More Real Than Real (Daria/Amber)

Disclaimer: Copyrights on Daria and related characters are, of course, held by MTV; not that they have a clue of how to use them well. Copyrights on Amber and related characters should be held by the estate of Roger Zelazny, but probably the publishers hold them. "Shadows of My Home" is copyright ME, and I expressly deny permission to record the song without my separate written consent. "Black Knight's Work" is probably copyright to Adam Stemple.

Synopsis: Not long after the Morgendorffer's arrive, a new student comes to Lawndale. She's more than she seems to be.

Backstory: Jalura is a character I developed for playing the Amber Diceless Role Playing Game, some ten years ago. The name is even older, a tribe name from the game Ysgarth -- I didn't play the game, but someone who did borrowed it for a character name in an AD&D campaign, and I played the character. The personality evolved from the AD&D character. In the Amber game universe, Jalura is the daughter of Caine and heir to the throne of Gaiga, one of the Golden Circle kingdoms. She has walked the Pattern, and is a sorceress, shape shifter, and Trump artist. In the Amber game universe, she is quite formidable; although this story is set a fair bit earlier in her 'life.' Any versions of the Chronicles mentioned in this story or references to Amber may be different in ways subtle and substantive, at this author's discretion and plot needs, from those available in the bookstores of our world.

***

Prologue: An apartment near Stanford, CA, April 28, local calendar.

A young woman, maybe sixteen years old, is sitting on a couch watching television. If she were standing, she'd be about 5'8". An attractive long oval face, with perhaps a touch of olive in her complexion, blue eyes and an aquiline nose. She is slender, but with an athletic build. She has straight brown hair with red highlights, past shoulder length and held back with a clip whose design is the shape of a Penrose Dart. She is wearing a blue blouse with silver highlights and matching grey slacks, accented by black leather boots and hip pouch that somehow go with the other clothes. Definitely not a typical teenager, despite being parked in front of a television.

The front door opens, and a tall, handsome, college-aged man enters. Seeing the teenager sitting on his couch and idly watching MTV, he frowns.

"J, we need to talk."

The girl looks up, sees his face and recognizes the solemnity. "About what?"

"You have to leave, tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Because you have enough problems already. You don't need to get messed up in mine."

"Elaborate?"

"Friday is the 30th."

"So, you don't do anything special to celebrate Walpurgisnacht."

"True, I do not. But someone around here does. Said person's preferred party game is to try to kill me."

"Family?"

"I assume so. I just don't know which side. Or why."

"Oh." She frowns. "Damn, Martin will be out of contact for at least another week. The only other relative I can trust."

"I know. But I can't have you here being an extra target."

"I don't know where to go."

"I know. That's how you and I met in the first place, remember."

"Yeah, and how Martin found me."

"Our family isn't easy. Especially when people want you dead just for being in it."

"No, the 'especially' is when said people are also in that family."

"Yeah." Long pause. "Why don't I fix some dinner and we can go through my 'travel kit' afterward?" as he heads into the kitchen.

From the couch, an unenthusiastic, "Okay, Merle, if you think it will help."

From the television, "...la-la LA la la..." Twenty-eight minutes of 'College Bored' later, a Mona Lisa smile appears on Jalura's face and a decision is made.

Part One: Day 1 at Lawndale High School

Location: Ms. Li's office.

The principal, Ms. Li, puts down a manila folder and faces her newest student. "Of course, even with a transcript like yours, we can't waive any of the formalities."

"That person was a complete waste of my time. She knows nothing about psychology or psychiatry."

Ms. Li visibly fumes at this, and starts to reach into her suit's blazer for her tape recorder to make a note to herself about this, but the new student notices the motion.

In an ice cold voice, "Whatever you are about to reach for had better not be a weapon."

Ms. Li's hand freezes. The two stare at each other for almost thirty seconds. It is Ms. Li who flinches, for one of the few times in her life actually intimidated by someone.

Ms. Li's gaze focuses on the jacket being worn by the new student. A black leather jacket with the word "Hellriders" in small red letters in an arc on the left sleeve.

"I don't tolerate gang activity at <reverent>Lawndale High</reverent>, and have full authority to --"

"This isn't a gang jacket. This is the jacket for my cousin's band. I'm an honorary roadie."

Ms. Li is still trying to regain the upper hand in the conversation.

"It looks like a gang jacket, and as I --" but she is again cut short.

"Ms. Li. In my family, trust and respect and affection are rare and precious commodities. My cousin Martin has all three from me. He plays saxophone in a band, two actually. He is a good man, who has endured more pain and hurt and hate from our family than most people in this town have ever had to face. Despite that, when I needed a refuge from that same family to which we reluctantly acknowledge our membership, he unhesitatingly provided that refuge. Do not judge what you do not know." The new student rises, and heads toward the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I have to find Mr. DiMartino's freshman American History class. You wouldn't want me to be late for my first class at <mock reverent>Lawndale High.</mock reverent>" And leaves.

Ms. Li finally manages to write a note for the file, consisting of one word: "Trouble."

Location: Mr. DiMartino's classroom.

The bell rings, and the class slowly quiets, except for four girls near the back. The Lawndale High School Fashion Club appears to be having an emergency meeting on the subject of nail polish coordination.

"Gee, Quinn, that is such a good idea." Sandi Griffin's voice is resonant, and Mr. DiMartino hears it quite clearly.

"I'm CERTAIN that it is, Ms. Griffin, but unless YOU want detention, you should try learning SOMETHING from the teacher. That is what I get PAID for; if you call the PITTANCE Ms. Li pays me a SALARY.... Class, we have a new STUDENT joining us today. Please welcome Jalura Duquesne. Jalura, raise your hand, please."

Jalura raises her hand. Her jacket has apparently been deposited in her locker as it is not with her.

"WELL, Jalura!" As long as you have your hand raised ... (chuckles evilly). Last week we began a unit on the causes of the American Revolution. Perhaps you feel it's UNFAIR to be asked a question on your first day of class."

Jalura's frown deepens. "I'm getting used to Lawndale."

Mr. DiMartino pauses for a moment at that response. "Well, um. Jalura, please concisely and unemotionally sum up the doctrine of 'no taxation without representation.'"

Jalura sighs, and then begins, “'No taxation without representation' was a slogan popular in the late 1760s and through the revolutionary period among the thirteen 'American' colonies, particularly those in New England. It was used by people who were upset at the lack of direct representation in the British Parliament following a series of tax acts that raised the average colonist's taxes from approximately 4% to 7.5% while raising the average British Isles subject's tax from 7% to 13%. These tax increases were used to pay for the British expenses, mostly in the form of loans, incurred in the Seven Years' War, called the French and Indian War -- the war in which much of the so-called Northwest Territories transferred 'possession' from the French to the British -- in the colonies where the slogan was popular. The complaint of the colonists was in regard to a lack of designated seats in Parliament. The slogan was also a rejection of Sir Edmund Burke's argument that the colonists had 'virtual representation' in Parliament. The same slogan was used, with lesser effect, after American independence, during Shays' Rebellion and the Whiskey Rebellion. These discussions of tax equity did not include women. It also occasionally is used in current debates on tax 'rollback' referenda, although such use misses the point of representation -- direct, virtual or otherwise."

Mr. DiMartino is slow to respond. "Very good, Jalura. Almost ... dangerously good. Since you've also answered about FOUR other questions I had PLANNED to ask today, I suppose I'll have to forsake the quiz I WAS going to give at the end of the class."

Numerous appreciative sounds are made from the class.

Mr. DiMartino continues, "So, INSTEAD, everyone will have to write a four page paper on the causes of the Revolutionary War, due tomorrow."

The appreciative sounds turn hostile. An anonymous voice from the back of the room taunts, "Way to go, brain."

Jalura's frown deepens even further.

Location: The Lawndale High School cafeteria.

"But, Sandi, you heard that answer she gave. She's a brain!"

"Gee, Quinn, maybe you only heard her answer to some stupid question. _I_ saw the silk blouse she was wearing and the hand-tooled Italian boots she was wearing."

"And I think her hip pouch is genuine Prada."

"Good eye, Stacy. I _was_ going to mention that."

