There's nothing like a distraction to take your mind off more important things - Mother said that, and so the next day I go shopping for the new wig I plan to wear on the Victory Tour. My hot pink one is rapidly wearing out - they don't make wigs the way they used to - another saying of Mother's. Besides, I need something to take my mind off yesterday's visit to District 12. There, despite the fact that both their Tributes were coming home safely, the mood was rather sober, but here in the Capitol, everything feels festive. People can't stop gossiping about Katniss and Peeta, the not-so-star-crossed-after-all lovers. Everyone loves an underdog - at least, after they've triumphed. And I also get a few nods and squeals of recognition when I bump into several friends and acquaintances who congratulate me on their - excuse me, our - winning. Everyone assumes I must be over the moon that now I'll finally get promoted to a decent district, but as I said before, I don't quite feel the joy they're expecting. Still, I mask this well, I think, after all, I've had years of practice. I don't think anyone is able to tell from looking at me that I have qualms and doubts about the recent Games.

After several detours and impromptu conversations, I end up in the same shop where I purchased my last wig, and after the saleswoman shows me the latest they've just gotten in - in a daring, but still perfectly darling shade of pumpkin - I can't resist. As I pay for my purchase, I see yet another acquaintance and when I'm finished being run up, I do something most unlike me, I duck out of the shop in the opposite direction. I know it's terrible, but I'm simply not in the mood for another chat about the Games.

As I head for home, I imagine the nice hot cup of tea, cozy armchair and half-finished romance novel waiting for me - my reward after having braved such a frigid day. But when I look again - I see a most unwelcome sight. I blink my eyes, hoping it's a hallucination brought on by the chill, but no, it's not.

So much for distraction.

President Snow is standing outside his car, flanked by bodyguards - at least, I assume that's their function - and when he catches sight of me, he beams. "Ms. Trinket, what a splendid surprise! I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by. I do hope you'll allow me to come inside. I won't stay long - I just had a few things I wanted to tell you, and then I'll be on my way."

In the neighborhood, my...foot, I think, my years of being ladylike catching me just in time before I curse. But I simply smile back - hopefully betraying no sign of my inner worry. "Of course! I'm honored that you stopped by. Do come in, it's such a nasty day, isn't it?" Now I'm definitely babbling, but that's in character for me, so I doubt he notices anything amiss. "Cup of tea to take the chill off?"

He smiles again, as charming as ever. "I hate for you to go to all this trouble, but if you don't mind...it would be lovely."

Lovely, my...well, never mind. "Of course," I chirp, and put the kettle on. While the water boils, I take down a box of tea, choose two bags, and after a bit of rummaging in the cupboard, and unearth the box of fancy cookies I keep for my young nieces when they visit and arrange some on a plate. In truth, I welcome the distraction - it buys me time to figure out how to handle this. More or less.

"I see you went shopping," President Snow comments. "I hope your mission was successful."

My smile freezes a little at this but soon unsticks and behaves as usual. "Oh, I just got a new wig for the Victory Tour." I know what he's about to discuss, and I know he's simply using this as a springboard of sorts, so I take a seat - a castoff my great aunt gave me when I got my first place - and wait. No longer does the armchair tempt me - I want something that makes me look a little more unyielding. Anything to give me a slight advantage, though I doubt he even notices.

"Yes, the Tour," he continues, and once again, I catch that odd scent, though he's tried to mask it with some manly, woodsy-smelling cologne. "You must be thrilled to finally get to experience one."

Careful, Effie. He has something up his sleeve, which you're probably not going to like. "Well, it's definitely an honor. The other Mentors tell me it's quite something, getting to see all the other districts." At least, that's not a lie.

"These are delicious cookies," the President says, as he takes a second. "Family recipe?"

Hardly. "Store-bought, I'm afraid. I keep them for when my nieces visit."

He raises an eyebrow. "Do you see them often?"

"Not as much as I would like," I parry, "but then, the Games has kept me so busy, as of late."

The President stares past me at something fascinating, but all I see are the usual prints: one of flowers, one of a girl in a sailor dress hugging her knees as she watches the sea. "Yes, family is something that too often gets neglected when we're absorbed in our jobs. But I did enjoy watching the recent Games with my granddaughter. She was quite taken with Katniss. Even told me the girls at her school have started wearing their hair in braids." He stretches his lips, but even a blind person could tell that it's not quite a smile. "Our Mockingjay is quite the heroine, isn't she?"

