Jim got to his feet as the lads and the wolfhound headed for a table set with silver and china, and without a lot of options, he followed them over to “tea.”

“Won’t you have a seat?” Nigel said, indicating the vacant chair.

“I’ll stand, thanks. What am I doing here?”

“Tea?”

“No. Who are—”

“I am Nigel. This rather acerbic fool”—the blond nodded at the dark-haired guy—“is Colin. Byron is our resident optimist and Albert is the dog lover.”

“I go by Bertie to friends,” Mr. Canine said as he stroked the wolfhound’s ruff. “So, please, by all means. And this is the darling Tarquin.”

Byron pushed his rose-colored roundies higher on his straight nose and clapped. “I just know this tea is going to be fabulous.”

Sure it was. Absolutely.

It’s finally happened, Jim thought. I’ve finally lost my damn mind.

Nigel picked up a silver pot and started pouring into porcelain cups. “I can imagine you are a bit surprised to be here, Jim.”

Ya think? “How do you know my name, and what is this place?”

“You’ve been chosen for an important mission.” Nigel put down the pot and hit the sugar cubes.

“A mission?”

“Yes.” Nigel lifted his tea with his pinkie extended, and as he looked over the rim, it was hard to pin down his eye color. It was neither blue nor gray nor green…but it wasn’t brown or hazel either.

Good God, it was a color Jim had never seen before. And all of them had it.

“Jim Heron, you are going to save the world.”

There was a long pause. During which the four lads looked at him with straight faces.

When no one else started laughing, Jim picked up the slack, throwing back his head and belly-rolling it so hard, tears spiked into his eyes.

“This is not a joke,” Nigel snapped.

When Jim caught his breath, he said, “It sure the hell is. Man, what a fucked-up dream this is.”

Nigel put his cup down, got to his feet, and walked over the bright green grass. Up close, he smelled like fresh air, and those weird eyes of his were positively hypnotic.

“This. Is. Not. A. Dream.”

The bastard punched Jim in the arm. Just balled up his smooth hand into a fist and fired the thing hard.

“Fuck!” Jim rubbed the sting—which was considerable. Pipe Guy might have been built lean and long, but he packed a punch all right.

“Permit me to repeat myself. You are not dreaming and this is not a joke.”

“Can I hit him next?” Colin said with a lazy grin.