true, wouldn't it? Me left here at home, worrying each night about my solider boy facing death each day, wondering if I'm ever going to see him again.

Turning aide every now and again to stoically weep into my hanky, so that no one notices just how upset I am.

And maybe, now I've rung the bell, calling up the goddess what's-her-name for help; well, maybe _now_ I _do_ have a boy out there destined for me!

In which case, I _wouldn't_ have been lying about the letter, would I? Well, not _really_. Because one day, see, I _might_ receive a letter just like the one I pretended to read from.

How cool would _that_ be?

Come to think of it, though, is ringing a bell for someone out in a warzone the right thing to do?

Isn't there some sort of saying? For whom the bell tolls?

Sounds a bit ominous, you ask me.

Fortunately, as I've already explained, I wasn't actually thinking of _any_ guy while I was actually _ringing_ the bell.

As I said, I was far more concerned with just wanting to be swallowed up and taken away from there as swiftly as possible.

I was just _so_ embarrassed standing there amongst so many obviously loved-up couples.

Actually, that thing I said earlier about lonely people on Valentine's or Christmas Day – well, it's not like me to admit it, but I was _wrong_.

There's a new low for lonely people.

It's standing in front of the Love Bell, surrounded by the happiest couples you'll ever see.

*

On my way back from the park, I pass a woman holding a garage sale out on her front lawn.

It's all toys and things mainly. Girl's toys too by the looks of things. Like Mom's clearing out a couple of cluttered rooms now her daughter's grown up and moved on to college, maybe, or got a job in the city.

All cuddly toys that have seen better days, along with Barbies with skewed limbs, My Little Ponies ingrained with a dirty sheen. There are also a few broken Playmobile houses and cars, Disney Princesses who've hit hard times.

Pretty much the sort of stuff I used to play with, basically.

Stuff you kidded yourself were pretty much real, returning your love when you cared for them.

Tucking them in bed.

Kissing them.

Cuddling them.

No wonder us girls are a soft touch when it comes to needing to be loved.

There's all the fake cosmetics too: the plastic-tubed lipsticks, the combs, the brushes whose bristles would scratch away a gorilla's skin. Fake jewellery takes up a couple of small plastic boxes, mixed haphazardly – the glitteringly colourful pastiche gems of necklaces, rings bracelets, tiaras.

I'd proudly wear junk like this when I was younger, admiring myself in a mirror, kidding myself I looked glamourous, beautiful even.

The blissful innocence of the young.

How the heck were we ever fooled by nothing but chunks of brightly toned plastic?

I mean, I knew it wasn't real – but I still thought it looked _so_ wonderful, _so_ gorgeously entrancing!

I dip my hand in amongst a box, letting the treasure trickle through my fingers, like I'm sifting memoires.

The glow of the pretend gems ripples across my hand's skin; sapphire, amber, emerald, ruby.

But the horde itself is all so light, almost weightless – completely worthless, naturally.

Somewhere amongst it all, however, there's something heavier, more substantial–

_Ouch_!

I snap my hand back, like I've been bitten by a snake hiding amongst all the tangled jewellery.

There's a drop of blood on a fingertip, where I've been pricked by something, probably an unclasped brooch pin.

There really shouldn't be something so dangerous amongst all these children's toys!

I instinctively suck my finger, drawing out a touch more blood to ensure the wound's clean. Withdrawing it from my mouth and inspecting the tip I see it's hardly damaged, the prick so minute it will soon heal; but still.

A child might have worried that it could be something far more serious.

I dip my hand back into the pile, determined to find the brooch that caused the problem, before anyone else has to suffer being pricked by it. Its heavier weight is now more obvious, making it easy to find even amongst this tangled horde of fake treasure.

Besides, it's larger, brighter, than everything else in here.

It looks almost real, in fact; a glittering ruby, throwing light about itself as if it's afire deep inside, a pumping heart amongst all this chaotic tangle of fake necklaces and bangles.

Wow, this is one heck of a kiddie's gem.

Now that I've bared it to the light, it's lost its bloody redness, now more a combination of purples and mauves, all created by the multi-faceted cut of what would otherwise be an egg-shaped gem.

It really does look – _feel_ – real.

It's not really a part of anything, though, as if it's fallen away from the brooch or crown it was once attached to.

So, it wasn't _this_ that was responsible for my finger being pricked.

I can't see anything like an unclasped brooch anywhere in here.

Maybe I just caught myself on some sharp edge of plastic; maybe on something that's cracked, and splintered.

It happens, doesn't it?

The wound was so minor it's already healed. The bleeding has stopped, leaving no mark bar the tiniest dot.

The amethyst in the palm of my hand sparkles, however, as if a pool of weirdly toned blood has gathered there.

It's quite, quite beautiful, cut with a number of facets, such that when you peer inside there's a whole labyrinth of geometric shapes abutting each other in there.

Hey; did I just say _cut_?

Since when did anyone ever 'cut' a _plastic_ gem?

Not that it feels anywhere near as weightless as I'd expect a toy jewel to feel. It's also quite hard, granting a sense of extreme solidity in the way it sits within my hand.

Could it be a real jewel, one that's broken free of a heirloom maybe, getting itself mixed up amongst the children's bright toys long ago?

My heart's pounding quickly, forcefully, a surge of excitement flowing through me; is this what people feel like when they come across some painting in a junk yard that has all the signs of it being the work of a master artist?

It's a rush of blood, making me feel quite giddy.

How much would a _real_ amethyst this size be worth?

How much could I get away with paying?

How can I get away without drawing attention to what I'm really holding here?

Wait, wait!

Am I really _that_ bad a person?

The real question is, how could I live with myself afterwards if I try and cheat this poor family out of what is rightfully theirs?

Besides, aren't I just being a tiny bit crazy here?

What are the chances of _finding_ a _real_ amethyst lying amongst a box of kiddie's toys?

It'll be a _fake_ one, undoubtedly.

'Are you okay dear?'

The woman holding the sale is gawping at me worriedly.

'You're looking a bit...well, _drained_ , I suppose?'

'Oh, er; am I?'

Drat!

I'm even more flustered now than when I was standing on my own by the Love Bell!

'I know some of the things here look like they could do with a good wash,' the woman apologises with a chuckle, 'but it's just ingrained stains; with most of the things being plastic, I mean.'

'No no; it's not that,' I admit as I hold out the glowing gem towards her. 'It's this; which I don't think _is_ plastic at all. I wondered if there'd been some mistake – if, maybe, it's fallen off some heirloom or something...'

The woman glances at the amethyst I'm holding, looks up a touch wryly at me, like she's wondering, perhaps, if I'm playing a joke, or maybe just unfortunately none too bright.

'Real?' She laughs, shakes her head. 'No, no; I've never had anything with a _real_ gem that size, I'm afraid! It's from a game my daughter once had, I think; something like the centre of this circular flower or something – I seem to recognise it from somewhere. Just take it if you like it; I can hardly charge you anything for something that's fallen out of something else!'

'Oh, no, it's not that important – thanks anyway,' I reply with a hint of disappoint that my supposed discovery has made me look such an idiot.

I place the 'gem' back in the box of other plastic trinkets.

Ouch!

I've caught myself again.

And my finger's bleeding once more.

*

# Chapter 5

Well, I had to take the gem after all, didn't I?

I could hardly leave it there after I'd let some of my blood splatter on to it!

Besides, weirdly, once I took hold of the fake jewel once more, the pain in my pricked finger seemed to vanish, or at least lessen noticeably.

Don't ask me how.

Maybe by grasping the gem, it's caused a few veins to contract, that kinda thing.

It's possible, yeah?

When I'd changed my mind about taking the gem, the woman had rewarded me with yet another pitying look, like she really, really didn't think I was the sharpest tool in the box.

'Good,' she said with a smile, adding with all seriousness, 'It suits you; matches your eyes.'

An _amethyst_ matches my _eyes_?

_I_ should be so lucky!

What a day!

How many more times have I got to make a fool of myself before the sun finally goes down?

I should know by now; counting the same magpie twice _never_ works!

*

If that woman thought this amethyst matches my eyes, well, maybe she's just a _touch_ colour blind, right?

My eyes are _green_ , for goodness sake!

Honestly!

Then again, maybe if it did _actually_ look green to her, perhaps that means this 'gem' really is nothing but a worthless chunk of glass.

You know; it could well have been the way it was refracting light coming up from the grass, the surrounding tress.

Glass would do that, wouldn't it?

Reflecting all that green, taking on its hues.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my 'amethyst' to have another look at it, just to see if I'm right, if I can make it reflect some of the surrounding colours.

The blue of the sky maybe, transforming it into a sapphire.

When I take it out, however, it still _looks_ like an amethyst to me!

I lift it up a little before me, more or less supporting it on the tips of my fingers, just to make sure it's not picking up its tints from the shading of my palm.

Nope; it's still an amethyst, as far as I can see.

Mauves and nothing but mauves.

Well, there's the sparkling of the light, of course. And some of that is briefly given other, rainbow-like tints as I slightly twirl the gem a touch.

Then there's the darker planes, where the light hits the facets at a slightly different angle.

But it sure as heck is no _emerald_!

Although it's naturally transparent, it's pretty dense looking too – not at all like the much clearer transparency I'd expect of glass.

Peering inside it is like viewing a complicated, labyrinthine house, with odd shaped rooms and doors all coming off from each other at unusual angles.

I feel like I could step in there, wander around for a bit; maybe get lost too, as it continually changes as I twirl the gem in my hand.

Hey, but whaddya know: there I _am_ , already in there!

No, no – naturally, I don't mean I've somehow become magically _trapped_ in there.

It's a reflection, my own face curiously staring back out at me.

Oh, and there I am again; and again.

It's a bit like when you find yourself seated in front of one of those old dressing tables with the triptych of three joined and hinged mirrors; you know, where you can move them around, so you can see what your hair looks like from the side, that kinda thing? (That's when you find out you've been walking around with bed-hair at the back, but no one could be bothered telling you this!)

The way this amethyst works is far cleverer actually.

Not, of course, that the images are clear enough to be of any use for checking makeup, or even if your choice of clothes is right for the occasion.

But _that's_ the thing, see? The way the facets all come together at different angles means there are some images of me where I can see the _whole_ me; two arms, two legs – it's _all_ there.

More amazingly still, I can even see myself as if I'm looking on from one side. There's even a 'me' that's looking away, so I can see the back of my own head.

Thankfully, there's no bed-hair there anymore!

Wait!

What _am_ I saying?

How can I be seeing the back of my own head in the reflected images created by an amethyst?

That's _not_ possible, is it?

*

# Chapter 6

I get it _now_.

It was just a blurred image of myself, wasn't it?

My face, darkened, would have just merged into the hair flowing about the rest of my face.

What other explanation could there be?

So, now I've slept on it, I've managed to put that weird experience behind me, as it were.

Even so, as I wake up, I reach for the amethyst I'd left on my bedside table, looking deeply into it once again to see if I can replicate the illusion that I was somehow looking at the back of my own head.

Straight away, of course, I find myself looking once more at what could be so many, mauve rooms. There, too, are the many 'mes' apparently wandering about them, like some poor lost Alice in Wonderland type.

Course, I'm looking at myself in the amethyst this time while safely cocooned in my bed's quilt. So I look different, almost angelic, as if I'm wearing a glittering white gown.

Through some trick of the light – maybe the way the sun's coming in through the window and reflecting off the top of the quilt – I appear to be carrying something before me.

It could be a spear; you know, the way a guard might hold it out perfectly upright before him?

I'm just about to toss this worthless piece of junk into the wastebasket when my mum shouts up from the bottom of the stairs.

'There's a delivery for you, Lou!'

I'd heard the doorbell ring, heard Mum answer it.

So it's the post?

So it can wait.

'I'll take a look later Mum,' I cry back, wondering why she risked waking me up so early for something so unimportant.

'I think you'll want to see this,' Mum answers. 'It's flowers, Lou; someone's sent you _flowers_!'

*

Maybe I should be a touch irritated that Mum sounds so surprised that someone's sent me flowers.

But then again, _I'm_ surprised too.

No one's _ever_ sent me flowers before!

But as I reach the bottom of stairs after my headlong rush down them, I see that, even now, I can't really claim that I've been sent _flowers_.

The _correct_ term would be 'Sent a _flower_ '.

But _what_ a flower!

The way Mum's holding it out before her, it appears massive, incredibly tall, and perfectly, rigidly straight.

It's a foxglove, I think.

A bright yellow one.

In fact, going by the way Mum's eagerly clutching at its long, shaft-like stalk, she could be holding a spear.

*

'What's the _card_ say?' I ask excitedly.

What I don't say, even though I'm silently screaming it to myself inside, is, _Please_ don't let it be from _Jake_!

Yeah, it's unfair isn't it?

But haven't you ever found yourself in a similar situation?

Well, not with _Jake_ , naturally; but you _know_ what I mean.

_Sure_ you have.

_'Digitalis purpurea_ ,' Mum reads innocently from the flower's attached card. 'Foxglove Yellow Spear.'

'Mum!' I snap irritably. ' _That's_ the _description_! I meant the card that comes with the flower: the one saying who it's from!'

'Of course you did dear!' Mum chuckles mischievously, handing me the flower as she also points out the small envelope tied to its long stalk. 'But I thought that, maybe, you know – _you'd_ like to be the first to read _that_. You know; in case there's some sort of secret code, so only you know who it's from...'

'Secret code!' I repeat huffily, like I think the idea is oh so childish, though, yeah, hoping that _is_ the case.

What sort of code would Cory use?

I'm fumbling so nervously with the small envelope I'm worried I'm going to crush the flower. I wonder, maybe, if I should turn away from Mum, keep all this a little more private; but that would only look like I'm making too big a deal of everything, wouldn't it?

'What is it Lou? What's it say?' Mum asks worriedly.

She must be able to see the disappointment on my face.

'Nothing,' I say, handing her the blank card. 'Who'd _do_ that; send flowers – a _flower_ – and not give some sort of hint about who it's from, or what it's for?'

Mum twirls the card between her fingers, like she's just checking that there's nothing written on the other side, it being well-known that her daughter's a complete idiot who wouldn't think of that.

It's just a picture of a white fox on the other side, like it's something to do with the flower, or maybe the shop it's been delivered from.

'It's coming up to Valentine's Day,' Mum points out sagely, 'maybe he's just being mysterious; you know, revealing himself on the day by wearing some sort of similar flower?'

'Well yeah, that _could_ be it,' I admit a touch sourly, wondering who'd walk around with a foxglove in their buttonhole. 'But couldn't he have put something like "from an admirer"? That would _still_ be mysterious, wouldn't it, but would be better than a _blank_ card?'

