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Did it matter?  Nothing mattered anymore this was bliss . ‘ What’s in this stuff and where can I get some more ?’
    He noticed, as the fog in his head cleared a little, what appeared to be a door opening before him. ‘ Uh oh, chucking out time. ’
    Snow blew in through it, and a figure appeared, silhouetted against a starry night.
    The figure advanced, and his head cleared a little more.  He struggled to focus – aware, now that it was weakening, that a strong influence was being exerted on his mind.
    The figure raised both arms; enough focus had returned by now that he could see that he was in a large barn of some kind. Well, he thought philosophically, he’d sobered up in worse places.
    He saw that the figure was small and that in each hand it held a large heavy looking crossbow.  It fired them both at the same time.  Two of the women at either side of him exploded in a shower of ash as the third one took off – literally, into the air, and the figure fell forward onto its knees in exhaustion.  Stiles reclaimed his mind and darted forward to catch what he could now quite clearly see was a young woman.  She collapsed into his arms and passed out.  He stared down at her. What the hell?
    She was dainty and beautiful although her face showed signs of a terrible strain; her hair was long and dark, and he found himself wondering, abstractly, what colour her eyes were.  It was easier than trying to piece together what the hell was going on, who she was and what had happened he was not ready for that yet. It was like he was stuck in a nightmare, his worst trip ever.
    Her eyes were dark blue. He saw this when they suddenly snapped open, and she simultaneously shot out an arm.  She was not looking at him, but focussing over his shoulder; in her hand was a sharp stick.  There was a shriek behind him and an explosion of ash, which landed all over both of them.  The mysterious girl met his eyes briefly as she dropped her arm and then closed her eyes again.
    The whole thing had taken about five seconds.  ‘Those are some reflexes,’ he thought.
    She seemed to be out for good this time, so Stiles laid her gently on a pile of hay and covered her with his jacket.  He felt suddenly tired; he glanced at his watch, a little after one.  Then he noticed the date, somehow he had lost three days.  He noticed the snow blowing in the door and went to close it.  Outside he saw miles and miles of empty snow-covered countryside.  He was then, apparently, in the middle of nowhere with a comatose girl who had probably saved him from the proverbial “fate worse than death”.  Tomorrow was going to be one of those days – the kind he had every day.
    He wanted desperately to close his eyes, but a strange feeling was resurfacing from the past; was it – integrity?  And he felt it incumbent on him to stay awake and keep watch while the girl recovered her strength.  After all, there might be more of those – things out there. He reached into his pocket and drew out the whisky bottle and deliberately poured the remains of its contents away into the snow, what a waste.  He then closed the door and lit a small fire with a pile of straw separated from the rest with a ring of small rocks, thoughtfully provided by the god of convenient coincidences, and settled down to wait for morning.  Tomorrow he was going to want some answers, or, at the very least, a lift home and a lot of therapy.
     

~ Chapter Eight ~
     
    D enny was worried; Tamar had been gone for three days with no contact, and it was the longest she had ever been away without so much as a message.  He knew where she had gone and why but he could think of no reason why she should be silent. He had tried calling for her – nothing.  She had telepathic abilities and normally she would have spoken to him by now. (She also carried a mobile phone, so she really had no excuses.)
    She always called in one way or another, after the time he had lectured her about being