Chapter 7

Things settled more or less into a routine in the weeks and months that followed. Ralph had not taken Malina back to Murphy's, and gave it not a thought. But, work being very slow at Murphy's, Deborah came by often, and on those days Ralph went off to work alone, leaving Malina in her care.

From the outset, Deborah began teaching Malina about this strange world, taking her shopping, mostly with Ralph's money, as she had little of her own, and teaching Malina about money, cooking, makeup and clothes. This last alone was in itself a whole new world for Malina, for in her own world, her only clothing had been her Pixie dress, her only adornment garlands of flowers. The late-autumn weather was turning colder, and in the early mornings Malina saw frost and ice for the first time. The cold didn't bother her, now that she knew what it was, and was dressed for it. She particularly liked the way little ghosts came out of her mouth in the cold air, though the first time she had seen this phenomenon, she had been scared witless, thinking that her life's essence was leaving her. Dumbfounded by Malina's reaction to seeing her own breath, Deborah had laughed at first, until she realized the girl was genuinely frightened. Finally realising that some explanation was needed to help Malina cope with this, she showed her by example that she could make little ghosts with her own breath without taking any apparent harm.

For Deborah, having Malina around was like having a baby sister. She had to show Malina just about everything, including how to dress 1herself and how to speak English, which she was picking up with disconcerting rapidity. Deborah herself had taken French and Spanish in school, but had failed miserably in French, and only just got a passing grade in Spanish.

There were a few really embarrassing moments, like the first time she took Malina swimming at a heated indoor pool. Deborah had no sooner helped Malina into her brand-new bathing suit than Malina had doffed it on the edge of the pool. Malina had shown only bewilderment as Deborah, mortified by the open-mouthed stares of several bystanders, tried to convince Malina that going about naked was not a particularly desirable thing to do. It had taken a lengthy explanation to the lifeguard that Malina didn't know any better, and he had threatened to kick them both out. Another similar incident occurred when they were shopping, before Malina came to understand the order in which one went to the change room, tried clothes on, decided if one liked them, changed back into the clothes worn previously, came out of the change room carrying the new clothes, and paid for them at the cash register. While Deborah was in another change room, she began to hear some sort of commotion, and hearing Malina call her name in alarm, went running out to investigate. Malina was standing half-dressed, holding a sweater, looking very frightened as an irate sales clerk and two security people hemmed her in, threateningly. Deborah had a difficult time bringing things under control. The store people thought Malina was trying to shoplift, and threatened to have her arrested. Malina started crying as the manager arrived, sensing that she had gotten herself and Deborah into serious trouble. Deborah had watched the arrival of the manager with misgiving. She appeared to be a no-nonsense type, middle-aged, hair severely tied back, dressed in a very conservative navy blue business suit. When the woman asked for an explanation, Deborah told her, not expecting to be believed, that Malina wasn't clear on what change rooms were for, and that she wasn't trying to steal anything. Taking in Malina's demeanour and state of undress with a wry glance, the woman said to the clerk and security men, 'You three should know better The last thing shoplifters want is to draw attention to themselves. You people get back to work, and let me sort things out here.' Deborah used this as an opportunity to begin helping Malina back into her clothes. 'No, sweetie, not this one. We have to pay for it first. Here, put your arm . . . no, give me your arm . . .'

'Malina make bad?' Malina asked worriedly.

'Don't worry about it,' Deborah told her, getting her pants on and doing them up. 'Where's your . . . Malina, what have you done with your wallet? You know, the thing I gave you to put money in?'

The Manager left them a moment, went over to some chairs, knelt down and picked something up off the floor, and brought it to Deborah. 'You looking for this?'

Relieved, Deborah said gratefully, 'Thanks. We seem to be having a little trouble getting organised today.'

'She's from the East Bloc, isn't she?' said the woman with conviction. 'From one of those really poor countries.'

Deborah had suspected something of the sort herself, and replied, thinking she might be closer to the truth than even she herself thought, 'She's kind of a refugee.'

'That's what I thought,' the woman said, and smiled at Malina. 'Some of my family are from the East Bloc. I know exactly what she's going through right now. New language. Doesn't know what's done and what's not done. Feeling awkward all the time. Back in the Old Country, my mother's family used to live all twelve of them in a one bedroom apartment. After she moved here, she embarrassed the hell out of my father one time when she started changing right in front of the in-laws.' She smiled at Malina who was no longer crying. 'All better?'

Malina looked to Deborah, still wondering what was going on.

'Is everything okay now?' Deborah asked the woman. 'Can I take her home?'

'Home?' Malina echoed hopefully.

Despite such incidents, Deborah assumed that Malina was adjusting well to her new life, and that it was only a matter of time before she became like everyone else, becoming independent enough to be on her own, and generally fitting in.

One night after getting off work at Murphy's, Deborah drove straight to Ralph's house and got out of her car, purposefully, a wide, flat box under her arm. Ralph was half underneath the front end of his oil truck, working in the glaring radiance of an unfrosted utility lamp, surrounded on all sides by a scattering of tools and truck parts. 'I'm taking Malina dancing,' she told Ralph. 'Want to come?' She well knew Ralph hated dancing, but asked only out of politeness. In truth she hoped he wouldn't come, but at the same time chided herself for not allowing herself to believe that Ralph told the truth when he said that nothing was going on between himself and Malina. Ralph had never once lied to her. Yeah, well, there's always a first time for everything, said her insecure little inner voice, making her wince at her own thoughts.

'Nope. Bye. Have fun,' Ralph answered in a voice constricted with physical strain causing him to speak in short, punctated bursts, too engrossed in what he was doing to make conversation.

With a small shrug, and a feeling of guilty relief, Deborah muttered, 'Just thought I'd ask,' and went into the house in search of Malina.

