(Sal here.  Guess I lied when I said the "Magic Mirror" chapter would be the last Freddie POV.  Do forgive me.  But anyway, here we are, the real and true final Freddie expose... in this book, that is.  Hope you like!)

"Will you please sing to me?" Julia mumbles. 

She always asks so politely; I have to smile.  "What would you like me to sing?"

"Whatever you want.  You make it all sound heavenly."  She's lying so close to me that her lips gently graze my skin as she speaks.

The first thing to come to mind is a track of Brian's, called "Teo Torriatte."  It's one of the best things he's written so far in my opinion; of course, the fact that its lyrics are half in Japanese makes it all the more charming.  I offer it up, and she sleepily agrees.  Though I'm utterly spent myself, I have enough energy for just one song.  Besides, she's never asked me to sing to her before- all this time, two whole weeks, not once; I can't turn her down now.  I didn't write the lyrics, I didn't write the tune. The song, like I said before, is Brian's. But tonight, its meaning belongs to us.

The girl says nothing else after that, merely lays her head on my shoulder and listens to the song.  To be sure, I've sounded better singing it than I do now; my voice keeps cracking, and the words are harder to sing somehow.  Funny, that "Teo" is affecting me the way it is; I've never had these odd little pangs in my heart.  It's a very romantic song, obviously, and I can indeed be very touched by music- but this hurts.  Not in a bad way, though- it's a sweet pain, a gentle, dull ache in my chest. 

At last the song ends, by which point I can scarcely whisper. My throat is tight, my heart is aching, and my eyes are moist. I know I'm on the brink of tears, but even now I'm trying to choke them back. I don't know what's the matter with me.  I'm not alone, I don't feel helpless, my world isn't falling apart.  Those are the major reasons I cry.  Oh, well, I'm sure it'll come to me.  I do, however, get myself back under control, and for many minutes I just lay there and listen to Julia breathe. 

She's very quiet now, perhaps dreaming; I suppose she fell asleep while I was singing.  I chuckle to myself.  Oh, right.  So this little round-eyed minx takes wave upon wave for two plus hours and still maintains a champion's stamina- but she can't stay awake three minutes to hear one whole song.  Explain that if you will.

Speaking of music, I think the Magic Mirror is still on; I can hear a faint trill of some instrument through the bedroom door.  Of course, it could just be one of my cats asking to join the party; they do that sometimes, social things.  With a reluctant grumble or two, I decide I'll get out of bed to look into it, so carefully I slip my arms from around her waist and my feet to the carpet.

Throwing on my dressing gown, I open the door and creep downstairs.  Just as I suspected, the little black device is still playing her songs.  That "She Will Be Loved" thing I like is on again as I pluck it off the shelf.  I don't stop the music immediately, instead sing along (as best I can, I've only heard this song once) while I wander further on down.  There's still a few lights on, after all, and we left a bit of a mess in the kitchen before, ahem, retiring; I might as well kill two birds with one stone.

As soon as I walk into the kitchen, a big, naughty smile crosses my face.  There it is, the scene of the crime: my wrinkled shirt on the floor by the table; that lovely angel frock in a sorry-looking heap an arm's length away; the empty, no-longer-chilled bottle of vodka sitting on the counter.  I gather up our clothes and put them in the laundry room to be dealt with in the morning. 

I don't know what possessed me to just take her where she stood tonight.  I mean, I really don't know.  It's like I just turned into an animal or something and I had to have her right then, or not at all.  And it wasn't a one time thing.  It kept happening.  Different positions, perhaps, and different effects, but all hot- and all, sinfully erotic.  Julia's a, um, very eager pupil- and that's all I'm going to say about it...

(Hm?

What do you mean, that's not fair?

Oh, I see.  You think I'm keeping some things a secret.  Now, really. Is that the kind of person you think I am?  Look. If you don't like the way I'm telling this story, don't listen and just draw to your own conclusions. As I was saying:)

That reminds me.  The "mini-mes" and "mini-yous" thing- where in the world did that come from?  It's not like me at all.  I've never wanted children, because I've never wanted to be a father.  I'd be the worst father in the history of the world.  Mary asked me if I wanted one once, and, uh, in so many words, I said no.  It just wouldn't work, with my job, my lifestyle, my anything. 