Mum shrugs, smiles, like I'm worrying over nothing.

'Maybe he just forgot; or maybe the shop assistant slipped up.'

'Yeah, I _suppose_ so...' I agree morosely, disgruntled that what could have been one of the most beautiful moments in my life has been spoilt by...well, by _nothing_.

*

# Chapter 7

How hard can it be to find a flower shop that has a white fox as its symbol?

It's not like it's the usual thing a flower shop goes for, is it?

Maybe the woman running it is called Fox; maybe she just likes foxes.

They can look all cuddly, can't they, if you force yourself to forget what they can do to a coup of chickens?

Back in my bedroom, I get out my untrusty laptop.

Only six months old, and its already as slow as the one it had replaced – thanks to 'regular updates'.

I mean, if it were car, you'd _have_ to get rid of the damn thing, wouldn't you?

Can you imagine getting in your car, switching it on to head off somewhere important like school, or work – and what happens, it doesn't start up, it says its uploading 'updates'.

Then after it's kept you waiting there for an age, when it finally starts up you find the new, improved version of your car has decided it looks better with a minimalist look; meaning the steering wheel has now been cleared out of your way by storing it in the car's boot.

But don't worry; here are some new instructions for you to wade your way through, where you'll be told about all the other improvements coming your way, like regular intrusive notifications of other apps you might want to buy to enhance your enjoyment.

Thankfully, today I only have to wait ten minutes for my useless piece of silicon chip to start up. And the supposedly 'personalised improvements' appear to have been pretty minor, thank goodness.

A web search – 'flower shop fox' – should show me where this shop is and, voila, once I figure out who lives closest to it, I have an idea who sent me the flowers – _flower_!

Then again...

About 108,000,000 results in 0.57 seconds comes up with _faux_ flowers; yep, it actually exists, a place selling _false_ flowers.

Don't get me wrong; they look pretty realistic, quite gorgeous too – but you wouldn't want to _send_ anyone a false flower now would you?

There are also owners called Fox, but none that's thereby decided to call the shop after themselves; the preference seems to be for Eros, Cupid's Arrows, that kinda thing, if they've gone for any such name at all.

Wait, no; there is one – two in fact.

One in Vienna

The other in Gainesboro – wherever _that_ is.

Nope, I don't know anybody from school who lives anywhere near _these_ places.

Drat!

There's _that_ faultless plan disappearing in flames.

Ok, so what's a single foxglove mean; I mean, flowers have meanings, don't they?

Carnations mean...something or other, while, say, lilies mean something else.

Yep, that's about all I know on the subject.

Ah ha; but my trusty web search reliably informs me that a foxglove means – insincerity.

Oh _joy_!

*

Our Lady's Gloves.

Gloves of the Virgin.

Now _these_ are nicer meaning for the foxglove.

But still not much of a compliment as far as I'm concerned.

Witches Gloves.

Dead Man's Bells.

Maybe I'd better stop looking now before I find worse.

Opps, too late.

A foxglove contains 'digitalis, powerful chemicals that can kill if taken in large amounts.'

Great.

Just _great_.

For the first time in my life I get a bunch – a flower – sent to me and it turns out it makes poison ivy seem pretty innocent.

Wait though – it says here there is a 'positive'.

The chemicals can be used 'therapeutically to regulate fast or irregular heartbeats'.

Wow, romance doesn't get any better than this, does it?

Nature's equivalent of a deliberator.

What's this guy saying; that my heart needs kicking into life?

Jake!

Is this _Jake's_ way of saying I'm _cold hearted_?

*

# Chapter 8

I call Jake up.

I'm fuming.

'Hi,' he says, recognising who the call's from. 'It's not often you call m–'

'Don't "Hi" me Jake!' I hiss back at him. 'Tell me; did _you_ send it?'

'Send what?' he replies innocently. 'Sorry, I don't know what you mean–'

'You sure? Sure you didn't send me...'

I fade off uncertainly.

I don't want him to know I've been sent a foxglove.

A symbol of _insincerity_.

I wouldn't dare show my face ever again if that sort of rumour got around at school.

'...Oh, never mind! Obviously, I was wrong–'

'What _were_ you sent?' he asks curiously before I have the chance to hang up on him.

'Flowers,' I reply, sort of half truthfully.

'Flowers!' he repeats, sounding both surprised and worried.

So yeah, he's telling the truth; he didn't send them – _it_.

I'm a little bit hurt that someone else is surprised that anyone might send me flowers.

For all he knows, I might be receiving them from a whole horde of admirers on a regular basis.

Well, now he knows for sure that he has a rival for my love.

As if he didn't know _that_ already.

Wait.

Of course!

That's right, isn't it?

There is _someone_ out there other than Jake who's taking an interest in me.

And if it's not Jake – then it might well be someone of far more _interest_ to _me_!

It's just that, well, obviously – it's a _someone_ who hasn't bothered doing much research on the meaning of flowers!

*

Getting Jake off the phone isn't easy.

He's intrigued now; anxious too, I reckon, poor guy.

He's badgering me for more info.

Asking me who I think sent it.

What was on the card.

That kinda thing

Cheek!

That's personal, isn't it?

So that's what I tell him; 'It's personal.'

Still, I feel a little guilty cutting him short like this as I'm the one who called him up about the delivery. So I add;

'It's nothing, really.'

Which is the truth, right?

Although, yeah, I suppose _he'll_ take it as an indication that it's not really of much interest to me.

Well that's _his_ interpretation, isn't it?

I can't help _that_ , can I?

I'm being mean, aren't I?

He thinks _so_ much about me, and _this_ is the way I treat him!

'Sorry,' I say, 'I shouldn't have called you. I don't want to upset you, honestl–'

'Why should I be upset?' he retorts, like he thinks I'm oblivious to the way he hangs on my every word whenever we're together.

Even now, even though he's putting on his usual act of indifferent stoicism, I can detect that mournful gulp in his speech I hear whenever he asks me how a date went the previous night.

He's always putting on this ridiculous pretence he's not interested in me, even though it's plain to anyone who sees us together that he excessively fawns over me, that he's endlessly trying to catch my eye, his own glazed stare like that of a hurt puppy.

I'm being mean again, right?

You're thinking I shouldn't continue to lead him on like this.

But I don't; not _really_ , honestly!

You won't believe how many times I've given him every hint I can that I'm just _not_ interested in him _that_ way.

What else am I supposed to do?

Sure, I could tell him out _straight_ that it's never going to be _that_ way between us.

But you know what he'll say, don't you?

That I'm flattering myself if I believe he considers me to be anything more than a close friend.

He's got to maintain his pride, see?

Thing is, he's seen me looking at other guys when we're out; guys who look nothing like him.

Could I make it any plainer that I'm just not _in_ to him?

Of _course_ I realise this must be some form of slow torture for him; him seeing me appreciate other guys in a way that, well, I'm _incapable_ of showing him.

But can I help it if I just can't see him as potential boyfriend material?

Can I help it if I find myself regarding some other guy when I'm out with Jake?

Surely he should have got the hint by now that were only ever going to get along so far with each other.

It's called letting someone down _gently_.

Rather than hitting him straight between the eyes with a flat-out refusal. A definite 'No way'!

See, he's fine as a friend I can knock around with; I don't want to jeopardise _that_. And we've got a good thing going between us, the way I see it.

So of _course_ I don't want to _hurt_ him!

But _you_ don't see it that way, do you?

'Okay, okay; I _get_ it – I _am_ being selfish, aren't I? It's just me, me, me!'

'What... _what_ did you just say?' asks an astounded Jake.

What? – oh my god! Did I just say all that out _loud_?

'I said...I said...,' I'm trying to figure out, quickly, what I can get away with pretending I said, ' I said I was being selfish; I mean, just calling you out of the blue like this. I'm sorry okay?'

'Sorry?' Jake chuckles gratefully. 'There's no need to be _sorry_ , Lou! I...you know...I like it...talking to you...like this, I mean...'

On no!

See; it _is_ hard to get these things right, isn't it?

*

I'd hoped to bring the conversation to a close, to hang up, by now. But now I've just gone and left myself open to even more questions.

'So you've really got no idea who might've sent you this bouquet.'

Hey, my foxglove is blossoming into a bouquet.

'And why would you be so angry that someone's sent you a huge bunch of flowers?'

'Well...I thought...you know...'

'You _thought_ they were from _me_? And so _that_ upset you?'

He sounds choked up a little. There's a deep hurt in his voice, I'm sure of it.

'Well, only because we're such _good_ friends, Jake! I wouldn't want to think we were risking what we have between us...you know – by taking things _farther_?'

'Yeah, yeah, sure; that's...that's the way I feel too. Course.'

It all sounds a bit strained; but it wouldn't be fair to point that out, would it?

'Look, Jake,' I say brightly. 'I have a friend, one who'd really appreciate a bunch of flowe–'

'Hey, are you trying to pair me off now?'

He chuckles, but there's an undoubted hint of bitterness there.

'Well, it's just a thought...'

'Yeah, it _is_ just a thought...'

And wow, _what_ a thought!

Why hadn't I thought of this before?

If I pair Jake off, why, that leaves Cory with no one to lust after, right?

Which leaves him free to begin to notice my own far from inconsiderable charms!

*

In Jake's tortured, jealous mind, my sad, lonely foxglove has somehow burgeoned into a glorious spray of blooms.

Not that I've wasted any time trying to correct him, naturally.

What's the harm if it gets around school that I've got a secret admirer delivering fragrant posies to me?

If my flower _isn't_ from Cory, why, this rumour of my mysterious devotee is bound to get him worrying that he could be missing out on a girl who's obviously got something special going for her.

It might actually finally prompt him into asking me out before he loses the chance completely!

'Lou?'

Opps – Jake's still jabbering away on the other end of the phone.

I haven't heard a word he's said.

'You still there? What do you think; do you think it's a good idea?'

'Yeah, yeah,' I say, hoping it gives the impression I've been following whatever he's been yattering on about.

'You will? That's great!'

Oh oh!

He sounds _really_ excited.

What the heck have I just unwittingly committed myself to?

'Will...what...?' I say unsurely.

'This Saturday. Getting together...'

Oh silicon chip!

How do I go about getting out of _this_ one?

'You're planning on leaving me all alone on Saturday?'

What the?

Who's _that_?

It's someone in the background. Someone in Jake's _room_.

A _girl_!

*

# Chapter 9

'Who was _that_? I ask.

Jake's got a _girlfriend_?

He's kept _that_ quiet!

I mean, why hasn't he been shouting it from the roof tops?

Why hasn't he told _me_?

'Who was what?' he replies, all innocent, like he's hoping I never heard her, like he's fooling himself I'll tell myself I must have been imagining it

'You've got someone there with you...'

Drat!

Didn't that sound way too anxious, too suspicious?

Like I'm the worried housewife checking up on hubby when he's away on business.

(Hey, my mum can tell you all about that; and how useless it is too!)

'She heard me, Jake,' the girl in the background says resignedly sweetly. 'You can't keep me hidden away like this you know...'

_'There_ ; who is she, Jake?' I pounce.

(Yeah, just like Mum again, you idiot! Maybe I get it from her; suspicious, because I have every reason to be suspicious!)

'Oh, _that_!' Jake says, as if he's referring to a TV programme playing in the corner of his room. 'That's just Fay!'

'Fay? Who's Fay?'

I can't think of any girls at school called Fay.

'You're going to have to tell her now, Jake,' Fay admonishes him teasingly. 'She _is_ persistent, isn't she?'

And _she's_ a cheeky little so and so, isn't she?

Yeah, I know _her_ sort!

Voice all childish, giggly, and yet somehow huskily seductive too.

The sort of tones that gets a boy all hot under the collar.

Very, very well practised tones too, you ask me.

There's nothing _innocent_ about _that_ voice, Jake!

I know, because I've tried to master that kind of husky innocence too – and failed. miserably.

Wow; who is she, this Fay?

And how on earth did _Jake_ end up landing her?

'Well, Fay's, er...sort of _new_ , I suppose...' Jake's mumbling embarrassedly on the phone.

_New_?

Why's he being all so coy about all this?

And why am I getting angry about him being like this?

Am I _jealous_?

*

Course I'm not _jealous_!

Why _would_ I be?

Not over _Jake_!

I've been wanting to get Jake off my hands for ages now, haven't I?

But yeah, one thing I will admit is; I'm curious.

Who _is_ this Fay?

Jake never, _ever_ gave me the slightest hint that he had a _girlfriend_.

And what have I got – a foxglove.

A symbol of insincerity.

Has my world just been turned upside down or what?

*

# Chapter 10

I know someone, of course, whose whole world will be torn apart when she hears Jake has a girlfriend.

Just in case she gets to hear about Fay, I'd better make sure I have all the details straight.

What she's like, that kinda thing.

Looks wise.

Character wise.

As much info as I can possibly provide, in fact.

And there's only one way I'm going to be able to provide that, and that involves calling round on Jake at a time when he's least expecting me.

Not that I'm expecting to actually catch her there; but there's sure to be _signs_ that she's been here.

'Hi, it's me – Lou!'

I keep my voice bright, innocent, as I lean in towards the speaker of Jake's entrance phone.

'Oh, er, _Lou_!' Jake says curiously doubtfully.

He's never, ever been so cagey whenever I've called round before! He's been, if anything, _overjoyed_.

'She's here?'

She's here!

I just heard Fay in the background.

'I _told_ you she'd be curious!' Fay pipes up once more.

Right little minx, isn't she?

*

Jake's 'room' is every other kid's dream; it's in an annexe out the back of his parent's house.

It has its own door. So it's like his own, private little flat.

The ideal place to keep a girlfriend secreted away.

Maybe she's not much to look at; know what I mean?

That would explain why Jake's not in a hurry to hang around with her in public.

I mean, it's one thing to train your _voice_ to sound gorgeously seductive, isn't it? But it's a whole lot harder to ensure you measure up _physically_ , right?

When I walk into the room, it seems I'm right.

Jake's there to greet me; but not Fay.

I bet she's hiding; run off to the loo, maybe. Locked herself in there until I've gone, perhaps making some excuse she's not well.

'Hiya, Lou,' Fay chirps excitedly. 'It's nice to meet you at last!'

What?

Where is she?

It doesn't _sound_ like she's crying out from inside the loo!

She's here, in the room.

Yet I can't see her _anywhere_!

*

'Well, aren't you going to introduce us, dear?' Fay light-heartedly chides an obviously embarrassed Jake.

I still can't see her, even though I can hear her as clear as a bell.

'Jake's told me _so_ much about you–'

'Fay! _Please_!'

She giggles musically, as if she were only teasing him.