She found the girl by following the sound of running water, then by stepping into it. 'Malina What the hell ' Malina was in the bath with the water running, out and over the rim of the tub, oblivious. 'How many times do I have to tell you? When the tub is full, you turn the water off What were you thinking?'

Looking for all the world like a child that doesn't understand the nature or purpose of punishment, she said hopefully, 'Rowf say "bath time," so Malina do bath . . .'

Deborah was already gone, having turned off the taps and left in search of the mop. As she started on the floor, wringing the mop out into the toilet, she said, 'Come on, get out and get dried off. I've left something for you on the couch. You know? The place where you sleep?'

Malina, as usual, heedless of her nudity, went out into the living-room as she was told. When Deborah came to collect her, the girl was already wearing ankle socks, bra and panties, but was holding the dress out before herself awkwardly, seemingly unable to make sense of it.

'No, silly, you've got it backwards,' Deborah told her, then helped her slip it on, stood back to appraise the effect, and muttered, 'Wow Just wait 'til the guys get a load of you Except for the ankle socks. Take 'em off. You go barefoot in this dress. No, not literally Put your beige sandals on.' The dress was "virgin" white, tight, calf-length, backless, and provocatively split up one side from thigh to underarm, the open side held together by thin strips of fabric. Deborah wore a similar dress that was black. Unlike Malina, she wore black stiletto heels. Malina wore her usual sandals, seemingly unable to learn to walk wearing heels. With a wicked grin, taking Malina by the hand, Deborah said, 'Let's go have us some real fun.'

Malina had never been out late in the evening before in this strange world, and as they approached the town in Deborah's car, she gasped in wonder, looking about excitedly. 'Lights ' She exclaimed, delightedly.

'What? Oh, yeah, lots of lights,' Deborah muttered, hoping Malina wasn't going to say or do anything too embarrassing at the nightclub. 'Street lights. Traffic lights. Headlights. Business signs. Whoop-de-doo.' Noticing Malina's hurt reaction, she bit her tongue and mentally kicked herself. 'These lights are nothing,' she told the girl conspiratorially. 'Just wait 'til you see the lights where we're going '

As they pulled into the parking lot, Malina felt a growing trepidation. Unlike Murphy's, this tavern was in a more remote area, its massive grounds filled with wagons; not like Rowf's, but more like Deborah's, though almost all were newer and shinier. Many were built lower to the ground, without coverings to keep the wind and rain off. And parked in a knot beneath the neon sign were a large group of those noisy, frightening, two-wheeled vehicles There was something about the Men who drove them, and their women, that made Malina uneasy. Their behaviour reminded her of the sort of Elves that took pleasure in hurting and abusing Pixies and other creatures. Taking her cue from Deborah, however, she walked past the two-wheeled things, trying to ignore the frank stares of several of the Men who stood amongst them, pausing in their conversation to scrutinize the two young women.

When they gained the entrance, Malina noticed with some relief that the tavern seemed to be full. She glanced up at Deborah hopefully, wondering if they could turn around and go back home. Instead, Deborah turned and smiled down at her. 'This is great The place is packed tonight.'

Malina swallowed, listening to the loud throb emanating from the inside of the building. She thought of asking Deborah what was causing the loud noise, but decided to wait for a more opportune moment, having discovered that when in public, the Human girl was often strangely reticent about answering her questions. At last, a Man wearing a shirt with writing on it, who stood barring the people at the front of the line, unfastened a thick rope which traversed the doorway at waist level, and let several people in. Everyone before them entered, but they were cut off, left standing at the front of the line. Malina suddenly felt her excitement rising. Now that they were nearer to the door, she could hear that what she thought was only a loud thump was only part of some strange sort of rhythmic music. The big, bearded, muscular Man standing at the door, whose head was shaved, stood with his arms crossed. Malina instinctively assumed that he was a person of some importance; probably the tavern owner. Seeing her scrutiny, apparently used to such things, he smiled benevolently at her and winked. 'Won't be too long,' he said. 'There's a bunch of people from an office party that are starting to leave.' As if on cue, a number of people began squeezing past the burly man as he unfastened the rope for them. The moment those exiting were out the door, he motioned for those in line to move forward.

As the two young women stepped into the foyer, Malina's heart began pounding with fear as Deborah pulled her by the hand into the midst of the crush of people. Turning to the right, following a raised area which surrounded the dance floor, Deborah soon found a table with six empty barstools.

They were no sooner seated than four young men approached. 'Mind if we sit here?' the question was directed at Malina, who, not having understood, looked to Deborah. The men were big, and overconfident in a way that Malina found unsettling. But Deborah, apparently experienced in dealing with such people, smiled as though she'd known them all their lives. 'Sure, go ahead. I'm Deborah. My friend here is Malina.'

'I know who you are ' the man replied, suddenly recognising Deborah. 'You're one of the dancers from Murphy's. My name's Glen, this fellow's Jason, the one in the yellow shirt is Rory, and that quiet fellow there is Norman.'

The conversation shifted to occupations as they ordered and awaited the arrival of their drinks. When the beverages finally came, the conversation had gone around the table, until at last it was Malina's turn. She found herself hoping to avoid this unwanted attention, and their order would, she hoped, be distraction enough to spare her from being put on the spot. As Deborah paid for her own drink and Malina's, however, and as the waitress left, the one named Rory said to her, 'So, Malina, just what do you do? And what kind of a name is Malina? That's a new one on me. Do you have a boyfriend?' Malina looked to Deborah in desperation, having understood little of what the man was saying to her. Deborah and Ralph had learned to accommodate her limitations by using the vocabulary she knew, and by speaking to her in a way that was at once slower and more clear, carefully separating each word from its neighbour while using facial expressions and body language (though unconsciously) to emphasize meaning. But when conversing with one another, or when other people spoke, she found their speech far too fast to follow; they had a peculiar habit of blurring their words together into a continuous stream, so that she couldn't tell where one word ended and the next began.

