She sobered. Good point. What happens to your accessories when you change?

  “I have a magic pouch that sucks them in automatically.” He touched the belted bag he wore around his midsection.

  Then I will simply ride your shirt into the pouch and peek out through the fabric.

  “That will do,” he agreed. Then thought of something else. “You are speaking in italics, but in the dream you talked normally. Can you do that when I’m awake?”

  “I think so,” she said, surprised. “It’s just a matter of translation. But others won’t hear me, unless they are telepathic, as it remains mind talk.”

  “That’s fine.”

  In due course they met the Good Magician, who looked mainly like an ancient gnome dwarfed by his huge Book of Answers. “Who and where is my ideal woman?” Nolan asked.

  “She is Apoca of the Lips tribe, currently residing in the Queendom of Thanx. You will find her there.” The owl eyes blinked. “Your Service is to ameliorate the Curse of Talents. You will need Apoca’s and Nimbus’s help.”

  “The what? With whom?”

  But the Good Magician was already back in his book. Nolan had been dismissed. He remembered that obscurity was one of the gnome’s defining traits.

  “Maybe Apoca will know,” Wira suggested. “She is a pretty savvy woman.”

  “I don’t even know what she looks like!”

  She brought him before a magic mirror. “Apoca,” she said, and a woman appeared there. She was extremely shapely, with outsized lips. Weirdly, what looked like a nickelpede perched on her shoulder. But what he mainly noticed was her hair, which was plaid, matching his own. Well, now!

  “I like her already,” he said. “The Good Magician must have known about the hair.”

  “Of course,” Wira agreed.

  They returned to the living room and MareAnn. “My ideal woman is called Apoca,” Nolan said.

  “She has been here on occasion. She is a formidable female.”

  “But she seems to have a—a nickelpede on her shoulder.”

  “Oh, that’s Nimbus. She’s a companion, much like Aurora with you. She is another rare individual with contact telepathy.”

  Oh. That did make sense. Then he got an idea. “If Apoca and I are to work together to handle this Curse of Talents, she may be in danger. I want to protect her.”

  “She’s safe enough in Thanx. They are militant feminists.”

  “Still, I want to be sure. It seems that protagonists are protected. Could I send the baton over to her? Make her the main character, with its benefits?”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s some notion! But yes, you can do it. You understand, you will lose the magic safety of protagonism yourself.”

  He touched the hilt of his sword. “I can handle my own defense.”

  She smiled. “Why not?”

  Nolan looked at the baton. “Baton of Protagonism, go keep Apoca Lips company. Make yourself apparent to her, so she knows what it’s about.”

  “Good idea,” MareAnn agreed.

  The baton didn’t argue or balk. It had been commanded. It spread its wings and flew away.

  The scene faded, as there was no longer a protagonist to animate it.

  Chapter 2

  Apoca

  Apoca paused, her hair turning yellow for mystery. Actually, it was translucent, reflecting her thoughts, which lit up her skull beneath it, but she could control it when she had to. “What is that?”

  Her friend Nimbus looked. “A bat-winged baton hovering in front of us.”

  “That’s what I thought I saw. But does it make any sense at all?”

  “Maybe it’s a toy, like those wind-up flyers Mundane children have.”

  “Let’s find out.” Apoca stepped forward and grabbed the center of the rod, her hair turning a neutral gray. She had a certain feel for danger, based on hard experience, and this apparition seemed harmless.

  Her hand passed through it without resistance.

  “It’s an illusion!” Nimbus said, surprised. “It looked real.”

  Now the baton flew forward and tapped Apoca lightly on the shoulder. Then it retreated, hovering before them again.

  “Something odd here,” Apoca said, the yellow returning.

  “Extremely odd,” Nimbus agreed.

  “Well, we seem to have no use for it,” Apoca said. “So let’s move on.” She took a step forward, carrying Nimbus Nickelpede on her shoulder.

  The flying baton moved with them, hovering just beyond arm’s reach.

