The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Maleficent is here! Repeat: Maleficent is here!”

The Secret Service agent spoke Contessa Helena de San Finzione’s codename as she walked past him, through the West Wing of the White House, toward the Oval Office.

“Contessa!” One of the President’s aides; Helen didn’t remember what he did, but that he was one of the people who actually did things around here, ran up to her nervously shouting. He seemed to be both be trying to get her attention and alert everyone that she was there at the same time. “Contessa Helena de San Finzione!”

Helen waited until he said her full name and title to finally turn around and address the man.

“Oh, hi there.” She said with a smile, as they continued walking. “I’m not staying, this isn’t an official visit. I just stopped in to use the phone.”

“I, uh…” The man floundered for something to say. “I noticed that you refused Secret Service protection for your visit, again.”

“I’ve told you all before: I have my Ultimados.” Helen said, lighting a cigarette. “They do everything your little Secret Service does except better. Especially the standing out in a crowd, Mr. Ignore-My-Ray-Bans-Indoors-While-I-Whisper-Into-My-Cufflink!” The last, she yelled over her shoulder at another agent that they passed.

She burst into the Oval Office, causing the President and more of his advisers to stop whatever they were talking about. Helen noticed poker cards, chips and girly magazines being stashed.

“Don’t get up.” She commanded everyone. “Everyone shut up and stay where you are. Except you.” She pointed at the President. “Yes, shut your hole, but stand up and walk over to that side of the room. The last thing I want is YOU anywhere within photo op range of me. I’m here to use the phone.”

He walked over to the other door of the room, folded his arms, and started continuously nodding; the way he did to indicate to people that he wasn’t listening to a word they said and was just waiting for his chance to speak again.

Helen walked up to his desk and opened the top drawer. She took out the red telephone, propped her feet up on the desk, and picked up the receiver. She dug something out of her purse while she waited for the person on the other end to pick up.

“Vlad!” She said when the other person picked up, flicking her ashes onto the President’s desk. She began speaking in Russian. “Yeah, Contessa Helena de San Finzione here. I was on my way home and thought I’d stop in and have a word. And I’m doing it this way, because… well, one, I want to talk to the organ grinder, not the monkey; and two, because this is as close as I like to get to you, and I don’t want either of you little pricks getting my number.”

She took a piece of paper with a list of names on it and set it on the desk.

“Here’s what’s gonna fucking happen: I’m leaving a paper with your bitch.” She explained. “It’s a list of forty-one names of people being held in the Uongoian refugee camps. San Finzione will provide them safe passage and transport to America, America’s going to grant them full citizenship with zero hassles or media attention. Your little doggy is gonna sit here and like it and get nothing in return. He doesn’t even get to ‘act big’ for it for the media. YOUR task is to let him know he’s going to do it, because the language of Shit is about the only one I don’t know, so I’ll let you two discuss it. And if you have the tiniest issue with it, you’ve no doubt already heard about my big shopping spree last night.” There was a pause. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

She stood up, put out her cigarette on the desk, dropped the receiver, and headed for the patio door. She looked at the fucker whom he and his businesses, Vincenzo had been wise to ban from San Finzione decades before he decided to destroy any admiration the world had left for the country that he’d made Helen proud to call “No longer my own.” If she stopped to tell this “man” all the things that were wrong with him and that he needed to stop doing right now, Maria will have married Stavro and solved the heir problem in the course of natural time herself by the time Helen got home. The Primary Home, now.

“He wants to talk to you now.” She told the President in English. Halfway out the door, she stopped and turned around.

“The next time any of you are on camera and try to explain how some new tax cut for you and your rich pals is going to be good for America; you’ll shit your pants on the spot. All of you, once you find out about it. Ciao, America!”

Detective Inspector Luc Tomas Allaine of Interpol shut off his desktop computer. He grabbed his coat and hat, departed Interpol HQ, got on his bike, and rode home through the streets of Lyon. He was a few minutes ahead of the end of his shift, but his supervisor never seemed to mind if Luc wanted to knock off a few minutes early; primarily because it decreased the chance of their encountering each other.

As he got off his bike and prepared to mount the three steps to his and Sam’s home, a voice from the hedge row next to him caused him to drop his bike with a start.