To her relief, Deborah came to her rescue, though her apparent focus of interest was on the man named Glen. 'Malina doesn't speak much English,' Deborah told them. 'She's from . . .' she hesitated, wanting to avoid a long conversation on a subject of which she could provide no sure answers. Deciding instead on a white lie, she lowered her voice so that Malina couldn't hear, and told the three men nearest her, 'She's a refugee who's been through some horrible stuff, and doesn't like talking about it.' The three nodded, and the fourth, Norman, was informed by one of his friends who whispered in his ear. The one named Rory suddenly smiled, and said to Malina, 'Wanna dance?'

That she understood. Malina looked to Deborah, who nodded. Deborah had shown Malina how to dance to her kind of music, and Malina had taken to it effortlessly. Taking Deborah's nod as a yes, Rory grabbed Malina by the hand and began leading her to the dance floor. Unable to say no, unaware that refusal of this man's wishes was an option, she followed.

She reached the threshold of the dance floor, and stopped. There were so many people And the lights Deborah was right; the lights on the way here were nothing compared to this

'Coming?'

With a shy smile, which had a strange effect on the Man, causing him to assert himself with greater authority, she allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. At once, caught up in the pulse of the music, and the spectacle of lights like nothing she could ever have imagined, her confidence bolstered by the stiff drink she had consumed, she began dancing in the evocative way Deborah had shown her, a way that was just barely short of the primitive fertility dance Deborah performed at Murphy's. When they left the dance floor to sit down one more, Rory refused to release her hand. This went unnoticed by Deborah, however, as she was deep in conversation with Glen. On the table were several more drinks. At Rory's urging, Malina drank several tiny glasses of sweet-tasting liqueur, as did the others. She then downed another of the drinks like the one Deborah had ordered for her, and was immediately led back to the dance floor by Rory.

Flushed with feelings she had no understanding of, dancing with a Man who performed his own version of the fertility dance, overstimulated by all the lights and music and alcohol, she suddenly discovered that she was helpless to resist, nor did she have any desire to resist, when the Man suddenly put his arm around her waist, drew her to him, and gave her a lingering kiss that sent excited shivers throughout her body.

'C'mon,' he said, 'Let's get out of here.'

It was some time before Deborah realized that Malina was missing. 'Glen,' she said, 'Have you seen Malina?'

He glanced around. 'Isn't she up on the dance floor?'

The observant Norman, who said little but had his eyes open, said, 'She left with Rory, about twenty minutes ago.'

Deborah went white. 'What do you mean, left? Where did they go?'

'It's all right,' said Jason, 'they probably just went back to his place.'

'It's not all right ' Deborah blurted. 'Where does your friend Rory live?'

'For Pete's sake ' Jason said, 'Your friend and Rory were all over each other. What did you expect?'

'You don't understand ' Deborah said, afraid for Malina and angry now. 'She doesn't know what she's doing, or what he wants to do with her. She's like a kid. She'll go along with anyone.'

Jason gave her a pained look. 'Your friend is right where she wants to be. Why don't you just leave it at that?'

'How about I call the police,' Deborah said in a low voice, 'and we just leave it at that?'

'I think,' Glen said firmly, his eyes fixed on Jason, his expression unreadable, 'that I'd better take you there myself. Rory can be a little hard to handle in these situations.' Turning to Deborah, he said, 'Did you drive here?' Deborah nodded. 'All right. Stay here and hold my seat, guys.'

To Deborah's relief, ahead of her, Glen drove fast enough to demonstrate that he'd taken Deborah's words seriously. They headed out of town, onto the highway for some distance, then turned right on to a grid road. Suddenly, in the middle of nowhere, the brake-lights of Glen's pickup lit up as he came to an abrupt halt. As Deborah stopped behind him, she could see Malina illuminated by the headlights of Glen's truck, walking barefoot. She was followed by Rory, who kept trying to grab her, roughly, even as she in turn kept pulling away. She was weeping almost hysterically. With a sick feeling, Deborah noticed that her dress was torn. A few hundred feet away was a house with only the porch light on. As Deborah and Glen approached, Malina, white as a little ghost and trembling with shock, ran to Deborah, one hand to her face- her lip was cut and bleeding. Deborah wordlessly accepted her embrace as she would a frightened child. Before Deborah could say anything, Malina began crying hysterically, and wracked with sobs, blurted, 'I want to go home now . . . please . . . I want to go home . . .'

Feeling sick inside, Deborah looked to Glen, who was watching Rory with an unreadable expression. Oblivious, slightly drunk, Rory tried moving towards Malina, but found his way barred by Glen.

'Go up to the house,' he told Deborah quietly. 'Call the police.' At this, Rory spat an obscenity and swung a fist at Glen. Glen deftly parried his blow and pushed him to the ground, where he sat, glowering defiance, but not getting up immediately, perhaps knowing what Glen would do to him if he carried the matter further.

'We can't call the police,' Deborah choked, trying futilely to console the weeping girl. 'She's here illegally. They might throw her in jail, or deport her.' At the sight of Rory's gloating look, she wanted to scream, to kick him in the face, or certain other places.

Glen was very still for a long moment.

