(Behold, the first and last part of this story told by Freddie.  It's a little on the fluffy side, so if you don't like fluff, please skip, you won't miss much anyhow.  But if you do, hope you enjoy, as this is the last time everybody's in a good mood for a while.)

My eyes open, and I sigh.  Everyone's still asleep.  I'd love to know what time it is, other than time for everyone else to be up.  The lights are dim in the cabin, and the girl beside me is out cold.  Poor thing's knackered.  Across the aisle, Rudy's eyes are also closed, mouth slightly open as he snores.  For the first time I totally realize just what a whirlwind the past two days have been.

Quietly I reach across her and lift the visor over the window to see it's pitch dark except at the very edge of the horizon, where the sky is turning from black to a kind of violet.  I shrug.  I don't mind flying, I really don't.  I've spent far too many hours aboard planes to be frightened of them. What I do mind is being tossed around like beans in a maraca- and then someone dropping the maraca.  That upsets me.  But that would upset anyone.  Show me one instance where the beans are happy that the maraca slips from someone's hand and crashes to the floor-

Why am I talking about maracas?  Sorry, dear.  I'm getting sidetracked.  I had a little something to drink before dropping off, but I don't suppose that's a very sound excuse.  Anyway.

By this time we must be more than halfway across the Atlantic.  My fingers impatiently drum against my knees.  I could be still working on that costume design I'd started the first leg of our return trip, but to do that means turning on the lights, and I don't want to wake my sleepy stray kitten. 

The same goes for scrawling possible lyrics to a song I've recently been mulling.  It's a pretty thing, if I do say so myself, in the vein of a love song.  But I still can't decide if it's going to be a happy or sad one.  I've written both kinds, and the sad ones always seem easier to write.  Maybe I'm just a naturally tragic person.  Who knows.  I don't feel sad lately, though.  It's very likely this will end up being a little more playful as a result, assuming this song even comes into fruition.  Most don't.  We shall see.  It's "Champions" that deserves more of my attention anyway.

A sudden urge to run up and down the aisle just to stretch my legs hits me, but I don't act on it.  Though we may be sitting in first class, I'm certainly not alone, and despite what so many believe, I'm not that thoughtless.  I think of trying to go back to sleep, but I'm not exhausted anymore. I don't need much, and what I do need I've already had. I sigh again, becoming more decidedly bored by the second.

Eve shifts in her sleep, turning her head away from me.  I notice a thin black cord trailing from her ear to something by her side.  Squinting, I see it's the Magic Mirror.  Ooo. 

In a trice, nosiness is no longer a sin.  I gently slip the thing away from her hip and cradle it between my fingers.  I slip a cautious look her way.  She sighs deeply, letting out a little moan.  I try not to let the sound get to me- and fail.  A bit less curious than before, I pull my eyes away from her and focus back on the Mirror.

It reminds me vaguely of a smaller monolith from that indescribably dull film 2001.  I remember someone talked me into going to see it when it was released- it might have been Brian, for all I know, it certainly is his style, but I can't remember for certain.  Difference is, this thing has a little red light that flashes randomly at the top, and an odd-looking smiling face beside the letters "LG".  Wonder what they stand for.  "Looking Glass," maybe.  It is after all the Magic Mirror.  That's probably it. 

I press the button like she showed me, and there's the image of the penguins.  Just below, it says, "Enter password."

Bugger.  I'd forgotten this part.  "Who wants to know?" I mutter under my breath. 

But the screen doesn't change.  It wants a password, nicely showing an image of a keyboard right underneath.  I have no idea what to do next.  Do I guess?  Do I touch the little letters on the screen?  I'm feeling less intelligent the longer I sit here this way.  So I decide to just go for it.

I touch the letter "s," and "s" appears in the box.  It gives me the oddest little thrill when it happens.  But that's not how I want to start my password.  I press a little arrow pointing left, assuming it's the eraser, and the letter presently disappears.  This is so exciting- almost embarrassingly so.  

But I still haven't the faintest what the word could be.  "Penguins," perhaps?  I try to touch the "p", but the letter "o" appears instead.  I erase it, then try again.  But it still thinks I want "o."  This happens two more times, and I'm about to get more than a little miffed when finally it stops messing with me and shows the letter I want.  I type the rest of the word with no further trouble.  