“Detective Inspector Allaine?” The voice he now recognized whispered.

“My own personal Cultural Attaché.” He replied, picking up his bike. “Commissioner Gordon only has to worry about encounters like these at night.”

“Batman must require more sleep than an Ultimado.” She replied.

“If you’re checking to see if I accidentally destroyed everything that our mutual friend gave me, it’s all tragically fallen into my deskside shredder. Except for the flash drive, that suffered a nasty encounter with the butt of my service weapon.”

“No. He trusts that you have done this. I am here for the other thing.”

“Oh, oui.” Luc fished a key with a note wrapped around it out of his pocket. He looked at the hedge for a hand to extend to take it. When it didn’t happen, he tossed the key over the hedge. He didn’t hear anything land. “Whyte’s box is here in Lyon; the note has the bank and box number. With what M’sieur Equals and I uncovered to connect the things I had already gathered on him, Americans will confess to enjoying Nickelback before they admit to ever having owned a Whyte product.”

“He thanks you.” She whispered. “And so does La Contessa.”

“I am happy to help them both.” Luc responded, tipping his helmet to the hedge. “I was thinking of simply telling you which bank and box; and seeing if you could get the contents without the key.”

“It could be done. This saves me the effort.”

“I suppose I should get inside and let you disappear, shouldn’t I?”

“That, too, would save me some effort.” She replied.

“Very well, then. Adieu… what should I call you?”

“Why don’t you come up with something?” She answered.

Luc thought a moment.

“I like ‘The Cultured Woman’ for your name.”

“Merci.” She replied, her voice starting to fade. “I like it, too. Tres X-Files.”

Luc nodded to the hedge and continued his journey up the steps. He walked in the door, whistling the X-Files theme.

At a table at an outdoor café near the San Finzione Marketplace, there sat a Yia-Yia. As there had for as long as anyone could remember. The owner was the sixth generation of his family to run the café, and the fifth to no longer question how she was there every morning before they opened and remained there every night when they locked up and went home. He presumed that she had to get up and use the washroom at some point and that she couldn’t possibly wait there overnight for him to open each day but was never able to find the time to intently watch her and find out.

The Yia-Yia did what she always did; she drank her vino and watched the world go by. People and things seemed to no longer enter and exit her field of vision, but rather, her field of opinion. Mostly today, it had been all the airplanes. Oh, there were always noisy airplanes now. She’d heard that the country had gotten an airport some time ago; that would explain it. It was when there were a lot at once, like a big one with a bunch of little ones flying around it. There’d been a couple of those today, and it seemed like the noise would never stop. It was inconsequential, nobody had been visiting her at the time, but still annoying.

She had gotten a visitor earlier today, though. That Tessa girl had stopped by. She’d only had a few minutes, and there’d been some impatient-looking men with her, but she reasoned that men were always impatient, waiting for their turn to speak to Tessa. She was the kind of girl that men would always want to speak to. Sometimes, rude men would come running up, shouting Tessa’s name and vulgar things, and other, polite young men would escort them away, keeping the rude ones from interrupting their conversation.

Tessa seemed happy to see her. She always seemed happy to see everyone, but the Yia-Yia could tell that she had two different kinds of it, and this was obviously the real one. She was doing a lot of talking, about things that didn’t make sense. Being home, then going somewhere in America that was also home, and now being back home and seeing her at her table and needing to stop and hug her, so that Tessa would know that she was, once more, home. From home, apparently.

The Yia-Yia had suspected for a while that Tessa might be American. If so, that would explain everything. It would explain nothing, but it would also explain everything.

Tessa had also brought her a gift. It was an ash tray. The Yia-Yia didn’t smoke, so it was obviously for Tessa’s use when she came to visit, implying that she planned to do so more often. That sentiment was worth it. The ash tray had a picture of that Eiffel Tower-type thing that the Americans have. She’d seen it on television and tourists’ shirts, and thought it was called a Seattle. Tessa had thought of her, anyway.

She looked at the ash tray, and the strange American word, which she figured must be “Seattle” under the picture of the Seattle. It usually had that word under it. She thought about going to look it up to see if that name was right, when the waiter came over and refilled her glass.

