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Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 1: SPOILED

The Fairy Whose Crown Wouldn't Fit

Winter of the Fallen Mountain - Spring of the Creeping Grapevine

On a daily basis, it still baffles me to remember how many people don't know that squids keep libraries. A hodge-podge of wrinkled papers, clay tablets, engraved glass globes, strips of bark, pieces of battle-scarred weaponry, and stolen plates of armor all tossed into enormous bins and sorted by color is still a library. Tapping my cracked fingernails to my teeth as I sit here with fourteen blank notebooks stacked dull and gray in front of me, just studying the shelves and cabinets that line my own labyrinth of a filing room - my personal library of sorts - I see no wrong in admitting that I did its memory justice. Considering what that place did for me, if not the rest of Pixiekind, I'd better have.

There are beings in our world who are classified beneath the umbrella of Fairies, such as the brownies and the cherubs and the elves, and out among the stars in that library of the Yugopotamians, I and one who was perhaps the dearest friend I ever had once pored together over the texts that outlined the origins of the fairies, of the gnomes, of the selkies, so on and on.

Ever since those patient days of studying, it has been my intention to return there alongside him and lay a copy of my text in the messy bin beside the others of its kind. For then, in the universe's most expansive library, Pixies finally will become a true race of their own. Because once upon a time, neither terribly long ago nor terribly far from where I now sit eking out our history, with Sanderson and Longwood squabbling over scattered papers behind me, our kind once fell among the Fairy classification too.

Along with my desire to bring our origin story there upon its completion, it is my wish that such a record be preserved for those who come after us, even when we are no longer here. The past of our species, like its uncertain future, must be preserved. It's a simple matter and lacks a question mark, and should it really be true that our fate was sealed the very moment it began, I should like for somebody - regardless of their species - to stumble upon my writings and preserve record of how it was that Pixies as a whole came to be born, how it was that Pixies as a whole came to thrive, and how it was that Pixies as a whole almost certainly will come to die.

Therefore, my intent is to write honestly, without shame, disguising no details in any attempt at dodging my own (happily very few) weaknesses or painting myself in any particular light, and I shall often lean on magic to pull from my memories as I go along. I will be careful not to damage and muddle the threads, lest even I forget the true origin of the pixies in the process. I expect this text to pass through the hands of each of my descendants at least once in their studies. In doing so, I ask that no notes be taken by hand as one should go along turning pages, but merely be scribed in thought. Our history is not a thing to study as a schoolbook, but to live and ponder and carry with us in our cores. And thus I, the first and potentially last Head Pixie, return to early days of memory, and we begin.

He who would become the first of the pixies was born into a world where the air carried the intertwined scents of cinnamon and orange, and the milk tasted just the same. Even on that first day he bit as he nursed, in the way only we and the brownies and the Anti-Fairies do. His father bore him in winter while he was still taking business classes at the Fairy Academy up in the town of Prudoc. His mother allegedly carried him through the campus library every day as she wandered about, not caring who saw her holding the awkward, vaguely hexagonal child against her uncovered breasts. Her name was Solara. He was Ambrosine.

I attended Spellementary School with the other nymphs from my forty-fifth July onward, because that's what was expected of me, and I remained in one of its small rooms with dirt floors and scarred walls for the usual six hundred years. On a particularly pivotal day of my childhood in the Year of the Creeping Grapevine, I found myself in the class of a scarlet-haired fairy whose first name I never learned, and whom shall be referred to hereafter as Mr. Thimble.

It was the beginnings of a long century that would be spent poring over every species of magical being the known universe had produced, from the Angels to the Yugopotamians. Why they do not teach such things from the beginning of the alphabet downwards has even now not been explained to me. Instead, we picked our way through the aluxo'ob, the ishigaq, the nixes, the swan maidens (or 'swanee' as they were just beginning to be called), and several additional species that I cared little for. So on the fateful day in question, I had skipped two-thirds of the way through my stack of clay tablets. That's where the fairies were.

Mr. Thimble broke off his lecture and did not speak for a time, only hovered at my shoulder and read the words I traced my finger along. After a minute, I realized everyone had paused to stare. I looked up.

He crossed his arms. "Whimsifinado. There is one will o' the wisp damsel in this room. Identify her."

I removed my thumb from my mouth and pointed to she who sat directly on my right. "That's Magalee Dustfinger."

"How do you know she is a will o' the wisp?"

"She has a floating crown and lepidoptera wings. They're blue and black, so she probably comes from the Earthside East." It was as clever a guess as any. All will o' the wisps seemed to come from the Earthside East.

"If everyone except for you and Magalee were to leave this classroom, and I returned a few moments later and found you lying on the floor unable to move while she sat at her desk looking perfectly fine, what would I likely assume had happened?"

"Erm, she… she gave me a Kiss of Frost?"

"Correct; I'm glad you were paying enough attention to gather that. How does the Kiss of Frost work?"

I stuck one finger to the roof of my mouth. "Well, so it's not s'posed to work very well when they're as little as Magalee, but will o' the wisps have little fleshy pouches where they keep the chemicals that can paralyze anyone who gets their spit in their mouth. For a little while. Just if they want to. And only in late winter to early summer. My dad says that's because they're in season, and he told me what that means but he also says I'm not supposed to talk about it at school until I'm older. But the will o' the wisp damsels are immune to the chemicals because of some kind of goop that covers the insides of their throats, so it wouldn't work if two damsels tried to spit in each other's mouths or something."

"And why would Magalee want to give you a Kiss of Frost?"

Glancing sideways at the pink-faced will o' the wisp, I said, "She might want to kiss me if she didn't like seeing me talk to other damsels. Or if she's just mean, which she kind of is sometimes, so I wouldn't put it past her."

"Do you know what the surefire antidote for the Kiss of Frost is?"

"Is it time and patience?"

"It is not. Should you very much like to receive a Kiss of Frost?"

"Um. No?"

"Then be grateful for the free movement of your limbs, turn to Section 11, and follow along with the rest of the class."

I pretended to do so, but in reality didn't flip away from the fairy tablet. After a few minutes, Mr. Thimble noticed and flew back to turn to the proper chapter himself. I plopped my chin between my hands. "Why do I have to learn about will o' the wisps? There's only one will o' the wisp in the whole class." I looked about, then corrected myself. "There are only two will o' the wisps in the whole class. But Tobie doesn't really count because he's just a drake. I'm a full-blooded fairy, my parents are full-blooded fairies, I'm going to wed a full-blooded fairy, my babies are going to be full-blooded fairies, and I only want to learn about fairies."

"What? That's… You actually think… Oh, I see. Ah. Well." Mr. Thimble floated to the front of the classroom and patted the top of his desk. "Come over here please, Fergus."

Seeing no reason not to obey, I did. Mr. Thimble placed his hands on each of my shoulders and, rotating me until I faced forward, said, "Halen, how do you know Fergus is a fairy?"

"Er…" The leprechaun squirmed in his seat. "He has a… sort of… crown?"

My eyes flashed up to the gold ring that hovered above my head like it were bound there by an invisible cord. Six spikes glinted around its rim, just as they ought to on every healthy fairy crown. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that my crown had four and a half spikes. Admittedly I was a premature nymph; Ambrosine had said once that the calcium hadn't finished forming properly inside him, so one crown point had been snapped at the base since the day I was born. The other midway. Three of the remaining four had thick splinters running through them, made more obvious in the right angle of the light, and the entire piece was soft and flexible to the touch, even though it was technically supposed to be made of iron drawn from the blood.

"Magalee has a crown too," Mr. Thimble pointed out. "At a mere glance, how can we tell that Fergus and Magalee belong to different species? Winola?"

"Magalee's wings are lep- lep- er, either moth or butterfly wings. Like Fergus said."

"Very good. Would you come up here too?"

She did, albeit hesitatingly. Mr. Thimble turned us both around so our backs were to the class and said, "What do we see about Winola and Fergus's wings?"

I kept my eyes fixed on the chalkboard as Mr. Thimble gave an unseen figure permission to speak.

"Ooh, ooh! So, Winola's wings buzz really, really fast. Really."

"That is true. And, if she stilled them" - Mr. Thimble pushed Winola's head down until her feet touched the floor, and she allowed her wings to droop in response - "we could see that she has not one pair, but two sets of wings that can swivel independently from one another. This is what allows fairies to be the swiftest and most agile fliers among the Seelie Court, or all of us Fairykind who are not Anti-Fairies. Now, as for Fergus…"

"He flaps kind of weird and slow," Tobie said, and someone else giggled. One to talk, I thought, seeing as I'd never once witnessed Tobie's simple pale wings get him or that rumpled brown mop of unbrushed hair off the ground. For the longest time, we'd all been convinced he was a tomte- a Fairy simply born without the ability to truly channel magic. Well. Glancing back on those early days, it ought to have been obvious to us that he wasn't (what with him being a will o' the wisp drake), or his kind would have killed him off long before he'd even earned his name. If you're a drake who can't use magic, you'll only have one opportunity in your whole life to breed, and to put it gently, unless you like your skin tearing apart and exploding into ribbons for good, it won't end well on your side. In wisp culture, that kind of thing will get you sentenced to food storage early on. And not so you can take inventory.

"If I were to spread Fergus's wings, like so, then you all would see that he, just as Winola, has two pairs of wings on his back. And, while it's faint, he also has a hint of golden brown running along the costa that neither Winola nor I nor any other fairy in this room possess. Perhaps some of you aluxo'ob might catch that while his forewings are of the appropriate length for his age, his hindwings are unusually stunted- much more so than even the eastern elves, with their apis or 'honey bee' genetics."

I counted the sticks of chalk that rested in the silver tray beneath the board. There were still nine.

"Can anybody name one thing that fairies are capable of doing that no other species can? Go ahead, Jamey."

"Fairies can fly backwards?"

"I can fly backwards," I protested, starting to turn around. "My dad taught me how and so I'm probably a whole lot better at it than you are. You're just a sylph with a dumb pointy hat."

Mr. Thimble took my chin and turned my face back towards him. I shot Jamey a frustrated look regardless. She pulled the brim of her star-coated cap over her eyes.

"Fergus, would you please demonstrate your ability to fly backwards?"

When he let me go, I kicked off with my feet and churned my wings to continue the elegant momentum. I made it near the end of the room before I was forced to stop, recenter my balance, and flap in a more natural manner so I might float.

"That was sloppy even considering your age, but for the purposes of this discussion, it's an acceptable demonstration. Winola?"

It took only four seconds for it to become apparent that I had been shown up. Not only did she pass me without slowing, but she planted her feet above the rack of coats behind me, flipped forward, and flew back to the chalkboard. Mr. Thimble called me to the front again before I could take my seat. Winola's face was red when she peeked in my direction.

"The difference," Mr. Thimble went on, "is how each one attempted to complete this task. Winola acted as a normal fairy would: by sweeping her wings up and then angling them backward when they came down. Fergus had a different approach. You likely have noticed, children, as I have, that he always makes circular motions with his wings."

There were murmurs of agreement that made me intertwine my fingers and rub those on the left with those on the right. In all five hundred and sixteen years of my life, I had never until that point been told before that I made circles, nor realized that other fairies did not. Focusing my attention upon Winola, I attempted to change my pattern to match hers. The concept remained out of my grasp.

"Winola was able to achieve such agility because each of her wings, even in their young form, is capable of angling itself individually, as her wings connect directly to her muscles. Fergus, if we were to remove his shirt, would reveal to us that his wings did not quite form the same attachment during birth."

"Take off your shirt, Fergus," called Magalee.

My cheeks burned- probably enough that my pale freckles shone like grains of salt against a sea of pink. "You wish, wisp. Not while you're in season."

"Yeah, what she said," Tobie added, finally shifting his attention away from his bare toes. Mr. Thimble turned to me, one thin eyebrow raised.

"It is your call to make if you should wish to share, Fergus. I will not pressure you one way or another."

I looked down at my shoes and shook my head.

"Very well. You may sit. Thank you."

As I made my way up the aisle, still keeping my gaze downcast, sudden clucking noises slammed against my eardrums. I jolted my head up. Magalee, and Tobie beyond her, made flapping motions with their arms like urvogel hatchlings as they continued their clucking.

I turned my back to them, gripping the edge of my desk almost as deeply as my teeth gripped my upper lip. Mr. Thimble urged a second time for me to sit down, but instead of doing so, I lifted my head again.

"Mr. Thimble, I would very much like to show the class how my wings attach."

"You may if you wish, but do it because you want to. Not because Magalee and Tobie - both of whom will be missing recess today for this - are attempting to push you into it."

Magalee stopped, with Tobie's reaction a bit delayed. "I want to," I insisted, skimming back to join Mr. Thimble by his desk. Because my trembling fingers had some difficulty with the clasps on my shiny black uniform and the buttons on my white shirt beneath, he helped me undo them and slide my wings back through their holes. Facing the chalkboard, I hugged my own chubby chest.

Mr. Thimble ran a finger from the apex of one wing down to the knob. "You perhaps cannot see it from where you all sit (Would any of you like to come up? Gather around, then) that Fergus's wings enter his back in a slightly different position than fairy wings do. I can slip my entire hand between the space here, while it wouldn't have fit between Winola's. Fergus's muscles appear to pull on his actual body to flap his wings, rather than pulling on the wings themselves; this rough patch you see on his back right here expands and constricts with every beat. This body system is called an 'indirect muscular' design, and appears in the first generation of any crossbreed who has only one fairy parent, of course with the exception of a barbegazi crossbreed or one who has a cherub mother or father, as their feathers carry the ultimate dominant gene."

"What? But-"

"This means that your wings cannot pivot independently, doesn't it, Fergus?"

"I- I haven't noticed, Mr. Thimble, but-"

"Give it a try."

I made an attempt to rotate my right wing upwards while the left one remained pointed towards the floor. Both sets swished up, then down, up and down together again.

"So if he can't, that means he's not a real fairy?" Halen asked.

"As evidenced by the design of his wings, no. Somewhere therein lies the answer to the question that has eluded us thus far." Mr. Thimble handed my shirt back by one sleeve. "What precisely is Fergus? His father bears the anax or 'dragonfly' wings and small, six-pointed golden crown that legalize him as a full-blooded fairy, but no one seems able to prove the race of his mother. We can confirm by a simple examination of his back, however, that Fergus is the product of a crossed relationship like many of you in here are. Who among you can remind us which parent is responsible for passing on which of the three great traits? Karcher? Karcher, do you know?"

"The nymph gets the species of his father, the crown of his mother, and then, um, well." The elf made a gesture at my face, avoiding eye contact. "Crossbreed wings. I mean, if the parents aren't the same race. Then you get the indirect structure like he has. Sorry."

"No, there's nothing to apologize for. You're exactly correct. If Fergus were to someday mate with a fairy who actually is a real fairy, then her wing genes would dominate over his and produce a fairy nymph that society recognizes as a full-blood, not as a cross, based on the structure of its back. Perhaps when he sheds these nymphhood wings for his adult pairs, then we shall see if our Fergus better resembles the rest of us full-blooded fairies here. With less of that curious, sickly brown stripe along his costa, perhaps. You may return to your seats now, thank you."

As the others scattered around me, I didn't move, even though my shirt still dangled over my forearm. "I'm a real fairy. Just as both my parents are."

His gray eyes slid along my face. "You are an illegitimate child with parentage that cannot be confirmed. Please sit so we can move on with our original discussion. Will o' the wisps are only one small part of your curriculum, and I have a schedule that must be kept to."

"I'm still a full-blooded fairy. My dad probably has a bunch of legal papers somewhere that even say so. You have no right to tell me I'm not."

"Go to your seat, Fergus."

"But I am a-"

He slammed his palm down on his desk just beside my ear. "If you cannot manipulate your wings independently, then by definition you are not a fairy. That is written fact. You are merely a crossbreed, perhaps the offspring of a brownie for your awkward square wingtips and the dirty color threading through the veins, and that is the most you can possibly-"

"My dad's not a brownie-kisser!" I shouted, slapping my hand against the desk as well. "See? See my crown? Maybe- maybe it's a little soft when you touch it, and it's kind of a little broken on top because I was sick as a nymph, but it's got six whole points if you look really closely and it's not a soft brownie hat and I like it just fine since it's all mine and especially because it proves I'm a real fairy like you!"

Mr. Thimble stared down his pointed nose at me without blinking. "I stand by the policy we went over the first day of class, and I don't want to hear anyone called a 'brownie-kisser' in my classroom. You have my apologies if I offended you; I was merely speculating possibilities. I forget that you are children and sensitive to such matters. You will know when I'm declaring a real, true statement because I'll cite my tablets as references, as I did when discussing the apexs of your wings. Now sit down."

I bit sharply on my thumbnail as I turned my back.

"Good. Yes, put your shirt on. Fold your wings to squeeze them through the… I see you know how. Well done. Class, please return your attention to strip thirty-nine. We're now going to learn what a lone drake might want to keep on hand to perhaps avoid the attention of a will o' the wisp damsel should he stumble across her territory, especially down on Earth. Tobie, under Epipole v. Fairy World, I'm required to send you out of the room for this. Principal Kindall should be out there in another moment to wait with you."

Quietly as my fingertips could slide over stone, I crept back to the tablet on fairies. Unfortunately, the statement was engraved right there near the top: Fairies share their six-pointed crowns with multiple races, but differ greatly in wing design. Fairies remain the only species with the ability to manipulate each of the four wings independently, owing to the unique direct connection of wing to muscle through their backs.

"Whimsifinado! Since you are clearly more interested in the nature of fairies than in what the rest of the class is learning, explain why even full-blooded anax-winged fairies can sometimes find themselves unable to outmaneuver a will o' the wisp in season."

After our excruciatingly pointless lesson on the nature of will o' the wisps had concluded, we were released for morning recess. Tobie was sentenced to return his blocks and drawing styluses to Principal Kindall and join Magalee in the classroom. As he and I squeezed past one another in the doorway, I felt a soft pat on my shoulder. Turning, I was met with Magalee herself, her gaze downcast.

"Did I hurt your feelings when I teased you to take off your shirt?"

"You did, but I accept your apology. Please don't offend me again."

"Sorry. You have a lot of freckles on your arms and the back of your neck and I like looking at them."

My skin itched. "You could see those from where you sat? They're as pale as wraiths. Even I can hardly find them."

"Well, I can. And I think they're neat. You don't meet lots of drakes who've got freckles. Mama says they're rare like genies, or something, and every freckle's worth a bonus point." Then she slipped me her apple juice box, the thin white straw already stabbed into place. "You can have that."

"I don't need it."

"But I'm sorry."

I caved at the soft look in her deep brown eyes, her own red freckles sprinkled over her nose. "Thanks," I said, and took a sip. "I'm sorry you're stuck inside today kind of because of me."

"It's fine. I can play with Tobie."

"Did you think the will o' the wisp lesson was as dull as I did?"

"I thought the part about the flowers was interesting."

"Yeah, well, I fell asleep. Okay, I'm going to go away now."

"Have fun," she said, beginning to close the door. I turned to float down the hallway where the rest of my classmates had gone, but before I made it more than a dozen and some flaps, my fingers went numb around the juice box. It splattered to the packed dirt and scattered straw. For a moment I swayed, blinking, and then my wings began to stiffen near their bases. A few seconds later, I was sprawled on my stomach across the ground.

Magalee chuckled somewhere behind me and came out to retrieve her juice box. She took a sip in front of me, her foot squishing my hand. "See, that's the Kiss of Frost."

"How did you-?"

"I snuck a little spit in the bottom of that straw before I put it in my juice. See you after recess, Fergus." As those words rang in my ears, I had just enough strength remaining to turn my head as she shut the door and went to join Tobie at Mr. Thimble's chalkboard for a lecture on teasing.

I lay with my cheek pressed into the dirt floor for all of recess hour, with a small puddle of Magalee's apple juice seeping into the lower part of my shirt. After about thirty minutes, I found I could twitch my wings (not independently, apparently), and fifteen more after that I could even move my arms. By the time the class was beginning to filter back from outside, I was on my knees and rubbing my fists against my eyelids. "There you are, Fergus," said Halen once, but that was all.

My wings were still too limp to fly with, but I had enough control over my hands by the time I stumbled back into the classroom to swipe Magalee's tablets from her desk so they exploded into shards. Then we both had to stay in for the fifteen-minute recess we were scheduled to have that afternoon. I made sure never to sit beside her during lunch forever after.

Before the first bell rang the following morning, I was perched on one of the playground swings with my arms folded. When Mr. Thimble finally showed up ten minutes before class to unlock the door, I whirred over and said, "I talked to my dad after school yesterday. He says my mother was a fairy."

"Do you have written proof of that?"

My eyebrows brushed together. I let my arms fall as I bobbed into the building after him. "He said."

Mr. Thimble would not accept that as a valid answer. So when I returned home that afternoon, I flew straight to Ambrosine's room and shoved aside the curtain. He was sorting and shelling acorns, occasionally combing leaves from his crisp black hair, and spared me a glance as I came in.

"Another rough day for your little shoulders, I presume?"

Using one of said little shoulders to flip the ends of the curtain behind me, I huffed, "Mr. Thimble still claims I'm not a fairy because I can't move my wings separately."

"Hm. He's wrong. I'm a fairy, your mother was a fairy, and you're a fairy. If he insists otherwise, then he's a big fat smoof. Just ignore him."

I braced my hands on the table. "Can't you talk to him?"

Ambrosine paused over his acorns. "Would it make you feel better if I did?"

I nodded. Fumbling for his wand, Ambrosine took my hand, and we poofed straight back up to Spellementary. Mr. Thimble was just locking the door to his classroom. His jaw tightened when he saw me with my father.

"Whimsifinado."

"Thimble." Ambrosine tugged me a step forward. "What's this about you telling my son he's a crossbreed?"

"He is one. As we discussed in class just the other day, Fergus does not bear fairy wings, but rather the structure found only in those crossed with the non-cherub and non-barbegazi races." He took hold of one of my wings and flared it. "At first examination his 'soft flight wings' resemble those of cockchafers beneath the shell, so I'd think his mother a qalupalik, but obviously that's impossible given that he can fly in silence. While they somewhat match the wings of the eastern elf, elves always take their wings from their fathers. The majority of wisp drakes have brown wings, and in speculative theory there might be some potential for the genetics to manifest in the faded orange color of his costas, especially as he has the small, six-point crown that not too many races do. However," he continued as he reached to take up another of my wings, "the shape is entirely wrong. I specifically studied Fairykind biology back at the Academy. If your son were half-wisp, his apexes would end in triangular points. Instead, you can see for yourself that his wings are sharply and undeniably rectangular all along the jugal fold and up towards the apex. This is likely why he finds making sharp turns so difficult even with his fairy parentage."

"Blah, blah, blah. That means, it's really too bad that it sometimes takes me an entire second longer than other people to turn around when I'm flying." I made the attempt to yank back my wings, and failed. "If fairies are so good at turning, why don't you turn around and go back to your Academy so you can update your manners to this century?"

My sass earned me a smack on the back of the head courtesy of my father. "Fergus was simply born square. His parentage had nothing to do with it."

Mr. Thimble only shrugged. "Well. Then what's your explanation? If you're offering it up, I certainly don't mind listening."

Ambrosine straightened his shoulders. "I believe his doctor referred to his case once as him having a genetic mutation. I may not have been the one to specifically study Fairykind biology back at the Academy, but I do know my basic history, and genetic mutations are how the first will o' the wisps and the brownies originated as a subspecies. They happen, and aren't necessarily uncommon. The fact that the universe randomly shuffled him one doesn't make him less of a full-blooded fairy."

"I think you misunderstand."

"Pray tell."

Fingers tightening around my costas, "Why his wings are as they are is a question that I have been struggling to answer ever since I first met Fergus. He doesn't have beetle elytra over them. He lacks the antennae he'd have if he were half-imp. Even forgoing the crown connection, he doesn't look at all like a habetrot, nor have their sewing talent or pointed, star-tipped hat. He'd be incapable of keeping his crown afloat if there was very much duende blood in his veins. He doesn't have the white bat wings or oversized feet of a barbegazi, or the hooves and fluff of a satyr. He's too bright to be half-kobold, too peaceful to share any redcap genes, too flesh-colored to be part wraith, too bland to be one of the huldufólk, too pretty to be half-goblin (although he's about as stingy as one come snack-time), he wasn't born with swanee feathers, has proven before that he would drown without wearing a cohuleen druith unlike one of the finfolk or a selkie or a nix, and he's much too short for his mother to be a sylph."

Given the discussion we were having, I decided not to take any of that as a compliment.

"And between you and me, he's not quite" - Mr. Thimble double-tapped his temple to indicate 'smart' - "enough to be half-alux."

"I scored 100% on my preliminary mathematics test last week!"

Mr. Thimble mussed my dark hair. "You did indeed, and I remember how proud you were when Wilf finally deciphered all your messy handwriting."

"If you're picking on a child to feel better about yourself, then you ought to feel really smoofing incredi-"

"Fergus. Language, for King Nuada's sake. And give your tongue a chance to untangle itself and rest, or you'll start stuttering like a duende. Your teacher is explaining to us why he's the smartest one here."

"Polite correction, Whimsifinado: I'm laying down the facts to correct without belittling." And he kept going. "Ishigaq don't have hindwings and are all half- or fully blind anyway. Púca are an equal impossibility seeing as he's, well, not green. Finfolk can only produce finfolk offspring even when they breed across races. If you're anything like you were in our Academy days, Ambrosine, then I highly doubt you ever would have mated with a far darrig, given how they're always as bald as the imps are."

"Excuse me?"

"If we've eliminated this many possibilities, then I might even dare to guess that our Fergus was mothered by a brownie." Mr. Thimble still hadn't released my wing, and I'd given up my irritated attempts to peel it from his grasp. "Though it would not explain the crown, brownies are octagons before they shed their exoskeletons in instar. If I am remembering correctly, then according to the records the school possesses, Fergus was hexagonal as a nymph; that was attributed to this genetic mutation of his, apparently. A brownie octagon and fairy sphere resulting in a perfectly neutral hexagon appears to make more sense than any other combination. In any case, there remains the possibility that his mother was a crossbreed herself who wore a fairy crown, and he's a fourth-blood. He's possibly even very slightly part will o' the wisp with brownie parentage, or something along those lines. This is all I can say on the matter."

Now Ambrosine's wings dropped. "Are you actually instating that I'm a brownie-kisser now?"

Mr. Thimble looked him up and down, red brows raised. My young mind at last drank in what he saw when he looked upon my father: Ambrosine was a small, round-faced drake with cropped, wavy hair the precise shade of Yugopotamian ink at midnight. It was fond of curling about the backs of his ears, so he always let them stay there during his summer trim, along with the thin swirl of a cowlick that arced upwards like a tail in the rear. His cornflower-blue eyes were wide and deep, and I often thought they needed something between them to draw attention away, lest one lose themselves in the pools entirely. Still dressed in the usual unwrinkled, wine-colored vest he wore with his white shirt to Wish Fixers every day, he certainly appeared as though he belonged in the office and ought to stay there. A gray stylus lay tucked behind his narrow ear. A second stuck out from his pocket. Very crisp and clean, though neither particularly handsome nor dripping with too much magic. Yes, Ambrosine fit the eggheaded, desperate-for-a-damsel stereotype down to the stubby round nose that matched my own. His wings weren't even notched near the pterostigmata like a married drake's. After a few seconds, his face pinkened as he realized it all himself. He grabbed his tie in one fist and repositioned it.

"I'm not bright enough to avoid falling prey to cross-race culture shock and not interested in familiarizing myself with such things, so I have this rule I made for myself when I was 620: I don't mate outside my species. His mother is a fairy, and you can take my word for it. That's proof enough."

"I don't claim to know what she is," insisted Mr. Thimble, still gripping my wing in his fat hand. "I simply state that he could in no way ever be considered a legal full-blood, and he'll want to be aware of this when he's older and ready to face all papers from the legal department without your supervision."

Ambrosine might have snapped his ipewood wand in half, but I caught his hand before he could complete the movement, as was always my unspoken duty. He drew air in through his nose. "I know his mother. She is away roaming Earth now, but should she ever choose to return to Fairy World, you will see for yourself that she is a full-blooded fairy too."

Mr. Thimble pursed his lips and rose another hair from the ground. I tightened my grip on both the front and back of Ambrosine's leg. "Whimsifinado, I consider you my equal and I deeply respect you, but simple science disproves the entire possibility. You must be mistaken."

"Don't imply I don't know how to identify my damsels, Thimble. I've charmed more with my singing voice than you could ever hope to with your precious 'science.'"

Ignoring him, Mr. Thimble finally released the costa of my wing. "I teach what is written on the tablets I have been instructed to study and distribute. I am honest and impartial. Your son does not fit the description of fairies I was given. Therefore, though he may fall into the class of Fairy by his nature of being born a member of the Seelie Court, he is not a fairy, a member of the individual species. I do not make assumptions as to what he may be, only what he isn't based on the precedents set forth by the Tuatha Dé Danann at the Great Dawn of our existence, may the Lost Ancients return from their underground prison."

"May the Lost Ancients return," I murmured, touching the flat of my thumb to my chest.

Ambrosine tilted his head. "Well, you're super annoying and I don't like you at all. Come on, Fergus. Let's poof back down to Fairy World and get you a popsicle."

My flavor was grape, but I didn't eat it. After I'd changed from the pressed black uniform that fit my body too tightly and into my favorite thick gray sweater, we sat on our bench along the outskirts of the Fairy Hills golf course, with his fingertips barely brushing my right shoulder. I simply stared at the popsicle until all my vision was filled with purple. "Are you sure my mother was a fairy?"

"Mostly sure." Ambrosine's eyes softened into a distant sort of misty world as he sucked a little more on his ice cream spoon. "Then again, I did have several cherry sodas most of those nights, extra sugar sprinkled in… Solara had thick nightly curls that could fall all the way down her back to her waist, and every time she leaned to one side, they twirled about like dancing tongues of indigo fire, dabbed with occasional blots of white that rippled like shooting stars. I used to make wishes on them. She would perch on the end of my coffee table, her wings still glistening in rainbows from the bathwater, then rake all that hair together in one great waterfall and brush her fingers through it as she watched me watch her from where I lay on my stomach across the couch, my hands beneath my chin. She must have had imp blood somewhere in her near lineage, because her wings would sing whenever she rustled them."

I almost could have said it along with him. His fingers left their draped position above my shoulder and traced a thoughtful circle around my right ear.

"I'd once fancied myself a damsel killer, but she knew how to play my own strings better than I did. Solara is the one who makes you forget to be careful. She'd flirt with her own grandnymphs if the opportunity presented itself, but actually capturing her interest enough for the chance to hold her against your neck and caress that hair, well… Any drake who could do that had won himself a more alluring prize than a will o' the wisp who let him call the shots. Winning her took honest, deliberate work. Sacrifice of losing out on other damsels. Readjusting your entire being and way of life- actually making some attempt to clean the house, for example, on the days she'd promised she'd stop in. And when she didn't, it only made you pine for her all the more."

"She can't have been that pretty."

"No, she shouldn't have been… And yet, I ran myself ragged for my chance at her. Decade upon decade upon decade. Centuries of dedication culminated into one warm, soft night that made every moment of wing-wrenching agony worth it. Or most of them, anyway. A fair amount… Some of it. Well. It was what it was, I suppose. She did, after considerable begging, grant me the honor of braiding her hair while she ate my cereal, and that was my favorite part." He rubbed my own black hair, shiny enough (though doubtlessly lacking the full luster she'd had), into a sort of tuft at the front. "Three months later, we had a beautiful little drake who might just win his own Solara someday. She stayed a few weeks to nurse you, but it simply wasn't in her nature. The game was over and you, adorable as you were, were loud and needy enough to ruin all our fun. She claimed she felt like a prisoner. Then she pleaded with me to let her go, so I did because that was the spell she had me under. And that's why Gidget suckled you until you were weaned."

As I chewed on the end of my wooden stick, I kicked my feet. "What was she like?"

"I just told you."

"Oh… So, if Solara really is a fairy, why do you think my wings are different than the other fairies'?"

Ambrosine cracked open one eyelid. "You have a popsicle. I had ice cream in a bowl, before I polished it off. There are many flavors and many styles of such frozen treats, but they all fall beneath the division of 'ice cream' when it comes down to it. There are nuances in everything. Mr. Thimble and his science focus on their precious norms and averages so much, they tend to forget those who dot the fringes. Fergus, it's not your wings that get under their skin, and it's not even the square-like structure of your face. Do you want to hear the real reason why the others pick on you?"

"Why?"

Without lifting his head, Ambrosine pushed up my dark bangs and ran his thumb over the skin above my eyes. "Have they taught you children yet why you have all these pale freckles on your face and up and down your arms and legs?"

"I always thought I got them from Solara."

"No, you didn't get them until after your instar period when you shed your awkward exoskeleton. In our world of Fairykind, there are kabouters, there are drones, and there are gynes. Well. Things are softer and less blunt nowadays in the world of education, but when I went to school, we were told that having this many freckles makes a drake a 'gyne', just like the gynes in the insect colonies down on Earth. Your spots will get darker a few millennia before you come into age of majority at two hundred thousand, stay that way for a long while, and then when you really mature and the color starts fading from your hair, they'll turn lighter again."

"That's jacked. Why?"

"Kissy-kissy reasons. I'll explain it more when we're not out here in public, if you can't puzzle it out for yourself. It's not genetic- it's environmental. It can't even be passed down to your offspring. No one knows why it happens yet. Gynes just crop up sometimes like poof." He ruffled my hair. "Simple-wimple way, Fergus, you were born to be a good strong leaderish type, and even though being a gyne means you're more likely than not to attempt to blatantly disregard or overthrow the authority figures in your life, I accept that and I care about you anyway. Call it destiny or whatever gives you warm fuzzies at night."

"No, you made that up because you know I hate my spots."

"All right, we'll see if you still think that when lazy Thimble finally gets over the magical species deal he's got going on and teaches you important stuff like this. The other kids can recognize your gyne-ship in your freckles and they can taste it in the scent of your magic. It's a sign of dominance, not to mention some serious attractiveness with most of the damsels, you lucky rex, and it bothers them. And I could tell it really bothers that teacher of yours, but that's no surprise. He doesn't like your sassy tongue."

Shrugging the freckle conversation off, I said, "Okay, but logic gap: You've told me before that Solara went to the Academy with you, right? So if she was really as pretty as you say she was, why doesn't Mr. Thimble remember that she's a fairy?"

Ambrosine groaned and leaned his neck over the back of the bench. "Because, she didn't like to be told she was beautiful. It became an empty compliment while she was still in her youth. She always kept that rippling galaxy of hair tucked up in her scarf. Only few were allowed to be privy to it. To decide to pursue Solara, you either did so based purely on her nature without understanding until that one weak-winged, throat-strangling moment of rapture the true gem you had in your presence, or be in the know. Fortunately, I was in the know."

I flung out my hands, spraying dots of purple. "But if she is a fairy, Mr. Thimble shouldn't be telling everyone that I'm not! He said so himself that he doesn't know. Why can't everyone assume that we know what we're talking about? Why doesn't he have to find proof that he's right? Just because he has a book of science tablets that were written before I was born? They're like, even older than you are!"

"Fergus. His tongue is a load of smoof in itself. Let it go."

"Can't I prove it somehow?"

He considered that for a moment, switching his spoon from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue. "No."

"Why not?"

"Nobody keeps records of births and marriages and things. That's why we have surnames. They're our history. That's enough."

I straightened against the floating wooden bench for the first time. "But I don't carry Solara's surname. I don't even know what it was."

"Hmm. That's a good question. I think it was… Chipixie, Taipixio, Pixishell. Pixie-something. Are you going to finish your popsicle? It's dripping."

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 1: SPOILED

The Art of Starting Fires

Spring - Summer of the Vibrant Sparks

"Did you eat your wand again?"

There was no right answer to the question. Not back then. Ambrosine handed my ulkroot starpiece, or what was left of it, across the keeping room's coffee table. Awaiting an explanation. Better yet, a confession.

"I get nervous when we have to try playing saucerbee in front of the whole class," I told him, still kneeling in the dirt, holding my left hand in my right. It's burned into my mind even now. My thumb ran across the knuckles. I squeezed.

To this day, I have never heard Ambrosine raise his voice a mite above his regular level. His millennia of work at Wish Fixers wouldn't allow him to. Once I'd taken the wand from his hand, he scratched his chin and leaned his shoulder against the muddy frame of the door. "What would you like me to do to help you, Fergus?"

I shrugged in reply, never once lowering my gaze. Over the centuries, we'd tried all the tricks: Gold stars, spicy dragonlily paste, forbidding me to play my tiny springcase really loud and late at night.

"This is the 5th one since you've left your training wand behind." Then he came around to where I knelt. After studying the math problems I was working on in my clay tablets, he mussed my hair and continued with, "I've never met another Fairy who nibbles at theirs the way you do, but I might guess at a connection to problems your core is trying to suppress."

"In school, they told us that we're supposed to say 'subconscious mind' now, instead of using 'core' that way. That's 163rd Year curriculum. 'Core' is just for the deepest center of the soul. The one big trait we share with our anti-selves. And, well. Also for our core." I pointed to my forehead, with its laser cannon of pulp, calcium, and enamel snuggled up inside, between my brain and the sealed bubble of about a thousand little translucent eggs that I had potential to one day bring to life. Laser cannons were fairly common cores, but I was still proud of mine. It had won me a fight with a freckle-faced gnome at school once.

Ambrosine patted my cheek with the hand that wasn't braced against his waist. "Check the sass, saltlick. Next you'll be trying to make me believe the proper term is 'unconscious.' Which one of us here is the children's magic and mental therapist?"

"You are, duh."

"Although," he added like an afterthought, fingering his dark red vest, "it's always been the family business, and when you're in the Academy, I expect you'll be studying the stuff too. Just like your old man."

I stopped scratching at the clay with the tip of my stylus. The glowing fire crackled in its dirty pit on my right, and a flying spark that snapped made me flinch. "Wait. Why? I don't want to study therapy like you. I'm not a nymph anymore. I'm halfway through juvenile school- I should be able to choose what I want for myself."

"What would you like to study if you weren't going to study psychology and therapy? Any ideas?"

"Um." I tried to think of a single thing that I enjoyed doing. Aside from my math homework, nothing much came to mind (I was not the type to be easily entertained). I shifted my attention back to it. It was all trajectories of wand waves and veering flight patterns. Fidgeting with one of the tablets, I mumbled, "I don't know yet. You know I'm kind of a procrastinator."

He gave a whistle. "Maybe in another lifetime you could study big words, Fergus. However, the fact remains that I've always intended for you to take on the family business after me."

"Why?"

"I don't have other nymphs."

"Get a new mate," I said as he plopped down in his favorite red-pink chair by the fire.

"Not on your fritzy lines. Now, you're going. Otherwise, I'd have to sell the old place, and while I could make a sharp two bits off it, it's been in our family for easily two million and a half years. That's a whole six or seven or eight of us. It's tradition. Your dusty ancestors would be reeling in their magic lines and leaving me gasping if the place died in my capable hands."

I wrinkled my nose. "You're telling me that all my ancestors went to school to learn how to ask nymphs to tell them about their feelings?"

"On my side, yes. More or less, and they haven't always focused on children like I have. Schooling has updated over the millennia. Actually, you're descended from quite a lot of drakes and damsels who pioneered the way and made significant discoveries in the field. Or at least, that's what my father told me. I don't actually have a record of the Whimsifinado and Gumswood family trees."

I rubbed my cheek without drawing my elbow from the coffee table. Scrawling my answer to the current story problem, I said quietly, "I don't know if I'd be good with nymphs and juveniles."

"Aw, don't doubt yourself." Abandoning the chair, he crouched beside me to poke my lower stomach. "You're a drake. Your hormones will kick in like mind control, and you'll find it comes to you just as naturally as weaving magic lines into a newborn's core. You want nymphs one of these days, don't you?"

"Well, duh." I thought it was a dumb question. Fairies were born, they played silly games as nymphs, they went to school, they found work, they took mates, they had nymphs of their own, and they lived extended lives and passed their knowledge down to the younger generations when they themselves became too frail to channel much magic any longer. That was simply the way it worked; the only formula. "But I just want a little damsel. Named Emery."

"Do you? I like that name. I like it a lot, I think. I'm willing to bet she'll have your long fingers, shiny black hair, and pale lavender-gray eyes. Score- I can't wait until you come into your freckles. I already love her."

My grip tightened around my stylus. "Good. Because I've never met a damsel who was truly nice to me, ever, and I refuse to die until I meet one. I'm going to raise the best damsel of her entire generation. She's going to be sweet and kind and a good cook, and then all the drakes will come to take her away from me, and I can stop being a doting parent and move on with my real, actual life."

"That's not a good goal."

I moved to my next tablet. "Why? It looks pretty good from where I'm sitting. Then somebody else can take care of her, and I can still see her without having to share any of my stuff."

"You're not looking at this from the right angle." Ambrosine wrapped his arms around me and, against my protests, lifted me from my place among the straw and dirt. "So what I'm understanding from what you told me is, it's a waste of time for me to raise you and you think I should go back to the office where a drake belongs, forever."

His words made me hesitate. "Well, no. That's different because I'm not ready yet to be on my own. I wouldn't throw any of my nymphs out if they couldn't care for themselves. I just- I just-" I covered my face with my sweater sleeves. "I don't know, Ambrosine. I don't want to be a children's therapist like you. I don't like nymphs. They always need something, they're loud, and they make messes. And I worry about little things. What if I have nymphs when I'm older, and I don't like them? Even though they're my own? Because I might not. I mean, I don't like anyone else. Maybe it's just impossible for me to like people. I think about this a lot."

"Then I know exactly what to do." Drawing that favorite soft chair of his over from the corner of the keeping room after all, Ambrosine pointed to my clay tablets. "You make two lists: one of things about your nymph that make you happy, and one about things you don't like or that could use a little improvement."

I nodded. I could get behind this idea.

"Then you take your nymph aside and tell them all of the things you wrote on the 'good' list, and you break the other tablet forever because you realize that none of those things really matter all that much. Anything from the list that you remember after a month, you have the right to bring up with your kid. Just don't forget. If you don't break it, then one day while your son is playing hide-and-seek with his imaginary friends, he might choose to hide in the food cellar underneath the bags of maize and dangling scraps of yale meat. Behind a crate of sugarpeels, he could in theory stumble across the uncensored 'negative' tablet, and his childhood innocence could be destroyed in a mere moment."

"That is… very specific."

He flapped his hands. "There's probably a reason why you've never met your grandfather Praxis more than twice. But, nothing prepared me more for raising you than studying therapy at the Academy. If you're afraid that you won't love your future family, they'll smooth over all your doubts."

"Are they going to tell me it's mentally healthy for me to force my nymphs to be something they don't want to be when they grow up?"

Ambrosine drummed his fingers with his usual flick pattern at the end. "Hmm. Depends how much they talk about authoritarian nature and how much you want to believe it works. But I'm only paying for your school if that's what you study. And if you don't go to school, then you obviously think you can take care of yourself, and you'll be out of my house and out looking for your own."

That was that. He bought me a new wand. Threedspiral this time, to my disgust, and I had to baby it like a nymph to prevent it from falling to pieces in my hand. I learned to chew my nails instead.

A few months after the "Did you eat your wand again?" incident, Ambrosine floated into my bedroom and waved two round badges in my direction. "Here. I bought passes to the upcoming Dragonflies game."

I fumbled to catch my slippery book. The rough tablets smacked against my face anyway. I sat up, my gray and white blanket tumbling to the straw. "For saucerbee? You're not tugging my wing?"

He winked. "Watching the professionals ought to tighten your wand. Next time magic skill exams come around, you'll whip the rest of your year."

"Really? You think there's even a chance? But my magic is so scattered and…" I studied the thick grooves spiderwebbing across my palms. "Bad."

"Then in that case, they'll help you to at least be on par with the rest of your year. Either way, it's educational and so it's worth your time."

That explained it. Odd as it may seem for a spritely fairy, he never was the kind to waste money without a solid purpose. Education was a reason for attending the game, not an excuse.

On Wednesday, I bounced on my heels in the pale pink waiting room outside Ambrosine's office for him to finish with his last patient of the day and leave Rheather with the key to lock up. "Look at you all dressed to impress," she said, leaning the fruit snack bowl down so I could grab a handful. "Are you and your daddy going to the big game tonight?"

"Yes ma'am. We're poofing all the way up to the big city of Faeheim. I've never been that far outside of Novakiin, except for school. We have good seats. He said. In the purple section."

"Good luck," Karowel told me as he floated out from his own office. He had a dustpan full of pottery chunks and crumpled flowers in his hands (someone, it seemed, had finally put that twisted orange and brown vase on the bookshelf out of its misery) and even as he made his way towards the trashcan, he kept stopping to give the heap of scraps a pathetic cù sith-eyed look like he couldn't decide whether he ought to magic it back together and spare its worthless life after all.

"Please let it die," I said, resisting the urge to throw up my fruit snacks.

Then he realized who I was, and his grin broadened. "Little Whimsifinado! You look more like your father every day. Well. Your face has white sprinkles on it, and you're a tick wider than Amb-"

"Karo," Rheather snapped.

"Hey, it could still be considered a compliment. Learn to dish 'em out, Rhet." He hovered with his hand over the trashcan, began to tilt his pan, then straightened it out again.

"Someone broke your ugly vase?" I prompted.

He shrugged and finally spilled both the shards and the limp white and yellow flowers into the trash beside me. "One of the will o' the wisps brushed it with her wing. It doesn't matter- they were just daisies. What brought you here today? I think I heard something about a big game up in Faeheim?"

I took my thin gray shirt by the hem and straightened it out so he could read it. "It's the Dragonflies vs. the Centipedes vs. the Wasps in saucerbee."

"And I'm guessing you're not a fan of those last two teams," he said, sizing up the way I'd used my wand to create a sea of blue dots that chased a few red and orange speckles around the folds of my stomach and under my arms.

"Yeah. I like the Dragonflies. My dad says that before she went dusty, his mom Nettle Gumswood used to play for them. That was a really, really long time before he was born, though. And…" I straightened. "Here he comes. So I think we're going to leave now. 'Bye."

Ambrosine tossed his ring of keys to Rheather and pinned my ticket badge to the front of my shirt. "Get your Dragonfly on," he said then, boosting me up on his hip. I adjusted my hat between my head and broken crown.

"Eat your core out, Henry Huddlewand."

Ambrosine poofed us to Faeheim once we were a safe enough distance from Wish Fixers, so the magic backlash resulting from our distant jump didn't risk rattling the foundation of the big square place, just in case. We found ourselves on a floating safety landing pad up the street from the stadium, and Ambrosine hopped off quickly so no newcomer would come crashing into us. We made it halfway to our intended destination when Ambrosine's wings froze.

"It can't be."

"What is it?"

"Chocolate." His voice took on a giddy tinge as the soles of his shoes brushed the cloudstones. "Fergus, they have actual chocolate here! The big city really is a magical place where dreams come true." Ignoring my questions, he set me down and zipped over to an open stand at the edge of the neighboring bazaar street.

"Um." I moved my eyes between the extensive line for chocolate and the stadium. "We'll be late."

Ambrosine flapped his hand back at me, never drawing his gaze away from the nix merchant behind the table. "We're plenty early. Feel free to wander off and see if you find anything you like. Oh!" His finger moved upwards. "But don't touch the inrita mud."

"The what?" I approached him since he was beckoning me, and he pointed again.

"The inrita mud. That thin, black, sludge-y goop in the basket dangling from that beam in the middle of the ceiling. It naturally casts out a small field to repel magic, preventing anyone from poofing that merchant's goods away without payment. One touch would begin to eat away at your magic supply, and you'd go dusty within fifteen minutes. Just standing too close to it will make it difficult for you to drink from the universal field of magic around us."

I attempted to pedal backwards with my wings as he corrected himself with, "Actually, with inrita poison blocking your lines, you would die a dustless death and leave me curdling in the shame of knowing that the magic I used to bring you to life was never cycled back through the energy field for future generations to draw upon. Only brownies are immune to the effects of inrita, because they carry its chemicals in their saliva. Just like the poison of the assassin bugs they share their wings with, a brownie's kiss could liquefy your insides if you didn't receive immediate medical attention. And still then, not everyone survives. So have fun."

(Sidenote: Admittedly, this brief explanation from Ambrosine has been falsely implanted in this text for the purposes of education, as are a few other conversations sprinkled throughout. I did leave my house before the day in question and so I did understand what inrita poison was by this age. I'm not an idiot.)

I perused the bazaar street, examining stylus sharpeners, heavy tablet books, fruits and flowers from a variety of planets, good-luck charms, incense sticks, candles, emblemed water buckets, sewn dolls of Earth animals I had never seen, or simply staring at the twinkling constellations in the ever-starry sky, until Ambrosine at last poofed in beside me. "Here," he said as we started again for the stadium. He broke off a sliver of chocolate and passed it to me. "Tell me what you think of this."

In my rebellious naivety, I thought he was exaggerating its goodness. He was not. The sharp, broken chip carried a leathery taste, like his favorite chair back when it was new, but full of prickling butter and melting cream that cooled my entire mouth in a thick curl of deep. Just… deep. Like soft smoke from that crackling fire pit I hated. My wings stopped. My vision swam vertically. I had to cling to his arm.

"I told you."

"C-can I have another bite?"

"Let me do the math. You're just over 2,000 years old, so you can have…" He split about a square half-inch of chocolate from the rest of his bar and placed it in my warm palm. "This much. But that's it for three hours. Any more and you'll get sugarloaded. Your body's too young to handle that."

That left me wriggling from foot to foot, wing to wing, as we waited in the slow-moving crowd seeping into the stadium. At last Ambrosine picked me up, and after waiting several minutes more and catching impatient snippets of conversation, I tugged on his collar. "Why can't we go in?"

"We can in a minute."

"Why not now?"

"From what I heard while I was in line for the chocolate, it sounds as though they're cleaning up after some vandals and shooing off some vocal protesters. Nothing that's going to stop us from enjoying our evening."

I waited, then when he didn't continue pressed, "What are they protesting?"

He sighed. "Crossbreeds. Crossbreeds with fairy blood, specifically."

"Why?"

"Genetic sickness. Nothing to concern yourself with."

"What genetic sickness?"

"You've learned about the two types of magic lines in school, haven't you? The external for drawing energy from the field through your pores and the internal veins for carrying it all throughout the body? There's a genetic sickness among the fairies that has something to do with the body's internal lines, control over magic, and mental capabilities. Other than that, I'm not sure."

"Why?"

Ambrosine adjusted the badge on my gray shirt so it stayed right-side-up. "Because I haven't seen the signs they're waving. Not that it has anything to do with us, although I do have a leprechaun grandmother on my father's side. That's where I get my pointed ears, but they only last for so many generations before they fade from the genepool. Sorry you lucked out there, kiddo."

My grip tightened in the fabric of his white shirt. "I'm glad I'm not a crossbreed."

"Yes. It's days like this I'm glad I chose not to mate outside my own species."

"So it's not the same genetic mutation as me?"

"Not even close. Yours only affects your outsides, making you look round in the belly and square in the face and shoulders. This kind affects the insides."

We waited another five minutes, Ambrosine shifting on his feet or tugging at my cap until he decided to put me down. The protesters, most of them cherubs and eastern elves, were eventually shuffled past us in disgrace. Not a fairy among the group. I stared heavy-lidded at all of them as I followed Ambrosine through the stadium gate.

My wand wilted in my back pocket with an odd noise the moment I stepped through. It was the first time I had ever witnessed it do that, and I almost dropped it to the ground in alarm after I'd whipped it out.

Ambrosine showed me how his own piece had gone soft. "They've shut down the loose magic so the crowd can't interfere with the game. Only approved starpieces will work inside the stadium on a night like this."

"We can't do anything with them until we leave?"

"Since you asked, we can buy souvenirs and snacks."

I rolled my eyes and stuffed my wand away. "Of course we can. Whoa!"

"Whoa?"

Wrapping my hands around the metal bar fencing us into the top level of the stadium, I leaned down with my wings aflutter. "Their field is a lot bigger than our playground."

"Yes, I imagine it is. Now, it's this way to the place where we'll be sitting. Pardon me. So sorry. Stay on my wingtips, Fergus."

Our seats were in the purple section. Just before I settled into mine, Ambrosine tapped my shoulder and asked in his typical casual way, "How many seats do you think there are here?"

"I don't know." My eyes trailed around the near-empty stadium. "50,000."

"Try 81,000."

"No."

"Mmhm. Now, do you know how many Fairies there are in our quadrant of the universe? 'Fairies' with the capital 'F' as in 'the Fairykind'."

I scratched my head. "30,000?"

"Just barely over 7,000, actually. And there are maybe 300 of them present today, although it's probably closer to two. There are only 7,000 known Fairies in the universe, and yet my ancestors two generations back built this place to be enormous. And one day, in perhaps another say, six or seven hundred thousand years or so, we'll reach that moment when every seat in this stadium could finally be filled with all the Fairies in the universe. Fascinating, isn't it?"

In silence, I stared over the rows of seats, wondering how many of them would be taken up by my descendants when that time came.

After about ten anxious minutes, a hush fell over the entire crowd. I stopped fiddling with my limp wand and the roaming dabs of color across my shirt and looked up to find that five white pillars had risen from the artificial purple grass and taken their positions around the field like the points of a star. As the seconds ticked, the pillars faded from white and into the five colors of the Fairy Rainbow in zig-zagging order- Yellow, blue, pink, purple, and…

I frowned. "Why didn't the green one light up?"

"The Green Robe must be away on important Fairy Council business, or sick. Or he disapproves of what's going on, but to the best of my knowledge that hasn't ever happened at a saucerbee game before and seems the least likely option."

"Or someone in the Lower West Region that he's representative of died today."

Ambrosine nodded. "Right, I'd forgotten about that part."

"Or it's broken."

"Or it's broken."

The song of the Central Star Region began to ring out. On that signal, the vertical tunnel in the center of the field swept open, and the players burst free in a swarming blur of dragonfly diamond, centipede scarlet, and dull wasp orange against the starry sky. Number 8 for the Dragonflies zipped out at the tip of a five-colored rainbow. He waved to the crowd and blew two kisses at a blonde korrigan in the yellow section of the stadium. She turned pink and ducked behind the ribbons on her pointed green hat, possibly debating the pros and cons of turning into a bubble and flitting off.

"That's Webster Goldenflare," I told Ambrosine. "He's the only leprechaun on any serious team in all of Fairy World. He uses his rainbows to slide around the field. The only reason he can even use starpiece magic is because his mom was a fairy. That's why there's a crown under his green hat, and he has those little tiny wings. They just don't work that well."

"Is he now? Ah, so he was our crossbreed…" Leaning forward, he pointed to Number 11. "Do you know who that pretty á la mode with all the blue hair tied on the left side of her face is?"

"Of course. Sonata Winterfly. She got transferred from the Crickets back in the Year of the Pale Moon, and they regretted it by spring. They promised to double her pay if she came back, but she had always wanted to play for the Dragonflies and turned them down. She hasn't missed a shot ever since."

"And Kalitik Sparkflicker?"

"Number 4. He holds the cloudland record for the most points ever single-handedly scored in a game."

"What about Number-?"

"Shh." I held my small hand to his mouth. The swarm had stopped, the players had peeled off into their own teams, and down below, Amelia "Beetleguts" Thundercrack had just stepped up to the line with a red and an orange player who must have been the respective captains of the opposing teams. Each of the three licked the palms of their right hands, then presented their wands beside their cheeks, left arm across the body.

"Release the targets," I whispered as the referee made a signal, clenching Ambrosine's lips between my forefinger and my thumb. All in the same instant, each of the five pillars spat out two whirring white discs imprinted in their middles with golden stars.

"Tea-saucers live!" The satyr referee stuck two fingers in his mouth and sent out a high-pitched note. The captains clapped and shouted instructions as six players from each team burst into action, then took to the air themselves. I shrank back into Ambrosine as one of the saucers whizzed over our heads and sputtered, "These have to be like, five times faster than what we practice with! Maybe six times!"

"Welcome to the major leagues." He ducked as a stray yellow blast from a wand turned one of the swanee sitting near us into a bundle of cinnamon sticks. Two wingbeats later, a dark-skinned damsel with bright yellow and black butterfly wings zipped past us, twirling her wand between the fingers of her left hand and spurting a promise to fix him after the round was over.

Ambrosine flicked his finger as she disappeared below my line of sight. "Gabriella Farnfell. The first will o' the wisp to make it to the major leagues within my lifetime."

"That's a long time."

"You won't be saying that when you hit 227,000 yourself. I'll have you know that I'm still considered fairly young to have a nymph. I only had 22 lines plugged into my core when you were born, and then I had to give three of them up to you."

I ignored the sarcastic remark bubbling on my tongue in favor of watching a clump of blue-shirted drakes who had shifted their tea-saucer into an enormous, squirming Cherish Jungle-esque python. They flew with it through the orange goal in looping spirals, earning themselves high points for size, speed, ability, elegance, and technique, as well as dropping the Wasps' points to negative one.

"Yes! Down with the Wasps!" I turned to Ambrosine. "What are wasps?"

"Some sort of new beetle or fly the Yugopotamians dug up when they were doing their scientific cataloguing and field guide project just two years before you were born. I never saw any of them myself and couldn't tell you if they were spiders or cockroaches or what, but Solara used to wander Earth a lot before you came along, and she hated them beyond belief."

"She did? Why?"

He chuckled, eyes tracing a distant saucer that had chosen to double back on itself and perform loop-de-loops, infuriating a half dozen players who pursued it with wands zinging pink and blue. "Because they always bit her. She'd show up at my place with arms covered in swollen red scabs, and rant about it from the moment her foot was through the beaded curtain until my father and I flew her home."

"Did she? Huh."

"Yep. She always ended up stumbling into their nests when she was looking for bees to steal honey from, and she tasted delicious. Not that I would know. I wonder if they were venomous. If so, her blood is probably flowing with their poison."

A cheer went up from the opposite side of the field as two orange players who had been guarding the back of a third from Centipedes managed to chase a shapeshifted gnat through the Dragonflies' goal. It turned instantly into full tea-saucer form on the other side and flew back to the pillar it had been fired from to await the second round. While I watched in dismay as our counter ticked from three to two, Ambrosine leaned back and said, "I hope the Wasps win."

"You hope the Wasps win?" That was the moment I emotionally disconnected myself from my father and swore that I would live on my own the instant I was old enough.

"Sure. Then they'll shoot off the fireworks in bright Wasp orange, and at the very end of the show they'll have a big glowing wasp that zips above the crowd before it explodes, and I'll finally get to see what they look like. And the next time I see Solara, I can tease her for getting driven into such a fit by them when they're doubtlessly so tiny and cute."

I twisted the cap on my skinny wand. "So, do you really think Solara's going to come back someday?"

He paused, looking me over with cautious blue eyes, as though he feared I might laugh at him. "I… think she might. Did they ever tell you in school that fairies are wired to only fall in love once?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean she will. If she left us, then she probably has better things to do. Plus, you said one time that other drakes tried to win her first. Maybe she fell in love with one of them."

"We'll see."

I tugged the brim of my cap further over my eyes, staring still across the field. "I kind of hope she doesn't. I like having you only to myself. And she'll just have some lousy excuse, probably. I don't want to hear it. If she left, she left. She has to live with the consequences."

"Well, you're a spoilsport."

Goldenflare bounced on a loop of rainbow, front-flipped, and at the arc of his jump sent a yellow blast from his star-tipped shillelagh. With an explosion of pink smoke, the tea-saucer morphed into a vase brimming with white spit-orchids flecked with red, which he caught. The rainbow straightened beneath him; he skidded down the other side like a barbegazi along an avalanche and skated off across the field. Number 17 on the Wasps side slammed into him before he made it very far, causing the vase to fly into the side of a pillar, where it shattered. The will o' the wisp.

A piercing whistle split the air. While the saucerbee game continued to whirl about them, the referee pointed to Farnfell and jabbed a thumb in the direction of the Wasps dugout.

"Hey!" I shot out of my seat. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I hollered, "That wasn't a foul! Boo! Hiss!"

Suddenly aware that I was the only one on this end of the field shouting in her defense, I stopped and sat down again. Fortunately, my embarrassing slip-up had been swallowed in the ripples of the crowd around me.

"Don't quit your day job!"

"You can't hit someone higher than you on the social ladder!"

"Think you can provide for a family with this gig?"

"Go back to your burrow, wisp!"

"You don't belong in the rat race!"

"Get off the field!"

"Hand over your slot to a fairy who actually knows how to play the game!"

Farnfell hurled her wand into the purple grass and grabbed the satyr by the collar. His collar of thick blue fluff, actually, since he wore a yellow and black referee skirt and no shirt; covering the chest was against his kind's customs. She drew him to her face, and an explosion of noise rattled the whole stadium as she kissed him hard and deep.

"Oh smoof, I can't watch." Ambrosine pressed his fingertips against his eyelids. "She forgot it's mid-summer now and she's out of season. The secondhand embarrassment is going to turn me tingle-fritzy."

I replayed the instance of her slamming into Goldenflare in my head, then let my fingers slip from the metal bar I'd been clinging to and turned around. "What did she do wrong?"

"I don't know. I wasn't watching."

"She just hit him. You can do that. You're supposed to do that."

He shrugged. "You know the rules better than I do."

As I returned my attention to the field, I found myself frowning. I didn't know that one.

Down below, Goldenflare shook out his body and his tiny click beetle wings. He gave a shaky thumbs up to the crowd and mended the vase with a tap of his shillelagh. Then he leaped onto a rainbow and shot off again. I folded my arms against the metal bar, burying my mouth and my chin as I knitted my brows. I stayed like that for three rounds, until Farnfell was cuffed over the ear and allowed back in.

"See her wings, Fergus? They don't buzz like yours or make that churring sound that mine do. Will o' the wisp wings are almost perfectly silent."

After ducking another saucer and the Dragonfly habetrot and Centipede sylph who were vying for it, sprinkling the crowd with random transformations, I said, "Good for her that they didn't throw her out of the whole game like the crowd demanded Sparky Thornwhip get chased off that one time ages ago. Everyone was talking about it at school for the entire year."

"Mostly everything ends badly, but not all things end as badly as they could have," he agreed. He was cut off at the very end by another whistle from the satyr. This time it wasn't Farnfell who was the target, but one of the huldufólk dressed in Centipede red.

"Missed it," I muttered as he slunk off for the bench to take his penalty.

"Impressive that he made the team, considering how much of a struggle it is for those little crane flies to stay in the air for longer than a couple of minutes."

"I guess."

The Dragonflies whipped in with saucers turned into chairs, carts, saber-toothed tigers, and even a great bronze-colored squid, but round after round I realized with a sinking knot in my throat that it wasn't going to be enough. And when the eleventh was over, it wasn't. The Centipedes had grappled with them hard, stealing most of their points, and so the Dragonflies had begun to target them and them alone. My veins flooded over with disappointment. I pulled the brim of my small cap over my eyes.

"Here come the fireworks," Ambrosine said, bringing his right leg up over his left knee. "Now we'll have our chance to see exactly what Solara was fussing about."

My lids peeled back from my eyes as the first blast went off almost exactly above my head. It was orange as a flaming cyclone, whipping smoke and ash down on our heads like something I would later learn in Earth Studies was called 'precipitation'. The sparks crackled and plunged. They burned the air as they fell. The universal energy field became less universal, sucking towards them and dying in a flourish like shooting stars. And the noise. I lack the words for it more than I lacked them for the beautiful chocolate; 'deafening' does not suffice. It was the fire pit multiplied by five million thousand.

One after the other after the other after the other after the other. Tens of screaming rockets, then hundreds, raced each other, only to burst without any apparent impact, rhyme, reason, or warning. Each one made me wince. No wingbeat of time passed without the blazing light searing the back of my brain through my pupils. The catastrophic sound those fireworks pronounced could rival the implosion of our quadrant of the solar system, I have no doubt. I pressed my nose into Ambrosine's sleeve as my mind filled with orange. My hands folded down my ears.

"You don't like them?" my father asked, rubbing my hair with his narrow hand. He moved down to my back when the next snap of thunder boomed throughout the sky. Brown sparkles spiraled over our heads. "Don't you want to look? They aren't scary. They're fun."

"They're a little much for me," I squeaked out. Fun wasn't precisely my thing.

Ambrosine touched his wingtip to mine. "Fergus? Would you rather we went home early as opposed to staying here for the show?"

At first, I didn't reply to his words. Maybe because I didn't hear them. My fingers were still wedged in my ears. I kept my eyes squinted up into the sky. He repeated the question, and I stared at him without comprehending.

"Dad, can we… go?"

He raised both eyebrows at my tentative request. "It's not entirely like you to back out of an event like this without squeezing out the full experience. But as long as you're okay with that, so am I."

I nodded.

"And you're sure you want to miss out on seeing the giant wasp?"

I nodded again. Ambrosine held my head to his shoulder and began calmly apologizing his way down the row of captivated simpletons. As he scooted past the last tall-crowned nix, I risked another peek from beneath the curls in the back of his dark hair. The famous wasp wasn't zipping above the stadium yet, but an injured, screeching dragonfly twisted among the stars like a dead thing. It enveloped the entire sky with stunning bright violet and navy blue, while a grotesque, hunched orange beast half-hidden behind a crimson centipede feasted on dusty strips of its flesh.

I found nothing beautiful in that.

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 1: SPOILED

Love Struck Out

Winter of the Rising River - Winter of the Crumbling Peaks

My 10,000th birthday flickered up and flickered away again in the same simple manner they all did. Around that time, Ambrosine decided that he wanted me sanctified and baptized as he had been with water drawn from the Promised Basin, which crowned the fountain honoring the Tuatha Dé Danann in the courtyard of Queen Shoulath.

The ceremony was a small and short-lived one. I'd hoped Solara might take the opportunity to make her reappearance and prove her fairyhood once and for all. She chose not to, though we did use Chipixie as her surname on my medallion. Instead, I passed several of my Hundred Hours of Reflective Silence wandering the courtyards and castle halls, with Prince Northiae as my occasional guide. I suppose that was satisfactory enough.

307 years after I turned a 157,000, Ambrosine summoned me to his office in Wish Fixers. I'd long worked beneath him on days when I wasn't expected in school (we only attended twice a week back then, not every other day as they seem to do now), but today was not a day to discuss clients. Today, he took me out for a lunch of sandwiches as he sometimes did, and as we awaited their arrival, he tapped his fingers against the side of his face.

"Fergus, you're through with puberty, and we need to find you a wife."

I took my thumb from my mouth. Except where my peers could see, in my youth I was ever a horrible thumb-sucker (Hawkins, I imagine, can in his own way attest to it). "Already?"

"Why not? Your gyne freckles are just starting to prickle in. No reason to wait."

My eyes went to the waitress who had at last arrived bearing our sandwiches and soup bowls. She had freckles of her own up and down her nose, though that didn't mean she was a gyne. Only drakes could be gynes or drones, and not just average kabouters. "I… I'm not sure I'm ready. I'm still 43,000 years short of age of majority. I can't even buy my own sugar, or- or travel most of the cloudlands by myself, or own a house bigger than an apartment room. I'm still in upper school. I don't even have my license yet to use magic outside the school building if I'm not supervised by someone with their adult wings."

"Then we're both lucky that marriage after your 150,000th birthday legally emancipates you." Ambrosine took the table's edge in both hands and used it to pull his floating wireframe chair nearer to mine. "What's the part that makes you anxious?"

"I don't want to do it," I whispered.

"Do what?"

"I don't want to leave home yet. I don't want to pay for my own magic usage. I don't want to have to take care of myself when I'm sick. I don't want to mate. I don't want my wife touching my stuff or poking fun at what I like to do or bothering me when I'm trying to work. I don't want to get my wings notched. I don't want it to hurt."

Ambrosine shrugged. "There's nothing I can do about that. You can't live with me forever."

"Why not?"

"Firstly, because you sap up my money with little benefit to me. A 157,000 ain't short."

"'Ain't'?"

"Secondly," he went on, ignoring me, "you're a gyne. I wasn't lying when I told you millennia ago that your brain is wired to believe it's entitled to leadership. The darker your freckles get, the more you're going to want to usurp my position as head of the house and the family business. It's just the way you are. I think, perhaps, that I ought to get a cù sith. You wouldn't risk killing me dishonorably with one of those around just waiting to swap souls with you and get yourself stuck in its furry little four-legged body, hm? At least then I'd have a fighting chance."

I crossed my arms against the table, staring into my steaming tomato soup. "Right. The territorial issues. That's why I'm the only gyne this half of Novakiin. Like you'd forget I stuffed Steven or Stuart or Stanley Wilcox in that cardboard box and left him locked up in the old Sprinklewings place when I was 9,000."

"I was so proud of you," he remembered. "Naturally, I expected you to win your little kerfuffle the entire time. Third, it's just not done, a pretty drake as well-off as you without a mate once you're of age."

"Uh-huh. Okay, but logic gap: If I'm such a threat to you, your life, and your stuff, why did you even keep me instead of giving me away to some other drake and damsel who might have wanted to raise a baby? I mean, you've always said Solara left you because you two had me, right? Easy fix."

"Yes, but I needed an heir, simple as that. Also, you were adorable and I couldn't resist. It's just not in me to hurt a nymph. I love them too much. Second also, few Fairies are interested in adopting such a sickly child, and a gyne to boot, when other options are available."

I picked up my simple cheese sandwich for the first time, though I didn't yet bite into it. "And I assume I can't live alone by myself because…?"

"I want grandnymphs. If Wish Fixers does go to you one day, I'd like to be sure you'll pass it along to your eldest child who's interested in it, too."

I tried to imagine being interested in Wish Fixers. After chewing through half my food in silence, I said, "Recently, I figured out what I think I'd like to do with my life."

"And it only took you a 157,000 years. Not too shabby."

"It's a big choice. It took a lot of thinking." He didn't answer, so I added, "Don't you want to hear what it is?"

Ambrosine took a long sip of his lemonade. After softly smacking his lips, he shook his head and knit his fingers. "It doesn't matter. You're my heir. Wish Fixers is yours. I can't just call take-backs."

I pushed my fingertips through the holes in the table's mesh and maintained eye contact. "I want to go to law school."

Ambrosine weighed my words as he plucked at his handkerchief. "If I let you go to law school, what would you do after you were done?"

"I'd take cases and things. I'd defend what people want me to defend, argue for what's right. I don't believe good people ought to be taken advantage of, and I think those who break the rules or Da Rules ought to be punished for it. I want to do my part to make the universe a fairer place. I like the neat, the orderly, and I like everything being exactly the way it's supposed to be. Most of all, I'd like to sit on the Fairy Council someday."

He choked on the next bite of his roast beef and bacon sandwich, but only for an instant. "You think you'll be able to sit on the Fairy Council?"

"If I work hard and live long enough, then yes. I'll prove I want to help people, then they'll support me in the election. Easy enough. Since we're located in the Central Star Region, I intend to go for the Purple Robe. I mean, there's certainly no way I can become ambassador of the fairy species." Not with the royal Wester bloodline hogging that position.

"Yes, I see. Unfortunately, I control the money in this family, and I don't need a lawyer. You're going to learn therapy."

I slammed my fist on my plate. It wasn't that I hadn't anticipated the response, but it never stopped turning my blood blue. "You're a therapist. Would it seriously knot your lines for you to be supportive of what I want? Just this once?"

"The future you're demanding is far too ambitious and unrealistic. That's just your gyne side talking. Happens to all of you when the freckles creep in. You'll grow out of it and be thankful you did when you realize you otherwise could have been wallowing penniless in the gutter of broken dreams."

I lowered my head, chewing on my lip. Never once had that occurred to me.

He raised just one thin black eyebrow. "So, therapy?"

My fingers relaxed. "Therapy."

"Excellent. Now, back to our original order of business." Ambrosine drew a broken chunk of tablet from one pocket of his red vest and blew off a scattering of dust. Grit tumbled between the thick wire mesh of the tabletop with an oddly-comforting pinging sound. "I've already taken the liberty of drawing up a list of all the damsels that I think would give you adorable nymphs and who would benefit our family line if we crossed ours with theirs."

"Okay." I licked grease from my fingertips. "Lay them on me, I guess."

"Firstly, there's Carling Feathercourt. She's a fairy, and one with a powerful mother watching over her back. Glassmakers- you'd like them. And she always has a long braid in her blonde hair that you could bat at if you chose. Fawn Whiteripple the alux has blue pigtails and brilliant pink eyes. And three other fairies who have quite the curls in their hair, if I do say so myself: Aelva Stillwing's got silver, Ellette Sugardust has red, and Kristiana Shadow's hair is a beautiful black with a white streak down the right side." He peered at me over the list. "Any of them catch your interest?"

"I don't know. The alux, I guess. Her eyes sound pretty. I like alux crowns. They're tall and have gems on them, and that pink fabric cap between the spikes. And, aluxo'ob turn mostly invisible when you don't look directly at them. That's neat."

"Right. Let me see my notes. Ah, right here. I've talked around some, and I happen to know that she and her gal-pal group stop by Seashell Café every Tuesday afternoon - up in Serentip - and they usually sit up front along the counter. Next week, we'll send you over there you check them out. Fawn would of course be ideal, but if you like what you see in one of the others, take the chance and don't just gape at the worm like a cautious eel."

Didn't the cautious eel not get hooked?

So the date was set. I would scout out the damsels, and Ambrosine would shout encouragement from the sidelines. "One more time," he said in the doorway as he tucked the tail of my tie beneath my mulberry-colored vest. "What do we look for in a wife?"

"She's a fairy with kindness towards nymphs, pretty hair, and a wealthy family behind her."

He tousled my own hair with his fingers and pushed me off the porch. "Off with you."

I went off. Two towns over, in fact, as the dragonfly skims. Serentip was one of the starport towns (it's a full-fledged city nowadays) with cloudships and other skyships ever docking or loading up their cargo for the long haul across the skies. Evidently the town was big on tourism, as boats scrambled for places to tuck in their sprawling rainbow wings and land, the crowds were thick, and the entire place dripped with colorful Krisday lights. I gazed in respectful awe at the fins flanking one of the most ornate turtle-like ships that had yet to move from its corner, then stepped forward and cleared my throat twice.

"Where are you off to, dame?"

One of the sailors leaning on a post at the end of the pier checked over her shoulder. Spitting out a strand of orange hair, she called back, "'Tis the season to bring the Snobulacs their alliance tribute."

"Long trip?"

"About four days, aye. Well." Her hands moved to her hips as she lit her wings and came in my direction. Another curl popped loose from between her lips. "First we have to get clearance from the big bucks up in their pretty tower. We could be here another week before we get to spread our little tortuga's wings."

I glanced between the snoozing Fairies on the dock and the open sky. "Isn't the anniversary of the day the Snobulacs joined forces with our Aos Sí ancestors during the Sealing War like, in the middle of next week?"

"Yes. We'll have to plow through the sky as quickly as possible, putting all our magic into action, although the further you go from the Big Wand then the more distorted the energy field gets. Wander too far and you'll leave it behind. Frankly, I'd snip a few lines for some kind of inter-plane sandwich shop to be set en route. We don't have room for too much food with all the crew we need just to ensure we can maintain a working SHAMPAX system out of range."

"Won't the Snobulacs be horrendously offended if you're late with Fairy World's tribute?"

"Yes, and we'll take their punishments for it." She shrugged. "Every few decades, we go through this. Since most of the cetus-hunting ships, cruise liners, and ferry boats around here readied themselves before we did, we have to wait our turn. Silly system if you asked me. Fun stuff, playing in the grown-ups' world."

That made me frown. "Someone high up should really triage these things based on importance and timing. You should go first."

Smiling, the fairy said, "Just between you and me, someone could make a small fortune if they organized the tabletwork system and made it run as smoothly as Kiiloëi's water. But, sticking around isn't all bad. Serentip grub can be snazzy enough to get by. Hey, but you taste that sort of burning, sizzling scent in your nose?" She drew in a deep whiff. "That's comet dust still clinging to the hull of our ship from an asteroid belt. Sharp and ripe and ready for pickin's. Good stuff in the morning to really pump the magic particles in your blood. I wouldn't give up my starsailing for much of anything. Except maybe that sandwich shop. Get me a cute sandwich shop on its own little asteroid one day, will you? Right between Planes of Existence 5 and 6."

"I'll do that. I promise. And I like it. The smell, I mean."

The sailor tipped her crown at me. "You looking for work? We could use a new cabin juvie."

"Maybe in another lifetime. I'm not really the plane-skipping type- I need grounded clouds beneath my feet. I'm only here sightseeing."

"Bah. Tourists." She waved me off, but there was casual friendliness in her gesture, not actual annoyance. As I picked my way back along the pier, that smell of exploration and opportunity flowed all around me. I spun around in a small circle, raising my arms above my head and stepping backwards since my wings didn't really allow me to fly that way.

"I could do it," I realized then, gazing at the ships as their own either feathered or translucent wings blurred with shimmering pastel rainbows. "If I get that Fairy Council seat, I can fix the little things like this. Or maybe I don't even need to go that far. All it would take is a little knowledge of Da Rules and the laws of the universe, a pinch of authority, a bit of respect, some organization, and I can help people."

Stuffing my fists in my pockets, I slowed my spin and blinked around the little starport town with its rounded roofs, currency exchange booths, language translators bustling about with tour groups, and local culture shops displaying all sorts of Fairy foods and trinkets for incoming alien travelers to marvel at. My eyes, when they came back into focus, settled on one street decorated in winter holiday streamers and window decorations, chatty street performers, pawn shops with doors that constantly swished, homemade craft sellers halfway through the organization of a swap meet, and about half a dozen try-your-luck booths bubbling over as vendors and carnies shouted pleas for attention. While it wasn't normally the place a respected Whimsifinado would stray down, a crudely-made sign on one of the nearest cloth-covered tables caught my attention.

"'Patron Pair: A game with the bugs you share your wings with. Greet your patron and win a coin on the side'." I tilted my head. Sufficiently hooked, I raised my wings and floated over.

"Heh," I muttered as I neared, craning my neck. "It looks like most of this crowd is due to Fairies just wanting to see their actual patron for the first time in their lives. That's so cute."

The drake who ran the table was a leprechaun, his hand resting on a large bell-shaped dome of glass that covered about thirty insects. Beneath the dome, separated by a centimeter of space, lay a wheel turned horizontal, so only one of its sections - or two halves, depending on how it landed when it slowed - lay beneath the dome at any one time. Though I searched and could identify most of them, I didn't see any of the insects sharing my wings any more than Mr. Thimble had once suggested. The elves' honey bee was close, although not at all square.

"Pick ye's favorite bug and a section on the wheel," he explained to a damsel with a pointed star-tipped hat and an unimpressed look on her face. "I tap the glass, the bugs fly up, then ye spin the wheel. Ten sections on the wheel, two of each. The bugs fly up, the wheel turns, and finally it stops. If ye's section is under the dome when that happens, ye win the coins ye bet back plus half as many more. If after that then the bugger ye picked lands on the spot of the wheel you chose within five seconds, then I double what ye paid in, see? Ye can split your bets between multiple sections of the wheel if ye're wanting to."

"Is it a rigged trick?" the habetrot asked.

He leaned across the table, one of his teeth glinting with gold. "Well, I can't be much of a lucky leprechaun, can I? I've been losing more lagelyn than I'm gaining. Double takes a toll outta me."

Upon hearing that, the damsel snorted and skimmed away. I drifted closer to the table, my eyes searching left and right as, over the course of an hour, seven or eight players of Fairies and aliens alike came in to try the game. The leprechaun exploded into cheers each time somebody won, which happened just often enough to keep onlookers interested. Then the trickle expanded into a small bundle of a crowd. Another half-hour passed, and I hovered in the background, and watched, and listened.

It couldn't be that easy. It couldn't be.

"Hey," I said after a satyr had watched the wheel grind to a halt an inch short of the manticore section, and skulked off in disappointment. Five heads turned my way. I drew my wallet from my pouch and tossed it on the table. "Can you match 9,000 lagelyn?"

The leprechaun's scarlet eyes dripped with greed as they shot between the wallet and me. "And ye's picks?"

"I want the duende's house fly. As for the money, put it all on 'unicorn.'"

"All of it?" "Did he say all of it?" "He's jitterlines." "He'll lose everything." "Is that all he has?" "This ought to be good." "Poor thing- he's just a juvie." The mutters circled about my ears. The leprechaun's smile twitched a sliver higher.

"Oh," I said as an afterthought. "You said this game was fair, didn't you?"

"Fair as that cherub on ye's left side."

"Oh," she tittered.

"So it's not going to be a problem if I ask you to move that long tablecloth aside, is it?"

He stared at me, pale lips slightly parted. I lifted one hand just enough to make a rolling motion, then tucked it between the other and my chest once again. I half-expected him to squeak, but instead he grinned and nodded and swept the cloth away.

"Nothin' but a couple cords ta keep the game running, see? Wheel has to spin and fairy dust can't work on it. I've got inrita mud in this vial to ward off magic. No tricky tricks." He gestured to the small vial he meant, not much wider or longer than a stylus.

"Good." I cracked my knuckles before bracing my left hand on the corner of the table. "Keep it just like that and let's spin." Once the glass had been tapped and the insects had all taken flight, I took the wheel and thrust it sideways. It clicked and clattered round and around seven or eight times, then stopped. There were no more voices. Only startled silence. The house fly landed on the unmoving wheel, as it tended to quickly.

"Unicorn," I said, reaching across the table for my wallet. I poured the coins into my palm so they dribbled to the cloudstones. "Would you look at that."

The leprechaun's jabbing eyes bore into mine as he unhinged his box and counted out my winnings in yellow bills and green coins. This time, for once, he wasn't exploding about a participant's victory. "What exactly made ye so certain it'd be landing on unicorn, square-head?"

"I don't know," I said back, never blinking, never twitching, never letting slip any show of emotion. "I could just tell."

He grabbed my arm and twisted it backwards so my wrist thunked against the table and the coins popped from my grip. "Ye cheated, lad. I know ye did."

Maintaining my calm, I answered, "I didn't cheat. There's a pattern- I just saw the pattern. I'm good with patterns."

"Wait," sputtered one korrigan, adjusting her ribboned hat as she floated forward. "You're saying there's a pattern?"

The leprechaun released me instantly to put up his hands. "No- no, I assure ye, it's random, sweetheart. Ye see? Ten sections, two of each, equal chances for all."

"Well, I heard it," I amended. "I listened. Your wheel has a loose peg of some sort on the back that keeps popping in and out of place. It makes a whistling noise the spin before it hits unicorn. Every time."

"What whistling noise?" hissed the leprechaun.

"You couldn't hear it? It really acts up when you put your foot on that cable."

His fingers tightened around his box of bills and coins. "Don't tread there, freckles."

Lifting a brow in mock surprise, I said, "Surely a drake as respectable as yourself wouldn't actually resort to using the old squish-the-cable, slow-the-wheel trick?"

"Freckles-"

"Another cheat," a redcap seethed, bearing pointed teeth. "Three in one day has to be a sort of record. What a dirty, rotten city."

The leprechaun grabbed his lagelyn box and took off along the street, bouncing back and forth between the buildings with a stripe of rainbow at his heels. A few of the crowd took chase just for the sport of it, though most contented themselves to stand back and jeer. Two or three congratulated me on my sharp observation and patted my shoulder before they meandered off in search of a new form of entertainment. I chuckled a grim, "Ha, ha ha," as I clutched my winnings to my chest. These were definitely going towards a new set of styluses with the metal points thin and sharp.

Ambrosine rubbed his hands when I floated through the door late that evening. "So?"

"So what?" I asked, unloading my pockets of hard-won cash on the coffee table.

"So, I want to hear all about these pretty damsels you met with."

I stared at him, then smacked the heel of my hand to the space between my eyes.

The following day, we started again. Since it wasn't Tuesday and Fawn more likely than not wouldn't be in Serentip, we settled for a diner in Novakiin. This time, Ambrosine came with me to ensure I reached it. After he retreated up the street, I folded my wings like a gentledrake and headed inside.

"This won't be a problem, Fergus," I murmured as I studied the faces of the patrons in search of damsels. Heads began to turn one by one. I took two fingers and pressed back my black hair. "You're a gyne. Gynes are more attractive than kabouters and definitely more attractive than drones. Straight face, very good. You mean business. Begin."

One black-haired damsel with unnotched wings was lingering outside the washrooms. I convinced myself that I felt a plug in my lines just when I stared at her face. Her eyes were chocolate. She smiled as I drifted towards her, and introduced herself as Charlene Dulcina. I bobbed my head and put out my right hand.

"Good. My name is Fergus Whimsifinado. It's a pleasure to meet you."

She blinked once, her left hand partway out, then switched hands and tentatively accepted the gesture. "You as well."

Making myself comfortable against the bricks, I said, "Tell me what your family does for a living."

"We farm vegetables down on Earth where the dirt untouched by magic is. I'm due to inherit the place one of these days." She waited for my reaction. "A lot of Fairies don't seem to be interested in that type of lifestyle, but I rather like it. Keeps my hands busy."

"Interesting. Food untouched by magic is vital, of course. What do you like to do when you aren't working or at school?"

Charlene wound a scrap of dark hair around her middle finger. "I read, mostly. I'm interested in studying biology. Mostly the core. Not easy to do when we turn to dust when we die, and Anti-Fairies to smoke."

"No, it really isn't. Good on you for it." I studied her eyes. "So, where do you see yourself in five years?"

"Probably that farm. The Academy doesn't seem to be a real possibility. Simple family."

I'd have to factor that in. "Important work, still. What are your strengths and weaknesses?"

She frowned. "Well, uh… I'm good in school. Um. My hearing's not always the best, though, I guess?"

"I hadn't noticed. What would you say is your biggest accomplishment?"

"Oh, I have the top saucerbee scores for my age range at school."

A fairy whom I guess must have been her brother from their shared dark features crept out from the washroom then. She took his small hand and, with a parting smile, drifted towards a table. An older damsel sitting there - a sylph - eyed me with faint approval. I leaned briefly against the wall and clasped my hands. Nailed it.

Determined not to let the opportunity slip through my fingers, I requested permission to sit with them, which was granted. I perched beside Charlene's brother. A banshee brought me a menu, and once I'd placed my order, I tuned into the light conversation.

"So you're the young Whimsifinado," said the sylph as she looked me up and down. Her red bracelets jangled every other wingbeat.

"Yes, ma'am."

"The therapist's boy? Wish Fixers?"

I nodded.

"Ripe young age, little fellow like you. Taken an interest in many damsels?"

"Mother," Charlene hissed in her ear.

"If you'll all pardon me for just a moment, I'm going to use the washroom," I said carefully, deciding they could use a moment to discuss the pros and cons of a potential pairing between our families.

While I was in there, I paced, an arm behind my back. With a finger on the other hand, I tapped at the air every time I took a step.

"Think, Whimsifinado. You have always been trained to ask questions to learn about people. However, you are not evoking the response from Charlene that you desire. What are you doing wrong?"

Drawing a scrap of tablet from my pouch, I leaned against the wall and spun a stylus through my fingers. "Right. Name. Previous occupation. Schooling. Interests. Workplace skills. What am I missing…?"

What indeed?

"Thank you for excusing me," I said when I rejoined the Dulcinas. "Ah. And my food has come. Nice place. Do they have sesame paste?" I'd hoped to dab a bit on my burek to remove some of the sharp flavor.

"I'll ask for some," Charlene offered, rising to her wings.

"That's very kind, thank you."

As her daughter left, the sylph leaned across the table. "Ask me out and I'll say yes."

I stared at her, a cheese-filled triangle of dough an inch from my mouth. "What?"

"You're a cutie, freckles."

My eyes darted to the notches along the distal part of her costas, then back to her face. "Oh," I said as though realizing her intent for the first time. "I'm sorry. I'm not actually in the serious market for a mate right now. I apologize if I gave off that impression. I've been looking into… another damsel I know."

"Well, this is what the Year of Promise is for."

"Yep," I muttered, twisting my cup in my hands. "That's what it's for."

I couldn't seem to excuse myself as quickly as I wanted to. But Ambrosine was just up the street and the night was still young. I loitered about outside with a lawn gnome drake, awaiting a promising opportunity.

The gnome spat on the ground after one more damsel flitted by us. "Finicky damsels. They always go for the fairy gynes."

"You might be intimidating them with that pipe you're puffing."

"What's your deal, anyway? Can't handle a bit of smoke?"

"I thought smoke was extra bad for lawn gnomes," I answered, glancing sourly up at the invisible magic lines that connected me to the energy field.

"I thought nosiness was extra bad for fairies."

"It's not, actually." I took a step nearer the door as a couple of damsels pushed their way outside. One of them locked eyes with me, and we spoke for a moment before she moved off again.

"You gotta bed a damsel first, sprinkle-face, then start poking around the block for real. They like the gynes who aren't still virgins. They can smell it on you."

"Right, thank you." I got up from the wall. I obviously wasn't going to snag the lasting interest of any damsel by standing out here in the rapidly-cooling air, and I was done with his snide conversations.

"Hey," said the gnome as I drifted away. "I don't like your smell either, punk."

I curled my knuckles as I pulled open the door. "'Hey' yourself, munchkin. I know how to brush off your kind, and I will. A bit of that soap just inside the door will wipe you out like the aphids you share a third of your biology with."

Well, it would make him break into a rash, and that was apparently enough; he raised one eyebrow and both hands and left me alone.

My hopes began tilting up when I was back inside again. I even had the opportunity to lean against a table while I pushed threads of hair back from a qalupalik's face. Tucking them beneath her thick brown amauti, I murmured, "I read once that eyes reveal the secrets of the soul. Eyes tell stories. I like yours. They're green."

"So are you, at flirting," was her reply. Which I admittedly was.

No more messing around. Ambrosine invited himself to Orin Winkleglint's household for dinner, and upon his return, I was informed that he'd scored me the opportunity for a visit with his eldest daughter, Sindri.

He put his forefinger beneath my chin and lifted it. "Good family. I like her braids. You can do this. You have the flowers?"

"Flowers. And two shiny gems."

"Excited?"

"Um. No, actually. I don't really feel anything."

"Close enough." He brushed the back of his hand over my stomach. "Hm. I have my scrying bowl. I scouted about while I was in there and theirs is on the shelf outside the washroom. Ring me if you need anything."

"Thanks, Ambrosine." Straightening my tie, I blew a puff through one corner of my mouth and headed through the door.

I knew the night wasn't in my favor the moment I first lowered my wings and reached out to shake Sindri's left hand with my own. My stomach flipped. The courtship candle on the mantle stuck up only barely above its twisted spiral of a base; Orin had chosen to give me little time for error. He stood guard beside it, trying to decide what to make of me.

Sindri had amber eyes like tiny suns, but I didn't get to sit beside her at the dining table and enjoy them for long. The candle flickered below the metal coil, and I was sent away, outside again and into Ambrosine's reassuring arms.

Back to the eating establishments. This time, it wasn't long before I stumbled upon a nix with brilliant silver eyes.

"Tania, isn't it?" I asked as I took her hand. "There's supposed to be a meteor shower up in Calton tonight. After you eat, I thought we could go. I have badges to get us a boat. I bought them for me and… and my dad."

She carefully accepted my offer, and I dressed myself in a shamrock-green suit to match her ever-damp dress before I picked her up at her place. "Do you know how to fly a rowboat?" she asked as we made our way east.

"I've never tried, but I'm not the kind to turn down a challenge."

Steering a tiny craft with floppy, buzzing wings over an agonizing drop that led straight down to Earth turned out to be more difficult than I anticipated. Our ride bumped and lurched the whole way, and leaned somewhat to the right side and thoroughly convinced me it would dump. But somehow, Tania and I managed.

"Ah," she gasped, peering over the side. "So many boats underneath us. All those Fairies. It's jazzed."

"You like it?" I asked, churning the paddles.

"Do you?"

"I, um…" I glanced downward. Dozens of colorful glowing dinghies drifted about in the hazy near-blackness of a corner of the sky the Sun had recently left behind. Occasionally they bumped against one another and elicited either bubbled laughter, awkward gasps, or snappish grumbles. The solid cloud lay a hundred and fifty wingspans below. "I guess so. I'm not much for pretty aesthetics. Too flashy. I like simple things."

Tania smiled. "And here I was thinking you were a details person."

"I enjoy detailed simplicity. A whole collection of factors intricately woven together to create a system so organized and efficient that a brownie could manage it."

"I'm on wing with you. Fergus?"

"Yes?"

"You may hold me now."

I set aside my oars and did. Tania was scooting against me with her head tilted back when I jumped. She pulled away. "What?"

"Some cold and slimy thing just brushed across my back."

Tania shifted in the boat, and I realized my error.

"Um, sorry." My hand slid behind my neck. "I forgot nix damsels have scaly fish tails. And I guess that nix clothes always feel a little wet. I just got startled. And I interrupted you. Were you trying to go in for a kiss?"

"I was…"

Heaving my shoulders, I said, "And I ruined it?"

Tania tapped her fingernails, then crept closer down the bench. "Not exactly."

"Oh. Oh." I touched my lips to hers. She wasn't my first kiss by any means- Ambrosine had ensured I got my chance long, long ago. Still, it was my first time kissing a nix. They taste exactly as I had expected, apparently: like fresh salmon and melting butter.

We pulled apart, me still holding her by the shoulders. I swallowed. "Tania, your eyes are incredible. Like silver… silver circles around black dots. I could stare at them all night."

"You… you have been."

"Oh. Have I?" My thumbs twitched. "Well. They're very nice."

She squinted. "Who kisses with their eyes open?"

"You had yours open."

"Because you did!"

"Not because nixes don't have eyelids?"

"What?"

I tilted my head. "All right. We'll do it again. This time, I'll close my eyes."

But Tania shook her head. One hand trailed up and began to unfold my fingers from her shirt. "Maybe later. Right now, I just want to watch the meteor shower."

"Sounds promising." I lifted my wand and summoned up a warm black jacket. It materialized on her shoulders with a puff of purple-white. From the look on her face as she drank in the sight of my chronically-scattered magic, I knew I had sealed the deal. There would be no second kiss, no second outing. As my hopes plummeted, I figured that at this rate, I'd end up with a brownie.

"We can fix that," Ambrosine promised through the washroom door as I sat in the bare metal tub, scrubbing at my wings with a green cloth.

"We can? How? And why have we never done that before? You've known since I was a nymph that my magic is off."

"No, there's no helping what shakiness your equiangular mutation shuffled you with. I meant about your flirtation skills. No damsel likes to be dragged from one item of entertainment to the next. You need to present."

So I presented. Damsels liked flowers. That fact never changes across the social ladder, or even the entire cosmos. But while the red-eyed Rosika Glittergust clearly enjoyed them, she didn't really go for me. I ended up staring stupidly at my groping hand as she flew home with Brokk Sparklebottom.

"Can't we just buy one?" I asked Ambrosine, flinging my tie onto the couch before flopping down after it.

"Not unless you're a will o' the wisp. And technically, they trade."

"This is hopeless. The only one my age who's ever expressed interest in me was a cherub who dressed all in blue, down to the blue eyeshadow and blue irises, and monogamy isn't always their thing."

"No, not hopeless. 'Hopeless' implies exactly that- absolutely not even the faintest flicker of a possible chance, which is, of course, practically impossible. Here, I have an idea." Ambrosine drew a glass bottle half-full of orange soda from the highest shelf in his kitchen, tucked behind his cookbooks and the trinkets Solara had given him during their courtship. "Have a taste. This'll get the Whimsifinado blood flowing."

I raised my eyebrows. Not counting that dab of chocolate that hadn't sugarloaded me all those millennia ago, it was the first time he ever allowed me to taste such pure, processed sugar. It was heaven at its finest. "Try a little of this before you head out on the trail next week," he said, twisting the lid back on, "and your instincts will kick in soon enough."

My instincts did as well as they could. The next time I went out, I returned with a cherry-haired, muddy-eyed leprechaun in tow. Ambrosine's careful face shifted from slightly delighted to slightly puzzled when I offered him her hand.

"I got one. Now what?"

He scratched his chin. "Would you like to invite her in for dinner?"

Thus, I invited Laika in for dinner. Our conversation began innocently enough, with a light laughing at the squarishness of my wings. Then, as we ate, Laika asked Ambrosine about his history, and Solara. He brought up the wasp-bite story again.

"Speaking of wasps," Laika managed around a sip of orange juice, "did you guys get to scry on that Dragonflies game last Wednesday? They got smashed."

"They did fine," I corrected. After all, Beetleguts had scored seventeen points for the team alone.

She shrugged. "I'm just saying, they could've done a lot better. The Wasps deserved that win."

I tightened my grip on my soup spoon.

The evening went well enough apart from that. Ambrosine and I flew Laika home, and he nudged me into offering her a parting kiss at the door.

"She talks like a dragon," I said as we skimmed homeward again, shoving my hands beneath my armpits. "Get a dragon started on a story and they'll babble themselves to sleep or starvation. Their throats are made for breathing fire, so trying to move them to talk always wears them out. We learned that in school."

"I liked her sleek hair."

"You would."

I'd half-hoped that would be the end of it, but Laika scryed me within the week asking for a follow-up outing. A damsel asking! And it happened again, and again, and again.

When her interest was undeniable, Ambrosine slapped me on the back as I went to replace the bowl on the coffee table and pull on my thicker coat. "Didn't I say it? I told you over and over again that you weren't a hopeless case. You just needed some practice, is all. And look at you now, with a damsel like Laika on your arm."

I scratched my nails along the handle of my wand. "She doesn't like me."

"She doesn't like you?" he repeated, like I'd told him I wanted to visit the remaining Molpa-Pel in the core of Earth. "My smoof! You're a Whimsifinado, Fergus. No damsel 'doesn't like' an unwed Whimsifinado in their age group. Especially a gyne. I could be mistaken, but so far as I know, there hasn't been a gyne in the Whimsifinado line for a dozen generations. You like Laika, don't you?"

"I… I think so."

His face grew more concerned. "I mean, she's never said she hates you or anything, right?"

"Well, no."

"Then you're doing fine."

I fiddled with the buttons on my coat. "I just- I just think maybe I should wait a little longer. Before I settle with my permanent mate."

"That's what the Year of Promise is for."

"Oh my smoof, Ambrosine," I groaned. "I'm not ready for this, plain and simple, period, signed and stamped in the lower right corner. I want to meet more damsels first, and make sure I can handle being with them for hundreds of millennia before one of us goes dusty, and I want a big wedding ceremony, and to make sure my nymphs get to have a real nymphhood."

Ambrosine took hold of my shoulders. "Laika is a good match for you. She doesn't take your sass and she comes from a good stock. Just keep things going steady with her. Ask her for her hand. Bed her on the first night of courtship. That's how we fairies do it. They did teach you about the Year of Promise in school, didn't they? How on the first anniversary of that day you're official and get your wing notches?"

"Yes, but- but…" As I stared at him, I could feel my own eyeballs flickering. I didn't want to- of course I didn't want to. But it was difficult to force the words through the cracks in the wall of tradition. Eventually I managed, "Leprechauns are click beetles. And tradition is hugely important to them. Between those two facts, their courtship rituals are so long and intricate that they don't usually mate until the curls start coming out of their hair when they're 350,000 thousand."

"Yes," he said patiently, "leprechauns keep you in suspense so you can't touch their gold until you've practically proven you're serious about staying with them for life. In defense of their species, they can each only produce offspring once. If you had caught yourself a fairy in the first place, we wouldn't be having this problem, now would we?"

"She'll think I'm, I don't know the word… Forward? She'll think I'm forward if I ask."

"She'll understand. Remember, she learned about fairies in school too. Hm…" Ambrosine rubbed his chin with one finger. "And while we're on the subject, remember what the five colors of magic are. Well, six. Seven if you want to pick a fight about indigo. When the time finally comes for fertilizing your eggs, make sure you and the wife are using yellow. Yellow sticks."

I tightened my teeth. "Thank you."

He crossed his arms. "I'm serious. Of course, the Eros Triplets will bring you back in line if you falter, but it seriously ups the spike in taxes and insurance. Yellow is cheerful and loyal and easy to use when you're tingle-fritzy (relatively speaking, anyway), and it's the only color that lasts after the death of the channeler. Blue shows up when you're irritated, and can be undone by anyone when you're calm again. Or when you fall asleep if it's closer to that questionable indigo. Not a thing you want over the kids' heads."

"Thank you."

"Knee-jerk pink is more of an automatic, one-night stand thing. They always start out pink, so don't worry if you can't draw up yellow for the first few minutes. Green is the color of panic, laziness, or misery and leads to sickly children. Red is for obsession and desperation and it cancels itself within a matter of days. Purple is only natural and holds strong while you're alive, but it fades after death like the Anti-Fairies. Don't fertilize your eggs with purple unless you want to drag every one of your offspring down with you when you die."

"Thank you," I said again, and left.

I met Laika as we'd agreed in the lower town of Claystif, where the neighboring woods had prompted a culture skilled in crafting intricate carvings and designs. Visiting "Patio World", so-called, had thus made slow meandering almost a necessity so that one might get around and admire them. We took a skim along the lumpy walking path that criss-crossed over the hills. In the valley below gleamed the glass tower where they said you could summon Mother Nature and Father Time to make a single plea for their intervention in your life, if your intent was pure and you did the whole grovel-in-ultimate-submission ritual thing and you sacrificed your eldest child, or something odd like that.

I knit my fingers as we descended another rise. "Laika, I was hoping for your hand."

She groped across my wrist, then slipped her slender hand into my larger one. We passed another several wingbeats in silence before I cleared my throat.

"I meant for marriage, actually. When I said hand. Hand in marriage. That's why I asked for it."

"Don't fairies mate on the first night of engagement?" she asked, her nose scrunching.

"Um. Kind of?"

"Which would be tonight?"

"… Yes?"

"And the fact that nightfall would be, oh, any minute wouldn't have anything to do with you bringing this up now, I imagine?" She leaned in. "Would it?"

I tugged at the collar of my striped sweater. "Not really. And- and we don't have to tell anyone if we don't do it. My dad will ask, but I think I know enough general details to give that will satisfy him."

Laika fluttered her lashes at me. "I don't think so, Fergus. I've been trying to drop hints, but you haven't picked up on any of them. You're moving a little deep into the serious zone for me. I'm only in this relationship for the free food and flowers."

"Come again?" I asked, keeping my tone as smooth as Ambrosine's.

"Don't make that face; you read like an open book. Seriously, you should look into keeping your expression, well, expressionless. But it's not like I could've put a dent in the amount of money your family keeps stashed in your back pockets, so I'm not sure why you're acting like I personally brushed all the dust from your wings."

My hand tightened around hers. "Shall I fly you home?"

Her smile was sickly syrupy. "Please do."

"I take it she wasn't interested," Ambrosine guessed when I slammed the front door behind me and flopped down in his favorite chair.

I grimaced as I massaged my hand up the right side of my face. "She said she still wants to be friends."

"Friends with-"

"No."

Things went slightly better with Irica Caudwell. She was pretty enough, even with her buck teeth and dim, watery eyes. I managed to win her affections and get her into my bed, under my sheets with a bundle of square pillows, before Ambrosine intercepted me a flap from the front door.

"Where are you going, Fergus?"

I about moulted my wings. Out of impulse, when I whirled around I slapped a palm over the top of my head to defend my core. "I- I was just- I needed- fresh air- Lots of mating going on, and all-"

He tossed a piece of popcorn into his mouth and crunched with an unnecessary amount of noise. "Don't you have a damsel to get back to? You're not even undressed, or very tingle-fritzy."

I licked my lips. "The first half of the courtship dance took a lot out of us. We're resting."

Ambrosine pointed down the hall. I shifted my gaze between him and the doorknob, then released it and walked with quick and silent steps.

But it turned out, I ended up back in the keeping room again soon enough. I wasn't in my room for long before Irica blurted a terrible confession past her trembling lips.

"I-I'm a tomte."

I turned around from where I sat at the end of my bed, grinding my toe into the dirt and staring at an uneaten handful of the semi-sweet chocolate chip cookies she always had with her. "What?"

Beneath those soppy tears she was a western elf. No wings. Of course I hadn't asked why she couldn't fly. Needless to say, the night and relationship were over before they could begin. "She's a tomte," I reported in monotone as I paced around the coffee table. "I certainly can't marry someone who can't do magic."

Ambrosine nibbled on the end of his middle fingernail. "That would rack up expenses. Elf alone was bad news enough since they can't use starpiece magic and you'd have to cover for her anyway. Normally I would protest about your being biased against those unfortunate enough to end up tomtes, but considering how limited your own grasp over magic is… not to mention that going through with mating could easily be deadly for a drake so tingle-fritzy it unplugs all his lines… I mean, there's a reason you're supposed to share."

My legs shook underneath me as that continued to sink in. "I almost mated with a tomte." I slid to the floor, pulling my wings up and over my face. "Ambrosine, I can't do this anymore. I don't even want to get married, and- and- if she hadn't told me what she was, right before she started crying, then I could have maybe…" I gripped the front of my shirt. "Dad-"

"You're thinking like this because you're a drake, Fergus. It's an unfortunate phase of worry that all of us go through." He massaged his forehead. "Perhaps you're right. We threw you into the idea a little young. You'll change your mind when you get older."

"I made her feel special," I whispered. "Even with her being what she was. Ever since our first day, when I told her I didn't want nymphs…"

Ambrosine glanced around for something to drink so he could perform a spit-take. There wasn't anything. He crossed his arms and drew a bit higher in the air. "What do you mean you don't want nymphs?"

"I don't want them," I said from inside my translucent umbrella of wings. "I don't like the idea of mating, I don't like the idea of pregnancy, I don't like the idea of giving birth, I don't like the idea of raising a baby, I don't like the idea of putting up with a toddler, I don't like the idea of struggling through their schoolwork alongside them, I don't like the idea of going to all those parent meetings, I don't like the idea of paying for their magic, I don't like the idea of them clinging onto my arms after I finally push them out the door- I. Don't. Want. Them."

Ambrosine tilted his head. "You have no idea how much like your mother you are."

After a few seconds, I parted my wings and blinked up at him. "How did you meet Solara? You've told me once or twice, but I don't remember much of it."

He scuffed his foot. A stupid grin crept over his face along with a fiery blush like his vest, as it usually did when he spoke of Solara. "I dunno. I just got lucky. Right place, right time. My favorite roommate at the Academy pointed her out to me when she passed by our therapy classroom. Class wasn't over, but I wasted no time- I bolted out of there with my bark strips raining around me, flew right up to her, and asked her if she was the damsel who'd make the War of the Sunset Divide worth fighting."

"You flew up to her? Okay, you're making this up. That's even less realistic than you allowing your notes to scatter. You make me talk to the grocer for you when we get food. Every week. Since I was800."

"I passed her in the hall once and she smelled of cinnamon and oranges," he argued, taking my hands in his. As he led me around the room in what must have been the beginnings of their courtship dance, he continued, "I was a goner from the moment Kalor let slip about that beautiful hair of hers. Every time-"

"-you saw her, you daydreamed of the day she would let down the scarf and allow you to brush it," I finished with him.

He whirled me beneath his arm, and poofed over to catch my hand before I could catch my balance. Swinging me into the air, he added, "I have no self-control around soft things I can touch and hug and thread my fingers through, Fergus. Oh, if I could just introduce you to her one of these days, you'd catch a glimpse of that hair and no damsel under the stars would ever tempt you again." He lay his hand behind my head and brought my face close to his. "If yours were a few hints bluer, you'd have the same gorgeous eyes…"

"Dad!"

I'd thought he was going in for a goopy forehead kiss, but it turned out he just wanted to lick the light freckles above my nose, the way he'd always done when I was much, much younger. When he next let go of me, I didn't accept his offered hands again. Ambrosine tapped a finger to his temple and flicked it away.

"You haven't met the right damsel yet. I think I have a solution. The ceremonial cherub migration is coming up. They'll be leaving the northeastern Nest and heading south to Mistleville for their matchmaking thing."

I found my shoulders relaxing. "They taught us about the matchmaking festival in school. The Eroses are love experts- they can make sure I get paired up with someone meant for me, right?"

He gave me a thumbs up. "All you have to do is submit your name. What better way to know your love is true than getting matched by the Eroses themselves? Of course, we'll have to head all the way over to Mistleville. It's a four-day flight, but we'll save over a thousand lagelyn by moving as the dragonfly skims instead of as the rich fairy poofs. I imagine we'll want to leave come morning. It's a regular tourist town, especially at this time of year."

And it was. We thought we'd left early. Obviously, not early enough.

There weren't cities back in those times. At least not very populated ones. Faeheim was called a city because it housed the residence of the Fairy Elder - a small yellow hut defended by shielding spells and constant guards - and thus the general area was referred to as the Fairy World capital. And certainly it was large enough, but even on a day when the Dragonflies were playing in the saucerbee championships, the crowds did not compare to what I found when we entered Mistleville during the cherub's migratory season.

Two days before the festival was intended to begin and the cherubs actually arrived from the Nest, every surface of every building had been painted or carved with or outright shaped like the lumpy 'heart' symbol that generations of the Eros bloodline had made equivalent to romance. The streets were blocked off with red and white barricades. Shirts and mugs that read 'I met my soulmate in Mistleville' dangled from the windows of shops that had obviously been carrying such things for a long time, and that were bustling almost non-stop during our visit.

I'd thought that would be it in terms of decorations. But the day of, there were more. Streamers. Dolls. Portraits. Chairs. A tattoo artist who couldn't seem to spell quite right. Yarn. Styluses. Kitchenware. Balloons. Heart-shaped bubbles drifting over our heads, of all things. As we squirmed through the throng, Ambrosine began to drift towards a sugar bar with music leaking through its open double doors. I tugged him back by his white sleeve.

"Maybe later. For now, we have a job to do. Let's get in line for sign-ups."

"We've come up here every year since our honeymoon," one ishigaq explained to me as we neared the front table, hugging her husband's shoulder. "It's our little lovey-dovey tradition."

Another told me, "My wife's been dusty for a generation, and this is the only place where I can see her face."

Those directly ahead of us were a young couple, clinging to one another's wrists and giggling horribly. "By the end of today," Ambrosine said, placing his palm atop my head, "you'll know your match. How do you feel?"

"Anxious."

"Good anxious or bad anxious?"

I licked my lips. "Both. It'll be a relief to finally have a mate who's going to love me. I just hope she's not disappointed."

We reached our place. I took my specialized scrying bowl and candle, and Ambrosine and I made our way towards a relatively empty patch of cloudy hill. He did most of the navigating while I studied the designs along the edges of my bowl. Perhaps I bumped into the damsel, or perhaps she bumped into me. Either way, a blur of black will o' the wisp wings blocked my vision, and I heard a bright, "Ow- My wings!"

"Get them out of my face," I muttered back, swiping them away. "Crazy damsels. To think I could be taking one of you home tonight."

Then I spotted something in the reflection of my bowl, and whipped around. "Did you just turn your wand horizontal at me? You did! Don't try to hide it behind your back- it's right there in your hands!"

"Hey," Ambrosine said, trying to pull me onwards. I made the attempt to shake him off, and didn't succeed.

"No one turns their wand horizontal at me and escapes a fight, wisp! I'm a gyne! I'll tear you apart!"

Ambrosine slapped me upside the head. I shut my mouth, but seethed through my teeth as I turned away from the blue-eyed wisp and pushed through the crowd after him.

"Ambrosine, did you see her do it? Can you believe her nerve? A will o' the wisp damsel! To a fairy gyne!"

"I won't have you picking fights with damsels when any one of them could end up in your bowl."

"So? Her kind are right there at the bottom of the social ladder. They deserve to be put into place when they act like this. That's the rule."

"You and your rules," he sighed, and drifted on.

The empty patch of hill had grown considerably less empty on our way over. Ambrosine left me sitting there and moved off to find his own place. "Don't worry," he said when I expressed unease about tracking him down in the crowds. "You licked my neck enough times as a nymph to burn the scent of me into your mind. You'll know."

I slid off my shoes, then my socks, and allowed my toes to squish the white clouds. My bowl glinted in my hands. Now I had only to wait.

Waiting turned out not to be as terrible as I had feared. The cherubs arrived with the glint of Earth's rising sun on the horizon, settling down on rooftops or along the road that had been cleared for them to rest and preen their feathered wings. There were hundreds of them, or thousands. Cherubs were flockers by nature, and while there were smaller groups dotted across Fairy World, most all of them had claimed the eastern section of the Central Star Region as their territory. Unsurprisingly- it was where the Eros Nest was located, and that meant plenty of work, fantastic job security, and low taxes for cherubs. People do odd things once taxes become involved.

One cherub damsel with a pegasustail of rosy pink hair stood on a small stage. Though I didn't have a fantastic view from the crowded hill, every scrying bowl lit up with her image as she lifted her arms. "Is that Venus Eros?" I asked one of my neighbors.

"No, the middle triplet. Charite. Those two mostly look the same, but they always wear their hair different."

"Are we going to get to see Venus today?" Along with every drake my age, I had an insatiable fascination with the famous figure, even if I'd never seen her face.

"I dunno. It's early morning. Venus is probably back at the Nest."

Ambrosine and I had picked a purple sweater vest for me to wear, and I plucked at the loops of thread as Charite greeted us with a quick opening speech. Then she pointed her bow into the air and released a single arrow. It exploded with thunder and lightning that made me jump.

The candle-lighting began, starting with the one Charite had just lit and spreading along the streets and up the hills.

"One more minute, Fergus," I murmured. "Only one more minute."

The flames reached our area. I held my candle towards a kobold with a purple top hat who sat near me. A single bead of wax dribbled down the candle until it fell, sizzling, into my scrying bowl. Then I leaned over to share my flame with the candle of a bouncy wraith who sat near enough that I could see his organs and bones through his ghostly white skin.

"As long as she's not a will o' the wisp, a finwife, a redcap, or a brownie, I'm okay with it," I whispered, staring into the rippling water in my lap. "As long as she's not one of the four red flags. Please oh please oh please don't be among the four red flags."

My bowl glittered beneath my candle, and then went blank. I tilted it towards my face, but there was nothing. Not even my own reflection.

"Um." I glanced around as the joyful shouts rang out around me, along with the occasional screech of dismay and spurt of apologies between a couple who hadn't matched each other's faces. No matter how many times I shook it, my bowl refused to shift away from plain clear water, with maybe a hint of my own lavender eyes appearing in the shiny black surface of the bowl every once in awhile, though never in the liquid.

"Ambrosine, did you see Solara's face in your bowl?" I asked when I had finally tracked him down outside that sugar bar he'd been eyeing earlier.

"Sure did," he said through a mouthful of chocolate.

I sighed. "I would have liked to see her."

"Tough break, speck. She's all mine. Now." Ambrosine licked his fingers clean, then began to rub his palms. "Tell me everything about the damsel you saw in the bowl."

One of my shoulders shrugged upwards. "I didn't see anyone. Just maybe my reflection. Did I do it wrong?"

He frowned, his hands still together. "There's no 'doing it wrong.' You must have gotten a broken bowl. Where is Charite? There she is. Over by the fountain, Fergus, tossing about her autograph. Go ask her."

"She looks busy," I said, sliding the tip of my thumb in my mouth. Charite was indeed signing autographs, but it was a bored, methodical process as she forged her way towards the pink tent in the middle of the street, blocked by a shimmering bubble of magic to keep out noise and onlookers.

Ambrosine steered me forward anyway with his left hand over the small of my back. "We didn't come all this way for you to get an empty bowl. Now, go ask."

I tucked my bowl between my arm and trotted off obediently. Then my trot turned into a run as Charite reached the door.

"Excuse me- excuse me-" I sputtered, slamming to a halt as a gruff-looking guard in a suit put his arm in front of my chest.

"We're closed, kid."

"But can I talk to Charite? Please, it will be really quick, I promise. It's just that my scrying bowl stayed blank. Maybe it was broken."

Charite shot me an exasperated look over her shoulder, halfway through the flap of her tent. "That could mean a lot of things, but not that brokenness was involved. Nobody's 'broken'. A blank bowl could mean that your true soulmate has already been legally taken by someone else. We're not allowed to interfere with that. It could mean you or they or both of you are not emotionally ready to seek each other out. It could mean they haven't been born yet. If you saw someone before and no longer, it could mean they've died or moved on to another or you've fallen out of love. It could even mean you flat-out don't have any."

I recoiled, and only partially because the bouncer had pushed me away. "Not have a soulmate? That's not possible. In school and in the books they always taught us that everyone has a soulmate. I'm sorry, but there has to be a mistake. You have to fix it."

"There's nothing to fix." She looked irritated enough now that her blood and magic would have been running blue. "Soulmates aren't for completing anybody. Some people want them and others really don't, and my power can only vaguely touch those in the latter group. I'm sorry. No more questions. Have your existential crisis elsewhere. I'm the Triplet of the Afternoon. My shift starts in two hours and I've hardly slept for a week."

Groaning, I dropped to my knees, set my bowl aside, and raised my clasped hands. "Please, Dm. Charite. There has to be something you can do to help me. I've tried my best for two years, but my dad will disown me if I don't find a mate soon."

"Nothing about that is really my problem," she grunted, but even so, she grabbed something from her quiver and snatched up a fat phoenix quill from a desk inside her tent. "What's your full name?"

I told her, and she wrote it out in a series of scrapes and squeaks. When she was done, she tossed the quill aside, reached through the security bubble around her tent, and shoved the pink arrow into my hands. "All yours, Fergus. Go nuts. Now, please leave me alone." The tent flap fluttered shut, and the bouncer made another gesture for me to get a move on.

I studied the arrow more carefully as I picked my way back to Ambrosine. It was quite long and slender, and supposedly it would dissolve once it hit a sentient thing. The heart-shaped tip was thin and barbed like a honey bee's stinger, effectively preventing anyone from tearing it out before the lovey-dovey effect began flowing through their blood. The thing thrummed with more magic than anything I had ever touched before, and it made my skin itch.

"It looked like you caught Charite," Ambrosine said, offering me two squares of his chocolate bar.

"She gave me this." I held up the pink arrow and twirled it through my fingers like a stylus.

He whistled and shifted aside. "Well, that's a dang pretty bit of firewood. You'll want to use that carefully."

My fist clenched around the shaft. "Well, I don't want it. I don't want to steal somebody else's soulmate. The only thing I'm asking for is somebody who's perfectly meant for me. Like you and Solara."

"Solara was perfect," Ambrosine agreed, "but it doesn't always work out that way."

"No. There has to be somebody like that for me. Somebody perfect. I want someone in my life who will stand by my side and support me always, even if things start to turn out wrong. I want someone who finds an intimate thrill in taking the time to help me clean the place on my wings that's difficult to reach, and won't feel offended if I should ask them to bring me a coffee while I'm working." As I stared at the arrow I held, I felt my lower lip tremble. "Someone who appreciates me as a person more than just as the Whimsifinado gyne. Someone who would be willing to give anything if I asked it of them. Someone who is happy when they're doing nothing but sitting beside me. I want to live with someone who hates to be separated from me. That's all I'm asking for. I just can't see myself settling for less."

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 1: SPOILED

School's In - Not Much of a Musical

Summer of the Bruised Peach Tree

Ambrosine parted thin fingers from his deep blue eyes. "Am I crying, Fergus?"

"Not yet."

His wings drooped. "I promise I feel deeply torn up about this. My only nymph, about to turn around and float through the Academy gate and out of my life for centuries. I should be a wreck. Are you sure my face is dry?"

I shifted my wand slightly to the left, causing the three cardboard boxes hovering above my head to dip and slightly spin. "It's fine, Ambrosine. I'm not going to blame you for being emotionally ready to let me go."

"It's the Whimsifinado curse, I imagine. Let me see your hand." When I gave it to him, he kissed the center of my right palm. Then he rotated my hand around and touched it to my forehead. "I heard once that that's how the Tuatha Dé Danann used to say good-bye to someone they wanted to see again, so they would always be in the thoughts of those who traveled."

I massaged two fingers behind my neck and glanced away from this mortifying display. Fortunately, while Ambrosine may be sentimental, he wasn't clingy. He released my wrist, ruffled my hair into twin peaks at the front, then smoothed it down again with a dab of saliva.

"Right. The city's yours. You're signed up for your classes, we've ordered all your texts, and the first semester of your residency is paid for. Now, go in there and learn something useful."

I clicked my heels together, staring at my shadow as I bobbed above the pale pink clouds. A pair of damsels swept past me and into the castle. Reaching into the pocket of my pale blue vest, I said, "I have something to give you, Ambrosine."

"And I have one last gift for you too." He patted down his front, then lifted his eyebrows. "Ah. Why don't you go first? It would seem I left yours somewhere at the house, and I don't trust myself to be able to poof it up first try. I'll just bring it to you when I visit next month. Break up the monotony of daily Academy life some."

"Yeah. Here's this." I shoved my glossy tablet into his hands and took the smallest box up from the cloudstones. "'Bye. See you next month and not any sooner."

I started through the gate, but thin arms wrapped around me and spun me in a circle. The boxes above my head scattered.

"Ambrosine!"

"Sorry, sorry!" He peeled his fingers away. "Learn a lot and leave time for damsels."

"You'll see me again, Dad. It's not the last time you give me a hug." With a whistle, I summoned my boxes again. The one carrying my clothes wouldn't stop bumping the one holding my styluses, scrying bowl, wing brush, and similar such items into the wall. At the double doors beyond the golden gate, I paused and looked back. Ambrosine was reading my tablet note with a hand to his cheek. He looked up, grinned, and pointed at it. Sentimentality. It makes idiots and cowards of us all. I disappeared inside.

The halls, both horizontal and vertical, twisted all around one another like strands of DNA. Fairies of various races crossed my path between every blink of my eyes. After a minute, the passage I was following opened into a large round chamber, empty except for a pillar of spiral stairs in its center like an apple core, leading both distantly up and deeply down. I followed the signs to the left as I hunted down the registrar's office.

"Whimsifinado," I said upon reaching the front of its line. "Fergus Whimsifinado."

The damsel raised her head, and I got a straight-on look at her for the first time. I half-choked. It would never stop being strangely fascinating to me that members born into satyr culture relied on the natural candy-colored fairy-floss fluff around their outer sensitive areas instead of covering themselves with clothes. You didn't see a lot of satyrs around Novakiin.

"Whimsifinado," she mused through pursed lips. With a wave of her wand, she startled a nearby sleeping drawer bearing a 'W' onto its feet. It scampered over and sat down obediently while she fished around inside its top for my tabletwork. "You're a gyne?"

"Yes, dame."

"Mmhm. Are you interested in auditioning for a position in fairy godparent studies?"

A flitty little glorified slave who zipped about doing genie work, granting unlimited wishes to some bratty Yugopotamian or Snobulac or Bodacian or who-knows-what child only to turn around and strip them of their memories and a few of their other choice wishes that would be more difficult for the abandoned young adult to explain away? I wrinkled my nose. "No thanks. Not my style."

