It was almost an hour before they made it out to breakfast. Broom was standing in the entrance to the

kitchen, its rubbery arms on its hips, though it didn't actuallyhave hips, or legs for that matter. It stood on

its straw bristles, holding a spatula in its right hand.

It was almost an hour before they made it out to breakfast. Broom was standing in the entrance to the

kitchen, its rubbery arms on its hips, though it didn't actuallyhave hips, or legs for that matter. It stood on

its straw bristles, holding a spatula in its right hand.

It had no mouth, or eyes or ears, but somehow it spoke and saw and heard just the same. Even Merlin

was fascinated by the spell that had animated it. Wyrdrune had done it, just before he left for thaumaturgy

school, so that his mother could have someone around to keep her company and help her with the

housework. But although Wyrdrune had been very gifted, he had not been trained, so he really had no

idea what he was doing. He had cobbled up a spell from thaumaturgy texts, an ancient grimoire he had

picked up in the East Village, and some old Walt Disney movies. The result was Broom, which had come

to life and become impressed with his mother's personality. After his mother passed away, Wyrdrune had

inherited the creature and though he had brought it to life, he had no control over it whatsoever.

"Make breakfast, Archimedes says, they'll be right out," Broom said irritably. "Anhour is right out? You

know what happens to eggs Benedict when they've been sitting for an hour? While the two of you are in

thereshtupping like a pair of high-school kids on prom night, my eggs are turning into hockey pucks. But

what do you care? You're in there moaning and groaning with the water running . . . "

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Wyrdrune said. "We got a little carried away, all right?"

"Ten minutes is a little carried away. An hour is Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr inFrom Here to

Eternity . Why don't the two of you get married, already, so you can do it once a week like normal

people?"

"Broom . . . put a lid on it," snapped Kira.

The front door opened and Billy Slade came in, a cigarette drooping from his lips. He was dressed in

military camo trousers tucked into the tops of his paratrooper boots, a torn purple T-shirt bearing the

legend "Camp Crystal Lake," and a patchwork leather motorcycle jacket festooned with zippers, studs,

and fringe. His dark hair was cropped close to the skull except in the center, where it rose up in a

pompadourlike crest, descending down his back in a long ponytail. His coffee-colored skin gave

testimony to his mixed ethnic origins and his sharp features were pretty almost to the point of being girlish.

To offset this, he had cultivated a habitual sneer that gave him the look of a mean-tempered elf.

"Well, well, look what the wind blew in," said Broom. "What's the matter, there aren't any telephones in

those dives you hang out in? It was too much trouble to call so I don't have to stay up all night and worry

you've been mugged or run over by a bus? Your eyes are all red. You've been drinking again, haven't

you? Come here and let me smell your breath."

"Stuff it, Stick," said Billy in a thick cockney accent. He dropped down into a chair. "What's for

breakfast?"

"Hockey pucks with hollandaise sauce."

"What, again? Bloody 'ell, I'll just 'ave coffee."

"Coffee on an empty stomach, you'll give yourself an ulcer," Broom said. "I'll make you some nice

poached eggs on toast. And you should have some milk, you're still a growing boy. If those disgusting

cigarettes don't stunt your growth.Feh! How can you smoke those filthy things?"