knocked, and it was too early for them to want her in front of the cameras. Something's hit the fan, she told herself wisely, and opened the door in a rattle and creak of leather armor.
When she registered what was waiting for her, her mind went blank. She stared.
There were three androgynous entities standing in the doorway. The tallest of them didn't even come up to the top of her shoulder. They looked kind of like Classic Trek aliens—the weird, meddling, superpowerful kind—or maybe like really, really tall Munchkins. They were all wearing stiff shiny long-sleeved floor-length embroidered robes in virulent candy-colors—turquoise, green, and pink—and the one in front, whose receding hairline dipped into a killer widow's peak, was carrying a long stave with a glowing purple crystal on the top.
When it became obvious to both of them that she wasn't going to say anything, the staveholder spoke.
"We have come seeking Vixen the Slayer," he said.
After the last six weeks, she answered as easily to one name as the other. "Yeah, sure," Glory drawled in her hard-learned American accent, tossing her long red hair back over her shoulders and stepping back. She'd thought she was doing a solo act today, but it looked like she'd been wrong. Just like Christina not to give her all the gory details. Well, from their rig-outs, these guys looked like pros. They'd manage.
She turned back to the dressing table, reaching for her script again. If it involved strange men in pink dresses, she'd better actually read it.
"We have journeyed far from the plains of Serenthodial, through many perils, seeking you, O great warrior," the staveholder continued, stepping into the room. His companions followed, shutting the door behind them. "I am Belegir, and these are my co-Mages, Englor and Helevrin. We follow Cinnas the Warkiller, and I pray that we are not too late to seek aid for the Allimir."
"What the fu— heck is the Allimir?" Glory demanded,