"Perhaps it's for the best. Competitive field and rigorous schedule requirements, that one. Well, in that case, stay out of the bunker area on the east side. It's permanently off-limits to anyone not in their third semester of pursuing godparent studies. Energy field's a mess enough with them; magic lines get so thickly tangled over there, people have actually been known to tie themselves up with the invisible cords if they aren't careful."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said, drumming my fingertips on her desk. "Is it true that you keep live Unwinged on campus in there?"

She smiled. "We have three. But, only twelfth-semesters have access to that restricted area. Now, if you aren't training to become a godparent, whatever brought you to the Academy?"

"I'm registered for the psychology program."

The satyr checked my information with the drawer. "So you are. Your semester's text tablets will be shipped to your room once you turn your key in the door. And your key is right here on this pin that attaches to your shirt." But she frowned before she gave it to me. "When you filled out your tabletwork, you registered yourself as a full-blooded fairy."

"Yes, dame."

"Turn around, please. I'd like to get a look at that bit of orange on your wings."

I did so, and she actually stood up with a clicking of hooves. "What in…?"

Smiling in a thin and patient way, I said, "Genetic mutation. It's written there in my records."

"Curious. I've never seen such design." As she scratched her cheek, I heard rather than saw her frown. "You appear to have the indirect muscular wing structure."

"I do. However, I assure you, I am a full-blooded fairy."

"Exactly what species was your mother?"

"Fairy," I answered as I flicked a fingernail against my mangled crown.

"Are you certain?"

"It's what my father always told me, but she disappeared before I could ever meet her." The answer I'd grown used to giving. The easy out.

"Ah." The satyr sat down again, satisfied well enough. "Then, you'll need this." She tapped a pink circular tablet with her wand three times before she passed it to me. "This is the automated system showing all the gynes in the Academy and their general present location. Please keep it with you at all times and attempt to avoid one another accordingly. We understand that instinct is instinct, but if you cause too many problems, there will be consequences; three strikes and you're out. Similarly, when next semester rolls around, I would suggest registering for classes as soon as possible, as the limit of gynes per class is one."

I sighed, but only inside my head. "I will, thank you. And my room key?"

"Room K40-31." She pointed straight upwards and sent me off. Keeping the gyne tablet in my left hand, I made my way along the crisscrossing halls (many of the tunnels so small I was forced to fold up my wings and crawl through them like an insect) and around staircases, avoiding the dots in my clay tablet whenever they began to rapidly blink.

Ten minutes of somewhat-aimless wandering and squinting at faded carvings of maps later, I opened the door to my room. And immediately shut it again. I checked my room key. I checked the number on the plaque overhead.

"Aw, smoof no." After running my fingers through my hair, I pushed the door open one more time.

A pale drake clutching the neck of a glass bottle filled with drink almost the same dark red as his open robe stood in the middle of the rubber-mat floor beside the fire pit. At least he had on a green shirt (if one that hung in waves from his scrawny shoulders, and his plumed pants with their clumsy patches and purple stripes weren't much better). His hair was red too, but a shockingly bright tint of it. Think, well… red. That was his messy hair, thick with curls all the way down the back of his neck and mostly covering his ears. It left the very top of his head rather shiny and bare.

Then there was the long nose that suggested his father was a brownie despite the will o' the wisp sharpness at its tip. His teeth were bad. Very, very bad (even for his species' famous rows of squares)- all yellowed and worn from too much sugar colliding with too much brownie saliva.

On top of that, he had freckles on his face. My eye twitched. He slurred, "What's cookin', good lookin'? My name's Sparkle Doubletake, and I already like you," as he stumbled forward.

I tightened my grip around the doorknob. "That's it. I am not rooming with a brownie."

"Aw, relax, toots," he said, drinking another swig. He propped his elbow against the wall beside the breadbox. "I ain't killed no one for the last like, 130-something years. That's my own personal record. Hic. Come on, you gonna attempt a dominance lick on me or what? It's your right, y'know. You've got more freckles than I do."

My eyes flicked down to my round pink tablet, then up again. I clenched it to my chest. "Are you a gyne?"

"Nah." He ran his middle finger over the three dull brown freckles beneath each unfocused blue eye. "These are genetic, man. Hey, you haven't licked me yet. Does that mean I'm alpha drake here?"

I set my shoulders. Replacing my key on my shirt, I said, "Of course not. You're a brownie. Natural servant race."

"Half-brownie," Sparkle insisted as he thunked his bottle of soda on the counter and concealed a rising burp in his fist. "S'cuse me. Ahem. I got a will o' the wisp crown, see? My inrita poison's kinda watered down, so I can't e'en put anyone to sleep with it. It just makes my teeth sizzle."

"How charming." But, his logic did line up. The acidic saliva could carry for up to three generations and it did prickle against the skin something awful, but only full-bloods had actual inrita that could paralyze and kill.

I stretched out my hand. The awkward drake cocked his head. "Who shakes with their right?"

"Uh. Mostly no one." I switched hands. "I don't know why I always do that. Instinct."

"You really gotta raise your voice with me and look me in the eyes if you want me to pay attention. You gonna lick me or you gonna be an urvogel about it? Bawkity bawk."

Well. I wasn't an urvogel, and I certainly wasn't going to let some crossbreed brownie claim superiority over me. His breath smelled of cherries when we leaned our faces close and exchanged our cautious licks of greeting. Despite Sparkle's big talk, he didn't even attempt dominance over me in our newfound pecking order- he tagged my chin without hesitation and with a fat, slurping tongue, then bobbed his head so I could get him above the eyes.

"Fergus Whimsifinado," I told him when I withdrew. "I come from Novakiin. Small town west of Faeheim without much to its name but the science museum. I was informed that underage new-wings were not to be permitted this much processed sugar on school grounds. Are you really old enough to be in the Academy?"

Sparkle tilted his head far to the right again, smacking the lingering taste of me around his mouth. "Hey, I'm real young, but I'm not stupid. I was too smart for the slicing cave, but my grandmama Corinna says I got a gift for bringin' trouble every which way, and that's why they all sent me packing from the burrow, the wisps. You want a petaltuck?" And he drew a crumpled pink flower from his robe pocket.

"Thanks," I muttered, shoving it behind my right ear as I typically did with flowers. Something about him - perhaps the orange tinge to his magic, or the possible chinks in his story - bothered me just below the first layer of my skin. "Wisp children are supposed to take their surnames from their mothers, aren't they? 'Doubletake' doesn't sound particularly wisp-esque."

"Yeah, but my real name's a flower that sounds a little fluffy. That, and I've had a' go on the run a couple times. I coulda called myself Sparkle Doublecross."

Suffice to say, this did not put him in my favor.

My second roommate turned out to be a far darrig by his bald head, pink cheeks, and the white ruff around his neck sprinkled with dark stains; he was studying the biology, culture, development, and future of the Unwinged Angels. He checked my freckles over and, nose wrinkling, decided he would rather lick my chin now and retain his dignity than pick a fight about it and end up the loser anyway. I was just going for his forehead when he grabbed my wrist and blurted, "The war will begin when night turns to day, when the rose-haired fairy becomes a cù sith, when the Chosen One abandons his family, and the Accursed One raises the shout of passion before he dealeth the first signal to arms."

I recoiled. "What?"

He grabbed a roll of washroom paper from the table by the fire pit and meandered off on foot, muttering.

"Don't get your lines knotted about Polly, Fergus," Sparkle said, poking his tongue around the neck of his empty bottle. "I've been here three days and he always talks jacked like that. Just don't touch interrupt him when he's babbling and it's all good. He spends like all his time talking to himself in the washroom."

"I always wanted to have a sugar-addicted brownie and a socially-awkward oracle for roommates."

"You're a small-town gyne with entitlement issues who's trusting enough to shake with the hand that channels magic," Sparkle pointed out in his Lau Rell drawl that made everything end with an upwards inflection. "You can always correct me if you want, but I don't think we're too excited to see you either, man."

"That's fair." I beckoned towards my faithful cardboard boxes with my hand (the big one still hadn't finished chasing the small one around my crown). "Where do I sleep?"

"That bed farthest from the window. Hope you don't mind it."

"But theoretically if I did want yours," I checked, "you'd let me have it because I'm the resident gyne, correct?"

"Sure thing, dude."

I snagged the large box by one flap and upended it on my bed. "'Dude'. You really are from Lau Rell, aren't you?"

"Technically, I've just hung out there a couple times when I was hidin' from the fuzz. Hey, it's a laid-back place."

Flipping my wand between my fingers, I dragged the base along the ground in a complete square around the bed, my bookshelf, desk, and one of the chairs by the low-burning fire pit in the center of the room. When I closed the shape and tapped it twice, the markings lit up with dull purple.

"This is my territory. Everything inside it, whether it be a stylus, a blanket, a damsel, or especially a bowl of cereal belongs to me. I don't care if the object is freely given, thrown inside, or dropped. It's mine. If either of you cross this line, I'll know."

"And if you steal something of ours and cross inside there, it cancels, right? That's how this works?"

I squinted. "Yes?"

Sparkle shrugged and tossed his empty bottle inside my purple box. It shattered, wedging a dozen glass splinters between the small rubber squares that made up the tile. I raised one eyebrow as he slurred, "Just checkin', man. Hey, Apollo and I are hittin' the Hole for sup in ten. You comin' with?"

I went with, even though I did so silently steaming about the broken soda bottle. Polly turned out not to be much for conversation, or at least relevant conversation, but Sparkle more than made up for him. It seemed as though his travels had led him everywhere, and he'd made it a point to introduce himself to every famous person you could imagine.

I set down my water glass beside my oatmeal as he tied the end of his story up in ribbons. "You went into the Eros Nest? I mean, not in the menagerie area, but the actual control room? You were in the Love Nest's control room?"

"Only like a dozen times, man. Four times all by myself, and once on accident. Never convince yourself you can brownie-proof a building, Fergus. Fairies can rotate their wings individually, nixes can swim, but brownies can get into places. Hey." He cocked his head. "Can you rotate your wings? Yours spin a little bit like an elf's."

"You're telling me that you kissed Venus Eros?" I pressed, effectively ignoring him (Sparkle wasn't good with keeping his focus on follow-ups). "Without being one of her chosen?"

Quirking his brows, Sparkle finished in a sly voice dripping with just the last hint of sugar-drunk tingle-fritziness, "Does it bother you that I broke the rules?"

As I scratched my chin, my mind wandered back to the arrow that Charite had given me in Mistleville 16,863 years ago. I'd never used it, and it was stuffed away even now in the drawer beside my bed that kept my pants. "Kissing Venus Eros is the only rule worth breaking," I decided. "I'd like to see the Eros Nest's control room. Is it true that that's where they keep all the yoo-doo dolls? Since they were banned following the War of the Sunset Divide, I mean."

"Nah, those are in our storage boxes. They've got files for everyone, you know. But no, yeah, the control room's got too many screens to fit anything like that. Maybe I can take you there someday."

"Maybe… By the way, I grabbed my allotted half of sugar cookie, but don't want to be even a fleck hungover the first day of class. Would you want it?"

Drooling in thick waves, he reached out his hand. I pulled the cookie back.

"First, tell me who's the greatest."

"You are, Fergus."

I smiled as I set the cookie on the edge of his plate, and he tore into it with his fork. Aside from therapy class, maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

Although I didn't much care for his rattling chatter or the routine way he flirted with every pretty but simple-brained damsel (and I think a few of the drakes) to cross his path - Whatever happened to that old wives' tale, 'brownies never make the first move'? - Sparkle was a hard worker in school who knew his stuff. I found myself grudgingly admitting to myself that while he came off as annoying at the best of times, by no stretch of the imagination could he be described as uneducated. He was dumb and emotionally unstable, but well-traveled, and it made him clever. He could drive anything with pedals, and while he rubbed many an animal and Fairy the wrong way, his positive attitude never allowed him to back down from the challenge of friendship.

And not even the grouchiest goblin among us could claim that Sparkle Doubletake, who never took the last slice of cherry pie and spent every Wednesday night baking tarts for the whole floor to taste come morning, was unkind. Our third dinner in the Hole, for example, when he saw my hesitation upon finding he and Polly sitting beside another gyne, he didn't even have to be asked to move. He recognized his error and jumped up to help me find another seat, even while I protested that I didn't require his assistance.

Now, if he would only do something about those rotting square teeth. That was territory of the Tooth Fairies alone, unfortunately, or I would have shelled out the cash to fix them up myself.

Let me make myself clear: I did not like Sparkle. He won himself a fair amount of detentions within our first week alone, he had his wand suspended more than once during my time at the Academy, he constantly toed the line around my section of our room, he frequently came onto me when sugarloaded, and he had no real respect for the rules or Da Rules at all. No. I never learned to like Sparkle. I simply said that he performed well concerning his schoolwork, and I respected him for his ability to get his act together in time for class when he spent his nights drunk or chasing damsels until three in the morning. He and I got on perfectly fine so long as we didn't have to be anywhere near one another.

Although, it wasn't as if I found Polly's conversation much more intriguing. After coming back in the early afternoons, I had taken to bracing my palms against the zinflax door of our room and quite literally beating my forehead against the wood until I convinced myself that it would swell to three times its original size.

"Guess what we discussed in class today," I growled at the far darrig when he cracked open the door to the washroom. "We talked about how the quality of magic is positively affected by emotions and how those who actively express 'love' tend to channel more powerful spurts of the stuff and are capable of holding a magically-formed object together for a longer period of time, with fewer adverse backlash effects on top of that. However, this was treated as fact when it is merely a theory. A theory that literally everyone has heard of, and that we covered in specific detail for two hours. I loathe talking about feelings. I can't take too many more classes like this, Apollo. I came here to progress in my learning. Not to repeat 4843rd-Year material like some of King Nuada's scripture."

"Fergus, it is nae just a theory. Love is the most powerful magic there is."

I jabbed a finger in Polly's direction, causing him to shrink behind the door. "Don't you start. I don't deserve this."

"To fill a hole, there must need be one first, aye?"

"Is that another one of your prophecies?" I asked through a snort. Skirting the fire pit, I skimmed towards my bed. "Polly, have you ever had a prophecy actually come true? I seem to remember that last week you predicted an elf would offer me and Sparkle more pizza than either one of us could eat."

Flustered shrug. "The sight scrambles as it is fading. It ebbs and disappears at times when the magic runs out thickest."

Convenient excuse. He always pulled the same tight face and squeaked, "Sorry, I cannae!" when I tried to coax actually useful information out of him. You couldn't even ask him when it was next going to rain without him breaking down in a heap of tears, sobbing about a flood that would sweep all trees to the ground.

Unfortunately for Sparkle, I was still in a sour mood the following morning. I woke up late, and took it out first on my cardboard boxes (never in all this time had they given up their petty squabbling). As they chased each other about beneath my bed, I reached down to smack them each with my wand. Once they'd dropped dustlessly and disenchanted to the ground, I kicked them to ensure they were out of commission. Then I shed my covers and wandered over to the kitchen cabinet where we kept the mugs.

"Another day, another death wish," I muttered to myself.

"You really don't like that therapy class of yours," one of the others said from behind me, voice blurred by sleep.

I reached for a spoon to stir my coffee with. "It's partially the principle of the thing. Despite being an independent adult, I didn't have a choice. Yes, I worked at Wish Fixers with my dad for millennia, but since I hadn't come here to school and been certified as an advanced multi-species mind and magic psychologist, I was in charge of the tabletwork."

"What's Wish Fixers?"

"Family business where my dad offers emotional support and specialized training to juveniles who struggle with their magic. Where have you been?" That was when I turned around. And instantly flattened myself to the wall as the mess of matted egg-colored fur cringed into the corner. "What the- You're a- cù sith! Sparkle!"

He stumbled into the kitchen, wiping purple soda drips from his chin. I didn't come down from the counter when I shot him a glare more scalding than my coffee was supposed to be. The tip of my laser cannon began to creep from my forehead dome.

"Did you sneak a cù sith on campus?"

It took him a few blinks of his eyes to assess the situation, and when he did, his face paled. Instantly he was on his knees, hands together and lifted above his head. "Fergus, don't tell! Her name's Rosemary and I love her."

"Rosemary" was long and low, stockily built, scruffy white, with patches of orange along her back and ears and an insatiably smug look upon her anxious face. A six-pointed fairy crown hovered above her head, and two sets of long dragonfly wings drooped by her sides.

I covered my face with my sleeves. My chewed nails dragged down my cheeks. "Sparkle, you can't have a cù sith on campus. You're really not supposed to have a cù sith very much of anywhere that's crowded. Do you want to have your soul stolen? Do you want to die a dustless death? Do you want your magic to be swallowed by The Darkness?"

Sparkle clutched the puppy to his cheek. "Please let her stay. She likes me. She makes me feel safe."

"Plus, I'm adorable," argued the dog, wagging the vaguely star-shaped fluff on the end of her tail.

"No." I would not be moved. I turned back to my coffee. "It's against Academy rules. Rules exist for good reason: To keep things flowing smoothly and painlessly, and to keep us all safe."

Sparkle stuck out his tongue, his reflection glinting off one of the pots in the sink. "You're no fun, Fergus."

After checking my pocket watch, I groaned. "I have to get to class now. Take care of the mutt while I'm out." After I came back, I'd comb through his and Polly's wands' respective memory chips and see if he had. "We're supposed to be starting with a really important discussion today, so I can't afford to be late."

Apparently, I could have, because when I walked into class, I paused with a slight skip in my wings and stared. Every desk had been shoved to the edges of the room, and my classmates were all sitting in a circle on the floor. My teacher, whose name I never even bothered to learn and so it's entirely lost from my memories, was a giant-crowned banshee who always wore an annoying pink sweater vest, bowtie, and square blue cap with a swinging tassel. She beamed like lightning, but never seemed nearly as bright in the head.

"Well hello, sweet Fergus, buttercup! I'm so glad you made it in time to talk about feelings this time around. We're going to be friends forever, aren't we?"

She did this to weed out the slackers. The therapy program was not for the weak of stomach.

"I thought we were having an important discussion," I said hesitantly as I knelt between two damsels who usually spent more time in class flirting with me than paying attention.

"We are! We were just about to engage ourselves in Circle Time. Fergus, since you're actually here when class is supposed to start, why don't you go first?" She leaned forward. "Talk us through everything you remember about your yesterday. Explain only your actions and choices, and never the reasons or your feelings behind them. We'll take notes and discuss all your feelings at the end, okay, pumpkin?"

Leaning back on my hands, I stared up at the low ceiling, its pleasant dull whiteness - the only part of the room that had survived her strangling sugar-dusted touch - stained a bit black directly above the central fire pit. "Well," I said, "I killed Ian Fairytwirl yesterday on my way down to the first floor shop to buy some more soap and a new rubber for the back end of my stylus."

Banshees seem to have this little thing about death. Her lip began to quiver. Her eyes welled up with wetness. The large poofs of pink hair to either side of her face began to droop. "That's so sad," she crooned. "Fergus, why would you do such a thing? What thoughts were in your mind? What feelings swam in your core? Oh, poor frosted cottonball. Tell us everything. I'll give you a sticker."

It was really that bad. I'm not making this up.

"He was a gyne. I'm a gyne. That's what gynes do. We're biologically wired this way. There are no 'feelings' involved. Only logic. I fairly took the last of the soap from the shop shelf, and Fairytwirl got all prissy about it and, as we tend to overreact around other 'freckle-faces', he got carried away. He's the one who decided to challenge me. He lost, so he had to die. I swept his dust into an empty milk box, and I get to keep it as a souvenir because he doesn't have any close relatives we can send it to. No feelings. Just reactions and survival."

"Of course you had feelings, guppy. Everyone has feelings."

I sighed. "Matron Whitestorm actually fixed my wand when it was all done, meaning that unfortunately I'm stuck with threedspiral a little longer instead of ulkroot like I wanted to upgrade to. That made me feel disappointed."

The banshee folded her arms. "You can't just kill people you don't agree with, Fergus."

"Oh, I know. If I could, I would only have one roommate right about now. I follow the rules. I only kill gynes. And, if it makes you feel any better, I've only been the challenger once, and that was when I was nine thousand."

She thrust her lower lip out further as my classmates shifted on their knees all around me. "I think someone needs a Hug of Three Hours. Come sit on my knee, sweetcore, and you can tell me all about what weather you feel like today."

"An upwards rain of puke and lemon juice while everyone around me is covered in thin slits bestowed by the edges of their tablets and tips of their styluses," I answered, withdrawing my hands from the rubber tile.

My instructor reached over to pat me on the largest swell of my normally-smooth hair. "Aw, hotcakes, you're mistaken. No such thing exists."

"Good. Because as far as you should be concerned, I don't." I got up and left the classroom.

After I'd relayed this story to the others, Sparkle shrugged and propped an arm behind his neck, among his stained pillows. "Look, if you want to be in the law program so much, just switch over."

"That's exactly my problem." I clamped my pillow over my ears, wiggling deeper among my blankets. "If I switch, my dad will drink my lines."

"How's he gonna find out? I won't tell a soul, Fergus. I babble, but I don't snitch."

I spent twenty seconds sulking, then rolled over. "Polly, I'm trying to decide what to do about my schooling. What's your advice?"

The far darrig stared through me from where he stood near the open kitchen cupboards, holding a cube of ice between two fingers. "What?"

"I'd like a little of your advice."

"What about?"

"My father and the fate of my lines."

He rubbed his eyes. "Father. Lines. Purple. Aye. The reborn fairy nymph of untapped magic shall cry out triumphantly against the one who gave it lines in the home of his father's shadow."

I studied him as he lowered his hands. "And this prediction actually does have to do with me?"

"Aye, yes, si. I felt your spirit present there."

For three minutes, I tapped my fingertips together as I considered this. Then I took up my gyne tablet and headed for the door. "I'm going to set an appointment with my counselor. I probably won't be back in time for dinner. Don't wait up for me."

Dm. Featherspin had an opening for me to meet with her right then, and after we'd briefly discussed the reasons why I thought the therapy program was not for me, she agreed to change me over. My law tablets were already in my room by the time I made it there.

"So this is all mine now. Four million years of court cases." I hugged the tablet tower, practically tasting yellow magic boiling on my tongue. Maybe the Academy was fine just the way it was.

I missed our Hornets playing the Damselflies and Cockroaches in saucerbee and read through court cases all night, cross-legged against the wall. For once, it didn't bother me to be so close to the snarling fire. When I finished with one tablet, I moved onto the next, until a third of the stack had disappeared.

"Fergus?"

I averted my eyes from Mintwave v. Wandflick to find Sparkle staring at the ceiling. "What?"

"I dreamed I told a bad lie and so Rosemary switched our bodies."

"Acknowledged. Go back to sleep. You did get rid of her, I hope."

"Yeah. It was sad, though. I've had to say good-bye so many times." He sat up. "Fergus?"

"What?" I asked, looking again at the tablet in front of me.

"Do you ever scare yourself sometimes? Maybe, act one way when you were drunk and then regret it later?"

"Nope. Never."

"Fergus?" he whispered.

"What?"

"I feel weird. Can you answer something for me? Are you still in the therapy program?"

"My father thinks I am. Was there something you wanted? I must warn you, therapy really isn't my field of expertise, even after these three and a half weeks."

Clearing his throat, he said, "Polly says there's going to be another war."

"Apparently Polly says a lot of things. Go back to sleep." Mintwave v. Wandflick is the case about triple fines being placed upon those caught practicing magic while sugarloaded, on top of wand suspension. Sparkle always made sure his wand wasn't in hand before he got himself drunk on soda. It kept him from getting in trouble. I hated that.

"He says the Fairies are going to engage in another war, Fergus. My mama fought in the War of the Sunset Divide. Do you think this means we'll be fighting the Anti-Fairies?"

I sighed. "I'm not in a position to relay accurate information about this topic."

"I dunno. I can't stop thinking about it. Have you met your anti-self yet? Mine talks deep and funny and always tries to eat people 'stead of feeding them like a good host."

"I have not, and I don't entirely care to. I imagine he is neither clever nor handsome, and therefore not particularly worth my time."

Sparkle clenched his green blankets near his neck. "I'm a big fat urvogel when I'm not drunk, Fergus. I would do anything to get out of a war."

"Excuse me, Doubletake," I monotoned as I turned my tablet over and started reading the back. "The only war you have to worry about right now is the one I will declare on you if you don't roll up your tongue and drop for the night." Perhaps Polly had the right idea, always hiding in the washroom most of the day. It occurred to me then that I hadn't relieved myself for far longer than I would have liked; I had been waiting for him to come out for bed. He hadn't yet.

So, frowning, I lowered my tablet and walked to the door. "Polly?" I asked, knocking with the back of a knuckle. "Are you still in there?"

He made a small squealing noise and then mumbled a string of words. A scrap of washroom paper stuck out from beneath the door. I picked it up. The scrap turned out to be a lot longer than I'd thought it was.

"You did save some paper for us, I hope. Seriously, how do you even write on this stuff? It's flimsy. The metal tip of a stylus would tear right through. And… what's that sharp burning smell?"

Sparkle pushed himself up on his hands. "What's wrong with Polly?"

Instead of answering him, I stared at the door's handle. Then I grabbed it and shook the entire thing. "Polly, is that smell what I think it is? Let me in, if you have the strength… Polly? Polly, if you don't let me in, I'm blasting down the door."

"Technically, you can't do that," Sparky pointed out. "It's chesberry wood. Yep, no busting that thing down with magic. You'd have to be the firstborn of one of the pure bloodlines to do that. The firstborn gets the most magic, and the pure bloodlines are more powerful than we shorties are anyway."

(Again, purposes of education. Not an idiot.)

"Ha… ha… ha… Okay, then I'll kick it in. Polly? If you can, move yourself away from the door." I backed away to the opposite side of the room and straightened out my fritzing lines with a swallow. Then, lowering my head, I flared my wings and charged.

My face and chest slammed into the door. I bounced back and rolled heels over head. Sparkle cringed, then clucked his tongue as he watched me climb to my feet and stumble in a circle.

"Gee Fergus, you're gonna want like a battering ram drill chariot or something. Fortunately, I'm your guy." With a swirl of his wand, he poofed up a buggy with a hefty spike affixed to the front, and positioned himself in the high chair… with me as his draft pegasus.

"Magical objects can't affect other magical objects any more than my solid head apparently can, dummy," I said as I tugged at a strap of my new harness.

He ran his thumb along the handle of a whip, making me frown and lift my wand. "Who said this was made by magic?"

"Are you saying you just teleported it in, then? Where did you even get this?"

"Hey- you get around, you start to meet people, you learn where they keep all their cool toys." He drew back the whip.

"Oh, smoof no. Sparkle, you are not going to whip me."

"Nah, I was just throwing this thing over my shoulder so I can use it as a fishing pole a little later." Raising his voice, he continued with, "Charge, my pony! Mush!"

"Sparkle, I'm going to tear you-"

"Do nae hit!" Polly yelped as Sparkle pressed a finger to his mouth. "I can open! I'll open it!"

The battering ram vanished. Sparkle lighted on the ground beside me, folding up his slightly-square brownie wings with their pointed will o' the wisp tips. The door creaked open. Wand drawn near my cheek, I shoved my head through the doorway. "Where is it?" I demanded as Polly ducked beneath my arm. "Did something attack you? That cù sith better not have been hiding in here all this time."

"Uh…" Sparkle tipped his head. "Fergus? Maybe you oughta turn around."

So I did, not processing where the tangy mint scent of blood and fading magic were coming from until my eyes slid down Polly's right arm. My wand clattered to the rubber floor.

"Oh my blitz." I lunged forward with one hand as Polly made an attempt to squirm away. The other shot to my mouth. "Oh my blitz. Polly, what did you do to your hand?"

His palm glittered with thick swirling colors. He turned it over slightly, and the blood dripped in spurts. Globs of the goop continued to stick to the soft pads of his fingers.

"He has begun his running again," he whispered. "Green on his face, and green in his core. They slit his wings, so he can only run. Run, friend, with your babe swaddled in your red and yellow arms. The child that should nae have been born."

My eyes shifted to Sparkle, who gestured for me to take the lead, being the resident gyne and all. Rather typical. When I found my words again, I sputtered, "Polly, are you trying to go tomte? Dear King Nuada- this is why you can't fly, isn't it? You've been doing this for awhile."

He studied my face. "I watched the wailing cù sith drown."

"Right. Let's try to take care of this." I pulled him over to his low bed and sat him down on the edge. Prying the washroom paper roll from his grip, I began to wrap it around his hand.

"They have broken all his bones. They have cut him open. The child born of a drake has died nineteen times in ten days."

"Wait a wingbeat," I said after a minute had passed. I unrolled another strip of the paper. Then I lifted my head. "Were you writing your prophecies with your blood?"

"No friends for the yellow pup. He stayed with the twins for ten years, and they threw him aside, and they are running now too."

"Dang it, Polly." I closed my eyes and squeezed the top portion of my nose. "It's always the quiet and well-behaved ones who keep to themselves too much, pushing others away until someone happens upon them like this. Apollo, listen." Taking up his hand again, I tried to position myself in front of his vacant stare. "You can't be doing this, all right? If you cut your hand, you can't do magic until it heals. Hands are one of the three points that make up the soul, along with the lines and the core, and they are very sensitive. Each time you hurt yourself there, it takes a bit longer for the injury to heal than the last time."

His eyes slid away from mine. "The Motherkind must nae falter. Why dost thou run so much, grounded friend? Yea, flee. You must always run. They will nae leave him alone. They are going to tear your firstborn apart."

Gripping his shoulder, I said, "Polly, talk to me. Why would you do this to yourself?"

"There is nae escape for the golden one. They fixed him. He's locked up forever."

"Focus on me, Apollo. Is there something you want to tell me? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Polly lay his injured thumb against my cheek. "They skinned him for his color. He cried. He will nae cry again."

"What?"

With some effort, he rotated his head until he could point his nose at one of the stacks of washroom paper on his desk. After following his gaze, I began to unroll one.

"You drew green and yellow people," I observed as I lay it somewhat flat among the wrinkles of his bed. "With your green blood. You even got a bit of cheery yellow. That's disturbing and impressive. How long have you been doing this? Long enough to figure out how to manipulate it."

"Fergus, I'm losing them. My memory does nae keep. No memory. Are you writing this down? I have lost them. I do nae remember. Where is my green?"

"Gone," I said, tugging the two ends of the washroom paper so the thin strips tightened against his hand. "No more green for Apollo. He's going to go to bed."

He shuddered. "No one told this to me, but my theory is that I think the last of the old fairies and the first of the young are green because they are purple."

"What? When did purple become involved? You're rather impossible to follow, Polly. And to think that earlier I was complaining about my life." I leaned back, biting my frustration and confusion away. I felt strange inside, just staring at Polly's blood and thinking about where it had come from and what he'd done to himself to draw it out. He had hurt himself. Why? Try as I might, the answers I grasped weren't ones I could accept. It was illogical.

Polly had lost interest in me. He began to pick at his makeshift bandages. I took hold of his good wrist and moved it away.

"I wonder if perhaps there used to be more greens," he murmured. "But that would have been a long time ago. There's no such thing anymore. Or there is nae supposed to be. The only shadow is blue, born of yellow. The featherwings killed all the greens fifty million years ago. Perhaps the Motherkind was born in blue. Or perhaps there is no purple at all. I do nae know. Colors might nae matter. It could have been an accident, si."

Resting my hands on my knees, I called, "Sparkle, Polly's been trying to go tomte. See if you can squeeze anything else out of him and stay with him until he calms down. I'm going to search the library for clues on what else we can do."

I wasn't planning to visit the library. I just had to get out of that room. That unpleasant feeling was choking my throat. Images of Polly hurting himself. The way he sat there staring through haunted eyes, covered in various colors of blood. I wanted out. So I grabbed my gyne tablet, slipped through the door, worked my way through the tunnels, and at last spiraled into the sky and settled myself on the shingled roof beside a waving flag. There I stayed. My arms around one knee as my awkward wings rustled over and over in futile search of a comfortable position.

"He needs something I can't give him. Something empathetic. I'm just not cut out for this. I'm so glad I switched programs." I stared at my own unblemished hand, and curled it into a loose, drooping fist. "Why would anyone ever want to go tomte?"

"Immortality," Sparkle told me later when we'd put Polly to bed and hidden all our sharp objects inside our socks and beneath our drawers.

"What?"

"Immortality, Fergus. I'm taking a biology class this semester, and we talked about it. Alien-types age with the passing of time. The Fairykind age through magic usage. Which is kind of like the same thing, because we use a lot of magic every day, especially for like, keeping our lines connected." He climbed beneath his blankets. "Tomtes have just enough magic in their cores to stay alive. They age slower than regular Fairies do. If you don't use magic…"

"Your core will never give out from overuse."

Sparkle nodded. "Presto- immortality. I wonder if that's why Polly was trying to go tomte."

"Or to stop his visions," I murmured. "They're driving him mad."

His voice turned absent when he mused, "Maybe I'd go tomte too, if I didn't have to give up magic. And if it wasn't going to mess up my kids' brains and stuff when I did."

As I poked the embers of the fire, I shook my head. "I don't think there's anything that would ever be worth killing my magic to me."

We tentatively placed the incident behind us and went to bed. Polly wasn't exactly 'bright and chirpy' the following day, but he never was. He was a thoughtful, serious type by nature, and in that respect, at least, it seemed as though he was back to normal.

"We should celebrate us all being alive, happy, and good friends," Sparkle decided, swinging his arms around our respective necks as we headed to the Hole for dinner as usual only three days later. "Kirchip's throwing a hush-hush party next Tuesday. Let's hit it up."

"Parties aren't my thing. And don't touch me."

"Come on, Fergus," he wheedled, pulling a polite distance away. "It's a full-on rave."

I hesitated. "With music?"

Sparkle nodded.

"And colored lights flashing here and there in the dark? And dancing?"

Sparkle nodded again. My left hand moved to the back of my neck. "And… sugar?"

"Not much of a party without sugar."

I fingered the collar of my vest. "What about damsels?"

"Duh. Does it scramble an imp's lines if you touch the balls on their antennae together? Fergus, be a pal. Bawk bawk."

"What about gynes?" I asked, already guessing the answer.

He shot me an annoyed glance for that. "Look Fergus, I may be a brownie, but I've worked hard to get in with the cool kids. I asked them if I could run an invitation by you first. If you say yes, there won't be any other gynes."

"You really did that? For me? Well…" I looked to Sparkle's other side. "Polly?"

"You are both going to get much wasted."

"And?"

"Not very sure. I cannae prophesy on command."

I clapped my hands once. "All right, Doubletake. I may have fibbed- parties might be my thing after all. Let's do this; now that I've dropped the therapy program, I don't have an early class tomorrow. But Sparkle?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't touch me."

"This is fine," I kept repeating to myself the following Tuesday as I eased each button through my vest. "You haven't been to a rave in a decent handful of centuries, Whimsifinado, but that's not terribly long, is it, really?"

"You aren't seriously going to wear that," Sparkle said as I slid off the bed. Like a command, not a question.

"Apparently not," I answered, studying his face.

"What about that summer shirt your dad packed you? With the flowers on it?"

"Oh, smoof no. I am not wearing that shirt in public."

He plucked at my vest. "Well, you're definitely not going to wear this. Seriously, everything else in your drawer is long sleeves. You'll overheat. You gonna pay the price to whip something up, or you gonna wear the flower shirt?"

"Flower shirt," I grumbled, snatching it from my drawer. "Don't laugh. He made this thing himself when Rheather got him hooked on weaving ages ago."

"I think it looks fine on you."

"It's too big." I flipped my arms over, studying my shortened sleeves. Exposing my arms was still unfamiliar to me. All the rosy red-brown freckles along them looked like smudges of dirt and made me itch for a bar of soap to scrub them down with. "But I guess it's not as bad as I thought. They're violets and purple's my color. And it has dragonflies on it like my pajamas, which is what I was going to wear tonight if I wasn't going anyway. Polly, come on. You can leave your ruff behind for one night. Don't give me that look- I know it's far darrig culture, but it'll get torn to shreds on the dance floor."

"I do nae dance," he mumbled as he placed it beside his pillow.

"I used to think that too, but you'll enjoy it once you're there."

"I'm supposed to be studying Unwinged up close on the east side for the next days."

"Homework later. Party now."

As the others headed out the door, I cast one more glance at the drawer where I kept my pants, along with Charite's arrow. Maybe…

"Come on, Fergus," Sparkle called, and I left it behind.

He led the way, darting through side tunnels I'd never before cast a second glance at until we popped out through a back entrance. From there, we skimmed down the road, weaving between buildings in the little college town, until he found the place he was looking for (And no, I'm not specifying its location. Academy kids use it even now and raves are the one thing it isn't in me to crack down on).

Sparkle stopped us at the door. "First, the rules."

I pricked my ears. "You're yanking my wing. You? Have rules? And about a party?"

"I like fun. Not getting too messed up in the face. Safety first." He crossed his arms. "Rule 1: The party is for enjoyment purposes. I get that gynes like to commandeer and redirect stuff, but try to keep that whole business under control, seriously. This is a place where everyone is supposed to be equal. Even my people. So don't ruin it for us."

"All right. I'll let you kabouters do your thing."

"Rule 2: Don't put anything into your mouth that someone else gave you without running a check on it first. If you give it a shake and it drips purple dust, dump it. It's been tampered with. The guys didn't use any magic in the treats. Rule 3: If you don't know how to dance, just pretend you're being electrocuted or drowning and you'll do fine. And there's no sitting down, ever. You gotta stand or float."

"I know how to dance," I snuffed back, stung. "This isn't my first rave."

He chuckled. "Aw man, and here I thought you were a stuck-up rookie, Fergus. Now, come on. We'll do it together." Sparkle placed a hand to the door. Polly and I followed his example, and together we shoved inward.

Turns out, our simple spot was bigger on the inside. My mouth fell open. "Oh my dust."

After only one step forward, I felt my entire mind shutting down around my ears. The thumping music like unicorn hooves- the colored lights zinging from wands through the darkness- the underlying laughter- the sharp tang of sugar- Exactly six and a quarter floors of it, it seemed, with the stairs around the edges of the room and the center of the place a giant open chamber for flying. It was simply too much, even with my past experience. I turned around, but Sparkle grabbed my collar and yanked me inside as the door fell neatly shut behind us. It pulsed with a faint magic barrier to keep the party off radar of all those who weren't specifically seeking it out. "Are you jitterlines?" I hissed at him. "It's absolute chaos in here. I can't do this!"

"No." He reached across my body and took my other hand. "It's fine, Fergus. You're fine. It's organized chaos. Look for the pattern."

"The pattern?" After rubbing my eyes, I glanced around again. Sparkle was right. On the main floor, the social chatterboxes had all grouped as if of one mind on the right-hand side of the building. The wallflowers clung leftward, beside the floating refreshment table. The smoochers were in the back beneath the shadows of the stairs. The dancers spun about in the middle of it all. All of them had a place. A place that made sense. I found my shoulders relaxing.

"Okay. It's just a bigger, louder version of what I was used to up in Serentip."

"Bigger is better."

"Yeah… yeah. Bigger is better."

Polly let out a throaty whimper and clung to my arm. "I cannae do this- I cannae!"

We murmured our condolent comfortings and pressed forward anyway, ducking the swinging feet of those in flight and occasionally floating over those on the ground. The air was warm with summer heat and the packed sweaty bodies. Everything so smelled of soda, I half-expected to get sugarloaded off the wafting scent itself. Sparkle grabbed our hands and flung both Polly and I onto the dance floor. "Alright, prophecy boy," I said, standing the far darrig up again. "Show me how we'll all be dancing in the future."

"Um." He fiddled with his thumbs, and with the wings that still wouldn't lift him off the ground for the following few hundred years until his hand healed up in full. He slid to the right, bobbing his head a bit, then spun around and clapped once. Twice. As the music continued beating like leathery Anti-Fairy wings, he repeated the movement in the other direction. "I think like this. I've seen this before."

I shook my head, but after a moment of watching Polly's flushed face, decided to help him along. Yes, I danced, because that's what was expected of me. It was a different time back then, and I not entirely the pixie I am now. Back then I was young and knew little. As it turns out, you understand things from another couple angles when you're older. There are proper, careful, meticulous ways to go about these things to ensure that everything is orderly and perfect.

Regardless, never forget that I have been there, in a party we did not control. I have personal experience. So when I pick you all up by the backs of your collars and pull your heads down from cloud nine, never protest that I "Just don't understand what it's like." By the very nature of your existences, there is no desire you could ever think you have that I haven't tasted first. I set curfew rules and tab your locations because I stepped outside my comfort zone and studied these things so that none of you have to. While I have allowed surface-skimming in the past - swiping the cream from the milk - for the most part my decision stands: Leave the wild partying to the anti-pixies. That is not our world. You neither need nor want it. It is unbecoming of you to think otherwise.

"Woo," I gasped out as I stumbled to one corner of the room where Sparkle hovered with three cookies in hand. "Well, Polly sure showed me up out there. I'd call tonight a success thus far."

"Good. Poor guy needs a little glitter on his wings." He tilted his head in the direction of several Fairies who sat around a barrel, staring at a piece of board covered with about a hundred checkered circles painted across it. "Do you know this game, Fergus? You play it in teams of three and you can't talk to each other."

"Yes, Sparkle, I know how to play snapjik."

"Wanna call Apollo and join forces? Win a bit of dough on the side."

"Maybe later." I nudged his ribs with my elbow. "Listen, I wanted to ask you something. You're a sweet-talker and you seem to know everyone. Do you think you could introduce me to that northern elf damsel over there? With the cherry-red eyes? White scarf?"

"I thought you weren't interested in that kind of thing," he said, blinking.

"I'm… not sure. But sometimes I get curious. I like to study all my options."

He shrugged and skimmed over to make polite conversation. The damsel kept casting unimpressed looks my way that made the hairs on the back of my neck wither, but with every sentence Sparkle let pop from his lips, he moved slightly closer to her. This sent her stepping backwards, until he'd slowly and quietly maneuvered her towards the rear of the party, where the flirtation in the air hung nearly as thickly as the dust flecks and shiver of sugar. Then he motioned for me to join them.

"I should've brought Charite's arrow," I muttered, and whizzed over. Sparkle introduced us face-to-face over the tremor of music before breezily exiting the scene. The damsel was in the middle of telling me about her last few weeks when it all clicked in my head, and I pulled my wandering hand back from her silver hair.

"Rosemary. Your name is Rosemary."

"Ooh, now it comes to him." She flicked my chin and spread her wings. "Let's just say that since you threw me out of your room, there ain't no way I was planning to let you into mine tonight anyway. Hunt your cetus elsewhere."

I excused myself and, face burning, tracked down Sparkle again. When I had him, I shoved him into a closet and slammed the door behind us. "What exactly did you do with the cù sith?"

"We hung out in town for most of the morning until Rosie detected a pretty thing spilling lies to her gal pals. Got their bodies swapped lickity-tick." He stuffed the rest of his brownie in his mouth. "Why?"

"Why didn't you bring this up before I made an idiot of myself?"

"Keeps you humble," he said with a shrug.

I shook off my hopes about Rosemary and drifted about the party outskirts for awhile, ducking the occasional colored blast from a starpiece. When on the second floor I ran across one of the huldufólk mashing buttons across a wide gray panel connected to his wand, I had to ask.

"It's the music controls," he explained, and demonstrated by changing the volume from a roar to a simmer and back up again.

I tilted my head. "Can I try?"

"Please do. Hey, think you can hold it for three shakes? I've been craving powdered donuts nonstop since I set up."

It was oddly fascinating to float there flipping switches, sliding bars, spinning dials, and staring at a dozen blinking lights. The fate of the entire party rested in my hands. And for the 90 seconds that I was back there, I relished it.

Gathering that euphoria against my chest, I snatched a grape soda and plunged back into the thick of it all with light wings. I was a dancer - always had been - and it was the spinning that I enjoyed most of all. Admittedly I took more breaks beneath the stairs than I wish I would have, but I wasn't simply in the party- the party was in me.

"Good to see you loosening up, Fergus," said a drake on the other side of the refreshment table when the world around me slowed back into focus.

"You too," I answered over my shoulder, pouring myself another round of orange cream soda. "Sacred smoof, I am so sugarloaded right now. Lost a fat chunk of lagelyn over snapjik, but it's all good. My dad'll poof me more. What a night. Kissed a couple damsels real deep. Actually, I just came from one- both of us were so sugar-drunk, we couldn't remember whose soda bottle was grape and whose was cherry. She told me her name twice, but I never heard or never remembered and fast became too embarrassed to ask again. The other couples under the stairs with us booted us when we started to get too annoying, so she's scouting us a quieter corner while I'm grabbing another drink, and I think I'm planning to notch her wings about a year from now if you know what I mean. Raves are fantastic. You don't forget them, but you can let yourself forget they happened, y'know? If you take care to watch your footing and you don't hurt anyone, you're not really doing anything wrong, which means no consequences."

"Don't you have psychology class early tomorrow morning?"

"Nah, I dropped out of the program. My dad's going to squeeze my core, but he can kiss a brownie for all I care." And that was when I turned around. My sodaglass lowered to the table like a pendulum. "Oh. H-hi, Ambrosine. How did you find out I'd be here?"

"You left your room right as I was coming up the hall from the other direction," he said, prying my fingers from the glass and raising it to his own lips. "I just thought I'd follow and see where things went from there, though I have to confess your roommate is good at shaking people off his trail. If you saw the red rabbit slinking around the shadows, that was me. It looked like you're an embarrassingly sloppy kisser when you're drunk, by the way. I raised you better than this. Do you know why I'm really here, Fergus?"

"Um…" Geez, I was hearing hooves again. I placed a hand to the side of my head and squinted. "To maybe deliver that present you left at home the day I left for the Academy?"

He held up a tablet in his left hand, not looking at it. The thin stone was covered with my careful court case notes. "What's this?"

"My dream journal?"

"The thing about the mind and magic therapy world is, we're a close-knit bunch who mostly keep up with each other. I heard you were skipping class." Ambrosine's lips trembled. "And, I know your handwriting. I told you I would pay for you to study psychology. And instead, you're out partying here. You deliberately acted against me. I don't even know what to say. You took advantage of me and I am beyond disappointed in you."

I stared down at my speckled arms, wrapped in colorful strings of fat beads and tattooed with scry bowl coordinates in bloody cuts of yellow and pink that would heal by morning so long as I kept my wand on hand. "Maybe you should be."

After replacing the glass and tablet on the drink table, Ambrosine folded his arms and leaned against it himself. "Fergus, Wish Fixers is everything to me. Our family has helped so many people. And lawyers don't make a lot of money anyway. Would you, please, switch back to the therapy program? For me?"

"What?" I jerked up my head. "No! Blitzing snattersmoof- Drag me home if you want to, but don't make me go back to that Darkness-swallowed place."

"Fergus! Who taught you such language?"

"Eugh. Oh, dear King Nuada." I scraped my thumb fast across my chest as I said his name, then wrapped my arms and wings around my shoulders as I shrank back into the crowd. "You're serious. You're going to force me to do it. You always force me. Ambrosine, please. Don't make me go back there. I hate that place. I hate that teacher. I hate that class full of damsels. I hate pretending I have deep feelings. I'm a gyne, Ambrosine. For the most part, I don't have feelings. I'll give up studying law if that's what you want. Just don't make me go back there."

His eyes softened. He reached out for my chin with one finger. "You would give up your studies?"

"I don't want to go into big business anymore. I don't care if I never do. That life's not for me."

"Then what will you do with yourself?"

I stared around the party, with its kisses and spinning dances and Sparkle acting like his usual drunk self and dragging a frantic Polly towards a tittering cluster of damsels. Then I turned my attention back to him. "Look, I'll worry about that another time, okay? Just let me have tonight. Maybe a week. I'll think about it later. For now, I don't ever want to leave this place."

Ambrosine upturned his hands. "We need to find a solution. I want the business to stay in the family. You are my only offspring." His eyes trailed along the same route mine just had. He sighed. "I never did like these kinds of events. Give me a discreet tree stump where I can stand and sing my core out, but you're your mother's drake. Flitting about amongst the loud ones, too hesitant to tether herself down. She never got an actual job, either. Her prettiness was enough. She only leeched off me. My money, perhaps, is what what attracted her to me in the first place. Maybe that's all I was to her, anyway."

"I'm not a leech," I protested through a mouthful of mint chocolate chip cookie. "Hey, just go outside or something. I don't want any of these guys to realize you're my dad. No one brings their dad to a rave. Especially when that dad is standing there calling them names. This isn't a phase, all right? Just let me put aside the unwrinkled vest and mess up my hair and be myself for one night in my life. Ever since I was a nymph, you never let me do anything I wanted. It's always had to be you, you, you!"

On that last 'you', I splashed the remains of my orange drink across the front of his wine-colored shirt. Or rather, the white sleeve he raised to deflect the spray. The bright stain made even my sugarloaded mind realize what I'd done.

"I'm your father," Ambrosine said, shaking droplets off like they were nothing, although they were everything. "I carried you in my womb for three months. I brought you to life. I spared you when I could have abandoned you to die. I faced all the insults regarding my unnotched wings for you. Solara-"

"Solara wouldn't be proud of you for this! If I'm really so much like her, she must have hated you. You must have tricked her into mating with you. I'll bet my mother was a stupid brownie!"

Ambrosine snapped his hand across my face so hard and fast, it knocked me into the thicket of dancers. The first stumbled, and the second set me upright with a mutter and moved off where the crowd was thinner and the music softer. I dropped my sodaglass with a clink and gazed upward with limp wings as my father curled his fingers into the spotted tablecloth. He said nothing. Only stared, looking confused and conflicted and resigned and alarmed and furious all at once in that swirling way only Ambrosine could.

"You hit me," I said quietly. Ambrosine had cuffed me over the ears and swatted the backs of my square corners at least twice every week that I could remember. It was different to be struck from the front, with his blue eyes glimmering with challenge.

"I think, Fergus," he said without parting his teeth, "that I should escort you home now. You're up past your bedtime."

I threw him off as he reached for my elbow and lurched to my feet on my own. Swiping cookie crumbs from the purple flowers on my shirt, I groped about for words and finally sputtered, "Ambrosine, when are you going to get it through your thick head that I don't want to be like you? I don't like you! When have you ever cared about me if it didn't directly benefit you? If I had nymphs, I'd make sure they always knew they could explore their own interests, and it wouldn't matter to me. But you always pushed me around like a shopping cart. What kind of therapist are you?"

"Fergus," he warned as he watched me. His wings rustled in an uncertain way.

My throat closed over. My tongue found a collection of powerful phrases they'd last spoken before I'd taken down Ian Fairytwirl. Like an instinct, I drew my wand from my pocket and held it horizontally before me in two clenched fists. His eyebrows shot up at the insulting implication, but he kept his voice level. Always, always level.

"This can wait until we get you safely home, Fergus."

It couldn't. After wrestling with myself for only two more wingbeats, I tightened my grip and jerked my hands downwards. The energy field parted somewhat around me. When I let go, the two split pieces of my wand clattered to rubber. I flipped my hands over so the world could see they were bare.

"By the blood of the Aos Sí which courses through my veins, I declare my right as a gyne to challenge Ambrosine Whimsifinado to the death for the position of head of our household and curator of Wish Fixers."

The ripple of magic produced from a broken starpiece would have turned all heads even if my furious words were lost in the thumping noise. Ambrosine sighed and pushed the fingers of his left hand through his hair. "Fergus, you're drunk. I promise you don't want to do this."

"Then I win by default. I broke my wand. It's made of magical wood and full of purified rosewater, and my hands are dripping with its power, and I cried the sacred words and it's binding. You have to answer it."

"Please retract your challenge. I'm your father. You can't beat me. I have no weaknesses."

The crowd was beginning to titter and scoff as the music thrummed on. I was the stupid gyne who thought he knew best, and I hated the way it made my wings flutter. "Fight me!" I shouted, tasting the burn in my eyes. "Do your duty! Our ancient ancestors expect it of you. Our traditions are what make us better than mere animals. You dishonor their name! Bawk, bawk, bawk."

"And this is why my father told me to drown you when you turned out to be a gyne. I won't pretend I don't deserve this." Shaking his head still, Ambrosine pulled out his ipewood wand and held it in front of him. I hadn't seen him do that since he argued over the question of my being a crossbreed with Mr. Thimble outside his Spellementary classroom. He said, "By the sacred water of Kiiloëi, I accept the challenge of Fergus Whimsifinado to the death for the right to my business and say in his life," and broke his wand in half. The field shivered again.

Now we had the entire room's attention, or at least as much as we were probably going to. Voices were jumping up- various starpieces and similar items like hammers, boomerangs, shillelaghs, and knitting needles were raised with shielding spells poised on the wielders' lips. Some of the more kindhearted (or miserly) folk dragged a few pieces of furniture to the walls and out of our way. They wouldn't touch us, of course. They couldn't touch us so soon after snapping wands. In essence, we had rendered ourselves near-total deadzones like dwarves.

"I'm not really the brawling type," Ambrosine said absently as he stripped off his red vest. He tossed the thing into the crowd. It's possible that some random damsel caught it and held it to her nose, though I partially missed it in the middle of wrestling with my own shirt. His white one stayed on his thin frame. "Please forgive me if I'm somewhat rusty."

"It was my understanding that our family line neither forgives nor forgets."

"I'm more lenient with the first part." He waited with crossed arms while I stumbled out of my purple flower shirt. "Mark it."

"You mark it."

Shrug. Ambrosine thrust down both pairs of wings and launched himself into the air. When my sugarloaded self struggled to float more than a foot and a half from the ground, I barreled across the dance floor and raced for the stairs.

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 1: SPOILED

The Fallen Angel

Summer of the Bruised Peach Tree

Conclusion: Chasing my father up four flights of building, he on wing in the open central area of the tower and me climbing the stairs pressed against the edges, was not among my best ideas. It was a not-best-idea made worse once you mixed in the sugarloaded crowd and the darkness interspersed with vibrant flashing party lights. On top of that (and perhaps below it) came the swirling music. It echoed all the way to a ceiling. The ceiling was far higher than the entire place had looked from the outside. Geez, that was an awfully high ceiling. I wanted a ceiling like that.

"Smoof," I found myself muttering as I dodged another two kobolds. "I should not have kissed that last korrigan. My head feels light with their bubbles. Now, if there were a race of level-headed beings who cleared your mind when you swapped spit with them, that would be jazzed."

Curious how things work out sometimes, hm?

My unsteady foot hit the next step all wrong. Arms and useless wings pinwheeled in opposite directions. Grabbing back my balance, I shoved away a giddy swanee with a sodaglass in her hand and charged the fifth-floor railing. Ambrosine spiraled upwards, his arms behind him, flat to his sides. As he flew past the seventh level, he snatched one of the floating refreshment tables by the leg. It bucked at his grip, but he set his foot to its underside and kicked downwards. At the same time, he wrenched his arm up. The leg snapped in his hand. The table lurched sideways. Donuts, tarts, and cream puffs began to slide off the edge and plunge like hail.

"You can't do that," I protested. Two hands shoved back the lid of my forehead. My core arched itself once in a stretch before firing a beam of purple. It missed. It missed by a lot.

Even when I tried to focus on my aim, Ambrosine banked around the blast in the sharp way of fairies. "Who do you think they'll believe did damages, Fergus? The distinguished and totally sexy therapist, or the drunk juveniles who were here all night throwing a party?"

"But that's not fair." As he dove with the table leg clenched like a staff between two fists, I scrambled my way up onto the railing. My feet slipped. One black shoe popped off entirely and fell among cinnamon rolls and glass soda bottles. The magical field had given me the cold shoulder once I'd snapped my wand, but I still had faint traces of purple dust glittering on my skin. They'd enchant what they touched. It was enough. I could make it be enough.

No point in wasting it on magical blasts when I had a forehead cannon core, though, so I decided to take the shapeshifting route instead. That was what I had done with Ian. Worked like it had been buttered. But I had to choose carefully. I would only get one.

Dragon.

I launched myself into the air. My blood lit with magic as my focus shot towards my fagiggly gland. My clothes (or what remained of them since I'd ditched that hideous flowered shirt) melted into my skin like cheese. Ambrosine swung his table leg and swerved away from me.

I thumped into the side of the tower regardless. Then I slid down. When I raised my head and pressed against my pulsing temple, I realized I was on the fourth floor again. I'd almost dropped farther.

"I told you," he said from his perch on the next railing up, "you're tingle-fritzy and sugar-drunk, Fergus. You should have retracted your challenge when I asked you to."

I lifted a wing in front of my eyes and squinted. Only, it wasn't a wing. It was a soft paw. I wasn't coated in feathers or scales at all. I was wearing purple fur. And as I got to my shaky feet and shook out my small limbs, even my muddled mind managed to identify what species I had turned myself into.

"Rabbit," I griped, shaking out my stunted tail. "Exactly as planned."

Someone flew over the railing and rolled across rubber tile floor. Someone with bright red curls and awful teeth. Hot hands scooped me up. Sparkle shoved his long nose into my whiskers. "Fergus, you can't let him get outside."

"What?"

"Yeah, he'll bust the 'unnoticable bubble' we've got set up around this place and the fuzz will hear us."

I rubbed my paws against my eye sockets. "Right. But put me down before you burn your fingers. I broke my wand and the energy field is snapping at my skin. This is a gyne's dominance fight and you're not supposed to get involved."

"Why the rabbit?" he asked as I leapt to a soft neighboring chair.

"I was trying to do a- Duck!"

Luckily, Sparkle was no idiot. Mostly. He dropped the instant I shrieked, narrowly avoiding Ambrosine as he pulled in for a landing. Dragonfly wings whistled between his head and crown. I got a good look at that table's leg for the first time. The thing ended in a massive dragon's paw. Possibly not one that had been carved of wood. I sprang from chair to side table to chair to floor and bolted off into a forest of dancing Fairy legs.

As I scurried about, jumping laps and crawling beneath dangling feet, I shuffled together plans only to discard them. I wouldn't be able to catch Ambrosine if it came down to a chase. No one could catch a fairy in his prime. Least of all a younger drake with awkward wings. I either needed to outwit him, or outlast him.

Did I have options? Strengths? Tricks? Any loopholes at all? I checked myself over as I ran. The rabbit shape was small and hadn't cost me quite the amount of dust I'd been anticipating. Maybe I could do another shift, if I did it before it all drained away. Magic wasn't my strongest suit. Never had I been good with maintaining transformations upwards of a minute; even now the form was slipping from my shoulders. My dust was going with it.

Ambrosine had an easier time maneuvering among the crowd than I did. He flew and spun, turns sharp as new stylus points. It took him mere wingbeats to catch up to me. I pelted on, but risked a glance back as his clawed table leg came slamming down.

I didn't dodge. He missed anyway.

Veering sideways around a cuddling couple, I took the open hall (well, bridge) that ran perpendicular to the one I'd just raced down. I needed more options. Magic was a limited resource in a gyne fight. My lines were struggling just to keep me plugged into the energy field, without the channeling involved. Members of the Unseelie Court based their dominance system around brains, but we Seelie prided ourselves in the strength, skill, and stamina we showed on a more level playing field. Even the universe itself respected that.

Ambrosine swung his club again. I ducked my head, but didn't have to. It whistled between my ears without connecting. When it next came, I shifted my weight and direction to the right. That time he caught me in the stomach. I flew sideways, rolled through the gap between two rails, and tumbled into the open center of the tower.

"Oh, smoof! Fergus!"

"Come on," I hissed to myself, groping at nothing. Thin streaks of color zipped around my ears courtesy of those who hadn't grown sick of shooting glows even after three hours. It was a four-floor drop to the ground. Four tall floors designed for creatures with wings. I caught distorted flashes of abandoned plates and dancing bodies each time I flipped over.

"Just one more shift. You can pull this off with your lines knotted around your neck. You'll want wings."

My default fairy shape would have to do- I wasn't about to risk snapping to normal once I ran out of dust. Sugarloaded as I was, even I realized how inconvenient that would be if it happened after I had, say, become a mouse and tucked myself into a tiny hole.

"Come on!"

A spark in my chest; my fagiggly gland finally drank in the magic from the dust clinging to my arm hairs. My whole being glowed. Fur turned to freckled skin. Paws turned to smooth hands.

"There," I said to my left one. "Now, was that so hard?"

Then I hit the cake. The whole refreshment table crumpled in two pieces beneath me, and pastries, fruits, and glasses tumbled inwards. Fairies either backed away with disgusted looks or approached to snap at me for splattering their clothes with icing. I slogged back to my feet just as Ambrosine snatched the untouched punch bowl and spiraled towards the ceiling again.

"Must have been aiming for my crown," I muttered, fingering the broken points. I'd have bigger problems than sugar-drunkenness to deal with if he managed to tear that away from me.

The whiny voices dispersed into mutterings as a broad-shouldered fairy wearing a plaid brown jacket thrust his way forward. Stan Lee Kirchip. Sparkle's best cohort. He grabbed me by the wrist as I scraped smears of chocolate from my bare chest. "Hey. You wreck my party and I'll charge you for it, Spotty."

"Huh? Sorry, sorry," I mumbled, shaking a jelly-filled donut from my thumb before sticking both in my mouth. At least I'd made it back to the body type I was familiar with, although a screaming pain in my lower right leg suggested that I'd run out of magic before finishing the job. I probably had a slight rabbit's haunch beneath my pants. Maybe a furry foot in my one remaining shoe. My eyes drifted around the surrounding gaggles of dancers. Could you receive magic via SHAMPAX and then use it during a gyne fight? I'd never tried- Sharing Magic to Prevent Asphyxiation was supposed to be for, well, preventing asphyxiation. Transferring magic from one of the Fairykind to another should they have dropped their lines.

Lurching to a nearby cherub with deep brown eyes, I said, "Hey," and pulled her towards me by the arm.

"Get off of me!" she snapped, fumbling along her waist in search of her wand sheath. I ignored her and lifted her mouth to mine. I think I snatched a bit of rose-scented magic from under her breath, but she and one of her friends pushed me off before I could really taste much of it. They both shouted, "What is wrong with you?" as I stumbled backwards. My feet slipped out beneath me when I stepped on a piece of cake. I landed in a mess of flattened frosting again. When I stretched out my fingers, my right palm warmed slightly, but nothing happened. I'd drained my dust. Now I had only dregs of energy field that couldn't do much but keep me alive and lend limited, sugarloaded support to my wings. And maybe teleport a coin two feet to the left or disinfect my toothbrush bristles.

Ambrosine clicked his tongue. Leaving the punch bowl perched on a table beside the gray panel that controlled the music, he swung himself over the second-floor railing and swooped down. "You should have stuck to playing to your own strengths."

That was rich. Gyne instinct had driven me to chase Wilcox into that old house. Blind luck had killed Jared. Ian went down beneath my twisting thumb because he'd tripped over the crate of washroom paper I'd wanted to grab for Polly, and the falling shelves pinned him down (I still think it's unfair that I'm the one who got billed for that). With my magic gone and my mind little more than a fuzzy blur, I'd been deprived of 'my own strengths'.

My face flashed in the reflective surface of a dark window as I stood up. I cocked my head about thirty degrees to one side.

Perhaps I had a trump card up my sleeve after all.

When Ambrosine slowed his wingbeats, obviously prepared to whack me with his table leg and shoot upwards again, I took two running steps and launched myself into the air to meet him. I couldn't propel my body very high, but it was high enough to startle him. My fingers brushed his arm. He swerved. We plowed together into a drake and damsel whose lips couldn't have been far away. "Terribly sorry," Ambrosine called to them as he and I rolled apart. Purple dust shone in the folds of his shirt and along his neck. He flipped over into a crouch and raised his wings. As he brought them down and kicked off, I grabbed his foot. Again, he crashed on top of me. I heard his teeth smash together.

"Ow… Are you all right, Fergus?"

"The soul is made of three parts," I slurred to myself as I wriggled from beneath him. My laser cannon slithered out from beneath my dome. "Lines for life force and magic. Core for s-sentience and memories. Hands to connect with the physical world. And hands to leave it." I went for his palm with my sharp teeth, but it had moved while I spoke. As I blinked at the dessert-spattered tiles, his table leg came up from behind me and clubbed me over the head.

Lightning rained in volcanic floods of black and white. My skull slammed down at the same instant my hands flew up to it.

"Ow! You just hit my core!"

Though he flickered in and out of my vision, I watched Ambrosine pick up a knife from the wreckage of the table and test it against his thumb to see whether or not it was made of magic, and therefore whether or not it would draw blood. "The battlefield is no place for one-liners."

I scrambled to one side, fighting to make it back to my feet. He swung the table's leg to knock both of mine from beneath me. My spine bumped against the ground. He flipped the weapon backwards across his wrist, caught it in his fingers, and crashed the dragon's paw into the barrel of my cannon with a single fluid movement.

"Gih-!" I squeaked. As the crowd of drunk (or possibly just curious) onlookers began to press forward, I found myself writhing among cakes and cherries. "W-wait! I'm the gyne here! Winning is my right!"

I tried to swivel my cannon's tip around to fire, but Ambrosine used his makeshift staff to sweep it back inside my head and shut the lid. Then he wedged one of the table leg's claws against my windpipe. My lines scrambled instantly. Though I tried to maintain a straight face on the outside, inwardly I cringed as they shrieked with static through my blood.

"Do you surrender?"

"Never!"

Ambrosine pressed the claw in deeper. "Do you surrender?"

The shriek crescendoed into a howl. "No!" I shouted, and the noise vanished. I raised my bleary head to see what had prompted him to remove his weapon from my throat, only to spot it coming at me from my right. I hit the neighboring wall and squealed to the floor. My wings crumpled. When I struggled to prop myself up with my arms, I spat out precisely a tablespoon's worth of blue blood in a neat and tidy circle.

"No," I snarled, slamming a fist against the tiles. "I'm a gyne. You're not. I'm not supposed to lose."

"It's over," he said as he approached with the knife. I had an excellent view of violet dust flecks tucked into the creases around his eyes.

"You were trained in the War of the Sunset Divide! That's not fair!" I scooted backwards on hands and knees along the wall. Cold air seeped in from the cracks in the windows. The crowd gave me a wide berth. They were mostly silent, but music twinkled in the background. Ambrosine didn't rush it. With his wings dangling down his back like the tails of a coat, he followed me in a circle back around towards the refreshment table.

Table.

My eyes slid from the tablecloth up to the second floor. Ambrosine's wings flickered around his shoulders. "Fergus…"

Wrenching the cloth from the wreckage, I turned my back and stumble-ran towards the stairs as quickly as my sugarloaded body could manage. After bumping just one wall with my face and arm, I found the correct path. Wings whirred behind me. When I reached the next level up, I found Ambrosine already waiting for me at the top. He had the knife still drawn.

"Oh, you have to be pulling my-" he managed, before I threw the tablecloth over his weapon and pushed past him.

He shook it off quickly. Of course he did. That wasn't the point. The point was, I reached the gray panel (and shoved aside the nervous huldu) before he could stop me. And from the stare on Ambrosine's face as he watched me smash buttons and flip switches, I could tell my socially-awkward father - who had probably never been to a party in his dull and boring life - had no idea what it did.

"Hear patterns. Count beats." I moved a slider vertically and twisted one of the spinning star panels. "And crossfade into… There. And then-"

Ambrosine hit the floor when I spun the last four dials up to max. Screeches rang from both beneath my fingers and from the crowd all around us. Blue sparks raced over the panel and into the starpiece-holder where the huldu's wand (or rather, the wand of whomever had lent it to him) had been slotted. It exploded into dust. The energy field buffeted me backwards as it rearranged itself around spilled rosewater. I would have released the screaming panel anyway. As I fumbled my way back to Ambrosine, starpiece after starpiece shattered around and below me as the shriek hit a strange high. Then, the entire panel itself burst into a hundred sparkling metal shards and heavy chunks of glass.

He whispered, "Children today have no taste in music," as they rained around us.

"So I guess this's what it felt like to be Sreng before he took Nuada's hand," I murmured. Ambrosine cowered with his fingertips twisted into his vaguely-pointed ears, I kicked away his knife and table leg. As I knelt to tug out his right hand, I added, "It's sacrisomething to imitate the Great King, may the Lost Ancients remain in their underground prison."

He lunged for my neck. I tightened my grip on his wrist and threw all my weight to one side. We thrashed on the floor for a dozen wingbeats before I managed to bite the fat part of his hand. I ripped downwards. His green blood tasted hot and sizzled on my tongue.

"His magic hand's been sliced."

The murmur spread through the second-floor crowd among the pops of wands: "His magic hand's been sliced." "He got him." "The gyne got the kabouter." "He's impure." "Big cut." "How deep?" "Take him maybe two hundred years to heal that." "Do you think he'll need a silver bandage?" "And disgrace King Nuada's sacred memory? He wouldn't dare!"

Ambrosine made it back to his feet, but he stumbled, blearily blinking as the magic in his body began to trickle away. When he briefly set his fingers against the wall, they left a dark emerald smear. His blue eyes shrank to desperate pricks.

"No. No, no, no. My hand. You- you little… Fergus?"

I ran my tongue around my lips and drank in the sounds of panicked wings and scrambling bodies. Placing my own hand to one knee, I pushed myself up. "Lick my neck."

"What?" He wrinkled his brow. "No. You didn't win."

"Submit before me and lick my neck, kabouter. Of course I won, or at least I'm about to, right? I'm the gyne."

Cradling his injured hand against his chest, Ambrosine edged backwards towards the wreckage of the gray panel and the table where he had left the punch bowl. "If you want to drink my lines, you have to untie them first."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I said, stumbling after him with the knife and table leg both raised.

"Have a nice flight," he told me sincerely as I neared, leaning a bit to his left and flicking dust from his skin.

"What?"

In answer, he flipped me over the edge of the railing. I probably would have seen that coming if my head hadn't been full of so much sugar. It was definitely the sugar.

I landed on solid tile. When I started to sit up, a foot pushed me down again.

"What's your damage, dude?"

"You broke our wands!"

"You busted my music."

"Come on, that's not jazzed."

"You ruined everything!"

"I'm in the middle of something," I protested as I tried to stand. They backed off, crossly muttering as they took the hands of their dance partners or picked up pastries. Stan Lee watched me from off to the side, with Polly lingering near his shoulder.

Ambrosine raised his punch bowl to the rail too. He shouted words that were lost and poured it all out. I held my head in one hand and didn't really care, wasn't really paying attention, until it finally occurred to me that Fairies were yelping and the flow hadn't stopped. The punch sloshed down to the first floor in an endless waterfall.

"Oh no."

What had been a stream grew into a roar. A sticky pink wave sloshed in four directions from where it had first landed, sweeping partiers off their feet and even knocking a few out of the air. "He brushed his dust into the bowl," I realized dazedly, and began to wade towards the stairs as the torrent grew. Chairs lifted from the floor. Paintings toppled from the walls. Windows webbed with cracks - possibly from the rising shriek of music - gave way. "Come on, Ferg," Sparkle gurgled to me as he skimmed by. "This isn't gonna end good. Let's skedaddle."

"But my fight!"

Ambrosine leaned his bad arm against the railing. With the other, he kept the punch bowl tipped and spilling. In manipulating it to spurt endlessly he had magic-touched the drink; we wouldn't drown. That didn't mean all of us knew how to swim. In fact, I determined as I stared in dismay at the sugarloaded and panicking crowd shoving past me, knocking my shoulders and stepping on the rabbit toes beneath my shoe, I'd say very few of us actually knew how to swim. Pools of water didn't occur naturally up in the cloudlands, and most of us - myself included, though not nearly so drastically - had wings that were near-useless when wet. While magically-manipulated liquid wouldn't muddle our lines or quench anyone's thirst, it still held the rest of its properties, like damp and cold.

And Ambrosine knew it. He wasn't a gyne, but he was a thinker. Of course he was. He was my father. He had no weaknesses.

Or… maybe he had… one. One that had been slipping all throughout the battle, and perhaps even all of my life. I scratched my head for a solid thirty or forty seconds as I tried to gather my sluggish bearings. I could use this. I could beat him. I just needed to get him down here.

"Hey! Do you know how I know Solara was a brownie? Because my wings have the square edges. They're the squarest, browniest edges ever. You're a desperate brownie-kissing slimeball!"

Ambrosine shrugged. He wasn't biting. Possibly because I sounded like a three-year-old. Thus, you all see why I do not allow you to get into processed sugars on Headquarter premises. It's just not worth losing your rational thoughts for.

"And if she let you take advantage of her that way, then- then she's- she's no one I would ever want to meet! How does that make you feel?"

"I would prefer you didn't talk about your mother that way. It's a little ungrateful."

I dragged one hand down my face. "Ambrosine, what are you doing? You can't use punch in a gyne fight. That's just… not… okay. I don't want today to be remembered like this. And you're scaring off all the…"

If I'd been an anti-fairy, my ears would have pricked up and then drooped like soggy wings. When I turned my head towards the windows, I caught a flash of three yellow beams firing in a signature spiral pattern. Attempted runaways hit the ground as they were either frozen, shrunk, tied with soft bonds, and in a few cases even offered a platter of cheese and rounded up. Sparkle had said something about the magic bubble around this place keeping it off the civil disturbance radar, but he'd also mentioned it would burst once the partiers started to leave. Whose idea was that?

Ambrosine was certainly a problem, but now I had a bigger one. When I beat him, those civil officers would be coming for me, and the rest of us inside. I couldn't stay here. But I also couldn't fight the pink punch sloshing in waves across the room.

That was my first thought. As I shifted my gaze back and forth between my father and the fumbling Fairies swarming about outside, it occurred to me that maybe I did want to fight them after all. I splashed over to the broken first-floor refreshment table and picked up the dented cake platter. The front doors flew open. These were the days before we'd figured out electric lights, but their wands glowed like a dozen candles each, and that was enough.

"Party's over, punks. We could hear your yelling all the way down the street. Let's move it out."

Ambrosine shrank behind his bowl.

"Hey," I called, dragging the officers' attention to the left side of the room. I hurled my platter with all my strength. It landed about three feet in front of me and skidded, but I had their attention. I mimed holding my wand horizontally and snapping it in half.

"Brat," snapped the first fairy, raising his. "How dare you?"

"Well," said the second. He flipped his eyes backwards into his field-sight, and they began to glow pale amber. "I count eighteen lines. No scabbed-over dots suggesting any have been given away. That means he's a tad over 174,000 years old."

The third cocked his wand. "Looks like we've got an underaged new-wing."

Oh, right. I'd forgotten that part. I turned and waded off towards the waterfall of punch.

"You're grounded for now, kid." One of them - it sounded like the first speaker - loosed a hot beam of magic. It deflected off my skin. The second blazed a clean slit all the way down the center of my right wing, severing off a decent chunk of it and grazing my ear.

"Fergus?" Ambrosine yelped.

The third officer's coil wrapped around my foot and knocked me over. I slammed onto my stomach with a spray of pink and didn't try to get up as the waterfall slathered my face in sugary drink.

"Hang on," the leader said, lifting one hand at his cohorts. "That first stun beam bounced off. Energy field shift. Gyne fight."

And sure enough, my wing began to mend itself and the ties around my arms dropped off. Still, I lay there, holding my face with both hands.

The punch flow trickled away. Ambrosine dropped down to Floor 1, still pressing his bleeding hand to his shirt. "Are you all right?"

I lifted my head, then let it drop to the rubber. A moan slipped past my lips. I curled into a ball and allowed all my muscles to relax.

"Fergus?" he repeated one last time, his voice straining. "Oh my dust- Fergus!" He leapt an overturned chair and landed in a run. His fingers closed around my shoulder and my hair. Pulling my head into his lap, he leaned over me and brought his mouth towards mine so he could give me SHAMPAX.

I lurched upwards before he connected, fastening my teeth in his throat. "Tricked you, old timer," I mumbled around his skin.

He blinked down at me as I gnawed at his adam's apple. "What are you doing?"

"I'm killing you," I said between nips.

"By… chewing on my throat."

"Yes."

"Mmhm. I'm not sure where you're going with this, but I respect your decision to attempt it."

I glared at him as I continued to work my jaws. "Don't talk. You're dying."

He brushed his fingers through my hair. "You do whatever makes you happy, then."

"Strangles your lines if I get your windpipe."

"Well, that's true." He leaned his non-injured hand back against the ground and watched me. Then, as the officers began to herd the party-goers from the upper floors down to our level (Sparkle, Stan Lee, Rosemary, and Polly were all among them), he drew out another knife he'd slipped from the wreckage of refreshments. "I think we both know who won this one."

"I'm not done!"

Taking up my wing, he began to poke holes in it with his blade, tearing streamers and sawing stripes. "I'm no gyne, but I have learned a thing or two from raising you. Whereas I'm in healthy condition, you're drunk. You're falling apart. You can't fly. You can hardly walk, if that's what it was. And" - now he brought the knife to my forehead - "I've got a weapon to your core."

My eyes flicked about the crowd, catching faces that I knew. Damsels I had kissed. Drakes I'd played in snapjik. People I'd laughed with. Fairies with whom I shared Academy classes. I recognized many more of them than I would have liked. They paused near the door to stare at me as they realized that our scuffle was drawing to a close. Even the civil disturbance officers, wands aglow with a white light that would yank back anyone who attempted to poof away (if there were any unbroken starpieces still around), had gotten curious.

"Fergus. You lost. I have the right to drink your lines dry."

I withdrew my teeth from his neck and stared at the dirty punch swirling around my wide, smooth hands. After several wingbeats, Ambrosine prodded the space above my nose with the knife.

A noise slipped past my teeth. It was something like a sob, although pixies, of course, are physically incapable of such feelings. Swallowing my flush, I pushed up my dome. It slightly squeaked as it dangled backwards from its hinge.

"You… you fought okay, Ambrosine Whimsifinado. I suppose I'd rather end my life with honor here than go down hurling pastry plates. I'll let you get back to brownie-kissing. My lines and magic are yours."

Ambrosine placed his palm among the black curls of my hair and pushed my lid shut again. While I was thus stunned, he lifted me up beneath the arms and set me on my feet. "While it's my right, I freely choose not to take it upon me if you'll switch back to the psychology program."

My eyes widened. "You can't be serious. We agreed this was to the death. Dad, you can't do this to me! That classroom is pink and frilly, and my teacher is a weepy nutcase who dresses like the sugar bar in the Eros Nest. I don't want to study feelings!"

Ambrosine rubbed the sides of his nose and replaced the knife in the wand sheath at his right hip. "The thing about 'to death' is, that I had my fingers crossed."

My face lit redder than his discarded vest. He refused. All these Fairies staring at us and twittering amongst themselves. And he'd outright declared that I wasn't worth staining his white shirt with my blood and dust. I lunged for him again, only for Sparkle and Polly to grab my arms and wrench me backwards.

"Kill me, you smoofing coward! I killed Wilcox, Jared Poofypants, and Ian Fairytwirl! Kill me!"

He held up his hand to stop my roommates from dragging me off. Instantly they dropped me and scampered out of the splash zone. I stayed standing. My arms hung straight by my sides. I did my utmost not to turn my face away as Ambrosine brought his so, so close to mine. But I did turn.

"Down," he said.

My knees hit the sticky tiles like they obeyed orders from his brain rather than my own. Evidently, it wasn't enough. Ambrosine pressed his shiny black shoe to my shoulder and gingerly pushed me lower until my chest touched the ground. Then he knelt himself. Cupping my chin in his palm, he put his tongue to the tip of my nose and drew it upwards to my forehead. Like I was still a nymph in his lap.

My ears had burnt into black. I pressed my stomach against rubber, no longer kneeling but outright lying there with my wings spread to either side.

"Fergus?" he urged, always patient and unreadably monotone.

I knew what he wanted. He wanted the same response every parent of the Seelie Court draws instinctively from their baby when they brush it across the face that way. With every ounce of my being shaking, I unfolded my limbs and brought my own tongue to his neck. That's what the other gynes I'd beaten had always done to me upon my victories. I licked my quiet, submissive lick beside his ear, in front of all the popular faces I knew.

"I hate you," I whispered.

"You like me fine. And you'll thank me later." He went in for another lick across my freckled cheek and, grinding my teeth, I mimicked the gesture on his neck. "When you're running Wish Fixers and have nymphs of your own someday, you'll understand why I did it."

"You're yanking my wing," said the third officer when Ambrosine took my hand and led me towards the front door.

"You're seriously sparing him?"

"Is that against the rules?"

"Who does that?"

"Does the fight keep going until one of them dies?"

"Maybe it's just until they exchange licks."

"Coward," Rosemary coughed into her fist. Even Polly tipped his head.

"I'll pay for any damages these miscreants can't cover," Ambrosine said, pushing me into the second officer's waiting arms. "This is my scry bowl's serial number. Ambrosine Whimsifinado, owner and curator of the therapy business Wish Fixers in Novakiin. My only condition is that this one stays enrolled in the psychology program where he belongs. No more scouring useless court cases that have already been put in place and are functioning perfectly fine in society, and no more skipping out on class."

As the second officer poofed in back-up to treat Ambrosine's injured hand and escort us off the premises, the first one shrugged. "It's not our decision to make. This place is a disaster. His blood-processed sugar content is exactly .33 percent, and he's underage. I'm honestly impressed he can even function in this condition."

"Runs in the level-headed family. Too much gray matter up there in the head to fall prey to sugar, and too little magic to tip over the edge. Genetics, resistances, that sort of thing." He carefully left off the part about 'resistances' growing from my past experiences with soda.

"Hm. We'll definitely be talking to the Academy headmistress about this. It looks like we'll be cracking down more carefully around these parts from here on out."

As dozens - I suppose it was hundreds - of unfocused eyes glared at me, I wrapped my hands around my face and prayed for The Darkness to swallow the entire town.

Stan Lee kicked Sparkle's ankle. "Hey, Sparky. Wasn't it your idea to invite the gyne?"

"I, uh-" he sputtered, wilting into his soda-stained shirt. The fairy shoved him into a wide trickle of oozing punch on the floor.

"You're done, brownie. Don't ever come back here or anywhere like it."

"That's not fair," I said as the civil officers steered us towards the door. "It wasn't his fault. It was my stupid dad's. Or, maybe you should have invested in an unnoticeable bubble that didn't burst so easily."

Stan Lee sent a sneer my way that almost made me drop my neutral expression. "I don't remember asking you to get involved, freckles. I'm telling you both to stay away from our crowd forever. But for your info, we were putting it back up after each guy who left. We had it under control until there were that many leaving at once."

Sparkle wiped his large nose with his bare arm as Officer 2 took his elbow and helped him up. "What the…" I found myself murmuring. This just didn't happen. No one taunted a gyne like that. I pushed my fingers through my hair and tilted up my chin. "Sorry, Kirchip. You're a kabouter. Well, either a kabouter or a drone. I'm a gyne. You might want to reconsider this."

"I don't think I have to reconsider anything. You lost that fight, square-head. To an unfreckled drake. Not to mention you wrecked the party on top of it." He turned away. "Let's go, team. We've got psych class in the morning."

"Thanks," Sparkle muttered at me as we trudged along in a line. I couldn't tell if he was thanking me for standing up for him, or if the word was sarcastic. I grunted a noncommentive response.

Polly grabbed my hand and squeezed. "I am sorry. I did nae see this. But I should have. I should have seen. My fault. Sorry."

"Keep it moving, team," ordered the third officer. I put my arm around Polly's shoulders and simply shook my head.

"I hope you don't get kicked out of the school," Ambrosine said with false cheerfulness as he walked on my right. He wasn't used to that- walking. His wings fluttered futilely, and he kept his bandaged hand away in his pocket. As we turned the corner, he handed back my flower shirt. "Next semester you'll get to cover brain biology. The amygdala! Why we have emotions! Hidden Snobbish scientific secrets! Won't that be fun?"

"I should have snapped my wand at you fifty millennia ago," I snarled without looking at him once. "I could have and would have killed you if I hadn't been so sugarloaded. And then I'd finally get you out of my life."

"Fergus, you can't just kill people you don't like."

"I can when I'm a gyne."

Then we got yelled at. I didn't feel like listening to the headmistress's spiel and so chose not to. After we'd been swatted a bit, we were sent off. Those of us who'd been caught over-sugared underage were to have their wands and licenses revoked for the next year. I fingered the tears in my wings all throughout the long walk back to my room. Since the knife Ambrosine had used to puncture them hadn't been made of magic, I imagined it would take at least two nights of holding a starpiece while I slept, but the gaps would seal up good as new in the end. I hoped Polly would let me borrow his. It wasn't as though he was using it.

For now, though, it was only afternoon. I flung my shirt and colorful bracelets onto my bed and kicked my desk over. My psychology tablets clattered to the floor in a scattering of stone chips. Several of the pieces bounced into the fire pit. That wasn't enough. I had to crush the rest beneath the heel of my finally-back-to-normal fairy foot, and toss aside the soft megalodon Ambrosine had given me when I was younger- the one I'd always kept beside the styluses and candle on my bedside table for company. Then I wrenched Charite's arrow from my bottom drawer and snapped it over my knee. Purple plumes of steam squirmed upward along with an unflattering noise. The two shattered pieces went into the fire too. So did my poster displaying the current Dragonflies roster for saucerbee.

"What?" I snarled at my roommates, clinging to my bedsheets as they backed away. "Aren't you going to tell me to calm down?"

Polly tossed me a pitying glance. "The yellow angel born of rails will be led to gravely error when green eyes come between care of friends and need for recognition."

"What does that even mean?" Then I looked at my bed for the first time. A box had been left on top of my rumpled covers. A long, thin box with the Wish Fixers logo stamped in the bottom corner. "Oh, no. This had better not be what I think it is."

I removed the cover. Inside, wrapped in a white cloth, was a long ulkroot wand capped with a shiny topaz star. Grabbing the nearest pillow, I slammed my face into it and chewed the fabric furiously.

"He really loves you," Sparkle said, watching me. "They'll never let him live that down, y'know. Mostly the part about how he let you go. People will talk. They'll call him names. He's really brave and he cares for you a lot."

I whirled, slamming Sparkle into the wall with my pillow. "Don't say that. Don't you dare say that. If he really 'loved' me, he would have let me win. I'm a gyne coming of age. A loving drake would let his offspring win. That's what he's supposed to do. Don't praise him for the way he made me look in front of everyone like that. Who's the greatest?"

He fiddled with his thumbs. "Gee, Fergus. I think your dad is after he won the fight."

Polly only shrugged and picked up a roll of washroom paper.

The following day - or rather, later that same one - I sat at the lunch table with my hands in fists to either side of my tray, roasting my milk and mashed koralins with my stare. The voices were all around me, covering the same topic in identical perspectives.

"That gyne with the gray sweater's the one who lost the fight at Stan's rave last night," Emaline announced with delicious pride.

"I heard he was so sugar-drunk that pink brains were leaking out of his ears." That would be Tenisa, of course.

"I heard he smooched way too many damsels - without their consent, even - and his lines fritzed so bad that he almost drowned in a bowl of punch."

"I heard his dad's a brownie-kisser. So he's half-brownie himself. That's why his wings look square."

"Pssh- like any damsel would take him now, whether he is or not. The drake he challenged didn't even have freckles."

"Since you brought it up, have you even counted the gyne's facial spots? There's only one over three dozen on his cheeks and between his eyes, and seven more on his throat. Thirteen if you count the ones on the back. Hardly anything."

"He had more on his arms when he took off his shirt."

"Arms don't matter," Tenisa scoffed.

"Do you think he's already taken by a damsel?"

"If he is, he won't be for much longer."

"No, yeah. Imagine being the damefriend of a gyne who got spared. By a kabouter!"

"I know! Who does that?"

Emaline adjusted her floating pointed hat. "Well, I heard that fairy he was fighting was his father, even though his wings weren't notched. He couldn't kill someone he birthed, I guess."

"Definitely doesn't look good on either one of them."

"The dad was cute, though."

"The dad was so cute. Too bad he's not the one who stripped to his bare chest."

"I dunno, I did think his eyes were a bit big and blue for his head."

"Bet you the gyne who lost gets a brownie wife and she uses the inrita poison bite on him the first night of courtship."

"Shucks, that's what I would do. Who wants a gyne who can't beat an unfreckled old kabouter?"

"Oh- and did you hear what kind of wand he was using when he made the challenge? Get this: Threedspiral!"

Emaline chuckled. "Well then, I stand corrected. I'm not sure the brownies would want him after all."

"When he made his challenge, he probably broke the fragile thing on accident, not on purpose."

"Sounds about right for a brownie-brain."

Blah, blah, blah. That means a lot of things.

"Sparkle," I said in alarm when I got back to the room. He had woken up my cardboard boxes, and I ducked as the largest pursued the little one into the corner. Pulling it down by the flap and scratching it beneath the 'chin' until it calmed down, I said, "What's going on? What are all these packages? Where is all your stuff?"

Sparkle sat on the edge of his bed, twisting his hands. He didn't look up at me. Instead he said, very carefully, "I got kicked out of the Academy."

"What?" Setting down the box, I crossed the room towards him. "No. You're fudging your wand waves. How did you manage that? I only got a warning."

"You ever wonder how a wandering brownie-wisp crossbreed with no family got into a place like this?"

"I didn't ask," I admitted. He sighed.

"I'm not really supposed to be here. I snuck into the main office one time. I don't have inrita poison or anything that'll kill someone, but I have enough of it in my saliva to take care of doors. It canceled the magic locks and after some fiddling around, I changed the records. I'm good at that. I got myself enrolled, made room for myself in classes, and marked all my fees as paid. I've been making excuses to my teachers when they can't find the money."

I said nothing. The concept disturbed me greatly, so I think you can see why I marked it down here. This is why I organize you all to take your turn standing vigil around Pixie World after hours. Brownies can and will pull these chaotic and destructive types of tricks and aren't to be trusted.

He heaved his shoulders. "But, after what happened last night, they started going through things more carefully. They figured it out. I gotta get out of here by 19:30 tonight."

"You really thought you were good enough to not get caught?"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, I knew I was gonna get caught eventually. This wasn't about not getting caught- it was about trying to last as long as I could. A month's okay for a fancy place like this. It's just what I do, Fergus. I wander places, I find somewhere to stay, I'm there until they toss me aside. I'm annoying. No one wants me around. I mean, I'm half-brownie and half-will o' the wisp. Those are two of the four red-flag species right there. And I'm a huge contradiction. Brownies are passive and they don't ever make the first move on anyone and they don't usually cause trouble for people - they just like to clean things, and I mean really like to clean things - but will o' the wisps are aggressive and have to explore and conquer new territory and are real sensitive to the emotions of others, so they always need to be around happy lovey feelings. Sometimes that's confusing for me. I probably shouldn't even exist." His voice pinched into a squeak at the end.

"It's jacked," I said, sitting on my own bed. "I was given another chance at the Academy. It's the 'three strikes, you're out' gyne policy, I guess. They know I'm smart and they'd like to keep me around; uneducated and unsupervised gynes can be dangerous sometimes, too. But I wish I could switch you places. I hate it here."

Sparkle glanced away from his fingers for the first time. "Hey, I thought you said once that coming to the Academy had always been your dream."

I shook my head. "It was when I was younger and naïve and I thought I could get into the law program. I love learning all I can about Da Rules. It's just reassuring to know that the people in charge have thought of so many ways to keep us all safe and society running with as little corruption as possible. But that's not a choice anymore. I'm stuck learning therapy and sharing feelings in 'Circle Time', pretending I care about other people's problems, and this whole facility isn't run too well anyway. It's more disorganized than it has to be. Everything is alphabetical. And that's a sort of order, I suppose, but it would make more sense if all of the psychology classes were in the same group of combs, and all the math classes were in another, and all the history ones… I wish I could be the one who got kicked out."

Then I sat up. "Wait a wingbeat."

"What's that look in your eye?" Sparkle prodded as I knelt on the floor and pulled a spiral-bound set of tablets from beneath my bed.

"This is the official Academy Rules and Guidelines book," I explained as I began turning the thin, clicking sheets of stone. "I read this whole thing over a few weeks before I officially moved in here."

"You actually read the rulebook? Huh. No one ever reads the manual."

"Of course I did. I never sign or agree to anything I haven't examined and don't fully understand. I took a red stylus and made scratch marks in the upper corners of all the pages that explain the biggest rules and how I could get expelled if I wasn't careful. As it turns out, Fairies are less strict about the 'no drinking soda underage' policy in application than they were in this book, since when I tried to turn you in, I was told it's 'virtually impossible' to call a distinction between lines gone tingle-fritzy due to sugarloading, lines gone tingle-fritzy from stressing over upcoming exams, and lines gone tingle-fritzy from just gootchie-goggling a damsel from afar or something simple like that."

"When did you turn me in?"

"When don't I turn you in? Anyway, You were off the hook if they couldn't prove undeniably that you had 'consumed large quantities of sugar within a short period of time' and then used your wand. Using the wand is apparently the last straw. Still, I urged them to obtain a bronze time key and search through the timestream for proof, but apparently they didn't have 24 hours or so to spare, it's 'too risky', and 'too much tabletwork'. My wings."

Sparkle whistled. "I can't believe I got saved because someone didn't want to do their job."

"Hmph. If I were in charge, things would be different. I'd have employees who'd ensure that everyone follows the rules if they wanted to stay here. If they didn't, they'd be gone. To be perfectly honest, I don't think they actually believed I had read this thing and would turn in my own roommate. Ah, here we go." Bracing one hand to the floor, I ran a finger down the tiny gold words carved in the tablets. "These are all the ways you can get expelled from this Darkness-core of a dump: getting your soul swapped with a cù sith, knowingly providing false information, blatant plagiarism, public indecency, murdering someone outside of a dominance fight, jayflying…"

Sparkle rubbed his throat. "Are you going to kill a kabouter?"

"Ha ha, ha ha. No. If I'm going out by breaking the rules, then I'm going out in a firework. We're aiming for the big prize." I set aside the stack of tablets and looked up. "I intend to kidnap one of the Unwinged Angels from the godparent training camp on the east end of campus, and you're going to help me. They'll boot me for sure. It's the only way my father won't be able to force me to come back here."

"You've gone jitterlines. What the heck do you want to kidnap an Unwinged for? Polly says they don't really do anything."

"That's fine," I said with a slight shake of my head. "I don't need it to pull off any tricks. I just need to go through with the act of stealing it, as if I really did have a plan for it."

"You sure? I've heard that angels have massive power, like even in their pre-instar stage. Headmistress is gonna be so mad we're messing with one. She's ticked as it is after last night."

I stood. "Very sure. I want to have my expulsion secured. But you're a brownie. I need your help to get me there. Can I count on you?"

Sparkle grinned. "This is so illegal. I'm in. I'm already supposed to be leaving this place tonight anyway. Blaze of glory, right? Let me get a candle."

We packed away our things and, on the pretense that all of it was Sparkle's and I was walking with him to a place where the energy field wasn't so thick before he took off for home, both of us headed through the maze of twisting halls. "Remember," I said as we moved, "neither of us has a working wand, and my dad sliced my wings. I can't fly."

"Hey, no prob, Fergus. I'll be your brawn if you're my brains. But why are you wearing your green dragonfly pajamas?"

"Look, if you think I'm going to risk messing up any of my vests in a potential scuffle with the security guards, you're about as on-target as a duende with a nail clipper."

After we had crested a lip of cloud, we found a clump of gingerties under which we left our stuff. "Stay," I told my cardboard boxes, tying them all to separate trees with bits of rope too short to let them reach each other.

It wasn't as though it was going to get much darker in the cloudlands once Fairies began migrating back to their beds, so we watched for a bit, and after hours, when no one had been moving about the campus for some time, we crossed a pink rope bridge and Sparkle flew me over a yellow fence. Then he got me inside the dome-shaped building in the center.

"The door was just unlocked," he said, staring at it.

"Fine. But stay with me. This is supposed to be a restricted area."

There were six floors in the dome - three above cloudlevel, three below - and we moved through them as quickly and quietly as we could. The one we wanted turned out to be on the very bottom. We were almost there when Sparkle peeked around a corner, then flattened his back to the wall. "We're in trouble, Fergus."

"Don't tell me."

"Okay, if you say so," he said, and darted to the opposite side of the hall.

"What are you doing?" I hissed after him, edging my fingers along the wall as I crept closer. "Don't just leave me in the dark. When I say 'Don't tell me', you're supposed to tell me what's going on so I can be prepared."

"Ohh, gotcha." He nodded along the hall. "You know how Polly's studying Unwinged history, future, and biology?"

"He's here? Now? Smoof." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "He didn't get sugar-loaded at the party, and he loves it at the Academy. He'll never let us pull this off. And, he might already know we're coming."

Sparkle grimaced. "What do you wanna do?"

"We'll stick with the plan," I decided after a moment of tapping my chin. "His hand is still suffering from him trying to go tomte. He can't use magic against us for probably another three or four thousand years given how much he's cut it, and I can beat him in a fight even without my wings. Why do you think he's here this late?"

"You know how long it takes him to get through a task. He's probably been here for hours. Maybe he has a special key for locking up. Keys are cool."

For a moment, we listened for footsteps. They were distant. When Sparkle had decided the coast was clear, I skulked after him.

It wasn't terribly difficult to find the door with the light of Sparkle's candle to lead us; it was the second to last one we ran across. He handed the small tin saucer to me, then went to his brownie work. His wings shifted and whirred as he hovered. The dark of the facility made the sound seem louder than it probably was. I found myself squirming in my shoes. Sparkle licked all around the doorframe. Once he'd closed the slimy rectangle, the wood lost all its color and turned gray. He twisted the knob.

"Locked," he said.

"How can it be locked? You just licked it, didn't you?"

"Brownie saliva only kills magic. I can't unlock a regular lock any more than you can. Lucky I came prepared- you brought the right roommate along." He felt around in his pockets. "I learned how to pick a lock before I learned how to pick my nose. Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh?"

He continued to pat himself down, now moving onto his shirt. "I can't find my lockpicker."

"You were in charge of yourself," I snapped, attempting to whisper. I found that it helped to keep my voice monotone. "You said you were ready."

Sparkle pulled out wads of candy wrappers and dirty handkerchiefs, but nothing he could jab in the holes. "Gee, Fergus. I'm only Seelie. Technically, I said I was ready before your big box came snuffling at my butt and knocked me over. It must have fallen out."

"Look, you have your cù sith problem, Polly has his thing for washroom paper, and I grew up playing with enchanted cardboard boxes that my father insists are supposed to teach me how to take care of things without actually needing to feed or clean up after them. Don't judge me. No luck?"

"Blacken my crown and call me an Anti-Fairy, because I got nothing." Now he was examining his shoes and socks. "Do they have names?"

"What, my boxes? Don't be dense. I've never given a name to anything in my life. Next you'll be asking if I named all the grayfish in the Wish Fixers lobby when I was a nymph and used to sit on my knees and watch them fourteen hours a day while my dad worked. Since the atmosphere is so thin up here in the cloudlands, it was my first chore to poof that tank down to Earth three times a day so the water would refresh its oxygen. Apparently, fish need that even though they swim. Come on, isn't there something else you can do to get in there?"

"I'm trying, Fergus! What do you want me to do? Spit into the keyhole, then mug Polly for his starpiece and magically freeze my saliva into a solid key of ice?"

We stared at each other. Then Sparkle turned back to the knob.

"It's no good," he said after a few minutes of messing with it while I kept uneasy watch for Polly and any other stragglers in the halls. "I don't have all the inrita of a full brownie and so I can't drop anyone's lines, but it still works in small doses. Since I killed all the magic in this area when I made my square, it'll take at least twenty minutes to wear off again."

"Blitz this." Throwing back my dome, I shoved out my laser cannon and blasted a hole on one side of the door. The floor rocked beneath my feet. We listened for Polly, but either the noise and shudder hadn't been as loud as I'd expected, or the oracle had left the building. Once the hole had stopped steaming somewhat, I reached through and pushed down on the handle. The lock unclicked. The door swung outward. Retracting my cannon, I brushed my hands together and stepped inside the room. "We're not trying to be subtle, we're trying to get caught. We can afford to be reckless."

"I guess." Sparkle took back his candle and floated into the room. "Careful," he said as I took a step after him and my foot rolled on something thick.

"Oxygen tubes," I determined after following them to the wall. "Polly told me about these once when I actually managed to squeeze some decent conversation out of him. They leave the dome right here in the wall where it's colder, and dip down multiple planes of existence until they pass through Earth's atmosphere. They feed the angels oxygen, rather like I just told you about with the fish. Angels don't drink magic. They're a separate class from the Fairies altogether, like the Genies and the Mermaids." Stepping back, I added, "We must be on the right track."

"What about over here?"

I turned. Sparkle had gravitated towards a series of colorful blinking lights on the right-hand side of the room. They were all about chest height and clustered near one another, like the buttons on that huldu's music panel.

"Perfect. I think you found them."

He raised his candle and made a face as I hopped over and sometimes crawled beneath snaking cables to his side. "That's an Unwinged in there? It's lumpy and awkward."

"It's an Unwinged nymph." I felt along the round glass case before turning my attention to the panel. "The Unwinged Angels are the closest thing to immortality the known universe can offer and they develop more slowly than any species because of it. They're wired differently than we are. First of all, they don't hit instar by age."

"How's that work?" he asked, setting the candle down beside me.

"Angels are creatures of power- power that can be used for both creation and destruction. They'll only shed their exoskeletons once they undergo massive pressure and neural trauma that shuts down their entire 'mortal' system." I looked up at his fidgeting fingers. "That's the trick. Like ours, their souls are indestructible, even if their bodies aren't. Rather than drink magic through lines from our energy field, Unwinged feed from their own. It emanates from the ground."

"The ground, huh?"

"Mmhm. You know about the magic contained in the flight casings of nymph wings?"

He nodded, slightly. "It's pure, raw, and uninfluenced until they drink milk and the shells fall off."

"We get our magic from the floating dust of our ancestors and the release of our flight casings. Unwinged powers are limited until they shed their exoskeletons, which they usually bury. The leftover magic grows plants, which in turn provide them with their energy field. Or, that's what Polly told me. But once they pass through instar and ascend to their full forms…"

"Massive power. I know that much."

I touched the glass wall again. "'Massive' doesn't cover it. There's a reason they take so long to develop. Encased in each of these shriveled, hunched forms, you'll find so much power that not even the Fairy Elder can wipe their memories. Their species' trait actually is memory- they can see theirs and one another's. They can summon all their pre-instar ones back, even."

"Oh, yeah. That's why we're trying to befriend the unstable ones while they're still a young race."

"Exactly. No one wants the Father and Mother Angel hissing down their lines when an Unwinged child regains its memories and comes crying that we were unkind to it. So." Releasing the case, I reached for the red lever. "Dean Aocho will not be happy if I make this Unwinged child miserable. I'm expelled for sure."

Sparkle began to fidget. "Can't we just turn ourselves over to Polly?"

"No. It has to be undeniable." Taking the lever in both fists, I looked to him. "This will probably set off alarms. Are you ready?"

"Will a genie's kiss fry your lines off for a week?"

I wrenched it down. The front of the nearest case whooshed outward in two unfolding doors. We both covered our ears and squeezed our eyes shut as alarms stayed silent and red lights didn't flash.

"Is this a joke?" I asked, removing my hands. "What happened to 'only twelfth-semesters are allowed in the restricted area'? This place isn't guarded at all."

"I guess they thought only someone really stupid would be in here trying to mess with the angels."

"Figures. Now we have no choice. We'll have to find an authority figure."

"Fergus?"

I rubbed my thumbs into my forehead. "But it has to look like an accident. Like we were just trying to escape."

"Fergus?" he said again.

"What?"

"It's awake."

We both turned as the Unwinged sat up, vaguely scraping at its furry face. I couldn't tell whether it was a drake or a damsel. It scooted forward, then paused. It lifted its head.

"Oh smoof," I muttered.

"Don't move," whispered Sparkle, touching down beside me.

I had a terrible itch clawing beneath my left wing, but I did my utmost not to twitch them as the angel scooted forward again. It licked its lips and seemed to study us. Its eyes were unfocused. Its chin was pointed.

But what I found most disturbing was, I realized then that I couldn't feel it. Polly hadn't been lying. The angels didn't share our need to drink magic. The energy field flowed over and around the creature unhindered, never tugging in its direction or showing any sign that it registered its existence at all. If I had been facing the other direction, I wouldn't have even known that it was there. Just looking at the thing required the majority of my focus; as my thoughts began to skitter, it started to fade from my vision.

It was enormous. Twice my height and breadth, easily. And it was untraceable.

"Run," I said as it vanished from my awareness altogether.

"Fergus, don't-"

"Run!" I took off for the door, plowing straight into a knot of cords dangling from the ceiling and wrenching maybe three of them out of their holes. Two more snagged around my ankles. I thrashed once, then had the thought to still myself and re-evaluate my situation. I shook off loops of tubing just as Sparkle grabbed my hand and yanked me to the door. The angel made a guttural hooting noise and began to prowl invisibly after us.

"Where's your candle?"

"Are you serious, Fergus? You're asking that?"

I slammed into a slightly-rounded wall and bounced off. "I thought it might be somewhat relevant to our present situation, yes."

Sparkle cupped his other hand around his mouth and began to trill his tongue. "What are you doing?" I screamed back, dragging him in a zig-zag along halls that kept materializing in front of me in the dark.

"We broke out the Unwinged. We're trying to get ourselves caught, right?"

"Not by it!" We ran into a dead end. I dropped his arm and turned a full circle, holding my throat as I tried to steady my fritzing lines. "Where is it? Is it here? Did it follow us?"

"Geez, I don't know. I can't feel it. But it's probably used to being handled. Maybe it thinks we have food."

I mopped my brow with my sleeve. "Did Polly ever tell you how to fight it?"

"Well, you're not supposed to fight it," he said as he rolled his eyes again. "You're supposed to love it. You know, take care of it. That's why it's in the Guardian training camp. Er, godparent training camp. Yeah, whatever."

"I can't believe you just implied that love conquers all. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Emotions are inside the people who have them and you can't just spread them to others like a disease and expect to change the way they're biologically wired. Our natures are embedded in our genes." Flexing the hand I'd bashed against the wall, I finished with, "Ugh- We should have skipped the kidnapping and just killed it. It's not really sentient; it doesn't know it's alive, so it's not like killing someone's godkid."

"Not yet. Polly says they'll be as smart as the Yugopotamians and Snobulacs and guys someday."

We paused on our toes, peering back along the hall. I could pick up slight scuffles of feet across rubber tile, but without being able to get a read on the creature's whereabouts in the field, I struggled to determine how far they were or in what direction.

Sparkle unfurled his brown wings. "We can't stay here, Fergus. At least if we keep moving, we might find the-"

Then he threw me backwards into the wall. I slammed hard enough that my core jarred the side of my head. Sparkle pressed himself to the opposite wall, and when I regained my bearings, I caught a flash of large hulking body between us. Then it was swallowed up into thin air.

Neither of us exactly shrieked another order to run, but there was some shrieking involved. Sparkle and I scrambled up the hall, clinging to our foreheads. Right. Left. Left. Backtrack. Right.

"Ferg- Fergus, I can't."

My fingers clenched into his sleeve. "Oh, yes you can, brownie-wisp. You got us into this, and you're going to get us out. Is it still after us?"

"Dunno- Maybe- Might have- lost it-"

"Did Polly ever say anything about them? Strengths? Weaknesses? Loopholes? Something?"

Sparkle rapped on his head as we ran. "I think- I think it can't see us, but it can hear us and probably touch us. Just like we can with it."

"Because we're not drinking from its field?"

"Yeah. Yeah. It's the dust we generate from our magic. It makes it so non-magical creatures like some of the alien-types or the Earth animals outside my mama's burrow miss us sometimes unless they're really focusing. We blend- We blend in with what's around us and look more like something they'd expect to see, if they aren't thinking about it."

When we turned our next corner, I stared at him. "You do realize I haven't used magic since I broke my wand, and I used up my remaining dust in the fight with my dad, right?"

He shrugged.

Right. Left. Right. Along a long hall full of doors. The first seven were locked, so we stopped trying them and kept running. At one point, we crossed an intersection and I swear I missed the angel's naked body by a wingspan.

"Fergus, there!"

The stairs. Locked. I grabbed the horizontal bar in front of the door and rattled hard. Sparkle kept watch, but I glanced back between shakes anyway. Especially when I heard that shuffle-slap-scoot approaching.

"Fergus, use your cannon again!"

"It's jammed. You pushed me into the wall pretty hard, and it's still recovering from how my dad hit it."

After another three wingbeats, a figure cupping a candle in a saucer came around the next corner. He gawked and drew back when he saw us.

"Polly!" I pounded on the small window pane. "Polly, let us through!"

"Fergus, it's here."

Pointing behind me, I made wild gestures indicating that Polly should open the door. He leaned his face to the window, searching.

"Polly, you need to- Sparkle, duck!"

He jumped into the air instead with wings beating like rock concert drums. I darted across the hall, which was stupid since it planted the angel between the door and me. Polly jammed his access key in the lock and twisted.

"Oh my dust, he can't see it. Of course he can't see it- he's not concentrating, and why would he think to look for it outside of its case? Polly, no! I changed my mind! Don't-"

Too late. He'd pulled the door open for us. The Unwinged went straight for his candle and bowled him over. Out went the light. As Sparkle and I grabbed Polly's arms and pulled him to his feet, the angel scurried up the stairs. I heard it bang its head or hand against vertical metal bars.

"Maybe no one will notice," Sparkle squeaked. I wondered if his mind had followed mine back to the room where we'd released the thing, with jumbled cords torn from the sockets and chairs likely broken from our scramble. As if on cue, Polly dropped his candle dish with a resounding clang in the silence.

He was seething. Though his features were indistinct in the darkness, I caught the flash of his eyes. "You two are in the biggest trouble of the campus right now."

"Is that a prophecy?"

"It's my prophecy!" He shoved me back in the chest and grabbed his snuffed candle. "Come, catch it! It will run to the top!"

Sparkle and I shrugged at one another in the darkness and bolted up the steps after him. At least we were a team again, and Polly had experience dealing with the Unwinged, maybe, probably.

"How many others came with?" he demanded.

"It's just us."

He ran a finger along his ruff. "Are you still tingle-fritzy from drunkedness?"

"I'm starting to think I might be," I admitted.

"Did you drink water?"

"What? Um. No. I've heard that helps hangovers, but I was in a mood last night. It's no big deal- I'm used to pushing through it. Nothing new back at Ambrosine's house."

Sparkle snorted. "And you had me reported for underage sugarloading."

That made Polly sigh as we neared the top of the stairwell. "Then I changed my mind. You are nae to follow me." His small, warm fingers pressed into my palm. "Here is my door key. Go out the side, and leave."

"But the doors are automatic," I protested, although I didn't hand it back. "You'll be locked in."

"You'll be caught if I do nae. I have to tell the dean is my fault. Sorry make up for your dad being mad and hurting you at the party. I am nae a very good oracle when my friends need me. Getting caught means expulsion for you both. So sorry."

"But that's why we did it," Sparkle pointed out. Dark as it was, I still smacked him on the back of the head.

Polly screeched to a halt on the next landing and rounded on us. "You were what? You put the angel in danger to get kicked from the Academy?"

"Put the angel in danger?" I sputtered. "It almost killed us!"

Sparkle nodded and slapped the far darrig's back. "Someone should really keep that beast locked up out of the way."

There was another scuffling, scratching sort of clutter one more flight above us. Retracting whatever retort had popped onto the edge of his tongue, Polly ran up after it.

"Polly, no! You can't use magic! You'll be killed!"

"You leave out of my way. I can do it myself- I do nae want you to be injured. You are nae and will never be good at this. Get away from things you do nae understand, which is of course not ever helping people who are scared or hurt inside, as you made obvious enough to us."

"I- I-"

"Fergus, come on." We were on the fourth floor- the cloudlevel floor. Sparkle grabbed me by the back of my pajama collar and used my hand and key to unlock the door. Then we were running along a hallway with windows that glowed faint purple from the dim starry sky beyond.

I never heard Polly scream. I never heard whether or not he died there, or what became of the angel, or if he was expelled. No one used to keep records of things like that.

"Right," I said as Sparkle flew and I ran out among the violet grass, swiping once across my face. My palm was damp with sweat. "Um. Let's… let's…"

I looked around at the scattered shrubs as the Academy grew smaller behind us. My plan had been to get snatched up by security guards, dragged before the headmistress, and be suddenly and unquestionably sent away from the school in disgrace. Without guards, that was looking a lot less likely. We couldn't very well search the entire facility until we found her bedroom and then throw ourselves at her feet, demanding she throw us into exile. Too suspicious.

"Oh my blitz, Ambrosine's going to backflip when he hears that I deliberately caused damages to Academy property like this." Scratching my chin, eyes still darting, I sized up my options. Apart from the town of Prudoc in the southwest, we were surrounded by bare cloud in all directions. "Oh, he'll spare my life, but I really screwed up, breaking that arrow and smashing my therapy tablets. He'll make me pay for it. And I am not doing that. Eros arrows cost a fortune, and personalized ones triple it."

"Wait," Sparkle said, glancing my way. "That arrow you've been holding onto, that was a personalized Eros arrow? You could have had any damsel you wanted for life, and you kept it in your pants? Tucked way in the back of your drawer?"

"Okay, I'm a bit of a procrastinator who has to mull long and hard about my decisions. At least no one can say I don't have any willpower. Now, grab your lines, Sparky- tram's a-leavin'." I pushed him over the lip of the next cloud. He plunged through the sky with a holler, wings and arms flailing. After one thoughtful glance back at the castle, I pressed my wings to my sides and dove after him.

"Fergus," he yelped between his tumbles, "you're twisted in the biscuit, dude! Earth's got that Great Ice Times thing going on right now!"

"It can't be that cold. It's the middle of summer."

"I can't believe you chucked me over the lip!"

I crossed my arms as I spun upside-down. "It'll be fine, you big sissy. There's another layer of cloud just down there."

Sparkle shot me an incredulous look. "Yeah, that's not a cloud, dude."

That was the first time I blinked. "Oh, smoof."

We slammed directly into packed, jagged snow. Simultaneously I heard, saw, felt, and even smelled my arm bones crack. I slid down a curl of scratchy glacier on my belly. At the bottom, I just moaned.

Sparkle skated down a rounded and more level portion of the ice on his feet. When he pulled up with a flap of his wings, he sprayed a sharp dusting of flakes into my face. "Hey, what gives, man? What possessed you to jump out of the cloudlands? Two planes of existence, Fergus!" He held up three fingers. "That's how many we just fell through. Next time you want to pay a visit down here to real, actual Earth, how 'bout you just poof down like a normal guy and find yourself a tour guide and a nice bronze time key to track the memories, okay?"

"Shut up, baby. You can still fly, can't you?"

That's what I tried to say, at least, but when I lifted my head, my tongue didn't come with it.

"Thparkle? Thparkle, help me."

He rubbed a bump on his head. "What? Yeah, you're fine. Just wave your wand. Fairy magic is always hot. Melts like butter in a kobold's fist."

"I broke my wand when I wath fighting my dad, and don't bother athking about my ulkroot, becauth it'th not regithered yet. My licenthe got revoked. Altho, my magic doethn't get hot anyway."

"Sure it does," Sparkle insisted as he crouched beside me. "Only Anti-Fairy magic can be cold."

I wrinkled my nose. "No, I'm theriouth."

His face cracked in two. "Say 'serious' again."

"Thparkle, it'th not funny! I'm cold and hurt and I'm realithing now that I jutht thtupidly got mythelf thtuck with you when I didn't really have to, and I'm theeing my life flath before me. You're in it more than I would like."

"Ow," he said mildly. Tapping the pointed tip of his long nose, he began to walk circles around me. I tried to rotate myself to keep him in my line of sight. "So you're saying that your magic is permanently partway between hot and cold. That's actually really interesting. We were talking about the types of magic in class the other day. At least I think we were- I was kinda hungover. But Seelie Courters can't get their magic more than like one degree below freezing, and the Unseelie can't pass the boiling point of water. That's not really a thing, magic at room temperature. What kind of Fairy even are you?"

"One thtuck in the middle thomewhere. I alwayth told you it wath pretty bad. You gonna help me free my tongue or what, thlacker?"

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 1: SPOILED

A Grain of Truth

Summer of the Bruised Peach Tree – Winter of the New Yellow Blooms

Since several minutes of searching the higher portion of the glacier hadn't turned up any sticks or small, loose rocks, I used my sharp heel to draw in the stiff snow instead. "Okay, I elect that we be logical about this. This is what we know. We've just fallen to Earth during the Great Ice Times and are right below the Academy. The Academy lies southwest of the Fairy World capital Faeheim, and Faeheim is near the east coast of Earth's mainland continent. That's where the Rainbow Bridge is."

Sparkle nodded and shook white powder from his puffy purple sleeves. I drew my heel closer to his foot.

"The Earthside capital city is Great Sidhe. That should be right about here, northwest of us. Other than that, I'm not sure where we'll find any towns or people."

"I think I could take you to my mama's burrow, but-"

"No. No will o' the wisps. No way. No thanks." I dragged my shoe again as I moved past him, massaging my injured left arm - the bones most likely had snapped from that shortsighted plummet out of Fairy World - and ended my line several steps further in the snow. "The Pastel Bridge that connects to the seventh plane of existence, the one with the Wanderplains, is across the Atlantis Ocean. And down here, in the south, to the west and a bit further south than us, there's a little isle called Hy-"

"Wait. Aren't the Earthside directions backwards?"

"Oh smoof, you're right. Earth is upside-down because the Sun moves in a different way down here. Let me start over." I walked to the other side of my map. "We and the Academy are here, albeit on separate planes. I guess that means we're on the mainland's northwestern coast. Sorry. If we were in Fairy World and went straight Earth-south from the Academy, we'd eventually hit Mistleville where the cherubs migrate, and eventually the Eros Nest, but I think that's over the Specific Sea. Faeheim is northeast of the Academy in Fairy World, which on Earth would make it southwest, I think. Novakiin is due west of Faeheim, and your Lau Rell is northwest from Novakiin. In the cloudlands, I mean."

"That sounds more like it."

"Of course it is. I said it. And the Pastel Bridge is across the Atlantis Ocean, and I think nor- er, southeast of here. So we're not anywhere near there. I believe that in theory, however, if you were to skim westward - well, eastward - from the Rainbow Bridge with a slight angle to the south, you're supposed to be able to run across Great Sidhe. They taught us that in school. On Earth, we're far northeast of the Rainbow Bridge. That's going to put us right here." I stamped my heel to make a divot. "Also, way up here in the north of this other continent, there's a tiny island marred by the ruins of Hy-Brasil."

Sparkle rubbed his long nose with one finger. "I thought Hy-Brasil was Anti-Fairy World."

"Yes, we call the Red Skies by that name now in memory of their old city, but this is where the original Hy-Brasil was." I tapped the marking again with my shoe. "Ambrosine was part of the team sent to destroy the Shadow Bridge after they'd chased the last of the Hy-Brasilians into the skies, at the end of the War of the Sunset Divide. Then the Barrier was put into place behind them."

"Oh," he realized. "So that's where the rippling portal-like door is. The Divide."

"The Divide Gate is in Greece, actually. Common mistake, for some reason."

He shrugged. "Yeah, I didn't get a lot of education, but I remember that part now. That's like, the guarded spot in the Barrier where people can actually pass through any time, but that we can't go in without permission from them, and they can't get out through without permission from us, I think?"

I braced my right hand to my side. "Yes, generally speaking, with certain exceptions such as if one is traveling with the Fairy Elder, Council Robes, Mother Nature or Father Time, or the Keeper of Da Rules. Things like that. Or if you're an iris among the Anti-Fairies. What's the face for? You know, a color-eye? You understand what a color-eyed anti-fairy is, don't you? Not red? Anyway, the irises get free immunity through. I think. Maybe not exactly, but it's something like that. And that's about the limit of my navigational and Earthside knowledge, except that there might be more water on this planet than any other single location in this quadrant of the universe. The Rainbow Bridge can be found in the hills an hour inland from the Specific Sea, as the dragonfly skims."

Sparkle kicked a chunk of ice over the lip of the glacier. "It's too bad there's not a Bridge closer to Great Sidhe. Maybe in like the middle of the continent."

"That would be nice, though I seem to remember that you'd need the Fairy Elder's staff to attract a sufficient amount of magic from the energy field in order to make one, and only the firstborn of a firstborn would be able to channel that much power." I scratched the space behind my neck with my good hand. "So. Now then… I think my personal plan is to head for Great Sidhe, find work, and begin living out my life independently of Ambrosine."

"You'll freeze before you get there. Especially since you can't fly."

"I'll move fast. I don't mind walking. Anything is better than going back to the Academy after that humiliation."

"Fergus, I'm serious. It's not snowing now, but if we get caught in a blizzard, we could drop our lines and croak."

I shrugged. The possibility of death didn't scare me anymore, after I'd chosen to surrender myself to Ambrosine back at Stan Lee's party. "I couldn't live that way, Sparkle. Forging a new life here is the better ideal as far as I'm concerned. Earth is covered in vast wilderness and isn't nearly as populated as the cloudlands. When Ambrosine hears about what I did and that I fled, I think he might finally get the message that I don't want any part of his life anymore. He'll have a difficult time finding me. He'll have to drag me back up there by my cold, dusty toenails."

Sparkle sighed. "Gee, Fergus. I guess I'll come with you. The Rainbow Bridge is probably the other way, but I don't really want to go back to wandering by myself."

"As much as I dislike you, I was hoping you'd say that. You're the traveler, whereas I've almost never been beyond Novakiin in my life."

"We're southeast-bound, I guess. Earthside style." He looked me up and down as I studied the glacier for signs of a path to the ground. "Hey, I've wanted to ask you this for like, ever. How do you even walk in those pointy damsel shoes? You look like you've got satyr hooves."

I lifted one of my legs and rotated the ankle. "I actually do. I mean, I sort of do. They're not hooves by any means, but yes, that does sound like an accurate description of how my awkward square feet often feel. The arch is sharp and my toes always feel cramped. I imagine it just takes pract- Whoa!"

Sparkle tried to catch me as I overbalanced, which only made me hiss. "Ow- ow- Bad arm."

He let go of my left shoulder, and I plopped to the ice and slipped several wingspans. "Sorry," he said. "I forgot. Gee, you should've warned me earlier it still hurts to put pressure on it."

"I was trying not to use the arm for reasons I presumed were obvious." Brushing fluffy flakes from my light green pajama shirt (well, given how soaked it had become, it was more of an emerald), I stayed sitting and just stared over the turns and rises of the untamed Earth. Patches of ice and yellow-brown grass, each dozens of wingspans across, were alternately interlaced like the circles of a snapjik board. Stubby plants sprouted from clumps of rock. Melted pools of water lay in every dip of ground.

As the red sun lowered itself behind us, it shown against the glacier where we sat, on across the other glaciers occasionally dotted about. Everything shimmered like it was covered in lifedust. Creepy, except… aesthetically pleasing. My eyesight wasn't very good these years, but even I picked up the occasional flash of movement that suggested a darting animal or two in the distance. One of them actually tore a plant up from the ground and ate it. Imagine that: Earth had wild creatures that just walked around eating plants from the dirt.

