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TouchStone, eh?”
    “Yeah. Not sure why he thinks I’d be such a good judge of them. This is the fourth one this month.”
    “Well, maybe you need to have less stringent tests?”
    “Tests? Hell, I give them a copy of True Thomas’s stuff and see if they come back. None of them have. But this one might be different.” I snagged yet another glass of champagne off a waiter’s tray. “She actually managed to make her way to the Hallows on her own.”
    “Promising. What’s her name?”
    “Katy. Perky and blond. Just the way he likes them.”
    “Typical,” she grunted. “But whatever floats his boat, I guess. You should bring her by tomorrow.”
    “Oh, no.” I shook my head. “I’m no babysitter. If Brandon wants her so badly he can damn well invite her himself.”
    “All right.” She squeezed my shoulder. “I need to go, actually. I’ve got a Contract to meet in about twenty minutes. Duty calls and all that.”
    Aside from her singular playing talent, Melanie also had the ability to open Doors to the CrossRoads with her music, regardless of the time of day or location, though she’d never really explained the exact mechanics of it to me. She was in nearly constant demand as a result, but she tried to balance it with short-term Contracts.
    “Anyone I know?”
    She shrugged. “Doubtful. I hardly know who they are half the time. They pay the fee, we Contract, and then they tell me where they want to go. And that’s that.” Her stance twisted abruptly, the way it always did when we got to a subject she didn’t really want to talk about. “You gonna be okay here?”
    “I always am.”
    She shifted the violin on her back with a shrug. “Sure you are. You’re a TouchStone. You practically fart moonbeams and piss rainbows. But seriously, take a night off from playing World of Warcraft and come dancing or something.” Her face sobered for a moment as she turned to go. “I think it would be a very good thing if you were seen there, even if it’s just once a week. Let people know you exist?”
    “My dancing days are over, Mel,” I said, watching my best friend strut through the crowd. For a moment, I wanted to call her back, to spill the beans about everything—my inability to figure out what I was doing, that odd little note tacked on Moira’s office door . . .
    Be back soon, Abby. Hold back the fort.
    It hadn’t made any sense to me four months ago and it still didn’t. I also had no idea what her idea of “soon” was.The mostly immortal tended to overlook the little things—like the concept of time—I’d noticed.
    In the end, I let Melanie walk away. She didn’t understand; none of my friends really did. I was the Protectorate’s golden child, wasn’t I? How pathetic would it be to admit I was failing at this too? But then, it wasn’t like I had much choice in the matter anymore. I had no one to blame but myself.
    I sighed and looked at my watch. Still a little while to go before I had to go back to open the Marketplace. I craned my head above the rest of the crowd but there was no sign of Brystion—or Topher for that matter—so I wandered about the rest of the gallery, aimlessly sipping champagne.
    I drifted past paintings of other friends, swept away in a haze of feathers and scales, horns and hooves. The irony of portraying humans as the very beings that surrounded them struck me as amusing. A slightly drunken giggle escaped me, attracting the attention of a sharp-nosed eggplant of a woman at the front of the gallery. Stifling another laugh, I bit down on my lip and focused on a small kiosk with a map of Portsmyth etched in sepia tones. I covered my mouth with my hand, quelling my sudden burst of strange humor. “Too much alcohol,” I murmured to myself.
Too little sleep
, the voice in my head retorted dryly.
    You Are Here .
    I looked at the red star and snorted. I certainly was. I ran my finger over the star, absently taking in the circular shape of the town, its narrow streets a