I am absolutely not going to worry about it. I mean, an ancient cat goddess? What is she going to do, take away my catnip?

Besides, things went swimmingly all weekend in Napa, so I'm clearly not cursed.

Maybe not swimmingly, but I got there with no very few problems. Eventually. So what if my rental car snapped an important belt of some kind? Peter was nice enough to come and rescue me. Aside from the car incident, we were fine.

Well, and the whole exploding grill thing. But no one was in the backyard to be hit by flaming ground beef or hot coals, so it doesn't really count.

If I really were cursed, I would hardly have been able to enjoy such a wonderfully relaxing weekend with my family, right? Or as relaxing as possible while surrounded by Creggs. We're a rather boisterous clan. We actually got kicked out of a swank restaurant on Saturday night for getting a little "out of hand." After a few bottles of wine, we were apparently "disturbing the other customers." And can I just say that people in Napa are nowhere near as impressed as they should be by my job.

Anyway, the weekend was great. My trip back to D.C., on the other hand, was fraught with mishaps. It started with an ominous announcement--after we had all boarded the damn plane, of course--that there were some "mechanical difficulties." At which point I demanded to be let off of the plane and was told in no uncertain terms that opening the door was against federal regulations. The flight attendant seemed wholly unimpressed by the argument that *I* am the public face of the federal government, and as such should be treated *as* the federal government and, you know, let off the plane.

Like I said, she was wholly unimpressed.

And so, an hour and a half later, a mechanic declared the difficulties "resolved"--and as someone who deals with words all day every day, can I point out that "fixed" or "repaired" would have been a much more confidence-inspiring choice?

Anyway, they sent us on our merry way. While the plane lumbered down the runway, I prayed to every deity that I could think of, paying special attention to Bast. Apparently, she was impressed, since my 150 companions and I were spared a hideous, fiery death.

A fate which Toby narrowly avoided when I received the message he left on my cellphone that, since his plane had arrived early and mine was running excessively late, he was leaving. With his car. Leaving me stranded at the airport, in other words. He oh-so-thoughtfully offered to reimburse me for my cab fare, though. I work with princes, I tell you.

At any rate, I considered the curse lifted when nothing else suspicious happened last night. Well, except that my cat, Gloria, inexplicably attacked my hand in the while I was asleep, leaving me with oh-so-attractive scratches on my wrist.

Which brings us to today. And to Carol, who's approaching me with that apprehensive look that always means my day is about to go straight to hell.

"CJ?" she asks.

"Wait. First, a status report. How many of the idiot boys returned with injuries?"

Carol gives me a puzzled look. "The idiot boys?"

"Sam went sailing, Toby went skiing, and Josh went to watch baseball. There was no falling off of boats, skiing into lodges, or, I don't know, stepping in front of three-fingered fastballs?"

"No," Carol answers, smiling brightly. "According to Donna, Josh had a brush with... some baseball player and is still swaggering."

"Still?" I ask. "As if that isn't his normal state of being."

"Apparently, he's worse than usual."

I give an appreciative chuckle. "I didn't realize that was possible." Poor Donna.

"Me, neither," Carol laughs.

"What about Toby?"

"I guess he had a great time," she shrugs. "Bonnie said he brought bagels."

I feel my eyebrows rise. "Toby?"

"Yes."

"Brought bagels?"

"Yes."

"Interesting," I nod. "And Sam stayed on the boat?"

"It was *one* time!" Sam protests from the doorway.

I turn and grin at him. "Yeah, but since you had the foresight to invite a camera crew--"

"They were doing a piece for 60 Minutes," he interrupts haughtily. "They asked to come along."

"It was really quite beautiful, Sam," I tease him. "Seriously. I give that swan dive a 7.9. Gotta drop you a point or two for that huge splash, but in the air--"

"Are you quite finished, Cat Girl?"

"What?" I demand. "Who told you about that?"

"Does it matter?" he grins. "We have Staff."

I glance over at Carol, who is watching our exchange with amusement. "Wasn't me," she says. "And Sam can fill you in."

I turn back to Sam. "Let's go, Sparky."

"Wait--Carol didn't tell you?" he asks, panicked.