  “It seems to want our company,” Nimbus said. She didn’t actually speak; her proximity enabled contact telepathy so that the two could talk comfortably with each other. It seemed like ordinary dialogue.

  Apoca knew that nickelpedes were regarded generally as a scourge, because when they attacked living flesh they gouged out nickel-sized chunks. But Nimbus was her friend; any gouging she did would be of something else, in defense of Apoca. She was actually a nice person, once befriended.

  Apoca laughed. “I could use the company of a good man, not a bulbous flying rod, suggestive as that may be if you have a dirty mind.” Her hair was turning green for positive, with a bit of humor.

  “My mind is filthy,” Nimbus said. “I could use a rugged male ’pede similarly.”

  “But we’ve both been busy organizing our folks’ places in the wonderful Queendom of Thanx,” Apoca said, continuing a dialogue they had had before. Girl talk never got old. “But who is worthy of us?”

  “Nobody, almost by definition.”

  “Almost.” They laughed together, not completely amused.

  “Which is a problem in a matriarchal community,” Nimbus agreed after half a moment. “Thanx is really Xanth spelled backward, and it’s fine that it reverses the archaic male dominance of other medieval kingdoms, but it does tend to repel the he-man males.”

  “Which leaves some of us who aren’t turned on by effeminate males dry and high,” Apoca said. “In addition, since I am a queen in my own right, I really should seek a king or prince. That further rarefies my prospects.”

  “Most of the good human and ’pede princes do seem to be taken. We’re not getting any younger.”

  The baton angled forward, almost as if nodding. They both looked at it, startled. “It’s almost as if it understands us,” Nimbus said.

  Apoca was direct, as usual. “Ghostly Flying Baton, do you understand our dialogue?”

  The baton nodded again.

  “This is interesting,” Nimbus said.

  “Indeed.” Apoca focused. “Are you here for a reason?”

  Another nod.

  “Is it something to do with us?”

  Nod.

  “Is it important?”

  Emphatic nod.

  Apoca and Nimbus shared a mental glance, because a physical one was impractical. “We’d better get help,” Nimbus said. “Privately, in case this is someone’s magic joke on us.”

  “Vinia?”

  “That’s my thought.”

  There was a stirring ahead. Someone was coming toward them.

  “Vinia, of course,” Apoca said. Her hair was green for welcome; she liked the girl.

  “It’s not coincidence, with her,” the nickelpede said. “She follows her paths.”

  “True. Her paths are like my hair, in a manner. The colors may even match.”

  Nimbus nodded her tail. “Green for positive, blue for negative, yellow for doubt or mystery, yellow-green for humor, gray for neutral, and black for doom.”

  “You are really sharp on that,” Apoca said, surprised.

  “I have made a study.”

  “Hello, Apoca! Hi, Nimbus!” the girl called as she came in range. “Do you need me?”

  “I think we do,” Apoca said. “Did the paths lead you here?” She knew they had.

  “Yes. There’s a really green patch right in front of you.”

  That was because Vinia’s hidden talent was to see colored paths to the future, as they had been discussing. Green was the best color. It had originally led her to Apoca a year ago, and they had done each other considerable good and now were fast friends. Vinia was still technically a child, thirteen, but verging on the allure of early maidenhood. She had dull brown hair, brown eyes, and an open talent of telekinesis. She was betrothed to Prince Ion, a year younger than she, but a full Magician in his own right. So she would be a princess in due course, though she never acted like one. Everybody liked her; she had many friends, human and non-human.

  “There’s an illusory winged baton in that spot,” Apoca said. “Here, take my hand so you can see it.” She extended one hand. Physical contact enabled mental contact.

  Vinia took it. “Oh my,” she gasped as she shared Apoca’s vision. “I have no idea what it is, but I know it’s important because of the intensity of the green. Do you have any idea what it means?”

  “We hoped you would be able to see a path to the answer,” Apoca answered.