"There's something you gotta remember, Fergus," Sparkle warned as I began to stand again.

"What's that?"

"Angels. We gotta watch out for them. I've seen 'em sometimes, and they always move in packs, but I've never gotten too close and that's how I want it to stay."

"Not a problem. If I never see another angel again, that would be one hundred percent acceptable by me." I had finally found my desired path to the ground. For a final few seconds, I rested with my hand pressed to a cold wall. Then I started jumping, slotting my feet into small chinks along the ice and zigzagging back and forth, never pausing, rarely slowing. At the bottom I landed with a soft thump on a sheet of ice sprinkled with an extra layer of frost, and finally did lose my footing. I slipped and landed smack on my back. When I stared upward, Sparkle was hovering above me in horror.

"Mountain satyr hooves," I grunted, pushing myself up with the uninjured hand. "A better concept in theory. Ow." My palm flashed to my other wrist. "Something bit me."

Sparkle pulled me to my feet, this time without touching my broken limb. "Welcome to the wild. Earthside Rule Number 1: There's oxygen down here, and oxygen means you've got actual wildlife like bugs. Now let's try finding somewhere kinda nice to sleep. I'm still pooped from that party."

We pulled our freezing hands into our sleeves and set off. Sparkle had it easy, with wings that still worked. Thanks to Ambrosine slicing that knife through both of mine, I was left to splash through every slushy gray puddle, slide down every dirty hill (turns out that Earth dirt is a dark brown, not bright violet-red), and scrape my limbs or tear my shirt on every rock, twig, and large chip of ice that cropped up in my path.

He described the Earthside animals we we went along. As he told his stories, enormous cats with thick fur and rippling spines prowled along every ridge in my mind. Imaginary ibexes trotted out of their reach, brandishing curved horns as wide as my neck. Bears roared. He insisted that we wouldn't find any woolly rhinoceroses or roe unicorns in this part of the land, but my wings couldn't quite suppress their fascinated shivers nonetheless. I even witnessed a small gaggle or 'herd' of spindle-legged creatures with pointed faces and racks of scooping horns who bunched together keeping watch as they drank from a pool of dirty water.

"Oh my dust." I kept there on my spire of icy crystals, shielding my eyes and squinting hard as the last of the sunlight gleamed red over the world. "You weren't lying. There are living creatures out here. Just… just roaming."

"First time out of Fairy World?"

I nodded, never taking my eyes from them. I leaned my cheek against the jagged ice wall. "In recent memory. You have to remember I'm a businessman's son. There's little point in visiting somewhere so rural and sparse like this. I do seem to remember having a couple field trips when I was a bitter little juvenile, you know, taking field guide notes and doing partner projects with idiots who wouldn't stop 'accidentally' knocking your tablets from your hands so they broke, but… wow. This is incredible. Sparkle, you're not looking. Look at them. Those animals are just walking around. They can do that because the ground is all connected in a single giant piece, see? No needing to jump and flap and wriggle a few wingspans into the air to climb from one cloud to the next. No cloud-link fences or fluffy borders to plunge from. That's so… sensible. I like it."

He grinned as he watched me. "Those animals? They're called rainfall chasers, or 'rain deer'."

"Rain deer." I nodded. When I was barely three thousand, Ambrosine had poofed me with him down to Earth to get my first touch of rain while I clung uncertainly to his neck. The image of a storm spouting gusty winds and sheets of falling water slotted nicely with the animals' lean but obviously powerful limbs.

"The drakes lose their spiky horn things on their head - their antlers - in winter. Damsels lose their antlers in summer. Did you know they can see ultraviolet light?"

"But that means they can see- No."

"The genie field of magic? Sure can."

I shook my head. Dropping from my spire perch, I crunched through the snow after him. Sparkle may come off as an idiot during our daily interactions, but there was no denying his wisdom when out in the world.

"What's this?" I murmured at one point in the dark, plucking up a small figure about the size of my hand from among the snow. It was molded out of something. Perhaps fired clay or carved stone. The surface rasped against my skin. Although the image didn't have wings, the rounded belly and swollen breasts made it obvious that the body type was Faedivus in structure. Unless…

"Hey, Sparkle. Do the Unwinged make things?"

"'Make things'?"

I showed him what, for all intents and purposes, I suppose was a statue. He scratched his head a few times before he handed it back. "Gee. I guess so. Hey, is something wrong? You've been slapping at your arms for the last hour."

"I keep hearing buzzing near my ears. Stupid Earth insects- they're worse than sprites. I think I'm getting eaten alive." Since my dragonfly pajamas didn't have pockets, and I doubted the lumpy thing would ride as comfortably in my sleeve as my inactivated ulkroot wand, I set the statue down lightly where I'd found it and we went on. As the moon crested a glacier and we were both growing more sluggish, Sparkle finally called out that he had found a nice cave of warbled blue walls speckled with condensation. It took some squeezing through even for our small bodies, but the simple prettiness and safety I found to be well worth it. We slept there for the night.

"You were right," he groaned in the morning, eyeing me where I'd perched near the entrance of the cave to gaze at the purple sunrise. "You're not as warm as a fairy at all. S'like cuddling a giant soda bottle that's wearing a shirt or two."

"I assure you, I am a real fairy, though." I shivered and pulled my wings closer to my shoulders. The cold had made them stiff, and they didn't fold well against my spine. "Do you still have all your lines in place?"

"I think so. I might have lost one in this temperature. You?"

"I seem to be drinking fine, yes. Let's hope those dark clouds over there don't move our way."

While Sparkle left the cave to talk to nature, I gave him his privacy and moved towards the back. As the light began to filter through, the blue walls lit brighter. They sparkled. When I stuck my face to one (not my tongue this time), I thought I could see beyond it to the cliffside we'd been following during our dark walk.

Then I turned the next corner and found myself nose to nose with a frozen green body. It was slumped against the wall, head tilted down, its eyes locked forward on nothingness. I blinked twice, tightening my grip on my elbows. There were about a dozen of them, green bodies, tucked in two rows all the way to the end of the chamber. One of them had been swallowed wholly by a wall of ice, and a second had only an arm and a foot still sticking out into the air.

"Hey, Sparkle," I said when I heard his approaching steps, "come and look at this."

He followed the sound of my voice and went rigid. "Sacred smoof. No warning, even? Just 'Sparkle, come see this messed-up damsel who barely gives off a signal in the energy field'. Oh, peachy. There are more of them back there. Well, this is jacked."

"She's not dead," I murmured, tipping my head.

"Yeah, duh, that's obvious, or she'd have gone to dust. Leave her alone and come help me find something to eat."

"Green skin. Three-pointed crown. A puff of pink hair. Antennae stubs… She's a púca. A juvenile." As he shuffled away, I drew in a tight whistle of air. "Of course- that makes sense. The púca patron is the emerald ash borer, and the cold has put them into diapause. They'll sleep until something warms them up again."

Sparkle saw my curious expression as I took a step forward. "Oh, Fergus- don't- That's not cool, dude."

I lifted her face with one knuckle and slotted my lips against hers. Even when I'd slipped five or six pulses of magic into her system, the damsel remained unmoving beneath my fingers. I let her chin sink back to her chest.

"Hmm. I'm not warm enough. Maybe if you do it-"

"Nuh-uh. I'm not sharing magic with a weird comatose body like that. Anyway, they probably put themselves to sleep because they can't survive out here, and you might get those guys killed if you wake them too early." Sparkle tugged on the upper part of my sleeve. "Jinkies, this place rattles my lines. Let's blow this dump."

"… Yeah. We should keep moving."

So we kept moving. Day after day after cold day. We followed the example of the animals we met and ate grasses, leaves, and berries when we could find them. Once, Sparkle caught a fish in a stream so blocked off by chunks of ice, it was practically underground. We had to eat it raw, but it kept us going. As we moved southeast (by Earthside directions), we crossed paths with other small mammals and birds. Little by little, our hunting and foraging skills improved.

We didn't get caught out in any serious blizzards, although falling snow became steadily more frequent as August faded into September and then October. At one point where it was borderline stormy, we were fortunate enough to run across a chirpy western elf drake called Nephel. He led us back to the clan and his parents welcomed us into their tree-cave for a couple of days, supplying us with cookies, better clothing, and directions.

"You're on the right path to Great Sidhe," Davey told me, "but you need to turn your course further south or you'll pass it straight by; you'll feel the tug of the field from so many magical beings when you get close enough. Keep walking as you were and you'd probably have run into the largest pack of angels in these parts. They move up and down this area where the trees are thinnest."

"We did catch sight of them a time or two, but from a distance. Although, we have seen mostly Earthside animals. Not so many magical beings."

"Didn't you say you'd walked this way from the general direction and area of the Rainbow Bridge?"

"Yes?"

Davey lowered his half-eaten cookie. "You're a lucky pair of drakes, then. You walked straight through a major vertical stripe of will o' the wisp territory that generally follows the river."

I blinked. "That would indeed explain why we never ran across any towns or businesses. I thought that was odd, even for the Earthside."

"'Course, they're mostly further north, but if you ever head back that way, y'oughta be careful."

"We will," I said, then glanced sideways at Sparkle. He appeared to be lost in his own little world of rotating his cup, and possibly thinking of his parents. Were they in that area, I wondered, or perhaps they were in that other famous burrow system further east. Perhaps somewhere else entirely.

After a couple days spent with their family, we said our farewells and angled further south. I found Davey's leafy coat to be far better protection against the elements than my pajamas, and made a mental note to return it to him once I had the opportunity.

That opportunity came soon enough. As we crested a jagged foot-hill section of ice-slicked cliffs after another month of wandering, I made a grab for Sparkle and threw my hand across his eyes. He yelped and started to skid, but I held him steady until he'd relaxed his wings. Then I drew my fingers away again. "Welcome to Great Sidhe."

He blinked. "Oh. I was expecting something a little more…"

I didn't find out what his 'little more' was, so when he didn't finish, I decided not to care. Besides, it wasn't much to look at from here all blurry as it was; the entire town was encased in a giant wavering bubble that distorted the light. The energy pull on the thing was immense. We'd started feeling it from an hour off, and with that shield up, the reason why became obvious.

After descending the cliffs, we approached the heaps of stones covered with random faux runes and swirls that didn't seem to mean anything other than the fact that the space between the stacks was obviously intended to be the main entrance. The sylph on the other side requested our names and asked us to display all that we were carrying before she would allow us in. "Fergus Whimsifinado," I said. "Decided that life in Fairy World didn't quite suit me and I'm looking to begin a new life here. This is Sparkle Doubletake, who spent the last three days composing a very horrible song about leeches in his forehead dome. I'm so sorry."

"Hey, at least I'm not the one who knocked a third of the angels out of heaven."

"Oh my dust, are you going to introduce me like that to everyone we meet? That's not what happened."

The sylph motioned for us to step through the glimmering green-white wall and stand by her desk as she checked over the coats and supplies we'd taken from the elves and explained the rules of living in the Great Sidhe. "No one is flying," I noted before she'd gotten very far, quirking up one eyebrow. "Might I inquire why?"

"It's the magic bubble around the town. It keeps away the snow year-round and makes this place warm and safe. However, it also sucks up a lot of power. The energy field is a bit distorted both inside and around this whole general area. Not enough that anyone could ever asphyxiate, but the amount of loose magic floating about is limited."

"So you can't use magic."

Shrugging, she passed back my coat and said, "No, you can use magic. You just have to regulate it. We have an entire system set up that ensures everyone gets their fair share. If you want to register as a citizen of Great Sidhe, you're allowed three wand-waves per month."

"Three wand-waves." Even coming from a home where I had been raised to be frugal, being limited to three sounded drastic. "Are all Earthside cities like this?"

The sylph nodded. "Things weren't so tightly-managed in days long ago, but in the Great Ice Times, yes they are."

I nodded back. Three wand-waves may not be much, but it was vastly better than the zero I would more than likely be left with otherwise. Thankfully we had rules that kept society running as smoothly as molten silver.

She summoned a small fairy who was to lead us to a shop where I could activate my ulkroot wand and Sparkle could pick up something of his own. I found the inside of the bubble to be stiflingly warm and sweaty. The town was all brown dirt and patches of green grass, the buildings made of wood and raised on rows of gray rocks. Multiple glass windows gleamed from every wall in a partially-futile attempt to keep out the Anti-Fairies, most likely, and all the roofs were thatched with thick yellow straw that shed sometimes as you passed by and would fall down the back of your collar like spider legs.

"Grounded, simple, and natural," I said to Sparkle as we walked through the marketplace after our guide. "I never thought about it, but this is exactly how I would expect an Earthside town to look."

"Two hundred thousand years and this green grass still blows my mind, man." He bent down and snapped off a few blades. "Feel this stuff. It doesn't even feel like grass. It's prickly and you can't pick up on any magic in it."

"I thought you grew up down here on Earth."

He paused. "I… did. But I went to school up in the cloudlands, so like, that's where I was mostly raised."

"Right." I lifted my wand. "Unless you have any objections or want to volunteer, I'm going to poof in all that stuff we left under the gingertie trees when we left."

"It's your right. Go ahead."

I waved my starpiece. The field tightened around my hand, but the wand's handle drooped with a popping noise. "Someone must have found and moved them from that general area," I guessed. "It looks like we'll have to make do without. I'll try something else." Flicking my wand again, I aimed for the gray jar that I'd left on a shelf in my room back home. With a distorted white cloud, it materialized in my hands. I twisted off the lid and drew out several crumpled bills and dented green coins. Shrugging at Sparkle I said, "It's not much, but it should get us by until we really get into the swing of things."

"Don't worry, Fergus. I've started from the bottom loads of times. I'll make sure we work this out."

"And you're sure you don't want to reconsider my offer of leaving me to my own means now that we've arrived?"

"I was planning to stick with you 'til the end."

"Of course you were. Just don't get annoying with it. Now, for my next course of action, I'm going to send this coat back to Davey. It's too stuffy to be wearing this."

"Whoa, hey." He grabbed my inflamed wrist. "This is just me, but you prob'ly shouldn't be wasting all your wand-waves like that. You do that, and you'll only have one more for the rest of the month. We could maybe sell the coat for more lagelyn."

I shook my head and poofed it away. "It was a kindhearted gift that turned out to be very helpful. He deserves to get it back. I promised I would and it's the right thing to do."

Shrug. "Okay. I just live here."

Once the matter of wands and magic had been settled, Sparkle took the lead and we began to seek out places where we could stay, work, and eat. We found all three at what appeared to be the most popular boarding house in the entire city, The Seven Fairies' House. Since Sparkle was with me, we were cut a special deal. Our rent in the rooms off the kitchen would be reduced so long as we assisted the other low-level boarders by daily cleaning the floors, running the laundry in the river, trimming the garden, moving furniture, repairing walls, washing windows, bringing in blocks of ice for the box in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes…

"That's brownie work," I sputtered when I first heard it.

Sparkle shrugged and passed me a mop. "Hey, any port in a meteor shower. We still get paid."

I swallowed my pride and did as I was told. We roomed with five other drakes by the names of Michael, Kalor, Gary, Paul, and Finnegan. All but that last one (a duende) were brownies, and it made me cringe. What would Ambrosine say if he poofed in and saw me now, crouched on my damp knees in the dirty pajamas I'd worn for a decade, painting wet circles across a crumb-coated tile floor with a gray sponge and oily water?

Gary and Finnegan (Well, Prince and Bouncy) helped me through that first hump. When they learned that my birthday fell hardly four weeks after my arrival in Great Sidhe, they organized the others to pool all their lagelyn together and buy three slices of cake and a couple of necessities such as a wing brush, clean underwear, and socks to help me ease into Earthside life. They even presented Sparkle and I with matching red and white cloth bags (which I rather suspect now were provided for all the lowly workers of Seven Fairies for errand purposes, but it was a thoughtful gesture regardless). Neither of them, nor most of the others, had ever been to Fairy World more than perhaps a time or two, so we passed our evenings washing dishes or playing snapjik as we swapped stories about our different worlds.

The first thing I bought for myself once I'd obtained sufficient funds were of course some decent clothes. Earthy tones understandably appeared to be the theme down here, so I went with reds and browns. I learned quickly, too, that for workers in The Seven Fairies' House, our actual names were a no-no. Both among each other and from those who were socially ranked above us. All of us had to have a nickname, so the others christened me Squares, both due to the sharp edges of my face and my apparent habit of ensuring that we all treated one another "fair and square".

I elected to bide my tongue and nod along with all of it, the nicknames. As far as I was concerned, this was a temporary phase in my life. I would push through this. The problem with being a broken-crowned fairy with a genetic 'equiangular' mutation meant that everyone - everyone - began to pick up on who I was. I didn't want to be remembered as "That friend of a friend who died in brownie conditions even though he was a fairy just because he wanted to be a stubborn kelpie in regards to his past". Thus, I had to get out of said brownie conditions so such stories would never spread. I would be remembered for what I did, not what had happened to me before my birth.

The important thing was, being here in Great Sidhe was my decision. It was difficult to regret my own decision; I'd known the terms and conditions and put my name to them. Choices were important to me, and as long as I still had the power to make my own choices, I didn't much care how many times I had to hear, "Floor 3 needs mopping, Squares," or how many necks I was expected to lick or how many times I needed to chirp an apology with eyes averted. My decisions. My efforts. My consequences. The power of choosing, I discovered, was a fascinating concept.

My torn wings healed within two days of activating my wand, and my arm within five. I'd forgotten how wonderful it was to have two that both worked. And for once in my life, I was thankful for a disorganized system of legal records that let me get away with loopholes. Even so, I didn't think it would take too long for my signal providers to realize my license to use a wand without the child-safety locks on was supposed to have been suspended. Surely no one could be that disorganized?

"I'm still breaking Da Rules big time and no one's said anything," I whispered to Sparkle one evening about two and a half years after our arrival as we browsed a vegetable stand at the swap meat, "but the way I see it, it's fine because I'm not actually causing problems like most people would. All I did was return a friend's coat and heal my injuries, and now I've gone mostly hands-off. Is that so wrong?"

"Nah, of course not. Technically, it's their fault if they don't catch you."

"Yes, exactly. I'll just keep it up until I'm caught and punished. I wouldn't do it if they just had some semblance of- Wait." I narrowed my eyes as a distinct blue shape darted across the road. He clutched a limp brown bat to his chest that I mistook for a stuffed toy until I caught a whiff of its decaying body. From the way he was making no effort to hide it, I had doubts that it was stolen, even if he was an anti-fairy. I took hold of Sparkle's elbow and nodded in the kid's direction. "Look. An iris."

"Like you were saying about the guys with the eyes that aren't red?" Sparkle tilted his head. "I wonder who he's targeting."

"He's coming this way. You didn't spill any salt, did you?"

"At a vegetable stand?"

"I don't know. Just keep an eye on him."

We stood silently, each holding an ear of corn, as the anti-fairy approached a drug stand two vendors over. "Keep flying, blue," I heard. "Medicine holds no power over your kind and I don't want any trouble."

The anti-fairy swallowed, but continued to walk right up to the goblin beneath the tarp and placed one palm against the counter. "This isn't just about me. It's not even really about Anti-Fairies. I'm not going to do anything bad. I just want to swap my meat for a bottle of thrushityl, like a Fairy customer would. You can only get it in Great Sidhe or some other big cities that are a lot farther away from Anti-Fairy World. I looked it up in an old book, so I know this."

"Poor thing," Sparkle muttered in my ear. "Times I guess have changed since that book was written, and I guess no one told him."

"What exactly do you want with medicine?"

"My baby brother's counterpart is dying because he's sick. I'm going to bring him medicine, because most people in his town are too poor to poof this far, or they don't know where it is, and if they just try to fly it might be too late. My papa gives me an allowance, so I'm not too poor like them. Someone has to help him."

The vendor looked unmoved by this story, but brought a bottle of clear liquid down from the shelf anyway. "Word of warning: This is a swap meat. You're going to have to exchange a little more than that disease-ridden rodent you've got there. Bring some rain deer venison and you've got yourself a deal."

The anti-fairy's face drained from blue to light green. He checked his pockets and yanked out a stylus, a blue rock, and a crumpled black flower. These he placed them on the desk and pushed them forward, followed by several lagelyn bills. "Will this cover it? It's all I can afford to give you. I need the rest of the money to anti-poof home. Please, I can't lose my brother too. Not after I lost my mama and big cousin."

"I'm sorry. This is how I get my food and I have to make a living."

"By letting someone else die? No! No, please-"

"Leave, big-ears. I have customers waiting behind you." The goblin turned his face away.

"Don't move," I told the anti-fairy, and he flinched and stared at me. I took hold of the back of his collar and kept my grip while I placed a chunk of mine and Sparkle's russetfowl on the counter. "This should cover it. It's fresh, plucked, and pre-cleaned. There might have been ham in the deal too, but you took so long spitting on this kid's face that my associate got antsy and ate it. You know how brownies are about ham. Now, may I have that medicine?"

The vendor flicked his eyes between me and Sparkle a few times, then shrugged and handed the bottle to me. "Bring something a little more appetizing than a rotting bat next time, green-eyes. You won't look so cute and helpless when you're all grown up."

"This had nothing to do with 'cute and helpless'," I said as I in turn handed the bottle to the anti-fairy. His emerald eyes looked about to pop. "It's about ignoring your blatant racism. I honestly don't understand why you're so caught up in the fact that he's an anti-fairy when he wants your business, but I won't ask because I'm not talking to you anymore. What's your name, pup?"

"A-A-Anti-Robin," he stammered back.

"That makes sense," said the vendor, not taking his hand from his face. "He's on the path to becoming a manipulative thief, and his counterpart's parents named their son 'Robbin''."

I shot a glare his way. "Anti-Robin, tell your friends not to grace this place with their business. This selfish goblin here doesn't deserve it."

He gaped up his pointed nose at me, hugging the bottle. "You're really nice! Thank you so much." And then he squinted. "Wait a minute… I know you. Yeah. You've gotta be the Fairy-Fergus. The primary counterpart of that really big and really creepy kid who lives in the pink house out in the middle of nowhere and shoots lasers at everyone who tries to bother him because he looks weird."

I had no response for that. Sparkle snickered behind me.

"Possibly," I said. "Maybe you should run along now and get that medicine to your brother's counterpart."

As he skipped away, he called, "I'm a good person too! I'll be nice to Anti-Fergus for you, and my family will too! I promise!"

We watched him run towards the edge of the town, and after he'd passed through one section of the bubble, he lifted his wand and vanished in a sparkle of blue and black.

"I… feel something," I admitted once he'd gone, pressing one hand to my stomach. "I feel weird."

Sparkle slapped me on the back. "That's called 'altruism', Fergus. It's the feeling you get when you do a good deed."

"No," I said uneasily. "I feel like I just saved the life of someone who's going to hurt a lot of innocent people. I really think I did. I can just… tell it in the air somehow. Maybe from hanging around Polly so much- I did get a lot of his blood on me when I bandaged his hand that one time. And I'm not sure what to think about it."

He shrugged. "Well, unless you wanna chase that poor pup up and down Fairy World and wrench that thrushisomething from his hands, I don't think there's anything you can do about it. Now, help me swap a good deal on these mushrooms. We need them for that soup ol' lady Snaketooth wants tonight."

A small crowd had formed outside The Seven Fairies' House by the time we returned. Sparkle and I glanced at one another and he shimmied up a nearby hedge. A sylph was already up there, and after a moment of conversing and arm gestures, he came back down. "Kind of anticlimactic, but I guess Prince saved a damsel called Snowy from choking so hard on something, she fritzed all her lines."

"Prince, Prince… Which one of us is Prince again?"

"Gary Hardcastle. You know, that green-haired drake who cleans the washrooms?"

I nodded. "Right. From the babble around here, it sounded like some idiot force-fed a brownie something that didn't agree with their stomach. Crisis now averted, I presume?"

"I guess." Sparkle scratched behind his ear, frowning with his eyes. "You don't think she was targeted, do you?"

"In this city? Not likely. A third of the population is made up of brownies." Shaking my head, I hefted our basket of swap meat food and circled around to the side door of the kitchen. He followed, but he kept that morose expression.

"But there's really not a lot that brownies can't digest… Our throats and stomachs are real acidic."

"I wouldn't know about that. Pass the stirring stick."

The commotion had died down during supper. We filled the sink and while Sparkle cleaned the dirty dishes, I went out to the back well to fetch more water. A fairy with black hair, a straight jaw, and tender wings that looked like they'd never seen the underside of a storm perched on the edge of the low wall, swinging his legs. "Squares," he chirped, giving me the slightest nod as I pulled up the rope.

"They call me that. You're one of Dame Snaketooth's nymphs, aren't you?"

"Yes, I live upstairs. They've been calling me 'Umbrella' all my life, so don't ask me what my real name is. And I know all the jokes, so I don't want to hear them."

"You will have to remind me what an umbrella is, however."

That made him blink. "Well, I guess it's a strong piece of fabric on a stick, held up by wires, that keeps the rain off your head and wings."

"Ah, yes. Fairies can't fly with their wings wet. Though, I've never seemed to have that problem to quite the same degree. Then again, my wings are strange. I've never actually seen an umbrella; it doesn't rain in the cloudlands. Well, not above the lower levels of the third plane of existence, anyway. Aren't you also Prince's brother?"

"Half-brother," he admitted, taking interest in a bit of gravel on the wall. "My mom used to be married to a brownie and she kept the nymph after he died, and then she had us. Not a lot going on between the ears with him sometimes. You can hear the wind whistle clear from one side to the other."

"That's the truth." I hung my first bucket on the hook. "You know, I've rarely seen you stray this low either in or out of the boarding house."

Umbrella shrugged. "At this time of day, right here by this little well is about the only private place in town where the sun doesn't reflect horribly off my mirror. It's too cold in there to be inside on a day like this."

"In Fairy World it was the opposite," I said as I turned the crank. "Up there the air was always chilly and you went inside houses to get warm, not stepped out of them and kept the houses cool."

"It's the result of the magic bubble around the place that keeps out the snow. The Great Ice Times are wavering, but we can't just not have a shield up, am I right, or am I right? … But it does make the outside air so thick and stuffy. My hair droops when it's sweaty like this." Umbrella scooted closer along the edge of the well. "You used to live in Fairy World? I've never been there. Is it true that cloudstone is soft and fluffy and all the streets are made of it?"

"Yep."

"What's it like? Do you miss it?"

My bucket touched the water, so I began to draw it up again. "Not particularly, but I would like to pay a visit to Faeheim again this summer. The Dragonflies are in the saucerbee championship again this year. Of course, to get there without having to drain my limited funds on magic, I'd have to reach the Rainbow Bridge on the mainland's west coast, and that's not exactly nearby. Doesn't look like I'll make it."

"Why don't you just fly straight up and above the clouds?" Umbrella asked in utter seriousness. The curious face he made was so cute- poor Earthside drake didn't know a lick about the real world. I smiled wryly.

"Because right now, I'm on Earth. Earth and its singular moon fall on the second plane of existence in our universe. Its Sun is first. The lowlands are on the third, Giant Bucket of Acid World and the Barrenglades are on the fourth, and the capital city of Faeheim is on the fifth. Then you come to the summerlands with their deserts and sand, followed by the Wanderplains inhabited by those who want to get lost, then the foothills, the mountains and the cave system, so on and on, all the way up to the twenty-fourth and final plane of existence, with Kolob and Kiiloëi. You can fall to Earth from Fairy World easily enough, but if you want to get from here to there again, you need to climb a Bridge or poof with your wand. The further you poof, the more it eats at your pocket. Rates explode so hard once you start crossing planes, I don't think even the most well-sponsored skyships in the universe can get to Kiiloëi if they're any further away than the base of the Bridge between it and the twenty-third level, and of course then that nulls the point."

"So what you're saying is that you can't just fly up."

"You cannot." Taking my bucket from the hook of the wall, I bid him farewell and returned to the kitchen.

"Another cù sith, Sparkle?" I groaned as soon as I saw him. Dirty dishes still filled the sink, but he had taken a break to crouch on the floor and scratch behind the shaggy red ears of a tiny mutt with starry-yellow fur. This one I'd have a more difficult time throwing out; the puppy belonged to Snaketooth. She kept it around for obvious reasons, what with the whole soul-swapping-if-you-break-your-contract business, but that didn't mean I had to like it.

The cù sith munched a few more table scraps, then swallowed and flapped his wings once. "Hey, Squares. I know we don't talk much, but I've always thought you looked fine. People call me Barky because I'm annoying and loud and would never hurt anyone, but my real name's Leonard."

"Technically he lives upstairs," Sparkle informed me, "but some meanie throws stuff at him all the time, so I said he could room down here with us and we could be friends."

I lay the hand that wasn't holding the bucket against my waist and sighed. "You can't just walk around promising my friendship to people without my permission."

"Hey." Sparkle rose to his feet and took the wooden pail from me. "To say I'm sorry, you go get some me-time and I'll finish up the dishes."

Fine. I took a look in our sleeping quarters, but Scaly, Bouncy, Prince, Snappy, and Scruffy were all sitting around partially undressed and chatting about damsels, so I changed into my pajamas quickly and returned to the dirty lounge. The day had been a long and hot one spent browsing the market for food and then cooking it over a roaring fire. I plopped myself across the couch, an arm dangling from the edge and a bare foot hanging over the side, content not to move a muscle for the remainder of the night.

Almost at once, something soft touched my legs. By the time I'd gotten my eyes open and registered what it was, it was too late. Leonard was in the process of turning circles on my stomach, staking out his territory.

"Sacred smoof. Sparkle," I whispered, creeping backwards in my seat, "Sparkle, it's on my lap."

"It means I like you, meathead," snorted the puppy.

"Just pet him, Fergus," Sparkle called from the other room. "You'll like it. Frankly, you could use a little unwinding of the tendons, y'know?"

I stared at Leonard, who stared back at me, the star-shaped fluff on his tail waving. The pale brown elytra on his wings clicked when he fluttered them. Determined not to show any emotion, I lowered my hands into his bright fur and bunched it up a bit. "Huh."

"You know you like it, tubby."

"I'm really not sure I do. It feels like I'm stroking a sponge that's been crossbred with steel wool."

"Good." Leonard rolled over onto his back. "Rub my belly with those magic fingers, toots. I like this. I like this a lot."

"I'm not going to do that," I said, brushing him to the floor. He smacked his chin, but shook it off as he drew himself up to his two hind paws, neither of which could have been wider across than a coin.

"Because I called you 'tubby'?"

"Because you used to be a Fairy and I would find it odd."

He clicked his hard wing covers together again. "I was a qalupalik, as a matter of fact, which explains the elytra. I can swim with less magic in the water than most can, and dive far deeper too."

"A qalupalik drake? You don't see too many of those about."

"We have to come from somewhere."

I bent down and moved my scratching fingers to his ear. "Point taken."

Sparkle wandered in from the kitchen a few minutes after that, yawning as he flipped through several strips of tree bark. "Oh, yeah. Some kobold guy was handing these out at the public drowning last week, and I forgot to give yours to you. I know it's short notice, but any chance you wanna go to a ball tonight?"

"A ball?"

"Princess Vyanda's bowling ball." He passed me a flyer of a blue-eyed damsel with pink hair the look and apparent wispy texture of cherry fairy floss. She had a pointed, striped hat balanced on her head and a basket of cookies in her arms, and was surrounded by floating white bottles with thick red stripes ringing their necks.

"What?" I asked, still lost. "The western elf ambassador? Er, and princess?"

Sparkle shrugged. "Yeah. She's in the market for a husband. Personally, I'm planning to show just for the free pizza."

"This doesn't sound like a good idea. We do brownie work. Getting in alone will prove difficult enough, and then it's still unlikely she would select one of us out of all her potential suitors. It isn't as though we're particularly desirable."

"Yeah, but you're a gyne. You're pretty. And, all the unpaired drakes in the region are invited to attend, so I'd say we've got more of a shot if we actually bother to show up than if we lie around here all night."

I glared at him. "Sparkle, in case you've forgotten, the last party you invited me to didn't exactly end well for either of us. Or anyone else in attendance."

"A fluke," he begged. "And that was like two years and eight months back. That's almost three years. Give it another try."

"You know there will be other gynes. Other gynes competing for the attention of a damsel. This spells disaster."

"That gleam in your eye says you want to go."

"No, I don't. Noise and ballroom dancing and chaos sounds a little too 'fun' for me. Fun isn't really my lump of sugar." I glanced him over. "You're… planning to go with or without me. And you're going to get drunk. And you want someone responsible to walk you home after it's over. Our brownie roommates aren't going because they know they have no chance with a princess. That's why you want me to go. Isn't it?"

He nodded. "Come on, I've almost finished the dishes dirtied up by all those damsels upstairs. Beats eating here and then having to wash our own plates later."

Folding my legs, I rubbed my chin. "Bowling and pizza. This is a classy party. But I don't have anything to wear."

"Just poof something up."

After withdrawing my wand from my bedside table, I came back into the lounge and turned it over between my fingers. "I don't know… I can only wave this thing one more time this month. I'd like to save it on the chance that there's an emergency."

"Aw, c'mon, man." Sparkle pulled a pink flower from his pocket and tucked it behind my ear. "It's a beautiful night. Our ancient ancestors are warding off The Darkness, the food is free, and tingle-fritzy lines are in the air. All the drakes in the city were invited, but I heard there'll even be a couple of fine-looking damsels out looking for love and lagelyn."

"Chocolate-eyed damsels, I hope."

"The chocolatiest. Hey, but if you catch any cherubs, I got dibs."

I twisted the end of one of my costas. After a final scratch of my wand's tip against my cheek, I nodded. "All right. I'll do it. After all, the food is free, and I might rub shoulders with someone who will offer me a better job than what Snaketooth is paying me for. Networking is good."

"That's the spirit! And speaking of spirits, let's get those wings in the air so I can guzzle a couple bottles. Sharp sharp, wave that wand and do your stuff."

"Make a wish," I muttered to myself. As Sparkle polished up the last of the dishes, I took the nearest candle dish and positioned myself in front of one of the tall lounge windows. Leonard trotted after me. It was dark enough outside that when I set the candle nearby, I could make out my reflection in the glass. For a long time I only stared, pulling up images of sweaters and vests and discarding all of them.

"Hey, you know Snaketooth's jazzed leopard-print sundress that I'm always barking on about because it's the finest piece I've ever seen her in? You should wear that."

"I think I've got it covered, thanks." I held my left hand out to my side and flicked my wand with the right. A glimmer of yellow sparkles raced over my skin, turning my pajamas from pale green speckled with blue dragonflies to a suit not terribly unlike the one I'd worn during my time of working at the secretary desk back at Wish Fixers, albeit in a different size and color. Underneath it I wore a familiar collared white shirt and even added a comforting black tie.

"Now, this is more my style." Placing one hand on my hip, I smoothed out the wrinkles in my suit with the other and studied first my front, then my back in the mirror. It was the first time I'd really examined my wings in ages, aside from the usual evening cleaning when I glanced over them with my brush. I'd recently moulted into my adult pair, and they were so long now that the apexes almost brushed my ankles. Still jaggedly square. My costas were still brown. Pale orange veins threaded across the transparent membranes. My hindwings were stunted at just over half the length of my forewings. But somehow, they looked just right against my suit. Some sort of trick of the eyes and the dim light, perhaps, where the colors meshed so well together that they faded into the background. I buzzed both pairs once, then let them return to dangling.

"What do you think? Am I princely material?"

Sparkle poked in his head and arched his eyebrow. "Dull and gray? Seriously? Magic at your fingertips and that's what you're going with?"

Leonard kicked an itch free from behind one red ear. "Don't listen to him, studmuffin. You're a total knock-out. Your wings really bring out the red in your freckles. I'm drooling all over them."

"You make such a strange puppy." I tapped my chin, frowning at the window as I studied my flat head, which was capped with only my broken floating crown. "It seems like something's still missing, though."

Sparkle bounded over to check me out in the closer candlelight and rubbed my black hair with the heel of his hand. "Missing? Yeah, it's probably your sense of time, dude. Come on, let's crash a bowling alley. It's a quarter to 23:00. We're gonna be late. You on the wing with us, Leo?"

"Sheathe your wand," I said, lifting one hand. I pointed at the mutt. "He's not coming. We can't just walk into a party with a cù sith. That could create mass chaos."

"Maybe we can't take him to a rave, but this is a classy party, Fergus. All kinds of brave and pompous gentlemen keep company with cù siths."

"Or the stupidest."

"Okay, well, we're pompous."

"Yeah, don't be such an urvogel, Squares," said Leonard, his voice muffled by pillows fallen from the couch. "I want to show you guys off. Make sure you strut your stuff. Shake your lady lumps."

I massaged the area around my eye with my palm. "Fine, you can come. We can smuggle you past the guards under Sparkle's poofy shirt. Once you're inside, I don't think anyone will really question you if you don't call too much attention to yourself. There aren't exactly written rules against keeping coin sith in our society, but if someone asks you to leave, then I'm going to deny that I know you and I expect you to escort yourself out of there. Please don't embarrass me."

Leonard squirmed out from beneath the cushions and ran up to us with a knitted purple cap in his mouth. This, he dropped at Sparkle's feet and wagged his tail. "You bet. You know how many butts there will be that I can sniff? I wanna smell some leather, silk, corduroy, linen, and let's not forget the all-so-pertinent wool damp with warm, sweet sweat and soft with the dreams of silver lambs blossoming into full maturity."

I picked up the dog while Sparkle picked up the knitted hat and squeezed it over Leonard's bushy ears. "Were you this weird as a qalupalik, or is this just what being a cù sith does to your head?"

"Yes."

We did manage to get Leonard past security (mostly by way of me introducing both myself and Sparkle to the two guards out front; I was a fairy gyne and he was a brownie whom I suppose they assumed to be my retinue, and they hardly cast him a glance as he trailed behind with his head bowed). I very quickly found myself grateful that Sparkle's green and purple shirt was the one full of hot furry body. As soon as I'd taken a single step onto slick wood, my feet spun out from under me. I hit the ground on my stomach and slid.

"What the smoof?" I sputtered as my spin at last came to a stop. It took a few head shakes to bring my vision back into focus, and then I propped myself up on my forearms. "This floor is waxed!"

"Satyr hooves aren't helping, nymphy?"

"Oh, swallow it. Do you see the princess yet?"

Sparkle craned his neck. "Judging from the way the crowd is facing, she's over there kinda in the middle back. Yellow dress, red shoes. Puffy pink hair with lots of curls, and the pointed hat of the western elves, of course. Yeah. You wanna jump in line, Fergus? I'm gonna hit the washroom and let Leonard slip out of my shirt and into the mix here."

"You do that. I want to take a look at the refreshment tables in the other hall before everything gets gobbled up. Maybe swipe a few bags of chips and soda bottles for taking home. It's free, after all. I have a deep fondness for dry crackers and seeing as Vyanda is royalty, I'm assuming they'll be appetizing. On top of that, I haven't had yale cheese for centuries and I'd like a bite or two."

"I love cheese," Sparkle said absently. "If only there were some way to make it taste good as liquid goop. But don't stuff your pockets too much before you dance with the princess. You are gonna dance with the princess at some point. Right, Fergus?"

"I'm still debating. I don't want to look foolish." As the crowd shifted, I tapped my chin, sliding my eyes between the princess's face and the red and yellow throne standing behind her. Then I nodded. "I'll do it. After all, it's requested of all the unpaired drakes in the land, isn't it?"

Sparkle made a wavering motion with his hand held out in front of him. "Depends on if they're in the first half of the social ladder or not."

"And don't touch the butt," Leonard added as Sparkle started off. "That's my butt."

I lingered on the fringes of the dance floor after they'd gone, my hands stuffed deep in my pockets. This wasn't my kind of dance. This wasn't my kind of lifestyle. Ballroom dances and all that holding her body against your body nonsense belonged to the culture of the Unseelie Court, and I was still baffled that Vyanda had dared to adopt it even for a single night. But she was her race's ambassador for the Council, so I suppose no one really questioned it. We fairies certainly wouldn't have if King Northiae had arranged a ball before he took Queen Cardinal to wife.

It was an interesting question: Risk making a smoof of myself in front of all my peers throughout the biggest Earthside city there has ever been for any of the Fairykind, or skip out on the opportunity to snag the high-power position of my dreams? Ambrosine would have called it an "approach-avoidance conflict". When I was hardly thirty, I'd invented a phrase easier for my young tongue to grasp that I've been known to use to this day: Cotton candy oatmeal.

Well… Had to go the ladder-climbing route. Besides that, Vyanda was awfully pretty for a wingless and bucktoothed damsel. I suppose there's some Longwood and Hamilton in me after all. Perhaps it was the glitter in those soul-searing blue eyes.

Feet with arches like triangles on waxed floors are not a good combination. I don't want to talk about it.

Sparkle didn't fare that much better, once he and Leonard had snuck off in opposite directions. Vyanda called him 'endearing', but trailed off when she got a good and close look at his dirty teeth. Her face said that she did not, under any circumstances, ever want to dance with him. Still, brownie/wisp cross or not, she allowed him to drag her in a few circles regardless. They stopped once he spun her sharply and they both crashed into one of the grounded refreshment tables. "Well, now your hair smells like strawberries," he chuckled, reaching for one of them caught in her curls.

She took his hand by the wrist and lowered it. "Aha. Thanks."

When she stood and began to walk away, a fat glob of cake clung to her rear, waddling like a tail as red soda seeped through her dress. Sparkle glanced helplessly into the crowd for an opinion, then made a grab for it. Needless to say, he soon ended up with me near the wall, nursing a bright hand-shaped mark on his cheek.

"What is that awful screeching sound?" I grumbled, turning my attention away from the crackers.

"It sounds like the claws of a furious urvogel tearing across the face of a bigger urvogel for trying to wipe messy frosting and soda off her back before it bleeds through her dress and shows more than she meant to."

"Out of the way, people," shouted a voice that rang to me as vaguely familiar. "The parking meter for my wheelbarrow's running and my step-mother's a cheapskate!" An eastern elf with green hair and a prim red and black cloak wriggled and crawled through the crowd, shuffling his wings a bunch like he wasn't used to covering them with any sort of cloth. "Hey, Sparky! Squares! I didn't think you guys would be here."

"Do we know that drake?" I asked Sparkle in a low voice.

"No. Maybe. I don't talk to a lot a' elves."

The drake tugged the end of his cloak from under someone's shoe and bounded up to us. "Guys, it's me! C…" He hesitated over that sound for half a wingbeat before finishing, "Cosmo."

I scratched my chin. "I know a lot of Cosmos. There were four in Novakiin alone."

"Well, it is a pretty common name. I'm Cosmo, um… um, brella. Yeah, that's it: Cosmo Rella. I don't live in The Seven Fairies House, obviously, so it makes sense that you've never met me. I just came here to ask Vyanda if she'd sign my ambassadors poster."

When I turned my raised eyebrows towards Leonard, he had shuffled backwards and was currently sizing Cosmo up with the strangest look on his long canine face. To the elf, I said, "Regardless, in case you were interested, I'm Fergus Whimsifinado and this is Sparkle Doubletake. That tiny ball of yellow who was just sniffing at your rear is weird Leonard."

Cosmo turned on one heel and paled at the sight of the cù sith. Leonard shook his head. His tail began to wag. "We're cool. You enjoy yourself tonight, G. My treat."

"Thank you," the elf muttered back, and wasted no time leaving us behind. He skated along the waxed floor like he'd done it all his life. I soon deduced the source of the horrid noise- glass bowling shoes scraping up the woodwork as he slid.

"Some people's aesthetic," I grunted. Then I nudged Leonard in the ribs with my foot. "Who was that? Really?"

He lifted his foot and scratched ferociously at the bits of shaggy red ear that stuck out from beneath his purple knit hat. "Funny story, really. Do either of you know a cutie named Gary Hardcastle?"

Sparkle's lower jaw dropped, spilling a mushy bite of pizza to the ground, which Leonard promptly licked up. "You're twirling my lines."

"So that's our Prince?" I rocked on my heels, narrow-eyed and thoughtful. "Interesting. But what possessed him to shift his species, I wonder, instead of simply showing up here as his usual brownie self? Even buying a ten-minute change is going to cost him at least a year's salary, and that's if he was being frugal up until now."

"Won't you dance?" Vyanda asked Gary, or something similar to it. He'd gotten her signature on his poster and rolled it up, gazing at her with the same look on his face that Ambrosine got after a lunch break spent babbling on about Solara.

"Okay, but you're coming off as desperate," he replied, glancing self-consciously at his elf hat. It was, indeed, still an elf hat.

"Can you blame me? You're dashing."

"I can answer that one about why he thinks it's worth it to be an elf," Sparkle said, watching me watch Gary. "The princess would never marry a brownie."

The more I thought about that, the antsier I became. Gary and Vyanda circled the floor breezily, his glass bowling shoes snarling and her slippers fluttering. "He knows his saliva will kill her within twenty minutes, doesn't he?"

Sparkle shook his head. "Licking will disable a door, but to make her drop her lines, he'd have to bite her."

"But… he won't, right? He's not stupid enough to- Oh my dust, he isn't."

As their spinning slowed, Gary kept one hand behind the small of Vyanda's back where her wings would be, and held her fingers gently with the other as he dipped her low enough that her pink curls brushed the slick wooden floor. He leaned down to kiss her, and she let him.

Bong! went the bells from the Tuatha Dé Danann's shrine in the center of town. As they eased their lips apart, something odd began to happen. His hat's point dulled and drooped, changing from teal into soft purple fabric.

Bong!

His black and red cloak withered into brown, marred with patches and crooked stitching. His left sleeve was tattered and his right went missing up to his shoulder. His belt consisted entirely of a rope knotted about his waist. Gary realized what was happening and jerked back, his hands moving up to cover his face too late.

Bong!

His sharp nose elongated between his fingers, rounding at the end. Buck teeth stayed gaping over his lower lip when he drew them away and whipped around.

Bong!

Leonard fluttered his wings. "Serious smoof'll be going down at Seven Fairies tonight."

Bong!

"The princess kissed a brownie!" shouted someone from the far end of the hall.

Bong!

"It's an assassination attempt!"

Bong!

"Wait!" hollered Vyanda, picking herself up from the ground. "Wait!"

Bong!

"Treason to the crown!"

Bong!

"Catch him!" "Drown him!" "Slice him!"

Bong!

"Squeeze his core! "Drink his lines!"

Bong!

Gary turned another circle, eyes scraping the crowd for any chance at help. As the final chime rang out, he took off for the entrance of the bowling alley, his throat thrumming with sobs. One or two members of the crowd moved to intercept him, though most moved back in fear of his deadly inrita poison. He shoved the ones who did come with his shoulder, slammed both hands into the double doors to thrust them open, and scampered away down the front steps.

"Um," I said as eyes began to turn our way and voices started wondering if we worked with and recognized the green-haired figure, "we should go."

Everyone knows the story from there. Gary either yanked off or slipped out of his glass shoes. Princess Vyanda's guards found one. Great Sidhe went into lockdown. For six days, they scoured the city for any trace of him, demanding that all of us (sans Sparkle) scrub every grain of magic dust from our skin and shove the small shoe over our foot. According to the guard who watched me make the attempt, I was the first Fairy he'd ever seen with arches so sharp they were practically triangles. Umbrella and his other brother pleaded in vain that the shoe belonged to either of them, but it didn't stop the guards from dragging Gary from Snaketooth's washroom cabinets.

I'd been playing snapjik with the others when Sparkle broke the news to us. He shut the door behind him, slowly. He didn't turn around. "Did you hear they found their 'Cosmorella' who fits the glass bowling shoe?"

"Did they?" I asked absently. "So they found out his name's Gary Hardcastle, then?"

"Yep, and they killed him with an unmagicked knife through the windpipe the instant he took his first step with the shoe on his foot."

Bouncy's only surviving game piece - his phoenix - slipped from his fingers. "The princess had him killed? I'd have expected them to marry."

Leonard gave a dry chuckle from his place in Snappy's lap. "Well, he did try to assassinate her."

I pushed my thumbs against my eyelids. Then I nodded. "I guess he did."

"I don't know," Sparkle said. A note of agitation crept into his voice. "People are sayin' stuff, guys. The other brownies out there are saying he was in love with her. Snaketooth turned 'im into an elf 'til midnight. He was an elf when he kissed her. There wasn't a drop of inrita poison in his body then. And they say Vyanda loved him too, probably. They killed him only because he was born a brownie. That wasn't his fault."

I shrugged. "People are people."

Sparkle wrapped his arms around his neck and slid down to the floor. "I'm so scared, Fergus. I'm scared that I'll be next. What if they come after me because I tried to clean the princess up when all that frosting was on her back? What if they look past my will o' the wisp crown and the fact that my kisses barely sting the skin, and they kill me for my brownie blood? I don't want to be remembered like that. I don't want to go down in history labeled as a weirdo. I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die." He stared across the room at Snappy scratching Leonard's ears. "It must be nice to be a dog."

"If you died a cù sith, you'd have a dustless death," Scruffy pointed out.

Sparkle stared at Leonard for a long time. "So?"

"So?" I repeated. Then again, "So? So, the magic in your soul, borrowed from your ancestors, would get sent to The Darkness after you died. You'd dishonor your family line and vastly deplete the magic pools of your posterity." I grabbed his collar and pulled him to his feet. "Dangit, Sparky. Is that what you want?"

"I'm dead either way, aren't I? My ancestors weren't very good people anyhow, and I don't think I'm the kind of person my children will look up to no matter where I take our magic."

Leonard was on his tiny yellow paws now, ears cocked. "Do the Sin and my body's yours any time you like. It'll take a lot of shampoo and conditioner, but I think I could work an ordinary miracle with that face. Make myself a looker, catch a couple damsels, build up a small fortune and spend it on a pair of nice bowling shoes of my own that I can chew up."

"Nah." Sparkle pushed me aside as I moved one hand down to my waist. Shaking his head, he left the lounge for our bedroom. "I like being able to buy my own sugar way too much. I don't know. I guess I just want someone to love me like we're family, strengths and flaws alike. Maybe that's too much to ask of people when I'm this annoying."

Fortunately, playing snapjik allowed us a natural silence in his absence, and so helped to distill the awkwardness. My unicorn piece finally fell to Scaly's angel. We were tallying up the score for the third round when we heard the crash beyond the kitchen door. Bouncy crossed to the window and drew back the curtain. "Uh-oh."

"What?"

The duende scratched his crownless head and squinted. "Well, I'm no oracle, but it looks to me like our friends the brownies are rioting."

"Rioting?" I joined him at the window in time to see someone fell the town bulletin board, bark scraps scattering. "That is an 'uh-oh'."

"What, all of them?" Scruffy asked.

"You better believe it," said a fourth voice. Bouncy and I jumped and whirled.

"Oh, that's not fair," I said when I saw the empty glass bottle in his hand. I'd spent enough Academy nights with Sparkle to recognize how far gone he was from the unfocused skitter of his pupils. "You told me two days ago you were dry. And we had a deal: No drinking on a work night."

Ignoring me, he polished off the rest as he shuffled to the back kitchen door. I shouted a few more times, then took to chasing after him. I grabbed his wrist when he was halfway outside. "Sparky, get back here, you dirty traitor. You're drunk as a huldu."

He shot a crooked grin over his shoulder and shoved me from the step so I stumbled and plopped into the warm water barrel. "Aw, gee, Fergus. You know I can't resist me a good revolution. Can't you hear my people cry?"

"Sparkle! Spar-"

I lost my nerve at the sight of the brownies swarming towards him. They took in Sparkle's nose and accepted him among their ranks with back-slaps and guffaws, but turned their jeers my way. Metal flashed in the light of the occasional candle. Unmagicked metal, most likely. My hand went to the sheath where my wand lay tucked, drained and useless for the remainder of the month. I backed inside and softly clicked the door shut.

"His ancestors should've called themselves the Doublecrossers 'stead of the Doubletakes," Leonard muttered, beating his tail against the tiles.

"There goes Princess Vyanda's statue." Snappy leaned his face and both hands against the window pane. "It looks like they're replacing it with someone who must be one of their revolution leaders. Hey, there's our Sparky, whipping his wand with the best of them."

I stared out through the dirty glass, massaging my knuckles. "No. No, there's no way anyone who drinks as much as he does should have gotten sugarloaded after just one bottle of soda. He has a partial immunity to the stuff. Somewhere in there, I know he's thinking rationally. But he doesn't care anymore. He's gone over the edge."

Scruffy stood up so fast, he nearly toppled to the floor again. "Did it suddenly just get really, really cold?"

"Oh my dust," Bouncy said, pointing outside. "But guys, that's… that's…"

"Snow."

We hovered near the window, taking turns checking through it as light snowflakes spiraled through the sky. They passed straight through the space the city's bubble was supposed to keep them out of. Like they didn't even care. Like they didn't even know they should. I flipped my vision into field-sight and realized with a sickening swell in the back of my throat that Bouncy, Leonard, and I had all dropped our lines. When I related this news and the others had seen for themselves, we clustered in a circle and flicked our eyes from face to face. "You don't think…"

"Couldn't be."

"No way."

"But how?"

"A full, closed circle of inrita mud around the entire city," I finished. "Kills the magic inside, just like around a marketplace stall to keep the thieves at bay. Those furious brownies out there must have spent the last two hours spitting in the dirt. They're strangling us."

"That's impossible!"

"Not with almost five hundred of them raging in the streets." I grabbed my scuffed black shoes from under the couch and shoved them on my feet. "You guys can stick around if you want - you're all full-blooded and so you're immune to the effects of inrita - but Bouncy, Leonard, and I have got to get out of here. We'll asphyxiate in about fifteen minutes if we stay."

Scaly held out his hand to block my way into the bedroom I shared with Sparkle, Scruffy, and Snappy. "Why should we let you go? You look down on us like we're scum too, just like all those other Fairies."

I gaped at him. "Are you serious? I've lived with and worked beside you for three years. I tended to you when you were sick. Prince and I helped you countless times with the faulty-"

… Prince.

"Let 'em go, Scales," Snappy snapped, pulling him away by the elbow. "Squares is right. We're too close of friends to let a silly skirmish tear us apart."

"Silly? Silly?" As I flitted about the bedroom searching for anything of value I wanted to take along, I heard Scaly slam Snappy against the hallway wall. "The other Fairies have pushed us into the dirt for way too long! I say, long live the revolution!"

"Prince wouldn't have wanted-"

"This isn't actually about Gary smoofing Hardcastle! It's about all of us! It's our right to be treated the same way the fairies treat each other!"

"Good luck with that," I said, reappearing in the doorway. I shouldered the red and white cloth bag I'd grabbed from between mine and Sparkle's beds. "Bouncy, are you ready for life on the run?"

He ran his hand down the wood of the doorframe one slow, final time. "Yeah. Let's go."

Snappy wanted to give us each some parting hugs, so we let him. When Bouncy held the door open for me, Leonard jumped in my arms and demanded to be carried. As he was tiny, I allowed it. We left. Up until now, the nights in Great Sidhe had always been warm. Tonight, as the snow fell, the sky shimmered with frost. I could see swirls of magic leaking from my right hand and into the chilly air.

"Fairy!" hollered a brownie before we'd made it more than a few dozen feet down the road.

"I saw the broken-crown at the princess's bowling ball," added another one with a candle. Bouncy and I pulled up fast as three more appeared around the edge of a building.

"How about this way?" he suggested, jerking his head to the right.

"Are you seriously even asking?"

"Ooh," Leonard said as we tore along the street, "now, that alux has a nice body. I want to steal her soul."

"Can't you use your cù sith powers to help us somehow?"

Leonard's eyes skimmed over darkened windows and lumpy stacks of straw. "Not unless I actually witness someone here commit one of the Three Great Sins. Ah, a nix! Personal favorite of mine. Don't you think I'd look smashing with one of their mustaches?"

"How is destroying a city not considered to be against Da Rules?" I demanded, ducking a crumpling support beam armed with splinters.

He yawned. "Because the Fairy Council never said so directly, cutie."

We passed dozens upon dozens of fleeing Fairies who had come to the same conclusion about dropped lines that we had. Sometimes I heard them shriek. Pleas for mercy seemed to fall more and more often on deaf ears. More than once, I caught sight of a wounded drake or damsel huddled in a doorway, groping for help as they bled. There wasn't anything I could do about it. No time.

Bouncy hurtled a trashed stand of pumpkins and glanced our way. "Is it true that you'll be stuck in that body forever if you get fixed?"

"Hold your fire," I interrupted before the mutt could answer. We slid to a halt at the base of a stack of wagons, stocks, posts, fence planks, and building materials that barricaded our path. Feet pounded against dirt and grass behind us. "Bouncy, boost me up and I'll try to knock it down for you from up there where it's looser."

"Right." The duende knelt down. I jumped on his shoulders. Even with my weight, he kicked off and propelled me high. Leonard yelped as I tossed him into the seat of an unsteady rocking chair that slid backwards, and then I grabbed a wheelbarrow near the top of the heap. The pile shifted beneath my hands. After kicking and heaving for several wingbeats longer than I'd wanted to, I was finally in a position to start tearing the blockade down.

"I think I've got a good grip on it from here," Bouncy called below me. As it happened, I'd timed my turning around precisely with the moment the duende disintegrated into blank nothingness, his dark eyes still staring hopefully up towards me. Sparkle and three other brownies materialized behind him with tongues lolling and their own eyes bright with the thrill of the chase. The former clutched a blade tipped with a shimmering black liquid. The inrita poison must have been rammed directly through Bouncy's core and ruptured his system completely.

I clung to the wall of wooden scraps, mouth partly open as Sparkle cheered, "Mow down the hot-shot fairies! Long live the revolution!" It was my first time ever witnessing a dustless death, and a small part of me hadn't really believed they were true. Evidently they were. Bouncy had been instantly starved of magic, to the point where there wasn't even the slightest bit left to form dust.

"May the Tuatha Dé Danann watch over you," I murmured with my thumb to my chest, though I knew it was pointless. Souls who died dustlessly were supposedly swallowed up by The Darkness. Nothing to be done about that.

"Killing without giving the enemy the opportunity to defend themselves," Leonard observed. He scrambled to find his footing on the rickety chair, and it made the entire barricade sway. "That's one of the Three Sins, so there's my cue. This time I'm taking it." He lifted his head and gave a great bark. Then a second.

Sparkle laughed and spread his arms. "Catch me if you can, Len!" Then he bolted back along the street the way he'd come, whooping and tailed by his brownie friends.

"Not much of a catch," grunted Leonard after he'd completed the third bark. "Or for that matter, a chase. I just put a tracking lock on him. He has no chance. This is where I take my leave of you. See you someday, Squares. Maybe."

"Yeah, see you maybe," I murmured as he rode the rocking chair downwards and hit the ground running. Then I dropped too, over the other side. I ran, bag bumping against my hip, scouring the ground for any sign of that deadly inrita mud in the dark.

My prediction proved correct. Within another seven minutes of ducking and backtracking and weaving, I figured I had reached the place where the magic bubble around the city was supposed to stand, because flat, even dirt turned sharply into drifts of thick white snow that came up to my neck. I lost my footing as I glanced over my shoulder and tumbled face-first into one. "Ah," I gasped, quietly and with my voice even. I shrank into myself as I just studied the twirling snowflakes. They looked as though they would be stopping fairly soon, and I didn't have much of a choice anyway. Since I couldn't go back, I had to go on.

Barely an inch from my fingertips was a trail of thin black liquid, staining the snow in a shadowy haze. There seemed to be an entire circle of it enclosing all of Great Sidhe. When I had gotten to my feet and jumped over it, I felt the magic rush back through my veins at once. It would be a few minutes before I had enough of it to fly, even now that I was beyond the bubble, but at least I was no longer about to asphyxiate. Close to it still, but the possibility grew fainter with every passing wingbeat.

I studied the circle, then crossed back into the boundaries of the town, took up a rock, and made an attempt to sever the unbroken loop with a few scratching marks. Not sure if it had worked but definitely not wanting to stick about, I tossed a few handfuls of snow over the black substance before I turned and darted on. In another few moments, I was in the air. It felt delicious.

Within my first minute of leaving the city behind, I ran across a fairy and her son who were clearly on their way there. I grabbed her shoulders and brought her forehead to mine. "Fly. Turn around and fly away as fast as you can. There's a revolution going on and that's brownie country now."

"You're ridiculous," she scoffed, unhinging my fingers. "It's totally silent in there."

"That's because most of the population is in the process of asphyxiating. Only pure brownies are immune to the effects of inrita."

She went anyway.

The fall of Great Sidhe became a blot in the history books. And the thing about blots is that they tend to smudge very easily. Travelers would bring me stories over the coming years.

To my surprise, it turns out that we had it all wrong, with our little Prince's death. Princess Vyanda married a young brownie drake who called himself Cosmorella, and he changed his name to Gary Hardcastle in an attempt to disguise his identity from those of his past who would scorn their union.

Great Sidhe was felled by dirty Anti-Fairies, and few but the princess and new prince escaped. They disappeared into the southward wildlands and were never heard from again. As far as I know, they lived happily ever after.

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 1: SPOILED

The Wanderings of the First and Alone

Winter of the New Yellow Blooms - Autumn of the Flightless Bird

"Three unpaid bills from three different eating establishments. A stack of bark strips about mechanics and Yugopotamian technology. Lockpicks. Two glass bottles of cherry soda. What's this? Yellow magic protection to prevent accidental nymphs? I did not need to know that. A pregnancy testing stick?" I threw the red and white cloth sack aside in disgust and flopped on my back in the snow. "This isn't my stuff. Sparkle!"

My howl swirled away over open prairie and deep midnight air. I rubbed my eyes without sitting up and allowed my fists to drop beside me again. Well, so far this was going swimmingly. Last I checked, I had no food, no shelter, and with it having been only two hours after fleeing Great Sidhe, I was still functioning on no sleep. I drew my wand from the sheath at my right hip and held it above my face, glumly rotating it with just one finger on either end. It wasn't certified to work outside any of the Earthside bubbles. An all-around license cost a few thousand more lagelyn per month than I'd been willing to pay. Someday.

Now what?

That always was the question, wasn't it? Where to run, how to hide, what to do, who to trust. I let my wand slip from my fingers and bounce off my face. Then I massaged my cheeks with numb, frozen hands.

Earth's swirling, looping, crashing winds sprayed my skin. Icy droplets. Flashes of night. After a minute, I pushed myself up to a sitting position, only to give up and let my head plop down again.

"I'm so tired…"

The last seven days had been a waking nightmare. That business with Anti-Robin. Vyanda's bowling ball. Gary's murder. Bouncy's murder. Sparkle being a murderer. I wanted to be done with all of it. I wanted to rewind time. I wanted to skip forward in time. I wanted to stop being here in time. If only I had a firstborn child to sacrifice in the glass shrine back in Patio World. That would certainly get Mother Nature and Father Time's attention. Of course, I'd have to swallow absolutely all of my pride and perform that infamous groveling ritual…

I rolled over, dragging the cloth bag beneath my head by one of its loops. Actually, when stuffed with all the bark strips, pill bottles, and a bit of snow, it made a decent pillow.

"So tired," I mumbled again. I made the attempt to tuck in my wings, but they were too stiff with frost to fold.

"Mm. Blankets. I need… blankets." Closing my eyes, I pulled clumps of snow over my legs and nestled down.

"I'm so cold. Just let me sleep. I know I can't stay here in the middle of the plains, or wherever this is, but it will only be for a few… short… minutes…"

That's how I slipped away. Away from the world and into whiteness, just the way I'd wanted. I was asleep, and yet… I remained aware. A hint, anyway. At one point I witnessed a pair of large furry animals climb over me, but I couldn't feel much of their touch on my skin, and my vision was so filmy and blurred that I could hardly make out the rings on their tails, and sometimes doubted they had come at all.

There was no telling time. Not when I'd been swallowed by time. Whether I was frozen for hours or weeks remains a mystery even now, but at last, a small, lone shape approached me from that distant stubble of woods I'd grown used to gazing at without comprehension. In my state I couldn't understand what it was, only that as it neared, I could sense its warmth. The shape knelt beside me and lifted my head, so my stomach clenched and my vision rattled. Warm? Yes, warm. I wanted to be that warm, too.

My lips tingled. The taste of copper and faux animal fur flooded my mouth, then that area behind my eyes that always chilled when I ate ice cream too quickly, and then the insides of my head. My core sparked. My eyelids twitched. I opened them, let them flutter shut, and experienced this several times before I absorbed the sight of an older, brown, chirpy-looking drake with an even browner soft coat and rosy eyes, his palms pressed tight against my cheeks.

"Good morning, princeling. My name, since that's undoubtedly the first thing you'll be wondering about after your long nap, is Mortikor."

"I don't w-want anything you're selling," I slurred. "Oh… I can't feel any part of my head. Except, I expected throbbing. That must have been some party last night. Ugh. Don't even talk to me until I've had my coffee. Get me my coffee? Mm… Six-inch tall mug with a fourth of a cup of soy milk, a leveled tablespoon of coarsely-ground falak beans imported from the Lower East Region, swirled with a spoonful of caramel. Heavy on the cinnamon, none of that straight sugar, and I don't like bubbles, so skimp on the foam. I'm a mess if I don't get it. And stir with a threedspiral twig, not with metal, and be sure you replace the lid on the bean canister so they don't go stale."

Speaking of which, I want every one of you to memorize this recipe, because this is how I always like my coffee, and screwing up on its delivery is grounds for getting you fired. That's not one of my jokes- I will outright disown all of you. Never forget why we don't talk about Glenn.

"You were in diapause," he informed me in a slightly rasping voice, sitting back on his heels. My neck snapped downwards as soon as he released my face, so I took a mouthful of snow. "It happens when we older, insect-based Fairies have regularly eaten decent, nourishing meals before heading out into very cold temperatures, and their own body temperature drops too low too quickly. Gynes are particularly susceptible to it, and then of course pregnant ones on top of that."

"Diapause." The word left my stiff wings shivering. When Mortikor next offered his hands, I accepted them and allowed him to pull me into a half-sitting position. "Thank you for waking me. I didn't mean to slip into it."

"Yep. Handy trick if you work it right, but you can't just lie about out here in the open or a predator will stumble across you. Whoa, watch your step; you're a little top-heavy. Here, I've got you. I've got you, friend. Lean on me. That's it. It's okay… You know, you're very lucky. My partner here was out to eat you, but I thought I'd step in and get you moving first."

"What partner?" I asked, my mind reeling too much to focus on any thoughts other than the ones he placed directly in front of me.

"That swell-looking angel on your left."

I turned my head. As I squinted, the angel began to come into focus. Hunched and hairy, curious and quiet, patient and unmoving. I stumbled backwards, cursing, and tipped into the snow again.

"He's my godkid," Mortikor said in surprise when I asked.

"Godkid? It's not even sentient."

"Well." The fairy tucked his arms behind his back and glanced over his shoulder. "He's trying his best. He is sentient. We don't speak the same language, so I guess you could say that I'm not technically granting his wishes, but he's aware that I'm helping him survive by chasing away the aggressive wildlife and ensuring he finds things to eat. Sometimes we travel long distances, or we just play."

I scratched crust from around my eyes. "Well, I hope you don't mind, but I want nothing to do with it. I'll be heading out on my own."

"To Fairy World? I can take you there, if you don't have a working wand."

"No, thank you. I left my old life behind because I've always wanted to explore Earth and live the 'natural' life. My mistake of slipping into diapause won't happen again. Would you point me towards the nearest source of food and running water?"

Mortikor took a small white package from the satchel at his side and held it out towards me. "If you're sure. Here, you can have some of mine. That's kitnut butter. Not allergic, are you? I had a late lunch and was planning to poof to Faeheim to restock anyway. But since you asked, I might suggest heading further south. It's warmer there and you should find some herds. If you're serious about living the 'natural' life, you'll have to kill them- remember that they leave bodies, not dust like we do, so you can eat them. And there might still be a few fruit trees around, if other Fairies and animals haven't picked them clean up. You should find a town called Moundfirm around there."

I rubbed up and down my shoulders before I accepted his sandwich. "Thank you. How far as it?"

"Mm. Depends. The herds move, but I would say maybe… a day and a half, as the dragonfly skims? Then perhaps as much as half a day's flight beyond that. It's not terrible, and you should find other small animals on the way that you can catch."

"All right. I'm going that way now." Still eyeing the angel, I moved cautiously backwards.

"This might help." Mortikor unclipped a small white canister from his belt and passed it to me. "Salt. The cells in your body will react to even a very small amount of this stuff if you swallow it, and it should lower your diapause point and help you stay awake out here in the cold. And it keeps away the Anti-Fairies if you throw a pinch over your shoulder every now and again."

"Oh. Thanks. That's very kind."

"I have plenty to spare. I kind of think of it as my job, helping people. And also, you might be interested in this." He removed his brown rain deer-skin coat and wrapped it around my neck, pulling it tight at the front. The sleeves, which had gaped over his spindly arms, enveloped mine snugly. My awkward wings were able to wriggle through the slits in the back. It even had a hood. The thick fuzz around my face conjured up memories of a qalupalik's amauti.

"It's very nice," I fumbled, twisting the toe of one shoe into the snow, "but I'm afraid I can't afford it. I recently left Great Sidhe with very little. I have a stray coin, but that's all I could offer you in the way of payment."

"Oh, that's not a problem. It's just a gift."

I grasped the folds of the coat near my throat, blinking once. "A gift? To me? Well. Um. I don't know what to say. How very thoughtful. You're an interesting fairy, Mortikor. I'll see if I can't return it to you someday."

Mortikor put his hands on my shoulders. "I don't want it back. I don't need it. Like I said, I'm going home to Fairy World tonight, and I have three others waiting for me there. I've worn and studied this thing so many times that I could easily conjure up a non-organic one with a bit of magic too. Just give it to someone else who will benefit from it more than you when the opportunity arises and you're in a position to take care of yourself. That's what I want. A wanderer's cloak is to be given. Never sold."

Then he stepped back and spread his long wings. They crackled with frost around the costas. "My advice? Travel carefully. Seek shelter by the time the sky turns red. Give will o' the wisp territory a wide berth. Keep an eye out for angels. Make friends. Above all, I might suggest you find a city and stay in it until the Great Ice Times are over. They won't last forever."

He left clinging to the shoulder and hair of his human godkid, who faded from my view if I wasn't watching him with my complete focus. As I turned away from them, I licked my lips and then spat on the ground. "My mouth tastes like metal and cotton."

But then I glanced down and remembered the sandwich. I peeled back the wrapping, broke off half of it, and devoured it in a few quick bites.

So I headed south. It was an interesting place for the animal herds to choose to go. The snow bundled thick on the ground and icicles clung from every cliff and mountain pass. The small animals grew scarcer as I went, and even patches of brown grass became infrequent. When I ran across blossoming plants, their flowers seemed too young to have fruit, or I might find the very occasional bit of something rotting among the branches that only the insects could love.

Not that the insects didn't love me. They explored my skin with tender fervor and apparently considered the creases of my neck their honeymoon retreat. I slapped at all I could, but it never appeared to be quick enough.

After two days, when I was beginning to get hungry again, I all of a sudden stopped to hover above the curling cliffside trail I'd been following. "Wait. Did he mean cloudland-south or Earthside south?"

I stared into the sky, realizing then that I'd told him I was living the natural life, and he must have considered me an Earthside-dweller as a result. "Oh, smoof. Well, surely there has to be another town around, even if I can't feel its tug in the energy field yet. Or there had better be. This cursed caffeine withdrawal is devouring me from the core down. I'd stroll into my enemies' basecamp during a war for coffee right now."

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I pulled in my shivering wings and took to walking the last fifteen minutes up the cliffs. Just before I crested the top, my feet flipped out from under me. I crashed on my back. Sputtering, I pushed myself up with my hands and stared at a curious long, pale gray, furry creature with a ringed tail and dark markings around its eyes.

"A crockeroo," I grunted, rubbing my left side with my right hand. Sparkle and I had run across crockeroos before, when we'd made our way to Great Sidhe. They tasted like pancakes, but smelled like moldy cheese. "Should've guessed. Where's your little friend? Don't you always travel in pairs when you're foraging?"

It put its head to one side, then scampered up and sniffed at my face. I seized it by the throat and slammed it down against the rock. "Perfect. You'll make a decent meal."

The crockeroo whined as I started to sit up. With one paw, it tapped at my wrist. Then it cupped its little black mustelid fingers behind its ear.

"'Listen'? To what?"

Its stomach gurgled. As I lifted the creature, it raised its tail and released a light spray of sickly-smelling gas. When my grip slackened, it hit the snow and bounded cheerily off. "Oh, go taunt a tibeaver," I shouted after it, rubbing at my stinging eyes. That only increased the burn.

The real mistake was my decision to continue walking forward while thus incapacitated. Crumbling stones gave way beneath my feet, and the cliffs dumped me a dozen clouds down. I slid, pinwheeled my arms, overbalanced, rolled, and at last, mercifully, bounced to a stop with my face in a puddle of bitter slush. I lifted two fists above my head, but my core wasn't in it.

"Dust. What am I doing with my life?"

When evening was coming on and the cold had stopped biting my flesh, I figured I ought to get moving before I caught sick. I sat up blearily, rubbing my eyes in and out of field-sight and in and out of focus, before gazing over the plains in the direction of long rustling grasses above the snow.

And instantly flattened myself again.

Angels.

At least a dozen of them, further down the hill from where I'd landed. Flickering. But now that I knew they were there, it was easier to pin them down. They formed a cluster, nymphs trotting after damsels and larger drakes swaggering about the area. It seemed as though they were bedding down for the night.

Excellent. Now I was stuck here until they all fell asleep.

I studied them with my chin on my wrists, shoulders tense, knees asleep beneath me in the wetness of gray slush. Sure, I'd taken my basic Angels 101 course back in upper school (compared to that required class about the reproductive cycles and courtship behaviors of every Fairy subspecies in the known universe, even it painted itself as useful). So I knew all that stuff about how when an Unwinged experienced their instar initiation ritual and no longer required oxygen, he went off to school in the upper planes of existence where their more advanced society was and where few Fairies dared to stray- partly for fear of angering them with our invasion to their privacy, and partly because the energy field was so thin up there by Kiiloëi that it was practically non-existent. You might be perfectly fine one moment, then walk across the street and asphyxiate before you got any help.

And I knew, too, about the way the Unwinged juveniles cared for the youngest among them on behalf of the Father and Mother angel. But it had never sunk in somehow that the juveniles were excellent foster parents, given their circumstances. They watched the nymphs play near the fire so intently, it was almost like they were their actual offspring.

Hmm. Fire.

Fire meant they had magic. All I had to do was steal one of their wands.

I lay patiently as the night grew thick and deep. There were no Fairy godparents about whose imprints in the field I could pick up on. I couldn't decide if that was a comfort or a misfortune.

As the angels began to lay down their heads and curl up together, I unfolded myself from the shadows and slunk down the remainder of the hill in a crouch.

Soft steps. Soft steps. So delicate. I didn't dare fly, because to my own ears the buzzing of my wings ricocheted in the silence like pinging clumps of hail on solid glaciers.

"Oh dust. Oh, dust."

My blood pumped in my throat and roared in my ears, stirring my core. I had to walk with one hand pressing down the lid of my dome, just to keep my laser cannon from springing out. The other hand trailed along the tall grasses on my right. When I moved, I did so like a darting snake, then hunkered down again to study the surrounding angels, wings always at the ready.

There I was. 18 lines old and in the thick of an angel camp, set to steal a starpiece, armed with little but a pregnancy testing stick and canister of salt in a red and white cloth bag.

The fire glowed, though fainter now. Was someone still awake to tend to it? I waited on my belly with a bated tongue, peering at faces in the dark. Hulking faces. Scrunched faces. Ugly faces.

I started my search with the largest angel. I thought it a reasonable decision. His face was too dirty for me to detect freckles, but his muscles and a jagged stick lying within arm's reach made him a likely choice for leader. I crawled over, mostly sliding. The grass rustled around my face.

My nose hovered mere millimeters away from the angel's. His face… wasn't so terribly different from mine, actually. Sure, the jaw protruded and the forehead sloped like a cliff, but I could find similarities in there all the same. He was very warm. Warm, and enormous. Twice my height, easily.

Holding my tongue, I scooted down towards the right side of his body and reached a hand towards his hip. My fingers brushed plain, cool air. No scabbard.

Okay, I thought, this is fine. Angels sheathe their wands on their left like the Anti-Fairies.

I crept around the angel's entire sleeping body and searched again. No scabbard. Nor did the second angel have on, or the third, or the fourth. Smoof. Where were the wands?

Something pointy and wooden jabbed beneath my rain deer-skin coat, piercing my gray shirt and scoring across my bare back. I tried to spread my wings, but the thing pinned them down.

It was a stick (Not much of a surprise, given the wood). A long stick, possibly a spear with a stone point, shoved there against the 'indirect muscular structure' of my wings, all the way up to the back of my neck. My lines fritzed in and out as the wielder of the spear swung it upright. I began to scrape and slide down it by my shirt until my rear hit the clenched hands of the angel damsel brandishing the weapon. Our eyes connected: mine lavender, hers chocolate brown. I lifted one hand and flapped my fingers very slowly.

"H-hello."

The angel with the spear muttered something to one of her fellows, honking not unlike like the infamous golden goose of Plane 18. They brought their warm, sticky fingers up to my skin and stroked my face. I kept my hands on my elbows, maintaining eye contact and a neutral, nonthreatening appearance.

They attempted to speak to me several times. I couldn't understand their language, but I did understand one thing.

"I'm small enough that with the faint magic dust secreted by my pores, they probably think I'm a lost angel nymph." So long as I called no direct attention to myself or my wings, I might escape the fate of roasting over that fire. I wondered if they'd noticed yet that my body weight was far, far lighter than any non-magical creature my size ought to be. It was the helium gasket in my head, with all its buohyrine.

By complete luck of the draw, angels turned out not to be one of those species who killed young they did not father themselves. The damsel upturned her spear and shook it until I plopped onto solid ground. While the three who were awake discussed my fate, I yanked my wings back through the slits of my coat, and then the shirt beneath it. I was offered a piece of chewy, dry animal flesh from a stick and lain down alongside the other angel nymphs near the crackling, snapping fire. Oh, how I loathed those jumping sparks. The flames burned low, contained by a ring of stones like a fairy circle, or a butterfly net.

I pinned my eyelids closed, clinging to wakefulness as the grown angels rustled through grass and sloshed through slush around me. I didn't trust the angels, and I wasn't about to let them squeeze my core this young.

The night passed with agony. Against mine and the fire's best attempts, I dozed off at one point and left myself exposed. I awoke groggy and so desperate for coffee that I honestly think I would have tried to poof one up if I'd had a working wand. It may taste like mud and dust in that condition, but it would still have at least some semblance of caffeine.

I was woken by the angels, actually. I had forgotten where I was, and that's a terrifying state to find yourself in- hearing the voice of and being touched by something you can't see until you focus hard.

They shook me awake. I don't think they entirely meant to, but they did. They spoke to me, prodded at me, pulled at me. I put on my best youthful impression and kept my wings firmly tucked away.

Then the hunting began. Evidently, they'd been tracking the rain deer for some time. While I fended off nosy fingers and guttural grunts, the drakes and one of the damsels disappeared. The rest of us - nymphs and damsels left behind - abandoned our campsite and hurried after them, although equipped with far fewer weapons.

This I had to see. Where were those wands?

As it turns out… nowhere. I stood there on a hill, surrounded by angels, and watched their tall, heavy, lean bodies race one deer from the herd to the point of exhaustion. They were so skillful, these angels- they had such endurance. I lagged behind early on in the chase, tugged onward only by hands hardly larger than my own, over the plains until one of the older damsels at last scooped me up and ran with me. That was a… horrifying experience.

The rain deer eventually fell, the rest of the herd disappeared, and the angels celebrated. I tried to approach the beast as the drakes tore into its flesh, only to be pushed roughly enough away by the tallest that I fell in the brown grass and crumpled my wings.

After getting up, I circled the animal and made another attempt on the other side. This time one of the others shoved me back. Their message slowly began to sink in around me as they continued: Hunters eat first. Then the children and their nursing mothers. Then the damsels without nymphs, and then the drakes who did not help in the hunt.

It was our job - as nymphs and other non-hunters - to gather wood and pile it up on a stretch of jagged rocks. I waited impatiently with my chunk of meat as the tallest angel approached our stack. Now. Where were those wands?

To my shock, he took two sticks, rubbed them together, and coaxed the flames to life with his bare hands. The entire process took just upwards of a minute.

"H-how… how did you do that?" I stammered. Only genies, the Aos Sí, and the Tuatha Dé Danann could make fire with neither wands nor lightning. Well, and the members of the Fairy Council, but that power was borrowed from the Fairy Elder, never permanent. Who were these beings, who could wield arrows like cherubs and and spears like elves and axes like dwarves, and on top of that summon the forces of nature and then contain them in a single location?

I knelt there, at a fire made by Unwinged, hugging a chunk of food and my cloth bag, and watched them chatter and eat like they didn't understand they were the most magical beings in the known universe.

It was our only meal for two days, and we did our best to make it last. I slipped away once and brought down a crockeroo my own size all by myself. Then, on my own, I took two sticks and began to rub.

I rubbed quickly. I rubbed slowly. I rubbed horizontal and I rubbed vertical. I rubbed crouching over the sticks and I rubbed while lying on my back with my arms above me.

It was official: I couldn't do it.

So… I swallowed my pride and went to track down my angels. I found them climbing a hill, and landed on the other side to await them. The young damsel with shining brown hair was the first to spot me. She cried out and loped to my side, letting out her noises. I put out my arms to catch her and stumbled as she rammed against me. When she let go, I showed her and the others my crockeroo. The drake with the darkest skin took my two sticks and started a fire in about three minutes. Figures.

That became our thing. When I was able to, I slipped off on my own and hunted small mammals and birds. The angels would use their influence over fire to improve the taste and texture while I studied them in fascination.

One night, while the winds howled, we took shelter in a cave. The angels jabbered amongst themselves and gathered around a patch of the wall where their voices appeared to reverberate best. The shiny-haired damsel took my hand and tugged me over, since I had been lingering in the back in puzzled silence. Mixtures of mud, rocks, and plants were produced from seemingly nowhere. Paintings were etched out onto the wall. The angels pointed to them, and babbled on. I believe they were trying to tell me about their Father and Mother, and the origin of their species.

In turn, I attempted to tell them the origin of the Fairies, from the way their Father had joined forces with the Molpa-Pel at the end of the Sealing War to encase the last of the Tuatha Dé Danann in the Earth, to how the Aos Sí people had eventually evolved into my kind, exchanging six arms and their hermaphrodite state to become three separate, sentient pieces: Faedivus, Faeumbra, and Faelumen, and might return that way after death. I doubt they understood, but it was cute that we spent the evening sharing.

Two weeks after the brownies revolted in Great Sidhe, we reached an area of woodland in present-day Ohio, USA that I thought I recognized. Sure enough, I snuck away from my escort and stumbled upon little Nephel, Davey, and their clan. They welcomed me in that cheery way of the western elves, and they relayed what they had heard of the Great Sidhe story.

"I was there," I insisted, watching soap bubbles and water droplets ooze from my rain deer coat up on a branch (Enna had insisted on washing it before I set foot in their 'cave' at the center of an oak). "That's not even remotely how it happened."

"The media does tend to twist things," Davey admitted.

My grip tightened around my mug of milk. No coffee, unfortunately, and elves didn't have wands either. "The brownies should just accept that they might always be looked down upon, and everyone else should learn to treat them with more respect."

Enna shrugged. "Scry us when you change the world, honey."

"Oh, don't worry. I will. I'll keep you updated on all my progress. After all, you're my…" The cup came down, and I glanced away, rubbing my knuckles. "You're my friends. I've never made many friends, but I hope you realize I consider you, ah… very pleasant and my utmost favorite people to be around. Ahem. You've never had an unkind word to say about me, and each time I've visited you, you're willing to help and ask for nothing in return. It's very unusual for me, and I appreciate it greatly."

I stayed the night with them, but over a breakfast of bread the following morning, Davey made a comment that my angels appeared to be searching for something in the woods. Or someone. I listened and confirmed that they were calling out the trilling sound they typically used to address me.

"They're still out there? I was hoping they'd move off on their merry way."

"I guess they like you."

"Perhaps." I drummed my fingers. "The nearest Earthside town where I could get a coffee… That would be north of here, wouldn't it be?"

Davey flicked his spatula. "Oh, you don't want to go there. The northern area way up until you hit Kris Kringle's pole is all the genielands. The snow is thick and bitterly cold, and the winds make it difficult to fly. Regular blizzards put you at risk for asphyxiation. If you're looking for a town, I'd have to suggest cutting west to Bleakfall."

"That's across will o' the wisp territory, isn't it?"

Enna nodded. She began to speak a warning, but I waved it off and stood to retrieve my bag and coat. "Don't concern yourself with my safety. I have an escort."

My plan worked. I rejoined the angels and nudged their course westward. I distinctly witnessed no fewer than three will o' the wisps gazing enviously from the glaciers and crowns of trees during our travels. I even blew a kiss to one of them. The second made the attempt to approach, but she finally got the clue that I hadn't come alone and flitted sourly off to her burrow.

At last, as we neared Bleakfall, I took leave of my party. I performed a ritual of good-bye consisting of thankful hand motions and waving, and the shiny-haired juvenile damsel appeared distressed to see me heading off. She seemed to have grown attached to me during our time together - always preening my hair and attempting to snuggle close - and before I could stop her, she pulled me to her by the collar and planted a sloppy kiss over my lips (or at least the skin just above them).

That was interesting. Unwinged kisses, as it turns out, don't follow through with the sparkling zip of those who are magic. No flush of sparks, no overpowering flavor, no piercing snap that hinted at her core. She seemed to enjoy herself, at least. As for me, I preferred the touch of Bleakfall coffee to my lips I had the following day. The beans were disappointingly Far West Region variety and I wasn't able to secure unmagicked caramel, but I got my caffeine, and that satisfied me well enough. I could tell I was going to have a good rest of my life.

I stayed two dozen centuries in Bleakfall- relatively, anyway. When the only decent-paying job in town turned out to be as a qualified therapist, I found myself back to doing painful brownie chores. I rented a small square apartment that I visited only when I had to sleep or eat. Every conceivable moment, I floated about in pursuit of odd jobs, such as hanging up shelves, polishing mirrors, or maintaining the magic distortion bubble to keep the angels from stumbling across the town. As it turned out, I did not have a knack for architecture or interior design, but I could organize a workspace like my sanity depended on it. Which it seemed to more often than it didn't.

I might have stayed there longer, but it appears I might have a small habit of rumpling wings and brushing off their dust with my sassy tongue. So when the cruel jabs at my square features began flooding my life in the forms of name-calling and bark strips shoved beneath my door, I exploited a loophole in my apartment contract and ducked out of town one night without warning. Never looked back.

From there I moved north to Bayard, which was a town too cramped and chaotic for me to handle for longer than six millennia. Then far south to Madigan. The people were kindly, but the taxes were insane, and I peeled myself away after about five thousand years. Hamilton was thick with doe-eyed damsels who made me uncomfortable. Gynes weren't well-received in Millshire. Another three dozen millennia I passed in Deerchase, studying plants and growing food. I had a green thumb for simple things. Drybrook featured a library, and they coaxed eagerness to work out of me. So many books of bark, all waiting to be removed from their shelves, wiped tenderly down with a cloth, and slidden back into place…

A tad further eastward, I stumbled into Bumblegrass. Now that was an enjoyable retreat. The buildings stood straight. Simple and lined in tidy rows. Underground raves every third weekend if you knew where to find them, and me in my prime. I kissed at least a dozen damsels during my sixty millennia there, and I even (Not making this up) held hands with one. Best of all, do you know what they made there at that time? Coffee. I pulled myself up the ladder of success in coffee heaven.

My centuries in Madigan again came and went. In Cliffstrand I took up work as a personal servant for another hundred seventy thousand years or so to a reclusive drake called Cattahan before I was let go due to a rumor that I had been embezzling from his manor. No actual proof was ever found, of course. Someone had been careful.

I deeply enjoyed my twenty-one thousand years in the coastal town of Kershaw, with its constant view of gray sheets of ice and low-hanging clouds, up until I lost almost my entire small fortune one night I made the mistake of gambling over snapjik with two partners who turned out to be more sugarloaded than they had previously let on.

Forty-five lines to my core, short on cash, freckles bright and red across my cheeks, a cheap satchel in my lap, still clinging to a bit of salt and a pregnancy testing stick that no one wanted to buy from me but I couldn't justify throwing out in return for nothing, I leaned my back against my bedroom door and considered my options. By this point, I had exhausted every town Earthside West of will o' the wisp country. It wasn't as though I'd never ventured eastward. I made frequent trips to visit Davey and Nephel, for one thing. And of course I slipped up to Fairy World if ever I found out the Dragonflies were playing in Faeheim, or sometimes when I merely wanted to check up on the world above the clouds that had gradually begun to fade from my memories.

Regardless, I'd made a name for myself in every westward town; some merely as the gyne with the equiangular mutation, but more often than not as something deeper and darker. Suspicion, discrimination, conclusions, lies- and maybe some truths here and there. Irking others was a finely-tuned skill of mine.

Curled up beneath the blankets of my plush bed later that same night, straining to pick up the sound of lapping waves through my open window, I worked out plan of action after plan of action in my head. My interest in the whole Earthside west had begun to fade like trickling sand in an hourglass. Been there, seen that. Hmm. I could sail the near-frozen ocean, but the thought of all that water and the fate of drowning made me somewhat queasy.

Returning to the cloudlands remained an option. But it wasn't as though there were many square-faced and square-winged gynes roaming the glittering streets. Against my own pride, I'd been fighting to keep a low profile, and Ambrosine had never managed to find me after that stunt I'd pulled to get myself expelled from the Fairy Academy. I don't think he ever bothered to send out a search party. Showed how much he cared, I thought.

Regardless, some cloudland local might cross paths with me and scry him up to say that I'd been found. Additionally, the longer I stayed, the more likely it was that word would pass around. Ambrosine himself had frequented Faeheim often in my younger centuries, even popping up there most mornings and during lunch breaks to visit some client or someone. I'd procrastinated work on a list of things to say to him when we met up again. I knew it would end poorly for all involved. I was still a gyne who needed his freedom. Ambrosine would only attempt to squeeze it out from under me. And I would not have that.

Besides, I'd taken a strong liking to the Earthside world, with its fascinating roaming animals and the thrill of avoiding angels each time I ducked outside a town bubble. Although, I could have done without the fat insects. They munched my skin with relish, and I always seemed to be too distracted with some other project to catch them in the act. All I was left to do was count up bites and scratch them with my dirty nails until the poison spread, or nip at them while blood ran down my skin.

If I wanted to head east then I could either poof there, or risk crossing will o' the wisp territory by wing. Alternatively, I could fly all the way up north to that area the wild genies once populated in my younger years and veer around wisp country completely, or make my way south to the lands of the near-invisible aluxo'ob where the angel population ran thicker.

The latter began to seem more likely the more I thought about it. Although I had finally gathered the funds to obtain a license for using magic beyond the city bubbles, after that gambling incident, I had limited money left in my pocket. By the time the distance would be near enough to allow me to afford teleporting to the other side of will o' the wisp country, I'd have to be two-thirds of the way across anyway.

Poofing someone else would be far more expensive, and I wasn't quite low enough to humble myself and beg a favor from a friend yet. Also, to pull that off, I required friends.

Briefly, I entertained the idea of striking out to Bumblegrass and extorting cash from a young and skittish fairy-elf crossbreed I happened to know. But I scratched that off fast. My pride wouldn't allow me to turn to a full-on life of crime. Mostly, the lawyer in me wanted to do the legal thing. New plan, then: If I were going to cross will o' the wisp country, I needed an escort. I knew just where to find one.

As the millennia had flickered by, I'd become familiar with the local packs of angels. I knew which ones migrated which ways at which times of the year, and there's an odd satisfaction to be gained by watching from afar as they grow up, take mates, and raise the next generation of their kind.

And I had this… quirky habit of mine. At times, when I watched the Unwinged working, I swore I picked up on some sort of tug inside of me. A thumping down in my chest. I'd morph into my favorite shape - a goose - and watch from closer sidelines as one of the angels struggled with a task or experimented with some new innovation.

Sometimes, when the instinct tugged me harder, I'd even dare to shrink my size and slip over, unnoticed, to press my lips to a wrinkled brow. Vaguely-warm magic would swirl in my head when I did, filling my throat, leaking from my nose. I could smell eggs frying. And maybe, just maybe, a hint of cinnamon. It was… inspiring. I would always rub the slightly damp spot with two fingers as I began to draw away.

So I had shed part of my anxiety around the Unwinged, and that led me, those days following the loss of my fortune, to dare approach one. He and his sister - maybe thirty lines to each of them - were alone, although we lost the damsel to a tarpit shortly thereafter. My bad.

In the drake's company, I managed to cross the plains, and I discovered something interesting. Due somewhat to the will o' the wisps in the area, Fairy drakes had left the center stripe of the Earth's mainland virtually untouched. While some damsels and homes dotted the area, there were no towns, no businesses, and vastly untapped resources.

Will o' the wisps weren't the only ones to nest here. The land was thick with dragons. In fact, my editor once told me that's partially why the will o' the wisps burrowed underground in the first place.

Really, I couldn't believe no one had capitalized on the market potential here. Dragons were impervious to magic, and the scales they shed could be sold for buckets of lagelyn just in Madigan, not to mention Cliffstride where people paid up to a third more. Although impractical for armor, shields, and ships due to their incredible weight, the scales were a valuable building material. Cattahan had taught me that.

The trick, as you might expect, revolved around obtaining them. Fairies couldn't very well bring down a dragon, even with several dozen of us working together. The most we could do then was lift one. But perhaps if I combed over every excruciating detail of the plains, I might stumble across enough shed scales to turn a profit and regain my former monetary glory. With an angel as my guard, the idea became possible.

This was very illegal. If someone caught me interacting with a Level 6 lifeform without a godparent license like this, I could have my wand suspended until the next unicorn migration.

However, on the other end of the scale, I believed in change. Improvement. Continuation. Success. As much as I adored my rules, I was a being who prided himself in looking towards the future and taking action to reach my goals. In my mind's eye, my future self raked in the golden dough.

Besides, it wouldn't actually be illegal until I got caught, right?

First, my relationship with the Unwinged drake required trust. The day I introduced myself to him and his sister, he struck at me with a stick, and then an assortment of rocks. I finally managed to calm him with gifts of food over several days. The sister was lost, as I before mentioned, and it was the drake and I, on our own against the world.

He didn't appear to have anywhere in particular to go. I had successfully tamed him with my food offerings. He chose to accompany me, believing, perhaps, that I was a holy spirit. Or perhaps he did know what I was- he was the first angel I openly displayed my wings to, and he thought them fascinating.

With him guarding my back, I dared to venture almost halfway through will o' the wisp country on foot, although we kept to the western side still. The mountains offered shelter to both us and our dragons, and we took advantage of them. It was nine months before I located our first small, shimmering scale, and it won us little when I slipped away in the night to exchange it for lagelyn, but I chided myself to be patient. Next time I'd find a bigger scale. Next time I'd fine more scales. Next time I'd strike it rich. Always next time. I refused to accept that the reason this market remained virtually untouched was due to the fact that the plan was foolish.

I tried to teach my companion bits of Snobbish. This feathered creature was a bird, this rough thing was a rock, this cowlicked rodent with the big teeth was a tibeaver, the white stuff that had mostly faded at this warm time of the year was snow, the prickly yellow-brown stuff that covered the ground was grass. He was a simple being who didn't get into much trouble, and I appreciated that.

During evenings when we couldn't catch live food or obtain berries, I poofed up small meals from magic and fed those to my wingless companion instead. The meals contained next to no nutrients, but because he had no magic particles in his blood that could react to it, he would find the taste at least somewhat more edible than dust and smoke the way I would. Or so I'd learned from school and Cattahan. He never complained, at least.

It was during one of these days when I, at long last, managed to identify at least one of the insects that constantly devoured my flesh whenever I dared stray from a city bubble. Its wings, gently tattered along the edges, carried a brown sheen to them. When they flapped, the insect made circular motions which caused it to hum. Indirect muscular structure. Its hindwings hardly reached the length of its fore- pair. The costas gleamed with orange.

Wait a beat. Those were my wings.

Down to the apexes, it had my wings!

Shouting, abandoning my angel companion, I sprang into the air and chased after the unfamiliar insect as it darted away. It ducked behind rocks and zipped into the trees. I kept on its trail by force of desperation alone. After weaving between branches and dropping (on wing, of course) over a small waterfall, the insect swerved too sharply around a cedar, and I crashed directly into its large brown nest.

That upset the other residents, of course. I pulled myself together, lifting my face from the damaged structure, but it was too late to be saved. Twitching bodies and stiffening husks lay beneath my cheek and hands. Many of the insects remained alive and, furious, affixed themselves to my ear lobes, to the point where I could hardly hear their buzzing through the swelling.

I returned my attention to the insects that were dead between my fingers. Those were definitely my wings, only… they weren't. The colors and design matched almost precisely, but mine were too square at the tips. As the bugs bit and stung my face, I pulled off my rain deer-skin coat and shirt to display that my wings shared features with theirs. That wasn't one of my better ideas, as it only exposed more bare skin. Against my pleas, even when I backed away from the nest, they showed no interest in our similarities. I had destroyed their nest. I was a monster.

As they would not leave me to myself, I was unfortunately obliged to kill all I could catch. Curiously, this only seemed to upset the rest; wave after wave erupted from the confines of the hive, wings whirring like jeers in a saucerbee crowd. You would not think those who lived would put themselves in the way of danger when so many others fell easily to my hand. Yet they came. It would be over a hundred thousand years before I would learn that the scent in the air was not precisely their blood, so much as a pheromone that rang out as a signal for help to summon their sisters and alert their queen.

Bitten, swollen, I at last upturned my smeared palms and gazed down at the nest I had killed. My shoulders shook. They were dead. I had won. Had I won? It seemed that even the queen had fallen to me. Of course she had. Gynes are born to overthrow queens.

Very slowly, I licked each of my dirty fingers clean. Then, replacing my shirt and coat over my injured body, I tucked away my wings and began to saunter back the way I had come. I made it about two minutes before I abruptly blacked out in the grass.

I awoke beside the waterfall in my angel's arms as he splashed my face and stroked my hair. My lighter sores had faded, but the deeper ones would sting for days to come. For centuries to come I would ask about the insects, but no one I met could ever give me their name.

I attended to my Unwinged companion for six more years, until I lost my wand. Now out of funds, my only choice was to crawl on my belly back to Ambrosine and beg for a replacement. That wasn't happening. The next time we stumbled across a pack of angels, I ensured that mine was accepted into their ranks before I slunk off. If I couldn't provide for him, I wasn't about to keep him around. False promises weren't fair.

So in the Autumn of the Flightless Bird, I made the short trip from where I had left my angel to visit Nephel again. This time Nephel alone. Enna had been out of their life for a long time, and Davey had gone dusty a few years back in the jaws of some large cat. Nephel, true to his parentage, fixed me up with meals and a place to stay for a week until I regained my footing.

"You're sure you're ready to leave again so soon, Fergus?"

"I enjoy the challenge of being self-sufficient," I answered politely. Truth be told, Nephel was a slob, and I wasn't a fan of how he kept his tree-cave.

He stuffed my satchel with bread, fruit, rope, a water jug, a compass, made sure I had shoes, and I retreated to the hills. That's when I met her.

A month had passed since I'd met with Nephel. My food had trickled out and the snow had trickled in. I'd bent over to refill my water jug from an unfrozen spring when the salt grains spilled from the canister at my waist. I had no chance to pick out every white grain from the iced-over grass and toss a pinch over my shoulder.

I thought it would be the usual hex-and-ditch routine when the blue and black swirl appeared a wingspan from my nose. Sighing, I raised the water jug to my lips and leaned back against a red boulder to wait. My visitor dropped from the cut in the sky, on her back, with two saplings, three large round fruits, and bundles of roots and leaves tumbling after her. A bowl of hot noodles and red sauce bounced from her forehead and against my shin. The slit in the fabric of the universe sealed again above her.

She wore no crown, and instead of leathery wings, she bore the structure that one day the Fairykind would learn belonged to the common raven. An anti-cherub, then. She scrambled to her feet, tall ears folded back against her skull. Her black jacket, closed near her throat with a white heart-shaped clasp, fluttered just once in the cold. A swirl of hair crossed her forehead, and the rest of it was drawn back in a single long braid.

"Salt?" she exploded. "You dragged me down from Plane 19 during the busiest time of my year for salt? Do you even know how much it will cost me to anti-poof all the way back up there?" She picked up the bowl of soiled, snow-dashed noodles, wrinkling her nose at my leg like I'd gone and ground her food into the dirt myself. "Three million, minimum. Possibly closer to four. Smoke, I don't have time for this. Come on, spotty- give me your coat."

I replaced the cap on my jug. "No, thank you. You seem to have perfectly-functional fur, and you're an Anti-Fairy."

She kept her hand extended, not even looking at me. "Give me your coat, and I'll let you off easy. No bad luck hex from me, I assure you."

"I'd rather keep the coat."

The anti-cherub drew her black wand. "Well, if you want to be a snattersmoof and charge me an extra few thousand, and if you want your eyeballs to be slurped out of your still-living eye sockets and swallowed by buzzard wyverns…"

"That luck does sound as though it would be atrocious," I admitted. After a moment's thought, I stripped off the coat and tossed it to her. After all, I had no wand to speed up the healing process. Instead of pulling it over herself, she chose to wrap it gingerly around the trunk of her shorter sapling.

"Are you jitterlines?" I demanded, hugging my shoulders. "It's cold enough out here to measure by the Hy-Brasilian scale. I need that."

"You could have thought of that before you opened a portal right beneath my feet, couldn't you've?" Tree now wrapped, she sat back on her heels and pushed her clawed fingers through dirty black hair. "So. I was transplanting this baby into Earthside soil for the Refracts. What's new with you, friend?"

I reached for the bare scabbard on the right side of my body. "Don't try to make friendly conversation with me. If you aren't going to hex me, I'll be on my way."

The anti-cherub arched her eyebrows. "You're hesitating."

"I don't trust you enough to turn my back."

"Good. I don't trust me either." She turned her head and studied the two saplings. "Gyne freckles. Is this valley your territory?"

"Who's asking?"

"I don't give my real anti-name out to strangers. Call me Pip."

In that case, I mumbled that she could refer to me by my middle name. I wasn't sure if she heard, since when she next spoke, she said, "Are you an idiot or what?"

I'd picked up one of the fallen pink fruits and brought it to my mouth. Pip snatched it back. "Never mind answering- I know which one. You've seen chesberries before, right? Chesberry's a magical tree. No point in eating them, unless you've got diarrhea, or you're pregnant. Just leave the food stuff to the damsels."

"I tend to. When it comes to domestic tasks, I'm a cleaner by nature with little experience cooking over fire." My fingers trailed back to the salt canister I kept at my hip. Pip watched.

"Remember that time I asked you if this was your territory?"

"That was approximately one minute ago."

"So, yes?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, so I was wondering, could you use one more tree?"

"I don't need one, no."

"Well, you're going to get one now." Pip scooped the coat-wrapped sapling into her arms. Its roots were wrapped at the base by several scraps of pale pink cloth that resembled Refract robes. "I'm not exactly drowning in riches, as you've maybe figured from my boring red eyes, and I'll have to take the long way around to 19. Take me weeks. My girls won't survive the trip up. So, is it jazzed by you if I plant them here?"

I waved my hand in permission and then returned it behind my back as she scouted out places to stick her trees and shoved each one in a magically-drilled hole.

"Dazzled," she said when she was done, brushing snow from the creases of her furry palms. "Make sure they get plenty of water for the first few years until they establish, don't let them be eaten by small animals, try to keep the insects and your own dirty insect saliva away, and don't worry about them surviving the winter cold, because I've taken precautions that should help them make it through."

I listened intently. When she'd finished, I unwrapped my jacket from the shorter sapling, turned around, and walked away. Pip rejoined me after a few minutes.

"You're going to ignore them and this entire area of the valley purely to spite me, aren't you?"

"Dm. Pip, I prefer ornamentals. I like flowers with precise patterns and regular growing schedules. Flowers are highly dependent and remind me that I'm needed. Trees, I think, will survive without my care."

She considered that, tonguing her blue cheek. "But you weren't prepared for my counterargument." So saying, Pip pulled a fistful of feather-like seeds from her pocket and hurled them into the air. They came spinning down in front of my face. One brushed my nose as it drifted past and settled on the ground. I looked up, squinting.

"And what was that?"

"They're twirly seeds! My little maple will grow up to make these. I have more, you see." Out came two more fistfuls. "Little weird, aren't they? Acorns and pinecones just drop straight down, dandelions blow off, but these spinners are afraid of getting hurt, so they dance to slow their fall."

I picked one up and dropped it myself. "I'm not sure I'd say they're afraid, really. More like they're clever and adaptable."

"Sure." Once again her hands slipped into her pockets, but this time they stayed there. She kicked lightly at my shoulder with her sandal. "Hey, you have meaty critters down here on Plane 2, ain't that right? I've been living off fruit for months and I'm dying inside, probably."

"I would suggest heading in that direction," I said, pointing a finger vaguely towards the setting sun.

"In the grand canyon area where the dragons live," she said after a pause.

"Do they?" I found the cluster of rocks where I had left my satchel and swung it over my shoulder. "Luckily - if it doesn't offend you that I used the 'l' word - you can't die, and when it comes to kidnapping damsels, they usually prefer the more effeminate ones anyway."

"Nifty, so between the two of us I don't have to worry, then." She examined her claws while I blinked at nothing and tried to scrape together a response to defend my fascination with flowers and my hair. "Dragon scales go for high profit on the market, don't they?"

"If you know where to sell them."

Pip twirled her wand. "Do you know where to sell them, friend?"

I squinted. "What precisely are you getting at?"

"Tell you what." She propped her foot on my shoulder and leaned down over my face. "I want meaty food, and it would be jazzed if I had someone to guard my back. I'm no spring urvogel anymore, and regenerating if I get wiped out will take me at least twelve hours, and throw me into debt. Any dragon scales we find tonight are yours if you'll come with me, and maybe watch over the plants in this area when we're done. You live here anyway, right? And if you come with, the pink magic's on me."

"Your trees can't be worth a quarter as much as you're sacrificing by giving up those scales," I said.

"They're really not," Pip admitted, pulling my forehead to hers. "But my trees matter to me, and I'm going to make you care for them. I want you to agree so you'll suffer."

"'kay."

That was how I found myself two time zones over, more than a thousand wingspans below regular ground level, standing on a narrow ledge carved into a jagged gray-brown chasm cliff. "Come on," she shouted, "just jump the gap. You can fly, can't you?"

"I only hover," I called back, clinging to the rock, my back pressed to the wall. Snow and gravel skittered beneath my shoes. "Not all of us managed to sell our souls to gravity in the womb. Did I mention I was a preemie?"

"I'm not sure that's how it works, but stick around here and I'll scout. You can keep lookout."

"Exactly what am I keeping lookout for?" I asked, assuming she'd say 'dragons'.

"For pirates, duh. It's not like food's easy to come by in the Great Ice Times."

After nearly an hour, the sky painted itself black and blue. And after I had ascended a third of the canyon since I'd convinced myself that I'd been ditched, Pip reappeared in front of me with a pop and dragged me around to a chink in the rocks. A dragon queen's nesting cave. Still warm, but abandoned for now.

"No scales?" I grunted, studying the rough floor.

"But look." She pointed forward with her wand. "Eggs."

"Why are dragons still eggs in autumn?"

"I'm a plant reproduction specialist. Smoof if I know. I think it takes them like five years to hatch, so maybe they still come out in spring."

I shrugged. "Either way, I'm so hungry. The last of my food ran out days ago, hunting single-handedly isn't exactly a yellow wish in the park, I can't make a fire to save my crown, and with the snows coming on, it means edible plants aren't easy to come by either. If I still had a wand, I'd be eating dust-made food by now until I starved to death." After crossing the cave, I lifted the nearest, largest egg from the four in the nest with both hands, only to hear Pip scoff at me.

"You don't want that one. It's still unfertilized. These ones with the colored speckles taste the best. See, watch." Pip bit directly into the red-flecked egg, twisted the upper half between her fangs, and sliced it neatly in two large pieces and several crumbling additional shreds. The top she discarded, but the bottom she held out to me. Her hand swished, sending yolk bumping against the sides. "Smell, at least, if you won't taste. You members of the Seelie Court are squeamish about living food, aren't you?"

"We aren't squeamish," I argued, taking the egg. The cold shell burned beneath my fingertips. I raised it to my lips, then paused. "This isn't a trick, is it? I'm not going to get lethally poisoned, I hope?"

She shook her head. "But I'll drink first if it makes you feel better."

"That would mean nothing. You're an anti-cherub. You can't die unless your counterpart gets herself killed."

"Then you're going to have to trust me. Go on, drink up. Not all of it, mind you- I still want some."

I tasted the liquid inside the egg, first with the very tip of my tongue and then with the rest of my mouth. My eyelids slid shut. I drank another sip. It was warm and full, and may have been the reason why I didn't notice the slap of the tail across my cheek until too late.

"There it goes, catch it!" Pip lunged forward, slapping her hands across the cave floor. I was so startled that I nearly dropped the egg, and turned around in time to see her trap a slithering red lizard under her fingers. After she'd taken it between her fangs, she turned back to me. "You can have most of that. The hatchlings are good - soft meat and no scales - but you won't want to eat it. Poisonous to the Seelie."

I choked. Spitting out a stream of yellow, I said, "But I suppose the yolk is safe?"

"I'm sure it is," she argued, crunching hard through the neck. "I brought the last drake I found up here, and he didn't die… Not from the egg, anyway." After another several seconds, she spat a few bones between her feet, then picked up and pocketed the skull. "It was the mother dragon that did him in."

"Excuse me?" I hollered over the sound of a sudden crackling roar. Both of us rushed to the cave entrance to see… nothing, at first. Until I noticed that our culprit's belly scales and leathery wings were the exact blue-gray of the sky. The dragon arrowed down through the cavern, spinning to allow its wings to fit through. This briefly brought it below our ledge, showing a flash of white back scales, and then the dragon scooped upwards. Its horns spiraled towards the ears instead of curling down. A queen, not a tom. The mother.

Pip scratched behind her neck. Slurping up the long tail of her snack, she said, "We probably should have left the cave as soon as we got the egg. Oh, well. Now I know for next time."

"What do we now?" I asked, stepping away.

"Don't flip my dome. You're the gyne. Do something gyne-ish and take the lead."

"I don't have a wand! And even though I used to, I didn't actually get recertified this century either, so the last few years I had it I was using it illegally anyway."

Pip stared at me, her braid whipping at the dragon's wingbeats. "What kind of fairy doesn't have an active wand?"

I threw my arms forward. "I beg pardon, Dame I-Can't-Afford-To-Poof-to-Plane-19, but money tends to play a factor in things down Earthside."

"Okay, that's fair. Split up." She leapt backwards over the side of the ledge, flaring her feathered wings as she spiraled down. I flapped upwards, narrowly dodging a swipe from the dragon's claws. The second snagged me by the hem of my rain deer coat and slammed me against the mountain wall, upside-down.

"Pip!" I hollered, struggling to wrench it free.

"Chuck it- You're on your own." The anti-cherub zipped away over the cliffs. The dragon wrenched her claws up and backward, flinging me into the air. I plunged down, bounced off one of her wings, and ricocheted off the rear canyon wall before sliding down to a second ledge perhaps eight hundred wingspans below. Scraped and bleeding, fighting to keep my mind calm, I picked myself up and studied my new surroundings.

There. A tall crack in the rock. The mother dragon was smaller than I had expected from the size of her eggs, but not nearly small enough to duck through it. I barely managed to squeeze inside myself before she landed with a clicking of talons and shot a stream of ice crystals after me.

Perfect. Magical fire couldn't kill a magical being, but magical ice could certainly freeze one. Now I understood why she still had eggs with winter coming on. They were mere days from hatching. I pressed my back and wings against the wall to the left, as far from the entrance as I could get, with my stomach churning.

I tried to remember my dragon-defense course from upper school. Rule Number 1 was never face a dragon alone; multiple targets shouting at them and rushing about and waving their arms jam their hunting abilities. Well. Wonderful.

Her scales scraped the stone closer to my ear than I would have liked. A protruding paw snaked its way into the hole and began to feel around. I lit my wings and buzzed to the roof of the too-small cave. This wouldn't entirely put me out of reach of the dragon's claws, but the angle was incredibly awkward. As long as I didn't stop flying, I might pull this off.

She didn't leave.

What else had I taken from that class? I'd only passed it with a three-pointed star instead of five-. Thousands of years since had worn away most of the details. Something. Something.

Rule Number 2: If you do end up cornered, get the dragon talking. They're natural storytellers, and they can't breathe fire or ice or poison at you at the same time.

I cleared my throat. "Dragon?"

I recognized an upwards inflection in her imprint in the energy field. I kept my wings whirring, up in my corner, watching her patting paw.

"I killed your egg because I thought it wasn't sentient. I was so hungry. Actually, it was my friend who killed your egg. But I didn't stop her. I know now. I won't do it again. You have other eggs."

All these words I spoke slowly, calmly, keeping my voice level. Using a straight face seemed to help with that. I chose simple words to ease them through the language barrier. Each echoed dully through the crevice and out to the gray sky. First, the dragon was silent.

Then she began to speak.

She spoke to me, not entirely in words, but through some combination of magic and raw emotion as well. She told me of the days in her youth. She told me every detail of the courtship with her mate. She told me how many eggs she'd lost in previous centuries. She told me this might be the last clutch her subspecies would ever have. She told me how a piece of a dragon's soul is carried with them in every shed scale. She told me how her mate had been dragged underground by the goblins, kept alive to produce scales, which they skinned from his body and sold only on occasion to keep market demand high and supply supposedly low. Boiling tears leaked down my face. My body trembled, every gram.

This was the force of pure emotion, and it burned. Creatures of logic such as us, I think, were never meant to taste it. That's how you break a pixie.

An hour passed. Then two. The gray sky fell to orange and then black. I strained my wings and my core, fighting with every fleck to keep the pink magic flowing so I could remain airborne. Fighting for some way to stop my sobbing. Stop the need to wipe my eyes and nose on my sleeves. Stop the hurting. Stay awake. Ignore the hunger. Not succumb to sleep.

She told me, in the end, that she needed to return to her remaining egg and keep it at optimal temperature for the night. If I could sneak away from the cavern without her notice, she said, I was free to go.

The claws withdrew. She beat her wings and soared away, upwards to her nest again. I knelt on the sand and the rough rock and stayed another half hour in the crevice, my arms wrapped around my knees, until my wings and core were no longer stinging with soreness. Particularly my core.

I did escape the dragon's grand canyon, of course. I moved two hours northeast as the dragonfly skims, fighting to return to my valley, or at least something that qualified as "close enough", since I'd brought my satchel with. I ached inside and out, and my eyelids continuously flickered, but I refused to sleep so near the dragon. I didn't want to be around when she woke up.

I did land, eventually- mostly crashing into dirt that turned out to be far damper and slicker than it had appeared from the air. Almost immediately, two high whistles sounded above my head. I looked up to find Pip floating there, her fingers between her fangs.

"You're a survivor, S. I thought you'd be dead by now."

"I wouldn't have come close if it weren't for you and your grand ideas," I snapped back, swiping mud from my sleeves. "Dragon. Dragon. Why?"

"You lived. Don't get all sandy about it."

"Salty, you mean."

She dropped beside me with a handful of jagged leaves and an apple. "I was going to ditch you, but then I remembered I told you to leave the making of food to the damsels, so I started a fire about twelve hundred beats back along the trail you were following and I'm making you crockeroo soup for dinner."

"Thanks," I said, rubbing my temples, and even though she'd abandoned me, I followed her anyway. The stench of crockeroo permeated everything and made my eyes water, but I forced myself to push on. Just a tad longer. I didn't want to fall asleep while Pip was still awake. I hadn't forgotten that between us, she had the only wand.

"You don't really live the nomad life out in the plains and valleys," she guessed.

"I do now."

"Figured maybe you were a townie from the bubbles before. Bit dangerous for drakes to hang around here sometimes, especially with the season getting on like it is. I come through this area a lot to taunt the wisps, and I haven't seen you before, so let me welcome you to the club now, sprigsy."

"Chipixie?" I repeated.

"Not shih-pixy, ding-dong. Sprig-sy."

"Oh, yes. That's a thing. How clumsy of me to forget."

"Yeah, you're a sprig off the ol' Social Norms of Fairies tree, right? And these plains," she went on, spreading her arms, "are the home of the sprigsies. A refuge for all those who broke away from the confines of society. You're a wild beast now."

I cringed in sympathy for those alleged refugees. Between the ice chunks and stubbled brown grass, not to mention the sharp rocks, the hills and empty plains weren't much to look at. Prying Pip's cold fingers from my shoulder, I said, "'The Spriggish' might have a better ring to it."

"Yeah, maybe. Hey, want to know how to say 'Place where the sprigsies live in peace' in Milesian? Sprigstopia."

"Sprigganhame," I corrected. "Hame means 'land' or 'home'. An means 'of'. Literally means 'home of sprigsies.' I took sixty years of Milesian courses in upper school."

"Okay, wow. So I was wrong for once in my life. Is that soup done yet?"

I soon deduced that Pip's tendency to chatter extended to during mealtimes too. I poured my soup in my water jug and finished it off long before she'd made it halfway through hers. She honest to goodness struggled not to jabber, which I suspect might be an effect of dealing so often with her plants. Not much for conversation, them.

"I'll sleep up here if you don't mind," she said (thankfully) at last, leaving the cooking pot she'd fooped up on the ground beside my satchel and settling herself upside-down beneath a tree branch.

I lay down my head and closed my eyelids, but only to slits. From the way she kept tucking her hair behind her pointed ears, clearly Pip wasn't asleep either. Finally, she dropped the act and opened her eyes.

"Well. If we're both going to be awake anyway… Should I talk some more?"

"Spare me," I said, rolling over. There was a feathery rustle, and Pip lighted beside me.

"Look," she said, bracing an arm against her one propped knee, "let's not play games. You and I both know that whoever stays awake longest is going to rob the other blind and run off, right?"

"Right."

"So can't we make this fun? Let's compete. Tire each other out. Race you to that conifer over there and back, as the free-tail flies?"

I considered her request. "Alright. But there have to be rules to this game. Catches. We're going to have to want to give it our all."

"Sounds fair. Any suggestions?"

We tried to think of some. I thought we might empty out each other's pockets and the victor of each round could choose a piece of supplies from the other's pile, but that meant nothing if the real victor took the whole jackpot. Whatever was exchanged had to be something that the winner couldn't take with them when they left.

"Secrets," I said, staring across the hills with their brown grass and light snow. "Something along the lines of secrets. Something about your past. Something that you want for the future."

"It's better'n nothing," Pip agreed. "But, I won't tell you my name."

"All right. No names." I crouched, wings raised. "Mark it."

"Now!"

We burst into the air, scrambling with our arms and feet as we fought for lift and balance. Pip beat me, which really wasn't much of a surprise given the nature of my wings. I told her the story of the angel and the Academy, which seemed to impress her.

"Now it's my turn to pick," I said. "Stay here." I flew about the valley boring holes in the ground with a thick branch, and came back when I'd made eighteen. After breaking off another branch, I handed it to her. "Next we'll golf for it. Are you still carrying those chesberries?"

She tossed one on the ground in front of me. I sized it up, then sent it sailing with a swat. Ambrosine had taken me to Fairy Hills a thousand times in my youth after we'd determined my inability to wow the crowds in saucerbee, and I'd gotten fairly good at the game. So much so that after twenty painful minutes, Pip asked, "How much longer do I have to put up with you whipping my tailbone?"

"15 more holes."

So she threw down her branch and broke it beneath her heel. "All right, then I forfeit."

"You can't forfeit," I protested. "We've hardly started."

"I can if I'd rather take the punishment. It can't be worse than this."

I threw my club aside. "Fine. Biggest fear, go."

"That the Cherub-Pip will have three nymphs in one go and I'll be responsible for their nutty counterparts for the rest of my existence. Isn't that every Anti-Fairy's worst nightmare? We can't die unless they do. No escape. Just trapped among the whiny voices and needy fingers. Forever."

"That would be frustrating," I admitted.

We slid down a snowy hill on our stomachs. We jumped as high as we were able to without channeling pink magic. We tied our wings back with the rope in my satchel and dared one another to leap from the tallest waterfall we could find. On and on, later and later into the night.

"I've already got something from your past, and I've got something from your future," I told her once when we'd collapsed, soaked, after our most recent competition to outlast one another in freezing water, close enough to the surface that the magic reached easily and I wasn't at risk for losing lines and drowning. I tapped my cheek with my finger. "How about something of the present?"

"My present's not much of a secret," she pointed out.

"No, maybe it isn't. Hm." I pretended to think hard for a moment. "What if I took something else from your present self?"

"Like what? I thought we agreed that to the victor of our games go the spoils in the end."

I twisted my fingers. "Actually, I was thinking something along the lines of, you know… possibly a kiss."

It took several wingbeats for that to sink in. Pip turned her head, mouth pressed open. "You want to kiss a member of the Unseelie Court? Wow. That's kind of twisted, isn't it? Rhoswen syndrome much?"

"I think kisses are interesting," I defended, scooting away, one hand to my chest. "All the damsels say my magic tastes thicker and sweeter than the average fairy drake's, but no one has ever, ever called me a poor kisser. My dad thought it was really important that I start learning young and improve every chance I had. I've kissed up and down the social ladder half a dozen times, barring the red flag races. This wouldn't even be my first kiss across class boundaries. Sure, maybe it is an unnatural fascination, but I kissed an angel, and I liked it. I even kissed my Refracted counterpart once when we had a technically-illegal upper school trip up to the Faelumen planes and our paths crossed in one of her tribe's grain fields. But I've never kissed an Anti-Fairy."

"You are one sick drake." She shook her head at me. "You certainly have a way with charming the ladies, don't you? Maybe you wanna try asking Kris Kringle for flirtation skills this Krisday. Well, you did win, and I guess I shouldn't be the one to name-call- you're not my first cross-class peck either. Come here."

I'd been hoping for a cold kiss. Frosty, like a spoonful of ice cream. Instead, I ended up with a mouthful of sharp, salty flavor, and no actual grains on the tongue to either swallow or brush away. I watched Pip's eyes shift left and right beneath the lids, her black brows scrunching together as she couldn't decide if she liked what she'd caught. Her slender arms were folded tight between us. Both hands clenched the front of my shirt near my throat. Her enormous feathered wings swallowed my upper body, like the Dame Fergus's had during that honeywheat field kiss when both of us had been at the awkward age of fifteen lines.

My fingers tightened in the lower folds of her dress. She wasn't going for it. Her curved fangs snagged in my lower lip. I'd wanted to wrap her around my little finger. Just generally show off. Impress her. Win. Evidently, she hadn't received the memo.

