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Veronica pulled her head out of the impression she had made in the pillow when she dived into bed the previous night, and miserably blinked the sleepy-eye away while she contemplated the reversed mirror-image of her face. She rolled off the mattress onto the floor, but the piles of clothes around her bed rose to the same height as the bare mattress, so there was nowhere to fall to or from. She lay there for a long time waiting for her headache to pass. It never did. But eventually Nica grew tired of waiting.

Gracelessly, and with moans that would terrify young children, Nica picked herself up, and searched through the piles of clothing with her toes to find something for the day. What she chose, she used to toes to toss onto the mattress that served as her bed. Her disdain for thick, bulky fabrics meant she had to layer: black tights and tank top, beige nappa leather light jacket, and then her cousin's yellow and black padded leather motorcycle racing outfit. If he knew she was using it, he would probably object, but would never have the balls to outright refuse her if she pressed the issue. If he knew she was using his bike, he would strenuously object, and he might just have the testicular fortitude to put his foot down and keep it down on that matter, so she forgot to mention it every time he visited from college. Thankfully, her uncle had also forgotten to mention it, likely because he would find himself tasked with being the one who had to keep it from her while her cousin was away, and he did not want that kind of hassle in his allegedly complicated life.

While she repiled her clothes - there was order in the chaos of her room, as she always tried to explain to her uncle, but it took a specially chaotic mind to see it - she thanked her lucky stars that Uncle Modisa had not been in a mood to bother her this morning. Whenever he was miserable or bored, or when the store was particularly busy, he would start her day early with pounding on her door. Then would follow the inevitable lecture about how lazy she was, and how ungrateful she was for the opportunity he was giving her to work in his shop. She was grateful, she really was, but she had bigger goals in America than just working in her uncle's clothing store - and she had to work on those goals just as hard or harder than she had to work in his store.

Making her uncle understand that her goals extended beyond the walls of his store - apparently the limit of his world - was difficult enough when her goals made sense. Since the strange arrival of her mysterious pendant, her goals had changed. It was difficult enough to get her uncle to understand her goal to get into showbusiness, to get him to understand this............. would be impossible.

On the aluminium shelving that served as just about the only furniture in her room, she sought out the box and note that had come with the pendant. Since running into others like Angel and herself last night, the words of the note had weighed heavy on her mind, and she wanted another look to see if they were as dire as she remembered:

Time is running out. Seek your brothers and sisters. Trust no-one but them.

Hope lies with you all.

"Time is running out." Nica fingered the pendant thoughtfully. "Seek your brothers and sisters." If Angel was a sister, and Ghost was a brother........ and that annoying fool, too......... then she was a fool for letting them get away. Her best chance to meet up with them again was to go back to the last place she had seen them. But it was way too early - Angel only jumps late at night.

While she took a cold shower, got dressed and a grabbed a Pop Tart and Diet Coke for breakfast, she thanked her lucky stars that Uncle Modisa was wasn't in a mood to bother her this morning. Or........... afternoon. That meant that it wasn't too busy downstairs, and he wasn't in a bad mood, so she had a good chance of being able to go out without getting the usual lecture about how lazy she was, and how ungrateful she was for the opportunity he was giving her to work in his shop. She was grateful, she really was, but she had bigger goals in America than just working in her uncle's clothing store - and she had to work on those goals just as hard or harder than she had to work in his store.

Today, though, she had no desire to work, or to do anything else but see about the events of the previous night.

Since she had first seen Angel fall from the sky, she had gone back there every night to see whether she would see her again. Her persistence had been rewarded: Angel had jumped several nights since then. But last night was the first night she had seen........... others. Ghost, and that annoying guy.

It seemed imperative that she find them again.

And the only way that she knew how to do that........... was to go back to the scene. Even if it meant lying in wait for the rest of the afternoon until Angel's jump time, it was her best shot.

When she came down the stairs, her uncle - behind the counter - could not help but catch sight of her. The store was empty, after all, and there was nothing else to look at. He had not even been doing any work, just sitting back watching game shows on the hanging overhead TV, despite having set down some boxes that were probably a new shipment of sashes to put out. He saw how she was dressed, and rolled his eyes.

"You are using that boy's motorcycle again?" he grumbled disapprovingly, "Girl, if you have an accident on that thing........"

"I will not have an accident, Uncle," Nica said, dismissively.

"And you do not even have a licence!" he continued to grumble, as if she had not even spoken, but then he raised his voice, "Hey! You! Where do you think you are going?"

"Out, Uncle," Nica said, as surly as she could manage.

"Girl!" he raised his voice again, and Nica knew it was time to stop, "You forget that you have a job here?"

"I am sure you can last the day without me, Uncle," she said, changing her tone from surly to reasonable, "I have something very, very important that I must do."

Modisa sucked his teeth with a doubtful expression on his face, but seemed to relent. "Well, at least do some deliveries to earn your paycheque," he reached under the counter and started tossing envelopes on the desk, "Here, these are all in the district. You can save me some money on stamps, if nothing else."

Nica walked warily over to the counter and looked through the pile of envelopes. "District? These are all over the city!" she muttered.

