Some days after the frightened elemental had returned to its home, Ann was at the Inn at San Francisco, enjoying a jazz night with a friend. At 11:45 PM PDT, she excused herself to Alice Kearney, an operative and junior partner of the Kearney Detective Agency, and ported home. As midnight approached, she walked into her living room and waited for the postings on her assignment board, which to normal human eyes appeared to be a large map of the Bay Area. Even in that guise, Ann kept the board tucked away, and only summoned it when she was alone.

At 12:00 AM PDT, according to the alpha-numeric display along its bottom, the board lit up. Wow. It was glowing, with so many hits they had merged into a bright blur of light in several areas. What was going on? What had happened in the past twelve hours? The noon sweep had revealed only an average number of unresolved magical actions for a normal weekday morning, whatever day it was.

What day was it? Ann never paid much attention to human measurements of time. Let's see: Miss Manners had been in the Chronicle, which she had read at a late breakfast, so yesterday had been Friday. Today, therefore, was Saturday, and the rest of the date was 27 April, 2002, which told her nothing. Since she was living in the United States, the fifteenth of April had occasioned a number of curses and prayers, so possibly the cause of all these alarms was of a secular nature and the current display was the result of a new national holiday. On the other hand, municipal and civic spells and prayers were usually done singly and in one specific location, not in multiples and scattered all over the map.

She climbed the stairs to her library and consulted her almanacs. She was aware that the astronomical full moon had already occurred, 0300 GMT, Saturday, 27 April, and that it was celebrated at either 8:00 PM, Friday PDT, four hours ago, or local moonrise Saturday night, seventeen odd hours ahead, depending on when you counted your full moon. For Muslims and Jews, there had been Friday rituals and prayers, during the day and after sundown, but nothing special. There was nothing special marked in the Buddhist, Shinto, or California Native American Church almanacs either. Friday, 26 April had been the feast day of Saint Cletus, pope and martyr, and Saturday, today, was the feast day of Saint Anastasius, pope and martyr, but neither day called for elaborate celebrations. Neither the count of days in the year, 116, nor the number of days remaining in the year, 249, looked especially interesting. Nothing, in short, seemed to call for such a burst of magical activity.

She accessed the web and on the Combined Alternative Religious Calendar, she hit gold. This weekend, the Pagans, the Satanists, the Wiccans, the Neo-Satanists, the Reform Wiccans, the International Federation of Occult Therapists and others, including the Berkeley Morris Dancers, were all celebrating Mayday, International Labor Day, Walpurgisnacht, or some combination thereof. Which, Ann saw, didn't occur until Tuesday night or Wednesday sunrise of the next week.

Humans did such weird things, Ann mused. They were celebrating an anniversary, but since the real anniversary occurred in the middle of the normal work week, they were celebrating it on the weekend, when it was more convenient for them. Well, not the Berkeley Morris Dancers, she read. They were dancing this weekend, but they were also getting up before sunrise on Wednesday to dance in the park, and then presumably going off to work or class. Good for them.

She returned to the Inn and spoke with Alice, who was agreeable to going home. Ann dropped the detective off at her apartment.

Ann decided to start her litter patrol in the west, and proceed deasil around the Bay. She ported out to the Great Highway and walked north up the beach, approaching a group sitting and standing around a driftwood fire, playing and singing. The group had, possibly inadvertently, included a spirit drum in their instruments. That alone would not have excited her interest, but the sing-along had repeatedly sung a stylized African hunting chant and the Zoo was just to the east. Unnoticed, she took advantage of a brief break in the singing to exchange the drum for an identical, but inactive, one; the drummer didn't notice as the singers began the nineteenth repetition of Wimoweh*. Then Ann slipped into the Zoo and calmed the animals, spending most of her time there with the lions, who, contrary to what some versions of the song said, were wide awake and grouchy.

"Yes, the practice might be termed Eurocentric and inappropriate for a California live oak," Ann soothed, with what patience she still possessed. It had been a long weekend, full of ruffled elementals, migrating spells, affronted genii loci, and now-and lastly, she hoped-a native dryad who apparently went to empowerment sessions. "But the good will is real, and I will point out that many of these children's ancestors settled locally before you were an acorn."

"May baskets," the dryad rustled angrily.

"Offerings of good wishes, and acknowledgments that you are both alive and have certain interests in common," Ann said. "Tokens of friendship, you could call them. After all, at least one of those children was conceived under your leaves. Now, if you are able to accept the good will, I will remove the offending objects."

The dryad was silent, then a shrugging rustle moved over her whole tree.

Ann carefully gathered up all the construction paper and crinkle ribbon May baskets, and raised them into the first light of the sun. She flash burned them and scattered the ashes around the drip line of the dryad's tree. She added a mixture of trace elements that her healer friend, Claire Galen, had said was prophylactic for SOD-sudden oak death-and also her personal blessing.

"Thank you," the dryad rustled.

"You're welcome," Ann said, and ported home.

Or tried to. She managed to get nearly 200 feet down the trail.

All right, Ann thought, picking herself up. Either the importation of the fertilizer or the blessing had wiped her out. For all major purposes, she was empty. Apportation was not an option, at least until after a nap; and if her magic was so depleted, she probably couldn't conceal herself here while she recovered her strength. So. Where exactly was she in relation to human transport, which she would have to use if she wanted to return to her home, and what were her options?

She was on top of Mount Madonna, in Mount Madonna County Park, south of San Francisco, north-east of Watsonville and west of Gilroy, almost at the limit of her 50 mile tether. There were cars and trucks not that far away. There were hikers moving around the park, and a few bicyclists on the mountain bike trails. Farther away, about ten miles she estimated, there was a passenger train, heading north out of Gilroy. Ah, CalTrain. Fine. A train ride needn't involve theft or hijacking, either of which almost always complicated one's life. Physically, she was not impaired, and a ten mile hike would be a pleasant change from using magic, as she had been doing almost continuously for the past 54 hours. She followed trails down and eastward, and enjoyed the walk. Eventually, she arrived on Hecker Pass Road.

She managed a very small magic-one involving only minor treasure and a very limited area-as she started walking east towards Gilroy. She hadn't bothered taking mundane supplies when she left her home, and she had no money or her credit cards. As she walked along, pennies, quarters and other coins showed themselves within a two-meter circle around her feet. By the time she arrived on Depot Street, she had more than the price of a ticket. She found a spot in the sun and dozed until her train arrived, then napped all the way to San Francisco. She exited the station and walked northward on 5th Street. Crossing Market, she caught the Hyde Street cable car, arriving at her home in time for an early lunch.

She heated some soup and brought the bowl and a glass of wine along as she went to the living room and summoned the map. The noon display showed only six hits, widely scattered, no more than on an average weekday morning. She would take care of them, but she would have another nap first. She put the glass and bowl in the sink and climbed the stairs to the top floor, where her bedroom was.

* Wimoweh is the title Pete Seeger gave his version of a song composed by Solomon Linda ca. 1939 and originally called Mbube. The song was also recorded by the Tokens under the title The Lion Sleeps Tonight. See http://users2.ev1.net/~smyth/linernotes/thesongs/Wimoweh

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