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up, and they wish out loud for things, and then their shit shows up, too?”
    â€œâ€¦yes. If I understand you correctly.”
    â€œDo not count on it,” Damon chortled.
    â€œJeez, why didn’t any of you say something? So I could—I could wish myself home, if I wanted?”
    Damon looked distinctly alarmed, and now Maltese was the one fighting a smile. “Peace, my good brother—as to your question, fair Lois, yes, you could wish yourself home. But not for much longer. The ability only lasts for a few sunsets. Then you will remain with us until the end of your days.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œThere was no need to tell her that,” Damon said sulkily.
    â€œShame, my good prince. To keep things from a lady so as to not have an interruption to your pleasures.”
    Damon flushed, but she was barely paying attention. Things were getting—she could hardly believe it was possible—weirder and weirder. There must be a portal or something, a doorway between her world and theirs, and when someone from Earth was near death, they could get through it. Or something. Shit, what did she know? She’d never read so much as a single sci-fi book in her life. True crime was more her literary bag. “Well, that’s—interesting. I guess.”
    â€œYou will not,” Damon said firmly. “You will not wish yourself away.”
    â€œAnd if I do?” she teased.
    â€œThen I will gag you until your ability has flown.”
    â€œCareful,” she warned, though she felt a tingle at his silly-ass possessiveness. “My footlocker’s here now, with all my guns. Mind I don’t shoot off your kneecap.”
    â€œThat does sound unpleasant,” he admitted. “I do not wish you to do that.”
    â€œHas anyone ever gone back?”
    â€œNo. Never. I would be…displeased…should you be the first.”
    â€œHmm.” She lapsed into silence. So no one had gone back—they’d killed themselves or died while desperately unhappy and woken up in a land of shapeshifters and uncommon courtesy, a land where the weather was sunny and seventy-five degrees, where the royal family was worshipped but the commoners had it pretty good, too. Where strangers were welcomed and wooed. No fucking wonder no one had gone back.
    The question was, would she be the first?
    And why was she even considering it?
    Â 
    She really did have the best seat in the house. It was right next to the king’s chair, which was conspicuously empty. Servants practically fought for the privilege of bringing her treats, and before the Bridefight had even started, Lois was stuffed.
    Still, she kept eating. She picked another squashy, milk-chocolate-colored sweetmeat out of the brimming bowl Zeka was holding for her. “What are these things?”
    â€œKumkoss, my lady.”
    â€œWell, they taste like the hybrid of a Tootsie Roll and a marshmallow. Yum! Say, it’s kind of making me nervous, the way you hover over me all the time. Why’n’t you sit down, take a load off?”
    Zeka looked alarmed. “I could not, my lady.”
    â€œIt’s Lois, and sure you can. Just have a seat.”
    â€œYou are kind, but I must not. Look! They begin.”
    Still chomping, Lois looked. The place really was like something out of Gladiator …the arena was all hard-packed sand and blinding white, almost too white to look at. The tanned fighters stood out dramatically against it. They were, naturally, naked and, interestingly, not a few of them were aroused. Thinking about picking their future brides, maybe? She couldn’t help but notice there wasn’t a teeny weenie in the bunch. Lois finally quit trying to avert her eyes—there were about twenty naked guys running around the arena floor, too many to avoid looking at—and settled back to enjoy the show.
    Still, irritating thoughts kept intruding. Like, If I killed myself here, would I wake up back