I suppose "Done" is the thing to touch when I'm through?  That's improper grammar.  I'm no dictionary, but they could at least say "Finished" or something like that.  "Done" sounds so unglamorous, to say the least.

But when I do tap the word, the screen says "Try again."

Rolling my eyes, I obey.  Just for fun I type in my own name, and get the same message.  "Try again."  I try Roger's name next.  The same response- and for some reason I am relieved.  I then start using any word I even remotely associate with Eve; "jazz," "Queen," "God," "angel," and then finally, with a groan, "Richard Dreyfuss" (I still don't get it- nor do I get why it matters so much).  None of them work.  I am rapidly losing interest.

I wish I knew what Eve's real name was; perhaps that's the password.  It's in a Beatles song, as is every other girl's name in the world.  Michelle?  Rita?  Sadie?  Julia?  Magill?  Lill? Nancy?  Lizzy?  Mary Jane?  Sally?  Eleanor?  It's too many to choose from.  

I pick one at random and type it in: "Julia."  I don't know why I chose that one exactly, though I love the song.  One of my favorites by Lennon.  It's simple, sweet, and rather mysterious- like her. 

"Try again."

F---.  

Then I recall what she said the last time I was fiddling with it: "I love anything in a tuxedo."

Tuxedo.  Hm.  Perhaps that's it after all.  It's worth a go.  Just as likely as anything else.  I type it into the box.

And the penguins vanish.  I punch the air in victory.  I'm so clever sometimes.

In the next split second my jaw drops.

The penguins have given way to a screen dotted with little pictures.  And the image behind it- a field of golden daffodils- is moving.  Like a wind I can't feel is rustling them together, making them dance gently before my eyes.  This sort of thing only happens on television, and yet here I sit with this unbelievable device in my hands. 

I'm wild to explore, see what these pictures mean.  I just don't know where to start.

The screen fades a little.  When I tap it again, it brightens.  That might get a little bothersome, but we'll wait until that happens.  The four color pinwheel circle thing on the bottom looks interesting, so I touch that.

Then this silly word pops up in big colorful letters with yet another box underneath it.  My patience has run out on the word boxes, and I don't care to know what "Google" means, probably something ridiculous, so I press another backwards arrow and it takes me back to where I was before.

Some of the pictures have captions underneath telling me what they are.  And they don't help much.  "YouTube," says one.  "Instagram," says another.  "InfoWars," "Amazon," and "Email," all in that order, run across the top.  I can't make heads or tails of any of it, save Amazon- but even there, I hardly know what a shopping trolley has to do with a river.  Is this the language they use where Eve comes from?  I'll take English, thank you. 

Then I see another image in the corner that says "Amazon Music."  That, I understand.  What does a girl like Eve listen to?  I press it.  Hopefully it's not all Gregorian chants and Ave Marias.

I'm being tart.  I'm sorry.  I know her better than that.  The Mercurena, after all, is anything but pure- especially the way she was dancing to it.  I just wish- I mean, I'm just so frustrated lately.  I'm having fun, of course, but there are times I want to tear all my hair out and scream.  F---ing shop window.  Will the glass ever shatter?

I just realized, I haven't spoken to Joe in days.  He probably thinks I've forgotten about him.  And he wouldn't be wrong.  I should call him when we land. 

So anyway, I touch the Amazon Music button, or whatever you call it.  A new dark blue backdrop appears, and a list forms.  On the top, the word "Albums" is highlighted.  The first thing I see on top is "The Beatles: The White Album."  My brows knit.  How does that even work?  I touch it, and there's an entire listing of the tracks.  Everything.  Wow.

There's a little triangle pointing in the opposite direction of the erase button, but I like the winding arrows better, so I touch that.  "Yer Blues" appears on the screen but I can't hear anything.  I remember the cord leading to her ear, and mildly freak out.  With deft fingers I pull the thing out of her ear before it awakens her and stick it in mine.  Now John Lennon is screaming about how lonely he is in my right ear.  It's a bit too loud for this time of night, so I hold it away from my head a ways. 

