She came to Thomas's door in a black suit, holding a briefcase and a cat.

"Good evening," she said. "I'm here for our appointment."

That was hardly likely, thought Thomas. It was nine o'clock, just after dark on the quiet suburban block. Thomas lived at the edge of town, far enough out that he rarely had callers, scheduled or otherwise. His low brick ranch house was the smallest on the block and never attracted sales people.

The evening had been quiet, as usual. The music he'd selected had just the right blend of jazz and pop for winding down. The wine was red, his mood mellow, and he'd been pleasantly contemplating waking to the waterfall sounds of a compact disc he'd programmed to go off at precisely six twenty-five in the morning.

Any appointment he had was exclusively in the imagination of the small woman standing in his doorway.

Even if she was - and she was - quite the prettiest person he'd ever seen.

"Sorry, you're mistaken. You must have the wrong house." He started to shut the door.

He felt it squash instead of click. He looked down and saw a lump of black fur between the post and the door. "Sorry, I didn't see your cat." Immediately he regretted apologizing; the beast was already moving through his legs and into his hall.

"Oh dear. Come back, Ruvian. Come back." He looked at her suspiciously. She looked utterly unconcerned. "He's probably gone for the stereo. I'd better come inside and get him."

Thomas did not trust her smile. "How do you know I have the stereo on?"

"I can hear it."

If she could, she had incredible hearing. The one in his den was playing softly and he always shut his doors.

"You're saying that your cat likes music."

"CDs. He licks them. Although it's true he's waiting for his favorite audiobooks to come out on DVD."

"Um."

"I wasn't serious. He hates audiobooks, actually."

"Yes."

"May I come in?"

"Uh, who are you?" he asked, allowing her to move just inside. He didn't know why. Perhaps because she looked like an exotic black tulip and he liked flowers.

He quelled the urge to sniff, and crossed his arms.

In no apparent hurry, she shut the door and turned the bolt lock - long red nails around his doorknob - then held out her hand.

"I'm Mindy, of course."

He stared blankly, still thinking about those nails. Then it hit him. "Mindy?"

Impossible, he thought. Mindy was a mop-haired brat with braces who brewed potions in her basement and exploded them in her backyard when she wasn't busy trailing him around looking pathetic. "Mindy who?"

"Mindy Shepowitz."

Well, both Mindies were runts, that much was true. This one however had no acne, no crooked teeth, and eyes that were surely a darker shade of green.

"You've, uh, changed."

"Yes, isn't it grand?"

This was bizarre. He did not feel the least sexy around Mindy Shepowitz. "You don't look like the Mindy I know."

"I've still got the scar on my kneecap from falling off your granny's maple tree."

Thomas had left his home town to pursue a career when he was twenty-three. He had neither seen nor heard from Mindy Shepowitz since then. Since she was in the eighth grade at the time, that was hardly surprising. He didn't remember the fall from the tree, but he did remember how much his grandmother disliked the little moppet who followed him around.

"What are you doing here?" He took her outstretched hand. It was soft and cool and the nails made her hands look clawed.

"I'm here for our appointment. Remember?"

He let out a silent wolf whistle. What a smile. All tooth. That razor-cut hair was a far cry from the frizzy nest he remembered. That pointy nose looked...different. Had Mindy become vain and had a nose job?

He was so absorbed in detailing the changes that he almost missed her dart her gaze about in a puzzled way.

"You did say ten years?" Abruptly she snapped open the briefcase and whipped out a small black cloth-bound book. "Yes. As I thought. See?" She held it in front of his face.

It was indeed dated August 13, 1992. The entry was in scratchy ink. Today Tommy promised that if I get out of his face for ten years, he'll let me do anything I want to him. He's going to the East to be a lawyer so that'll give me time to get ready.

His mouth opened. "Er."

"You always kept your promises."

"Uh."

"As you said, I've come a long way. I've joined the Society for Persons of Enhanced Linguistic Logistics, and I've made something of myself. It took long hours and precious few vacations, but I'm now definitely upwardly mobile. It's awfully important to me that I come to you at my optimal potential."

She read his expression correctly. "You're surprised."

"Uh."

She gave a little sigh. That was Mindy, all right. "I was young and frivolous. I guess you thought I'd forget. It's true I am still frequently late to meetings, but of course this was important."

Everything looked skewed to him. Babbling did that to him. Thomas clutched his forehead. "Are you saying - that you think my - words - what I said to you - obviously in a playful mood -"

"You were never playful. Irritated, yes, definitely. Playful, no."

"- you saw it as some kind of promise?"

