Raw and unedited, just for you! If you haven’t caught A Blundered Brew or The Mystery of Mattie, those are available here. This episode is just under 5k words, which is approximately 20 pages.
***Web Serial Episode 3 Begins Here***
I woke this morning to the memory of another bad dream.
The smell of my mother’s perfume, the way she drank her tea, and how her hugs felt had all disappeared. In this dream, like all the others, my mother slipped further away from me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
“Lavender and citrus,” I muttered as I flipped the electric kettle on. “Scottish Breakfast with a splash of cream.” Unlike the English Breakfast I pulled from the cupboard and the small container of nut milk I retrieved from my pink retro fridge.
And her hugs felt like safety and love and acceptance.
I hadn’t forgotten, but the dreams foretold of a time when I might, and that scared me.
Pouring over my mother’s book of magicks, clinging to that last connection with her, I’d read well into the wee hours last night. The late-night hours combined with my recurring bad dream left me groggy and somewhat unmotivated this morning. I wouldn’t have been out of bed yet, but Clara and Hattie arrived on my doorstep promptly at ten thirty.
It was Wednesday, the first day of my week-long unplanned vacation. There was no room for bad moods on vacation—even vacations taken to solve magical mysteries—and there certainly wasn’t room for moping. Not with my friends waiting for me to get my rear in gear.
I peered out the window over my sink and into my backyard.
The sweetly wrinkled brow of a chubby yellow lab was impossible to resist when he placed a drool covered tennis ball at your feet and backed away. Mattie bounced then stopped to stare intently at the ball placed within easy reach of both Hattie and Clara. Unable to determine which woman was more likely to throw his ball, he’d done intricate canine geometry to establish the point equidistant between both of my friends.
Mattie would keep them busy for another fifteen minutes while I finished getting dressed. And he needed the exercise. The beginning of a plan was forming, one that would involve leaving Mattie at the house for a while.
All I needed was a little more caffeine and a speedy shower, then I’d firm up the thoughts rattling around in the fog of my just-woken mind.
***
“We need to visit the Home for Genteel Ladies.” I made the announcement as soon as I emerged from the bathroom. “Outside of the council, they have the greatest amount of collective knowledge about the town and everyone’s grudges.”
For sure, whoever had turned my neighbor Mr. Matthews into the sweet Labrador we called Mattie had a grudge against the formerly cantankerous man. Mattie’s soft brown gaze followed me as I walked into the living room. He didn’t get up, but his tail thumped solidly against the hardwood floor.
Dressed but for my shoes and socks, all I lacked otherwise was a refill of my tea and my friends’ cooperation and we could begin our investigation into Mattie’s mysterious—and highly illegal—transformation. I knelt down to pet him, because I couldn’t resist. He was such a good boy…now. As Mr. Matthews, not so much.
“Not to nay-say,” Clara said from her position curled up on my grey sofa, “but I’m naysaying.” She cocked her head. “Unless you ply me with mimosas first. Get me drunk enough, and I could be persuaded. Maybe. They’re awfully mean.”
“They” were the thirteen ladies who currently resided at the Home for Genteel Ladies. It was like they picked the name in hopes of convincing the world the residents weren’t nearly so awful as reputed. But they’d need more PR than a cute name could provide to offset rumors of their nasty natures. They chased off Letitia Pearl. To an entirely different state.
But no, mimosas weren’t a good idea.
With a final scratch under Mattie’s chin, I said, “It’s not even eleven.”
“Your point?” Clara blew her bright orange overlong bangs out of her eyes. “Mimosas are a brunch beverage. We’re conservatively half an hour past the beginning of brunch.”
“We’re not getting liquored up and visiting the Genteel Ladies,” Hattie said with a repressive look at Clara. She was at least standing, looking like she might be willing to leave.
The way Hattie acted, anyone would think she was the one who ran the virtual assistant business, and Clara was the writer. Hattie was much more of a rule-follower than Clara…and less of a day-drinker.
Clara pursed her lips. “Don’t judge me for my boozy breakfast beverage cravings. I’ve practically been working nonstop the last two days getting ahead of my calendar. I knew Agnes just needed a moment to adjust to her and Mattie’s changed circumstances, and then we’d go all Scooby gang on Mattie’s mystery.”