Still. It was a kiss, and it flooded me with the usual enhanced awareness of my surroundings just the same. I could sense the dangerous proximity of the salt in my bag and bark on the surrounding trees that would split my head with migraines if used in the right way. I felt the faint, distant tug of dark furry animals and leaning ladders in the distance. I knew how I felt to her, lying on my side in the grass with an arm wrapped around her from beneath and the other hand resting out of habit on my empty wand sheath. Warm. Dumb. Foreign. Sadistic. Arrogant.

But she thought I tasted sweeter than sugar-laced bread dough. It counts.

"Whoa," she said, pushing my chest away and blinking rapidly. "All of a sudden I have this intense urge to alphabetize my clothes by their fabric and color and file my taxes. Oh my smoke, I should not have left the interest on my sister's hut to culminate this long. But where in the cloudlands am I supposed to go to take out a loan?"

"I told you," I said, beginning to sit up. I ran my tongue around my lips. "By any chance, is your saliva partially made of acid?"

"Yes. And our tears and blood."

"Of course they are. Ow. That smarts. I've heard that your fangs are supposed to fold back against the roofs of your mouths when you kiss, though. Or is that just a metaphor?"

"Yeah, well, they do if we're really into it, but I wasn't feeling it." Pip lay down beside me, elbow cocked beneath her head. "Hey, next time I win, would you teach me a fairy dance?"

"Fairy dance?" I repeated, still thumping my fist on my chest and coughing up globs of acid.

"You're the fairy. Don't fairies have all sorts of special dances?"

"Sure. Ahem. Mm. Oh, that really burns. Ow. Ow. Never again. Ow. Hot." I scooped up a handful of snow and slathered it around my mouth. "Pretty sure I'm dying."

"Suck it up. You asked for it."

"I deserve awful things. Ouch… Dances? Let me think. There's… the Spinner. That's a casual, popular one with whirring wings. The Dragon's Crest, the Duckling Jump is another rave one, mostly for the younger crowd. The Catfall-"

"I know all of those," she interrupted. "Contrary to popular belief, we actually do have parties in Anti-Fairy World if you know where to look; I get around. Bachelor parties, mostly. That's kind of my job. Now, you're a fairy who's actually willing to interact with me despite the fact that I'm an anti-entity. I want to take advantage of the opportunity. Teach me something new."

"Oh," I muttered, rubbing the hairs on my chin that had grown back since Nephel's tree-cave, "you want a ballroom dance. Damsels. Hm… What did we do at my hundred-forty-five-thousand semi-formal? We weren't really instructed. They kind of threw us out there. I did get a pretty ishigaq damsel I'd been eyeing all night to dance with me, though. Stole her from right under her companion's nose. I rather liked the stealing part. We went for ice cream afterwards. Vanilla. That was nice. Hit it a little heavy on the root beer floats later that evening and Ambrosine was called in to shepherd me home, and I suppose I remember that more than the event itself. But no, I don't recall any of those steps well enough to teach it. Sorry. I guess you know all the fairy dances I do."

She flopped back down. "Well, you're just the worst person ever right now. No wand on hand, can't fly backwards, that top part of your wings is thick and brownish-orange, your kisses are weird and taste like cinnamon, and you don't even know any good dances. To be honest, I don't think you're a real fairy."

I crossed my arms. "All right, fine. I know a dance you definitely don't know. I wasn't going to tell you because it's really secret and only for fairies, so keep my name and description out of the story if you ever go spreading it around. It's the most rigorous dance of all of them. You might be so exhausted by the end, you won't be able to stay awake."

As I'd thought, that got her interest. Pip sat up with a crooked grin. "I can outlast you, I think. You've got a broken crown. You talk big, but you can't be the healthiest one between the two of us. I eat poisoned dragons."

Half-kicking myself and then actually kicking myself for the long night I was about to engage in, I pointed to a distant lone tree. "Fine. Fine. You start over there just above the ground. First, stretch your wings high, back, forth, back, forth, and do four great, almost circular sweeps downward. Just do what I do, for the most part. It turns faster as it goes, especially when the spinning comes in, but you'll get it if you just give your best attempt." I wouldn't tell her, perhaps, that the movements were based mainly on instinct and I'd sort of be making up the parts of it as we went along. I'd skip anything that required wings to be rotated independently. Crossbreeds were supposed to bend to fullblood whims.

"Right," I said then, taking my place a fair distance from her and bowing with one hand behind my back and hurried through, "Lady Pip, it is my honor to have this dance with you. Okay. Now we come together, I take your hands, and then we return backwards, and we both go about a dozen wingbeats to our right so we're moving in opposite directions…"

We were almost ten minutes into it when she finally stopped and gave me a quizzical look. "This is a fairy courtship dance, isn't it?"

I lowered my wings. "Is that a problem?"

Pip picked a fingernail at her fangs. "Look. I might be an anti-cherub, and we did kiss, but I'm not really into the lovey-dovey type of stuff at all. I don't want a hook-up tonight. I get enough of that thanks to my counterpart. When I said 'fairy' dance, I didn't mean this kind of fairy dance. I just wanted a little fun, a little something cute, a little culture. But not that kind."

"I'm a member of the Seelie Court and you are one of the Unseelie. We physically can't breed. I was planning to skip that part completely. Did you want me to teach you our culture or not?"

"Duh. Let's get on with it." Pip stretched her wings again. "I can make a conversation piece out of it, anyway. Not all of my kind can say a fairy did a courtship dance with them."

"For an anti-cherub, you're not bad at keeping up." I shrugged. "This next bit requires you to fly back and forth from one side of the valley to the other, fast as you can."

Her red eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Fast as I can? Seriously?"

"Fast as you can. I'll spin up to catch you in the middle after you do it enough times. You want the real experience, don't you? This display isn't known for being easy on the limbs."

"Fine." So Pip flapped her feathery wings and took off. "Am I doing this as good as a fairy?" she called after about three minutes.

"Keep doing exactly what you're doing," I replied, folding my arms behind my neck as I leaned against the nearest tree. I disguised a yawn in a fold of my coat. "You just need to be faster."

She caught onto my scheme to wear her out eventually, of course, and stuck out a pouting black lip and dragged me into the air after her. Dancing kept us awake all night, and almost until the following noon. We'd linked our hands to make a spiraled sweep around the valley, and it was the worst time my body could have chosen to give out. I remember waking briefly after I crashed into the dirt, Pip rubbing her hands together as she hovered over me, but then it all went to black again.

When I woke up, all I could do was give a long groan. I was tied to the lone tree with my own rope. Pip had had the decency to leave my pants, but she'd taken my rain deer coat, my shirt, my shoes, my gloves, my cloth bag, and even my useless wand sheath. She'd left only the salt and the pregnancy test box. Once I'd spent an hour chewing through the ropes, I searched the surrounding valleys, and then the entire region of plains and forests. I never saw her again.

After I'd given up my search a few days later, I moved off in search of Great Sidhe again. Of course I went carefully, but it soon became obvious that things were back to the way I had once known them. Fairies of all kinds went about their daily business working shops that had been mostly repaired, apart from the occasional chip or singe mark that only an eye who had witnessed the chaos would know to search for. The brownies were back to patiently doing chores.

I had no money, so I gritted my teeth and spent about five more years at Seven Fairies performing those same basic low-class services in exchange for money to get the supplies I wanted. I didn't need much- simply food that I'd be able to grow myself, a thick quilt, some nice gloves, and a shovel. No wand for now. I couldn't be bothered to work to afford the monthly payments. I'd go without.

Once I had enough, I returned to the valley where Pip had planted her trees. I marked their location and swore to avoid it, and to keep every other living being I could away from that area. If Pip didn't want this land, all the better for me. This valley would be my territory, except for her trees, which I would let slowly die. I was a gyne- the land wasn't anything special and few Fairies were likely to challenge me for it. I pulled up a fistful of unkempt grass and began.

For almost five centuries I remained mostly in that valley, digging ponds and arranging flowers and keeping the landscape manageable. I had a home in the side of the hills- a sort of tunnel that took me half a decade to scrape out to my full liking, all for two claustrophobic rooms. When the occasional passerby came through, I would offer shelter and drink and warmth in exchange for a round of golf on the course I'd built.

Pip's taller sapling died young, but her little maple bloomed in the end. I had nothing to do with it.

As far as I know, it didn't seem like she ever came back to witness it drop its twirly seeds, but I stalked it whenever they seemed about to fall. I gathered them up and stored them in my hole and never planted any of them. This valley was mine, and if I was the sole caretaker, its curse was to live its days as the only one of its kind just as well.

In that manner I lived, simply Pip's tree and me.

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 1: SPOILED

The Nymph In the Sand

Spring of the Charged Waters

Pip's maple tree weathered every storm for over three hundred years, until it didn't. It crashed down hard one particularly rough night, so when the sky had shifted into a lighter gray, I took my ax and passed almost two cold weeks moving logs to my storage cave in the hill. Whatever I didn't use myself (I'd soon enough bought a cheap kitchen wand designed purely for lighting fires and coffee-making purposes) I figured I could sell down in Great Sidhe for a decent price when the weather cleared.

When that was done and I couldn't find enough to do, I began a new habit. Every day, and sometimes upwards of three times a day, I would take a few of those logs, nestle into my bed, and gnaw on them thoughtfully and deliberately with my teeth. I found it incredibly soothing, to peel off splinters of wood and chew them until they melted into a paste beneath my tongue. My plan was to carve out animals to decorate my golf course. It wasn't a skill I ever truly mastered, but it kept me moving and awake. I measured the worth of each day by how many carvings I refined to my satisfaction, as I figured that the movement and awareness were crucial to keep the magic particles flowing through my blood, warm and alive.

The years flickered patiently along. Someone must have given me a shout-out, or marked me on a map, or something of the sort, because about 20 years after the fall of Pip's maple, visitors to my hole became more frequent. It seemed that everyone trying to cross the landscape made me a stop for bed or lunch. I lived in the outermost eastern fringes of will o' the wisp territory, in that area that they didn't actually patrol but that most drakes didn't risk settling anyway.

I began watching for them constantly - travelers - since every few months, someone would be wandering out there in the sky or hills as the sun was setting, searching for an excuse to rest. I'd bring them in and treat them hospitably. I strove to treat every species alike and without preconceived judgement. Even the Anti-Fairies. Just not the brownies. When it came to who was in need, I would not play favorites. Mostly.

Since our homes were fairly near, Nephel and I communicated regularly. I was there to support him the March he won his wife, and he threw birthday parties for me on big years when my age ended in double zeros. I won't lie- it pays to have a western elf as a friend, ready to provide you with all the cookies and cakes and various baked goods you desire, free of charge. Western elves have built up near-immunities to being sugarloaded over hundreds of millennia, and Nephel never seemed to mind sharing his replenishing supply of goodies with me.

"You've got a beard starting to come in, I see," he told me once when he and Sasa had swung over to celebrate the Naming of the Seasons holiday with me. We perched on boulders some ways from my hole and up beside a creek where the starry sky blazed, the three of us bundled in blankets and sipping intermittently from mugs of hot cocoa and bottles of soda. The faintest creep of distant dawn glimmered in the east. Did that make it almost three in the morning here? Two minutes to midnight in the Coordinated Cloudland Time zone where the Eros Nest was located. I'd just turned 491,536 years old.

"Yes, it's been growing for awhile and I'm rather proud of it." I massaged my forefinger and thumb along the sides of my mouth. The mustache portion was slight, and dark fuzz ran all the way up to my ears. "I didn't really plan it- I just sort of decided to do it because I've procrastinated paying a visit to Great Sidhe for another 'real' shaving. That happens a lot with me."

"Yes, it does." Nephel leaned back, lifting his cocoa in my direction. "I have never met a fairy who procrastinates more on making himself happy than you do. Have you mended that caving-in gap in your roof?"

"I'm planning to fix it when I get bored with my animal carvings." That was my secret- I was never bored. I couldn't afford to be bored. Then I'd have to fix the roof. I wasn't that obsessive-compulsive.

"And you'd still like to find a wife, right? How's that going?"

I grimaced. "At the moment I'm busy reconstructing my golf course after the snows. As the season moves along, my focus will be on my garden, as per usual. I don't have time to pore over cities and comb the courting pool for unnotched wings. I'll get to that later."

"My point exactly, Fergus. You're smart and attentive. You work hard when you want to. How many animals do you have? 508?"

"It's more like 503. Number 10 was a collaboration, I lost the 8th one, I gave one of them that I didn't like and refuse to acknowledge away to someone who fell in love with it, Number 327 broke, and that small carving of aspen wood I was showing you earlier is just a piece broken off the fifth and I don't count it as its own."

He nodded, kicking a pebble into the creek. "You could probably become really successful if you were properly motivated."

"I have enough to be content," I pointed out over my next sip of orange cream. "I might even say I'm happy. I work to meet my needs. I spend most of my winters working in Great Sidhe to earn some extra lagelyn, but I've worked hard to be as self-sufficient as I care to be. I grow food in my garden, I fish in the river, I hunt small animals when I'm able to catch them, I take fruit from the trees. I've even cut down on sugar except in special circumstances like this- holidays and such."

"Don't you get bored here, especially on your own so often?" Sasa asked.

"On the contrary, m'dear, I'm easily entertained. Sometimes I spot a worm crawling around through the dirt that makes up my wall, and I spend two hours watching it as I carve. The simple things in life like that are fascinating to me."

Nephel smiled thinly. "How's that plan to change the world been coming along?"

My lips twitched. "It's coming. I combat discrimination whenever I see it. I've encouraged others to do the same. But, you should realize that I didn't offer to host a party just to be teased by a drake with sixteen fewer lines to his core, so-"

"Midnight, my boys," said Sasa. She pointed up to the moon glinting behind the gray clouds. "And spring officially begins in three, two, one…"

Accepting the change in subject, I clinked my bottle to their mugs. "Happy New Year. May the wind lift your wings and your wands never snap."

"And may you find starlight even in the darkest skies."

We slid from our rocks and knelt beside the water. "I hope it's not the Year of the Poisoned Creek," I muttered as I rolled up the sleeves of my pajamas.

Sasa giggled. "Nothing will top the Year of the Bloody Skyship."

I groaned. "That was such an awful year for the economy, with all the merchants refusing to sail once they heard the name. Sometimes I swear the recession is still coursing beneath our wallets."

"Bottoms up," said Nephel, plunging his hands into the creek. I followed his lead and raised my first scoop of the new year's water to my mouth. It tingled with the fresh touch of Mother Nature's influence, beautifully burning on my tongue.

Sasa smacked her lips. "Year of the Charged Waters?"

"That's what I'm reading in it. Certainly tastes like it could be."

"Then Year of the Charged Waters it is."

I wiped my mouth on my wrist and tried to stand. The moment I did, my legs wobbled beneath me, then gave way and dumped me face-first to the frosted grass. "Smoof, Fergus," Sasa cried, "are you okay?"

"What?" I mumbled, swiping my hand across my face again. Then I flapped them away. "I'm fine, I'm fine. I got lightheaded all of a sudden." Heavy-headed, more like.

"You're flushed. Here, drink some water. Sasa, get him some more water."

She held the mug to my lips. I gulped down four swallows. After squeezing my temples, I pushed it back towards her. "I think I've had enough. I'm up too late after my bedtime and I'm not as young as I once was. Feel free to make yourselves comfortable among my chairs and and blankets for another night. Or day, rather, seeing as we'll all probably be out cold until noon. I'm going to go lie down."

Back in my hole, I took my pillow in my arms and curled up around it, resting my right wing over my face. By Lugh's spear, it was stiflingly hot. Kicking off my blanket, I reached for my tin water pail and dumped the entire thing over my head. I didn't even care that I soaked my bed in the process. After letting the bucket fall to the dirt, I dragged my fingers along my cheeks so my lower eyelids stretched.

"I feel bloated and dry and sickly. Maybe if I'm lucky it'll pass by morning."

It didn't want to pass. The throbbing in my head worsened every day. I threw up gray sludge on a daily basis, sometimes in the morning and sometimes in the afternoon and sometimes all day long. I even stopped drinking coffee, because the smell of it sickened me. I kept within my little room, leaving only once in the evenings to shoo creatures away from my garden, though they took almost all that was there. At least I had my fish and bread and fruit.

There were few passing travelers, thankfully. I think. I was in no condition to provide the hospitality I felt was becoming of me, so I didn't even keep watch for them. Every morning I wondered if I ought to take up my crockeroo-fur coat and head for Great Sidhe or Madigan or someplace to seek a doctor. But mostly, the only money I had came from what travelers had wanted to give me in exchange for a night of food and shelter, and I kept letting myself believe that if I made it through just one more day, the next would come bearing sweet relief.

Restlessness set in as the second month of sickness drew to a close. I tore my bedding from my nest and scrunched up a new pile of it in the corner. Every surface had to be washed, every shelf organized, sharp objects hidden away, that bedding fluffed a fourth time, and perfectly clean towels spread over the dirt floor to keep feet from being soiled, wings or no wings. It all had to be in crisp condition. It had to be ready.

Ready for what, I couldn't answer with my lips. I knew only that my hole in the wall wasn't good enough. It was never good enough. I'd throw the bedding back where it was supposed to go, flap out my hands, and start piecing the pile together again while I crouched on my toes.

Leonard, still in Sparkle's body with all its long-rotten square teeth, came to visit me out of the blue one morning. Or perhaps out of the white, I thought as he shook snowflakes from his scarlet curls.

"How did you find me?" I demanded first, not opening the door any further.

"People talk, babe. Can I come in? I'm freezing my apexes off." He poked out his tongue to indicate that he was prepared to do a submissive licking ritual. I ignored him.

"I don't want any of those brownies from Great Sidhe finding out that I escaped during the riots. If you can track me, they probably can too. Even when I go back, I always wear a careful disguise. I keep my face and wings as covered as possible with a scarf and coat. They called me that at Seven Fairies for a time- Scarfy."

"Honeysuckle, cool your tits. I only know that my best buddy Fergus had to be the 'grumpy black-haired fairy gyne who has a squarish face and makes circles with his wings and lives in the valley over yonder' 'cuz I know you well enough, that's all. But most people don't remember you were around when all Darkness broke loose, and I haven't told a soul."

"Please don't talk so loudly. My head's been throbbing for weeks, and you're only making it worse."

"They kinda love me, by the way," he went on, half-whispering now. "The brownies, I mean. Sparkle acted like their hero when he helped lead the rebellion. But your kind hate my guts. They've been spreading their twisted tale of Great Sidhe across all the Worlds, and I'm in it now. I play the nosy freak. Hey, we're friends, right, sugarwings? Can I come in?"

I kept my arm where it was, fingers tight in the grassy edges of my doorframe. "You stink of that 'Wing It' fragrance all the damsels who've passed through my place in the last two months seem to be wearing. It's all over you."

He touched behind his ear. "You can smell that tiny dab?"

"Yes, and I don't want it permeating my hole."

"Hey, you like flowers and I like ladies' perfume. Don't be judging. Sparkle really did a number on this body and I'm trying my best to make myself at all presentable. Seriously, Whimsy, play fair. It's cold outside, and I came all this way to catch up with you and get away from it all."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Fine. You can stay one night. Just this once." Stepping back, I beckoned for Leonard to step through the doorway. Once he had, I licked him between the eyes, and he left a flourishing set of submissive 'Thank you kindly' and 'You will be blessed' and 'I humbly bow to you' marks along my neck, as opposed to Sparkle's sloppy slobber.

"Do you have food?" he asked the instant he put his tongue away.

"Is that what you came here for?" Then I sighed. "Sit down. I'll make you something, since that's what a good host does. Would you like a bit of grape soda? It's nice sometimes to mix it up and not be left to drink alone."

"Yeah, I'll take a shot or two. Can you maybe cook up some bureks?"

"Ha ha. Ha ha. No. Those are disgusting, both in taste and in smell. I've been throwing up all day long the past couple months as it is."

Leonard pondered that statement as I pulled something together for us to eat. When he took in the peppermint and cheese oatcakes I at last set down, he nodded sagely and leaned back in his chair. "Well, Fergus, let me be among the first to congratulate you."

"On what?" I asked dully, sitting across from him.

"On the nymph, of course! You're obviously pregnant. Almost two months down and one to go, I'd guess. Will I get to meet the lucky mother while I'm here?"

I fixed him with my best blank stare. "Does my belly look like it's pregnant to you?"

Leonard set down his shot glass. "Fergus, sometimes the…" He held up his hands and made a sign as though tracing out my shoulders and hips. "… bigger body types have difficulty telling that there's any swelling going on in their middle areas early on."

"Ow, I've been shot." Taking a forkful of oatcake helped me stall for a response, and in addition to that, it was delicious. "I can't be pregnant. I've never mated with a damsel in my life."

"Sharpened senses, weird food cravings," Leonard began, listing them off on his fingers. "Probable mood swings, and from the looks of that second bed made of blankets over there, you've started going broody… Sounds exactly like pregnancy to me."

"No, it does not. Believe me, my father made the symptoms abundantly clear to me, and one of them is that if I were as far along as this, I ought to feel a nymph squirming and kicking inside me." I reached for the soda bottle to refill my shot glass. Leonard took it away.

"Did you miss your last cycle? What's it for fairies; isn't it like, you've got 18 to 20 months you're fertile every five hundred years? Qalupalik are 6 months every thousand, and brownies apparently are fertile all year round. It's jacked. I should've stuck with the puppy body."

"Cycles are less precisely regular than you seem to think they are and can fluctuate by as much as five years if there isn't a more dominant gyne around to set us all to his. But for your information, I'm just coming into my usual fertile phase now and yes, I have woken up to blood. May I have my soda back?"

"Seriously, you should maybe take a test, just in case. Remember, coin sith can sniff out nursing milk, and sometimes nymphs too. I've been around the block and seen a lot of pregnant tummies. Your face looks kind of flushed around the eyes."

"Duh. It's zero degrees out there. Faces flush in the cold. Yours is pink too. Pinker than usual, anyway. And it doesn't change the fact that I still haven't gotten with a damsel. Soda."

Leonard shook his head. "Come on, the gift of life is precious. You don't want to damage the nymph's brain or something. I think that's a thing."

"Only if I got seriously sugarloaded, dude."

"Until you know for sure, I think you should lay off the sugar."

"The real Sparkle never would have said that," I sniffed.

"The real Sparkle's living the life of luxury in the palace with Queen Vyanda. You knew she returned to reclaim her throne a few years ago, right? Turns out she likes him just fine when she doesn't have to see any rotting teeth."

That bothered me. I groped again for the soda bottle, but Leonard pulled it a hair out of reach. "Fine," I snapped, drawing back. "I'll take your pregnancy test. Wait here."

"You have a stick around your hole," he mused as I got up and moved towards my back cupboards. "Are you sure you haven't kept a damsel around these parts? And you still insist that you don't want to?"

"When you - I mean, when Sparkle - ran off during the riots, I accidentally grabbed his things instead of mine. I just never threw it out. It's true that these things never expire, isn't it?" After opening and shutting a few doors, I found the box. "Enjoy your food. I'll be back in a few minutes."

My fingers hesitated over the cardboard. In the back corners of my mind, I'd always planned to open this thing with my wife some morning or evening when we were financially stable and this type of thing had been planned. Marriage, copulation, kids- check those off my bucket list and flit back off to the working world.

I'd carried the box in my pocket for over 320,000 years. It reminded me of Sparkle, of the Academy, of Great Sidhe. Of long nights spent studying Snobbish and writing essays. Of gambling over snapjik pieces and rowdy cheering from the sidelines of a saucerbee game before we slipped away for ice cream as the firework shows began. This dumb little pregnancy testing stick was the only thing I owned from my younger days, since Mortikor's canister of salt had been replaced a dozen times and I'd worn out all my clothes. I knew every tiny word printed in the corners of its label.

I'd told Nephel and Sasa I was my happiest in this phase of life where I now found myself. Was I? Shrugging, I ripped the package apart with my teeth.

Warm and yellow for positive. Purple and cold for negative. I took the test and fetched snow for washing dishes while I waited for the stick to decide my fate. Its lower half came up distinctly purple.

"There, you see? No sperm in my system. Undeniably not pregnant. Thank the stars; I can't stand the thought of taking care of some whiny little nymph for the next 200,000 years. I'm not the paternal type. And then, imagine if it turned out to be a gyne on top of it. Not this fairy, thank you."

"Gynes are cute."

I shook my head and said, "You say that because you're not one of us. Gynes tend to kill their parents and other nearby elders in their family. When I was just out of pooferty, my grandsire abducted me from my father's Academy dorm and tried to finish me off for good, and only partly because I sassed him with all I had."

Leonard grinned. "Ah, so your sarcasm's all-natural, then. I've always wondered if you had to take supplements to get this salty."

"Hmph. I don't even blame him, though; I was an illegitimate child born of a school-aged father, and nymphs are nothing but drains on one's resources who'll leave you someday and never look back." I threw the stick into my garbage pit. "Now, give me my stupid soda, Leonard. Trust me, I'd know if my belly was swelling any further than usual. Despite my father's hopes and your insistence, I'm a virgin. Even if I wasn't, although I am, Seelie Courters can't breed with the Unseelie anyway."

His head snapped up. "Wait, come again? I didn't know you swung that way."

"Don't get excited," I said as I poured another shot of grape. "Rhoswen syndrome holds no power over me. It was an inside joke. See? I'm laughing: Ha ha. Ha ha. I had a bad dream about an anti-cherub once."

"Anti-Venus?"

"Oh smoof, I wish. I'd lord it over everyone that I once passed a night exchanging smooches with the ambassador of anti-love herself."

"But… In your dream, right?"

I rolled my eyes and downed my shot glass. "Yes, in the dream, wise guy."

Leonard rubbed his chin. "I guess you could always get in contact with the Anti-Fergus. Since he has to mate with the counterpart of any damsel you do about three months after the fact, he'll probably know soon."

"I'm not pregnant."

"Right, right… Of course, who knows how many damsels he's gotten with? And there won't be a pup if you're not growing a nymph, so if that were me who was on their side of the Barrier, it'd just be a party all the time, so. He might not even know which one was yours by the time you find him." He stood. "Be right back, angel. I'm going to grab you some stuff and we'll throw you a baby shower."

"You're impossible."

"Yeah, but you still love me. You know you do." Leonard flicked his wand (Sparkle's wand?) and poofed away. As he had implied he was about to give me things for free, I didn't stop him.

I finished my food in his absence, then wiped the table and crunched the bucket of snow up for water. As I was cleaning off the last knife, he reappeared with a small wooden chest in hand. "Open it."

"This had better be full of gold and jewels." Putting the knife away, I sat down at the table and pushed back the lid of the chest. Then I clasped my hands to my cheek. "It's a baby rattle, just like the one I've always wanted. However did you know?"

Leonard grabbed the water bucket from beside the sink. "Here comes the shower."

"Don't you dare." I purposely knocked over my chair to slow him down, rushed to my door, and took to my wings outside. Leonard pursued with the metal pail swinging from his arm.

"Come on, Leonard, don't do this!" Wiping the occasional drifting snowflake from my eyelashes, I added, "You're straining me. You'll make me hurt the nymph."

Those brownie wings certainly were no match for mine- genetic mutation or not, I was a fairy and fairies were the fastest. I went easy on him, tauntingly keeping just out of reach, until Leonard finally managed to splash the bucket over my back. The icy water chilled me so sharply, I forgot to flap and plunged into the snow. He flopped beside me. We lay there wheezing with slight chortles in the cold for several minutes, watching the air and magic we expelled shimmer in front of our noses, before I rolled over to stare at him. "We seriously need more friends. It's too bad I killed most of mine."

"Well, now we have another on the way, don't we, honey munchkin?"

"Oh, shut up. You're making it weird."

"That's what I'm here for. Certified and everything. By the way, your teeth look a little yellow like the calcium's draining. You should brush 'em more if you don't want them to end up like mine. I knocked one of these pearls loose once and the Tooth Fairy almost didn't take it."

He pushed himself up and started back to my hole. I touched my stomach as he went. Two months along, he'd thought. What an interesting comment. If this were Ambrosine's body, I'd be born a week and a half from now. And yet when I squished my rounded belly, I could tell - undoubtedly - there was no life growing in there.

Leonard stayed the night and left for Great Sidhe again the following morning, or maybe to some other place entirely. I turned my thoughts to the oncoming summer, which the past decade suggested would bring so little snow, the green grass and plants might even flourish. Last year had been good. Sometimes I'd even walked about barefoot and without my coat.

Warmer weather would bring back the crockeroos and perhaps some of the herds. Angels too. And, best of all, will o' the wisps would be out of season by the end of June, and I wouldn't have to plan my excursions and grocery trips to the surrounding small towns in the middle of the night any longer. I had some money stored up from my winters of brownie chores. Perhaps I'd splurge on a cherry soda to welcome the turn of the season. Yes, perhaps I would. Everything was going exactly as planned.

… On the very last day of spring, while I was watering my stubble of garden plants that were probably weeds, everything did not go exactly as planned.

It came on so fast. So inexcusably. A strip of heat passed through my skull and sent chills tumbling like slinkies down my spine. I frowned. Landing in the sandy dirt, I set my pail down beside the nearest pond to rub the back of my head with all eight fingers. It came again inside- a biting sensation, like an itch begging to be scratched from underneath. More and more, bigger and bigger, sharper and sharper over the course of five minutes and making me stumble as I tried to walk, until I finally shouted, "All right!" and dropped to my knees. Flipping open the dome of my forehead, I dipped a hand inside. Much to my surprise, it did not slip in as far as it usually managed to. My fingers brushed against a soft and squishy thing. This must be it- the anomaly, the source of my pain. I latched on and drew it loose from the sticky, stringy confines of my head.

My hand had closed around a sort of translucent, filmy red bag brimming with fluid. The presence of the fluid, along with the fleshy cords that still connected the sealed packet to some structure within my head, confirmed all suspicions before I even examined the contents of the sac in any detail.

It was a nymph. A wriggling, living, honest-to-dust fairy nymph. Alive? And… inside me? In some impossible way, it had crawled up from my lower body where it ought to have grown and hidden itself away in my forehead. I was pregnant after all.

Or had been, perhaps more accurately. The time for carrying the child was over. The birthing period was evidently now. Taken rather far aback by this discovery, I dropped what could only be the amniotic sac in my lap and shook red strings of forehead material from my hand.

"Oh, smoof."

Clinging to my shoulders as another hot ripple passed through my system, I leaned over and fought to keep my vision from swimming. After a few wingbeats, I took the packet up again and brought it near my face so I might examine its contents more closely.

Yes, there really was a nymph in there. Awkwardly-shaped; almost round, but flat on every surface of its exoskeleton. Its face was squished into a hexagon, like it hadn't been focused enough to finish with the full and protective fairy sphere. When I tilted the sac just right, I could make out the tiny, broken crown pressed to its head by a rubbery wall.

That left me pondering one unanswerable question: How? Pip was a physical impossibility. We'd skipped that part of the dance anyway, of course. Never yet had I engaged in copulation with a damsel. I'd hardly spoken to damsels since coming into my adult wings, actually- even the ones who did stop by my hole. Anyway, shouldn't the pregnancy test have turned up positive? Second trimester was fairly late to be undetectable.

Again, Pip was a physical impossibility. All I'd done was kiss her. My mind flicked back through the events of three months ago. No. I'd been here, managing my garden and celebrating the new year. Sure, there had been those occasional damsels passing through, but I hadn't hit it off with any of them, and there were no blank patches in my memory that might suggest I'd had my mind wiped. Pip was a physical impossibility.

I wrapped my arms around my stomach and pressed in deep, not sure if I felt sick from the nymph or sick from my thumping thoughts. This… this had to be some mistake. The cherubs had sent the stork to visit the wrong drake. Those things happened, didn't they?

A small squeal wriggled past my lips. My tongue slipped across my teeth, rubbing them as they tingled. I sank my fingers into the stubbled grass until I sank myself, lying there with my knees tucked beneath my stomach and legs partly out to one side, my arms across my face. It was a horrifying sensation, having someone drink the magic out of me. The nymph took about everything the amniotic sac could pick up a read on.

The nymph. The nymph was- Well, the nymph was- a bizarre accident. Some fairy godchild or genie out there had thought it would be a laugh to fertilize some random drake's eggs from afar. And… had somehow gotten around the universal law that eggs still had to be fertilized with sperm through physical contact. Some alien species deep among the stars was incapable of giving birth the natural way and needed a host to attach its offspring to. A giant bug had laid its eggs in my ears. All of it made more sense than the child being mine. Forget the fact that it had come from my dome instead of my lower areas- how could it be mine?

I forced myself to lift my heavy, sticky cheek from the grass. My vision, though always blurred these days, grew less blurry the longer I stared at the amniotic sac on its cord, sprawled there beside my head. Horrid, slimy, twitching thing. I had to rid myself of it and forget this awkward nightmare had ever occurred. As I couldn't quite bring myself to squash and grind a tiny wriggling creature into pulp between my bare fingers, even if it was an unwanted parasite, I chose to drown it in the pond. It wouldn't be quick, but it would be easy. I pulled the sac towards me and dragged myself over.

However, within minutes I had run across a new problem: no matter how long I held the nymph under, it continued to kick and whine within its sac. It was feeding from my nutrients; the sac continued to provide the leech with life by stealing magic from me in a steady, slurping drain.

I searched sluggishly for any way to break the sac, but piercing it with the round stones I had around me proved impossible. Perhaps I could have broken it on the wooden spines of a decorative crocodile, but with my strength ebbing away, I could not have made the effort to move so far. I was left with no choice but to split the sac with my teeth. Easily, it tore. Fluid and the awkward nymph itself squeezed from the fleshy material and splattered across my hand.

My blood lit up as though with the stings of bees. What had to be a solid half of my natural stored magic left me in a final push, like scraping at fresh burn scars with one end of a frozen knife, its other end wedged in an electric socket. The force knocked me on my side as I gasped. In some automatic, instinctive way, the thin cords that had connected me to the sac withdrew into my head and coiled up in the base near my egg nest and skull. I lay, heaving and hot against the snow.

"Oh my dust," I wheezed. "Oh my dust, ow."

I wanted my small stuffed megalodon that Ambrosine had given me when I was only 23, his joke supposedly being that I was on my way to being a loan shark one day and ought to have a little shark as company. It's a really stupid thing to say, but I made the mistake of mentioning it to my editor and she demanded I come back and slip mention of it in- obviously because she hates me as much as I hate her. Anyway, it's the one thing that I really remember wanting as my body attempted to rebound from the drain.

And then the situation snapped around. Forget losing my magic to the nymph- suddenly my body struggled to cap off the overloading flow of power that I myself now began to slurp from the energy field. There was so much of it forcing itself on me to make up for what the nymph have stolen that I believe I may have wet myself.

Dust, I wanted that little toy, to shove between my head like a pillow, or to chew on and soothe my anxiety, or to clutch against my chest and simply hold.

My vision spun vertically. I loosened my fingers from the grass. The waterfall of magic slackened. Going from under-supplied to over-bloated with the stuff too fast left me feeling like I was swimming through yogurt, and ironically didn't make it any easier to drink from the field. My lines were popping out of contact like typewriter keys. How fortunate that there was only one nymph. If my lines had tried to compensate for twins or - blitz, I don't even want to think about it, but triplets - I imagine I'd have inadvertently burst them all and then asphyxiated as a result.

(Not-fun fact: I would later confirm that that's exactly how it works. Thank King Nuada for late-night vice president meetings.)

As it was, I spent the next multiple minutes trying to shed the extra magic from my system, whether that be from the nosebleeds or throwing up or emptying my bowels the other way. And to think- all the particles and dust of that leftover power - everything I hadn't managed to stuff inside the tiny body - would clump together in the hopes of becoming the nymph's anti-fairy one day. If there had been a damsel out there who'd had her way with me while I slept, then Anti-Fergus would be mating with her counterpart by midnight tonight. Nothing in the universe could stop him, unless during the three months of my pregnancy, she and her counterpart had died. Then he'd find her closest genetic match. And if that didn't work, he'd actually get to choose who would be mother to his offspring. But that was always the rarest case.

The Seelie Court drew upon the energy field around us, but the Anti-Fairies couldn't function with only raw magic. We were synced. They were capable of using their powers mostly only when we were. They needed us. We were their lifelines. Once magic had been run through our respiratory systems and polished up, they could pull what they needed straight through our matching cores.

So that's where those leftover particles decided to go.

It wasn't fair. I'd tried so hard to get them out of my system, but no matter how much I heaved out my insides, they shook themselves off and swarmed back. My ears, my nostrils, the palm of my right hand, the lip of my lid, the cut I'd bitten in the back of my wrist- every opening was fair game. Although the particles were invisible while I wasn't in my field sight, I could feel them pushing in on me, surging through my system, swirling through my blood, surging upwards towards my head and my core.

The core always began life as a white dot like that on the face of a die. It was still there, the core of my core, deep within. A wormhole of sorts, if you would, or tunnel opening, or river mouth, where Anti-Fergus lay at the opposite end. All that nymph magic I'd released tumbled through my 'deepest core' and out from his. It would flood his senses. Fill his dome. He'd drink it up. Its magic would be used to fertilize one of his eggs. In another three months, provided its counterpart was still alive (or earlier if the parents were killed off first and the sickly preemie baby left abandoned among the grit and dead grass), then an anti-fairy pup would rise to take its place among the Unseelie Court.

Not that it mattered. There would be no pup once I got through with the parasite that had put me through this nightmare.

Shaking from my crown to the ends of my costas, I forced myself to rise to my hands and knees. My arms trembled. My wings were smeared with soil and snow crystals. My nose leaked horrible purple blood. I hacked up a bowl's worth of white fluid, and then a second.

"That's… not fair. I didn't want this. It wasn't my choice. Why would anyone do this to me?"

Now that I had cut the nymph free, and finally sat up, I crawled over again to drown it. It lay panting softly and trembling in the snow where I'd partially dropped it and partially tossed it. Magic in its natural state struggled to pass through water; it would take considerable time, but the nymph could be rendered unable to draw energy through its pores with relative ease on my part. And, I didn't have far to move. It was a fine solution.

The nymph was soft and limp when my trembling hand closed around its back. Naked and squishy. It sneezed. My arm hovered above the pool. Drowning, as it turned out, was perhaps not the wisest way I could have chosen to go through with this, if it actually made me hesitate. As I crouched over the water, the nymph squirming and mewling in my grip, I could see a warbled reflection of Ambrosine's wide eyes, round nose, and black hair studying my own tight lips and drawn brows.

"And this is why my father told me to drown you when you turned out to be a gyne."

Typical. The universe could throw all its tricks my way, but my mind had been made up, and I should not be guilted out of it. Not my choice. Not my problem. I looked up at the moon when I dunked my hand beneath the surface of the pond. The shock of cold sent a spasm through the nymph's system. It twisted. It bucked. It kicked. It shrieked. It-

"Ow!" Out of impulse, I yanked my hand from the water, spattering droplets. The nymph spit up what it had taken in through its mouth and its wailing went on. In the little moonlight that filtered between the clouds, I tried to find the source of the stinging sensation in my hand. A droplet of pink blood oozed from a miniscule dent in my flesh.

It bit me! The little smoof had bitten me! I pried apart its top and bottom jaw, only to be met with a dozen jagged teeth. Such baby teeth were already in place to protect the nymph in situations such as these, perhaps, seeing as the creature was small enough to rest in my palm. It must have inherited them from me, because it certainly wasn't a natural trait for fairies otherwise. They were just like mine.

"And just what do you plan to do to me next?" I asked the nymph, setting it in the sandy dirt between my knees. It could not, or would not, answer my question. Rather, instead of attempting a second time to fight me off, it fastened its mouth around my big toe and made a valiant attempt to suck, much like I had once sucked on juice pops around this same time of year.

I found myself licking my own lips as I remembered the cold of the air. My limbs were weak. My vision rang with constant fuzz in the edges. Would I pass out before I could finish the killing? Fall into diapause, even? It might be safe to stay out here unprotected awhile longer, but then again it might not be. I was having difficulty drawing magic from the energy field already. Painful as it was, perhaps I ought to move. Much safer to kill the nymph inside my little home.

Pulling myself back there was an effort in itself. I was cold, stiff, suddenly hungry, my head pulsed, I couldn't focus enough to fly in a straight line, or really fly at all, and was still trying to stabilize my body to the overabundant amount of magic in it. Far too much of it was raw and unusable and smothering, so technically I had perhaps a fourth of ready magic at my disposal to function on as opposed to usual until the rest had been funneled through my system. I walked for most of the way, frost nipping at the soles of my wobbly feet. Surrounded by four warm walls, I lit the candle in its dish with my kitchen wand and dropped the nymph among the blankets on my bed.

Once I ensured it wasn't about to fall over and smash its face on hard painful ground, I felt my way along the wall and searched my drawers for a knife or skewer I could use to pierce its brain. I tested each blade against my thumb, then threw it aside in disgust when it drew no blood and the wound sealed itself up. Did I have nothing in my hole that hadn't been formed out of magic?

I took a moment to recover my strength before I limped back out to my pond and refilled my pail with water. The full, dripping bucket I put on the table. Then I returned to the nymph on my bed and picked it up with one hand around its back again.

It was a drake. A drake with flushed red skin and a tiny scruff of black hair. A single soaked curl printed an 'S' shape across its forehead. The flight casings that sealed its wings like brown bubbles clicked a bit when it attempted to flap them. When it blinked, I caught a flash of dusty-pale purple eyes. At least it did serve one purpose, I thought as I looked it over. The brownie nose always skipped one generation and presented itself in the next, and the nymph didn't have it. Happily, I could scratch 'brownie' off the list of possibilities for Solara's species. Not that I'd ever believed Ambrosine would stoop to such a shameful level to seek his mate, but it was nice to have proof that would have cowed even old Mr. Thimble.

The nymph went into the pail of water. My pillow went over the top of it so it could neither escape nor bite. Inch-long palms slapped against metal from the inside. A high whine filled the air. I pressed the pillow deeper, frustrated by the fact that the fabric got wet but knowing it was necessary to keep the nymph under. That simple motion of leaning forward proved to be my downfall, and the reason any of the pixies aside from myself are alive today.

When I moved, my wing brushed against the canister of salt I had left out when I'd been preserving and storing away my meat. In doing so, the salt fell over and white flecks spilled all across the dirt and towels. I stared at the mess as dread welled up in my stomach. My table was stone. My utensils metal or magic. My bed was made of cushions and straw and perhaps a little grass. I kept nothing wooden in my immediate vicinity to knock on, not intentionally but simply because that was how it was. The nearest thing I had would be the crockeroo carving high on my pillow, or possibly my logs stored in their separate chamber behind me, but if I released the nymph to knock on them then it would come up gasping and wailing and I might lose my nerve to try again, drain on my resources it was going to be.

I wasn't left to wrestle with indecision long. Hardly four wingbeats later, an Anti-Fairy materialized in front of me with an audible foop. A tiny anti-imp with antennae that dangled into his eyes and leathery wings that trailed on the ground, looking more like a cape than the appendages they actually were. Hardly more than a mere pup.

Groaning within my mouth, I decided I had better speak before it realized that something within my pail was alive and fading. "And how old are you supposed to be?"

"3,005," he said, holding up all eight fingers. "This is my first time bringing bad luck. So, um… Let's see." He looked around my hole, picked a towel from the floor, let it drop, and then wandered over to the half-empty can of soda beside my bed.

"Put it down," I snapped. The anti-imp raised it to his lips. "Don't you dare! There's too much left for your underage body and I will not have you hyperactive and drunk in my home! Deliver your bad luck and get going. I said, put it down!"

The nymph in the pail splashed and kicked.

"What's this?" asked the anti-imp after he'd taken a few sips of my drink, picking up the wooden crockeroo from my bed.

"That is mine, and I've been working on it for days, so don't-"

Snap. "Whoops. Maybe it goes back on." Snap.

"That's it. You're finished." Shoving away the metal bucket and ignoring the resulting clang against stone, I took the anti-imp by the nape of his neck and dragged him over to my door. He went tumbling out into the thin layer of slush that had clumped in the divot just outside. "You tell your High Count to send me a real Anti-Fairy next time."

"Is this another one of your things?" the anti-imp asked, shaking frost from his wings as he reached for a rain deer on his left. The second carving I'd made.

"Don't touch that. Don't touch anything!" Swiping at him with my hands, I unhinged the dome to my forehead chamber and pushed out the laser cannon that made up my core. The imp dropped the deer. One of its thinner antlers broke off when it hit the dirt. He squeaked and darted off. His wings flew up, then snapped down, and soon enough, he was gone.

When I stepped back into my hole and barred the door with its chesberry bolt, I found my pail lying on the floor. Partially empty. The pillow had popped out. I took the bucket by the handle, but the nymph was nowhere to be found. Raising my head, I followed the trail of wet dirt into the storage chamber where I kept the logs and my food. Heaps and heaps and heaps of logs, ordered in neat rows and stacked up to the ceiling. Clean, preserved food that would go rotten if its neat packaging was torn apart by desperate teeth.

"Oh, you have to be yanking my lines."

Leaving my cannon drawn, I grabbed my candle from the table and dragged my sore self into the storage chamber after it. I had to lean my hand against the wall or a stack of logs every few steps. The footprints disappeared too soon, turning from mud back into dirt just scuffed enough that I couldn't sort itty-bitty marks from regular rises and dips. I held my candle near the first pile of logs, but though I searched each nook, I didn't find any trace of a stowaway.

"Come on, nymph," I called, whistling a few times and clicking my tongue against my teeth. "You'll turn to dust when you die and I don't want it to get strewn all over my nice clean home. And especially into my food. You'll magic-touch it and then all the nutrients will drain. And, it's unsanitary."

I moved to another heap of wood, this time touching one of the lower logs and rolling it with my finger. It shifted. Something darted out from under the heap and burrowed into the next one.

"There you are."

The nymph zig-zagged around the room and I followed it on foot, keeping my patience, as I herded it towards the back. There was only one entrance into the storage room. Only one source of light. No cracks. No tunnels. As long as I kept watching which stack it attempted to hide in, I wouldn't lose it until I was close enough to pick it up. Perhaps I could even zap it out of existence with my laser cannon. After all, the 'magic can't kill magical creatures' law only applied if said magical being had magical particles in their blood that would react in the face of an oncoming blast. Officially, that was how I'd killed the Wilcox gyne once he'd submitted to me- blasted him through his forehead after I'd rid him of his lines, and leaving his dust in that box in the lonely house. And the nymph was still a newborn.

"Almost done," I said. "Just one more. You're almost there. You've got it."

It chirped, then squirmed through a gap in the last pile of logs. I heard scuffing footsteps on the other side. Limping around the heap, I found that the nymph had pressed its back against the rear curve of the chamber, arms and wings spread to either side. The lavender gaze darted back and forth as the realization sunk in around it that it couldn't flee backwards any longer. It turned its eyes upwards to me, mouth slightly gaping and tiny brows pressed together. Its entire body vibrated with trembles. The splintered crown bobbed a little lower over its head, broken points bared. It bit its lip. Fingers clenched and unclenched against the dirt wall.

I hesitated, holding the candle in its dish even when a hot drip of wax splashed across my thumb. The nymph continued to blink in silence, flat where it was, tongue poking out as it panted. It looked at me, with its searching eyes.

It… wasn't fleeing from me out of instinct. It was fleeing because it had chosen to dislike me. It had already associated me with the two instances I'd dunked it in cold water and held it down. It was aware. It was afraid. It could process. It was sentient.

Shifting the candle dish to my left hand, I squeezed my nose and rubbed upward for a time. Then I came down on my knees. I retracted my laser cannon. Setting the candle aside, I held out my upturned palms. The nymph didn't move. I really didn't blame it, nor did I make any attempt to force interaction. I had all day and nowhere to be.

After a moment, it took a tiny step towards me, letting out a vocalization and flaring its wings. It flashed its teeth, then returned to panting. "You're asphyxiating," I realized. "You were born with magic in your blood and now you're running out. You can't tap into the energy field. I didn't have to raise a finger, and you'd have died anyway."

He whined and sat down, licking his pale lips. I tucked my wings away. There was a way to solve that problem that I knew inherently. Bracing my hands to the dirt, I closed my eyes.

Melted into the genetics of a drake was the instinct to solve these types of problems and preserve life. There were threads in the universe, invisible, but they had taste. They clung to magical beings and connected them to the energy field expelled by the Big Wand in Fairy World so it might give them life. Upon our ancestors' deaths, their magic cycles back through the universe, available for their descendants to draw upon; when we use magic, we give back what we borrowed from them so it can be purified and reused. Those who don't sometimes suffer… back-up. Lifting my fingers, I pushed back the lid to my forehead chamber and reached out for my magic lines, searching, pressing, tasting…

My eyes rolled back into field-sight. The colors of the world around me shifted. No more browns and blacks and chamber dark. Only the brightness of the Fairy rainbow, set against a backdrop of raw, flowing purple.

Colors. So many colors. My own skin glowed with the lavender pigmentation released by my fagiggly gland. A haze of periwinkle clung around my edges to indicate that I was a member of the fairy race. Due to something with my genetic mutation, my 'base color' had always appeared several shades nearer to purple than those of my peers.

Then the nymph. He was lavender too. Now that was interesting. You didn't see too many nymphs take the fagiggly color of their father. Normally, they ended up a bit closer to the mother, who bestowed the most magic on the egg during fertilization. And purple was a rare enough color as it was. I didn't remember any purple damsels passing through my hole for decades. What had her name been? Cassandra or something?

There was the core of his core, small and white near the base of his dome. The aura around it gleamed more pink than purple, which indicated likely stubbornness in his future personality, along with a tendency to defend whatever he was interested in and display little if any reluctance or remorse. Curious once again. He wasn't the only one present with the pink-purple core color.

I studied the other layers around the nymph's core. The first layer would display the core color of his sire's magic. The outer layer his mother's. Double pink, leaning into purple. That was where he and I finally differed- those who had looked upon me with field-sight had always confirmed that Ambrosine's core color was red and Solara's was deep, dark indigo.

Finally, a single groping finger snagged one of the magic lines that wafted around me, intangible unless I hunted for it. I found another, and a third. While the nymph sat panting, I took my three threads and sharply snapped their connection to my soul. After the burning flash of pain had subsided, I weaved them into the nymph once I'd nudged open his dome.

If there was one thing that Ambrosine had ensured I could do with my hands before he sent me off into the world, it was braid. I could braid the hair of any damsel who might cross my path, though no one had ever asked me to. For the nymph's lines, I chose my favorite triple fishtail pattern. With gentle fingers, I twirled the cords together - that same pinky-purple in field-sight like my core color - and wove them into the gravitational field above the nymph's head, into his broken crown, into his body and mind and his entire being as a whole. Finished, I tugged, hard.

The lines took root. He twitched his wings. Once he swallowed twice, his panting stopped. I flipped my eyes out of field-sight and back into reality. The bright colors faded into browns and shadows once again. Together we sat as I reoriented myself to drinking from the field with three fewer lines, and the nymph tested his connection for the first time. He rubbed his eyes and chirped twice.

"You like that better, don't you?" Keeping my movements slow, I scooped him up. Instantly he was squirming and trying to nip, but I held him far enough back on his hexagonal body that he couldn't sink his teeth into my skin. Then I pressed him to my chest, took up the candle, and brought him back into the main chamber. "I suppose this is for you," I said, placing him in the nest of rumpled blankets in the corner. He relaxed once I let him go and sat there, staring at me as I frowned around my hole.

"No clothing will fit you. I suppose that's all right for now. Is there something to feed you with?"

I brought to the table a bit of fish left over from what I'd eaten the night before and sliced off a chunk. After plucking out a few wispy bones, I gave it to the nymph. He closed his mouth over my finger and chewed, then swallowed and made squeaking noises for more. I cut another piece, but after he got it down, he threw up on himself.

"All right. I understand. I won't give you any more if it's going to go to waste like that. Time to clean you up." I sprinkled more salt over the fish and rewrapped it in its silky packaging and stuck it among the chunks of ice in my lowest drawer. Then I went out to refill the water pail. When I placed the nymph on the table beside it, he fluttered his wings and clashed his teeth and kicked his legs.

"I'm not going to hold you down," I said, picking him up. "You're disgusting and you need a wash to rinse off all this spit and dirt. Just look at you. You're completely - ow! - sandy…" Shaking out my hand, I dipped him in the bucket. He screeched as the cold touched his feet. His legs kicked. He twisted, bucked- everything just as before, at the pond.

"Dazzled," I grunted, withdrawing him before he could bite me a second time. Instead, I pinned him to the table, which stifled his crying, and wet the end of my sleeve in the water. This, I rubbed across his chest and face. Most of the mess had splashed off when I'd dunked him, but grains of sandy dirt clung to his black hair. When I was done, I returned him to his mound of blankets and rubbed my eyes.

Deep inhale. Exhale. I told myself to forget the How?s and focus on the What now?s.

I lowered my hands to find that the nymph had spit over himself again. Evidently, his body wasn't ready to digest solid foods quite yet. He needed milk. Nursing milk, with all the essential nutrients. Without it, he'd starve entirely; that much I remembered from my school days, even if I'd wanted proof. As I cleaned him up and he whimpered, I chewed on the tip of my tongue. Just be hospitable, I told myself. Treat him like a guest. Experience one day at a time.

Not that there would be many days without the cortycus in that milk to power his core. Rather than wash him a second time, I might be better off preparing to sprinkle his dust around the old sprouting grounds of Pip's maple tree.

I did bathe the nymph again, and lay the towels from the floor across his bed so he would soil them and not the blankets. Then I offered him Leonard's rattle. He didn't seem to like it much and threw it at my head. At last he was quiet once he went to sleep, but in the middle of the night the hunger got to him, and he woke me with his wailing.

There was no place to put him in the cave, and I was terribly stubborn and terribly sore and wasn't about to allow the parasite to chase me out of my own hole and into the snow. He quieted some when I held him, pacing and clicking my tongue, but movement could not quell his hunger. Only milk would stay down in his system for the first several months. By the time he could swallow solid foods, he'd have starved.

So… I made a decision.

I went into my rear cave, set the nymph down, and took up my knife. With a few quick strokes, I'd hacked off a chunk of crockeroo meat and some bread slowly going stale. I warmed myself one final cup of coffee while the nymph cried and spit and generally made a mess of himself. Then, shoving my kitchen wand into the waistband of my thick gray pants, I set the mug in the sink with the plan to get to it and the other dishes later.

Sandy (that was what I had chosen to call him) was bundled in the softest towel I could find. He cried incessantly, quieting only when I held him near my chest. He nipped at my shirt in search of milk he would never find. I let him anyway, because it kept him quiet. For a long moment I stood at the chesberry door to my hole, gazing out into the snow.

"This is stupid," I said aloud. My eyes moved from the sheets of ice and occasional drifting flakes to the warm comfort of my hole. I didn't really need to traipse about in search of a damsel, did I? Why not take the easy path and toss the nymph out to die?

Sandy took my thumb in one of his hands and blinked up at me, his mouth partly open. Sighing, I scratched behind his ear, which he seemed to like, as it made him ball his fists and chirp. He held a spell over me; he was sentient, and as the only adult around I was responsible for him until further notice. Sandy hadn't chosen to be born, and thus it wasn't fair to make him suffer. I had to ensure his survival, although doing so was really my biological code. Nothing more.

My entire body ached. Each time I took a step, liquid sloshed about between my ears. After ten minutes of stumbling among drifts of snow, I began to feel a feeling. A sickening feeling. Yes, even though I did sleep through most of that class like always, I had learned in school that extra blood followed the birthing process.

And I wasn't wrong. When I knelt down and, leaning over, cracked open the lid to my forehead dome, I was greeted with a stain of sloshing purple against the snow. It dribbled past my ears, along my nose, and caught in the ends of my hair. After emptying my head, I stared at the contents, then emptied my stomach too. Sandy clung to my foot as though in apology.

"You did this to me," I hissed at him. He squeaked and hid his face behind my big toe.

I brought one fist down on a chunk of ice. "This isn't logical. A nymph born from my head? How did you even get up there? That isn't where my uterus is, and yet here you are, healthy as can be. And on top of that, I've never blitzed a damsel in my life." I reconsidered my words, then turned to Sandy and propped my chin on my fist. "Pardon my language. Don't tell my father I let a nymph hear me say that."

(Take your thumb off your chest, McKinley. You're not going to The Darkness just for reading such things. And if you come knocking at my door with King Nuada's scripture in hand insisting that you'll show me the path back to righteousness, I'll chuck you off a cloud from Plane 12.)

Sandy lay his head on my arm, and I let him for a time because I hurt too much to move. But eventually we had to. Although the breeze wasn't anywhere near strong enough to disconnect my lines, it was too cold to lie about, even with summer supposedly on its way. Movement offered warmth. After taking up Sandy again, I trudged north.

Had to obtain milk. Had to find a lactating damsel. But where? I couldn't go to Nephel and Sasa; even if I did attempt to seek out one of the other western elves, word spread fast and they would certainly find out. They'd be upset I hadn't told, upset I hadn't known, upset I'd consumed sugar while expecting. I prized Nephel's friendship, but I knew his feelings on candy and soda. He always made me swear with my thumb on my chest that I hadn't so much as kissed a damsel for the last three months before he would break out his stash. No matter how much I pled with him now, he'd believe I lied to him to feed an addiction. It would shatter his core.

No. I was willing to break the trust of anyone else, but not Nephel. I still remembered the days when he was young and cute and innocent, his pointed teal hat so big on his head that it kept slipping down to his nose. I couldn't face the look of betrayal in those same wide green eyes. Not when he admired me. I wouldn't let him think I was weak.

Which town was nearest my hole? It always seemed as though most of the smaller bubble-dwellers were poor and sleazy, so I didn't often bother with them. Great Sidhe in the distant southeast and Madigan in the northwest were my main places of business. I'd compared and contrasted for centuries, and their prices and paychecks were always the best. But which way was I to head when it was a damsel I needed to find, not a well-paying job?

I turned to an old tree I knew for my answer. Although giving birth to Sandy had left my brain fuzzy, and although it had been centuries ago that I last consulted the tree or one of its long-gone neighbors, eventually even my poor eyes could make out the conifer with its bristled top sliced cleanly off in the universal symbol for 'signpost'. Heaving myself towards it, tucking Sandy between my neck and other arm, I brushed frost from the lowest section of the trunk to find nine carved arrows pointed in a variety of directions among the crevices and lumps of bark.

Great Sidhe, 12 hours as the dragonfly skims.

Pumpkin Hill, 7.5 hours.

Ginger Peaks, 6 hours.

Slicing River, 5.5 hours.

Caribou Town, 4 hours.

Little Sidhe, 1.5 hours.

Ice Falls, 1 hour.

Mid-Northern Reaches, 1 hour.

Purple Valley, quarter of an hour*

*Permanent residence of a gyne who offers rest for travelers

Why had I decided that owning a wand wasn't worth the monthly payments, again? Ah, yes… The big stubborn snattersmoof had boasted to himself that he was capable of living by his own means, essentially swearing off magic and relying merely on a kitchen wand to stir his morning coffee. Wow, I was super dumb. I was so dumb, I deserved a promotion for my lack of planning abilities.

Nephel's home of Notch Town wasn't even on this list. Too far and too small.

I was the gyne in question. Scratch that.

The Mid-Northern Reaches was the burrow system of the nearby will o' the wisps. Scratch that.

Ice Falls wasn't a town so much as a tourist location. Even when I arrived, it could be a week before anyone showed up, and longer still before I met a damsel with milk who would agree to nurse such an ugly, hexagonal child. The nymph would die before then. Scratch that.

Ginger Peaks, Pumpkin Hill, Caribou Town, Great Sidhe- all so very far. Scratch that.

I'd never been to Little Sidhe before. Few drakes lived in the town- mostly it was damsels and occasionally their partners, whom they always kept a close eye on, notched wings or not. The place was situated dangerously within the borders of will o' the wisp country, and the rumors were that if ever they needed to grocery shop, Little Sidhe was where they went. The residents had turned a fair profit that way, selling to wisps Earthside when few others would, but few drakes ever walked those streets alone without a hand on their wands. Every extra hour spent making the visit to Great Sidhe had been worth it to me in the past; I was always looking for swell ways to kill time above ground rather than below it.

Moving westward from here would drive me into the territory of the will o' the wisps. Theoretically, I ought to be able to avoid them if I moved first south and then cut westward, but it still ran the risk of crossing paths with some sort of wisp damsel patrol. Then, upon arrival, I only needed to avoid the attention of any wisps, deliver Sandy to a milkmother, and preferably ditch the scene afterwards. Surely they had some precautions in place to protect drakes who wanted to avoid the attention of the wisps, didn't they? They had to.

Caribou Town. Little Sidhe. Caribou Town. Little Sidhe.

Four hours or an hour and a half? Risk of wisps or guaranteed safety?

As I wrestled to make a decision, Sandy bit his thumb and started to cry. I stared down at my feet, clutching the nymph to the warmth of my chest, hearing wind and magic rasp in the back of my throat every time I opened my mouth. Icy spring rain pattered in my hair. I lifted my wings and attempted to summon the pink magic that would allow me to fly, only to find myself still drained physically and magically from the mortifying event of the night before.

If Sandy had been wished out of me, or if it hadn't been so cold, or if I'd been younger, or if the wind wasn't picking up, perhaps I could have done it. But my lines were still bloated halfway shut and vaguely strangling me, causing me to outright wheeze. Every limb and every place where I didn't have a limb ached and sang.

No pink magic. Grounded. Flightless.

Walking would triple the time.

Nymph was hungry and loud.

Okay. Little Sidhe won the ticket. I'd go. So I went.

That was a rough journey. In some places the snow was up to my knees, and in others it nearly reached my waist. Every step was mostly a stumble. I had to rest multiple times, bleary and aching. Sandy slipped in and out of wakefulness every few dozen minutes. I did my best to keep track of the mountains, but I hadn't traveled this area in centuries for a distinct reason. According to the signpost, Little Sidhe lay southwest of me. Southwest? Were my directions right? Gray clouds shielded the sun. Had I been turned around in the wind that had picked up as I dragged myself along, swirling snowflakes and stinging my skin with sharp rain and flecks of hail?

Dust, where was I? Why hadn't I brought more food? Sleep tugged relentlessly at my eyelids, but whether it was natural or something deeper, I couldn't afford to let it overtake me. I couldn't let myself slip into diapause. Not here. Not again.

"Stop crying," I burst when Sandy picked it up for the 60th time. I clutched him to the fuzz of my white crockeroo coat, my wings beating wildly but uselessly without their magic. Did I know this area? Where was I? A third of the way up a brown cliff, with a sloping path of slippery rocks that seemed to skitter at every step. North? Was I north?

No.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

The wailing continued. I smothered the nymph's mouth in my shirt, turning desperate circles. "Sandy, I'm serious! This is the dead center of will o' the wisp country! You have to stop or they'll find us."

Disobedient brat ignored my warnings. I managed to quiet him by allowing him to suck on my thumb as I fumbled my way in the direction I thought might be east, but it didn't satisfy his hungry belly for long. The screaming returned, even when I muffled it with a corner of the towel and my palm.

"Sandy, don't you get it? If they find us, bad things will happen- not the least of which is that will o' the wisps don't know how to make a decent cup of coffee. I can't handle caffeine withdrawal for the rest of my life. I'm not a god quite yet."

The energy field wrinkled around me as some foreign magical being drew near and our attraction signal auras melded around one another. Faintly, I began to get a taste of swamp water and roasted bird in my mouth. Even in the wind, I swore I picked up the rustle of approaching lepidoptera wings.

I ran every foul word in every language I knew across my head, removing my thumb from Sandy's mouth to trace my fingers through my damp hair. Sandy would break into screeching again at any moment. There was almost certainly no way I could slip away from her.

It was me or him.

Fortunately, it wasn't a difficult choice in the least. I placed Sandy down in the snow and began to back away as I bundled my numb hands in his towel. He whimpered two or three times, holding out his stubby arms. I shook my head.

"No, Sandy. I tried to warn you, but you chose not to listen. You're too loud and I can't let the will o' the wisps find me. I can't. I can't. I never wanted to have a nymph, and if it comes down to the two of us then I have the right to think of myself first. If you're unlucky, the wisps will take you in and raise you until they don't like you anymore. You can hate me for the few short minutes you have remaining, but this is how it has to be."

On those parting words, I turned and zipped off along the rocky path, stumbling as best as my sore body could take me. His wails reverberated off the stones and new summer air, but as young as he was, there was no way he'd be quick enough to follow me.

Will o' the wisps. Will o' the wisps. Had to shake the taste of their magic, had to put up a fight, had to get away.

Was she closing in? Were those butterfly wings in my ears, or the squeals of magic muscling down my clogged-up lines?

Sandy's crying broke off. My core dropped from my head to my stomach. I grabbed hold of a spire of ice until my vision cleared again.

Dead, quite possibly, and with the flight casings still on his wings. Dustless death.

I signed the pattern for Safe travels across my chest anyway.

When that was done, I made an attempt to launch myself into the air, and crashed against rock. Even now that at least one will o' the wisp was likely in pursuit, I found myself lying there for a solid twenty seconds before I heaved myself up to unsteady feet.

Every sliver of skin, both inside and out, screamed with the fury of firefighting wands. My vision blurred with pain. My limbs were stiff. I'd lost so much magic, so much strength, in bringing Sandy into the world, and it had taken nearly all my effort just to come this far. I simply didn't have enough left to fly. There was only one more option: run. Swallow the pain and just flat-out run. I took a single step and tripped into the snow again.

"No, no, no," I groaned, sinking my fingers into the powdery white. This couldn't be happening. I'd left Sandy to lose his soul to the Darkness, and now he was killing me. It wasn't fair.

With my hands on the rock wall, I dragged myself up once again. Razzle dazzle. One step at a time. Cradling my head, I lurched my way along the cliffs. My limp became a hobble, and a shuffle, and a rush. I scrambled my way upward, trying to seek out some crack in the rocks, or cave.

Higher. Higher. That became the word I chanted, tearing my hands on jagged ledges as I surged upwards. My frozen wings crackled. Blood spilled from my knuckles and crusted in the creases of my palms. The gray snow shimmered with green and red.

I paused for a break after nearly ten minutes, one hand against the dirt and rock of the cliff, and gazed down at how far I had climbed. My bloody prints were distinct here and there, but although the energy field dripped with wisp, no one was following the trail as near as I could see.

My core swelled. I'd done it! Sickly and sore as I was, I'd shaken off a will o' the wisp! And to think that Mr. Thimble had once made me explain to the whole class why even fairy drakes struggled to escape their long-fingered clutches. Satisfyingly satisfied, I turned around and took another single lurching step.

It crunched. I swayed. Overhead, the sound of falling hail chunks shifted as sweeping wings blocked their path to the ground. They weren't my own.

They were cinder black, popping with bright flecks along the edges- all pale circles of orange and swirls of blue and dashes of white. A little tail curled off the edge of each one. I remember the sight of her descending still, especially when the human cities are aglow with those same colors in the night. Her bright pink sweater had pockets. Thick skirts of purple and navy blue spilled out around her feet. The curls in her long hair followed a similar gradient pattern, lightly golden in the center before transitioning to amber and scarlet and finally ashy-gray at the tips. Though she floated, I could tell she was taller than me by several unpleasant inches- four feet to my then-three-foot-nine, maybe. In her arms, she held Sandy. I leaned my head back against the wall of the cliff and fought back a scream. My fingers scraped across rock. Nothing loose to throw. Nothing wide enough to support my weight should I climb. I gave up and pressed my hands into my cheeks as she descended.

"My… fair lady?"

She slipped her hair back behind her pointed ears, showing a dimple on either cheek when she smiled. "Well addressed and well received, drake. Gyne drake- look at that. With only three words, you have taken your first steps on the path towards gaining my favor."

My left wing gave a twitch.

"I am Kalysta Ivorie of the Mid-Northern Reaches."

Figured that. My other wing offered up a second twitch for good measure. Forgoing the attempt at politeness, I drew my kitchen wand and pointed it at my stalker's face.

"And you come with your own cooking utensils. Even better. You can put that away- I know we're both aware it won't help you here."

I continued to brandish it nonetheless. Its domestic magic may prove worthless against her, but the points of the orange star might still blind her if I stabbed them in her eyes hard enough.

Sandy stretched his hands again, his fingers opening and closing upon empty air. Setting him to her hip, Kalysta leaned her shoulder to the rocky wall of the cliff and studied me from my lower half up to my top. "I was doing some research on this weather and the frozenness of streams and ponds at this time of year for a project of mine. One of my fellow damsels called out and alerted me to the presence of this nymph left as though abandoned in the snow. I happen to know a thing or so about nymphs myself, so I flew straight out to have a look at him."

I bit my lower lip. "I imagine you did, my fair lady."

"This one," Kalysta said, flipping Sandy on his head in her palm, "still has the flight casings on his wings. He won't shed those until he tastes his first sip of nursing milk. I saw him and I thought, 'I wonder if I might chance upon some drake in his nymph-bearing years out wandering in my realm?' Lo and behold, to my delight, I did. Presto. Here we are now. Is this not a most lovely day for us?"

"He isn't entirely mine."

"No? Then it's fortunate I found you anyway. If he hadn't been sitting out there, I never would have known you were around before you froze off your cute little wings. You'll give yourself hypothermia if you stay out here any longer. What has led a drake like yourself to cross this barren landscape on your own?"

Cold as it was, a bead of sweat trickled down my upper lip. My fingers tightened around the kitchen wand's shaft. "I'm only passing through, my fair lady. My apologies if I disturbed you from your work."

"I require no apologies in my little kingdom, drake." She placed Sandy on the ground. He raced directly towards me and grabbed my ankle, whimpering and trembling. I made an attempt to kick him from my foot. He clung on. After a moment of this, and at a loss as his whines began again, I knelt down to stroke his head. He quieted.

"It's a shame he isn't yours," Kalysta said, studying me as I slid Sandy into my arms and shifted further along the rocky wall. "He seems to like you well enough."

I shut my eyes. "He is the firstborn of a drake bearing the name of Sanders, and is called only Sanders' son. His sire intended to have him drowned, but I spared his life and we have only just left that place. That is what I know."

"Oh!" Kalysta placed one dark, glistening wing around my shoulders. "Then you have nowhere else to go now. I think I could make arrangements to take you in."

"Your kindness is implied, my fair lady. There is no need for you to go through such trouble. I was on my way westward; I'll find the Rainbow Bridge that way. My father is in a town called Novakiin, and he'll provide the child with the wand he'll need to learn to fly-"

Shaking her head, Kalysta took my wrist and, gentle as a flower petal, guided me back along the trail. "You're a drake, you're in my territory, and the nymph will die if he doesn't receive milk before too long. I think we can help each other. Don't you?"

I tore my hand free. Doing so sent my arm crashing against the wall of the cliff, but once I caught myself and dabbed some of the green blood from my palm on my knee, I held Sandy out to her. "Dear lady, he's not my son and I don't care for him. I entirely offer you him and give my full legal permission to take and betroth him to any daughter you may have if you'll so kindly allow me to move on. Do as you wish concerning his fate."

Kalysta brought her forehead to mine so our floating crowns clicked. Never once losing her smile, she said, "My kind are creatures of hospitality, drake. As you have crossed into my territory, you are under my protection as much as Sanders' son is. I insist on taking you back to my burrow. We can do this either the easy way, or the hard way. Please make your selection, and let us proceed."

The "hard way" turned out to involve shoving her open mouth against mine and forcing down a light Kiss of Frost. It was full, and enveloping, and terribly, terribly cold. It stank of swamp and lasted for an entire minute. After Kalysta relieved me of my kitchen wand and peeled me away from the cliff face, she slung me over her shoulder and absentmindedly retreated back down the slope. Sandy curled in the crook of her arm. I could do nothing but lie on my stomach as the bone in her shoulder dug into my neck and right wrist. For the most part, I couldn't even twitch my nose or blink when her wings slapped my face.

Hidden among the bushes and brown grass, somewhat sheltered by the cliff face, marked by a pointed stone, Kalysta found her burrow. The hatch was structured from material that resembled the cap of an acorn. My eyes could rotate enough that I could see it as her hand lifted the cover away. Then she dropped through with a fwoosh.

We landed in a cave of blue-black rock and packed dirt. It smelled like centuries of thick waste. Kalysta placed me on the floor with Sandy and sprang back up to shut her hatch against the snow. The light from the outside faded away, leaving only the white stones set along the walls, glowing. There were dozens of them, spaced low and in a line so they functioned as a handrail, but they were dim.

Kalysta carried me into the next cave. I caught one glimpse of fluffy blankets before she lay my back down on them. Feathers and puffs of wispy white smothered my head and trailed over my nose. Propping up my head, Kalysta brought her lips close. I could do nothing except widen my eyes. But, her lips did not brush mine again. They closed over the tip of my hair, and when she was done, the front curled upwards in two tiny tufts.

So that's why they call it a cowlick, I thought as I watched her do the same to Sandy.

"These are my personal quarters. I expect you'll be spending some time here." Kalysta, still holding Sandy, examined me for a moment. Then she wandered away from my circle of vision. I threw all my effort into kicking my legs, but the most I could do was cause one of them to jolt like it had been smacked just below the knee. My eyeballs dried and seared.

After a couple of minutes, Kalysta came back with a warm, damp cloth and began rubbing the last snowflakes from my cheeks. She did this until I began to blink in response to her hand flicking too close to my eyes, and then at last I sneezed and shook my head.

"There we are," she said, tugging me to my feet. "I brought you a bit of applesauce if you're hungry. No? I thought you might refuse. Let me know if you change your mind. We'll have dinner later with the others. You know, I never did get your name yet, drake."

I tried to scrape a pseudonym together, but I didn't want her to see my hesitation and I wasn't sure if I even needed one. "Fergus Whimsifinado."

"Whimsifinado…" She said it as though it sounded vaguely familiar. "You'll find that surnames become irrelevant down here. I do like 'Fergus'. I had a character once named Fergus, half a dozen millennia ago. Bit of an inquisitive troublemaker, which will remind me to keep my eye on you." On that, Kalysta passed me Sandy, took my limp hand again, and led me on foot from her room through a small office, a cavern with a long glass table and boulders for chairs, and into a hall. Each step had to be done slowly; between her kiss, my body half-frozen from the cold, and the fact that I was still recovering from giving birth to Sandy, I wasn't in the position to run. Run where… I didn't know.

We turned right. The light was no brighter in that tunnel than in her quarters. The ceiling was too low. If I flapped my wings, I'd bump my head against it. I had to walk along the dirt floor, and so did she. As we went, I made an attempt to press down my now-tufted hair, still goopy with her saliva. It wouldn't stay.

The cave roof of our destination, reached after a mere thirty wingbeats or perhaps as few as twenty, was no different in either light or height than the tunnels, but at least it was wide. It sprawled for exactly sixteen paces in either direction from the door (as I would become very familiar with), and precisely that much back. Very square. Very orderly. Very enclosed. Several cone-shaped nymphs played together on the dirt floor, letting out small vocalizations that caught Sandy's interest and flaring their wings. The little damsel's were violet and black, while the other nymphs were all decorated in various tints and shades of brown and gray.

Against the far wall, in the dusty dimness I made out what appeared to be four nests comprised of straw and blankets and maybe a couple of feathers and wide leaves. Each one was occupied by an older wisp drake, all of whom had identical cowlicks to mine and Sandy's. One of them raised his head, and smiled at me. He even waved.

"Tobie," I murmured. "Oh, Tobie…"

When their damsel snapped her fingers twice, all the wisps sprang up and came scampering over. They aligned themselves in a row, with the little ones positioned in front of the one who must be their sire. All eight of them, the exception being the only damsel (wearing pink like her mother), were dressed in loose-fitting haggard browns clothing and wore no shoes, just as Tobie had always looked back in our Spellementary days. Kalysta nudged me another step into the room.

"That's Walt, that's Jakey, that's Tobie, that's Otto," she said of each drake, and of the four children, "Ellowi, Idona, Tick, and River. This is Fergus, and the nymph doesn't have a name yet and is simply called Sanders' son."

"My greetings," I mumbled. Tobie waved again, a bit more impatient this time. I refused to return the gesture.

Kalysta placed her hand over my left shoulder and held her thumb and forefinger a wing's breadth apart. "Here's the tiddly issue before any of you get too comfortable, dear. I only have enough milk to support four sucklers through weaning. One nymph in this room has to go."

I tightened my grip on Sandy, but I nodded. "That makes sense, my fair lady."

She smiled. "I'm glad you think so, drake. You know, I do like you. You're a fairy, and fairy drakes tend to be… How should we put this? More dominant? Desirable? Clever, than will o' the wisp ones? You have an education, and on top of that you're a gyne. I think it's only fair that you get to choose which one I lose."

Their startled eyes swiveled to me. I could feel them, even though I did not turn my head. Nor did I blink. "What?"

She gestured into the room. I stayed as I was a moment more, then shifted my feet so my wings drooped between us like a curtain. All the drakes had stepped a bit back, anxious-mouthed, their hands on their respective offspring. Doey eyes gazed up at me. One of the nymphs turned and pressed his face into Tobie's leg.

"You really can't make me pick, my fair lady," I protested, glancing to her again. "You know their personalities better than I, which ones exhibit the greatest strengths and strongest weaknesses and best deserve your resources."

"That's true," she acknowledged, "but you're our newest guest. I asked you to choose what would make you most comfortable here."

My gaze fell to Sandy, silent and still supported with my palms. I shook my head. "I must refuse, my lady."

Kalysta studied her drakes, then folded her arms. "All right. Clearly, we need to start all over again. Bring the nymphs out to my chamber, Otto. I have some kissing to do."

"What?" My eyes flashed around the low room. "All of them? For- For- You have no reason for that."

"Then pick just one."

I looked again to Sandy, then to Kalysta, and then to the drakes before me. They crept backwards again, their dully-colored wings (looking rather undersized, I remember thinking) prickling up along their backs.

Well. I didn't like having to say it, having to imagine the dripping blood of a sentient being turning from default purple to anxious green to even brilliant red between my fingers as full desperation set in, but at least the choice was an obvious one.

"My fair lady, if you're making me choose, I'd have to pick Idona."

Jakey tightened his fingers into her thin shoulders, his violet eyes sharp, but Kalysta merely shook her head. "That's a nice try, Fergus, and I see where you were going with that line of thinking, but I must rephrase myself. My one damsel must live. Take a drake."

That left me at a loss. Walt, Tobie, and Otto studied me with uncertainty, all of them holding their offspring a little more closely. The one in front of Tobie - Tick - reached a hand out to either side, and Ellowi and River entwined their fingers with his. Sandy made a sort of mewling noise in my arms and attempted to squirm away. I looked back at Kalysta, my wings twitching. She wasn't intending to cave in.

I set Sandy on the floor and, swallowing, took a step towards the nymphs. Everyone moved backwards again, but then Kalysta snapped her fingers twice and gave an order for the drakes to withdraw to their nests. The nymphs were to stay, still clinging to one another in a pointy bundle of cones. "Show me your arms," I murmured, taking one of River's. I examined the limb, flipping it forward and back, and moved on to his legs. Then I looked at his mouth and the tiny teeth just poking through the gums. He was in healthy condition, considering their circumstances. As was Tick. As was Ellowi.

My gaze slid again to my own hexagonal little offspring, who had become upset after sitting alone and come over to chew at my pant leg. Covering his face with my wing, I took the blue-haired nymph I still held by both hands and looked him in his dull green eyes.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "If I had a plan, I'd save you all."

He pressed his wrist against his cheek as I led him back to Kalysta, but he didn't cry. For that I was grateful. It meant I didn't have to hear it. Kalysta scooped him into her arms and rubbed his hair, then returned her attention to me.

"Get as situated as you are able to, drake. When I've finished taking care of Ellowi, I'll see about materials for your bedding."

She left, slotting the wooden door into place. I kept close to it with my back to the drakes, then eased it open when I was sure Kalysta had gone. She hadn't, but still leaned against the opposite cave wall, cradling Ellowi and tickling his stomach.

"I thought you might try that," she said, and used her arm to gesture to the tunnels. "You're welcome to go anywhere you wish, unless I should instruct otherwise. There's no way out. This path to your left leads for a bit, then turns left again into your waste cave. I presume you know what that's for. This path to your right, which I'm sure you remember is the one we followed to get here, will bring you to a crossroads. Straight ahead is the cave Idona will be moved to after weaning. Take the right and you'll find the bathing cave, with its little waterfall."

Maybe I could-

"The water tends to pool around the ankles, but don't be concerned- there's never enough that one could submerge themselves completely and drown."

Well.

"Take the left and you'll enter first into the dining cavern, then there's another doorway beyond that into my work and personal storage area. At the very tip you'll find my own quarters, if you recall. We'll be eating tonight two hours from now. The others will show you around the kitchen that leads off from the dining area. I'm thinking we'll have omelettes."

I leaned my forehead against the wall. "What's this door for?" I finally asked. I thought it was a legitimate question, if it neither kept me in nor her out.

"Too heavy for the nymphs," was her reply. "Please don't let them wander unsupervised. I don't like them getting into my things and making messes, especially in my office where I keep my bark manuscripts. I try to keep a clean burrow." She thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers just once. "There is a locked door I didn't mention that you might get curious about. It's in the back of the kitchen. I request that you stay out of it. It's food storage for the winter, and I ration it carefully. Otherwise, yes. That is the burrow."

"Big place."

"It's really a simple dwelling compared to, say, Gabbi's, but thank you. It suits its purposes and I like it. Are there any other questions? No? Then I leave you." On that note, she did, carrying Ellowi off with her. He glanced over her shoulder for a quarter of an instant before turning his face forward once again. That was all I saw of him.

Though I wanted to take Kalysta up on her offer of exploring, I decided to hold off until I knew she had finished with Ellowi. So rather than leave the nesting cave, I closed the door and turned around. Sandy, the other drakes, and little Idona had wandered off to the opposite corners of the room, but one - the wisp with the powder blue hair - stood just in front of me, kneading the dirt with his toes. He crossed his arms.

"Why did you pick my son?"

"Don't take it as a personal attack," I said, sparing Sandy a glance as he darted over to grab my ankle. "It wasn't as though I had many options, and I really don't know any of you."

Walt turned his face away. "Of course you'd save your own."

I bit my lip. "It isn't like that. You have my apologies. I had to. As long as she's regularly nearby and nursing him, releasing chemicals and hormones and such into the energy field with her imprint and attraction signals, I might manage not to come into estrus again before my cycle wears off; fairy drakes are only receptive for eighteen months every five hundred or so years. With your child dead, you will, and she won't be so interested in me. It'll be months before Sanders' son is weaned. I need that time to plan my escape. Getting out of here is going to be a lot more difficult if I'm pregnant and sick."

Still keeping his arms folded, not even turning around, he said, "We have warm shelter from the snow, more food than we can eat, and all the mating we could want. You can be happy here. Why would you want to leave?"

Mostly at a loss, I stared into the ceiling as I tried in vain to flatten the branding tuft in Sandy's hair. "Because… for almost the last five hundred thousand years, I've scheduled my weeks meticulously, even if the days and times when things actually get done may vary. And without seeing the sun, I can't keep time. If I stay down here for very long where it's always this dim and vague then I'll lose my mind completely."

"Maybe you already have," Walt grunted, and trudged off to his nest.

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 1: SPOILED

My Unfair Lady

Summer - Autumn of the Charged Waters

There was no way out. It wasn't that I hadn't believed Kalysta- simply that I chose to ignore her insistence, what with me being her prisoner and all. I was a fairy, and fairies did not belong in will o' the wisp burrows. It was as simple as that. Of course there would be a way out.

So after Sandy and I had been dressed in identical brown shirts and pants like the other drakes (and I stripped of my shoes, towel, and kitchen wand), I searched the tunnels for the remainder of the afternoon, chipping my fingernails on stone and catching dirt in the creases of my palms. Or I searched for what I imagined to be the remainder of the afternoon, anyway. Tobie followed me for most of it, yakking nonstop about what he'd been doing since our Spellementary days nearly five hundred thousand years ago, and I found myself wishing magical beings needed to draw in oxygen through their throats like the angels so I could have at least one precious half-instant of silence.

My relief came when we were both summoned to the kitchen to make those omelettes Kalysta had asked for, and Tobie targeted Otto's pointed ears instead. Drawers were opened. Utensils were gathered. Kalysta lit a candle for us with my own kitchen wand, and Jakey used the candle to light the stove because Kalysta wouldn't let us touch the wand itself. The nymphs discovered the joys of bashing pans with their fists, and bashing pans into each other. "Don't be that fairy," I muttered to Sandy, who ignored me and trotted off to chew on Idona's golden hair. She seemed to find that cute, and began to shower him with kisses. When he licked her face back, she squealed and pushed him to the ground. That of course startled him, and he whined until she stroked his cowlick and cooed her apologies.

"Grab the eggs, Fergus?" Otto asked as he wrestled a frying pan away from River.

"No," I said, not taking my arms or head from the counter.

"Fergus?" Tobie tilted his head. "We're cooking dinner. It's for all of us to eat. Aren't you going to help?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Cooking is a damsel's job."

"Maybe where you come from," said Walt, taking the frying pan from Otto and sliding it over the stove, "but you're in will o' the wisp country now, friend. Down here, we cook for Kalysta."

"What is she going to do if I refuse? Lock me up? It's a little late for that, I think."

Walt considered this for a moment. Then he left the kitchen. A few minutes later he came back with Kalysta in tow, still wearing that same absent smile and pink sweater from earlier. I wondered if Ellowi's dust was sprinkled among the loops of wool. She put her crossed arms on the counter and lay her chin on top of them, in perfect imitation of me. For several wingbeats I refused to look at her. My eyes finally shifted over almost of their own choice. Kalysta reached up to ruffle the cowlicked hair beneath my broken crown.

"Who invited you, lousy-lines? Walt told me you think cooking is beneath you."

"I never implied it was beneath me- I simply stated I felt it wasn't my job. In contrast, my fair lady, I meant to imply it is above me. I wouldn't even know where to start." Not without that kitchen wand.

"That's a shame. You'll have to learn quick, because in my burrow, the rule is that if you're a drake over a thousand years old and you don't help to cook, you don't eat."

"Fine," I said, "then let me starve, Kalysta. I welcome the sweet kiss of eternal sleep. You already ruined my day when you told me it was impossible to drown in the washing cave."

Kalysta tickled the stray hairs on my chin. "You're cute, Fergus, so I'm going to feel really bad about tormenting you like this, but it can't be helped." Her arms slid from the counter, and she moved around behind me. Two hands traced down my shoulders and settled into place along the knobs of my wings. She snapped her fingers twice above my head. Then, taking hold, she twisted my wings inward simultaneously.

Those weren't supposed to have the nerves to feel pain. Evidently, that applied only to the translucent membrane itself, and not to the costas that ran along the upper edge. My wings lit up with fire on both sides. The rough patch of skin on my back where they connected seemed to snap muscle. Multiple muscles, even, almost overlapping; in fact, my whole spine convulsed. Spinning around the moment she let me go, I flattened myself against the rough stone wall. One hand crept over my shoulder. Kalysta tapped my nose with a single knuckle.

"Next time, I think, I'll twist your wings and tear off your crown for awhile. Maybe the dizzy spells caused by the latter will numb your awareness of the former. Maybe not. But it won't come to that, I hope?" She snapped her fingers twice above my head. Recoiling, I withdrew my wings. "There we go," she said, and pointed further into the kitchen. I went, still massaging the sore spots.

"Eggs?" Walt asked innocently as I slunk by.

"I'm going. Don't flap your wings dustless." Otto pointed the acorn-capped hatch in the floor out to me, and I lifted it away to find a square hole lined with blocks of ice. I tugged loose the green carton with the silhouette of a dragon blazed across it and returned to Walt. "His majesty's eggs."

"I might advise you not to let Jakey hear you say that," he muttered, taking one and rapping it against the frying pan until it cracked. "Ever since he had Idona, he's been lording it over the rest of us, and me especially. Really, we're all equals here."

"Is that how you break eggs in will o' the wisp country?" I asked, honestly taken aback.

"How do you do it?"

"Like this." Picking up an egg, I put it between my teeth and twisted. It crunched and split into a neat little bowl, which I used to dribble the yolk into the pan.

"That's disgusting," Walt decided. "I changed my mind- you're done cooking. Go set the table with Tobie."

The glass table was long, but it was a tight fit for all of us regardless. Idona pleaded through her "Poof!"s to sit near her new friend Sandy as Jakey lifted her onto the rock beside him. I raised my eyebrow when I watched Kalysta remove the plates I'd set out for the nymphs and replace them with strips of bark and a few colored styluses. Reflecting on it later, I had to slap my forehead. Of course it made sense that the nymphs draw at the table; they were each young and not weaned yet, and couldn't be left to wander around the burrow unsupervised.

The omelette wasn't bad, I think. It was my first one at the time. A little chewier in the middle than I thought was necessary, and crunchy around the edges. Kalysta watched me as I picked my way through the last forkfuls, then tapped the glass of the table beside my plate.

"I want to see you in my quarters when you're done. Bring Sanders' son. I still need to nurse him."

"Delightful," I grunted once she'd left. My fork stabbed through another scrap of egg. "Nearly five hundred millennia of waiting for the prime time to take a mate and copulate with her, and now the evening has finally arrived. It's exactly my dream come true."

"That's good, isn't it?" asked Otto.

"They don't have sarcasm down here in will o' the wisp country either, do they? Here," I said, taking my plate and clinking it on top of Tobie's. "Enjoy dish duty. I have a damsel to satisfy."

Tucking Sandy between my chest and my hands, I followed the glowing stones along the burrow walls around through Kalysta's office and into her room. She was already waiting among her cushions, sweater removed, examining her swollen breasts. I stopped in my tracks when I spotted the baptism medal dangling from the hook above her round bed.

"You worship the memories of the Tuatha Dé Danann and the Aos Sí too."

She looked up. "Does that matter very much?"

I twitched. "I imagine it doesn't. However, it was my understanding that will o' the wisps couldn't get baptized."

"We can't, you know. Being a mutated 'red flag' race; one of the 'unnatural' and 'unchosen', et cetera. The medal isn't real."

"Ah." Steeling my shoulders, I came over with the nymph. Kalysta crooned and held out her arms.

"Hello, Sanders' son. Look at you. You're just adorable. Let's see what we can do with you… I've never tried to nurse a hexagon rather than a cone before. Speaking of which, Fergus, are you planning to give this child a proper name before the night is out?"

"Naming him may result in emotional attachment, which I don't necessarily desire given what you plan to do to him when he's older. 'Sanderson' will do fine as a title."

"I can understand that. We don't name the drake nymphs for the first three months until we know they're healthy."

"Wonder why," I muttered.

Sanderson latched onto the red teat easily enough, like he were born to do it. Tiny fingers splayed themselves against her tan neck, then curled and fell away as his eyelids drooped. A bit of rosy color began to light his face at last.

"I ought to assist the others in rinsing off the dishes," I said. "I'd hate to have my sink privileges revoked because I didn't."

Kalysta snapped her fingers twice, making a muscle jump in my cheek. "I'd prefer you stayed here. Have you ever watched the flight casings fall off a nymph's wings, Fergus?"

"I have not, my fair lady."

She beckoned me closer. I came, but did not sit among her white cushions; simply crossed my arms and remained standing. After a few minutes of nursing, the hard covers over Sanderson's wings cracked down the center. The veils split and dropped, leaving shriveled stubs behind along with a soft, sweet taste in the energy field. The four tiny wings were brown-sheened, almost leafy, and resembled mine to the apex- forewings long, hindwings drastically stunted. He flapped them with a rustling sound, and then folded them into place again and returned his full attention to suckling.

"I see. Thank you for this enlightenment, my fair lady. If it's all the same to you, I'm going to see about cleaning your dishes now."

"Not just yet. I'm not through with you. Sit down."

I grimaced. I'd thought as much. Keeping my own wings pressed to my back, I lowered myself among the fluffy whiteness of her bed and pulled my knees up to my chin. Kalysta ignored my body language and pointed to a row of tiny, colored bottles near her elbow.

"I can't decide which color to paint my nails tonight. May I have your opinion?"

That would be difficult, seeing as I really had none. I examined the collection for a moment before pointing to a simple purple vial. As far as colors went, purple was a decent one. Lagelyn yellows and greens were fine too. Kalysta studied my finger. Then, plucking up the indicated polish, she said, "Thank you, Fergus. That will be all."

I didn't move. "That's it?"

"That's it. Actually," she said as I made a twitching motion towards the doorway. Kalysta thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers twice and beckoned for me to come back. I did, albeit slowly. She handed me the purple polish bottle, and kept her arm extended. "Would you get my right hand for me? I'm terrible with my left, even if I weren't holding a nymph."

"Get… it?"

Her eyebrows went up together and touched at the tips. "You really don't know how to do this, do you? I forget. You're not a wisp. Come, sit again. I'll teach you."

I perched uncertainly with one leg over the edge of the cushion heap, ready to spring up if necessary. After repositioning Sanderson with her knee so he could continue his nursing, Kalysta uncapped the bottle to reveal a tiny brush attached to the lid. The bottle went between my toes so it wouldn't fall over. The brush went into my hand. She lay her right palm in my left, and at her coaxing I applied swishes of paint to the first long fingernail. The purple color stuck. It just stuck. I squinted at it. What odd stuff damsels had figured out.

"Good. Now then. Do you come from Fairy World, Fergus? Do the natives call it that, or is that just us Earthsiders?"

"Yes, and we do," I said, touching the brush to her nail again. "Fairy World is its colloquial name; no one uses Tír Ildáthach anymore except in official documents, unless they wish to come off sounding like a pretentious smart-aleck. Much too frustrating to spell. I was brought up in a small town called Novakiin, about three dozen cloudlengths Cloudland West of the capital city. That would be Faeheim, if you don't remember, where the Rainbow Bridge connects from here to Plane 5, although Novakiin rested two planes below that. But the environment wasn't entirely to my tastes and I've wandered across Earth for the last three hundred and twenty millennia. Terrible mistake, sometimes. I didn't realize at first that the Great Ice Times could be quite so harsh."

"They say the ice is partly what drove my people underground in the first place."

"Not nearly deep enough," I said, moving to the next finger.

"Excuse me?"

"Your burrow is a little near the surface. It gets quite cold down here at times, I've already noticed. That's what I meant."

"I can warm you up." Kalysta nodded towards a stack of blankets at the foot of her bed. "While you were working on dinner, I prepared a nest for you and Sanderson in the cave with the other drakes. There's a blanket in there already, but you're welcome to come back and grab another if that isn't enough. I just ask that you knock first, since my door might be locked. I most always lock it at night, especially if I'm writing."

"You've thought of everything."

"I have been doing this for awhile now. Ouch! Wha-? Sanderson, do you have teeth already? No, no. Don't bite. No."

"You have four nymphs here. How many have you mothered in all the years, might you guess?"

She smiled ruefully. "Drakes or damsels?"

"Does it matter? Damsels, I suppose. Are the numbers close?"

"I've had perhaps a dozen damsels in my lifetime. Maybe a hundred drakes, at least. About a fourth of them survived through instar. We get the Kiss of Frost each year, but wisp sperm is only fertile for twenty-four months every two millennia. And then only in late winter to early summer, so it's more like twelve. The gender ratio is rather skewed among our kind and our nymphs have always been so awfully fragile."

"Ah… That's where the harems come in." Not to mention the cannibalism. That much I remembered from Spellementary.

Her face lit up. "It is, actually! The novel I'm working on is about a young damsel who attempts to start a harem above surface because she grows afraid of the underground after a flood, and she struggles to keep her nymphs from freezing once the Great Ice Times hit. You can read, can't you? Perfect." She pointed her nose towards a thick stack of bark strips on the desk over in her office. "Remind me to show it to you sometime- this is the project that ensures I won't die unhappy. But it's a bit of a sequel in a way, so you'd have to read the original book first. And to really understand it you'd need to read all my notes, and that'll take you a month alone; I have a difficult time backing off once my wings begin to flutter. There's also this spin-off that's kind of a future version, about her and one of her nymphs who lives. I recently started planning out the backstory of a sort-of minor sort-of major character that parallels this story, and then I'm doing this short-story collection, and on top of that I'm really considering writing a piece that takes place much further in the future and connects the two protagonists from each story engaging in shady deals, and I've considered throwing together one that involves my protagonist and her eldest daughter going into hiding in the cave systems throughout Giant Bucket of Acid World and all the children she left behind fretting over what's become of them because of reasons I won't reveal due to spoilers, but I'm not entirely sold on that idea just yet and I might just take it to Plane 23 with me when I go dusty one day."

That monologue was the exact moment I realized that living in a will o' the wisp burrow was going to be beyond my worst nightmares. I couldn't help but shake my head. "What, you wrote all that, and they're merely novels? For entertainment, as opposed to conveying information and laying out the facts?"

She turned on me, blue eyes burning. "It's a respectable profession. Do you know what it means to create characters shimmering with multiple facets, setting after setting that almost doesn't matter and yet sets the entire scene, dialogue that flows on both as is natural and as is useful, decisions and words that can tear long-time friends apart, weeding the mistakes until the remaining scraps blossom into something that makes it all so agonizingly, unfairly worth it?"

"It seems I must apologize, my fair lady, but I don't." I swirled her brush around the polish bottle. "It's simply not a thing that interests me. As far as I'm concerned, all 'creative' stories are the same. There is a kindhearted hero who leaves his struggling home to protect his family or homeland. He falls in love with more or less the first damsel he meets and will do anything to return to her. Fortunately, she adores him in return. He prepares for most of the tale to overcome those obstacles that drove him away in the first place. He willingly and directly confronts his villain. Defeats him. He is praised. He wins that damsel he wanted. True love conquers all. They go on to live happily ever after, and he is everyone's hero."

Her fingers twitched out of my grip. I drew the polish brush away as she snapped, "The hero's journey is a crucial element of storytelling. One cannot write a real piece of literature without it and expect to call that a success. It's not. By its very nature, it's automatically a failure. It would attract few readers, if any. Of those it did, most would never see in it what its author does and would lose interest partway through, and the author, delighted as they may be to receive feedback, isn't likely to be fortunate enough to bear witness to even one person speaking their mind on it as they go along. If there is no clear motivation from the start, the story is purposeless. If there is no clear love interest early on, there is no romance for the reader to root for and no satisfying reward at all to be gained in the end. If there is no clear villain, the protagonist is weak and may as well not exist. If there are too many side-plots, the story becomes too complicated and should be abandoned. If the foreshadowing isn't glaringly obvious, the potential future scene should simply be removed. If the hero is given traits and flaws that don't come up in the climax when he overcomes them, they are pointless filler and a waste of my time to incorporate into my head. If there is no clear and positive moral at the end, the piece should not have even been written. Such a work would not be worthy of being called a story."

"As you wi-"

"And that's handing out a lot of credit by assuming the characters were any good in the first place. I can't tell you how many times I've read the same basic tropes played again and again. Or the outright copying! Ha. I'm proud to tell you that I design my own characters, deep and dimensional, and never steal them from anyone else who already did all the work for me. Those who do are weak and pathetic!"

I took her hand back and lifted my brush. "You're upset," I noted, painting her thumb. "I will say no more on it."

Kalysta sighed for a long time and pressed her other palm to my cheek. I didn't look up even as she said, "Don't do that, Fergus. I'd rather communicate than be left in silence."

"You're afraid of being left alone, my fair lady?"

"Not enough that it could be used against me."

The polish brush slipped from her nail and ran a line across her knuckle. Kalysta watched me dab my fingertip with my tongue and try to rub it away.

"Oh, poor Fergus," was all she said. I chose not to meet her gaze. When all eight fingers were at last done, and Sanderson had finished nursing, we were sent to the nesting cave. The will o' the wisp drakes had yet to return from their work, so I settled in the third of the five nests, just off-center from the door, and lay on my back. I placed Sanderson on my stomach and stared at him for almost five minutes in the dim light while he whined and plucked at my skin with his fat fingers. I let go of him only to rub my eyes. That was when, to my horror, Sanderson wriggled beneath my tight-fitting brown shirt and around into the pouch on my stomach.

"Oh my dust, Sandy," I said, sitting up fast and plunging my hands into my marsupium after him. I dragged him out, along with the broken leg of my rain deer carving that he'd grabbed in his chunky hands. "Don't go in there! My pouch is for- It's for-"

He gave me a squinted look with his bright eyes, putting his thumb into his mouth. Grimacing, I repositioned myself in the nest, still holding him in my lap with the other. "Um… Well, I guess it's for nymphs, so I don't drop you while I'm flying, since I can tighten it shut behind you and all…"

Dust, did I really say that out loud? That was an embarrassing thought, even for me. I lifted my hand to rub my cheek. Once I was no longer holding him in place, Sanderson turned tail with a chirp and burrowed inside again.

"How do you know how to do that? Is it the smell? Do you smell something? Is it the tug of magic?"

Over the course of the next two minutes, Sanderson popped in and out of my pouch to clumsily push out the styluses, food wrappers, lagelyn bills, click and lyn coins, and scraps of wood that I'd squirreled away over the past few days. He looked so exasperated about it, like it was my fault I hadn't had the space clean and ready for him. Once it had been tidied up to his liking, he disappeared inside and didn't come out again for the remainder of the night.

By this point, my face was - and I'll readily admit it - rather heated. I tried to remind myself that it wasn't Sanderson's fault for not clarifying my rules and permission first; he was only acting as he was biologically programmed to. But still, there was a thing preparing to nest in my pouch. I could feel him squirming inside as he tried to make himself comfortable. He was moving. Mortified, I lay there with both hands over my pouch until the others returned from their dish-washing duties and their baths.

"You're back early," Jakey said when he saw me, awed. "How did you convince Kaly to let you slip away? We thought you'd be trapped there all night, listening to her spout on and on about her books."

"The sequel's never better," Otto said wistfully.

"I'm still messed up from Page 130 of her short-story project."

"I liked the sickly kid," mumbled Walt.

Jakey rolled his eyes. "You would. Although things started going bad straight from Page 28, and only worsened by the time 42 came along. No one ever expects platonic friendship to drive anyone anywhere, am I right?"

"Anyway, so how did it go?" Tobie chirped as he nestled down in the bed beside mine, about a wingspan away. I turned my head, watching Tick crawl into his sire's pouch and trying not to focus on Sanderson shifting about as he settled down for sleep in mine. Slotting one end of his digestive system against the nipple that would feed him liquid magic from my lines, tuning him into my "emotional state", teaching his body not to reject the various tastes, promoting the secretion of dust from his pores, pumping him with growth hormones, ensuring that he didn't drain too much from his own reserves simply in his fight to stay alive… Fastening the other end to… Dust, I didn't even want to think about it.

"What?" I muttered, rubbing circles around my temples.

"Your quality time with Kalysta."

"Fine, I suppose. She just had me put color on her fingernails."

He nodded. "I like it when she does that. It's fun. She's been my favorite damsel."

"Hm. Have you had many before? Ah-!" Curse those baby teeth of Sanderson's.

"Only three. Jakey and Otto have had four. Walt I think has had six."

"Seven," he spat from Tobie's other side. "And I'm determined to make Kalysta my last. This year, I won't be traded off."

"He's still new and insecure," Tobie explained, rubbing Tick's red-gold hair, so like Kalysta's and unlike his own dusty brown. "And he's salty because he's never had a daughter. Never, never, ever."

Walt sat up, silhouetted against the dim lights that never brightened nor went out. "Next time for sure. I'm overdue."

"Better get on that," called Otto from along the cave. "It's barely three months 'til the Gathering."

Bristling, Walt fixed his gaze on me. "My place in this burrow was secure while I was still raising Ellowi. But if my next nymph is another drake, like all the other damsels have been telling Kalysta I'll have, she might really believe I am cursed, and I'm gone without question. If that should happen, I will not forgive you. I happen to like it here better than I've liked other burrows. But if I leave, then come the next Gathering, you're mine."

I frowned at the ceiling. "What's a Gathering?"

The details would be cleared for me in full three months later, on the last day of summer. First, I had the "pleasure" of dealing with Sanderson. He was an odd thing, like a ball that didn't roll right whenever I nudged him across the dirt floor with my foot. Our favorite thing to do with him was play the stranger-danger game. If ever any of the drakes apart from myself approached him from behind, he would turn around and shift into the most horrified, gape-mouthed stare you can imagine. Then he'd scamper out of reach, wait for a moment poised on his toes to reassure himself of his safety, and then give himself a big brush-down with his fingertips from crown to pterostigmata and glance around as if to say, What, me? Startled? No, I just got up to stretch, before he'd settle back down and start to play again. No matter how many times this happened, his reaction was always the same, like it was scripted.

Only I was permitted to approach him and watch over his shoulder while he pushed tin unicorns and birds through the soil between his feet, and chewed on all the wooden figures. I'd learned enough in psychology class that as time wore on I had my suspicions he'd turn out to be an unfreckled drone after shedding his exoskeleton; as a gyne, I'd always pushed my way into nymphhood games, engaging in "cooperative play" and assigning roles. You four be the Council Robes, you two be the witnesses, you be the prosecutor, you be the defendant, I'll be both lawyers. But Sanderson only played by himself, never sharing his toys or asking for others or associating with his fellow nymphs if he could at all avoid it…

He snuggled frequently into my warm marsupium when he was cold since in his exoskeleton he couldn't regulate his own body temperature, although I never let him crawl in while anyone else was watching. Not yet. Such things were still new to me. He drank plenty of milk, though he didn't appear keen to give up the nipping behavior when he nursed. Kalysta's breasts were beginning to show it, criss-crossed with white scars. To be honest, during our stay in her burrow, I believed I sucked my thumb more than he did; rather than sucking on fingers, Sanderson would suck on the tip of his left wing. He knew how to pronounce his "Poof poof"s, but he rarely elected to. When he wanted something, he preferred to make noise some other way.

And did he ever like to make noise. I would prop myself up in my itchy nest with one of Kalysta's bark strip books (Most of it agonizingly not my genre, but what else was I supposed to read?) and Sanderson would sit in my lap with a few stones or toys or styluses and bash them together. Over and over. Drone traits, I would one day learn: repetition was a near necessity.

For a few weeks, even when he engaged in play with the will o' the wisps, he would make noise on anything within reach of his small hands. His toys. Their toys. Dishes. Their faces. Finally I began to take such things away from him when he started to get annoying. That worked well for about five minutes, until he learned to clap. Constantly. Some fairies had nymphs who cried when they had needs to be met. I had a clapping child. We offered him styluses and bark strips to play with, and that finally distracted him. Apparently, drawing endless tangles of hair and pasta noodles was more rewarding than making pointless noises. I imagine the picking, scraping sounds of the stylus proved to be satisfactory enough for his ears, and these ones came with physical representations and cheerful colors.

Sanderson had another problem: he didn't always play well with the others. It was baffling to me. He seemed to like them well enough- if they approached first, he shared his toys with them and patted them and vocalized with them. He just had a tendency to take their hands and bite his milkbrothers for no apparent reason until they cried. I'd call for him to apologize, although he never seemed to exhibit remorse for his random acts of cruelty. Not even Idona was immune from his nips despite the fact that for weeks on end he took a high shine to her, which he showed by drizzling her head with handfuls of dirt and poking her with sharp objects.

And sharing kisses. For being a mere two months older than Sanderson, Idona seemed to know a lot about her destiny. She'd walk straight up to him, take his cheeks in her hands, and smooch him on the lips. "Okay. Now, you too."

I wasn't entirely sure what to think about that.

On some days, rather than await a curious response, she would abandon him at once for something more interesting, like someone's hangnail or loose thread and leave him sitting by himself all confused. Although in the end, she must have said something in one of their baby conversations to injure his ego, because he ran straight through our snapjik game, scattering pieces that the rules stated we had to play where they landed, and threw himself into my lap to cry and beg for attention.

"What did you tell him?" I asked the small blonde damsel, stroking Sanderson's cowlicks as I reached for one of my fallen phoenixes.

She shrugged. "Gat'ering."

One morning, just a flap after midnight, I felt something cold and damp slip its way into my pouch. Sanderson awoke, screaming, wingbeats later. Blearily, I raised my head and found him convulsing. I pulled him out at once, holding him near my chest and clicking my tongue. Eventually, he managed to reject the source of his panic- a glob of golden vapor that poured from his nostrils and mouth.

"The Dame Sanderson," I muttered as the vapor glob shook itself off. Then it whizzed beneath the door to the nesting cave and presumably back towards whatever crack in the burrow that had allowed it to squeeze in. "She got here first. Now that's interesting."

"Poof?"

"Well." I repositioned myself until I lay on my back, Sanderson sprawled across my stomach. "As a Refract, she and her dam live very far away from us, in the High Kingdom. Somewhere between Planes 19 and 21. It's been three months since I had you, keep or spare some, so she came here to absorb a piece of your core and be born. So, where is your anti-self? Did I miss him?"

No. We met him precisely ten days later - on what, I thought, was well after Friday the 13th - while Sanderson sat working on his latest intestine-shaped masterpiece. "You're very late," I scolded, but the smoke had work to do and ignored me. It plowed into Sanderson's mouth so fast, it knocked him out of his sitting position and sent him writhing on the floor. His hands even went for his throat. Hardly five wingbeats later, it leaked from his mouth and nose and made itself scarce the same way their Refract counterpart had. In and out, and no forwarding address.

"That smoke is going to become the spirit of the Anti-Sanderson," I explained to my Sanderson as he coughed and complained about whatever bad taste had flooded his nostrils. "His mother spent the last three months culminating it inside of her until it all burst out, and his father formed the body up until a few weeks ago, when he would have delivered a small, fluffy, blue, mostly-lifeless thing from his brood pouch to hers so body and spirit could unite."

Sanderson dragged himself back into my marsupium and fell asleep, as if to indicate how little he cared. I noticed, upon his waking, that his striking out against his playmates occurred less often, he no longer walked on his toes, and all of a sudden he switched to holding his styluses in his left hand.

The promised Gathering rolled around at last, a few days following the encounter with the lifesmoke of Sanderson's anti-fairy counterpart. Year of the Charged Waters, Mother Nature had named it. I was starting to see why. The water we drank and cooked with tasted slightly off. Pollution from the cloudlands interfering with lightning, I'd find out later. It contaminated everything and poisoned the fruits and vegetables Kalysta brought from Little Sidhe.

Even my once-trusted coffee turned its back on me after a time, but I'd always drain every drop regardless and lick religiously at the insides of my mug until it gleamed, because for the most part that watery, bitter drink was the only source of caffeine I had. Kalysta said there was nothing she could do to fix it, and she seemed to derive cruel pleasure from keeping anything that appealed to me in the slightest behind that locked food storage door. She said I had an "unhealthy reliance" on the stuff and wouldn't allow me to drink a sip of my treasured soy milk and caramel-cinnamon blends unless I'd managed to impress her the night before. That meant that most days, I had to fight through my mornings with absolutely nothing at all.

The day of my first Gathering, I sighed down at my lopsided, mostly-sugar-free cake and rubbed my temples while Sanderson poked at it (I having given up on keeping his dirty fingers away from the frosting because I hated everyone who was going to eat it anyway). Along with the poor water, there hadn't been good yale butter, either. I'd substituted applesauce for it, but we were running low at this time of year. Kalysta had said the Gathering deserved a feast, but next week we'd be returning to rationing. I was sick of acorns and earthworms.

"You know, it's really stupid to have your giant party right before harvest season instead of after it," I said to Walt. He sat in the corner with the nymph he'd birthed yesterday poking from his pouch: a drake, yellow-haired with streaks of blue around the crown. Though Kalysta wouldn't acknowledge it, he'd named him Ever. We teased him sometimes that he should have called him Ender. Walt had been dreading this day for the last two weeks. Even Sanderson had drawn him a farewell scribble on a strip of bark.

"Out with the old, in with the new?" he offered.

"I suppose. It's just not the way I would choose to run the world. I love to splurge as much as anybody, but I would never do so if I didn't have the next paycheck securely in hand. Take note of that, Sanderson; I want you to turn out like me, not your milkmother."

Sanderson was chewing on the membrane of his own wing again. I leaned my folded arms against the counter and stared at him eye to eye. "Why are you like this?"

Kalysta strode into the kitchen then, holding a key on a chain around her neck. Unlocking the door to the food storage cave, she ushered us in with two snaps, all our pans and trays and bowls in hand. I'd been inside there several times, of course, but never through the second locked door in its rear. It opened into an unfamiliar tunnel so narrow, my wings brushed the walls even when mostly folded. We entered one by one, and Kalysta brought up the rear.

The tunnel sloped downwards, which killed my naive hope that we might travel outside. After nearly five minutes, we reached a dark curtain. Jakey, in the lead, pushed it aside. As soon as I ducked beneath it after him, I felt my wings lift. Begging to flap. We found ourselves in a great cavern freckled with glowing stones in multiple colors, covering most of if not every available space on the rounded walls, and the ceiling too- a beautiful quarter-cloudlength or so above our heads. I could have flown. Up, up, up.

"So this is where she disappears to when I can't find her," I murmured. Glancing back over my shoulder for Sanderson, I caught a glimpse of Kalysta's name embroidered on the curtain. That told me enough about where we were and who we'd come to meet.

I wasn't wrong. Three circles of cushions took up the majority of the floor. There were perhaps thirty of them in each circle, maybe thirty-five, and about half in total already occupied by damsels. Around the perimeter of the room were four stone tables.

"You can place what we brought over there," Kalysta said, gesturing to one of the closer ones. "Entertain yourselves with the other drakes, but be quick to respond if you're asked to bring the nearest platter of food. You all know the drill. Fergus, follow their lead. Act presentable, respectful, and obedient, but don't be overcome with stress; this is meant to be a place of relaxation. You're welcome to eat, though it's expected you'll defer to the damsels as supplies run low. Your waste cave is over there through the arch outlined by the red stones. And Fergus?"

"My fair lady?"

"Don't bother searching for an exit."

She moved off towards the nearest circle of cushions, and we followed vaguely because the indicated table was near. Then, midstep, Walt's tray all but clattered to the dirt. I was barely fast enough to catch it, but it took him a moment to peel his hands from his mouth. When I followed his gaze, I couldn't blame him.

"Ellowi."

The damsels in the circle gazed at us with light amusement as Walt held out his arms toward the nymph, not so much of a cone anymore. The old double-tufted cowlick that Kalysta used as her brand had been traded out for some other damsel's mark- a single curl that drooped over his eyes. Ellowi looked to a wisp with pink and yellow wings, who inclined her head, and he scampered over to accept the embrace.

"Thank you for taking over his nursing, Coral," Kalysta said, lifting a soft ball of bread or dough from a tray that one of the other drakes had brought over. "He's always been a gentle one, and I didn't want to have to strangle him by the windpipe."

"You're very welcome. Though I won't be doing it again. Both my daughters view him as a brother now, so I have to give him off again anyway. And," Coral went on, sticking out her lower lip, "I couldn't touch Markus until at least one of the nymphs was weaned. He was just coming into heat, too."

The other damsels murmured condolences. Since Walt still hadn't released Ellowi and would probably move on to introducing him to Ever, I wandered over to the refreshment table and set both my cake and his tray down.

"Oh!" one of Kalysta's companions cried as I turned my back to them. "You have a fairy. Or a crossbreed, anyway. And a gyne!"

"He's called Fergus. Fergus? Would you bring us the orange juice there?"

Taking up the pitcher with a grimace, I approached the circle. Sanderson kept underfoot as usual, and that was at least part of the reason for my slow movements. Envious eyes hovered over each step. One of them, a dark-skinned one whom I would later realize was named Gabbi, even reached up to rub my hair as I paused beside Kalysta with the drink.

"He's cute. Where did you get him?"

"He came to me, actually," Kalysta announced as she took back her cup, now foaming with the juice. I attempted to leave, but two soft snaps kept me rooted where I was.

"Really! Pray tell!"

"How did you convince him to give up his wand?" one of the green-haired damsels asked. "Or did you steal it?"

"He'd lost it centuries ago and never had it replaced. I didn't have to say a word."

"What about magical backup?"

"With no wand in hand and so many of us nearby sucking up most of the field, he doesn't seem to have enough natural pink magic in his system to attract much of the field towards him. Guessing from the color of his costas and how he chirps when you tickle behind his ear or coax him with the pressure of your tongue to wriggle a certain way, his father was a bit of a brownie-kisser."

There was a disappointed murmur from Coral, who squinted at Sanderson as if sizing up his nose, but one of the others said, "Does he fight you much? I've heard fairies can be difficult."

Kalysta tickled my stubbled chin. I bit my tongue, gazing straight ahead and refusing to blink, while the metal pitcher chilled my fingers. "Fergus has his moments. He does tend to nip skin when you hit the wrong spots, and sometimes when you hit the right spots, but we adjust."

Gabbi noticed Sanderson for the first time then. "And you got a gorgeous nymph out of him, too. How is his temperament? Is he spoken for?"

"My little chatterbox. He already responds with interest to the sacrificial prayer sung in Mother Nature and Father Time's shrine." Kalysta picked up Sanderson and handed him to Gabbi. Coral and a silver-haired damsel leaned in and prodded him beneath the arms and across his squirming feet. I felt my eye twitch as I listened to Sanderson's mewls and "Poof, poof?"s. They were upsetting him.

"Ooh!" Gabbi dropped Sanderson, and he made a dash for me and ducked behind my legs. She chuckled, flipping her hand over and back. "He bit me. Takes more after his sire than you then, doesn't he?"

Kalysta smiled thinly. "It's too early to tell for sure. He does bite when he nurses."

"He has so many teeth already?" Coral asked, looking mildly perturbed again. "What is he- three months?"

"The teeth allow him to defend himself from overly-invasive damsels," I said in my usual monotone. Kalysta shot me a dirty look. I cocked one eyebrow back.

"I might like him nonetheless," said Gabbi, studying Sanderson with her chin on her knuckles. "What do you think of the little fairy, Veruka?"

Veruka, I found out, was one of the wisp nymphs peeking out from behind her. She shook her head and pressed her face into her mother's skirts. "He doesn't have pretty wings. He's ugly. He'd have to be a really good kisser."

Gabbi ignored her. "He's adorable. Have you any interest, Kalysta?"

"Hmm," said Kalysta, reclining luxuriously (her word, not mine) back in her cushion with her juice. It seemed my pitcher wasn't needed any longer, but I wasn't about to leave without hearing the end of this discussion. "Idona's taken a liking to your little green-haired one. Perhaps I might trade for him once the fairy nymph is weaned."

Idona dropped the green-haired drake's hand instantly. "What? Mama, you can't do that. I want to keep Sandyson."

Sanderson gave a chirrup as though agreeing with her. Then, abandoning my leg, he ran over to Idona with arms outstretched. The pair clasped fingers and bumped noses, and Idona turned on her heels to face her mother. "See? He actually likes me. He's smart and handsome and draws me good things."

"Oh, all right. What about River, then? River, come here."

I passed most of the day in the company of several drakes I didn't know, asking them about their damsels and trying to learn if there were any obvious exit points in their respective burrows. Occasionally I'd be called upon to fetch platters of food or display my wings. Though Kalysta had insisted that there weren't any ways to escape from the large cave, her words didn't stop me from searching. But, as usual, she turned out to be right.

I'd been eyeing Gabbi all night, and at one point, I managed to catch her alone over by one of the tables. I took her glass and poured water and clinking ice cubes from my pitcher. "So you're Gabriella Farnfell, Number 17 for the Wasps."

Gabbi's remaining half of banana plunged from her hand. I'd been anticipating that reaction, however, and had timed my pouring and setting down the pitcher just right so I could swipe my hand around to catch it. I offered it up, but she didn't take.

"Was that my number?"

"Unless I'm mistaken; it was almost 500,000 years ago. I was at the 'flies-Centis-Wasps match in the Summer of the Vibrant Sparks."

"Only year I played. Saucerbee wasn't really for me."

"I seem to remember you were very good."

She hesitated. One hand crept back to her buttery yellow wings. "Do you… want my autograph or something?"

I gave a dry chuckle and repeated the first line of the Dragonflies fight song. She smashed her banana into my nose and stalked away before I could get to the best part. Never had I been fond of Wasps, and never would I be.

Too late did I wonder if she might have agreed to sneak one of her only fans out from the burrow system if he had asked her nicely.

River and Tick were exchanged for a pair of new nymphs who would be moving to the back room with Idona- likely the beginnings of her first harem, should they turn out to be agreeable. I supposed there would be romping about and pecked kisses and building blocks and snuggling and storybooks for the next several dozen millennia. As for we older drakes, Kalysta didn't trade off any of us- not even Walt.

"I'll give him a couple more tries," she told the white-winged damsel who must have had him last, in front of us all, "and we'll see what we can do about that drake curse." At the end of the day, Idona held Sanderson's hand in her right, and with her left led her trail of newfound friends.

"How long until Idona starts her own burrow?" I asked Tobie, and he said, "First she gets her wand and goes to Spellementary School for basic education. Maybe takes one of the drakes with her so she has a friend. Wisps are kinda looked down on up there."

I thought about that as I gathered up the dishes of ours that I could hold from the refreshment table. "Do you remember Magalee Dustfinger?"

"Of course. She was for me almost like what Idona is for Sanderson right now." He drummed his fingers on his highly pregnant belly. "She's still around here, actually. I saw her several times today… Yes- there!"

His finger guided me towards a will o' the wisp with sweeping blue and black wings, her light brown hair pulled back in a pegasus tail, as she knelt down to scoop up a tiny damsel nymph in each arm. "I didn't even recognize her," I murmured. She snapped her fingers for her drakes to follow her through a pale pink curtain. It fluttered shut when she left. "I wonder if she'd know me now through all my dark freckles."

Sanderson came up to me then, dragging Idona and the others, and reached up his hand in quiet begging to hold my finger. I pushed the empty dishes into my pouch and allowed him to as we headed back to Kalysta's tunnel. The trays and bowls went to the kitchen. Idona and the new little drakes went to her room. Tobie, Otto, Walt, Jakey, and Ever went to the nesting cave. When I'd shut the last cupboard, I picked up Sanderson and started after them.

"Fergus?"

I paused, hovering on the tips of my toes in the middle of the dining room. Stifling my groan, I turned back to face Kalysta. She tilted her head in the direction of her chambers.

"Give Sanderson to Tobie. You can spend the night with me."

When Tobie took him away and began walking, Sanderson instantly broke into a fit of screaming and kicking. Somehow, he managed to clamp his teeth into Tobie's windpipe and fritz his lines. Understandably startled, Tobie yanked his hands away. Sanderson plopped to the ground. Like he had in the larger cave with the damsels, he raced to me for comfort, crying little "Poof!"s all the while.

"It's been a long day of stranger-danger for him," I said, scooping him up. "You know he doesn't do well when he can't taste my magic nearby. Perhaps I ought to take him to bed."