As Jake gently scolds her, he turns to look towards the round table gracing the centre of the room, as if she's seated there.

And yes, she is.

Though no wonder I hadn't spotted her earlier.

She must be all of four inches high.

*

# Chapter 11

Fay's not really seated at the table.

Well, she's not seated in a _regular_ seat, leastways.

She has her own _special_ seat.

Naturally.

A seat that stands on top of what I'd taken to be a dark vase set in the table's very centre.

But it isn't a vase.

It's more or less solid, I see now.

A sort of Alexa type device; only one with a perfect little hologram shining out from its flattened top.

A perfect little hologram of the most perfectly beautiful girl imaginable.

And she's raising a glass of champagne in greeting as I stare in awe at her.

'I must say, Lou,' she says in a conspiratorial whisper, rising up from her seat and leaning towards me as I approach, 'you are a _worthy_ rival for his heart!'

*

'What _is_ she?'

Ignoring Fay, I turn to Jake for an answer.

'Lou; you could ask _me_ , you know,' Fay says huffily.

'It... _she's_ the very latest thing from Japan,' Jake says – and I _really_ can't tell if he's ashamed or proud as he tells me this. 'Fay's a companion for lonely guy– for, you know, switching on lights, music–'

'Jake! Is that _really_ how you see me?'

Once again, Fay puts on that little-girl-lost voice, like she's upset, like she's seeking reassurance that he loves her really.

Weird, or what?

No wonder Jake was keeping all this a secret!

'Jake; isn't this all a bit – well, _sad_ , really?' I ask him kindly, turning to face him, to reach out and touch his shoulder tenderly, letting him now I care for him.

I catch his eyes too, as I really, really want him to know I'm not making fun of him.

'She's doing it again, Jake,' chirps up the little minx. 'I know all these feminine wiles; the gentle touch, the locking of the eyes...'

'Who asked _you_?' I demand, angrily whirling on Fay. 'I happen to have known and cared for Jake far longer than _you've_ been around!'

I don't believe it – I'm arguing with a _machine_!

'Why yes, Lou; and haven't you taken every opportunity in all that time to pretend to show that care, when all you're really, really doing is leading him on, right?' Fay says with an admonishing shake of her pretty little head, a sternly posed crossing of her arms.

'I'm not leadin–'

Jake steps between us like he's keeping apart warring females.

'Girls, girls!' he says half exasperatedly, half gleefully, as if he's flattering himself that we're fighting over him.

I should be furious that he's intervened like this. But my mind's on other things; a sharp, hard pain in my heart, like I'm suffering a stitch from exerting myself too much. It's as if someone's plunged a dagger into my heart – that's how abruptly painful it is.

I hide my agony from Jake. I don't want him thinking I'm suffering some kind of heartache, pangs of jealously, or whatever other way he vainly wants to interpret it.

Yeah, like I'd be suffering that because I've discovered he's started treating a machine like it's an actual girl!

_'Girls_?' I snap angrily at Jake. 'She's not a _girl_ , Jake! She's a clever computer image, that's all!'

'I _know_ why she's so upset, Jake!' Fay cries out triumphantly.

'Fay– I think you've said enough,' Jake says, calmly raising a hand to her, causing her to petulantly turn away.

'How can you _possibly_ know?' I ask her indignantly.

I say it with far more venom than I'd intended; my heart still feels like its suffering some form of cramp, and I'm finding it hard to concentrate on everything happening about me.

'Oh come on, Lou!' Fay bluntly responds. 'You're talking one girl to another now! You're making out your worried for him, the way he talks to me; but you'd actually be quite flattered, wouldn't you, if he'd wanted me to look like _this_!'

And in a magical instant, she completely changes.

And suddenly, I'm seeing a perfectly miniature version of myself grinning back at me with a knowing smile.

*

# Chapter 12

Well, I suppose I should be grateful that Jake's plumped for this miniature vixen rather than one of these horrendous sex dolls.

How creepy would that be; to find Jake's ordered a doll that looks just like me?

Yuk!

But then again – Jake hasn't programmed Fay to look like me, has he?

And he hasn't programmed her, either, to respond to my name; which, of course, he could've quiet easily done.

He prefers a _machine_ to me!

How _crazed_ is that?

Of course, in many ways I should be pleased with all this.

It means Jake's got over me at last.

It means I won't have to suffer him constantly hanging about me.

Yet I can't help but _worry_ for him; I mean, how can you talk and treat a machine as if she's _real_?

Has he _always_ been this crazy?

Do _I_ have anything to do with it?

The way I've treated him?

I hope not.

I mean, I've _always_ made it _quite_ clear that we could only ever be _friends_.

I've never _intentionally_ lead him on, like that little madam bitchily claimed.

'Just listen to yourself, Jake,' I'd quietly hissed at him as I'd left his room, 'talking to her as if she's your _girlfriend_!'

'Oh, and it was always all right, was it,' Fay cried out tartly, obviously having overheard me, 'when he treated _you_ as if _you_ were his girlfriend?'

She's _dangerous_ , you ask me.

Woo, Lou; just _listen_ to yourself!

*

By the time I've walked back to my own room, the sharp jabbing pain in my heart has increased to almost intolerable levels.

It leaves me gasping for breath.

I need some heartburn pill or something; I'll have to ask Mum if–

The amethyst, still lying on my bedside table, where I'd left it earlier, looks weirdly different – I mean, it's _yellow_ , not purple.

The yellow of the foxglove. Even though that, set within a tall, glass vase of water, is on my dressing table, and therefore stands quite a way from the 'amethyst'.

Stepping over to my bed's side, I pick up the glowing gem.

Instantly, the pain in my heart lessens to something far more manageable.

Yes, there's still a residue of pain there, but it's nowhere near the agony I'd been suffering as I'd climbed the stairs up to my room.

I peer into the sparkling jewel's multifaceted interior, seeing there once again the room-like labyrinth, only defined now in wildly varying tones of yellow rather than lilac.

I see myself again in there too, of course, reflected and refracted apparently countless times.

I'm no longer holding what could have been a spear.

I'm not holding anything.

But in one of the room-like facets, there's no image of me at all.

Instead, there stands there, perfectly upright, a single spear, its point glistening, as if with a flowing yellow blood.

I whirl about, to look back at the foxglove, wondering if it's really this I'm seeing there in the gem, reflecting back out at me.

But the foxglove has vanished.

The only thing standing on my dressing table top is a water-filled but otherwise empty glass vase.

*

# Chapter 13

What _is_ this thing?

I intently peer once again into the gem, reassuring myself that the spear does indeed now stand on its own in one of the room-like interior facets of the gem.

Is _reassuring_ the right word?

Probably not!

The spear stands there sure enough. Bathed in the yellow rather than mauve tones of what I'd previously assumed was a fake amethyst.

How's it do _that_?

Change colours, like it's some kind of chameleon?

It's just not possible!

It's a _toy_ – a _plastic_ replica of a jewel.

Is it something to do with the game the woman said it had been a part of?

The spear could be some sort of attribute you gain when playing the game; a sort of dungeon and dragons' type of counter, or an elaborate replacement for dice maybe?

That must be it – what else could explain the way it changes like this?

And the foxglove?

Just a coincidence, obviously.

But – just in case I'm wrong; just in case this thing is some sort of cursed jewel, like you see in the movies – I open the window looking out onto our back garden.

And I throw the gem away. Flinging it as hard as I can towards the bushes separating the gardens.

*

Arrrggahhhhhhh!

I crumple up into a pained crouch, the stabbing ache in my heart suddenly agonising once again!

My pricked finger throbs, too, as if I've only just pricked it while rummaging amongst the play jewels.

I'd eased the pain before, of course, in both cases, by picking up the jewel.

I'd thought it was just another coincidence, that's all.

But it seems that – bizarrely, unfathomably – the fake jewel somehow lessens the agony I'm suffering.

I need to get it back: and quickly too, as the agony seems to be getting worse, increasingly unbearable, and almost debilitating.

Yet I threw it deep into the bushes.

How can I hope to find it amongst that tangled web of branches?

*

# Chapter 14

I'm clutching at my heart as if I'm fearing it's going to explode as I rush out into our back garden.

What hope have I got of finding the gem amongst the bushes?

I remember trying to go in there as a child when I'd lost a sort of flying fairy that had unfortunately landed amongst them.

It was impossible to move about in there.

The fairy, as far as I know, is still hiding away in there somewhere, along with balls, shuttlecocks, and any other toy that accidentally ended up amongst the entangling branches.

I look forlornly at the wall of thickly entwining bushes, wondering where I should start my search.

I don't even have any clear idea where the jewel landed; I hadn't really been watching as it had sailed across the garden to fall into this miniature woodland.

My heart feels as if it's being gripped ever tighter by some monstrous hand determined to squeeze the last drop of juice out of it.

'Oh please, please help me, someone!' I sob uselessly.

As if my weeping has startled some poor creature, there's an abrupt rustling of branches and leaves coming from deep within the labyrinth of bushes.

There's a flash, too, of the brightest light.

Pink light.

The gem hurtles out of the shadowy darkness, heading directly towards me.

Instinctively, I lift a hand up before me; and the pink jewel rushes towards the raised palm, settling neatly into its nestling embrace.

Abruptly, the pain in my stabbed heart, in my pricked finger, is eased and bearable.

*

# Chapter 15

Yet again, I have to ask; how does it _do_ that?

How can it ease my pain just like that?

Is it because, maybe, it _causes_ the pain in the first place?

I mean, I hadn't suffered _any_ problems like this before I'd picked up this dreadful thing!

First, the pricked finger.

Then the stabbing pains in the heart; just as some sort of bleeding spear magically appears deep inside the gem.

Wow – how wonderful is that, do you think?

I've managed to pick up in a yard sale, and absolutely free of charge, a fake jewel stone that tortures its owner with the most intense agonies imaginable!

But hey, don't worry; because it also _soothes_ all those pains it inflicts.

So don't be so foolish that you think you can just solve everything by throwing it away.

Who in their right mind would ever come up with such a devious, devilish device?

Weirder still, how did it manage to fly out towards me when I pleaded for help?

Magic?

But what kind of magic?

Good? Or bad?

I stare at the jewel, wondering once more what it could possibly be.

It's not a _toy_ , that's for sure!

And how can I insist on saying its fake, its plastic, when it's quite clearly something far odder – far more powerful perhaps, too – than just being any old jewel?

It's no longer an amethyst.

It's pink.

Which makes it a...well, I don't know of any _pink_ gems.

A pink diamond, maybe.

I think there _are_ such things, aren't there?

I curiously peer deeply inside it, as I did previously.

Naturally, the labyrinthine angled facets now all shine with pink hues. And there I am, staring back out at myself, or apparently wandering aimlessly around its many rooms.

I'm holding something, as I had before.

Only this time, I think, it's a double headed axe I'm bearing.

*

It could be a halberd. Not an axe.

I'm not an expert when it comes to weapons.

And yet here I am, walking around the inside of this magic gem wielding yet another vicious implement.

The spear still stands alone in its own space, its own room.

Let me guess; at some point, I'm going to set this halberd or axe or whatever it is alongside the spear.

Like I'm gathering together my own personal armoury.

I really really need someone to explain to me what I've got here.

I've never come across anything like it in any of the books I've read, any of the movies I've seen.

But _someone_ must know what it is; what it's supposed to do.

Maybe it's some kind of secret device, usually used by the army or spies or what have you.

Who do I go to for info?

_Wikipedia_ ; where else?

*

# Chapter 16

As I head back into the house, I hear Mum calling out my name.

'There's _another_ flower for you!' she adds brightly.

_Great_.

What is it his time?

A single dandelion, maybe?

A stalk of corn?

I find Mum in the hall, holding out my latest delivery.

It's a pile of camel dung, in which the world's most beautiful pink flower has taken root. All gaily wrapped in florist's cellophane.

No; it's _worse_.

It's the machine I'd seen in Jake's; complete with a mischievously grinning Fay on top.

*

Before I can rage at Fay, demanding to know what she's doing here, what she thinks she's playing at, Mum begins to chirrup excitedly.

'You _have_ got a secret admirer, haven't you dear?' she beams, adding conspiratorially, 'Is there _something_ you need to tell me?'

_What_?

Mum's acting like she's holding nothing at all unusual. Like she can't see Fay pulling faces and aggressively waving at me.

_'Unusual_ isn't it?' Mum says, holding up and peering more intently at what I know see is a cactus, not a machine. 'A _pelecyphora aselliformis_ ; from the Greek for beautiful pink flower.'

Yeah, see – it's like she just sees a pink flower there.

Like, admittedly, _I_ did too when I first walked in.

Am _I_ the one who's seeing all this wrong?

Have I got Fay on my mind?

Am I _imagining_ her?

Am I going crazy?

*

# Chapter 17

I ignore Fay.

Ignore her face pulling.

I ignore the fact she's probably no more than a figment of my crazed imagination.

I take the envelope tied with a bow about the cellophane, hoping that 'my secret admirer' is going to at least give me a clue to help me fathom out who he might be.

Some hope.

It's a blank card again. This time with a small white snake printed on its reverse.

I can be sure, I think, that there's no florist called 'White Snake'.

'I'm sure I read somewhere that flowers have their own meanings,' Mum points out, flattering herself she's being sage like in her sharing of superior esoteric knowledge. 'Even their colours too; a blue lotus, that's the spirit's victory over the senses, while a red one's the love, purity and compassion of the heart.'

'A _cactus_ , Mum?' I reply sourly. 'I'm thick-skinned and prickly; is _that_ what it's saying?'

Mum shrugs uncomfortably.

'Well, I'm not sure it's actually a _cactus_ ,' she says unconvincingly, once again reading from the card she's holding. 'Its _generic_ name, apparently, is also from the Greek, meaning– oh, well. It's just a _name_.'

Obviously embarrassed, she tries to slip the card into her dress pocket.

I snatch it out of her hand.

'Meaning _what_ , Mum?'

I read the card.

I instantly wish I hadn't.

It means ' _hatchet'_.

'So I'm hatchet faced too, am I?'

*

I rush up the stairs with my 'gift'.

Wondering if my back window is still open; if I should toss this 'hatchet' plant straight out into the bushes.

Who's sending me all these horrendous things?

And why?

What have I ever don't to them to deserve this?

Maybe I should have a word with Mum; get her advice on all this.

Yeah, that's an idea – like she'd have any idea what I was on about.

Well, see, Mum, the foxglove _vanished_ , right?

Then there's this fake gem that, well, it seems quite magical...

How's Mum gonna get her head around all that?

Mum, who briefly looks all confused whenever I ask her anything, but tries to hide it, tries to smile, really excited that I'm confiding in her but worried that she doesn't have any answers that can really help me.