“Go all Scooby gang? I don’t think those words work that way.” I checked with our resident writer, but she was smiling like she thought Clara had an excellent point. Which might mean… “You’re in, aren’t you? You think interviewing the Genteel Ladies is a good idea.”
She tucked her cotton candy pink hair behind her ears. “Sure, just as long as we’re not doing it tipsy. I suspect we’ll want clear heads.”
I might be unfocused, even forgetful when it came to all things magical, but an interview that didn’t involve a single spell or potion? No problem. Regardless, Hattie wasn’t wrong. The mimosas would have to wait.
“We got this,” I said.
Clara groaned. “I hate when you two outvote me. Who’s driving?”
“Not it,” Hattie called as she headed to the front door. “We’re stopping for a late lunch and margaritas after.”
Making me the designated driver. No problem. This was our first step in sussing out the wicked nasty who’d changed a nonmagical human into a dog. And who knew what Mr. Matthews would have ended up as if I hadn’t inadvertently intervened with my mood-altering potion. He could have been turned into a toad or a rat or a raccoon. Actually, not a raccoon. They seemed to have a lot of fun. Maybe a rattler. They always seemed to be sleeping or pissed off.
“You coming, Agnes?” Clara said from the front door.
I stopped long enough to give Mattie some pets and a condensed version of my typical leaving the house speech. Basically, don’t get into the trash (bathroom or kitchen), don’t eat anything, don’t chew anything except his Kong toy and his antler, and definitely don’t answer the door to any strangers.
Yeah, that last one was weird, but he was a man-dog, which I figured made him somewhere between a man and a dog, which maybe made him a little like a kid on four legs?
The logic wasn’t entirely sound, but the speech made me feel better.
By the time I got to my little Volkswagen Golf, Hattie had moved her car from behind mine and claimed the passenger seat. Clara was ensconced in the rear of the car.
My friends might have mixed feelings about this outing, but they’d support me one hundred percent. I loved my girls.
***
“Every time I drive by it, I think of those college movies with the big fraternity and sorority houses,” Clara said from the backseat.
I glanced up and down the street before pulling into the parking lot, but the Home for Genteel Ladies still stood apart from its neighbors in all its pseudo-mansion, red-bricked, white-columned glory. “This isn’t exactly Greek row.”
Hattie chuckled. “Not unless Rae’s Liquor Landing counts as a frat house. She’s painted since I’ve been out this way.”
The huge flying saucer that sat in front of the liquor store and propped up the store’s sign used to be gleaming silver. It was now a deep metallic purple with silver stars sprinkled across it. It was actually pretty. Rae had obviously had help, since she wasn’t the crafty, artistic sort.
“We should stock up while we’re out here.” Clara pulled out her phone and scrolled. “Oh, yeah. Definitely. Looks like I’m almost out of tequila. My home bar needs a top up.”
Not only was the Home for Genteel Ladies outside of Westerville city limits, it was also just barely outside the Wester county line. Welcome to Texas and dry counties.
“We grill the mean old ladies,” Hattie said with her hand on the door. “Reward ourselves with a booze buying trip, then a late lunch, then we head home for an afternoon libation and debrief.”
I frowned. “I feel like we’ve been drinking more since Mattie appeared.”
“Well, yeah. We’ve been hanging out more.” Clara shrugged. “It’s a natural result when three twenty-somethings with busy lives gather and socialize. Last one there has to knock on the door!” Then she shot out of the car and jogged all the way to the Home’s front door.
Hattie was hot on her heels.
I followed at a much more leisurely pace. Because I was an adult. Not because I wanted to delay the inevitable knocking on the door. I sighed, and really, did it matter who knocked? We’d all have to deal with the crotchety old ladies who resided within.
Clara elbowed me in the side when I arrived. “Go on.”
Hattie made an annoyed sound. “It’s not like would have hexed the door or anything.” She raised her hand to knock, then paused. “Would they?”
Ridiculous. I was pretty sure. I nudged her aside and rapped firmly on the door three times.
We didn’t have long to wait until the door swung open revealing an animated woman with wildly colorful medium-short hair. Fuchsia roots lightened to a pink then turned to a surprising shade of orange. Overall, it was surprisingly pleasing, like a sunset.
Then I noticed that her eyebrows had been groomed in such a way to brighten and open her face. Maybe that was where the impression of animation had come from.