Stacy Rowe cringes at the criticism-disguised-as-a-compliment, but knows in her mind that Sandi Griffin had not noticed the purse at all, despite being worn on Jalura's belt instead of carried on the shoulder. Stacy also knows the real reason Quinn doesn't want this new girl in the Fashion Club; if the new girl is a brain, she'll probably become friends with Daria Morgendorffer, and Quinn will have to finally admit she's been lying for weeks about the biological relationship between Quinn and her 'cousin.' Stacy gives 2/3 that Sandi knows the truth and is waiting for an opportunity to use it to undermine Quinn's position in the Fashion Club, and 99/100 that Quinn realizes that.

The fourth member of the Fashion Club, Tiffany Blum-Deckler, speaks up, "If she has clothes like that ... she probably has a lot of money. Maybe ... she could be ... treasurer."

Sandi smiles, knowing that she can count on Tiffany's support ... whenever Sandi is around. "That is just what I was thinking, Tiffany. Now, let us put it to a formal vote. All in favor of offering membership in the Fashion Club to Jalura Duquesne, raise your hands." Three hands are quickly raised, and Quinn's more slowly joins the others. "That is settled. We shall speak with her at the end of the school day."

Location: Ms. Morris' gym class. Volleyball.

Daria Morgendorffer and Jalura stand next to each other. Of other characters yet introduced, only Stacy Rowe is present, and on the opposite team.

Ms. Morris throws a volleyball at Jalura, hard. "Alright, Duquesne, let's see if you can serve."

Jalura easily catches the ball with one hand, much to Ms. Morris' annoyance, and replies, in Daria's general direction, "Service with a smile."

Jalura turns, faces the other team, and steps behind the base line. She tosses the ball about one foot above her head and punches the ball with her left hand as it falls. The ball collects a wicked sidespin from the punch and cleanly passes in a left-curving arc between the opposing lines and hits the court for a point. Stacy chases the ball down and rolls it back to Jalura for the next service. This process is repeated, with variations only in where the ball lands and thus who has to chase the ball, for the rest of the period.

After changing back into street clothes at the end of class, Jalura finally gets to speak to Daria as they are walking back to the main (not gym) lockers at the end of the day, "Sorry about hogging all the glory, I'm sure you're a killer defense player."

Neither notices Stacy following at a semi-discreet distance.

Daria notices the smile on Jalura's face, and despite some surprise at actually being spoken to by someone, can't resist the invitation, "Sorry, I'm a pacifist. Besides, that volleyball never did anything to hurt me."

"Volleyballs don't hurt people, people hurt people? By the way, my name is Jalura Duquesne."

"Daria Morgendorffer. Yeah, something like that, especially when Ms. Morris is the one throwing the volleyball at your head with intent."

"Ummm, yeah. Let me ask you a question about this place."

"Okay."

"Is it just me, or are the teachers here ... lacking in the teaching spirit?"

"That depends. Who do you have for your classes?"

"That part of my day started with Mr. DiMartino, who had me raise my hand when he introduced me, then asked me a question since my hand was raised."

"Yes, he pulled that trick on me on my first day of class seven weeks ago. Then he accused me of showing off when I raised my hand again to avoid extra homework."

"Hrmph, I should have been so lucky. I inadvertently answered several of the questions he was going to ask in a quiz, so everyone has to write a four-page paper. I'm gonna be Miss Popularity around here." A Mona Lisa smile crosses both of their faces, as a frown develops on the face of the eavesdropping Stacy Rowe. This means that Stacy doesn't notice Jane Lane coming out of a restroom behind Stacy. Jane, curious as to whom Daria is talking, and why Stacy is following the two, gets in step two paces behind Stacy. Jalura continues, "Then Ms. Barch, who doesn't realize that her misandristic behavior --"

Wait, did you just say 'misandristic?'"

"Yeah, as in the opposite of --"

"I know what it means; I'm just amazed to have heard it spoken by anyone in this building, or this state. Please continue." Both Stacy and Jane hear the word, but neither knows what it means.

"Okay, so Ms. Barch is just perpetuating the cycle of gender bias by teaching a new generation of men to fear and hate women and said men will grow up to mistreat women who will, in turn, become like Ms. Barch and ...."

"Interesting hypothesis. Next on 'America's Top Forty?'"

Jalura catches the reference and returns it easily, "More like 'America's Most Wanted.' Anyway, I then had an hour of Mr. O'Neill projecting his opinions and emotional responses onto a room full of kids who don't know any better rather than acknowledge the thoughts as his own, followed by Bennett's economics class that featured a chart more convoluted than my family tree."

Daria makes a mental note about the reference to a convoluted family tree, but decides to say nothing until Jalura brings up the subject by itself. "Yeah, that's those two, boiled down to their essences."

"Don't tempt me. Actually, I'll reserve that honor for the <sarcasm>honored</sarcasm> principal of <mock reverent>Lawndale High.</mock reverent> And that pop psychobabbler Manson."

"Ah, yes, Principal Li. If she weren't Korean, she'd be a Nazi."

"Oh, I think that Ms. Li would fit in well in Kim Il Sung's 'worker's paradise'. But, after lunch I did have art class with Ms. Defoe. The class is pretty pedestrian, and she still seems to care, but I figure about another ten years and she'll be as borderline psychotic as Mr. DiMartino."

"No, I think she'll quit for the sake of her sanity before that happens."

"I hope so. And as for Math class --"

Just at that moment, the rest of the Fashion Club comes around a corner and right in the path of the parade. Sandi notices Stacy and says, "There you are, Stacy. We've been looking for you so that we could talk to Jalura here."

At Sandi's comment, Daria and Jalura stop and look behind them to see Stacy and Jane. Eyebrows rise on Daria's and Jalura's faces, while Stacy tries to become invisible.

Jalura smirks, and thinks to herself, "I could teach you how REALLY to become invisible, girl" but says, "Hail, hail, the gang's all here. What can I do for you, ...?”

"I am Sandi Griffin, President of the Lawndale High School Fashion Club, and ..." Sandi notices Daria and Jane. "Ummm, Quinn's cousin, or whatever, this is a meeting of the Fashion Club and is reserved for members and guests."

Daria's annoyance carries into her voice, but only Jane, Quinn, and Jalura hear it as Daria says, "Oh by all means, I wouldn't wish to interrupt the sanctity of the Fashion Club, but as it is meeting at my locker, I believe I have a prior reservation for this meeting facility." And with that, Daria opens her locker and begins to gather her things for the walk to Jane's house that follows most days.

Jalura puts Daria's annoyance into a more overt form. "Oh, yes. Sandi Griffin, the fool who doesn't know when to shut up at the start of a class. I'm sure that your nail polish matches whatever it was it was supposed to go with. What _do_ you want? Hopefully you weren't going to offer me a membership in your worthless little clique of trite trend worshippers who wouldn't know fashion if it stepped up and beheaded you."

Everyone in that little circle is surprised, Daria and Jane pleasantly so. Sandi, Stacy and Tiffany are shocked and just a smidgeon frightened, and Quinn is unsure whether to feel good that Sandi is being taken down a peg in public, disappointed that Quinn wasn't the one to do it, or dismay that Jalura is obviously getting along with Daria.

Several seconds pass before Sandi manages, "Uh, um, ah, urp." And walks away with the Fashion Club in tow. As they depart, both Quinn and Stacy think to themselves, "Wow."

Tiffany, however, doesn't quite realize what has happened, and asks, "But Sandi, aren't we ... going to make her ... the treasurer?"

"Shut up, Tiffany!" and they round the corner.

Jane steps up and says, "Well, I'm damned impressed."

Jalura smiles and cocks an eyebrow, and it is fully loaded, "Well, Damned, pleased to meet you. I'm Jalura Duquesne."

Jane pauses, hearing the commas in Jalura's remark, but sees the smile, and returns it sheepishly.

Daria's face almost makes it to a full smile, almost. "Actually, this is my friend Jane Lane."

"Hello, Jane. I still go by Jalura, but I understand keeping an alias or two handy."

Daria adds another note to herself for future consideration, but still makes conscious a decision that she realizes she had already made. She has another friend. "Hey, what say we continue this at the Pizza King?"