Yeah, why change a good thing now.

Contessa Helena de San Finzione walked through the halls of the newly renovated San Finzione Ministry of Science. Dr. Miguel Rocco, Minister of Science, walked alongside her as they proceeded to the lab.

“So, you have not tested it, Contessa?” Dr. Rocco asked.

“Well,” Helen thought. “I let Jeanne try it on for a little bit. For safety’s sake, we didn’t press any of the buttons or try any jumping; she just walked around in it. Damn good thing I commanded her to take it off when I said time was up before putting it on. No telling where she might be now. I got her something to make up for it. What about the other things?”

“They are being disposed of, and we are analyzing the items that La Contessa gave us leave to before doing it.”

“But not this one?” She asked as they approached a door with a retinal scanner.

“As per your orders, Contessa,” Dr. Rocco answered, putting his face up to the device. It scanned his eye and allowed them access. “No one has even looked at the manual.”

“Good.” Helen answered, as they entered the airlock room.

The laboratory that they were about to enter was normally used for viral and bacteriological research. They put on clean suits before continuing the journey through the other side of the airlock.

“No one else has been here to see it?” She asked through the little speaker on the front of the plastic Nuclear/Biological/Chemical protection helmet that she wore.

“Also, per your orders. This lab is closed. Disposal of the anthrax is taking place elsewhere.”

Helena nodded as they continued to their destination. They finally stood at a wall with a clear ballistic plastic window that looked into a smaller sealed room, where live viruses were normally handled. Something that looked like a control panel that slid open was below the window. It had a key lock.

“Nobody’s going to panic?” Helen asked Dr. Rocco.

“A drill has been scheduled for this time. They are expecting it.”

She peered into the room, staring at the Springheel suit, standing in the middle of it. The manual lay at it’s feet.

Helen stared at it for a good while. She thought about the nightmare she’d been having since she first saw the video, about all the people who had died over it already. About the things she’d told Troy about what they could learn from it. Even the manual might give some insights into the suit’s creation, some more details about how it was able to do the things in the video. And possibly give an intelligent enough person sufficient insight to make another Springheel. She turned to Dr. Rocco and nodded.

The doctor produced a key and put it in the lock. When he turned it, the panel slid open, revealing a large red button with black-and-yellow warning stripes surrounding it that was embedded into the panel. It was behind a small panel of glass, and a tiny metal hammer on a chain was next to it. Dr. Rocco picked up the hammer and was about to break the glass, when he remembered his manners and offered the hammer to La Contessa. She accepted it and smashed the glass.

Lights began flashing and alarms blared. An announcement played, warning of a bio-containment breach in the lab and advising everyone to evacuate to the nearest decontamination area.

Helen pressed the red button, never taking her eyes off the suit. Holes in the walls, floor, and ceiling of the room opened, and jets of flame shot out from them to burn the room, and anything inside it.

For almost a minute, the suit stood in the middle of it all, being burned from all directions by fire hot enough to insure any living thing that was in the room with it would have been incinerated. She saw the plastic parts of the suit begin to bubble and melt, and then finally the metal. Sparks flew from the electronics and whatever powered it inside. They’d never know what, exactly, as the manual had been vaporized instantly. Helen continued to watch as the suit melted and burned into an unrecognizable lump of metal once the plastic had liquefied and boiled away. Whatever it was now, it was no longer the thing that beheaded her in her nightmares. She watched a while longer, until she felt satisfied. She wanted to smoke and watch it burn some more, but that wasn’t possible in the protective gear.

The fire burned for another two minutes before stopping. The room would still be too hot to enter for at least a day.

“When it’s cool enough to handle, bring it to the castle.” Helena told Dr. Rocco.

He nodded his understanding.

