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medieval sexist and a history snob.
    “It has nothing whatsoever to do with sexism or snobbery, although I freely admit, your era is not one I’m particularly partial to.”
    “Don’t tell me you can read my mind, too?” She smacked her palm against her forehead. “Of course you can. You’re in my mind.”
    He cast her a pitying glance. “My dear young woman, this will no doubt be a great deal easier, on both of us I might add, if you would simply accept the truth.”
    “The truth?” She studied him for a long moment. If she wasn’t asleep or in a coma, and she had to admit,nothing had ever seemed so real in her life as this room and this weird little Fred Astaire clone, then she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted the truth. Still, what choice did she have? She drew a deep, steadying breath. “Okay. Let’s have it. What is the truth?”
    “It’s really quite simple.” His eyes gleamed. “I have pulled you from your moment in time to one of my own choosing.”
    “You’ve pulled me through what?” Her breath caught.
    “Time.”
    “Time?”
    “Time.”
    “Time.” The word throbbed through her.
    “I believe I just said that.”
    “I’ve traveled through time?” Her heart thudded in her chest.
    “Exactly.”
    “Like what’s-his-name on Quantum Leap ? Or that one Star Trek movie about the whales? Or H. G. Wells?”
    The figment shrugged. “Drivel.”
    “Drivel?”
    His bushy brows pulled together. “We shall never get anywhere if you insist on repeating everything I say.”
    “Well, excuse me, Mr. Wizard,” she said sharply. “I’m having a tiny little problem here grasping this entire concept.”
    “Very well. I daresay I should have expected this. It happens every time.”
    “Every time? How often do you do this?”
    He released an impatient sigh. “Do sit down and try to remain calm and I shall endeavor to explain.”
    Tessa glanced around the chapel. Aside from thealtar and colorful wall hangings, the room was bare. “And just where do you suggest I sit?”
    The figment didn’t so much as twitch but at once a chair appeared before her with the abruptness of a bad film edit. She tried not to flinch and cast him a condescending glance. “Oh come now. A folding chair? A lousy old metal folding chair from a Wizard Extraordinaire and Counselor to Kings? Surely you can do better than that?”
    “Please, forgive me. What was I thinking?” Amusement lurked in his eyes. “Is this better?”
    The folding chair vanished. In its place stood what could only be called a throne. A seat fit for a king or an emperor or a fantasy. Huge and golden, with jewels encrusted along every carved, gilded curve, and the heads of lions as armrests, the massive chair fairly filled the small room. Tessa gasped, then bit back a giggle. “I think that’s a little too much. Can’t you do something in between?”
    The throne disappeared, replaced by an aged but extremely comfortable looking recliner.
    “Hey, that’s my dad’s.” Tessa grinned with delight and plopped into the chair, running her hands affectionately over the arm rests. “I’ve always loved this chair.”
    “I know,” the figment said smugly.
    “Don’t you dare try to take any credit for this.” She stretched against the faux leather, reached down and pulled the lever that flipped up the footrest. “This is all part of my subconscious. I’ve made this up. I’ve made you up. And I’ve done a surprisingly creative job of it too.” She reclined the back of the lounger, folded her hands behind her head and grinned.
    “If you’re quite ready?”
    “By all means.” If she had to be stuck in this crazy coma or dream or whatever, she might as well be comfortable. “Please, go on.”
    The figment rolled his eyes heavenward as if asking for divine guidance then stared at her with a gaze steady and firm. A gaze that would have made her more than a little uneasy if, of course, he wasn’t something she’d made up.
    “As I said before, I