Momnapping

After some long time making and discussing music, during which afternoon becomes evening and evening becomes morning again, it occurs to Folly that while she could in fact continue doing this indefinitely, she is now officially procrastinating.

And so she begins brainstorming a plan to track down her mother.

Over a breakfast of cold pizza, she lays out possible approaches while the guys (politely) stuff their faces.

Martin intermittently hums a little ditty as he munches on the greasy pepperoni-laden slices.

"We could try calling her at home, assuming her number hasn't changed. I'm pretty sure I still remember it.

"Or we could just drive to her place, except that it's a gated community and identifying ourselves to the guard would not exactly be 'low-profile'.

"Or -- oh, hey, we could sneak in the back way, up the beach, 'cos I know where she hides the key to her back gate. And breaking in worked so well for tracking down Soren...." She grins, then looks at Martin. "No throwing my mother into a houseplant, though, okay?"

She pauses, thinking about it. "Or, hey, use your best judgement."

"I always do." says Martin, smirking slightly.

"Of course, if she's doing a book tour or something, she may not even be in town. In which case we might need to call her agent or something, preferably while pretending to be somebody else. Because if she knows it's me straightaway, she'll have set up a photo shoot by the time I get there." Folly rolls her eyes.

"Or I'm open to other suggestions, too."

She folds her arms rather tightly across her midsection. She looks almost like she's bracing for an impact.

"We could kidnap her. It would fit the M.O. Let me try something." He pulls out a cell phone. "Hello, Matty? Soren Daniels. Yeah, you, too. Listen, can you do me a favor? Where's Brij this week? No, I'm not gonna do anything stupid. What are you, my agent or my conscience? Yeah, I'll hold. OK, Tell Sharon 'thanks' for me. Um, yeah, sure. Maybe in a couple of weeks, then." He hangs up.

"She's got a reading in Nahasha tonight." He pauses. "If we wanted to do something about it, we could be there in a few hours." He looks at both of them.

Folly's arms are now folded across her chest. She regards Soren with a probing, mildly exasperated look.

"'I'm not gonna do anything stupid'?" she says, arching an eyebrow.

He nods. "I'm leaving those parts up to you. I'll just drive the car." He shakes his head. "Your mother didn't think much of my 'letting' you head off with 'The Angel of Death' here." He hooks his thumb in the general direction of Martin.

"I wish you wouldn't call me that," Martin says mock-indignantly. Folly feels it's only about half-mock.

Soren shrugs. "I've been calling you that for almost ten years, Old Bean. That's how it is in the book, too. So, anyway, the book. The book kinda blames me. While my real response is my normal one to Brij -- 'whatever' -- the press and her publicist would like it if I'd blow up over it all, so I don't. But that's why the tabloids are spying on me and that's what Matt's worried about.

"Heh. Maybe after I disappear, Matty will write a book and blame Brij for my disappearance. Heh."

Folly smirks. "My charming mother, driving people to leave the city? No one would believe it." Her eyes sparkle wickedly. "Unless, perhaps, they'd ever spent 'quality time' with her."

"Your charming mother," Soren agrees, as if it is a toast. "So, what's the plan? Or at least the goal?"

"The goal." Folly sighs. "Talk to her without making a scene. Explain about the not being dead. Try to find out about my father while being cryptic about why I'm asking. Run away, preferably not screaming." She gives Soren a helpless little smile, and shrugs. "Make sure she's okay."

"Got it. So if we go in and bluff, bribe, or bully our way into the green room, we'll make a scene. Well, that was my plan, who's got something better?"

"I can see why you and my dad get along," says Martin.

"You don't know the half of it," Folly says, grinning. She looks at Martin -- and her expression changes abruptly.

"Oh, I just had a terrible idea," she says, and bites her bottom lip. "Does... does anyone here know what Martin looks like -- I mean, beyond vague generalities?"

"Me. You. The band. Maybe Trick, but probably not. He doesn't look much like the police composite sketch."

"The shadows lie for me," Martin says by way of explanation. "What about the gun? Am I considered armed and dangerous?"

"Well, yeah, but also fictional or uninvolved, by other accounts."

"So... ah... if we sent him in to the reading, he could... um... talk to her afterwards, without raising any suspicions, and maybe convince her to... er...." Folly is looking increasingly apologetic. "She's not seeing anyone right now who might be there, is she?"

Martin gives Folly a look. "What happened to the plan that involves the glasses?"

"Yeah, like I said," Folly replies under her breath, "this is a terrible idea."

Soren says, "That could work, though. She's a sucker for younger men."

"Thanks, pal." Martin's teeth are not clenched. Quite.

Soren just smiles.

"Um. Yeah. I think we have a plan, then," Folly says, looking like she's trying not to cringe.

"Right. So, how do I get her attention? I haven't finished the dumb book."

"Ask her something flattering. Ask her how her fame and success affected her daughter's career."

"OK, Four hours for napping and we hit the road at the crack of noon. There are couches in Room B."

Folly leans over towards Soren's laptop, trying to see what he's mixing from the display. "Can I listen?" she asks.

"You're the lookout. I'm just driving the getaway car."

"The audience isn't even out yet."

"They're coming out now. Martin and Brij will be here soon."