Kalysta sighed and made a motion with her wrist. "If he screams when someone else holds him and you're still in the room, he'll only be worse when you're not there. He'll upset Ever, Idona will want to come and see, Kace and Dip will follow her, and we'll hear them all the way in here and it'll give us both a headache. Just bring him in so he'll stay quiet. I can get him some bark strips and colored styluses, and he can play until he falls asleep. I'll sing him that shrine prayer song he seems to like."

With Sanderson happily absorbed in his scribbling on the floor, Kalysta returned her attentions to me. "This morning I visited my mother's burrow to see if she would lend me this dress, and she thought my hair was too plain for the occasion and tied however many itchy white ribbons into it. Get those out for me? It feels like there are two hundred. And here's a brush after that."

I took up the red and yellow strands of her hair and put my fingers to work. As I yanked the bows free one by one, Kalysta then asked, "What did you think of the Gathering, Fergus? Fairies don't have anything like that, do they?"

My hands hovered over the next ribbon. "I never knew." It was all I could say at first. Kalysta asked me to expound, and I did so haltingly. "I saw a damsel there with whom I went to school. Never once did I think she might have been born and raised in a place like this while I spent my days fetching paper or water or clay tablets for my father back in the family business."

Kalysta turned her head. "You've never mentioned a family business before."

"Do you know Wish Fixers?" I asked, tugging loose another bow.

For three wingbeats, she was silent. Then she muttered a dark word. I pulled back my hands.

"You do, don't you?"

"I used to, when I was younger. I went through a rebellious juvenile phase where I tried to go tomte."

"You tried to-?"

Kalysta tightened her fingers in the folds of dress in her lap. "That's behind me now. I don't want to talk about it."

"Ambrosine concerned himself with those under the age of eight lines, but Lawrence Karowel worked with older juveniles and such. He looked after you?" When she nodded, I brought my fingers near her shoulder again. "In that case, I'm sure your name must have crossed my path at some point. I was responsible for keeping track of the record books."

"I paid little attention to it before, but your family name was Whimsifinado, isn't it? That's right… I remember now. Your ancestors did their best to capitalize on the concept that every act of behavioral therapy to go on behind those doors would occur with the utmost schooling and logical expert care."

"The word you seem to be reaching for is 'aficionado', and yes, it's our way. My father's owned the place practically since the end of the war. He was pulled from the Academy to answer the draft, actually, albeit temporarily. He was still fighting to finish off those last graduate classes when I was in Spellementary."

Kalysta dropped her face in her hands. "Ambrosine, then. I landed myself the offspring of Ambrosine Whimsifinado, firstborn and only surviving son of Nettle Gumswood, who played for the Dragonflies until that lightning-through-the-eye-sockets incident disabled her permanently back in the Winter of the Sweeping Starlight. I have all three variations of his 'Celebrity Families' trading card in my old make-up box here under my bed."

My knuckles twitched in her hair. "That's him."

"The third card was limited edition, the shot plucked from the timestream the day his son was born. He's gowned in gray, curled up in a nest of straw in the dull hospital, surrounded by stacks of tablets, supposedly nineteen lines to his core, holding a preemie nymph visible only as a tuft of black hair in a purple blanket, with one hand up to partially shield his face. Oh my dust. You're on my trading card." She turned halfway around. "What in the name of smoof went wrong? He's sexy and desirable, and you're… Well, you're kind of okay."

"Genetic mutation. Anyway, since you almost asked, Wish Fixers will go to me someday. I am his only offspring, after all. I suppose Sanderson will take over when he's older…" I trailed off. Idona had pleaded for Sanderson one night months ago when I was nearly asleep, and I'd mumbled my permission for her to have him when they came of age, so far as Kalysta agreed. Idona claimed she had.

Not that my word was either necessary or binding down here the way it would be if I ever made it back to the surface. With or without it, he wasn't too likely to leave the underground. Idona would take him along to her new burrow. Although he was likely to turn out a drone and therefore had a 75% chance of being infertile, there remained the possibility that he might bear her nymphs. Dozens of them, maybe, until he ran dry of eggs and they sentenced him to the slicing cave for the last Kiss he'd ever receive. His offspring would grow up with my blood in them and I'd never know their names.

"I might have another nymph once I get out of here," I decided. "It's the family business and I want it to stay in my line. Perhaps I'll name him Kershaw. If I have a damsel, she can be Emery. I always liked the name Emery. It isn't quite so damseline as some."

"No siblings at all. What about your mother?"

I grimaced. "I never knew my mother as more than a touch and a scent."

"Surely she nursed you?"

"Not beyond the first few weeks. Then I had a substitute, much as Sanderson has you now."

Kalysta paused. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. Do you mind if I asked how she died?"

I snorted. "She didn't. She just left. Didn't want anything to do with me- only Ambrosine. Not only was I an accident and she busy with school, but I was loud and needy. Too much for her. Perhaps she'd have stayed if I was healthier, but with my broken crown and squarish wings… no."

The concept was, apparently, entirely unfamiliar to the will o' the wisp. Dumbfounded, she scratched her ear. "But you had your father and her other drakes to look after you, I hope, unless they all went with her."

I tossed another ribbon to the dirt. "Fairies don't have these harem families the way you do. There are exceptions to everything, but most take only one mate for life and never have another should the first pass away or, on rarer occasion still, leave them behind and shift their attentions to someone else. We don't really encourage the casual dating culture of the cherubs or the gnomes, either- fairies bond young and it leads to courtship and then to lasting pairs, with both parents staying on to look after the child forever after. Or that's how society thinks it's supposed to be. Inborn monogamy is part of the reason we're higher on the social ladder than your kind."

"You give your souls away only once," she said, gazing at the nymph coloring on the floor. My fingers snagged. I clucked my tongue.

"Typically, on the first night of genuine courtship advances and pair bonding, fairies begin work on their mating dance. Dances tend to be somewhat unique for each pair, though carry the same central core and major points. They'll mate, usually, on that night and not again for the following three seasons. If they're serious, the pair will continue molding their dance frequently throughout the remainder of their courtship. When the first season returns and finds them still happily together, they're considered to belong to one another for life. You can tell they're not in the courting pool any longer from the notches they tip in each other's wings around the pterostigmata then. The notching tradition has spread a little across the ladder. But that's the biggest reason cross-species partnerships don't last too long where I'm from: too many differences in basic social behavior, not even bringing other cultural norms and taxes into it."

"Oh, don't even talk to me about the taxes." Kalysta pressed her fingertips to her lips and stewed over my words. "I'm likely going to need to rewrite about half of my latest manuscript. You'll have to tell me everything one of these days. But in the meantime, I want to hear about Sanderson's mother." Nestling, tucking her legs beneath her, she went on with, "I'm a romantic, Fergus. Tell me how you met."

Never slowing my fingers, I eased another ribbon from her hair and shook my head. "I don't know. I remember nothing. No dance. No copulation. No courtship. No damsel at all. It was a shock to learn I was pregnant with him. If my mind was wiped, it was done so without leaving any blanks. But-"

I shouldn't have said 'But-'. Kalysta caught on and demanded I expand. I finished with the ribbons and took up the brush.

"There was a… an Anti-Fairy that I knew, once. An anti-cherub, actually. I never even learned her name. But she…"

"Members of the Seelie Court can't reproduce with the Unseelie. It's anti-damsels who give birth. Their reproductive systems are completely different."

"I know. That's why it doesn't make sense. Wouldn't, I mean. It wouldn't make sense. If she and I had copulated. Not that I'm saying we did. I probably would have dissolved from the touch of her acid, and it's not supposed to be physically possible anyway, although of course I wouldn't know. No, thank you." Taking several strands of Kalysta's hair, I began to wrestle with the knots. "That's fairies. Did you see any relations of yours at the Gathering, aside from your mother? Perhaps a sister?"

"My father belongs to a friend of mine named Kenyi now."

Neither of us spoke, only brushed hair and watched Sanderson draw scribbles, until Kalysta began prodding me about what all I'd been doing before I'd strayed into her territory. I was alone, I told her, and it was very nice. I had my little patch of grass with my hills and ponds. I had my garden and my coffee and my logs.

"What I miss most is my maple tree," I admitted, nipping another tangle from her hair. "I used to take a sharp stone and smack it for hours until the sap leaked out, and then I'd lick a taste from the bark and gather the rest to sprinkle over what food I had. I'm not sure if it was very good, but it was my tree and there weren't a lot of them around."

"None, actually. My mother used to look. But she does import maple syrup from further east." Kalysta rolled to her feet. "I'll zip over to her burrow and get you some of that, and you can taste a bit tonight and we'll eat the rest tomorrow. With waffles. And perhaps a coffee for you?"

"I think that sounds charming, my fair lady."

I watched as Kalysta strode into her private waste cave and spread her wings. She bunched her muscles, then sprang up flapping. Her acorn-cap hatch flipped open. Instant light flooded the area, temporarily disappeared as Kalysta's body concealed the hole, brightened as she left, then vanished as she shut the lid.

For a moment I just sat, kneading my foot with my knuckles. That was the same entrance she had brought me in through three months ago. With quiet steps, I crept into the waste cave and studied the ceiling. The hatch was there, about five wingspans up, and looked like it was held shut only by a simple hook. Had she really just… gone out and left me so near the exit?

Then, all at once, it struck me: She'd never had to worry before. Those of us blessed with flight had to take in buohyrine from nursing milk, and then learn how to channel it in order to hover using wings that, without the assistance of magic, should have been too small to function. That was why nymphs were given training wands in the first place- they plugged into the Big Wand's energy field and made channeling it much, much easier.

But back in Spellementary, Tobie hadn't had a wand. Magalee had even lent him hers on occasion for safekeeping when she left for the washroom, but though we'd seen him wave it, he'd never been taught how to make it work. And of course, if not channeled and maintained, the buohyrine would eventually pass out of the bloodstream, with no hope of return if one did not drink nursing milk again, and soon.

Kalysta's drakes couldn't fly. And I could. The other ceilings were all so low, did she even know that? She'd never thought to ask. Thankfully, I'd had the brains to stay on the floor in the Gathering chamber with the rest of the grounded drakes. Even when we'd met, I'd been on foot. She'd never even seen me.

There wasn't time to waste. The blue-black walls were smooth and lacked handholds or ledges or chips, and they were far enough apart that one could not brace himself and attempt to spider-crawl his way up. I had plenty of room to unfurl my wings and shove them downwards. It took a couple of tries to pick up the magic in the air again, but then I began to rise, all the way up. After unhooking the latch, I pushed the lid open. It fell back into the grass. Warm air flowed across my face. Shielding my eyes against the searing orange sunset, I attempted to push my way through.

My wings crashed against the sides of the hole and nearly sent me plunging downwards. I grabbed two handfuls of weeds for support, kicking with my legs until I had clumsily managed to draw my wings in. My body wriggled through. Evening light! A real, living breeze! Flicking dirt from my hands, I took off scrambling over the wild summer-autumn grass.

I made it about ten paces before I remembered Sanderson. Running back, I squeezed again into the hole and hit the ground. He was waiting there and all ready to go, arms up. I scooped him to my neck and beat my way upwards once more.

Sanderson fit through the gap easily. But just as I popped my first shoulder out, someone touched down in front of me with a snap of dark butterfly wings. I looked up to find Kalysta's arms folded behind her back. The sharp heel of her shoe hovered above my face.

"Did you get lost on your way to the washing cave again, Fergus?"

"I'm not going to get my coffee tomorrow," I guessed, instantly regretting all my sins. "Am I?"

"You are not. No coffee for two weeks. And don't think it excuses you from bedroom duty either; I have too many plot bunnies I need to work out with you, and I still expect you to have finished revising that latest piece by Friday."

I sunk back into the hole, clinging to the edge with my fingertips. Kalysta clicked her fingers twice and pointed downwards. I dropped. She followed with Sanderson.

"I almost missed you," she said dryly, handing him back. "If you'd been out of there ten wingbeats earlier, I'd have flown right on by to my sister's burrow, and you'd have gotten a head start while we're in the midst of the season my Kiss of Frost doesn't work."

Sanderson squirmed into my pouch. I placed my palms against the bulge he made and said nothing. Kalysta nodded.

"Go back to your room now. I'm going to use this cave for its intended purpose."

Since I wouldn't likely have been able to fight her off while attempting to unlock and lift the hatch, Kiss of Frost or no Kiss of Frost, and especially if she expected me to struggle, I headed back through her private quarters and into the office. What I saw on the desk between her unfinished manuscript and her stylus made me freeze in my bare tracks.

Kalysta had left her wand unguarded.

Seizing the opportunity the instant I recognized it, I snatched it up and gave it a wave, drawing magic through it with every ounce of thought I could manage. A single flick could poof me out of here before she realized her mistake. If nothing else, I could trigger my fagiggly gland, morph my shape into that of some lizard, and scuttle through a crevice at least until she fell asleep.

But it didn't work. The light in the star-shaped end did not glow, no matter how fruitlessly I waved it. After a couple moments spent trying, I uncapped it. It was empty. Dry. So numb with disappointment was I that I sunk to my knees and didn't even attempt to hide what I'd been doing when I heard Kalysta's feet come stepping back over the dirt.

"The starpiece at the end is drained of purified rosewater, of course," she said in surprise when she saw me lying on the ground. "We usually dump it all or rewire the insides of the shaft after we finish decorating our burrows and start collecting drakes for exactly this reason. Standard practice; I keep it only for sentimentality's sake. Didn't you learn about will o' the wisps in school?"

Grinding my teeth, I replaced the useless wand on her desk. "I must have been doing something else I thought was really important that day."

"Come on." Half-turning, Kalysta offered me a hand that I didn't take. "I'll walk you back."

I lay down in my nest with the sleeping Sanderson as Kalysta threw my blanket over me. Snapping her fingers twice, she called for Jakey to untangle the last of the ribbons from her hair. They went off. I followed their movements with my eyes until the door shut behind them.

Then I jolted upright. The finger snaps! That was the answer. An honest, obtainable, stupidly-simple answer!

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 1: SPOILED

Snapping Point

Autumn - Winter of the Charged Waters

Having a new plan for escape brought the bounce back into my toes. The next several times Kalysta returned to fetch a drake to talk plot holes with or to send us off to observe Idona and the nymphs, I paid special attention to the quick way she moved her hand. Middle finger on the thumb. A slide down the palm.

Then, after waiting a few minutes, I would often give the excuse that I needed to use the waste cave and duck out- with little Sanderson tagging after me, of course. For the following two weeks, I practiced in there every spare moment I could afford without drawing Walt, Tobie's, or Jakey's suspicions (Otto didn't have the mental capacity behind his cheery smiles for me to worry about him). My visits had to be short so they wouldn't get a clue of what I was up to and try to beat me to the finish. At last, at last, my dedication paid off. I produced a familiar clicking noise.

I… I'd done it.

Still in shock, I held my left hand away from my body and stared at it. I snapped my fingers again. They made a sort of ringing sound that echoed in the little cave. It was identical to the one Kalysta could come up with. I did it! I'd learned to snap! Like a genie!

No. Like a wisp.

"This is it," I told Sanderson, scooping him into my right arm. "Now we'll see who controls her drakes."

I had to wait for the proper moment to use my newfound power, of course. Dinner was the ideal time. Nearly giddy with anticipation, I rested my hands on the edge of the table, hardly touching my sandwich except for the olives, until the meal was done and Kalysta took Otto back to her room for the evening (poor fellow- she was in revising mode and would probably have him up to his ears in bark strips until dawn). Dishes clinked. Jakey scooted back in his chair and brushed crumbs across the dirt floor, then went to round up Idona and her drake nymphs. Walt took Ever's small hand and started back to the nesting cave. Turning to Tobie, I pointed at his plate. "Give me what's left of your food."

"What? No. It's mine."

Looking the will o' the wisp in the eyes, I pointed again and snapped my fingers twice. He blinked a couple of times, looked down at his brisket, and continued eating.

It didn't work.

My throat constricting, I made another attempt, this time repeating the command as I snapped. Tobie sighed and raised his head again.

"How stupid do you think I am, Fergus? You're not my damsel. I don't have to listen to you."

"It was worth the attempt," I replied. Pushing on my knees, I got back to my feet. "Come on, Sanderson. Let's get you to bed."

I kicked the rock wall as we left, and my toe remained bruised for a week because of it.

I didn't get out of my nest first thing in the morning. I didn't want to. There wasn't anything to work for, no entertainment to keep me distracted, and nothing to do but simmer about how I was missing the election of the Fairy Council Robes this year, and would have to wait 50,000 more for it to come around again. Assuming I even managed to escape by then. Even gambling napcloth-changing, clothes-washing, dish-rinsing, and cooking duties over snapjik didn't appeal to me, and only partially because I always had to play with at least one clueless nymph on my team. Eyes glazed, I watched Sanderson lie in the dirt with a fistful of styluses, swirling them into muddled images across a strip of bark as he hummed Mother Nature and Father Time's prayer, some nursery song about genies, and various other tunes Kalysta had sung to him while she was nursing. Well.

"Sanderson." I pointed to the dirty shirt he'd worn the day before, lumped on the floor near my bed. He owned two of them, and neither fit his hexagonal body well. "Bring that to me, would you?"

He picked up another stylus and ignored me.

"Sanderson," I repeated, and when he looked up I pointed again. When he continued to ignore me, I rolled from the nest and walked over to him in one final attempt, this time snapping like I had for Tobie. Since Sanderson didn't respond, I scooped him up and lay him on his stomach. Locking my fingers around the knobs of his wings, I made two sharp inward twists. The humming broke off at once. He yipped and kicked his legs. I replaced him on his feet. He stood there, clutching his stylus and trembling from his cowlick to his bare muddy toes.

"Next time, if you don't listen to me, I'll do that again." I studied him for a moment, then overturned my hands so he could see my empty palms, the same way I'd done when we first really met. These I offered to him. Rather than examine them to reassure himself of my intentions, he flung his arms around my neck and buried his nose deep in my shoulder.

I scratched the back of his dirty, prickly hair. "Oh, you didn't much like that, I see. Well, now we know to listen, don't we?"

The following morning, when he pulled off yesterday's shirt and tossed it over the edge of the nest, I reacted at once.

"Sanderson," I called, pointing to the shirt. He shifted his gaze several times between it and me. I snapped my fingers, and he got another wing twisting when he didn't obey. I guided him over to the shirt, used his hands to pick it up, and put it on the end of our nest. After that, he was released.

Again the following morning, he removed his shirt and hesitated, looking in my direction as he dangled it over the end of the nest. I kept my face expressionless. He let go, and I snapped my fingers and gestured to it. Instantly Sanderson raced to the opposite side of the room and plastered his back to the wall. When I got up and came over, he fled back towards Tobie and little Ariette, who watched me in a wary way. I followed him around the room until he ran into a corner, and realized too late that he couldn't dodge around me then. He made the attempt anyway, and paid the price for ignoring my command.

But he begin to pick up the message after the first week. One day when he changed his shirt side by side with all the other nymphs, he looked to me and put it at the end of our nest, on the inside. I overturned my hands to give him the signal that he wouldn't be getting his wings twisted, and he brightened up and crawled over to receive his embrace. Then I pulled the new shirt over his small, awkward body so he could go off to play with Ever.

This went on for about another week, until he started to slip back into his former habit. Yesterday's shirt was hurled across the room, smacked the wall, and dropped.

I sat up. "Sanderson."

He glanced over, uncaring, but when I snapped my fingers twice and pointed, he stiffened up. The old shirt was retrieved, lain in its proper place, and he backed away into the wall. Rather than twist his wings for the act of dropping it, I let him take the embrace for his obedience to the finger snaps. That was the part that mattered.

After that, he only improved. Fairly soon, I could point at anything in the entire burrow and he'd stand by it until I made a beckoning motion for him to bring it to me, or upturned my hands and let him claim his little hug if he'd completed the task. Another month and I could call his name and indicate a particular item or location, and receive his obedience without even drawing out the snapping sound. It was a small victory, a small comfort, but it gave me a goal to work towards and offered me at least some sense of control over my fate.

My time was trickling out. Summer had passed away, with the Gathering and autumn slipping after it. I didn't track time by changes to the outside world. There was none of that underground. But Sanderson began eating bits of bread, and by winter had progressed from that to anything he could close his hand around. As the second month of winter began to fade into the third, his hexagonal exoskeleton showed all the signs that it would shed. Eight months of age seemed a tad early for me, but it wasn't unheard of- I'd been a dramatically early shedder myself. When it finally peeled off his back, it left him sore, red, wrinkled, and whining for two weeks.

Losing his flat edges did nothing to help his scrawniness, either. Nothing seemed wrong in regards to his overall health. Sanderson's nymphhood belly was reasonably rounded. The ratios of his limbs as compared to his head and trunk and feet and such were all anatomically correct as far as I could tell, though from a certain angle his right arm seemed rather long. But by dust, was he ever puny in the height department. At this rate, it seemed likely he'd grow up to be hardly taller than an anti-fairy, and it made me wonder all the more if half of his genetics could be traced back to Pip. Which was impossible, with the whole physically-can't-mate thing, if that wasn't clear.

Time was gone, and I hadn't managed to pull off a single plan of escape. I'd torn Kalysta's room apart in search of the key to the tunnel in the food storage room. I'd attempted to forge substitutes of it on my own using fork tines and roots. I'd feigned sickness and that I was contagious. I'd claimed fairies needed to migrate. I'd repeated my legal permission to betroth Sanderson to Idona in exchange for my freedom. I'd attempted to break through the locked door of Kalysta's chamber in the middle of the night to try the exit hatch again. I'd insisted that the Tuatha Dé Danann had come to me in a dream and sworn to wreak their vengeance upon the whole burrow if I wasn't released. I'd even attempted to dig my way through the softer patches of dirt in the waste cave. But when the third month of winter came around, so did Kalysta.

"Fergus?"

I turned around, keeping my folded arms on the edge of my nest. Kalysta snapped her fingers twice and motioned for me to join her (and with me, Sanderson). "Pick something you'd like to eat and come into my room," she said as we entered the dining area. "I want to discuss a few things before we begin tonight."

Mulling over my options, I entered the tunnel to the kitchen. Sometimes I had the opportunity to come in here alone, but not often, and rarely just before heading off to spend some time with Kalysta. I took the vanilla ice cream from its hole in the ground beside the block of ice and prepared two bowls and two spoons. Sanderson got a quick bite before I shushed his continued whimpers with a few fingersnaps.

Then, steadying my nerves, I drew the knife we used for slicing salad and carrots from the silverware drawer and ran my thumb down the unicorn-horn handle.

This was it. My only remaining path. I didn't trust it to stay in my loose sleeves, nor did I dare slip it into my pouch in case I didn't have the chance to remove it before Sanderson should dive in headfirst. That, and access to my pouch was likely to be blocked by the time I needed the knife, so I fit it in the waistband of my pants around my left side. Perhaps it would jab me, but that would be a minuscule price compared to what I would be escaping. Thus armed, Sanderson and I stepped into Kalysta's quarters.

"Ice cream," she noted as I handed her the bowl. "I was expecting something of a little more sustenance. But it will do." She patted the fluffy white bed with the apex of one black wing, and I sat beside her. In silence, we ate our first two or three bites and watched Sanderson chase floating feathers between the door and my feet.

"Sanderson shed his exoskeleton almost a week ago," she said at last. "On top of that, he doesn't have freckles, which would make him a drone since gynes aren't able to produce kabouter offspring. Come next year's Gathering, I believe I'll exchange him for one of Gabbi's drakes."

"Mm. What does Idona think about that, my lady?"

Kalysta scraped the side of the bowl with her spoon. "She's upset, of course. Says Sanderson truly loves her and all that, and likes her kisses and draws her pictures, but I'm her mother and the final decision is mine. You've noticed, I'm sure, that fairy drakes carry a status above will o' the wisps ones."

"Because my kind don't often roll over for you to have our bellies rubbed, I presume."

"You presume correctly. And as much as I'd like to keep Sanderson around, well… there are expenses associated with him. Not even just the food now, but taxes in particular."

"There's a tax on keeping fairies in your burrow?" This was perhaps the greatest news I'd heard for centuries. At least I was some inconvenience upon her.

"Oh, there are taxes upon all the non-wisp magical species, and on each post-instar stage wisp after four, but yes, fairies do rank up there. You I wouldn't dream of trading off to one of my sisters or the others, because not only would it slot me below them on the social ladder, but it would raise them, and I would be the cause of it. That, I simply will not have. I've worked too hard for my position- all the sucking up, all the favors, all the false smiles. But Sanderson I can afford to lose. I've heard fairies tend to be more attached to their offspring than will o' the wisps are. I want you to have plenty of time to exchange your good-byes."

I nodded without looking up. Kalysta set her bowl aside and pulled a white ribbon - the only ribbon this time - from her fiery gold and scarlet hair. "Now," she said, "if you've finished with your ice cream, let's get on with it."

"But I'm not done."

She took my ice cream away and gave it to Sanderson to lick up. I'm still livid about that. I think she noticed, too, because she was more careful with her motions, playing more to me than urging me to play to her; tickling me behind my left ear, for example, and trying to draw that flustered chirping sound out again as she snuggled me against the crook of her arm. The other hand fluttered beneath my chin.

I did my best to keep her satisfied. When I knew from her closed eyes and shivering wings that she had melted into it, I spent three entire minutes inching my hand down to the knife in my waistband. My fingers wrapped around the ribbed handle.

One too-quick movement, one flash of dim cavern light against the metal blade, and I'd lose my chance. I had to be so deliberate. So perfect. Winter had brought with it the return of her paralyzing venom. It would be too simple for Kalysta to flip me on my back and pin me down while she suffocated me in a Kiss of Frost so deep, I wouldn't wake up from it, and it would be off with the limbs to be baked in pies and bread and such, my core holding onto life by a thread. Perhaps she wouldn't do it because of my status. But perhaps she would.

The knife switched from my left hand to my right behind her neck, where I could get a better hold, although being ambidextrous it perhaps wasn't necessary. Nor did it soothe my uncertainty. Its tip hovered.

A full minute passed. Then another. And one after it. Try as I might, my hand refused to make the final motion.

Why was this so difficult? I'd killed fifteen gynes in my lifetime. A will o' the wisp damsel shouldn't be nearly as hard. It wasn't as though she was fighting back.

One stab. While she wasn't ready. Killing without allowing the chance for a fair fight was one of the Three Deep Sins. Is that what made me hesitate?

"Fergus," she mumbled, slowly unslotting her lips from mine, "you stopped doing that nibbling thing of yours. What are you looking at?"

No more waiting. I plunged the knife downward. It moved with less resistance than I'd expected it to, tearing through layers of bare skin and thick blood and embedding itself in deep. After I'd cranked it in a sharp twist, I wrenched it out and readied myself for another stab. But no blood oozed from of the wound, in any of the six colors. The blade remained as clean and shiny as when I'd first picked it up. Kalysta blinked down at her chest in some alarm, then up at me. She didn't withdraw her hands from beneath my wings.

"Nearly everything in my burrow is formed with magic, Fergus. Magical objects can't kill a magical being. I know you know this."

And maybe I had. Maybe I'd wanted to make the attempt anyway. Maybe I'd just forgotten. As I stared at the unicorn horn knife in my hand, an overwhelmingly sick feeling slammed down on my shoulders. I dropped it into the soft bed, wrapped my arms around Kalysta's neck, and simply embraced her, completely mute as I stared at the wall with its glowing trail of embedded stones. Kalysta brought her hands up and patted my spine, murmuring her favorite song about drakes and leisure time and money, until my trembling had somewhat stilled. Through gritted teeth, I forced the words into her ear, "I despise you. Completely. I despise you with every fleck of magic in my blood."

"That much?"

"I don't want to be caged here in your burrow forever, Ivorie. I refuse to believe that this is my chosen fate. The Tuatha Dé Danann, may the Lost Ancients return from their underground prison, would have had greater expectations for me than this if their race still thrived. Oh, if they could all see me now."

"May the Lost Ancients return." She rocked me back and forth for a few minutes, then uncurled my clenched fingers from her tangled hair and lay me down in her bed. "I think you've had enough tonight. Put your shirt back on. No coffee in the morning for you. You can take that knife back in the kitchen and head off to your nest. I'll check on all y'all in a few minutes' time."

I did, still touching my face every couple of steps to see if it remained hot beneath my fingertips. Sanderson skipped cheerily after me, clutching the handful of colored styluses and strips of bark Kalysta had given him to keep him quiet. When I threw myself face-down into my blankets, he tapped my hand and presented me with one of the drawings.

It took me a couple of wingbeats to make out the lopsided scribbles, but when I did, I felt my stomach flip itself inside out. He'd drawn a circle with four stick limbs- Kalysta with her flame-like hair and speckled black butterfly wings. He'd even added off-center blue dots for her eyes.

"That's very good, Sanderson."

He moved his hand a little, and I made out a second figure beside her. This one was a little smaller, with a squarish face, cowlicked black hair, and dusty violet eyes that he'd managed to mix the perfect match for. He held Kalysta's hand, and smiled. An obvious little fairy child.

"Yes, and that's you. Quite a charming picture."

Sanderson creased his brow and pointed twice at me. At first, I didn't even know how to respond. I took the strip back and compared the drawing on the bark and its artist. Apart from a possible stray dot or two that might have been meant as freckles, they looked exactly the same.

When I returned it to his expectant hands, I said, "So if you think this is supposed to be me, where are you?"

Puzzled, he stuck his thumb in his mouth. The concept that he existed as a figure who could be drawn was, evidently, still beyond him. Apart from in the dips of spoons or soup bowls or water in the washing cave, he'd never seen his own reflection before.

He replaced the strip of bark beside his colored styluses and ran back to me with two more depicting Tobie, Walt, Otto, and Jakey. Then, when I had approved those, he brought me his clumsy interpretations of River, Idona, Tick, Ever, Ariette, Kace, and Dip.

"Goodness. How many of these have you done?" Then I said, "Why did you wait to draw me last?"

Offended, Sanderson scrambled over my stomach to retrieve a larger bark strip from underneath his pillow that showed only me, with my hand raised like I was either snapping my fingers or preparing to twist his wings. That got a soft chuckle out of me. I mussed his hair.

And then… I stopped, and looked between Sanderson and his array of drawings. I put my forefingers together against my lips.

No chance.

That would never work.

Ridiculous.

If my simple plans had failed, there was no way for this one to succeed.

There were too many obscure pieces that had to fall into place. I wouldn't manage to find the opportunity- Walt would stop me purely for the sake of revenge- Otto's bumbling idiocy would be my downfall- Tobie would notice- Ever would squeal on us- Idona would demand Sanderson be moved to her cave with the others- Kalysta would find out- I'd run out of time- I'd get sloppy- I'd make a mistake- Too many risks.

And not enough consequences. Maybe… Maybe, if I could just…

I dwelt over my plan for three days before I made any decisive actions. Kalysta called for me after that. Sanderson and I stood together in her cave, and when Kalysta turned her face away so I could yank out the ribbon holding the back of her dress together, I pointed for him to grab one bottle of nail polish on the floor among the others.

He did, with a bit more noise than I would have liked, but when Kalysta checked back to see if we were still there, we were. Sanderson slipped the bottle into my hand, and I tucked it discreetly into my pouch. After our session, when we returned to our room and Sanderson wiggled in for the night, I hid the bottle beneath my pillow instead. I would need it later. Using it now would make it obvious who had taken it. Before I enacted anything, everyone needed a chance to have stolen the bottle.

But that took time. As Sanderson completed his weaning and the heat season of the wisps deepened from winter to spring, Kalysta's attentions turned on me with more fervor. I was called upon the most frequently of her drakes, and although Sanderson managed to collect quite a few items from around her room while I kept her distracted, we had to stop because if we took any more, Kalysta was likely to suspect thievery rather than her own absent-mindedness. She was growing restless with me as it was.

I had to begin. One night while the others slept (perhaps it was even a midday nap- there really was no way to tell merely from the glowing stones along the walls), I took her pink polish bottle and painted a few dabs of it around the cave, the halls, the dining table, and very gingerly on the backs of Sanderson's wings and his fingertips. When Kalysta saw us at breakfast, there was no doubt that she noticed, and she scolded him gently not to take her things.

He nodded. But the drakes listened to her snapping fingers. He listened only to mine.

Over the following days, I began planting the other stolen items all in places where Sanderson's height allowed him to reach, and I encouraged his artwork immensely so he was nearly always engaged in working on more when she came in. During the nights, I permitted him to cuddle against my neck as opposed to in my pouch, since I knew he'd begun to like that, and I held him as I stared up at a low ceiling I couldn't particularly see.

Though I pulled many strings now, I did not have all control over what went on in the burrow. Every passing day made me more and more certain that my plan involved sacrificing Sanderson. Kalysta would be upset, and killing him would allow her to feel as if she'd achieved justice. Though it would not stop me from forging on, I wasn't quite sure what my opinion on the matter was. I wondered which drakes were sent where after the slicing cave.

Less than a week shy of the new year, Kalysta snapped my forehead chamber shut and fell back into her cushions with a huff. "Why?" she asked no one in particular. Certainly not me. "You're of the proper age and health, your offspring has been weaned, you're in your heat years, and I've showered you with nothing but affection and kept you away from the advances of other damsels. I don't understand."

"Perhaps fairies take longer after birthing to come into heat than will o' the wisps," was my only reply. I sat at the end of her bed, my toes inching along the dirt after a stray feathery fluff.

Her finger jabbed at my nose. "This is because you gave your soul away to Sanderson's mother. Don't give me that usual protest that you don't remember mating with her or that your wings are still unnotched."

I smiled without showing my teeth. "You of course have my soul, my fair lady. I'm your drake, and have been for the last three seasons. Why wouldn't I be yours?"

Kalysta watched me for a moment, weighing my words, and then slid her eyes behind me. My skin prickled. Turning, I followed her gaze to Sanderson, who sat quietly as he often did with the colored styluses and bark he'd been given.

"I wonder," she said, rolling to her feet. I jumped up too, staying immediately on her heels as she crossed the room towards him.

"Don't," I said as she reached out for his arm. "Kalysta, it would not be in your best interests-"

"I didn't ask for you to speak."

"You've already spent too many resources on him to just-"

"I didn't ask, drake!"

Sanderson jumped up at Kalysta's arrival and held out his arms for an embrace. She swung him to her hip. As he snuggled against her neck, cooing in her ear, she turned back to me.

"Now, Fergus," she said, chirping it like a song, "I don't want any more protesting out of you. No fighting. I have been patient for nine long months. You're here to be my drake, and when I call for you to be, I expect you to be amorous. Thus far, I haven't gotten my money's worth out of you. I'll be removing Sanderson from the burrow now. We'll see if you come into heat then."

I opened my mouth, but let it shut again. The back of my throat stung. Sanderson was the keystone to my entire plan. I could use Ariette and Ever, but they wouldn't be so convincing, and especially not after I had been planting all my evidence on Sanderson and leaving them untouched.

Perhaps I knew, too, in some small way, how Walt had felt when I'd chosen to name Ellowi as the one who had to die so Sanderson might live. I couldn't help but feel somewhat upset to be told that all the energy I'd poured into him had been for nothing.

Nibbling my lip, I massaged my knuckles and bowed my head. So this was to be the price for my delay. I should have enacted the most crucial phase of the plan sooner, even if it meant I had to be less careful. Perhaps, as with Ellowi, Kalysta would spare Sanderson behind the scenes. But it was winter again now, nearly spring. The Gathering was another six or seven months away. Dead or alive, if he was gone, so were my last hopes for escape.

"Very good, Fergus. You stay here."

"Yes, my fair lady," I whispered.

Kalysta took a step towards her waste cave where the exit hatch was, and paused. Her foot had crunched against bark. She knelt down and picked up one of Sanderson's drawing strips. He pointed to something scrawled across it and let out a nonsense syllable.

Oh, Sanderson. What is it about the innocence of nymphs that makes us step back from our worries and annoyances and wonder how our old youthful selves had grown up to be everything we'd never wanted to?

For a moment, Kalysta crouched on her heels, just gazing upon the drawing. Then she lowered Sanderson to the ground and let him wander back to me. Out of complete reflex, I snatched him into my arms when he offered his to me, and somewhere in the back of my mind realized that if she really had walked off with him, I may never have touched his cowlicks again.

"Take him back to the nesting cave," she said. "I expect you to perform better when I call tomorrow." Then Kalysta returned to her cushions and sat with her back to us. Her black wings drooped like her limp red skirt. She slid the drawing into place between one pillow and the rocky wall, and lay her head down to stare at it.

There wasn't time to wait any longer. The plan had to get rolling. As we passed through Kalysta's office, I flicked my hand for Sanderson to grab a stack of bark strips on her desk. He did, more quietly than he had in most times past, and I grabbed all the others that I could find. We loaded them into my pouch, although hiding them perhaps wasn't necessary, given Kalysta's sudden dull state. The rest I held in my arms. She didn't suspect anything when we left her quarters behind.

"This is it," I told Sanderson, kneeling beside him on the ground near our nest. I slid over two hundred different colored styluses towards him across the dirt. "My fate is in your hands now. Would you draw me some pretty pictures?"

It took several hours before I picked up the sound of her thumping around outside our cave. After diving into my nest, I covered my head with my blanket, feigning sleep, until I heard the door crash open. Alongside all the other drakes, I jolted upright and rubbed my eyes. Kalysta pinned the wood against dirty stone, her wings whipping, dressed in the winter pine forest pajamas she often wore, the buttons shaped like blue snowflakes.

"Is something the matter, my fair lady?"

"I can't find my latest manuscript anywhere! It has to be finished by the time Mother Nature names the new year on Naming Day or I don't get paid, and we have to cut back on food. I could even be fired for this!" She snapped her fingers and pointed into the hall. "All y'all, search my office, my room, the kitchen, the dining hall, the…"

She stopped. Her hand fell back to her side and bounced once. With her eyes swelled wide, she looked around the floor that had once been dirt. Only patches of it were visible now.

"… Sanderson, did you run out of blank bark strips?"

He looked up from his drawing of himself and Idona, stylus in hand, and smiled.

"Sanderson!" That was me, glancing about as though for the first time. "You're going to get your wings twisted again for this. That was a very bad thing to do."

Kalysta held up her palm to me, urging me to remain where I was. Kneeling down, she scraped a few of the bark pieces together. Sanderson made whining noises and reached out with chubby fingers as she took them away. Kalysta gave them back with a groan and buried her face in her arms.

"Even the ones that aren't real drawings have scribbles all over them. More than half of these have been chewed partway to a pulp; I didn't realize Sanderson's teeth were so big. I'm going to have to start over. Recopy everything. Rewrite what's been lost. Sorting these back into the proper order alone will take a week. I'm going to miss my deadline, maybe sell at a reduced price… if I don't get outright let go."

"Between that and the fairy tax, are we going to have enough money for food this year, my fair lady?" I asked in as sickeningly syrupy a voice as I could possibly manage. Kalysta raised her head from her hands, blue eyes narrow slits of fire.

"I loathe you," she said. As the other drakes looked curiously on, she beckoned to me. When she wasn't looking, I fluttered my fingers back at Tobie in farewell. Sanderson and I were marched down the hall, through the dining room, past her office, and into her private quarters. I squeezed the nymph in my arms.

"Thank you, Sanderson. You're very brave."

Kalysta turned on me, those eyes blazing brighter. She grabbed the front of my shirt in her fist and brought my face up to meet hers. My eyes widened.

It was the first time I realized I had made a horrible mistake.

Like a fool, all this time, after all the nights of editing, all the nights of kisses, all the nights of sorting through old Celebrity Families cards and chuckling at geeky-looking juveniles who had grown up to look symmetrical in the face and balanced in diet, I suppose I'd thought Kalysta saw me as a friend. For some naive reason, I had convinced myself that she wouldn't want to see me dead.

But I had destroyed something very dear to her. Not her trust- I don't think she ever had much of that. But I'd buried a knife in her life's work and slashed without a second thought. I'd painted Sanderson to be the kleptomaniac. I'd molded him to be the ever-busy artist. I'd thought she would target him. I had forgotten she might just kill me.

Our lips hovered a thread apart. I held Sanderson tight, refusing to be the one to blink, refusing to be the one to look away, and ready to sink my teeth into her face if she made a move forward. I wouldn't go softly to slaughter. I wouldn't let Sanderson go either.

Kalysta threw me behind her in the direction of the waste cave, not turning around as I stumbled to regain my footing. "Go. Just go. I know you want to. You're too expensive to keep and you can't satisfy me anyway. Yes, don't forget Sanderson. Go now and fast before any of the other damsels catch you. I don't think they'll be out at this time of season, but you're better off not taking risks. Don't dawdle, and don't fly too high or where there isn't cover. You're better off sticking southwest than northeast. Do whatever you can to avoid them. If they want a fairy, they can go hunt down their own. And if one of them does snag you, come find me at the next Gathering and I'll smuggle you away myself. I want you out of my territory. I want you out of this area. I want you out of my entire life and never to lock eyes with me again."

I inclined my head to her back. "As you wish, my fair lady." Still smirking, I flew up to the ceiling and unhooked the latch. Opening the trapdoor took considerably more pushing than I remembered, and when I finally got it up, snow dumped on my head and down my shirt. I dropped back in alarm, flattening myself against the smooth wall.

Perhaps I hadn't thought this through after all.

"Now, Fergus Whimsifinado. I'm being generous in sparing your life, because all things considered I happen to have enjoyed having you around for the last year. Don't test my patience, or your pretty tail good-bye isn't the only thing around here I'll be kissing."

The last I saw of her, she was kneeling on her dirt floor in her silky green and white pajamas with her face in her hands again. I hovered a few inches above the ground, watching her, and almost considered apologizing. But that would be stupid. With Sanderson clinging to my neck, I scrambled out into the falling snow. I didn't bother to shut the hatch.

Everything stung. My black hair flashed as white as cherub wings in seconds, I'm sure, because my arms and legs certainly did.

I didn't have shoes. No shoes, no coat. Just the thin brown clothes Kalysta had left me with, and Sanderson was in no better position. The snow came down too heavily for flight, and after taking a few nosedives under its weight, I resigned myself to traveling over the hills on foot. The drifts were up to my knees. My wings crunched together with every step I took.

"Sanderson," I groaned after a period of time that could have been an hour just as easily as half of one, "I can't carry you anymore. I'm so tired, and you feel so heavy after all this time. You have to walk now."

The little fairy turned around as soon as he touched the snow. I picked him up and set him forward again. So, he tried to burrow into my pouch. He would have fit, maybe - Fairy bones were lightweight and malleable and bent easily - but that wouldn't solve the question of mass and weight. His wings were stiff and partially frozen, which left them unable to fold and put them at risk for snapping off if bent the wrong way. Nor was I in the mood for dealing with the magical drainage he'd cause if he chose to suck on my nipple there. Not in this snow. I diverted him away from my pouch, tucked my hands deeper beneath my armpits, and walked on. Sanderson made one of those aimless vocalizations he'd been making since he'd hit pooferty in protest before stumbling after me.

"I don't care. We're not going back to Kalysta's burrow."

I should have waited for summer. The magic curled from my right palm as visible lavender puffs in the cold. Freedom, I found, was a bitter coppery taste.

We walked on for another ten minutes, keeping to the conifers and sides of the cliffs when they chose to make themselves available. Amid the falling snow, the silence was complete. I could only hear soft footsteps trudging through drifts of creamy white.

Then I turned around, and realized why it was silent. "Oh, no."

Taking to my wings, I headed back as best as I was able to. The rushing flakes eventually forced me to the ground again, and I had to run on foot over both frost and the occasional patch of roots or pine needles.

"Sanderson! Come out, Sanderson!" Snapping my fingers for once did not produce him. "Sanderson, I did not spend a year changing your soiled napcloths in what may as well have been the core of The Darkness just for you to ditch me now!"

In my blindness and against the sleet, I rushed over the edge of a cliff. My wings flared out and slowed my fall, but I still crashed and rolled into the ditch. Licking frost from my lips, I sat up and squinted. My cowlick blew forward into my eyes, slapping me with wetness.

"Sanderson!"

I fumbled about in the snow and dirt, searching for a tiny body. Instead, I found a large round hatch like an acorn cap. Like the entrance to Kalysta's burrow.

"Aw, smoof no," I muttered, and dragged the nearest boulder on top of it. It didn't matter how bitter it was out here or how warm and dry it was inside. I was never going back to any will o' the wisp damsel.

For a moment I hunkered on the far side of the boulder, just trying to gather magic from the chaotic, swirling air. There wasn't a lot of it stable; my tongue panted. Then the wind shifted, spitting snow in my eyes, and I forced myself to get up and keep moving.

This time, I was more careful as I moved among the cliffs. I held my hand to the rocky walls and did not run. Our footprints had been swallowed up, but I could pull a few landmarks from the whipping snow when I tried.

"Hey!" screamed a voice.

When I turned around, I discovered a little clay dwelling among the roots of an elder tree. I must have walked past this place three times and always missed it. An imp wearing a dark green dress had come out to stand in front, her arms wrapped around her shoulders. Her antennae would spin and whip into her mouth every time she tried to speak.

"Drake! Yes, you! My place is small, but there's room for one more."

I blew into my fists. "You go on in. I'm still looking for someone."

"What?" She took a step closer to me. "No, sir- you've got to come in! The storm is breaking up the Big Wand's energy field and scattering the magic. You can't survive out here."

That much I believed. My panting was coming a little more heavily now as more and more of my lines unplugged and wavered like straining Yugopotamian tentacles. "I'll come back," I called to the imp. "I have to find my companion first."

"You're going to get lost! I'm the only one around for cloudlengths who hasn't hunkered in deep- none of them ever answer their doors anymore when I knock. I think some have gone into diapause. So unless you want to take shelter from a will o' the wisp…"

I looked down at my trembling hands, then up at the sky. I blinked once. Dabbed my tongue across my nose.

Then I shook my head. "Forgive me, Sanderson," I gasped out, "You understand." Turning my back, I pushed my way towards the elder tree. The imp reached out with both arms as I stumbled close, and she pulled me the final steps into the little house and slammed the door shut. Ice had strewn itself across the dirt floor. It wasn't a large place- if I'd removed the furniture, stood in the exact center of the single room, and extended my wings in opposite directions, I'd almost have been able to brush all four walls without leaving the spot. I sank my face into a soft chair near the door and left my knees on the ground.

"Not even the ishigaq will be out in that weather," muttered the imp, bracing her shoulder against the wall. "Maybe we'll see a barbegazi. They might rescue whoever it is you were looking for- I'm sure of it."

"Not if he gets buried," I said, withdrawing my arms from the chair.

The imp looked around her humble abode. "I don't have much, especially in this season, but you're welcome to stay until the weather clears up. I imagine it will by morning- storms like this don't normally last for long. Would you like some soup? I have only the one bed, but since you're my guest, you're welcome to it. I want you to feel comfortable."

I looked up. "What did you say?"

"You're my guest. I asked you to choose what would make you most comfortable here. Soup?"

As I drew my knees near my chest and rubbed my shoulders, images of my first night in Kalysta's burrow flashed through my mind, when she'd asked me to decide which of the nymphs to sacrifice so she could nurse Sanderson. It didn't matter that Ellowi had lived in the end; he'd still been torn from his father, and I'd still made the conscious decision that he deserved to survive less than Sanderson did. Would I have done the same thing if I'd known back then that only nine months later, Sanderson would perish anyway?

Of course not. So, since I couldn't change the past, I had little choice but to change the future. Jumping up from the floor, I ran to the trunk at the end of the imp's bed and began yanking out blankets and clothes and bits of underwear.

"That's… not exactly what I had in mind," she said, hovering behind me.

"Perfect! You have a selkie coat!" Dragging it out, I stuffed my arms through the sleeves. The gray fabric, mottled with black and a lot heavier than my wisp clothes, molded instantly around my arms, snug and watertight. There were no holes for my wings, but I could manage. I would make myself manage.

"Please be gentle. That belonged to my brother before he drowned."

"I'll do my best." Before the seven ribbons were tied in the front, I was at the door.

"Wait, you can't go out there now," the imp protested, pulling me back by the crook of my arm. "I promise, you'll get lost in the flurry."

"I'll keep track of the landmarks. I have to find my nymph- he's just a nymph, see, out there."

"Oh- oh, of course! Uh, let's see. Take this bread. You'll probably want bread. And this water. It's, um, it's frozen. Maybe you don't want that. Boots! Take boots!"

"Thank you, thank you," I said, stuffing the cloth-wrapped bread into my pouch. I tied the last three ribbons. Halfway through the door, I turned back and grabbed the imp by the shoulder so her antennae bobbed. "What's your name?"

"Um… Shelli Marmot?"

"Shelli Marmot. Shelli Marmot." I snapped my fingers twice and nodded. "My name is Fergus Whimsifinado. One day I'll pay you back for this, Shelli Marmot. It's only fair and I can promise you that."

After flipping up the furry hood, I plunged back into the storm. My wings rustled, pinned down by the coat. I used my arm to shield my face instead.

"Sanderson!"

The wind picked up on my voice and spun it over my head. I took a step into the snow, grateful for the moccasins. They kept out the fiercest chills and most of the sleet, if nothing else.

"The smoof am I thinking?" I muttered, and ran forward to skid down a ditch. "I'm an idiot. That's all I ever was- an absolute idiot. Why am I risking my life for his? This goes against every survival instinct that should be embedded in my species. Clearly I don't deserve to pass on my genes. I don't deserve to continue living. Absolute idiot. I hate myself for this, I hate, I hate, I hate myself. Leaving that warm hovel to make this hopeless search. Makes no sense. He'll likely be dead anyway, and now we'll both die. Better to save the one. Freezing toes. Can't taste lips. Fingers stiff. Yes, definitely worth leaving shelter for. Smoofing, moronic idiot. Sanderson, the moment I've rescued you, I'm going to kill you."

In this manner I zig-zagged through the hills, always sticking to the small and more sheltered paths against the cliffs that wouldn't have been too thin for Sanderson to walk. At one point, I lost my footing above a crevice and crashed down the sides so hard, I broke the thin ice of the stream I landed in. I went under.

Chilled water stung my face, of course, and my legs, but the tight selkie coat kept it away from my upper body and wings. I kicked so hard that one of my moccasins flew off. My fingers attempted to break through surface, only to be met with a solid sheet of ice. My eyes shut briefly and stayed stuck a moment. Then, opening them again and shaking feeling back into my hands, I crawled my way along the ice against the flow of the stream, found my hole, and climbed onto the bank as other chunks of ice began to break apart.

"This coat is incredible," I muttered as I lay on my back. "I wonder where it was made?"

I'd escaped the icy water, but I was still cold, and being wet meant that each movement made the wind blow colder. I dragged myself, agonizing inch after agonizing inch, fingers stiff and straight, beneath a bit of jutting rock that I found. It's not unlikely that I would have stayed there until I fell asleep into diapause or death, but something sprang into the air and caught my nose.

It was a scent that could only be described (since now I know the words for it) as both chillingly minty and warmly buttery, with a tang of soaked cù sith hair sprinkled over its top. I paused, tasting it with my lips. I'd picked it up a couple of times in the past, when Sanderson had scraped his hand against a sharp wall or even from my own skin, when I'd ever been bitten or scratched. Apart from that morning after Sanderson's birth when I'd had to empty my head of all that loose blood, I'd never much noticed it. Like one of those old insects swarming to defend its hive after its companions had been injured, I forced myself up, veered around my rock, and tracked the scentline downstream.

It wasn't easy between the whirling wind and spinning flakes, but I was rewarded in the end. Sanderson, blue, had curled into a knot among heaps of snow beneath a yellowish conifer. His wings lay spread to either side, far too stiff with frost to fold into place against his back. Purple blood oozed like molasses from a cut across his palm. When I reached him, his mouth was open like his pores were too frozen to draw in magic.

I took up his hands and, after drawing air and magic from the energy field through my own mouth, sent it back out over his fingers where the cut was. After I did this a couple of times, his eyelids began to flicker. Pulling him into my lap, I blew more air into his mouth. A minute later, he was in control of his own limbs, albeit groggily. With jittering hands, he hooked his thumb between my lips and used that to pull his eyes on a nearer level to my own.

"No, no," he croaked out, poking my nose. "I f-f-fell down in the white dirt. And you walked away. Y-you didn't even look. I thought you l-left me. I thought you left Sandyson alone for all the cold. No."

"Finally finished with pooferty, are you?" I muttered, rubbing the back of his head. "And I almost missed it. It's alright; you're all right. Come on. Let's get you back to Shelli's. Eyes open, Sanderson- you can't sleep here. I need you to stay awake, okay? Can you do that? For me? It's very important."

For half an hour, I scoured the hills in search of the elder tree. Sanderson clung to my neck the entire time, too frozen to fit inside my pouch, and unwilling to do so anyhow. He liked his cheek against mine, where he could feel the bristles around my chin and whimper into my ear. On multiple occasions I tried to put him down, but he would only thrash and weep about being abandoned and grab my feet to trip me up, so I had little choice but to let him stay there.

Shelli Marmot's clay home remained an oasis, a mirage. I'd been crunching about in circles in search of it, chasing a vain hope, and now we were paying the price. I had moved beyond the point of shivering, though Sanderson remained in that state. He eventually drifted off with his teeth embedded in my collar. I wrapped him more tightly in his shirt so the short sleeves were pulled over his hands, bundled him in the too-big selkie coat, and walked on with my one moccasin.

That was the only option. There was no shelter here- not really. I couldn't have dug into the frozen ground even without the chance of tunneling into the home of another will o' the wisp.

Sanderson's mouth parted beside my ear again. His body trembled with heaves every couple of minutes. I tightened my fingers against the back of his neck and that place just below the knobs of his wings. His light was fading. Could he really die from the cold? I had nothing to either confirm nor deny such possibilities. I supposed it was an option. Magic, after all, did not travel well in the colder or wet climates, rendering its powers either sluggish or entirely non-existent. The magical particles in his blood could not have been traveling to his brain very quickly, no matter how much I blew in his mouth to stimulate it. If he stayed out here much longer, in the end even they would freeze. He would asphyxiate. And if Sanderson slipped away, then there was still a possibility that I could too.

So, repeating such thoughts in my head with every step, I pushed myself to trudge on down the cliffs. I could not sleep. In doing so, I'd be playing in death's jaws. It is fortunate, I think, that back then I wasn't aware of how among the insects I shared my wings with, all little working drakes die out come winter's snows, and only the gynes manage to survive to spring via diapause. Such knowledge may have crushed my resolve and dropped me to my knees, gyne myself or not, and that may have been the end of the pixies there on that day.

Through a beautiful miracle, Sanderson did live. By twilight, we made it to a copse of trees where a family of gnomes led us into their mounds and warmed him and rekindled the color in his skin. I suffered from hypothermia, but I too recovered in the end. Thank starlight kitchen wands were versatile enough that even species who lacked the ability to channel magic through real starpieces could use them- the gnomes had one on hand, and I got to have a decent cup of coffee. There was no cinnamon or caramel or even soy milk to mix into it, but I had something. Nine months with bad coffee, and two before that when my pregnancy had made the taste aversive. Imagine.

We stayed there for a short matter of days, but I was anxious to keep moving. I had lived out a great many Earthside winters, most of them unpleasant. For Sanderson's sake, I wanted to reach either some Fairy who could poof us above the clouds, back where the weather was permanently chilly but never this freezing, or we had to reach the Rainbow Bridge itself in the distant west, where the sun seemed to pass into the ocean. His immune system and resulting near-immortality wouldn't be fully formed and functional until he was nearly fifty years old. He needed warmth, regular food, reliable shelter, a wand, eventual schooling, vaccinations… Dust, nymphs were fragile creatures.

Except, evidently, when one was trying to drown them.

The gnomes and I had agreed that Sanderson and I would leave first thing in the morning, two days before the new year, and probably before our hosts shed the mushroom shapes they fell into when asleep. I was going about my routine of feeding myself before waking Sanderson for breakfast when all at once I became aware that I wasn't alone in the keeping room.

We were in the gnomes' mound- a lumpy structure with dirt walls and a rounded roof like a hill, grassy and pretty in the summer, and at the moment with a blooming lawn full of lovely flowers despite the snow thanks to the lawn gnomes who lived here being what they were. I was crossing from the kitchen towards the couch where Sanderson slept (I'd started forcing him to sleep outside the pouch while I recovered from hypothermia) when I noticed that a clean, slightly short, somewhat plump damsel perched off to my right. My wings stiffened.

"You slept in," she said, swinging herself down from the windowsill. This brought her directly between Sanderson and me. "Luckily for you, I'm not a psychopathic murderer like a certain sister of mine whom I could mention."

She was young- younger, perhaps, than I felt comfortable being around alone, with that whole 'damsels-come-onto-older-drakes' stereotype. Maybe thirty-six lines to her core. On top of her pale yellow dress, she wore a mint green and white checked apron sprinkled with rainbow flowers. Her fuzzy black hair was bundled up in a neat clump behind her head. No shoes- only fluffy peppermint-striped socks. Her eyes glinted like chocolate, if chocolate was red.

"Webbed digits," I noted. "Dark, shining skin. Wings at your shoulders that double as fins for swimming. Earrings shaped like seashells. The floating crown formed of pink coral." I raised my left eyebrow. "I'm not sure I've ever spoken directly to one of your elusive kind before, but you must be a selkie. Oh," I said then, looking down at the speckled gray coat I was already wearing for the day. "This is yours."

"Finally ditched my mom's basement as soon as I sensed you put it on. Sorry I'm late. Traffic was real bad in the Specific Sea." She clasped her hands together in the gaping pocket of her apron, and she still didn't move away from the couch. "My name's China Mayfleet. You're…?"

I glanced past her shoulder. Sanderson slept on, blissful and innocent, head on his folded arms as he often seemed to. "Fergus Whimsifinado."

"Roger that. Fergus Whimsifinado. Did I say it right? Super." She shifted away when I took a step towards the couch. "Well then, before we go anywhere, Fergus Whimsifinado, I think we should get some lines and questions settled. What are your boundaries, and what do you want me to do about them?"

"Before 'we' go anywhere?" I repeated, reaching out for Sanderson.

"I'm coming with you, aren't I?" she asked in surprise, which froze my hands a wing's breadth away from his shoulder. "You've got my coat. That means we're sort of, well, you know. Mates now."

She may as well have kneed me in the gut and twisted my wings. I straightened with a jolt and spun on my heels. "Absolutely not. No. No. No. I literally just escaped a will o' the wisp burrow. The last thing under the sky I want to deal with right now is another damsel coming onto me. Here." I untied the seven ribbons on the coat and, after shrugging out my wings, held it out to her. "Please just… take this, and leave. No strings- I won't stop you. You're free."

"What? Already?" China raised her hands up in surrender as she backed away. "I can't go back to being unemployed. Do you know how much that spikes your taxes? I've got student loans!"

I tossed the coat; it landed over her face. "What is it about damsels and taxes? Sure, why not? Obviously I would get the one selkie in the world who doesn't want… No, I don't care. I already have to sacrifice my resources for the nymph. You're not coming. Go home, China."

She threw it back at me. "I've been eating sea slug ramen and doing brownie chores for the mermaids for most of the last nine centuries. There is no way I'm going sniveling back to my mom on the first day, so you can suck it up."

"It's a very nice coat," I admitted, hurling it again and then ducking away, "and it did perhaps save my life out in that blizzard, but it's not worth it."

"I am extremely worth it, excuse you. But I'm glad you like it, especially since I had no control over the color. Kind of marbled, a little counter-top-ish, but it's not bad, you know? I'm not saying I'm a looker, but you're right. Where I come from, it's a very nice coat."

This time when China tossed it back, I caught it and held it. "Isn't there another way I could get you to leave? At all?"

The selkie shook her head. "Sorry, but no."

"Nothing?"

"Well… I lied. There is sort of one way you could shake me. If you die and the coat sits around untouched for a full 1,000 years, I technically have no choice but to come reclaim it. My survival instinct won't let me resist. My mom will probably throw me out on the doorstep if I show up again after that, but I guess that's none of your concern. Let's talk about your needs." She looked around, thumbs twiddling above her apron pocket. "What are our options? You could drown in the toilet. Or stab yourself in the forehead. I'm not going to do it myself since I don't want to be chased down as a murderer again after what happened to the last imp who had my coat, but…"

"Forget it." I folded the coat up and placed it at the foot of the couch. "I'm not going to kill myself to be rid of you."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. Can you imagine how humiliating that would be if the other selkies found out you did? I never did claim to be the most desirable, but that's cutting a little deep even for me. Who's the nymph?"

"That's Sanderson."

"Sanders' son? Not yours, then?"

"Not entirely."

China nodded, a thoughtful look in her eyes. "So, is there another damsel I need to know about?"

"No other damsels, but my supplies are low and we're very busy. I'm headed west to find the Rainbow Bridge. If I run across someone willing to poof me up directly, all the better for me." Last I checked, selkies couldn't use starpiece magic. That would be too easy.

She smirked the politest smirk I had ever been faced with in my life. "Good luck making it far without a coat, boss."

I glanced through the window. The snow had stopped falling during the night, apart from some lightly-drifting flakes, but that didn't mean it wouldn't come back, or that the ground wasn't enveloped in thick white. Images of Sanderson's blue lips and open mouth drifted through my head. My fingers trailed from his back down to his bare foot, with its sharp edges and small square toes. Thanks to that mutation he'd inherited from me, normal shoes didn't fit him right, and he'd have nothing until I could afford to get some custom-made for him. Unlike me, who had been large from birth, Sanderson had turned out to be the puniest nymph Kalysta had ever seen, even when compared with the fairy nymphs born to some of her friends. His post-instar pants were baggy and always slipped too low in the hips, his brown wisp shirt had short sleeves, everything was pockmarked with gashes, and my too-small clothes weren't in much better condition…

"You win," I said, taking up the coat again. "I'll keep this on while I travel. I do appreciate its soft and warm fabric. But, I have a few rules to be followed concerning this partnership."

"Roger that. Everyone has 'em. Not a problem."

I nodded as I flapped her coat out. "The first one is, I want you as far away from me as you can reasonably get. Where do you want to go? Back to the Specific?"

"Uh… Since you're asking, why not a little Fairy World town called Lau Rell? I haven't been there in ages, although you might have noticed a hint of my drawling accent."

"Lau Rell would be perfect. I've heard of the place. The town with the carnival parades, and it's not terribly close to Novakiin. For my next trick, I want you to head there, stay there, and don't come wandering back. Ever. Until further notice. Just, do whatever it is you do. If I keep your coat and you follow my instructions, you're technically fulfilling your commitment to the coat-bearer, aren't you?"

China opened her mouth, and shut it again. Her fingers tightened in her pocket. "I technically only have to listen to you when you say something while actually wearing it, but you're not wrong…"

"Excellent." I slung the coat over my shoulders. "Then that's all I need to hear. Do that. I need to be going before the snowfall picks up again. Come on, Sanderson. Wakey-wakey, wands a-shakey."

"Breakfast?" he mumbled as I drew him into my arms.

"I've packed you some food. You can eat it on the way when you're not so groggy. I want to get moving as soon as possible. Come on, into the pouch. There we go, that's it."

"Actually, I have something I want to give you that goes with the coat, before you go sprinting out."

When I glanced back, China had stretched forward her arm. Dangling from her hand was a triangular gray cap with its point flopped over like a chocolate chip, crowned at the tip with a little shiny silver star that clinked whenever it moved. This, she held out to me. I shook my head and said, "Don't give me anything selkie-esque. Take it with you."

"Really? That's the first time anyone's ever said that to me. Are you super positive you don't want this? It's a cohuleen druith. I don't give these to every drake who ties those ribbons down the coat, but you have a nymph and I already like you." At my continued scrunched eyebrows, she summarized, "It's a special hat that steadies your lines and slightly enhances your magic so you don't drown as long as you're wearing it. I made it myself."

"I don't want anything to do with you or your people."

She sighed. "Just take it. You have the coat. They're a matching set."

"I don't want it," I repeated. "I'm not in the habit of accepting gifts from complete strangers, and particularly from species I didn't learn much about in all my years of school."

Shrugging, China stuffed the hat in the pocket of her apron. "You'd think two mates wouldn't be complete strangers, but let me know if you change your mind, yes? Yes. Just spend twenty-four hours straight with the coat off, then put it back on and I'll know, and come find you. That's the rule. I guess," she said then, looking up at the ceiling, "for the next order of business, I… head back up to Lau Rell."

I paused with my hand holding back the open door. Snowflakes spattered against my cheek and dusted my hair and the sleeves of her coat. "China?"

She looked back to me. "Fergus?"

"Don't… don't head out yet. There's no need. Wait until the snow melts, or at the very least becomes manageable again. Stay here or in this area until then. Above all, take care of yourself. That's what I want."

She smiled. "No objection. You're the boss."

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 1: SPOILED

Grand Father

Spring of the White Sun

"Sanderson, wake up. Stay awake for me. You're cold and you need to eat lunch since you skipped breakfast, and if that weren't enough motivation, there's something I'd very much like to show you. And, I'm also at the point where if I have to be awake and unhappy, I'm going to indulge my pettiness and force you to suffer with me."

He whined as I pulled him with both arms from my pouch and into the lightly-drifting swirl of snowflakes. I may have lied about him being cold; as it turned out, his skin was blooming with warmth when I shifted his frail body in my arms. Then it got cold. Bracing him against my shoulder, I patted the back of his neck until he rubbed his stiff eyelids.

"Up, up, Sanderson," I said as he yawned. "There we go." He kept his fingers tight in my shirt when I turned him around by the shoulders. "What do you see down there at the bottom of the hill?"

"Oh," he said, softly, his voice warbled by his open mouth. "Bright colors?"

I nodded. When I started walking again, I drew a wrapped half of kitnut butter sandwich out of my marsupium. No jelly- jelly wasn't exactly easy to come by in the middle of winter, even for those who lived in the town bubbles. "That's right. This is the Rainbow Bridge. We're going to walk up it in a minute, after you eat some new snow."

"Will it take a long time?"

"To the top?" I glanced into the sky. "It's two hours to Faeheim on Plane 5 in good weather. But we'll be jumping off early onto Plane 3. I'm not entirely sure what we'll do after that, but we need to get you out of the snow. Your immune system isn't fully functional."

"Huh?"

"Don't say 'Huh'. Say 'What'. Basically, in short, you're very small and we need to keep you warm so that you don't get sick like River did that one time."

"Chicken poofs?"

Did this nymph ever say much of anything that wasn't a question? Dust, it was annoying already.

"Well, yes," I acknowledged, "we wouldn't want you to contract that either. And we especially don't want you getting nip-rot and switching personalities with your counterpart temporarily. I appreciate your obedience and I doubt the Anti-Sanderson would offer me the same respect." Still holding him in my left arm, I bent down and scooped up a sizable swipe of freshly-fallen whiteness with two fingers. This, I held to Sanderson's mouth. "The season turned today, several hours ago while we were sleeping. The Year of the Charged Waters is over and spring has sprung. I want you to taste this. These are snowflakes."

Obediently, he put his mouth around my fingers and licked the flakes off. "What do you think?" I asked.

"'White Sun'," he said dazedly, and looked at me. "Why do snowflakes make me think of white suns?"

"It's not the flakes necessarily, and this trick will only work today. By tasting this fresh snow, you've gotten in touch with Mother Nature on Naming Day. Year of the White Sun must be what she's named the new year. It might be warming up soon." I crunched through a handful of snow myself and nodded. "White Sun it is. Right, then. We have a Bridge to scale. Dust, you're turning blue again. Come on. One more kiss to keep you warm and safe."

He put his open mouth near mine. I blew a thin stream of magic into it and rubbed his hair. "That's right, Sanderson. Stay awake. You need to stay awake for me. We're so close."

He sneezed and bundled closer to my neck, legs curled. When I reached the Bridge, I lowered him to the ground nonetheless. The snow had thawed around the warm base of the rainbow, leaving a circle of brown grass about two wingspans in any given direction. It called to us, tugging us into the rippling gravitational field that surrounded it like the one between my hair and broken crown, promising us that we wouldn't slip if we simply stayed beside it.

I'd veered my path too far south and missed the town of Madigan on our travels. I'd even had the misfortune to miss Bumblegrass. It had been too long since I'd traveled this way, and the storms hadn't helped. The one town I had managed to find, because it was situated less than half a day's journey from the base of the Rainbow Bridge, had been Millshire. They'd refused to grant us permanent residence due to my gyne freckles. Granted, they had spared us some food, and I'd managed to draw upon my lawyer skills and argue my way in for just a single night. We'd spent it with one of my old snapjik friends who had evidently moved there from Kershaw. He still made a mean phoenix on rye.

And then we'd arrived here. It had been at least three decades since the last time I'd paid this area a visit. I might have snuck up a few times to watch a saucerbee game, although my interest in the sport had waned uncharacteristically as I'd grown older. Although my younger self would have rebelled and denied all relations to me simply for stating as much, time and time again I found that I just couldn't invest myself in the lives of the younger players. I missed the old days of trading Celebrity Families cards.

The five stripes in the Fairy Rainbow were a welcome sight. The reassuring Bridge signaled we had probably reached the middle point of our journey, even if I still wasn't quite sure where the final destination lay. My plan had been to worry about that later. First, I would focus on getting us off Earth and out of the snow.

"Time to climb, Sanderson."

"Climb the rainbow? I can't stand on that. I'll slip when I try because it's melting." He shifted nearer my leg at the thought and shivered.

"Melting?" I repeated.

Sanderson raised his right finger, still holding to my hand with his left. "You can see through it like ice. Ice burns and I'll fall. Melting."

I tilted my head. "So it is. But, logic gap: the Bridge isn't made of ice. It's formed from light and magic. Now, let's walk. No hitching rides in the pouch until you've climbed at least part of the way. Go on. I want you to remember the first time you scaled a Bridge. It's really something."

"You said magic can't work on Fairies," he protested, one foot hovering just above the surface of the Bridge. "Will I fall?"

"You won't. I'm right here." I took the first step, and Sanderson followed my lead without another ounce of hesitation. Another. "The Bridge is formed of what we call opaque magic. That means it emits the highest possible frequency on the starpiece magic spectrum and allows us to make physical contact with it and ascend it safely. It's like… if you strike at someone with a magical blast, that's opaque magic, because it will hurt them, even though by definition starpiece magic is incapable of killing or causing lasting injury to a magical being who intakes and filters magic from the universal starpiece magic energy field or anything of equal or superior caliber to it, such as the universal ultraviolet or sodium energy fields of the genies or merfolk, respectively. But a kitchen wand stirring the coffee I sometimes drink in the morning uses transparent magic, because it performs a task - stirring - without introducing new factors into the equation, thereby allowing me to enjoy the taste of my coffee without magic-touching it and draining all its taste and nutrients."

Sanderson grimaced as he stumbled, his chewed-up fingernails nipping my hand. "You sound smart, but that's too many words for someone who is small like me."

"You'll learn more about it in school. In short, you won't fall. So long as you're beside me, I'll be right here to protect you. Keep up with my pace now."

Forty-five minutes spent intermittently walking and flying (on my part- Sanderson hadn't yet learned what his wings were for) rewarded us. I'd allowed him to crawl back into my pouch when the novelty of traveling via rainbow had worn off, but when the Bridge rose above Plane 3, I took a colorful side path and slid a short ways down to its clouds. Now I ruffled his hair and urged him to at least poke his head out.

"We're in Fairy World now, Sanderson. The Lowlands, to be precise. Welcome to your first time in the cloudlands. This is Mistleville. It's not quite Faeheim, the Fairy capital city, but during the busy season it becomes the most populated location on all of Plane 3, and sometimes even all of Fairy World." I peered around the slow-moving fringes of the tourist town as I shook out my wings. "We overshot the cherub migration by about a month- at this time of year, the place will be mostly empty. I'll bring you back another time, perhaps. Yes, I'll stick that on my to-do list somewhere. You'll have to remind me."

Sanderson tugged on my wing as I set him on the cloudstones. "Can I get juice?"

"No. You ate a sandwich, and we have no money. Hmm." As he continued to pull at me and whine, I cut across the town square towards a sheet of threedspiral papyrus hugging a billboard outside the tram station. The papyrus had been dyed an even brighter pink than was natural, which was what first attracted me to it, and I soon deduced that it was a map. A poorly-drawn map if my education with the school system and Cattahan were anything to go off, but it outlined the seven regions of the cloudlands (of course with the focus on the four in Fairy World as opposed to the three that belonged to the Anti-Fairies). I studied it for quite some time, still rubbing my palm against the hairs on my face as Sanderson eventually gave up his attempts to win me over with cù sith eyes and a trembling lower lip, and sat down to sulk.

"We can't take the southbound tram very far into the cherub lands of High North without my baptism medal. And we are not going to the Far East Region." I could think of a dozen reasons why- its skies covered a large portion of the Specific Sea, its clouds were mostly islands that required the crossing of many bridges any time you wanted to get anywhere, and it was just a dangerous area for the flightless Sanderson at the moment. One slip and he could fall down, down until he drowned.

On top of that, there were no golf courses, too many slums, humid weather, lots of brownies who didn't much care for fairies, and I'd prefer to avoid the attentions of the pirates that tended to berth their cloudships around there, thank you kindly. Not even mentioning the thugs and gangs.

"I'm staying away from Lau Rell… And so much area of the Lower West Region is too close to the Divide Gate and Mount Olympus for me to be comfortable raising you, and the climate is horribly dry and doesn't allow for too many clouds… Come to think of it, I don't have a passport anyway, so we're rather stuck here in Central Star. Smoof, I don't know. Should I take you to…"

I had been about to say 'Novakiin' despite my uncertainties when my eyes fell on a different location marked on the map.

Claystrif.

I hadn't been there since that evening Laika and I had strolled past Mother Nature and Father Time's glass shrine, almost three hundred and fifty thousand years ago. Slowing my wingbeats just a tad, I scratched my chin. Could this be my answer? A blessing in disguise? A way to escape responsibility and put things right? Sanderson was my firstborn…

"I know where we can go." I lifted the bottom of my brown shirt. "Sanderson, into my pouch again. And stay still and quiet. I'm more likely to squeeze us out one ticket rather than two."

Sanderson wriggled in, practically folding in on himself as he did so. Honestly, I don't know how he fit; I was large enough as a nymph that Ambrosine booted me from his marsupium before I was even out of pooferty. I tucked in my shirt and smoothed the wrinkles, still trying not to be disgusted. At least with my body type, a bulge around my midsection shouldn't surprise too many passersby. With that, I at last peeled off China's selkie coat, tied it about my waist, and floated into the tram station.

Only one nix was in line, and he scuttled off to hop a green tram. "I have to apologize," I told the brownie damsel behind the front desk as I curled my fingers around the edge of the counter and leaned forward. "I don't have any money with me. I just came from a will o' the wisp's burrow, as you can likely tell from my brown clothes. I really need a ticket for the red route."

She glanced over me up and down. "I'm not allowed to accept IOUs, sir."

"I need help," I tried. "It's one click. That's only fourteen els. Perhaps you could offer me a loan? Surely you have chesberry paper? I'll pay you back- I can promise that. I come from a well-off family, but because of the will o' the wisp…"

"It's tram policy, sir. If I could help you, I would."

"… I have a three-season-old nymph with me here in my pouch."

"I'm sorry." The brownie looked deeply apologetic, but she stood firm. "I can't give these away for free. I'll be fired."

I grimaced and pushed myself away from the desk in a sharp movement. "'Sorry's don't help me."

"We don't get to ride the tram?" Sanderson asked when we were outside again, resting his chin on the lip of my marsupium.

"Oh, we're riding it." I tore a random advert for an event that had already passed down from the billboard and crunched it into a ball. "I'm not dressed warmly enough for long travel by wing, meals usually come with a tram ride and I gave all my food to you and am now very hungry, I've been on the move for days on end without a rest and have been looking forward to kicking up my feet for awhile now, when you're older like I am then flying for long periods becomes difficult and I'm not willing to risk plunging from the cloudlands back to Earth or - Nuada forbid, the ocean - and frankly, now I'm annoyed. Who runs this system? We need help, and I promised to pay back a loan if I took one out. I know I would. I'm an honest fairy, so she should make an exception for us. She should be able to afford sparing a single click. I don't see why things have to be this way. If I were in charge, I'd ensure taking out loans were options for just about everything."

"Why can't she poof us?"

I scratched his dirty hair as I leaned against the wall of the tram station, examining each tourist shop and high-end restaurant around us with narrow eyes. "Because it's very expensive, more so than if we poofed ourselves with wands registered to our DNA, and Claystrif is far away and it will make her feel dizzy and sick to send us there from here."

"Oh… And if we used her wand ourselves-"

"-our imprints will be registered and we'll have to split the cost with her, and it's still expensive."

"Why can't we poof for free?"

"Because if the government set up cheap public poofing stations, taxes would spike so ridiculously that most of the population would give up on working altogether."

"I don't know anything you said, so I'm not going to ask questions to you again. You know things, so I will just listen."

"No. There's something I want to say to you." Lifting him from the pouch yet again, I put Sanderson down on top of an upturned wooden crate painted pink and crouched until our eyes were level. "I'm about to do something that some people would not be happy about if they found out I'd done it. They might tell you it's bad, but it's not, because you and I are good people who usually follow the rules, and this is an emergency. Do you follow me so far?"

"I follow you everywhere."

A thin smile crossed my face at his innocence, but I let it fade into seriousness again. My fingers tightened against my knees. "I meant, do you understand what I said, Sanderson? I'd appreciate a response if you do."

"Yes."

"Good. Now, listen to me. Stealing is okay in emergencies. It's not illegal if you don't get caught."

He squinted. "I know some of those words, but they're weird all together. What do they mean?"

"It means that you should always try to follow the rules to get things first because no one will be mad or try to stop you, and rules help a good system work better. But if the rules won't let you get what you want, then it's okay to break the rules as long as you're not hurting anyone and no one finds out."

"It's okay if no one gets hurt?"

I nodded. "If no one gets hurt, then it's only bad if you get caught. If the rule is important, then people will be watching you, and they'll catch you in the act. If they don't, it's their fault, not yours. Now." I pointed across the street to a shop selling tourist goods. There were no customers inside, and no passersby roaming the streets that I could see from here. Only one lone kobold behind the counter, spinning his yellow top hat around on one finger. "Do you see those small trinkets on the front table in there?"

"Yes."

"They're made of dalia wood. I know that, because I've been here before. A little bit of dalia wood is present in all lagelyn bills and coins, preventing them from being duplicated, but not from being teleported unless they're in a special type of lockbox, or a bank, or safe."

"Yes."

"We're in the first town found straight off the Rainbow Bridge. That means there's guaranteed to be a currency-exchange system somewhere around here. I think we even passed one. If I have those dalia trinkets, I think I can cheat the system to give us money."

"Yes."

"Now, this is what I want you to do." I moved my hands from my knees to his to be sure he hadn't yet gotten bored of my voice. Of course he hadn't- this was Sanderson, for crying out loud. He stared at me in rapture as I continued with, "We're both going to go inside the store. I want you to take one of the trinkets from the table, as quietly and sneakily as you would take things from Kalysta's room. Don't let that drake in there see you have it. Hold it in your left hand, and stay a wingspan behind me the entire time. When you hear loud noises, I want you to fall down on the ground."

He scrunched his nose. "Fall down?"

"Fall down and start to scream. You're a nymph. Pretend to be scared."

"Will it hurt?"

"No. You'll be fine. But there will be noises and lights. Do you think you can do that?"

Sanderson held up four fingers. "Follow you. Take trinkets. Left hand. Fall down when there are noises. Scream a lot."

"And why is it okay for us to steal?"

"Um… because no one gets hurt, and we won't get caught?"

"That's right." I patted his head and stood again. "Come on."

The plan worked exactly as well as I'd wanted it to. We entered the tourist shop, and in passing and without the slightest pause (and without glancing sideways or giving off any tells at all, he would later brag), Sanderson slipped one of the cherub archer figures into his left hand and continued to follow me among the tables and glass cases and rocking chairs and shelves. I struck up conversation with the kobold behind the counter as I made like I was browsing, and eventually pretended that the perfect anniversary gift I'd been seeking for my damefriend wasn't to be found. I stepped from the shop, with Sanderson stepping after me, a deliberate wingspan behind.

The alarms exploded. I spun around, feigning shock, while Sanderson's face flipped into pure terror that I don't think was entirely faked. He dropped to the ground, howling and covering his ears. I rushed to him and crouched down, pleading for him to be okay, and when I did, I slipped the dalia figurine from his palm to mine. Then it went into the slight pocket created by the sleeves of the selkie coat tied around my waist as the kobold shooed me away.

"Let me see your hands," he ordered as the alarms faded out. Sanderson extended his arms, the hands turned up and empty. After receiving my permission, he slipped his fingers into Sanderson's small marsupium and felt around. There was hardly enough room for the pouch to reach his knuckles, and reluctantly he drew back.

"Young drake, did you take anything from my shop?"

Weeks of training in Kalysta's burrow had taught him to speak calmly, clearly, and deny it. I'd watched him sneak a lot of toys back to our nest when the other nymphs took naps or paid a visit to the waste cave, entertaining himself with his stolen goods only when he knew they weren't watching. He'd pull an innocent shrug and squeak a "Poof poof?" if they confronted him about the toys' disappearance.

Then he'd help them go on a scavenger hunt and sometimes even suggest where to look and beeline towards the hiding place without thinking. Whenever he and the other nymphs did find the stolen cloudship or unicorn figure or alphabet block under a dirty shirt or wherever he'd stuffed them, he'd act shocked like he'd forgotten it was there. Then he'd honestly get upset towards the toy, and scold it as though it had gone against his orders to hide and had revealed itself in front of the other nymphs to spite him, even when he'd been the one to walk over and flip over the blanket. I thought it was hilarious. He still does this if I catch him sneaking cap erasers, post-it notes, or bars of soap from the world beyond his own office, and I still think it's hilarious. That's drones for you.

Fortunately, Sanderson didn't squeal on himself today. "Hmm…" The kobold glanced at me, perhaps considering searching me next. I maintained my cool, still apologizing on behalf of Sanderson's error, if there had been any. Fortunately, I had taken care to leave the place while he'd been watching, and far in front of Sanderson. The alarms hadn't gone off for me. The kobold looked up at the roof of his shop. "I suppose he's clean. The silly thing's gone cuckoo. You can both go."

We went. Around the corner from the shop, I reached down and ruffled Sanderson's hair. "Good boy."

When we found the currency-exchange machine back by the Bridge, I studied the design of the el, click, and lyn coins printed on its sides. Then, very carefully, I used my teeth to whittle the closest duplicate of a lyn coin I could manage. It was the right shape, the right size, seemed to have the right pattern of grooves and rises on its surface, and the machine registered dalia and didn't think twice, because that's how they used to make them, before I fixed it when I had the power. I pressed the metal keys and was rewarded with the clinking of three click coins in the deposit slot.

"Fourteen els make a click. Three clicks make a lyn. Twenty lyn make a lagelyn bill." I turned one of the coins between my fingers. "We're not affluent yet, but one of these will buy us passage on the tram."

That was how we secured a ride to Patio World and a warm dinner later that evening. The small tram car lurched into the air, swinging gently from its cable and the air currents. I stretched out on one of the two benches (fabric now- they'd been wood in my youth) and Sanderson, giddy from the thrill of earning free money and experiencing travel in a way he'd never tried before, instantly fell asleep across my stomach.

I couldn't join him in his blissful dreamworld. I had to work out exactly what I would say to Mother Nature and Father Time. In exchange for my firstborn, undo it all. Take away the will o' the wisp burrow. Take away those cold last few days I've traveled. Take away the blisters on my feet. Take away my hypothermia. Take away the months of sickness and the aversion to coffee's smell. Give me back my hole in the hill, when life was simple, and I was happy. Take away the nymph so he was never born, so I don't have to feel guilty for choosing not to raise him. Turn back time and make it so it never happened, and make sure it never will.

I just had to be careful. I could only summon them once.

Against all odds, we'd ended up with an anti-fairy for a passenger. I'd had contact with quite a few Anti-Fairies over the years - there had been a time once when they'd raided a massive will o' the wisp burrow system in present-day Tennessee - and although I didn't trust him enough to let my guard down when I had Sanderson, I decided not to call attention to the fact that I'd noticed his species.

Truth be told, he did a fair job disguising himself anyway. His claws had been concealed with black gloves. A hood hid his furry blue face. His pointed ears were carefully tucked away beneath an enormous knitted cap. With his leathery wings hidden under his dark red coat, his most notable feature were two small, round, glassy structures held in place with the muscles around his eyes, but I don't think he even looked at me once. He kept his front facing away from me, gazing only out the window. But there was no denying the anti-fairy tang in the energy field. It clashed with my attraction signal pulses and filled the whole car in a blur of cinnamon and brass. Leather and strawberry ice cream. Eggs and onions. I'd heard that Anti-Fairies can't taste energy field signals, but they hear them instead. I wondered what he picked up in my vocal signature when I woke Sanderson up and told him to taste our delivered lidérc dinner.

It was six long hours and two time zones to Claystrif, even though the coasting tram was certainly faster than flying would have been. Sanderson and I bid the anti-fairy and a púca who had jumped on at the ninth stop our farewells and disembarked.

"Hey," Sanderson said as we left the station. He took five steps towards an intricately-carved archway, then turned back to me with a grin. "That bent tree over there has big holes in it. I could fit through them."

I avoided his eyes. "Yes, you probably could. That's not why we're here, though. Let's go find the shrine."

"Wait. I want to climb in the holes first."

"Sanderson, don't…"

He went anyway, squeezing his undersized body through narrow gaps in the carved arch that I would never have been able to fit myself through at his age. I watched with my hands in my pockets, fingering our remaining two click coins.

It took several minutes to urge him away from his game, but I managed it at last by threatening to leave without him, and then going to do so. He scampered up to me, cheery as a fat valravn. As I tried to float in a straight line towards the outskirts of town, he darted away and back and away again, examining carvings of animals or Fairykind or landscapes and proclaiming that they weren't half as good as the ones he'd seen me do with my teeth in Kalysta's burrow. I didn't hear most of what he said.

"Hey," Sanderson said again when we reached the door to the glass-walled shrine. "This is like that place in my nursery song."

"It's based on a true story." I pushed my way through the first of the two rooms, making eye-contact with the fairy refract behind the high desk and ignoring Sanderson's fascination with a decorative tree blown from glass. "Pardon. I'd like to get a ceremonial knife."

She squinted at my face. "It's not too late to change your mind, you know."

"I don't want to change my mind."

"Hmm…" Her fingers, tipped with black bird talons longer and more sharply curved than those of the Anti-Fairies, trailed over to a drawer. "You're ready to go through with this?"

"I came, didn't I?"

She presented me with the long white knife and waved me through. I clasped the handle with both hands and steadied my wings.

"Come on, Sanderson. We're going into the next room."

He couldn't miss the knife. His eyes went straight for it. They moved from it to my face and back again. He stopped playing with the glass tree and became quiet, following me through the doorway. His sharply-angled feet that had long stopped bracing all weight on their toes in that silly, childish way slapped like ocean waves.

"There's nothing in this room," he said when we'd gone in, keeping his fingertips lightly pressed against the wall. Beyond it, the dim, purple-tinted sunlight of the cloudlands streamed through the glass, casting only two shadows on the tiles. Most of them were white. Others had been stained various colors of the rainbow.

"It's a prayer room."

"And that's a prayer knife?"

"Don't be ridiculous. There's no such thing as a prayer knife. Tell me, what are knives used for?"

"… Making sandwiches?"

"That's right. Now, come over here."

He didn't move. I snapped my fingers twice and then he did, placing himself in front of me. Back straight. Hands by his sides. His eyes flicked to the empty, cloudy hills beyond the shrine. "There's no bread in here," he said after a moment of watching the stars twinkle high above. "No kitnut butter either."

"None of that. I won't turn you into a sandwich, if that's what you're worried about." Instead, I put my hand on his shoulder, which made him twist around. "That song that Kalysta taught you. The prayer for the shrine. You can sing it, can't you? I thought I heard you once while we were making our way towards the Bridge."

"I can sing it…"

"Please do."

Sanderson turned his undefended back to me again. I wouldn't have done the same thing in his position, but he was a drone, and maybe he didn't know. As uncertain about the situation as he seemed to be, maybe he didn't know. He raised his right hand to his forehead and kept his eyes towards the hills. When he spoke the first few words, his voice cracked.

"Dayfry, Saturn, Sunnie, Munn. Twis, Winni, Thurmondo. Seven sons for seven days. Elements to guide our ways. Love and Fire, Water, Sky. Soil, Breath, and Leaves that fly."

I stared down at him, bewildered, as a light, impossible breeze began to pick up like a swirling seashell in the center of the room. Why didn't he turn around? His magical senses couldn't have completely developed. He couldn't read my movements behind his back. Why wasn't he watching me with his eyes? He knew I had the knife.

"Balance for to heal us. Energy may lift us. Focus now will guide us… Acceptance comes to teach us. Devotion knows to push us… Commun'cation there to aid us. Cur'osity then will test us…! Balance for to heal and start it all again. Love and Fire, Water, Sky. Soil, Breath, and Leaves that die."

As the warm wind picked up, Sanderson's chanting grew to an end, and he left the stiff pattern behind in favor of the slow and lilting curls of the nursery song.

"Okay. Then you go… There's a shrine between the hills… said to shelter lost ones still. Where the walls are made of glass, just one request you may ask."

He sang purely, vaguely high-pitched, with the winds buffeting his dark hair down in front of his eyes and out from behind his ears. His brown, short-sleeved wisp clothes fluttered around him. His cowlick dipped. He pushed it up. It seemed we had the attention of the two nature spirits.

Sanderson hesitated.

"Don't stop," I ordered, lifting the knife behind his back. It was a long knife, with a smooth ceramic blade that curved upwards at its tip.

Raising the haunting softness of his voice, he continued, "In the season's fading light, answer swiftly, hear my plight. Lowered soft on bended knee, bound by fate to comfort me. Mother Breath and Father Time, won't you accept this prayer of mine? Blood and bone, lines and soul. If I've found favor, let me know."

"Do you remember how to sing the next part?" I whispered as the wind shifted, becoming simultaneously electric hot and earthly cold. In response, he went on.

"Sanderson is how I'm called, whose middle name is yet unknown. Sire Whims'finado born, lost dam's magic through me flows. Ah'ne ah'ne ah'ka, ah'ne ah'ne ah'ka."

I could see the faint reflection of his face in the glass, frowning, his eyes angled towards the floor and sliding back and forth. Calculating. He started to turn, brows bushed, the question on his lips.

"Keep forward."

"But-"

My grip tightened on the knife. "Keep. Singing."

"Oh. Oh. Okay." He swallowed. When he recentered himself before the window, he tilted back his head. "I am Water-born and focused; let Sunday heed my cry. I'm proud to serve mine heritage e'en if it means I die. Kalra kalra keiko, kalra kalra keiko."

While he droned on, I held the knife to his wings and positioned the blade just above the jugal fold on the left. Square, brown-tinted wings that had no flight casings. Not anymore. They dangled from his back, the membranes pure and pale lilac, bordered with a tiny stripe of orange down the costa of every one.

"Fergus Whims'finado brought me here, who bore me in the spring. Grant his wish and take my soul; I give myself to he."

… I didn't understand. The nursery rhymes, the history books, my classes at school- They'd all taught me that dozens of Fairies each decade surrendered their firstborn in return for an audience with Mother Nature and Father Time. One opportunity. One chance to request interference with your life if you were unhappy with how things had been, or were, or could be.

So why couldn't I make the motions? Slice his wings from his skin, sweep upwards for the neck, catch him from the back and keep the knife swinging forward and up, spill his blood across the floor?

A thousand others had done it. A thousand more were to come. Did I merely refuse because it wasn't fair to Sanderson? Was that all? Or deep down, perhaps… Was I an urvogel at my very core?

"Um." Sanderson was still standing there with his nose hardly a wing's breadth from the windows, his left arm outstretched to one side. His right palm lay curved against his forehead. "That's the end of the song."

No. I was no urvogel. But with a twitch of my lips and a squirm of my wings, I lowered the knife anyway. The warm and the cool winds faded swirl by swirl until they had retracted into nothingness. "Sanderson," I said, very calmly. "Get back to the pouch."

"I'm looking at the orange flowers out there. I didn't know there were orange flowers in life."

"Now. We're leaving. Consider this a portion of the next stanza of your story."

"Changed your mind after all?" the fairy refract asked as I returned the unstained knife to her desk.

"Yes, thank you," I said, not even sparing her a glance. With one hand against my eye, the fingertips of the other resting lightly on the nymph in my pouch, I floated through the door. Dust, I was such a coward back in my youth.

I paid another click coin and we hopped back on the tram. New plan. This time we went up a tram-Bridge and into Faeheim, and I finally had the chance to sleep, one arm braced between my head and the wall. It was a long, slow journey, but thankfully we had at least a bit of food to hold us over. The majority of our journey was had across Plane 4 for the aesthetic of barren wastelands morphing suddenly into Cherish Jungle. Our tram swayed from the underside of the Plane 5 cloudlevel. Sanderson watched through the windows for most of it, I think, pointing at random birds and dragons and Anti-Fairy farmlands and telling nonsense stories, most of which began with, "One time in the water there lived the number five". Five is, apparently, the god of the numbers, and is why we so often count in increments of five despite having only four fingers on each hand and slapping high-fours. Who could have guessed?

Then it was up a tram-Bridge again, breaking through the cloudline. As Faeheim eased into view on the horizon, and with it the famous yellow, pink, and blue Fairy World signboard sparkling with stardust that was replenished on a daily basis, I pushed myself up into a sitting position very slowly.

"Sanderson, we need to talk." He left the window and turned his attention on me. I took up his small hands in mine. His fingers wrapped around my thumbs, but not completely- my nails poked out. Rough, dirty, bitten nails, exactly like his. I studied them for several wingbeats as I drew my thoughts together, and then met his eyes. "What I'm about to do is very hard for me, because it goes against my own long-standing morals."

"Are we going to rob another store?"

I smiled thinly. "No… No. Sanderson, listen. I need you to know that what I'm going to do isn't your fault."

The tram hit a bump in the cable and swayed. The lights flickered, playing shadows across his face. "Oh," he said, because he wasn't one to leave my words unanswered.

"I always wanted a family, or at least I used to think I did, but that was when I expected I would have a wife, and money, and a home, and a job. But I don't have any of those things, and I doubt I will soon. I'm afraid that I won't be able to give you food, or keep you warm, and you will always be sad."

"You give me food," he said in surprise. "And it costs one coin to ride the tram. We can eat here every day."

"Trust me, an anti-fairy did that once and it didn't work out. The same thing happened to me too- I came back from a weekend spent partying in Serentip and they threw me out because my friends and I abused the system. The trams read magical imprints of the passengers, which is how they disable loose magic in them, as you might remember me telling you when we first got on. We could ride them places, but if you've ridden too many times in a row, the system will know and we won't be served food. It's the one thing that actually is organized in our society. That's Cloudjump v. Anti-Shale."

"I don't get it," Sanderson said softly. "Why are you talking?"

I traced my thumb over the larger of his two cowlicks as our tram car ascended into the station. Unusually quickly, I remember thinking, since I'd never really ridden a tram to Faeheim on a Thursday, when everyone had the day off and rush hour was nonexistent. And especially with it getting so late. But then again, it was an unusual moment of an unusual day.

"We're going to go into the social services building, and I won't see you anymore. I'm going to give you up to the nice people, so they can help you live with a good family."

He squinted. "But I already do."

What a messed-up nymph. I took him by the chin and tilted up his face. "No, you don't. Kalysta's gone now. You won't see her again."

"I have you, though," he argued, reaching up to peel my fingers away. "You're my favorite, so I'm glad you took me when you left."

"Oh. That's irrelevant. I can't keep you safe or happy, and you really should have figured that out for yourself by now. You need to go to live with someone who can feed you, give you good clothes, and wash your napcloths."

"I don't need napcloths anymore."

"Hm. You might, if you get stressed from the separation." Taking Sanderson on my knee, I finished in my level voice, "Do you have questions?"

Sanderson took the front of my brown shirt in his fist. "What about you?"

"Me? Oh, don't concern yourself with me. I'm not worth anyone's care. Sassy saltlick of a brat, did poorly all throughout school, ran away from home, dropped out of the Academy, lost nearly every friend I ever made, regularly commits tax fraud, not half as pretty as anybody else, overweight, morally gray. We should be talking about you."

"But what will you eat? Where will you go? Now I'll always worry."

"I'll manage." Our tram door peeled itself open then and unfurled its stairs to the ground. "No," I said when he reached his hand towards my pouch. "Not anymore. You don't live with me any longer. If we should ever pass on the street after today, I expect you to act as though we've never met."

Outside, I rose to my wings as quickly as I could. Sanderson, flightless and no longer prompted by my words to participate in the conversation, remained silent but attentive below my bobbing feet as I scouted the city. After nearly half an hour, I pinpointed what I was looking for.

"Our building," I told him, lowering myself to the cloudstones. "One push of the door, a few quick personality and health tests, and that's the end of our story."

"They let you do this in one day?"

"Usually within an hour or two." I lay my hand on the bar handle of the door. "But if there were a court case, it would take up an entire morning. Anyway, I'll finish the tabletwork, and when I have, the kind drakes and damsels here will keep you clean and fed until they find a real family to slot you in. Then, you'll be happy and safe."

With a single sniff, Sanderson took hold of my worn hand and lay it against his cheek. "I'm glad you took me with you when we left the glass shrine. I'll miss you."

I clucked my tongue once and stroked his cowlicks with the other hand. "I'll miss you too, Sanderson. It's certainly been interesting. But it's better for both of us this way. Let's go."

One of the brownies behind the desk turned her attention to me immediately, setting her stylus down on her bark strips. Her gaze went from mine to Sanderson to me to one of her coworkers, who sat with his back to us as he jabbered into a scrying bowl. Her fingers tightened against the counter.

"I've come to relinquish my care for the drone nymph I have with me," I said, leaning against it too. I kept one eye on Sanderson as I spoke. He kept both eyes on the floor, his arms around his stomach.

"Sir, are you sure about your decision to come here?"

"I know exactly what I'm doing, I assure you."

I was hesitantly presented with a stack of tabletwork. Sanderson surprised me with how many letters of the Snobbish alphabet he knew, even pronouncing several of the words I wrote aloud as he leaned against my shoulder. I'd seen a lot of anxious parents pass through the doors of Wish Fixers, and I'd never known any nymph to learn to read as early as he seemed to, although Ambrosine used to speculate that I myself would have started earlier if he hadn't been swept off to war. It must have been Kalysta. She'd read to Sanderson frequently, pointing out the shape of hundreds of words. Yes, that was it.

"It's done," I said as I filled the last blank. After I'd returned the tablets to the brownie, I lowered myself to Sanderson's level one more time. "Good luck, speck. I know you'd rather have stayed with me, but that's too bad. I know what's best. Things will make sense when you're older. I know you'll do dazzlingly in your new circumstances. Everything will be okay. I'm doing this because you're important to me, and I want you to be happy. That's why I do a lot of things. Do you understand that?"

"Yes," he said, dully. "Sounds dazzled."

"Much of the time, bad things happen in life. But good things happen too." I rubbed my knuckles into his hair and bobbed to my feet. "I don't believe in nepotism, but look the Whimsifinado family up if you decide to go into mind and magic therapy one day. It would be a pleasure to work with you."

He turned his back, arms by his sides. I suppose it was easier that way.

I fingered my one remaining click coin as I left the social services building, rolling it over my knuckles. Pocketing it in China's coat, I glanced around at the surrounding buildings. With it being Thursday, the streets were mostly deserted. A wooden sign for the Swan Feather Postal Service rattled above one door. I drifted in and requested my box to be forwarded from Great Sidhe to here. It arrived five minutes later in a poof of blue. Still fanning the stinging smoke away from my eyes, I thanked the swanee behind the counter, took the heavy stack of bark strips therein, and moved outside where the light was better. Then I sat at a floating wireframe table and began.

I was a drake, so of course the first thing that caught my attention was the small package wrapped in shiny cloth, rather than the dozens of assorted letters. As I'd anticipated, it was from Plane 19. The Dame Fergus. Like a lot of Fairies, we were on-and-off "stylus siblings" and sent one another Krisday gifts most winters. Mine tended to be soaps and sweets imported from Anti-Fairy World and that she as a Refract had limited access to, and hers were usually homely and handspun objects embedded with passive-aggressive pleas for me to give her children. I rested my fingers on one corner of the box. She had the Dame Sanderson now. I'd have to write her a letter to inform them of her name.

When I opened the box, thankfully, I was not greeted with any molded food. I did, however, get a pair of thick farming gloves that I'd mentioned I'd wanted some time ago when I'd thought about chopping down another tree.

There was even something in the box for Sanderson. Dame Fergus had knitted him a deep purple and pale gray scarf with black and white tassels dangling from either end. Hmm.

I skimmed through the rest of her letters: I have a chick now! A pyramid and feathery and just as bizarrely-colored as myself. It certainly took you long enough to find a lucky damsel, but I'm happy for you. Fatherhood will be the most fulfilling time of your life, although it is a shame the child is left to grow up in such a sinful world. I seem to be lacking a name, however. It would be most helpful if you would give me one soon.

Next, Also, could your perchance offer clarification on her father? My memory seems to have gone blank.

Then, I was approached by a refract-wisp. I know what this means, and I'm so dreadfully sorry. Are you all right? Where are you?

I know you're not getting these, but I have to rant because you've gotten me inappropriately involved with a lunatic. Help me.

So many awful puppet shows.

I destroyed all his puppets. The chick and I are now on the run back to my tribe's farmlands. Of course, unless you leave your wisp, it's only a matter of time before he comes back. I'll take advantage of what time I have.

He got a new unicorn puppet.

Et cetera, et cetera.

I traced my finger again over the last click coin in my possession. I couldn't afford to send any response. Not if I still wanted to ride that tram. Another time, perhaps.

Then I took up the scarf, and sighed. After tucking all the bark strips away in my pouch, I slung the scarf around my neck and started back for the social services building. I was hardly three flaps from it when someone grabbed my elbow, and someone else grabbed my other shoulder.

"Fall to your knees. Hands flat to the vapor. You're under arrest."

Don't panic, I told myself. Perhaps they were here because I'd cheated the currency-exchange box in Mistleville. Keep your cool. Find any patterns. Focus on details.

The pair of sylph drakes were Keeper officers by their light blue and white uniforms, here to enforce Da Rules on behalf of Cadence von Strangle. Still, I wrinkled my brow. Lowering myself slowly to the cloudstones, I asked, "May I hear why?"

One of the Keepers thrust his wand in my face. "You had a fairy baby."

So, that was not the answer I'd expected to get at all. I squinted upwards at the sylph. The chesberry wand shook in his grip. He was young. The brim of his tall pointed hat tipped a bit in front of his eyes. Maybe twenty lines old. Possibly his first day in the field. Good to know.

The second drake was much older- older than I was. Their angled faces and lavender hair bore such a resemblance to one another that they must have been related. Also good to know.

"You don't like nymphs?" I asked.

"We received word that someone had arrived here with a fairy baby," the older sylph said calmly. He too had his wand tilted down at my nose. "Worse yet, that the nymph has the indirect muscular structure in his wings. You match the description we were given. You know the rules. We were sent to untie his lines and take you in for tube plugging."

… Hmm.

"I chose to spare his life rather than sacrifice him in the Claystrif shrine, entirely forgoing godly intervention in my life might I add, and you're here to kill him anyway."

"He's a fairy crossbreed," sputtered the younger drake, lip trembling. The energy field took on a spicy taint. "We have to. The Mutation scare-"

"Confound your crown, Brad!" The older drake turned his head. "You're turning green. We went over this. Show no reluctance, or your magic will will be utterly usele-"

I flipped his arm upward with my right hand, snapping my left around at the same time. As I lunged forward to grab his wand by the transmitting tip, I jabbed my elbow into his chest and shoved him towards the edge of the cloud. Gravity tugged at his shoes. Before he could react more than spinning his arms and wings, I twirled the wand through my fingers, aimed, and turned him into a boring rock. He was a very nice dull and gray rock - dull and gray was a specialty of mine - except gravity really did take over full-force then, and he plunged over the lip of the cloud to the planes below.

A bright green beam blasted me from the left. A searing welt rose on my arm. The younger sylph.

"No more moving! I'll shoot!"

I glanced back to find the Keeper-in-training whirring his appropriately-named amberwing wings, the red pterostigmata flashing. He had both hands around the shaft of his wand. When I turned, he fired another emerald beam at my chest. It stung, but I'd taken harder hits in gyne fights. Injuries caused by green magic would heal within a few hours. Sighing, I reached over and closed my large hand around his throat. The young drake dropped his wand at once, hands flying to his windpipe. I formed a magic rope and used it to tie him to a nearby post, painfully aware all the while that I was defaulting on the automatic magic payments and tapping into my own life force stores as I did.

Sanderson was sitting in the soft chair of the social services building exactly as I had left him, gazing at his feet and making ineffective repetitive motions with the top of a colorful puzzle pyramid. The brownie damsel knelt on the floor beside him, speaking softly. About to kiss him with a heavy dose of inrita, possibly, but she broke off and turned her head when I pushed through the door. Rising quickly to her wings, she said, "I hoped you'd be back."

"Something came up." I shoved her away. "I'd like to rescind my paperwork."

"I can't help you."

"Can I talk to someone else?" I snapped, snatching Sanderson out of his chair and positioning him on my hip. He leaned his face away from mine, the tip of his left wing in his mouth and the color pyramid still clenched in his hand.

The brownie locked eyes with me. "You don't understand. I 'can't'" - air quotes - "help you. You should leave. I never saw you, and you never came. I won't tell my coworkers who scryed the Keepers any of this. They're all in the back on break. Now is your chance."

"Oh… Is it that easy?"

"No one ever looks at the records anyway. Easy to pretend they got misplaced, easy to forge. The system is chaotic." She walked her fingers across her other palm. "I might take the tabletwork with you so no one can prove it was here. Skedaddle now, and no one will ever know."

Her words bothered me, and I had to give her a disgruntled stare for a moment, but Sanderson's safety was my first priority. I pried the puzzle pyramid from his fingers, took the tablets as she'd suggested, and swept through the door with him.

"That guy is tied up," Sanderson said, turning around in my arms as I floated past the squirming sylph in his bonds.

"It's a grown-up thing," I replied. "You'll understand when you're older. Now, don't stare. That's impolite."

He turned his focus on me instead, slipping his pinky nail into his mouth. "You're here with me again."

"Yes. If I hadn't come back for you, bad people were going to take you away and hurt you."

His wings let out a startled chirp. "Bad like Kaly's stories?"

I wasn't sure if he was referring to her love of sarcastic arrogant protagonists with questionable morals or to her writing style in general, but I affirmed it. Sanderson became very still for a moment. Then a single great twitch rippled through his scrawny body, and that was all. He moved on.

"No more social services," I said, sighing through my teeth. I set him down on a bench and pulled Dame Fergus's scarf from around my neck. As I tied it loosely around his instead, I squinted upwards into the eternally-purple sky with all its stars. Ancient warriors, defending Earth and the rest of the cosmos. Faintly, I could just make out a dark smudgy cloud indicating Plane 6 overhead. "Sanderson, I have a big surprise for you."

"Big?"

"Not the word I was expecting you to focus on, but we'll ignore that." I turned him around so his sharp lavender eyes uncrossed and settled in on mine. "I don't trust anyone else to raise you anymore, so I'm keeping you for myself."

He stroked the fuzzy scarf with his palm. "Um. Yeah, duh."

"No, not 'duh'," I argued back, bewildered. How could he possibly act like he'd suspected as much all along? Hadn't he been there just as often as I had, every time I'd tried to kill him? I gave him a very light shake. "This is big, understand? A big surprise. You're mine now, and you belong to me."

"Yes."

"Good. I'm glad we got that cleared up. Dust…" As we moved through the city, I traced my fingers through my hair. There were a dozen things I needed to do. Sanderson needed food and water, vaccinations, a training wand, shoes, warmer clothes that actually fit his thin body…

Triaging it, I decided that leaving Faeheim was my best option here. I'd broken the sylph's wand so he couldn't use the LCD function to call for back-up once I left. Unfortunately, I couldn't keep it for myself since it wasn't registered in my name; especially with him being a Keeper, it more likely than not would track my location and magic activities.

As I hovered in the tram station, I rolled my last click between my thumb and middle finger. Somewhere I might could go unnoticed. Somewhere I could obtain a wand. Somewhere I could find someone willing to help me raise a nymph. Someone who would truly, honestly care about me despite the flaws I had then in my younger centuries.

Ugh.

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 1: SPOILED

Prodigal Progeny

Spring of the White Sun

"We're not doing this. I'm not doing this, Sanderson- I'm simply not. This isn't happening. Really. I'm not walking down a worn road through my childhood neighborhood. I'm not watching a young damsel draw ice crystals up with the wooden bucket dangling down in the repainted old well. I'm not stepping through the rusty gate. I'm not passing the grayfish pond and beaten poofing pad with my surname painted across it. I'm not climbing the steps."

"Oh. You aren't?"

I glared at the little nymph racing along the cloudstone path after me on clumsy bare and dirty feet, then bent down to pick him up again and set him at my left hip. "Oh, quit giving me that sarcastic look. You're too young to pull it off. Dazzling, isn't it? We're at the Whimsifinado household and there's no denying that. And Wednesday evening's coming on in here in the Amethyst time zone, so if we wait much longer, he may get himself too drunk to listen to reason for the rest of the weekend until Rheather shows up to drag him into the office when Friday comes around. That means we're better off knocking now rather than later tonight, aren't we? And I'm still talking to you like I'm expecting a particularly intelligent answer. I have got to stop doing that, don't I?"

"I can answer," Sanderson protested, sinking his fingers into the top ribbon on China's coat. His nails scraped the bulge of my throat. "I answer lots of questions."

"Yes, you can, and it makes you so much more bearable to be around than you used to be. Here goes everything." I knocked twice, then spun on my heels and started off. No use waiting all day if he obviously wasn't home-

The door swung inward, freezing my raised wings before I could flap. There were no words exchanged for a solid ten seconds. Only silence. Then I eased myself around again and tried to ignore the bewildered squint on my father's face.

"Oh. You… your hair is just starting to go white."

It wasn't the only sign that the calendar had used him as a chew toy while I'd been away. The long ipewood wand he'd once spun between his long fingers had been replaced by a crooked upturned staff he braced beneath him like a walking stick; not von Strangle quality by any means, no, but it was thick and impressive enough. Actually, his fingers themselves were different too- bony and with knuckles bulging intermittently like the square divots in a waffle. His one spiral cowlick still graced the back of his hair in a stray feather sort of way, and his round nose was slightly upturned in the same smooshed manner I remembered from my younger years. Though it was getting late, he still wore the vest in Wish Fixers wine. Hadn't lost the slight leprechaun points at the tips of his ears, either. Now, however, he wore odd, tiny windows about halfway up his cloudy blue eyes- some sort of medical measurement thing, I supposed. I'd seen them once before on someone's face, and a few monocles here and around, but as for what they did, that was Rhymepyrian to me.

When Ambrosine opened his mouth, I could see a space among his teeth where one was missing and he clearly didn't care enough to fix it. "Fergus? Well, well, well! Hold on. Don't move a fleck, speck- I want to take a look at you."

"Yes, it's me. I'm glad to see you still live here after all these millennia, Ambrosine. You always did tell me that you planned to." I shifted Sanderson in my arms, one hand to his tiny chest. He clutched tighter with his fists as Ambrosine leaned his staff against the doorframe and began to circle us.

"Well, well, well," he kept saying, over and over like something broken. He must have paced around me four times. Finally he stopped in the doorway again and parted his wrinkled lips in a smile. "Your freckles finally decided to show up proud and loud and gorgeous ruddy red-brown. What a big, handsome drake you are now."

My wings drooped. I reached behind my neck as they began to rustle and chirp. "Um, thank you."

"No, you could blink twice and put a habetrot to shame with a face like that if it were just a smidgen rounder. Alright, maybe a pailful of smidgens rounder." He took my elbows and whistled. "You're still my pretty flower boy. Solara would be thrilled beyond belief to look at you now."

"Thank you, Ambrosine."

He clasped his hands before his chest. "And? Aren't you going to introduce me to your son?"

"What son?" Then I looked down. "Oh! Oh, you're referring to Sanderson. Of course. Sanderson, this is my father, and your… relative, Ambrosine Whimsifinado. Father, Sanderson." I gripped one of his wrists and lifted his arm. "What do we say, Sanderson?"

Sanderson hid his face in my neck.

"He only just slipped out of pooferty five days ago. Isn't that right, Sanderson? Look at him, Ambrosine. He has a fair grasp of the Snobbish language already and it's only building. He can tell you about trees and birds. He likes to draw. He knows basic math. He tells jokes, or tries to. Look at him."

Ambrosine took the nymph's pale hand and jarred it up and down. "Swell to hear your brood never lost pooferty, even with those messed-up genes. Aw, he's just a scampy little thing. He looks exactly like you did at his age, plus the thick double cowlick in his hair. His hair makes me happy. Did you do that? Can I hold him?"

I hesitated. "May we come in first? I'd rather you were sitting down. Your legs don't appear to be quite as sturdy as they used to be."

"I'm hardly old yet. The staff's mostly for show because I like attention, but subtly." But Ambrosine beckoned us in anyway. I studied the walls as he pushed the door shut. They'd been tiled now with yellow and green squares all the way through, interlaced with thick white grout. That was different, and rather ugly. The floor was made up of actual blue-black rock as opposed to dirt and straw or white rubber. I did like that. It appeared a bit lumpy and sharp in places, but all in all I liked it. It was clean.

Ambrosine was waiting in his faded red-pink chair with arms held out. He probably stayed in that position for a full two minutes as I walked around the main room, squinting at timestream images framed along the walls and the various newfangled technology that I had never heard of during all my time spent living down Earthside, like candles that could be enclosed in lanterns without snuffing them, and ovens powered by the nearly-stale dust and oil secreted from the skin. When I circled over to him, I peeled Sanderson's stubborn fingers from my collar and handed him off to my father. He bounced his fingertips against the younger drake's cowlick. My hands went into my pockets.

"Hey," Sanderson protested, reaching upwards.

"I like his hair. I like your hair. Would I know the lucky lady who blessed you with this little bowl of frosting?"

"Hmph. If there was one, I never met her."

Ambrosine lifted his eyebrows. "Oh… I see how it is. You slippery butter-seal."

"Stop! My 'licks!"

My nose twitched. "Could I have Sanderson back? You're upsetting him."

"No, I love him."

"Hm." I placed a knuckle to my lip. "We're going to have a sharing problem, aren't we? Fortunately, we won't be staying for long if I can help it. Rather, is it at all acceptable by you if we stay here for a night or two? I don't plan to intrude long, and then I'll be out of your hair for the rest of either of our lives."

"Good dust! Stay as long as you care to, Fergus!"

He'd taken the bait. I raised my eyebrow. "May I?"

"It's been 325,000 years- I think I can afford to get you set back on your feet. But I want Sanderson to sleep with me. He's very cute and makes me nostalgic, and frankly, you have bags under your eyes and so I think I'm helping."

"Yes, that would actually be a large relief to me, so you're welcome to keep him."

"But…" Sanderson opened and closed his hands in my direction. Absently, I patted his flat head beneath his broken crown when I got up to walk along the hall towards my old room. He started to whimper.

"Fergus?" Ambrosine called as I reached out to the left and put my hand on the knob. Not fully registering the warning (thinking, perhaps, that he was concerned about Sanderson), I opened my door. And went stiff all the way down my back.

My safe gray-brown walls had been tiled in sharp pink and pastel yellow. My former writing desk where I had passed hours working out math equations bore a frilly white cloth, a mirror, and about a hundred bottles, necklaces, tubes, powders, polishes, nail files, brushes, clippers, and special colored stylus with uses that I had learned well after my nine months with Kalysta. There was a rug on the floor. A fuzzy white rug. Why would you need a rug? My Dragonflies pennant and the ticket badge from that Vibrant Sparks saucerbee game long ago were still attached to the wall above my bed, but they'd been joined by pieces of sloppily-manufactured trinkets that I didn't recognize, and that Ambrosine certainly wouldn't have allowed me to purchase back when I was growing up. Board games, dozens of books, and a music stand were clustered in the corner. There was merchandise from Mistleville.

And in the middle of my purple bed, beneath the window against the opposite wall, tuning the strings of a springcase, a music bow stick in her other hand, lay a pale-skinned damsel with bushy brows and jutting teeth. Her bundled black hair glittered from her ears upward with white dots like stars, which I thought might explain the spilled powder on the desk and floor. One indigo eye studied me with thick wariness where I hovered at the door, freckled and fuming in my marbled selkie coat and bare feet. A solid, shiny, healthy six-pointed crown floated above her head. She wore my favorite dusty-gray sweater that I'd long since grown out of (or one that looked just like it, more likely, since even my optimistic outlook on life wouldn't let me pretend the old thing had survived for hundreds of thousands of years). Either way, it didn't quite fit on her slender form and slipped from her left shoulder.

I spun with a sweep of wings and flew back down the hallway, slapping my hand against the wall every three wingbeats, and finally drew up in front of his chair again. One arm flailed behind me. "What happened to my room?"

As Sanderson's whining faded into pleas to be picked up, Ambrosine put his hand to the thin instrument across his eyes and gazed at me in sheer disappointment. "You realize, I hope, that you've been gone for long beyond three hundred thousand years. Things change in that time, speck."

"Who is she? Your prostitute? My prostitute?"

"My daughter, actually; your sister. Nice try."

"That's even more disgusting than my theory." I glared at Sanderson's uncovered ears. He blinked at me with anxious eyes. "Do you even realize how old you are?"

Ambrosine snorted. "Seven hundred eight thousand's hardly old. I plan to live to see a million like your grandfather Praxis. And I wasn't much over four hundred thousand when I had Emery. That's far younger than your age now, and you've got a nymph."

"Emery? That's her name?" I tightened my knuckles into the folds of China's coat sleeves. "You used my name? You didn't have the right."

"I liked it," he said with a pouting lower lip.

"What about Solara?"

"What about Solara? I got lonely with you away from home. I have needs." His attention went back down to Sanderson, and he made a rolling motion with his left hand several times near his ear. "Don't get all steamed about it. You know how I feel about bitter emotions. There's ice cream in the icebox, and you're welcome to take all you like if it means you'll cool off."

Shaking my head, I sat down in the gray chair opposite him. "No. No, I forgive you. You make a decent point. I chose to leave, and things are different now than they once were. I understand that… Now then. Ambrosine, may we talk, grown drake to grown dra-"

"Get yourself some ice cream, Fergus. You need it."

I didn't move at first. Then, teeth in my lip, I peeled my wings from the chair and headed into the kitchen. It didn't look anything like the one from my memories at all; he'd changed even the chairs and cupboard doors. The windows had starry blue covers that closed. Both the curtains and tablecloth looked as though they were spun by the same knowing hand as whoever had knitted the blankets in the other room. Emery's, I figured.

The first thing I grabbed was a bright clear bottle bubbling with pink liquid up on a high shelf. After several minutes of fumbling amongst mugs and silverware, I managed to open the icebox trapdoor and locate the ice cream as well. I withdrew a small carton of yale milk for Sanderson. Sigh of relief.

"And get me a bowl and a spoon, would you, too? You're dazzling, thanks."

I slammed the icebox lid. After re-checking all the usual drawers and cupboards and hideaways, and then some of the unusual ones, I finally had to settle for pulling a bowl dabbed with spaghetti sauce out of the sink and rinsing it off with the nearly-drained water pail. Horrible, awful mess. We'd never had piles of dirty dishes like this when I lived here- I'd seen to that from the moment I could float, and those were the days before kitchen wands. Then I returned to the den.

"Where did you get that?" I asked Sanderson, who sat in the center of the old black coffee table, and then I said, "Did you actually give Sanderson chocolate?"

"Yes. He wanted it. I'm the grandfather now. I'm allowed to spoil. Look, he likes it. It's not my place to pry into the nature of his existence or your own conscience, but it's been nearly a hundred thirty thousand years since Cosmo Cosma was born, and even under the circumstances, I'm excited. Me, with a grandnymph! An adorable one!" Ambrosine broke another chunk from his chocolate bar and held it in front of Sanderson. He twitched it. Sanderson reached out with his arms without abandoning the cross-legged position he'd taken up. I resisted the urge to take him back.

"I would prefer it greatly if you didn't do that. I didn't want him to taste straight sugar until he's nearer age of majority at 200,000."

"I did a fine job raising you, didn't I? Where's that chocolate-maple ice cream?"

I eased open the blue lid. It came with a pop, releasing the sweet waft of caffeine. Three spoons had been stabbed into what little remained of the dessert. My eyes trailed up to Ambrosine's face as he smiled at them, lost in his memories, and licked his lips.

I found a clay tablet and stylus for Sanderson to entertain himself with. Then I stood there (Well, floated there) with my arms folded behind my back for two long minutes as Ambrosine scooped his ice cream, and I counted out the flickering passing wingbeats. At last, I slid my hand beneath my coat and brought out the cherry soda. I set it on the table and knelt down.

"Father, would you like to have a drink with me?"

Ambrosine glanced away from Sanderson at last. "Don't think I don't know what you're trying to pull, Fergus."

"I wasn't trying to disguise it. Ah, well. It was worth at least the attempt." One hand on my cheek, I flicked a nail against the bottle. Glass sang. "It's been a year since I've so much as glanced at a soda. My plan was to drink with you often, the price on me. I suppose I can forgo those future bottles so I might be able to afford more milk for Sanderson. He's still relatively new to the whole weaning business, you know, and he likes the stuff. But, of course…" Here I took the bottle by the neck and tilted it towards me, raising my eyebrows in my father's direction. "You'll have to drink sometime. All I have to do is wait."

Ambrosine hesitated.

"All right. A quick drink tonight, to celebrate my only son coming home. But don't expect me to sugar myself into a puddle."

"Of course you won't." After my father had sent me to fetch two glasses, I poured the soda between them. "No," I told Sanderson, pushing him down the coffee table, "you stay there and drink your yale milk. There we are."

"Now Fergus, you'll take the first sip, or I won't drink."

I shrugged and did so. After a few minutes of waiting, Ambrosine was satisfied.

Once I had given Sanderson another stylus, and once I'd watched my father down a few shots, I leaned across the table with fingers interlocked. "You know I don't beat bushes, so let's begin."

"Dazzle me."

"For some time now I've been thinking that I'm interested in taking over the family business. More specifically, the part of it that involves actual business and management. I do not want, and will not, become your doe-eyed therapist puppet. What hoops would you like me to jump through in order to achieve my goal?"

Pause. "You want Wish Fixers?"

"That's exactly the one."

Ambrosine frowned into his glass. "I haven't thought about it. I'm not sure I'm quite ready to let the place go. It's been in the Whimsifinado line for, mm… Must be going on three million years about now. Long before the Unwinged began walking the Earth, long before the will o' the wisps, long before Krisday… Even before the Anti-Fairies really manifested themselves into an organized society, so well before the great war that led to the Divide."