'Go Get her the hell out of here, now, and take her home Maybe take her to a doctor first, if you can- she might need that lip sewn up. In the future, I hope you damn-well learn to do a better job of taking care of her '

It was almost three in the morning when Deborah brought Malina to Doc Wallace's. Though he seemed put out at first at being disturbed at such an ungodly hour, when he heard what happened, he acted quickly. Some time later, when he was done tending to Malina, he came out of his medical room and took Deborah aside. He looked at once more tired and older than she could ever remember seeing him. 'Here, take this card,' he said quietly, but in a tone that brooked no compromise. 'Call tomorrow afternoon. That'll give me a chance to speak with the woman first. She's a rape counsellor. There'll be no questions asked.'

Momentarily stunned into speechlessness, gaping in shock, Deborah took the card, her hand trembling. At once, she put her hand to her mouth and started weeping. 'He raped her? That bastard raped her? Oh my God What have I done to her? This is all my fault.'

'No, it's not your fault,' Doc said tiredly, his voice and manner understanding, but firm. 'But you're very lucky that Glen Dyck was there. Yes, I know him, and his family. Nice people. Not what I'd call religious, but they work hard, go to church; clean living bunch. Now . . . take Malina home, and if you can, stay with her for a few days. Don't leave her alone for a minute. Do you think you can do that for her?'

Deborah nodded numbly, collected Malina, and bundled her into the car. Not once did the girl look at Deborah, or seem to register her surroundings. Instead, she leaned with her head against the passenger window, feet drawn up beneath her, staring at nothing. All the way to Ralph's house, feeling that she herself had done something unspeakable to Malina, Deborah concentrated fighting with her own emotions long enough to get Malina safely home, and tried to think of various ways to explain what had happened. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she would just have to face the music. There was little doubt in her mind that she would see Ralph become furious for the first time since she had known him, and that he would tell her to leave and never come back.

When they arrived back at the house, Deborah saw that the porch light was on, but that all the inside lights were off, which meant that Ralph had gone to bed. When she got Malina inside, the girl went straight towards the couch, but Deborah forestalled her, got her a long nightshirt, and told her to go have a long bath. Like a sleepwalker, Malina did as she was told. The moment the girl was alone in the bathroom with the door shut, Deborah went to Ralph's room, woke him, and told him what had happened. When she finished, he sighed, got out of bed, and she followed him out to the kitchen where he began making the two of them some instant coffee.

'I'm sorry-'

He put a hand up to forestall her. 'Don't. Its done,' he said in a toneless voice. 'I know that Rory character. He and some of the guys he hangs around with are into "date rape," so get it out of your head that Malina is some special case, that you could have prevented what happened. Believe me, Rory would have found some way; he's an expert.' His said this last in such a way that it conveyed more impact than if he had described Rory's predations in the most vulgar terms imaginable. Ralph seldom used outright profanity, had always openly discouraged its use in his presence; this despite the fact that his father had been notoriously fowl-mouthed. Had Ralph known it, this was one of the many things that Deborah truly admired about him. 'Doc was right about Glen,' he continued. 'He was a year behind me in school. Good football player. The type that puts sportsmanship ahead of competition. If I know him, he'll try to find a way to get Rory charged. At the least, he'll put the fear of God into him.' He huffed. 'Funny thing to say, when you consider that neither of us believes in such things.' Changing the subject, he said, 'Guess I'll be sleeping on the couch. If you go looking for my sweats to sleep in, they'll be hanging up in the closet, instead of in the drawer-'

They stopped suddenly, aware of an unaccustomed silence. Malina had finally remembered to turn off the water. Oddly, under the circumstances, Ralph and Deborah found themselves wondering sadly if this was a good thing.

There were thankfully no more such incidents, but they were enough to have had a sobering effect on Malina. They served to remind her that she could no longer live solely by her wits as she had always done, and that she had to rely on Ralph and Deborah in ways that went beyond simple trust. In a word, without them she was lost. For Malina, who had much time to reflect as she recovered from being raped, this was as frightening a realization as comprehending one's impending death for the first time. The closest she could come to putting it into words was that this house was now her home, that Deborah was now her sister, and Rowf was . . . well, Rowf. But with this realization came a seed of doubt, for if her home was now here, then what had the Elf Kingdom become? Despite her concerns, and the aftereffects of having her unquestioning trust so badly abused, she made an effort to put a good face on it. After all, she had experienced as bad or worse treatment at the hands of the Elves.

To all outward appearances, she seemed to be adjusting well enough. But there were a few problems which had Ralph and Deborah concerned. Malina had no I.D., and either couldn't or wouldn't tell them where she was from. As well, it soon became abundantly clear, at least to Deborah, that Malina was falling in love with Ralph. But Ralph seemed utterly oblivious to the way the young woman reacted to his presence, or the lack of it. Deborah found herself watching helplessly as Malina became quiet, distracted and withdrawn.

'Looks like you've got it bad,' Deborah told her one day, when she found Malina sitting alone on a dilapidated wooden bench in the back yard, looking especially depressed. She was wearing a heavy woolen jacket, jeans, and hiking shoes; the weather was cloudy and cold, threatening wet snow. When Malina looked up at her with a quizzical expression, Deborah clarified what she had just said. 'You're feeling sad. Because of how you feel about Ralph.'

Looking hopeful, as though Deborah had all the answers to her problems, Malina said, 'Deborah know how to make better?'

Groaning inwardly, sitting down beside her, Deborah muttered, 'Not really. This is just one of those things that you're going to have to muddle your way through, on your own.'

'Maybe Doc to know?' Malina said, her mien pleading, tears welling in her eyes.

Taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly, Deborah said, 'Malina, there are only two people concerned when you're feeling like you are right now; you and Ralph.'

Malina's mood didn't improve at the mention of Ralph's name. Instead, her features suffused, she struggled to find words. 'I want . . . I wish . . .' she made a frustrated noise, and to Deborah's embarrassment, started crying.