"Oh, no, not at all," she assured him.

"Thank God."

"It constitutes a legal document. Signed in blood, you know." She pointed to two brown splotches near the journal entry.

He shook his head, his glazed eyes making it hard to see. "Blood."

She nodded. "You got a paper cut folding the trail map that time you took me to Gladewood. I took the tissue back."

"Oh - kay."

"Better than an oath," she said. "So here I am, representing the Society. Time to pay up, my love."

"Who did you say you work for?"

"My official affiliation is with the Society for Persons of Enhanced Linguistics Logistics. We're known internationally -"

"Mindy -"

A loud yowl drowned out his exclamation. It was accompanied by a tapping that, he realized, had been going on for quite a while.

He glanced toward the sound. The black cat was now trailing its claws down his den door.

Making long, deep lines.

"Now, Ruvian," the woman chided. "If he wanted you to go in there he would have left it open."

Thomas hastened over to snatch up the cat. It stared at him. It felt squishy and heavy in his arms. Cats were repugnant. He frowned.

The woman said quite softly, "Ruvian, may I present Tommy?"

The purr became so loud he could swear it said pet me. Almost involuntarily his fingers began stroking the velvety ears. "Friendly, is he?"

"Despises everyone," She said with satisfaction. "Except me, of course."

He frowned again. That couldn't be true. He sensed a great delight coming from the creature. Holding it up in front of his face, he inspected it. The cat yawned and looked away but the purring rumbled on, as loud as a dishwasher.

"I don't like it," he said, and found himself unable to resist brushing his cheek on the gleaming black forehead.

"Ruvian, are you charming him?"

He noted the sharp tone in her voice. He gave the cat one last stroke down its back before dumping it on the floor. The cat then rubbed its face all over his ankles. It got buried in the hem of his pajama bottoms.

"Ruv! Go!"

The creature arched. After a minute it went leisurely back to the den door and resumed stripping off the polish.

Thomas said, "That door is expensive."

"Oh - thanks for reminding me. It's time to deal with this place. My word, it's like a schoolhouse, isn't it? Not that I have anything against schoolhouses, they're fabulous, word-rich places. But I'm thinking towers, painted ceilings, and gargoyles. What's your view?"

He couldn't decide which was the more critical issue, her mystifying presence, her bewildering statements, or her vandalizing cat. "Er."

"You used to be more decisive."

He shook himself. He still was. "Stop that animal. Now."

She began to wander around the room. "You were more indulgent as well."

She peered into a neat table lamp.

"Mindy - lady - will you please get that cat -"

"It's not a cat, you know," she tossed over her shoulder.

"It's not a what?"

"Cat." She was, he saw, considering the ceiling, the carpet, and the windows, rather as a lion sizes up prey.

"What is it then?"

"Ruvian? Oh, I suppose he's part of a tradition. Of course, the Society frowns on too much past-worshipping. We're about helping people today. Look forward to a better tomorrow, that's our motto. I always say, why not honor the old ways once in a while. Like that song in that play with all the clapping. Tradition."

Thomas blinked to try to clear his head and was rather unsurprised when it failed.

"I understand," she said, turning, "that you're now a partner. Carter, Sellewaite, and Loehmann. You handle divorce cases."

"That's right." He sensed criticism.

"Do you actually like it?"

"I do," he lied. Lied? Damn. Mindy had to go. Until now he hadn't even realized he hated his work. He definitely did not want to hate his work. Yes, the little truth-getter had to leave.

"Mindy -"

"Nonsense. You're too much of an idealist." She flicked a wrist and left for the dining room.

Thomas stared for a long moment.

He followed her in a rush. "Look, Mindy, I was about to brush my teeth when you came. I'm sorry but it's time for me to go to -"

"Meditate? That's part of your nightly ritual, I believe. I think it's terrific you've nurtured your spiritual nature in the intervening years. Ah, the kitchen. Do you like pale yellow? A lake view is always nice. And some fresh flowers." Wrist flick.

She was like a dancer, gesturing here and there, dashing sprightly from room to room. Utility closet, pantry, coat room.

A daisy floated to the floor in front of him. He watched it confusedly. Had she brought him flowers? No woman had ever brought him flowers.

He resumed chasing her.

In the bathroom he came up short. She was hovering over his commode, staring into the deep water. "I don't know about this. It's dark in here. Ruvian could fall in on his way to the tap. Must it be inside the house?"

"My toilet? Yes, I believe it does need to be inside. Look, Mindy, would you -"

"Outhouse, then." She flicked a wrist in a circle and flicked the other one impishly at the ceiling. "Every room should have a chandelier," she sang and skipped out.