  Vinia nodded. “There is a new path.”

  They followed the new path, though only Vinia could see it. It led into the heart of Thanx, and to the door of Queen Demesne Demoness, who ruled the queendom. Apoca and Vinia were fast friends with her, as was Nimbus.

  But it was her husband, Queen Consort Demon Grossclout, who answered. He was a fearsome figure with short, gnarled horns; a swishing, tufted tail; and a built-in glower. “Mesne is busy today. Will I do?” He had for centuries been the terror of the Demon University of Magic, his talent being Intimidation. But Demesne had pretty well tamed him, and he regarded Vinia somewhat like a daughter and Apoca as a former lover, unsurprisingly.

  “You’ll do,” Vinia said. “You’re solid green.”

  He knew exactly what she meant. “Thank you, Vin.” Then he looked directly at Apoca. “Well, Lips Queen! So you’re now the protagonist.”

  “I’m the what?” Apoca asked, taken aback.

  “The protagonist. The main character of the current scene. Vin was it last year, for a whole novel, and now it seems you’re it. You will surely have an interesting story to tell, in due course. You even have the protagonist baton with you.”

  Apoca looked at the winged baton. “You can see it?”

  “Of course I can see it, Hot Lips. Magic is my domain. The baton conveys protagonism to whomever it selects.” He squinted. “But there is an asterisk. It seems to be only on loan to you, sent by the real protagonist. I haven’t seen that restriction before.”

  “I’m a fake protagonist?”

  He smiled, his awesome fangs flashing momentarily. “Not fake, merely temporary, until it returns to the original protagonist.”

  “And whom might that be?” Vinia asked brightly.

  The demon focused. “That would be, let me see, Prince Nolan Naga, who has the talent of seeing imaginary things that wield real power. That gives him power over it, and he sent it to you, Poca. He must have told it to make itself visible to you.”

  “A naga prince!” Vinia exclaimed. “A human-serpent crossbreed.”

  Grossclout focused again, delving into his memories of all things magical. “Not exactly. He’s not a pure crossbreed, oxymoronic as that term may seem. He also has piscene ancestry. An unusual combination.”

  “But why?” Apoca asked, bewildered. The explanation for the baton was as perplexing as its presence.

  “Why else? He wants you to have the temporary protection of protagonism.” The demon had never had much patience with limited words, and mauled them into the necessary applications. Apoca quietly admired that.

  “And why does he want me to have that? We have never met.”

  The demon focused once more. “Nolan is coming here to court you, Poca.”

  She was astonished. “To court me! Whatever for?”

  “That means he wants to marry you,” Vinia explained helpfully. “So he can do Adult Conspiracy things with you. He must think you’re sexy.”

  Apoca shrugged that off so violently that the concept bounced off the wall and almost collided with a passing bird. The bird looked startled but intrigued, probably having not encountered that before outside of mating season. “I mean, why does he want to marry a woman he has never even met? One who could kiss him into love slavery?”

  The demon chuckled. “He must like your look. Men are notorious fools about the appearance of women. I happen to know. Mesne wraps me around her little finger, or whatever.” He pronounced the name “Meen” despite the spelling.

  She was not much amused. “This is ludicrous!”

  Grossclout added yet another focus. “There is a caution. The prince incurred a debt to the Good Magician, payment for the Answer to his Question about his ideal woman. He must ameliorate the Curse of Talents. If you associate with him, that may become your mission too.”

  “A curse?”

  “I am not clear on that myself. It must be quite recent magic. But perhaps Vin can help you locate it.”

  “Maybe I can,” the girl said. “There’s a path.” She started following it. Now that she could clearly see the paths, she was eager to follow them before they faded.

  Apoca’s head seemed to be spinning. “Thank you,” she told the demon, and hurried after Vinia. What a day this had suddenly become!