"Spoilsport," she says, and goes back to watching over the top of her mother's bestseller.

Folly looks up from the last part of the book and sees Martin and Brij coming out of the side door of the theater. "Here they come!" she tells Soren excitedly. She hits his arm when he doesn't respond. He removes his headphones and puts up his laptop. Folly crouches down in the front seat of the borrowed limousine.

Brij is definitely holding Martin rather closer than is perhaps proper for new acquaintances. Martin directs her to the door of the limo and holds it open for her. "You're very kind, Martin, as well as perceptive. Yes, I'd love some Champagne."

Out of sight, Folly rolls her eyes.

Martin gets in, chuckling throatily. He closes the door and nods to Soren, who is behind the wheel. Soren wheels the long towncar out into the evening traffic. Martin makes somewhat of a production of opening the Champagne and pouring it, and perceptive observers watching in the rear-view mirror might conclude that he is using it as a way of fending off Brij.

The limo comes to a halt at a traffic light. Brij looks at Martin and says "I shouldn't be doing this, Martin, but you're just too real to ignore. What did you say your last name was?"

Soren turns from the front seat and smiles. "His name? It's Martin Chance, Brij."

Brij's eyes narrow and her voice stops sounding like honey. "Soren Daniels? What's this all about?"

Folly turns and removes her cap, shaking out her hair.

Brij's eyes get wide and she faints dead away.

Folly curses. "Do all these conversations have to start with unconsciousness?" she asks in exasperation; but both Martin and Soren can hear the undercurrent of concern in her voice.

With a blatant disregard of the city's seat-belt laws, Folly climbs into the back seat. A larger, less flexible person might have trouble negotiating the small space between the top of the bench seat and the ceiling; but Folly manages the feat without even landing on her head. Her mother the former gymnast would be so proud. If she were conscious, that is.

Folly sees to her mother, strategically placing herself between Brij and Martin in the process.

This last takes some effort, since Brij has strategically fainted across Martin's lap. He steadies Brij with one hand while holding a glass of champagne in the other. Brij stirs a little when Folly takes her head into her lap, but doesn't come conscious yet.

Martin hands Folly the champagne glass, and then takes his Trump deck out of his jacket to give to her. His expression is close to unreadable, but his body language is all wound up. As soon as Brij and Folly are settled, he says to Soren, "Pull over. I'm coming up front."

Folly looks at him with a grim expression on her face. Silently, she mouths the words "I'm sorry".

Martin shakes his head and mouths, "Later."

A couple of minutes later, the exchange is made. The bottle of champagne goes with Martin, who begins giving Soren directions.

Soren is driving on a somewhat desolate country highway. "So, I'm lost, you know that? I'm not even sure I could get us back on the main roads." Nevertheless he seems calm, for a kidnapper.

"No, you couldn't. You're not in Kansas any more, " Martin agrees.

"You're shitting me."

"I shit you not."

"You are so your old man's kid."

Martin has no reply to that.

It's at about this point that Brij comes conscious again.

Folly briefly considers downing the glass of champagne still clutched in her right hand. But no, she'd need a lot more than that to do any good.

Instead, she tucks Martin's Trump case under her arm, freeing up her other hand. Gently, she brushes back the hair spilling across her mother's face and grins down at her like a not-quite-benevolent pixie.

"Hi, Mum. Miss me?"

Folly doesn't so much help Brij up as try to stay out of the way while she helps herself. Once she has reached the full upright and locked position, more-or-less, Folly hands her the glass of champagne.

Brij is upright but mostly fetal, her arms locked around her knees. "You can't be here. They told me you were dead. They told me there was no hope. Is this a trick?" She isn't taking the glass.

"No, no trick," Folly replies, her voice gentler now. Cautiously, she lays her free hand on her mother's shoulder in an uncertain gesture of comfort.

Brij doesn't quite shrug it off. She's listening, probably, but she's not really responding.

"I - I didn't mean to be gone so long," she continues -- and then stops, grimacing slightly at the word choice. It's the same thing Syd said to her when he returned to Amber. She hadn't been entirely sure she believed it at the time.

She believes it now.

She tries again. "I don't think I can stay long, but... but I wanted you to know that I'm okay. Not dead, y'know?" Folly smiles weakly. "And to see how you're doing. Uh, congrats on the book."

The glass of champagne is still in Brij's easy reach, there in Folly's right hand, if she wants it. Folly doesn't press the issue, though.

She shifts nervously, removing her hand from her mother's shoulder and taking up the trump case again. Her thumb fidgets against the cover.

"Also, I... ah... wanted to ask you about my father." Folly stares at her hand holding the trump case as if it were some fascinating but deadly otherworldly creature. Her heart is pounding in her throat. "Not Papa, I mean... my biological father."

"What?" she says, looking confused. "What?" she yells, outraged. "You let me think you were dead for ten years and you come back because you've got to ask me that! You little bitch!" Brij's left hand unlocks from around her knee and comes snaking out quickly. It rocks Folly's head back and she drops the champagne glass.

Before Folly knows what's happening, she's being shoved aside and Martin has come across the seatback and is grabbing Brij's arms. "Shit!" Soren says from the front, and starts pulling off the road. Martin is holding Brij, who is struggling and crying and screaming. "Let go, let go!"

