“You do?” The telepath seemed to have recovered, and was struggling to her feet. “You hijacked my brain!”

“Yes, well, not intentionally.”

“And dragged me into Faerie, of all places!”

“I didn’t drag you, and my God. They say I’m a whiner!”

I got back to my feet, too. Half of my dress stayed behind, sagging from a badly torn waistband. And that was just great. What was I supposed to do now? Flash all of Faerie?

Wouldn’t be the first time, I thought, and then told myself to shut up.

“I am not a whiner,” the telepath said stiffly. She had the gall to look offended.

“Okay, prove it.”

Now she looked confused. “How?”

“Three things: do you have a name?”

“I—of course, I have a name!”

“Can I have it?”

She suddenly looked afraid. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to keep calling you ‘the telepath’? I thought I already said that.”

She swallowed. “You—you’re not going to… do… anything with it?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know!” She threw out her arms. “I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t trust you!”

“Her name is Guinevere Lacey,” Rhea reminded me quietly. Because I guessed someone had been paying attention to Agnes’ introduction.

I looked at the telepath. “Guinevere? Seriously?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, it’s just… kind of medieval. I guess you go by Guinn?”

“No!” And then her eyes started darting around. “It’s not my real name,” she added, loudly. “It’s made up!”

“I don’t care,” I told her. “Number two, can you fix my dress?”

Her eyes came back to mine, and indignation was now mixed with the fear and confusion. “I’m not a seamstress!”

I thought about banging my head against a tree.

I thought hard.

Rhea put a hand on my arm. “I have a pin.”

She held out a bobby pin, probably from her hair.

“Thanks, but I don’t think that’s going to work,” I said, right before a hand grasped my arm and started shaking me.

It did not belong to Rhea.

“Why are you worried about a dress?” Guinn whispered. “We’re in Faerie.”

“Now she whispers,” I said to Rhea.

The shaking intensified.

“Stop that!” I shook off her grip. “And no, you’re not in Faerie. None of us is in Faerie. We’re in front of the fireplace at Gertie’s and perfectly safe. We just took a little mental detour, that’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes, that’s all. Now, can you put me in jeans or not? I don’t know how long we’re going to have to thrash our way through this jungle, and this dress isn’t working.”

“Put yourself in them. What am I, your servant?”

I glared at her. “Fine. You know what? Just go back. I’ll deal with this myself.”

“Fine!”

She stood there. I waited. She crossed her arms.