Ralph and Deborah didn't know it, but from the beginning Malina had been trying to explain to them who and what she was, and where she was from. And then, the three of them were in a bookstore one day. Ralph had wandered off to look at some magazines while Deborah went hunting for a dictionary and a beginner's book of English with Malina in tow. When Deborah was satisfied with what she'd found, she caught up with Ralph, and they made their way to the front counter. But when he and Deborah were about to stand in line, Malina was not with them. Going back, they found her staring at the covers of several paperbacks in the section marked Fantasy. When Malina spotted them, she pointed excitedly. 'Found something you want?' Deborah asked her with a smile. Elated, Malina pointed to a picture on the front of a book. 'Me,' she said. It was a picture of a mischievous little woman playing a prank on some Elves, whom she watched, covertly. This drew a smile from both Ralph and Deborah. 'Yeah, she does look like a little pixie sometimes,' laughed Ralph. Taking the book to buy it for her, they proceeded to the counter once more. But Malina, suddenly frustrated with their incomprehension, took the book from Ralph, shaking her head. She pointed at the cover adamantly. 'That Malina ' Ralph and Deborah were not laughing or smiling now. They knew what she meant, but were not prepared to take such a ridiculous claim on faith.

They drove home in silence, Ralph and Deborah concerned about Malina's state of mind. When they arrived at the house, Malina was crestfallen, realising they wouldn't believe her unless she showed them what little magic she was still capable of, and to do so was to risk her life Making sure she had their undivided attention, she touched an unlit candle's wick. It sparked and guttered into life a moment later. They were surprised, bit not convinced. Picking up a long-dead moth, she breathed on it. At the touch of her Pixie-breath, the moth stirred, then flew away. They were impressed, but still not convinced. She tried to vanish, but merely faded. She stopped when Deborah let out a small shriek of alarm, and Ralph began shouting at her. 'For Chrissake Malina What the Hell?' The effort of trying to disappear left her head spinning. 'You convince it now?' she said, before slumping senseless to the floor.

Ralph worriedly checked on Malina several times as she lay on the couch, to be sure that she was just sleeping. Unable to take his eyes off her or quell his anxiety, he muttered fearfully, 'Oh, man What are we going to do?'

Deborah stopped pacing the floor for a minute to stand over Malina and see if she was still breathing. When she was satisfied, she said, 'We've gotta tell Doc Wallace. I can't think who else can help her. You don't think she's going to die, do you?'

She had never seen Ralph behave so emotionally before. Running a hand through his hair, then leaning with his elbows on the back of the couch, watching Malina's pale face and slow respiration, he said, 'This is too much. I knew right off there was something really different about her, and I mean really different. But this is nuts ' Malina stirred at the sound of their voices, and moaned. Moving around the couch to her side, Ralph took her hand, which worried him all the more because it was so cold and clammy. 'This is no good,' he muttered, feeling her damp forehead. 'We'd better get her to the doctor.'

Opening her eyes, she stared at them in wonder, seeing their concern. 'Malina make bad?'

'Malina not make bad,' Ralph said, an unfamiliar thickness gripping his throat. 'Malina only manage to scare the bejesus out of us.'

As Deborah drove Malina and Ralph to Doc Wallace's house in Roxy, her '69 navy-blue Cortina, Malina tried to get the hang of the kind of "l" that Ralph and Deborah used. She didn't know this, but it had something to do with how the tongue was positioned. For example, the kind of "l" used in her language almost but not quite touched the back of the tongue to the roof of the mouth. While this sounded a bit like "l", it didn't work well with consonants immediately before or after, hence her difficulty in pronouncing "Ralph". Most other words had given her no trouble whatsoever. Like peet-sa and beer and Deborah and so on. She often wondered that the first and most important word she had learned in this world should prove so difficult.

Doc Wallace lived on a small farm, known locally as a "hobby farm", because he was able to grow much more than he would ever need, but not enough to sell produce for a living. He had a proper lawn that was short and well-tended, with shrubs and trees and flowers that were done for the year; a light dusting of snow now marked the onset of winter. Malina was entranced. Here was a dwelling she finally understood. This was how many of the Elves and Dwarves and Humans lived at home Doc even had hanging baskets along the front of his veranda. 'Hallo, hallo,' called Doc, leaning out the window when he spotted them from inside his kitchen. 'Care for some tea while I'm making some?' They didn't decline, although neither Ralph nor Deborah were tea-drinkers.

Doc Wallace was actually retired. His only practice these days was the odd house-call, which was a great boon locally because the nearest hospital was thirty-five miles away. 'Well, then,' he said when they had come inside and seated themselves in his living-room, 'what seems to be the problem? Any . . . complications?'

There was an uncomfortable silence as Ralph considered whether he or Deborah (who was much better at explaining things) should tell the Doctor about what Malina had done. Taking the initiative for a change, realizing that the doctor wasn't just referring to what had happened to the girl, he began; 'It's nothing to do with what happened before, Doc, but we've got a real problem here with Malina.'

'I see. She doesn't look sick, so I gather this has got nothing to do with her health.'

'You're right,' Ralph said, 'it's not her health that's the problem. At least not for now, anyway. The thing is, she's not like . . . the rest of us.'

Something in the doctor's look told him that Doc had suspected something of the sort from the last time he examined the girl. 'What makes you say that?'

'Maybe you should have a good look at her before we talk any more.'

When Ralph and Deborah came with Malina into Doc's examination room, Doc shooed them away. 'Don't worry, I think I know what I'm doing. I work better without being distracted, and I'm sure the young lady doesn't want an audience.' Ralph and Deborah looked uncomfortable, like overprotective parents, if they had known it.