"What do you care, you are on a motorcycle!" Modisa tossed the last few right at her chest, "Traffic is hardly a problem. Do you really have somewhere you have to be in a hurry?"

Nica could tell he was trying to subtly pump her for information about what she was up to, so she deflected, "No, it is freezing cold and snowing out, and I'd rather be outdoors as little as possible." A lie, of course. Cold was not a problem for her. Not anymore, anyway.

"Then why don't you wear more clothes, girl?" Another cheap stab at her style.

"Because I can distract you with my body better this way," she answered sweetly.

Modisa just sucked his teeth as she slipped into the back.

Her cousin's motorcycle - a Honda racing bike - was stored in the back storeroom of the store, which had a side door into the alleyway that doubled as her garage door. When her cousin took care of it, it was showroom perfect, and tuned to a flawless precision that was only possible with a bike that was worked on more often than it was ridden. Now that it was in Nica's hands.......... it could use a wipe down, but it was still in generally good condition, because Nica did not want to give her uncle reason to put his foot down about her using it.

If she started it up inside her uncle would blow his lid, so she wheeled it outside awkwardly and shut the side door behind her. During daylight hours, she wore the helmet - she was riding illegally, after all, and there was no point in risking more attention.

The bike started with an awesome roar, and Nica mounted it, stuffed the letters down her jacket, then put on the helmet - she had long ago figured out a way to slide it on from the back so that she wouldn't have to untie her hair. The deliveries would take her a couple hours, but she was on no schedule. It might even be better to burn some time off before going to wait for Angel. After gunning the throttle twice just for the satisfaction of hearing and feeling it, Nica pulled out of the alley and onto the street.

An hour or two later, Nica was almost done the deliveries. Granted, she might have been done already if she had actually stuck to it rather than stopping to chat twice, but still, she was making good time.

She would never be able to say what possessed her to look up. But look up she did, and darting along the rooftops was a figure. She had to concentrate to stay in control of the bike as she looked upwards to see the figure running and jumping with impossible agility. Nica herself was extremely agile by New York standards, and the Paragon amplified that............ but even she doubted that she could do what she was seeing.

Another ANGEL! she thought to herself........ the only other person she had ever seen move like that was Angel. Like Angel, this stranger seemed to have no fear of falling whatsoever, seemed to glide across the rooftops like leaf blowing over them. But he was fast - threading through traffic, Nica was pressed to keep up.

But keep up she would........ she would not let this one escape. Time is running out.

Saria stood on the curb, staring up at the hotel, surrounded by her luggage. Behind her, the cab door slammed and the driver pulled off in a hurry. European hospitality my a**, Saria sighed inwardly, looking around at her bags. Looking up at the hotel's doorway, she was not impressed by the decor. It wasn't dingy. In fact it was rather clean. However, it was plainly and unimaginatively decorated. And the man she could see through the glass doors lounging behind the desk, watching the television, was pointedly ignoring her, making no move to come help her with her bags.

She looked up and down the street. It was absoultely vacant, which was unusual in most places at this time of the evening. Clearly this was one of those "sleepy" little mountain towns. The architecture of along the street was traditional Eastern European, and the road was even cobblestone. The streetlights had clearly once been gas lanterns, retrofitted with modern lights. In the fading light, Saria noted a chocolate and sweets shoppe with interest, as well as a bakery.

Saria looked at the man behind the desk again and sighed. The street was empty, and this was hardly likely to be a high-crime area. Taking three bags - all she could carry - she struggled to pull open the door and squeeze through, and once inside dropped her bags, then went out for the other two, repeating the process. Now sweaty and panting, she went to the desk.

At last as she approached, the man acknoledged her with an annoyed stare. He muttered something in Swiss.

"English?" Saria asked, raising an eyebrow.

He looked her over with distaste, "American?"

"No," Saria said, flatly, "I want a room."

The man clucked his tounge and shrugged, "Whole place empty. What kind room?"

"What kind room got?" Saria asked, immitating his broken English.

The man noticed her mocking him and gave her an irritated look, "All kind. Got small room, got suite. All prices good," she shrugged, "Empty."

"A suite then," she said. What the hell? I expected to spend much more.

"How long you stay?"

Saria thought for a moment. How long indeed? she thought, I don't even know why I'm here, except that I felt a pressing need to come here. Finally she spoke aloud, "I don't know. A week to start. I may extend it."

The man grunted and noted all that down in his book.

A thought occurred to Saria and she said aloud, "I thought this was supposed to be one of the top ski resorts in the world."

The man shrugged, "That other St. Moritz. This place, not so much. In ski season busy, yes. But now, empty. Here, 301." He practically threw the key at her.

"Thanks," she said, handing him her credit card, "I don't suppose you have someone to help me with my bags."

The man laughed, a dry laugh, "That other St. Moritz. Anyway, off-season here, not many employees. All thing open though. Pool. Gym. All open. In town, all shops open during day. After 1800, no. Hey, you need anything, you ask me, Lorenz, eh? I fix you up."

"I see, thank you, Lorenz" she said, going back to her bags to begin to drag them to her room, in leapfrog stages. Luckily, the elevator was in service.