The full beauty of a New England springtime was upon Salem, Massachusetts, when Dov came driving into town. The purpose of his visit, like Peez's before him, was to seek out the self-proclaimed witch-queen Fiorella and secure her backing for the corporate takeover. Given the number of dues-paying followers she commanded, her approval was key to determining the final outcome of the great brother/sister competition. Securing it should have been a matter of the utmost urgency, but one would never know it by watching Dov in action. Instead of seeking out Fiorella immediately, he headed for his bed-and-breakfast lodgings, telling himself that it would be best to check in before he did anything else.

"Got to get organized," he muttered to himself as he steered the snappy red convertible through the city streets. "Got to get my ducks in a row."

"Now you're into ducks?" Ammi piped up. "Dov, Dov, Dov, you have got to start dating women."

Dov paid no mind to the amulet's sally. Ever since leaving Chicago he had been more than usually quiet and self-contained. Normally he viewed all airplane flights as golden opportunities for applied schmoozing. It was like getting an unexpected present: Either his seatmate would turn out to be someone attractive he could court (and, in some cases, seduce), someone with business or social connections he could exploit later on, or someone unbearable on whom he could practice the art of diplomatically telling a creep to bugger off. You could never get too much practice doing that!

This time, on the flight from Chicago to Boston, he had kept himself to himself, burying his nose in a book and behaving as if his seatmate—a highly attractive redhead— were invisible. When her perfume insinuated itself past his first line of defense, he clapped on a sleep mask and forced himself to nap, even though the flight was over too quickly for such a short rest to do anything but leave him logy and cranky.

His original plans had not included staying overnight in Salem, but he thought it would be wise to be in top form when he finally spoke with the witch-queen. For that he needed a base of operations, a way station where he could shake off his travel fatigue while he smartened up his appearance, his mental acuity, and his attitude. Despite the last-minute nature of his lodging quest, he managed to secure a charming suite in one of the better places in town. The innkeeper took real pride in showing off her lovingly decorated home-turned-hostel, particularly the working fireplace in Dov's room.

"You're very lucky that it's not the high tourist season yet," she told him. "We're booked months in advance for that time of year. You wouldn't be able to get a room here for love or money then. I'm not bragging; I'm just giving you fair warning, in case you want to come back some time."

"Maybe I will," said Dov, who knew he would not. As soon as she left, he flopped down on the bed and stared up at the spiderweb-lace canopy. He intended to do no more than stretch his drive-cramped legs, organize his thoughts, unpack his things, and maybe catch a quick shower before giving Fiorella a call to let her know he'd arrived and wanted to see her tomorrow. Then he'd make reservations for lunch at the best place Salem had to offer, give her the time of her little life, pour on the charm along with the champagne, and have her support all wrapped up like a fortune cookie before dessert.

Instead he fell fast asleep.

It was dark by the time he woke up, nine o'clock by the bedside clock. His dreams had not been pleasant ones.

In sleep, he wandered across an endless plain that shifted from sand to scarp to soil underfoot. He was trying to catch up with something or someone that was moving away from him in the distance, but he didn't know what or who it might be, only that it was essential for him to overtake it. There was no sky. The curve of space above his head was filled with masks: the garish pasteboard faces of Mardi Gras, the enameled gold funerary masks of ancient Egypt, the carved wood images of Bear and Raven and Wolf, all these and more. They leered down at Dov as he ran, and they laughed at him. The one that laughed the loudest was a silver mask with the perfect features of a Greek god: Ammi.

He ran faster, trying to escape the faces, and suddenly found himself climbing a sand dune that had not been there before. The higher he climbed, the steeper it grew, until he was on hands and knees, crawling and clawing and kicking in a desperate attempt to reach the crest. At last he made it to the summit and gazed down at what awaited him on the other side.

There you are, Dov, said his sister. She waved at him from the shade of a willow tree. What took you so long? We've been waiting for you.

The willow grew beside a brook, the brook threaded its way between grassy green banks and sweet, cool meadows starred with tender flowers. The wasteland was less than a memory. Dov stumbled down into the lovely valley where Peez had spread a picnic on the grass. She was dressed like a refugee from a Jane Austen novel, but that wasn't the oddest thing about her: She was smiling. She was smiling at him. As soon as he came within reach she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a sisterly kiss of welcome.

She was actually happy to see him!

This is definitely a dream, thought Dov.

The dream-Peez shepherded him over to the picnic blanket and sat him down, putting a glass of iced tea in one of his hands and a plate full of his favorite finger-foods in the other. She began to talk with him about his travels, listening sympathetically to all that he had to say, telling him about her own adventures in return. Her dream-self confirmed that yes, she had slept with Martin Agparak and weren't his new-style totem poles the strangest things Dov had ever seen? Then she made a surprisingly naughty pun in which the word "pole" figured prominently (as well as the word "prominent"), setting the two of them off into gales of laughter.

Wow, I'm actually having a good time talking with my sister, Dov thought. This really must be a dream!

As they continued to eat and drink and talk, he noticed something: Peez was growing younger. Before his eyes, the years flowed off her face and body while she chattered on, oblivious. He was frightened, wondering what this meant, what he could do to stop it, whether she would continue growing younger and younger indefinitely until she became toddler, infant, newborn, fetus, embryo, and then vanished altogether. He reached out as if to halt the process and saw that his own hand had grown smaller, softer, a child's hand.

Seeing him reach out to her that way, his sister jumped up happily, grabbed him by the wrist, and hauled him after her, dashing off into the meadow. In the logicless way of dreams, the grassy field transformed itself into an idyllic playground, with slides and swings and seesaws and toys strewn everywhere. The siblings ran like young fawns, spun around until they got dizzy and fell over, climbed everything in sight, played leapfrog and hopscotch and can't-catch-me, hung upside down by their knees from anything that could bear their weight. Peez's fancy dress went inside-out over her head and Dov teased her mercilessly about the color of her underpants. She dropped to the earth and when she stood up again, a water balloon had materialized in her hand. He was soaked to the skin before he could say another word. The two of them fell over laughing again.

Hello, kids, keeping busy?

The two of them looked up into Edwina's face. She was smiling down at them from the great height of adulthood. She was not only older than they were, and smarter, and taller, but in the dream she had become a veritable giantess. She bent over and scooped the two of them into the palm of her enormous hand, lifting them high into the sky so fast that Dov's cheeks burned in the rushing wind of their passage. Terrified and exhilarated, Dov and Peez clung to Edwina's fingers the way a drowning man clings to a floating log. The beautiful valley, the trees, the stream, the playground, even the clouds lay far below them. For an instant Dov wondered what would happen if he let go of his mother's hand and tried to fly.