Jalura's eyebrow is still cocked and loaded, "Sure, I got tired watching that dazzling display of athletic prowess you put on today."

Jane misses the ironic reference, having not been in gym class with them, but nonetheless enters the banter, "Oh, yeah, well, you should see her fencing. Her blade is even sharper than her tongue."

Jalura's tone changes to one of genuine enthusiasm, "Really? Hey, that's great, someone to practice with. What is your blade preference, and which techniques do you like?"

Daria makes a third mental note, while Jane pipes in, "Just kidding, she doesn't really mess with swords."

For the first time, Jalura realizes she's said a bit more than necessary. Sounding a great deal like Stacy after one of Sandi's faux compliments, Jalura says simply, "Oh."

Location: Pizza King.

The Three Musketresses are sharing a pizza and discussing Lawndale High. Somewhere along the way, Jalura has reclaimed her jacket from her locker.

"Yeah, Ms. Morris hates me. Thinks my whole family is nothing but a bunch of slackers."

Jalura shakes her head, "Well, Jane, just because you don't define yourself by her terms is no reason for her to think ill of you. You are an artist; you do what matters to you. She should respect that. I do."

Daria is about to agree when she notices a slightly-built male walking toward them. "Upchuck alert."

Jane grimaces, and Jalura looks at Daria, thinking the latter was responding to the compliment.

"Hello, lovely ladies. And who is this divine creature? A new sylph to grace the halls of Lawndale High? Allow me to introduce myself, Charles Ruttheimer, the Third."

Jalura's look of disgust is plainly visible to all but Upchuck. Jalura looks at Daria and Jane and says, "So much for the third time being the charm."

"Rrrrrrr, feisty." Upchuck attempts to enter the booth but Jalura's hand pushes him backward. Upchuck sails back a good two meters before his feet retouch the ground, whereupon the sudden shift in his moment of inertia induces a rather graceless fall and butt-slide that causes him to wind up sitting on the floor in front of a highly amused Andrea. She gets up from her chair near the window, pours her soft drink on Upchuck's head, throws some cash on the table and leaves, giving Jalura a thumbs-up on the way out the door. Upchuck half-crawls to the restroom.

Daria thinks to herself, "If I wind up with too many more of these mental notes, I'm going to have to put a cork board in my head." But what comes out of her mouth is a simple, "Wow."

The commotion gathers the attention of Kevin Thompson, quarterback of the Lawndale High Lions football team, who -- like the immortal Brian Dowling or more like his Doonesbury-esque incarnation -- wears a uniform at almost all times so that people will know that Kevin is the quarterback. It also gathers the attention of Brittany Taylor, cheerleader and Kevin's girlfriend even if she is no Barbara Ann Boopstein, Michael Jordan MacKenzie, the captain of the football team but without uniform at this time, and Jodie Landon -- and this story is already long enough without putting her curriculum vitae into it. The four approach.

"Wow, that was some pretty impressive blocking, huh, Mack Daddy?"

"Don't call me that!"

Jalura looks to Daria for introductions. Of course, from the one episode of the show she saw in Merlin's apartment, Jalura already knows these four, and is glad for the familiarity following a day of unpleasant surprises about this world.

Daria, however, doesn't see the look from Jalura as the former is still staring at Upchuck's landing spot. "Yeah, it was pretty impressive." Turning fully to face Jalura, Daria asks, "How did you do that?"

Jalura, again aware that she's a bit too open, demurs, "Martial arts training. Moments of inertia and such."

Daria clearly is suspicious, but before she can even pretend to accept the answer, Kevin again chimes in, "Hey, could you teach that to our offensive line? They could push the other team right out of the way and we'd win all our games, right Mack Daddy?"

Michael knows that he's just going to have to tolerate Kevin for the rest of the conversation. "I think the technique is illegal. Unsportsmanlike conduct."

Kevin frowns. "Oh. That's too bad."

Michael faces Jalura, "Hi, I'm Michael MacKenzie, and" just because he has to tolerate, does not mean he must do so without comment "I don't like being called 'Mack Daddy.'"

Jalura smiles. "So I heard, Michael. Besides, MickMack would be a much more fitting nickname. I am Jalura Duquesne."

She extends her hand, and Michael shakes it somewhat tentatively, while pondering her idea.

Jodie looks oddly at the gesture and Michael's reaction. "I'm Jodie Landon, Mike's girlfriend."

Jalura looks at Jodie with intent. "Jodie, aren't you more than just that?" Then smiles.

Jodie's discomfort shifts from one of budding jealousy to one of something else as she tries to match Jalura's gaze and fails.

"I'm Kevin Thompson, I'm the QB." Brittany elbows Kevin in the side, at which he adds, "And this is my girlfriend, Brittany."

Jalura winks at Jodie, who realizes Kevin's inadvertent play into Jalura's word game and finally smiles at Jalura.

Jalura turns to Kevin and Brittany and sees their respective uniforms. "I see that. Is there a game this afternoon?"

"No, games are Friday nights."

"Then why are you wearing a uniform today? Michael isn't wearing a uniform."

Daria's mental note board gets another page, but it is immediately taken back off as she realizes that Kevin had referenced the football team to Michael in the first person plural possessive, not that Kevin would have any understanding of grammar.

Kevin is undaunted. "I'm the QB so I've got to maintain an image for the team."

"Hmmm." Jalura looks at Kevin. "And what image is that? That your little football is the only thing that matters in your life?"

Kevin, obviously pleased that Jalura 'understands,' replies, "Of course, what else is t--." Brittany, feeling taken for granted at Kevin's words, stomps on his cleated foot and storms off. "Ow! What was that for, babe? Babe? Hey, wait up! What?" Kevin follows her out the door, leaving the others shaking their heads and chuckling.

Jodie is the first to recover. "I heard what happened in the hall this afternoon. The Fashion Club has a lot of sway in popularity here. You might not have wanted to offend Sandi."

Jalura laughs heartily. "I don't need to be popular." Gestures to the four others. "I've made friends here."

Daria looks uncomfortable, and both Jalura and Jane notice. Jane tries to cover for Daria with a mocking, "Now don't go trying to use any of that logic stuff to get out of this trouble, young lady. Being popular is all-important."

Jalura asks, "Then why do Stacy and Quinn hang out with such an obvious loser like Sandi?"

No one has an answer to that one, although Daria thinks to herself, "As far as those two are concerned, Jane is right. To them, being popular _is_ all-important."

Jane looks up at the wall clock. "Oh, shoot. I've got to go meet Trent at the Zen." Looks at Daria with a smirk, "Do you want to come with?"

"No. I've got to get home. That lasagna isn't getting any less pre-packaged and I'm probably going to have to do some spin control on this afternoon."

Michael and Jodie take the cue that things are breaking up, and Michael says, "Yeah, we've got to get going, too. It was nice meeting you, Jalura. I'll see you around."

Jodie again looks uncomfortable, but says, "Yeah. Bye, everyone." Jane, and Mike and Jodie leave.

Daria and Jalura head out and appear to be heading in the same direction.

Location: A street near Daria's house.

The two are walking in silence, each wrapped in their thoughts about the day.

Finally, Jalura breaks the silence. "So, are you going to ask, or just continue to speculate?"

Startled, Daria stops.

Jalura, having taken an extra step before realizing that Daria had stopped, turns to face Daria. Jalura's look is expectant; Daria has to struggle to maintain her stoic mask.

After about ten seconds, Daria's expression shifts to one of determination. "Alright. You offered, so I'll ask. One: Convoluted family tree? Two: Aliases? Three: Swords? Four: You were sitting, how did you get enough leverage to shove Upchuck further than Mike could have with a running block? Five: Why do you seem to be able to read every person you encounter down to their essence, like you did to Jodie, as if you could see straight into their soul? Six: Given five, how do keep your sanity while staring into the void?"

Jalura smiles at the last question. "Mene, mene tekel, ujalura? I am but a pale Shadow, dwelling in Shadow among Shadows."

Daria's look intensifies, something impressive to behold, and lesser people would be frightened by it. "And you make even more obscurantist references than I do, and catch all of mine."