“Finally. We thought you’d never arrive.” She waved us in with a little bounce to her step, her layered bright clothing fluttering with the gesture. Not just the eyebrows, then, that made her seem so energetic. “Come along. We’ve got brunch waiting in the breakfast room, and we’re all famished.”
This wasn’t who I expected in a senior living home. Not that I knew her. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place her. No, it was more that I didn’t expect a lively demeanor or brightly colored hair or a relatively warm welcome.
This was the home where all the cranky, unsociable witches with no other family went to live. This was the place housing the women who’d chased Letitia Pearl out of Westerville.
Except this woman was failing at unsociable and cranky, thus far.
I shared a look with Clara and Hattie, both of whom seemed equally confused. But since the sunset-haired woman was leaving without us, I made an executive decision and followed her. It didn’t hurt that food was involved. I’d missed breakfast.
We arrived behind Pixie—she’d introduced herself without pausing on her trek to the breakfast room—to find two witches seated at a table with six settings.
Pixie stopped suddenly and turned to face us. “You’re Hattie. We have the same hairdresser.” Pixie stopped to smile, like the thought made her happy. “But which of you is Agnes and which is Clara?”
We weren’t exactly easy to confuse, given Clara’s profusion of freckles and orange hair.
“Ah, I’m Agnes. This is Clara.”
“I’m Zelda,” a serene woman who didn’t look near old enough to be living here said. She had a mass of blue and green, barely-tamed curls that flowed past her shoulders and practically flawless tawny skin. She didn’t look remotely familiar to me.
“And I’m Greta. We’ve met before, of course.”
I turned to find Greta Hoffstetler sitting at the table. I hadn’t recognized her, only because I hadn’t really looked. Also, the impeccably dressed woman with the perfectly coiffed silvery-grey hair and gorgeously applied makeup currently wore an expression I’d never before seen on her face: cheerful welcome.
Greta Hoffstetler had always been classy, stylish, and icy. Not a woman who’d welcomed conversation and certainly hadn’t encourage anything more. I’d always found her a little terrifying.
She leaned forward with a warm smile. “Have a seat, and I’ll pour us some raspberry lemonade sangria.”
Clara was settled before I could think twice, the champagne glass at her setting already claimed and extended. “I like you.”
Greta chuckled. “We live next to a liquor store. It would be bad manners not have a specialty drink available for visitors.”
Clara sighed happily. “Any interest in an adoptive daughter?”
“Clara,” Hattie whispered in a shocked tone as she sat down next to her.
I knew Clara was kidding. Her mom and dad were both still around and in her life, and while she didn’t have the best relationship with them, they loved her dearly. I settled in the seat on her other side but declined the offered drink. “I’m driving.”
Once we were all seated, Zelda spoke. “Unlike Greta and Pixie, I’m new to the area.”
Clara, Hattie, and I all looked at Pixie.
“I went by Peridot.” She wrinkled her nose. “Such a terrible name. Not sure what my mother was thinking. I had black hair? Worked at the diner when you were kids?”
Peridot Humphries. She’d been so…drab. And not just her appearance, but everything about her. She’d always seemed beaten down by life to me.
Pixie sighed. “I get it. I don’t look the same. I’m not the same.”
“Ah, at the risk of seeming rude…” Clara leaned forward and lifted her right arm.
I hadn’t a clue what she was doing until Pixie grinned and high fived her. “Thank you, dear. I’m rather pleased with the change, as well. But Zelda was saying… Go ahead, Z.”
Zelda smiled quietly. She seemed unruffled by Clara’s antics or the interruption. “Like I said, I’m new to the area. These lovely ladies took me in when I needed a place to live, and I couldn’t be more thankful. As a way of expressing my appreciation, I started a regular Sunday evening gathering. After a late lunch, we gather together and have a little reading, crystal-gazing or card-reading.”
“After a boozy late lunch,” Pixie added. “So it’s always a good time.” In a confidential whisper, she said, “We don’t usually drink during the week, so thank you for the excuse this week.”
Greta, looking shockingly at ease with the informality of our exchange, said, “Zelda is very good at prognostication.”
Zelda shrugged. “It’s my skill. Usually, not very helpful due to the vagueness, but you three…” She blinked. “You weren’t vague.”