I go back to the selection and the music keeps playing.  There's a lot of things I don't recognize, and there's more leading down, but I don't know how to move the screen that direction. I try dragging the tip of my finger up. It moves. Again, I get the giddy feeling in my head. I could stay and listen to the Beatles, but I'd rather keep looking.

I don't see any of our songs in the mix.  Not a shock.  Disappointing as always, but not a shock.  I suppose we're too bawdy for her innocent ears.  The Boss allows "Helter Skelter" but He doesn't tolerate "Bohemian Rhapsody."  Explain that to me. 

Oh, right.  Maybe the Beelzebub thing got in the way.  Whatever.

I see something called Faith, by a fellow named George Michael.  I'm honestly not surprised by the title, but I'm intrigued nonetheless.  I touch it, and four songs appear.  Seems wholesome enough.  "Faith," "Father Figure," "I Want Your Sex," "One-"

Wait a tic.

My finger drifts to the third thing.  As the seconds pass, and the song really starts, a slow grin crosses my face.  In the corner are the words "X-Ray Lyrics" and I touch it.  Now I can actually see what this guy is singing.  I cover my mouth and begin to laugh. 

Evie, Evie, Evie.  What a little rebel.  This is the same girl who wants me to cool down every time I get hot for her- which is often- and yet she listens to music that speaks for my feelings.  You would think she'd understand, but she doesn't.  Or maybe she does, and she just likes watching me squirm.  Either way, ARGH!

When this delicious bit of lasciviousness ends, I bounce back to the music list and press the mix-up button again.  If this is the tip of the iceberg, I can't wait to see what lies beneath the surface.

Two and a half hours later, I'm still listening to her music.  People around me are starting to wake up, but Eve isn't one of them, so I keep the overhead lights off.  I've practically mastered the device by now, and found several new singers and groups to look into later.  I'm not staring at the thing like before though; to stare at it too long kind of hurts my eyes, the light is so bright and everything else around me is so dark. 

The Magic Mirror has a flashlight, which I have turned on and am using to light my drawings.  I've yet to find the camera part of it, but it's around there somewhere.  I can sneak a few pictures of Eve later once I get her to tell me where it is.

Now a new song plays, again something I've never heard before. It's sweeter than much of what I've heard so far, rather like an early Jackson 5 Motown type thing, except the image shows three young, blond boys who are obviously not from the Jackson family. I can't understand a word they're saying, and I've since turned off the lyrics. It's very silly, repetitive, and sounds like they're scatting the whole thing. Again, maybe this is a heaven-language song. I wonder what "MMMBop" means.  Maybe if I listen to it again, I'll find out.  I play it once more.  It really is a stupid little song.  Still, if nothing else, it makes me smile.

What's that you say?  Do I really think Eve's an angel? Oh, gosh.  Frankly, I don't know. I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if she was, and I wouldn't be disappointed if she wasn't, if you can understand that. I'm keeping an open mind.

I put my pencil down and look at what I've sketched on the page.  This has potential.  It's another catsuit, but this one has long sleeves unlike the one I used for the last tour.  The slit in front however takes just as deep a dive- and since it's basically just a body sock, the view will be just as scenic.  And, uh, I'll let you decide what that means.  

Anyway, like the last, it's very Nijinsky- and before you assume I'm in some kind of Nijinsky-Baryshnikov rut, with the leotards and the ballet slippers and things like that, understand I was planning on straying from the tights altogether on the next tour.  It's Eve's fault, really.  She put the idea in my head in the first place.  I'll have to show this to Zelda in a couple of days, see what she thinks.  She has a wonderful flair for fashion.  

Which is more than I can say for Eve. My God.  I don't know what to do with her sometimes. She won't wear jewelry except for that cheap little ring and that ugly necklace she's so fond of, and she has to be reminded to wear shoes.  I wear more makeup than she does, I'm certain of it. If I didn't buy her all those clothes, she'd still be marching day to day in those two horrible tees and one pair of jeans. And she'd like it. 