Jalura gives Daria a half-smile, and starts nodding. "You're good. But tell me this. Have you become so accustomed to having your emotional needs unfulfilled by your family that you not only have to shield yourself against disappointment by unsuccessfully trying to not have emotional needs but also by rejecting the people around you who would fill that void if you'd let them?"

Daria's demeanor changes completely. She now looks as if she's about to pass out. Her determination broken, she is now a very vulnerable teenage girl. "Get out of my soul ... please."

"No can do, girl. You chose to consider me as a friend, and I accept that responsibility."

"Um, I have to go." Those who've seen the episode, 'Dye! Dye! My Darling' will have a sense of deja vu at the words, and the tone of voice in which they are said. Daria runs the block to her home. Jalura shakes her head as she watches Daria go.

Location: A grey house not far from the Morgendorffer's. Chez Duquesne. Interior.

A middle-aged man, who bears a striking resemblance to one Vincent Lane, is speaking to Jalura.

"A Dr. Manson called. She expressed concern that you have 'low self-esteem' and suggested you take a class. I laughed at her and told her you had no need of such, but that she would probably benefit from some professional training."

"You did exactly right, Trinsch. Thank you. You'll probably have to speak to the principal, Ms. Li, soon."

"You're welcome. I see. The 'embassy speech?' So, how is this Lawndale?"

"Yes, please." A long pause, then, "So many details that I left uncovered."

"Shall we adjust to a Shadow more what you had in mind?"

Jalura thinks about this, but shakes her head. "No. If I learned anything from Martin, it is that you don't run from your mistakes. You face them, and you do your best to fix them. It is the assassins from whom you run, until you find a place from which to eliminate them."

"And is this a spot from which to eliminate those who seek your death?"

"No. This is a place through which I'm running until I can reach Martin."

"I see. And are the locals expendable?"

"Not unless is comes to them-or-me. I won't knowingly use them as shields."

"Very good, Your Grace."

Location: The Morgendorffer's house. The dinner table.

"And she totally humiliated Sandi in front of the rest of us."

Daria, still shaken by her last conversation with Jalura, says, "Um, Quinn. Her insult actually was directed at all of you, though I agree that she seems to have a special dislike for Sandi."

Helen notices Daria's lack of barb. "Honey, what do you think of this new girl?"

Helen's attempt at being super-mom finally snaps Daria back into stoic defense mode. "I think she'll go insane slowly like the rest of us in the asylum."

Helen hears the edge return to Daria's voice. "You know, it wasn't all that long ago that you were new here. Maybe we should invite her and her family over for dinner to help make her feel welcome in Lawndale."

"Hey, honey, that's a great idea! I can try out that new pesto recipe."

Helen looks at Jake as if about to erupt, but realizes that he has backed up Helen and she relents. "Jake, as much as we all love your cooking experiments, wouldn't it be better to stick with something tried-and-true for their first meeting with us?"

"But, Helen, I ..." seeing her look, Jake deflates. "Sure, honey."

Helen, now looking triumphant, says, "Well, that's settled. How about Thursday night?"

"Muh-omm. I just told you. She embarrassed Sandi. We _can't_ have her over, or I'll get thrown out of the Fashion Club!"

Daria's barb feels a need to atone for a moment of as close to sisterly as she normally gets with Quinn, and has a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach that 'normal' isn't going to apply much anymore. "And how would that be a bad thing?"

Before Quinn can utter a reply, Helen intercedes. "Yes, Quinn, how would that be a bad thing? Despite your protestations of friendship, you and Sandi get along even less well than her mother and I do."

"Muh-omm!"

Daria, deciding to take advantage of Helen's surprising honesty, asks, "And just why do you and Linda Griffin get along so poorly?"

Helen again is about to erupt, but Jake, knowing _this_ topic all too well and not wanting to spend the night on the couch, and knowing that Eric from Helen's law firm would pick this one night not to call Helen during dinner, jumps in. "That's none of your business, kiddo. Finish your dinner, and then go call your friend and invite her over for Thursday dinner."

Everyone at the table is shocked at Jake's decisive handling of the argument. Helen visibly deflates.

Daria, sounding more unenthusiastic than her normal, replies, "Ummm. I don't know her phone number. I'll have to do it tomorrow in school."

Part 2: The Next Day

Location: Ms. Li's office.

"Miss Duquesne. I am very troubled by the reports I'm hearing about your behavior. Insulting a member of the faculty in my office yesterday was bad enough, but Ms. Morris said you were very aggressive in Phys. Ed. class. And don't think I didn't hear about the incident with Mr. Ruttheimer at the restaurant."

"Ms. Li. I warned you yesterday not to judge what you do not understand. You dislike me because I do not view you as having authority over me and make no secret of that to you. Your petty control issues are no concern of mine unless they interfere with me. Do not cross me again. As for Charles Manson's twin sister, she is in far greater need of self-esteem help than I. The other Charles sexually harassed Daria Morgendorffer, Jane Lane and I, and was gently chastised for it. Ms. Morris threw a volleyball at me, as Daria put it, with intent. Be grateful that I do not file charges for that. Do not waste more of my time." Rises. "I have to go put up with Mr. DiMartino's outbursts for a while." Jalura switches to Korean and says, "Little earthworm, despite your dreams, you are no dragon," as she exits.

She doesn't notice Ms. Li blanch at the words in her parents' tongue. When she finally recovers, she opens Jalura's file, which has been sitting on Ms. Li's desk, and inserts the word "Royal" before the 'Trouble' that is already there.

Location: Ms. Defoe's art class.

Jalura finishes the required sketch of a still life set in minutes and is working on a smallish, but well-detailed drawing of Daria on a sheet of heavy parchment as Ms. Defoe comes up behind her.

Ms. Defoe sees the still-life and is about to offer the usual bland praise when she notices the work in progress. "Jalura, that is exquisite. You seem to be drawing Daria's emotions onto the paper."

Jalura looks annoyed at having her work noticed, but remembers her view of Ms. Defoe, and changes to a neutral pose. "That is the point."

"Most artists put their own emotions onto the canvas and the person being drawn. You pull the emotions to you from the person through the canvas."

Jalura's mind hears the echoes of a conversation with her great-grandfather as he makes a sketch of the young girl. He tells his young student, "The secret? Oh, so many secrets. But this one I'll tell you. You pull the emotions to you from the person through the trump. The person, if they will, will follow through the image."

Coming back to the here and now, Jalura smiles warmly, with a touch of sharing an inside joke. "Of course. How else can one communicate to another through art?"

Ms. Defoe, hearing only the surface of the answer, nods. "You really should talk to Jane Lane. I think she prefers abstract work because it gives her freedom to express her own emotions in art."

"We've met. And I'm looking forward to seeing her work."

Ms. Defoe, now speaking to a fellow artist and not to a student, a tone usually only heard in this building when Ms. Defoe is speaking to Jane, "You can probably learn more from each other than either can from me."

The tone shift is not lost on Jalura. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you."

The conversation also is not lost on Daria Morgendorffer, who is wandering past the Art Room on her way to the library.

Location: The Lawndale High Library

Daria is acknowledged by the librarian, who is used to seeing Daria in the afternoon. Daria goes to the card catalog, opens the bottom right drawer and riffs through the cards for a moment before closing the drawer and heading toward the stacks. The librarian, assuming that Daria is looking for Emile Zola, sighs, anticipating Daria's disappointment that the only Zola is one that Daria has already read. The librarian is surprised, however, when Daria returns quickly with a stack of small books, but nevertheless checks them out to Daria.

Daria purposefully puts the books into her bag, then leaves.

Location: Lawndale High Gym

Today, Tiffany is also present. But, after yesterday's performance, there are no volleyball nets set up.

Ms. Morris has a particularly angry glint in her eye. "Today, girls, we run."

As the girls all begin to trudge toward the track adjacent to the gym, Ms. Morris steps in front of Jalura. "How fast can you run, girl?"

The ice cold voice returns, "Far faster than anything you could send after me, mortal."

Ms. Morris senses that she is outmatched, and steps aside.