Not that I don't like kids.  Other people's kids are wonderful, because I can appreciate them from afar, and I don't have to take them home. All the same, as cute as Robert is, I still don't really want children of my own.  I'm not a family man like John.  I can't teach anybody anything useful, and I don't want to be responsible for anybody but myself.  That's too big a weight- and I want to maintain a certain level of freedom.

Although, I must say, Julia would indeed look sweet with a tummy out to here, doing all those funny things that pregnant ladies do- and somehow it's terribly easy to picture her cradling a sleeping baby in her arms...

Oh, sorry.  I don't know why I'm even talking about this.  Darlings, if the spotlight has to currently be on me, do me a favor and don't let me run on about such things.  They're so silly...

(Good Lord.  What now? 

You still think I'm holding out, don't you?

So what if I am? My thoughts and feelings are just that- mine- and I'd really rather not shout them to the world right now.   Stop pushing.  Anyway...)

The screen suddenly darkens on the Mirror; Julia says that's what happens when the power is running low. So I turn the music off and look around for that thing she plugs into the wall, where is it- ah!  Yes, by the dining room entrance.  It should be plenty powered up by tomorrow.  Ah, the miracle - and nuisance- of future technology.  You'd think they wouldn't even need batteries at all in forty years. 

Just before I go back upstairs, I walk toward the piano and pick the jade cats off their wood stand, turn them over in my hands.  They really are quite beautiful; Julia has a better eye for art than I realized.  I've never seen a carving like this before.  True, I don't naturally gravitate toward Chinese jade; I'm much more in love with antiques from Japan, they've been so good to us after all- but this is special. 

That diary thing of hers is over there on the sofa, still open to the page with the "contract."  Setting Yin and Yang down I walk over and look at it again.  I'm rather surprised that she signed it, really- but what's even more shocking is, I signed it, too. 

Then something in the contract hits me a little differently than before.  Julia made me promise to be wary of Paul Prenter.  Considering all she knows about me, what does that mean she knows about Paul?  She's obviously not his biggest fan, of course that's just a guess on my part; but when someone refers to a person as the "Antichrist," it's not typically taken to be a compliment.  What's going to happen with him, I wonder?  I start turning pages back, scanning for clues.

The first thing I see is a list, most of which is crossed out.  As I read it, I begin to see a pattern, and I start to laugh.  My God.  That girl knows me almost too well; these are all things that I like, and half of this stuff I haven't even directly discussed with her.  I keep reading, snickering at her little side comments, until I reach the bottom of the list- and all of a sudden it's not funny anymore.

Certainly not when the last four items are:

Mary
David (Minsy)
Joe (Liza)
Love (till it runs out)

It's obvious she wrote this much earlier today, before she made out the silly contract thing, at least. Even so, a hot tongue of fire ignites in my head, burning the back of my eyes. In fact, I'm feeling quite high-strung all of a sudden.  That happens every time she mentions any of my lovers, past or present.  I don't know why. It's nothing to get upset about.  Never mind; this too will pass, it's not worth losing sleep over.

But the last line is what holds my attention the longest- and once more I'm hit with the total lack of faith she has in me; and how even after tonight's madness, and her utter surrender to my every desire- her expectations of me are so horribly low.  It, um- doesn't feel great, but you know, that's the most natural response.  There's better words to use, but for now, for the sake of this conversation, I'll just go with that.

(All right, yes, I AM holding back! There, I said it, I admit it.

But there's a reason for it. I'm feeling rather emotional right now, so I'm basically on auto-pilot, going through the motions. Just thought I'd tell you in case you're wondering why I sound so stiff.

No, I'm not going to go on about it. What a question.

Don't look at me like that! What do you want me to do, vomit up everything that I'm feeling, really feeling, inside?

Oh. F---. You do.

