Miss K lives downstairs and rules from her four poster bed.

I follow Kitty past a pair of salmon-colored couches toward the room between the plastic palms. As we walk across a plush, Indian print rug, I slow down to let the polyester fibers soothe my battered feet. How had I ever taken carpet for granted? A tinkling melody wafts out of the shuttered doors, sparking an emotion I haven't felt in a while. Mom and I loved music. I interpret it as a good sign.

Dressed in a lacy nightgown fit for a queen, and surrounded by a sea of embroidered pillows, the madam reclines on her downy throne. She reminds me of a porcelain doll, one that's been left to crack and fade. A gem-encrusted music box rests on her lap, the melody dying as I enter. She seems distracted by it, giving me a chance to gawk at the room.

The walls are lined with shelves, and the shelves are filled with a menagerie of trinkets and handmade crafts, while the gaps in-between are crammed with paperbacks. They bury the chairs, climb the walls, and block nearly all the sunlight from the window. The spaces not cluttered with books and knickknacks are home to photographs. A person could spend a week in here and not discover everything.

A gaudy chaise lounge stands against the wall, upholstered in sage fabric with cream umbrellas. A single photo hangs over it, framing a pretty, blonde woman in a simple, white dress. She's holding a bouquet of flowers, which makes me think it's a wedding picture. Is it Miss K in her younger days? Probably not. The photo looks too modern. The woman has to be someone special though, since she commands her own section of wall, away from the chaos.

Kitty holds up her hand to stop me before we reach the bed. She walks over to her granny, touching her on the arm to distract the old woman from the music box. "Ivy, this is Miss K. She has lived in this house for many years and has graciously opened it up to girls wanting to escape the harsh world."

Opened up her house? Is that how she sees it? Ben hadn't given me a choice in the matter. If he had, I would have run like hell in the other direction.

"Nice to meet you, Miss K."

As the madam regards me, I regard her back. Her eyes are dark as molasses and peer out from never-ending folds of skin, which is bleached and creased and reminds me of tissue paper inside a gift bag. White hair flows across her shoulders like a fresh snow drift, probably on account of Kitty brushing it every day, and her thin lips look like overstretched rubber bands as they smile at me. The woman is a relic.

"Thank you, Kitty, for that telling introduction," Miss K says, as she sets the music box carefully on her nightstand. "Be a dear and run the fans while Ivy and I engage ourselves in conversation."

She motions to a strange-looking machine in the corner and Kitty hurries over to it, hiking up her dress just enough to keep her privacy intact, and mounting it with grace. The contraption, now that I see it through the clutter, is actually a stationary bike converted into a fanning machine, with woven wicker paddles attached to the spokes, probably salvaged from a ceiling fan. Kitty starts to pedal and the fans whir like a swarm of bees, blowing the fabric on Miss K's canopy and making the white-haired woman look like a spirit from the beyond.

"Come sit beside me, Ivy dear." She pats her bed and I sit down, arranging my butt in a series of small scoots. The dress Ben chose for me isn't designed for awkward girls. Miss K watches me, nodding her head and commenting to herself in an inaudible whisper. She could be suffering from dementia, but I talk to myself all the time, so I'm not going to judge.

"What a pretty pendant," she says, pointing an ancient finger at my chest. "It looks hand crafted."

I'm fondling the ivy leaf before I realize I'm doing it. "My Uncle Francis made it for me. He was an excellent pewter smith."

She bobs her head and continues to stare at it, making me feel like an ant under a magnifying glass. "So, you'd like to join our little family."

Is she asking a question or making a statement? It wasn't my idea to come to the house of hooligans. Which gets me wondering. Does the old woman even know about the methods her bodyguards use to bring in 'fresh faces'? She doesn't look like she gets out much.

"Kitty tells me you're from the north," she goes on, sparing me an answer. "If you've made it this far, I assume you're alone."

"Yes."

"I am very sorry to hear that." She touches my hand gently, like she really feels sorry for me. "Family is a precious resource these days, and it is not one we can easily replace. I suppose Kitty has already interrogated you about your past. We like to make sure we aren't harboring any criminals."

Miss K looks up at Kitty, who has been straining like mad to listen to our conversation over the hum of the machine. Kitty nods, acknowledging that she hears us fine, although the little sneak probably didn't get as much information from me as she wanted to.

"The fact that you are in my chambers tells me you have already passed Kitty's tests. Now, give me your hands and I will perform mine."

Miss K holds out her hands, palms up, signaling she wants me to place mine on hers. The gesture nearly sends me to the floor. Casters use the same method to sense each other's magic. If she has the gift, she'll know I have it. That is, if I still have it. But a caster takes a big risk holding hands with a stranger, especially a strange witch.

It's nerves. My nerves are making me suspicious. The odds of finding a clan are not in my favor. This must be a test madams perform to see if a girl has good character, and refusing to oblige her would be an insult. I have probably already blown it by hesitating. Hell, isn't this what I want anyway? An escape route?

I rub my sweaty hands on my dress, straining to hold a ladylike pose, and place them on her palms. Her fingers are bony but not disfigured, in spite of Kitty's comment about the arthritis. She closes her eyes tight, forcing several layers of skin to fold over each other, and I wait for the spark, the one that always flies when a caster's magic is being teased out. Nothing. Only a tingle, which I blame on nerves. I'm not surprised, but I'm getting increasingly more depressed about my magic. Granted, a skilled caster has the ability to draw out magic without the spark, but the technique is different. The fingers have to intertwine to do that, and she hasn't...

Holy hellfire! Ruth!

The realization hits me like a slap in the face. In the galley of Bastian's airship, Ruth held my hand when she was telling me about the aging potion. I can still feel her gnarled fingers twisting through mine. Not only is the technique used to sense magic without the spark, it can also be used to steal it, leaving the victim none the wiser until they try to conjure. Had my apprehensions about Ruth been dead on? Had I let myself be taken by the oldest trick in the book of shadows? All on account of stupid sympathy?

