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“But most warm-blooded carbon-based species just really like the taste,” Carmela said. “Every time a new species finds out about chocolate, they send someone here to get cocoa plants so they can take them home and genetically tailor them to their physiologies.” Carmela smiled a bright and infuriating smile. “See, I don’t ‘waste’ all my time in alien chat areas. I’ve been doing educational things. Like telling my chat buddies which brands of chocolate are best.”

Kit was left with the image of some intergalactic SWAT team turning up on his doorstep and arresting his sister for being a cocoa pusher. “Why do I get the feeling that you are totally out of control?”

Your control,” said Carmela, and wandered off, smiling angelically. “You’re just now noticing?”

Kit clutched his head as Nita stifled a laugh. “It’s not funny,” Kit muttered. “And here I was just hoping we might survive the next month or so! Now I have to worry about my sister getting our whole planet put on probation for corrupting underage species or something.”

The doorbell rang.

Aha, Kit thought, and braced himself.

Nita’s amusement at the way Carmela was putting Kit through the wringer was diverted by a weird feeling she couldn’t quite analyze. It was like feeling the sun on sunburned skin; and it felt directional, so that she could get a sense, in her mind anyway, of where it was coming from. She turned to look toward the front door. Now what the—

“Probably just another of the thundering herd,” Carmela said, frowning, and heading that way herself.

“Don’t let any of your would-be boyfriends in here!” Kit said.

“Are you kidding?” Carmela said. “There’s a lot cooler stuff happening in here than mere guys.”She vanished around the corner into the living room.

“Someone’s being unusually cooperative today,” Kit said under his breath. “I bet I know why.”

Nita looked at him. Oh no, she said silently. She doesn’t think that just because she knows about what’s going on, that she might get to go along with—

If she gets that idea, Kit said, believe me, I’ll get her past it. Way past it. We have more than enough problems.

Nita heard Carmela open the front door. The silence that followed was entirely uncharacteristic, so much so that Nita looked in that direction, still wondering at that uneasy “sunburn” sensation.

A voice at the front door said, “Uh, is Kit here?”

Nita’s eyes went wide.

Oh… my… God, she thought.

“Or Nita?” the voice said.

“Uh, yeah,” Carmela said, after another of those unusually long pauses. “Yeah. Can I tell her who’s asking for her?”

Nita stood there for several seconds more getting used to what was happening, and then got up and headed for the Rodriguezes’ front door.

Carmela stood there looking up at a tall dark figure dressed in black jeans, black shirt, a black leather jacket over it all, and with that shaggy longish dark hair hanging down over one eye, in just the way Nita remembered.

“Ronan,” Nita said.

Ronan Nolan Junior glanced over Carmela’s head at Nita, and actually smiled, though as usual for him it was a rather grim and edgy smile. “Hey,” he said, “dai stihó.

Dai, cousin.” Nita thought for a moment, and then said, “Or is it ‘cousins‘?”

He rolled his eyes. “Some days,” he said, “your guess’d be as good as mine.” He looked from her to Carmela. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Carmela said, sounding rather stunned.

Ronan stepped in and glanced around the living room. “Listen,” he said, “normally I wouldn’t just show up without warning—”

“Is anything normal at the moment?” Nita said.

“Now you’d be asking.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Nita said. “Believe it or not, it’s kind of good to see you.”

“Kind of?”

She smiled slightly. Ronan smiled a little, too, then looked down at his feet. Nita followed his glance. To her surprise, Spot was standing in front of Ronan, staring up at him with multiple stalked eyes.

“Three matters unknown but soon to be:

The way of the Gods with the created,

The way of the created with the Gods,

The way between them across the bridge of Being.”

Ronan blinked as Spot walked away again, toward the TV and the DVD and DVR, where he sat down on the rug and both legs and eyes vanished.

“You remember Spot,” Nita said.

Ronan raised his eyebrows. “Had an upgrade, from the looks of him,” he said.

“Yeah. Well, he’s started doing poetry. Haiku, sort of.”

Ronan shook his head. “Triads,” he said. “In Ireland we used to get a lot of prophecies that way: everything in threes.”

Nita shrugged. “His basic logic’s trinary, Dairine says. But at least it beats him sitting in the corner going ‘uh-oh’ all day.”

Ronan snorted. “Been hearing a fair amount of that myself,” he said. “That’s why I’m here. You’ve been in touch with your Advisories about the trouble that’s coming—”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Did they seem a little less helpful than usual?”

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