Folly scoots away from them until her back hits the car door. She is too numb to react; she can only stare in horrified fascination at the scene before her.

Martin holds Brij for a moment, keeping her pinned and waiting for her to go from dangerous to merely hysterical. Folly thinks he may be waiting for his own anger to settle as well. The car has stopped and Soren has also slid over the seat.

"Martin!" he says, as Martin raises his left hand and deliberately but not dangerously slaps Brij.

I'm not here, Folly thinks. This isn't happening. But when she touches her own cheek, it stings. She slides a finger along the scrape from her mother's ring, not so much surveying the damage as using the pain to bring her back to reality.

As Brij sits there, stunned, Soren [gets between her and Martin and] puts one hand, lightly, on each of their shoulders. He leans in and looks Brij in the eyes. "Brij, it's me. Soren Daniels. You may not like me, but you know me. Listen. Are you listening? Good. This is weird shit, but it's real. I know this is Folly. And Syd's son that has you here. You're safe and we all need to talk. Can we do that? If he lets you go, will you talk to us?" He's not quite singing, but Folly knows all the vocal tricks he's using.

Brij is still breathing heavily, but she nods. And she stops resisting. Martin releases her. Soren looks back at Folly. "Second show, you're on..."

Folly nods slowly. She slips Martin's trump case, still clutched in her left hand, into her pocket.

"Mum?" she ventures as she slides away from the door and back toward her mother. "I'm sorry, I - I know this is hard, and maybe I shouldn't've come back, but...."

Folly looks at Brij, flanked and breathing hard like a trapped animal. She looks around at the interior of the limo, which suddenly seems much too small.

She shoots Martin a quick, querying look. After what happened, she's not about to ask him to back away -- at least as much for his own peace of mind as for her own -- but on the other hand, the kidnapping vibe in here is really starting to suck.

Martin catches Folly's gaze. He moves to the bench behind the driver's seat, feeling around on the floor for the champagne bucket, then starts concocting a compress out of a towel and some ice.

She turns her attention back to her mother. "But at least you know it's really me, right? I mean, who else could piss you off this badly?" She offers a slight, nervous smile.

There's a knock on the window at this point.

Brij looks at Soren. Soren looks at Folly. Folly looks at Martin.

Martin hands the compress to Folly. As he does so, he composes his expression, almost as if he's taking the muddy emotional turmoil and packing it away in a box. He touches the button to roll down the dark window.

A light shines into the car from the flashlight in the hand of the officer. "Everything all right in here?"

Martin says, "Yes, Officer," as calmly if they were all out for a Sunday picnic in the park.

The flashlight falls across Soren's nervous grin, Brij's red, blinking eyes, and Folly's scrape. The smell of champagne is strong from the dropped glass and the open bottle rolling around in the floor of the front seat.

Excuses flash through Folly's mind and are rejected one by one:

"We had to fire our backup singer, and she's not taking it so well...."

"Hey, you'd be pissed too if your agent submitted your name to the annual 'Worst Dressed' poll...."

"Never agree to a double date with your mother, is all I'm sayin'...."

"Don't mind us, officer, this is just an intervention...."

Damn. She used to be so good at this. Folly smiles at the nice officer and tries to look nonchalant.

"Would you please step out of the car, sir?" the officer says.

Martin says serenely, "Of course, Officer." He opens the door and steps onto the shoulder of the road. Folly notices that he's arranged things so that he's blocking the officer's way in and Brij's way out.

"May I see your identification?"

It's the last thing Folly hears before the meaty thunk of Martin's fist hitting the officer's jaw and the thud of the officer hitting the ground. Martin moves, and she can see the black boots and the beam of the flashlight, which is rolling under the car. Then there's the crunch of Martin dragging him across the gravel shoulder and his feet disappear.

Folly buries her face in her hands and shakes her head. This really hadn't seemed like such a bad idea when she came up with it. Clearly she forgot to multiply by the Mother Factor.

She realizes she's still holding the compress Martin gave her. She presses it to her own cheek for a moment, then wordlessly offers it to Brij, in case she thinks she needs it too.

After a moment, Martin sticks his head back in the door.

"He's over with his bike, so he should be OK. I'm sure he called for backup before he came over. I've gotta shift us out of here now. Soren, you got things under control back here?"

Soren is looking at Martin. He's a bit slack-jawed, but at the question he recovers. "We're all fine here. How are you?"

"My knuckles sting a little and my shoulder needs looking at, but otherwise fine."

Folly shoots Martin a concerned, almost scolding look at the mention of his shoulder.

Martin turns to Brij and points at her with his index finger. "No more hitting."

Brij is staring at Martin with a combination of anger and sullen fear. Soren says, "Oh, we're all done hitting here and we've moved on to champagne." He picks up an unopened bottle and gestures at Martin with it.

"Good." Martin looks at Folly, starts to say something to her, and thinks better of it. Instead he nods once, abruptly, and closes the door. A moment later, he's in the driver's seat and the limo is pulling back onto the road.

There is a long moment of awkward silence as Folly gathers her scattered thoughts and attempts to quash her frustration. She casts a sidelong glance at her mother.