In my moment of horror, I pull my hands away from Miss K, whispering, "Forgive me. I'm a simple girl."

The whir of the fanning contraption dies out and I feel Kitty's glare on my back. If the shit is going to hit the fan, I figure it will happen now. I lower my head, wondering again why I'm so worried about getting thrown out. I have already cleaned the filthy world off my body. If they will kindly return my ratty dress, I can be on my way. At least I will be free to search for Ruth, the magic stealer.

As Miss K lets me sit in the crushing silence, I decide whether I should look at her, using her downy bedspread as a distraction. I stroke it gently, filling my senses with its softness before I feel the hard earth under my feet again. She joins me, sweeping her hand across the fabric.

"Do you like it? It's satin, like that dress you're wearing. Very hard to come by these days."

She settles into her bed of pillows and I slowly raise my eyes to look at her. She doesn't seem angry or even offended. If I had to choose an emotion for her, I would pick curious, like I'm a strange creature she has just discovered. She waves her hand at Kitty, prompting the fans back into motion.

"I don't think you are a simple girl, Ivy. A person has to be cunning to outwit Mother Nature. But your survival is still astonishing. Are you sure you have no living family anywhere?"

I feel a pressure in my chest, the one that always appears whenever I remember painful stuff. "Well, my Aunt Jeannie left with my cousin, Violet, before the first quake, but that was on account of my Uncle Randy having an affair. Then Uncle Randy ditched us when we were running from the fires. He said we were running to our death, but everyone was still mad at him, so we didn't listen. Maybe we should have." I swallow a lump and keep wading through the memories, tip-toeing around the stuff that might give me away. "I did have a great granny who moved to Santa Fe when I was three. But she was already pretty old, so..."

Miss K's hand comes down softly on my arm. "I didn't mean to stir up painful memories for you. I was merely curious as to how such a frail, young thing could have made it this far south on her own. How did you get to Junction? On foot? By sea?"

"An airship picked me up just before I was cremated by lava."

Her fuzzy eyebrows shoot up, exposing the whites of her eyes between the wrinkles. "And here you sit before me and claim to be an innocent? My darling, I know what type of scoundrels fly those crafts, and there is not a single one among them who wouldn't have his way with you in a skinny minute." She lowers her gaze and fusses with the lace on her nightgown, like she's giving me time to tell the truth.

"Actually, no one asked me if I'm a virgin. They all just assumed I am."

She looks at me, her eyebrows lifting again. "Well, are you?"

"Yes."

"Then this is more than astonishing. It's miraculous. Were you picked up by a crew of queer scavengers? Now there's a story I would like to hear." She laughs and Kitty laughs along with her.

"It turns out the captain didn't push his advantage," I say. "And his cook was as old as Moses, so I didn't have to worry about him." I immediately wish I hadn't compared Whiskers to Moses. Who knows what spiritual ideas this woman clings to. I try to cover it with more babbling. "The first mate gave me some trouble, but I managed to ward him off with a few choice words and a heavy mug. I know, I'm very lucky."

"That is more than luck. I would call it fate." Miss K locks me in a stare that isn't unlike the one Grandma Haddie used, and I brace for more interrogation. Thankfully, she gets distracted by a man who is being escorted into the living room by the bodyguard twins. She waves Kitty off the bicycle fan. "Go see to that gentleman, Kitty. Then come back and take Ivy to her room."

Kitty dismounts and straightens her dress before meeting her granny's eyes. "Which room?"

"Della's. And I want you to stay out of it while Ivy is here."

Kitty purses her lips and starts to glare, changing it quickly to a fake smile before shuffling stiffly through the door. Miss K clicks her tongue and pats my arm like she has to make up for Kitty's rudeness.

"Now that Nosey Rosy is out of the room, we can talk privately. I want to be perfectly clear about what I expect of my girls. This is not some two-bit brothel you're standing in. The gents who come here are looking for more than a tender touch. They want to talk and laugh and, sometimes, sing. They want a shoulder to cry on and an ear to bend. This is where the lost souls come to forget they're lost. If you play their game, you will reap the benefits of a privileged life. Do you understand?"

I nod but I'm not sure why. The stories my grannies told me had no tenderness in them. They had pain and disgrace. I figure Miss K is trying to soften the edges with promises of satin dresses and pastel furniture, but the thought of having sex with strange men, men who carry the crap of a dying planet on their backs, gives me a shiver so deep it shakes my bones. Does the old madam think it will be easy for a bloomer?

"Does it hurt the first time it happens, Miss K?" The words tumble out before I can stop them. The question was there, waiting to be asked someday. I just thought I would be asking Mom.

Miss K's eyes soften, as if my question has caused her pain, or maybe embarrassment. "I don't claim to know everything, and I will admit I have forgotten much of my youth, but not all rites of passage are pleasant. And I won't sit here in this cursed bed and say I haven't lived a blessed life. These days, to live among family is a blessing. You may have already noticed, Ivy, that the differences between people are fewer now. We are as equal as drops of rain, and each one of us is just trying to live without too much suffering. You will learn that most hardships can be overcome when the alternative is death."

I sigh as the weight of Miss K's words hits me like a hangover. Old folks have a way of putting life into perspective for those of us who have more of it to live. But life is fragile for everyone now, and I would be a fool to spend another minute griping about being a bloomer in a whorehouse or pouting about my stolen gift. If magic couldn't save my parents from death, it isn't worth worrying about, although I'm willing to bet it would help with the nasty bits.

CAST PHOTO: Maggie Smith as Miss K

PLAYLIST SONG: Center of the Sun by Conjure One