He followed. She was a black blur moving like her cat through rooms. He saw her wave gaily at the dignified portraits of his grandparents. "Mindy? Are you thinking of redecorating my house? Because I like it just as it is."

She stopped short. The door to his den sailed open without her touching it. He shuddered. There was that flip-over again, and the accompanying dizziness in his head. It settled a bit when he observed the cat streaking like lightning inside. That cat could open safes.

"Ah," Mindy breathed, peeking in. "A room of ascetic minimalism. I like the meditation mat." She closed the den door with respect.

Thomas was rattled. No one knew he meditated, at least before now they hadn't. Before the door shut he got a glimpse of Ruvian pouncing onto a shelf. Thomas's entertainment center was solid red oak, sturdy but all too scratchable. And the stereo wasn't fastened on. Not to mention all that black fur on the nice tan carpet....At least the CDs were locked away. But what good was that against a feline locksmith who hated audiobooks?

Enough was enough!

He blocked her against the door. "Mindy."

"Yes?"

"What are you doing here?"

She beamed. "Just a few refinements."

"Refinements."

She nodded. "I wouldn't dream of true interference. Your relatives, while I am not overly fond of them, do have a viable place in your life. I respect your relationship with them and won't stop them butting into your life. Their portraits are fair game, however."

"They rarely visit," he said, wondering what she meant about the portraits. And then panic hit him. "What? What do you mean to do to my life?" He may not be crazy about it, but it was his after all.

"I told you," she said patiently. "Hundreds of times, Tommy, I told you all about my ambitions to change things, make them better. I shared with you things no one else knew because you were the only one who understood."

Yes, that was quintessentially Mindy. Blurry memories came to mind. "I remember you cornering me at Glade Creek every chance you got. You told me how your parents ignored you when you lit a bonfire with the neighbor's newspapers. You said I looked like a mortician. You said one day you'd put a smile on my face. I don't remember your talking about your ambitions."

She blinked. "But you just - Tommy, did you or didn't you tell me I couldn't be a witch because Mom and Dad weren't witches?"

A witch? Yeah, Mindy was always going on about that. "I may have." He cast his mind back. "You said something about casting a spell so you could become one."

"Well, we were both wrong as it turns out."

She sounded cheerful. It was all coming back to him and he doubted her bright facade; any loss of dreams was a sad occasion. Poor kid, he thought. "You found that out, did you?" he said gently.

"Mmm. The Society for Persons of Enhanced Linguistics Logistics is no longer genetically affiliated. Gene-based inheritance is an outdated, medieval practice rooted in a feudal system that has long since been replaced. And we definitely don't call ourselves witches. We prefer the more professional designation, Wiccan Influenced Task Controlling Hologramist."

He opened his mouth and shut it again.

"I know what your next question is," she said, amused. "You're wondering about brooms."

She must have read agreement in his face because she nodded and said, "Everyone does. We don't use them anymore though."

"Oh," he managed.

"On the contrary, we use the latest in Buoyant Ride-On Orthopedic Motorless Staf-"

"Wait. Wait a minute. You - wait. Mindy, you are all right - I mean mentally. Right? You were a pest but I wouldn't have wanted - I never thought -" He reached out and gripped her shoulders. "It was innocent fun. We only playacted. Don't tell me you took it seriously. Kid, there's help. I know a man - damn, he quit his practice." Guilt crashed on him like a defense lawyer.

She said slowly, "You don't believe me. Tommy, haven't you been paying attention? Look around you."

"Mindy -"

"Look, Tommy. Open your eyes."

Poor Mindy. He shook his head. He glanced at the ceiling in frustration.

The twelve foot tall ceiling.

Also there now seemed to be a staircase leading up to the second floor.

Also his house didn't have a second floor.

These thoughts registered in quick succession. Then came the shock at the discovery that his comfortable little ranch house was now a monstrous mansion with curving banisters, ornate moldings, and vaulted ceilings. Where the No Smoking sign had hung was now a carmine and olive woven tapestry with colorful birds on it. The white living room carpet was gone. Just gone. Forget the mysterious Turkish carpet that now lay redolent on the marble floor. How did a pile carpet just disappear? His perfect vertical blinds had also vanished. That really hurt. He liked those vertical blinds. They opened on a nice view of pine trees. He couldn't see anything for heavy green velvet. Drapery spanned floor to ceiling.

A tic began low on his face.

"My house is gone."

"Yes."

The illness, whatever it was, must be catching. "Er."

"Clear now?"