“Now, I hope you can understand the need for this next part, Miguel. I’ll have to address yourself and the team you had working on this project, and I’m going to have to… use my ability… on all of you. The RIGHT people in the world think that I have Springheel now; the people who need to be afraid that I’ll use it on them if they try to harm San Finzione, Maria, or myself. The ones who will be forced to wonder, every time something goes wrong with their plans, if me and Springheel were the ones behind it. There can be no risk of them learning what I’ve really done with it. The THREAT of Springheel is the best possible way to use it for the good of The People. So, I’m sorry and thoroughly regret that I must do something like this to people who’ve devoted their lives to science and the pursuit of knowledge, Miguel; however, neither you nor they can be allowed to remember this. I’m going to have to have a similar talk with Howard and his people later, too. Apart from a select handful of people, the only ones who are going to remember that it ever even existed are Ramirez and the Ultimados; because they’ll never talk, and I figure my Generalissimo should know whether or not the Ultimate Assassination Weapon that he’s threatening our enemies with really exists or not.”

Dr. Rocco nodded solemnly.

“My duty and theirs is to San Finzione and to you, Contessa. If this is your decision, we are honored to obey.”

Helen nodded. The two of them went to the airlock to get out of the suits.

Mander and Bluey sat in Air Finzione’s VIP Lounge in the airport, waiting to board. Contessa Helena de San Finzione sat opposite them to see them off.

“Well, Your Countessness.” Mander said as they announced boarding. “It’s been a mostly enjoyable time.”

Helen smiled at him.

“It’s always cool to see you, Mander.” She turned to Bluey and signed. “And nice to meet you, too.”

Bluey nodded and signed his thanks back. Mander nudged him and pointed to a speaker on the ceiling to indicate that their flight was now boarding.

“The yacht will be waiting at the harbor, ready to take you home.” Helena told Mander, handing him a set of keys with a float attached. “Ernst can come deliver your helicopter next week, and if it’s all right, stay a couple days and give you a couple basic lessons; you guys can work out more. There’s also a big metal-and-plastic lump of something that’ll be waiting on the deck of the yacht, if one of you big guys wouldn’t mind just shoving it over the side somewhere deep on your way back to Mander Island, that’d be cool.”

“Yeah, he seemed all right. I can do that for ya. Pretty good idea what it is.” Mander replied.

“And the next time I need someone to watch my back when the Ultimados can’t?”

“I’ll be happy to recommend some blokes I know.” Mander said with a smile.

Helena smiled back. They debated a hug for a moment before settling on a handshake.

“Any time you want to visit, Your Countessness… well, I guess we learned I can’t really stop ya any time you want to visit, so just go right ahead.”

Helen nodded, and left the two to board their flight. Because they were flying Contessa Class, they were rushed through the VIP line to their suite.

“The birds’re gonna love ya, man.” Mander signed to Bluey as they sat down on the big couch and fastened the belts between the cushions for takeoff.

“Cool.” Bluey signed back. “As long as I can get myself a nice, cold Budweiser.”

Mander made a frown.

“We’re gonna have to talk about that one.”

Contessa Helena de San Finzione walked through the Grand Hall of Castle Finzione. Paintings of past Counts and Contessas who’d sat on the throne looked down at her. They also looked down at Contessa-in-Reggenza Maria Louisa Francesca de San Finzione as she walked next to her Great-Grandmother, looking at the rulers of San Finzione who had come and gone before them.

“Everyone’s here?” Helena asked Maria as they walked. Maria nodded.

“They have been waiting in the Banquet Hall.” Maria replied.

“They have two Contessas to wait for tonight.” Helena said as she continued walking. “They can wait twice as long.”

She stopped to light a cigarette in front of Vincenzo’s portrait. He had been younger than either of them when it had been painted, days after he’d retaken his family home and driven the Nazis from his country. A young man who, thus far, had won every battle he’d fought; but was also keenly aware that he’d only really fought two of them to this point. That there was still a greater war to be won, and now that San Finzione had cleared out the rats, he and the country were ready to do whatever the world needed of them. Saving the economy would come later; just because it was no longer at their doorstep didn’t mean that there wasn’t still fighting to be done. And they’d made him stop and pose for a portrait. That look; the look of a man of action, forced to stop and stand still when the entire world needs him, carried through to them as they looked at him. Maria urged Helena on, knowing that if she did not, the rest of La Familia de San Finzione, gathered in the Banquet Hall, might be waiting all night.