Now, I'm starting to get why he's here. But I just smile back. "She is. Her prep team is planning some very special in the makeover department before her Tour."

"Indeed," he says. "It struck me the other day that our Mockingjay is more of a phoenix, if you wish to be symbolic about it." He smiled. "Personally, I'm not a big fan of the birds myself. Too impudent. It's admirable, the way they thrive in adversity, but well, I find them lacking in other ways."

I nod.

"Are you interested in birds, Ms. Trinket?"

"Well," I hedge, "I've never given them much thought one way or the other, but my mother had a canary for a period when I was a girl. Back when they were all the rage."

President Snow puts down his teacup. "Ah, canaries. Lovely birds. So everlastingly cheerful. No tricks up their sleeves, are there?"

I know there's a hidden message in all of this, but I'll figure it out later after he's left. "By the way, I visited the Everdeens and Mellarks yesterday. To give them their letter and keys." I'm sure he already knows this, but one has to say something.

"Ah yes. I'm sure the Everdeen family is especially thrilled to be moving to the Victors Village. Such wretched living conditions in the Seam, don't you agree?"

Yes, conditions that you are somewhat responsible for, don't you think? In order to have something to fiddle with, I pick up my teacup again. I twirl it around in around in my hands, until I'm afraid I'm going to inadvertently squeeze it to shreds. But my voice remains calm as I reply.

"Quite."

There is another silence, and this time, I don't scramble to fill it. After a few agonizing minutes, however, the President does. "I expect Mrs. Everdeen had something to say about her daughter's new boyfriend."

And that's when I figure out why he's here. I may be slow on the uptake and too willing to believe the best of people but not any longer. At least not with this man. "She wasn't too happy, no. She believes that Katniss is too young to date. Although I believe she approves of Peeta as her daughter's friend."

The unspoken words hang between us. Too young to date, I think, but not too young to die.

The President tsk-tsks in what I'm sure he thinks is a paternal manner, but in actuality makes me suppress a shiver. "Poor woman, it must be hard for her to see her little girl growing up so fast. I know as a parent, there's a part of you that wishes your child could stay young forever."

"It must be difficult," I agree. Not being a parent myself, I can hardly say I know just what he means. Suddenly, I feel an unexpected wave of boldness. "President Snow, did you have something specific you wanted to tell me?" Apart from your thoughts on birds and parenthood, that is?

There. For a moment, I regret the bluntness, wish I could somehow take the words back, but maybe this will get him out of here quicker. One can hope.

A brief flicker of confusion flashes across his face - but is soon replaced with the usual amiable mask he wears when he is trying to convey that he, too, is human. "Indeed, Ms. Trinket," he says. "Thank you for reminding me. I wanted to warn you that there has been some...unrest in several districts. Probably nothing to worry about, but we will be increasing security on the Victory Tour."

And you simply couldn't have sent me a memo on this? "Er...that sounds like a good idea." Years of ingrained etiquette almost gets the better of me and make me offer him more tea, but I resist.

"Yes," he adds smoothly. "After all, we don't want to risk our newest Victors. Especially, as the Quarter Quell will be coming up before we know it, and they will be back in the spotlight."

Again, I smell that noxious scent - but how in the world, could I be smelling blood? No, it must be my overactive imagination.

President Snow rises, signaling the end (thank goodness) of the visit. "Well, it was lovely to see you, Ms. Trinket. Have a pleasant afternoon."

Surprisingly enough, that is the last thing I have. After he leaves, I lean against the door, shaking. Then I phone Haymitch who, for once, thankfully doesn't sound drunk.

"You had who over? Slow down, Effie, I can hardly understand you." Oops, I guess I was babbling. "Take a deep breath and start from the beginning."

So I do.

Long silence when I finish, but finally Haymitch asks if the president threatened me.

"No. Or rather, if he did, it was all very coded. Do you really think my family could be in danger?"

Another long pause. "I don't know, but anything's possible now. Have you heard about the uprising in several districts? Apparently, our Mockingjay has lit quite a fire underneath some people."

"President Snow told me, and I saw something in the paper. Is it serious, do you think?" Usually, Haymitch's bluntness annoys me, but today, I'm more than grateful for knowing he won't lie to me.

"Could be. If we're lucky."

What? "What do you mean, we..."

So he tells me. And this time, it's the truth.

To be continued