Daria mutters to herself as she walks past a confused Ms. Morris. "Damn corkboard."

Location: The track

Jalura runs at an even pace, literally lapping the other girls. By the end of forty-five minutes, Jalura makes eleven full loops around the one-mile track, where no one else, even members of the track team, makes more than seven. Jalura looks less tired than most of the other girls.

Ms. Morris again steps in front of Jalura as the girls head toward the showers. "Impressive. You should try out for the track team."

"Are you the coach?"

"Yes."

"No thanks. I don't like your attitude." And Jalura walks back into the building, leaving Ms. Morris standing again stunned.

Location: The locker room.

Daria, clearly uncomfortable, approaches Jalura.

"Hi."

"Daria. Hey, I'm sorry for prying yesterday."

"Ummm. I guess I kind of asked for it with my own questions."

The two leave the building and start down the street.

Jalura shrugs. "So what's up?"

Daria is not as relieved at the offer to change the subject as Jalura thinks the former would be. Daria hesitates, and then says, "My mother thought it would be nice to welcome you and your family to Lawndale. I think it is as much that she wants to check out my new friend as anything else. If you and your family aren't doing anything Thursday night ... um ..."

"I'd love to come to dinner Thursday. There's just one catch. It'll only be me. I live here with a housekeeper/chaperone/bodyguard. My father is ... well, we're all pretty sure he's dead this time. My mother is ... back home."

The explanation poses more questions than it answered. "Eight: bodyguard? Nine: dead 'this time?'"

"What happened to seven?"

"Obscurantist references, remember. And don't try to change the subject."

Jalura stops and faces Daria. "I will answer your questions, if they are still questions in your mind, when you answer the one I put to you."

Daria freezes, and would probably utter a Brittany-esque "Eep" except that Jalura raises her hand in a 'halt' gesture and speaks again. "I know it isn't easy to confront yourself and your fears and your pain. But you'll have to do it sometime or those fears and pains will destroy you. I've seen it happen, and I've seen people," fingers the lettering on her jacket tenderly, "become strong by facing those fears. I want to help you. And I'm willing to wait until you are ready."

"If you start into a chorus of 'Dulcinea,' I will hit you, not that I think it would do any good."

Jalura smiles, "I think you're more the Don Quixote type than I; much more likely to go tilting at windmills, and giving woe to the wicked." Points down the street. "Speaking of Sancho Panza, though, I'm headed to Jane's. She's going to show me some of her art. Join us?"

"No. I've got some stuff to do."

Jalura decides not to push further than she already has. "Okay. See you tomorrow. And I'm looking forward to Thursday." And heads down the street.

Daria turns toward home, and mutters to herself, "Where do they grow cork trees?"

Location: La Casa Lane

Jalura rings the doorbell and Jane opens it.

"Come on in."

Jalura enters, and Jane stands at the door for a moment.

"Daria said she had some stuff to do."

"Oh."

Before Jane can comment further or even close the door, the resonant tones of a Mystik Spiral rehearsal hammer their way through the floor from the basement.

Jalura frowns at the sound, and asks, "Who is torturing that guitar, and why?"

Jane smiles, "That is my brother Trent and his band. They're not bad."

"No, they're worse." And with that, Jalura strides unerringly to the basement door and heads downstairs. Jane closes the door and follows, curious.

As Jalura comes to the bottom of the stairs, she sees the band. The final chords of a still-rough version of "Icebox Woman" assault the senses as Jalura approaches.

She looks at Trent sternly, places one hand across the neck of the guitar and removes it from Trent before he can say anything.

Jalura says, in a soft tone, to the guitar, "It's alright; I won't let him hurt you anymore." Then with a calm hand, adjusts the settings on the amp, dropping the volume, evening the bass, and touching down the tremolo. Next, Jalura makes slight adjustments to the tuning on the guitar.

Jalura then begins to play, and what happens then would be question ten for Daria, had she been there. If one could picture Andres Segovia and Eric Clapton having a child who inherited and synthesized the full measure of musical ability from the two, Jalura's playing would be the result. For fifteen full minutes a melodic European rhythm dances serenely among jazz, blues, rock and occasional touches of raga influences to weave a tapestry of music never before heard on this plane of Shadow. When she finally stops, silence reigns until...

<reverent>"Whoa."</reverent> from Trent.

<reverent>"Yeah."</reverent> from Jane and Jesse simultaneously.

Jalura gently puts the guitar on its stand and turns that soul-reading look on Trent.

"What angers you the most is that there is so little else that fuels your anger. You seek pain for power, but that is not your path. You come closer than most to true harmony and peace with the world around you. Revel in that peace and echo that harmony; do not rebel against it by casting it aside."

Jane may not have spent as much time with Jalura as has Daria, but neither do the encounters with people at the Pizza King and elsewhere past Jane. She is mentally fitting herself for her own mental cork memo board as she says, "Trent, she-who-sees-your-soul-and-doesn't-laugh is Jalura Duquesne. Jalura, this is my brother, Trent. The others are Jesse, Nick, and Max."

"Hey."

"Hi."

"Great stuff," say the three other members of Mystik Spiral in greeting.

Trent just continues to stare at Jalura as the words she spoke sink in.

"Yo, Trent. You aren't sleeping standing up again, are you bro?"

Trent finally returns to the here and now, with, "Huh, no Janey."

Jane turns to Jalura and says, "You seem to have quite an emotional effect on people. Upchuck excepted, of course."

"You assume he's human?" As the eyebrow re-cocks and loads.

"Don't go using that twisty-turny rhetoric on me. But yeah. He's more like a force of nature."

"A whiny obnoxious little force of nature." Jalura turns back to Trent and places a hand on his arm. "Trent, you have talent. Play what is in your soul, and the people will listen. If you find anger, explore it, but trust your peace unless you find that anger." Jalura takes Jane by the arm and starts up the stairs, "Come on, let's go see what images your soul produces."

As the two reach the top of the stairs, the faint sounds of Trent playing "The Sounds of Silence" can be heard by Jane.

In her head, Jane hears herself saying <reverent>"Whoa."</reverent>

The two make their way up to Jane's room.

Jane, in her best tour guide mode, says, "Ta da. Here recreated solely for this exhibit is the studio of Jane Lane. It was in a small bedroom much like this one where the world-renowned artiste created many of her early works. Some of which are even on display here in the room."

Jalura, however, is silent as she glares at the rampant lion on the wall near Jane's bed. Involuntarily, she pulls her Hellriders jacket tightly about her.

"So, what do you want to see first? Figure studies, landscapes, abstracts?"

Jalura snaps out of her reverie. "Ummmm. Ms. Defoe recommended your abstracts. Let's see those, and save people for last so that we can compare styles."

"Righty-oh." And in Jane's head, "And don't think I didn't see your face when you saw that poster, missy. This is the first I've seen you not completely dominate your surroundings. And I want to know why."

Location: Morgendorffer's house, Daria's room.

Daria enters after another dinner of pre-packaged lasagna and Eric interrupting with some pointless nonsense and Quinn going on about her pending date. Daria is grateful that her parents didn't pry after telling them that Jalura would come, but that her parents couldn't. A small wicked thought crosses Daria's mind to have Helen question Jalura about the latter's parents, a thought that doesn't get dismissed as quickly as Daria thinks it ought. She is about to pick up one of the paperbacks from her bag when the phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Yo, Daria."

"Hi Jane. How did Jalura like your art?"

"She liked it. Definitely prefers life study to abstract, but to each one's own."

"Err, yeah."

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about her."

"I'm listening."

"Okay, first, that stunt with Upchuck."

"I can top that with stuff from gym class."

"How?"

"Jane, how many miles can you run in an hour?"

"With a good warm-up, nine, maybe a little more. Why?"

"With no warm-up, Jalura did eleven times around the track in gym period."

" ... "

"Jane?"

"I'm here; I'm just trying to picture that."

"The comment you heard Monday was after Jalura spent the whole period serving in volleyball."

"So, her team won a lot of points. That --"

"No. Not one of Jalura's serves was returned. Not one was even touched. _And_, Jalura caught the ball one-handed when Ms. Morris threw it at Jalura; threw it hard like Ms. Morris was trying to bean Jalura."