"Listen, Mum," Folly says, tentatively, "I'm sorry I couldn't let you know before now that I'm okay. But that's just it -- I couldn't. I've been living so far off the radar that I didn't even have a good way to contact you. I had to... find myself, kind of, I guess." She shrugs.

Folly takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. When she speaks again, she seems to be choosing her words with some care. "See, the thing is, when I left Texorami with Martin, it wasn't really about finding Syd. It was about finding me. Yeah, I know, ballad of the disaffected twentysomething, right? But... but this is different."

She takes another deep breath. "It's like you said to Martin before, about... about being Real. This... this isn't the first time you've felt that, is it?"

[Brij] laughs, bitterly. "Every time I look in the mirror, sweetie, and twice as much when I look at you. Hurry up with that champagne, Daniels."

Soren is pouring. "Don't break this glass, the limo is almost out."

Folly, who has been watching her mother very closely, shakes off her pensive expression for a moment. "I'd offer my slippers to drink from, but...." She holds up one sandaled foot and wiggles her toes.

Folly waits 'til her mother has her glass and has taken a sip or two before continuing. "See, when Martin came to find me, however many years ago, it was because...."

Christ. Is there a way she can put the next part that doesn't lead directly to "I was probably sleeping with my uncle"? Because she's so very not in the mood to go there right now. Especially not with her mother.

"...because his grandfather had said that I'm related to them, somehow," she settles on after a moment. "Possibly on my father's side, which is why I asked about him."

Folly is trying very hard to keep her emotions in check, her voice calm and conversational. She pulls the trump case out of her pocket and starts fidgeting with it again. "Can you tell me anything about him? What he looked like? Whether he seemed... real, too?"

A little voice in Folly's head, one she's desperately trying to ignore, screams out, _Because if none of this is true, I die on the Pattern._

But Folly just adds, "Please?"

[Brij] drains the glass of champagne and hands the empty back to Soren, who quickly refills it.

"What makes you think your father wasn't Pelle? Why is it any of your business, anyway?"

"Why is it my business?" Folly repeats, exasperated. "Why is it my business? Mother, how is this not my business? We're talking about my father."

Folly sighs and rubs her forehead like she's staving off a headache. "It's my business, Mother, because I don't want to get jerked around, or worse, by people claiming to know more about me than I know about myself. It's my business because if Martin's grandfather was wrong about who I am, some of my near-future plans are gonna hafta be drastically altered before they kill me."

She pauses for an instant to let that sink in.

Brij is about to reply...

...but before Brij can ask any questions, perhaps to distract her from doing so, Folly adds, "It's my business because one generally prefers to know sooner rather than later if the object of one's affections is actually one's own cousin, or uncle, or brother." Folly looks at her mother; her expression is difficult to read.

She continues, "Look, we both know that Papa wasn't supposed to be able to have kids. Sure, doctors can be wrong -- but c'mon, Mum, I'm not stupid. I've known for a long time." She looks at Brij as if daring her to deny it.

Then, "Here, I'll make it easy for you. Multiple choice."

Folly thumbs open Martin's trump case. The trump of Syd, which she showed Soren last night, is still on top. Folly quickly shuffles it to the very back of the deck. It's not Syd. And if it is, she doesn't want to know.

The next card, though, she holds up for her mother to see -- and the next, and the next, slowly and methodically, through each man in the deck (except that very last one) until Brij shows some sign of recognition.

Martin, Dara, Ossian, Paige, Reid, Merlin, and a full set of elders, including all dead ones, such as Brand and Oberon. There are a few place trumps.

At first Brij is sullen, then she seems to be looking at them. She points at him and says "Who's that?"

Folly looks at the card. "His name is Julian."

"Is he Folly's father?" says Soren.

"No." Brij replies, draining her glass again and passing it to Soren.

"He's my grandfather."

Outside, two moons that have never shone on Texorami shed a reddish-silver glow on a road that runs under the branches of tall palm-like trees with soft blue leaves.

Folly looks at the card. So many conflicting emotions play across her face that her expression is difficult to read: relief, perhaps, and interest; definitely some amusement; but also dread and fear. She wants to ask about fifty things all at once.

But she settles for, "On which side? And - and when did you see him last?"

Folly looks at the deck still in her hand and decides maybe she should keep going with the flash card game. Who knows what other surprises it might turn up?

"My father's side. I never met him, but my grandmother had a diary. I read it after she died. He stayed with her for a few years, and left before she told him she was pregnant. The diary was filled with drawings of him and all that hair."

Folly arches an eyebrow, but decides not to ask.

"He was her riding instructor."

"Yeah, he's s'posed to be quite the horseman," Folly says, willing herself not to take 'riding' the wrong way. She's having a hard enough time not dwelling on the idea of naughty sketches of Julian. Her great-grandfather. It all seems so surreal -- and the shifting landscape outside the car windows only adds to the feeling.

"Whatever happened to your father, anyway?" Folly continues. "I never met him, did I? Or if I did, I was too young to remember it."

Folly is still flipping cards where her mother can see them, but she's only half paying attention to what's on them.

"No, Dad was wild, like you are. You remind me of things Mother used to say about him. He left when I was very young. I just barely remember him myself. For all I know, he's still in some forest or jungle somewhere killing developers who encroach on his primal woods. It's been nearly 60 years since I saw him, and 50 since we had any word."

