"No, it's the way to the airport. Mr. Bones took care of getting my things packed and loaded into the trunk. He's got his ways."

"He's also got a killer instinct for finance."

"Yes, well, so do I. I'm glad he saw that. I think it's what clinched the deal. One of the most influential members of the E. Godz, Inc. corporate family and I've got his support in my pocket. Yesss!" He punched the air in triumph before settling back down into the seat again and drifting off into wonderful dreams. They all featured himself tossing his sister Peez out into the cold, cruel world and a script consisting entirely of the words Neener, neener, neener.

Teddy Tumtum would have appreciated it.

"Who are we looking for?" asked Teddy Tumtum from deep within Peez's carry-on bag. They had just arrived at Chicago's O'Hare airport following a flight out of Boston that had been severely delayed by bad weather. Peez was convinced that the springtime storm that had kept her from her second appointment was all her sneaky baby brother's doing. It would be just like him to phone up one of his minions and order a tempest or two, just to thwart her. "How are you going to recognize the guy they sent to meet you?"

"Simple. He'll be holding up a placard with my name on it," Peez replied. Like her brother, she had slapped a portable A.R.S. over herself and Teddy Tumtum so that she could converse with the insidious toy in public and in peace for the duration of her travels. Even in the crowded airport, no one seemed to be at all puzzled by a grown woman talking to her carry-on bag, and when she'd taken Teddy Tumtum out on the plane to distract herself from the worst of the turbulence (Peez was not a good flyer) no one on board had so much as batted an eye. Sometimes Peez wondered what it was they thought they were seeing.

"Well, that's mighty obliging of them," Teddy Tumtum remarked. "They must think highly of you."

"Oh, please." Peez tossed her head. "They're only kissing up to Mother through me. I don't matter as much as a squashed cockroach to these people. Probably less. I think they worship cockroaches."

"Dung beetles," Teddy Tumtum corrected her. "Among other things. I offered to brief you on the flight here, but someone I could mention thought she had better things to do."

"Yes, making sure I threw up into the barf bag was my top priority," Peez replied mordantly. "What was I thinking? Silly me."

"Ha, ha," the bear said, deadpan. "You were thankful enough that I prepped you for the meeting with Fiorella."

"For all the good it did me," Peez said.

"Awwww, izzums Peezie-pie upset 'cause nasty ol' witchy-lady didn't fall right into um's arms? She's a businesswoman! One tough honey, and believe me, I know from honey. Your victory will be all the sweeter once she's had a chance to think things through."

"You sound sure that I'm going to win her over. Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Like what?"

"Like my baby brother. I'm not naive. I know that Dov's probably doing the exact same thing that I am, right now, zipping around the country, drumming up grassroots support for his takeover as head of the corporation. That little moop can charm the pants off anyone. Why not Fiorella?"

"Why assume she thinks with her pants?" Teddy Tumtum countered. "I told you, she's a businesswoman. Emphasis on the business part."

"Yes, but—"

"But nothing! You are naive if you believe that the really successful movers and shakers get led around by the hormones. Your problem is you've been ruined by so-called 'entertainment' TV. According to them, it's all about sex when it isn't all about staying young. Sure, you'll hear tell of some high-placed corporate honcho or honchita horndogging after a bit of crumpet, but you can bet your T-bills that they lock up their assets first."

"Then what about that old dead billionaire whatzisname, the one who married that boob-job bimbo and left her everything in his will? His kids are still duking it out with Suzie Skank in court!"

The carry-on bag chuckled. "Ever think that maybe the old guy didn't leave everything to the bimbo because he was stupid in love? Ever wonder if maybe he knew exactly what he was doing, and he was doing it precisely because he wanted to aggravate his kids from beyond the grave? Never underestimate a parent, Peezie-pie. They could give sneaky weasel lessons to Machiavelli."

"Whatever." Peez was still feeling cranky and peaked after her bout of airsickness. She was in no mood for another of Teddy Tumtum's lectures. All she wanted was to make contact with the Chicago group, secure their backing, and then go to her hotel and the chaste embrace of a hot, scented bubble bath. "Where the hell is that driver?" she muttered, her eyes sweeping the crowd. "I can't stand here forever. I've got to retrieve my luggage. If he doesn't show up—"

That was when she saw him. It was a miracle that she did, considering how thick the crowd around him stood. The little cardboard sign with peez godz scrawled on it in conventional Roman lettering wigwagged desperately over the heads of the gawking mob surrounding the short, dumpy little man whose only clothing was a pleated linen kilt, red leather sandals, and a heavy black Cleopatra wig. Peez fought her way through the pack just as the little man flipped the sign over to display the cartouche lovingly drawn on the other side.

It's either my name or the word HELP done in hieroglyphics, Peez thought. "I'm here," she announced, laying one hand on her escort's naked shoulder. "Shall we go get my bags?"

"Oh yes, please," he replied. His moist, doggy eyes brimmed with gratitude. "I'm Gary. It's an honor to meet you."

"Gary ..." Peez repeated thoughtfully, trying to merge the commonplace name with the bizarrely dressed little man before her.

Somewhere between their initial meeting point and the baggage carousels Gary excused himself, stepped into the men's room, and emerged wearing jeans, work shoes, a

Bears T-shirt and a battered denim jacket. He was carrying a small blue gym bag from which protruded a few stray braids of the discarded wig. In answer to Peez's inquiring look he said, "Ray Rah tapped the power just enough to let me greet you in costu—in suitable regalia but with enough shielding to keep airport Security happy."

"An A.R.S.?" Peez asked. Then, noting how badly bewildered he was, she explained: "Automatic Rationalization Spell. Very popular."

"I guess that must be what he used, then. But your flight was delayed; the spell began to wear off. That's why I was surrounded by all those people. I'm glad you showed up when you did."

"Me, too. You'd have hated to have to explain yourself to Security."

"Tell me about it." He shuddered.

He retrieved Peez's bag from the carousel, then escorted her to his car, a late-model Volvo convertible. The faience image of a hippopotamus dangled from the rearview mirror and the dashboard was a forest of figurines depicting some of the many gods of Ancient Egypt. As soon as they had their seat belts fastened, he pointed to one of the miniature statues and said, "She's my favorite—I mean, the object of my primary veneration: Sekhmet, the lion-headed goddess of war and sickness."

Peez gave the little man a searching look. He appeared to be about as bloodthirsty as a penguin. "Interesting choice," she remarked. "You a lawyer?"

"I sell insurance."

"Oh."

They drove from the airport in silence. Gary took it upon himself to offer Peez a brief guided tour of downtown Chicago. The weather was not cooperating; the city did not show its best face under dingy gray overcast skies. Still, the drive along the lakeshore was inspirational, and the skyline spoke to Peez with its own strange, steel-and-glass poetry.