He had no answer. He was forced, by some powerful gravity, to lean on the wall. She took the opportunity to slip away and trot up the staircase, calling, "I'll let you get adjusted while I take care of a few things upstairs. Touch anything you want! It may help!"

A few minutes later she came back down, descending the staircase looking very pleased. Her expression altered into concern when she saw him.

"I'm having trouble with this," he admitted. "I'd like to start this dream again."

"I know. I feel responsible. If I'd realized how resistant you've become to the Naturally Advanced Phenomena Program I'd have called to confirm the appointment first and our secretaries could have rescheduled till you'd been briefed. You didn't realize how much has changed, did you? Admittedly N.A.P.P. still operates underground. But it's been around, oh, four years now and I think it's done a lot of good, just awareness-wise."

"Well you've certainly got the acronyms down." He closed his eyes tiredly.

"Ruvian's quite the creative genius."

"Ah." He felt very weary. It was clear now that he had missed out on much of life. Rose-smelling, the little moments, opportunities for contemplation - and now look at him. A raving madman. It was a pity. A good life gone bad. Where had he gone wrong? Too much hard work, probably.

"You think you're bonkers, don't you?" She leaned against him.

He wrapped his arm around her. It felt almost like old times. Sweet Mindy. He wished she were really here with him.

"Yes, I'd like to start the dream again, this time with you as a kid," he said. "Relive the past, that sort of thing. Too bad you're not real."

She turned her face against him. "And yet, you know, I am."

"Maybe this is a sex dream. Why aren't you wearing a nightie?"

"I've had dreams about you," she admitted. "But they weren't fantasy. I tried to touch base with your aura on a regular basis. It made the waiting awfully hard. I could see that you needed me. But I had to follow the rule book. Ten years you said, and ten years I gave you."

He kissed her. "Do you fly, my little politically correct sorceress-figment?"

"Not at all. We do - oh, that's nice - Far Landing Yondering."

"Then take me flying. I want to soar with you, my gorgeous illusion."

In dreams, Armani suits didn't rip, they dissolved in a rose-scented mist. In real life they ripppppped.

Thomas shuddered and jumped away.

And saw the truth.

Her jacket and his mouth gaped open.

"Aren't witches called Selena or Tabitha or something like that?"

She shook her head.

"You're a witch."

"I told you. I'm a Wiccan Influenced Task-"

"Yes, yes. And Ruvian. He's your -"

She shook her head warningly. "Don't even say that word where he can hear it. He's a Frisky Associated Mammalian Illuminate, Lactose Imbibing and Resplendent."

He nodded. "How long have you been planning this? Ten years? And you plan to keep it up? With the rugs and such?"

The moonlight shone between the stacks of green drapery, a dreary sight. He tilted his head, and thought he heard cackling from upstairs. The smell of chemicals drifted in. Or were they called alchemicals? God, he was going crazy, and yet he felt, for the first time in a long time, eminently sane.

She offered tentatively, "We could work out a compromise to our mutual benefit. A state of minimal interference, no micro-managing."

"And what if I want my life back?"

"You mean renege on our blood-bound contract?"

"I'm thinking more along the lines of blood-typing," he said. "Hemoglobin makes excellent small print."

"That was your blood! It's unquestionable!"

He dropped a kiss on her hair. He couldn't wait to find out how she had met the cat. He grinned ferally. "Mindy, I could tie up all your resources in court for so long you wouldn't know which way your broomstick was facing. Don't ever doubt it. You're still a wild little witch, for all your gussying-up, but I'm not going to let you cast all over me from now on. Never make that mistake."

"You're so outdated. The terms you use! Oh. From now on? Does that mean -"

"We'll see. First we need to talk about living space."

She waved a hand. "Negotiable!"

Her waves packed a punch. All her changes disappeared in an instant. His vertical blinds were back. They looked wonderful. Although, looking at it now, his place did look a little bit like a schoolhouse.

"We'll definitely negotiate." A strange memory assailed him, from when he was much younger and sillier. He had consented to let Mindy dress him up all in black and she had dressed all in white...they had even said vows. She had always liked playacting.

So had he, come to think of it.

He thought for a minute and muttered, "Welded by an Established Delegate into Dual Ebullient Delight..."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing."

"Sometimes you make no sense."

"Sorry."

"I suppose it's all right."

"Does your familiar always hang around you?"

A yowl blasted the house.

"Now you've done it. Ruvian won't speak to you for a month."

Thomas lifted his face and laughed.

This final EDITOR'S EXTRA of 2002 is my holiday gift to you. Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night. Comments to BBS, please - GM