George gazed elatedly down his long length for a moment, then laughed and sat up. Of course! Now everything was just as it should be. He didn't know how he had come to be clothed, and he had no idea that he was wearing an exact duplicate of the suit Marc was wearing, but he considered himself to be a rather natty specimen. All in all, George couldn't have been more pleased. He got to his feet, saluted his new existence with a rather expertly executed jig step, and looked about.... After a casual search of the basement, just to make sure that the corpse of Marc Pillsworth was no longer kicking around anywhere, George directed his attention to the wine bins. If he noticed the floating debris on the ceiling he didn't know that it constituted a condition that was in any way unnatural. He selected a bottle from one of the shelves, opened it, and took a swallow. Immediately, he was overcome with a feeling of enormous disappointment; this couldn't possibly be that whiskey stuff that mortals seemed to miss so much in the upper world. Whiskey, according to report, could cause a poor man to be rich, a peasant to be king. Certainly this drab liquid was far too pallid for that kind of magic. George replaced the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He glanced around at the stairs across from the bins and went over to investigate. He stopped at the foot of the steps and listened. Distantly, there were voices above--and, therefore, mortals. George decided that now was as good as any other time to plunge into things; perhaps he could pick up a few pointers. He started up the steps, then stopped thoughtfully. Perhaps it would be better not to burst in upon these mortals in a state of complete materialization; it might just a bit too much for them. Maybe it would be better to break the news of his arrival gradually, let them just suspect for awhile and give himself time to grow on them. That was the ticket; he was sure that even the High Council couldn't find anything wrong with that idea. George held one foot out before him and dissolved it. Then taking the next step, he repeated the process with the other foot. Causing himself to disappear a bit at a time he rose slowly toward the world of the mortals.... * * * * * "There's no use hiding in your handkerchief," May Springer said. "The sooner you talk to your lawyer, the sooner you'll stop crying." Julie looked up uncertainly. "Maybe you're right," she said. "But I don't know. Oh, I don't know anything!" "What you need," Jewel said emphatically, "is a drink to give you courage. We all do." She turned to May. "Run out to the bar, pet, and bring us a bottle. This damned tea isn't doing any of us any good." May, accustomed to acting on Jewel's command, followed instructions. She left the room in the direction of the study and in a moment was back with a bottle and three glasses.