Return to the Sort-of-Real World

If I had even the slightest sense of time, I might have realized that we weren't going to make it to the Queen's book signing. But as Brad pushed me through the doors of the over-airconditioned mega-bookstore, I hoped that the Queen might be signing one last, false-adoring page of Love sincerely, your own idol, the Queen.

Instead, as I should have expected, Eva blocks our entrance, holding a book to her chest like a life-preserver.

"It. Didn't. Go. Well," she says, shifting her icy gaze between us. "I needed you."

I glance at Brad, not sure if Eva meant him or me.

"I'm sorry," we both say at once, then look away from her, guilty of some imagined conspiracy.

Though I still don't know how we're gonna find our moon, the Second Point hangs invisibly between us, a mystery to be solved, or dissected, or searched. Now that people (and opossums) are dying, I'm not sure if I can be the Queen's pretend third assistant, or Khost's true assistant, or if true is even the opposite of pretend, but still, not knowing how, I find myself saying (or hearing?):

I'll make it up to you.

Eva, at least, thinks I've said it. She growls: "Well, the Queen's long gone. Driver took her back to the Palace. Betty's signing another box of books for her. I've been most impressed with how Betty's stepped up in your absence. So I guess all that leaves is...you telling me where the hell you've been this evening."

Brad: "I should go."

Eva (a little manic): "No...no, you stay here. I want to see if you get that, that eyebrow twitch that happens when you hear a lie."

Brad: "You noticed that?"

Eva: "Please, I knew you knew I'd never risk a real tan. Every time I came back from 'sunbathing': twitchy."

"I was at the library," I say quickly. "I'm sorry I can't be more interesting for you, Eva, but I'm old, I'm boring, I was at the library with the dust motes."

"Very boring," coughs Brad, eyebrows still.

For some reason I feel compelled to keep going. "And I caught Brad, here, your Brad, researching shiny objects. Shiny glittery objects. But I'm sure you'd be the least surprised to hear that," I say.

Instead of looking pleased, Eva eyes Brad strangely.

"Oh," she says, simply, unreadable.

I'm trying to process. But this is not the only thing going on. Down the street, a lone car is slowly making its way towards us. The silver Bentley crawls to a stop right outside the mega-bookstore, and a few feet away.

Max lets out a large squawk and I turn around, almost in slow motion, as the door swings crudely open.