  This path led to the residential section of the newly forming Thanx community. A number of the assertive immigrant women had married obliging men and made comfortable homesteads. They were by no means anti-male; they just liked to be in control. Apoca knew exactly how that was.

  They arrived at a nondescript door. Apoca knocked. In two-thirds of a moment it was opened by a muddy woman. Her hair and clothing were a rich and drippy brown. “Can it wait?” she asked. “I’m about to take a bath.”

  “I think it needs to be now,” Vinia said. “She’s drenched in green.”

  “I’m drenched in mud,” the woman retorted. “Junior somehow got into a pile of it. I’ve got to get us both in the tub to soak it off before it cakes.”

  “This seems inauspicious,” Apoca said. “Maybe tomorrow?”

  “No. Right now,” the girl insisted. “Before the green fades.”

  “What are you talking about?” The woman’s temper was understandably strained, if not mud-soiled.

  Apoca quickly explained. “I am Queen Apoca of the Lips tribe. I received a, er, warning about a Curse of Talents, but I don’t know what that is. This is Vinia, who can see special paths leading her to the right places. Her path led her here. So we think the answer may be here.”

  “The Lips women. I’ve seen your section, and of course you’ve got the mouth. You’re the ones who can kiss a man into oblivion.”

  “That’s us,” Apoca agreed. It was true that her lips were outsized compared to those of routine women. They were infused with the potent magic of her kind.

  “So the neighboring men don’t bother us anymore. The bad ones get kissed.”

  “Now they behave better, yes.”

  The woman considered half a moment. “Come in, look around. If you see your answer, let me know. Meanwhile Junior and I will wash.”

  “Fair enough. Thank you.”

  They entered. There was a baby boy reveling in mud. More was appearing in his hands.

  “He can conjure mud!” Vinia exclaimed. “That’s his talent!”

  “And it’s a curse,” the woman said as she picked him up and stepped into a filled tub, clothing and all. She was being practical.

  “Solid green.”

  Apoca was not satisfied. “A talent is a talent. Some are messier than others, but that’s not exactly a curse.”

  “That depends on your sense of cleanliness,” the woman retorted as she scrubbed at her child and her soiled clothing. The tub water was turning thick black, coming to resemble soup on the way to pudding.

  “Yet it must relate,” Vinia said. “Or the path would not have led us here.”

  “I wish your talent could talk,” Apoca muttered. “Maybe it could explain.”

  “There’s a new path.” Vinia started to follow it.

  “Thank you for your cooperation!” Apoca called to the woman as she followed.

  “You’re welcome,” the woman called back wryly. “Do visit again if you’re ever short of mud.”

  The new path led to another home in the same section. Apoca knocked on the indicated door.

  Another mother answered, holding a baby girl who was in turn holding a wedge of apple pie. “Yes?”

  They explained as efficiently as was feasible.

  The woman shrugged. “My daughter’s talent manifested a few days ago. It’s no curse. She conjures apple pies. They are delicious.”

  “The green is strong,” Vinia said as she looked at the baby.

  But they were unable to figure out how this could be a curse. They thanked the mother and went on after enjoying slices of newly made apple pie. No curse at all! Which left the mystery intact.

  The third path led them to another baby. This one had somehow gotten into a pile of manure. The smell was awful, and his mother was distraught. “He’s been such a good little boy, until today,” she exclaimed. “Now somehow he’s reveling in sh*t!”

  Apoca was intrigued by the way she pronounced the word, but that was beside the point. She did have a problem.

  “This does smell like a curse,” Vinia remarked, wrinkling her nose.

  Even the baton seemed to be distressed; it shuddered in place, as if trying to hold its breath.

  “Ha. Ha. Ha,” Apoca said, distinctly unamused. “But then why did your paths lead us to the other two babies? All they have in common is conjuring.”

  The light of an idea flashed over the girl’s head. “They all conjure pies! Mud pies, fruit pies, cow pies! It’s the same talent!”

  Apoca saw it, amazed. “The same talent. That’s not supposed to happen.”