Once again, Malina didn't object to anything the old Healer did to her. He was patient and gentle, and Rowf and Deborah seemed to trust him, though Malina was still a bit nervous. Seeing this, Deborah had told her a white lie, saying that the doctor needed to check up on her old injuries. The lie was successful, and she was, for the most part, relaxed and trusting with Doc Wallace. When Malina returned with the doctor, however, she went straight to Ralph and Deborah. 'Well, Doc?' Ralph said.

Pulling thoughtfully at his lower lip, the doctor said, 'Her lip's healed just fine . . . in another month the scar will be hardly noticeable. But as to the rest . . . let's just sit down and talk about this.'

'In some ways she's not that much different,' Doc said when they were seated in his living-room. 'She's not an alien from outer-space. However,' he said, looking at them over his glasses, 'her physiology is like nothing I've ever seen. And I'm not talking about just one little anomaly. Hell, everything about her anatomy is an anomaly.'

'What do you mean?' Deborah asked him.

'I mean,' he said, 'that she has every human characteristic, but that every characteristic she possesses is wholly different from the rest of us. But not in a way that can be considered to be abnormal. If we were talking about abnormalities or defects, her health would suffer accordingly, and that just isn't the case. My gut feeling is that she is normal. For her. Take her eyes for example. The tiny muscles of her iris are arranged in a way that simply never occurs. Her reproductive organs are underdeveloped, something I noticed from the last time I examined her. They have a . . . a vestigial appearance, almost as though they weren't intended to be used.'

'There's something else, Doc,' said Ralph. 'She's told us what she is; at least what she thinks she is.'

'Oh? And what would that be?'

Ralph cleared his throat. 'She said she's a pixie.'

'A pixie.'

'Like in a fairy st-'

'I know what a pixie is,' said the doctor brusquely with a dismissing gesture.

'Yeah,' said Ralph intently, 'except that she thinks she really is one.'

The doctor considered Malina for a moment, and it was evident that he was trying to conceal his obvious concern. 'Has she claimed to possess any supernatural powers? Or said anything about hearing voices?'

'She's never said anything about voices,' said Deborah. 'But we've seen her use her magic. It hurts her to do it, for some reason.'

Looking pained, the doctor shook his head. 'Look, it won't help matters if you start buying into stories about magic and things supernatural. You'll only compound the problem.'

'I'm not talking about stories,' Deborah told him. 'We've seen what she can do.'

'That's nonsense ' Doc said in irritation.

Exasperated, Deborah got up and went to the front window. She picked up a dead wasp that had been trapped inside and returned, proffering it to the doctor, who declined to accept it. 'What do you make of this, Doc?'

The doctor huffed. 'That yellow jacket's been there for months. So I'm not the best housekeeper.'

'It's dead, right?'

'It has been dead for a very long time.'

'You sure it's dead?'

The doctor plucked it from the palm of her hand by one stiff wing. 'In-sect rig-or-mor-tis,' he enunciated. 'The wasp is dead. Defunct. Its innards are shrivelled up like a raisin. The only way it will ever fly again will be as a projectile, when I get around to tossing it out.'

Deborah extended her hand to the doctor, who gave her back the insect's mummified exoskeleton. Then, sitting beside Malina, she said, 'I know this is tough on you, honey, but do you think you can do one little bit of magic?' More from Deborah's tone of voice and from the situation than from Deborah's words did Malina understand what was expected of her. With a sigh, she took the dead wasp and placed it on her open palm.

The doctor leaned forward, frowning, missing nothing.

Malina breathed lightly on the wasp. At the touch of her Pixie breath, which was plainly visible, the stiffness went out of it like a hard sponge soaking up water. With an angry buzz, the insect righted itself and flew straight at the living room window, striking it so hard that the glass resonated with a sound like being struck with a pea fired from a slingshot. Deborah got up and opened the one of the smaller side windows, letting the yellow jacket escape. 'Shoot,' she muttered to herself as an afterthought, 'poor little critter won't last an hour outside at this time of year.' Malina, meanwhile, had turned very pale, and put a hand to her head, which was spinning.

Putting an arm around her protectively, Ralph said, 'Don't do like we did, Doc. We kept making her do stuff and it almost killed her.'

Slowly removing his glasses, the doctor stared at Malina intently and waved off Ralph's warning. 'How the hell did she do that?' He was silent for a long moment, thinking. 'You say you've seen her do things like this before?'

Defensively, afraid the doctor would demand to see more, Ralph replied, 'We already told you she did-'

'It's a trick of some sort It has to be ' After a moment's silence, he said, 'Has she told you where she came from?'

Ralph told him as much as Malina had said, or made herself understood, including her banishment.

When he had finished, the doctor sighed and leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully. 'How much English does she understand?' Ralph and Deborah both shrugged. 'A little.'

'Malina,' said the doctor, holding her with his eyes, 'Where are you from?'

Uncomfortable with being put on the spot, leaning closer to Ralph, which Deborah noticed with a jealous pang, she replied, 'From Eff Kingdom.'

'I see. And how did you get here?'

Glancing uncertainly up at Rowf, she replied, 'Tree munt ago?'

Shaking his head, Ralph said to her, gently, 'How you get, not when you get.'

Malina's eyes widened. 'Pran, Eff . . .' her hands fluttered as she tried unsuccessfully to find the words.

'Pran, the elf, sent you?' tried Deborah.

Malina nodded. 'Pran Eff send Malina 'way.'

'How?' the doctor persisted.

Malina knew what the doctor meant this time. She made the blowing gesture, indicating what she had done with the wasp, then put her hands up with a helpless expression to show that she could not explain further. The doctor leaned back in his chair and made a crookedly rueful face. 'I should have expected that. She'll just try to explain this thing in terms of itself.'

'So you're saying that you don't believe her,' Ralph said.

