Born in rural Australia, David J. Kane now lives and works in Hong Kong, paying the bills by writing copy for investment banks. Not surprisingly, he dreams of demons. His horror fiction has appeared in Agog Press' 2006 anthology, Ripping Reads!, Reflections' Edge, and Afterburn SF, and will appear shortly in the Summer issue of Dred Tales. David is married and has a son who is one month old. Visit his website at www.davidjkane.com

I look like the third sister, though I am not.

We had flown in from Oslo at noon. Anna and Catrine had gone sightseeing and had called to say they had met some friends but would be home for dinner with Erik.

I lugged the babe to the markets under the hot, afternoon sun. In our tiny kitchenette, I made fish soup and some formula for Erik. I used whitefish for the soup, not cod. I hoped they would not scold me.

Anna and Catrine did not return for dinner or call to explain. They were no doubt with men, for they are exotic blondes here. I slurped the gruel and thought hungrily of sweaty bed sheets.

I nursed Erik to sleep, but he was restless and hard to put down. He had no father I knew of, and Catrine wore no ring. She and her sister needed no men, though they had many.

Anna was a sculptor, Catherine a lecturer in Scandinavian music. I would be a writer, but for my duties and lack of breeding.

Our hotel room faced east and had a small balcony. I walked onto it and looked down at the rocks below. Night had fallen, though the foreshore was well lit. I heard dredgers churning the harbor floor.

It was humid outside and the air stunk of coal. I retreated to the air-conditioned bedroom and flicked on the television. The shows were dubbed and senseless.

I had no book to read except the hotel's Bible. Anna would be angry with me: she loaned me books to culture me; to help impress her clever friends from the University as I serve them canapes at parties.

I opened the wardrobe and pulled out Catrine's pinstriped suit. She was lecturing tomorrow, and I had already pressed it. The suit fit perfectly over my uniform. I looked just like their sister, but for my maid's hat.

I stopped playing dress-up, and put the suit away. Mischievously, I called for the bellhop to come and fix a phantom toilet leak. When he arrived, I flirted outrageously, but he was clumsy with his tools and woke Erik.

When they get back, I am sitting on the bed, rocking gently. My mistresses are drunk but fling open the mini-bar and open more champagne. They offer me nothing as they slip into white T-shirts.

Dawn breaks and they run to the balcony to wave in the new day. They invite me to join them, and I nearly burst with joy.

We are sisters.

Sun rays strike my face. I feel Catrine's heart beating fast, and want to stay like this forever.

They have not checked the crib yet. I look up to the heavens, and pray they don't look down.