"Tell me what?" I demand, ushering him into the hallway.

"Well, this just isn't fair," he mutters.

"You gonna make me beat it out of you?"

Sam shakes his head miserably. "There's a story today in the San Jose Mercury. Well, now it's been picked up by the networks, CNN, MSNBC, et cetera, but the story ran this morning."

"And the story says?" I prompt, with a 'come one' gesture.

"It says that on Saturday the President's Press Secretary got kicked out of a restaurant in the Napa Valley while drunk."

I grind to a halt. "What?"

Sam stops a couple paces ahead and turns. "Apparently, an assistant to California State Representative Maxine Tutt was at the restaurant with her boyfriend--her fiancé. Well," he pauses, brow furrowed, "they got engaged that night, so I guess--"

"Sam!"

"Right. The assistant had a camera with her."

"There's a *picture*?" I yell.

"Yes," Toby says from behind me. "There is absolutely a picture. Might I ask why your arms were flailing--"

"Give me that," I demand, ripping the paper from his hand. I certainly *look* drunk. I don't remember any flashbulbs that night, but from the looks of it I was too involved in my argument with the maitre d', who by the way was quite a snob. "Oh, god," I mutter.

"Shouldn't that be 'Oh, Bast?'" Toby asks, grinning.

Grinning!

I swat both of them with the paper and sweep past, head held high.

I march into Leo's office with an attitude that just dares people to mess with me. Josh, of course, obliges.

"Well, well, well," he smirks. "You don't look hungover."

I glare at him. "First, I was not drunk. Second, that was on Saturday night; it's Monday morning, so even if I had been drunk, I would hardly be hungover today. And third, I was not drunk."

"You look pretty drunk in the picture," Sam points out from his relatively safe position by the door.

"I was tipsy at best," I say. "And shut up."

Josh is still smirking. "I'm just saying, have fun at your briefing."

"Oh, god," I mumble, dropping onto the couch.

"Again," Toby comments, "I would think supplications to--"

"Toby," I warn.

"He's got a point," Josh chimes in.

"You shut up too," I command. Then I notice his outfit. "What the hell are you wearing?"

Josh stands to give us all a good look at the baseball jersey he has paired with brown pants. "Mike Piazza gave me a Mets shirt."

I stare at him. "And you decided the White House was an appropriate place to display this proof of your lingering adolescence?"

"Josh," Leo says as he stalks into the room. "Put on a suit. Sam, Toby, welcome back. CJ, what the hell were you thinking?"

The rest of the meeting goes about as well. Leo rants at me, while the idiot boys interject sarcastic remarks. And yet I'd rather sit through an entire day of this than face the White House press corps.

At any rate, I have had an epiphany: Bast is determined to ruin my life.

And if I have any hope of stopping her, I'm going to need help. So as soon as Leo stops haranguing, I head for Donna's desk. She's nowhere to be seen, and Josh's door is closed. Figuring she's kicked Josh out again, I knock on the door.

"Yeah," Josh yells from within.

I push the door open. "Have you seen--Joshua!"

Josh is standing behind his desk, naked from the waist up and looking at me like a deer in the crosshairs. He snatches the discarded Mets shirt and holds it in front of his chest. "What are you doing?"

My eyes widen. "What am *I* doing? What are *you* doing?"

"Changing," he answers. "Leo told me to."

"So why didn't you tell me to go away when I knocked?"

"I thought you were Donna," he says.

I step inside and slam the door. "What?"

Josh glances around as if the proper response were hiding behind something hung on his walls. "I thought you were Donna," he repeats finally.

"So you wanted her to come in while you were half-naked?" I demand.

"Um, no?"

"Very convincing," I snort. "So you wanted--Joshua!" I yell. "You were trying to tempt her with your naked body!"

He shakes his head emphatically. "No!"

"Yes, you were," I say, advancing on him with my eyes narrowed. "You thought you could prance around half naked and she wouldn't be able to keep her hands off of you and you'd win the bet."

"That's not true!" he says.

I take another step, and he clutches the shirt closer. "Joshua," I say, my voice low and dangerous. "Do you know what kind of day I'm having?"