The doctor's ambiguous mien belied the import of his words. 'That's not the point. The point is, she believes it, which means that her problem is going to be that much more difficult to treat. Look, I'm going to give her a referral to see-'

'We can't let anyone else in on this,' Ralph cut him off. 'Besides, she's already getting counselling from Kathy Morrison. But that isn't the kind of help I'm talking about.'

Doc frowned. 'Then what are you saying? And what exactly do you want from me?'

Frustrated, Ralph said, 'I- we just need to know what to do. I mean, Malina's got no I.D., and besides being raped, she nearly got arrested at the mall a month ago. Like, what if the police got her, and they wanted to deport her or something? But the thing that really bothers us is that she says that after she's been here for a year, she'll be allowed to go back.'

The doctor raised his eyebrows. 'Go back? You mean back home? Or back to where she says she came from?'

'I mean, back to where she says she came from,' replied Ralph, looking troubled. 'The thing is, she doesn't want to go back, and she's afraid they might come and get her.'

'They?'

'Well, someone called Pran, anyway. She says that he's an elf, and that he's the one who sent her here.'

The doctor was silent for several moments, considering that the girl was in some sort of trouble, probably with immigration. That was the most likely explanation. Her story was probably a concoction intended to avoid facing or telling the truth about herself. But that didn't explain her strange physiology, or the business with the wasp. Deciding on a course of action to get some answers, he said, 'Why don't we just play along for the moment, and pretend that this "elf" she mentioned really exists, and is going to come after her. Malina,' he said to her, 'when Pran come?'

Malina looked at her hands, counted nine fingers, and held them up, saying, 'Nigh mutts.'

'Nine months,' echoed the doctor. 'That should give us more than enough time.'

'Enough time for what?' asked Deborah.

'Time to figure out what language she speaks, and where she's from, and to figure out what kind of trouble she's really in.'

'Are you serious?' Deborah asked him. 'What if she really is in some kind of serious trouble? What if somebody dangerous comes looking for her? Shouldn't we . . .' She looked to Ralph apologetically. 'Well . . . shouldn't we really call the police or something? Maybe we could get her refugee status, or something.'

Doc Wallace smiled. 'Come now I don't think she's done anything really wrong, and if we call the police in on this, we might end up making more trouble for her than she's already in, especially if she's in trouble with immigration. I've had dealings with a few of their right-wing louts before. They'd probably ship her back to where she came from so fast it'd make her head swim. Just let me make a few discreet inquiries on her behalf, and I'll find out for certain if she's in some sort of trouble with the law. I don't think her problem is psychiatric, so we'll just set that one aside as a last resort.' He smiled at Malina, who sat bewildered, trying to make sense of their conversation. 'Well, young lady Seems like you've got yourself and everyone else in a bit of a pickle.'

At this, she looked hopefully up at Ralph. 'Pickle?'

Ralph and Deborah had to laugh sardonically. 'Thanks a lot, Doc ' Ralph said. 'You just said the magic word.'

To Doc's incomprehension, Deborah said, trying to keep a straight face, 'She's just discovered p-i-c-k-l-e-s. Cleaned out every single last one out of Ralph's fridge and the cupboard and promptly threw up on the floor.'

'Hmm,' said the doctor. 'Well, it's almost five. I hope you're staying for supper.'

Doc listened with some amusement to Ralph and Deborah's accounts of Malina's misadventures and her behaviour. But when they mentioned her reaction to technology, he stopped them.

'I'm serious,' Ralph said. 'Like, the first time I took her for a ride in the truck, she just about jumped out of her skin when I started it up. We had to really watch her until she figured out how to use the stove. She used to turn the taps on, just to watch the water run. We used to catch her in the bath with the water running, pouring all over the floor.'

'She didn't even know how to use the toilet,' Deborah put in. 'I had to show her. She'd just go outside somewhere-'

Doc waved them to silence, nodding in Malina's direction. She was watching the window. A small, grey furry creature had jumped up on the ledge. She turned to the others, her expression one of doubtful amazement. She watched as Doc got up from his chair, made his way to the window, and picked the creature up. When he began bringing the creature towards her, she jumped up, almost knocking her chair over, and backed away. The others quickly began trying to reassure her.

'No, no, Malina, it's only a kitty-cat,' Deborah told her. 'Look, see?' she began petting the cat, which purred obligingly in Doc's arms.

Malina moved closer, spellbound, her eyes wide. Tentatively she reached out and touched the animal, but quickly withdrew her hand.

'This is just old Smoky,' Doc told her with a bemused smile. 'See? He won't bite. Would you like to hold him?'

She put her hands behind her back and shook her head.

With a smile, Doc replaced the cat on his perch.

When they were seated again, Doc asked Malina, 'Have you not seen animals before?'

She wasn't sure if she understood him, or how to answer his question. Pixies in their diminutive form occasionally fell prey to felines and other predators, but this one presented no immediate threat, so she replied, 'See bird. See horse. See deer. See di-no-sawr . . .'

Deborah smiled. 'She saw that one on te- . . . the boob tube.'

'Yes, and it scared the bejesus out of her,' Ralph muttered. 'She couldn't understand why Deborah and I were just sitting there, watching. She wanted us to save those people. I tried explaining to her that it was just a story, but I don't think she quite believes me.' He and Malina regarded each other askance as he said this, and it was apparent that she still wasn't convinced.

'Well, anyway,' Doc said, 'back to the matter at hand . . .'