“Wait,” Hattie said. “You’re saying that on Sunday, after having a few drinks, you got together for a reading, and we came up?”
Pixie nodded eagerly.
Zelda said, “It sounded like the beginning of one of my exes jokes. Three gorgeous witches walk into bar. A brunette, a red-head, and unicorn. That type of thing.”
Hattie smiled at being called a unicorn.
I thought “gorgeous” was generous, at least on my account.
“Except instead of a bar, you walked into our home,” Pixie clarified.
“Looking for answers,” Zelda added. She waited as if expecting us to jump in. When none of us did, she said, “You do have questions for us, right?”
Clara finished off the last of her sangria and placed her glass carefully on the table. “I do. How are you all so nice?”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. The magical folk of Westerville might talk about the cranky old ladies living in the Home for Genteel Ladies—but not in their presence.
All three looked amused, but it was Pixie who spoke. Eyes wide with false innocence, she said, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Before any of the three of us could call them on their blatant subterfuge, a woman in her thirties wearing a navy fit and flare dress straight out of the fifties with a white apron over it came from the kitchen area. “Aunt Zelda, the egg casserole is just about done. I just wanted to check with your guests that they don’t have any allergies or dietary restrictions.” She turned to us with an inquisitive look. “I can whip up an alternative for anyone who can’t eat eggs, cheese, bread, and sausage.”
Hattie eyes widened. There was no faster way to her heart than food. Especially if that food included such items as eggs, cheese, bread, and sausage.
“Ladies, this is my niece Cordelia. She’s our fulltime housekeeper.”
Cordelia waved cheerily. “We don’t get guests often.” She fluffed her skirts, which was when I noticed she was wearing red Chuck Taylor’s. “I love the chance to dress up, so thank you.”
She was adorable, and she was feeding us. I felt like I’d stepped into an alternate universe.
The three of us murmured our thanks. I really didn’t think a single one of us could quite manage a proper conversation, so it was good that she didn’t linger. Also, now that she’d told us what was baking in the kitchen, I was catching the hints of our forthcoming meal, and it smelled amazing.
“You were saying?” Pixie leaned forward, her forearms resting on the edge of the table.
“Letitia Pearl.” Hattie, recovering first, was the bold soul to utter those two words.
They were the perfect two words. Letitia Pearl was proof that the Home for Genteel Ladies wasn’t all smiles, sangria, and casseroles.
All three of the older women laughed. When their shared amusement diminished in volume, Greta replied, “You’re familiar with The Princess Bride?”
Hattie and I nodded. Clara was a lost cause. She might seem like a party animal, but really, she worked far too much and consumed far too little fiction, books or movies.
“We, the occupants of the Home for Genteel Ladies, are the Dread Pirate Roberts.”
I had to process that.
Because…why?
But then I remembered that Pixie had been Peridot, and Peridot Humphries was her generation’s version of Clara, Hattie, and me. She’d been among the worst witches of Westerville.
And drab. Also, sad.
But living with the crotchety old women in the Home for Genteel Ladies, next door to the liquor store, with boozy Sunday lunches and crystal gazing and card readings…Peridot gained friends. Peridot became Pixie, and Pixie seemed very happy indeed.
“Who’s explaining The Princess Bride to me?” Clara asked. “And this Roberts pirate guy.”
“He’s a persona assumed by a very nice young man,” Greta explained. “He relies upon a falsely-developed fierce reputation to do the heavy lifting and then reaps the rewards.”
“Oh, that’s clever.” She pushed her glass closer to the Greta, who seemed to reign supreme over the Sangria pitcher.
Greta refilled her glass without comment, pushing it back again.
“Why?” Clara asked.
“Forget the why.” Hattie’s eyes narrowed, and she had that intense look she sometimes acquired when plotting a book. “The why is simple. Westerville isn’t always friendly to our own. A fierce reputation can provide cover and protection. I want to know how.”
“It’s easier than you might think,” Greta replied. “Choose an image, cultivate it, be somewhat consistent…and a reputation is created.” Looking directly at me, she added, “I’ve struggled with social anxiety in the past.”
The glacial and seemingly perfect Mrs. Hoffstetler had suffered from social anxiety.
Seen through that particular lens, the few interactions I had with her in the past took on an entirely different meaning.