 Not to say she doesn't put herself together nicely. I'd forgotten to tell her how beautiful she looks tonight, even after two windy open-air rides aboard the ricketiest jalopy ever. She looks beautiful all of the time.  But it's a very casual sort of beauty.  Effortless. 

I glance at Eve again, who has shifted back to face me.  Her brows gently knit and relax as she dreams. I can't help but smile.  Her diary is still sitting across her thighs. I think it's her diary. That's what she says it is. It could be something far more serious, but I'm not going to snoop around and find out for certain. That's unforgivably nosy.

It's a good question, really, why I didn't report her.  It flummoxes me a bit myself. 

Eve's actually not the first stranger to crash my place.  A couple of years ago, actually, on tour in Seattle.  It was the last night of our Sheer Heart Attack Tour in North America.  I walked into my hotel room that night to find some little whore had broken in and was in the process of stealing my jewels.  I rather took matters into my own hands- I dragged the slut out by her hair, made her give everything back, and threw her out on her arse.  True story.

And I made the mistake of deciding that would never happen again.  How was I to know that in two years' time, a new, completely different girl would enter my life in a similar way?

I really was going to do it, have them come cart her off. But I didn't.

I'd only be half-kidding if I blamed the cats. 

I had my hand on the phone and I called for her to come back down.  When she didn't, I checked on her to find her curled up on top of the bed in the guest bedroom- and Oscar dozing away on her hair.  I tried shooing him away so I could wake her up, but he wouldn't move.  Not that I tried my very hardest, but that cat just lay there, staring at me as if to ask if we could keep her.  So I decided to let her stay asleep until the police arrived. 

I took her bag from her arms to check it, expecting a repeat theft, but there was nothing of mine inside.  I set in on the floor, then noticed she was laying on the bed with shoes on.  That happens to be a pet peeve of mine, as I always assume the dirt and dust on one's soles will get on the covers, so I took off her shoes and put them by the bag.  My resolve by this point was shrinking fast.  I patted her shoulder before walking out to call the police at last, and then I studied her a little more closely.  And even asleep, she looked scared.  She looked so very helpless, there with her shoes off and the little orange cat nestled up against her. 

By that point I knew she wasn't going anywhere that night but under the covers she was laying on.  My heart- yes, I have one- melts for the down-and-outs in the world.  At least I could help this one, let her stay the night.

Little did either of us know the one night would become ten or so days- or that I would learn to see her as more than just some helpless little outcast in need of a friend. 

"MMMBop" ends and shifts to something called "She Will Be Loved."  This is that band called Maroon 5- I can tell by the voice, which I like.  It's in my range, but not as strong.  These chaps need to be discovered.  There's a lot of talent out there which goes unnoticed.

Idly I wonder what she would do should John be able to fix the Relic.  She doesn't seem too upset that it's gone, and she's coming to terms with setting up house down here.  True, a Passport can't buy someone a house, or even a job necessarily, but it's a start.  Hopefully I'll never have to tell her I broke the damn thing.  That would be nice.

I've worn her down quite a lot, and I can proudly say I probably know her better than most people.  But the wall she's built around her feelings is so high, and so wide.  She's a practical creature, those big eyes belying her cunning.  She says what she needs to to help herself.  I know this because I do that too, and I can recognize it in other people.  Who knows how she really feels.

I shake my head.  I am attracted to this girl, and I don't know why.  She's lovely, of course.  And sharp.  But that's not why I keep taking her along.  That's not why I'm starting to hope the Relic is out of even Deacy's capable hands. 

I roll my eyes and sigh.  What a fight it's been!  We're both trying to stay one step ahead of the other, struggling constantly for the upper hand.  I've tried to take John's words to heart, and put them into practice.  Yet as much as I've learned about her, that distance remains.  She won't even f---ing tell me her name!  If we're not sparring, we're squabbling- even if it's playful squabbles. There's no getting closer.  The few times I think we might, there's always, always a disturbance.

Perhaps I just need to go for broke.  Perhaps I ought to throw caution to the wind at last and explain everything.  Then again, maybe not.  It's a dangerous idea, especially if it actually turns out she doesn't-

Oh, dear. Eve's awake, and I've been caught red-handed.  Let's put that mask back on.