Folly nods thoughtfully. She hasn't yet exchanged a single word with Julian, but she's seen enough of Robin and Adonis to recognize the similarities in her mother's description.

"Mother always thought I became a gymnast because he wanted me to. She never really believed that it was to get out of the house."

Folly can't quite suppress a smirk.

Brij looks at the cards as Folly continues to half-heartedly flip them, but doesn't say that she recognizes anyone on any of them.

Folly continues to watch the cards and her mother out of the corner of her eye while she thinks. It's possible -- probable, even -- that Julian still doesn't know about his son.

So how did Oberon know about Folly? And why didn't he ask Martin to collect the rest of Julian's line?

She has reached the last few cards of Martin's deck: his deceased relatives. Eric. Deirdre. Brand. Oberon. She watches her mother's reactions a little more closely as these cards come out.

She is sure she has reached the end of the deck; but as she picks up the Oberon trump to show her mother, she catches a glimpse of the card beneath and gives a little start.

She hadn't expected Martin to have a trump of Dara.

Folly slides it off the deck for a closer look, paying no attention to the card beneath: the Joker has returned to the top of the deck and is now in her mother's plain view.

Brij looks at Random's trump. "So where is he? Did you ever find him again?"

"Wha...?" says Folly, and then sees what her mother is looking at. She blushes faintly. "Oh. Yeah. I finally did, just a couple weeks ago. He'd been... travelling. Taking care of some family business." She hesitates, looking for some part of the story that might be construed as the whole reason for Syd's absence, but one that conveniently leaves out the imprisonment and war and, y'know, getting made King. She finally settles on, "His father died not long after he left here," and a you-know-how-it-is sort of shrug.

[Brij] looks at the card again. "What's with the family Renaissance faire card deck, anyway?"

"Oh, you know, the doublet-and-hose look never goes out of style," Folly replies with a smirk and another shrug. "They're all kind of eccentric. I fit right in." She regards her own attire, a tie-dyed t-shirt and loose crinkly-cotton trousers, and adds, "Except for my fashion sense, of course."

Yeah, she thinks. I fit right in, with all the being in love with my relatives and....

Her mind turns suddenly to Paige. To Paige and Adonis.

"Do you think Pelle was my father?" she asks.

Brij is spared the indignity of answering the question by the feel and sound of the car pulling off the road and halting. The engine stops, and Martin turns around to look at Folly, his right arm draping over the driver's seat as he twists. His right thumb jerks towards the door, as if he were indicating which speaker was on the fritz. His eyebrows went up at the same time, and there was a question in his eyes.

For a moment, Folly regards him with a puzzled, distant look. Perhaps it's the strange moonlight, but she seems a bit flushed.

Abruptly, she blinks, as if clearing a thick fog from her mind. She nods slightly in response to Martin's unspoken query, mumbles, "'Scuse me, please," and exits the car.

She shuts the door behind her and leans heavily against it, her face in her hands.

Martin gets out at the same time as Folly. His door shuts with a loud noise that can't quite be called a slam. He gives Folly a moment to recover, and says, "Let's go sit down on that bench for a moment." They're in a rest stop, with picnic tables and a waste basket that are close enough to the car to be in sight of it, but far enough to be out of hearing range of Soren and Brij if they stay in the car.

Once the two of them are seated on the bench, Martin says, "This job has gotten way out of control. Somebody's got to take charge, and you're in no shape to. That means it's got to be me, and you have to back my play. What we're going to do is this: we're going to get back in the car and take your mother back to Nahasha. Then we're going to go back to Texorami and pack Soren up. Then we're getting the hell out of here. No Haven, no Ash, no Bastien, no Gish, no last beer at The Brew." His hand starts to move, but he suppresses whatever gesture he was about to make ruthlessly and it drops back to his side.

Folly makes no obvious response. She stares fixedly straight ahead at a spot in the grass about halfway between them and the car.

"I know that's not what you want to hear, and I know it's not what you want to do, But my job isn't to make you happy, it's to keep you safe. I've already sort of f--ked that up and I'm not going to risk any more f--kups, like us ending up in jail for kidnapping your mom."

Folly's head moves slightly in a way that might be a nod. She, too, arrests a reflexive hand-movement mid-arc, drawing her arms around her midriff instead.

He takes in a breath and lets it out. "Are you gonna be OK with that, OK enough to do it, or do we have to talk some more about it?"

For the space of several long breaths, Folly continues to stare silently, motionlessly, into the grass.

Then, "You think maybe we oughtta switch cars? Or can you get us back a different way from how we came?" She turns to look at him, finally, and tries to offer the ghost of a reassuring smile; but stronger emotions threaten to overtake her after only the barest instant of eye-contact. Quickly, she looks away again.

"I'll be OK," she adds softly. It sounds almost like an apology.

"Good." In the brief moment she glimpsed Martin's face, Folly could see that there was almost a complete absence of affect in his response to her. If it weren't for the unmade gesture and a certain tension in his voice, she might well wonder if she were dealing with the same man.

"I'll make the shifts to take us back in a different order. I'd rather give the shadows near where I dealt with Officer Gleamingteeth a miss. We'll clean up the limo and ditch it after we release your mother. Can we rely on her to keep her mouth shut, or do I have to scare her some more? We shouldn't need more than a day, total, and she hasn't seen the convertible."