"I may have been born with a genetic mutation, but I'm a Whimsifinado too."

"Yes, but you said no. I sought my heir elsewhere. My plan was to give it to Emery."

My fingers stiffened on the edge of the table. Competition. I tongued my cheek as I took a long sip of soda and stalled. When I put the glass down, I dabbed traces of sugar from my mouth. "I'm the firstborn, and a gyne. I believe that between your offspring, it is to go to me."

"Gyne?" Sanderson asked, lifting his head from his work. "What's 'gyne'?"

"Mm. That's a pointy point, Fergus. Alright. You're mature enough, aren't you? Stockily built and braced for anything. Got a squeaker of your own biting at your heels. S'pose I could give you the place - keys, files, income, bills, free reign - for three thousand thousand."

There was a pause as I worked out the math from the slight slurring hiccup of his words. Then, "Three thousand thousand? That's… three million, actually. Of what?"

"Of cash, of course."

"Three million lagelyn? For that little fixer-upper?"

"It's a good business coming up on its three millionth birthday," Ambrosine said as he took another sip. His lowered eyes glimmered. He wasn't so drunk after all. He was playing with me.

I wanted to knock that glass out of his hand and watch it shatter to the floor. I wanted to grab the bottle and down its remaining precious carbonated liquid myself, or pour the contents out over the dirt and rocks. Instead, I pressed my lips tight and waited until I was sure the pink sparks of magic in my blood had cooled down to purple. "Three million is a… rather steep price. That's one hundred and twenty-six million els. My thought was that since I am your son - unless I'm mistaken, the only offspring of your first mate - managing the business ought to be my birthright. It's written out in the legal inheritance laws. Check with the Eroses. Situations like these are how and why the social ladder came to be in the first place."

"Are you? Did it?"

I raised my eyebrow. "It ought to be my birthright, unless my assumption that Emery came around after a random one-night stand is incorrect, and you're implying that Solara mothered her herself. In which case, my limited respect for her has just dipped further, if she didn't have the meaty guts to notch your wings and yet believes herself entitled to have her way with you when it pleases her. So either I've lost respect for her, or I've lost it for you for mating purely for entertainment. Take your pick."

"There are damsels," came the evasive answer. When he lowered his gaze again, I watched a rosy glow light up his cheeks and neck. "How high can you count, Ferg? Double it. Hic. Pardon me. You left. I needed an heir."

"Congratulations: You sicken me. And here upper school taught us that fairies only give their souls away once."

"Hm. Yes, I'd argue that they do. Maybe love doesn't have anything to do with - hic - anything. Maybe. I'd have expected you to think as much, seeing as your little family seems to be short one damsel."

"Faking the hiccups is pointless, you realize."

Ambrosine leaned back in his chair, dropping the light swirl in his voice. "Hmm… Yes. As I understand it, you can either buy Wish Fixers off me for three million, or you can wait another 325,000 or so years and I just might be old and senile enough to reconsider. Alternatively, you may bide your time until a murder weapon untouched by magic does me in, or perhaps until some heavy sickness hits me after my immune system finally collapses, and I suppose that maybe, legally, the place will be yours anyway."

He smiled thinly when he saw what had to be a look of stunned disgust upon my face. "Ooh, I wonder what you're thinking right now. Where do you draw the line, my dear salty gyne? Would you chase after a mercenary and have me killed to save yourself three million lagelyn? Or possibly, challenge me to a fight yourself? A rematch? You probably have a fighting chance, even if I did sorely whip your apexes last time around. I know you want to." No answer. Ambrosine leaned across the coffee table on his elbows, the sodaglass resting between his fingertips. "I know you really, really want to, Fergy."

"It is not my intention to kill anyone for the sake of my own selfish interests. Despite my freckles, I am a well-adjusted member of society. Such a thing is beneath me."

"Awfully stiff and syrupy-sweet way you said that, speck."

I shook my head, keeping my gaze level with his as Sanderson mumbled about the details of his drawing. "No. No, Ambrosine. Though you may have disowned me from a young age, I could never allow myself to play a part in murdering you."

"Though I may have disowned you! What? And who was the one who had the idea to wander Earth among the Unwinged for over 320,000 years?"

"They're innovative," I retorted. "I rather like them. You know, Ambrosine, I think they'll really become something great. They've shown they're capable of communicating and have even expressed thoughts and desires on their own. I don't imagine it will be long before they begin making actual verbal wishes of their own, just as well as any Milesian or Yugopotamian. That's why I want Wish Fixers. I'm going to capitalize on this by the time Amity Angel Safety and Protective Recall Agency hits the scene. If we invest in that, we ought to strike it big."

"And you'll have your Wish Fixers when I get my three million."

"What do you even need that money for?"

Ambrosine shrugged. "Absolutely nothing. I just want to see you work for it. You've been playing the bum-on-the-street card for far too long, I think. If you're interested in the business, I want to know that it will be in safe hands. It's a living, breeding thing. Hic. I need to know it will survive even if someday I join the gone and forgotten. That's what good fathers do."

"Is the business a little unicorn?" Sanderson asked, but neither of us answered him.

"Dazzle that," I said finally. "You can have your three million. I'll work hard. You'll see that I will, and I'll manage to pull it together somehow."

"See that you do."

"You know I keep my promises. Now, second order of business." I drew air through my nostrils and straightened my shoulders. "I need a new wand."

"He wants a new wand, Sanderson!"

My fingers tightened around the neck of my sodaglass, which I'd hardly had more than two sips from despite myself. "I think it's a reasonable request. I'll need to have my license renewed, and I've gone so long without one that it only seems fair that maybe you could-"

"Which number is this, then?"

"What?"

"Which number wand is this? How many have you lost or chewed to a thread in all your life?"

I felt the creases march along my forehead. "I'm not sure that's releva-"

"How many have you ruined or misplaced?"

"… Twelve."

Ambrosine nodded slowly, like this proved multiple points and pleased him. I shifted in my chair.

"What I need is a wand that makes noise. Something I can just… just… trigger from a distance, so I never lose it again. And not wood- the flaw in milbark is that it tastes too sweet." I patted around the pockets of China's coat and my pouch. "I'm not even sure what I keep on my person anymore. Old notes, neatly folded inside one another… Those were from long ago. My dream is to afford a filing cabinet one of these days."

"Doesn't Sanderson have a wand?" He asked it through the next sip of soda like an afterthought, although it clearly wasn't.

"I'm assuming that's a joke. If I can't afford one, he doesn't get one either."

"You realize you'll stunt his growth that way." The glass clicked back on the table and left a wet circle across the wood. I took up my own and shrugged.

"At this moment, I have bigger concerns on my mind. I didn't want him anyway, and until I manage to gather my feet under me, we'll both have to get by on the things we do have."

"It's just you and the baby, then?"

"Just us. Wandering among the Unwinged and town bubbles and such."

Ambrosine studied my midsection with vague interest. I curled my upper lip.

"I highly doubt there's another one on the way. Not ever again. That would be ridiculous. Sanderson is some sort of freak accident, and nothing more."

"Are you certain you don't recall the mother's face?"

"I am, because he has none."

"He can't have none."

"Sanderson can. He's some sort of random but powerful wish made by some miserable child on a distant planet or plane of existence or parallel dimension."

"Well, he's obviously not wishbirthed. He can't fly. Besides that, wishborn eggs are just dormant; they still can't fertilize without a damsel's sperm."

Ignoring him, I went on. "I loathe that people can twist the fabric of the entire universe in ways like that. And the Keepers of Da Rules just let them get away with it, time and time again. It's not the way I'd rule the world, and let's rest the case at that."

Ambrosine poured himself another glass of sparkling cherry. His hand shook a bit at the wrist. "How exactly might you manage the universe, Fergus?"

"With at least some sense of order. With close attentiveness and a sense of justice. And records that are always up to date and, most importantly, an easily-accessible complaints department for when things like this happen, so mistakes can be looked into and corrected." I put out my hands, palms facing together and the fingers pointed at nothing and yet everything. "We have power and an advanced, high-functioning society. We have teleportation and, albeit in a limited fashion, some sense of time travel. Is it really too much to ask that people who've been beaten down get the help they need? No. Or at least I think it shouldn't be. If I held the power, I would do my utmost to ensure I helped everyone, regardless of their species or their circumstance."

"Even if they're an Anti-Fairy?"

"Why not?"

"Even if they're huldufólk?"

"Without hesitation."

"Even if they're a brownie?"

"I… I see no reason why I shouldn't."

"Even if they were penniless with holes in their pockets and wings torn at the jugal fold?"

"I would help to situate them back on their feet, yes. It's the right thing to do. They could pay me back later."

Ambrosine shrugged. "I don't know who you think will be paying for your funeral ceremony."

"If all goes as planned, Sanderson will be in a position to make the arrangements I desire concerning the end of my life, and it's going to be spectacular. Very. Anyway, that's beside the point I was attempting to make. I have had very few contacts with any Fairies, both drakes and damsels, for the last dozen hundred years, and none of those meetings dissolved into any deep relations. However Sanderson came to be in the empty pocket of space inside me, I never met his mother."

"Perhaps your mind was wiped afterwards-"

I shook my head. My chipped fingernails clipped on the sodaglass. I raised it to my lips. "There are no gaps in my memory. I'm certain of it. Sanderson admittedly appears to be something like my offspring in some puzzling, mutated way, but I expect him to be both the first and the last. I'm beginning to get on in age, I have never had any real interest in settling seriously with some pretty-haired damsel, and I do not plan to engage in any…" I made a swirly motion with my finger. "… lasting relationships of that sort now. It simply doesn't appeal to me. Sanderson I'll keep because I cannot justify disowning him, especially with fairy crossbreeds set out on the chopping block as I'm sure you're aware, but I wouldn't stand for having another offspring. I have him, he is my companion and my heir, and he's all I need. Now. On the subject of that wand."

Ambrosine drummed his fingers together in front of his nose. "If I were to bequeath to you such a wand, how might you use it?"

"Sparingly," was my instant answer. "My funds are limited as they are and I can't afford paying for the more grandiose items of interest. No. I'd keep it on hand for emergencies and perhaps just a few instances that aren't emergencies, but that I consider worth the expense. In this way, I might have the magic on hand, but I also won't be draining my money for the Fairy Elder to redistribute. I won't waste my cash on frivolities and will manage it carefully so someday I might lift Wish Fixers off your hands. And that's the other reason Sanderson doesn't get one. I can't afford to have him waving it about willy-nilly while I end up sending money to the Council for his every whim at the end of the month."

"Sorry, what?" Sanderson asked, looking up from his clay drawings.

"Yes, you would. Don't give me more of your sass."

Ambrosine got up and floated over to the sink. He rummaged around a few drawers before shaking his head and leaving the keeping room. Several more minutes ticked along in silence.

"Did you finish your milk, Sanderson?" I turned out the pockets of China's gray and black coat. "Didn't I have a pacifier for you I picked up in Millshire?"

Sanderson pointed his stylus towards my left side.

"Right. In the shirt. Thank you for being attentive. I do hope this becomes a thing with you, because I could use a second pair of eyes."

"Why?"

"To watch out for scary people and things that are not safe. Being safe is the best."

"I can do that," he said, sticking the pacifier in his mouth. He held up his clay impressions so I could see what he'd made. "Thish is you holding me tight. When Ka'wysta tried to take me away."

I wrinkled my nose. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You hugged Sandyson."

"I never did that."

He sighed. "Okay, I'll d'waw it again. This time, watch."

"There we are," Ambrosine said, returning to the kitchen with a wand. It was worn at the tip and even slightly bent, but it still began to glow when he gave it a trial wave in the air. "I think it belonged to your mother, probably. Or to one of the damsels who came after her. For my tea parties, I mean. I suppose it doesn't matter, and I imagine whoever its previous owner was won't mind you having it, seeing as it's been left at my place for so long without bringing her back for it."

He handed the wand to me. I held it near my face and squinted. It was an outdated model. Chesberry wood was thick and knotted at its very core, and the wand's handle had obviously been thinned out from overuse of drawing on its magic.

"Here." Ambrosine reached across the table and handed me the instrument that had been balanced on his nose. "Cloudland technology's come a long way in the 300,000-plus years you've been gone. Put these on."

I lowered the wand and took them, but I didn't trust them. "What do they do?"

"They'll help your squinting problem. Just stick them on your nose. The arms hook behind your ears. You'll see. Come on," he wheedled when I continued to hesitate. "You trust your own father, don't you?"

For a moment more I stared at the instrument, tapping it with my finger to see if it sprinkled any purple dust (it didn't and almost certainly wasn't magical), folding the arms in and out of position. At last, bracing myself, I slid them onto my nose. And I almost jumped out of my wings as every wrinkle, every hair on Ambrosine's face swam into sharp, clear-cut focus.

"Sacred smoof! I can see again. Like I'm younger than Emery."

He smiled, his rounded chin resting in his liver-spotted hand. "Can you now? They're called spectacles. Concave lenses to warp your vision, I think is what they said. In the morning I'll take you to get your eyes examined, and we can get you a pair of glasses of your very own. May I have those back now?"

"What?" I asked from where I'd wandered on the other side of the room. "Oh. Yes, thank you."

He leveled his eyes with mine as I sat beside Sanderson again. "Hic. Now, realize Fergus that one of these days, you have to get truly organized."

"I will. But that's difficult to do when you've been wandering Earth for a good 300-"

"I mean it. If you lose this wand, I will not replace it."

I unfolded and then reshuffled my wings. "I can organize if I so put my mind to it. Really. I just haven't found the right… I need a large, spacious place of my own, where I'm not bound to the rules and regulations of the Fairies."

"You say that like you aren't one."

"It's the fairies who claim that because of my wings and lopsided magic, I'm not one of them."

"And now you say that like I'm not even here," Ambrosine remarked, sounding half hurt. "Anyway, the whole cloudlands in this quadrant of the universe is under Fairy jurisdiction. You'd have to travel lighteons to find some place it wasn't, and when you did you'd simply be playing in somebody else's sandbox. There are no final frontiers. The universe is spherical and as it expands outward, it's already owned by someone else. Everything has been discovered. You'll always be stepping on somebody's - hic - toes or tentacles or hooves. The rules have been erected and this is where it ends."

I leaned both hands against my cheeks, elbows planted on the table. "I was born in the wrong generation."

It was his turn to snort. He readjusted his little spectacles. "Dear smoof, Fergus, did you even go to school? Of all the eggs in my dome, the Eroses ensured yours fertilized for good reason. Of course you belong in this generation. They don't make mistakes. Their entire company is founded on that motto. They eliminate their flawed children, you know."

I picked up my mother's wand again, wondering exactly what had been going through her mind on the day she'd left us to cause her to forget it in Ambrosine's care. "I suppose that… Although I was originally not going to toe Plane 1 and ask it, if you're in the mood for being generous and caring anyway… Is there any chance I could also borrow a wand for Sanderson while he still has nursing milk in him?"

"No need for borrowing. I'll buy him his first one, as a birthday present. But the child-safety locks stay on."

As though he didn't understand the importance of Ambrosine and I actually ensuring he would be capable of using flight or magic for the remainder of his life, Sanderson put down his stylus and rubbed his eyes. "Time for the Sandman to pay his dues," Ambrosine guessed, watching him suck on his pacifier with intent to kill. "Let's bundle you into bed while you're all tuckered out. If you're not going to be sleeping with him tonight, Fergus, will the chairs do fine as a bed if we push them together? When the Big Wand's field gets rejuvenated Friday morning, I'll turn the old storage room across from Emery's quarters into your new pad."

I assured him that the soft chairs would do fine now. After he'd taken Sanderson, I carried the lantern along the hall into the washroom, looked in the mirror, and sighed. That cowlick in my hair that Kalysta had given me was still there. Because I was going to rinse my hands anyway, I dipped them in the washing pail and made an attempt to press it flat.

My hair stuck down like trampled grass, but it would prickle back up in a matter of hours, if not minutes. It always did. Maybe one of these days, I'd have to locate another will o' the wisp whose saliva was old and strong enough to rival Kalysta's, and request that they lick it down for me permanently.

I traced my finger around one thick curl. One of these days. Maybe. I did look awfully handsome.

Setting those thoughts aside, I took a moment to stare around the old, vaguely-familiar washroom. The towels and small cloths were the same ones I remembered, or the same color if nothing else. As I pulled open a drawer, my entire being groaned.

"There's toothpaste. Actual toothpaste. Oh my dust, I've wanted toothpaste so badly. I will never complain about flossing again. And wing brushes too! And I don't have to share it!"

Ambrosine leaned his shoulder against the door frame as I popped the sterile bubble from around the two unopened brushes. "Enlighten me on something, Fergus," he said, with all the casualness of a splintering eggshell.

"Sure."

He flicked a dusty fluff from the collar of his vest. "Regardless of whether or not you actually remember mating with Sanderson's mother, do you have any idea what color magic the two of you might have used to fertilize his egg?"

It took me a moment to process the question. Then the wing brush plunged from my fingers and clattered across stone. I looked up, my fingers curling inward. "I… I'm sure I…"

His eyes were grim behind the spectacles. "It obviously wasn't 'indigo', because you definitely couldn't have gone three seasons without any sleep. As pale and scrawny as he is, I've seen a lot of nymphs and he doesn't seem quite sickly enough to be green. Red undoes itself. Blue likely would have faded by this point too. Pinks always show some obvious condition such as being deaf or blind or mute or lame or grounded. Now, what I'm asking is, you didn't use purple, did you?"

As I took a tiny step backwards, I listened to the sound of Sanderson turning the bark strips of a storybook on the other side of the wall, undoubtedly clutching his pacifier in his left fist so he might tell himself aloud about the pictures, although his grasp of the Snobbish alphabet was still up to some debate. He had Rapunzel in his lap, by the sound of it. Ambrosine's favorite.

"It was yellow. Of course I would have used yellow. Yellow sticks, and a purple-born would die when I do just like my anti-fairy. I didn't use purple. I wouldn't. I know better than that. You'd have to be a smoof not to."

With a soft sigh through his nose, Ambrosine touched the apex of his long dragonfly wing to one of my misshapen ones. "No, the Eroses wouldn't have let that happen. I'm sure that when you register that wand in your name come morning you'll be fined for their services automatically, and I can see for myself this will send you into debt."

He coughed on another hiccup- one that probably wasn't faked after how much he'd drank. Bubbles always had given him such hiccups, and when I wasn't much more than a nymph I used to think it was funny. Not so much now. I stared at my knuckles and squeezed.

"What I'm trying to tell you, Fergus, is that it's been just me and the house for a long time, and even though Emery's been keeping me company, I miss my snarky square son. I would want nothing more than for you to stay on with me for a bit until you manage to get your wings in the air again. You can come work at Wish Fixers. You know. Until you buy it off me. Or until Emery takes it first and kicks you to the curb."

"I never finished school," I mumbled, tightening my grip.

Ambrosine shook his head. "No, and you're not qualified to do therapy counseling work, but I need someone to help me organize. And perhaps you could look into that complaints department idea of yours."

I was by no means a fool, so I accepted his offer of work and shelter while it was on the table. But later when I floated down the hall to take up my place on the cushioned chairs in the den - Ambrosine had taken it upon himself to push two of them together so they formed a bed, and brought out blankets - I found Emery waiting for me. She perched on the arm of Ambrosine's favorite seat with one of her legs crossed over the other, both hands resting on a pale ankle.

"Who do you think you are?" she wanted to know, keeping her voice as level as our father's. "You can't flit in here after over three hundred millennia demanding Ambrosine sign my birthright over to you that same night, for King Nuada's sake."

"Who am I? Who am I? Well. I could be mistaken, but I've been informed that I'm Fergus Whimsifinado. Your elder brother and therefore your superior."

She jabbed her thumb into her chest like after invoking King Nuada's name in vain, she was ready to turn about and praise the rest of the Tuatha Dé Danann as a whole. "Wish Fixers is supposed to be mine. Ambrosine as good as promised it to me. You dropped out of school and he needed an heir. It's literally my destiny."

"I tried only dropping out of the psychology program," I corrected, lifting one brow. It didn't seem like it would be doing any good to yell at her like Otto. "I took business classes instead; those are the only ones I excelled at in all my many years of upper school. I think I'm more qualified to run the place than you are. Nice try, arguing destiny with a gyne."

Emery stared at me, her lower lip vibrating, and then she did something that I wasn't expecting. She began to cry.

I pulled back my head. "What? Why are you upset? I'm the one who's had to scrape by for the past 300,000 years while you made yourself comfortable with my things. Stop. Stop." I climbed onto the chair beside her and put my hand to her mouth. "Stop it. Stop making annoying noises. You're a grown damsel. After the year I've just had to put up with, I don't want to hear it. Why are you crying?"

She peeled my fingers back, sniffling. "You're just picking on me in my own home, calling me worthless. You walked in and you're trying to steal everything I've ever wanted. After all of Ambrosine's stories, you're finally here and you h-hate me."

"That's not my fault." I lit my wings and drew myself back into the air. "Look at this logically: If one of us isn't supposed to be here, it's you. See? If Ambrosine just wanted an heir, then you only exist because I left at all. You should really be on your knees thanking me. So you have no right to tell me I don't belong in my own house. And, I might add, that's my favorite sweater you're wearing."

Emery glanced at me up and down as I hovered there, which at last gave me the opportunity to study her four long dangling wings. Though they shared traits with those of the dragonfly, they were of the indirect muscle structure. She was a crossbreed (so not Solara's offspring, then). A faint brown brushed along her costas, but it wasn't anywhere as deep as mine, and particularly after I'd moulted into my adult set. Hers were much more round than they were square.

Then, wiping off her tears (rather quickly- I imagine they might have been faked), she said, "I think it's a little small for you now, dear brother. Maybe you should land again- your weight is straining your poor wings. I guess that answers why I always thought this thing was stretched around the middle. Here. Do you want it back?" Without waiting for me to answer, Emery stripped off the sweater and tossed it my way. Then she flopped back on the chair-bed. My hand twitched halfway to my mouth before I could stop it.

"Ah. Y-you didn't have to do that now. You have your own room. Well, my room, but it's- it's a private room, for doing that type of thing. Emery!"

"This bothers you?" she asked, rolling around in the blankets Ambrosine had pulled out for me.

"You stop that." I snapped my fingers twice, but Emery ignored them. "Are you trying to pull something of the- of the sexual nature here? I may be a gyne, but I still understand basic forms of self-restraint."

"Ew, no." Her head popped out from under a lump of fabric. "I didn't know being a gyne applied to incest stuff too."

"It doesn't. Can't you go and be disgusting elsewhere? Ambrosine!" I turned my back on her, wings twitching. "Emery's in here without her shirt on."

"Fergus is thinking inappropriate thoughts about me!"

"What am I supposed to think? There is a partially naked damsel whom I didn't grow up with in my bed. Ambrosine, get her out!"

His voice trickled out from up the hall: "Fergus, do you even hear yourself?"

When I peeked again, Emery was rubbing my blanket in circles against her bare, very damseline chest. I stared down at her, then spun around and took off down the hall. Emery's reaction was delayed, but when she realized what I was doing, she bolted after me. I reached my old room first and slammed the door. She shrieked and pounded the flats of her hands against the wood while I kept it pinned shut with my back.

"Ambrosine, Ambrosine, Fergus locked me out of my room! My wand's in there!"

"Did he? Hic. Good show, Fergus! I've been trying to do that for centuries. Emery, you can go sleep at that Winterfly drake's house tonight."

Her hands slipped. "But-"

Rapid, skipping wingbeats. "It's high time you got to work on a family of your own, sunshine. How is that courtship dance of yours coming along? You'll never impress anyone clumsy as you are. I told you not to cut off so much of your hair. If your hips were any wider, I'd think you were a drake."

I kept my ear to the door, grim-faced, as they squabbled about earrings and eyelashes. Evidently, Emery was done with me. Almost a pity- I'd been curious to know how she planned to draw me from the room.

"Note to self," I muttered, pulling out an invisible tablet so I could scratch my next statement off on a list. "Never name any offspring 'Emery'. It's been contaminated."

Our host tore his bedroom apart the following morning in search of Sanderson. The noise woke me, and we discovered him curled up among my blankets… Somehow. Slippery little bug. After breakfast, Ambrosine bartered with Emery to have her cover for him at Wish Fixers, and then he poofed the three of us straight to Twinkletuft's Wandporium in Faeheim. A damsel called Lilie (and one of the huldufólk by the sparkling violet cheeks) helped Sanderson determine which training wand and starpiece combination suited him best. He had the most triumphant smile on his face when he handed his pick - gingertie wood and a solid crystal cap - over to me so I could complete the tabletwork.

"That's the heaviest training wand I've ever seen," Ambrosine grunted as he scanned his own wand for payment. "The thing isn't liable to break, and in a fight you could block your face with that handle like a lightning rod to resist or outright avoid your fair share of heavy shocks, but are you sure you can carry that all day every day, scuttlebug?"

Sanderson nodded. "And then I can do tricks?"

"You can do magic," I corrected. "If you gave a wand to an elf or dwarf or selkie or leprechaun, all they can manage is 'tricks.' You're a fairy, and you're capable of magic. And you'll learn to fly."

He fluttered his pale wings.

"Aren't you lucky," Lilie told him as his genetic swipe was registered in the wand's core. "It's not everybody who gets to choose their very first one themselves. Name?"

"'Sanderson' will suffice."

"I need both a first and a surname, please. Which is it?"

I squirmed my wings. Will o' the wisp and Anti-Fairy damsels alike passed down their family names. Sanderson had been raised since birth by an Ivorie, which was not a name I ever wished to speak or hear or think about again. Who else could have been his mother? I had never learned Pip's even if breeding outside the Seelie Court wasn't a physical impossibility for me.

While I was a Whimsifinado myself, part of me wanted to remain convinced that Sanderson couldn't truly be a legitimate offspring of mine. Not if I didn't remember mating with a damsel or his fertilization. Not if someone else had wished him into existence and stuffed him inside me because I happened to have the room available, no matter what Ambrosine said. I was a vase and he the arrangement of flowers: carrying him and helping him stand and thrive didn't mean I'd truly created him. I didn't want people to know he shared his surname with me. I didn't want people to ask after his mother. I just wanted to forget.

It was simply that… ever since I was young and raised by a single parent, I'd told myself that if I was ever going to raise nymphs, I wanted a mate by my side to assist me in the work. I really didn't want to place the Whimsifinado name upon him. Admitting in the official records that Sanderson was mine and mine alone meant confirming to myself that my plans had not succeeded. That I had failed. That I was incapable of following the most basic natural behavior in the universe of finding a mate. That I wasn't a real fairy. That I was broken.

Desperately at a loss, and since Ambrosine was distracted, I muttered, "It's actually 'Mister Sanderson' in full. He's a Water year. Just spell it out."

"All right, if that's what you want. I knew a kobold named Fire once."

That was it, or so we thought. The red gingertie wood was stained black to indicate that it was active and legal. But as we were walking out, I turned the wand over between my fingers and spotted my own name engraved faintly among the bark-like pattern near the base.

"Hold on." We went back to the desk. "Excuse me, I think there might be a mistake. This wand is registered under my name."

Lilie smiled in absentminded apology. "I must have pushed a key too fast- it's easily fixed. I'll get another slip and we'll have him spit on the plate again."

I lifted Sanderson onto the counter once more, and when Lilie had stuck the wand in its ivory holster and made the proper sterilized arrangements with the bowl the star cap rested in, Sanderson offered up another dab of saliva.

"What was his name, again?"

"Sanderson."

A minute passed. Lilie tapped her cheek. "That's interesting. The system is refusing to update the file. Well, it is little outdated, and it's never done well with adding new people post the instar stage of development. Allow me to dab his fingerprints in a bit of clay and I'll have someone with a wand poof them off to the Eros Nest so they can be run through their files, and you'll be all set… Rosa? Can you spare a wingbeat?"

I leaned on my folded arms and we waited. Eventually Sanderson's prints were taken and the tablet was sent off. But after a few more minutes, it rematerialized in Lilie's basket with a puff of pink smoke. Lying on top of it was a strip of parchment splattered with an ink question mark. She stared at it, then looked to me again with her brow furrowed.

"I'm sorry. There must be some sort of bug in their system right now, because it's claiming he doesn't exist."

"That… doesn't happen."

"No, it doesn't. Well. The cherubs are still migrating, so I'm sure they're very busy with that. Overuse may be wearing on their system too. Um. If you like, you can keep the wand with your name as-is, or I can hold onto it and try to figure this out, and you can come back at the end of the month and try again."

Having the wand registered in my name meant that Sanderson would be drawing significant power from my life force rather than his. But Ambrosine was watching and I was impatient. And after all, it was only one little training wand. So I said simply, "Hm. I'll take it for now, if that works for you. Thank you for all your help." And we left.

Holding Sanderson in my arms as he waved his wand about, I gulped the taste of cold cloudland air through my nostrils. After over 300,000 years of mostly living away from the world, I was back in business once again, where I rightfully belonged and where I planned to ever remain.

END ACT 1

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 2: LEAP

Persistent Assistant

Spring of the White Sun

The same afternoon that Sanderson obtained his gingertie training wand, and after I'd received my first pair of glasses so that I could recognize distant objects just as well as near ones, I stood him up on Ambrosine's cluttered kitchen table and dusted off his loose-hanging white clothes. "You can feel it, can't you? The raw, loose magic in the air?"

"Uh-huh."

"'Yes, sir'."

"Yes, sir." He straightened up, holding his wand far out from his body. The weight made his stiff arm sag.

I withdrew to the edge of the hallway and locked my hands behind my back. "Now, I am not going to touch you and I am not going to rescue you. Tapping into the proper frequency of the universal energy field is something every nymph of the Seelie Court has to learn to do on their own. But I will start by teaching you my way and we'll see if it fits you. Close your eyes."

He lifted the wand. "Eyes closed."

"Now, I want you to roll them back in your head so that, in theory, they are upside-down."

"Um." Sanderson opened his eyelids to slits. "Not reaching."

"They will. Dig deep."

"But they can't roll. That's silly."

"You have to try. Whenever you fall asleep, your eyes roll back automatically. You just have to do it while you're awake and push them farther than you ever have before. It's simple. It's instinctive. Forget that you are and simply be."

Sanderson squeezed his lids shut and lowered his arm. "I- I can't. I can't see you. Are you still there?"

"I'm still here, Sanderson. Can't you feel my attraction signals in the field?" I politely resisted the urge to strangle him with his own magic lines.

Opening them again, "I'm not doing it. My brain won't let me."

I crossed my arms. "You're not trying. That's your problem. I realize that it seems difficult now, but once you've learned it then it's a simple, simple procedure to repeat. Watch." Shutting my own, I flipped my eyes backwards and then parted the lids again. Several appliances and chairs had been formed of yellow magic as opposed to being crafted by hand, but otherwise I found Ambrosine's kitchen bathed in tints and shades of neutral purple, accented with chunks just waiting to be snapped up, tamed, and then released back into the world. Exception being Sanderson himself, with his pale pink core surrounded by a miserable emerald cloud. His three lines wavered above his head, drinking magic like scrawny straws from this or that concentrated patch of violet. I saw him flinch.

"Your eyes are glowing, and they're weird, I think."

"Yes, they are glowing, and they will show in the dark. Not only that, but switching them on sends light ripples through the energy field - if you're worth enough salt to summon an Anti-Fairy, then you probably felt them when I did it - and it can act as a signal to magical beings that you are nearby. This can either be immensely helpful or very dangerous depending on who or what is in the area. Always be aware of that, and never turn on your field sight in an unfamiliar location unless you are prepared to defend yourself. Now, try again."

I couldn't see anything of Sanderson's expression with my eyes turned on, but I had the feeling that he twisted up his face. "But I thought I was going to learn how to fly and do magic."

"Unless you're wishbirthed and get a heavy glob of magic stuck to your soul upon your arrival into the world, you can't learn either of those things until you master field-sight. And you'd better learn quickly, because about five years after weaning, the lingering effects of Kalysta's nursing milk will leave your body and you'll be grounded for good. There's no artificial substitute for buohyrine, fagigglyne, or cortycus yet, and you won't find a lot of lactating damsels willing to suckle a drake with his adult wings twice a day."

He bent down and set his wand on the table with a light clatter. As I returned my vision to normal, I watched him scrunch himself together with his fists balled. After a few minutes, I began to smell the sweat beneath his arms and in his dirty, sticky hair.

"Alright," I said. I picked up one of the bound stacks of bark strips that I'd brought with us into the kitchen and sat myself down in one of the chairs. "You keep focusing on your eyes, and I'm going to read this text here about nymphs and how they grow. Do not, under any circumstances, let Ambrosine know I was looking at it."

"Okay," he said, his voice still tinged with sulkiness.

"Chapter 1," I said to myself, flipping through the first pages. "Pregnancy. Skip that. Newborns. Nursing. Skip that. Post-instar… Yes, this is it. Hmm… Sanderson, where are you in your development? Do you understand how to kick a ball?"

"What's a ball?"

"I guess we'll work on that later." Sliding my finger upwards, I adjusted my glasses and began to read.

I don't know why I bothered trying; the suggestions were ridiculous. I'd have liked to learn what he was doing wrong in channeling his magic, or maybe how I could secure his absolute devotion. But all the book wanted to discuss was bonding through cuddling and feeding, and teaching nymphs how to have a sense of humor by acting like I was hardly a hundred and sticking a pair of brightly-colored underwear on my head.

That's not even an exaggeration. This was real, professional advice that Ambrosine kept on his shelf with his other therapy things. 30 useless minutes later, I looked between Sanderson and the book, then threw it down and leaned my chair back on two legs. "Nope. I don't get it."

Sanderson continued to struggle. I checked the swinging clock in the hallway- the tall, intricately-carved one that Praxis owned before my father, and his sire before him. I'd chewed heavily on one of its chesberry legs when I was younger, which still left it lopsided, and dragged each passing hour out by an extra fourth of a second.

"Ambrosine will be back from the upholstery shop soon. I'm going to start making dinner. If Emery shows up, do not let on to her that you're having trouble. Seriously." After cracking my knuckles, I pulled out the bowls, whisks, spatulas, and ingredients, still watching him across the kitchen the entire time. He worked through our meal, and through dessert too.

"Keep practicing."

I wrote responses to some of the Dame Fergus's more pressing letters, thanking her crisply for the gloves and scarf and hesitantly stating my uncertainty surrounding the questions of Sanderson's birth and his biological mother. Ambrosine invited several neighbors over for a game of snapjik, and Sanderson worked through that too. He worked until I returned to the kitchen and found him asleep on the table with the transmitting tip of his starpiece in his mouth. Then he worked on Thursday. When Friday came, Ambrosine brought us to the Wish Fixers filing room - I carried Sanderson there in my pouch and out of sight of anyone who might contact the Keepers - then he worked some more.

"He can't do it," I told Ambrosine later that evening as I paced up and down the hall. From the kitchen, Sanderson grunted and whimpered in vain. "He can't do it. I have a nymph who can't channel magic."

Ambrosine, leaning against the nearby wall, didn't look up from his book. "He will."

"At the rate he's plodding along at, it will be too late. He'll be forced to drink nursing milk for the rest of his life if he wants to fly. Worse, what if he hits five years and he turns out to be an actual tomte? What do you expect me to do with a tomte?"

"He's not incapable of channeling like a tomte is. He's just blooming late. Remember how difficult it was for you?"

"Now that you bring it up, no, I don't. I don't remember very much of anything from that time of my life. I've just always known how to do it."

"Fergus, you're going to constrict your windpipe if you keep yanking on your bowtie that way. Let the nymph be. It's going to be okay."

"Dang it, Ambrosine!" I whipped around. "Real life is not like one of your therapy sessions. It's not going to be okay. How could we ever be so thick as to believe it would be? Pathetic. It's bad enough that he exists in the first place. What am I supposed to do with him if he can't even use basic magic? I ought to have drowned him after he was born like I wanted to. We don't need any more tomtes sucking up magic and tax benefits in this city, or anywhere. I may as well have left him for the will o' the wisps."

Ambrosine slammed his book shut and fixed me with a shining sapphire stare. Although he was shorter and thinner than me these days by no small amount, for a flash, I was a juvenile again. "Go to your room."

"What?" I folded up my wings. "You can't punish me. I'm four hundred ninety-one thousand five hundred and forty-two years old."

"I'm not punishing you, I'm negatively reinforcing you by taking away your freedom. Now, go to your room until you learn to behave yourself, or I will throw you back in the streets, since with an attitude like that it's apparently where you belong. You are living under my roof, and I expect you to honor thy father."

"I don't have my own room anymore, still. Or did you forget how you attempted to erase me from existence during a drunk night with some random damsel who knows where? Perhaps you had your fun in my own bedroom. I may not want it back after all."

"Emery," Ambrosine called without taking his eyes from mine, "Come out here and let Fergus have his time-out in your room."

I heard blankets, then feet, then wings. Emery materialized at her door, jaw dangling with the click coins that made up her earrings. "You can't shove him in here again! He'll touch my stuff."

"I probably will," I agreed, pushing past her. "Aside from my first night, when I couldn't find a candle and everything was dark, it's been over three hundred and twenty thousand years. Now, what does this thing do?"

Emery rounded on me. "If you break my springcase, I swear to Kiiloëi…"

I was much larger than she was, and able to plant my hand over her face and push her backwards. Ambrosine watched us squabble like phoenix chicks for a few minutes before he at last extended his hand. "Ferg, Em. Let it go."

Emery wrenched the facial cream dishes away from me. "Can't do it, lovely. He's my brother, for one thing."

"And she's my sister, for another. She was born in a Fire year, wasn't she? It shows."

"I'm floating within earshot, pighead."

"Fergus, give me your chesberry."

I yanked a stack of buttery lagelyn bills from Emery's snatching fingers. "Should I? I rather think I'm old enough to make my own decisions"

He cocked an eyebrow. Reluctantly, I drew my wand from its sheath and handed it over. Ambrosine took it and left the room, and Emery followed him in a huff. I flopped back on the purple bed and kicked one leg aimlessly towards the ceiling.

So, this was how it would be, then. After well over three hundred millennia spent being independent, Fergus Whimsifinado had been grounded.

After a few minutes, Ambrosine buzzed back into the bedroom and thunked a stack of clay tablets onto Emery's vanity desk so hard that several cracked at the bases. The stylus, he shoved into my hand. "Now, you will write - without magic - 'I love my child' in the tiniest scrawl you can muster until all of these have been filled."

"What? I'm not doing that."

"Then you will go without dinner tonight."

I turned my face towards the window, never unclasping my fingers from behind my neck. "Let me. I've never liked the way you pour cereal."

Ambrosine pointed my own wand at the back of my head. I could detect that much movement in the energy field without turning around. Level-voiced, he asked, "Has the time arrived for you to challenge me for my position as dominant drake in this household, gyne? You may have forgotten it, but I fought in the War of the Sunset Divide before you were born. I'm not a hopeless soldier yet."

I continued to stare through the window, my freckled face simmering.

"You say, 'Of course not, Father'."

"I am not, Ambrosine."

"'Of course not, Father'."

I rolled back and dared him on with my eyes. Ambrosine chuckled once and shrugged the blatant insult smoothly off.

"Then don't write it," he said, floating backwards towards the door. He moved his wings in warbled scoops. "Take the urvogel's way out if you wish. You can fix your own breakfast in the morning."

"I'm not an urvogel. If I won't be writing your sentences, may I have my wand back?"

He patted the bulge in his pocket. "Tomorrow. Sleeping with the thing will only give you radiation poisoning. I'll see you in the morning, ready for your second day of work. When you finish alphabetizing that mess of files, I'll have you out gathering contact information for the 'A' surname clients under forty lines of age; we lost all data back when those new scrying bowl and crystal ball updates came out."

I should have asked Lilie if I could exchange Solara's old wand for one made of milbark. Milbark comes when called.

Saturday came. It went. Sunday afternoon found me lying in the new bedroom Ambrosine had poofed up for me in what had before been the old storage room between his bedroom on the left and kitchen on the right. Cozy place, still gray and beige because I couldn't be bothered to paint it anything else. I rested my cheek against my hand, my elbow cushioned in a soft lump of my simple violet bed as I scoured the post-pooferty chapter in another of Ambrosine's child development books. But I had to shove it under my blankets and scramble beneath the pillows for something else to look at when he opened the door. My options were drastically limited.

"Evening, Fergus. Busy reading, I see. Anything good?"

"Just inappropriate things. I'll still be in heat for another nine months. Go away."

He pressed the lenses of his spectacles and peered over my shoulder. "Are those Sanderson's drawings?"

"Yes, he didn't give any of his stick figures clothes. Super inappropriate." Giving up my pretense, I lay the bark strip on my knee. "Can I help you?"

Ambrosine tucked in his wings and crashed lightly on my bed. He locked his forearms behind his neck and let out a sigh in a long, "Ah…" Then he said, "Have I ever told you that you were born the month after I started my second 'interest pursuit' semester at the Academy?"

"Was I," I said without inflection.

"That's right. Autumn break was all scarves and warm soda and slinking around the curfew rules and cuteness. Lots of cereal too. And braiding that beautiful dark blue hair of your mother's."

"Yes, we mustn't forget that part."

"No indeed. I miss those blue-hair days, with all those little white shooting star sparkles… But the same Friday afternoon that school started up again, we found out you were on the way. First try, no less! Solara was so good to me anyway. It was unexpected, but we worked around my pregnant belly. Ah, and we got smarter after that. Not that what happened that night was the first time for either of us, because your old man knew how to charm the damsels with his singing, and that's what the Year of Promise is for, but when it came to each other-"

"Your point?"

I earned myself an amused sideways glance that made me tighten my tongue against my cheek. "I'm sorry. Am I bothering you? Well. Only nine weeks later- wham! … It was a little late for Krisday surprises, but there was our beautiful preemie, wrapped up in a purple midwifing blanket without a bow." He scratched his lower stomach. "When you kicked, I was just walking into therapy class, but even at that age you'd decided that it wasn't for you, apparently. You wanted out. I thought we were going to lose you. Even if you hadn't been scrawny, your hexagonal body didn't fit very well in the fairy nymph clothes we'd picked out for you. Oh, I was mocked horribly for toting your weepy, broken-crowned self up and down the Academy tunnels. Don't worry- I defended you. I bravely ran away. Solara and I would switch off who was caretaker over lunch. She took you to her creative writing and statistics courses."

I turned away from the window that overlooked the backyard. "Solara took me to class with her? Just her? While you weren't around?"

"Mmhm, for a few weeks. Then we'd put you down for your nap while she took scary war history and I went off to self-defense."

"And she wanted to be a writer? For telling stories, with the hero's journey, character development, dialogue, setting and things?"

Ambrosine squinted at the ceiling. "Do you remember all of that?"

My fingers moved to my pink pajama shirt of their own accord as though checking to ensure it was indeed pink and not brown. "When… when I was on Earth, I met a damsel once who thought she had a future in being an author. I read a few snippets of her work to Sanderson. It wasn't too bad, but it wasn't good either. For the sake of dust, don't get me started on how out of character Queen Rachyl was in Chapter 16. She turned away the son she claimed for so long to love- it made no sense, there was no build-up, and it was awful. If I ever wrote a story, I know I could do better. Pull out all the stops, grind the nitty-gritty details into powder, and really show that damsel up in the place and the way it would hurt her most. Then I'd make her eat it."

To my chagrin, Ambrosine ruffled my hair, then replaced his hand behind his head. "Well. You were fairly well-mannered and predictable even as a baby. You would wake from napping at exactly 16:00, on the chime. Most afternoons I exposed you to business willingly, because I had to. It was the only class you never whined in. Probably because Drk. Icate was a sucker for nymphs. I always sat in the front, and when he lectured, he would pace. Every few times he paced in our direction, he would feed you a bite of his pudding or jelly or applesauce. Sometimes I wonder if that's why you turned out to be a gyne."

I wrinkled my nose. "Because I ate jelly in my pre-instar stage? That's absurd."

"It is, and I was referring to the business class anyway." Ambrosine lifted his head just enough to lock his gaze to mine. "They say nymphs forget their early memories as they age, but perhaps you absorbed too much. Maybe if I hadn't brought you there, you wouldn't have become a gyne, hm?"

"What does this have to do with anything?"

"Because I was working with an anti-wraith pilot at Wish Fixers today, with the black 'mustache and goatee' fur. We were speculating why gynes and pilots and Refract plumes crop up, and I had the thought that maybe if I hadn't taken you to those business classes, I could have had a thoughtful and obedient child who would have attended his child development lectures at the Academy in second term like he was supposed to. Then he would know exactly why Sanderson can't channel magic yet, because it probably would have been an essay question on the first of his two exams. I hope you figure it out before he hits the age of five and renders himself a permanent tomte, Fergus. Because I'm not giving any more hints."

He got up and left me then to retire early to his bed as usual. I stopped him at the door. "Ambrosine?"

"Yes?"

I sat up. "It's negative punishment."

"Interesting comment. Might I request clarification on the context?"

"Sending me to Emery's room the other day. That was an attempt at negative punishment. Not negative reinforcement. And technically, I'm not sure it was even that because it doesn't seem to have any effect on decreasing my 'undesirable' behaviors. I prefer reinforcers of lagelyn, if you were wondering. You might get a response out of me then."

Ambrosine studied my lavender eyes as I watched his indigo blue ones. "Ah," he said at last. "That was my mistake. A little slip of the tongue. Happens to the best of us sometimes. I'll see you for breakfast tomorrow."

Then he really did leave. After he had, I rubbed my chin. "Essay question. Hmm…"

For something to be an essay question, it first had to be taught in the class. I reached beneath my covers for the development book, prepared to study every line in the post-instar chapters with renewed vigor, when I heard the creaking of a hinged lid from the kitchen, and the distinctive crinkle of a candy wrapper in the small, pink hands of someone who hadn't been given permission to take it. I craned my neck. "Sanderson, what are you doing out there?"

After a chair had been shoved, a small body had hit the ground, and a series of shuffling footsteps, he poked his head around the door. "Um. I'm practicing."

"You have guilty eyes. You should really cover those if you're going to lie- you read like one of Kalysta's manuscripts. Awkward and predictable." I rolled from the bed and grabbed my lantern, snapping my fingers. "Give up the pretending; I know exactly what's in your mouth. I always know when you're lying to me. Don't forget that."

"No!" He ran away, both palms pressed flat over his lips. I waited for a few minutes, leaning my shoulder to my doorframe, tapping my toe against the lantern so the handle made a pinging noise, until he came scurrying back. "Can I have some milk?"

I took off my glasses (round and oval-shaped as opposed to Ambrosine's half-moon spectacles, the black rims extraordinarily thick) and rubbed between my eyes. "Your face and hands are smeared with chocolate. I can see the shiny wrapper in your pocket. You're not a very good miscreant if I catch you in the act."

"I didn't hurt anyone, though."

"No, but I caught you, and so you'll be punished. I'll have to take your styluses away tomorrow. How is the field-sight practicing really going?"

"Awful! It doesn't work."

"Show me."

Sanderson stared at the ceiling, buzzing his awkward wings. His eyes seemed locked into place.

"I see. And I hope those proper form techniques we started you on yesterday are coming along."

Sanderson tightened his grip on his fat gingertie wand and swiped it through the air.

"No, that's clumsy. Magic backlash would easily send your wand flying. Try the McKinley grip. I assure you, it's the best." Kneeling down, I took his wand and tilted it back, then sharply forward again. "Hold tight here at the halfway point, thumb on top and middle curled around the back, close to the bottom. Pinky underneath. Index straight behind and horizontal for support."

"But what's the point in anything? I can't make my eyes go backwards, so I won't make magic ever!" He threw down his wand so it clattered against the blue-black stone. "Oh, blitz this! Blitz all of it! I'll never get it right."

I almost moulted my wings. From the other side of the hall, I actually heard Emery fall off her (my) bed laughing. Swiping Sanderson up from the ground, I covered his chocolatey mouth with my palm. "Sanderson, you can't say that."

"Mmhm? Bleh. Bleh. I can't say 'I'll never get this'? Why? Oh…" He nodded sagely. "Because having a bad attitude won't help me succeed in life. I see."

"'Blitz', Sanderson," I said impatiently. "You can't say 'blitz'."

"Why, what's it mean?"

As I set him down, I stared at the ceiling and rubbed my throat. "It's just not a word I want to hear, even when we're alone. And especially not out in public where there are other people. You might hurt their feelings."

He tipped his head. "But you say it all the time."

"Yes, and I shouldn't. I'll fix that… Now, because you didn't know, I'm going to do nothing. I think you've learned your lesson. But if I hear that word come out of your mouth again, I'll twist your wings."

Sanderson squeaked and agreed at once, backing towards the wall. I stared down at him for a moment before upturning my hands. He came running and wrapped his arms around my torso, squealing his apologies. I scratched my chin. Then I took up the lantern again.

"I have an idea that might help you with your magic. A different approach than the wand thing. May I see your core?"

"What's my core?"

"Right. Hmm." Snapping my fingers for him to follow me, I made my way down the hall towards the washroom. Once Sanderson had come in, I lifted him to shoulder level and pointed at the mirror. "Who's that?"

Too young and shy to answer, he put his face in my pajama shirt. I turned his chin forward and said again, "Who's that?"

"Ehiyeh. Some guys."

"That's you."

"Nooo," he said, his voice tipped with patient laughter.

"Yes, that's you, and that's me holding you. This is a mirror, like in your nursery rhyme about fagiggly glands going bad and turning Anti-Fairies into food preservatives and jungle cats, before they crystallize into Fairies and their counterparts bloom to an unstable state like chocolate. For the purposes of this discussion, it shows us the way we appear to others." After placing the lantern on the counter's edge, I waved at the figures in the mirror. Then I took Sanderson's arm and used it to make him wave at his. "Now, touch your reflection."

He leaned forward and put his palm to the glass. For a moment, he experimented, touching the glass in various places and saying hellos to himself. Then he pulled back, staring at me in awe. "Did you figure out mirrors? You're smart."

"Someone else did, but I thank you for the compliment. It's very polite." I shifted him in my arms so I was holding him with just my left one across his chest, his feet dangling against my upper thigh. With the other hand, I motioned towards my head. "Now, there are three points of a magical being that form the soul: the lines, the hands, and the core."

"I have hands." He held them up. "These are my hands. One and two hands. I like the left hand best. Plus, I have eight fingers. One, two, three, four, eight, seven, six, five."

"That's right; you're very smart. Mother Nature gave you your hands, and with them, your body. Running through your body are veins of physical blood so that you might learn to walk and fly in her domain. Do you remember when I told you the story of how King Nuada lost his hand in the days of the Great Dawn, before the Sealing War? To Sreng?"

"Uh-huh. Oh. Yes sir. Then someone fixed it with silver."

I nodded. "You're a good listener. Hands are essential to any magic user. While you can perform magic so long as you remain in contact with a starpiece, hands are the only point of your body where your magic can escape in large enough doses to be useful. Injure your hands, and your magic will struggle. Actually, the hands are the only point on the body that will take real damage from a magical blow, if they're hit directly from the wrist down. Shoot someone with a magical blast or slice them across the palm of their right hand, and you can scramble their lines, effectively cancel their magic, and drop them to their knees in a matter of wingbeats."

Sanderson shivered. "Hurting hands is bad."

"Yes, hurting someone's hands is sometimes considered the ultimate offense, as having injured hands is thought to be among the biggest shames. Second only to having your soul sent to The Darkness upon your death and thus rendering your magic incapable of cycling back through the energy field for future generations to draw upon."

"What's any of that mean?"

I tilted my head to one side, then the other. "Well, the worst death for a Fairy is dying dustless. For example, if you kill a unicorn, then the universe marks you to have a dustless death, even if you don't die for a very long time after you do it. A nymph with flight casings on his wings doesn't leave dust, and neither does a selkie or a swanee who disobeys the one who wears their sealskin coat or feathered robe. Or if a cù sith steals your soul and you die in its body, which is no easy task, then The Darkness will find your core and steal you away. Did I ever tell-"

"Wait." He held up a hand and gave me that no-nonsense look he thought he was good at and really wasn't. "A nymph with flight casings on his wings dies a dustless death?"

"They say that, but I've never seen one and so I don't have proof of this. Don't interrupt me."

"But didn't you-"

"Did I ever tell you about inrita poison?" I started again. "Inrita poison is a thin, black substance produced under the tongues of brownies, and it kills all magic. The Molpa-Pel used the stuff to overcome the Tuatha Dé Danann in the Sealing War, may the Lost Ancients return from their underground prison. That's why you must never, ever kiss a brownie, Sanderson. A 'good' brownie is passive, and you could legally end up behind bars for taking advantage of her if someone chooses to sue. As for the bad ones, one brownie bite will kill you within fifteen minutes. There won't even be enough magic left in you to make lifedust. Going dusty is an honor, not always the rule."

"But why's the dustless kind like the worst death?" he asked, sticking two fingers in his mouth. "You're still dead, right?"

His weight was beginning to wear on me. I shifted him again. "Dying dustless is shameful because then the magic in your lifedust can't become useful to others. And usefulness, Sanderson, is the most important thing in the universe." I turned my attention from his reflection to his quiet square face. "All things die. Even us, whom the alien species call 'immortal' because we're resistant to so many things that would be the death of them, and we outlive them by hundreds of millennia. I wasn't going to tell you this yet, but the more you use your magic, the more strain it places upon your body, and the more your core ages, and the closer it comes to giving out."

"'Giving out'?"

"Yes. That's partly why I don't like to waste magic. It's how we Fairies age. Eventually, you will grow old and lose the ability to channel magic for yourself. Your body will decay around you. That's entropy. However, so long as you die a death of dust, your magic flows back to the energy field, so your children and others can channel it for useful things."

"I want to be useful," Sanderson whispered. "I really, really want to be useful. It's the most important thing."

"Yes, it is. What else was I saying before we were sidetracked on this topic?"

"Hands."

"Hands, yes. As for the second part of the soul, Father Time granted you the gift of your lines, and with them your magic, your mind, your experiences, and your lifeforce. If you ever see someone do this" - I held my hand in front of my nose, palm facing out, fingers splayed, thumb curled - "while they sit on their knees with their eyes shut and dome open, it means they are under the protection of prayer, meaning that it's offensive to the Tuatha Dé Danann, may the Lost Ancients return from their underground prison, if you should hurt them. You could get your soul stolen by a cù sith. Some Fairies believe that by attacking someone in prayer, you might die dustless on the spot. However, again, I can't confirm this. I don't think anybody can. We're all cowards, when it comes down to it. Cowards or prideful."

"Hands for body, lines for life, from Mother Nature and Father Time. Um." He tapped on my bristled chin. "What about my core?"

I hesitated, mulling over my options, then settled on, "You made your core."

Sanderson's eyes widened. "I didn't mean to. It was an accident!"

Shaking my head, I said, "No, there's nothing wrong with it, and you don't need to apologize for things that are biological instinct anyway. You were just doing exactly what you were supposed to. See? And it all worked out. There's lots of stuff that doesn't work out, but so long as you put effort into your life, things certainly won't be as bad as they might have been. Hmm. I know. Do you remember when you were three months old, and you woke up squealing because that swirl of golden vapor was forcing its way into your mouth and nose?"

"Maybe?" he offered, reaching towards the mirror again.

"That was the Dame Sanderson, or her 'lifemist', anyway. And the Anti-Sanderson followed suit in his purple-gray cloud of lifesmoke, although I did check with Kalysta and it would seem he missed Friday the 13th by an unusual amount of days. He swept into your head so he could absorb your soul."

"Why?"

I let my gaze trail away to the violet towels dangling from their hooks in the corner of the washroom. "He needed to, or else he couldn't survive- he's formulated out of the magic that was left over when you were brought to life. Raw, natural magic. Purple magic, meaning that he'll die when you do."

"Why?" he asked again through a yawn.

"Because you share the same core now. You're synced up. He may not necessarily take on every inch of physical damage that you do, unless your sync is particularly strong, but he'll certainly suffer larger injuries. Anti-Sanderson swallowed your core, he familiarized himself with your personality, he did what he had to in order to reflect it like this mirror in front of us, and he went on his way back to the location where his mother birthed him. All within the course of ten wingbeats."

Sanderson touched his temple. "So, magic lines help me not die, and hands help me use my magic. What does the core do?"

"I was getting to that," I said, bringing my eyes back to our reflections. My grip tightened around his chest. "Your core is a very physical thing that grounds you to this plane of existence. Without it and the lines that connect you to the energy field, you would float off into the heavens or dissipate downwards into The Darkness."

He chewed nervously on the sleeve of his pajama shirt until I stroked his black hair.

"Your core always starts out as a small, glowing speck when you're born. It's a representative of the deepest trait of your soul- the one you share with your Unseelie counterparts: the Anti-Sanderson and the Dame Sanderson, as I before mentioned."

His irises had nearly taken up the entire space within his eye sockets. "What's my core trait?"

"I don't know yet. Some Fairies never learn theirs. But when you know it… You know."

"Oh. Okay. Do you know yours?"

"Not yet."

"Well, when you know, you'll know, okay?"

I nodded and smoothed out the creases in my pink shirt. "Like I said, your core is only a glowing white dot for the first three months of your life. But after the Unseelie finish absorbing it, then it begins to grow."

"What does it grow into?"

"It can grow into anything. Anything that's not alive. Anything that's not too big. Anything your subconscious decided it wanted. An energy supply, a light source, navigational equipment, a tracking radar, a cooling device, plain empty storage space, a ring for your keys, a can opener, a cup holder. I met a goblin with an egg-beater once. Sometimes the design shifts very slightly by the day depending on your mood, but the 'what' never really changes. It just… is. It's a vague indication of who you are."

Sanderson studied his checkered blue pants and bare foot, then looked beneath his armpit. "So where is it?"

"Right here." I rested my palm on his head and, in a way I realized then that I hadn't done since the day he was born and I tied in his lines, I took his hair and used it to pull open his dome. "See it? In the mirror?"

He squeaked and grabbed for my fingers, then had second thoughts and trusted me to know what I was doing. "I think so. It's- it's that bluey-gray thing?"

"Look at that," I murmured. "You've got a stylus sharpener. That makes sense, given how much you were drawing at that age. That'll be an especially useful one now that we have Ambrosine and Wish Fixers."

"Oh, so that's my core," he said, reaching into his head chamber.

I took his hand away. "No, Sanderson. Don't touch your core directly."

"Why?"

"It's very sensitive."

"Your ears turned red like they did when I said the word I'm not supposed to say," he informed the mirror in a curious voice.

"I am not having this conversation with a nymph. Touching your core might burn or skin your fingers. Or you could squeeze it and pop your lines, or contaminate it with sickness. Basically, your core is a thing to make use of, not a thing to play with. It's just bad luck, somewhat disgusting, and most of all, simply not done."

Sanderson tilted his head to the left as I flapped my collar. "What's your core?"

Shrugging, seeing no reason to lie, I used both hands to push back my dome. With a thought and a twitch of magic, my hefty core unfolded from the fleshy red interior of my head, squeaking with enamel and calcium that had formed itself a lot better than my crown had.

"I have this laser cannon." Then my eyes rotated down and focused on him. Sanderson had instantly flattened himself to his stomach on the counter, his face a mask of panic. "Sanderson?"

"Don't point that at me!"

I withdrew my small cannon. My lid folded shut. "Sanderson, I wouldn't hurt you with my lasers."

"Yes you would! You twisted my wings! You always twist my wings!"

I took him in my arms again and rubbed behind his ear. "Oh, you still remember that? See, that's different. Sometimes I hurt you because I'm teaching you a lesson, understand. I always have reasons for the things I do. I would never, ever hurt you 'just because'. Even if I did shoot you with a magic laser, you would heal quickly. Magic has little to no effect on magical objects or other magical beings. It's a rule."

"Oh, yeah. Magic doesn't work on magic people."

"Well, it does. There are conditions and exceptions depending on what's going on; for example, you can trigger someone else's fagiggly gland with pink magic, which is the only type of magic that draws power from your core and stamina. Or, if you've disconnected a limb in the wrong place and severed your veins, then reattached the limb and shortly thereafter fallen asleep in contact with a starpiece, it's extremely difficult to remove again for thousands of years. I don't know why you would want to anyway, unless maybe you were attempting to correct the resulting shapeshifting problems. And, if a magical being is asphyxiating because there are no particles of magic in their blood, then they're technically considered to be 'not magical' and will die from a magical attack." I briefly took my hand from the back of his neck so I could wave it. "The precise details are something you'll study in the Academy one day, if not in upper school. For all intents and purposes, you would quickly recover if you took a blow from my lasers. Believe me, I've had my share of dominance fights, and I've experimented."

Sanderson clung to my neck. His noises softened. "I'm safe with you?"

"Safe as you can be, I suppose. I won't promise that you're not going to get hurt when I'm around, but so long as you're good and you listen to me, then I see no reason why I can't look after you. I looked after you in Kalysta's burrow, didn't I?"

He nodded. Rubbing his eyes, he yawned and said, "So, did your soul build your core cannon for like, attacking stuff or for defending people?"

I stared down at his forehead for several long wingbeats. "You know, I have no idea. I've never thought about it." Then I adjusted him, because he had leaned over and placed his head against my chest, fingers tight in my shirt folds. I returned him to the counter. "Now, let's get this party started. I brought you in here in the first place with the intent to help you. You're still struggling to pull energy from the field and convert it into magic, so I want to try a new approach. I just told you about pink magic, didn't I?"

"Kind of?"

"Close enough. Now, I want you to activate your core. This requires pink magic and is supposed to be more difficult than the yellow you should have managed through the excitement of using your wand for the first time, but since pink magic requires less energy from your lines and more energy from the inner store of power you use to float, it's technically a different concept and so we'll see what happens."

Sanderson scrunched his face in that way he apparently liked to do and swung one of his legs. His heel bumped against the wooden cabinet door below him. "Activate my core? How do I do that?"

"You stop thinking. Yellow magic is the color of acceptance, blue is for defense, green is panic, red is concern for life, purple is the color of natural biology, and pink is the color of instinct." I held up both my hands. "Lay your palms against mine."

"Palms?"

"The soft front, wrinkled part of your hands."

He grinned and did so. "Yeah, I have two of those."

"Yes, you do. Touch them to mine, and try not to think too hard. Let yourself relax. Don't fret too much. Just do."

After six and a half minutes, Sanderson withdrew his hands. "I'm just too hopeless, though."

I rubbed my temples. "You're not hopeless. You're just a tad high-strung. You can't be hopeless. Please oh please don't be hopeless." Then I snapped my fingers and straightened up. "Wait a minute. I know. Focus all your attention on your core, as you were just doing. But this time, I'm going to give you SHAMPAX."

"Huh?"

"I'm going to Share Magic to Prevent Asphyxiation," I said, leaning against the counter with my face near his. "Like I shared magic with you when we were walking through the snow towards the Bridge. Only, instead of keeping you from asphyxiating, I'll give you a burst of magic that you ought to be able to pick up and channel. Open your mouth."

"Li'e dis?"

"Just like that, but close it when I say. Remember to concentrate on your core. Normally I would have you close your dome to help you retain the magic, but for now we'll make an exception." When he had nodded and closed his eyes, I drew in air, ran it up through my system and down again, and then blew a thin stream of it into his mouth. "Do it now!"

Sanderson pinched his lower lip between his teeth and squeezed my fingers. After about eleven seconds, light whirring filled the air as the calcium stylus sharpener inside his head flickered into life. My face cracked in a grin as I peeked within his dome.

"Sanderson, you're doing it! Didn't I say it? I told you over and over again that you weren't a hopeless case. You just needed some practice, is all. And look at you now! If we could just get you to do the same thing through a wand with yellow…"

"I did it! I did the magic," he shouted, and then he leaned over and threw up goop that was so pale purple, it was nearly gray. It splattered over his checkered pajama pants and the rocky floor. With an unsurprised sigh, I shut his lid, placed him in the metal washtub, and pulled off his shirt.

"Well, that happens. Your body isn't used to channeling magic yet. Now, you stay sitting right there. I'm going to head out and get water to wash you."

"You're leaving?"

"Only for a minute," I assured him. "There's a well at the end of the street that draws rain crystals up from the clouds below. I can't afford to poof up water with Ambrosine on edge about my wand usage as it is." And, it had been too long since I'd really delved into my magic. I didn't want to mess up in front of Sanderson. Not the best time for his self-esteem.

Sanderson started to climb over the edge of the tub. "I want to come."

I took him under the arms and put him back inside. "No. Stay right there. You're messy. You'll get mess everywhere."

His face tightened with alarm. "Don't leave me! Bad stuff always happens when you leave. Bad people will come hurt me! Walt is mean to me. He pushed me in the water. Kalysta gave me crackers that were sharp one time. Sometimes when I nap you sneak away and I think you're dead. I try to find you but I run too fast and I scratch my hands on the walls. When you- when you- when you- when-"

"Slow down, Sanderson. I don't like stuttering."

He hit his hands against the tub wall, which stretched above his forehead. "When you go to the waste cave, Jakey says mean things about you, and Otto throws me in the sky and grabs me tight, and Ever pulls my hair, and Idona chases me, and Ambysine tickles me until I hurt. He tickled me all night until I ran away! And- And- And you were going to leave me in the hole and fly away one time after the big party, she said. Then you flewed and didn't come back for ten hours. You left me in the snow and it hurt and I felt sick for a long time and my eyes went dark and I was scared."

Rubbing my cheek, I said, "I left you in the snow because you turned around and walked the other direction when I specifically ordered you not to. It's your own fault that you hurt yourself." I snapped my fingers twice. "Just stay here for three minutes. I'll be right back."

"Don't leave!"

I floated into the hallway, but returned when he immediately started to cry in that irritating way I'd hoped he'd grown out of months ago. "Oh," I realized then, wanting to smack myself between the eyes. It had been too long since my school days (though in my defense, it wasn't a topic much touched upon). "You're the offspring of a gyne, and since you lack the freckles, you have to be a drone. That's right. Then if memory serves, drones often have limited concept of object permanence, along with a few other mental inhibitions. Urgh. Let's see what we can do about this." I stuck only my head through the doorway. "Emery?"

The background springcase music ended abruptly with a squeal. A few wingbeats later, her doorknob rattled. It sounded like she was flipping open multiple new locks. Then her pale face appeared around the frame, squinting and wary.

"Can you either poof up a bucket of water for us or draw one from the well? Sanderson needs me to stay with him."

She pursed her lips. "How about, I'll stay with him while you get the water?"

"Would you? That would benefit me greatly. He's covered in sickly sludge and if you want to watch him, all the better."

On cue, Sanderson emptied his stomach again.

"You can stay with him," Emery decided, and skimmed off after grabbing the two empty pails on the washroom floor. About five minutes later, she brought them back. "What are you doing?"

I had given Sanderson back his wand, and he was standing in the tub, leaning his entire body back so his head touched the wall, and grunting with the effort of straining his eyes. "He's still struggling to channel his magic," I sighed. "The most he's managed to do is activate his core for a couple of seconds. Then he threw up."

Emery put down the pails and took up her springcase from where she'd set it by the wall. "Still? Huh. Has he-?"

"If you're about to say something insulting, I don't want to hear it."

She placed her bow against the springcase strings and made them sing. I tried to block out the noise, though Sanderson turned his curious attention towards it. "I was just going to say, that's weird at his age. Has he ever gotten them back before?"

Tightening my teeth, I shook my head. "Unfortunately, it seems to remain out of his grasp. He isn't a tomte, though. We got his core running."

"Ohh… Well, that's easy to fix." Still playing the instrument, she brought her face near Sanderson's. "You have to lick him."

I choked on my own saliva. "I have to what?"

"Lick him. Stimulate his lines to go tingle-fritzy. Nymphs can't really use magic until you shake the backup out of their lines, unless they're wishbirthed. That's why like, tomtes and will o' the wisps drakes usually can't use magic or fly. It has to be done within the first five years, before their lines seal over." Emery's eyes softened. Finally laying down her springcase, she kissed Sanderson's forehead. "Poor precious. You were squeezing out every last drop past the blockage that you could, weren't you?"

"Uh-huh."

With a laugh, she scrubbed his black hair. "It's not your fault that your daddy's an idiot, huh?"

"I'm not his 'daddy'. Please don't plant that idea in his head. I don't want him to call me that. Sanderson, call me Mr. Fergus."

"'Mr. Fergus'?" he asked.

"'Mr. Fergus'?" Emery asked.

I scowled at her. "Yes? I call Ambrosine by his first name. Now, are you going to lick him or what?"

Emery retreated to the washbasin and offered a wave of her hand. "The honor's all yours, papa. Bit too intimate of a gesture for the auntie, I think."

Groaning inwardly, I picked up the first pail as she picked up her song again. "Come here, Sanderson." He scooted over on his rear. I dunked the cold water over him, shocking him into crying again. When I snapped my fingers twice, he at least calmed down somewhat and clung to my forearm. After I'd dabbed off some remaining clumps of sickness, I leaned over the side of the tub. Then I pulled back and fixed Emery with a cold stare. "This isn't a trick to make me look dumb, I hope."

"Squeeze my core and hope to die, snip my lines and drink them dry."

"Okay, if you say so." Again, I brought my tongue near Sanderson's face. After a few wingbeats of hesitation, I rasped it over his skin. "How long do I have to do this?"

Emery let out a disbelieving noise. "Just until his eyes roll back into field-sight, duh. Nymphs can't do it themselves the first time, but after the eyes get loosened up once, it's easier. Seriously, did you never take a reproduction and health class in upper school?"

"I alternatively slept through it or worked on my math problems," I said between licks across his left cheek. "I was smart enough to pass all my classes without trying, so I never bothered to learn any of the actual material. And I never thought I'd be raising a nymph without a mother. Honestly, I don't think I missed much- Ambrosine taught me everything I really needed to know, and the class covered a disgusting topic in a room brimming with over-emotional damsels and flirtatious drakes."

She paused to kneel beside me, laying her head on her crossed arms against the tub. After a moment she said, "Well, you're doing fine. Kind of get all over the face. Just follow your instincts. See? That's exactly how it's done. You're a good father."

"I feel stupid," I said as I moved to Sanderson's parted lips.

"And his mother probably felt the same way the first time she breastfed him."

"Trust me, I know she didn't. Oh, disgusting!" I wrenched back my head, rubbing my sleeve over my mouth. "He touched his tongue to my tongue. Sanderson, don't do that."

"Why, Mr. Fergus?"

"You smell and taste like barf."

"Why?"

"Because lighting up the magic particles in your blood for the first time since you were born panicked your body's immune system and made you sick."

"Why?"

"That's just how things happen. Stop asking me pointless questions." I ran my fingers through my hair, grimacing at Emery's smothered giggles behind me. "How do your lines feel? Are you close to flipping your eyes yet?"

"It'll probably be another ten minutes," Emery said, pushing herself back into the air. Her wings hummed until they didn't, so I figured she had settled on the counter with her springcase again. "Keep at it. And when it happens, just stay and watch him on the off chance he gets so 'fritzy that he needs SHAMPAX. They'll roll back into place once his lines calm down again."

"Fine. Thanks. Don't wriggle so much, Sanderson. You're making this weird."

"Okay." He slung his wrists over the side of the washtub and drew his whole face inward when he squeezed his eyes shut. As Emery played her music, I placed two fingers behind his head and licked. Sanderson tried to help, licking my face back, until he finally scratched his tongue one too many times on my coarse chin hairs and gave up.

I was beginning to drift off into sleep from lack of stimulation when a small wave of magic brushed my skin. Upon opening my eyes, I found Sanderson's glowing light violet.

"There we go. And about time, too. You've got it now, Sanderson."

He turned his head back and forth, lower lip quivering. "I- I want it to stop. Mr. Fergus? Where did you go?"

"I'm right here, exactly where I've been this whole time."

He swung towards my voice, gasping softly, and then broke into whimpering again when he must have realized I was a shifting whirlpool of purple and yellow rather than dressed in my pink pajamas. When the crying came on, I lay my hand on top of his head.

"Stop that, Sanderson. I'm right here."

"I can't see you!"

"You don't need to see me. Feel my hand. It's not any different from when you lie in bed with me. I'm touching you, and you can hear my voice through your ears. And Emery's music- you can hear Emery's nice music, can't you?"

"I don't like how my eyes are messed up," he said. He put out his arms. I drew him from the washtub and sat on the floor with him in my lap, clinging to my collar.

"And I was just about to use the basin," I grumbled.

Emery lifted her wings. "Would you like me to take him out so you can have a minute of privacy?"

"I want to stay with Mr. Fergus," Sanderson mumbled into the folds of my shirt.

"Very well. Sanderson, I'll let you stay with me, as long as it stops your horrid crying."

His whimpering eased away. He tightened his grip around my neck, which I'd thought wouldn't be possible.

"I'm not sure that's the best thing to teach him."

I shrugged, still holding Sanderson's head with its awkward equiangular sides to my shoulder. "There are worse things he could beg for. So long as this keeps him quiet, it doesn't really matter to me. I can't stand the sobbing. I heard far too much of it over the last year."

The three of us sat together on the washroom floor until Sanderson's panic and, eventually, his tingle-fritziness faded down. His eyes slid back into place. He nearly began to cry in relief when he realized his vision had returned to its normal colors and details (Note: I should mention that my definition for what constitutes as crying is "choked gasping" because pixies, certainly, do not cry).

"I didn't like that, Mr. Fergus. I don't want to do magic anymore."

"You certainly don't need to do it every time you channel, but it's still a very important thing to know. Like… If you or someone else nearby is struggling to drink magic, you need to be able to slip into field-sight and determine what the problem is. If you want to figure someone's age, you can count their lines, subtract three, and multiply them by 11,250, and you'll be close enough. Although that's only really effective from early adolescence onward- children age too quickly and then hover about in the pre-adolescent years for far too long." Better than being stuck in their rebellious phase for extra eons, I supposed.

"I can't count to 11,250. I only know nine numbers. Or ten. I don't know how many. That is too much numbers."

"No, but you will someday," I said, absently scratching behind his ear. "Or… if you're about to mate, sometimes it's nice to keep an eye on your lines so you don't become so tingle-fritzy that you disconnect all of them from the energy field and begin to asphyxiate. Drakes have to be especially careful when mating is concerned- we always run at least a slight risk of going dusty if we don't hit yellow. If you're really good at using field-sight, then when you're even older than I am, you can use it a bit like a scrying bowl, in small doses. A scrying bowl lets you see people and places far away. Now, when you wake up tomorrow, we'll practice again with your wand."

"Time to asleep now?"

"Yes. Let's find you a clean pajama shirt and get you put to bed."

He loosened his grip on my neck. I scooped him up and made my way down the hall. Emery replaced her springcase in her room, but I suppose her damsel instincts must have been flaring up, because she came back to check on us as I lay down on my pillow beside Sanderson.

"Emmy?" Sanderson asked when he saw her. "Will you make those sounds again? They go up and down like this." He made a wave motion with his arm.

"Oh, sweetie, I took apart my springcase and locked it away for the night. But maybe your daddy- er, Mr. Fergus will sing you to sleep."

I opened one eye. "I don't sing. I've never sung in my life, I'm tired, and I want to go to sleep. You should do it. I guarantee your voice is prettier than mine. It'll sound more like his milkmother's."

As I finished, he made a choking noise that suggested the sickly gray goop from before was creeping up his throat again. Emery took him in her arms. "Back to the tub, Sanderson."

Instantly he was kicking, bubbling gray at the mouth. "No! Don't let her steal me, Mr. Fergus! Help! Help! You're letting her get away! Why do you do these things to me? Why are you like this? Rescue me!"

After three more minutes of screaming, which Ambrosine snored through as he tended to, I unfolded my pillow from around my ears and dragged myself out from under my blanket. Rubbing my temples with the forefinger and thumb of my left hand, I joined them in the washroom. While I was at least braced against the doorframe, he maintained his calm and pleasant disposition.

"He really doesn't do very well when he can't see you or taste your attraction signals and imprint," Emery observed as she wiped Sanderson's mouth with a green washcloth.

"Drones are like that."

"Oh, right. You're a gyne. You can only have drone or gyne kids- no regular, normal kabouters like me and Ambrosine and most Fairies. Eep, I hope it doesn't become a problem as he gets older."

I yawned. "He's two and a half months shy of being a year old. It's only a phase. He'll grow out of it eventually."

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 2: LEAP

Spoonful of Sugar

Autumn of the Splitting Salt Canyons - Summer of the Jagged Lightning

Lowering myself to the floor specifically so I could tap my worn slipper against the dark stones of the keeping room, straightening my floating mint green nightcap, I cleared my throat. "Mister Sanderson, you have been charged with possession of unreasonable irritability, the robbery of plastic keys from the bottoms of cereal boxes, and the murder of half a dozen well-meaning potted plants. How do you plead?"

The tablecloth had gone to white streamers. Overturned cereal boxes, the cardboard torn in massive chunks, were scattered across the floor among dozens of crushed grain pieces. Potted plants lay uprooted and crumpled, deprived of Earth-imported soil. The tablets I'd been working over late last night had been splintered, along with several of my styluses. Sanderson stayed where he was, flat on his stomach behind the cereal boxes on the highest cupboard shelf, his wings fluttering at his back. He stuck his small tongue out at me.

"Not guilty, fartbag. You can't prove anything. It was Snobulacs. They were working for Cupid. He has my yoo-doo doll. He made me. He probably made you old and dumb and slow too."

I lifted my eyebrows, three assorted sarcastic snips balanced on the tip of my tongue, but Ambrosine leaned over the arm of his chair and tapped my elbow using the tip of his ipewood staff without even looking up from his novel, and I managed to keep my voice even and quiet.

"No more composing concertos for a month, young drake." Or struggling to compose them, anyway- Sanderson wasn't entirely the creative type, and the inspiration for his pieces erred on the side of 'Let me clang my spoon against the table 400 times until I decide whether this note is an F-sharp or an F-flat or F-natural or multiple notes combined'.

Sanderson bared his teeth in a snarl, and then went through with it. He repositioned himself behind the last of his boxes. "I don't care, you big fat hippie wannabe. You're as old as the Rhymepyrian musical staff. You're not the boss of me without my say-so."

"Do you dare ask what I do with Terrible Two-ers?"

"Threaten me all you like! I scoff at your empty accusations! You wouldn't dare strike me, and you're an urvogel! I am a free and independent soul! I yearn to soar!" So saying, he launched himself from the cupboards and buzzed his wings. He'd taken naturally to flying, even with the late arrival of his wand and his unusual wing structure. We'd found it was easier for him to spin them than it was to mimic the sweeps of Ambrosine's and Emery's. He lighted himself on the counter beside the back door and reached out, clawing at the locked knob.

"I tear off their wings and I cut off their hands, scrambling the connection of the only part of their body that can channel magic," I finished calmly.

Instantly, his personality flipped. Sanderson toppled face-first from the counter and collapsed, sobbing, on the floor. He wasn't kicking and screaming- just shaking and whining about how life is so difficult when you're two and all of us hated him and everything was precious and pure. Ambrosine glanced briefly up to make eye-contact with me. Straightening my bowtie, I walked over and lay on my side beside him. I propped my elbow up and rested my cheek in my hand.

"Me too, my friend. I have so many appointment reminders to write to clients and tax reports to file. You've got a storm coming- you have no idea."

Sniffling, Sanderson crawled over and lay his ear to my chest. "It's so hard, you know, Mr. Fergus. Managing my time. I need to play with my alphabet blocks, and draw a new picture for the fridge, and take a nap, and eat my vegetables, and read three whole story books, and go to bed early. What about my needs?"

"What you need is a bath. You're gross. And, you haven't eaten since lunch yesterday."

Sanderson flopped dramatically over, flinging the back of his hand against my cheek. He slid it down. "What's the point? Why are we here? We all die one day anyway. I've become a slave to routine, another name to be crossed-off on the to-do list of misery authored by the gods of Life and Fate."

"Well, you're a downer today." I rolled back to my feet. "I'll make you some cereal. Do you want a white bowl or an off-white bowl?"

"I want black, to match who I really am inside."

"Too bad. You're getting white, to match how little I care."

Sanderson jumped to his feet, wings bristling. They rubbed together so fast, they chirped like an imp's. "You don't understand me! Get out of my life!"

"Raisin Mix or Circle Snaps?"

"Circle Snaps."

"Go sit at the table."

"Fight me! You don't control me!

I gestured to him with a spoon as I took the box down from the cereal shelf. "Your self-esteem is too high. I'm going to make you do fraction conversions between the Yugopotamian and Boudacian numerical systems until you hate mouthing off. If that doesn't get you kissing my feet and groveling for forgiveness, I might just have to leave you outside in the cold until your twelve hours are up."

"You mean like that time before I lost my flight casings when you tried to send me to The Darkness?"

"Oh my dust, are you still going on about that?" When I realized Emery was staring at me, I finished with, "One of my friends told him a scary story too close to his bedtime once."

Sanderson upturned both hands in my direction as I poured his breakfast. "Ambysine, this is bad parenting. Tell him he's bad and then take me for yourself."

"Please." I sat down with my daily Central Star Region news, printed on threedspiral papyrus instead of scratchy bark strips. "He can have you."

"Not my nymph," he said over his juice. "Before noon on Friday, I'm off-duty."

I looked at Emery.

"Your kid, your problem. Just muscle through it. He's only got eleven hours and forty-five minutes to go."

So this had only been going on for fifteen minutes, then. I rubbed my forehead with the heel of my hand. Sanderson was still standing across the kitchen by the back door. "Eat your cereal," I said.

"Make me, geriatric giant."

I considered making him. Then I returned my attention to my stocks. "I slaved the last minute and a half over a nice bowl of cereal, and this is how you choose to disrespect me."

"Bawk, bawk, bawk," he spat, wings whirring.

Without looking, I spun my chesberry over my shoulder. Sanderson yelped as a cloud of warm magic took him by the ankles, flipped him upside-down, swept him to the table, and deposited him in his chair. As he scrambled to sit up on his knees, both hands flat to the table, mouth accusingly pursed, I brought my coffee to my lips. "So, stocks are down in Sugarslew. They've been tanking for awhile; even my idea of el cost averaging has been taking hits. This could get interesting."

"I suspected they might be. How about Dulcina Harvest?"

I flipped the page. "Struggling with the snows coming on Earthside, but no more than usual."

"Oh!" Emery, still chewing, covered her mouth with her palm. "Check out Glamour Amour for me. It's on the Eros page."

"And presumably dead, like your hopes and dreams."

"Or like your bank account, freckles."

"Or her chances at marrying within our lifetimes," muttered Ambrosine.

I clicked my fingers and pointed across the table. "Kraka-boom."

Sanderson abruptly burst into pseudo-tears. "See, everyone hates me! I wish I was never born!"

"You're not alone."

Ambrosine snapped to attention. "Fergus!"

"What?" I folded up my newsrus. "If you think I'm going to deal with him in this state, you are severely mistaken. I have things to do."

Sighing through his teeth, Ambrosine flew with his dishes to the sink. Then, taking up the kitchen wand and giving it a flick, he turned around. "Don't cry, Sandyson. Come on. What does Ambysine say?"

Sanderson crossed his wings, back to his horrendously-irritated self again. "I'm not a baby anymore, nutcase. I know how to say your name."

"Aw, humor me, speck. What does Ambrosine say?"

He pushed his cheeks together and gushed, "'I love you, Sandy- you look exactly like your pappy and you have the most adorable hair'."

"Don't say 'pappy,'" I said over my coffee cup.

"Don't tell me what to do, ugly face. I'll call you whatever I want."

I glanced at him. "I wouldn't have gone with 'ugly face' in your position." Thus far, minus the freckles, Sanderson looked almost identical to me, albeit with less scruffiness in the back of his black hair and cheeks glistening with baby fat.

"And what does Fergus say?" Ambrosine prompted.

After thinking for a moment, Sanderson had his answer. He flew to the counter and braced himself against one of the cabinets as he cleared his throat. "'Sanderson, you blitzing little snattersmoof, you stop pitching a fit or I'll twist your wings, because I'm a big bossy jerk who hates you'."

Emery snickered into her cereal spoon. Ambrosine just looked stunned. "Er," I said as I got up and floated over to pull Sanderson down from the counter, "that's just the Terrible Twos talking. I don't actually tell him things like that."

He thrashed in my grip. "Let me go! Let me go! Don't touch me, you monster! I don't like you anymore!"

"You're not leaving until you finish your cereal," I said, pushing him back to his seat.

"No! I'm not hungry!"

"Sanderson." I wanted to press my thumbs to his windpipe and strangle him. "You have to eat. You haven't eaten since yesterday."

"I'll eat… you!" He launched himself from the chair, knocking it over, and clawed at my face. I shoved him across the table (Emery lifted her bowl so he slid past without spilling it). While he was down, I poofed up a knife.

"Fergus," Ambrosine called softly as I circled around, "don't."

"Do it," Emery said through a mouthful of milk, for once actually in agreement with me and my ideas.

Sanderson scrambled off the table, on the opposite side from his breakfast. His gnashing teeth goaded me on. I shrugged. "You asked for it." After spinning the knife through my fingers, I brought it down with a hard thwack! Being a magically-formed blade it severed bone and didn't draw blood, but Sanderson still screeched as I flicked his limp hand away along the table. The fingers continued to wriggle. His gasping steadied as he realized that he could still control the limb even while it was disconnected.

"My… my magic hand…?"

"It will take a long time for this to heal," I said, pocketing it in my robe with my nightcap. "But I cut it high enough up your arm that the damage won't be too difficult to fix, and you won't suffer quite the mental and physical damage you would have if I'd struck you lower. You can have it back later. Enjoy not being able to fly. And now, you eat."

He tried to run, but I hooked him by the back of the collar with a fingertip and drew him back. Sanderson squealed in a bizarre tone, something akin to "Rararara!" and whirring blades. I wrapped my arm firmly around his torso and, after shoving a spoonful of dry cereal into his mouth, held his lips shut and ran my finger down his throat to force him to swallow.

He kicked, screamed, bit, and spat, but I wasn't about to be bested by a two-year-old. A ten-year-old, perhaps, but not a two-. Smoof, if I'd known then that for the rest of my life I'd be nagging him to eat, I would have milked the opportunity to scold him for being such a child. When most of the bowl had been eaten and not hacked up, I let him go. He scurried for the back door, flightless and clutching the bad arm to his chest, and began to fiddle with the knob again.

"Sanderson, you know you can't go outside," I said, gathering up the dishes. They clinked. "If someone sees you, they could call the Keepers, who will take you away from me and you'll be killed."

"You let me walk sometimes when we're out."

"I let you walk when I'm tired or hungover or just not thinking clearly. Now, move your rear end back here. I think it's time we plopped you in the bath."

After a long morning of dealing with similar chaos, I finally got him washed and wrestled him down for a nap. He always wanted to fall asleep with his cheek on my hand to keep me from slipping away, and this time I let him do it because I was exhausted and really didn't feel like doing anything productive whatsoever. I'm a workaholic when I'm on-duty. Off the clock, I'm a workaholic when it comes to being lazy.

"Ambrosine," I said as he came down the hall, straightening his dark purple vest and heading for the front door, "do Sanderson's Terrible Twos seem… normal to you?"

"Do you think they aren't?"

I didn't answer at first, but watched Sanderson sleep. He always slept with his arms crossed beneath his head. My fingers twitched beneath him. "He just seems so… emotional. I don't remember rapid mood swings being part of the package. Not well into the, what, fifth hour, at least, and even then that was usually Anti-Fairies."

"Don't judge. He's doing his best. You were very similar. Lots of sobbing. Lots of bad poetry."

Reluctantly, I agreed, but when Emery came by a few minutes later, I had to ask her opinion too. "No," she said at once. "That's not regular at all. He's like no case of Twos I've ever seen, and I researched it a few weeks ago since I knew his was coming on."

I fell asleep soon enough, still wearing my glasses and dressed in my 'I got the day off work but I still want to look pretty' slacks and sweater. Sanderson was up and moving again within several hours and showing no indication of slowing down. I heaved myself after him, grudgingly trailing back and forth from one end of the house to the other as he rampaged.

Eventually, after Emery and Ambrosine had returned home and night was coming on, one of his whining moods came back. He crashed face-down on blue-black stone, jarring his teeth. I took a seat in Ambrosine's pink chair, like I usually did when my father was in the bath or otherwise too busy to pop out and catch me in the act.

"You made quite a mess of my tablets," I said, shifting the pieces around on their tray. I could mend them with my wand, but only if I had all or at least nearly all of the scraps in their proper positions. "Pity, seeing as I need them."

"What's the point?" he asked my foot rhetorically, tapping his finger against the nail of my big toe. "It's all meaningless in the end anyway."

"And it's a shame you feel that way. Now if you'll pardon me, I just realized I need to scoot past you to the washroom."

"But when," Sanderson sobbed, repeating those two words over and over as I hovered at the entrance to the hall and ground my teeth, "when will you have time for me? When will you read me stuff and tell me I'm doing a good job when I try at things? Life is so hard and everything is unfair!"

"You're treading into uncharted waters, Sanderson."

"I know how to read! I've read Ambysine's and Emery's nymph brain books, and they say that you're doing things all wrong. I don't think this is right. I think you're making bad choices and you need to change. Stop doing stuff you want to and instead focus on what makes me happy. You don't get me!"

"Sanderson. That is enough."

"Because it's a cruel trick of nature, for you to hate me when I love you this much. It burns inside. Don't you like me?"

"Please stop. You'll be able to answer all these questions yourself when you're older. For now, you're just confusing yourself. I don't- I can't- There's nothing- I could never-"

He picked himself up off the floor. "But Dad, you don't understand-"

I spun around and slapped him. Hard, sharp, undeniably, with the flat of my left hand.

Sanderson's legs flipped out from under him. He fell on the rough floor, first on his rear and then on his side. I didn't much move, but my eyes went down to my hand. I had never hit anyone before. I'd never so much as cuffed Sanderson over the back of the head. I twisted his wings at times, sure, but that felt more like tweaking his nose or bopping him beneath the crown with a bark strip or two. This wasn't like that. This wasn't like that at all.

Ambrosine had lasted so much longer than I had. I'd been 174,172 when he'd struck me across the face for the first time. What a knee-jerk slip-up on my part. I resolved not to let my limited emotions prompt me into fits of rage like that again. Not anymore. It was unbecoming of me.

And just like that, the twelve hours were up with a glimmer. The Terrible Twos vanished as quickly as they had come.

Sanderson blinked. He blinked again. His pale violet eyes swam back into focus. He stared up at me, dazed and mouth sagging, looking bewildered and not upset. He touched his stump wrist to his cheek.

"Sanderson," I began to say, rubbing behind my head as I crouched down.

He didn't let me finish. He threw his arms around my neck and wrapped his legs as far around my torso as he could reach. There he clung, shivering. "Mr. Fergus, I didn't mean- I didn't want- I shouldn't've- I'm bad, I'm bad, it's all my fault, don't be mad, I don't know why I did those things, they were bad, I won't do it again…"

"Shh…" I held him, my chin against his shoulder. The gasping sound he made, with his lips against my ear, sickened me with memories of toting a stiff blue body through the snow not too long ago or even far away. "We got through it together, and we're stronger for it. Thank dust I only had to deal with one of you, or I think I'd have snapped long ago. It's over now, and it won't ever happen again. So don't you dare pull that act a second time. If you act up, I won't excuse you. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, I promise, cross my lines. Never again. I'll be good, Mr. Fergus. I'll be good. But don't hate me. Don't leave me. Please don't ever leave me. I'll do anything so you'll stay."

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. "I won't, Sanderson. I'm not going to disown you. You're mine to look after now, no matter how unexpected you were, and I could never turn you away."

So life moved on. Things happened. Sanderson grew. "I thought you said he'd be too big for the pouch at this age," I said to Emery one time nearly a year after the Terrible Twos incident.

"He's scrawny. That's not my fault."

"Ugh." I threaded my fingers through my hair. It was looking more and more like I was overdue for a cut, and probably a shave. I tried to decide how much I could actually be bothered. "I don't know whether I can justify kicking him out, or if I ought to let him stay another few years… What if he fits in it until Spellementary?"

"Then either you go to Spellementary with him, or you have to dump him out and tell him he can't come back even though he still fits."

Lugh's spear, I could hardly imagine Sanderson leaving me to go to school. There were days when it felt like he and I had never been apart for longer than two minutes at a time.

I dwelt on Emery's words as I floated down the hall, enjoying one of those rare minutes in the day when Sanderson was content to hum to himself in the other room and pick crumbs off the dining table one by one (I'd ended up with a little neat freak, come to find out). I leaned my cheek against the doorframe to Ambrosine's bedroom and tapped my fingers a few times against the wall. He turned away from his desk, adjusting his spectacles.

"Ambrosine, will there be any ill-adverse effects if I let Sanderson stay in my pouch awhile longer?"

"Hmm… That depends an awful lot on his temperament. But, as long as he wants to and you're not forcing him against his will, I think it should be fine."

Was that the answer I'd wanted to hear? I couldn't decide. Instead, I tugged at my black tie (I'd finally ditched that old bow I'd formerly worn even though I'd never actually liked it). "It's easy, anyway. No one will kill him if they can't see him."

Ambrosine shrugged. "Once he's five, he'll be under legal protection in every region of the cloudlands. You just have to keep him alive until five. And the skin-to-skin contact will be good for him anyway. He doesn't get a lot of it."

My fingers twitched.

So it went. The second year down. The third. The fourth. Sanderson outgrew the pouch halfway through it, and Ambrosine let me stay home with him for the next several months because mine wasn't the type of nymph one could safely leave on his own. He was too destructive. Too easily upset. If someone wasn't there to watch him, he'd flip gears. It had taken him less than six months after his first birthday to realize that if he started breaking things and making noise, one of us would come to find him and hold him and talk.

At least he accepted the attention of Ambrosine and Emery as a substitute for mine, and could last for hours on end without zipping down the hall to peek into my room. I'd instructed him to knock. He would, then open my door anyway, clear his throat, and whisper updates about the events of the last few hours while I pretended to listen, until he slid the door shut and crept away (It was fine. He would grow out of it. Of course he would grow out of it).

I had a problem. Wish Fixers was suffering. Every monopoly has its risks, and although there were at least two major players in the world of medicine manufacturing, one of them clearly outdid the other in the eyes of the public, and they knew it. High Song Drugs. With only 39,000 Fairies in existence at that time, and double it if the Anti-Fairies were included, they could afford to provide to every facility in existence who requested them. Sanderson and I had visited the original High Song factory once, and the jabbering little intern had been only too happy to tell me what the parts did and what the similarities were in factories using various systems of their own.

For a long time, an idea had been creeping up in the back of my mind. In just over five hundred years, Wish Fixers would be celebrating its three millionth birthday. Fairies tended to be frivolous by nature, but generations of Whimsifinados and whoever else was in my line on my great-grandmother's side had always been brought up to live frugally and patiently. They rejected lavish lifestyles in favor of pouring the funds they could afford to spare into a savings account for some future rainy day that they might never witness in their lifetimes, contenting themselves with the simple and plain instead.

The concept baffles me even more now than it did when I was younger. I could have been a born and bred aristocrat, golfing and lazing about every day of my life with all the food and friends I could ever desire, having an heir when I was good and ready and not quite this young, but my ancestors lacked the backbones to go against tradition and ditch the little therapy business to please themselves. Pathetic. I'd save them from the shame someday. I'd change what it meant to be a Whimsifinado.

So there had to be more lagelyn tucked within the twenty-two different Whimsifinado accounts in banks scattered across the cloudlands than in most of the rest of the vaults combined. By no accident had Ambrosine been considered a celebrity kid, up until people had grown bored with throwing around the story of how his mother had crashed and burned that fateful day on the saucerbee fields, and with speculating on whether or not he intended to follow in her footsteps in the sport, or his father's in the business world. Oh, if the fairyazzi only knew how much we were worth, we'd get thieves day and night hacking away at the banks. Much easier to never let on to anyone that we could be counted among the richest of all the Fairykind if we'd only chosen to than it would have been to bribe the media to keep their mouths shut.

I had a theory. One of the core attributes of Wish Fixers was its ability to rightfully guarantee that its procedures were up to date and beneficial, so far as Father Time had let us know. This lured in clients to our small town from across the cloudlands, not to mention competitors in the therapy business and schools who were all willing to buy our secrets at top prices, or flash enough lagelyn in front of our eyes to convince us to release the information we held into the public domain.

Six months following my return to Novakiin, I acted. We already had an inter-plane tram station in place. I lobbied the Purple Robe for a bus stop as well, received one paid for 80% by the Council, and spruced them both up. With Ambrosine's uncertain blessing, I contributed not a small amount of funds to the science museum and the surrounding landscape, to the point of importing Earth dirt for the lines of trimmed hedges I envisioned along the walking paths. I started a little hobby on the side, opening a homely trinket shop across the way from the bus and tram stations and capitalizing on everything our town had to offer, from our maps of our constellations to dainty parasols that kept off the heat when the Plane 4 clouds shifted over our heads, and the occasional random lava flows and acid rain that might leak down from the Barrenglades with them.

"Fergus," Ambrosine warned, "you're going backwards. I expect you to pay back all the money you've borrowed from me, on top of my three million."

"Patience is a virtue," was always my swift response. "You'll get everything you deserve."

It wasn't enough. I was a flap away from snapping my own lines when I uncovered an embezzling scheme within our own four walls. It stretched beyond them too, to the traders who brought in the drugs Ambrosine and the others at times distributed to clients they diagnosed.

I cracked my wings down on the matter, only to face the jeers of those half my age and twice my speed. They hacked up their prices. I went whining to Ambrosine, yanking on his sleeve and begging him to switch to a different supplier.

Ambrosine was too forgiving. The alternative option, while its medicines were cheaper and although they hadn't cheated us of millions of lagelyn, couldn't guarantee its products weren't gathered by the labor of children's hands. Yes, how very upsetting. How worth not buying from. Besides, they were so far away, and we'd have to go pick them up each month… Blah, blah, blah.

Still, I paced my room regularly, mulling over my options and daydreaming of the way things would be when I was the one running this company. Apart from escaping Kalysta's burrow, I'd never wanted anything so badly in my life as I wanted to run Wish Fixers. I could turn this place around. I could have access to the funds of generations. I would reap rewards. I craved money and security. Then I would be happy.

I allowed Sanderson outside for his 5th birthday, which was celebrated with crackers and cheese as it typically was. "Well," I grunted to Emery, watching as he tumbled in the glittering purple grass out back, "that's the end of that. Thank Nuada. He's growing up. Now I just wish I could break him off this rotten pacifier he's so fond of." Spoiled kid- I'd never had anything like it as a nymph. It had only taken a few light slaps to the mouth when I'd thrown tantrums to shut me up and learn to channel my irritation into sarcasm instead.

"Oh, that's easily fixed." Emery took it from my hand. Then she rustled about the kitchen for a pair of scissors and deftly snipped a sliver from the pacifier's soft tip. After squishing it a few times between her fingers, she tossed it to me. "That should do it. Next time he asks, give him that and don't let on that we played with it."

"What did you do?"

"Removed the positive reinforcer offered by the vacuum effect. We learned this at the Academy."

I squinted. "Huh."

I tried it out when Sanderson came back in half an hour later, reaching out his hand for it as usual. He popped the pacifier in his mouth. After a few seconds, he took it out and held it up to me. "It doesn't work anymore."

"Yes, I've heard that happens when you get older."

"Can you fix it?"

"Nope."

Sanderson turned it over a few times in his hands. "I think I could fix it."

"I don't think so. It's pretty broken, and magic doesn't work well on pacifiers. Too much magic in your saliva and such along those lines."

"Hmm… I can make a new one." With a wave of his gingertie wand, an identical pacifier had appeared. He caught it with his hand and, dropping the first, brought it to his lips. I reached out to cover it.

"Don't put that much magic directly in your mouth. You'll make yourself sick."

"Really? You're sure?"

"Super positive. I know things, Sanderson."

So with a sigh, Sanderson resigned himself to his fate. Five years old, weaned off the binky, growing more resistant to illnesses and bruises every day, and well on his path to adulthood.

Later that same evening, while Ambrosine distracted Sanderson with a bath, I warned the rest of the household that I required silence and took the scrying bowl into my room. "I'll get to the point," I said to the cherub on the other side of the watery veil between us after the niceties had been exchanged. "I'm the monetary manager for Wish Fixers, and I'm scrying to ask about buying out your speech therapy business. I've made the calculations and it would appear that this is the prime time for you to sell."

He didn't bite. Fine. I looked up a new scry bowl serial number, scribbled it across a piece of tablet, and dropped it in the water. This one was more direct. I was facing a rival company. No messing about. I licked my fingers and smoothed my cowlicks.

"Dame Holly," I greeted when her assistant had brought her the bowl. "I've been watching your major moves and purchases in the newsrus for the last several years."

"I could say the same of you," the purple-haired habetrot quipped back, yanking a knot of blue thread from around one knitting needle. "I've been thinking that perhaps I ought to pay a business trip up south to see that Fairy•Clipse display in your cute museum."

"It's quite lovely. You'll be impressed." I locked my fingers together and leaned over my desk. "Let's not waste each other's time. You hate my dad as much as he hates you. You are floundering for funds. After that aromatherapy scandal, your name was effectively soiled. You're on your last legs."

Holly twitched her nose. "You spit a mean threat, Whims. But you don't want a business whose reputation just took a major hit."

"And neither do you. That's why my father and I are offering you a way out. We're prepared to buy you for five-point-two clicks a share."

She whistled softly. "No can do, my friend. Can I call you Ferg? You know as well as us that the place has long been in my family line. If it goes, I'm going down with it before I choose to give it up."

I rubbed my temples. "Holly, be reasonable. You realize that Wish Fixers is the better business here."

"Better built, certainly, if not the more aesthetically- or intellectually-stimulating one."

Ignoring the jibe, I ground my teeth. "May I remind you that Wish Fixers is currently and has always been the only mind and magic therapy business to secure a share in the Constant Timestream, allowing us early contact with Father Time on future revelations of therapy and medical procedures at the turn of every million years?"

She laughed so hard, she sneezed. "Bet that does you a whole lotta good in the down periods, don't it? When we've bought your secrets from under your dad's big billion-lagelyn butt? Ooh yes, I'll bet it brings in so much more business after that."

After a brief debate and a tight good-bye, I splashed my fingers through the water in the shiny black bowl and broke off the connection. Then my head fell with a thunk on the table. It stayed there until I heard a knock at my door.

"I can't do this, Ambrosine," I said when he floated in with Sanderson, freshly washed and chewing on a soy cube. "I need a different business to work with."

"You have your shop."

I groaned into my sleeves. "That's not what I meant. I could do great things if you let me, you know. I could change the universe as we know it. But therapy is useless to me. There's nothing tangible here that I can use. The only tangible thing that comes out of therapy is the drugs you hand out, and recently we've been losing so much more money there as opposed to what we're gaining. If I'm going to legitimately earn back what I borrowed from you, I can't go on like this. If only there were a way to…"

"Uh-oh," Ambrosine muttered to Sanderson, buttoning up his pink pajama shirt. "He's got that crazed look in his eye."

Sanderson tipped his head. "The right or the left?"

I spun around in my chair, scattering bark strips to the floor and jarring the scrying bowl so water sloshed. "That's it! I know what we can buy!"

"What exactly do you propose?"

I flapped him away, pushing past him to my bookshelf and wrenching down binders, maps, and stacks of notes. "Give me a few days. Give me a week. I have an idea."

Soon enough, I met Ambrosine over the black coffee table in the keeping room. He'd brought cocoa, which he only ever drank when he was bracing himself for a migraine.

"We're in agreement, I presume," I burst almost immediately, stumbling a bit over my own words, "that it would be beneficial to the company if we increased our income and reduced our expenses as much as possible while still holding true to all your morals about child labor and slavery and whatever."

"I won't deny it."

"And if it were in our power to eliminate the middlemen jarring up the prices of the medicines we buy off them, that would be in our best interests."

"Go on."

My fingers shuffled across the bark strips and scrolls of papyrus I'd brought to the couch with me. Finally, I found one map and unrolled it. Keeping a hand against it to brace it down, I lay my finger on Luna's Landing. "If we can buy out the Sugarslew factory, we could capitalize on all the drugs we could want, and haul them directly from the plant to Wish Fixers, thereby keeping prices low."

"Not happening," he said at once, replacing his spectacles. "Luna's Landing is Anti-Fairy territory. Not even just a little Anti-Fairy territory- you're talking their capital city here."

"No, but Ambrosine, you have to listen to me! They're not bad people, really. Not necessarily. I've met Anti-Fairies. You know I've invested in a few of their more promising companies. And it's paid off, hasn't it? They have their own culture, and they're a lot like us. I've made the calculations and I wouldn't suggest this option if I didn't believe it was our best one. This is our future!"

Ambrosine stirred his cocoa with his spoon, then raised it to his lips. "Why can't you build your own drug factory here on this side of the Barrier? I feel it would solve a fair amount of problems."

"We don't have that kind of money. I mean, we do, but-"

"But I won't let you touch the savings your ancestors have stored up to donate to the Fairy Elder and the Council in the case an absolute Fairy World crisis should occur or an eventual descendant should need it to bring about new life and future to the universe, as declared in her will by your many-times-great grandmother Windshine who served as the Purple Robe once over a million years ago and who claimed to be an oracle, and you're lazy anyway."

I shrugged defensively. "The Sugarslew factory already has all the needed machinery in place and running. It has workers, it has technology, and it has a reputation for quality. It's worth the extra money, effort, and the distance costs as opposed to setting up a place here in Novakiin, when there are so few Fairies around, and most of whom wouldn't be interested in turning away a job at the museum or the corner stores or the sugar bars and cafes in order to perform menial labor. Besides that, we'll get to start work much sooner than if we commissioned the place to be built and sat around waiting while the clouds are solidly prepared. It's more efficient like this, Ambrosine- you know that!"

"The answer is no."

Crushed, I curled my fingers and nodded anyway. It was only fair for him to have an active part in the decision. I wasn't owner and curator of Wish Fixers. Not yet.

So I continued making calls, waving Sanderson away with a "Not now. I'm scrying" mutter every time he wanted something. Dead ends, dead ends, dead ends. After a month of it, I impatiently confronted Ambrosine again.

He groaned as I hovered there in the kitchen, barring his way to the icebox. "You truly believe this is a good idea, Fergus?"

"Yes. I've told you why. And I know you don't like it, but we'll have to dig into the family savings if we're going to pull this off."

"One time I pulled my crown off," Sanderson said, for once actually eating his breakfast without prompting.

"Yes, and we know now why that was a bad idea, don't we? You didn't much like throwing up and the dizzy spells."

Ambrosine closed his eyes, the tips of his forefingers hovering before his lips. "All right," he sighed at last. "You can ask these Anti-Fairies if we can buy the factory. If they agree, you can have all the money you need for it. But please, for the love of the Lia Fáil, try to argue the price as low as you can."

It took months of bargaining. Rumors flew from the lips of big names in the business world like sprites at a picnic. Curious eyes began to turn. Investors swarmed, buying up all the stocks they could muster. Stories flickered up and down in the news. Calculations. Risks. Moves made while the world held the magic behind its teeth. A game of urvogel. Anti-Jared, who ran the place, shrank uncertainly back. The pressure was on.

But every Fairy has his price, and evidently that goes just as well for Anti-Fairies. All my efforts eventually paid off. I purchased the entire factory of Sugarslew with a grim smirk on my face, sold my trinket shop to one of our neighbors, and bought us a cloudship immediately.

"I'm all for doing today what you know better than to put off for tomorrow," said Ambrosine when I'd returned to Novakiin after signing the tabletwork for it, "but was it necessary to buy the boat right now?"

"I could have rented one for us," I pointed out, buttoning my coat while Sanderson watched, "but I did the math and even including hiring the crew and paying regular passage and taxes, this will pay off in the long run. And the long run isn't going to be that far off. Part of the reason I was able to buy the factory for as cheap as I did was because Anti-Jared wanted to keep his ships when he bowed out."

Ambrosine said nothing. But, his preferred parenting policy was always to let me make my own choices first, and to step in and lift me up if I bit off more than I could swallow and crashed metaphorically to Plane 1. Thus far, I was riding the eddies of success, so he would wait and watch.

"What do you think, Sanderson?" I asked, crouching to fix the gray and purple scarf around his neck. "Do you want to go see our new boat? She's simple, but she's all ours."

"I've never been on one before."

"That's the ticket. Let's go."

I'd docked her at the outpost- the first Novakiin cloudship to ever nestle between the rowboats and skeeters. Really, the boat wasn't pretty. She was small and a bit square, streamlined of course at both ends. The hole bored at the front and at the back would let her travel the air currents and stay on course. The hull was yet unpainted and a dull lavender color. Sanderson touched it as he hovered above the ramp, then turned back to me. "I'm on a skyship."

"Technically, although you could call it a skyship, its official name is 'cloudship'. This one only travels through Fairy World and Anti-Fairy World. If it went starsailing to the alien planets, then it would be a skyship. Starsailing skyships are owned by major companies, and cloudships can be owned privately, although the term 'skyship' is overarching and technically covers both, but you wouldn't use that word in conversation."

"Oh. That's dumb."

I chuckled. Sanderson went back to stroking the side of the vessel's hull. "It's cold and hard."

"Yes. It's made of metal. Aluminum, as it were, manufactured by the Anti-Fairies and held together by stitches of magic. If it were made of wood, the hull would rot as it moved through the wet clouds."

"Doesn't metal turn red when it's wet, though?"

"Does it?" I considered that, then shrugged. "Then there must be a way to fix that problem. I'm not familiar with cloudships. We're learning this together."

"What's her name?"

"I don't really know. I've never named much of anything before, aside from you."

"And it shows," muttered Emery, who apparently had nothing better to do then float around with her arms tucked in the pocket of her purple sweatshirt and mock my life choices.

Sanderson thought about that. He faced me again. "Can I pick the name?"

"If it isn't already taken by some other cloudship, I don't see why not. Would you like to help me think up a design for her too?" Neither of us was particularly creative, but I thought we could manage something if we brought our heads together.

He took his duty seriously, and we visited our ship at the edge of the Novakiin cloud every day to admire her against the streaks of sunlight that filtered upwards from the lower planes. Sanderson had come to a decision soon enough.

"I want to call our boat Allegro!" He made horizontal, flowing wave motions with his arm. "That means to go very, very fast, which is good. Or that's what Emery says. She plays the springcase, so she knows stuff. Oh! And if we get another ship, we can call her Andante, and if we get another she can be Vivacissimo, and if we get a really big ship she can be Larghetto-"

"Sheathe your wand, little manticore. You'll burn your core out young." I straightened his crown, which had slipped partly out of the young gravitational field above his head with how cheerily he was bouncing. "Allegro will be fine."

Sanderson promised that the design he had in mind would be simple, so I'd brought brushes and paints so we could work by hand instead of draining magic. He drew me a reference of music notes on a strip of bark, and we got busy. I found myself watching him more than I actually worked, studying his designs. Finally, when he'd made it halfway down the hull, he took a flap backwards, set both hands to his hips, and looked over his work.

"Satisfied?" I asked from above.

He flew up to check how I was doing. His lips tightened. To my amusement, he pushed down the hand that held my brush. "You're doing it wrong."

"How am I supposed to do it?"

"Like this." Still holding me at bay, he leaned past my arm and painted a few stripes and circles of his own on my perfectly-straight musical staff.

"Those look exactly the same to me."

"No they don't," he squeaked. "You're smart! You pay attention! You know they're different from the ones you were doing. Yours were wrong."

"No, no," I protested as he brandished his brush at me, "I think I did a great job. But you missed a spot right… there!"

"No! You'll mess it up! Stop! You're not good at this!"

I left him to his work while I slipped off to grab us lunch. He was so enraptured by his musical notes, he didn't even notice I was gone.

Things took off. I had a crew of fairy employees to fly our ship. Perhaps it wasn't that much different of an arrangement from what we'd had before, but even including the fine of crossing the Barrier, now we were paying minimum prices for a superior product, and I trusted my small crew who traveled only for me, as opposed to the old ships that had gathered grocery requests from dozens of sponsors at a time and sometimes 'forgot' until after they'd been paid who had sent them out for what.

Sanderson sprinted out to check on "his Allegro" each time he'd heard she had rolled into the outpost. The crew would stand at attention with wands presented while he examined his painted musical notes on her side. If they'd been dinged and dented, he'd have fifty wand-ups off all of them. If everything was in order, he'd give them two thumbs up, and they'd send him back to me with peppermint candies and translucent soaps shaped like stars. The traditional Anti-Fairy gift package.

When Sanderson was forty-five… I sent him to Spellementary School, as the social clock instructed. Knowing he would not take the separation well, I did not let on to him that I was leaving until I had delivered him out front and told him to head in there and ask where the 'S' surnames were supposed to be.

"I thought my first name was Sanderson," he said in surprise when I told him this.

"Your first name is Mister. Spelled out- not an abbreviation, like a title. That would be stupid. You're a Water year and I was feeling extra uncreative that day." I raised my eyebrow at him, holding eye contact. "And one more thing. Don't ever forget that no matter what else you hear in your life, as far as I'm concerned, you are Sanderson."

"Oh. Um. Okay. What about legal records? For my name?"

"No one keeps records like that, except the Eros bloodline and perhaps the High Count and Countess of the Anti-Fairies. Possibly a Refract. Whatever. That's why no one cares that I chopped the last three letters off my old name to become 'Fergus.'"

I noticed, as I watched him take to his wings and buzz up to the open double doors at the front of the old school building, that there were no other fairy kids around. Crowns, certainly, passed down by fairy mothers, but no one had wings of the direct muscular variety. The closest at all were the yellow-winged sylphs.

"You left him?" Ambrosine asked quietly after I had left the teleportation-lock bubble around the school and poofed myself home again.

"Yes."

Emery lifted both of her eyebrows, raising her spoon to her lips. "How did he take it?"

"He doesn't know yet. He thinks he's just running an errand. I didn't even bring him there to meet his teacher or see the place for the open house- I didn't want him to suspect."

Ambrosine nodded thoughtfully as he took a sip of his coffee. "I think he'll be fine. He's smart, and he's older now. Although he is fixated on you, it seems as though he fears being alone in general, rather than being apart from you in particular. So long as he has his teacher and classmates, I think he'll do fine."

"I hope so. He's a drone. His brain works differently than those of kabouters and gynes. That worries me. He's fighting an uphill battle his other classmates don't have to."

Shaking her head, Emery drank the milk from her cereal bowl. "He may not entirely understand the concept that you don't necessarily know all of the things that he knows, but drones have survived school and progressed to good, steady careers before. He'll manage."

I looked her in the eyes. "He is the eventual heir to Wish Fixers. I need him to do more than simply manage."

She squinted.

It was… a foreign sensation, to head off to work at Wish Fixers lacking someone who usually contributed to our short journey with humming and the occasional childish comment that only a bizarre mind can churn up. I worked alone at the front desk that morning, checking in clients, scheduling future appointments, organizing files in the background, and occasionally skimming books on child development. Quiet. Simple. No one rhythmically tapping a stylus against the desk beside me.

I knew it wouldn't last. By noon, my scry bowl began to bubble. After the exchange had ended, I put on my jacket and contacted Ambrosine as he stepped from his room with his last patient before lunch break.

"Sanderson got in a fight. They want me to come in and talk to him."

"He'll adjust one of these days. You'll see."

"Here's to hoping."

It was my first time walking into the small school since I'd graduated hundreds of thousands of years ago, and my senses tingled uneasily as they dredged up old images of walls and layouts. Gone were dirt floors strewn with straw. The tiles were dirty, but not overwhelmingly so. Paintings hung in the halls.

Muscle memory guided me to the visitors' office, where I was then sent to one of the classrooms. The students were all at lunch, I was told, and I'd find his teacher preparing for the second half of the day.

The door to the classroom opened when I knocked on it, and I flinched inwardly. "You have to be yanking my lines."

"Whimsifinado," he said, the pleasant overtones sliding smoothly over the dry flavor beneath. "I was expecting someone with the surname of Sanderson."

"Mr.… Thimble. I, um, didn't realize you would still be teaching here after all these hundreds of millennia."

"Exposing young minds to the truth is my passion, same as it ever has been. I shape the up-and-coming generations. There's a certain satisfaction to be gained in that." His filmy blue-gray eyes wandered down to my feet and then up again. "How did that plan to move to the North Pole and work for Kris Kringle turn out for you?"

I twitched. "I was stopped at the border when the Keepers found I hadn't been baptized and didn't have a passport. Ambrosine came to pick me up. But that was almost five hundred thousand years ago. I've since matured. What's this about Sanderson having behavior issues? It must be bad if even you in your boundless wisdom and experience can't bring him in line."

His wrinkled lip tightened. "Mister got into a fight."

"Yes, I figured that. That's why I showed up. Will this take long? I was in the middle of doing my job."

"'Mister'," he scoffed. "You never were much for creativity, Whimsifinado. Preparing him for the business world early?"

"Yes, but that's unrelated. Mist. It's Mister. Spelled out, not abbreviated. Literally translated it means 'One who brings the mist'. Don't beat yourself up over it; everyone gets it confused. He was born in the Water year. I could have named him Fog. Please respect my decisions. With whom did Sanderson get in a fight?"

He shrugged. "One of the will o' the wisps."

It dawned on me then. "Ivorie?"

"How did you…" Thimble moved his eyes up to my cowlick. "Oh. Oh. I…"

"Drake or damsel?" I pressed. No need to reveal Idona or Dip's names if I didn't have to. Of course it would be Dip. Sanderson always fought with Dip.

"A drake. Youthful rivalry in pursuit of a damsel, perhaps, although… Given their shared cowlicks, I'm no longer quite sure." He squinted. "You know about the fairy baby mandate, I should hope?"

"I'm aware of it. Sanderson of course is over five years of age, and all is in order." I'd been so busy keeping him concealed for his first several years that I'd completely forgotten to ask Ambrosine what all the fuss about fairy nymphs was actually about. Well. I would get around to researching it later, when I wasn't so backed up with my work. You know, eventually.

The words were hardly off my tongue when I heard a gruff command and turned to find an ugly finwife storming up the hallway, yanking Sanderson after her by his elbow. "Sanderson," I sputtered, my wings flicking up. "Where did you pick up all that blood?"

Needless question in retrospect, but hearing that he'd been fighting versus seeing the aftereffects, all yellow and purple, were two separate concepts entirely.

"Ees thees leettle pest the spawn of yours?" Without waiting for an answer, the finwife flung him forward so he stumbled. "Thees cheeld has no respect for authoreety and has deestroyed the lunchroom. You're the therapeest's boy. Figure out how to control heem." She turned on her heels and stomped back for her kitchen.

"It wasn't the entire lunchroom," muttered Sanderson, shoving his gingertie wand back in the sheath at his right hip.

Ignoring Mr. Thimble, who remained hovering where he was and didn't bother to speak, I crouched down in front of Sanderson and lightly took his arm. "I see that you have smears of blood on your nose and hands. Did the other kids hurt you?" My fingers strayed towards my own wand. Wing for a wing and all of that…

(Note: I find it necessary to clarify that my concern for his well-being stemmed not from the emotional attachment of Fairy myth, but from the mere fact that Sanderson was at this point my only (and I thought last) offspring, and I would soon be approaching my infertile phase for the remainder of my life. His survival was embedded in my genetics. No, I'm not going to let this go.)

Sanderson shook his head. He moved one hand across his face, and I began to understand where the stripes of blood on his cheeks had come from. His hands were still wet with it. I swore behind my teeth and took a handkerchief from my pocket.

"You have broken glass in your palms. Dust, why didn't anyone take care of this for you?" Not willing to risk damaging his nerves and cells, I slid the pieces out one by one and handed them to Mr. Thimble, who at least had the decency to poof me up a wastebasket while I worked.

"They were going to hurt me," Sanderson said softly.

"Yes, I'm beginning to realize that. Don't wriggle so much. You'll trigger your healing reflexes and only make it worse." One of the glass splinters was wedged in there pretty deeply. I studied it, then drew my chesberry and gave it a flick. The shard dropped into Mr. Thimble's trash bin. Bringing Sanderson's finger near my eyes, I squinted and determined that I hadn't caused any damage he wouldn't soon recover from. It would take longer for the magic particles in his skin to mend there now that I'd brushed magical residue across them, but it was better than the alternative of letting his skin seal over. After I'd lowered his hand, I turned my head. "Have the other kids been picking on him?"

"I haven't witnessed any such thing directly. Of course, he'll only sit in class for 20 minutes at a time, fiddling with his styluses, before he begins to act up."

"Act up? How so?"

"Well…" Mr. Thimble tapped his heels. "He already can't handle being touched as it is. I can't float down the row without him flinching and shuffling his wings. But he withdraws mentally the longer time passes. Before his 'trance' begins, he's a good student: He answers all questions, although I would prefer if he refrained from blurting them out when I've moved on to someone else. He's above proficient in his fine motor skills. But as time passes, he folds into himself. He crosses his arms and whistles through his teeth and mumbles to no one. Then, all at once, he jumps up and makes a run for the door or perhaps the window, shoving and biting anyone who gets in his way."

I watched Sanderson's face throughout this exchange. He studied me in an expectant fashion, like he thought he'd done something right and was now awaiting the upturned-hands signal to confirm it. I still held his right wrist.

"Frankly," Mr. Thimble pressed on without a speck of pity, "his behavior is incredibly disruptive and I might suggest you bring him back to start again next year. Teach him how to behave in public. He is a drone…"

"Were the other kids hurting you?" I urged again, ignoring him.

Sanderson shook his head a second time. I pushed my fingers through my hair.

"Then why did you hurt them?"

"I don't like school."

"I suspect it's embedded in his genes, what with him quite possibly having an elf mother. Did you replace his elf hat with that broken crown? His wings would suggest he could be either part elf or half-brownie, although with you living with a wisp, then…"

I looked up. "Did you tell Sanderson he was a crossbreed?"

Thimble inclined his head. "He questioned why his wings didn't resemble those of the fairy children I drew on the board, so I took it upon myself to enlighten him."

I closed my eyes and bit my lip. I didn't let go of Sanderson's hand, and he squirmed as my grip constricted. After a long pause, I opened my eyes again. "I think it's best if I take Sanderson home early."

"And I entirely agree."

Mr. Thimble skimmed with us to the front door. Once we'd moved a decent distance from the unsturdy old building and the hundred or so magical beings inside it, I poofed us back to Ambrosine's, accompanied by the familiar ringing noise and cloud of scattered magic. "Well," I said, flat-voiced, "that was certainly an enlightening visit. Sanderson, why don't you fetch yourself a bowl and spoon, and I'll give you a scoop of ice cream."

"Do I have to go back to school tomorrow?"

I turned to face him. "You know what? No. Thimble taught me when I was in Spellementary. I'll give you just as good an education as what he can. I'll skip the junk and teach you useful things. Things you'll actually need to know."