“Don’t look so sad.” Her lipstick was still just as perfect as always, but now it covered lips that formed a beautiful, genuine smile. “I’ve found my people. I’m very happy here, and also much more confident. But my point is that it’s simple to cultivate a reputation.”
“And you,” Clara said, “like this pirate fellow, cultivated a reputation as awful-tempered shrews so that you wouldn’t be bothered by…who exactly?”
“Certainly not poor Letitia Pearl,” Pixie said with a disapproving scowl. “Shame on those women. Shame.”
“The council,” Zelda explained. “They knew she wasn’t at fault, but they needed a scapegoat to salvage Cora May’s pride when the actual culprit couldn’t be found.”
Cora May had been the recipient of twenty-four hours of bad luck, supposedly a spell of Letitia’s gone awry. Cora May was also an elder on the Westerville Witches Council.
“Letitia lives in Louisiana now, outside New Orleans,” Greta said. “I have a few connections in the area, and they found her a job so she could move away.”
Letitia had been falsely accused by our own governing body. And according to these three women, the council had known full well that Letitia was innocent of the crime she’d been punished for.
“Bullies,” Clara said with a dangerous gleam in her eye. Clara had never liked the council, but she hated bullies.
All three of our hosts agreed that, yes, the council was populated by a majority of bullies. At least four of the women were evil-spirited, nasty crones and three more too weak to stop them.
It was almost enough to quell my appetite. Almost. Cordelia appeared with a breakfast casserole that looked and smelled amazing, and I knew I was definitely going to enjoy it, regardless of what I’d just learned. Those council jerks weren’t ruining a fabulous meal for me.
“It looks like lunch is ready. You’ll have to tell us why you’ve come, but after we’ve had a bite to eat.”
***
The meal tasted as good as it looked and smelled. Hattie and I had seconds, and Clara had her third glass of sangria while thanking me for being a complete doll for driving.
“Remember how we were talking about sororities earlier?” Clara whispered not so quietly.
As Cordelia cleared the dishes and Greta refreshed our drinks, I explained how the Home for Genteel Ladies, with its red brick and white columns, brought to mind a sorority house when we’d pulled up. They agreed their home superficially looked like a sorority house, but more than that it was also a community of women. Instead of a house mother, they had Cordelia who was the fulltime housekeeper, and instead of charity work, they adopted the .
And now, having been offered their hospitality and a peak behind the curtain, the similarities were even stronger. I could only imagine what the energy was like with all thirteen of the residents gathered together.
“Where is everyone else today?” I hadn’t seen even a peep of another resident, only Cordelia.
“Wine-tasting,” Greta replied. “We skipped, since we weren’t sure when you’d show up.”
“Because you predicted we’d show up,” I said.
“Looking for answers,” Hattie clarified.
Clara still looked skeptical. “But you weren’t sure what sort of questions we’d be asking.”
They agreed that was exactly right.
I checked in with Hattie and Clara, because we hadn’t talked about this part. About what I was about to do.
I was about to trust these three women, who basically strangers to us.
Surprisingly, it was Clara who said, “Do it,” with Hattie nodding her assent.
I turned back to the three witches who claimed to be waiting for us since Sunday to show up on their doorstep and ask them questions. They’d waited—skipped a wine-tasting outing, even—because they’d wanted to be here to help us.
“I live with a man-dog named Mattie. He used to be my neighbor, Mr. Matthews.” And then I told them the whole story.
Eventually, when I wrapped it all up with Clara and Hattie providing details I’d glossed over, Greta said, “Fascinating.”
But not in a judgmental, what-nonsense-have-you-girls-involved-yourselves-in sort of way.
“Agnes thinks the best way to get Mattie back to Mr. Matthews is to find out who hexed him.” Hattie presented the conclusion as if it was mine, and I thought it had been ours, but otherwise that was spot on.
“And we’re here today,” Clara explained, “because we think the Genteel Ladies of Westerville are an excellent source of town gossip.”
“Well,” Pixie said, “you’re spot on there. And that was before you knew we wouldn’t eat you alive.”
I couldn’t help admitting, “We weren’t entirely sure that knocking on your door was a good idea—but we’re awfully glad we did.”
Clara and Hattie quickly and energetically agreed.
“Mr. Matthews… Abe Matthews?” Greta asked. “Lives over on Eternal Spring Road?”
