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should be back home, preferably in his own room, or in class, or even flat in the middle of Wilshire
traffic.
Instead he lay on his butt within the same Tree.
"It didn't work," he murmured aloud. "I didn't go back." He felt like the hero of a war movie who'd set
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off the magazine of his own ship and gone down with his captors.
The last of the haze was fading from the circle. He caught his breath, aware of something besides his
own self-pity now.
A tall young woman just a hair short of six feet was sitting spraddle-legged in the center of the circle. Her
arms were straight behind her, keeping her in a sitting position as she gazed around with an altogether
appropriate air of bewilderment. Long black hair was tied in a single ponytail.
She was clad in an absurdly brief skirt with matching pantyshorts beneath, sneakers and high socks, and
a long sweater with four large blue letters sewn on its front. Her face was a stunning cross between that
of a Tijuana professional and a Tintoretto madonna. Jet-black eyes, black as Mudge's, and coffee skin.
Shakily she got to her feet, dusted herself off, and looked around.
With Pog's assistance Clothahump was rolling off his back. Once on all fours he was able to stand up.
He started hunting around for his glasses, which had been knocked off by the concussion. A curved dent
in the Tree wall behind him showed where he'd struck.
"What happened?" Jon-Tom thought to ask, his eyes still mesmerized by the woman. "What went
wrong?"
"You, obviously, did not go back," said Clothahump prosaically, "but someone else was drawn to us."
He stared at the new arrival, asked solicitously, "Are you by any chance, my dear, an eng'neer? Or
wizard, or sorceress, or witch, as they would be known hereabouts?"
"_Sangre de Christo_," husked the girl, taking a cautious step away from the turtle. Then she stopped.
Her confusion and momentary fear were replaced by an expression of outrage.
"What is this place, huh? _Comprende tortuga?_ Do you understand?" She turned slowly. "Where the
hell am I?"
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Her eyes narrowed as they located Jon-Tom. "You... don't I know you from someplace?"
"Am I correct then in assuming you are not an eng'neer?" asked Clothahump despondently.
She looked back over a shoulder at him. "Engineer, me? _Infierno_, no! I'm a theater-arts student at the
University of California in Los Angeles. I was on my way to cheerleading squad practice when... when I
suddenly find myself in a nightmare. Only... you are not very frightening, _tortuga_.
"So if this is no nightmare... what is it?" She put a hand to her forehead, staggered a little. "_Madre de
dios_, have I got a headache."
Clothahump looked across the demolished circle. Jon-Tom was still staring open-mouthed at the girl, his
own failure now forgotten. "You know this young lady, spellsinger?"
"I'm afraid I do, sir. Her name is Flores Quintera."
At the mention of her name the girl spun back to face him. "I thought I recognized you." She frowned.
"But I still can't place you."
"My name is Jon Meriweather." When she didn't react to that, he added, "We attend the same school."
"I still can't place you. Have we had a class together, or something?"
"I don't think so," he told her. "I'd remember if we had. I have seen--"
"Wait a minuto... _now_ I know!" She pointed an accusatory finger at him. "I've seen you working
around campus. Sweeping the halls, working the grounds at practice."
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"I do that occasionally," he replied, embarrassed. "I always managed to be out gardening whenever the
cheer squad had practice." He smiled hesitantly.
Loud, high-pitched feminine laughter came from behind him. Everyone turned to see Talea sitting on the
wood-chip floor, holding her sides and roaring hysterically.
"I don't know you," said Flores Quintera. "What's so funny?"
"Him!" She pointed at Jon-Tom. "He was supposed to be helping Clothahump cast for an engineer to
switch places with. So he was thinking back to his home, to familiar surroundings. But he couldn't keep
his mind on his business. It was drifting while he was spellsinging, from engineering to something more
pleasant, I think."
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