He brightened and scampered off across the kitchen. I scryed Ambrosine and explained the situation in as level a voice as I was able to manage.

"Bring him in," he suggested, to my surprise. "My 14:00 cancelled. Let me talk with him instead."

I did so. Sanderson went quietly, holding his head high, and I filled out tabletwork when he was in there. After the appropriate length for a session - not a minute more nor a minute less - Ambrosine released him back into the waiting room and motioned for me to come and talk with him.

"How do I put this delicately?" he mused, rubbing his forefinger against his chin.

My wings chirped once. "What did you learn?"

"Well, let's see. He figured out fast to lie to my puppet. The one that always takes the sticker that the child says he wants? That's something, at least. Most drones can't do that even when they're older, without considerable prompting each time. He's undeniably smart. But he couldn't pass the second round of my sorting test."

"The one with the rabbits and the cloudships? Colors and shapes?"

Ambrosine shrugged. "I'm not surprised. That's standard of drones. But he's…"

My eyes moved to Sanderson, who had ignored the colorful toys in the room and gone straight behind my desk where he kept his bark strips. "Yes?"

"He's sadistic. That's the only way to say it. I've been wondering about it for awhile, and in light of what you told me about what happened in school and what I spoke to him about, I'm confident about it. He hurts others with little to no provocation."

"But it's stupid. He's the smallest fairy ever. Of course he'll lose."

The eyebrows went up. "He hasn't lost."

"What?"

"He told me. He said he'd never lost a fight. He enjoys the power. And if he's anything like you, he'll be well-built when he's older."

I rubbed the space between my eyes. "King Nuada did not want this life to be easy on me."

"Evidently not," Ambrosine agreed. "Sanderson seems to think that if he doesn't hurt them first, they'll strike at him while he's unprepared. He's trying to scare the other kids so they'll leave him alone. That's why he took on the biggest kid in the class he thought he could win against. And he took on a bigger one in the lunchroom, even breaking his plate so he'd have a second weapon on hand."

"Oh," I said softly, thinking back to the large white shards in his palm.

"That appears to be the situation, yes. And…" My father turned his notes over in his fingers before he handed them to me. "Sanderson informed me more than once that he wishes… he could have been the one that I raised, instead of you. He announced he wants to get glasses and start working at Wish Fixers too. I just thought that was interesting."

"The only adult drakes he really knows wear glasses. That's why."

"Either way, he's feeling unhappy with his own body. It's having adverse effects on his magic. You know as well as I do, assuming you paid attention to this class in school, that effective channeling requires that one be true to oneself. Lies, regrets, conflict in close relationships, and discontentment are all issues that muddle one's abilities. If he continues in this line of thinking, he'll skip out on a crucial period of magical growth and his powers will never be very strong."

"But you can fix him, can't you?"

Ambrosine shrugged. "I'm a fairy, not a miracle worker. Limitations keep us all humble. Just watch him. Let me know if any more serious problems start to crop up. Teach him to restrain himself and act properly when in public. Unless he has your utmost support, there's nothing I can do."

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 2: LEAP

Hawkins Has a Shower

Winter of the Fresh Tunnel - Spring of the Rushing Hawk

"Here." I tossed my wand across the coffee table so it slid across the nicked and dented wood and into Emery's lap. Sanderson's followed it. "Give our magic to Kris Kringle on our behalf. We're leaving, and we're not coming back until after Naming Day."

"You're seriously running off again this year?" she sputtered, setting down her cocoa mug with a clatter. "It's only the first day of winter holiday!"

I straightened Sanderson's knitted gray hat. "If you think I'm spending a wingbeat longer with you than I absolutely must, you've lost your crown. I have shopping to do and then Sanderson and I are Earthside-bound. I'll see you in two months. 'Bye."

She whined, "But my party! I was going to go all out for it."

I puffed upwards, fluttering my two cowlicks like eddies in the wind. "So you keep telling me every December. No. I've saved up my vacation days for two-plus centuries for this. It's been a 150 years since I last got to see my actual friends. Anyway, your parties are lousy and you're equally so. If you desperately need us, drop by Notch Town."

"But please don't," Sanderson piped up. "It's not cost-effective."

"And warn us in advance so we can leave before you show up. And Ambrosine knows," I finished as Emery started to open her mouth. "He approves completely. Really. He's sick of Sanderson's caroling anyway. It'll be Sanderson's first time Earthside in winter since he was under a year old, and I'm prepared to squeeze the most out of it."

Emery stuck out her violet-tinted lower lip. "Alright. Fine. That's completely fine. I'll see you in spring."

"As late as possible if I have anything to say about it." I pulled open the door, and Sanderson trotted out, blowing warm magic over his own hands.

"Why does it get so cold in the cloudlands when it doesn't even snow or get super windy?"

"Science. The Sun is lower towards the horizon at this time of year, and the light and heat have a long way to travel since we're two planes of existence above it. I'll show you when we get down to Earth. Now, are you ready to ride the winter tram?"

"Yes! This is the best part of the year."

As a splurging treat, I took the orange tram line that would bring us all the way up to the underside of Plane 8, where we could stare down at the Wanderplains on 7 with all its plants and wild animals and waterways. It was the only plane of existence that, for some bizarre reason, actually brightened and dimmed with the course of the Sun, and had its own weather system (Something about the pressure of the atmosphere, or too many gaps punched in the fabric of space and time by cosmic-powered genies, or from being too near the High Kingdom planes). In the early morning of the current time zone, things were still shrouded in pleasant calm gray.

We had a warm breakfast of scrambled eggs, liquid peppermint, and wintercake. The interior of the small car was decorated in blue and white twinkling lights, which Sanderson and I appreciated more when we suffered a brief power outage and the electric lanterns flickered out. They didn't gleam off the windows that way, and we could actually peer out and enjoy the sights below.

"A sleeping unicorn," Sanderson observed thoughtfully, pointing to a cluster of rocks and conifers.

I placed my pinky to the glass, shielding my eyes, and squinted. "That's right. Sharp eyes."

Eventually our car got moving again. The bright lights flickered on with an irritating hum, and we turned reluctantly away from the window since now it showed only our own reflections.

We disembarked in Faeheim after an hour of travel. "It's the busy season," I said over my shoulder to Sanderson as he whirred through the streets after me. The roads were filled with bustling bodies and the post office was packed. Pity, since the post office was one of the reasons I'd made the detour up here.

He grabbed the hood of my red coat. "Can I have a chocolate?"

"I think you deserve one. You've been a good drake this month. I wanted to buy a box of candies anyway. Go pick your favorite."

Inside the shop, I leaned over a glass case bearing green shelves and chocolate drops springing from little foil wrappers. "Sugarslew used to be a very good brand," I said, "but that was before the war, when it was under Fairy management. They started losing profit after the War of the Sunset Divide when the Barrier went up and they started hiring Anti-Fairies. Fur in the chocolates does not a good business make."

Sanderson winced and touched his right cheek. He'd had first-hand experience with the concept of vats, conching machines, cooling tunnels, five-rollers, and blooming not long after he'd shed his exoskeleton. Ruined an entire batch when he'd reached in and fallen face-first into scalding liquid. I wiggled a finger in my ear, flashing back to the nasally juvenile voice that had scolded me for not watching him while I'd been striking my deal with Anti-Jared. I could still see the lantern light reflecting off his monocle and into my eyes.

"Now, which one did you want?"

"Er, I don't remember what my favorite is. I'll have to taste all of them to make sure I know."

"You like the plain ones with the dashes across their tops."

"But maybe I changed my mind."

I felt in my pouch for my wallet. "One chocolate or zero chocolates."

He pointed to a plain one, and the goblin behind the counter scooped it up and passed it to me. I handed it to Sanderson so he could keep himself entertained while I counted out twelve different pieces for the Dame Fergus.

"They don't have caramels on Plane 19," I told Sanderson when he asked. "Especially not the sea salt kind she likes best."

"She could come down here, then."

"The Refracted don't much come below Plane 13. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to get past the Kingdom Barrier without a special badge. For the purposes of this discussion, it's against Da Rules."

"Oh."

Once I'd taken the simple pale blue box from the goblin, I stopped. Then I turned back. "Sanderson, go pick something for your counterpart."

"Me? Hmm…" He walked around the candy shop before setting his eyes on a molded chocolate wand that, though compact, had to weigh at least as much as a small cù sith. He pointed. "This."

"I think that's what you want."

"Well, maybe he wants it too."

"'She'."

"She."

I shook my head and steered him by the shoulders back to the front of the shop. "We'll get her a small box of treats. Pick four."

"I only got one."

"And if you continue pouting, I will use my powers to travel back in time and make sure you never get it."

"Okay," Sanderson sighed. "I'll never have anything to do with complaints again."

"I would appreciate it enormously."

He selected four chocolates, and I had the small package wrapped in a golden ribbon. We delivered them both to the post office and had them express delivered so they might likely reach their recipients before they could melt. Check. My stylus sibling duties had been served. Now that I'd washed my hands of the task, we made our way to the Rainbow Bridge.

"It's a long walk," I reminded Sanderson.

"I'll keep up. Promise I can do it. I'll stay right behind you."

We descended past Plane 4, past Plane 3 with Mistleville just off to the side, and slipped below the cloudline and into Earthside territory. I scanned our surroundings in search of Unwinged packs or large prey animals that might meet us at the Bridge's base. Sanderson froze.

"Oh," he said, his voice quavering. "Snow." He scooted backwards, pulling at his dusky red and white scarf. Dame Fergus had made him a new one a few years ago, this one decorated with a pattern of squares, after his original striped one had worn away with time and use. A thick one this time, seeing as how, as a drone, he couldn't go into diapause. I was careful to keep one eye on him at all times for any sign that he was turning blue. The fabric enveloped most of his lower face, and a single tug would have brought it up over his pale, wide eyes.

I twitched my lip. "Sanderson, you always do this. You're curious about trying new things until you remember how much you hate change."

He shrank away, wrapping his arms around the sharp corners of his head. "I… I can't do this, Mr. Fergus."

"Sanderson, don't-"

He took a step backwards and fell off the Bridge. I dove after him, catching up quickly and sweeping him into my arms. The distance between the clouds and the ground wasn't large, so I flew him down and placed him on top of a drift. He took a skittering step and dropped into soft whiteness up to his nose.

"Come on," I sighed, pulling him out. "Use your wings."

"Th-th-they're cold."

"Movement will warm you up. Remember, I could have left you with Ambrosine and Emery again this year. You promised me you were a big drake and you could handle an Earthside visit. I don't come down here often, and I want to enjoy it. Don't make me regret this."

Reluctantly, Sanderson wiggled from my grip and fluttered his wings. "It's a day and a half trip assuming we stop to regularly eat and rest," I said, whirring off, "so let's get moving."

"Why didn't you b-bring the w-w-wands?"

"Because I don't want to have anything to do with them, their energy draining, or their cost. Magic near triples in price this type of year, which of course means one's wand feeds off your energy in larger chunks. Makes you go as 'magic mad' as a newborn Anti-Fairy at times. I am on vacation."

Sanderson caught up with me, whirring his little wings as fast as possible. "I think you know everything, M-Mr. Fergus."

"You never know. I just might." After a few minutes of flying, I veered away behind a tree and pulling up sharply, wings snapping. Sanderson kept to my side as I held out a hand to slow him. My finger moved forward. "Aha. I thought I sensed a good spot around here."

The branches of the oaks and fruit trees dipped beneath the weight of their icicles, some nearly as tall as Sanderson and still dripping. My timing was excellent, as it tended to be. An animal with hooves and great scooping antlers chewed at a tuft of frosted grass while its companion bent its neck and drank from a patch in the ice of a partially-frozen pond. The sun was still rising in this time zone, filling the sky with pale violet as it filtered through the trees. It reflected off every crystal, every fleck of snow. There were even hanging sticky spiderwebs blanketed in frost, twinkling. I watched Sanderson's face, tasting his attraction signals light from sweet purple to peppery yellow. His mouth parted slightly, but he didn't say a word.

"And that's the other thing I like about going traditional, particularly at this time of year," I said softly. "If we'd have poofed to Notch Town, and poofed home when we were done, you'd never have gotten to see a little treasure like this."

"But it's beautiful." He looked around, drinking in the sight of emptiness and quiet. "There are F-Fairies way over there, but they're bustling about too fast. No one e-else is watching."

"No. They have places to be. They don't want to sit and look at trees and rocks, or feel the moss or smell the mold and rotting leaves. They think it's boring."

Sanderson took both ends of his thick scarf and yanked them tighter. Wisps of warmth swirled from his mouth and the palm of his right hand. "I like boring."

"I do too. Just wait until I get around to taking you to the seashore in a few years. The ocean is neat, but the smooth rocks and pieces of glass you can find there are something else entirely. The simple feel of soft, wet sand in the wrinkles of my palm or sight of a ghostly crab in the morning is what I appreciate most, more than building temporary castles or splashing about like a loon. You'll like it."

He beamed. "I th-think I will. My name is 'Sandy'."

"Yes, it is. We'll also have to come down here in autumn- I keep forgetting you haven't seen the leaves change color since you were hardly a hundred, and more specifically, you haven't wiggled your fingers into the ground and felt the beautiful dampness of the dirt. I'll teach you how to identify the pawprints of squirrels, as opposed to mice, moles, voles, tibeavers, rats, opossums, rabbits, crockeroos, and shrews. I think you'd enjoy it. And the salt flats are unique. They're flat. Salty too. Well." And I straightened the fluffy collar of my red coat. "We have a lot to see if we want to meet our quota. Let's go."

Sanderson and I reached Notch Town the following afternoon, cold but cheery enough. He'd only nearly frozen and died twice, so we were both in a good mood. Nephel was there to greet us with his new wife, Keziah, and their newborn daughter, Cassia. Sanderson took a liking to the nymph at once, which I found interesting. Perhaps I would have to increase my visits Earthside and prompt further interaction between the two of them. Nephel's family wasn't rich in money, per se, but western elves and their sweets…

We all decorated a seasonal trellis for the upcoming winter solstice, exchanged gifts (I'd brought each of the elves a small carving, along with their first papyrus checkbooks, because it was a new concept and staying up to date was my thing), feasted regularly, played games late into the evenings every night, and just generally lazed about snacking on cookies and catching one another up to speed. Nephel and Keziah took us sightseeing to some of their favorite Earthside locations, which was a hit for Sanderson, and he entertained us often with his singing. It was a quaint vacation, and I enjoyed it immensely.

One evening, two weeks before Naming Day, Sanderson wandered into the kitchen and found me stirring rabbit soup with one hand, and skimming the citations of a biography on the Purple Robe with my other. He watched me for several minutes, then asked out of nowhere, "Where do nymphs come from?"

I pondered the question as I continued to stir the soup, then glanced down at him. Sanderson was chewing on the handle of a wooden spoon he'd taken from the utensil jar. "What brought this on?" I asked.

"What's that mean?"

"It means, 'Why are you asking this now?'"

He shrugged. "I'unno. Keziah told me to ask you. She says I'll have a brother or sister one day."

"Hm." I folded the book - my first book with bound parchment pages - with a snap of my hand and set it on the counter. "That isn't any of Keziah's business."

"So? Where?"

"'Where do nymphs come from', I presume?" Sucking on my lower lip, I stared at the chunks of rabbit bobbing about in the soup beneath my spoon. "Well, nymphs come from drakes."

Sanderson smiled around the splinters of wood in his mouth. "Hey. I'm a drake, I think. So, nymphs come from me?"

"When you're older and have your adult wings, yes." At least, he'd better have his adult wings. Releasing my whisk, I took up the hand towel and massaged it against my knuckles as I dropped to his level. "Do you remember four days ago when I took you to see my hole in the hills where you were born?"

"Yeah. The hole was kind of old and dirty, though. Oh, and we planted that weird spinning seed from the pot. In the strange green grass. And covered it up, and poured water on it, and told some other people about it too."

"And do you also remember how Earthside plants and cloudland plants are different?"

"Earth tree seeds grow in the grass and dirt, and cloudland tree seeds grow in the ice crystals and vapor. You can't plant them anywhere else, or they don't grow."

I nodded. "Nymphs are special seeds that grow inside you, and nowhere else. One day a damsel will give you a seed, then you'll plant it together inside you, and then you'll grow the nymph."

"Mm… No? I don't remember being inside you."

"You were very little. Too little to remember many things."

"Oh, okay." He went back to his chewing and never asked again. I scratched my head and returned to my soup. After we had all eaten that evening, I tucked him into his warm bed in the other room. Then, while I scooped up a third serving of the soup for myself and Keziah set up a fidchell game behind me, I cleared my throat.

"Keziah, I don't intend to come off as nosy, but I have to ask. Was there a particular reason for bringing up nymphs around Sanderson? He's only 504. That's drastically too young for the wands and the wings, and now it's made my life a pinch more difficult than I would have liked it to be."

"I didn't exactly ask him outright," she said, averting her gaze. Her fingers trailed around the game board. "I asked him if he was excited. I'm sorry. I just assumed you'd told him. That kind of thing is never a secret for elves."

"Excited?" I repeated, and Keziah nodded.

"For the new baby. Actually, Nephel and I have been talking, and we'd be honored to throw you a shower for nymph number two, if you don't mind it."

"I'm not pregnant," was of course my response, miffed as a scoff.

"Aren't you?"

My face warmed just a bit. "I'm just, ah… big. Even for a gyne."

"No, no!" she said quickly, waving her hands. Her turquoise curls bounced in front of her eyes. "That isn't how I guessed. My dust, didn't you know? The smell of it is all over you. You're about third tri."

Hot soup poured from my spoon across my lips and down the front of my purple sweater. I continued to stare at Keziah, taking far longer than I really should have to process what she was telling me, and what her words meant.

"That isn't possible. I haven't interacted with a damsel in such a manner since Sanderson was born."

Keziah considered my statement for a moment while she plucked at a wishy-washy thread on her sleeve. "Perhaps you picked the sperm up while passing through the neighborhood," she decided.

I tilted my head back to stare at the ceiling of their little tree-cave. What would Kalysta have said if she heard such news?

"And," she went on hesitantly, playing with the loose thread more and more, "It wasn't really my place, but I did ask him… what he knew about the no-fairy-babies mandate."

"Oh, the mandate." Smoof, I had forgotten to look up the actual details about it. I'd add it to my mental to-do list when I was no longer vacationing. For now, I smiled at her wryly. "If you don't mind it, I'd prefer to keep this whole business hush-hush. I wouldn't want to upset anyone and cause problems, but yes, I am an exception to the mandate rule. No one bothered to take me in because no one expected I would ever get pregnant. You know. Because I'm old and fat and not pretty in the least, even with my freckles."

Keziah slapped me with her washcloth and told me that I had an unhealthy level of self-esteem.

"Nephel," I said the following day, trying to be a polite houseguest and help with the breakfast dishes, "can I ask you a bit of a private question?"

"All right. Mark it."

"What's the menstrual cycle of the western elves, again?"

Until that point, I had never seen anyone perform an actual spit-take through a glass of water. He glanced up at me, looking like he ought to be flushing, or perhaps paling, although the color of his face didn't change.

"What's a men-surreal cycle?" Sanderson asked, cleaning a spoon with a scrap of red cloth.

"I'll tell you when you're three thousand when I tell you why we have our ritual of courtship dance. You've probably wondered why you have that pouch on your stomach beneath your belly-button. The gene is linked to wings, so only winged Fairies have that."

(Sidenote: Wilcox, I included this comment specifically for you. If you're going to be regularly shapeshifting into other races or animals, please take some pride in your work and actually familiarize yourself with their anatomy. There are more creatures in this world than rabbits, and I refuse to be the one who contacts the news crews the next time they need another story on marsupial fire trucks debunked.)

"I use it to hold my styluses and my wand." Sanderson tried to demonstrate this by lifting his shirt and sliding the spoon he had cleaned into his pouch, but I took it away.

"We're all set to the same cycle of coming into heat once a century," said Nephel, scratching beneath his collar. "When it rolls around, we can only produce offspring if we breed in March, although fertilization doesn't always occur. That's why we call it that, March- we have our big march where all three elf subspecies gather together, for the, um…"

"That brawl exhibition thing your people all do to rearrange the pecking order and claim the damsels of your age group?"

Nephel nodded, staring at his reflection on the plate in his hands. Frowning, I massaged my cheek, then poured a bit more of that brackish water from the wooden bucket and into my dirty mug.

"The fairy cycle is one eighteen-month period out of every five hundred, but our entire species isn't set quite so rigidly upon it as yours. Is it possible that if I mated with a damsel while in one of my 'off' years, I could retain her sperm until my egg cycle actually came around?"

He shrugged. "Ask the Anti-Fairies. Did you learn about embryonic diapause in school?"

"Refresh me."

"After fertilization, their eggs go dormant until the following Friday the 13th, unless something goes really wrong. I think. It's been years, though."

Curious.

I asked for a stick to take a pregnancy test with, and paced the washroom scratching my head when it came up bright purple. Negative. Still, Keziah was so excited. And, well… she was offering to give me free stuff. How could I turn her down?

So I had my little shower that evening. We didn't invite any of the other Notch Town elves I knew from game nights, and certainly not anyone from Fairy World. Especially Ambrosine and Emery. I didn't want either one of them finding out about this, especially since the pregnancy test had declared me barren, and surely therefore this was all a big misunderstanding. Perhaps I would need to cut my vacation short, if in a few weeks Nephel and Keziah began to wonder why I hadn't yet delivered. I could tell them I'd had a stillborn.

Because I couldn't have another nymph. I absolutely couldn't be about to have Kalysta's nymph. Midway through the shower, after I'd unwrapped a set of specially-woven hexagonal nymph clothes Keziah had pored over for six nights even though I knew I'd never use them, I excused myself to the washroom. I sat on the lid of the basin, pulled my knees to my chest, and simply buried my face in my folded arms.

"Please don't exist," I whispered. "Don't, don't exist, little moocher." I tightened my fingers deeply into my stomach and twisted. My skin crinkled as per usual, but day after day, still nothing in there moved. I expelled a soft sigh of relief and hugged my legs tighter.

But then my eyes rotated upwards. Swallowing, I pushed back my dome and reached my fingers carefully inside, avoiding the sharp heat of my core.

As it turns out, pregnancy sticks are fickle things. Something soft was wedged beside my egg nest. Something that, according to my anatomy textbook, wasn't supposed to be in there. A packet of rubbery wetness, suspended against the side of my forehead chamber.

I yanked my hand out fast, fighting the bile rising up in my throat. I'd been throwing up grayish goop for some time, but that was winter sickness, surely? If I were pregnant, wouldn't it be bright purple? And what about the blood last year that had indicated I was entering my fertile period? The… very limited amount of blood that had died off a few weeks into my cycle. Implantation bleeding? Could that happen even from the forehead? Oh, disgusting.

And then all at once I was sobbing- from all the hormones, of course, and not naturally, because pixies do not cry. My arms moved from my knees to my head, and I held my dome shut and shivered, with my wings scraping against the basin's ceramic back.

"I can't have Kalysta's nymph. I can't. I never liked her, I didn't want to do anything with her, and it's been 500 years. That's not fair."

I sunk my teeth into my right hand and held them there, pinching my eyelids shut. Just one sharp bite to go tomte. I could do it. One tear in my sensitive palm, a rush of colorful blood spilling down my arm, and it would be over. I wouldn't have the magic to maintain both my system and the nymph's. This close to the time of birth, it would disrupt and potentially even miscarry as the magical particles in my blood redirected themselves to repair the damage; I really would have a stillborn. All my problems would be over. Not sentient, not sentient, not sentient…

An imaginary flash pierced my brain. Nymph Fergus tearing away from the grandfather who'd tried to kill him for his pale gyne freckles, scampering up to a bruised and trembling Ambrosine, diving into his pouch without another thought- only to be wrenched out and clutched to his father's thin chest and squeezed.

Second flash. Sanderson, called Sandy (No- not even recognized by that name yet, or even by his proper sex), pressing his back against the dirty wall of my old hole in Purple Valley, staring up at me as I angled the barrel of my laser canon at his core.

Polly standing there in his full baby blue attire, the ruff rippling about his neck, with his dark palm overflowing with yellow, chanting nonsensical prophecies as Sparkle and I scurried about our Academy dorm and tried our utmost to bandage him up.

The dragon queen from the canyon, recounting to me the story of the tom - the last known tom of their subspecies - who had fertilized only two of her eggs before Pip and I had stolen the largest one for our dinner.

The navy curtains rustled as someone tugged on them with a small hand. "Mr. Fergus? Are you going to come out again soon? There's still cake to eat, and you haven't even opened my present yet."

"… Hm? Your present?"

For his gift, it turned out, Sanderson had gotten me a single blob of chocolate. "When-?" I started to ask.

"Yes, Keziah's friend knows how to make these! She took me over last night while you were sleeping. I bummed the chocolates. That's really what it's called! It's, er, it's not as good as the ones from Faeheim, but I tried."

Fighting to keep my right hand steady, I unwrapped his chocolate and brought it to my mouth. "Orange," I said after I'd thoroughly rolled the flavor around my mouth.

"Duh. I remembered it was your favorite. See, I pay attention. I'm very smart."

Still holding the second bite of chocolate, I reached out and used my left hand to ruffle his black hair. "You old charmer."

"According to ancient Fairy tradition," Keziah told Sanderson after the last two presents had been opened, "all the children your Mr. Fergus looks after that are older than the nymph inside him take a turn dumping a bucket of cold water over his head."

"Baby shower," he realized, taking the wooden pail. Then he turned to me as I settled myself on a snow-topped boulder outside in front of the great tree that the three western elves called home. "Um… Are you sure you want me to do this?"

"I'm not one to spit upon tradition."

So Sanderson screwed his eyelids up tight and splashed me with cold. Then he set the bucket down. "Was that good, Mr. Fergus?"

In a rare moment of idiocy, I hadn't thought to remove my glasses first, so once the icy water had sloshed over my back, I removed them and began polishing the lenses with the sleeve of my sweater. "Ah. Admittedly it isn't my favorite tradition to put up with. Fortunately, I only have you and so being splashed with one pail of water isn't so terrible."

"Well, I tricked you! There's still some left inside."

"Don't you dare-!"

A week after winter had turned to spring, my second offspring was born precisely as Sanderson had been. It came on while I was slicing carrots for dinner. My head pulsed; I touched my left ear, attempting at first to ignore the feeling, but Nephel urged me to lie down in my bed. Since I could sense the itching in my forehead chamber, I requested privacy. Reluctantly, both elves left, but only when I permitted them to linger outside the curtain, and on the condition that I'd allow them to enter fairly soon to see if I required SHAMPAX.

I was alone, twitching and unclothed and keeping my voice muffled. My fingers brought the amniotic sac on its fleshy cords from my head to my mouth, and I nipped the nymph free without hesitation. The birthing process was rough and not enjoyable. I ground my teeth, and this time the explosion of fresh magic firing its way down my lines and into my being wasn't enough to make me wet myself, even if I did fall to my side. It was finished at last. I twisted three of my magic lines into the hexagonal nymph before I even bothered to really look at it. Still wheezing and bleary-eyed, I set it against my knee and blinked through the lingering effects of field-sight.

Another drake. A drake with two thick tufts of hair poking from his head, coiled around one another until they broke apart again. Not being the firstborn, who always received the most magic of one's progeny, he didn't have the extra layers of color blanketing his core. So, no telling for certain who his mother was, then, although Kalysta's core color had been casual, cheery yellow, if I remembered correctly.

My voice strained and soft, I called to the elves to allow them in the room. It was Nephel who suggested the name of "Hawks' Kin", his reason being that Mother Nature had only just decreed upon this season the name Spring of the Rushing Hawk. Keziah offered milk to the nymph, and by the time she'd fed Cassia and gone off with him, "Hawks' Kin" had morphed officially into "Hawkins" instead.

After Hawkins had finished his first suckling session, I placed him at the foot of my guest room bed beside Sanderson and sat back on my knees. Springs twanged. The heel of one hand slid across my eye. This was a fine stall of pegasus dung I'd planted myself in. Now there were two of them who had to be watched over. Where was my vacation?

"No more," I promised myself, drawing an 'X' across my chest. At least in this case, loathe as I was to admit it, there was little question of who the mother was. Hawkins with his black hair and hexagonal shape did look much the way Sanderson had as a nymph, but perhaps as he grew he would begin to take on traits more distinctly will o' the wisp-esque. He still had a broken six-point crown. Something in my sickly body must lack the ability to nourish it completely. Ah, well. It was over now.

"Can I hold him?" Sanderson begged as I picked the baby up.

"'May I hold him, sir.'"

"May I hold him, sir?"

"Thank you for asking. You may. Sit down here on the bed; that's it. Hands out. Bend a little more at the elbows." I lowered the nymph into his arms. Sanderson brought his nose down, clicking his tongue and cooing softly. I drew one knee to my chin and watched, until his childish banter shifted into, "If I had enough money to spend, and leisure time to sit awhile, there is a young drake in this cave, that sorely has my heart beguiled." Then I had to draw the line.

"Why are you singing that?"

He paused. "I don't know. It seems right and I like it."

"Well, don't."

"Why?"

Frowning, "Please don't sing, because I don't like that song."

"Why?"

Instead of answering, I turned my back. There were a few seconds of silence before Sanderson scooted around to see me, dragging Hawkins with him, the bed squeaking. He placed his hand on my thigh.

"Why?"

I groaned. "Because, your mother used to sing it to me, and it makes me very sad."

Sanderson nibbled at his thumbnail, then patted my leg. "I'm sorry I have a very sad dad."

Stiffening my wings, I turned. "Did Emery teach you that word? Cassia? Keziah?"

"What word? 'Sorry'?"

"'Dad.' I don't like to be called your 'dad,' Sanderson."

He blinked. "Why?"

"Because… your mother used to say that of me, and it makes me very sad too. I'm not your dad. I'm not your father. I'm your sire. At most you are my offspring, not my child or my son. If you aren't going to call me 'Mr. Fergus,' you should call me 'sir.'"

"Why?"

"Because if you don't, I'll twist your wings twice every day."

"That's a good reason, sir," he said, and shut up. We passed a quarter of an hour simply sitting in silence, before Sanderson had the nerve to speak up again. "Did everything my mother do make you sad all the time, sir?"

Biting the tip of my tongue, I stared at my fingers in my lap. "No. No, Kalysta was… gentle, when she wanted to be. She was always brutally honest. Never told a single lie as long as I knew her. I did respect and appreciate that; she didn't act fake to me. Not ever, for anything, even though she said on occasion that her friendly attitude was forced when it came to her neighbors. Neighbors are difficult- there was this one place in the back of her burrow where the washing cave was that you could stand in and, if you strained your ears over the rushing of the water, sometimes hear a damsel in the next chamber over crooning to her favorite drake. No one ever bossed Kalysta around or got the better of her. She was clever. Dust, she was clever. And… and, at least, if it weren't for her, you'd have been dead a long time ago."

Sanderson tipped his head sideways. "Are you sure, sir?"

"Mostly sure." Reaching over to tousle Hawkins's two swirls of black hair, I murmured, "Then again, I was anxious most of those nights. I… had dreams sometimes of she and I parting ways. Our last touch would be with her lips on mine and our eyes and hands locked together, pushing me deeper, deeper down. Oh, Kalysta was an interesting one. We'd call her a workaholic in my line of business. She never seemed to relax unless she was talking about those awful books of hers, and was always picking at something if she wasn't off gathering research for it beyond the burrow walls."

"What was she like, sir?"

I frowned. "I just told you." Hadn't he been listening?

"Oh… Sorry, sir."

"You're overdoing the 'sir,'" I said, dropping my hands and turning towards him.

Sanderson looked up at me, face twisted with perplexity. "Then what do you want me to do?"

That took a bit of consideration before I landed on a satisfactory response. "Say 'sir' only sometimes. Just when you remember and when you want to, like when it's important that you get my attention."

"Like when I wake you up really early in the morning because I saw scary things in my head at night?"

I had no response for a moment but to stare at him. "You're a manipulative little smoof just like your mother. All right, don't say 'sir'. Give me Hawkins. I want you dressed and in bed, now."

While Sanderson scrambled to comply, I changed my own clothes and lay on my back with Hawkins on my stomach. Once I removed my hands from his sides, the hexagonal nymph crawled into my pouch. Guided by pheromones, I supposed. It was an interesting wonder.

Then I groaned softly to myself. "No sleeping on my stomach for years, again. My wings are going to ache come sunrise. What did I do to deserve this?"

I still had crumpled chocolate wrappers and scraps of old notes stashed in my marsupium, but unlike Sanderson, Hawkins didn't seem to mind. He made himself comfortable anyway, chirring softly to himself before he took my single nipple in his mouth and familiarized himself with the sweet taste of neutral purple magic. He'd been born with nearly all of his sharp teeth. Just like Sanderson. Just like me.

While Sanderson slept and Hawkins settled down, I wedged my left arm beneath my ear and stared at my firstborn across the room through the dark. This was quite the unanswerable riddle. I was 492,048 years old. How does a loner of a drake with forty-three lines to his core end up bearing not one, but two nymphs in such a short period of time? And not even in the natural way, but from the confines of his head?

Dust, my head… I placed my other palm against it as I began to drift off into my dreams. I could have sworn it had grown an entire quarter of a centimeter taller than it had been a thousand years ago.

My eyelids fluttered shut. I dreamed of shapeshifting into my favorite goose form and soaring away from my problems forever, but not for long. A fingernail scraped across my cheek.

"Psst. Sir."

Reluctantly, I opened my eyes to find a square face and two small hands resting on the edge of my pillow. "What is it, Sanderson?" I mumbled.

"Can I still call you 'sir' sometimes?"

"What?" I squinted. "Yes, of course you can. Go to bed. And I'm not going to tuck you back in."

"Okay, sir." He went away. After what had to be only a few seconds, he was sprawled across my legs, rubbing my knees and making puttering noises with his lips. I pinched my nose and used those two fingers to rub my eyes, rolling away from the sunlight streaming in through the window. "Please don't let it be morning."

"Yes it is. I've been awake forever. Sir, Hawkins cried all night. I don't like him anymore."

"Oh, you don't?" I lifted my arm so I could peer at the nymph. He wasn't there. Nor was he under the other arm. Shoving Sanderson away, throwing off the wool blanket, I checked my pouch again. Empty. Why was it empty? Had I forgotten to seal it when I crashed?

I searched the entire bed. I even crouched down on the floor to check beneath it. Then I glanced back at Sanderson, who had sat up on his knees to watch, his face a mask of alarm. "Did Keziah already take Hawkins to be fed?"

"I don't know."

I slammed my forehead against the bed frame. The child was under twelve hours old, and already I'd lost him. This was why I'd never wished to be a parental figure. I left Sanderson in the guest room, flew up the spiral staircase, and pushed past the red curtain there. Keziah and Nephel stirred against their pillows and began to mumble.

I bit my lip as Keziah sat up. "Erm. I'm sorry to wake you both at this hour. I was only wondering, have either of you taken Hawkins?"

Nephel rubbed his eyes. "No… What? Is he missing?"

That was all I needed to know. Letting the curtain drop, I stormed back down to my room and found it deserted.

"Sanderson?" No reply, so I snapped my fingers twice. "Sanderson, I will count to three. If you're not out here before I'm done, I'll twist your wings. One… two…"

Much to my surprise, he didn't come, even when I drew out the three. That meant I'd have to search the room. But it wasn't very big, and I found him tucked away in the first place I checked- beneath a blanket under his bed. He yelped as soon as he realized he'd been discovered, and yelped a few times more when I dragged him out by the ankle. His fingernails scoured lines across the dirt.

"I was going to come out! I was coming! You didn't let me come! Ow!"

After his wings had been twisted, I stood him up on the ground and held his shoulders. "Sanderson, did you do something with Hawkins? Is that a nod? What was it?"

"I- I moved him."

"That much was obvious when I came back and found that you'd hidden. Why did you move him?"

He started to shake. "It was when you were in bed. You didn't wake up. H-he was really loud and I couldn't sleep, and I didn't want to bother you to get him to st-stop."

"Sanderson, this bothers me."

Whimpering, he attempted to wrap his arms around my neck. I took his wrists and pushed them down. "No, you don't get hugs for this."

Nephel slipped through the curtain that divided the guest bedroom from the keeping room, rubbing his yellow pajama sleeve against his pointed nose. "Have you found Hawkins? Is he really missing?"

I sighed and rested my palms on my knees. "Apparently, Sanderson hid him somewhere. Exactly where, I'm trying to get out of him still."

Startled, perhaps even horrified, Nephel turned his attention to the little fairy. "Where did you hide him?"

Without speaking, Sanderson gestured through the curtain. Then he crawled underneath his pillow.

"Come on, you," I said, taking his elbow and pulling him back to the floor. "Show me."

As three adults watched in silence, Sanderson slowly crossed the keeping room. He circled the table and chairs, scooted past the loveseat, and pointed to the large black pot sitting on the unlit charcoal lumps and wood scraps in the corner. My shoulders jumped. After the ordeal of yesterday, my wings wouldn't give me the lift to fly, but I limped over nonetheless and lifted the light lid. Hawkins lay at the bottom of the pot, curled up with his thumb tucked in his mouth, his dark green pajamas smeared with vegetables and chunks of meat.

"Dear King Nuada… Come here, you; that's it." I turned, brandishing the lid in my right hand and the groggy nymph in my left, eyebrows drawn. Keziah had both hands folded over her mouth. Nephel's arm was around her shoulders. Sanderson had slunk off behind the blue curtains that concealed the washroom, so only half of him peeked out. "You can't put babies in the cooking pot, Sanderson. That was very, very bad of you. What if we heated up what was in there for breakfast without looking inside, and charred him? What if his lines had fritzed, and he asphyxiated? What if there had been more soup, and he had drowned? He won't develop anything very close to immortality until he's five years old."

He nodded and swallowed and began to shake again, as he typically did when he could taste my signals shifting from purple to blue. As I watched him, I pursed my lips and slid the hand holding the lid of the pot down along my side to my waist.

"I can see you understand. What if… I let you make the call on your punishment this time. Hm. There are two options. Either… I won't twist your wings today, but you won't be getting any hugs from me again. Ever. Or, you can get your wings twisted now and-"

Sanderson leaned over, clutching the ends of his wings as near to his chest as he could get them. "Don't twist my wings! Don't twist my wings, sir!"

That's right. I had a drone.

"All right, then. It's your decision. I won't." As I passed Hawkins off to Keziah, I instructed him to pull out the dishes for breakfast. To my relief, Sanderson shot me a frantic over-the-shoulder glance and scurried off without another complaint, and that was that. Life progressed.

Hawkins didn't come with us back to Ambrosine's. "Keep him if you wish," I told Keziah and Nephel as Sanderson and I packed up our belongings three days later. "I won't be returning for him."

And I never did. After ensuring that they would adopt him as one of their own, I went home to Fairy World. Sanderson was distraught to be separated from the new nymph, of course, but only temporarily. Things resumed as it had before, just him and me and Ambrosine and sometimes Emery. I thought that would be the end of it all.

Reuniting with Hawkins only four years later proved to be a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was the three millionth anniversary of Wish Fixers, and Ambrosine was hosting a special celebration for it. He had requested that Emery, Sanderson, and I all attend. I kept mainly to the fringes of the party, shifting my attention intermittently between the refreshment table in the foyer and a leprechaun who had caught my fancy for the evening. Chestnut-haired, silver-eyed Skyna came from a wealthy line even for her race; two million lagelyn worth of assets in her living room alone, I heard, and when she picked up on my interest she toyed with me unceasingly. I suppose it was no secret what I wanted from her. It may have even been the reason she remained without a mate at that age; leprechauns are always on their guard when it comes to their gold.

She took a liking to Sanderson, though, which was perhaps why she let me fawn over her for as much of the evening as she did. I was competing against Tupilo, a shorter fellow with dull teal eyes and two sharp cowlicks in his hair like mine but that actually were genetic, and he had the advantage of species similarity.

But he was young and clumsy. Pushy, even. I had tact. "Take a rain check, kiddo," I tossed out to him once as he attempted to disguise his eavesdropping by pouring and guzzling yet another glass of water, clutching the pitcher with a thin loop of rainbow all the while. "You'll drown yourself that way."

It was me who won Skyna's soft, tentative kiss behind the hedges in the back. I'd brought with me a pair of Ambrosine's sodaglasses, and Sanderson fetched us a can of drink, maintaining a straight face and proper poise all the while.

Then, as the sugar began to creep over me, I got sloppy. I was showing off, leaning one elbow against the building wall, just two fingers behind the back of her head as she pressed her mouth against mine, when I lost my balance and the cup slipped from my hand. It shattered against a rock in a resounding burst that made all three of us jump. Orange droplets flew, staining the hem of Skyna's skirts. Glass wedged itself in my leg and drew a stripe of pink blood. I apologized, she laughed it off, and we swept the shards together with careful sleeves.

When I looked up, Hawkins was there. Simply… there, four and a half years old and dressed in swirls of elfish blues and greens. He'd heeded the summons of those buttery-mint pheromones to track me, I would learn in another two hundred thousand years- turns out they travel through pixie blood much like they do in the insect with which we share our wings.

He and Sanderson looked each other over, from their similar square faces to their shiny black hair. Therein lay the largest difference between physical features; Sanderson's was close-cropped, with that tuft at the front that I had never gotten to stay down for very long, no matter how many times I'd attempted to rinse Kalysta's saliva away. Hawkins wore his longer around the ears and down the back of his neck so it curled. Otherwise, the only way to tell them apart was their height. Sanderson was taller, though not by much. Hawkins had a plumper stomach and thicker arms, partially hidden beneath sleeves that extended just past his elbows. No freckles, either. Another drone. They touched each other's faces with their fingertips. Then Sanderson picked him up to squeeze him, and Hawkins babbled nonsense.

"There you are," groaned Nephel, coming around the side of the building. Skyna flipped out her paper fan and flapped air across her cheeks as she focused her gaze on a distant point in space. Sanderson released the smaller pixie, and Nephel scooped him into his arms and blew on his stomach. "You can't disappear on us like that up here, Hawkyboy." Then he saw me. "Fergus! Of all Fairies!"

"Nephel," I said back through a cough, straightening my tie. "Is Keziah with you tonight?"

"She's back at the party." His eyes jumped from me to Skyna, then snapped to my face again. I smoothed down my ruffled hair while he finished, "With our little Cassia and the, um… the rest of the people, and your father and such. We wondered if we might cross your path while we were up here."

"Hawkins hasn't been giving you trouble, I hope?" I asked as I leaned down to tickle his little ear. His dust-colored eyes swelled wide as he realized I knew his name.

Nephel gave a sigh. "That's actually what we hoped to discuss, and what brought us up here to Fairy World when we heard Wish Fixers was having its anniversary. When you have five flaps to spare, could you come and find us? We'll just be floating about the lobby room place."

"Of course." I turned back, slightly grimacing, to Skyna, but the moment was gone. Rather than attempt to pick up where we had left off, I simply bowed out with grace and offered her my arm so I might lead her back around to the door. Tupilo was waiting for us like a hopeless crockeroo. With twitching wings, I handed her off to him and asked if she would excuse me for the moment. She smiled in a grim manner, and I knew we were both aware that whenever I came back would be too late. I'd have to get my money the hard way after all.

Hawkins, as it turned out, was bubbling over with anticipation. In the single minute it took me to track down and then cross towards them, I saw him pop out of his seat beside seafoam-haired Cassia and turn around before being pushed back into place by his milkmother at least three times. His wings - his entire face - lit up at my approach.

"You have to be my real dad!" he said, which told me everything before Nephel and Keziah could begin. Choosing not to correct him in front of them, I affirmed it and allowed him to embrace me. Sanderson looked on with a mixture of bewilderment, hope, and disgust.

My prediction was correct. Hawkins was restless among the elves. He did not resemble them in either looks or natural behaviors. He completely lacked their ability to teleport through their tree passages. His wings snagged in low branches and made him too noisy of a hunter. He struggled to conform to their social hierarchy. The elves - particularly his rival drakes - picked on him mercilessly, which explained the light scars I'd caught glimpses of across his stomach and arms. He spent unhealthy lengths of time floating around the perimeters alone, studying the crowds and sucking on his thumb. He chewed every piece of wood he could stick between his teeth into pulp. He asked questions about me on a constant basis. He'd even made several attempts to run away and hunt me down. Would I, Nephel and Keziah wanted to know, be at all interested in taking him back?

"Only if it's your will," Keziah was quick to reassure me. "We know you left him to us, but since we thought it likely you would be here, we thought we'd just pop in and see if we could snag your opinion."

"You'd really hand him over, after all the time and effort you put into caring for him?"

She rubbed her shoulder, forcing a smile. "We only want what's best for our little fairy. But we think it should be your place more than ours to make the call, eh?"

I looked down at Hawkins, who had wrapped all four limbs and his wings around my left leg. This was a conundrum: On top of him being too young to qualify for legal protection from the no-fairy-babies mandate for a few more months, I had been living tightly and couldn't particularly afford to have him draining my resources. And I didn't think the elves would take that as a viable excuse. They claimed it was my choice, but the valravns' feet around Keziah's eyes and the expectant twitch of Nephel's sharp nose told me which option they hoped I would take. Hawkins had become a burden to them; I would be rude in rejecting him after they had come all this way, and while he showed me such genuine affection.

And so… I accepted, feeling my wallet empty itself and my freedom disperse in smoke even as the words left my tongue. The milkfamily exchanged their good-bye hugs and kisses and went off to enjoy the party with, I imagine, a lighter flutter in their step.

"I still can't believe it," Hawkins said over and over as I strayed back towards the refreshments table in pointless search of Skyna. "It's finally happening- this is real- I'm going to live with my real dad now, and you're my real brother, and we'll be a real family and do real things-"

I got down on one knee and removed my glasses. "Hawkins, I'm glad you're excited to be reunited with us. I too will be interested in hearing all about your four years among the elves. But if you're going to live with real fairies, you need to understand that I have this rule. We don't use the words 'brother', 'family', or 'dad' when we refer to one another."

He nodded, hopping from foot to foot like too much pressure upon one of them would cause him to implode. "Sometimes the other elves said stuff like 'sibling' and 'father.' Do we use special fairy words?"

"We do. This is Sanderson. He is not called your brother; he is your companion. In fact, you are both my companions, and even my assistants. You may address me as either 'sir' or 'Mr. Fergus.' Never 'Father' and especially not 'Dad.' Those are elf terms. If you're not going to live with the elves, I don't want you to use them."

"Oh, okay. I can do that, sir. What should I use instead of 'family'?"

"We're coworkers," I answered simply. That was all that needed to be said.

I attempted to forge connections with another couple damsels while Sanderson and Hawkins caught one another up on their lives, but my head simply wasn't in the game. I was warned backwards with hard wing flaps multiple times, and even splashed in the face with some fairy's drink. Still wiping the lemonade away from my freckled cheeks, I gathered the pair up and we headed for home.

It was mostly Hawkins' first time seeing buildings not formed out of trees, and he was fascinated by everything from cobbled pathways to shingled rooftops to signposts. After one more street of pestering questions, I picked him up by the nape of his collar and held him level with my face. "You don't stop talking, do you?"

Startled, he slipped one wrinkled thumb in his mouth. "Does that make you mad? Don't send me back to the forest! I want to live with you forever!"

Shaking my head, I replaced him on the ground and let him scramble through the front door of Ambrosine's residence. "Just cork it when I'm working or when someone else is speaking and we'll get along fine. Sanderson, fetch him a clean change of your clothes. I'm going to give him a bath. You smell like an elf."

"Can we burn my elf clothes?" Hawkins asked, instantly out of his green shirt.

"No. We can sell them, and if we can't find any buyers, we'll find some other use for the cloth. Waste now, want later. Give those to me, and then come jump in the tub."

He stopped moving. "Tub?

"In there," I said, and he was down the hall and in the washroom before I finished lifting my finger to indicate the way. Through the doorway, I saw his wings droop.

"Oh. I got really excited for a minute because I thought fairies took baths in butter."

"What?"

"You said 'tub.' So I thought, like… butter comes in tubs, right?" Hawkins tapped the metal with his fingernail so it rang in a piercing way. "Elves get washed in the river."

I came after him and switched on the lanterns. "Off," I said, gesturing to his pants, and when he'd removed them, I lifted him up and swung him into the washtub.

"But there's no water in here."

"I was getting to that," I said, taking one of the pails from its hook. "Don't flap your wings dustless."

Hawkins stood with his eyes closed and arms stretched to either side, prepared to embrace the spray. "Look up high," I said, and dumped the bucket over him. He yipped and grabbed his shoulders.

"It's icy!"

"Yes," I said, setting the pail aside and squirting yellow soap in my hand. "It's rainwater I fetched from the well last night. I'm groggy and drunk and Ambrosine took all the kitchen wands to the party, effectively preventing me from starting a fire to heat it up right now, so you will have to grit your teeth and stick it out."

"C-c-can't you use non-domestic magic?" he asked as Sanderson came in with clean pajamas and perched himself beside the sink.

"I could, but I choose to perform most tasks the mundane way because wands read personal imprint codes and at the end of every month, I'd have to pay the bill for each time I waved a non-kitchen or non-firefighting wand." I finished rubbing the soap into his hair and moved to his neck. "You happened to come into my life at a time when I'm attempting to save money so I might someday move out of this place, which is my father's house. If you don't like to live this way, you can go back to the elves."

He shook his head. "It's not that cold. We went out and broke chunks out of the frozen pond once. That was worse."

"Arms."

He offered them to me, and I paused again over the pale scars, dripping soap from my fingertips. "You didn't get along very well with the other elf children, did you?"

Hawkins hesitated before coughing up his answer. "Only sometimes. I tried to be nice mostly. They just didn't like me very much. Maybe because I chewed on their trees and burned the cookies and flew away when they played Tag and stuff."

"Did the damsels give you the cold shoulder too?"

"This shoulder?"

I rubbed my palm over his stomach and rephrased myself. "Did the young damsels ever fight with you?"

"Oh. Um, no. I don't remember. Maybe."

"I expect it's just typical youthful rivalry. Your existence offended the gynes. Perhaps you're more familiar with the concept than I am, but elf drakes compete for breeding rights when they're older. They only come into heat for one month a century, and the whole clan makes a big ceremony of it all. Since drakes bear children - show me your other leg - they like to have their pick of the fit damsels. Winner gets first choice, second follows, so on down the bracket. Loser is left with whomever remains, if they're lucky. If their gender ratio is unbalanced and they can't claim one, they either mate outside their species or have to wait until the following century to compete among their age group again. With your wings, they knew they likely didn't stand a chance, so the gynes gained up against you in an attempt to establish dominance while you were young and impressionable. You bit them with those little buck teeth of yours, I presume?"

He took his thumb out of his mouth. "They deserved it."

"Good thinking. Here comes the second bucket. That's it; all done. Hop out and let's dry you off."

As I was scrubbing him down, the front door popped open. Emery floated inside, scratching at a mark on her cheek with distaste. Ambrosine hung his tie on its hook, then stopped and squinted down the hall.

"I'm overdue for an update on my prescription. What is that in the towel?"

I placed my hands on either one of Hawkins' shoulders. "This is Hawkins. He's my second offspring, from several years ago. A clan of elves I know have been raising him all this time, but they can't care for him any longer, so I had little choice but to take him back."

He slid his spectacles down his nose and said, "You never mentioned a second child."

"I assumed it wasn't important. I expected the elves to keep him."

"Not important," Emery repeated. "Ever heard of the baby mandate, rule breaker?"

"Ever heard of minding your own business, Dame Couldn't Court a Cardboard Cutout? At least one of us in this family knows how to play the field."

She sniffed. Hawkins snuck his thumb back into his mouth as Ambrosine ran his fingers through his graying hair, drawing a sigh in through his nose.

"All right," he said finally. "But that's my limit until you introduce me to your lawfully-wedded wife. Don't let it happen again. Hawkins, was it? Get some good sleep tonight. You start work tomorrow at seven."

His wings began to flutter beneath the towel. "I get to work? Like, in a real job? With real people and real money?"

Emery lifted her face away from her scratching fingers. "Sure do, crockeroo."

"And a paycheck of your very own."

"Which goes to me," I interrupted before Hawkins could begin to daydream about petty frivolities. "I'm saving it up so we can move out of here, if you remember."

"Okay, sir. But, I get to move out with you, right?"

"You'd better," Ambrosine said, and with a sharp nod flew off to his room. I helped Hawkins change and led him over to mine.

"You can share Sanderson's bed," I said, indicating it with a flick of my hand.

"But-" Sanderson began to protest, then bit his lip when I turned my head. "Yes, sir," he said. Then to Hawkins, "I get the place by the desk and the lamp, closer to Mr. Fergus and the door."

"That works for me. I always got to sleep next to the window back home. I mean, back with the elves."

I tossed him my pillow so they didn't have to split the one. As I lay the blanket atop them and dimmed the lights, I found myself thinking that maybe I could really pull this entire lifestyle off. After all, there were only two of them. Two nymphs wasn't so hard.

Sanderson woke me up in the early hours of the morning by planting himself on my chest and holding my cheeks. With his forehead to mine, he said, "Please. Give. Him. Back."

"What?" I pushed myself up on my hands, wishing that I'd had more water before I'd clocked out. My forehead throbbed at the temples. "You don't like him anymore?"

"No one said he would still talk in his sleep."

I hooked Sanderson beneath the armpits and replaced him on the floor. "Put his thumb in his mouth; he'll probably suck on that. If that doesn't work, turn your jacket inside out and throw it over him."

"Why?"

"Because if he's anything like you and me, it will shut down his system almost as though it were a butterfly net. Cattahan used to pull that trick with me all the time when I worked for him before you were born, and I used to use it on you when you were in your 200s. Now, go play nicely and just ignore him."

"You're going to be saying that a lot over the next few centuries, sir," he griped, and he was right.

Hawkins slept late the next morning, so after the rest of us had eaten our fill of pancakes, I sent Sanderson to wake him. "You've got to get up with the bugs in this business," Emery warned when he saw there was but one pancake left and his face fell. "Slow risers get cold food and no bananas or syrup."

"No jatican juice," Hawkins murmured, reaching for the milk carton. But otherwise, he didn't complain. Sanderson and I bathed and dressed while he ate, then brushed our teeth and hair while he put on his clothes, and made the attempt to leave without him just to see what he'd do. "No," Ambrosine said as he scampered to join us. "You don't skip the last steps. You make yourself presentable or you don't show up at all."

When Hawkins finally did finish combing the tangles from his curls, we headed down the street. Ambrosine rubbed his chin as he unlocked the main entrance and both light and magic flooded into the building.

"Let me think. Where can we put you…? There's a place I could squeeze you in budgeting, I believe, or we could stick you in reception…" He examined the small fairy, from the way he kept forgetting he could fly (Thank the stars Keziah had had the sense to switch him to a milkmother capable of producing buohyrine) to the white scars showing around his wrists. "Budgeting it is, then. This way. You'll report to Emery, and she'll show you how to lock onto the small pool of importation magic around my basket so when you poof things to my office, they land where they should."

"Um," he piped up, "am I going to have to use a wand in this job? No one ever taught me how."

"If he wants to, Fergus can buy you one this afternoon."

I paused with my hand on my office door. "What if Fergus should choose not to do that?"

Ambrosine looked directly at me. "Then he never learns how to channel magic, will never fly without regular milk intake, let alone shapeshift or poof, and will suffer chronic spells of magical back-up."

So Sanderson and I went to work. We spotted Hawkins during lunch and afternoon break, and he looked bright and cheery in both locations alongside Emery. When 18:00 drew near, I went to fetch him. Emery had left to use the washroom, so Hawkins showed me the final piece he'd been working on for the day.

"What the-?" I muttered, picking it up. "I can't even read this."

His right thumb went between his teeth. "I can fix it, I promise."

I crumpled the sheet up and threw it in the wastebasket. "See that you do. This handwriting is much too elfish and pretty for a fairy drake. Start again, do it with pride, or don't do it at all."

He redid the outline of his day, and Emery lent him her wand so he could deliver it to Ambrosine's basket. After several strained attempts, he managed to do so. We left for Twinkletuft's then, with its walls and countertops that changed colors every few wingbeats and furniture and boxes that whizzed through the air. Hawkins's eyes jumped from his face.

"Don't set your hopes too high. We're getting you a training model with an approval mechanism that connects through mine."

"Not through Emery's?" he asked.

"Through mine," I said again, and that settled the conversation. "I'll register it in my name for now, too. Now, what if I bought you a milbark? It may have the slowest recharge time of any variety, but its blasts do hit the fastest, it's entirely water-resistant, and well-balanced. Can I trust you not to chew a milbark to splinters, Hawkins, do you think…?"

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 2: LEAP

Crossing Thresholds

Autumn of the Bluest Sky Ever Probably - Spring of the Shifted River

Thanks to my past two encounters with the Dame Fergus, I'd known it was going to be bad. But I hadn't prepared myself for this level of bad.

We approached his pink house in his dirty, secluded little corner of Anti-Fairy World knowing full well his fur was green. I had been born at the tail end of the Winter of the Fallen Mountain, but he was the reason the following spring had been christened the Year of the Green Bat.

There he stood on the splintered stoop, using his bare, clawed foot to prop open a lopsided door that clung on by just a single hinge. Shorter than me, although not by much. I'd have been awfully bitter about that fact if he wasn't- I wasn't sure I'd ever met anyone taller than I was since I'd finished with my adult growth spurt.

Still with the default red eyes, of course; he wasn't an aristocrat in their society. Wasn't even close. Instead of thick-rimmed round glasses, he wore orange, squarish goggles with the elastic bands bright turquoise and the lenses tinted an obscure shade of purple like his tattered shorts. His thin, scraggly fur was so matted with the ash that always blanketed Hy-Brasilian clouds that the heavy freckles he shared with me mostly blended in. But the two stripes of black fluff beneath his nose, the curl of it on his chin, and the patches peeking out around his chest marked him as a pilot - the Anti-Fairy equivalent of a gyne - nonetheless.

Then his double-tufted hair glowed with electric yellow like boiled sunshine. His sweeping cloak appeared much the same, only dabbed with spots the size and color of slices of pepperoni or spaghetti sauce. Some of them may have even been pepperoni and sauce stains. His torn pink tie glistened with zig-zags of orange, on top of the stunning teal undershirt. The shirt didn't fully cover the brood pouch on his round belly. Even his leathery wings were ruddy brown instead of the black I'd been anticipating.

It got worse. My counterpart's offspring were dressed not much differently than he was, in clashing vests that in the case of Anti-Hawkins were much too baggy, and for Anti-Sanderson much too small. The latter's curious nature led him to be bold and swagger all the way up to my feet, before I moved and startled him like a lightning flash back into the little pink house. Sanderson and Hawkins each tightened their grip on the back of my legs and fiddled with the collars and buttons of their own wine-colored clothes. Admittedly, that wine color was wearing on me. Faced with all this, I found myself desperately wishing I were colorblind. I could use a little more gray in my life.

"You're the Anti-Fergus," I told the dirty figure in the doorway as casually as I could manage. "I'm the host who breathes magic for you and provides you with your life force. You're welcome."

Anti-Fergus slapped me on the back just beneath my wings, making me jolt. "Well, howdy-do, par'ner! Yer an intristin' fella and yew do an important job in th' world."

He took me by the left hand and pulled me across the rickety porch and into his round cabin. I nearly threw up discolored sludge when I saw the keeping room. The two lime green dining chairs that still had all four legs were lacking most of their backs and were each down an arm. How the florescent orange table remained standing was a mystery I still can't pinpoint an answer for. Was it for eating on? Chipped black and green dishes, dirty clothes, fishing poles, bars of soap, a springcase missing all its dials and most of its ten strings, assorted board game pieces, bashed-in pumpkins, a few soiled napcloths, mutilated stuffed animals, and woodworking tools covered most of it. Every square wingspan was painted a different bright color, so every one of them clashed amazingly with the blue and red beaded curtain in the back that must lead into the actual cooking area of the kitchen. I switched the box of graham crackers I'd brought to my left hand and placed my right on my wand sheath.

"Forgive the mess," Anti-Fergus said cheerfully. "That is, if yew can manage to. I'm betting yer a bit of a control freak."

"I can't imagine what gave you that impression," I said, fighting to keep my eye from twitching. Instead, I floated towards the left-hand corner where one of the green chairs had been shoved against the wall.

"Oh," squeaked Hawkins, his nails pinching my skin. "That's a peryton."

I glanced up. Indeed, a peryton's head, antlers and all, protruded from the wall directly above me. Beads, string, and some of its feathers had been pasted around the edges like a bizarre Spellementary School arts and crafts project. I avoided making a face at its colorful grotesqueness, although I could feel my counterpart's signals lighting up with prideful yellow behind me.

"We only landed ourselves that purty beasty two years ago. It ain't really too bad, livin' in the Barrenglades a' Plane 4."

"Did you now?" I eyed the hefty star-shooter leaning in the corner beside a greasy polishing cloth.

"Yep. Ah've got a good stock a' scamps wit' excellent eyesight underfoot. En? Get yer fluffy tail down 'ere and say hullo right, Ennie."

The Anti-Sanderson had scrambled onto a counter so he might dangle upside-down with his fingers brushing the cinder-strewn floor. His black toe claws were tight around a loop on the wall where a hand towel might normally hang. At Anti-Fergus's urging, he flipped himself over and trotted towards us. Then he tossed his arms above his head like he expected me to scoop him up. "I'm a precious gumdrop and a gift ta the expanses a' the universe!"

In infamous Unseelie fashion, the signature accent he'd carry throughout his life was already thick despite his youth. Somewhat nasal-sounding, it didn't carry quite the low drawl of his sire's. He struggled with his 'r's and left most of his 'o's sounding like 'ah's. I patted his prickly hair. "You're adorable. Now go play somewhere else while the grown-ups talk for a minute." I didn't trust that mischievous gleam in his beady ruby eyes.

"'ey, who's that?" Anti-Sanderson asked, catching sight of his counterpart for the first time. Sanderson tilted his head and crept out from behind my legs. I expected the two to take each other's hands and hit it off instantly, examining wings and ruffling hair, the same way Sanderson and Hawkins had done upon their reunion at the Wish Fixers anniversary party. Instead, Anti-Sanderson took Sanderson's forearm and sunk his fangs into the exposed skin.

"Cute bucko, ain't he?" Anti-Fergus asked, watching as I dropped the box of graham crackers on the table and scrambled to shush the startled Sanderson. "Ah jist wish we knew what to call 'im."

"Oh… Yes. I wrote our Faelumen counterpart a letter, but I didn't have your address so I forgot to bother with you. For… about 510 years… Anyway. You can call him the Anti-Sanderson. That's the Anti-Hawkins. I suppose I should have told you. I'll write you if there's ever another."

"I want one a' those," Anti-Sanderson said, reaching up for the cracker box. "Grahams are my very favorite."

"Grahams are everyone's favorite," insisted Anti-Hawkins from his perch on the back of the yellow-green couch, his accent smoother and more dignified. He rested his arm over one knee and drummed his claws.

Anti-Fergus pushed up both his sunny-bright eyebrows. "Sanderson?"

"Is something wrong with that?" I asked as I tossed Anti-Sanderson a cracker.

"Nothin'. Just, kinda sounds like a surname, don't it?"

"It's a fine name," I said, stubborn and salty.

My counterpart shrugged and tapped a claw against his jagged fangs. The ones he still had, anyway. "Well. Y'know. Jist makes me think a' things. Int'rstin' choice… Ah've picked their middle names, like we Anti-Fairies do. If yew were wonderin'."

"That's actually why I requested permission to cross the Barrier and pay a visit to you. A member of Anti-Elina's camarilla court will be arriving to escort us back to the Divide in less than an hour, so let's get to it. I have census papers to be filled out, and I was informed that you don't keep a scry bowl."

"Ah keep to myself. Ah don't much like attention." He pointed at Anti-Sanderson. "Up 'til now Ah called that one 'Ennet' and th'other one" - Anti-Hawkins - "'Cecil'."

"Ennet. Cecil. Spelled the usual way? Very well." I nodded and motioned for my fairies to follow me towards the door. "Those will work. Thank you for allowing us to invade. Keep the crackers. Now, I have what I came for and you have their primary names, so if that is all then I will just-"

"Anti-Fergus, don't you let that good drake run out on us quite so soon," called a wispy accent from beyond the beaded curtain. I grimaced as I swiveled around, one palm braced against the table.

"Anti-Kalysta, I presume."

She lifted the curtain away using a black wing dotted with several crimson eyespots in each of the four quarters. Anti-will o' the wisps, evidently, the universe permitted to keep the same wing structure as their counterparts. Dark blue, wild hair that even magic would struggle to do anything with hung tangled in a rope between her shoulder blades. She clutched a blackened cardboard box full of cookies in her claws, and smiled at me.

"And right in the notch a' time, eh? I just pulled this out of the cooking dome."

I examined the overflowing baskets around the kitchen and concluded that Anti-Kalysta must pull a lot of cookies out of the cooking dome. Anti-Sanderson went running for them, but Anti-Hawkins caught my eye and slowly shook his head.

"This looks like one of yer better batches too, lollipop," Anti-Fergus told her, slipping his hand in the box to take three. His mouth went up to kiss the corner of her lips. "And that's sayin' quite the ticket." Sort of to me, "Mighty fine fish yew managed ta hook for us."

She smacked his hand. "What, so you've gone and swallowed your manners now, eh? It's proper to let our guests eat up first."

Unnoticed, Anti-Sanderson slunk away behind her, under the table and over to his counterpart with the stolen cookies.

"Ah," Anti-Fergus sighed, looking at his injured wrist. He pushed himself out of his seat and floated behind Anti-Kalysta. Positioning himself between her wings, he wrapped one arm around her waist and the other about her neck. "Do yew know Fairy-Fergus, my sweet pineapple chunk?"

"Only from what we heard when Wisp-Kalysta visited with little Idona and Ariette," she murmured back, turning her head and placing her mouth over his nose. He kissed her chin for a moment, then pulled away.

"Anti-Kalysta gave birth to 'bout three little kickers in a row not too long back."

"Not yours," I replied, flat-voiced.

"Not mine, and they've already gone off ta live with their proper daddies like the others. Anti-wisp drakes like ta be daddies. But…" He traced a circle over her stomach with a claw and looked up at me, a glimmer of hope behind the tinted lenses of his goggles. "Someday?"

"Not while I wield a wand. The door is right here, and either one of you could fly out of it if you so chose. Not the same for me. It took me three full seasons to escape her counterpart's burrow. Why are you even still together? That was over five hundred years ago."

"Hm… What do yew think, sweet icing drip?" Anti-Fergus butted his head against hers. "Is any mean, nasty tax ever gonna rip us apart?"

"You're synced up," I warned as they kissed again. "Eventually, reality's going to catch up to you. She has other drakes to sap up her time. You can't hide from Da Rules."

Anti-Kalysta handed the cookie box to Anti-Hawkins so she could slide her hands behind Anti-Fergus' pointed ears. She scratched a certain spot that made a chirp jump from his lips. Their kisses deepened and grew more elaborate. I waited, tapping my fingertips against the table, but as minutes passed and it became obvious that they weren't going to be done anytime soon, I turned my attention on Anti-Sanderson.

"How is your life, then? Do you go to school? Do much magic?"

"Life's fun," he managed around the three cookies in his mouth. I noticed then that what I'd thought were chocolate chips were actually dung beetles. "I have a wand, see? In my scabbard? It's shiny and black and it's mine, mine, mine, mine, mine. I can do this." With a sound not unlike a pong, he shifted himself into a yellow spider and crawled away across the floor. Instantly, Anti-Hawkins slammed his shoe down on him- which I presume did nothing for his already-splintered black crown. Hawkins yelped and Sanderson flinched, but Anti-Sanderson ponged out of his squashed form in a roll and tackled the larger anti-fairy to the ground, scattering cookie crumbs. Anti-Hawkins sunk his fangs into his ear. I tapped Sanderson on the shoulder.

"See, that's one of the things Anti-Fairies can do that we can't. If you ever shapeshift into something that small, you must be very careful not to end up underfoot. Unless, of course, you were smashed flat by a magical shoe. Magical objects can't kill you. But anything untouched by magic… no. You'd turn to dust on the spot."

He shivered.

"Boys," Anti-Fergus called, finally dragging his lips free from Anti-Kalysta's, "play nice in front of our guests."

Anti-Sanderson looked up. "Wait a minute! I don't have to fight you." Abandoning his sibling, he charged for Hawkins, who smiled dimly since he didn't understand what the intention was.

"No," I said, scooping the fairy into my arms. Anti-Sanderson pulled up in front of me with a harsh flap of wings and screech of claws on wood.

"Aw, just lemme break his leg, boss! One leg! Puhlease? Look, I'll even break Sandy's too so we're even."

Sanderson grabbed the tails of my suit. "I've never not wanted to break even so badly before, sir."

"Here." I snapped a few more graham crackers in half and handed several to each of the drakes. "Sit on the floor where I can see you, and no one injure each other's assorted limbs. Now, Anti-Fergus, if you don't mind…"

Anti-Sanderson was placated at once by the crackers, and they all munched and talked about childish things beside the door. I clasped my hands and leaned over the orange table.

"We need to talk."

Anti-Fergus turned reluctantly away from Anti-Kalysta, who shortly thereafter began to crawl about on her hands and knees and pluck up the burned cookie crumbs from between wide slats in the wood. "In private?"

"I don't think it needs to be, especially given the values of your society."

He frowned. "S'what's this about?"

"Damsels." I tilted my head towards the little drakes, who had very quickly broken into a scuffle over a torn but soft cushion. "Specifically, do you remember who mothered your Anti-Sanderson? I've been talking with the Dame Fergus, and she's been coming up equally clueless. All she knows is that she hasn't copulated with anyone who carries the color-eye STD, and I can see for myself that you haven't either."

My counterpart's green fingers slid along the table. The claws caught. "Do we really gotta talk about this in front a' the kiddos?"

I stood. "Nope. Let's go for a skim. Aside from the occasional trip to Sugarslew, I'm not familiar with Anti-Fairy World. Care to take me on a tour?"

"Leh's… Leh's jist step outside, okay? Ah don't like leavin' the boys fer long. Sugarcough, Ah'm goin' out for a minute." He stole a last quick kiss from the anti-will-o-the-wisp on the ground and made his slow, reluctant way for the door. We were hardly through it when I rounded on him again.

"So. We can't all not know who the mother is, or the father in our dear stylus sister's case. That's ridiculous. What about your honey-lock?"

He shrunk back. "Ah… Ah mate wit' a lot a' damsels, Fergus, so yew really kin't expect me ta keep track…"

His words made me squint. "You're stalling. Are you lying to me? Is that why you're fiddling with the clasp of your cloak? What, was she an anti-brownie? Is that what you're hiding from me?"

Acidic tears welled up behind the purple lenses of his goggles. The material steamed. And then, before I could react, Anti-Fergus's hand went across his body and for his left hip. His black wand was out of his scabbard in an instant and aimed directly at my forehead.

"No, no! P-promise yew won't turn me in, Fergus! Ah kin't go back to them doctors! Ah kin't watch 'em rip Ennet open again! He's still got them scars- awful scars all down his chest and tum an' back. They'll have Cecil too now. Don't yew tell my dad where we are! Promise me!"

I brought my hands into the air between us and held the palms towards him. "This isn't necessary. Now, please calm down so we can have an informative conversation. I'm supposed to be the rash one here, who sets his mind on the first idea to pop into it and pursues that goal for years. Let's be calm… let's put the wand away… Reminder that you're synced up to my core, so if you wipe me off the map, you'll go down yourself. Then where will your kids be?"

Anti-Fergus didn't blink. His eyes were so wide, his goggles barely covered them. His blond brows had already left them behind. He kept his arm extended, cold magic swirling from his mouth and against my face. I lay a finger on his wrist and directed the star at his wand's tip into the scraggly, dying bushes beyond my shoulder.

"Are you done? I'm here on personal business. I wouldn't even know where to find the high-ranking Anti-Fairies or hospital buildings. I'm only interested in myself, not in what they do to you, so I'm not going to blab you out. Come on. Who nourished Anti-Sanderson's lifesmoke? Whose pouch did you deliver him to after you developed his body in yours? That is how brood pouches work, isn't it?"

After swallowing, Anti-Fergus stared up at the stars and the distant underbelly of Plane 5 and shook his head. His wand went back in its sheath with the scraping of silver against yale leather. "Mine," he said. "I'm broke- All broke."

"Your pouch?"

"Ah din't honey-lock. Not fer Ennet. Cecil either, I think, but Ah don't know. Ah don't know! I-it jist happened. Ah fooled around a bit a few hundred years ago 'cuz Ah was lonesome and breakin' inside, and Ah made these green pups, a-an' now they're out there callin' me the Motherkind."

I blinked. "The Motherkind… Green and yellow people… Why is that ringing imaginary shrine bells in my head?" My fingers moved upwards to massage the bristles on my chin. "No honey-locking… I don't make the claim to be more familiar with your biology than you are, so stop me if I'm wrong. But if whatever damsel mothered my Sanderson died before he was born, you wouldn't necessarily have had the chance to mate with her counterpart three months later. Yep. And if she doesn't have any close genetic match still living, then that means you're left to choose who to breed with, who will nourish the child's lifesmoke. Yes?" I crossed my arms. "I suppose you were off by yourself, here in the Barrenglades of Plane 4, and the universe thought you chose your own pouch."

"Yew don't understand, Fergus. That shoul'n't happen. My genetics shoul'n't be that way. But Ah'm a mutation. Ah got a damsel's pouch. Must've had it since I was small, but Ah only noticed when Ennet was born." He stuck his thumb claw in the brood pouch and pulled it open so I could glance inside. I didn't look or unfold my arms, but a muscle in my cheek did twitch.

"Well… It's incredibly frustrating that I still don't know what that means for me. The odds of all three of us being clueless about the Sandersons' parentage must be astronomical. Hmm. And then, you're so passionate with the Anti-Kalysta that you didn't notice any difference in the honey-lock switching on around the time my Hawkins was born. That's what happened. Yes."

Anti-Fergus tipped his head. "Yew could ask the Eroses for answers, maybe. They keep records a' stuff."

My eyes flicked up to my forehead chamber. I winced inwardly. Anti-Fergus's comment about being poked and prodded by medical personnel had admittedly gotten under my skin, and I would prefer to keep their medical instruments from following suit. "It's not worth the effort. I have too much going on. And…" I squinted through the smeared window glass. Inside, it looked as though Sanderson had collapsed on his stomach after a game to rest his sore wings. The Anti-Sanderson was tugging on his hands, trying to urge him to play a little longer, but the number of time zones we'd crossed to get here was obviously beginning to wear at him. "I suppose that's the most I'm going to get out of you. This visit was enlightening, but we really ought to go. That camarilla representative doesn't want us to keep her waiting."

"Huh. Keep me posted, yeah?"

"Yep."

And so the centuries passed. I homeschooled Sanderson and Hawkins both, and each of them began to blossom. Sure, we had to take things slow due to their status as drones, and I spent many a lunch break physically bashing my forehead against the back of my bedroom door when they failed developmental task after developmental task. But they were grasping other concepts. Hawkins was performing decently in that budgeting work he liked, and there were other tasks to keep him occupied as well. He'd learned to fly. His magic was shakier than Sanderson's, due undoubtedly to his late start. He couldn't hold a shapeshifted form for upwards of a minute. And I never did break him of that thumb-sucking habit; as long as it kept him quiet, I didn't care what he did.

Despite regular conflicts with Ambrosine and Emery stemming from three adults crammed under the same small roof, we got along all right. This was fine. I was gradually paying off my debts to my father. The sailors on my cloudship had yet to dare try cheating me. Emery and I engaged in all the mock magic-slinging fights we could want. Things were finally going my way. One night, I even leaned back in Ambrosine's new favorite chair with an orange cream soda, the awkward noise of Sanderson struggling with Emery's springcase drifting through the house, and cracked my speckled knuckles. Hit me with your best shot, universe.

The days before and the days following the birth of the third child, about 490 years after reuniting with Hawkins, in the Spring of the Shifted River, were not in the least bit pleasant. It was, to be quite honest, panic that kept me away from Wish Fixers when the symptoms began to be undeniable. I was sick enough that Ambrosine allowed me temporary leave. Wilcox - though he wouldn't be called that for 24 hours yet - was born in the kitchen one day after Ambrosine had left. While Sanderson held him, I scrubbed the place spotless and lit all the scented candles I could find. The nymph remained stuffed and sealed in my marsupium pouch for the remainder of the afternoon- his chirps were more muffled in there, so I knew Hawkins wouldn't notice and squeal on me. I wore a baggy purple sweater in the desperate hope that his shifting would go unnoticed by my father and half-sister.

At Ambrosine's return, I sat at the table completing my paperwork. He floated about in his typical painstaking way as he prepared dinner. The meal passed in silence minus Hawkins's perpetual chatter, and when it was over I excused myself to the washroom and promptly threw up again.

We went to bed early. I didn't sleep all night, but kept the nymph quiet by every means I had. The sound of my father's wings whirring past my door would haunt my waking nightmares for a week.

Ambrosine called me into his office the following morning. He rubbed his temple with one finger, staring at some file that one of the others had left in his basket. He didn't even look at me when I sat and he said, "Who's the mother?"

My wings prickled up. "What mother?"

Laying the report aside, he got up and circled my seat. "Is it Staci? Rika? Imogen? Britnee has been stealing glances your way for a time, though I never thought you'd swing for one of the huldufólk."

My right fingers twitched over those of my left, even as I attempted to keep my hands in my lap. "What mother do you mean? I told you before, I met Sanderson's and Hawkins's on Earth and haven't visited her since, if that's who you're referring to."

"You smell of birth," he announced, returning to his tall chair. "I noticed it starting a week ago, but it was stronger last night. You've been getting with the damsels on your break period, I think."

I held my upper lip in my teeth until I could trust my voice again. "I'm sorry, but you're mistaken."

"At home, then, when the rest of us are asleep."

"What, and I expect you think Sanderson and Hawkins are in the room too? Definitely not. I haven't gotten with any damsels for a millennium."

"You're a gyne. Of course you've gotten with damsels. It's in your nature."

I bristled beneath my searing freckles. "Not my nature."

"Then how do you explain the nymph?"

My wings squirmed. Time for the truth to come out, then. Plucking at my sleeve, grinding my teeth, I began.

"Around the time Sanderson was born, I was taken up by a will o' the wisp."

He paused. "You were what?"

"Did you ever wonder where I was, Ambrosine? An entire year locked up in her burrow, used as her plaything, catering to her every precious whim. I escaped only on a technicality. You had your Solara, crown jewel of your life, whom you loved, and I got stuck in what may as well have been the gaping maw of The Darkness itself!" I slammed my palms on the edge of his desk as I shot up. "Did you even notice I didn't send you my usual present for Krisday?"

"It wasn't as though visits from you were a regular occurrence," he replied with a shrug. "I expect I thought you had moved on. Growing gyne. I wasn't about to haul you home by the ear when you were only getting stronger and more rebellious. Still, that doesn't answer my question. Sit down, and try again."

Shivering, grabbing my forehead, I sputtered, "Sh-she must have stuffed me full of so much sperm, it's all still fertilizing my eggs. That has to be it. Has to be."

"I can assure you, that isn't how it works or Emery wouldn't be your only sibling."

"It's the only logical explanation. I haven't had encounters of that nature with a damsel since I left her. E-even when I gave birth to Hawkins, I hadn't more than brushed up against one. I must be storing sperm."

"Sperm dies off."

"Maybe not always! Maybe- maybe my genetic mutation keeps it alive! Believe me, Ambrosine, I haven't been getting with damsels."

He put down his coffee mug. "All right, Fergus. If that's the best you can come up with, then you're fired."

"What?" I asked, assuming like an idiot that he had misspoken.

"I said you're fired."

My palms slid from the desk. "You can't fire me. I'm your son. Your eldest child. It's my birthright. What even for? I've done nothing wrong."

Ambrosine steepled his fingers. "Stop me if this rings a bell. You come crawling back to me with a child, no money, no job, no hope. Despite your being a gyne in your dangerous prime, I willingly take you in and provide for both of you, which shortly thereafter became the three of you. And now, it seems, the four of you, and without so much as a supportive mother watching from the sidelines. Rather, you coax me into hiring the nymphs, thereby securing you additional income so you might buy Wish Fixers off me sooner."

I couldn't protest that.

"All the while, I give food and clothing and shelter for no additional charge, and you attempt to hold down a job you are not skilled in. This is not acceptable in my eyes. If you're going to continue to play the part of damsel-killer and act irresponsible, I have to draw the line. You have taken advantage of me for nearly a millennium, and that's just since your return. Find another job, and get out of my house."

"Now?"

"Now."

"Not really tonight, I would hope?" I asked, lifting from my chair again. "I need time to pack- to think- to look for-"

"I understand. The nymph was only born yesterday. It's cruel to toss you out without something to support you." He swung a shiny briefcase from the floor behind his desk and slid it over to me. "So, I've decided to give you your inheritance early."

"Ah. Thank you for your generosity, Ambrosine. I knew you wouldn't leave me with nothing." After clicking loose the latches, I opened the briefcase. It was empty. I looked up, the resentful question balanced on the tip of my tongue. He inclined his head.

"I want you to go home, Fergus, take a moment to reflect, and then look around. You may take whatever you can fit in that briefcase, and don't bother trying to change its state with your wand. It's been fully dunked in rosewater. Even a school dropout must remember that magic holds no effect over other magical objects. You have until I get off work tonight. Then all of you had better be out of there. If you ever come back, I expect you to have my three million lagelyn in cold, hard cash."

"… I understand that much. I just don't understand you, Ambrosine." I tried to leave before he could respond to that, but though I was in the process of flying out the door, I did not miss his, "You might if you'd studied psychology like I told you to".

In the break room, I snapped my fingers to bring Sanderson and Hawkins to attention. "We're leaving."

Hawkins sat up in the old hammock, scratching at his neck. "What, right now?"

"We have no choice. Ambrosine is throwing us out."

"He's what?" Sanderson was to his wings in an instant. "But why? Is it because of the new nymph?"

"Yes; he doesn't like it. He's upset that I was planning to raise it."

"But that's not your fault! Maybe he'll change his-"

"Hawkins, even if he were the type of fairy to change his mind, I wouldn't go back there after that. The Whimsifinado family line neither forgives nor forgets. Keep up and don't dawdle."

Back in the house - Ambrosine's house - I scoured every drawer and cabinet, tearing things apart and not bothering to stuff them back. Hawkins and Sanderson hovered nearby with mirrored expressions of horror. I finally looked up as I stacked their clothes in the case.

"Each of you can grab one thing besides your wand and what you're wearing. That's all Ambrosine said you're allowed to take."

They scattered as I finished packing. It turned out that I actually didn't have much I wanted. The money was essential. I'd pull the (limited) rest from my bank account once we left. Then I wanted shoes. My selkie coat. Dry food. Water flasks. A fan-folded map of the expanses of the cloudlands. A little medicine. Two needles and a bit of black thread. That was it. Nothing else mattered. There wasn't room for anything else to matter.

As I opened one more old shoe box from beneath my bed, something that gleamed in the lantern light caught my eye. I picked it up. It was the medallion I'd been given after my baptism. Although chipped around the edges, it still had my name scrawled between Ambrosine's and Solara's.

"I want to take this," Sanderson announced. I tossed the medallion around my neck and turned as he pulled my purple nymph blanket off his bed. "We can sit on it for picnics, we can wrap the baby with it, Hawkins and I can both fit under it if we get cold, and if we all squish then maybe you can too, a bit. And, I like it and I want it. It's always been ours and Ambrosine won't miss it."

"I didn't even think of bringing that. You keep me together, Sanderson." I took it from him and spread it out between my hands so two ends fluttered against the floor. "I think Solara left this to me. It won't fit in the case, but we can loop it around us. It's worth taking. Hawkins, have you made a decision yet?"

He wandered in and handed me a thick silver key. I took it with a frown. "What's this?"

"The elves did this to me once. It goes to Ambrosine's special lockbox where he keeps his emergency liquid assets and all the stuff you drew when you were a nymph. These things are expensive to get new copies of, and then we'll have it so we can sneak back and get in anytime we want. Even if we lose it, he'll always wonder if we'll use it against him."

"Good thinking." I rubbed his hair. "And it won't take up too much room. I'm glad I'm bringing you along. Did you grab any of his money?"

"A little. I didn't want him to suspect or he might get a new box."

"It's enough." We filled the remaining space in the briefcase with more food. "Can't we shrink these so more will fit?" Hawkins asked at one point, passing me a packet of crackers.

"That will touch them with magic and instantly drain all nutrients. They'll have about a fourth of their taste, and you'll still be hungry when it's done. The Unwinged and the Earth animals could eat it and be mostly fine because they don't have magic in their blood that will react in defense to it, but that doesn't help us." I closed the briefcase and looked around. "Is there anything else?"

"Bandages?" Sanderson offered.

"Those are cheap enough we can pick them up as needed. If we don't, we're built to heal quickly anyhow." I drew the sleeping nymph from the cardboard box in my room where I had left him while we had all been out at Wish Fixers. "I think we're as well off as we can be. Let's head out."

We were partway through the door when I stopped. Then I turned around, removed the grocery list tablet from its hook by the icebox, and took up the stylus.

Wilcox wouldn't fit in the briefcase. He's yours for now. I'll take him back when I return with your three million. After retrieving the cardboard box, I set it and the baby in the middle of the coffee table while the others watched with owlish eyes.

"I thought Grandpa Ambrosine didn't like the nymph."

"Again, 'Grandpa' is an elf word, and he doesn't. But Wilcox isn't going anywhere unless Ambrosine outright kills him, and it's not in him to do that. He raised me on his own, after all."

"So I guess we can't burn the place?"

"It's not worth the matches. And since the nymph is still in there, our wands would go limp on us. He'd sue us for arson anyway. Come on." I locked the door behind me and wrapped the tail of my old blanket tighter around my neck.

"Where are we going, sir?" Sanderson asked.

"The library."

"Why?"

"Because I want to, Hawkins. Don't question my decisions." I pointed down the street and they both flanked me without another word. Hawkins was the only one to glance back, but two snaps of my fingers returned his attention to the present.

The librarian was a brownie, as they often tended to be. I placed my hands on the counter and leaned forward. "I'm looking for information on the Whimsifinado family line. Can you help me?"

She stared back at me, her brown eyes blank and puzzled. "You mean your ancestry? Unless you're studying one of the chosen or pure bloodlines, I don't believe anyone keeps records like that."

"None? Still? In this day and age?"

"No more than Celebrity Families cards."

"You're kidding like a pregnant satyr."

Tapping a finger to her soft floating hat, she said, "I'd seek out one of the churches and ask about the baptism medallions. They might have your answer. Or you could try to contact the Eroses, but-"

"-but it's not worth that much. Alright. We'll work with this. It's high time we got you two baptized anyway."

"Why?" Hawkins asked over Sanderson's "Yes, sir".

"Because maybe the Tuatha Dé Danann will look on us more favorably when you are. It would be nice if they cut me a break."

It was three hours to the Faeheim shrine as the dragonfly skims, but now of all times we couldn't afford to poof. Not three of us and a full briefcase. Neither of them uttered a complaint that I heard.

The little place hadn't changed in the nearly 500,000 years since I'd visited it last: about the width and length of the seventeenth-floor conference room nowadays, white, with steps that led up to a platform from four directions. Four thin pillars in four corners and no solid walls, but veiled blood-violet curtains spanning between them. A pair of golden-haired and golden-winged refract-fairy acolytes with pale pink robes leaned against one of the pillars outside.

"They have white crowns!" Hawkins cried, almost giddy with this realization.

"Yes. They're Faelumen. Remember when I told you the first twelve planes of existence are known as the Deep Kingdom, and Planes 13 through 24 are the High Kingdom? The Refracted live up there and stray down here only to attend the shrines, really."

"Their faces are feathered like birds, not furry like bats," Sanderson observed in his crisp, quiet way.

"And their funny noses look like pointy beaks."

"Hawkins, shush."

The two refracts broke off their conversation as we landed. The taller one walked over to us on bare feet, his feathered wings folded tight. "You're approaching a shrine of the Tuatha Dé Danann. My actual name is not to be spoken in your lower kingdom, so you may refer to me as Hadrian, and my kin-sister as Miriel, after the ancient priests. Can we be of assistance?"

"In multiple ways, I hope." I gestured to Sanderson and Hawkins. "I'd like to schedule a time to have these two baptized, and I would also be interested in viewing your records to learn anything I can about my ancestry." My thought process was simple: Ambrosine had turned his back on us, but perhaps if I could find cousins, uncles, aunts, or widows, someone would extend the hand of mercy when I needed it most. Just not Praxis. Never Praxis. Praxis had forbidden either of us from ever attending any family gatherings after Ambrosine had convinced him to spare my life when I was still a nymph.

Hadrian squinted at the two small fairies, pale yellow lips pressed in a frown, but then shook his head and looked at me again. "Of course. We're open for baptisms any time tomorrow that works for you. As for our records, Miriel could help you with that now."

"Thank you. And if you happen to be able to squeeze us in, could you alert us when whoever's in there now has finished? The sooner it's over, the happier I'll be."

"Oh," Hadrian said, placing his hands together within his gaping sleeves. "No one is in there now. Standard policy; we don't want just anyone rushing in because they have a few minutes to kill. We simply ask that they come fasting and in prayer, and so we give them some time to reflect before we proceed with the ceremony."

I thought about that for a couple of wingbeats. "Again, could we please get on with it now? My father doesn't know I never brought these two here until today, and should he get word of where we are, he'll yank my lines."

Hadrian hesitated. "I'm sorry. Return tomorrow. That's the way we do things."

"That seems extraordinarily inefficient."

"There are preparations to be made. The tablets, the water, the medals, their Faelumen counterparts to be contacted…"

"Oh. That's right. The issue of money." I stared down at the briefcase sitting at my feet. All logic insisted that I ought to hold off on the ceremony. Return when Sanderson and Hawkins were older and more familiar with the world. After all, I hadn't been baptized until I was about ten thousand. And yet…

"We'll be here by six Eros Standard time tomorrow morning. Can I at least be allowed to fill everything out in advance? There are things to be written out, aren't there? Information to be provided?"

He nodded and gestured to Miriel. "She will help you with that as well," he said, but when I attempted to move past him, he raised his hand towards Hawkins and Sanderson. "Those two are undeniably under a hundred and thirty thousand. I must ask, as I am permitted to, but did you obtain special permission not to have your tubes stopped up?"

"Pardon?"

Hadrian backed away towards the nearest set of steps. "I'm sorry. If you deliberately disobeyed the Fairy Elder to birth them, that's among the Three Sins and I cannot baptize them while it hangs upon your shoulders. You must clear it with the Council first."

I stilled my wings and landed on the cobblestones. "What's this about the Fairy Elder ordering the stopping up of tubes? As in, fallopian tubes? I haven't ever heard of it in any great detail."

Hadrian stared at me, his hands twitching every couple of beats. "Where were you 130,000 years ago? Did you not heed the summons?"

"130,000… Ah. I believe I was living as a domestic helper in the home of a reclusive fellow down on Earth at the time. The nearest thing either of us owned to a starpiece was a kitchen wand. Would you explain?"

Biting his lip, he shook his head at the morning sky. "The Fairy Elder has forbidden the fairy race to have any more full-blooded fairy children, after what happened with the Last Fairy Child."

"Which was?"

"A reclusive life you must have had! There was a drake nymph who came into his Terrible Twos phase. His mother attempted to keep him contained, but he got out of hand and escaped into the community. He cut the northwestern reaches of Fairy World off from access to magic entirely, including Queen Shoulath and a large portion of the royal army who attempted to come to their aid and hunt the troublemaker down. There were no survivors, with the exception of himself safe in his bubble. His name is Cosmo Cosma."

I frowned. "All right… So that was a single child. Why should his actions impact the entire race?"

"Fairy magic has become unstable and a danger. I'll show you." He drew a stylus from the pocket of his robes along with a small patch of clay and began marking indents along it. "This is a representation of the passage of magic inside a regular Fairy. Magic from the energy field emanating from the Big Wand enters through the pores, is carried through the bloodstream to the brain and the core of the soul, and powers the body. Everything is in order and flows precisely as it should. However, Cosmo carries a genetic mutation that has scrambled his circuits, so his inner lines are permanently scattered, much like this." Hadrian made scribbles, then tucked the stylus away and took a step back, patting the clay.

"Then forbid he alone from bearing offspring. The strain ends with him."

Hadrian shook his head. "It's a fairy mutation, and he isn't the only one to have it, though none have shown the destructive tendencies to the same level he has. This genetic mutation has cropped up frequently throughout the recent generations, resulting in side effects including mental dimness, impeded communication, poor memory, distractibility, magical particles that fizz out early and result in temporary periods of asphyxiation and may also even disrupt the flow of channeling via a starpiece, and the inability to have stored nutrients gained before weaning. For example, none of these children will ever be able to fly without drinking nursing milk on a regular basis, they're at least five times as likely to develop hiccups with their fagiggly glands during their lifetimes, and their physical growth has been stunted as well."

"Stop the tubes of all the fairies and they may someday go extinct," I said, folding my arms. "We may not die simply because of age, or sickness in our youth, but diseases can still get us when we're older and our immune systems are failing, and of course there is always the threat of being injured by an object untouched by magic."

"It's only a temporary fix to a complicated problem," Hadrian assured me, still using his fingers to press the clay smooth again. "No, we would not make such a thing permanent. Simply, fairy drakes' tubes are plugged and we are all on probation from producing offspring, though not necessarily from copulation, seeing as that is a thing you Deep Kingdomers like to do. The leading hypothesis maintains that the mutation is the result of hundreds of thousands of years of breeding across species and, in case you were unaware, many out there insist that we return to mating only among our own individual kind. I believe that's what Mother Nature always intended. Until the mutation's true causes can be determined or a solution is found, this is the sacrifice you are called to make, for the good of your species, lest all fairies are overcome by it and you truly do set yourselves - and us, your counterparts - up for extinction with no hope of redemption. We don't want it to spread to the other races, particularly if it can't be corrected. You are all asked to comply by the Fairy Elder, and they cannot be baptized until they have, too."

"What if I were only half-fairy?" I asked then, folding my wings, and his simple answer was, "You can produce a full fairy nymph with a fairy damsel. That's fairy enough."

So we flew for the hospital, me muttering things I shan't repeat and rubbing my temples the entire way. They had room for us in the afternoon. I took the pair to get a lunch of fried noodles and biscuits to eat with our crackers, and we sat on the purple blanket in the middle of the street, because I didn't care.

"What does it mean that they're going to stop our tubes?" Hawkins asked, breaking his bread in half.

"Nothing pleasant. Under our skin, there are tubes down our backs called fallopian tubes that lead down our bodies from our forehead chambers and allow eggs to travel through to the uterus. By sticking a plug in them, they're going to stop us from having nymphs now."

"Oh. I didn't know you could do that. How are they going to plug us?"

I chewed on my noodles before I covered my mouth and gave my answer. "They're going to cut open our backs."

Hawkins flinched. "I'm not doing that."

"Me neither," Sanderson butted in. "Sir, I do a lot of things I don't like, but this is too hard. What if I want nymphs someday?"

I looked down at him. "Why would you want nymphs?"

He plucked at his sleeves and shrugged.

"You don't want nymphs, Sanderson. They're loud and wet and don't let you get any sleep. Remember how you didn't like baby Hawkins? It's ten times worse when you're the caretaker. And, 9 times out of 10 you end up with a mate as a result of it, and then she's another being you have to budget for."

Hawkins tugged on the hem of my shirt. "Does that mean you didn't really want us?"

"No, I didn't. I wasn't sure I'd be very good at raising offspring. But I have you now, and I intend to keep you." I set my noodles aside so I could straighten the collar of his vest. "You're my living, growing responsibility. You are my legacy, my future, who will carry on the memories of me when I eventually fade away into dust. It's my duty to ensure your survival so that you do. Sanderson, don't let your hands shake so much. You're spilling sauce."

"I don't want to do this, sir. Please don't make me. Please don't, sir. I'm too young to have nymphs anyway, aren't I? I don't have a mate. I'm not even courting a damsel! I don't want to get baptized anyway."

I sighed. "Sanderson, as far as I'm aware, I was baptized, Ambrosine and Solara were baptized, and their parents were baptized, all the way back for generations, perhaps even to the time before the Earth was even formed, may the Lost Ancients return from their underground prison. It's tradition, and it's not your place to bring that to an end. It's your responsibility to continue it. And if someday the ban is lifted, and you have a nymph of your own, I expect you to bring them here so he or she can be baptized too. That's the way it's done."

"Yes, sir," he said, swallowing a lump of biscuit. After our meal, we returned to seek our surgeon: an imp by the name of Dr. Ranen, and once we were gowned and in the surgery room he smiled and shook hands with both Sanderson and Hawkins before me.

"We're just going to put a slit down your back, pop in the plug, and zip you up again. Takes ten to fifteen minutes and you'll be sleeping through the whole thing. No pain. Just a bit of soreness when you wake, but that'll be gone within a day. Very easy, eh?"

Sanderson nodded, still clinging to my arm. "Can Mr. Fergus stay with me?"

"I was going to ask if he would. Put him on this table, Whimsifinado. On his stomach. Yes, very good. Arms forward; you're welcome to stroke his head if you wish."

I folded Sanderson's hands in mine and held his nervous gaze until Dr. Ranen lay the tip of his wand to his nose and blew a stream of dust into his face. His blinks began to be fewer, his eyelids closed more often, until they didn't open again.

"Right. If you would let go of him now, give me some ease of movement…"

Hawkins sat in my lap, craning his neck to see what was going on with the unconscious Sanderson. The procedure appeared simple enough. His back was rubbed down in circles with blue and white cloths by one of the assistants. Then came the drape, held in place by metal clamps. Dr. Ranen covered his antennae and tied a cloth around his mouth. Then he rinsed his hands to the elbows, dropped the towel to the floor, slipped on his gloves, and unwrapped a bundle of tools from a green packet. I felt Hawkins flinch when the surgical knife bit into Sanderson's skin, about an inch to the right of his spine. Purple wetness swelled up.

"He's hurting him," he whispered to me. "I can smell it."

So could I. Strongly. I tightened my arms around his waist. "Shh… He's not. He's not hurt; just ignore it. Sanderson's sleeping, and you can see him right there. He's just fine."

Still, Hawkins reached out for Sanderson's hands. I watched as Dr. Ranen continued his careful incision, then dabbed the blood away. He lifted a second wand. And then… he stopped. He patted at Sanderson's bleeding skin. Squinted. Putting the second wand down beside the first and tugging down his mask, he beckoned to one of the technicians who stood in the corner. "Fetch Dr. Savanna for me, please."

He did, and I watched the two lean their heads together, conversing in mumbles too low for my ear. Dr. Savanna pulled her spectacles down from her dark hair and floated over. Her finger ran along Sanderson's spine beside the incision line, and halted. She looked back at Dr. Ranen. Their faces told me what their mouths would not: That's not possible.

"Is there a problem with his tube?" I asked, keeping my tone level as I held Hawkins a smidgen tighter around the middle. He was still whimpering about the sharpness of the knife.

Dr. Ranen and Dr. Savanna communicated with their eyes until the former finally licked his lips. "Um. He… he doesn't have one."

I considered that as Dr. Savanna flew off to contact more specialists. "How can he not have one?"

"He can't. He shouldn't, I mean. It has to be there. It may be on the other side of his spine. A slip-up. Some sort of organ shift. Erm. How are his fagiggly transformations?"

"Shaky," I admitted. "He didn't get his first wand until he was about a year old, and he's never been able to last for long. Hawkins here is even worse at it- raised by elves until he was four."

"Then that's it. It slipped. Easily fixed, eh? Hm." Dr. Ranen floated there, his gloved hands locked together, tapping his fingertips. "What species is his mother?"

"I think a will o' the wisp."

"You think?"

"It was dark," I said.

"And Hawkins?"

"It was dark twice."

He didn't push the question further. Dr. Savanna eventually came back with a third surgeon, this one a red-haired fairy with thin brows pressed together. She slipped her fingers into the gash along his back and gently stroked various bones and tissue. With her wand, she lit as much of his insides as she could see. Hawkins tightened his grip on both my shoulder and Sanderson's hand.

"It's not there," the red-haired fairy pronounced at last, clicking off her wand. "Check his dome."

They looked to me for permission. I nodded. Dr. Ranen placed his thumb a couple of centimeters above Sanderson's nose and eased his forehead open. "There," he said, pointing to a thin, coiled mass near the right ear. "It's right there. And there are all his eggs, sealed in the nest bubble, all tiny and white and healthy… So where does it go?"

"Wait," Dr. Savanna said. "Dr. Luana, what's…?"

She stopped herself from saying 'that' in front of the client, but the inflection in her voice made her thought process pretty obvious. She bit her lower lip. Dr. Luana whistled through her teeth. Reaching in with her fingers, she tugged on a long, fleshy strip.

"It goes under the nest. It's fused into something there. Get me a knife touched by magic."

"Are you just cutting it off?" I asked as the technician produced the blade with a wave of his wand.

"It's magic-touched; it'll reattach itself when I'm finished." Dr. Luana made a quick slit and held the now-severed tube between her thumb and forefinger. She examined the end, then showed it to her two companions. "If you remember your anatomy classes, that section right there where it widens is Gordon's point. Should fall right at the base of his neck, above his shoulder blades. But, this almost looks as though the tube was stretched in rubber-band fashion, then it broke in the middle from strain, and as a result the upper half snapped back up here. It's too short. The rest is just gone. While unattached, I think, it must have died and was absorbed by the rest of the tissue for nutrients. This part I'm holding then latched on beneath the egg-nest and received a blood supply that kept it alive despite the fact it no longer serves a purpose. That's my guess."

Dr. Luana held the tube back near the place she'd sliced it from, and it melted back into Sanderson's flesh as it had before. "I'd stitch him up," she told Dr. Ranen. "Nothing more to be done."

I frowned. "Are you going to place a plug? Those were the Fairy Elder's orders, weren't they?"

Shaking her head, Dr. Luana stripped off her surgical mask and gloves. "There's no point. If the tube doesn't connect down to his uterus, he can't reproduce. Something must have torn it when he was younger."

"Then he'll never have nymphs."

"I'm sorry. There isn't anything we can do. Magic doesn't exactly affect magical structures, and all that - not in a way that would be lasting and safe and not incredibly expensive - and no physical technology will bring the rest of the tube back."

Hawkins began to tremble. "I-it's my fault. When we were smaller- I just wanted to look- I thought I didn't touch anything, but if I did, I didn't mean to!"

Dr. Luana shook her head a little more. "Those things are made to be durable, sweetcore- you'll understand when you're older. Whatever snapped it did so from inside the tube itself. It must have been starved of magic at some point, or someone managed to pierce the bubble, stuck a wand directly in his egg nest, and delivered him a sharp shock. Perhaps we'll see if we can run a very gentle hysterosalpingogram on him after we're finished with you."

He gulped. After the damsels left, Dr. Ranen sewed Sanderson back together. He cancelled the sleeping spell, and the groggy fairy was moved into my lap. Hawkins took his place on the exam table. He braced himself with his hands.

"Down on your belly. You're fine. Sanderson and I will be right here."

"I don't want to, sir. I don't want to be stabbed by that knife. Sanderson was hurt- I could smell it. I don't want to be hurt. I don't want to!"

Dr. Ranen came back over from changing his gloves and instruments, and Hawkins dove off the table and wrapped his arms around my legs. "I can't do this," he insisted, still snatching at my gown with his fingers as I picked him up and returned him to the place he was supposed to sit. "You can't let the crazy guy cut me up like Sanderson. Don't listen to anything he says- it's all lies- He's insane, sir! Those haven't been magic-touched! I saw! He'll slice my brain! He'll cut out my tongue! He'll chop off my hand! Not my hand! Anything but my hand- I love my hand! Help!"

It took a little more anesthesia to put Hawkins under with how frantically he was sucking up the magic, but in the end he plopped down and we were able to peel him away from the cupboard door. The drape and clamps took their positions. Dr. Ranen made another cut down the right of his spine. And stopped again.

"You have to be yanking my lines."

This time, he didn't ask for the damsels before flipping open Hawkins's dome. With another magic-touched knife, he made the incision and took a look at the tube. I was no doctor, but even I could tell what he'd found.

"His is just like Sanderson's, isn't it?"

"Identical."

Sanderson stirred in my arms, chewing gently on my tie. Dr. Ranen hesitated for a moment, then sutured Hawkins up and returned him to the chair beside me. One palm traced along his crinkled mask.

"I don't know," he said. "I just don't. If it's environmental, it hit both of them, and you said one was raised far away by elves. If it's genetic, well… It shouldn't be genetic. They seem to be normal, healthy drakes. Essential bodily systems don't just mimic damage from ancestors. We'd better get those HSGs. But before that, it's your turn. We know that your tube, at least, must connect to the uterus. They're your nymphs, aren't they?"

I set Sanderson down in the chair next to Hawkins, who was still limp and just as out of it, and perched myself on the table. "Don't use the anesthesia."

"Sorry?"

"I want to stay awake the whole time."

"Um. Alright. If you're sure."

I gave him a grim smile as I spread myself on the table. "I just gave birth yesterday. I can put up with a little slit in my back."

My eyes wandered around the white room as he stuck the clamps into the folds of my skin. I bundled the end of my gown's sleeve in my mouth. When he cut into me, I couldn't help but jolt a little, and Sanderson and Hawkins both twitched their legs. "Hold still," Dr. Ranen warned, "or I'll have no choice but to put you under."

I thought I could feel the blood bubbling. Never had someone opened my skin this way. I writhed a small amount, still doing my utmost to keep my body in a firm, straight line.

"I hate you and your family," Dr. Ranen said, lifting his knife away. "I shouldn't say such things in front of a patient, but this can't be happening to me on my birthday."

"Don't tell me-"

"Your tube isn't here either." He moved to my head and checked the inside of my chamber. "Here it is. It curls back under your egg nest. It's exactly like the others. If you just gave birth, then whatever happened has to have happened to you within the last two and a half months."

I lay my cheek against the back of my wrist. "No more nymphs. I suppose it's just as well."

"But that doesn't. Make. Sense. That shouldn't be enough time for the tissue to be absorbed! If the egg made it all the way down to your uterus, then… then… This shift has to have only just taken place, but that shouldn't be possible."

There was a pause. Then, mentally kicking myself, selecting my words with care, I said, "Does it matter if instead of pushing them from my uterus, I pulled the nymphs from my dome chamber while they were still in their amniotic sacs?"

Both Dr. Ranen and the technician stared at me. "You what?"

"That's just where they develop. When they're ready to be born, they let me know by squirming and nipping. I remove them, tear open the sac with my teeth, and then I hold the nymph while the tubes and everything retract."

"That's… not a thing… And you didn't come to us about this before now?"

I frowned, pushing myself up on one elbow. "It didn't seem important? Honestly, I haven't thought about it all that much. I meant to see you about it, I suppose, but between raising them and working twelve hours a day, I just haven't gotten around to it."

"Your firstborn is a thousand years old!"

Making a shrugging motion like I was weighing boxes on a scale, I protested, "Alright, so I can be a little bit of a procrastinator sometimes. I'm a busy drake. I have things to do."

"Dr. Ranen," warned the technician, and he flipped around and began to float back and forth across the room in front of me.

"Okay," he said, "okay. Okay. We need to take those HSGs now."

After half an hour of waiting for the radiologist to arrive and set up - I spent most of it reassuring Hawkins that he wasn't about to have any sharp objects pressed into him again - we did. Dr. Savanna and Dr. Luana returned to observe the process, both suddenly looking a lot more uncertain than they had in the exam room. "The dye stopped at his uterus," Dr. Savanna muttered, pointing at the screen that showed my image (Sanderson, they had concluded, was too young and small to risk when they had me on hand instead). "He still has one, of course. It's just not connected to his tube. The entry point is sealed and won't flow in, because the whole middle length of the tube is missing."

"And the nymphs growing within my dome?"

They had no answers. The only possibility, Dr. Luana said, was if a damsel had sliced open my egg bubble and dusted them all with sperm. But that couldn't be the case, because the eggs would have died after contact with the cold air, and the nest bubbles weren't built to be broken. We were hesitatingly dismissed, with the promise that I would contact them if "anything of relative interest concerning the reproductive system" should crop up. "Sure," I said, but the way I saw it, if whatever was happening was really serious, the Eros Triplets would have contacted me by this point, and the doctors wouldn't dare go against client confidentiality and expose me themselves. All of us too sore to fly, we left on foot.

Twilight was coming on by the time we returned to the shrine, but I was determined to get started on the search for my ancestors. Miriel led us to a brown storehouse across the street, and I stopped in the doorway so suddenly that Sanderson bumped his nose against my left wing. I'd seen the medallions. Dangling from the ceiling. Dangling from hooks. Dangling from posts set up on the tables. Dangling from each other. Lying tangled in boxes. Lying bundled in drawers. Lying in the dirt if they had fallen from the walls. They covered the entire attic, and the expanses of the cellar below the city streets. If all of them had been melted, it may have taken a year for the river to stop flowing out of there.

"We always make three copies of them for record-keeping and replacements," Miriel explained when I stammered out my question. "Rock erodes, clay smears, and bark rots."

"I see." 'Paperwork' had only recently become a thing in those days. It was a different time back then. Hooking the nearest medallion on the end of my finger, I sighed. "You two, keep your eyes open for the Whimsifinado name. I imagine we'll be here for awhile. Miriel, are these organized at all by date? I want to look at least 700,000 years back, and perhaps closer to 9."

The three of us picked through all we could, reading our favorite names aloud and trying not to make a mess. With some tentativeness, I broke out the first of our water flasks after Hawkins began panting and licking his lips two hours in. Sanderson's cowlick drooped with sticky strands. The most frustrating thing, I thought, was that our search had to be narrow. We were looking for Whimsifinados. Only Whimsifinados. If I remembered correctly, the Gumswood line had died with Ambrosine's two older sisters. I didn't even know the surname of my own mother for certain. For all I knew, relatives could have slipped straight through our combing fingers as we worked.

At last, when I caught the two awkward fairies snuggling together on top of a box, I threw in my crown. "This is entirely fruitless. There is no organization in this place. Let's go home."

"Where's home, sir?" Hawkins asked through his yawn.

I sought out the Refract who had replaced Miriel on duty. She gave us permission to stay in the storehouse for the night when I explained how we'd been thrown out on the doorstep, so I left Sanderson and Hawkins with the purple blanket and continued my search by wandlight for just a few last minutes. That was it. I couldn't afford to let it run any longer. Wasted funds.

Rubbing my eyes, I turned over one more medallion. Solara's name was stamped across it, but the surname was simply 'Nine'. This wasn't my mother.

I returned it to its bin in the attic and crawled back down the ladder to join the others. Then we slept there that night among metal and ribbons, and our fingertips still bore the smell and taste of it all come morning.

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 2: LEAP

The Blessed

Spring of the Shifted River

Sanderson, Hawkins, and I were awake and perched on the shrine steps before Hadrian and Miriel had even arrived for the morning, pink-robed and unsmiling yet again. "So," I said as he flew up, "about that baptism I tried to schedule yesterday."

"Yes, I was told you'd been cleared by a Dr. Ranen. You haven't changed your mind, I hope?"

"Not at all. We had nothing for dinner last night and nothing for breakfast yet either, except I had a cup of coffee because my caffeine withdrawal is horrible, and I'm not the one being baptized here. Is that fasting enough for you?"

He waved for us to stand using his feathered wingtip, but paused with his hand resting on the curtain at the top of the steps. "This is a place of quiet, of reflection, and aside from what we must take in to survive, the Big Wand's energy field is constricted beyond the shrine doors. All magic affecting your appearance or condition either physical or mental will be temporarily lifted inside, minus the magic that pumps through your veins due to the physical creation process of your bodies which grounds you to this world. Your starpieces will be ineffective, any magical clothing or adornments will either return to their previous state or vanish entirely, and without magic to lend itself to your wings, you will be unable to fly. Are there any concerns about this?"

Sanderson and Hawkins looked to me, but I couldn't think of any, so we proceeded through the veil on foot. The inside of the shrine appeared no larger than the outside, to my disappointment. It was a long, simple room bordered by the four curtains, and contained nothing but three polished boulders acting in place of chairs. Early light filtered in from the absent ceiling. Hadrian picked two bundles of clay tablets from the first rock, stacked them, and brought them to me.

"If you would please, fill those out. I'm just going to talk to them both one on one, ask them about themselves and their lives. When we're both finished, we'll proceed."

I nodded. Hadrian waited, and when I made the motion to sit down, he brushed my arm.

"Alone, please."

"Ah, of course. Hawkins, come with me."

"Wait." Sanderson touched his fingertips together. "You're leaving me?"

"We're going to step outside where the light is better while you have your private interview. Remember who you are and what I've taught you and you'll do fine. Your wings are fluttering. Don't be anxious. Hadrian is a kind refract." I turned my eyes on him. "At least, I would very much hope he's kind to you."

Hawkins and I ducked back through the curtain and sat down on the steps. "Okay," I said, placing the first tablet across my knees. It covered the basic information they wanted for the medallions. First name. Well. I supposed that was 'Sanderson.' Surname… Whimsifinado.

Yet, I paused. Rubbing out Sanderson's name, I instead pressed in Mister first and placed Sanderson second. That removed the concept that he belonged in the Whimsifinado tree entirely, and it was what I'd told him his name was when he was forty-five anyway.

The next line read 'Father,' and I had to stop again. I rubbed my temple with one pinky. Then I wrote, Sanders Chipixie.

"Uh, sir, I thought you were our…" Centuries of being snubbed prevented Hawkins from speaking the word, but it existed in the air between us nonetheless.

"How do you think Sanderson got his name?"

"I… don't know. He's just Sanderson. Oh. Um, shouldn't his surname be Cheepixie, then?"

"Shihpixie, and you're right. Good catch." I went back and adjusted it. My stylus hovered over the clay beside the word, Mother. A tiny part of me knew it was untrue, but I couldn't simply leave the space blank. I wrote in Kalysta's name.

Hawkins passed the time by sucking on his thumb, and I was almost finished marking up the rest of the tablet when he raised his head. "So… So… What about me? Where's my real… you know."

I switched Sanderson's tablet for his. "Yes, you're of Sanders too. He comes and goes as he pleases, occasionally getting with the damsels, and I deal with the consequences of his actions as best as I'm able to. He last came two mornings ago, while you and Ambrosine went off to work and Sanderson was sleeping. He does not want to put up with you, so I watch over you in his stead. We were close when we were younger."

"I need to find him," Hawkins said, running his free palm over his knee. "He's my real dad- He has to take me back when he meets me."

I took off my glasses. "Sanders is not a very pleasant person. No one likes him."

"But I should be with him!"

"No." Licking a dry finger, I returned my attention to the clay. "You won't find him. He shows up only when he wants to, and never for good reasons. He's always around when problems occur. I shouldn't have told you anything. Don't dwell on it."

Hawkins rested his head on my thigh, still sucking. "Next time he comes… Promise that you'll wake me up? I want to meet him."

"I won't promise you that." Along the blank requesting his name, I wrote Hawks' Kin Chipixie. "Ambrosine believes I shouldn't have accepted the last nymph. That's why he fired us."

"Is that my real name?" Hawkins asked, following my stylus.

I tilted the stone towards him. "What do you think of it?"

"It's a little ugly."

"In that case, I'll change it." I smudged it out. "'Hawkins' is what was decided upon, but 'Hawks' Kin' is what Sanders thought your name should be."

"Then don't change it, sir. It's what my dad wanted."

"It's too late. I've already erased it. Please don't say 'dad.'"

The thumb popped out. Hawkins glanced up at me. "What's he like?"

"Sanders likes you a lot," I said irritably. "He just doesn't enjoy your company at times. Maybe you talk too much. But you won't find him, Hawkins. Give up any hope of moving in with anyone but me. Legally, you are mine. An honorary member of the Whimsifinado line. You can't change that, and who would want to? You've been welcomed into a wealthy and relatively powerful family. Out there they'll call you brownie-born and grind your cheek into the vapor with the sharp heel of a shoe the same color as their pants. I don't want that type of life for you. I treat you well, don't I? I'm all you have."

"But I want to be a real Whimsifinado," he whined, sitting up. "Mr. Fergus, I was a fake elf for years, told fake stories and fakely pretending to like and do fake things, and I just want to-"

"Hawkins." I flicked my stylus below his chin and tilted his face upward so he had little choice but to look me in the eyes. "There's a bit more to belonging with someone than traditional blood and family connections would suggest. Look at Sanderson- he does well enough for himself. Throughout my many years of travels, I've found that loyalty is rooted in consistency. Persistent presence makes the core grow fonder. You belong to me, who has passed many an hour feeding and dressing you and nursing you when you were sick and bouncing you on my knee while I fumbled half-drunk and mostly asleep through games of fidchell and snapjik. Remember, I chose to take you back from Nephel and Keziah, and I chose to bring you with me when Ambrosine threw us out. I didn't have to do that; I could have abandoned you in the street and taken my limited funds to support myself. I deserve your devotion. In me, you have enough to be content. Do you understand?"

Hawkins maintained eye contact, until he didn't. His eyes rolled crossly away into the bottom corners. It's what I would have done in his position. I tapped the stylus against his jaw until I refocused his attention on me. Quietly, he poked out his submissive tongue. Keeping my gaze on him, I lowered my neck. In a too-practiced fashion that had always disturbed me, he licked twice around my throat with unnecessarily pretty swirls of saliva: I'm sorry.

I returned to my tabletwork with a shake of my head. But I couldn't focus on it for long. Hawkins wouldn't stop chirping his wings in that irritatingly irregular way he did when he was starved for entertainment. At last, I leaned over to set my tablets far to the side behind one of the pillars and out of the way of any feet that might tromp up or down the stairs, placed the stylus on top of them, and faced him again. "If I buy you an ice cream, will you forget this whole 'Sanders' discussion and agree to accept me as your real legal guardian?"

At first, Hawkins didn't answer, even as I stood up and adjusted my jacket. Then he stood too. "I guess you are my real legal guardian, Mr. Fergus. My really good guardian."

I scratched my hand through the back of his curly hair. "There's a good boy."

"But what if Hadrian gets mad at me? You know, for eating when I'm supposed to be fasting."

"Hadrian's no god. The only way he'll notice that you ate is if he senses your attraction signals have gone yellow with delight, because he disapproves of the happiness of others. If he does care, we'll simply bring you back here tomorrow. Remember, he can't get mad unless he catches you. The trick is to not get caught. You are hungry, aren't you?"

Hawkins groaned. "Hungrier than ever in my life!"

"Ah, and that makes you cranky, doesn't it? Wrath is a sin, and we certainly can't allow sin inside a holy temple, now can we? Come on. Let's get you fixed up. If I remember correctly, they'll be in there for an hour more."

So we meandered through the town until we found a cute place to kick back for thirty minutes, and I even don't mind admitting it. After we'd finished up, Hawkins and I went over his mouth, hands, and clothes carefully to ensure no traces of vanilla would be visible to the sharp, birdy eyes of a Refract. With him declared clean, we returned to our posts atop the stone stairs.

"Curtain's still closed," I grunted as Hawkins settled himself more cheerfully at my side. "I suppose that's good news, though I do hope they'll finish in there soon. The day is wearing on and I would like to partake of a full meal before next decade."

"Well, I'm happier now. Is happiness a virtue?"

"Yep. It's called Humility." I pulled my tablets back into my lap. "And we'll have to hope that Sanderson demonstrates his as well and doesn't turn to whining at me. I'm not even going to try to make everything equal between the both of you, as I believe I made clear in your younger years. Fortunately, when this baptism thing is done, he won't be permitted to talk for a couple of days…"

My work was finished quickly. I lay back with my arms folded behind my neck and, against my better judgement, allowed Hawkins to relay to me a story about an excursion to the top of a cloudy hill he'd been on a few Thursdays ago with his friends while Sanderson and I had stayed inside to make sandwiches. When he paused to massage the thumb that his teeth had been bouncing against almost the entire time, I took the opportunity. I stood and nudged aside the curtain. On the far side of the shrine, Hadrian sat on one of his boulders, picking at the folds of his robes.

"Where is Sanderson?" I asked with no small amount of irritation, my forehead creasing.

Hadrian cocked his head. "I sent him out to you 15 minutes ago."

I felt my wings drop. Otherwise, I managed to keep my face expressionless. "Right, then. Head on in and talk to Hadrian, Hawkins. I'll deal with this. Remember, don't be nervous, and you'll get by all right."

After the curtain fluttered shut behind my second little charge, I pushed my fingers through my hair and tried to focus on finding the first. Alright. It wasn't like Sanderson to go wandering off. Perhaps something had happened to him. Dust… what if he'd been kidnapped? What if Ambrosine had sent a mercenary after us to ensure we really did leave his home with merely the briefcase? Was this because of my nymph blanket, or perhaps my leaving Wilcox? What if Dr. Ranen had broken client confidentiality, and the Eroses had considered Sanderson an interesting anomaly and taken him hostage for studying? What if Emery had done it to spite me? What if Kalysta had returned to reclaim him? What if-

I shook my head and pulled my hands down my cheeks. This wasn't helping anything. I had to lay out my facts. How did Sanderson think? Obviously, Hadrian had released him outside while Hawkins and I had snuck off for ice cream. Where would he have gone?

I peered out at our surroundings. They didn't fill me with hope. The shrine sat plucky in a circle of cloudstones, and beyond that circle path it was surrounded by tall, crowding buildings vying for customers and bulging with souvenirs. I turned slowly, rubbing at the back of my neck. Then I picked a shop at random and pushed open the door.

"Have you seen a nymph come through here in the last half-twenty minutes? Scrawny, black hair, a sharp jaw, odd orange-tinted wings, a squarish sort of head? Lavender eyes exactly like mine?"

I received a sharp glance, and remembered the fairy baby mandate too late. Still, I held my ground. Wasn't his business. But he didn't have an answer for me.

Every shop, it was the same. I ended up back on the shrine steps to check on my briefcase- it wouldn't do if that was stolen. Still no sign of Sanderson. I was growing more concerned now. Soon enough, Hadrian would finish with Hawkins, and it was kind of expected that Sanderson would be present for his own baptism ceremony. I rubbed behind my neck and turned my gaze upward. Stars glinted in the purple sky. Plane 4 shimmered with a blur.

"Dear Nuada, Sanderson. You can't just run off like this."

There was another building I hadn't tried yet, and they say that you'll always find what you're looking for in the last place you look. Snapping my fingers, I crossed the cloudstone path to the storehouse where we had been examining the medals. If I'd been walking instead of floating, I'd have tripped over him in the dark. He scrambled up to his feet, grabbing at my clothes and yanking at the buttons.

"Mr. Fergus, you left! You and Hawkins just left me!"

