She looked like a lemon that had been turned into an evil sorceress; Norbert surprised himself when he chuckled out loud before she said a word. By the way her eyes narrowed into green laser points, Norbert figured that wasn’t the smartest thing he’d done in a while.

“Something funny, mailman?” she asked, her voice soft and seductive, yet somehow filled with a subtle hint of warning. Unlike Master George, she had no accent Norbert recognized—she could’ve been from any city in Alaska. Well, except for the fact that she looked like a walking banana.

After a long moment with no response, she continued, “You’ll find that Mistress Jane doesn’t react kindly to those who mock her.”

“Um,” Norbert stuttered. “Uh, who . . . who is Mistress Jane?” As soon as he said it, he knew he must sound like an idiot.

“Me, you blubbering fool. Are you daft?”

“No, ma’am, I can hear just fine.”

“Not deaf, you moronic stack of soiled snow, daft—daft. Oh, never mind.” She took a step closer, placing her gloved hands on the counter right in front of Norbert. Her eyes seemed to have tracking beams focused on his own, pulling his gaze into a trance. “Now listen to me, mailman, and listen to me well. Understand?”

Norbert tried to utter agreement, but managed only a small squeak. He nodded instead.

“Good.” She straightened and folded her arms. “I’m looking for a little stuff-bucket of a man—red-faced, ugly, more annoying than a ravenous mouse in a cheese factory. I know he came here just minutes ago, but I don’t know if I’m in the correct Reality. Have you seen him?”

Norbert called upon every ounce of willpower in his feeble little body to hold his face still, hiding all expression. He forced his eyes to focus on the Lemon Lady’s bald head and to not let them wander to the box of letters on the shelf at his feet. He didn’t have a single clue what was going on with these two strangers, but every instinct told him Master George equaled good, Mistress Jane equaled bald—he blinked—uh, bad.

What does she mean about being in the correct reality, anyway? Norbert marveled that two such interesting people could enter his tiny post office within a half hour of each other.

“Polar bear got your tongue—?” Mistress Jane asked with a sneer, glancing down at his name badge. “Norbie? Anybody in there?”

Norbert ignored his racing heart and simply said, “No.”

“No what?” the yellow woman snapped. “No, you’re not in there, or no, the man I’m looking for didn’t come here?”

“Ma’am, you’re my first customer of the day, and no, I’ve a-never seen any such person as you described in my life.”

Mistress Jane frowned, held a finger up to her chin. “Do you know what Mistress Jane does with liars, Norbie?”