Kimber was shaking her head, making her red hair bounce furiously. "No, no, and no. It does *not* work."

"But it does."

"I don’t want to change the lyric, and you’ll have to if you add those notes."

"So? What’s so special about that?"

"This lyric is personal to me!"

"You axed mine without a second thought."

"But this is different!"

"Why?"

"Because it’s mine!" she wailed.

He sighed. She sighed. "This is not going to work," they said together.

They had been left alone in the room for the better part of the day, struggling through blank sheets of manuscript paper, creating lyrics and music…but more on their own than together. Synergy had been watching and listening long enough, and finally intervened.

"Yes it will," said Synergy. "You both have to make concessions and come to terms with your differences."

Kimber smiled a little wickedly. "What if I don’t want to?"

"Kimber…" said Synergy.

"Alright, alright…sheesh, you were programmed with more of Mom than I thought."

Synergy’s hologram smiled at that. But she remained stern with them. "You must use your talents, and you must do it together. Kimber, you know the strengths of the Holograms, you know what sort of sounds they learn and play best. Jareth, you offer a fresh perspective, and it is you who will be singing the songs."

"Synergy," he said quietly, "since I think you already know, I’m going to ask you. What do *you* think we should be writing about?"

Her smile widened. "I thought you would never ask. I think you should write about what you’ve learned, Jareth."

Kimber tilted her head to one side, thoughtfully studying him. "Of course," she said.

"What?" he asked.

She grinned and wrote a few words on the top of a fresh sheet of manuscript paper. She handed it to Jareth.

The words hung there in Kimber’s big, round handwriting, the answer to Synergy’s suggestion, the title of what would happen on those blank lines of staff. "The Magic of Love."

*****

At the same time across town in Stinger Sound, Mary Phillips, better known as Stormer, charged into the lobby. She strolled unconcernedly past the guards, the secretaries, up the elevator to Eric Raymond’s office. She saw the assistant outside frantically trying to find the button to tell Raymond that Stormer was there.

Smiling sweetly, Stormer waved a hand at the assistant. "Don’t bother. *I’ll* tell him I’m here." She leaned down, and pressed the button. "Mr. Raymond?" she said.

"Yes, Kathleen?"

"It’s not Kathleen." She stood up and walked in.

The Misfits were in the office. Stormer had not chosen that moment by accident; she knew that come rain or shine, Pizzazz, Roxy, and Jetta (and usually herself) would show up at Eric’s office at the same time every second Tuesday. She was not disappointed at her reception.

Roxy and Jetta both stood up off the couch in surprise. Eric Raymond dropped his telephone.

"Stormer!" cried Pizzazz, overwhelmed and delighted for one instant. Then the mask came up. Her face became a study of cynical amusement. "So, come crawling back, eh?"

Stormer didn’t mind playing the part. "Yeah, I guess so, Pizzazz."

She couldn’t hide her elation. "Ha! What makes you think we even want you back?"

She shrugged. "I don’t know. If you don’t, I’ll understand…" She started to turn around and walk out.

"Wait! Don’t go!" cried Roxy.

"Stormer, we need you!" Jetta chorused.

She paused, turning slowly around, savoring the scene. So they *did* need her. She *was* important to them. She looked innocently back.

"Really?"

"Really," they said immediately.

"Really," Eric added.

Pizzazz faced off with her, trying to decide what mask to put up next. In the end, she dropped all of them. "Really," she said. "Now quit playing around. We got work to do."

"Not for that concert. It wasn’t right, how we got it, and I still don’t want to do it."

"Nah, not if you don’t want to," Pizzazz said, ignoring Eric’s flustered, irritated stammerings. "Who wants to play for a bunch of rich old farts trying to save some stupid record businesses?"

"Well," Roxy started, "*I* did—oof!"

She took an elbow from Jetta. Soon the two of them were pushing and shoving in a psuedo-catfight. Stormer sighed.

"It’s always nice to come home."

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