"Christ. I dunno." Folly takes another deep breath and looks at Martin again. This time she holds his gaze. "It'd be just like her to get on her mobile to her agent, or the press, or the cops, the minute she's out of our sight." She shakes her head slightly.

Martin's eyes narrow.

"We can't very well keep her, though, can we?" It's really more of a statement than a question. "One of us would throttle her. Maybe..." Folly looks at the car and curses under her breath. "Maybe you oughtta, uh...." She gestures vaguely at the car. Christ, what a mess.

Before Martin can leave the bench, though, Folly reaches out and puts a hand on his arm. "Got a cigarette?" she asks. "I could really use a smoke."

It is an unusual request, coming from her.

"I don't normally carry ... oh. Let me check." Martin feels around inside his pocket and comes up with a half-empty pack and a cheap lighter, which he hands to her.

"Thanks," Folly says with a slight smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Go say what you need to say to her. I'll catch up in a couple minutes."

"I've got an idea. I'll be back in a couple of minutes. Soren's going to need a smoke too."

The cigarettes are Syd's favorite brand.

Folly, staring at the pack in her hand, gives a slight shiver. "Yeah, sure, send him over," she says automatically, like she's trying not to think about it too hard.

She pulls a cigarette from the pack with her mouth and lights up, taking a long, slow drag. She tries to blow a smoke ring, mostly to see if she still remembers how.

Martin walks back over to the car and opens the door. After a moment, Soren gets out and comes to join Folly. "I need a smoke now. What's up with that?" he asks, in a voice that suggests he may not want to know the answer.

Wordlessly, Folly gestures for him to sit beside her and offers him a cigarette, lighting it for him if he accepts. She then flicks the lighter off and on several more times for good measure, staring into the bright flame as if it contained all the secrets of the universe.

Soren decides discretion is the better part of valor, and says nothing.

Once Soren is settled, Folly leans her head heavily against his shoulder, seeking comfort, just as she has done countless times since childhood. If the feel of it is familiar, the scent is even moreso: with the faint smell of smoke in her hair, and spilled alcohol, and sweat-mixed-with-public-washroom-soap marking a noble but futile attempt to freshen up after an all-night jam session, this could be just another pit stop on the way home from a gig.

Except that Folly is miserable. "Well, that could've sucked less," she opines after a moment.

She finishes her first cigarette quickly; briefly and visibly considers tamping it out against the soft translucent skin of her wrist; but at the last minute drops it to the ground and grinds it out under her heel instead. She lights up a second.

After a few minutes, during which Soren and Folly have had a chance to enjoy their cigarettes without hearing or seeing what's going on inside the tinted windows of the limo, Martin gets out. "We're ready to go whenever you are," he calls to them.

Folly gives a 'be there in a sec' gesture, extinguishes her second cigarette against the sole of her shoe, and flicks the butt in a perfect arc into a nearby trash can, followed closely by the first discarded butt, retrieved from the ground. She stands, stretches, and offers Soren a hand up.

"I'll thumb-wrestle you for shotgun," she says with the tiniest twinkle of grim good humor behind an otherwise straight face.

But when she goes to put the remaining cigarettes and lighter into her pocket, she realizes Martin's trumps are there, although she doesn't remember putting them away. She slips them out and thumbs through them again quickly, making sure they're all still there.

They are.

Once that's done, she loops her arm through Soren's and heads back to the car.

As they arrive, Martin says, "Folly, you're in the back with your mother. Soren, you're driving. I'll be up front with you; when we get back to Texorami, I'll get in the back with the girls."

When Folly looks into the limo, she can see that her mother has been laid out neatly across the back seat. Brij appears to be asleep; she's breathing deeply. She looks as if she's had some champagne spilled on her, but otherwise unharmed. Her clothes are a little disheveled. So are Martin's.

Folly reaches into her pocket again. "Cigarette?" she offers; it is impossible to tell from her tone, almost completely devoid of emotion, whether it is a genuine offer or a grim joke. But she comes up with Martin's trumps instead, which she hands to him.

Martin takes them and slides them into his jacket pocket. His eyes linger on her hand a moment longer than absolutely necessary, but he says nothing.

Folly retrieves her bag from the floor of the front seat before crawling into the back with her mother. She pulls out a pad of paper and a pen, curls up into the tiniest ball she can manage, and starts writing.

Martin and Soren get into the car and Soren takes the wheel. He pulls out of the rest stop and they're on the move again. Martin begins giving directions, and occasionally, if Folly looks up, she can see the dazzles that tell her they've moved through a veil.

Brij sleeps the sleep of the dead.

Folly writes, and writes, and writes.

After an hour or so, the constellation of lights and noises suggests to Folly that they're back in Nahasha. Martin reads off the name and address of the hotel from the room key he acquired from Brij, and Soren looks for the appropriate streets to take them there.

Martin laces his fingers, stretches his arms, and cracks his knuckles. Then he folds his arms behind his head and leans back in the seat.

"Misdirection," Martin says. "It's the secret of the universe."

He continues, "People see what they expect, what they want to see. What fits into their paradigm. That's one way the shadows lie for us; it's the lies that people tell in their own minds to rationalize the impossible.

