"Are your worlds similar, or are you both just better at dealing with inter-world chaos than I am?" asks Angela weakly.

"I'm from Earth, summer of 2013, and I live in the United States, Maine for the time being," Amariah volunteers to Sherlock. "We've got witches and humans and panserbjorne, in the sentient-critters department."

"Earth; winter of 2005; Sunnydale, California; and we have literally uncounted sentient species, in that no one has ever been able to accurately count them, but humans and vampires are probably the two largest populations. The existence of anything other than humans is not widely known."

"Why's everyone else hiding?" asks Amariah, reaching up to scratch under her chin, then noticing this is ineffective and scratching under Path's beak instead. "And how old's Juliet?"

"It's easier to eat people who don't know you exist. She's about seventeen, I think; I haven't looked it up."

"Huh. I'm almost nineteen, so older but not by much; I was born in ninety-four. In a few decades I'll have a lovely patina of ageless witchiness though. Before you ask, I haven't figured out to make non-witches as immortal as we are," she adds regretfully. "I'm working on it, but the absolute truth device is limited to communicating through an array of thirty-six symbols with layers of meaning, and I can barely read it myself anyway, my boyfriend has to do most of it. It helps but I have legwork to do."

"I'm eighteen and I was born in. Well. Six hundred fifty-six," says Angela. "But that's counted from the founding of Samaria. Generations ago the years were counted from some other time that doesn't seem to be written down anywhere."

"Best of luck," he says to Amariah. "Do let us know when you've worked it out. If Juliet does not manage to make herself immortal somehow or other, I am going to be very upset when she dies."

"Well, you can try me again when I've made more progress, or, talk to Stella or Shell Bell who's got a copy of her magic, or possibly Golden - we're not sure she'll go by Golden as she hasn't been by in person yet, but it seems likely - and they'll be able to take care of it. Golden's probably a last resort if there's enough hope you'll run into one of the others of us, though, since her way involves a species change and stuff. We all get along with each other and we'll be more than happy to help your Juliet with immortality," says Amariah encouragingly. "Or she might work it out herself, given enough magic to play with. In the meantime I can make her somewhat less vulnerable to physical harm."

"Sherlocks seem to be friendly sorts as well," says Amariah pleasantly. She finishes her lunch. "I think I'll leave it up to Juliet whether you get a Belltower key, but d'you want to come see the place and read the guestbook?"

"Love to."

Angela sighs slightly at the mention of their boyfriends participating in kinky carryings-on, but she shakes it off and murmurs very softly about Jovah having a plan.

"I think I have the hang of the bar. I'll go get a nice view of the Eyrie," says Angela, and out she goes.

"Unfortunately, no," he says. "The other side of the door for me is the inside of the aforementioned crypt; I was just stepping out to walk to her house. I assume the location is variable? Some other time it might decide to usurp the door to a janitor's closet or public bathroom?"

"On the way in, yes, it can be any door."

"But the way out remains fixed until I take it. Convenient, that."

"It is, yeah. Some things can reportedly screw it up, but if all you do is come in, order some food, talk to people, and go home, you'll be fine."

"I see."

Angela returns with a lovely poster - matching in size and type the others in the Belltower - with an aerial view of the Eyrie, and hangs it up just to the left of the door. "There," she says. "That's where I live."

"Pretty," comments Amariah. "Carved into the mountain like that, too, neat."

"Yes, it's lovely," Sherlock agrees.