Bride of the Castle by John Dechancie

had been a lot shorter; he hoped the discrepancy wouldn’t be glaring. Also, Max 2 had about fifteen pounds on him. Max loosened his robe.
    After steeling himself for the shock of what he knew was outside, Max opened the study door and went into the foyer.
    And there was Andrea, standing at the front door in an expensive coffee-colored fur stole and a maroon dress. She had aged not a whit, looking as Max had always remembered her: tall and beautiful. He drank in everything about her that he had cherished: the long legs, the long, wavy chocolate-brown hair, the high cheekbones, the high-fashion face of classic symmetry.
    Max fell in love all over again. “Andrea,” he breathed.
    She turned her pale blue eyes on him. “I’m leaving, Max.”
    Max stopped dead in his tracks.
    â€œForget about the trial separation. I’ve decided to file.” She was pulling on long black leather gloves. Finished, she looked at him. “Up all night again?”
    â€œAndrea . . . you can’t . . . I just—”
    â€œThere’s nothing more to say, Max,” she told him coldly. “It’s all been said. I’ll have my lawyers call your lawyers.” One dark eyebrow drew up into a sarcastic arch. “Isn’t that the way you’ve always handled everything?”
    â€œAndrea, please.”
    â€œNo use, Max.” She turned away to look out the window. “My taxi’s here.” She picked up a suitcase from behind a large potted plant and opened the front door. Outside, the rain had passed and it was a bright autumn day. “You can have the house, liens and all. The settlement will be the least of your problems. I just want a few favorite pieces of furniture.”
    â€œAndrea, wait—”
    She was out the door. For the second time, Max watched Andrea walk out of his life, and this time she was dressed to kill. Ten years ago she had boarded the 41A Crosstown bus, wearing jeans and Max’s buckskin jacket.
    In the driveway, Andrea stopped and turned. “Good-bye, Max. It was fun. For a while, anyway. We lived well, we had some good times.”
    â€œAndrea, don’t. We can get it all back. Trust me.”
    â€œI trusted you, Max. But something happened to you along the way. You began to hate everything, even me. I don’t know why.”
    â€œNot true, Andrea. Andrea, baby . . . I love you.”
    â€œYou did once. And I loved you. But that was years ago, Max. Years ago. It almost seems like another world. Good-bye.”
    â€œAndrea, wait, I have to explain something to you. I’m not—”
    The taxi honked.
    â€œToo late, Max. I don’t want explanations now.” She began to turn, but halted. She looked at him, faintly puzzled. “Did you do something to your hair?”
    Max could say nothing.
    She shrugged. “Good-bye, Max.”
    She walked to the waiting taxi.
    Helpless, knowing that he could never explain to her satisfaction, Max watched her get into the cab. He continued watching as the taxi followed the broad circular drive to the street, made a left turn, and was gone, carrying Andrea out of his life forever, once again.
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    CHAPTER THIRTEEN
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    â€œthis one looks interesting.”
    Snowclaw had his head poked through a promising aspect of his own when he heard Gene’s words. He sniffed, decided this otherwise pretty world was not as provocative as he had thought, and turned away. He walked across the hallway.
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œWell,” Gene said, “if you like deserted cities. There’s one out there on that plain.”
    â€œA city. Is that what that is?”
    â€œLooks to be.” Gene leaned against the doorjamb and studied the scene abstractedly.
    Snowclaw asked, “Is it a human city?”
    â€œPossibly, possibly.” Gene contemplated the strange scene awhile longer. “Then again, maybe not.”
    â€œIf it’s human, I don’t want