I'm not sure how long it's taking us to get wherever he's taking me, nor where that is; for the first few minutes I was still silently freaking out, and my head is near the bottom of the duffel bag he stuffed my disassembled body into.  Worse, at least some of me...my left elbow and right foot, I think...is still sticking out of the bag.  If he'd managed to fit me entirely inside I could've used the cover to Vanish, but no such luck.

But it turns out to be surprisingly hard to maintain a sense of panic when you don't have a heartbeat, or lungs, or an adrenal gland.  So after a few minutes I calm down and start to carefully consider my predicament.

I'm pretty sure he can't rape me, which was my first worry.  Even if my clockwork-doll form is anatomically correct, which I'm not convinced it is, I know now that my wound-down wooden body is too unyielding to make that practical.  And if he tries to wind me up first, then I can move, and I have a lot more options to escape or defend myself.  Which isn't to say there aren't disturbing sexual things he could do with my motionless body, or parts...there totally are, because I keep picturing them even though I'm trying very hard not to.

But even that I could put up with, if he might just throw me in a dumpster afterward.  More worrisome is the idea that he might leave me installed in some creepy collection of mannequins.  But again, as soon as he left, I could just Vanish, as long as there aren't any other witnesses there.  I hope he doesn't keep mice, or fish or something...I don't think animals count as observers, but I'm not certain, and that could leave me stuck indefinitely.

In any case, since Vanishing is my obvious option if I ever am left unattended, there's not much to plan for there.  Instead, I concentrate on what to do if he winds me up again.  Obviously quick-changing back to my human body is first.  Then I can try to escape conventionally, or duck behind something long enough to Vanish, or even talk to him...he could just be some relatively innocent mannequin collector or something.  Though negotiation could prove difficult if we can't find a language in common.

I feel a thump in various parts, he must've set the bag down on something.  My head has shifted a bit too, because now I can see a little past where my foot is keeping the zipper from closing.  The view doesn't tell me much though, a beige ceiling and a bit of peeling walpaper, lit from some bright source that flickers occasionally.  I can't see the greasy man, though I can hear him moving around, doing something.  Finally, he upends the bag and all of my parts tumble out onto a square card table...my head rests sideways, my view only slightly blocked by one of my legs.

The room is sparse.  A narrow bed sits against one wall, a small wooden trunk at the end.  The wall to the right of that holds a small window that looks as if it hasn't been opened in years, with short shelves on either side of it, each holding a collection of books.  The wall to the left has more shelves, similarly packed with books...a few of them have English titles, which heartens me slightly.  The light seems to be coming from one of those shelves, though I can't see it directly.  And whatever exit the room has must be behind me.  My captor is putting the duffel bag into the trunk, along with a few small, squared-off sticks of various colors.  Chalk?  He closes the trunk, then sits in front of the table on a chair I hadn't been able to see, and sets my head upright, facing him.

He leans down and peers into my eyes.  I'm not sure what he's looking for, or even what my eyes look like now.  Are they glassy, or just painted on?  The man's ethnicity is undefinable, perhaps middle-eastern?  Straight black hair, dark brown eyes, a carefully trimmed moustache and goatee, but surrounded by stubble.  After an uncomfortable minute of mutual staring, I'm starting to really wish I could talk, or look away, or even close my eyes, anything to break the strange tension.  The man leans back in the chair, a considering look on his face, then shrugs and says a single word.  I don't recognize it, but I think it might be Arabic.  I blink, surprised.

"I don't speak Arabic," I say, expecting to hear it only in my head, but I'm surprised again when I find the words actually come out.  At the same time, I realize I'd blinked.  I immediately try to move the rest of my body, but find it's as wooden and motionless as before...only my head has somehow been released.

"It is surprising that you would say that," the man says.  His English is perfectly understandable, even with his accent.  Definitely middle-eastern, but smoother, softer than I was used to hearing on television.  "Even more surprising that it is, at the moment, true.  But in any case, it was not necessary that you comprehend it."  That was good, because even the English conversation isn't making a lot of sense.

"You don't seem surprised about the, uh, talking-head thing though?"

"I have seen it before, like most things.  Over the years, I have seen many indeed tricked into becoming trapped in a lesser form, but none that I can recall who did so of their own accord, nor with such elaborate bonds.  I am curious as to how you managed it, but more curious why."

"Oh, just something I picked up at a magic show last week."  Had it only been last week?  I try to shake my head ruefully, but it only sort of wobbles on the table.  "And I was trying to make some money for a Conjure home, which as you know worked since you took it...I just didn't plan ahead for changing back.  Speaking of which, I'd really appreciate it if you could re-assemble me and turn my key...and maybe give me back twenty dollars of my earnings?  You can keep the rest, I do sort of owe you..."  The man narrowed his eyes, then shook his head and my heart fell.

"Your marionette-body is not what I meant, but I see you do not actually know, which is even more fascinating.  You are something new, 'Augusta Constance Klein', which is a rare treasure indeed in these times.  But also something old, and something again far older.  Layers upon layers."  My heart doesn't skip a beat, because I still don't seem to have a working circulatory system, but it wants to when I hear him say my True Name.  If there was any doubt about me being at this guy's mercy, it was banished at that moment.  It scares me enough that I can't even begin to try to figure out the rest of his nonsensical comments, but I try to play it at least marginally cool.

"Uh.  Y-you, ah, have me at a disadvantage there...what's your name?"

"You may call me...Lacuna.  And yes, I do.  The question is, what shall I do with my advantage?  I must think on it carefully, for I would not care to squander this opportunity."  I swallow uneasily, though I'm mercifully distracted for a moment in wondering exactly where that swallow went.

"Is there anything I can do to convince you to just let me go?  I mean, obviously you're a Sorcerer...I have a bunch of imprints we could run through so you could get them?  I'm dealing with a lot of crap right now, I just want to go home and try to figure it out?"  He leaned forward, his eyes eager.

"Is that what you wish?  To be returned to your home, to know the mysteries of your nature?"  He isn't exactly right...I do want those things, but mostly as means to an end, of figuring out what had happened to Viola and stopping her from being shot dead, because I still don't think she deserves that.  Though she deserves something, and for that matter, what is up with him knowing my True Name and thinking that I have a mysterious nature?  Last month, I was completely normal and didn't even suspect anything about any of this.

"You know," I snap, suddenly fed up, "I'm really tired of all you people having all this mysterious, inscrutable knowledge and being stupendously bad at sharing it efficiently!  If I'm being honest, I wish Julia and that Council woman that's going to get her executed were here so I could give them both a few choice words about the consequences of not practicing full discl-"  The man interrupts me with that Arabic word again, though that isn't what actually stops me in mid-word.

It's the narrow bed breaking under the weight of a strange albino woman and the full-grown tiger atop her, neither of whom had been there a second ago.