"Yes."

"Do you really want to lie to me right now?"

"No."

"So you thought you'd win the bet?"

He hesitates. "Sort of."

"Sort of?" I prompt, my hands on my hips.

"Well, I wasn't concentrating so much on winning the bet as on ending the enforced celibacy," he admits.

"Joshua!" I yell. "You are absolutely *not* ending the enforced celibacy!"

He winces. "Why not?"

"Because, you idiot, I will *kill* you if you so much as look at Donna with puppy-dog eyes, never mind take her to bed!"

"Okay, but *she* took *me* to bed the first time. And the third," he pauses, a ridiculous grin on his face.

"Joshua," I moan, "please, *please* don't tell me things like that."

"I'm just saying, she started it."

"And I'm counting on you to end it," I say, my tone menacing. "In fact, I have the curse of Bast on my head, and if you so much as brush fingers with Donna while exchanging file folders, I will stick to you like a burr until something appropriately hellish happens to you."

Josh pales--his chest too, I note with amusement--at my threat. "I won't touch her," he promises. "But I did have an idea."

I turn away from him. "Would you please put a shirt on?" I ask. "Cause this is just getting strange."

I hear the rustle of clothing, and Josh starts talking. "You see, I was thinking this weekend," Josh pauses here and clears his throat, "about the bet and how you and Donna conspired to make me admit something I am absolutely not culpable for. And I decided that you and I should do a little something about that. You know, to make things equitable and fair again."

"You think it's fair to make your assistant and soon-to-be..." I shrug at the door, "whatever-you're-calling-it slavishly bring you coffee every day?"

"You can turn around," Josh says, his dress shirt most of the way buttoned. "And how is that worse than having her slavishly bring *you* coffee every day?"

"We're sisters," I tell him, crossing my arms.

Josh makes a face. "You're really not."

"In spirit, Josh," I sigh impatiently. "And if I know you, you're working both sides. You have some devious plan in mind."

Josh attempts to look innocent, which is always good for a laugh. "I do not."

"You do," I say, staring at him until he shifts uncomfortably. "And I bet--Joshua! You are incorrigible."

"What?" he demands.

"Your clever plan," I answer, my tone scathing. "I figured it out."

"You did not," he scoffs.

"I really did. You convince me to help you get Donna to admit that the illegal touching was *her* fault--"

"It was," he mutters.

"It was not," I argue. "You hugged her."

"That's not illegal touching!" Josh protests. "I was merely expressing my appreciation for her work."

"Give it a rest, Josh." I roll my eyes.

"And, anyway, *she's* the one who started sucking on my neck--"

"Josh!" I yelp, one hand up in supplication. "I beg of you, don't continue that sentence."

"I'm just saying."

"What did I tell you about details?" I demand.

"Fine," he says. "But she *did* start it."

"Whatever. You want my help to make her admit that, right?"

Josh shrugs.

"And then," I continue, "you would conveniently *not* tell her about your agreement with me and somehow convince her that she still had to bring *me* coffee in addition to bringing you coffee, leaving you with absolutely nothing in the way of punishment."

"I'm still going to be celibate," he points out. "That's not punishment enough?"

"Donna's going to be celibate too," I counter. "Plus running to Starbucks every five minutes."

Josh sulks for a minute. "I was going to throw in a pastry for you," he says. "You know, those strawberry strudels you like."

"You think I would betray the sisterhood for a strawberry strudel?"

"You already betrayed the sisterhood," he points out. "Twice."

"Exactly, and now I'm cursed by an ancient goddess. Coincidence? I think not."

Josh stares at me. "You're insane."

"No," I say. "I'm cautious. And you are out of luck." I reach for the doorknob, then turn back. "And keep your hands off of her."

Josh drops into his chair, his tie still draped around his neck. "Out of my mind," he mumbles.

"I would have to agree," I say, leaving him sputtering protests.

Donna has returned from wherever she was and is at her desk. I tap her on the shoulder and give her a big smile. "How was your weekend, Donna?"

"Not as good as yours," she answers with a grin.

"I was not drunk!" I protest.