"Okay. She's damn good at everything she does, and snubs the Fashion Club and she likes us. She's perfect. She's more real than real life. So, why am I vaguely and progressively nervous around her?"

"I don't know. Did she hit you with that soul-read thing of hers?"

"Not me. Trent."

" ... "

"Daria?"

"I'm here. I'm just trying to picture that."

"Seems she didn't like the way Trent was playing. She took his guitar and played it. She's damn good. Softer style, I couldn't begin to tell you what all was in it, but it was damn good. Then she hit Trent with that soul thing and what she told him locked him up tighter than you get when you're around him."

Testily, "We're talking about Jalura."

"So we are. She picked the wrong town to come to since she doesn't like lions."

"What do you mean?"

"You know that English soccer poster on my wall, the one with the lion?"

"Yeah?"

"She just about froze when she saw it. Spooked her bad."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"Next, is her own art work."

"Let me guess. Extraordinarily detailed miniature portraits. You feel as if you are falling into them when you look at them too long."

"You've seen them?"

"No. But," glances at the unopened paperback, "I've been reading about them."

"What do you mean? Has her work been shown somewhere?"

"I don't think so. Look, this doesn't make any sense. Well, except in one impossible way. I'll talk to her tomorrow."

"Oh, Daria, one more thing you should know before you talk to her ...."

"Yeah?"

"Her most recent work is a picture of you. When I look at it, I understand why this country's indigenous people thought photographs of them stole their souls."

"Damn. So much for a rational explanation of everything. Impossibility it is."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Just be careful around her until I've talked to her. A thing forward toward which I am _not_ looking."

Location: Chez Duquesne

Jalura walks in. Trinsch does not look happy.

"Thank goodness you're home safe. I nearly called you."

Jalura is instantly alert. "What is it?"

"Tracker rat breached the ten Shadow perimeter. It didn't penetrate the five Shadow line."

"Did it detect the sensors?"

"I don't think so. Not unless he's gotten a lot subtler."

"Alright. After dinner, I need to make some calls."

"Of course, though Martin's schedule doesn't have him back in range for another six days local frame."

"I also need to call Dworkin."

"I strongly advise against that, your Grace. I know everyone considers him stable now, but ...."

"The alternative is Corwin, who, as of the last we've heard, had disappeared."

Trinsch recognizes the tone in Jalura's voice. "As you wish, Your Grace."

Part 3: Wednesday

Location: Mr. O'Neill's English Class

" ... So you see, class, what Shakespeare is trying to tell us is that Hamlet is confronted by doubt as to what he must do in regard to the ghost's message."

"If it is really a ghost of his father, and not Satan trying to trick Hamlet into doing evil by appearing in the guise of the ghost of his father."

"Yes, exactly, Jalura. Please continue." Mr. O'Neill's ability to remember names would seem to be in direct proportion to the student's knowledge of the subject.

But before Jalura can continue, Stacy Rowe interrupts. "Wait. Why would Hamlet think Satan was involved?"

Jalura half-turns in her seat, recognizes Stacy and is about to berate her when Jalura notices that Sandi is glaring at Stacy. "An excellent question, Stacy. Though Christian, the Danes were also influenced by the Teutonic and Norse mythoi, so the concept of Loki/Trickster was well known to them as a shape shifter. In the Christian sense, Trickster is evil, though that is a gross oversimplification of a complex process among avatar deities. Suffice it to say that Hamlet's upbringing would lead him to suspect evil from his uncle, which is apparently what he wants to hear from the ghost, but his honor makes him doubt his desire. He" and Jalura casts a sharp glance at Mr. O'Neill, who flinches under her stare and words "fears that he projects his desires unto the ghost, and thus fears that it is Trickster/Satan telling Hamlet what he wants to hear to goad him to action that would be dishonorable. If the ghost is Satan, then the ghost is lying and killing Claudius would be evil. If the ghost is Hamlet's father, then the ghost is telling the truth, and killing Claudius is just and proper vengeance."

"But couldn't the ghost lie if it is the ghost of Hamlet's father?"

Jalura shakes her head, "No, Stacy, it would serve no purpose for the ghost."

Stacy does not cringe, as there is no malice in Jalura's voice. Sandi continues to glare, but her focus is now on Jalura, who meets the glare with a small, Mona Lisa smile before turning back to the front.

Location: The cafeteria.

Upchuck is carrying a fairly heavily-laden tray toward a table. He sees Jalura, drops the tray and runs from the room.

Jalura offers a Mona Lisa smile at his retreating back and continues to slice her banana into very small pieces.

Location: Outside Ms. Li's office.

Sandi is waiting to talk to Ms. Li about Jalura, and overhears a surprising conversation.

"I quite sympathize, Ms. Morris, but there is nothing I can do. The embassy called this morning and was quite clear that we are to accept some unusual behavior from Jalura."

"She refused to join the track team, but she's the fastest long-distance runner I've ever seen. If she could keep the pace she ran in gym yesterday, she could break two hours in the marathon. And her volleyball skills.... Ms. Li, you've got to talk to her. She could be a one-woman sports team. Think of what those titles and trophies would mean to Lawndale."

"As much as I would like to, I can't. The embassy was quite clear that <mock reverent>Her Grace</mock reverent> could not be in such a high-profile position. And you know that I seek every opportunity to enhance the honor of <reverent>Lawndale High</reverent> but they were quite clear that legal action would follow if we, and I quote, pressured Princess Jalura or further annoyed her."

Sandi's mind may not move quickly on some subjects, but she understands royalty quite well.

Sandi rises, and heads back to class. "This calls for an emergency meeting of the Fashion Club." she mutters to herself as she walks away.

Location: The Gym. Today it is basketball.

A somewhat subdued Ms. Morris curtly, but politely, asks Jalura if she's good at basketball. Jalura looks at her, recognizing the still-present malice as well as the leash holding it at bay, and decides to give the teacher a break. "I've never played. I've only seen the game once on television. Ummmm, it isn't played where I come from."

Inside Daria's mind, "Ten. Oh, hell, infinity."

Ms. Morris looks suddenly relaxed; she has something over this girl at last. "Well, why don't you just sit and watch today. You won't get participation points, but that's better than hurting yourself or others by not knowing what you're doing."

To both Ms. Morris' and Daria's surprise, Jalura agrees, and sits down. Daria looks as if she's about to join her, when she hears her name called to be on a team. Daria's next surprise comes at the realization of not being picked last as there are still two more people to be chosen after her.

The game begins, and Daria stands near a corner. Every so often the ball is passed to her, and she dutifully passes it to another person. After about ten minutes, Stacy jumps for a rebound, but lands awkwardly and begins limping.

"Rowe. Sit out. I don't want you getting hurt worse than you just made yourself."

Stacy looks at Ms. Morris, and obeys her. Stacy hobbles over to the bleachers and sits next to Jalura.

"Hi. Thanks for not yelling at me this morning. I know it was a stupid question."

"No, Stacy, it wasn't a stupid question at all."

"But I saw your face before you started to speak."

Jalura thinks to herself, "There's more to this girl than at first appears," and says, "Well, you are in the Fashion Club, and I was just reacting. When I thought about your question, I realized that you really were paying attention to the discussion."

"Still, it was ... kindofnicetobetakenseriouslyforachange."

"You don't get much of that, being taken seriously?"

Stacy looks down at her shoes for a long while before answering. "No. I guess I bring it on myself."

"Well, only because you try so hard to be liked that you rarely do the things that make you worthy of being taken seriously."

"Huh?"

"Look. In class today, you asked a question that maybe six students in this school would have asked, the others being people like Daria, Jodie Landon, or Michael MacKenzie before they studied the play. You have intelligence. Don't be afraid of it. Look at Jodie; she's so popular she's got to turn down activities because there aren't enough hours in the day for her to do everything. Look at Daria; the teachers like her and, except for the Fashion Club, all the popular people talk to her and consider her some level of friend, and Daria goes out of her way to distance herself from most people. Why do you suppose that is?"

The wheels begin to turn in Stacy's mind. "Well, they're both brains."

"Uh-huh, so why are they popular?"