Because Contessa Sofia, Vincenzo’s first wife, hadn’t been the Reigning Monarch in her short life, her portrait was located in another gallery, so the next portrait on the wall was Helena’s own. It had been posed for a week into her own reign, when she had still been seriously considering stuffing the crown jewels into a trunk and using that secret exit in what was historically the War Room, and now her Study, to escape the castle with them and flee the country.

“You were scared.” Maria said. Helena nodded her agreement.

“Completely. I saved time on the whole ‘figuring out who I can trust’ thing by trusting none of them, right from the beginning. I had forgotten that I always had family I could have called at any moment to help me through it.”

They walked a little further, until they came to the newest portrait in the Grand Hall: Maria’s. She had been Reigning Monarch for only the past two months, following the attempt on Helena’s life, and she would be handing the Tiara, the Scepter, and the throne back to Helena at a ceremony tomorrow; but she had served at least one week, and that was the traditional benchmark that indicated whether or not a ruler of San Finzione was going to be around long enough to justify a Royal Portrait.

“I do not think I deserve it.” Maria said, studying her portrait.

“You have sat on the throne, Maria.” Helen replied. “The real way, not as the Princess playing grown-up. History books are being written now about how, when I was laid low by an assassin’s blade, you stepped up and led San Finzione. They’ll say it was a preview of your reign to come.” She turned to Maria and smiled. “And they’ll speak well of it. Children in history classes will recite the names of our rulers, they’ll get to my name, and then they’ll say yours before they say mine again. And some day, yours again, too. Hopefully, they won’t ask for your full name and title, so everyone still gets to go to lunch. We’ll let the gift shops and museums sell their remaining prints, and they’ll become valuable collector’s items. We can keep a couple thousand down in the vault, and whenever you need some quick cash, you can always autograph one and get Stavro to take it in to a collectible shop and haggle.”

“Make Stavro do it because he is a man?” Maria asked with a curious turn of her head.

“Make Stavro do it because he is a Greek. And it is haggling. They invented it, and anyone who says otherwise is lying. I don’t know if you got to the big stack of discs, but on the first one, the part on selecting your cabinet; it’s the same reason I tell you to make him Minister of Foreign Trade. Trust me on the collectibles thing, though. The stuff skyrockets in value every time they think you’re dead. I paid for Mander Island with a couple of my old ballgowns on eBay.” Helen studied the portrait some more. “You’re smiling. I think you’re the first San Finzione to look relaxed and happy in your portrait.”

“I knew you would be coming back.” Maria answered. “And I would not be there long.”

“It’s your birthright. To claim whenever you wish.”

“I like what my Great-Grandmama has been doing with it. It will be much better later.”

They walked further on, past where two spots on the wall had already been cleared. One had been for Helena’s second portrait, which she’d pose for the week after she re-took the throne tomorrow. A San Finzione relinquishing power back to another willingly had happened so few times in the country’s history that it merited a new portrait for the returning Monarch’s second reign. For the same reason, a place had been reserved for the day Maria or a possible future heir reigned permanently.

“We are all happy to have you home.” Maria said with a smile, taking Helena’s hand.

Helen looked toward their eventual destination, the Banquet Hall where La Familia was waiting for them. She could picture them all, circling the table like vultures and drooling at the food that they knew they couldn’t touch until La Contessa had arrived and been seated, staring impatiently at the two empty chairs at the head of the table.

“At least one is about to not be.” Helena replied.

La Familia de San Finzione mingled at the bar in the Banquet Hall, sucking up the free drinks and consuming all of the bar snacks as they eyed the food on the sideboards. It was still steaming, but the wisps of steam were getting smaller now as their gazes moved between each other, the food, the two empty chairs at the head of the table, and the entrance that the two Contessas would be walking through to those chairs, sitting, and having their plates brought to them; indicating that the rest could go to the sideboards and load up.

The room fell silent as they entered side-by-side. For many of them, it had been their first sight of either of the two since before the incident in the ballroom. Per Contessa Helena’s unsealed emergency orders to them during the crisis, the Ultimados had been good about keeping the rest of La Familia from “offering their guidance and support in little Maria’s time of need.”