So she comes up with an answer anyway, even though it's either totally useless or so blindingly obvious that I'd thought of it too, but had already figured out it wouldn't work.

Yeah, thanks Mum, for coming up with this supposed solution that'll only make things even worse.

Not that you _say_ that, of course.

You sort of _hint_ that that's what you're thinking, with a 'Ho hum hah' sort of mumbling, as if you're considering it, because you don't want to hurt her feelings, don't want her to know you reckon she's not understood the problem at _all_.

Then when she realises your dismissing her 'advice', she doubles down on it, insisting that it's a great idea, and suddenly you realise it wasn't 'advice' at all, but an instruction.

So you've still got your original problem, plus an extra one, cos Mum's now all upset that you're not doing what she told you to.

Well, either that, or she tries to empathise, which involves her conjuring up some tale about how either she or a friend went through exactly the same thing.

Only it's not the same thing at all, by a long stretch.

Besides which, the conversation's no longer about you, it's about Mum. Or Mum and her friend, which is the same thing really.

'You should have known it would turn out like this,' she'll eventually say, all sage-like yet again, demonstrating once more that remarkable power of hindsight so many people around you benefit from.

Yeah, asking Mum for help is asking for trouble.

Who needs all that extra hassle?

Far better, I reckon, to remain confused, bothered and bewildered until I can figure it all out for myself.

*

Setting the plant down on my dresser top, alongside the now flowerless vase of water, I begin to untie the bow and peel back the cellophane.

It releases the most surprisingly glorious fragrance, like the cellophane has been keeping it all bottled up in there.

'Thank goodness!' Fay gasps in relief, breathing in deeply as if she's been submerged underwater for way too long. 'Didn't you see me gasping for air in there?' she abruptly snaps accusingly, glaring at me as if she has murder on her mind.

'Gasping? I thought you were pulling face at me!'

'So why would I be signally that I needed air, putting my hands about my throat?' she furiously retorts.

'I thought _that_ meant you were wanting to throttle me! Besides, why would a hologra– why am I _talking_ to you? You're nothing but a figment of my crazed imagination!'

'Figment?' Fay repeats sourly. 'I prefer... _pigment_ : yes, that's a better word! See _thought_ , like a Japanese _uta_ song, is a moulding of all these whirling streams of colour, these flows of energy, into a wonderfully organic sound sculpture; and I'm just one particularly glorious shade of it all!'

'Wow; you really _are_ part of my imagination, aren't you?'

*

# Chapter 18

'So...why would I be imagining _you_?'

Am I asking her?

Or am I asking myself?

Or, unfortunately, does that all now boil to more or less the same thing?

She shrugs, as if, like me, she has no answer.

I mean, if I _absolutely_ have to conjure up some figment – or _pigment_ , as she insists on calling herself – of my imagination, then why on earth would it be _her_?

She's annoying.

She's a complete pain, in fact.

Maybe _that's_ it.

Maybe like the pricked finger, the wounded heart; well, why not really go full torture mode by ensuring this dreadful little creature is always around to chastise me?

'I know what you're thinking,' she says.

See?

There she goes again, flattering herself she knows me so well she can predict whatever's about to briefly flit through my mind.

'No, no, I don't mean _that_ at all,' she insists.

Did I say all that out loud without meaning to once again?

'No you didn't,' she replies. 'I mean...I really _do_ know what you're thinking!'

*

What?

This little know it all can now read my mind?

Well, I _am_ a part of it I suppose...your mind, I mean,' she says brightly.

'I can't have you reading my mind!' I protest furiously.

'There's no need to _shout_!' she says with a mischievous grin.

'Please tell me you're _kidding_ me...you're winding me up, right?' I ask hopefully.

She shakes her head.

'Maybe...maybe I'm here to be some sort of conscious – you know, like when you see people with an angel and a devil on their shoulders!'

'I've never, _ever_ seen that!' I point out irritably. 'Not in the _real_ world!'

I glare at her suspiciously.

'Besides, which does that make _you_? Angel – or _devil_?'

'I suppose _that_ depends on whatever _you're_ thinking.'

*

# Chapter 19

'You don't _want_ to know what I'm thinking!' I snap at Fay, imagining as I say this all the ways I could mangle her up in the juicer, or force her down the sink's churning waste disposal.

She looks horrified, even blanches a little.

Yeah, she _does_ know what I'm thinking!

Could my day get _any_ worse?

Obviously, there _was_ just the one magpie there when I looked out and saw it on the grass.

Why couldn't my imagination simply conjure up another one, like it's conjured up this grinning little devil?

'Your mind doesn't work that way,' Fay points out, taking on her little-miss-know-it-all mantle once again.

'My mind isn't _supposed_ to conjure _you_ up, is it?' I point out, adding morosely, 'Can't you go back to Jake's? _He_ wants you – _needs_ you, it seems. I _don't_!'

'Oh, I'm still _there_ for him!' she trills excitedly. 'I mean, Jake...well, he's _nice_ , but...we _both_ know you need my help more than he does!'

Wow; at last, a girl who agrees with me that Jake's nice but, well, much, much too bland to be interesting.

Wouldn't you know it though, that girl just happens to be a _product_ of my own imagination.

Great.

Fay's still gabbling away.

'This is...well, what _you're_ seeing is just another _facet_ of me, I suppose – mixed in with some other facets of yourself.'

'Facet?'

I repeat the word curiously.

The gem – what's that, but just a coming together of various interlocking facets?

Fay's eyes widen, like she's amused by the track my mind's taking.

It's just a _word_ , isn't it...facet?

I'm reading too much into it, right?

But...everything that's going wrong in my life all started when I picked up that fake jewel!

Hey, maybe...if it eases the pain in my _finger_ , my _heart_ – well, won't it get rid of this little pain in the ass I've been landed with?

Fay pulls a disgruntled face.

I ignore her, fumbling around in my pocket, trying to find the gem I'd dropped in there once I'd found it in the garden.

I grip it tightly even as I withdraw it from my pocket.

Wouldn't you know it?

The pain in my ass is still happily grinning at me.

*

# Chapter 20

Within the gem, I'm no longer holding the axe, hatchet or whatever it was.

Like the spear, it has now been given its own dark, angled facet – its own room, if you prefer – to stand in.

Now, if I _really_ had an axe...

'Lou! How can you even _think_ such a thing?'

Fay's dismayed. She rubs her neck, as if my thoughts alone have made it a touch sore.

'I'm here to _help_ you,' she insists petulantly, at last slipping down off the top of the stubby cactus. 'You're troubled, Lou; you need someone you can talk to whom you can trust!'

She lands on the dresser top so gently it's as if she's flown rather than jumped down, the layers of her pink, diaphanous dress flowing out behind her as if they were fairy wings.

'Did...did you just _fly_?' I ask her unsurely.

She looks up at me pityingly, as if I'm quite clearly not very bright if I'm in anyway surprised by this.

'What does a thought weigh, do you think?' she answers cryptically. 'Can't thoughts fly?'

This _can't_ be happening to me.

Is Mum slipping me some medication I don't know about, perhaps mixed in amongst my breakfast cereal?

Did I bang my head, real badly; so badly, I can't even remember the accident?

Or am I simply dreaming?

Still soundly asleep?

Fay shakes her head.

Naturally, she heard me posing these questions to myself.

'Nope,' she says assuredly. 'What you're seeing is real enough, I'm glad to say – otherwise, I wouldn't be here, would I? I wouldn't be able to _help_ you!'

Help me?

If you're the _answer_ to my problems; just what kind of problems have I got?

*

'You don't know the meaning of the axe – or the spear – do you?'

Fay's peering into the pink gem I've set down on the dresser top.

She can see the axe and spear; so, thankfully, they're not just some other mirage I'm suffering from then.

_Wait – what_ am _I saying?_

The jewel doesn't appear to be reflecting multiple images of her; not like it does of me, leastways.

Then again, isn't she just a _thought_ , and nothing more?

Naturally, she'd see in the gem _exactly_ what I see.

'You're not imagining it,' she reassures me.

But wouldn't I tell myself that? Sure I would.

She giggles.

'Lou, you're just tying yourself up in ever more complicated doubts; stop it. _I_ can tell you what the axe and the spear mean: could _you_ do that?'

I shake my head.

No; of course I don't know what either the spear or axe mean.

I wasn't even sure they _meant_ anything!

'The spear is the formation of a base: as Izanagi stirred the primeval ocean with his spear to create the first island, so he and Izanami could learn the art of love by watching two water birds. The axe is the cutting away of ignorance, of calamity, of all obstacles blocking our path to enlightenment and harmony.

'Izanagi? _Japanese_? Aren't you reading these meanings into these things simply because _you're_ Japanese?'

'Well no; it's because the _goddess_ you called on for help is Japanese.'

'I never called on any goddess for help!' I scornfully retort. 'Goddesses don't _exist_!'

'Yet you rang her Love Bell, and you were all alone. What's that if not a plea for her aid?'

'I didn't ring it because I was all _alone_!' I persist irritably. 'I wanted help sorting out this love triangle – this love _circle_ – with Jake and Cory and what have you!'

'Well, now she's _trying_ to help _you_ –'

'And this is her help? _You_?'

'I'm merely a part – a _facet_ – of the answer, idiot!'

Now I _know_ I'm crazy; throwing back insults while holding a conversation with myself about a magical goddess!

Fay ignores me, looking instead towards the card that had come in the envelope attached to the plant she'd arrived on.

'There's your proof that the Goddess Benzaiten – or Benten, if that's easier for you – is the one helping you. She takes on the form of the white snake to assist her followers. It's a symbol of dynamic potency, a destroyer of greed.'

'But the card that came with the previous flower showed a white _fox_ ,' I point out sceptically.

Fay nods as if this all makes perfect sense, and only serves to prove that she's surmised all this correctly.

'Like the white snake, the white fox is usually depicted carrying Benten's wish-granting jewel.'

_'That_ jewel? I ask hopefully, eagerly nodding towards the pink gem lying alongside Fay.

She shakes her head doubtfully, even as she turns to stare dismissively at the glittering stone.

'I wouldn't _think_ so,' she says disdainfully. 'The spear, the axe; they're objects of power she's always been known to have held, whereas the wish-granting jewel was added in later, inaccurate histories. Originally, she _herself_ is the jewel, or _tama_.'

She looks towards the gem with a dissatisfied pout.

_'That's_ probably more likely to be just a fac–'

'Yeah, yeah, I know – a _facet_ , right?'

*

# Chapter 21

'What sort of goddess is she, this Benten? A goddess of love? She's not...well; _evil_ , is she?'

'She's the goddess of beauty, of everything that flows: water, music, eloquence, knowledge...'

'And _you_ know all this because...?'

I glare at her suspiciously.

'Well, because, as you said, I'm Japanese, I suppose!'

'But _I'm_ not – so if you're a figment of my imagination, _you're_ not either!'

She reddens, I'm sure, like she knows she's been caught out. But she recovers quickly if that really is the case.

'Ah, well now, see...I _did_ say _pigment_ , remember? I said I'm more a _tone_ of thought, a mix of a facet of you... _and_ me!'

'If _that's_ your gem of an answer, there are plenty of _flaws_ in it!' I snap dismissively.

She shrugs once more.

'It's not easy to explain; not when _goddesses_ are involved.'

With a gentle fluttering of her veil-like dress, she rises up into the air, landing on my shoulder as softly as a feather might alight there.

Yes, she really _is_ weightless, it seems; and yet I'm sure I can feel hints of warmth coming off from her, bringing a blush to the skin of my cheek.

Reaching out, she touches the side of my head.

'You'd be surprised what you know in there, while all the time remaining perfectly unaware of it.'

'My subconscious, you mean?'

'Sure; if that's what you'd prefer to call it.'

'So what would _you_ call it; a shade of mauve, mixed in with a bit of yellow?'

'Oh no no no; it's far far more beautiful than _that_!'

*

Before the day ends, I receive yet another delivery of a plant.

Well, if you could really call it a _plant_.

'It's bow of sugarcane,' Mum says, looking every bit as mystified as you'd expect. 'It's tied with a _beautiful_ bow, though, isn't it?' she adds with an attempt at a more obvious brightness.

The other card, the one in the envelope, features a picture of a turtle.

Wow; this has got to be the worst delivery yet.

Even Mum's finding it hard to put a positive spin on it.

'Maybe he's saying, you know, you're sweet,' she says unconvincingly.

Maybe there's no 'he' involved at all, Mum, I want to say; but how would I go about explaining what I mean?

I've left Fay upstairs in my room.

She would be even harder to explain to Mum, wouldn't she?

Then again, maybe Mum wouldn't be able to see Fay; which means I've got to finally admit to myself that I really do need help, but more of the medical kind involving...well, whatever's involved these days in treating people who imagine they have their own personal little fairy accompanying them.

'It's a bow,' Fay says unhelpfully when I show her my new gift.

'Thanks Einstein,' I reply sceptically. 'Whatever would I do without you?'

'No, no,' she persists. 'I mean a bow as in bow and arrow; it's one of Benten's weapons.'

'Some goddess of love! An axe, a spear and a bow and arrow: what's she do – go around forcing people into shotgun marriages?'

'The bow signifies an increase in honour, in the use of confidence,' Fay answers calmly, ignoring my sarcasm. 'The turtle is a servant and messenger, guarding the four directions.'

'Ah, I see, I see,' I reply scornfully. 'Which all means?'

Fay shrugs.

'Ah, _that_ I _don't_ know, unfortunately,' Fay sadly admits.

*

# Chapter 22

Early next day, I receive a golden gladioli, and a little later what should have been a silvery white lily, _Lycoris radiate_ : only all the petals had fallen off, leaving only one stamen, as the rest had apparently been deliberately plucked.

'The Roman _gladius_ was a sword,' Fay thankfully explains, 'which is a devil-subduing instrument, while the golden dragon on the card is another helpful manifestation of Benten.'

'A stamen is also called _pistel_ , or pestle. The hare in the moon we see on the card uses it to mix a magic elixir.'

If the connections seem rather forced, sure enough, the bow, the sword and the pestle all appeared deep within the labyrinthine facets of the gem, which itself goes through yet more changes in colour; first a watery yet icily sparkling black, like a fragment of a winter night, then a weirdly golden hue, followed by a moon-like silver.

'When does all this end?' I ask Fay wearily. 'What am I supped to make of it all?'

'I think there can only be three more; Benten held a symbol of her powers in each hand.'

_'Each_ hand? How many's she got?'

'Well, eight, obviously.'

_'Eight_ hands? What sort of goddess of beauty _is_ this?'

*

# Chapter 23

When Mum cries out to me from the bottom of the stairs, I think, Oh no – here we go again!