"Well, Jodie's on a sports team, and she's dating Mack, and she's attractive."

"And Daria?"

"Ummm. I don't know."

"Actually, Daria is quite attractive. She dresses and acts in ways that hide it, but the truth is there for those who can see it. But that still isn't why she's popular, or why Jodie or Michael is popular."

"Then I don't get it."

Jalura offers Stacy an indulgent smile. "They have principles. They have standards. They know who they are, and won't compromise that for others. Jodie's probably a little more flexible about situational morality, but that isn't a bad thing."

"Y-you mean, they're popular because they don't try to be popular?"

"Sort of. Theirs is a different sort of popular. It is based on respect, not clothes or looks or money. People like Jodie and Daria and Michael are popular because those three command the respect of those around them. They're the ones who'll make it in this world ... because they get to define their goals and achievements."

"But ...."

"No 'buts.' They define their worlds. I can see it in their eyes. Quinn could learn to do it, and probably already would be doing it if she didn't have to see Daria succeeding easily at it where it is still a struggle for Quinn. You could do it, too. If you can find the courage to stand up to Sandi. Because once you can stand up to her, then you can confront your parents."

"No. You don't know what you're talking about." Stacy looks like she is about to get up.

"Sit. Now."

"Yes, sir." The automatic reply leaves Stacy's mouth before she is even conscious of it, and freezes on the bench with a look in her eyes that would make a deer caught in headlights seem confrontational by comparison.

Hearing those two words, Jalura turns the full force of her soul-reading on Stacy. So much pain, so much broken trust, so much hiding from herself so that she could hide the hurt from others. Finally, Jalura speaks with the voice of ice, one word. "No." Jalura reaches out, hugs Stacy, and then speaks much more softly. "It will be alright. Stacy, I had no idea how bad it was. Forget about Sandi, we have more important work to do." Yells, "Ms. Morris."

Ms. Morris trots over, "What is it, is her ankle getting worse?"

Jalura looks at Stacy, "No, but we do need to go to your office _right now_. Stacy has something to tell you."

Location: Street outside Lawndale High.

Daria and Jane watch as two police cars pull up. The officers go inside.

"All I know is that Jalura and Stacy spoke for about fifteen minutes. Jalura did the soul-read thing, called Ms. Morris over; they left and didn't come back."

"How do you know she did the soul-read?"

"That's the frightening part. It is almost like I can feel it even though I didn't actually see it happen. Heck, I was so distracted I actually shot a basket today."

"Daria Morgendorffer actively participates in a sporting event? Sweet god, that is the third sign of the apocalypse. Warn me if you hear of any Americans understanding cricket. That's the next sign, you know."

"And the final sign is Jane Lane knowing when to keep her mouth shut."

"Well, then. We can all rest easy, 'cause that'll never happen.... You really 'felt' it happen?"

"Yes. I don't know what is in Stacy's soul, but it is painful.... The Fashion Club might be like an anesthetic, to numb her so she can function."

"Okay Daria, I was joking about the sports, but now you _are_ starting to freak me out."

"That's good. I'd hate to be there alone."

Just then, Jalura comes out of the gym doors, and the other three members of the Fashion Club come out the side doors of the school.

"Titanic and iceberg on collision course, Captain Lord."

Jane looks at Daria, only partially comprehending her remark. Then Jane sees Jalura and Sandi approaching and gets most of the joke.

Jalura sees the Fashion Club before they can see her. Jalura stops, and waits.

The Fashion Club walks up to Jane and Daria, and Sandi slowly speaks. "Um, Quinn's cousin?"

"I have a name, Fashion Club President Jerk."

"Oh, um. Quinn just always refers to you as her cousin."

Daria shoots an angry glance at Quinn, "My name is Daria."

"Okay, Daria. We want to talk to you about Jalura."

Daria and Jane each barely succeed at not looking in Jalura's direction. Jane speaks, in a passable imitation of Jalura's voice, "What _do_ you want?"

Sandi shudders at the repetition of those words that humiliated her two days ago. But royalty must be appeased, even if it means speaking to these losers. "We wanted to, uh .... Quinn, help me here."

Quinn rolls her eyes, and thinks, "Arthur Fonzarelli's got nothing on Sandi, here." But says, "Daria, we know we got off to a bad start with Jalura, but we really think she'd be a valuable asset to the Fashion Club. We want to apologize and offer Jalura membership in the Fashion Club."

Daria notices the eye roll, and wonders what is going through the Fashion Club's little mind. "And you want me to talk to her?"

Three heads nod, and Jane is suddenly inspired to do a mobile of those little dogs whose heads bob up and down because the heads are mounted on springs, only to replace the heads with the heads of Barbie dolls, making one to look like each member of the Fashion Club.

"Well, have you spoken with Stacy?"

Sandi can deal with this. "No, we haven't seen her all afternoon."

"I'm not surprised. Ever since she spoke with Jalura this afternoon, she's been in the gym office with Ms. Morris. The police just arrived and I don't think those two statements are unrelated."

Sandi ponders this ... Sandi tries to understand this ... Sandi has no idea how to interpret this. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure what it means. Maybe you should ask Jalura. Here she comes, now." Daria yells, "Jalura, the Fashion Club wants to speak to you."

Jane thinks to herself, "I gotta go to the same college as Daria when we get out of here. She's just gonna get better with age."

Jalura walks up. "Um. Sandi, Quinn, Tiffany. We need to talk." Turns to Daria and Jane. "I'm sorry. This has to be done privately. I'll come by and explain it to you later."

Location: Street in Lawndale, near Jane's house.

Jalura is about to reach the corner of the lawn for La Casa Lane when she feels a pressure at the back of her neck. It is Trinsch.

"Your Grace?"

Jalura speaks sotto voce, "This isn't a good time. It had better be important."

"Yes, ma'am. Something penetrated the five Shadow line. Fast enough that I couldn't get a good read on it. It just crossed the one Shadow wall. I think it is a fire angel."

"I need you to buy me one-half hour. I have something I have to do here."

"Your Grace?"

"No, I'm not running. It ... it's personal."

"I shall do my best."

"Of course." And Jalura breaks the contact.

Jalura resumes walking and reaches the door of Jane and Trent's house. She rings the bell. The door opens.

"Hey."

"Hello, Trent. Are Daria and Jane here?"

"Yeah, they said you'd be stopping by and to send you up to Janey's room."

"Thanks." Jalura enters and heads up the stairs.

"Knock, knock."

Even though the door is open and both Daria and Jane see Jalura, Jane asks, "Who's there?" in a mocking tone.

Daria, however, is deadly serious. "Yes. Who are you, Jalura? What are you? And what is going on?"

Jalura stops for a moment. "Ah, ah, ah, Daria. You know my price for the first two answers." Those remarks draw a quizzical look from Jane, cast in Daria's general direction. "As for the last ...." Jalura closes the door and sits on the floor in front of her friends.

"I talked to Stacy today."

Daria's anger seeps through her voice. "Yes, I know. Next time you do that soul-read thing, be far away from me."

"You mean you felt it? What did you perceive?"

"Pain. Betrayal. Fear. The usual."

"Well, you only got the surface, then. Stacy regularly is being abused sexually by her father. Has been since she entered puberty."

Both Jane and Daria gasp audibly.

Daria struggles, finally finding words. "Oh, my god. I had no idea. Will she be alright? What did you do?"

Jalura's voice is cold ice. "I didn't kill him. I didn't even go near him for fear that I would. Stacy was my priority, and once she started talking to Ms. Morris, just about everything came out. Ms. Morris called the police first, Ms. Li second. Stacy's in protective custody and a bench warrant has been issued for her father."

Jane finds her voice, "And the Fashion Club?"

"I needed to ask them if any of them had been molested by Stacy's father. I believe Quinn and Tiffany's denials, but am not sure about Sandi's."

Daria looks down at the floor. "I should, um, probably go home and make sure Quinn is okay. I think she actually likes Stacy, so she'll be taking this pretty hard."

Jane is astonished to see her best friend actually care about Quinn, who treats Daria like dirt. But Jane knows she'd do the same for any of her siblings, no matter how screwed up they are. Plus, Jane has an ulterior motive for speaking to Jalura alone. "Umm, yeah. That's probably a good idea."