I don't believe this. You burst into my bedroom right after some very intimate goings-on, sneak into my brain without asking, and just expect to get in on the things I keep tucked away in my heart. My God! Why does everybody want to know what I'm feeling? Those things are so boring, and anyway it's none of your f---ing busi-

Ohhhhh, now you've said please. Well, that changes everything. Good Lord. I don't suppose you're going anywhere till I do, either.

All right, look. If I let you in, will you promise to go when I ask you to, and let me at least keep my dreams a secret?

Good. Then we have a deal. I'm not used to baring my soul to strangers, and I'm awfully knackered, so if the words come out clumsy, cut me a little slack.

Sorry for being so short, by the way. Just next time, ask, okay?

Here's the keys to the door, step right in. Tread softly, though, and don't touch anything. Remember, it's my heart.)

Very quietly, in case I might disturb her, I play the chords of her still wordless song, softly singing her name to myself, trying not to explode. Tiff and Tom take turns rubbing up against my legs, as if they also know my balloon's about to pop. But to be honest, it's not doing much good. I can already feel it coming down, like a tidal wave crashing upon my head.

Ooo, here it comes.  Watch out.

I can't win. I can't f---ing win. Julia doesn't trust me.

I asked her what would push the right buttons, finally make her trust in me. Odd, how she never answered. Perhaps because there isn't anything that would.

Oh, of course, she says she wants me, she needs me, she loves me- the Holy Trinity of Lovers' Pledges, we're covered on all three. But I want more than that. I want her to believe in me- to trust that when I tell her how I feel, I mean it with all my heart- but with everything I've done, it's never enough.  Not that she's demanding, or selfish.  Far from it.  Julia has asked me for maybe three things over the past two weeks, and she's more than reimbursed me, in various ways, for letting her stay. 

Funny, now that I think of it, how she never does ask for anything, never asks me where I go when I'm not at the studio, doesn't ask me anything about my lovers.  Naturally, she might mention them once or twice, but not in a curious or suspicious sort of way.  It's so weird; it doesn't matter if it's Mary, or David, or Joe, she acts like she expects them to walk in at any second, push her out the door, and claim me as theirs. Why can't she understand it doesn't work that way? Does she think I'm that shallow?  Haven't I made it crystal f---ing clear how I feel about her? 

Then I look back down at the book in my hands, and my shoulders sag as soon as I remember.  Quietly I walk back upstairs.

For Julia is from the future, and spent many a day analyzing me from afar.  At last I wonder: what kind of person do I become later, if this is the way she reacts to me now?  Do I really turn into a monster?  And again, where does Paul enter into it? 

But that was the old future, right?  That's what Julia was saying, I think.  She tends to talk in circles when she's excited, so I can't be sure.  But she did say something about changing the future, and that things are more than likely different now.  Okay, fine.

SO WHY CAN'T SHE GIVE ME A BLOODY F---ING CHANCE?!?!

Absently I shuffle out of my dressing gown once I reach the second floor, hanging it up in the closet before coming back to bed.  Julia hasn't moved; she's still lying on her side, the sheets kicked all the way to her feet so that she is fully exposed from head to toe.  I bend closer, peering against the darkness, taking her all in. 

That gentle ache is setting in again, but this time it's not quite so subtle. The longer I look at her, the stronger it gets. I run my fingers through her long hair and breathe in her scent. She smells so good; hers is a warm, sweet fragrance- like gingerbread. I noticed that when she came up to Wessex the first time to bring us the wine. What a stupid excuse that was, in retrospect, just to have her pay a call on us- just so the boys could see I wasn't exaggerating when I said she was breathtaking.

That was a little less than two weeks ago, wasn't it? Back when I called her Eve. How quickly the days run by. The same day, I think, that we made that bargain: shelter in exchange for a favor a day- but the favors couldn't be sexual. Her idea, of course, that last part. And I was more than willing to go along, even after I broke the Relic.  I'm not drawn to straitlaced people; I assumed she would be no different. 

But the wild look in her eyes when we were recording the stomps for "We Will Rock You" tipped me off that there was more going on under the surface.  I saw a hunger, an insatiable excitement just waiting to be tapped- and it reminded me of myself, as does many things about her.