This was one time Malina was grateful to Deborah for teaching her to use a knife and fork. It made for an arduous task the last several times she tried eating with such awkward utensils. Often she would make a show of using them, but would surreptitiously use her fingers when she thought the others weren't looking. But here in Doc Wallace's spotless kitchen, their use made her feel less rustic and out of place. Afterwards, picking at the remainder of her meal with a fork, absently resting her chin in her other hand, elbow on the table, she began taking stock of Doc's house, noting the shelves mounted over the stove that were filled with bric-a-brac, and the pictures on the walls. Trying to follow the other's talk, she gathered from their conversation that they were planning what to do if Pran, or someone else called immigration tried to take her from her new home. She knew that Pran would have very limited power to take her back if she didn't want to go. Nevertheless, his power, great or small, was far greater than hers in either world. It worried her that Rowf might try to fight Pran. Rowf was much bigger and stronger, but even a little magic could prove more than a match for main strength. Besides, Pran was a soldier, skilled in the arts of battle and killing, whereas Ralph was not. Immigration was another matter. From the others' tone, she gathered that the less immigration knew of her presence, the better. She hoped to reason with Pran. He might just leave her alone if she asked him to. The Elf soldier had always been fair with her, and for some reason she suspected that he didn't like the Prince or the King. Doc had avowed that he would call on a powerful friend called scattergun if anyone bad showed up, but his mention of this ally seemed to make Ralph and Deborah nervous. Evidently, they didn't place the same trust in scattergun as Doc did.

Feeling better now, she relaxed and began to reflect on her life here. The magic in this world was so strange, like the lights and teevee and Deborah's blow-dryer and music that came from wagons and boxes. The one called Doc had a cooking fire thing like Rowf's that heated without flame. But all of this magic and much more was always contained in things, and not in people. Maybe that's why this world was different. Maybe its magic was . . . external rather than internal. There was a thought

Later, sitting in the living room, Ralph and Doc and Deborah talked long into the night, and Malina found herself getting very tired. Curling up in one of Doc's armchairs, she fell asleep. When she woke again, she was being carried by Rowf. They were home, and heading for bed. To her surprise, Deborah was sleeping over once more, while Ralph was once again sleeping on the couch.

When they both got into Ralph's bed, Deborah said quietly to Malina, 'I think you should tell Ralph how you feel about him.'

Malina stared at her, taken aback. 'Not thing to tell ' she whispered, blushing.

'Oh no? And why not?' Deborah asked her.

Flustered, the young woman said, 'I have dream . . . every night . . . that he come to Malina. But I not know what to do . . . and I afraid he hurt me, like other man.'

Deborah tried to swallow the responding ache in her throat. So there it was; the very thing that had kept herself and Ralph apart. No matter how well he had treated her when they were together, something in the back of her mind was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was a curse that forever kept her from forming a normal relationship with a man. But she said, 'Oh, Malina Ralph's not like that other man He's kind, and gentle. He would always be very nice to you.'

Malina frowned. 'I not to understand. Are you not . . . mate? to Rowf?'

Wondering how to explain to the girl, Deborah said, 'Ralph and I . . . we just don't have that sort of relationship. He needs a wife . . . a woman to be the mother of his children . . . but I'm just not wifey material. I like kids and all . . . but I'm not good in a long-term relationship . . . and I don't really want kids of my own. Well... actually I do, but not with me the way I am now.'

At the mention of children, Malina paled. 'I not . . . I cannot be wife '

'Why not?'

'Not know how ' Malina said. 'Not know what to do. And to have Outcast baby . . . it is bad problem.'

Deborah stared. 'What are you talking about? What is an outcast baby?'

It was Malina's turn to stare. 'Deborah not know? Outcast baby is of mixed blood. Baby and mother and father in big trouble, all their lives. Make to go far away.'

Deborah shook her head. 'Malina What the hell kind of place were you living in? I thought this world was getting past that kind of racist crap '

Malina thought of telling Deborah about conditions in her world, or that she had come from another world, but thought better of it, knowing that Deborah and the others didn't believe such things. Instead, intrigued, she said, 'Rowf would make mixed baby?'

'You're living in North America now, kiddo,' Deborah told her. 'He wouldn't even blink an eye.'

Malina frowned. 'Why he would blink an eye?'

Deborah gave her a pained look, wondering as she sometimes did whether or not Malina was having it on with her. 'I mean,' she said, succinctly, 'that it wouldn't bother him in the least.'

'Oh,' Malina said. The two girls lay quiet for so long, that Deborah assumed Malina had fallen asleep. She was ready to doze off herself, when Malina asked her, 'How . . . where does baby come from? I see baby before . . . but where do mother and father get them, if they not have magic?'

Deborah raised herself up on one elbow to stare at Malina incredulously. 'You can't possibly be serious ' But the credulous manner in which Malina watched her said everything she was unable to put into words. 'I don't believe this ' Deborah muttered. 'Didn't your mother ever tell you where babies come from? Didn't anyone?'

Stung by Deborah's words, tears welled up in Malina's eyes. 'My mother die . . . when I am very small I to . . . I have always live alone, by myself, until Rowf to found me.' She began weeping quietly. 'Until I am here . . . I alone . . . I have no one . . . I have no one . . .'

Uncertain whether to believe her or not, Deborah put her arms around the girl, thinking only to quiet her down, so that she wouldn't disturb Ralph. To her surprise, Malina flinched at her touch, the set of her shoulders becoming stiff. Somehow, in some manner conveyed to her by Malina's body language, Deborah suddenly realized that the girl was telling the literal truth, that her mother really was dead. That she really was alone. 'Sh-h. Just relax. Here, turn over with your back to me and I'll put my arms around you. There, like this. Now, try to relax and go to sleep.'

Malina couldn't remember being held by anyone before in her life, except for vague, half-forgotten memories of her mother. At Deborah's touch, and by her close and comforting presence, years of fear and anxiety seemed to melt away, to be lifted from her small shoulders.

Perhaps not all magic here was as elusive as it seemed.