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virus—or insanity— which had killed her sense of taste and hence her appetite. In his world, everyone was always on a diet, whether they needed to be or not.
    Feeling suddenly exhausted, as she did all too often these days, Adora got to her feet. “Thanks for the tea. I’ll call if I decide to take the job, and you can get the contracts ready.”
    â€œThey are ready. Mr. Nicholas sent them. All you need to do is sign.” Ben was starting to sound peevish again. “Where is that stupid Luther? I ordered another bottle of wine hours ago.”
    â€œWell, then, I’ll leave you to it.” Adora began to back away, wanting to escape the sight of Ben’s bleary, hopeless eyes. A small touch of guilt pinched her heart and she heard herself saying: “I’ll talk to you soon.”
    Or not.
    Or not. Experience told her it might be weeks before Ben sobered up again—weeks she’d rather not witness. Ben on a prolonged drunk wasn’t something attractive. She could see a day coming when she’d have to find someone else to handle her work.
    But that was just whistling in the dark. She wouldn’t walk away from her agent, drunk or not, would she? He had, after all, been a friend of her father’s and her last link to her childhood, the last person who shared her childhood memories and could testify that her father had ever lived. And she needed that, because she had very few memories of her youth. Pretty much everything before five was one big blank space in her brain. It was almost like she had come into the world as a kindergartener.
    Stop worrying about it
, Joy said sharply.
It’s perfectly normal for people to not recall their childhoods.
    Is it?
    Of course.
    Nevertheless, Adora wouldn’t be firing Ben. Not today. However, she would spend a little while hiding out in L.A. while he sobered up, and she would decide what to do with her life.

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    And so it came to pass that, one year at the time of the Solstice, a fierce cold seized the land and the Sons of Man were near death and greatly afeared of the dark that seemed to have no end. But Niklas came upon them and said: “Be not afraid. You shall not die in the Night, but instead the Sons of Man shall live.” And he raised his flute to the sky and called down a bright fire. And the fire struck a sacred tree that burned with holy light for Twelve Days. And Death and cold were turned back from the Sons of Man, and the men rejoiced and blessed the shaman. But Niklas said: “Bless me not, for it is the Love of Gaia and not I that has saved you and brought you fire. If you wish to give thanks then worship thusly: Every year on the darkest of days you shall choose one sacred tree and hang offerings of thanks in its branches. And you shall set the tree alight and tend the fire for twelve days. Thus will the gift of your lives and thanks be returned to Gaia.”
    â€”
Niklas 3:1

    The Green Man dances, but not as lightly as before, because he is growing old just like the year. His hair is silvering, increasingly rough. His body hurts, too, and every step is an ordeal. This is his burden, though, so he does not complain about the aches in his bones. Besides, there is the music and there is Gaia waiting, her loving hands at work on the spindle that reels his life back in and calls him home.
    Around him people are crying, giving thanks for his offering. He appreciates this, but truly he does not dance for them. He does this for Gaia, for the love that, as a physical being, he has no better way of expressing.
    The moon rises in the cold sky, white as cream, sweet as honey. He lifts his eye to it and weeps with joy because it is time.

CHAPTER THREE
    The goblin Miffith hunched behind his computer and watched General Anaximander the way a cornered mouse would watch a cat offering cheese— except the cat would be far less scary. No sane person would take this job, unless they were in straits so dire