"When you got into this car, you expected Brij to be hurt, because you thought I'd have to rough her up to shut her up. Just like when the people at the hotel see a rumpled young fellow carrying Brij in, they'll think she got f--ked but good by a boy toy in the back of a limo and now he's taking her back to her bed to repeat the procedure." There's the hint of the bitter smile he must be wearing in his voice.

"I had some pills, I gave them to her with some champagne. She'll sleep for about eighteen hours, best guess. Maybe less. Long enough for us to get back to Texorami and pack up the drums and anything else you need. When she wakes up, she may remember or may not. She may think it was a nightmare, at least until she finds out you're gone, Soren. I was gonna give you another opportunity to rethink this, but you'd probably be an idiot to stay now. I'm sorry."

Carefully, quietly, Folly tears a sheet from the pad, folds it a few times, and slips it into her mother's pocket.

"We're almost there," says Soren.

Martin sits up and climbs into the back seat with Folly and Brij. He directs Folly over into the far corner of the back, on the bench behind the front seat, and pulls Brij onto his lap. A few final adjustments later--an untied tie, an untucked shirt--and the limo pulls into the raised driveway of the hotel.

Folly watches Martin in detached but wary fascination, the way one might watch an exotic and possibly dangerous animal -- and not at the zoo, either. On safari, in an urban jungle, and she is out to map his habits.

Except he's the one with the tranquilizers. Folly smiles, grimly.

"Showtime," Martin says. "You'll have five or ten minutes before I get back. Just hang on."

The door opens, and Martin pulls Brij out. [Folly] can hear him talking in a low, embarrassed voice about how she's had a bit much to drink, and the knowing sound in the doorman's voice as he replies. Then the door is shut behind him, and they're waiting for his return.

The soft scritch of pen on paper resumes, followed a couple of minutes later by a soft rustling and then a sharp flick.

A piece of paper, folded into a tight little square, arcs over the seat and into Soren's lap.

It is a piece of Vacation Inn stationery, slightly stained, as if more than one former resident had used the pad as a coaster. On it is written in Folly's angular hand:

It won't be so bad, I promise
I'll look after you, protect you
from the
Ones who think they know better
And you can help me look after

the

> * llamas * <

(when we find some)
I would still climb trees 4 u
and the fool on the hill
who is king of the mtn
will be glad to see you too

If Soren glances back, he sees that Folly is peeking over the seat at him.

It's not a glance. He turns and hangs over the back. "Well, about an hour ago, this stopped being the kind of reckless jaunt that you laugh about later. I've known lots of guys who were totally different people when you put an axe in their hands. Considering that I no longer think I can kick his ass or get away from him, I vote we get him a guitar and let him play 'til we drop."

"I don't think it's the guitar that puts him off his equilibrium," Folly says. "I think it's my mother. But then, she does have that effect on people, doesn't she?" She smiles wryly.

Soren opens his mouth as if he's going to respond, thinks better of it, and shrugs.

"And no, you can't kick his ass." It is difficult to tell whether the statement is prescription or description. But as Folly says it, something else occurs to her, and her brow furrows. "Actually, you probably can't kick my ass, either. But I wouldn't recommend trying right now, unless you really want to get on Martin's bad side." She chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip. "That would suck, big-time."

"Not on my list, and anyway, my usual modus operandi is to drag you into a studio and let you kick your own ass."

Folly grins, the first real smile he's seen from her in over an hour.

"This is Syd's kid, right? What the hell was his mother like?"

"Who, Martin's? I don't really know," Folly replies. Her expression grows pensive, as if she is looking for the right words, or perhaps filtering out the wrong ones. "He barely remembers her. And I haven't asked... anyone else who might." She wraps her arms across her midsection. She is still clutching the little notepad in her left hand; it is covered with nearly indecipherable scribbles. "I've got a guess or two, though." She regards Soren with a wistful smile, which shifts suddenly to a smirk.

"His grandmother sounds like a real bitch, though."

He shrugs. "I wonder if that's why Brij got to him. Or maybe I'm just used to her. I was her...primary focus in her attempts to control your legacy. Did you know you had one?"

"I didn't mean to," Folly replies, wide-eyed and apologetic. The comparison between her mother and Martin's grandmother seems to have unsettled her a little. "I mean, I did, but not that way. Not so people would fight about it. But yeah, I saw a couple of the websites. 'Aliens returned to the mothership,' indeed." She rolls her eyes.

But then it occurs to her that maybe that one isn't so far off.

She glances over the seat at Soren's laptop and contemplates the glorious nonsense that will be written about the mysterious new tracks they're about to leave behind. She can't help but grin.

Maybe she should've spent the last hour writing liner notes.

Soren continues, "That's what this book shite is all about. And it's got a lot to do with why I spend more time in the studio and less on the road. But at least I didn't become Ash."

Folly blinks and looks at Soren. "Oh, dear. What happened to Ash?" She glances toward the hotel entrance to see whether anyone is paying attention to them.

"Auto-economic asphyxiation. He put on a tie and it cut off the blood supply to his brain. He's a Executive VP at Palmer Brothers Music in charge of New Talent Development."