What will it be this time?

Some sort of posy of poison ivy, maybe? With an ostrich on the card?

Who knows?

How can you possibly predict what sort of 'flower' I'm going to receive next?

I asked Fay is she knew what Benten's other attributes were, so I might have a chance of figuring out what kind of weird flowers I can expect to be delivered over the next few days.

But, she'd said, it's a little more _complicated_ than that...

Go on, I'd insisted resignedly.

'Well, over the centuries, people have added all these _different_ objects...'

Turns out, I reckon, that this Benten could have twenty arms and she wouldn't be able to hold all the devices she's been claimed to possess.

'So isn't this wonderful, Lou?' Fay had elatedly chirruped.

_'Wonderful_?' I'd growled suspiciously.

'Well, we've been given the opportunity to at last find out which objects Benten _really_ calls her own!'

Yeah, that's one way of looking at it, I suppose.

Me, though, I just see all this as some sort of unnecessarily painful IQ challenge I could very well do without, thank you.

I mean, if this is what this Benten considers to be help, well – just how the heck does she go about winding someone up?

'You're looking really well!' I hear Mum saying as I begin to languidly make my way down the stairs.

She's talking to the _flower_?

That explains a lot.

Like, where my own crazed imaginings came from.

Maybe we can sit around on an evening, talking to bunches of carnations and otherwise invisible pixies, never having to fear being lonely ever again.

The hours will simply fly by.

But, thankfully, she's _not_ talking to my latest delivery from Interflora.

She's talking to Jake.

'Hi Lou,' he says a touch ashamedly, 'I thought maybe I should pop round; explain a few things that might be troubling you...'

*

Wow, that's _great_ , Jake! You're going to explain why I'm getting all these bizarre flowers right?

Well, I'm tempted to blurt that out – but thankfully, I don't.

What on earth would Jake know about these flowers?

I've already accused him of sending them; he's already denied it.

And now I know for sure that he was telling the truth; for, far weirder still, it's some goddess who's sending them all to me.

In the hope, Fay says, that I can begin to fathom out some meaning behind it all.

It's all so _exciting_ , Fay claims.

A learning experience, one that's bound to leave us far more enriched when we finally piece every part of the puzzle together!

Woohhh! If _that's_ her idea of fun, she needs to get out more.

Though, I don't suppose she can, really, can she? Being linked to Jake's machine. Or my mind, at least.

Fay!

Maybe _that's_ why Jake's here!

Fay's gone missing, from his flat.

He can't find her _anywhere_!

You know, like when someone loses an adored pet parrot, because they foolishly left the window open.

I've only Fay's word for it that she can be in both places at one and the same time; with me, and in Jake's flat too!

Could I be accused of _stealing_ her?

Of _kidnapping_ her?

'Honestly, officer, she arrived at my house completely of her own accord...'

As Mum leaves us alone in the hallway together, a wistful look on her face, like she thinks dull Jake and me would make the perfect match, Jake instantly leans in closer towards me, whispering urgently.

'It's about _Fay_ ...'

*

# Chapter 24

That's it; I'm about to break down into a sobbing confession, begging for Jake's forgiveness, telling him it wasn't intentional – Fay just turned up here and–

'I know you must think I'm a touch crazed, talking to a machine...'

Phew!

Jake just beat me to it!

If he hadn't, right now I'd be stupidly wailing that I was the truly crazed one, far far crazier than he could ever fear becoming.

At least _he's_ got the _machine_.

_My_ Fay, well, she just sits on my shoulder, or on the dresser top, both of us chatting away like we're long lost sisters.

Well, sisters who are still a little bit snarky to each other, of course.

'Oh, no no; I never thought that at _all_ , Jake,' I barefacedly lie, all coy and syrupy sweet.

He smiles, wanly, like he's not sure whether to believe me, not sure what to say next.

He attempts to say something anyway.

'I mean, Lou...I...I...oh, how _do_ I say this?'

See?

What did I tell you?

'I don't know, Jake; I don't know what you're _trying_ to say.'

Although, yeah, I can guess.

I can dread it.

He's about to confess his undying love for me; he's been keeping it hidden too long, and he can't hide it any longer.

Okay, okay; so it's all _my_ fault!

I _have_ been leading him on, haven't I?

I should have stopped long ago.

'I'm finding it hard to say this–'

'Then maybe you shouldn't _say_ it, Jake!' I interrupt, probably way too hastily.

'No, no...it _has_ to be said, Lou,' he perseveres. 'I've been holding back from saying this for way too long now...'

See? I was right, wasn't I?

How do I get out of this?

Oh no; here it comes!

'I mean, I know I've been, sort of, _hanging_ around with you _too_ much... and I've been saying it's because we're _friends_ ... But, your see, Lou, I'm sorry, but–'

'Please, please, Jake!' I plead. 'You _don't_ have to say this!'

'No no, Lou; I do! See, it's Jilly–'

'Jilly?'

What's she got to do with this?

What's she been saying?

'Well, I know you're _friends_ with her, right? So I kinda thought, if I hung around with _you_ , she'd–'

'What? _She'd_ what? _She'd_ be there too? You've been _using_ me?'

'Well, no, no! I mean, I _like_ being with you–'

'But Jilly wasn't _always_ there with us! This doesn't make _any_ sense!'

'Ah, but I knew that if _you_ kinda liked me, you'd say the right things to Jilly and–'

'And she'd ask you for a _date_? Hah, _some_ chance, Jake! I mean, yeah, you're _ever_ so nice, Jake, but–'

'Yes, yes,' he replies eagerly, 'that's what _she_ said. Thank you, Lou!'

He reaches forward, gives me a quick, tight hug.

When he pulls back he's grinning like he's won first prize on the ship of fools.

'Well,' he says, with a deep sigh of relief, 'now, you'll be glad to know, there's no need for me to be always clinging to your shirt tails, as it were–'

'No _need_? That's all it ever was; a _need_?'

'Well, yeah; I mean, I realise, Lou, that sometimes you were pretty annoyed that I was hanging around you all the time without saying, you know, that maybe we should hook up and–'

'Yeah, I was _furious_ sometimes, if you _must_ know, and now I'm mor–'

'Yeah, and I didn't _want_ you to be furious with me! I _don't_ want you to be furious with me _now_ , either. I mean, I'm sorry, I admit it seems as if I was leading you on, but I hoped I was giving you enough clues that I wasn't really interes–'

'Leading _me_ on?' I spit back furiously. ' _I_ was the one leadi– I mean...just who the hell do you think you are Jake?'

'Okay, okay!' He raises his hands up between us placatingly. 'So, _ages_ ago, right, there _might've_ been a chance for us to get together; but when I sort of looked deeply into your heart, I saw, well, it would never have been _right_ between us; yeah?'

*

Leading _me_ on?

Looking _deeply_ into my _heart_?

_Bloody_ cheek!

How could he do that? Has he been granted x-ray vision, maybe through swallowing too many radioactive kryptonite spiders or something?

How can he _possibly_ flatter himself that he knows what I think about him?

That's not reading someone's _heart_ : that's reading their _mind_!

'Wow, you're taking all this pretty badly, aren't you?'

Oh yeah: I briefly forgot that little miss know-everything _can_ read my thoughts.

'I thought you never _cared_ for him anyway?' she adds with a curious tilt of her head, a chiding pout.

'Sure I don't!' I adamantly insist. 'But...well, you know! It still _hurts_ – knowing I've been fooling myself all this time that he was in _love_ with me! How ridiculous is _that_? And how _dare_ he not be in love with me anyway? What _is_ it he doesn't _like_ about me? I'm–'

'You're just not _right_ for him, that's all,' Fay rudely interrupts before I can begin listing all my many positive attributes.

Talking of which, I wonder when Benten's planning on delighting me with yet another delivery of her own special attributes.

When's all this help she's supposedly winging my way going to start showing some positive results?

Things are rapidly going from bad to worse to catastrophic.

If I can't get even boring Mr Nice-guy Jake to show a proper interest in me, what chance have I got with Cory?

Zilch, probably, truth be told.

What _is_ it with all these flowers being delivered?

How are they supposed to help me land Cory?

I mean, once an object – and there seems to be a worryingly awful lot of deadly weapons there, you ask me! – appears within the gem, the plants themselves vanish anyway, as if they've never really existed,

Mum's accused me of being peevish, childish even, as she thinks I'm throwing them all away!

_Great_.

Just _great_!

Why the heck did I ever ring that blooming Love Bell?

*

# Chapter 25

The next delivery is a single narcissus.

Its head drooping. Looking down into the small silver pot it's arrived in.

Yeah, yeah; even _I_ get the meaning behind _this_ one.

Sure, it's not like my knowledge of Greek myth would impress that kid who's always fighting evil centaurs and what have you; but even I know Narcissus fell in love with his own reflection.

So, let's have a look into my magic gem and see what object I'm carrying around this time.

It'll be mirror, right?

Wrong

It's an arrow.

*

An _arrow_?

I can't remember anything in the legend about Narcissus getting an arrow in his back, like you see in all those 7th cavalry movies.

'Ah yes, yes; of _course_!' Fay breathes, almost close to being awestruck, like she's impressed.

'Of course _what_?'

'Cupid's arrow; as you know, Eros _deliberately_ shot poor Narcissus as the boy bent towards the pool!'

'Well, I _didn't_ know that,' I admit (but only because Fay must know full well what I know and don't know!) 'So this is love's arrow–'

Fay shakes her head.

'But you just said...'

'That's the _Greek_ myth; which yes, is being cleverly evoked here! For what is a mirror but the unenlightened mind deluded by mere appearances? But _Benten's_ arrow represents the _curbing_ of passion–'

'I've to stop loving myself? I indignantly retort.

'Ah, well,' Fay says defensively, 'the mirror, see, can be a _lesson_ that life is illusion, a reflection of reality. And so, upon this _realisation_ , it can draw forth intelligence to liberate the mind an;–'

'Ok then, so as I _said_ – what you're _really_ saying is that I mustn't be so self-absorbed, yes?' I persist.

She nods her head like she's worried I'm going to bite it off.

'This Benten – do you get the idea _she_ doesn't like me either?'

*

# Chapter 26

The card in the envelope portrays a five-headed dragon.

'Don't tell me; one of Benten's many forms that she can take, yeah?'

Fay shakes her head miserably, once again keeping it low, like she's expecting me to give her an angry tongue lashing at any moment.

'Okay, okay...right, so it's the _five_ senses that...oh, what's the point of _me_ trying to figure all this out?' I sigh resignedly. 'So tell me, oh Enlightened One; _now_ what is it that I'm missing?'

'Wooed by Benten's beauty and benevolence, the terrible dragon proposed marriage to her: and when she refused, he repented his evil actions and became the Dragon Hill upon which the Love Bell itself is set!'

'Hooray for Benten, eh?' I cynically cheer.

'I gather you're no longer taking all this seriously, Lou!' Fay says with yet another of her chiding pouts. 'These things take time; it's a learning curve, each delivery, each object, leading you to a further understanding.'

_'Further_ understanding. I don't understand _anything_!'

'Because you're not _ready_ yet. There are two more things to be delivered, yes?'

'Well, if one of these objects happens to be a book of _instructions_ , then yeah, maybe–'

'You _have_ to take this seriously, Lou. Benten has _chosen_ you – and I've got to admit, I've _no_ idea why! – for further enlightenment; you should be _proud_. _Ecstatic_ , even!'

'It's all beyond me, Fay! In case you haven't realised it yet, I'm not _Japanese_! How am I supposed to work all these things out?'

'There was a _key_ , in _some_ versions...' she says hesitantly.

'A key to _what_?' I ask hopefully.

'A...treasure chest...' she answers hesitantly, knowing full well it doesn't sound very useful at all. 'It was in the _later_ version too; not the original and true listing, which we seem to be following at the moment.'

'Soo...what wonderful object _can_ I be looking forward to receiving?'

'The silk rope of marriage–'

'Doesn't she hold _anything_ that's of _any_ use to me?'

'Well, when the bow and arrow are married, _then_ they symbolise love.'

'Ah...now _that_ begins to sound more like what I need...'

'But best of all, Lou,' Fay says excitedly, spurred on by my increased interest, 'is the eight spoked wheel–'

'A _wheel_? That's the _best_ thing?'

'The cosmic wheel of enlightenment!'

'Well, yeah – I certainly need enlightenment on what the heck is going on in my life since this blooming Benten got involved!'

'The wheel symbolises the eight laws of the Eightfold Path, just as the eight petals of the lotus opens up from a tightly closed bud to–'

'A lotus? Well, at least that's a flower worth keeping! If I can keep it, that is, rather than it vanishin–'

'The lotus is symbolic of _purity_ and _detachment_ ,' Fay points out scornfully, 'for it blossoms on log stalks rising up from muddy waters whose drops slide off its petals...petals...peta–'

'Fay! What's wrong?'

She looks – for the very first time – confused, even fearful. It's the look of someone who's swallowed something that's caught in their throat.

Please, _no_!

I can hardly give her the Heimlich Manoeuvre, can I?

I don't know _what_ to do.

She looks like she's choking.

Maybe even dying!

*

# Chapter 27

Instinctively, I reach out to help Fay as she chokes, as she crumples almost into a ball – but what can I do?

She so tiny!

So fragile!

I could only make things _worse_!

Why am I so _useless_?

Why do I know so little about _anything_ , _anyone_?

'What's _wrong_ , Fay? Please, please _tell_ me – what's _happening_ to you?'

She can't answer. It's like she's been suddenly struck _dumb_!

Her incredibly pretty face is scrunches up in agony as she clutches at her stomach, crouches low, lower, as if she's going to drop to the floor.

And then – she stops in mid-fall, as if abruptly frozen in an impossibly unbalanced pose.

She's slowly becoming transparent too.

Dimmer.

Flickering off, on, off, on, like a dying light bulb.

Like a dying computer screen.

Yes, yes – _that's_ it!

She's fading away. Losing power, or something!

But she was fine only a second ago! How can–

An _update_!

Jake's machine is suffering from a dreaded _update_!

*

I run around to Jake's faster and for far longer than I've _ever_ run.

I don't care about the pain in my heart, the stitch that stabs and stabs deep within me.

I don't care that I'm short of breath, my lungs screaming for more air.

My muscles ache. My eyes bulge painfully from the overflow of blood surging about my head.

I'm exhausted and gasping hard as I bang furiously on Jake's door; hoping he's in; hoping he can fix whatever the problem is.

'Hold on, hold on; I'm coming!' Jake screams from inside his room, obviously irritated by my loud, urgent pounding of his door.

When he angrily flings open his door, he's also obviously surprised to see it's me standing there.