As the two crossed the room to their chairs, Helena recalled that first night with Vincenzo, and his description of La Familia de San Finzione as “greedy and spoiled distant relations with one eye on my blood pressure and the other on the throne.” She’d hoped that he’d been exaggerating, but quickly learned that he hadn’t been. That he, and now Helena and Maria; were all that was holding them back from consuming themselves and the entire country in a Machiavellian power struggle, and that his decision to stick them over on the Business Side of La Familia’s interests “so that their greed might, at least, be harnessed into something for the good of The People,” had been a wise one.

The two of them reached their seats. Maria smiled to everyone and sat down. Helena smiled to everyone, started to sit down, and then stopped. She straightened back up again.

“About two and a half, three months ago.” She said to the room in Italian, the common language of La Familia. “One or more of you met with Leonard Whyte CBE. Maybe you shared a round of golf, maybe you had a business appointment with him, perhaps he invited you to a lovely meal like this one. And maybe he had some questions for you. Questions about me, or about La Familia’s business; a certain specific word, doesn’t matter which. And he might have offered you something to pass along any information you had about us, or that word, or that business. You all remember what you’re supposed to do if someone starts asking you personal questions about myself or Maria; or if someone comes to you offering a deal involving either of us or La Familia’s business. What was it again?”

“Accept the offer, give them a little something to play along if you have to; but learn as much as you can. Then, as soon as you are able, report all of it directly to Great-Grandmama.” The entire room, even Maria, answered. Maria and some of the others had never been given this as a command, it was simply a tradition to go over this rule whenever Great-Grandmama addressed La Familia like this.

Helena nodded to indicate that they’d given the correct answer.

“Someone forgot the last part, and it’s caused me problems, it’s caused Maria problems, and it’s caused San Finzione problems the past couple months. Now, Great-Grandmama isn’t mad at you, not just yet. And if you come forward without her having to MAKE you, she still won’t be mad. But if you force her to make it a command…”

One of the younger men stepped forward. A look of disappointment fell upon Helen’s face.

“Ricardo?” She asked him. “I was really expecting Benito or Lucinda, but ok. I am not upset at you; however, this DOES mean that you can’t join us at the grown-up table tonight. The kids’ table’s more fun, anyway. Why do you think the staff waits until I inevitably wander over there to serve dessert? We’ll talk more afterwards.” She turned toward the kids’ table. “Which, by the way, is Great-Grandmama’s favorite tonight.” The children cheered. Some of the adults whose blood sugar was a concern groaned. She turned back toward the adults. “Everyone else, don’t worry. You’ll see Ricardo at work in the morning; I have a feeling SOMEONE’S going to be wearing the ‘I Tried to Sell Out Great-Grandmama’ shirt and hat for a while, so you’ll probably hear him coming before you see him, because of the bells and horns. Just keep the marshmallow cannons and Silly String loaded and ready!”

She turned to Maria and they eyed the sideboard. Servants waited to collect up whatever they pointed to and bring it, so that they could dish up before everyone else.

“That’s how you keep these people in line, Dearest One. Now, what looks good to you?”

Contessas Helena and Maria de San Finzione stood on one of Castle Finzione’s many balconies; the Speech Balcony, used for addressing crowds in the courtyard below. Both wore emerald-green royal robes, with full capes wrapped around and trailing behind them.

A single State Television camera covered the ceremony. Maria wore La Contessa’s tiara. It was a bit large for her head, because Maria hadn’t bothered getting it fitted, reasoning that she wouldn’t be wearing it for long. She picked the gold scepter up from it’s case and walked over to where her Great-Grandmama was standing in front of a table. Maria stood on the opposite side of the table and faced Helena.

“Will you accept this scepter,” Maria asked, as she placed it on the table before Helena. “Which shows all the world that you are La Contessa de San Finzione, ruler and servant of the People of San Finzione, and monarch of the Sovereign County and Independent Nation-State of San Finzione?”

Helena smiled. There wasn’t a real formal ceremony for this, but the people expected something. The “and servant” had been something that Vincenzo had added to the title.

“I will.” Helena replied, picking it up. She set it back down again, because she’d need both hands to put on the tiara.

