The morning news reported that the museum curator had been murdered.

"We believe that Mr. Haversham was bludgeoned to death with a blunt object, which has not been recovered at this time." Police Chief Hill spoke into a clutter of microphones, while flashbulbs popped around him.

His image was replaced by the TV anchorman.

"The police are baffled by the fact that there were no signs of a break in, and all doors and windows were locked from the inside," the reporter said. "Robbery has been ruled out as a motive. According to a spokesman for the museum, no artwork is missing."

Wayne turned off the TV, shaken. Thinking that he may have been the last person to see Mr. Haversham alive (other than the murderer, that is), gave him the creeps.

That afternoon, he was just finishing a personalized Welcome stone when his girlfriend, Loretta came to the door. After a perfunctory kiss and hug, she started in.

"Do you realize it's been two weeks since I've heard from you?" she complained. "You told me that when you got settled in . . . and got this hobby of yours off the ground . . . that I could come spent the weekend with you!"

Wayne opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off.

"Listen, Mister. All I want to know is, are you still my boyfriend or not?"

"Of course I am!" Wayne said. "It's just that I've been working on this special glass, and then, I got behind on all my other work. . . ."

"That's your special glass?" Loretta said, disgustedly.

She walked back and forth in front of the Magi. Wayne could almost see the picture's eyes following her.

"This dime store comic book cover is what kept you from calling me?" she asked. "You don't really expect me to believe that, do you?"

"It's the truth," Wayne mumbled. "I worked very hard at it. And then, I invited Mr. Haversham from the museum, to get his opinion."

"And, what did the Great Haversham have to say about it?" she mocked.

Wayne lowered his head.

"The same as you. He called it 'science fiction' stuff. And then, he called me an amateur!" he added, hoping to gain her support.

"Sounds like he knows his stuff." Loretta chuckled. "Oh, never mind all that. I just came here to tell you that, if you don't put your little hobby away, and take me out tonight, you'll find yourself shy one girlfriend!"

Wayne looked at the mountain of unfinished work.

"Yes, dear," he said, pulling off his smock.

On Monday, Wayne was stunned to learn about Loretta's bizarre death on the morning news.

The details were sketchy. The only information the police would release was that it appeared she'd been attacked by some sort of animal. There were scratch marks all over her. One particularly deep slash had opened the aorta, and she'd bled to death before help could arrive.

When Wayne returned from the police station, he slammed the front door and fell into his chair, wrung out from all their questions.

Did she own a cat? No. Did he own a cat? No. Did he know of any feral cats in the neighborhood? That one made him laugh. There were so many kittens born in the warehouse down the street from Loretta's apartment, it was nicknamed The Kitten Factory. Feral cats were everywhere.

As Wayne sat, staring at nothing in particular, his eyes fell on the Magi. In his mind, he could see every hill and valley he'd carved into it. The intricate detail of the moon's surface. The tiny stripes on the tiger's paws.

Wait, now. Wasn't the right paw resting on top of the left, before?

He stared at the picture, willing himself to remember, to no avail. Perhaps he was thinking of the way the pattern was reversed on the working side. That's probably it, he decided.

Looking at the tiger again, his doubt returned. His gaze was pulled to the Magi's face, where the half-smile seemed to be mocking him. In the back of his mind, he could hear a children's song . . . I Know Something You Don't Know. . . .

"Do you?" he asked the glass, not expecting an answer.

Still, the form was awfully life-like. And, didn't it seem like the Magi's smile had gotten just a bit broader?

His lethargy following Loretta's death lasted longer than it should have, and soon the bill collectors were lining up at the door. Wayne was growing increasingly weary of it all.

Yes, you'll be paid. When? As soon as I finish this stone (or that glass), and the patron pays for it. Yes. Yes, I promise you. As soon as I get paid, you'll get paid.

After seeing the most recent bill collector on his way, Wayne mumbled as he crossed the room, "Why couldn't Loretta have been rich, and willed all her money to me?"

Behind him, there was a creak, as if the dragon stretched his wings.

The following week, a lawyer came to the door. Thinking him to be another bill collector, Wayne immediately started to apologize.

"No, no, sir! You've got me all wrong!" the man said. "My name is Stewart Stevens, of Bringham, Stevens & Todd. I'm an attorney, Mr. Keveran. Uh... may we continue this inside?"

"Oh! Yeah." Wayne chuckled. "Forgive my lousy manners, Mr. Stevens. It's just that, well, I've been low on funds recently, and when I saw your suit. . . ."

"Oh, that's quite all right. No need to apologize," Stevens said. "But, I'm afraid I've come bearing bad news, Mr. Keveran. Do you remember an aunt and uncle by the names of Tess and Burt?"

"Of course!" Wayne said. "Uncle Burt and Aunt Tess practically raised me! They took me in when I had nowhere to go."

"In that case, I'm very sorry to have to be the one to inform you," Stevens said, "but they were killed in a car crash."

"What? How...?"

"They ran a red light, and an 18-wheeler hit them broadside. The investigators said their brakes failed."

Wayne stared out the window, remembering the good times with his surrogate parents. Riding on Uncle Burt's shoulders. Stealing fresh-baked cookies from Aunt Tess, while she chased him with a broom, laughing all the way.

His heart felt like there was a hole in it.

"Ahem." The lawyer coughed. "Forgive me for having to do this in your time of sorrow, but we have some business to attend to."

"Sure," Wayne said, rubbing his face dry. "What do you want me to do?"

"Well, Mr. Keveran," the lawyer said, "your aunt and uncle retained Bringham, Stevens & Todd to be the executors of their estate — their quite sizable estate, I might add — and, in the will, they named you as their sole heir."

Wayne's head whipped around to stare at the lawyer, but the Magi caught his eye. He was smiling broadly now, showing his teeth . . . teeth that Wayne knew he had never carved.

Wayne fainted.