'Lou, sorry, I'd already explaine–'

'It's not _me_ I'm calling about!' I snap irritably. 'It's Fay – what's happening to her?'

Without waiting for an answer, I push him aside, rush into his room.

The machine isn't here; a flower in a glass jar has taken its place in the centre of the table.

'Oh, hi Lou; fancy seeing _you_ here!'

I whirl about with a happy smile of relief.

'Fay, I–'

It isn't Fay.

It's Jilly.

Lounging on Jake's long sofa like she's really made herself at home here.

*

'Jilly, I – I haven't got time to explain, sorry!'

I spin about on my heels once more, this time to face Jake as he walks in behind me.

'Fay – where's Fay?' I demand.

He frowns wryly; yeah, I get it. He can't understand why I'm suddenly so concerned about a computer-generated girl whom I'd mocked earlier.

Thankfully, rather than wasting time pointing this out, he turns his head to one side, using a nod to indicate the machine now forlornly standing on a shelf.

There's no Fay there.

The machine has no lights on, like it's been switched off.

'You turned her _off_!' I wail accusingly. 'You've got to switch her back _on_!'

'Lou, what _is_ all this?'

Jilly's risen from her seat, stepped closer towards me. She has a worried expression, like she thinks I'm acting crazily.

I ignore her.

I've got far more important things to sort out than worrying over what Jilly might think about me, even what she might _say_ about me later.

'Switch her _on_!' I insist, glaring at Jake.

His perplexed frown says he's not so much worried about me as what I might do to him or Jilly.

_'Please_ ,' I beg. 'It's _important_!'

'It won't work,' he says, even though he does as I ask and reaches out to switch on the machine.

Fay flickers into life atop the block-like machine.

But that's all _she_ does; flicker off and on and off and on.

'It was an update,' he says uncaringly. 'Something went wrong in the registry, I reckon; it needs a good clean up.'

'Then why haven't you _done_ that?' I ask as I helplessly watch Fay's hopeless fight to become fully formed once more. 'You can't leave her like _this_!'

'Why should I bother?' he says nonchalantly, returning Jilly's beaming smile as he reaches for her hand. 'I don't need her anymore, do I?'

*

# Chapter 28

How the heck do I get my hands on that kind of money?

I'd offered to buy the machine off Jake if he fixed it for me.

'Should be easy enough; yeah, I can do for you,' he'd assured me. 'But these things are still rare in this country, so...'

So he named a price I could refuse if only I wasn't desperate to bring Fay back to life.

I don't have anywhere near that amount in my savings.

I doubt if even Mum has; and she sure as heck ain't gonna let me have it to buy a glorified computer!

There's only one person I know who might have that sort dough to hand.

Dad.

That's Dad who lives with his little floozy, as me and Mum prefer to call her.

*

The little floozy is even more surprised to see me at the door than Jake was.

'Lou! Why, it's so, so good to see you!'

Thing is, I think she really means it, going by the brightness of her smile, her almost elated expression.

Perhaps she thinks my arrival on her doorstep is a sign that I've finally forgiven her for running off with my Dad.

Yeah, some hope, Jane – I mean 'you little floozy'!

She'd been his secretary at work, naturally.

They'd been 'carrying on', as Mum called it, for quite a while when Dad eventually announced he was moving in with her, leaving us to fend for ourselves.

'Sorry, Lou,' he'd said sadly. 'It's not _your_ fault!'

Wow, and there was me thinking it _was_ , right?

Like _I'd_ been the one arranging all the 'business trips', the hotel rooms for their secretive 'liaisons'.

I don't even want to _think_ want when on at these times!

Dad's a scumbag, _that_ goes without saying; but I'll say it anyway, as I _like_ saying it.

But the advantage of dads who are scumbags is that they really, really don't like their daughters to _think_ of them as scumbags.

So they'll always go out of their way to try and turn you around to liking them once again.

Mind you, what I'm asking for today is a sum of money even Dad is gonna blanch at...

*

# Chapter 29

He didn't want to give me it; I could tell.

'It's just that it's such a _large_ amount of money...'

Anything else, he'd said, he'd be prepared to give me, no strings attached.

But it was a ridiculous sum to splash out on a second-hand computer that I couldn't even be sure was working properly.

He'd got a point, you have to give him that.

I could hardly explain, could I, that I needed it to resurrect a dear friend of mine who was all of a few inches tall...

He'd looked Jane's way, locking his eyes with hers, pleading for her support in denying me this big wad of cash I'd asked for.

Yeah, well, it is pretty mercenary of me, isn't it?

Holding poor old Dad over the hot coals like this; how _dare_ he hurt the daughter he's abandoned, and all over nothing more than a handful of notes?

He _deserves_ it!

And so does Jane – or at least, that's what I'd thought, until she said it would be mean of them to refuse me when I'd obviously suffered through no fault of my own.

Way to go Jane!

(Not that I'd want Mum to hear me thinking that!)

*

Maybe...maybe I've got to give Jane and Dad a bit more rope, right?

I mean, they hurt Mum bad, and me too.

But love....it's not an easy thing to deal with, is it now?

They're going to get married, Jane says; and she'd like me to be there, at the wedding.

Preferably as a bridesmaid, if that was okay be me.

Yeah, like Mum would allow _that_!

What a position to be be in!

I told Jane I was flattered, I'd think about it.

Which I will.

But I know what my answer has to be.

It would hurt Mum way too much for me to accept.

Shame, really.

She seems alright, to be honest, does Jane.

And Dad; well, he _used_ to be a great Dad – the most _amazing_ Dad!

You know – weekend trips to the seaside. Playing catch or ball games in our back garden.

Where did it all start to go wrong for Mum and Dad?

I was too young, too naive, to notice.

Before I knew it, I was taking Mum's side without ever hearing Dad's version of it.

It would be disloyal, wouldn't it, to listen to Dad try and explain why all this had happened?

*

I've never done so much running throughout my entire life!

Even so, by the time I get back home carrying the ungainly, surprisingly heavy machine, Fay has completely vanished.

That's okay, that's okay; I've just got to get the machine plugged in, switch it on, following Jake's hurriedly scribbled instructions...

In her place, set in the very middle of my dressing table, there's yet another 'delivery'.

A small bush with nothing but green leaves; there's not a single colourful bloom, from what I can see.

So much for the beautiful lotus Fay had hinted I might soon be receiving!

Wait, though; there's something curled up in one of the leaves, could that be a bud that–

My go–

It's a fat, ugly _maggot_!

Ugh!

With a disgusted sweep of an arm, I send the whole thing spilling to the floor.

*

I press the computer's button, wait a few hour-long seconds as it warms up, goes through the motions of whatever it has to do to prepare itself...

At last, a glorious fountain of iridescent pink light erupts from the very top, circling like a swirling whirlpool, whole segments coagulating as something begins to take form in its bright glow...

Yes, yes; Fay's _there_!

She's _almost_ complete!

'Fay,' I say excitedly, 'thank goodne–'

'Hello Jake; what should we do today together?' Fay giggles inanely

*

# Chapter 30

'What? Fay, it's _me_! Not Jake!'

'Oh, hello; would you like to be my friend too? That should be _such_ fun!'

'Fay; what's _wrong_ with you?'

'Wrong with me?' she answers worriedly. 'Do you think there's something wrong with me? Would you like me to change?'

Jake!

He's done this on purpose, hasn't he?

'Wait here!' I say to Fay stupidly.

'Of course!' she giggles. 'Hurry back; missing you already!'

*

'Jake; this is just...I mean, Fay is the one _you_ talked to...'

How else can I describe my problem?

I'm desperately trying to keep the anger from my voice as I call him.

'No, it can't be; it's completely reset–'

_'Reset_? You mean you _wiped_ her out?'

I can't keep the horror from my voice.

'Well, of _course_ ; I didn't think you'd want the character I'd created. What would be the poin–'

'But that's _exactly_ who I _did_ want, Jake!' I wail miserably. 'Who _else_ would I have wanted?'

'Someone more personalised to _yourself_ : _that's_ who else. Fay was what _I_ wanted from her; why on earth you want the same character? I didn't even think you two precisely hit it off when yo–'

'How do I get her _back_ , Jake! I _need_ her back!

'It doesn't happen _that_ quickly, Lou! You have to form a _relationship_ with her, right? That way, she gradually develops, taking on the qualities _you_ want from her – or rather, _him_. Didn't you see the bit on my note about gender? You can, you know,' he adds with a sly, barely discernible chuckle, 'call him Cory, if you'd like!'

'I don't want a fake Cory, you idiot, Jake! It's _Fay_ I wanted–'

'Hah, _that_ explains a lot I suppose!' he guffaws.

What?

I hang up.

_Jerk_!

_King_ of Jerks!

*

# Chapter 31

'What should we talk about? What's your name?'

Fay's simpering tones are already getting on my nerves.

Next to her machine, the card that came with the bush has slipped from its envelope.

It's a picture of a lute, I think: one with two holes – what do you call the hole in a guitar or violin? – shaped and painted to look like the sun and moon.

It's got one of what should be five strings missing. So it's not much good for playing tunes, is it? Though there could be what looks like a spare string lying alongside, as if it just needs replacing.

So, does this Benten play the lute, maybe?

Or is it something she transforms into?

I could've asked the old Fay.

This Fay, she'd have no idea what I'm talking about, would she?

'Ohh, that's sooo _pretty_!' she'd say.

*

When I wake up the next day, I feel like I've woken up outside, in the midst of a silvery fog.

It's cold, far colder than usual. And all I can see stretching out before me is this brightly glistening and impenetrable white mist.

But I'm in bed; there's no doubt about that.

I can feel the mattress and pillow that I'm lying on, the quilt wrapped about me.

I reach out towards the foggy mist.

My hand instinctively recoils in disgust, in horror.

It's like stretching out to touch a mass of thickly entangled spider webs, a snarled labyrinth of the finest threads.

Thankfully, it's not a sticky thread, otherwise my arm would now be encased in a silken cocoon or, worse, would still be firmly held within the entwining threads.

I mean, just what size or number of spiders could produce a web like this overnight?

I shiver at the thought – or, maybe, just because it's so damn cold!

Tentatively reaching out again, I realise the threads are made of incredibly fine cotton or, going by how soft they feel, more like silk: enough silk, in fact, to make a number of shirts or gowns, if I were in anyway so inclined.

Where's it all come from?

I have to literally slip out from beneath my quilt to ensure I don't become entangled in this wild undergrowth of threads. The threads extend everywhere, however, including down the sides of my bed. I have to combine crawling with a lithe squirming to begin to make any progress through it all.

Squirming; yeah, like a worm, a maggot.

It hadn't been a maggot on that mulberry bush, had it?

It had been a silkworm. One that's gone to town while I've slept, completely filling my room up with its delicately spun threads.

Maybe I should call Mum, shout out for help.

I'd explain what's happened here by claiming...what, exactly?

Even I'm lost for any explanation I could use to make all this seem perfectly natural.

Since when did a single silkworm produce so many threads over a few hours?

Some of the strands have twisted about each other, forming a thicker strand, more like string than cotton thread. It seems to lead, too, through some of the larger spaces left by the enmeshed web, perhaps because the nearby threads have spun about the thicker strand, transforming a string into a rope, a rope into what could be a spirally, coiling root.

Just how _big_ is my room?

It seems to be taking an age for me to come up against one of its walls, let alone the door or window.

Weirder still, the longer I follow the coursing strand of silk, the more the floor seems to be gradually slopping away from me...

*

# Chapter 32

Large sections of the floor of my bedroom must have partially given way under the weight of the silken web, leaving large portions hanging at odd angles from whatever has fortunately remained in place.

How else can it be that I'm now descending an increasingly steep incline, clinging on to the ever-thickening strand to steady myself?

I'd been wrong to think of this broad, coiling strand, as a 'root'.

As it's not actually embedded in anything of substance like soil, I suppose it would be more accurate to think of it as a branching, or maybe a curling stalk.

Yes; a _giant_ beanstalk – as in the fairytale.

Only I'm gradually making my way warily _down_ the stalk, rather than climbing _up_ it.

Of course, this 'stalk' doesn't possess any offshoots, or leaves, that I can use as steps. But being composed of so many thinner threads, it's thankfully reasonably pliant, enabling me to maintain a grip. Its looping nature also provides footholds, even precariously curving walkways when it spirals more or less horizontally about itself.

I'm still barefoot, wearing nothing but my own silken nightdress. The silk is soft under my feet, yet dangerously slippery. So I sigh with relief when the strand broadens out, even though it dawns on me that I've been descending for far longer that I would have expected had it simply extended down towards the ground floor of our house.

I still can't see where I'm headed, the pure white silk of the threads enshrouding me in the permanently frozen whirl of a snowstorm. I can't see that I have any alternative but to keep on following this meandering, looping pathway.

Abruptly, that 'pathway' sharply drops away from me.

I lose my footing.

Then I'm falling into the edges of the enveloping silvery mist, each thread surprisingly far weaker than I'd expected, each snapping one after the other as I uncontrollably plummet through them.

*

# Chapter 33

I land with a bone jarring thump on a looping coil of the snaking, thicker strand.

With no time to reach out and slow myself, I'm suddenly swooping down the curling rope, a hurtling helter skelter ride that spins me first one way and then another.

Suddenly, it turns far too sharply.

And once again, I'm thrown out into the swirling mist.

Only this time, its farther out: far farther from the relative safety of the spiralling trunk.

*

As I fall through the snowy threads, everywhere I look looks exactly the same.

It's impossible to know how fast or how far I'm falling.

The thicket of threads is denser, the fine strands more compactly entwined here. Some survive as I crash though them, knocking me slightly off course each time, slowing me down a little.

And the more I slow down, the more threads there are that hold together.

With a brutally unexpected jolt, my fall at last comes to an abrupt end, the multiple silk threads that have finally restrained my descent bowing under me like a chaotically constructed hammock.

With the arresting of my fall, there's also a noticeable change in the surrounding landscape.

It's no longer exactly the same no matter where I look.

Off to my side, it's solidly dark.

It's an apparently endless wall of heavily varnished wood.

But it's not a wall.

It's a pair of huge, looming doors.

The doors only a giant could open.

Didn't I say that rope reminded me of the beanstalk in that fairytale?

*

# Chapter 34

Just a few minutes ago, I was safely tucked up in bed.

Now I'm strung up like a fly caught in a spider's web, right in front of a doorway that a giant might step through at any moment.

A giant on the lookout for a tasty tit bit.

Fee, fi, fo, fumb and all that f...ing stuff.

Wow, Benten; how can I _ever_ thank you?

I suppose I shouldn't complain really.