Donna gives me a sympathetic look. "Okay, but--"

"Yes, there was wine. And yes, I drank a glass or two. But I was not drunk!"

"I believe you."

"You do?"

"Yes."

I stare at her. "Really?"

"Yeah," she nods. "I've seen you drunk. And you were clearly not drunk in that picture."

"How do you figure?" I ask somewhat reluctantly, as I'm not sure I want to know where she's going with this.

"You're not an angry drunk," Donna explains patiently. "Like after the map thing?" She pauses, a dopey grin in place.

"Donna," I warn. "No touching."

"I know," she answers, blushing suspiciously. "I'm just taking a moment to reminisce about--"

"For the love of Bast, I beg you not to finish that sentence!"

"Fine," she agrees, still smiling vapidly. I am very afraid that these two won't be able to make it six more weeks not touching each other.

"You were making some kind of point?" I prompt, quite eager to distract her from thinking about Josh.

"Right," Donna brightens. "You're not an angry drunk."

I make a twirly, 'yes, and?' gesture with my hand. "I got that part."

"You," Donna touches my shoulder and leans in, lowering her voice, "are an amorous drunk."

"What?" I shriek.

Donna glances around at all the curious coworkers in the bullpen, then says, "Walk with me."

"I am not an amorous drunk," I whisper fiercely, following her into the hallway. "I don't, like, throw myself at the nearest alpha male!"

"CJ, you were flirting with Toby."

"I was not!" I argue. "In fact, I was explaining to him in no uncertain terms that he can't just take the map and, you know, flip it around to freak me out. I was *not* flirting with Toby."

Donna grins at me. "And yet you knew exactly which night I was referring to."

I glare back. "You already mentioned the maps," I point out. "When you mentioned the weekend you and Josh decided to make my life a living hell."

Donna just blushes and grins some more.

"Hands off." I really don't think I can say that enough. These two are going to be the death of me. Unless Bast gets to me first.

"I'm just saying if you were drunk in Napa, that picture would be of you hitting on the maitre d', not threatening to bring the Tae Kwan Do."

"That maitre d' was a snob," I protest. "And secondly, I can't exactly prove my sobriety to my pressroom by pointing out that I didn't stick my tongue down the maitre d's throat!"

Donna shrugs. "So I've been doing some research into Bast and--"

"Hold on. You're changing the subject?"

"I can't really help you with the press, so I'm moving on."

"You're moving on?"

"Yes. Clearly this curse is--"

"I am not cursed!" I yelp in what is an admittedly undignified tone of voice. "And even if I were cursed, it's a *cat* goddess!"

"Your point being?"

I throw my hands in the air. "What's she going to do, sic a dog on me?"

Eyes wide, Donna pulls me to a stop. "Don't tempt her!"

I glance around, half-expecting Cujo to be loping down the hallway. "Donna--"

"I'm serious, CJ," she says. "Bast was the protector of cats, but she was also the goddess of the hearth, dawn, civilization, bounty, plenty, enlightenment, art, music, dance, creation, birth, fertility, sex, physical pleasure, truth, hemp, the moon, and the rising sun."

I blink a few times, then ask, "Is that all?"

"Well, during the New Kingdom, Bast was linked to Sekhmet. Some thought Bast and Sekhmet were self-created twin sisters, goddesses of sunrise and sunset, respectively. Sometimes, they were considered a combined Goddess named Sekhmet-Bast."

"Who is Sekhmet?"

"The lioness deity of war."

I rub my forehead. "The lioness deity of war?"

"Yes," Donna answers solemnly. "And the press corps--"

"Certainly resembles a bloodthirsty army," I admit. "I take your point."

"So we have to lift the curse."

"Okay," I nod. "But I don't think we're going to be able to do it before my ten o'clock briefing."

Donna glances reflexively at her watch. "Yeah, I'm good at organizing things, but I don't think ten minutes is going to do it when we're talking about lifting a curse bestowed upon you by an ancient Egyptian deity."

"So you're saying I'm on my own for this," I surmise.

Donna grins and heads back towards her desk. "Pretty much."

"Great," I mutter. "Does this count as tossing me to the lions?"

Donna glances back at me, laughing. "That's funny!"