Miriam took a few moments to gather her bag and coat from by the door, then led her menagerie into the garage. As promised, her Jeep looked none the worse for the wear, and the animals needed no guidance or help getting into the vehicle or finding places to sit. They graciously left the front seats empty for the humans, as well.

Miriam settled herself behind the wheel to find the keys in the center cupholder, and the garage door still closed inches from the vehicle's rear bumper. With a sigh, she pushed the door open and spun her legs toward the gap. As she slid off the seat to the concrete slab, the large solid barrier to the outside world began to groan and creak and rise toward the roof. A hop and the snick of the seatbelt buckling readied her to drive away, but she hesitated, key in hand, waiting for Jim.

As though summoned from her thoughts, the giant emerged from the house and efficiently planted himself in the vacant passenger seat. How he made the maneuver look so effortless was impressive, considering he now wore an olive green fishing vest covered in small bulging pockets, and his left hand clutched a sawed-off double barrel shotgun. Jim met her astonished expression with a flat stare.

"Can never be too prepared. Some varmints like to walk around in broad daylight, and a couple of them might even be human. Got your map?"

"Here." She retrieved the folded paper from the outside pocket of her leather messenger bag. Everything she might need for the next couple of days was tucked inside the bag's various sections. There was a filtering straw for water, several protein bars, a compact hairbrush, a clean t-shirt and shorts, a solar battery pack that should recharge her phone while it recharged in the sun, and her manual navigation and bird identification tools. In a pinch, she could get by with just her phone and her bag for a week, and she intended to keep it with her at all times until this mystery revealed its solution.

"Looks like there're three routes across town to the museum, but only one that looks safe enough for us to take it. See these red dots?" Jim swept a hot-dog finger across the map of town where three blue lines snaked paths between their location and the yellow triangle over the museum.

Two swarms of red blocked the shortest route, while four intercepted the next shortest. That left the longest line, which wound its way through the outskirts of the village; few dots came near the path, but it would take at least half an hour to traverse, while the shortest looked to be ten minutes or less.

"I know what you're thinking, but it wouldn't be worth it, girl. Any time you save on one of the shorter ways will be eaten up dealing with the packs of unfriendly beasts you see there." He slapped the dash. "Besides, I know your truck is fast and nimble; we'll be there in no time."

And they were. Despite the roads resembling something in a war torn country, they encountered not formidable obstacles, inanimate or otherwise, and the morning shadows still stretched tall from the trees and buildings when Miriam silenced the Jeep's engine. She'd parked in a tiny dirt lot behind the elegant Victorian house bearing a weathered carved wooden sign that read, "Fort FIllmore Museum of Art and Oddities: Free Admission". The cracked and peeling baby blue on the back of the house denoted age and lack of funding, though the siding planks and shingles were in good repair. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the place to suggest why she's been sent here, and Miriam's shoulders slumped.

"Well, we won't solve your puzzle out here, and you know what they say about appearances and book covers. Will your friends be all right here, do you think?"

Jim's words stiffened Miriam's resolve to see this odd journey through to its end, and she flicked the key in the ignition to ACC to roll the front windows down halfway before twisting it back, removing it from the ignition and tucking it into her pocket.

"They will be fine, and we aren't likely to linger, anyway. Let's go." She threw open the door and slid to the ground. As she turned to push the door closed, a flurry of silver feathers fluttered toward her and perched on her right shoulder, and tiny talons prickled her skin through her shirt. She grinned at the lark as she walked away from the Jeep. "You started this thing with me; thanks for going with me to finish it."

The entrance to the museum faced the street, and the heavy front door swung open easily at her touch. Just inside the small foyer was a maitre de stand offering brochures with information about the museum and a map of the collection, which appeared to be limited to the first floor. The interior was cool and lit dimly, except for the bright spotlights trained on each of the exhibits. No other visitors were visible, and no one manned the brochure display. Now what?

Miriam was studying the layout of the museum when the lark's talons sank slightly deeper into her shoulder before it flew off into the main hall and disappeared into an open doorway at the rear of the room. Just great. With my luck, he'll poop on something expensive, or worse, peck a hole in-

TAP TAP

The familiar sound poured dread into her ears, and she dashed after the bird, weaving like a slalom skier through the free standing displays of sculptures, not caring if Jim was keeping up. She grabbed the door frame where the animal had vanished to catapult herself around the turn and into the center of the small room. Her gaze careened from wall to pedestal to floor, not registering anything except that she did not see her feathered friend anywhere.