I mean, looking on the bright side, this _is_ a solution to the dilemma I'd found myself in, isn't it?

That frustratingly perplexing circle of love is finally broken!

Jake's run off with someone else.

And I'll be some sort of delicious hors d'oeuvre for a peckish giant.

All I can hope is that I go down like a kinda troublesome hairball, one he quickly chokes on!

*

I'm caught up completely in this entanglement of massed threads.

I've got to sort of gradually release an arm by breaking some threads, by pulling my hand free of others.

Once both arms are freed, I focus on my legs, painstakingly slipping aside innumerable stronger, entwined strands.

I'm hoping that the sheer concentration of threads here will be enough to hold and prevent me from plummeting to the ground once more. If they do, I'll have to cautiously make my way through them, like a monkey navigating his way through a jungle roof top.

So, it's one gingerly taken step, while supporting myself by grabbing onto handfuls of threads, followed, naturally, by another, equally gingerly taken stride.

Amazingly, it works.

At least until I've taken that second step.

Then, with the abrupt snapping of numerous threads, I once again find myself falling through the sparkling mist.

*

# Chapter 35

Oooooff!

I hit the floor hard enough for it to knock the wind out of me.

But that, fortunately, is it: there wasn't much farther left for me to fall.

Solid ground, at last!

Where _am_ I, though?

The solid sleet of silken threads still more or less entirely surrounds me.

The only way I might possibly be free to move is through the looming doors.

I push on the base of one of them, hoping its moves easily, that it's well-oiled, well balanced...

Nothing.

It doesn't move in the slightest.

I try the other door – just in case, you know, one door is bolted, maybe, but the other is free to open...

No chance.

This door also refuses to move.

What chance have I got of opening such immense doors?

You know – they might even be _locked_!

*

I rap on the door with my knuckle.

'Hello; anybody there?'

Nothing.

No one's heard me

Which might be a _good_ thing, admittedly.

Perhaps knocking on a giant's door isn't the _wisest_ thing I've ever done in my life.

But what choice do I have?

Where _else_ is there for me to go?

*

Why have I ended up here?

Did I do something wrong?

Is this really where Benten expected me to end up; in front of a pair of giant doors?

I mean, if it is, this Benten's certainly put an awful lot of effort into getting me here, hasn't she?

All those flowers.

All those objects.

If she'd just wanted to entrap me, there must be a far easier way for her to go about it.

So, yeah: either I've done something I wasn't supposed to do; or I'm missing something.

Yeah, like a key.

Didn't Fay say one of Benten's attributes was some kind of key?

Now _that_ would have been a handy object for her to supply me with, wouldn't it?

Whereas a spear, a pestle, all those other things; what use are _they_ to me?

Sure, there's the axe; but I'd probably take a year to hack a hole through these doors anyway.

By which time I'd have long ago died of thirst or starved to death.

That's a very good point, come to think of it.

She didn't provide me with any food either, did she?

*

# Chapter 36

There was another thing Fay said; that there were supposed to be _eight_ objects – whereas I'm sure I've only received _seven_.

Spear, pestle, axe, bow, arrow...what else, what else...oh yeah, the silk rope, which has just brought me here, and...and...something else, I'm sure there was _something_ else I can't _quite_ recall just yet...the _sword_ , yeah the _sword_!

Yeah, that's...one, two, three, four, five, six; _seven_ – not _eight_.

There's _something_ missing.

Which is probably the key.

Or, perhaps, lashings of food and drink.

Maybe it was delivered; maybe I missed it, while I was around at Jake's?

The flower would have vanished by the time I got back, right?

But the object – well, shouldn't _that_ be in the jewel somewhere?

But if it's in the _jewel_ – how do I get to use it anyway?

Come to think of it, all this sorta self-recrimination is all ridiculously irrelevant anyway, isn't it?

I don't have the jewel _on_ me.

I'd left it on my dresser top.

*

# Chapter 37

So, all those flowers, all that collecting of Benten's swords and what have you; it's all been a complete waste of time, as I've gone and left the damn jewel behind just when I probably need it most of all.

Didn't Alice find herself in this very same position when she was in Wonderland?

You know: the bit where she'd drunk or eaten something that shrank her to the size of the door she wanted to get through; only to realise she'd left the key on the table top, far out of her reach.

She drank or ate something else, so that she grew tall enough to retrieve it.

Me, I don't have _anything_ like that around here to help me.

Thank you, oh great goddess Benten, for all your wonderful help.

Where would I be without you?

Oh yeah, I remember; tucked up warm and snug in my bed!

*

Against my thigh, I can feel something small and light in my nightdress pocket.

Hopefully it's a sweet!

_Something_ to _eat_ , anyway!

Not that I'm one for storing sweets amongst my night clothes, so its highly unlikely; but I can hope, yeah?

I reach into my pocket, grab what's in there, pull it out.

It's the jewel.

*

The jewel has now lost all of its colour.

Or, rather, it's now diamond-like, throwing out rainbow shades while being perfectly clear itself.

The _key_!

Maybe I can find the _key_ in there!

_Then_ I'll have to figure out how I use it.

The many 'mes' are standing around, looking lost, or at least like they're impatiently waiting for something to happen.

Each one is empty handed.

All the objects I've received so far are all still in there, set within their own rooms; the spear, the sword, and what have you.

They've been joined, too, by the silken rope.

The silk rope I _have_ used, of course. Or, rather, being more specific, the rope sort of used me, bringing me down here against my will.

Still – it shows the objects in this thing _can_ be used out here in the real world.

Trouble is, there's _no_ key.

There no other new, eighth object.

There's just an empty room.

Like I really _did_ miss the most important delivery of all.

*

# Chapter 38

What is it that I'm missing?

What was the last of the objects Fay told me I could expect to be delivered to me?

A _wheel_ , right?

Yeah, like _that_ could help me.

Unless it was a truly gigantic wheel that could just barge these doors open.

That's highly unlikely, yeah?

Then there was the wish-granting jewel, of course; but Fay had _insisted_ that wasn't right, it wasn't one of Benten's original attributes, that the jewel I've been given couldn't _possibly_ be her wish-granting jewel.

But what else _could_ it be?

Think about it; maybe it's not an empty room I'm looking at here at all.

Maybe what appears to be an empty room is just a facet of the jewel itself?

See what I'm getting at here?

Naturally, the room would _appear_ to be empty, right, if it contained _itself_.

That makes sense; doesn't it?

So...

I grab the jewel tightly in my hand.

I concentrate, focusing all my thought on the massive doors lying before me.

'I wish...I wish that these doors would open!'

I close my eyes as I make my wish, as you're supposed to do, aren't you?

When I open them – the doors remain firmly shut.

'Open sesame!' I say desperately.

Wouldn't you know it, the doors don't move an inch.

I wish I knew how to use this damn jewel!

Great – not even _that_ simple wish works.

There are the still the objects held inside the jewel, of course.

Perhaps I'm supposed to chose one of them, wish for that to appear.

'I wish I had the...axe.'

The axe doesn't magically appear in my hand.

It unmagically remains in its room within the jewel.

Then again, should I _really_ be surprised?

It's not even a _real_ jewel, is it?

*

The woman holding the garage sale had told me it was just a toy jewel from a game. Some sort of flower, didn't she say?

What sort of game involves flowers?

Unless it's this one I've been unwittingly dragged into.

A game I've got to somehow figure out if I don't want to end up trapped here.

I might even _die_ here.

What will Mum think when she finds my bed empty? A bed surrounded by thousands of silken threads. Unless, like the many flowers, they've all vanished by now.

If I'd managed to resurrect Fay – the _real_ Fay – she'd be able to tell Mum what had happened, maybe even give her advice on how she could help me.

Instead, the Fay I've left behind will chirrup on uselessly about how I've probably just nipped down the shops for a new pair of shoes.

*

What?

I'm _holding_ Fay.

No, not in my hands, unfortunately: I mean the many 'mes', standing around within the jewel.

They're each holding their very own Fay!

And suddenly, we're all on the move once again!

Is _that_ it?

Is it _Fay_ who belongs in the empty room?

*

# Chapter 39

I twirl the jewel around in my hands, such that I'm now looking directly into the empty room.

The odd thing is, I can't see a single 'me' heading towards it.

Is seems as if we're all making our way to one place; the very centre of the jewel. And as each 'me' reaches the jewel's hub, it either merges into or replaces the one who had first arrived there.

Then the very last 'me' vanishes. Leaving Fay all alone there.

Peering through the empty room, I can quite clearly see Fay standing there. It's because I'm staring at her, wondering what all this means, what she's doing there, that I miss when the surrounding objects first begin to start revolving about her.

The empty room apparently remains motionless, the other objects whirling past it.

Then it dawns on me that that's not true; each object briefly vanishes at the point it should appear before me, only to reappear once it's rushed past me.

What the heck is all _that_ about?

Even as the whirling of the objects increases in speed, even, it might be said, in ferocity, this brief disappearance of each item continues.

If I see them as the spokes of a wheel, and Fay as the hub, they're vanishing at the point where I'm closest to Fay. If I were the ground to the wheel, in other words, it's at the point where a spoke has taken its turn to be the chief support of everything: the one bearing all the weight, all the stress, such as that all other spokes are no longer of any importance.

Just as the hub is the microcosm of the wheel, and it's most essential part, everything depends on this most essential facet of the jewel, the connection between the inner and outer worlds of Fay and myself.

_Wow_ ; since when did I have this capability to figure things like this out?

Since Fay – or at least some semblance (see what I mean?) of her – has reappeared, that's when!

The whirling of the wheeling objects is so ferocious now that I swear I can feel the jewel vibrating!

The whole jewel appears to be suffering from the strain, with what could be cracks slowly working their way along the interior lines of the uppermost facets, just as an over-enthusiastically spun roundabout might begin to shake and fall apart.

There's a shattering now, a splintering of the gem's very substance; starting at its very top, it begins to split open, to peel back as if the jewel were now a blooming bud.

It no longer feels hard and unyielding in my hand; the vibration has liquefied it, given it a more fluid softness, a warmly organic feel.

And as the urgent whirling at last slows, I find that I'm no long holding a jewel but a flower, an eight-petalled white lotus, in my hand.

'You _did_ it, Lou!' Fay excitedly cries as she flies up from the bloom's centre. 'I _knew_ you could!'

*

_'Fay_! At _last_ ; I thought I'd _lost_ you!'

Fay doesn't seem interested in my joy. She's been distracted by the sight of the looming doors.

'The Gate of Benten,' she murmurs in awe.

Following her awestruck gaze, I look back towards the massive doors. My look, however, is far more wry.

'Hey, so what do you know,' I sigh cynically as I turn back to facing Fay, 'this immense obstacle is the Gate of _Benten_!'

Is there anything this woman _doesn't_ have to throw against me?

Which hand does she hold _these_ in?

'It's her crown,' Fay chuckles elatedly, 'and we've ben invited to speak to her!'

'Sure,' I scoff, 'if you've got any ideas how we can _open_ it!'

Fay chuckles again, gives me a perplexed frown.

I turn to look back towards the door.

They've opened up ever so slightly.

And the brightest of sky-blue lights is shining somewhere far beyond them.

*

Stepping through the narrow gap, I'm faced by what seems to be nothing but an endless summer sky, with the whitest of clouds, the most brilliant of blues.

There doesn't appear to be any floor either.

Where it should be, it's once again nothing but sky.

Unfortunately, I only realise this when I put a foot forward and find there's nothing there to support me.

And wouldn't you know it, I'm falling again.

Oh _joy_!

*

# Chapter 40

'Fly, Lou; just _fly_!'

Fay says it like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Which it probably is, for _her_.

For me, of course, it's a touch more difficult.

A moment ago, I felt like I'd been caught up in a scene from Alice in Wonderland.

Now it's like _Dumbo_ , when that little mouse is screaming you don't need the feather, there's no magic, you can fly, you can fly, you can flyyyy.

(Or am I mixing up my Disney movies here?)

Weirder still, a white feather has just slipped past me, floating upwards as I plummet downwards; just like Dumbo's feather did when it was whisked out from the grip of his trunk.

Thing is, _I_ don't have ears big enough to use as wings.

Which, usually, to be honest, I'm quite ecstatic about, thank you very much.

But yeah, today, I _could_ see them as being an advantage.

'Your _wings_ , Lou!' Fay persists. 'Use your _wings_!'

'I don't _have_ wings...'

Out of the corners of my eyes, I catch the movement of more pure white feathers. The feathers of expansive, powerful wings.

With a flexing of what would more usually be my arms, I find that I'm controlling these wings, moving them back and forth, twisting them a touch, beating hard and strongly with them

Suddenly, I'm no longer falling.

I'm _flying_.

*

'Have I grown _angel_ wings?' I ask Fay excitedly.

'Am I _dead_?' I ask worriedly.

Fay smiles, delighting in my exuberance as I smoothly whirl amongst the silkily white clouds.

'Lou – you're a _swan_!'

What?

Me?

A _swan_?

Aww, go _on_!

*

Maybe I should be worrying about how I'm going to change back, how I'm going to become me, Lou, once more.

I mean, being transformed into an animal – isn't that _everyone's_ idea of a nightmare?

But Fay doesn't seem in anyway concerned about what's happened to me.

So, I figure, there can't be any lasting harm, can there?

Surely, I'll simply become myself once more once the time is right?

It's only going to be a _temporary_ change, right?

Even as I'm pondering all this, Fay's smiling.

She'd correct me if I were wrong; wouldn't she?

She's still grinning.

'Just _enjoy_ yourself, Lou!'

And yeah, I _am_ enjoying myself.

Soaring through the sky like this, like I'm perfectly weightless.

Swooping off to one side; wheeling the other way; rising up and up and up, scattering the wispy clouds as I rush through them; then dropping, still fully under control, so that I swing off in a curving, curling flight that's so incredibly smoothly untroubled.

What's _not_ to like?

At last, Benten seems to be making good on her promise to help me.

I mean, at least I'm not trapped in front of massive doors, seriously fearing I'm possibly going to starve to death.

This, at least, has some _positives_!

Even as I'm reassuring myself that I'm at last experiencing something both joyful and pleasant, I drop sharply as something heavy seems to appear from nowhere on my back.

Maybe, just maybe, I spoke too soon.

*

# Chapter 41

Steadying my flight as I recover quickly from the shock, I swiftly go into a roll, intending to immediately shake off whatever it is that's landed on my back.

As I come out of the roll, however, I realise the whatever it is is still there.

I can't _see_ what it is, either.

I might have a long neck, but I can't curl it about anywhere near enough to look back over my shoulder, as if the air rushing past me is preventing any easy movement.

