The little man and I regard each other. Then he sticks out a little brown hand, and we shake like we’re meeting at an art show opening or something.

“Pleased to meet you,” he says.

I nod, but before I can say anything, Lizzie’s talking again.

“So then, where exactly are we? Timony told me to concentrate on somewhere safe, so naturally I thought of you because you know all about this kind of thing, right?”

“Not really.”

“Just tell me there isn’t some pack of bogans waiting around the corner.”

“None that I know of, but—”

“I thought we’d end up back at the hotel, but obviously that didn’t work out.” Then she gets a worried look. “What did you mean it’s sort of the otherworld?”

“It’s complicated,” I tell her. “I think we’re in a world that’s inside my head.”

She just looks at me.

“I know. I can’t really explain it myself.”

“I can,” Timony says. “We’re not exactly in your head. We’re in your croi baile—your heart home.”

“My what?”

“Croibaile,” he repeats. “Everyone has a place like this in the otherworld, but most people only visit it when they’re sleeping or dreaming. It’s a place personal to just you.”

“Like some kind of pocket world?” I ask.

Joe’s told me about them, but all I can remember is the term ‘pocket world,’ none of the details. It’s like the place that Geordie’s sister Christiana has in the between, though I guess she’s not really his sister. Or at least she wasn’t born his sister.

I shake my head and concentrate on what Timony’s saying.

“. . . a term as any. They’re often set up so that only you can visit them. Anyone else needs a specific invitation.”

“But I didn’t invite . . .” I start to say.

But then I realize I did invite them. Not them in particular, perhaps, but I was desperately wanting someone to be here with me.

“So, can we go back home now?” Lizzie asks.

“I don’t know the way,” I tell her.

We both look at the doonie, but he shakes his head.

“This world is closed inside and out,” he says. “Nobody can get in or out without permission.”

“Well, I give you permission,” I say.

That gets us another shake of his head. “It seems more complicated than that.”

“Are you saying, we’re stuck here?” Lizzie asks.

“So it would seem.”

“Well, at least there aren’t any bogans.” She looks to me. “You said there weren’t any, right?”

“I think there’s something worse,” I tell her.

They both look at me, waiting for me to explain.

“It’s a complicated story,” I say. “And not a very happy one.”

“We don’t have anywhere else to go,” Lizzie says.