Daria leaves.

As soon as Daria's boots can no longer be heard on the stairs, "Alright, missy. You may have some bargain with Daria that keeps her from demanding answers, but you don't with me. Who are you?"

"Jane, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"Maybe later. I've got to go now to take care of some other business." Jalura rises, and heads toward the door.

Jane gets up, to try to stop her, but Jalura is moving quickly, and gets out of the room.

Jane continues to follow Jalura.

When Jalura gets to the front door, she turns and tells Jane, "Don't you ever follow me again. You only have one life. If you value it, stay home." And heads out the door.

"Whoa. What was that all about, Janey?"

Jane looks at Trent. "I don't know, but I'm going to find out."

Jane reaches the door and opens it. She runs up to the street, but Jalura is nowhere to be seen.

Location: The Morgendorffer's house. Quinn's bedroom.

Daria knocks tentatively. "May I come in?"

"Whatever."

Daria is shocked for not the first time today. Quinn is wearing an oversized sweatshirt and baggy jeans and has removed all her makeup. As Daria enters, Quinn is removing the nail polish from her toenails.

"Are you ... okay?"

Quinn looks as if she is about to cry. "No."

Daria doesn't blame her one bit. "Do you ... want to talk about it?" Daria is a little bit surprised that she is doing this, and then realizes that she has to do this.

Unbeknownst to either of the girls, Helen has arrived home, for once having left the office right at 5:00 PM. She hears most of the conversation. 'Hears' is a euphemism for 'eavesdrops on.'

Quinn is amazed that Daria is reaching out to her sister when Quinn needs someone. And the realization that it is Daria comforting her, and not anyone from the Fashion Club, becomes note number one on Quinn's mental cork message board. "You don't mind, after the way I've treated you?"

Daria looks at her sister and tries to be gentle. "Quinn, you've never treated me well, but aside from the 'only child' bit, you've never actually hurt me. You're my sister, even though we rarely act like it, and that's all that matters right now."

Quinn fiercely hugs Daria, who stiffens, then relaxes and slowly returns the hug.

Quinn begins to cry. "How could he ... (sob) ... do that ... (sniffle) his own daughter ... Stacy ... (shudder) ... she's so young ... ewwww."

"I don't know why he did it. You're right, though, about the 'ewwww' aspect of it."

"My god, Daria, I've ... (shudder) ... slept ... in that house. What if he ... (sob) ...."

"Quinn, I'm very glad that neither of us has much knowledge about this subject, but I think that he would be too afraid of witnesses to do anything when the whole Fashion Club was there."

In the hallway, Dawn Breaks Over Marblehead as Helen realizes exactly what her daughters are discussing. Helen's shudder measures on the Richter scale, but is unnoticed by her daughters.

"But ... Jalura ... (whimper) ... when she ... Sandi ...."

"I know. Jalura told me that she isn't sure if anything happened to Sandi. But remember that Sandi has lived here her whole life. Tiffany has only been here a couple of years, and we've only been here ... not even two months."

"But ... his own daughter?"

"Quinn, there are some truly evil people in the world. There are also people who define right and wrong very differently than we would. I don't claim to know which type Stacy's father is, but either way, he is sick. It might be the kind of sick that a just world would deem so dangerous as to need to be eradicated, or he might be sick in a way that can be treated. I just don't know which."

"But, b-b-b ... (sob)"

Daria knows that the big question is coming, and she hopes she has an answer for it that won't hurt Quinn.

Quinn finally speaks. "Is the Fashion Club responsible? Did we make Stacy be too attractive? Did we make him do this?"

Helen thinks to herself, "If Daria pulls this answer off well, there will be Daria's choice of a late-model used car in the driveway or a brand new computer on the desk for Daria's birthday next month, and to hell with the budget."

Daria struggles, and then finally speaks. The stoic mask is completely gone from her face as she tenderly strokes Quinn's hair, not that Quinn notices with her face still buried in Daria's shoulder. "No. This started before Stacy was in the Fashion Club. From what I can tell and from what Jalura said, Stacy loves being in the Fashion Club because it lets her pretend to be normal for a little while, whatever the hell normal is. But that feeling gives her the energy to survive one more night of abuse. It has kept her alive until someone could see what was happening and intervene. And, she does see you as her true friend. It will take a long time, but she will be okay if you remain that for her."

Helen thinks to herself. "That may just merit both the car and the computer. Well, Daria does still have to pass her driving test. Better have Maryanne start shopping for ... No, Damnit. I will do this myself."

Back in the room, Quinn is still crying. "Oh, Daria. Why didn't _I_ see it? Stacy really is my friend. Why didn't I see it?"

"Quinn. Stacy has had years of practice hiding it. You would have figured it out eventually. Jalura has ... some special skills and experience at reading people. She truly had the outsider's perspective on the situation. She was just a little faster than you at it, that's all."

Helen realizes that she has seriously underestimated her elder daughter's emotional maturity, and vows that she will pay much more attention to Daria in the future.

Quinn finally unburies herself from Daria's shoulder. "Daria, I ..."

"I know."

"No. Let me say this. I don't always treat you with the respect you deserve. Probably in a few weeks, I'll start ignoring you again. But, for once, I am going to tell you to your face that I am proud to have you for my sister."

"Ummm. Thanks, Quinn. Now, before Mom and Dad get home," Helen takes her cue, and wonders if it is a cue as she heads downstairs to make a more audible entrance, "you need to put your makeup back on and wear normal-for-you clothes. Being popular and attractive didn't make what happened happen. I can't believe I'm going to say this, but there is nothing wrong with being popular or attractive, so long as there's something more in your life. Right now, the most important thing you can be is Stacy's friend. Maybe after dinner, you ... we could talk to Mom about offering to let Stacy stay in our guest room for a while until things settle down for her."

"Daria, you'd be willing to put up with a near-constant Fashion Club meeting for Stacy?"

"No, I'd spend as much time as possible at Jane's. But Stacy's going to need you and I can put up with a lot in light of her situation."

Downstairs, Helen audibly 'comes home.'

Daria gets up, pauses at the door. Both, simultaneously, "We never had this conversation." Daria adds, "Except the part about talking to Mom after dinner. Now get some makeup on. You almost look like me without my glasses on, and that scares me."

Quinn smiles at her sister, and reaches for her mirror.

Daria closes the door behind her, softly, and mutters. "Damn conscience. Damn emotions. Damn that Jalura; she owes me big for this."

Location: the woods at the north edge of Lawndale

Trinsch is fighting a desperate battle against a fire angel. For those of you who haven't read Zelazny's second Chronicles of Amber, a fire angel is a rather large fire demon with wings and multiple hearts. A fearsome fighter, and a very programmable assassin, usually works in pairs.

Trinsch is employing a rather interesting combination of ice, silicon dust and fury against the demon and Trinsch appears to have doused the flame of its right wing and arm.

Jalura appears behind Trinsch, her hand appearing on his shoulder.

"Not bad, handling a trump 'port in mid-battle."

"I do my job."

"And you do it well. Now stand back."

Trinsch gladly steps aside. Even though he is Jalura's bodyguard, he knows that he is no match for her in blade, spell or trump combat.

Jalura begins to hum, something sounding vaguely Musogorsky-ish. The fire angel lunges from the left side, and is about to strike Jalura in the head when it suddenly disappears, leaving a trail of charred earth for the forty or so meters before it is destroyed.

"Rhapsody in Relative Inertia. I owe Lore one for that spell."

Trinsch is impressed with the rapid dispatch of the fire angel. "How does the spell work?"

"Basically, it places the subject at rest with regard to the universe. Unfortunately for the subject, the rest of the universe keeps on moving. Few beings can survive long against a planet-load of inertia, heat, friction, etc [pronounced by Jalura as 'et-k']."

"An impressive spell."

"And to think I got it from one of Brand's sons. You know, if it weren't for that, I'd probably trust him."

"And the fact that he's homosexual?"

"Remember, I have a touch of shape shifting ability. Gender becomes ... less relevant at that point."

"I see."