I nodded. “That’s my street.”
“Oh,” Pixie exclaimed. “You have an excellent block party. I made the drinks year before last. No one can beat Greta’s sangrias, but I make a mean cocktail.”
Clara eyes widened. “Really? That was you?”
Pixie grinned. “Liked the Bear Bombs, didn’t you?”
“Oh my gosh, so good.” Clara rhapsodized over Pixie’s various drinks.
We gave them a few minutes to bond over booze, then Greta said, “You want to know who might have a grudge against a man few people liked.”
“A beef big enough to result in a curse that changed him into an animal,” I clarified. But she made a good point, Mr. Matthews made enemies left and right.
“She doesn’t need gossip.” Pixie looked Greta and Zelda for confirmation.
“You need to talk to Nathan,” Greta pronounced.
Zelda nodded firmly in agreement.
Pixie said, “Most definitely.”
Clara, Hattie, and I all shared a look. Confusion was the prevailing emotion. “I’m sorry, but—who’s Nathan?”
All three women smiled, but it was Greta who replied. “Nathan is the purveyor of Westerville’s finest magical ingredients. He’ll know who has the requisite materials to have created the potion that turned Mr. Matthews into Mattie.”
“But we don’t have a local supplier.” Not that I knew of. And I would know. I was a witch, who lived in Westerville. Who’d lived in Westerville my whole life. And had witch friends who’d lived in Westerville their hole lives.
“Don’t look at us,” Clara said. “I don’t have a clue who this Nathan guy is. Hattie?”
“Not a clue. I drive to Austin for my supplies.”
“You need an invitation to get into Nathan’s establishment.” Greta arched her eyebrows. “It’s very exclusive.”
I was confused. “We’re too poor to be invited?”
I had a normal sort of job with normal sort of pay. Heck, I had benefits and retirement, which I considered a win these days. But Hattie came from family money, and I had a sneaking suspicion her supernatural thrillers made bank. And as much as Clara worked and as many employees as she was bossing around, I really hoped she wasn’t broke.
“No, no,” Pixie said. “It’s not that kind of exclusive. Witches with the council’s approval get invitations.”
“And y’all have the council’s approval.” I could believe that Greta had at one time, but the Genteel Ladies as a group? No. The council very much disapproved of the Genteel Ladies. They were outcasts. There was a reason the Home was located outside the county lines.
As for individuals… Pixie, formerly Peridot? No way.
And a stranger to town? A woman like Zelda who appeared and made friends with outcasts, who existed outside the council’s influence? Nope.
“Of course not.” Greta rolled her eyes. Mrs. Hofstettler just rolled her eyes. Not a sight I’d have ever expected to see. “The council despises us, but they also have little control over us. And after the Letitia Pearl incident, they may be more aware of natural inclination that we’d like. We’re not sure they believe the story that we chased her out of town.”
Zelda smiled, but it’s wasn’t serene version we’d seen thus far. No, Zelda’s smile was mischievous with a hint of wicked—the good kind. “Nathan likes us.”
“He doesn’t like the council,” Pixie clarified.
“The council believes firmly in the superiority of witches, and Nathan isn’t a witch.” Greta shrugged. “Simple as that.”
“But he is the purveyor of Westerville’s finest magical ingredients.” Even though he wasn’t a witch, and most of the local witch community disliked or was boased against him.
Greta considered her reply. “I’d say Texas, Louisiana, and Oklahoma.”
I shook my head, not understanding.
“Wow,” Hattie said. “This guy has the best goods in a three-state area, he lives in my town, and I’ve been picking through second-rate stuff in Austin when I shop. I really don’t like the council. And I really want to check this place out.”
“I’ll fetch my invitation, for you,” Greta said as she rose from the breakfast table.
As Greta left, Zelda promised, “You’re going to love it.” Then she looked at me and a funny expression crossed her face. “You’ll all love it.”
Then Pixie joined in, saying how excited she was that the Genteel Ladies had the opportunity to introduce us to Nathan and his wares, and that look on Zelda’s face—whatever it was—disappeared.
And while I was excited that we were further along in our journey to discover the witch behind Mattie’s transformation—and hopefully a cure—and especially excited to explore Westerville’s very own local magical supply shop, we still hadn’t determined which witch had done this very wicked thing.
***End of Web Serial #3!***