What I _can_ see, strangely, is an iridescently blue radiance, suffusing me so entirely I'm taking on its glittering sheen, as if I'm carrying the largest, most beautiful sapphire.

Even Fay takes on its lustrous tones: but she's bathing in its glow quite joyously.

'It's _Benten_ ,' Fay blissfully declares. 'She's _here_!'

*

Cra......pppp!

Maybe I _don't_ get to change back to being me.

Maybe Benten's tricked me into coming here just so she can transform me into her own personal taxi cab, as it were.

'Fay!' I hiss. 'I thought _you_ were my friend!'

'Of _course_ I am, Lou!' she adamantly assures me. 'Why ever would you think I'm not?'

'I mean because I didn't ring that blooming Love Bell hoping I'd end up as some sort of exciting donkey ride for this bloody Benten!'

'She's here to _help_ you, Lou!' Fay persists.

'All this way, and I don't even get to _see_ her?' I wail unhappily, vainly searching for somewhere to land, so I might have a chance of seeing what this goddess looks like. 'She just _rides_ on my _back_?'

Why isn't Benten _talking_ to me?

Is she mute, as well as wishing to remain unseen?

It's up to me once again, I suppose.

'Are you here to help me find love with Cory...er...your...'

Should I have said 'Your Majesty'?

How do you address a goddess?

'No,' she replies sharply.

_'No_?'

Why the heck have I been put through all this blooming pain then?

'Unless you believe that you _truly_ desire this boy,' Benten calmly replies. 'Then, _naturally_ , I _can_ ensure he's yours...'

As I sigh with relief, relax a little, we briefly drop a little too.

All those dodgy flower deliveries, those weird objects: it's all been worth it in the end after all!

'...and you'll have no more need of Fay, of course.'

Alongside me, Fay suddenly freezes, becoming entirely motionless in an instant.

She doesn't, thankfully, fall out of the sky, but instead begins to rise, caught in some other glow, one coming from what I see is the tip of Benten's pestle.

She rises until she is completely out of my view.

'Wait, no please,' I wailingly plead to Benten, 'I _need_ Fay!'

'Of _course_ you don't need her!' Benten brusquely chides me. 'Didn't I hear you say that once you're with Cory, you'll at last feel _complete_?'

'Did...did I _say_ that?' I ask uncertainly.

'You certainly _believed_ it, didn't you? That there's this "hole in your life" that only dear Cory could possibly fill – the missing piece you need to make you feel fully whole!'

'Yes, yes,' I hurriedly admit, 'I may _once_ have _thought_ that! But not at the expense of losing Fay. I've never felt closer to _anyone_ than I have to her!'

'Well, why wouldn't you? Are you forgetting the axe I had sent to you?'

'The axe?'

'Didn't it ever occur to you that Fay appeared on delivery of my axe – a double- _headed_ axe. So, _so_ useful for _splitting_ things, don't you think?'

She says this as if she's expecting it to make the most perfectly obvious sense to me.

But I'm still confused.

She thankfully realises this.

'The Lou you used to be; she'd hid away, deep within you, as you sought protection by hardening your heart to others. But in doing this, _you_ were also hiding away from _me_! For if you overtighten a lute's string, do you think the instrument, the tune's you wish to play, don't also suffer?'

'Then, surely, that's all the more reason why I mustn't be _parted_ from Fay!'

'Yet you had no need of her before I became involved. Your self-love sustained you, didn't it?'

'I can _change_! I've _already_ changed, haven't I? _Surely_ I have! I can't lose Fay. What do I have to _do_ to have her back?'

'But what of this Cory, who was so, so important to your happiness...?'

'He's not important; he doesn't mean _anything_ to me at all. Not if it means losing _Fay_!'

The air about me thickly reverberates as a bell tolls mournfully, even oddly, as if its pounding boom has somehow been reversed.

At last, I see land, a hill that rises up and up, with multiple pathways coiling their way up towards a peak surmounted by a huge ringing bell.

The Love Bell.

Dragon Hill.

There's no one standing by the bell, however,

The bell tolls as the hill itself violently shakes, as bushes and trees topple and fall, the land fluidly shifting as if struck by the onset of an earthquake.

'He senses that his sacrifice has been in vain,' Benten laments.

'He? I can't see anyone: who's calling on you?'

'It's the repeal of an earlier call; _your_ call,' Benten replies sadly.

'I'm not _withdrawing_ my call for your help!' I protest anxiously. 'I...I...just realise it was a _mistake_ to think Cory was the _answer_!'

The hill shatters from its very top, like the splitting of a gigantic egg.

The five pathways shiver, shrugging themselves free of the soil, the grass and undergrowth that had settled all about them; then each curling pathway rises up, serpentine in its coiling, as the heads of the dragon blink into awareness once more.

Benten sighs fearfully.

'Too late; _he's_ awakened.'

*

# Chapter 42

The snaking necks writhe and curl, flexing and stretching after a long sojourn.

Legs too, and vast claws, kick out and extend, sending smaller, accumulated rocks spilling over their sides. Tightly furled wings twist, shudder, first snapping only partially free, then more fully opening, the membranes tough and leathery, the framing as thick as charred trunks.

The tail is as whip-like as the five long necks, cracking the air in its urgency of movement, its relief at being released from its petrified state.

Perhaps instinctively, perhaps under Benten's guidance, I swoop away from the swiftly awakening dragon.

Even so, with the eyes to either side of my head, I can't fail to see the dragon shake off the last of its green fleece and, with the pounding beat of its vast wings, languidly take to the air.

Every head is looking our way.

They each elatedly roar, their prey identified.

*

# Chapter 43

Despite its immense size, the great beast is swift and agile, the incredible spread of powerful wings propelling it forwards at an unbelievable speed, its sleek form granting it an enviable litheness.

It is soon on my tail, no matter how many times I try to fool it with an abrupt swoop first one way then the other, or a sudden, looping drop that only succeeds in taking my own breath away.

The five heads menacingly snap everywhere about me as I attempt to safely weave between then all, their jaws for the moment thankfully clamping down on nothing but empty air or a few fearfully shedded feathers. Fortunately, the multiple heads seem incapable of working together to block me, to let one head alone take the glory of the final strike.

'Head for the doors!' Benten orders me.

But I don't know where the doors _are_!

I'm _lost_!

'Follow the turtle!' another order rings out

A _turtle_?

I'm being chased by a murderous five-head dragon and I'm supposed to follow a _turtle_?

Then I see the turtle floating along just ahead of me.

It seems to be languidly taking its time, its motions unhurried, as if it is happily paddling along the calmest of rivers. And yet it's also effortlessly flying through the air, and at what must be great speed too, for it always appears far ahead of us no matter what extra bursts of speed I spur myself into.

Taking me by surprise, completely startling me, a snarling head unexpectedly appears alongside me – then thankfully continues to drop away, missing the opportunity to swallow me whole.

The head tumbles past me, dropping far, far lower than I might have expected; and then I see the reason why.

Its neck is short, heavily bloodied.

The head has been severed from the rest of the body.

*

Another head, I see now, is already lifeless, even though it is still connected by its neck to the dragon's body. A spear has deeply penetrated its brain, and still lies embedded there.

Above me, I catch the expert swinging of a sword blade that sends another disembodied head briefly flying through the air. An arrow strikes hard at a forth head, the neck abruptly lolling limply as the brain dies.

I can see the doors now, appearing ever so small when you're approaching them from this direction, looking like nothing more than two short boards miraculously hovering amongst the gloriously white clouds of this endless blue sky.

The dragon still retains a head, however. He's still chasing after us, and now – with only one head to control his actions – at last he seems more solely focused on his intent to stop me before I reach the doors.

Why hasn't Benten removed this final head?

Can she only use each weapon once?

If that's the case, if the axe was used in the first complete severing of a head, it means there are no weapons left to deal with this final head.

What does she have left?

The pestle?

The wheel?

The rope?

Only the last of these appears to be of any use to me.

As it is, so much blood has been spilt about me, so much still continues to rain from the severed ends of still writhing necks, the sublimely spiritual blue glow of Benten has become a ruby-red radiance, as if it's now a beating heart I'm bearing.

The turtle vanishes, but I have no need of him now. I'm concentrating only on reaching the gap lying between what are now immense doors once more.

The doors are only slightly ajar, much as I'd left them when I'd first stepped through into here. It's a small gap for me to get through at the speeds were traveling, and far too narrow for me to swoop through horizontally, with my wings fully spread. Yet I still have no idea of Benten's actual size, or even form, so I can't risk swooping through at too steep an angle.

Maybe, though, I'm not going to have any choice.

The doors are slowly moving.

Slowly _closing_ once more.

*

# Chapter 44

_Fay_!

Fay has suddenly swooped ahead of me, released at last by Benten.

I'm following _her_ now!

She rushes towards the closing doors, even though the space between them seems to be already narrowing to a point where I won't be able to get through, even flying almost perpendicular to them.

She curls around the door edge, flying at the steepest angle to the doors, as if this is an instruction to me: for there's no need for _her_ to take this action, being so small.

I spin into a half roll, one of my great wings now rising high above me, the other stretching out far below. I rush through the gap, catching the very edges of the doors, creating a wild snowstorm of pure white feathers.

The weight vanishes from my back.

I've dropped Benten; I've left her behind to face the pursuing dragon on her own!

*

Glancing back, I at last gain my first sight of the radiant Benten!

She glows as brilliantly as any jewel, is as indescribably gorgeous as an eight-petalled lotus!

With a whirl of the pestle, she's stirring the air itself as the dragon continues its pursuit of me, as if calling up the winds of nature.

'I must go back!' I breathe urgently to Fay, realising I can't leave Benten to face this danger alone.

The doors suddenly clang like reverberating bells, the oncoming dragon striking them so hard I fear they're going to burst. His one surviving head, on its long snaking neck, forces its way through the gap.

It whirls out towards me, all too aware that I'm still within his reach.

_'Move_!' Fay fearfully yells.

*

# Chapter 45

I half fly, half run up the thick silken rope.

But I'm too slow.

Slower by far, at least, than the head determinedly rushing towards me.

The undergrowth of silken threads snap in their thousands as the head hurtles closer.

Then the air swirls, as if being magically mixed, the threads coiling together, spinning into stronger yarns. They gain their own serpentine life now, snaking towards and around the dragon's onrushing head, striking out at it, wrapping themselves everywhere about its crown, its jaw, its eyes.

'We _must_ go on!' Fay anxiously urges.

I follow her; I don't want to lose her again.

And far below us now, the head of the dragon is at last reined in and brought under control.

*

I'm still partially flying, partially running, as I rush up this beanstalk-like strand, following on behind Fay.

It's no longer half flying however, but more like a quarter, and then an eighth.

And then I'm only running.

Running through this haze of silken threads, the strands rippling gently, as if caught in the slightest breeze.

*

# Chapter 46

The gentle breeze is apparently, and thankfully, strong enough to clear the last of the silvery lattice from my bedroom, returning everything to how it should be.

Not exactly pristine, but not exactly untidy, either.

On the dresser top, there's no gem, no flowers; there's just the computer there, which I'd bought from Jake.

Fay is standing on top of the machine.

'Hello,' she chimes up gaily. 'Do you want to have fun with me today?'

*

# Chapter 47

What?

Where's Fay?

The _real_ Fay

_My_ fay!

I urgently glance everywhere about the room.

But I can't see her anywhere!

Then I hear giggling.

'Oh, _Lou_! You should've seen your _face_!'

Fay mimics my downfallen expression.

'Fay!' I sigh in a mingling of exasperation and over-brimming joy.

If she wasn't so minute, I'd throw my pillow at her; _definitely_!

The machine isn't even switched on.

Yes, thankfully, _this_ is the _real_ Fay!

_My_ Fay.

With a whirl of her dress, she floats up into the air, happily swooping towards me.

'We're _meant_ for each other, Lou!'

*

I don't _think_ anyone else can see Fay.

But I get the idea that, somehow, they're _aware_ that she's around.

Much as, when I was carrying around that jewel, people seemed to sort of see into my heart: like they knew there was a good person in there somewhere, only one struggling to make herself heard.

Sure, I've got to watch how I talk to her; how I react to her, especially her continuous, playful teasing.

I mean, what would it look like if I seemed to be continually swatting away invisible flies?

So, as we're walking along, chatting amicably enough, I resort to just thinking, rather than speaking, when I see a boy innocently heading our way.

'He's nice...' says Fay.

Yeah...if you like that kind of thing.

The boy smiles as he passes. Like he sees, as I said before, that I'm as kind and loving as you can get, at heart.

'Wow; did you _see_ that smile?'

It was _just_ a smile; nothing more. It doesn't _mean_ anything.

'That was _more_ than just a smile; _trust_ me!'

She turns to watch the boy walk away from us.

'Don't look now, Lou,' she whispers excitedly, 'but he's looking _back_ ...'

End

If you enjoyed reading this book, you might also enjoy (or you may know someone else who might enjoy) these other books by Jon Jacks.

The Caught – The Rules – Chapter One – The Changes – Sleeping Ugly

The Barking Detective Agency – The Healing – The Lost Fairy Tale

A Horse for a Kingdom – Charity – The Most Beautiful Things (Now includes The Last Train)

The Dream Swallowers – Nyx; Granddaughter of the Night – Jonah and the Alligator

Glastonbury Sirens – Dr Jekyll's Maid – The 500-Year Circus – The Desire: Class of 666

P – The Endless Game – DoriaN A – Wyrd Girl – The Wicker Slippers – Gorgesque

Heartache High (Vol I) – Heartache High: The Primer (Vol II) – Heartache High: The Wakening (Vol III)

Miss Terry Charm, Merry Kris Mouse & The Silver Egg – The Last Angel – Eve of the Serpent

Seecrets – The Cull – Dragonsapien – The Boy in White Linen – Porcelain Princess – Freaking Freak

Died Blondes – Queen of all the Knowing World – The Truth About Fairies – Lowlife

Elm of False Dreams – God of the 4th Sun – A Guide for Young Wytches – Lady of the Wasteland

The Wendygo House – Americarnie Trash – An Incomparable Pearl – We Three Queens – Cygnet Czarinas

Memesis – April Queen, May Fool – Sick Teen – Thrice Born – Self-Assembled Girl – Love Poison No. 13

Whatever happened to Cinderella's Slipper? – AmeriChristmas – The Vitch's Kat in Hollywoodland

Blood of Angels, Wings of Men – Patchwork Quest – The World Turns on A Card – Palace of Lace

The Wailing Ships – The Bad Samaritan – The 13th Month – The Silvered Mare – SpinDell

Swan Moon – The Unicorndoll – Lesser Nefertiti – My Shrieking Skin – Stone in Love

Font of All Lies