“And will you accept this tiara,” Maria continued, removing it and placing it on the table. “Which shows the all the world that you are Contessa Helena de San Finzione, Matriarch of La Familia de San Finzione; ruler, defender, and servant of the People of San Finzione and her lands, seas, and skies?”

“I will.” Helena replied, taking the tiara, and placing it on her own head. Since it had already been fitted for her to begin with, it fit again this time.

“And will you keep and protect these things which are yours, to show all the world that you belong to them and they belong to you?”

“This, I will not do.” Helena responded.

Maria paused. They hadn’t really scripted anything, just ironed out that Maria would ask her something as she gave her each one, and she’d accept it. There hadn’t been a script for Helen to go off in the first place, but nonetheless, she was doing it.

“I will keep and protect these things which are YOURS. To show all the world that I belong to you, and they belong to you, Dearest One.”

Contessa Helena de San Finzione and Lady Maria de San Finzione hugged. Behind them in the distance, Jeanne wheeled her new drink trolley past, wearing her maid’s uniform and the videophone helmet that Helen had taken from Whyte.

The State cameraman packed up and left, and the tiara and scepter were returned to their cases.

Contessa Helena de San Finzione lay alone in bed. Jeanne had already given her a proper “welcome home,” and retired for the night. She lay naked on top of the blankets. The night was warm enough not to need them.

She looked down at her body. At the places where plastic surgeons had been able to remove the scars, but she would always know where they were. Her hand reached up to the one that she couldn’t see anyway, but she could certainly feel; the one on her throat, where Frank Morgan nearly finished her for good, if it hadn’t been for Vincenzo’s necklace.

She held up the chain. Let the bauble dangle between her breasts and looked at it in the moonlight. Vincenzo gave it to her on her second, and last, birthday with him. Helen removed the necklace and set it on her nightstand, next to a small blue envelope that hadn’t been sealed, so it stood like a little tent. She moved the tent over onto the necklace.

Helena closed her eyes and went to sleep.

Helena knelt on a picnic blanket in St. Francis de Sales park. She produced plates of food from a basket too small to hold them all for the two older men who sat on the blanket with her.

“You are not the one who has done the cooking, are you, Petalouda Mikro?” Propappou asked her. Helena’s response was to smile and shake her head no.

“Eh, no, it was the castle chef. I learn early on, Byroni, not to let Helena too near the kitchen.” Vincenzo said to him as an aside. Helena looked at the two old men, saw them both laugh at his tired, macho, old Eastern-European “the wife and her cooking” joke, and her smile broadened. She just loved that it was happening.

“You two would have been huge together back before the world was in color.” Helena commented as she produced a large bottle of wine from the basket as well.

“Excuse me.” A voice from behind her called. “Did someone here order flowers?”

Helena recognized the voice and turned around. Suzy-Q stood before her, carrying a bouquet of Julie Andrews Roses; Helena’s favorite flowers, because they reminded her of her First Girlfriend. She wore a delivery girl’s uniform and had a bike behind her that she must have rode up on when Helena’s back was turned.

“I’m not sure WHO ordered those,” Helena said, looking to the two old men with a smile. “But I have a pretty good idea who they’re for.” She stood up, walked over to Suzy-Q, and hugged her.

“Susan’s gonna remember all of this?” Helena asked Suzy-Q.

“Yep.” She replied. “I am, indeed, incapable of lying to her.”

“Then I hope you don’t mind if I introduce you to them as her. You know, because Susan prefers it.”

“Hey, I am she and she is me and so on. I only made a thing of it that first time in case you freaked out, so you wouldn’t blame Susan.”

Helena smiled and stepped back over to the basket.

“Well, I hope you can join us, Susan.” Helena said, reaching into the basket for another plate for her. “I know you’re usually very busy when we run into each other.”

“This was my last delivery of the day.” Suzy-Q said, taking off her hat and jacket and setting them over the seat of her bike. “I’ve got some time here.”

Helena smiled and put her arm around Suzy-Q. She took her over to her father and her husband, who both looked up at her and smiled.

“Propappou, Vincenzo. This is a dear friend of mine, Susan Bailey.” Helena said, allowing herself tears at last. “I’ve always wished you could meet her.”