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barking nearby, big deep, scary barks. The car alarms were still going, and Vivian thought she heard another one flare up.
    “Eleven’s too late,” Clotho said. “We’ll have to explain.”
    “All right.” Lachesis took a deep breath, and the others followed suit. They leaned toward Vivian in one swift movement.
    Another bang sounded below, and all three women jumped.
    “There are mortals, and then there are the magical,” Atropos said, looking toward the door.
    “You are one of the magical,” Clotho said.
    “Yeah, right,” Vivian said.
    “No, really,” Lachesis said. Then she frowned. “That is the correct modern response, isn’t it?”
    “What?” Vivian asked.
    “Never mind,” Atropos said. “We’ll update our slang later.”
    “If there is a later,” Clotho said, and she too looked toward the door.
    Vivian heard more banging, and then the sound of firecrackers.
    “Oh, no,” Lachesis said.
    “He’s found us,” Atropos said.
    “Quick,” Clotho said. “We must wrap this place in tinfoil.”
    “What?” Vivian said.
    “Tinfoil,” Lachesis said. “Have you got tinfoil?”
    Somehow that question seemed logical—at least coming from these women.
    “I have some,” Vivian said, “but not enough to wrap the apartment in, and besides, that would take all day.”
    The banging stopped, but the sound of firecrackers continued. It faded and blended into the sound of sparklers. Then smoke came in under Vivian’s door.
    “Oh, no,” Atropos said.
    The smoke filtered across the floor in tendrils, white and thick. The movement was orderly, and the smoke was odorless.
    Vivian got up and ran for the phone. She had to call the fire department.
    The three women climbed on their chairs.
    “Your conventional friends can’t help, Vivian,” Clotho said.
    “We need you to do something,” Lachesis said.
    Vivian picked up the phone. “I can’t stop fire.”
    “There is no fire.” Atropos peered at the floor. The tendrils of smoke were feeling their way over the couch, around the end tables. Once, it seemed like the tendrils stopped and sniffed the air.
    “You must imagine this building encased in glass,” Clotho said, her voice breathless.
    Vivian started to dial 911.
    “You must, Vivian,” Lachesis said. “That’s the only way to help us.”
    “Imagine it and project it outward, as if you were pushing the image out of you,” Atropos said.
    “Look,” Vivian said, still clutching the phone. She hadn’t quite finished dialing. “If you guys believe in magic, you do it.”
    “This isn’t magic, per se,” Clotho said. “It’s a psychic’s trick. But you have to do it.”
    Her voice went up as the tendrils got closer. Vivian’s floor was lost in a sea of white. Throughout the sea, white telescope like things poked out of the smoke and sniffed. Fingers felt the surfaces. This didn’t look like any smoke Vivian had ever seen before.
    “Please, Vivian,” Lachesis said as she moved her feet away from a poking smoke finger. “Just try it.”
    “If it doesn’t work, then dial your friends,” Atropos said.
    The other three glared at her as if she had just given bad advice.
    The smoke curled around Vivian’s legs. It was cool, not hot, and she thought she felt tiny pinpricks against her skin.
    “Imagine a glass case?” she asked.
    “Around the entire building,” Clotho said.
    “Then push it away from you,” Atropos added.
    Vivian closed her eyes. It took her a moment to envision the building—she’d never really looked at all of it, just the interior—and then she imagined slamming a glass box over it. She pushed the image away from her mind, and actually felt something leave her with the force of a sneeze.
    She staggered, caught herself on the telephone table, then opened her eyes.
    The smoke was gone.
    “You did it!” Clotho shouted.
    “I wasn’t sure it would be possible,” Lachesis said, sinking down into her chair.
    “We’re saved,” Atropos said, reaching for a