For two beats, Folly stares at Soren as if trying to figure out whether he is totally shitting her.

Then, "What is WITH you people?!" she exclaims. "I turn my back for TWO SECONDS, and you all turn into GROWN-UPS!"

Her eyes are twinkling.

"Next thing you know, you'll be cutting your hair. Oh, wait...."

"Oh, he did that too," Soren replies, sounding bitterly amused. "Have to, when you run for city council as a Traditionalist. Not even a New Monarchist." He shakes his head.

"Good... friggin'... lord," says Folly as she takes that in. "If I weren't sure you're the right you, I'd think I ended up in the wrong reality."

"I blame Syd." His eyes are also twinkling, and he can't keep the corners of his mouth from twitching.

Out of the corner of her eye, Folly sees a familiarly rumpled figure exiting the hotel and striding towards the car. He's holding his shoulders in a scrunched-up way that can't be too good for the slice Dara left him with, especially after he threw himself over the seat a while ago. Soren seems startled when Martin opens the door of the limo, but recovers almost immediately.

"Drop off the limo, get the convertible?" Soren asks.

Martin nods once, abruptly, then, realizing Soren probably can't see him, says "Yes."

En route to the limo rental place, Martin has Soren fish a first aid kit out of the glove compartment and lets Folly tend to his shoulder. He hasn't torn out the stitches, but he hasn't been kind to them either. The T-shirt under his dress shirt is dabbed with blood. He accepts Folly's clucking with good grace, or at least silence, and has finished putting his shirt back on about the time they pull into the limo rental place.

The ride back to Texorami seems a little shorter than the ride out to Nahasha, but not enough so that Folly thinks Martin is using shortcuts. They go to the studio first. Soren pulls all the files he wants off the studio's computer, and helps Martin pack Syd's drum kit into the trunk of the car. Soren adds a duffel bag and a backpack, the former of which Folly recognizes as his touring gear from Happenstance days and the latter of which looks like a replacement for the one she remembers. Martin confers with him about the laptop, and they come to some accommodation.

While they are talking, Folly slips nonchalantly into the bathroom with one of the write-on-anything permanent markers Soren uses to label CDs. On the well-graffiti'd stall door, about a third of the way from the top, she finds enough of a blank space to write, in small but eye-catching letters:

Folly Lives

She smiles and caps the pen. Sure, it's not quite as mind-blowing as a crop circle -- but for a tiny act of freaky alien rock-star legend-building rebellion, it'll do.

But as she turns to leave, her eyes fall on the old Happenstance concert flyer framed and hanging by the mirror, and she realizes she left something out. She uncaps the pen again and adds:

Syd Rules

Satisfied, she slips out again to retrieve her fiddle.

The instrument Soren chooses to bring with him is an acoustic 12-string guitar.

Then they're in the convertible again and off to Soren's home. It's a loft in a reasonably nice part of town. Soren gets them into the garage, and they take what used to be a freight elevator up.

Folly recognizes bits and pieces of the decor, and some of the stereo components, but the place looks like it's had a professional designer make it over some time ago. It also looks like it's been a while since it saw a real cleaning, much less a straightening. Folly also recognizes the familiar bitter stink of a litter box emanating from somewhere in the loft. Martin wrinkles his nose.

At the slam of the door, there's a rustling noise, and after a moment an elderly cat comes out to see what the noise was. "Hey, old fellow, look who I brought to see you!" Soren says to the cat. It takes Folly a moment to recognize him. It's Thelonious.

"Kitty!" Folly gasps, dropping to her knees and holding out her hands so he can get her scent. She can't imagine he'll still remember her after so many years -- but after a couple of tentative sniffs, he butts his head against her chin, purring like a rusty motor.

"I've missed you, too," Folly says in reply, grinning as she rubs her cheek against his fur.

Martin steps by the happy reunion and into the loft, headed for the kitchen. "I'll grab something for on the road," he calls back over his shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, Folly sees Martin pick up a large picture frame from the counter. He frowns. "Soren? What about ..." and he trails off.

Soren shakes his head.

"Who is she?"

"My wife. Helga."

Folly sits up abruptly and looks at Soren, her eyes wide and questioning. While it's not entirely unlike him to fail to mention something so important, she knows something's not right.

Martin opens his mouth, then closes it again. "Where do we go to get her?" he asks.

Soren shakes his head again. "She died in a car wreck eight months ago."

"Oh, sweetie...." Folly begins, but a stricken look crosses her face and she trails off, giving up on words. Instead, she reaches out and slips her hand into Soren's.

He lets her do so, and she notices that his upper lip is sucked in against his teeth the way it does when he's unhappy. He just nods once, slowly, in acknowledgement.

Martin remains where he is, frozen, still holding the picture.

Folly stands without letting go of Soren's hand and gently directs him out of the entryway, toward a couch. She casts a reassuring glance at Martin as she goes.

Thelonious lopes along slowly behind them.

If Soren is willing, they sit. She slides an arm comfortingly around him and just holds him for a long moment. Then she asks, quietly, "Are you sure you're ready?" Her tone is concerned but without judgement.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready," Soren rasps out. "There's nothing keeping me here."

"Then let's pack up the cat and get out of here," says Martin over his shoulder, as he opens the refrigerator to get a beer for Soren.