Then she spotted him. But he wasn't moving.

He was perched on a white windowsill, looking out the pane to a winter wonderland, complete with an wooden fence, its sharp lines softened with a layer of snow, and a tall tree, its bare branches decked in icicles. In fact, the fence and the tree looked familiar, as though-

Everything around her froze when her eyes caught a detail in the wood grain beneath the lark's foot. Three connected whourls formed a heart: two nearly circular whorls side by side, with the third oval shaped whorl centered beneath them. Just like in the plank that formed her own windowsill at home. Next to the whorl lay her dreamstone and a trio of the red and white not-columbines from her twentieth birthday.

She walked toward the painting without thought, intent on getting a closer look. The landscape outside the painted window could be her own view in a few years. Her current fence was new, a replacement for the one that was knocked over by a winter windstorm, while this one showed some imperfections. Her tree was little more than a sapling, planted to celebrate her bachelor's graduation; this one could be fifteen or twenty years old, or more.

Still, the realism of the image amazed her. Near enough to observe the brush strokes, the lark still looked so life-like she was slightly surprised it did not breathe or fluff its wings. Having exhausted all avenues for pictures or descriptions like this one, Miriam considered that she could still be sleeping at Jim's house, or perhaps she had nodded off in the Jeep in her hesitation about entering the museum.

A loud appreciative whistle from the doorway disabused her of that possibility. Jim lumbered to her side and clapped her shoulder with such force she staggered a step forward and barely kept her balance.

"Seems your friend has been visiting someone else, too."

tap tap

Miriam spun away from the painting and Jim's hand to face the sound. In the corner of the room stood a tall, thick pedestal topped by a painted clay sculpture of figures protected by a plexiglass box. The lark paced on the box top, alternately looking at her and at the sculpture. When Miriam did not approach, he heaved a big breath in and out, and winged to her shoulder, pinching the skin sharply with his nails as he landed.

tap tap

Before Miriam could react to the sudden stab of pain in her skull, the bird fluttered back to the sculpture and alighted.

tap tap

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she muttered, rubbing the fresh sore spot just behind her ear as she stomped across the room. "There was no need to be so forceful about it. Ugh."

As she approached, the details of the figures came into sharp relief thanks to the overhead lighting, and Miriam forgot her pain. The depicted group included a man and a woman dressed like medieval royalty, complete with crowns and fur-lined capes; they were surrounded by several animals, and all wore silver medallions suspended from wide purple ribbons.

None of these details held her attention.

Her gaze stuck to the face of the woman. The wavy locks surrounding it matched her own hair color exactly, down to her oddly placed natural blonde highlights that often drew recommendations for stylists who could fix her "unfortunate dye job". The features were purposefully vague, but there was no mistaking the shade of the eyes, a deep blue that bordered on violet, eyes that greeted her every time she looked in a mirror. While not clearly defined, the cheekbones, nose, and chin resembled hers enough that she could not dismiss the similarities as coincidence. But who, and why?

Hoping for answers to her questions, she searched for a plaque with the name of the piece and the name of the artist, but quickly discovered that none of the art in this room was so labeled. Turning her scrutiny back to the sculpture to look for clues, she discovered that the animals with the royal couple included all of the members of her menagerie, along with a miniature giraffe whose spots were pastel green with shimmering gold outlines. Nearly overwhelmed with confusion, she turned her inspection to the face of the male figure, hoping against hope the artist included himself in his work, and that she would recognize him from somewhere.

No such luck.

Despite her disappointment, she felt an instant attraction to the handsome stranger. The man was older than the Miriam-esque woman, a few lines of gray in his hair and broad cheekbones denoting his proximity to middle age. His black hair was cropped close on the sides and fell in waves on top, the longest strands brushing the tops of his ears. His dark eyes glittered with silver specks, and she wondered if they bore any similitude to the night sky in real life.

"A striking resemblance, if I do say so myself. What do you think?"

The words vibrated the air beside her left ear, and the speaker's breath tickled her cheek. Startled, she gasped and staggered back, tripping over her own feet in her haste. The sensation of toppling backwards shoved her surprise over the cliff to fear, and she couldn't stifle her screech as she tipped over.