It was the Mercurena that settled it: I made up my mind that I would free Julia from herself- and that's when I started really feeling the pull, the attraction.  I did try and fight this feeling, you know.  I had Phyllis and Liza to juggle, after all, and that was trouble enough. I found Julia lovely, yes, even began to want her, but it was nothing I couldn't suppress. 

At first. 

I can only imagine how confused Mary must be. She's convinced that I'm gay, as opposed to bisexual, and I was beginning to agree with her. But now, here I stand, watching over this girl whose body I spent all night, as Julia put it, "violating." Life is ever so strange.

Even though I'm really only a few centimeters taller than her, Julia seems so small, curled up there in my huge bed, lying naked and vulnerable before me.  I shake my head.  God, she's young.  I only ever realize that when I watch her sleep, when her big, clever eyes are closed, and those sweetly cynical lips silently move in some random sleeptalk.  That's when she looks her youngest, her most innocent.  Twenty years old on the dot, and yet she's fifty-one years younger than me.  Just thinking about it makes me feel so f---ing ancient.

A low, electronic beep cuts through my thoughts. I lift my head and look around, realize the sound is coming from the spare room.  My eyes narrow.

It's the Relic.

And like the wrath of the Almighty I storm into Julia's old room, fists clenched.  What's this thing making noise for?  Are they coming to take her away?

"You're too late," I whisper, taking it in my hands.  "She's staying with me."

It beeps again, and that somehow only makes me angrier.

"I don't care, you buggers!" I cry.  "You had your chance, but she's promised!"

And for a mad split second, I almost throw it to the floor and stamp all over it like it's some big cockroach- just some nasty nuisance that needs to be exterminated once and for all.

But I hesitate. 

I can't do this.  I've already smashed it once, trapped her here against her will.  If she's staying, it can't be because I've forced her to stay.  Yes, she's promised, but let her follow through on that promise herself.  Oh, it would be so easy to kill this thing, you have no idea how much self-control it requires not to.  But it's not for me to decide.  I have to leave it to Julia. 

Suddenly my limbs go numb.  She's still there, isn't she?

Leaving the Relic on the nightstand, I run back into my room, afraid to find a destroyed, empty bed.  She's lying there just like a moment ago.  But my eyes could be playing tricks.  That could just be what I want to see.

I kneel beside Julia's body, then squeeze my eyes closed for a few seconds.  When I open them again, she's still there.  But I'm not convinced; tentatively I reach out to touch her arm, half genuinely afraid my hand will pass right through her.

But I feel her soft, warm flesh under my palm, and I let out a giddy sigh of relief.  She's real. At this moment, Julia is real.

I sound fanatically possessive, don't I? Well, I'm sorry. I am. Someday, you'll understand how this feels; someday, if you're lucky (or unlucky, I suppose it depends on your perspective), a beautiful, young angel will crash-land into your life, be everything you ever wanted- even the things you never thought in a thousand years you would want- and let's see how willing you'll be to let such a miracle go. 

I'll be honest: at this point I'm just waiting to wake up. Because only in dreams do perfect people fall out of the sky and land in your lap- and only in dreams are people allowed to be this in love without it killing them straight away.

And I do love her.  I must.  She's the only person who has ever made me do such peculiar things- whether that's sleeping in the bath or singing "Fever" for her in front of hundreds of people while dressed in a way I would never want anyone to know about.  Julia can poke fun at me in a manner that would infuriate me if anyone else did it, because it's always affectionate somehow.  Of course we've fought, and sometimes it's become quite horrible, but that's because we know what makes each other tick- we have each other's numbers, so to speak- and we always come back in the end, more attached than ever.

But it's a different kind of love from anything else I've ever felt.  I wonder if I should be a little worried.  You see, I wanted David before I ever needed him, the same goes with Joe.  I knew I needed Mary before I knew I wanted her.  I've been wanted by people who would never need me, and vice versa; and those I need always wind up gone in one form or another anyhow. 

For the first time, I believe I have met someone who needs me just as much as I need her.  And that is something I'm terrified of losing.  To think, all this time, I wanted to get rid of the upright gingerbread girl she is, when