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say goodbye to me and return to the other girls who warmed his bed?
    I frowned at my buckskinned companion, laying the blame on him. “Yesterday you said that you might be capable of falling in love someday.”
    He cocked his head. “And how is that relevant to what is happening today?”
    “It isn’t,” I replied, feeling hurt and dejected. I couldn’t force him or Duncan or anyone else to love me. Nor could I force him to help me break the curse.
    Still frowning, I damned this hallucination, right along with myself . Nothing was going my way.

 
    Chapter Five
     
    Seven arrived at the warrior’s door with the rest of Abby’s people in tow. Since I was meeting them for the first time, I went outside by myself. Although Abby had described them to me over the years, and I knew their personality quirks, it wasn’t the same as seeing them in person.
    First up was a Jack Russell terrier named Dingo. Abby often referred to him as a dancing dog, but he just jumped around like a typical little canine. Dingo was normal in every way, aside from not being real.
    Next was Face, and he was about as abnormal as it got. He was an oversized, disembodied head with no hair and generic features. He also had hands attached to his chin that he used like wings to keep himself afloat. His function in life was to berate you when you did something wrong. But he could also humiliate you just for the fun of it. He was already looking at me as if I was an idiot, and we hadn’t even exchanged a greeting.
    Bud, however , seemed like a decent old guy. Short, fat, and partially bald, he worked as a movie director, making low-budget films in Room 105. I doubted that he appreciated the realm we were in, considering that filmmaking wasn’t part of this era, but he appeared to be making the best of it.
    When he smiled, the lines around his eyes crinkled. Although he spoke with a Bronx-type accent, he’d been created as a tribute to Alfred Hitchcock, the British master of suspense, and Carlo Ponti, a highly respected Italian producer who’d been married to Sophia Loren, a glamorous movie star from back in the day. My sister knew who Hitchcock, Ponti, and Loren were because our aunt, who’d raised us after our parents died, had familiarized us with Old Hollywood.
    “We brought you a gift,” Seven said, drawing my attention to him . He extended a pair of ladies’ shoes to me. “We got them in town at the general store. It’s the only style they had.”
    “There’s a town around here?” 
    “It’s actually a ways away. We had to hitch a ride on a buggy to get there.”
    “Thank you for thinking of me.”  I bent down to put on the shoes. They looked like something a schoolmarm would wear, with their simple, sturdy, matronly design. Luckily, they were a good fit, surprisingly comfortable and certainly better than going barefoot.
    I noticed that Seven had also wrangled up a shirt for himself, which appeared oddly poetic on him, with its rough 1800s flair. Other than that, he looked like his usual self. The rain from last night had done a number on his hair, making it even messier.
    “So are you ready to get this show on the road?” he asked.
    “The warrior is ready, but I’m not.”
    Seven didn’t look pleased. “What’s the holdup?”
    “He won’t help me find the magic to break the curse. Instead, he wants me to go home with the rest of you.”
    “But he’ll end up dying by next year . Does he understand that? Did you explain it?”
    “Yes, of course I did . But he thinks death is power, and is willing to accept the curse as his destiny.”
    “ Fuck.”  Seven kicked the damp ground. “I didn’t see that coming.”
    I merely sighed, but Face, who’d been in the background, flew forward and said, “You didn’t see it coming because you’re a shitty psychic with a dick for brains.” 
    “And you’re an overblown Mr. Potato Head,” Seven retorted.
    Face snorted. “Well, at least I don’t pretend to be some