I deserved that. I took his elbow and guided him back outside where it was lighter. "There you are. I've been searching for you for half an hour. Wait a second. You were afraid of being alone, so you hid yourself in a room with no people?"

"I- I was looking for you. Your imprint is fainter, but it's still here. And I also was going to be useful and look at the medallions for Whimsifinados, and-" He stopped himself, stopped his wings, and then grabbed my leg and buried his face in the hem of my vest. I rubbed his hair with the flat of my hand.

"Sanderson, I appreciate that you tried to find me. But your mistake was in staying where you were. You shouldn't have given up. I may not have known to find you. The next time you get lost, you'll have to keep moving."

"No! I'm not getting lost again. I'm staying with you."

I shrugged.

We returned to the shrine to find Hawkins just coming out of it. I took up my tablets and, with Sanderson still clinging to my side, turned Hawkins around and headed in there myself. Fortunately, this time I found Hadrian actually ready to do his job. He removed his hands from his sleeves and took my tablets. After a quick glance over each one of them, he nodded and left to summon his friends.

"Do I have to get undressed for this?" Sanderson complained as I brought him and Hawkins over to the boulders.

I lifted him onto the rock. "It's the way it's done. Do you want to wear wet clothes for the rest of the day? We're four Planes above the Sun up here in Faeheim, so it will take you considerable time to dry."

Sanderson rubbed at his wet socks. "No, but… but Hawkins will look at me."

"I'll cover my eyes," Hawkins said, doing so and hunkering up in a ball on his boulder. "Like this. Like a bug."

I gave one of his wings a light twist. "Stop it. Sit up and try to act with some inkling of respect. This is supposed to be a sacred place or something."

Once a witness stood at each of the four shrine entrances, Hadrian stepped into the center, pink robes trailing in the water, and held out his upturned hands.

"Sanderson Chipixie, son of Sanders Chipixie and Kalysta Ivorie. Present yourself before the Tuatha Dé Danann to be baptized, may the Lost Ancients return from their underground prison."

Sanderson paused and gave me a sideways look as he heard the names 'Sanders' and 'Chipixie' for the first time. At my nod, he got up from his seat and wriggled out of his little wine-colored vest, his tie, his white shirt, then his pants. When he had finished, he splashed over to join Hadrian. Hadrian took his hands and lifted his arms, then held out each wing and examined them from apex to knob. He looked back to me.

"I thought you wrote that his mother was a will o' the wisp."

"Kalysta was. Is there a problem?"

Hadrian lifted Sanderson's wings again, then let them fall. "There may be. The evidence proves he has a fairy father, and the indirect muscle structure of his wings indeed indicates he's the offspring of a cross-species coupling. I hate to be the one to tell you this if you didn't know, but his mother isn't a will o' the wisp. The wings are the wrong shape."

I heard the thump of blood in my ears as Hadrian turned Sanderson around and nudged him back towards me.

"He is impure. Whatever's written on those tablets is incorrect, and it must be fixed before we proceed. If there were a cù sith in this room, they could have swapped souls for the Sin of lying."

Returning to the steps, I sat down and placed my hands to my temples. "It's Pip, then. Physical impossibility or not, it has to be. No other ever came close before you were born."

"Who's Pip?" Sanderson asked.

"Well." I took up his clay tablet again. "According to the evidence, she's your real mother. And unfortunately, I don't know her real name. We'll just have to hope Hadrian accepts 'Pip'. But you," I said to Hawkins, "should be fine, even if your costas are brown. Kalysta has to be your mother. There is little question about that. I never did pay much attention to reproduction in school, and clearly I should have. For some reason, I was under the impression that pregnancy occurred shortly after copulation. Obviously I am wrong. Centuries pass, apparently, before cross-species fertilization occurs."

Hawkins craned his neck. "My wings are shaped the same as Sanderson's."

"It's the only explanation. Sanders leaves me guessing."

When I finished, we returned inside to give the tablet to Hadrian. He studied it for a few quick seconds, then gave it back. "You wrote that the mother was an anti-cherub."

"She has to be."

"That's impossible."

"If Kalysta isn't his mother, then it must be Pip."

He sighed. "Please forgive my tongue. I don't know any other way to ask it. Did you go to school? Among the Seelie Court it's the drakes who give birth. Among the Unseelie, it's the damsels. Their reproductive systems are entirely different from ours, by their very nature of being our opposites. You were better off with the will o' the wisp story. Now you're only digging yourself deeper, friend."

I pushed my hair back with two hands and sighed hard through my nose. "Then I don't know what to tell you."

Hadrian beckoned for Sanderson to stand beside me and, when he did, he examined his wings again. "I hate to ask, but could she be a brownie? His wings bear a similar color to theirs, and the distorted, vaguely squarish shape is somewhat similar, though I've never seen it this pronounced."

"You're suggesting I'm a- No. No, no, no. Spit on me for my insensitivity and political incorrectness, but I'm from a traditional family. I would never stoop to mating with a brownie. I'm not so pathetic that I can't get a fairy damsel if I want one."

"All were equal in the eyes of the Tuatha Dé Danann," he said with the voice of a fairy who had said it so many times, it had lost all meaning.

I clenched my teeth. "Well, I'm not the Tuatha Dé Danann. Taking a brownie mate would be beneath me. Just look at their crowns if you don't believe it."

He admitted, "These two do have crowns. I must ask you to remember, though, that this is a sacred temple and I request you be honest."

"There have been multiple damsels sprinkled throughout my past, but never any brownie. I remember Pip the anti-cherub and Kalysta the will o' the wisp." Suddenly I snapped my fingers. "No, wait. There was a selkie. Her name was… Her name was… China Mayfleet."

Hadrian studied Sanderson and then Hawkins once more. "All right," he finally said. He flicked back a strand of golden hair. "I'll accept her as the mother. It would seem my only other choice is to get the Eroses involved, and, well…"

"Nobody wants that with their tendency to wave around the invincible Aphrodite Protocol."

"No, we do not. You two take your seats and I'll be with you in one moment." As they scurried off, his wary eyes flicked back to me.

"You aren't sure what to think of me," I guessed as I exchanged Pip's name for China's in the clay. "Most fairies take only one mate in their life. You don't see a lot who've had three and then can't sort out who mothered which one. Especially when they claimed an Anti-Fairy was involved."

"It's not my place to judge the past. Only the present." He folded his arms in his gaping sleeves until I gave the tablet back. "What's this Chipixie nonsense, then? Aren't you Ambrosine's boy? Wouldn't that make you a Whimsifinado?"

I hesitated. "Chipixie was my mother's name, and it's on my own baptism medal. I chose to use it because yesterday, my father disowned us. That's why we come now of all times, seeking comfort and peace. We're leaving Faeheim this afternoon. I need solace before I go."

That made him sigh a little inside his mouth. "Your other child's wings are identical to the first, so he almost certainly has the same mother. Don't forget to change his tablet, too."

I did. Hadrian motioned for me to stay on that side of the small shrine, then called again for Sanderson to present himself in the center, this time supplying China's name for Kalysta's. Hawkins was summoned after him. Hadrian paused over the pale scars along his bare arms, but made no sign that he would forbid Hawkins from participating in the ceremony. He told them to sit on the pair of boulders opposite the lone one, and took the third for himself.

"All right. Earlier, I spoke one on one with each of you, about your thoughts and your personal lives. Now, I wish for you to tell me what you know about the Tuatha Dé Danann."

"Um…" Sanderson shuffled his wings against his bare back. "The Tuatha Dé Danann were a race who existed in the Great Dawn and sided with the Aos Sí, the Tylwyth Teg, the Yugopotamians, and the Snobulacs in the Sealing War against the Milesians, the Boudacians, the Rhymepyes, and the Molpa-Pel. They lived in the realm of Tír na nÓg, and I think controlled the great rosewater fountain, Kiiloëi, which was the source of all their magic. When the Molpa-Pel attacked them in their home, all the older drakes and damsels were killed, and the pure-hearted nymphs were carried off through the cosmos as far away from Kiiloëi as possible."

"What did the last survivors of the Molpa-Pel use their scientific knowledge to do at the end of the war?"

"They combined forces with the Father Angel and the seven zodiac nature spirits, created a huge prison of rock and dirt all the way around the Tuatha Dé Danann, shutting them and the Molpa-Pel up forever."

"'Cept for that one time when they escaped to the surface and the Milesians drove them back under, in the war where King Nuada lost his hand to Sreng." Hawkins held up his right hand, shivered, and popped his thumb in his mouth.

"Then that place was called 'Earth', since that's the ancient Angelican word for 'covered up'. Oh, and the Molpa-Pel called it 'Munde'." Sanderson tucked his hands between his legs. "And… there was tons of magic that came off their bodies when they died, and that fed the water and the plants, and the Tuatha Dé Danann became the life of all things. May the Lost Ancients return from their underground prison."

"Not quite all things."

Sanderson looked taken aback for a moment, then went to correct himself. Hawkins beat him to it with, "All things 'cept the Fairykind and the Unwinged."

"Right," Sanderson said. "All the Fairyki- Erm… I mean, members of the Seelie Court are descended from the Aos Sí. Um. I don't know where the Unwinged came from, though."

Hadrian leaned back in his seat. "'Unwinged,' as you say, is a rather offensive term given to those beings called Angels, and I would advise you not to use it in front of them. However, we're not concerned with their origin story now. Can one of you tell me about the Coin Sith?"

Both sat, Hawkins with his mouth groping for an answer, Sanderson with wings fluttering. "Hmm," Hadrian said, and marked their hesitation on his piece of clay tablet. "You might call a cù sith, for lack of better words, a 'fairy dog'. They have a nasty habit of stealing the soul from anyone who commits one of the Three Deep Sins while they stand in the room, in order to swap places and become one of the Fairykind while the Fairy must seek out another soul to steal as a cù sith, and avoid the fate of dying as one and remaining trapped in that body for eternity. We don't want our souls to be stolen, do we, boys? I thought not. Coin sith are also exceptional at leading one to nursing milk, which is why we sometimes use them here in Tír Ildáthach- the cherubs especially."

"Oh, to find milkmothers for the orphaned nymphs," Hawkins said, clapping his hands.

Hadrian paused. I could see his wheels turning back to what he'd told me about Cosma's mutation and the forbidding of the fairy nymphs, but he said, "Yes. That's why. The coin sith were first created by the Sluagh, specifically the nixes, in an attempt to rescue the lost Tuatha Dé Danann, but their digging paws tore the ground and ripped the Earth and caused the deaths of billions of living things. All to reach the center of the Earth and find all but one of the Tuatha Dé Danann dead and the Molpa-Pel still thriving. The coin sith were returned to Tír Ildáthach, and eventually fled to eternally wander the unsettled skies. They are wild animals restless and destructive by nature. None of you would attempt to keep one as a pet, would you?"

They both shook their heads. I joined them. Hadrian nodded and stood. "I will have Miriel bring in your counterparts, then." He swept off, robes fluttering around his ankles just above the water.

"Why are Anti-Fairies coming here?" Hawkins whispered to me.

"Yes, I thought bad people like them weren't supposed to be inside the shrine."

"They aren't," I said patiently. "She's bringing your Refracted counterparts. The damsels, remember?"

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Sanderson fixed me with a deadpan stare. I leaned back against the pillar.

"There are three phases of your baptism. You've successfully passed the first, which is proving your knowledge of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Next comes the fertility ritual. Baptism is a juvenile ceremony- you can be baptized any time after you've shed your exoskeleton so long as you haven't hit your first period of menstruation."

"What's that mean?"

"Tell you later. The idea is to be able to raise good kids in the future by being a good kid yourself now. This little ceremony puts you in touch with the purest, holy part of you that was lost when your magic split apart before you were born. You'll act out a wedding dance and kiss between you and your Faelumen counterpart. Then you'll renew your 'vow' at your coming of age ceremony when you moult into your adult wings, and your 'study of childhood' period ends. Easy."

Sanderson squirmed. "I have to marry myself?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Have you ever seen a juvenile married to a Refract?"

"No. That's why I asked in surprise, duh."

I twisted one of his wings lightly for the sass, then crouched beside his rock and went patiently on with, "It's only ceremonial. It's a symbol of unity, of remembering what your ancestors were in the ancient days. The three genera combined, remember? Faedivus, Faeumbra, and Faelumen."

"But it's weird."

"I think it's cute," Hawkins chirped, swinging one of his legs. "I've never kissed a damsel before, but I kind of want to."

"Isn't this Rhoswen syndrome, sir? Kissing across class boundaries? She's Unseelie." Sanderson tightened his fists against his knees. "Isn't that illegal and gross?"

I shook my head. "Not in the shrine. Kisses mean little in Faelumen culture. Pecking is their way of greeting, instead of handshakes or dominance licks. So in a way, it's not a real kiss. At all. Imagine it like SHAMPAX. And you aren't really supposed to kiss back or react at all- simply stand there and let her do her thing. As previously mentioned, it's quick and easy. I told you, their culture is rigid when it comes to holiness. Giving good luck blessings is in her nature and she's been training for this her whole life. It's her job. Let her do it."

"Yes, sir," he said, a little sulkily.

From beyond the open walls of the shrine, a choked voice sprang above the silence: "But I want my mom! Take me back to my mom!"

"She should be here," argued a vaguely-older voice. "This is our special day. Why does she have to take care of the new chick?"

"Um," I said when Sanderson shot me an accusatory glance and Hawkins gave me a worried one, "that's part of the ceremony."

They appeared at the shrine steps in front of us, behind Hadrian's rock, gowned in the usual pale pink robes their genus seemed to be so fond of. Their faces were lined with feathers, their hands and bare feet scaly like the talons of a bird, their noses slightly hooked. In that sense, they resembled the typical fairy Refracts. But…

"My mutation gave them pale brown faces and darker wings instead of white and gold. Yep. Somehow I completely forgot their mother looked like that. It's been a long while."

Purple hair, too. The shorter damsel with the tangles in the backs of her curls clung to Miriel's waist and begged, "Please don't make me go. I'm only five hundred years. I'll mess up. My dance is bad. He'll laugh at me."

The taller, very short-haired, smooth-faced, vaguely-bitter damsel who stood with her arms straight by her sides had to be Dame Sanderson. She had the double cowlick mark. I studied her posture, more than a little fascinated with (and even envious of) her ability to remain so calm in the presence of a frantic peer. My Sanderson would have been inconsolable if I'd sent him to the High Kingdom while I stayed behind. Evidently, a thousand and six years wasn't too young to learn how to give off an air of maturity and act as an adult. I approved of her at once.

"Don't let them hear you say their refract-names," I murmured to the gawking juveniles at my side. "They don't like to be addressed as such down here in the lower planes. They think it contaminates them."

"Why?"

"Because they think we're sinful and they don't want their names on our lips."

"Why?"

"Because that's just what they think and it's polite to accept and respect that. Shh. Here comes Sanderson's."

"I have to be naked and she gets to keep her clothes?" he grumbled, but fell silent when Hawkins and I each nudged him with an elbow.

Dame Sanderson crossed towards her counterpart, kicking up as little water as possible, and motioned for him to stand to meet her. As he started to slide from the rock and reached to take her rough, working hand in his softer, pen-pushing one, I almost literally saw the flashback stabbing through my core. Square features, mutated wings, long razor talons, guarded eyes…

She drew him closer, both of her hands positioned against his back just beneath the knobs of his wings. Sanderson couldn't decide what to do with his own fingers, and settled for placing them loosely around her neck, thumbs resting near her collarbone; evidently, I'd forgotten to tell him to touch them to the corners of her lips. I had to place a wrist to my mouth and glance away as I fought back the snort. I finally understood where all of Sanderson's missing height had gone. The top of his head barely reached her shoulders, and the ends of his cowlicks brushed her nose.

Dame Sanderson pulled, never pushed, always choosing to be the one who walked backwards as they swirled in slow circles and completed a simple nine-petaled flower shape around the entire shrine. Her tail, long and feathered and blue, skimmed the surface of the water behind her. Sanderson's quick bare feet kept coming down on the very tip. As they ended where they had begun by the boulder, she leaned down and brushed their lips so quickly that even when scrutinizing my old memories, I'm not entirely sure they touched at all. Sanderson stared forward without expression. Then he nodded and thanked her as she stepped away. She glanced him over up and down before she nodded too and spun crisply on her heels. Droplets spattered his lap.

Miriel nudged Dame Hawkins down the steps and into the water. Hawkins popped out his thumb and sprang to his feet at once, the usual cheerful flutter beneath his wings. They repeated the dance, a bit more clumsily, and Dame Hawkins bestowed her uncertain kiss. My Hawkins giggled until I shot him a charged look.

"Is that it?" Sanderson asked as the two damsels splashed back to Miriel to claim a snack of pale yellow fruit slices and salty crackers.

"Today's unity blessing was a trial run since you're young. It will be a bigger affair when you have your moulting ceremony."

"Did I look cute?" Hawkins wanted to know.

I patted his head. "Very cute."

"I'm not sure they're the ones who have to worry about getting contaminated by the other Kingdom," Sanderson muttered, dabbing at his mouth.

With that, Hadrian blessed them both and led them out through the rear stairs towards a waterfall three times too large for the small garden it was fenced in. With a reminder that they weren't permitted to speak for the following hundred hours, they were released. Sanderson waded through the falls, with Hawkins behind. Droplets spattered pale skin and black hair. Pebbles clicked and shifted beneath bare feet. I met them on the other side of the waterfall with their clothes.

"How do you feel? Good?"

They nodded, shivering as they pulled on their shirts and suit coats. Hawkins struggled with his tie, so I slipped it off and did it for him.

"Then let's find something to eat. I'm thinking buttered, grilled sandwiches with a side of bright bananas and the freshest eggs we can manage. And yale milk."

As they devoured their brunch, I scratched at my plate with my fork and attempted to answer the unfortunate question: What now? I'd taken the pair to be baptized because I'd been buying time. I wouldn't crawl back to Ambrosine in the city of Novakiin. That much I knew. I certainly wasn't going to return to Earth and risk crossing paths with any more will o' the wisps. If I could help it, I'd prefer not to face Anti-Fergus and Anti-Kalysta again, and particularly not for a long-term stay. Did I know anyone else? Have any other connections?

Light gleamed off Sanderson's medallion, and I dropped my fork with a clatter. Duh. Maybe there was a place we could go after all. Setting my briefcase on the table beside our plates, I popped it open and pulled out a furry gray coat, dabbed with flecks of black. In response to Hawkins and Sanderson's curious eyes, I said, "I'm going to call in a favor."

They watched as I wriggled my arms through the sleeves and tied the ribbons down the front. "Knowing her, it'll be awhile before she gets here," I said, "so let's start walking as soon as you finish up. She ought to be living in Lau Rell. That's northwest. This way."

"Who?" Hawkins started to ask, before he caught himself. A look of frustrated horror crossed his features like a lightning bolt. A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. I might just enjoy this a little too much.

We gathered together our things, and after I had straightened Sanderson's shirt collar and switched Hawkins's shoes to the correct feet, we were off. It was said that fairies couldn't fly when their wings were wet, but my two charges seemed to manage themselves just fine, which meant our brunch had likely gone on far longer than I thought. I found myself glancing regularly over my shoulder in search of Ambrosine or any pursuer he could have hired, and typically kept a hand to the back of Hawkins's and Sanderson's necks at all times. I didn't want to lose them. What little I had left, I intended to keep.

Two entire hours of their hundred were spent pacing back and forth far below the metal platform where the trams made berth, high up there above the busy capital city. I kept myself occupied by fighting my obsessive desire to remove all the rushing civilians from the streets and push them back into their houses. When I had been young, back at my first saucerbee game with Ambrosine so long ago, there had been hardly 7,000 Fairies in existence in all the known universe. Now, that population and more easily made up Faeheim. It made me uncharacteristically unsure of myself. Their bodies were sweaty. They rushed about, always in a hurry. Sometimes they bumped up against my shoulder, or nearly tripped over the two small juveniles with me, and then shot them dirty looks as they straightened themselves up and whirred away.

"Hey, we're standing here," I called after the first two who made such mistakes, but soon enough gave up. The city's streets were simply too narrow to support its population.

If you only knew, I wanted to snarl back so many times. If these pathetic Fairies bulldozing over my companions only knew that I had been alive and alert back in those days, when the cloudlands were simpler. If they only knew the things I had seen, the work I had done, the people I'd met, the struggles I'd faced.

"Where is she?" I griped to Hawkins and Sanderson, who of course couldn't answer me. I tugged at the top ribbon of the selkie coat. Then I stopped and began to untie it. Perhaps this was a mistake. It had been more than seven hundred years since the last time I'd summoned her, on a halfcored whim one day just to see if I could. I'd taken her out to eat and waved her off again within the hour. There was, I reluctantly supposed, the possibility that she was dead now. Either way, waiting around a dirty and unorganized city wasn't the best use of my time, and I really should have hopped a tram, even with my worry that we might pass-

"Fergus Whimsifinado!" whooped an ever-delighted Lau Rellian drawl. "I have heeded my summons!"

She had materialized upon the suspended platform above our heads, leaning over the railing so that her carefully messy bun popped out from her silhouette like a cherry on a sundae. "China," I shouted up to her, waving a greeting with my wings. Then, "I don't suppose you remember China, Sanderson."

He opened his mouth to reply before remembering he wasn't to speak and simply shook his head.

"I remember him," China said when she had clanged her way down the spiral steps to cloud level. She reached down to pry a bit of frozen vapor from her sandal. A frown dimmed her light crimson eyes as she studied the two fairies with me. "The shorter one is new, though. I don't really like the part that involves you cheating on me, but I'll restrain myself since we're in public. Fergus, hey! What have you been up to for the last six and a half and a quarter centuries?"

"Um, so…" I averted my gaze and scratched behind my ear, trying not to dwell over the way I'd left her hanging for a millennium and come to kiss up to her on bended knee now. "I've been working in the family business with my father, but yesterday he tired of spending his resources on us and threw us out. I'd prefer not to get into the specifics right now. That's Hawkins you're looking at, by the way. These two only just got baptized, and as such, they won't be talking for another several days still. And please, for my sake, if anyone asks, you're the mother of both of them. Really. I'll give you the full details later." I pointed at the paper cup in China's hand. "Did you keep us waiting here so you could grab a milkshake?"

She made an up and down sweep of her arm to indicate her entire body. "Selkie. Out of water. Prancing around a floating cloud world immediately next to the Sun. I got dehydrated. Sorry I'm late; the line for these was awful at this time of year. Warm spring for the cloudlands, isn't it? Here, I actually brought this for you; I drank mine on the way up. Vanilla's still your favorite, I hope?"

"Hmm. I do have to hand it to you, you do your job right. I can accept this." I brought the straw to my mouth. "Not too cold but not too warm. Well done."

"I like to pretend my good memory and charity make up for the rest of my sins." China rocked on her heels. "So, what's the big occasion, boss? It's not every century I feel you pull on my coat."

"Yes, well." Angling the straw away, I turned to look down at Sanderson and Hawkins. The former had inched closer to me, one hand on his wand, and Hawkins was turning slightly red in the face as though he were about to burst with questions. "China, I… I know it's sudden, and I know I haven't, er… been anywhere… near as kind and welcoming to you as I perhaps could have been. It's very difficult for me to even say this, but my father disowned us yesterday." As I spoke, I shrugged to indicate the ridiculousness of someone not wanting me around. "We slept on a cold and dirty stone floor in a storehouse, and we don't have anywhere else to go. I would be beyond delighted if we could stay on with you until we rebound from this."

"Sure."

"Honestly?"

She pointed. "You have my coat. That rather limits my possible responses, doesn't it?"

Hawkins was still watching the shake with eyes like his namesake. Sanderson slipped his hand through the arm that rested against my hip. "Sorry, handsomes," China said then, placing her own hands in the pockets of a fresh but familiar checked green and white apron. "If I'd known you were going to be here, I'd have picked something up for you two too. But then again, I'm a starving single. Hey, I'll make it up to you. We'll have cake when we get back to my place. How does that sound?"

They exchanged puzzled glances. Hawkins stuck his thumb in his mouth.

"I'm not sure they've ever had cake before, or at least not more than once or twice."

"Not birthdays?"

"I've found cheese and crackers to be cheaper and reinforcing enough."

China paused there in a half-crouch, obviously crunching rapid numbers in her head. "I think we're going to get along very well. You, Sanderson, we will definitely get plumped up before next holiday season."

"He doesn't carry weight," I answered for him, ruffling his cowlicks. "But perhaps he needs some filling meals cooked up by a nurturing damsel who knows her stuff. My sister is a dreadful cook, and not only because I'm biased to hate everything she attempts to do just because it's her."

"Then we're going to have a problem, because I'm only skilled at baking desserts. I've been living off pasta and cereal for centuries. But" - here she straightened - "we'll learn things together. I'll bet your daddy has plenty of things he can teach me about how to maintain a home on a budget."

Hawkins's hand shot up to volunteer.

"If it's all the same to you, China, I prefer not to use the word 'daddy.' Calling me their caretaker or 'Fergus' will suffice."

"Roger that. Where are your things? Is that one sorry briefcase all of it? That can't be all of it. That's all of it? Well, run me up a flagpole and click your heels thrice." The selkie clucked her tongue as she shook her head. "We had better get moving if we want to get you all firmly settled before dark. We selkies can't poof."

I grimaced. "Neither can I, if I don't know where we're going. A pity that only Anti-Fairies can read minds."

"Dazzled." China linked her arm through mine, making me fumble my milkshake and Sanderson tighten his grip on my other side. "We can catch each other up over a nice, long tram ride."

"I'm beginning to see why you're always late."

China took the briefcase in her other hand, and Hawkins brought up the end of our train as we wound our way up the rattling metal steps to the loading dock. I kept watching China as we went, wondering if she had an unmagicked weapon concealed in the gaping pocket of her apron, and if she would make any grab for the coat I wore. She gave no sign she even acknowledged its existence. Too late did I think to wonder if the milkshake she'd brought me was poisoned. Hm. Figuring that I had already done myself in if it was, I didn't see a problem with finishing off the rest. And some of you say I've never willingly placed myself in harm's way to protect my offspring! Honestly.

"Tram for four, and two of them under 2,000," I told the far darrig behind the counter, and slowly handed over almost all of my remaining lagelyn. That was the most painful part of the day. Emery and I were in a race to claim Wish Fixers from our father, and although her Academy debts and my business transactions had given me a slight leg up once upon a time, I had two people besides myself to provide for. Maybe three now. Dust, I hoped I was making the right choice.

"The red tram," I murmured, propping myself against the window. Sanderson climbed onto the bench beside me and leaned his head against my elbow. Hawkins snuggled up beside him. That left China sitting on her own on the opposite side of the tram, her legs crossed at her ankles. She glanced at the window.

I cracked one of my eyelids open, which is why I saw her sitting there like that. My gaze shifted down to my gray and black coat, then to Sanderson as he sat silently at my side, and back again. Swallowing my groan, I heaved myself up (making his wings jump) and moved to the other side of the tram car. I preferred the window seat, but the side nearest the door would serve me well enough.

"What?" I asked when China turned her attention on me. She made a, 'Who, me?' gesture by touching her chest and flipping up her palms, and focused on the scenery again. But when her hand came down, her webbed fingers spread, she lay it atop my knuckles. We both pretended not to notice.

Sanderson slipped off his bench to follow me. The tram jolted into the air just as he took his first step. I snapped two fingers and sent him back to his seat. And thus we went.

It was three hours' ride to Claystrif, and we spent it skimming high above Plane 4. The barren wasteland of that world may not have been most people's aesthetic, but I kept my eyes out for any sign of Anti-Fergus or his offspring out roaming. I'd have accepted any Unseelie Courter with green fur. At one point, I did honestly think I spotted a flash of clashing clothes and yellow hair slinking down a slope of black rock, and another circling a pool of steaming acid, but the tram moved on too quickly for me to confirm their identities, and the windows were partially blurred with the passing vapor anyway.

One joy about riding in a full car, at least, was that we had no obligation to stop and let on other passengers. It got us to our destination that much quicker. We eventually descended a plane and, in Patio World, switched from our red tram to a yellow one. That journey was shorter, though Hawkins fell asleep before we'd made it twenty cloudlengths. We disembarked at the Lau Rell station an hour later.

"Do you think sleep-talking counts as breaking the hundred hours of reflective silence?" I grunted to China as I shook Hawkins awake.

"Nah, boss. He's too cute."

As we skimmed through the small town, I literally stopped flying mid-wingbeat and found myself wondering what exactly she'd meant by that. Apart from the freckles and his hair being curlier than my scruffiness, Hawkins looked like a miniature me. It was an interesting comment to make.

Halfway down a friendly little lane of pointed houses, China withdrew a green key from her pocket and wedged it into a lock on the cheerful white door of her cheerful pink house. "This place is one hundred percent all mine," she informed us, "not just owned but also thought up by me. If I'm allowed one request while you're staying here, it's that you always lock the door when you leave. I've got a couple of valuables, but it's mainly my ideas that I don't want stolen. I'll get a new copy of the key made tomorrow. In we go."

Glass glistened across the floor beyond the doorway, revealing water trickling underneath as though it all were winter ice. A living room! She had a living room, and the kitchen separate to the right and in the back! The walls were overlapping emerald and forest greens. A grand staircase of more glass steps swept upwards like a waterfall to a second floor, where the green walls faded through turquoise and into blue. Ambrosine's house didn't have a second floor, and of course Kalysta's burrow hadn't either. Wish Fixers did, though my duties had rarely taken me up there. The entire place glowed with floating, star-shaped balls of light that clung near the walls and only shifted into 'On' when China held her hands far out in front of her like a seal and clapped twice. I closed my mouth.

"I'm sorry. What do you have student loans for, again?"

"Architecture and interior design. Do you want to see the guest room I can fit these two in? It's a red and gold autumn forest, just upstairs and to the left, and the right again. And there's one for you near mine that's wintery white and soft blue. I just finished it two years ago."

It didn't seem right to leave my briefcase on the pretty, mossy couch, so I placed it on the floor just inside the door and looked around a second time. An office with a glass-paneled door stood glistening to my right. A second mirrored it on my left, although that one was clearly the more often used. Blueprints spilling from the desk all but guaranteed it to be China's place of business. Stuffing my hands in the pockets of her marbled coat, I followed her up the stairs.

"Here is your washroom," she was telling Hawkins and Sanderson. "While you're all settling in, I'll run out and pick you both up some toothbrushes and toiletry things, and cute bath towels, and some more clothes, and maybe some drawing paper. I tend to sob on a lot of mine when I'm reading my novels while I try to work."

Sanderson shot me a wide-eyed look over his shoulder that I easily interpreted as, This place is really big.

"You live here alone?" I asked China as she pulled down extra blankets from the top of her hallway closet, her pale wings fluttering.

"Not anymore, it looks like. But I never know, being a selkie, where exactly my coat is going to end up. I like to be prepared for anything. Big families, or bums on the street- they both enjoy it. I did go to school and build it on my own click, so maybe I'm just that despicably nice of a person. Anyway, I think I'll like hearing other people moving about in this drafty old place. Unless I forget I invited you and lie awake for hours thinking you've all come to rob me."

I fingered the top ribbon of her coat. Perhaps I was an easier fairy to guilt-trip than I would like to be, but wearing the thing in her presence when she was being so welcoming felt rather offensive even to me. I didn't dare take it off even so. Not quite yet. "China, it's… it's very kind of you, to take us in on such extremely short notice. You keep a clean home."

"It's actually not that hard. One person alone doesn't make a great deal of mess. Do you want to start unpacking while I tidy up the kitchen, which actually is chaotic, and then I'll get to work on dinner?"

She wasn't even asked. That thought kept niggling at me beneath my armpit as I retrieved our briefcase and toted it up the stairs: She hadn't even been asked.

As promised, my room was painted with a stunning winter forest, all blues and grays and whites, with needled green trees poking out beneath a blanket of snow. I had to pause and stare curiously at the sight. I had looked often at the trees that surrounded me while I had made my home on Earth. China hadn't done a poor job. In fact, she'd done a very nice job. I traced my thumb along one branch on the wall and wondered if the various flora of Earth were fascinating to her because she had grown up in the Specific Sea.

I unpacked our things and knelt a moment longer on the floor, surrounded by what little we had, before I began placing what belonged to me in the dresser that came with my room. An interesting design, brown beneath and whiteness dripping down its sides like snow. If China had painted it too, she certainly had an eye for it. I took Sanderson's and Hawkins's clothes to their room and found them focused with rapture on the carpet. Heh. All those red and gold leaves filtering out the setting sun on the walls, and that was the part they found most interesting. In their defense, I couldn't resist either, and ran my fingers through its marbled forest browns and greens, until Sanderson reminded me with a nudge why I had come.

"Here are your clothes," I said, dividing my stack between two drawers. "For now, what we have is limited. You'll have to wear everything for two or three days in a row, but I still expect you both to bathe daily. The curse of being Faedivus is that it leaves our skin so oily. Now, make yourselves comfortable and keep out of trouble. China is working on dinner downstairs. I presume she wouldn't mind if you wanted to read some of her books, but I need you both to treat them with care and respect. Remember, we are still guests in her home."

They both nodded.

Downstairs I found China working hard as promised. A flick of a kitchen wand had taken care of most of the dishes, though she was going over one of them again with a cloth to scrub away a tougher stain than simple domestic magic could polish off. I lingered in the arched doorway until she sensed my attraction signals and jumped at the shoulders.

"I told you I'd finish the work in here, Fergus. It's embarrassing. This is where I eat when I'm sad and I didn't want you to see the crumbs."

"It seemed right to help you. I've unpacked and I've been fired from my job. I have no possessions to entertain myself with, and my two companions upstairs can't talk." I gathered up the scattered papers around the dining table, the counters, and floor. "Anyway, I don't like messes. Once I know they've been conquered, I'll sleep much better tonight."

China, who still hadn't turned around, set aside her dish and picked up a mug with a chip in its lip. "How long can I expect you to be brightening my door?"

"Preferably a short while. Tomorrow is Thursday. Come Friday, I'll begin looking for work. Once I can provide for a small home for these two and myself, I suppose we'll make the transition and be out of your hair."

"And leave me alone in this big place again for another seven centuries?"

I watched the back of her neck as I straightened her papers, unsure how much of her question was to be taken as sarcastic or a warning. "I don't like to impose."

"It's not so imposing when you're my big strong man and I'm a selkie, now is it?"

I glanced down at my ruffled white shirt. I had removed her coat and left it in my closet. Could she sense that, although she still hadn't looked at me?

"I believe in choices," I said finally, moving the stack of papers to the small corner table that held a grayfish tank. "Argue if you want, but taking us in this way wasn't much of your own choice. I don't think it's fair that you should struggle to care for us while we laze about. Sanderson and Hawkins are my responsibility. I will do my part to provide for them without complaint. Thank you for offering us a place to stay, and giving us food tonight. You've really done enough. I can take over from here."

"That's nonsense. We're a family now. Of course I'll take do my part to look after the little drakes. Now, what should I make for dinner?"

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 2: LEAP

Bells and Whistles

Spring of the Shifted River - Autumn of the Clinging Leaf

China truly had a kind soul, and I found that I admired her greatly for it. In the same way I had once argued with Sanderson that saying 'No!' was proof he needed a nap, China looked at me and interpreted my protests as a sign that I needed her charity.

It was embarrassing. I pushed through it nonetheless. We clicked well in our new home, although after a long day of job-searching on Monday, snug in my bed, I suddenly bolted upright. "Oh, smoof. Weren't Hawkins and Sanderson supposed to be finished with their hours of silence like, yesterday?"

I ran the numbers through my head, ran the distance to their room after it, then lay back down and nestled into my blankets. "It's already 19:00 and I don't want to get out of bed. I'll tell them in the morning." The first rule China would have to learn about living with me was, I could be super unmotivated if I was motivated to be.

Over a breakfast of eggs and bacon, I did, in fact, break the news to them: "Your hundred hours of reflection are complete. You may speak now."

"What does 'son' mean?" Sanderson burst out.

I paused, my fork halfway to my mouth. "What?"

"The pink-haired guy - Hadrian - he said me and Hawkins were the sons of you and China. What does that mean?"

"'Hawkins and I.' Son? Well. It means that... if I died, my inheritance would go to you, like Ambrosine's went to me."

Hawkins hopped up and down in his seat. "Does that mean we get to take anything we want if we can fit it in a briefcase too? Because I want all the documents that give me the Wish Fixers cloudship."

"Definitely not. Don't get so excited. Now, drink your jatican juice and don't cause trouble for China while I'm out. I found a promising opportunity sorting packages in a post office, so I have to be off for my interview. I expect to find you still on your best behavior when I return."

So it went. China provided us with shelter, I tried to provide us with funds. We had to start from the bottom. Even with this post office job secure in my grip, I never stopped hunting for things bigger and better. As time passed, eventually Sanderson, Hawkins, and I even traveled about the surrounding neighborhoods on behalf of our own little business, offering our services where we could.

It began so simply. We cleaned. We organized. We helped Fairies move in and out of homes. We painted houses. We scrubbed small alien lifeforms from the hulls of skyships. We washed clothes. We made beds. We polished mirrors. We built hen houses. We supervised business transactions and deals. We even helped some of the younger generation with school homework.

Then Hawkins let slip to someone that he had experience with budgeting, and it progressed from there. Advising. Planning. Transcribing. Listing. Informing. Filing. Record-keeping. Calculating. Warning. Confirming. Ordering. Distributing. Reviewing. Responding. Satisfying. Once, a client showed me the eviction notice that had been left on the door of his business, and we went back and examined the deed and the original contract, and exploited a child-rearing technicality that gave him another century to pull the place together. The thanks - and more importantly, the hard cash - poured in.

Yet it always seemed to disappear too fast. Four of us sheltering in an un-paid-off and uninsured home racked up expenses, especially with two of them school-aged. It didn't help that China and I were forced to file separately whenever tax day rolled around. And, that I still had to complete both forms myself, along with the dozens of those of our neighbors, which over the years turned into hundreds, and then bordered on thousands. When Emery called me via scrying bowl to mock me for how much nearer she thought she was to her goal of taking on Wish Fixers than I was, I knew something had to be done.

I had dropped out of school, but China had been an Academy student. Deductions came off that. Even student loan interest was deductible. She worked for an architect, and didn't have a large enough income to bump me into a higher tax bracket. If I went through with this, the Fairy Council wouldn't be able to pull funds from so much of her paycheck, either. That nasty gift tax which clung around potential large money exchanges would vanish entirely. Her health and life insurances could be dropped if she were covered with mine. Sanderson and Hawkins could make me eligible for earned income credit only in homes where both a legally bonded maternal and paternal figure were present for the majority of the year. As a smaller but still welcome bonus, I wouldn't have to shuffle through mountains of papers to double-check which of us had paid for the property or the tidy magic lines this time around.

For several days during the Summer of the Clinging Leaf, I paced in my office, brushing my quill along my lip and considering my options from all the angles I could find. When I was certain of my decision, I went out, bought a bundle of purple flowers and some chocolate-coated strawberries, and invited China to take a skim through the neighborhood with me.

As we turned the first corner, she began telling me about a rough experience she'd had clearing a final floor plan design with her client that day, despite the hours she'd put into arranging and rearranging items and all the chances the client could have had to reject the earlier drafts, and I lost my focus on the task at hand. It came back to me by the time we circled around and reached the door again, when I had to fumble the flowers and fruit behind my back to free a hand for the doorknob. Still silently kicking myself for flying straight past the amphitheater, I asked China to see me in my office in a few minutes' time.

"I made homemade ice cream with Sanderson and Hawkins this afternoon," the selkie said when she joined me, clinking down a bowl. "Surprise: it's more vanilla. You three and your vanilla- you're all so stubborn and silly, and I love it. But I'm still seventy-five percent sure that all three of you are faking your dislike of orange sherbet. Which reminds me- Can I have the rest of your Easter candy?"

I thanked her for the ice cream, and we ate in relative silence. Once we had both finished, I cleared my throat and slid the dishes aside.

"China," I said, setting my fingers on the edge of my desk, "I would like to marry you."

She said nothing at first, then after a minute tilted her head. "What all of a sudden brought this on?"

That made me squint. I'd been hoping for a more affirmative answer. "I've been with you for almost fifty years now and I've grown fond of your company. I don't want you to stay because I have your coat. I'd rather you stayed because you enjoy my company, too. Though I of course don't want to lose you, I want this marriage to be partially your decision. If you choose to turn me down, I'll return your coat. It isn't right for you to be held as a captive mate against your will. Oh, smoof. I had flowers and strawberries. I meant to lead in with those first. I…" I checked under my desk and my chair, and then began shuffling papers. "The emphasis is on had flowers and strawberries. Ah- Here they are. It seems I put my binder on top of them, but it looks as though most of the petals are still attached."

"I was wondering why you were carrying those." She took the flowers as I passed them over to her, and smelled them. "All right. I have just one question."

"Yes?"

"When we're married, can I finally give you hugs?"

"I suppose so. You can have one now, if you'd like." I came around the desk, and she bounced up and threw her arms around my neck, in the process whacking my glasses off with her bouquet of purple flowers. We got a chuckle out of that.

"Then no objections," China said. "Let's get married."

"We can get the papers filed and legalized in two weeks' time. I suppose you'll want a ceremony afterwards as well?"

She did. I called for Sanderson and Hawkins, and we told them the news. They examined us with twin expressions of puzzlement. "Oh," was all the latter said, in a tone that suggested he'd come in expecting a present. He started sucking on his thumb.

"Hawkins?" I slid a paper across my desk. "This number here is the money we can afford to spend on the ceremony and such. Head into the kitchen with China. She'll know better than I will what all we want and need, and you can help budget that out for us."

"We need a cake," China said first and instantly. "It has to have white frosting like little seashells, I want three layers, and the flavor should be yellow marble."

Hawkins pointed at her with his quill. "Yes. I like this plan a lot more than your birthday one."

"Okay, we all decided that the birthday plan was arguably flawed. This time, no magic touches the cake, and it definitely won't be hit in any crossfire and attempt to devour innocent bystanders. I'm glad it's you writing this up for me. You have pretty handwriting."

They went off, leaving Sanderson with me. He leaned against my desk, one hand resting against the crook of the other elbow.

"I'm not sure I understand, sir. Why do you have to marry her?"

"I don't have to do anything I don't want to. Except," I sighed, staring down at my desk, "pay these taxes to the Fairy Council. You like China, don't you?"

Sanderson's hand inched further along the desk. "I like her because this is her house and we live with her, but I don't want it to be weird, sir. What does it mean, marriage? What's going to happen to me and Hawkins?"

"Nothing much will really change around here, I don't think. We'll do our jobs and China will do hers. But she's legally allowed to sign things now- packages, checks, and at the bank and such. She'll provide for you should I disappear, and no one will take you away should anything happen to me. Not that I'm expecting anything to happen to me, but I feel more satisfied knowing you two won't be thrown out on the street."

"But does she own my stuff? I don't want to share with her." Sanderson bit his lip. "Are you going to want us to call her Mrs. Sir?"

"No. 'China' or 'Ma'am' will still be fine. You can talk to her about it. Your wings are fluttering forward. Is there something else on your mind?"

"Is it because you want more nymphs?" he asked quietly. "Did Hawkins and I do something wrong?"

I massaged my mouth as I leaned back in my seat. I hadn't even thought to ask China yet if she was going to want nymphs. She knew, surely, that fairy drakes were forbidden at this time. But still, if the ban were ever lifted… Species of the father, hat of the mother, delicate wings a mixture of the two… When Sanderson continued to hover there, I beckoned him with my hand. He came around my desk, two fingers trailing along the edge of it.

"Sanderson, can you tell me how the social hierarchy works among the Seelie Court? Legally, I mean."

From the way he squeezed his eyelids shut, I could tell he'd already been thinking it. He had the precise textbook answer perched on the tip of his tongue. "'Every species falls somewhere on the list, and though debate may arise concerning where each one falls, these are the two endpoints upon which everyone can agree: The fairies stand at the top, and the brownies at the bottom. In the eyes of society, status may be lowered through mating downwards, never elevated; thus, the Fairy Council devised an overarching system of legality concerning rank to be followed by all of the Seelie Court'. By law, inheritance rights go to the first offspring of the first mate who holds the higher point on the hierarchy chart. Then the first offspring he or she had with the second mate, if applicable, follows suit, with the first offspring of the third, so on down until that's the end of mates. Then you come back to the second offspring of the first mate." He swallowed. "And… if the other mates were never legally wed, then… Then the first one to be legally wed becomes the first mate. And the former first mate becomes the second."

I rubbed my thumb across his cheek. "Does it upset you to remember that China isn't your real mother?"

"No, sir. I understand it and I accept it."

"Do you recall the day before your baptism, when we went to the hospital? I'm not even sure if I am capable of having any more nymphs from here on out. But if I am, no matter how many I have, you are my first heir as far as I'm concerned, Sanderson. You fall only after China."

He spread his arms. "But you already live with her. You're already sort of mates in reality, if not on paper- you told me the story about when you found her coat. What difference does it make if you're married or not?"

As I picked up the next tax form I needed to file, I tapped the hard tip of my quill against my teeth. "You would be surprised."

I went out to check on China and Hawkins later that evening. They'd drawn up an impressive list of items, and Hawkins flicked the budget across the table to me as I came in. I picked it up and gave it a skim.

"Hm. I'm afraid it's a little much. We still need one of those bridal dresses."

"I already have one," China said, springing up. "Sit here and I'll fetch it." She flew up to her room, and a moment later returned clutching a file folder-green lump of fabric to her chest. She flapped it out and lay it across the glass stairs.

"That will do," I agreed. "I see you even have a veil."

"It's not like this is the first time I've been married. I'm a selkie with a loose coat up for grabs. It's in the job description."

As she refolded the dress, I tugged at one of my sleeves. If that was the case, I had two options. I could hide the coat where no other drake would find it… or offer it to China and see what she did with it now. If she truly chose to stay, the stories said, the coat deal was no longer binding and she was mine to keep until I turned to dust.

When I watched her sit back on her knees to pride herself on a job well done, I thought that perhaps I'd keep the coat myself a little longer. At least until the first nymph, if one day there ever was one, had been weaned. I didn't want a repeat of what had happened with Solara.

China went upstairs again to put the dress away, but a moment later she ran into my office. "Look what I found in my sock drawer," she crowed, flapping a triangular piece of gray fabric tipped with a silver star. "It's that old cohuleen druith you didn't want when we first met."

"Why do you have a sock drawer? You've worn sandals every day for ten years."

She stepped back, bewildered. The silly hat flopped to her side. "I love my sock drawer. I wear socks when I'm at home."

"You do?"

"Yes. Every day after work. That's the first thing I do after I give you all my hellos." Her hand went to her forehead, tugging at a loose strand of dark hair. "Well, I may possibly have to amend this statement now, but here I was thinking that we're not strangers anymore. And if we're getting married then my family will expect you to have it on hand. Would you give it a try it for me?"

"All right," I said, getting out of my chair, and when she gave it to me I made the attempt to put it on. It snagged on the broken points of my crown, until I tried again and slid the cap beneath it. The crown floated a smidgen higher.

"Hmm. Having to squeeze it through… That will be annoying if I wear this regularly."

China tapped her cheek with the whole of her webbed palm. "Doesn't it bother you when you get those double-takes about your crown?"

"Very little bothers me," I replied, still attempting to straighten the hat.

"Well, take it off. The crown, I mean."

"I'd prefer not to stumble around in a disoriented manner for the rest of my life, actually."

"You won't. I think you won't - if you do you can twist my wings - but a cohuleen druith is a special hat that feeds you magic. It's supposed to keep our mates from drowning when they want to come visit us or our families underwater."

"It prevents asphyxiation?"

"It tries to, though it still struggles some when the wind or currents are particularly bad. I haven't exactly pushed the limits, but it seems to work well."

I fingered my crown. "Let's make an attempt and see."

"Would you please just do it for me, you stubborn- Oh. Great! I'll get it for you, then?"

I nodded, shut my eyes, and stuffed the end of my tie in my mouth. China lit her wings. Clinging to my shoulder, she groped for my crown. Her fingers snagged.

"Don't knee me in the stomach," she warned, and wrenched the crown loose from its gravitational field. My teeth tightened in the fabric, but I refused to scream. China repositioned the gray hat around my ears. "There."

I opened my eyes again. At first I said nothing, and didn't really move except to beat my wings and slide my chewed tie from my mouth.

"I feel fine," I said at last. "No dizzy spells. I guess it works."

Smiling, almost smirking, she folded her arms. "It looks good on you."

"You think so?" I flicked the heavy metal star dangling from the tip. "Then if it really works as well as you claim, I might just have to keep it."

China clapped her hands with a loud smacking sound, arms out in front. "I'm going to pull out my thread and make a cute matching set for Sanderson and Hawkins to stick on their crowns. I don't have the material to make real cohuleen druiths for them - you need to kill a royal-blooded sea serpent for that, and they're endangered now and I can't afford to get arrested for poaching again with the wedding just around the corner - but they'll sort of look the part."

"Do as you think is best. As long as they're clean and presentable, I don't mind it. I've been meaning to cut Hawkins' hair again, anyway. There's no helping Sanderson's cowlick. I've attempted. The will o' the wisp saliva got into his pores."

When I joined her downstairs later in the evening, most of the table had been taken up by soft gray fabric and various pins and scissors and spools of thread. Sanderson and Hawkins were copying invitations, and China looked up when she heard me hovering in the doorway.

"Could we invite the Anti-China?"

I picked up one of the completed wedding announcments, black paper lined with silver writing, and flipped it open. China had already grabbed an image from the timestream. She'd picked the moment at the doorstep when I had fumbled. She was moving her hands as she wound up her rant. I leaned forward, an awkward sort of smile-cough on my face. The flowers and strawberries were just visible behind my back in bright bursts of color. "I see no reason not to. It's her fate we're playing with. Is she at least somewhat restrained in public?"

"She'll be fine. A sarcastic twit who likes to throw rocks, but I'll try to work around the language barrier and talk to her, and we can keep some wood around to knock on if you think we need it."

"Perhaps I ought to invite the Anti-Fergus too." I thought a moment longer, then shook my head when Anti-Kalysta's face popped up in my mind's eye. "Ooh, perhaps not. I'll visit him myself to tell him it happened after it's over. That seems like enough invitations, doesn't it? I would kind of prefer to keep it small."

"We were waiting for you to come down." China ran a length of thread around her tongue. "Do you want to invite any of your family?"

"I don't have much in the way of family. Only one sister with whom I don't get along. No living uncles, aunts, or cousins. The one grandparent I know has tried to kill me several times because I'm a gyne. Come to think of it, I'm still scratching my head over why he denied us from ever visiting any family reunions. By this point, we're a bit short on family and I'm actually not responsible for it."

"What about Ambrosine, sir?" Hawkins asked, putting his thumb in his mouth. "Isn't he coming?"

China tilted her head. "The father who disowned you? Mm. I guess he should at least get an invitation, maybe. A belated one. What about your mother? Is she around?"

I slid one card into a silver envelope. "I would like to invite her, but I'm not sure where she is now. Let me see your quill, Hawkins."

"Oh, you don't need that," said China, glancing up again. "There's squid ink in the star of that cap. It comes out if you squeeze."

"You're pulling my wing."

"I'm not."

I took off the cohuleen druith and flipped it upside down. When I wrote Ambrosine's name on the white envelope, ink bled out just as easily as from an inkwell, and without the need to dip it. My wings skipped a beat.

"That settles it. I'm definitely keeping this hat. I'm so glad I'm going to marry you."

"So is Ambrosine coming?" Hawkins asked.

I turned the envelope over in my hand as I replaced my cap. "I don't know if he'll come, but I am thinking now that I want to deliver this in person. China, do you remember what I told you about Wilcox?"

"He's your third son, isn't he?" She raised one hand. "Sorry. Not son. 'Offspring'. See, against all odds, it turns out I do listen when you talk."

"He ought to be forty-eight years old now. Ambrosine's been caring for him, but he does expect me to take him back sooner rather than later. You wouldn't mind if I took him in before the wedding, would you?"

She shrugged. "You have the coat. You're the boss."

I paused over that speckled coat later that night when I was changing out of my clothes. It lay in my bottom drawer, easily accessible. So simple for her to reclaim, so simple for another drake to steal. As she'd told me once before, technically she was only required to obey my instructions if I wore the thing while I said them. But if I wanted this relationship to last, I'd perhaps want to move it to a safer location. Somewhere I could still get to it if I wanted to take advantage of its softness and warmth. Maybe Monday, once she left for work, I could bury it in the vapor under the front path outside.

Something shifted beneath my covers. My shirt slipped from my fingers. Without looking back, I said, "Sanderson, you should be in your own bed."

Bleary-voiced, he raised his head. "What? But you always let me sleep with you over the weekends."

Right. That was another matter I'd forgotten to clear up. I picked the shirt off the floor. "Technically speaking, Sanderson, regardless of whether or not it's the weekend, it's the first real night of mine and China's courtship. You're still very young, but you're not the blissful nymph you used to be and I don't want you in here any longer."

"But I was here first," he protested as I plucked him up beneath the arms.

I put him on the floor and held his shoulders down. "China is going to be my wife now. If anyone ends up sleeping in my bed after tonight, it's going to be her."

He stared at me for a moment, lips slightly parted, then spun around and flounced down the hallway. A few minutes later, I heard him sawing at the strings of his springcase. Before China and I left the house, I rapped on his and Hawkins's door with my knuckles.

"We're going out for a few hours. Keep it down in there. It's Lights Out and decent neighbors are trying to get some rest. I don't want them pulling their business because of this."

The springcase stopped, but he didn't verbally reply.

Sourness still clung around him when the following weekend, China and Hawkins stayed behind to work on wedding preparations while he and I made the long flight southeast to Novakiin. It would have been so much faster to poof, but the expenses associated with the distance stopped me from waving my wand. Sanderson was a trooper, and we both landed on the doorstep in one piece as twilight fell. I checked through the window, spotted Ambrosine sitting in his chair near the fireplace, then yanked my face away before he could look up.

"He has a cù sith with him. Sanderson, what are the Three Deep Sins written on the first page of the Delegating Administrative Rules of the Known Universe?

He scrunched his brow. "'Tell no lies, excepting those dressed in white. Kill no one before they've engaged in fair fight. If ever in doubt, recall the Fairy Elder is sure to be right. Disobey these and you'll lose your path to the light'."

"Correct. And what are my three rules?"

"Only talk if I get the 'Okay' signal after a question, don't say anything that seems like a secret, and if you snap your fingers twice then it's really important and I need to listen or else you'll twist my wings."

I nodded and knocked on the door. "Adhere to all of those and you'll be fine."

The cù sith was only a puppy, pale violet in color with two very black ears. It lay rolled on its back on the chair where Ambrosine had been sitting, and I saw it open one eye as Ambrosine pulled back the door. He leaned against the frame to prevent us from squeezing past him. Squeezing past in a dignified manner, anyway- we could have crawled under his arm easily enough. Or, Sanderson could have.

"Hello, Fergus. I've been wondering when you'd come home. No Hawkins with you, I see. And you got a new hat. Do you have my three million?"

"I do not, but it's coming, and I do have this." I handed him the envelope. "Is Emery here?"

"She's out for an evening meal with a drake friend of hers. I'm hoping she'll be back late. She's been in this house too long for my tastes and I would like to get her wed off within the next decade."

I squinted. "I thought you ended up keeping her because you were lonely. Oh. Is this because you 'have needs' and don't want her around to witness them?"

"That's my business," he said. I waited on the doorstep as he painstakingly opened the flap, slid out the invitation, placed his spectacles on his nose, and read. Then, "Ah, so this is what my money's going towards."

"It's not your money yet. I'll get you your three million in time."

He took his spectacles off again and waved them at me without even looking up. "If you believe money ought to be wasted on frivolities, maybe you shouldn't have the family business at all."

"I told you, your money is coming. I'm almost there. I just need a little more. My fiancée wanted this ceremony and I saw no reason to deny her. May we come in now? Neighbors will talk if we argue out here rather than in there."

"How close is 'almost there'?"

"Almost enough," I said, doing my best to prevent my wings from twitching forward and knowing that they did anyway. He raised a white eyebrow.

"Do you even have the first million?"

"I'm working on it. I wasn't intending to come back here without it, but I thought I might take Wilcox off your hands, now that he'll have a supportive mother with the wedding and all. That's what you always wanted of me, isn't it?"

Ambrosine studied both of us for a moment, then waved us in. "He'll be glad to hear it, I imagine, though I might be sad to lose him. He works hard for one so young. We just had our nachos. I can warm up leftovers. Would you like some?"

That's how I ended up sitting in front of the fireplace with Sanderson, cradling a bowl of brown sugar in my lap, both of us eyeing the cù sith still upside-down in the chair. Ambrosine nodded his head towards it as he stood back. "That's Wilcox."

I paused with one chip just about to enter my mouth. "You let a cù sith steal his soul while I was gone? Which of the Three Deep Sins did him in? How did it happen? How long ago? Do you know where the body is?"

"No, that's actually your Wilcox, just as you left him. I wouldn't let a real cù sith in my own house. I'm not pious enough to manage living that way. Come on, Wilcox. Up, up. Your papa's finally here to take you home for good."

The cù sith rolled over, and I noticed the wand in its mouth for the first time. It shook its body, sprang into the air, then poofed into fairy form and held, wings beating. Once he'd caught his balance, he brought himself nearer the floor. There he floated, hands clasped around his wand near his waist.

Apart from his starkly paler skin, he was identical to both Sanderson and Hawkins.

"Wilcox," I said as my throat ran dry. "It occurred to me that could be you. Sanderson, Hawkins, and I all turn the same black-tipped purple when we change shape."

"So I go off to live with you now?" he asked, shifting his eyes between me and Sanderson. "And I heard something about a wedding?"

"I'm getting married to a selkie named China Mayfleet, up in a town called Lau Rell. The date is set for early autumn."

"What if I don't want to go? I don't even know you."

"Wilcox, we've talked about this," Ambrosine said, not uncrossing his arms. "When your father comes to claim you, you go with him. Will you leave tonight, Fergus?"

"It's dark out and we're still exhausted from the flight down. I can't afford the poof back at this time since I'm trying to save up for your three million. You may notice we didn't even take the tram." Also, the porters didn't like me much after I'd "ruined" their timetables by arranging them all alphabetically by color as opposed to the times the tram cars were supposed to depart. I was helping.

"I thought you might say that. Well. It will be cheaper for me to give you food and shelter for the night than send the three of you off myself, and aside from that it will make you work harder and I think that's funny. Finish those nachos and you can have your old room between mine and the kitchen, though it's Wilcox's now. Don't freak out when it looks different than the last time you were here. Breakfast is at six o'clock sharp, and if it's gone before you get up then I'm not making any more."

Disinterested in us now that he had looked Sanderson over, Wilcox lifted his wand. "May I go into cù sith form again?"

"How many times is that today? Are you over your limit yet?"

"I've only done five shifts. I'm allowed six."

Ambrosine waved his hand in permission, and Wilcox was back on four dusty-violet paws. He licked one of them, then circled in front of the fireplace three times and lay down before it, tail to his nose.

"Can I speak with you in private, Ambrosine?" I asked through teeth that wouldn't unclench.

"I was hoping you would," he said, and together we both said, "Stay with Wilcox, Sanderson."

Ambrosine led me into his room, which didn't seem to have changed much in five decades since I'd been here. I half-slammed the door behind me. "What the smoof was that? Why is he 'allowed six times' to shapeshift in a day? Why would he even need to? Why was he lying about as a cù sith when we got here? What did you do to him?"

"What makes you think I did anything to him?" he protested, placing the tips of all eight fingers over his chest. I jabbed my finger in the direction of the front room.

"Shapeshifting without an external cause? Unfocused eyes? Paper-pale skin? The unfinished homework on the kitchen table when I ducked in there to grab my food? Unbalanced flight and shaky wings? Don't think I don't realize what condition he was showing signs of. You're a mind and magic children's therapist who knows exactly how to prevent these things. You messed with his dopamine levels whenever he changed shape as a nymph and got him addicted to fagigglyne, didn't you? And- and now he's dependent on shapeshifting for the chemical flow from fagiggly gland to brain. You did it intentionally! Knowing that one day I would act upon my promise to reclaim him and his wand's expenses would forever after be my expenses."

He smiled. "Have fun managing your money, my soon-to-be newlywed."

I didn't sleep much at all that night, lying in Wilcox's bed with my arms strangling his pillow. The second bed had apparently been removed from the room years ago, but Wilcox himself had volunteered to sleep on the floor, because Ambrosine had been careful to teach him proper manners. In all but his crippling addiction, it seemed, he was the most perfect little fairy I could have asked Ambrosine to raise. There was no reason to reject him after coming all this way. I watched him lie curled among a few cushions and blankets, back in his default form because Ambrosine had crept in with his wand to make him shed the cù sith fur once he'd fallen asleep. He was well-kempt and healthy. Just looking at him, asleep and in the dark, you couldn't even tell that he'd been poisoned on the inside.

Breakfast the following morning was omelets. I ate as fast as I was able to and helped Wilcox - now in purple kitten form - gather his things in a backpack while Sanderson crept into Ambrosine's room with the old lockbox key. He came away with a few bundles of creased yellow bills. Just before we headed out, Wilcox wound himself around Ambrosine's legs in farewell. He shut the door behind us as soon as we left. He didn't even watch us fly off.

Faeheim was in the opposite direction, so I decided that baptism could wait for some other day and headed straight for Lau Rell. After about three minutes, I realized that tailing me were one fairy, and one sparrow. Pulling up, I turned and snatched the wand out of Wilcox's talons. After I'd knocked him on the head with it, I forced him back to normal.

"No," I said. "Ambrosine and I finished the paperwork this morning. You're under my payment plan now, and we have a long way to fly. You'll make the journey in fairy form, as nature intended."

"Why can't we poof?"

"Perhaps Ambrosine didn't tell you, but I intend to buy Wish Fixers off him one of these days. If this shapeshifting business is a regular thing with you, you will drastically drain my funds."

He folded his arms. "I was born with a medical condition. I need my fagigglyne fix at least once every four hours, or I go into withdrawal and I could die."

I stared at him. "So that's how Ambrosine encouraged you to go along with it."

"It wasn't my idea to come with you," Wilcox pointed out, arching an eyebrow. "If you don't want me either, I'll turn around and go back to Ambrosine and Emery. They care about me."

"The only reason Ambrosine raised you at all is because it isn't in him to kill a nymph and he knew that eventually I'd come for you. But if you head back now, I imagine he's liable to toss you out the door just as he tossed Sanderson and Hawkins when they were younger."

Sanderson nodded.

"Fine," Wilcox said, just as uninterested as he had been after exchanging a few sentences the night before. "I can totally survive on my own. I'll turn into a snake. Snakes don't eat very much. Or I could be a camel, so I don't have to drink."

"And how will you pay for that when Twinkletuft comes knocking to tell you that your bank account's defaulted?" Shaking my head, I gave him back his wand. "You fly ahead of me. It's three hours to Lau Rell with the wind against us. You can have a brief moment to change your shape once we land. And call me 'sir'."

He glowered at me, but took off in his unsteady way. I motioned for Sanderson to follow him and brought up the rear myself.

As I'd expected, China and Hawkins were both outside with eyes shielded, and waved to us as we circled about overhead. "So you're the Wilcox I'm going to fall in love with," gushed the selkie, kissing him on each cheek as he stood stoically in the glinting purple grass. "I hope this place is to your liking. Designed it myself, you know. Hawkins and I made some more vanilla ice cream. Do you like vanilla as much as these three rascals do?"

"Here are your things," I said, handing Wilcox his backpack. "You sleep with Sanderson and Hawkins. Up the stairs, left hall, second door on your right. Great big room with a washroom leading off of it. We've already prepared a bed for you."

"Thank you, sir," he said without emotion. A flick of his wand, and he'd flipped from a scruffy, backpack-wearing fairy to a scruffy, backpack-wearing monkey. He disappeared up the stairs. I sighed a few seconds later when I heard the door slam down the hall. "This was a mistake."

"He's adorable," China said, folding her arms.

"He's a fagigglyne addict and he'll be far more expensive than I bargained for. This is the worst thing he could have become, now of all times."

"But he's part of the family. Everyone's adjusting to new circumstances. He'll grow on you just like the rest of us. Just give him time to warm up. You kind of did rip him away from everything he grew up with with little to no warning. Bit of a jerk move, that."

"I'll talk to him, sir," Hawkins offered, already hovering above the middle section of the stairs. I shook my head.

"Give him half an hour alone first. Be patient with him, but don't let him take advantage of you. I intend to be just as firm with him as with you and Sanderson. Just because he's already fifty years old doesn't mean he gets special treatment."

I next saw Wilcox when dinner rolled around. He was called for and he came, in fairy form without being asked, and took the farthest possible seat from the one he could tell I was going to sit in. We had homemade bread and jam for dinner, and after it was done, we all sat together in the parlor and coaxed Wilcox to tell us about his life with Ambrosine. He wasn't very willing to be open, so we played two notebook games and had dessert, and he went off to bed with Sanderson and Hawkins. I paced back and forth at the bottom of the stairs.

"Dust," I told China. "Get the broom for me, would you, please? Just look at all this purple dust. He tracks it everywhere."

She crouched down with the dustpan while I swept up. "Don't dwell on the negatives so much or you'll forget about the rest."

"Tch. I'm going to catch up on those tax forms. Don't wait up for me."

I was up and in my office again the next morning, eating oatmeal with my left hand so I could write with the other, when through my glass doors I spotted Wilcox shrugging his wings through the straps of his backpack.

"Where are you going this early?"

"To school, duh."

I put down my quill. "Spellementary?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You don't need to go there. I can teach you everything you want to know myself."

"This fairy goes, because he happens to like being there a whole lot better than being here."

"One wing twist for your sass," I warned, getting out of my seat, but he took off through the front door and perhaps shifted shape into something that I couldn't find, though I searched for a good five minutes. For most of the day I stayed in my office, watching for him to slink home, when in the late afternoon Sanderson wandered by and absentmindedly informed me that Wilcox had crawled in through the window in their room two hours ago.

I whirred up the stairs and flung open the door without first bothering to knock. Wilcox lay tucked into his sheets in the form of a violet hog. I snapped my fingers at him twice and pointed to the backpack at the foot of the bed.

"If you want to go to school instead of working like the rest of us, then you'll do your homework and keep your grades up. Whatever assignments you have, I want them done by dinner."

"Sure," he said, not even opening his eyes. I tore back the blankets and, using my own wand, poofed him back to normal. Before he could so much as squirm, I cranked his wings twice.

"Done by dinner," I repeated, and left as he sat up to massage his back. "Watch him like your namesake, Hawkins."

So it went throughout the rest of the summer. As long as Wilcox was at school or in his room and I was preparing for the upcoming wedding, we got along fine. As the month turned, I wrote to Twinkletuft requesting to see the expenses generated by our four wands. A few days later I was sent the receipt for the automatic payments. Almost all of them involved physical transformations, and for lengthy, continuously-draining periods of time. Then others were the result of Wilcox participating in magic lessons at school, which were at least mostly deductible. I rubbed my eyelids with my thumbs. Something had to be done, but not yet. Not when the wedding was taking precedent in my mind.

When the morning came, it was wintery and overcast just as I'd hoped it would be. China had long ago completed the pointed gray caps for Sanderson and Hawkins, and then Wilcox too. The three of them were wearing matching gray suits and straight black ties, just like the ones I had dressed up in for Princess Vyanda's bowling ball. Or three were supposed to, anyway; Wilcox sprawled on his side in his favorite rabbit form as Hawkins set up a few chairs in the grass around him for those who might tire of hovering and I placed my gift for China on the table with the other packages. I'd bought her shoes that she could wear socks with.

"You don't think she'll be late, do you?" I muttered to Sanderson, tugging again on the dangling star of my floppy hat as I floated back and forth in front of the cake. "She's always late to everything. I know her mother is supposed to be readying her, but I don't like her being gone this long. I should have gone with her. I don't care if some anti-brat would have shown up to mock me about deciding to see her in her dress before the ceremony."

"If I had to hazard a guess, sir, the statistical odds are that she's going to show up."

"I suppose she has to. I have her coat. How much longer until the guests begin to arrive?"

"About two hours, sir."

I halted my pacing and stared up at the winking stars- ancient Fairies gazing upon our late autumn morning. "Just over two more hours. And then I'm a married drake."

It wasn't really a surprise - our official courtship period had been going on for months now - but the concept still rang to me as foreign. Married, after all these years. In less than a year from now, my wings would be notched. China and I had already decided on a scoop-scoop-slit-scoop pattern from the distal ends of our costas towards the proximal portions. Care, diligence, spirit, unity. It perhaps wasn't the most creative or unique notch pattern, but no one in either Lau Rell or Novakiin had it yet, and that was good enough for me. No one had spoken it, but neither of us had felt comfortable with the most distal mark being a slit for love.

"Ambrosine and Emery are here," Sanderson said suddenly, and I turned around just as Wilcox made a dash for him and sprang into his arms. Ambrosine rubbed his long ears and made his way over to me, still holding the purple rabbit.

"So you came," I said, linking my hands behind my back. "I see you invited yourself along, Emery."

She bristled beneath her pink tuxedo. "Wow. I'm thrilled I got to cancel with my damefriends too, freckle-face."

"He's teasing, Em. Deadpanning is just in his nature."

She skimmed off to be annoying somewhere else anyway. Ambrosine kissed Wilcox's brow. "I wanted to see how well you were managing with your money, Fergus. I'm impressed. This is quite possibly the plainest, most basic set-up that I've ever seen for a ceremony of this kind."

"Hawkins knows how to keep to a budget."

"Where's the soda?"

"I didn't want Fairies getting drunk on my property today. Please respect my choice."

He gave a disappointed grunt and let Wilcox drop back to the grass. "Did you see the protesters out there on the street?"

"I didn't notice them. Protesting my little wedding? Are they doing much?"

"Not really- there were only two of them. They're raving on about the Cosma Mutation. How we need to end cross-species copulations before the mutation leaks from fairies into other races and all that. The usual."

I grimaced. "Let's hope they stay over there and don't wander in here. They have no right to tell me how to live my married life. One would think they would realize I went in to have my tube plugged."

Ambrosine reached into the pocket of his tan jacket. "I may as well hand this off to you now while I've got you here, just you and me. Solara always wanted me to give you this the day you took a mate. I searched for it when you came to get Wilcox, but I only found it a week ago."

The small white box was pristine. It still smelled faintly of fresh cardboard. After pulling off the yellow ribbon, I opened it to find an image of myself as a chubby hexagonal nymph, balanced on my mother's knees. I couldn't see the upper portion of her face, but her navy blue curls tumbled over my head. Nymph Fergus was looking up at her as he reached out to tug on the strands, and chew on the several he'd caught in his mouth. I flipped it around to show Ambrosine, one eyebrow raised. "This is it?"

He rolled his eyes. "Look a little harder."

I checked the box again and pulled out a thick, silver key and a note placed on top of it without a single wrinkle. "'Dear Fergus,'" I read aloud, tucking the box beneath my arm, "'If you're reading this, it means you're all grown up now. So you survived in Ambrosine's care after all. Unless he's made a mistake, you've found someone who is special to you like he was special to me. How does it feel to hold that hand? To kiss that cheek? It's okay not to feel anything at all. Allow instinct to take over, and leave the Eros Triplets to take care of the rest. Don't ever assume you can tell her she's beautiful here and there and be done with it. Show how much you care through the simple things instead. This key goes to Ambrosine's lockbox. My instructions were that he add bits of your childhood to it every few years, and you should find it contains some money and various personal items that I left for you, if you're interested. Don't forget to smile with all those nippy little teeth. Hugs and smooches, Solara Wurpixiz.'" I paused. "'P.S., don't bother asking around to see if anyone recognizes my handwriting. I had Ambrosine write this and I use a different name in public nowadays'. She really did think of everything."

"Some people just don't like to be found," he said absently, and floated off to speak with Hawkins.

The rest of the guests arrived over the following two hours. When I later checked on the gift table, I found a long pink box stamped with the double-hearted Eros seal. Evidently our legal marriage papers had gone through, and they'd sent us our leather marriage bands and a double-tipped honeymoon arrow. Good. Those things sold for a high price.

I had my second meeting with China's mother, and several brothers and sisters who ran around wearing one another's coats and sometimes switching off so they might turn into seals and go sliding on their bellies across the metal chairs. A couple of them had the bright idea to play tag and tackled each other into the peacock ice sculpture one of China's ishigaq coworkers had decided to donate. It shattered. They looked up guiltily, but before any of us could speak, Ambrosine waved his wand and the pieces went flying back together, if warmer and wetter than they might have been otherwise. The children gaped and tailed him for the rest of the day, begging to see more fairy magic. "Free of charge," he said to me as he passed by, to which I was very grateful. I even had a decent conversation with Emery. Mostly decent.

China was the last to arrive, gowned in seafoam green, her inky hair pinned back in a high pegasus tail beneath her veil. As she floated between the crowd, she held the wrist of her oldest brother. I became aware that Sanderson was still lingering beside me in the center of the circle of flower vases, and shooed him off to join Hawkins and Wilcox.

Ambrosine was my closest kin, so it was he who brought up the glass bowl of rosewater and placed it on the central chesberry pedestal. As I stood opposite China, he stood opposite her brother, and we all touched the tips of our wings.

"Fergus Whimsifinado," China's brother said, still holding her arm, "I am Romania Mayfleet, and I have been informed that you intend to take my sister, China Mayfleet, as your legal wife. Is this true?"

I dipped my hands in the bowl. "It is."

"China Mayfleet," Ambrosine said then, turning to her. "I am Ambrosine Whimsifinado, and I was told that you intend to take my son, Fergus Whimsifinado, as your legal husband. Is this true?"

She submerged her hands like mine, clasping them over my knuckles. "That's right."

Ambrosine gave me a thumbs up and withdrew his bowl. "Then you're good. Don't keep us waiting."

Taking hold of China's waist well out of the way of her fin-like wings, I lifted her onto the pedestal where the bowl had been. Then, as they all watched, I drifted up to tuck the veil behind her coral crown and lean into her. She wrapped her arms behind my head and pressed me in tighter as my hands fumbled for a grip against her knees, holding the kiss there between us like a floating thing. Cheering broke out amongst the crowd- even from Wilcox and Emery, when we separated our lips and I looked. China's younger siblings came running, slapping their hands far out in front of their bodies in that way selkies did, and she bent down as they piled on her with hugs. My brood congratulated me with a pinch more restraint. We broke out the cake, and then we danced.

Emery had her springcase. One of the neighbor families were involved in music, and they'd volunteered to play free of charge for us, too. It pays to have connections that way. Saves, rather. I held China's face in my hands, my thumbs resting near the corners of her lips, and she placed her hands just behind my lower back, like the Anti-Fairies did. We moved in that fashion: me as the stronger flyer forward, of course, while she beat her wings enough to stay afloat as I eased her backwards. Round and around we go… I was half-tempted to bring my hands a little closer to my face with every slow, swaying turn we made, but Sanderson kept right at my shoulder, doing a very good job of killing the mood before it could get very far.

Our guests had pushed China and I towards the gray shed in the corner of the yard for the aesthetic of pumpkins and Earth soil while they twirled their starpieces and captured the memories permanently in their time lockboxes. We proceeded with our dance, which resulted in a lot of elbow-bashing against the door handle, until one by one our onlookers drifted away to find partners of their own, and at last we were left to ourselves. And Sanderson.

"China?"

Her name sprang almost unbidden from my tongue. I tried to swallow it, until she turned her head and our eyes met. Hers shone even brighter than her skin, and her turquoise dress matched so well with that rippling veil, the seashell imprints and tiny gems sparkling in the occasional flash of sunlight reflecting off the gray clouds. She wore special golden selkie rings that fit over the tops of her webbed fingers, and with her light red lips pursed a sliver, she… Anyway, her mom had done a good job making her face pretty and she looked nice.

I glanced away as I spun her, sucking in my cheeks. "You've seen Ambrosine. What do you think of him?"

"He seems like a pleasant fellow. And your sister too."

"But what do you think of him? When you look at him. At his face, his usual distinguished purple-red vest, his black hair and spectacles… What I'm trying to say is, if I looked like him then would you… I mean, do you think I'm…?"

China was floating very close to me at this point, and when I raised my eyes, it moved my head enough that my lips skimmed across hers. "I think you're very handsome."

I grimaced and released her round cheek to adjust my tie, regretting having voiced the question at all. "Because of all my bright freckles?"

"Maybe. You're a very pretty drake." Her fingers tightened. "But do you know what I like most about you?"

"Most?" My wings skipped a beat. My dedication? My brains? My outlook on life? My sense of humor? My ability to remain calm even when frustrated or sugar-loaded? My flowing handwriting? I mean, look at me- she had no end of things to pick.

My mouth ended up slightly open after I spoke, and China took the chance to press her parted lips to mine. Selkies were seaweed and salt, sushi and haggis, cream and sugar. China's wide palms inched up my arms, away from my wrists until she held my elbows, and my hands were on her waist again. At first I wasn't going to respond, because Sanderson was there at my shoulder unconsciously sending irritated sparks into the energy field. But then I thought, Blitz him. No one was asking him to stay. I slid down the shed door until I was sitting on a pumpkin, lifting China into my lap with my chipped nails catching in the ribbons on the back of her dress, and for the first time in my life, I kissed with my eyes closed.

"That's what I like most about you," she said when our faces drew apart. "It's never dull when you're around."

"Ah. Of course. You have excellent taste. In more ways than one."

Sanderson made a subtle chirping noise with his wings. We both glanced at him, hovering there patiently to the side and with a titch of dread. "Sanderson?" China said cheerily as she lifted her own wings towards my face, "I think you should leave for a few minutes."

Sanderson looked to me. I waved him away with the cohuleen druith I had just taken off, and as he went, I brought that hat up between our faces and the rest of the party-goers and closed my eyes again.

We saw him next when we rejoined the party, our mouths decently electric with each other's foreign magic. He was talking with one of the neighbor drakes his age, but skimmed over to meet us when he saw me coming and took up his usual silent sentry post floating behind my shoulder.

"Come on, Sanderson," China teased about three songs later, releasing one of my wrists to take up his. "Unless you're Hawkins who has Wilcox, you have to twirl with a pretty damsel at least once today."

Hawkins raised his hand. "I would like it recorded that I did not kiss Wilcox, even when that old lady with the notebook and the purple wrap around her neck called us an adorable couple."

"Well, I look lovely anyway," Wilcox said, smoothing out his skirt.

"I'll be sure to note it."

"I don't really know how to dance with damsels," Sanderson mumbled as China pulled him closer.

"That's why we're practicing now, Sandy. Nuada knows we've gotta prepare you for your moulting ceremony when you're older; then you'll have to dance with Dame Sanderson and with unicorn blood dripping from your hair, not to mention the sore wings. Come on- you can do the Dragonfly, right? Everybody knows the Dragonfly."

I linked my hands behind my back and watched in amusement as China tried in vain to encourage Sanderson to open up. He may have a pleasant singing voice and excellent penmanship, but he had four hindwings when it came to dancing. Just when I was considering sparing him from China's sugar-coated criticisms and teaching him how to pull off the dance myself, a finger tapped my shoulder. I turned to find China's mother, her furry white coat wrapped around her waist.

"Might I have this next song, Fergus?"

"Of course," I said, taking her hand. She led me into the air, near where Ambrosine danced with some snowy-haired fairy he'd found (she flirting with him mercilessly and him letting her, soda or no soda). Gingerly, I positioned myself in an open enough place where even my large body and spinning wings had plenty of room to maneuver.

"I want to be sure you're committed to my daughter," my new mother-in-law said as our first song drew to an end. "You're a gyne, and, well…"

I twirled her beneath my arm, as precisely as though the movement had been read from an instruction manual (Probably because it had). "Dame Mayfleet, your daughter may be a selkie, but it has never been my intention to keep her with me against her will. I have experience with that type of situation myself. If she wants the moon, I'll buy her the moon. She married rich, after all."

"And you?" she asked as she returned her salt-worn hand to my shoulder. "My daughter, I would hope, can offer you enough to please you in the same way."

"Sanderson, Hawkins, and Wilcox have a mother figure in their lives for the first time. That's enough for me. I don't need anything else."

When China's mother at last returned me to my wife, she fluttered her webbed fingers at us with a bemused smile. The final thing she said before reaching a hand out to Sanderson was, "Don't go breaking his core, love. Fairies only give their souls away once."

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 2: LEAP

Allowances

Winter of the Clinging Leaf - Summer of the Unmelted Snowflake

I'm no great believer in luck and fate, and have never pretended to be. The Anti-Fairies would pin their zodiac charts to the wall and run colored strings between the years and elements, crowing about "blue luck" and "green luck" and how everything is predictable through the use of complicated formulas and measurements using scientific systems that get merely skimmed over in Seelie schools. They willingly bind themselves like hopeful slaves to the positions of planets and stars, often allowing the old practices of magic to choose who and when they marry. Any positive results are merely correlations, of course, but one does find himself straying to the zodiac section of the newspaper most every time it comes around and skimming his eyes down the list of seven elements. Coincidentally, Clinging Leaf was supposed to be a good year for Soils like me.

Hawkins was a Breath year, and I a Soil as aforementioned. And I will say one thing for the Anti-Fairies: that they got the see-sawing rockiness between the two quite right. Most days Hawkins was a happy sort, content to do what I asked and greet me with a nod and a "Good morning" whenever our paths crossed in the kitchen. But he was not… so devoted to me as, say, Sanderson was.

Because no matter if he'd been with me five hundred and fifty years, Hawkins would always be Hawkins. He itched for adventure. Staying cooped in here while there was a world out there was not among his list of pleasantries. Wilcox's dream weekend would be one without schoolwork, spent with him stretched lazily across the pristine couch in any form he wished, doing absolutely nothing but relax and maybe request that China bring him a snack. Sanderson had lost interest in drawing several centuries ago, but he would be there kneeling at the coffee table nearby, surrounded by scribbled notes and rhyming words, trying to piece together song after song (Did he never run out?) He was amusing to watch, when he would let out a huff and push his fingers through his hair so that even when he took them away and went back to work with his quill clenched in his left hand, the black tufts - like stone spires - stuck up all in a mess. A mess I would often remind him to fix by leaning over from my chair and tapping him with a stack of papers of my own. Even in our own home, sloppiness was not acceptable in case one should be spotted through the windows. Presentation matters.

But Hawkins would never be found there with them. Not in his free time. On a shelf among How-Tos and Tax Deductions For Morons, he was the sole action thriller. He always trotted, never walked. He delighted in perching on the highest point of the roof to watch the stars and play with his magic until I marched out to haul him back to bed. And he begged me regularly to take him to meet Sanders, until in a moment of weakness I snapped and told him the truth as I knew it to be. That wounded him sorely.

Which is why it shouldn't have been surprising how many times he ran away.

I considered it an attention-grabbing ploy, so I always did the reasonable thing and sent the authorities after him rather than tracking him down myself. They'd catch him two towns over and poof back with him struggling and biting, a small pack containing maps and coins and food swinging from his shoulder. Or he'd leave for a holiday weekend getaway into the woods with his friends without telling any of us (or sometimes them) beforehand.

I'd grown weary of the games he played after a few years, and had taken to giving him up to four days of a head start whenever he disappeared. There were only a finite number of places he could go, after all. Until, not long following my marriage to China, he disappeared for two weeks, and the Keepers came back to me with empty hands and heavy shrugs.

"Oh, you've got to be-" I practically slammed the door on them after they'd turned away, and kept my back plastered to it for a moment. When China came downstairs, her dark skin glistening with moisturizing cream, she picked the details and answers from my pale face and sweaty hair.

"No luck, then."

"Oh dust, they can't find him. It's the middle of winter and they can't find him. The fact that it doesn't snow in the cloudlands is no excuse- I should go. He's a drone, he can't go into diapause, if it's too cold then he could legitimately…"

Sanderson was packed for the trip in three minutes, still unrolling the hem of his red sweater as he raced down the stairs. As I pushed the final button through the top of my lavender coat, China crouched to give him a squeeze. "You boys travel safe. Wilcox and I will have cookies ready by the time you come back. I'll keep a couple on the side with real sugar, just for you, Fergus."

I took her shoulder and gave her a quick peck on the lips. "I'll find him. I promise."

The Keepers had exhausted some of the more obvious and nearby places, everywhere between here and the Academy. It was becoming more and more obvious that Hawkins was no longer within the borders of the Central Star Region, particularly since I'd checked under his bed and found his baptism medal mysteriously missing. And so, while the Keepers in the neighboring High North Region took up their reins, Sanderson and I elected for a different approach. I poofed us both to the boundaries that surrounded Mount Olympus (I didn't dare fly across the ocean, and the trams couldn't run through the Lower East Region of the Anti-Fairies there either).

After several painful hours of arguing my way past Anti-Alin, holder of the Seat of Sky on Anti-Elina's camarilla court, and filling out forms that were hardly legible and at times outright contradicted themselves (I hardly cared- a few I barely glanced at before signing), I was in. With permission, Sanderson and I turned our course. We left the High South Region for the Lower East, but this time, able to travel through Anti-Fairy World rather than being forced beneath cloudlevel. There was someone I needed to pay a visit to anyway.

"It's a little bigger here than when we last came by. Looks as though each of the four of them has his own little house now. Cute. A few more, add a couple of market stalls and a Welcome to Cloudcuckooland sign, and they could start a small pink town."

"There's Anti-Sanderson," Sanderson said in a voice without inflection. The green anti-fairy was sitting out on his front steps, peeling off candy wrappers and letting them gather by his bare clawed feet among the crushed soda cans. A few trickles of sugary liquid wove like worms through the cinders and ashes that made up Hy-Brasil's soil.

"Anti-Sanderson," I called, and he looked up and smiled and beckoned us. I floated over. "You're hitting it heavy fairly early in the afternoon, aren't you?"

"Nah, lemonpop, today's a lighter day for me."

"You'll stunt your magic that way."

Anti-Sanderson shrugged and unwrapped a piece of taffy. Tucking it in his mouth, he said, "Why're you here? Daddy's not well. You haven't been messing with my daddy, have you?"

"Not directly. Is he as sugar-drunk right now as you are? Never mind- there's Anti-Hawkins at the door to the big violet house. He's in there, isn't he? I want to talk to him. Take it easy on that sugar," I added as I left, pointing one finger. "Don't wave your wand if you can't float in a straight line."

"Sure thing, candy cane."

Sanderson tugged on my sleeve and whispered, "Is he supposed to have processed sugar, sir? He's only 1,050."

"Nope. Absolutely nope. I don't like this. There's litter everywhere, and all of it is nothing I'd allow any of you to touch until you had at least a few millennia under your belt. Don't eat anything as long as we're here. You have crackers in your backpack and I brought bread. That should be enough."

"Salutations," Anti-Hawkins said smoothly as we approached. Unlike Anti-Sanderson, he'd actually buttoned his horrible yellow and red spotted jacket as opposed to letting it hang. Although he wore the same clothes that clashed with his green fur, he seemed to fill them better, put off a more refined air with his low eyelids- he'd even combed back his hair. "I rather suspected you'd arrive sooner or later to confess. You have some explaining to do, and you may wish to brace yourself before you enter. I make no promises that the sight you'll find is by any means a pretty one."

"Save it. Nothing can shock me after the blatant disregard I've seen for nature and trash bins in your corner of Plane 4 thus far." I reached past him for the door. Because it was only hanging by the one hinge, I barely had to touch it before it swung enough that I could see through it into the keeping room. As my eyes trailed to the right, I said, "Oh".

Anti-Hawkins lifted one yellow eyebrow. "Indeed. 'Oh'."

He lay across the couch like a deathbed. Bundled in kelpie-print blankets and propped up by red and black cushions. Clearly he'd given up on licorice and other candies, and moved on to spooning swollen globs of half-melted chocolate ice cream into his mouth. Small Anti-Wilcox lay snuggled up beside him, dabbing his sire's mouth with paper towels whenever it got too messy and began to drip.

"How long has he been like this?" I murmured out of the side of my mouth. Anti-Hawkins flicked an ear and shrugged.

"There are times when it seems like forever. Actually, it's been almost fifty years."

The couch had been positioned at a tilt, so its back faced the doorway to the kitchen. The curtain rod had been jarred out of position. It sliced like an arrow, with tangles of beads on strings gathered in an enormous heap that most would have to jump or climb over. I took a position nearby, noting with vague unease that I didn't see any baskets of burned cookies like the ones that had frequented the place on my last visit here.

"Go 'way," Anti-Fergus managed around his spoon. He had to shift a considerable amount, knocking one of his pillows to the ground, in order to roll over and blink up at me. His brown wings lay crumpled beneath him, twisted at bizarre angles. "Ah'm not presentable and yer gonna punish me fer it again. S-s'all karma 'cuz I told mah dad to git out a' my life an' soak his head in an acid pool."

I leaned against the back of the couch with my arms folded. Sanderson kept his hand to his wand. "Anti-Fergus, you're very sugar-drunk."

He let his head flop to the other side. Because he wasn't wearing his orange and purple goggles, I could make out how filmy his red eyes were. His hands shook with unhealthy jitters. "What does it all matter? S'long as yer blood's pumpin', I kin't die."

"What? What would you want to die for?"

First, nothing. Anti-Wilcox scraped gently at his sire's messy goatee, ignoring the blotches of ice cream that landed on his own chest. Then Anti-Fergus lurched up and grabbed the two flares of my shirt collar. The ends of his mustache twitched in my face. When he spoke, he spit. "Yew did this ta me. Yew had t'do it, din't ya? Yew jist had a' give up on life, give up on dreams, on hope, on her. Hic."

I kept my expression as straight as I could manage. "On the Wisp-Kalysta? Yes actually, I did."

"Noooo. No. Sh-she was a goddess. My goddess. No- the goddess. Make her come back, puhlease!"

I unhinged his fingers from my jacket and dusted myself off. "I'm sorry, Anti-Fergus. I won't do that for you. If only one of us can be happy, then I'm going to make sure it's me. I'm the Seelie counterpart. If I were the Dame Fergus, I'd point out all the reasons why I represent 'choice' among the three aspects of the soul, or being, or something. It's my birthright."

"Are yew happy?" was his instantaneous question.

"With China Mayfleet Prime as my wife, I presume?" I lined my knuckles all in a row along the back of the couch as Sanderson looked up at me. As I fiddled with the leather band around the middle finger of my right hand, I chose my answer with care. "I find that every person you meet will have tics and faults that crawl under your skin if you let your focus be drawn there. It's when you're occupied with other thoughts, all the strengths, that you forget any flaws. My thoughts on China's nature are… admittedly complicated. We have our fair share of differing opinions. I sweat to imagine how election day will go when Lau Rell names a new mayor. However, she's been super. She has a kind heart, she's offered us shelter, and her family aren't unbearable. It's enough. We respect one another enough to compromise in areas where we disagree."

"Lucky stiff," he laughed, his laugh coming out like a sob. When he next shuffled his wings, I could see the four small holes bored through the skin of it near his body, in the plagiopatagium area. The same pattern, with holes rather than notches, that I displayed along my costas now. The gaps had torn some, as though picking at them were one of his nervous habits. The taller slit on the right wing had a sock draped all the way through.

"I'm not sure I'd say that." I swept my eyes around the room. My grip tightened on the sofa's back, beaten fabric crinkling. "I came here hoping to ask a question, Anti-Fergus. Hawkins has run off. Has he paid a visit here?"

"Hic. Not a sight of him. Jist my Cecil, out on th' porch. He's always out on that there porch."

"I mean no offense in keeping my distance, Father," Anti-Hawkins replied stiffly.

"Not verbally ya don't."

I turned to Sanderson. "Hawkins isn't here. We should go."

"What color of magic did yew and th' Wisp-Kalysta use to fertilize yer eggs?" Anti-Fergus called after me as I picked my way to the door past broken chairs and plastic ceiling decorations that bobbed low on rusted springs.

"I can't say for certain. I was trying not to notice."

Anti-Fergus's lip curled up in a sneer on one side. "Yew were s'posed ta use yella'."

"Then we used yellow," was my patient reply. I held his gaze, keeping my hand against the sagging door and trying to ignore the way Sanderson hovered at my shoulder with a puzzled lilt to his head.

"Ah'm just sayin'," he said then with a grunt, slowly sinking back into his pillows and blankets, "Ah hope fer both our sons' sakes that it were yella'. Anti-Fairies is always made of purple. Purple magic cancels wit' the death of the one who used it."

My fingernails scraped the wood. "Yes, I went to school. I know this. You shouldn't worry. I'm certain we used yellow. I remember it now. Yellow is easy to channel when you're tingle-fritzy, which is why using magic under the influence of processed sugar is such an offense. Yellow sticks forever. Don't you worry about a thing."

We moved on. There was no sign of Hawkins elsewhere in the Barrenglades, and soon enough we were contacted by several other members of the camarilla court that we either needed to find a place to stay the night, or we needed to move out. With the assurance that they would keep their eyes open for Hawkins - tracking runaways is much easier when one with pale skin passes through a land of blue fur - I reluctantly returned to Lau Rell to drop Sanderson off at home.

"Can't I come to Earth with you?" he whined. "I'm older now."

"No. You can stay here with Wilcox and China. I can cover more ground on my own. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," he sulked, and went upstairs to change from his cinder-strewn sweater and take a shower.

I was draining funds horribly, digging into the savings I'd been keeping for Wish Fixers, but that was a problem I'd have to combat at a later date. With China's warm selkie coat in hand and a cookie in my mouth, I poofed to Notch Town. It took a few tries before I managed to locate an area not too windy that my starpiece couldn't function, but fortunately I recognized the location once my particles reformed. I wasn't far off the mark. Hunching my neck, I slogged out through the drifts. The snow wasn't coming down too heavily, and I could fly in bursts from clumps of trees and rocks to others.

"This strikes a chord too close to home," I muttered, bundling my arms in my jacket sleeves. China's coat dangled from my arm. I left it there. I wasn't ready quite yet to trade speed and flight for warmth.

Nephel hadn't seen him. I downed two bowls of the offered soup, but refused his request I stay the night. "Snow," I said by way of explanation, already halfway to the door. I'd never even removed my lavender coat, or bothered to shake the lingering flakes from the folds of my floppy hat.

He grabbed my shoulder. "I'll come with you. He's still my Hawky-boy too. But are you really sure he's out there? Is there anywhere he could have gone? Does he know a place?"

I stared at him, not registering the words for upwards of a minute. And then I swore. "Stay here. I'll go alone."

"I'm coming-"

"Stay here, Nephel. Please. You don't have wings. Do this for me."

He set his jaw, pouting like he was a nymph again with his buck teeth jabbing out. I made him lock all the coats in the hallway closet, then quietly dropped the key in a glass of water and stuck it out on the doorstep. By the time he realized where it was, it would be frozen and take him even longer to claw out. I wanted him to stay out of this.

Dust, it had been so long since I'd flown these skies. I left Nephel's house and launched myself into the air at a full run. Beads of sweat ran down my spine. It took mere minutes to remember how foolish it would be to try flying all the way from here to my old hole with the wind against me, so I whipped out my wand and poofed myself there instead. Another few hundred lagelyn down.

I landed with a fwump on an old bed. Fortunately, not on a sleeping someone- just rumpled blankets and moth-eaten pillows. No one lived here now, or not permanently according to Nephel, but since Ambrosine had offered to fix me up in his home with a bed and furniture, I'd left my hole mostly the way it had always been, along with a few tablet-scrawled notices on the table confirming to travelers that they were welcome to stay, but care of the place would be appreciated.

When I lit my wand, my hole wasn't in as good a condition as I'd hoped. Dirty dishes filled the sink. Wood shavings and sticks leaned haphazardly against the walls. Clumps of sticky food clung to the seat of one rickety chair. A leak had sprung up in the back corner, trickling into a bucket. It wasn't warm.

I searched the hole fast, knowing as I did so that it was probably pointless, probably too late. After two minutes of poking about, I flipped up a corner of the fallen bedsheets and discovered a dirty white cloth shopping bag, just sitting there slumped over.

They were Hawkins's things. Quills, ink bottles, lantern oil, a replacement star-shaped cap of rosewater, and plastic packages that once may have held food had all been abandoned and spilled in the dirt, like there had been a struggle from which he hadn't returned.

I wrapped my hands behind my neck, a strained chirp sticking in my throat. "No, no. I knew it - I felt it in my lines - but I didn't want to believe it. This can't be happening. Not again. Oh dust, not again."

They had him. It was the only reason he'd ever go out into a snowstorm, if they'd carried him kicking and screaming towards the Mid-Northern Reaches. Was that it? Had they taken him? Was I right? Would I ever know? Oh, gods…

I would not go back to the will o' the wisps. I couldn't crawl back to Kalysta begging for her help. Never, never, never. I valued my freedom too much.

I balanced the bag on my knees, watching the pale glow of my starpiece glint off its twin metal latches. My wings rippled, folding and unfolding as I curled my toes into my socks and chewed on my lower lip.

Strange, what a mental condition can do to you, because I wasn't about to let those will o' the wisps wrap their cold fingers around Hawkins's neck. Was I playing favorites? Any other fairy child out there could have been snapped up, and I'd have acknowledged maybe a fleeting wince, a tact "I'm sorry for your loss" to the parents before I simply moved on with my life because it didn't affect me. But when it came to my three charges, the thought sickened and outraged me beyond compare, like Kalysta had slashed a knife through my insides and carved me up like a valravn dinner herself. A selfish thought, I know, but one I find I must admit to having.

I couldn't help if my obsessiveness for order was kicking in. Fairies lived in the cloudlands. Elves lived on the surface. Will o' the wisps lived in their burrows. The trolls lived even deeper. That's how things were supposed to be organized. And I couldn't accept that this one - just one! - little detail was out of place. Fairies didn't belong underground.

Definitely obsessive compulsiveness. I blame the mental condition entirely- it always did tend to flare up at this time of year, when the flowers disappeared and blizzards knocked down the trees. Obsessiveness was what drove me on, because for no other reason would I ever, ever return to that place I despised, where I'd lost my innocence, faith, hope, and any positive outlook I may have once had on life. Kalysta herself would tell me (in no small rant) that going back there was completely out of character for me, even with my wand in hand. People don't just change like that, and especially in only a thousand years' time. It's a cop-out, a plot device, poor writing that you could make a drinking game out of…

But when you're obsessive compulsive, sometimes you do inexplicable things anyway.

So I took up my satchel again. Hawkins's too, in case I never came back. I smoothed down the front of my pale jacket, with its usual wrinkles that never stayed flat. Adjusted my enormous hat. The dangling star charm jingled against the back of my neck. I made sure China's selkie coat was still on hand. Then I took one last look around this hole that was so familiar to me, yet slightly foreign, and so very dark and small. And then, with my arm shaking, I reached for the cold metal handle of the chesberry door.

The wood jolted before my hand came in contact with it. When it swung inward, two bewildered eyes locked on mine like lavender candles. A short figure, with curly black hair, and bundled in a knitted hat and scarf and coat. He'd probably have gone for his wand if it weren't for the large gray crockeroo dangling from his shoulder, buckling his knees.

"O-oh. I guess I'm grounded, huh?"

I grabbed him by the scarf and dragged him inside. After I threw the door shut, I slammed him and the crockeroo against it. His head hit with a solid thud, his eyes rolled in their sockets, but I never once let go of his front.

"Until you turn six thousand! I'm very disappointed in you." And then, not sparing him the chance to open his mouth or blink, I poofed us straight back to China's house with a shrill chirping noise, at the bottom of the glass stairs. There went most of the rest of my Wish Fixers savings. Though my debts to Ambrosine were paid off, I'd have to start the actual funds from the bottom again. I was too furious to care. I gave Hawkins a shake by the pale green scarf. "What possessed-"

"I don't know, okay?" he exploded. Letting the dead crockeroo and several clumps of snow plummet from his shoulder, he plugged both his ears. "I just- I just- I try so hard, too, but you forget about me! You're always paying attention to Wilcox because of his problems! And- and Sanderson because he's always around bothering you. All the rest of the time you used to spend on me, you j-just spend with China! But I stay out of the way, and I act good, and you don't buy me things like you buy them, or anything like that. Maybe I just want attention, or maybe- maybe I get bored being the happy one all the time! Maybe I like to dream that I matter too."

"Hawkins." The name was bitter between my tight, frozen teeth. "You are five hundred and fifty-four years old next month, and a drone. You absolutely did not have my permission to leave the house like that. Earth? In winter? Really?"

He flushed a light blue in the cheeks, still scraping at the dark blood on the underside of his forearm left by the crockeroo he'd killed- the mustelid stank like an Atlantis sewer system. "I was doing fine without you. I was raised by western elves, you know. I know how to hunt and fight off the animals, I know that drones can't go into diapause, I know how to stay warm and be careful- I knew what I was doing. I had my coat."

"And you expect me to believe Nephel would have just let you out in this weather to frolic for a month among the snowdrifts. Try again, buster."

"Well, then maybe I should go back and live with those guys! They were my fake family, but at least they told me that from the start and didn't ever pretend to be real!"

As the words left his mouth, Hawkins slapped his right hand over it. I raised one eyebrow. When I crouched down on my knee and took off my glasses, he took a small step back. His wings went down.

"I just… I didn't…"

I kept my eyes on my glasses as I bounced them against my leg. Then I lifted another finger and beckoned him closer. "Come here, Hawkins."

He swallowed audibly, but he came. I folded the arms of my glasses up.

"I don't believe I ever once implied an intention to make us a family. If I remember correctly, from the very beginning, I made clear that you and I, and all of us, are merely coworkers who work for the same company and live in the same house. That is all. Our relationships are ones of business and acquaintances. We are roommates more than we are, as you put it, 'family'. Didn't I mention this? I'm almost certain I mentioned this." As he moved his thumb into his mouth, I looked up and finished with, "I don't appreciate being called a liar, Hawkins. Am I a liar?"

"No, Mr. Fergus, sir."

At that slight lull in our conversation, China slipped from the kitchen and fell upon Hawkins, ruffling the white pom-pom of his toque, which looked like it'd been chewed through. "Oh, thank the dust from smoke to vapor! You're safe."

"Yes, so he is. And I've decided that he's grounded until he's five thousand."

Hawkins glanced up at me. China studied the coat still draped over my arm - the one I'd planned to wrap Hawkins in should I have found him lying blue in the snow - before she clasped her hands in front of her apron pocket and put on a smile.

"We made cookies. They're all out and ready for a swipe of frosting, just in case any of you are ready to try frosting. You need to try it once. It's fun. You'll like it."

Nodding, Hawkins took hold of her forearm and wrapped both of his around it. He leaned his face against her shoulder. "S-sorry. I'm sorry that I ran away…"

"Baby, it's cold outside," she said in her cheerful manner. A frown crept across her dark lips. "Oh, biscuit, you've lost weight. Let's fix that and plop you into a warm bath straight after you eat. Did you catch this crockeroo all by yourself? There you go- can you carry it? We'll take that to the kitchen."

"You're too soft on him, China," I muttered under my lines as I stood.

Apparently she heard me. She nudged me in the chest with her soft elbow and a smirk. "Hey, you've got the soft belly, I've got the gentle touch. I think it's a fair trade." Then she curled one arm behind my neck and pulled my face down for a kiss over her shoulder. "You're amazing, snapper. I can't believe you found our boy so fast. And to think those Keepers have been looking for weeks."

I rubbed self-consciously at the spot she'd put her mouth as she pulled away. "You, um… just have to know where to look."

Before Hawkins made it through the kitchen archway, he cracked. Suddenly he grabbed China's arm tighter, and his wings began to whirr. "It wasn't an accident! I didn't- I didn't just decide to run away one day. I've wanted to do it for a long time. I don't know, and it was probably dumb, but I didn't want to go back because I thought you'd be mad at me. It's just- it's not fair! Of all the people in this house I could have been, I had to be born as Hawkins. It's the hardest and the worst!"

"Well, that's a smoofing li'l lie, buddy."

All three of us glanced up the stairs to find Wilcox and Sanderson at the top, the former descending in hops with his arms crossed. But his eyes weren't on Hawkins. His eyes were on me. He ground his teeth.

"I've been wanting to say this for weeks now, boss. Take Sanderson. You always favor him because he's the oldest, and you like Hawkins because he works fast, and you don't like me because my health condition's expensive."

"Are you kidding?" That was Sanderson, coming down more slowly, his soft hand skimming along the banister. "You two are living the easy life here. You wouldn't have survived what I grew up with, being the guinea pig. Even Hawkins didn't have to listen to all the adults in the house yelling all the time."

Hawkins shook off China's nervous grip and slammed his foot down. "You guys don't get it. Everyone listens to Sanderson because he's the firstborn. He's the one all the visitors want to shake hands with when they come to do business deals. And Wilcox, Mr. Fergus helps you with your homework all the time. Where does that leave me? I'm the invisible one here. Middle children get no- no respect."

"You absolute little snatter!" Wilcox, keeping his arms folded, threw his head back and laughed in a dry manner. "You think it's cute to be the kid the boss here wishes he'd never had?"

I jerked one of his wings and added a scolding about language before I planted my hands on their chests and pushed the two apart. "Alright. Clearly, we're all overdue for a little chat."

"To be totally fair," Sanderson breathed in Wilcox's ear, "there are days when I think he wishes he didn't have any of us."

Letting that one go, I said, "I can see you all think I have a secret favorite in this household. And I do. It's me. I'm my favorite. Now, here's how we're going to do things… I'm going to let you keep your paychecks now. You'll all start with identical amounts each month. When you do more work or perform better, your paycheck will increase. Disappoint me, and it will be cut. That money is yours to do whatever you wish with, no questions asked on my part: Whether it be spent on music lessons or snacks or trips to the theater or, yes, even shapeshifting."

I had the attention of all three of them now. China too. I raised a finger.

"My one stipulation is that I won't have it splurged on soda and candy. If you want more than a handful of sugar a week, you must get my permission beforehand. You're all still underage for excess amounts. Apart from that, how it's spent is your own decision to make and I won't interfere. I will give you no individual presents from this point forward, only this money. That, I think, is fair. Do you agree?"

They all did, and muttered their apologies before they slunk off to the kitchen for cookies. The system worked like it had been charmed. Though I did have to bite my tongue each month afterwards when they pressed around my desk and I signed the checks off to them, I reminded myself that they were my dedicated employees who performed services for me, and I had no real right to any money they worked to earn.

Still, there was one argument that I had not anticipated.

"Are you going to write me all the paychecks I would have earned for working for you even before Hawkins and Wilcox came around?"

I paused. "What?"

Sanderson stuck his left fist, clenching his fresh check, to his hip as I replaced the stopper in my ink bottle. "I've worked under you far longer than either of them. That has to get me something. I deserve more money than they do. At least, they deserve less."

I groaned. This story rang familiar, somehow. Like two old stories intertwined. "Sanderson, you're the firstborn of a firstborn. The firstborn always gets the most magic. It isn't as though you aren't favored enough. I've selected you as my heir. All I own, whatever isn't given to China, will fall into your hands someday. That's what all your hard work has been going towards."

His shoulders relaxed, even if his face didn't entirely soften. "Of course, sir. My apologies. I forgot."

"Don't forget again," I said, gazing across the entrance hall as China pulled shut her office door and started for the stairs.

Sanderson rubbed his knuckles with his right hand. "I won't. I promise."

And he didn't.

Those were my little drakes, and as infuriating as they could be to deal with, at times I wished for them back when my only alternative was spending quality time with the one damsel in the house. Having a… relationship with China, I quickly found, was a vastly different experience from what I'd been used to in the past, and because it's my book, I can say what I want about it. On those occasional days when we shared a bed for the night, she would wait for me beneath the blankets for up to two hours before I came home from the office. Already unclothed and with her black hair down from its usual prim bun, and usually with a novel or her blueprints in her hands as I changed out of my suit and hesitated over my pajamas on their shelf. I found it somewhat interesting. Kalysta had always insisted on having me undress her slowly, from top to bottom, lots of soft kisses, lots of talking of the past or the future or - dust - the present…

China's opinion was different. She liked it best when I floated into my room after a long day at the office, noticed her, er, pleasant surprise, and didn't say a word. She craved smoothness, casualness, perfect flow, idealistic and at time unrealistic expectations… Kalysta had been sharp and demanding, spicy and hot- a whirlwind of movement and instructions that left me dizzy. With China, things were calm and deliberate. I did find her ways more pleasing, not in the least because she never threatened to lock up my coffee if she came away unsatisfied, and yet…

… just as with Kalysta, she had to have her way. I could have done with fewer nights spent in one another's arms, but she couldn't. Oh, she couldn't, and had absolutely no shame in letting me hear as much while I hovered with my back near the wall and my tongue curled up in my cheek. Even before our marriage she'd asked it of me, springing the request on me regularly after our first month when I was finally feeling settled and content. And of course, I had nowhere else to go. I would not subject my young companions to grovel hungry and cold in the streets. Sanderson and Hawkins were too small. It wouldn't have been fair.

China wasn't Kalysta. I could name a thousand things that rendered her superior. But I had to pay my rent if I was to be staying in her house and using her things, she was so nice to me, so cheerful and compliant despite her race and fate, I owed her this, et cetera, et cetera.

Not that she said such things exactly that way, not that she ever threatened to throw us to the cloudy curb, because she didn't, never once, and that was the thing. She made only the most casual remarks- those little 'But, that's the unfortunate fate of being a selkie' comments in passing and left me to fret about the missing pieces, and make decisions entirely of my own will. Yes, China. Anything you want, China. Just the way you like it, China. So long as you let us stay with you, China. Dust, sometimes I felt like the selkie here. I suppose I deserved it.

There was only so much I could do with her coat. I couldn't use it to change her thoughts or what she seemed to feel. Physically, morally, it didn't matter- I couldn't use my control to make her give up what little she had left. I learned that I did have an emotion after all: Guilt. Deep. Cold. Guilt.

It could be a struggle to please her. I had to do everything so precisely that sometimes I wondered if I had left a will o' the wisp's burrow only to fall into hers. If one little thing spoiled China's mood, that was the deal-breaker for her for the rest of the night, and she'd be sour for days, and wouldn't make pancakes or even cereal in the morning. I'd have to get my fairies fed if I wanted to get them out the door on time, which was fine, because it wasn't as though I needed her to perform a very simple task for offspring that weren't at all her own, but it wasn't always fine somehow either. Damsels… Dust, they're not for me. They're really not for any of you. Have your brief affairs if one thing leads to another, but I would advise against pair bonding for much longer than that. That's the world of emotion. Pixies do not belong in that untamed landscape. One other feeling we perhaps are capable of is, yes, hurt.

China suggested we try for a nymph when my cycle came around approximately four hundred and forty years after our marriage. As I neared the last weeks of my fertile period, the egg finally took root. To a deep, stringy corner of my forehead chamber, of course (King Nuada knew why). Its mother was thrilled; she had wanted one with me so badly despite my patient explanations that my egg tube didn't connect to my uterus - she pointed out the existence of the blood for her argument - and so it stunned me into numbness when one day while in the bath, I absentmindedly reached into my dome to wipe around its edges, and brushed against the new amniotic sac.

After some debate, I elected not to visit Dr. Ranen, or anyone. Yes, I knew my signs and my body, and I also knew what all the examinations would say: Impossible. No, I'd done my time of being poked at and scrutinized. There were some matters that even I preferred to keep private, glutton for the attention of my peers I may be.

But there was no doubt in my mind that I was expecting again. And for the first time… I didn't terribly mind it. There was a warm home, there was food, there was a mother who could provide milk, there was a source of income and a sense of stability. I was ready.

"Honestly," I said, watching China sweep the floor of my room, "I'm thinking this one might be a damsel. I can feel it. After three drakes I'm overdue, and now it's finally time. I wish I had a damseline name picked out. I used to have one, but I made the mistake of telling and someone stole it."

"We'll think about it once we know its sex for sure. Aren't you satisfied with that bed yet? You've torn it apart half a dozen times just since we've come in here."

I looked down at the purple blanket in my hands, then stuffed it back in the cardboard box and fluffed up a small cushion. "We're almost through with the second month. I tend to go broody around this time. Next week I'll probably refuse to get out of bed until noon, and if it gets really bad I might even try to sleep in the box. Don't let me sleep in the box. I'm too big."

She chuckled and swept the grit beneath the rug. "I won't."

The nymph was born in the usual manner, if earlier than expected, and it woke me from sleep. China had wanted to be there to see if the birthing process really occurred the way I'd always told her, so I nudged her awake and she helped me to the bathroom to watch as I opened my dome and withdrew the wriggling blob in its pink amniotic sac. The sac I quickly split with my teeth; the nymph plopped into my lap with a burst of water and a draining rush of magic that left me gasping through my mouth. But I was getting better at managing the backlash and didn't even fall over.

"Another drake," I said after I'd picked it up, thoroughly disappointed.

"Odd shape, isn't he? Fairies have round exoskeletons and selkie nymphs are sort of seashell-shaped, but he seems to be a hexagon. And… Well, would you look at that. His crown isn't coral." China shifted her bright eyes up to meet mine. "His mother's not a selkie, hon. Nice try."

I didn't even have the chance to duck before her webbed palm slapped my cheek. Then she was off her knees, down the hall, and sliding down the stairway banister on her stomach. Abandoning the nymph in the bathtub, I flew after her, a little lopsided, clutching my head with my left hand.

"China, hold on- Don't lose control of yourself! I might have an explanation!"

Still clothed only in her underthings from the night before, she spun around as she wrenched the front door open. Spring wind whipped into the foyer, ruffling stacks of her blueprints and my files. "Then I want to hear it, and I'm expecting a masterpiece. I put up with you having your other children mothered by other damsels because that was before we were really together, but now that we're married? That's just an outright insult!"

I took off my cohuleen druith and held it in front of my chest, painfully aware of how exposed I was, on multiple levels. "China, settle your lines. I- I would never cheat on you. You're my wife. We have legal papers."

"I have to draw the line here somewhere, Fergus! I might be just a poor, dumb selkie with my coat in your hands, but I won't float here and let myself be used this way! Those days when you act all shy about the entire act- Dust, I believed you like a smoof. I thought your hesitance was general. I didn't realize your problem lay with me!"

I would have liked to have my glasses on hand. I swore I saw a shift in the red curtains of the neighbors' window across the path, but I couldn't tell for certain if they were watching from here. "China," I warned, tightening my fingers in the fabric of my hat.

"And like Darkness you're getting another of those sugary Wednesday nights out with the guys that you seem to enjoy so much. Is that where you did it? You and some snatter of a damsel, clothes off beneath the stairwell, or maybe the tram ride home with the empty bottles of soda rolling and clinking in the little car around you as it swayed on its cables? I'd forgotten that I have a better chance of finding an orange genie than landing a faithful gyne."

I waited with a calm face, without really moving, before I let myself speak again. She had a perfectly valid reason to be upset, and I knew I was right, so I didn't force my explanations on her until she was ready to hear them. China watched me, swallowed, and, not looking, carefully clicked the door shut behind her.

"Sorry," she muttered to her feet. "I don't actually want to fight."

"Sit down," I said as I replaced my hat. I took my coat and hers (not her selkie one, but the sweeping black one she wore for outings) from the rack by the door. After we had dressed ourselves with them, then I took her wrist and led her over to the couch as best as my unstable, dizzy, limping self could manage. "Here. We need to talk, China. Maybe I should have told you this before. I wasn't sure it was important or even true."

"Everything's important when we're married," she snapped, hairs bristling.

"Yes, I see. Now. The thing is, well… Oh, dust, where do I start?" My hands traced through my thick hair. "This. I don't even know who mothered the others. Sanderson, Hawkins, Wilcox… any of the three of them. Not for certain."

Slowly, her face grew less flushed, her muscles less tense. She used the underside of her wrist to push a dark curl of hair away from her ruby eyes. "You don't remember. I thought you said they were baptized."

"They were. I used your name."

"And the acolytes let you do that? Didn't you have to tell them I was a selkie? Wouldn't they know it was untrue from the crowns?"

I nibbled on my upper lip. "The one I spoke with let me go through with it because I pushed him to. You do remember when I told you about the year I spent in the will o' the wisp's burrow, don't you? I tried her name first, but he refused to baptize Sanderson on the grounds that his wings didn't match, which of course makes sense given that he was born before I even met her. I attempted a cherub then, but-"

"But cherub wings always carry the dominant gene."

"Exactly. I again argued for the will o' the wisp, until I remembered your coat, and gave him your name. I imagine he was allowed to accept it on the grounds that you could be a crossbreed (Don't give me that look- I know you aren't). But I think… I think that after Sanderson, that will o' the wisp damsel gave me enough sperm to fertilize several of my eggs while I was trapped down there with her. I can promise you, China, that there have been no damsels since. Not when Hawkins was born. Not when Wilcox was born. You're my first since I left her, and up to now you've been my last as well."

When I glanced up, I saw that the selkie had scrunched her nose. She shook her head and swung herself off the couch. "You're going to need a better story than that, chief. You said yourself that the wings don't match, and sperm dies anyway. Take some time to think it through. I need a little fresh air."

"You'll be back here by tonight," I called after her as she opened the door again. "I have your coat. Somewhere."

"Alright, that's fine."

"And don't get into any sugar!"

"Slightly less fine, but okay. You're the boss. I won't."

This time when the door shut, it fell closed behind her. I leaned my forehead against my palm, and my elbow against the back of the couch. For a brief moment I stayed there, just trying to recover my energy, and finally I dragged myself back upstairs to look after the nymph. He needed lines. Not really in the mood for shrinking clothes with magic when it was finished, I returned to my wintery room, covered him in my gray blankets, and simply curled myself beside him.

The other three came in later to see if he'd really been born. Hawkins begged to hold him, claiming that he'd never had the chance before, which I realized then that he hadn't. Wilcox melted instantly at the sight of the innocent child. When Sanderson was asked, he muttered something about, "Once you've held two, you've held them all," and wandered off to sulk on his own.

"Were you fighting with China?" Wilcox asked, tickling the nymph's feet with his whiskers. He'd shifted himself into a purple cat for the occasion. I turned my face towards him, still hugging my pillow. "We heard yelling," he explained. "We hid at the top of the stairs."

"Did you now? Smoof… China doesn't think she's the mother of the nymph."

"That's dumb. You're married. I'm pretty sure she has to be the mom."

"She'll be back later. She's simply blowing off steam."

Wilcox leaned his head back against my shoulder. "China isn't my mother though, is she? My biology teacher says fairies only fall in love once. So I was wondering, did you love my mother, or do you love China?"

"Regardless of whom I love or have loved, the fact is that you ought to have different mothers, so it baffles me that you all look identical."

He mulled over that. "Maybe none of us have a mom and you're asexual, like a tree."

"What does 'asexual' mean?" I muttered into my pillow, hating myself for having to ask him and yet too tired to care.

"It means 'not sexual'. Trees don't get married, but they still make seeds, and then new trees grow from those seeds after they're planted, you know? We learned about this stuff in school. I'll show you." Wilcox gave me back the nymph and bounded off the bed and down the hall. After several minutes, he returned (in fairy form) with a paper textbook. Clay tablets were not the standard these days, evidently. Setting himself against my stomach, he licked his finger and opened it.

"Let me find… Here we go. Okay, so this section doesn't talk about seeds, but it talks about cutting off and then planting branches and stems and stuff. See, it reminded me of us, so I even highlighted it. 'Vegetative reproduction: New plants are reproduced that are genetically identical clones of the parent'." He looked up. "That sounds a lot like you, doesn't it, sir? I mean, we all look a lot alike, and we're all drakes like you."

I made the attempt to push him from the bed with my foot. "No. I'm not a tree. Trees are plants, and we are mobile beings who can think and be proactive. The sperm of a damsel and the egg of a drake are required to create a nymph. That's the way it always works. There's no such thing as a Fairy subspecies that reproduces asexually. Why are they teaching you this in school?"

Wilcox shrugged and closed the text. "Everybody wants to get paid, so they'll find something to teach, even if it's useless junk that only one of us in the whole class will use when we grow up."

That at last coaxed a soft chuckle out of me. I rubbed his hair with my wing. "Well, aren't you just a little cynic?"

He smiled back as he got off the bed again. "If we're genetically identical, whose fault is that?"

I made lunch with Sanderson, and China came back with a single purple orchid while we were eating. "I'm sorry I hit you," she said, laying it beside my cereal bowl.

"I understand that you were upset. I may have acted out of line as well." I slid the flower into place behind my right ear. "Can you nurse the nymph?"

She gave me a blank look. "I'm not lactating. None of your hormones got passed into me when we shared our lines. He's not my child."

I rubbed my face with both palms. I had no explanation for that. "Um. We can… induce it, can't we?"

"That'll take at least two weeks, and maybe a month. If I would've known in advance, I could've been ready. He needs a milkmother." China got up again. "I have damsel friends. Let me ask around."

I nodded and she went. "Is he going to die if he doesn't get milk, sir?" Sanderson asked.

"He has a few days, but yes. Nymphs need nursing milk for the hormones. We haven't found a way to non-magically reproduce them yet. After the first month, he can be taken off it and live as long as he gets a milk substitute, but he won't take in enough buohyrine to float or fagigglyne to shapeshift, or the other chemicals that form magic particles in the blood so magic can be channeled. That's how they do it sometimes in will o' the wisp country now, except they didn't have milk substitutes back then and nursed them to the regular weaning time still…"

"Let's make sure he can shapeshift," said Wilcox, patting the nymph's head with his rabbit paw.

"I don't want him to die," Sanderson announced after a moment, like he'd had to struggle to come to this conclusion.

"Wait," Hawkins said then. "Couldn't Wilcox just change into something that could give milk?"

"Technically, no. Damsels have to be in their natural state to nurse, or the milk gets touched by magic as it passes from the breast to the teat, and it loses all nutrients. And, Wilcox is too young for milk anyway."

"Even if I were a mother cat and the nymph were a kitten?"

"Afraid so."

China came back with an imp damsel whose mate was scheduled to give birth any day now. I was thankful she'd remembered to seek out someone with wings and therefore the necessary buohyrine without me saying so. As we found ourselves in the Spring of the Tall Cedar, I named the nymph Longwood before I passed him off.

That night, as I knelt in my robe beside Longwood's box, watching him twitch his leaf-like wings now that the flight casings had been shed, China lay her hand on my shoulder.

"Answer me honestly, Fergus. Did you take a brownie over me?"

"Of course not, China. How could you think that? I have you. I don't have any reason to mate with anyone else."

She rubbed her shoulder. "The wings, though. The color is too deep to be elfish. Brownies would be the closest match, wouldn't they? And it might explain the square shape…"

I stood to meet her, taking her dark hand. "I didn't mate with a brownie. What drake would, when he could have you? You're so pretty."

China studied the sleeping nymph. "All right, Fergus. I trust you. You have the coat. But, maybe someday we could try for another? Not yet, but…"

I kissed her wrist. "One day, once he's weaned. I promise. I do want that little damsel before I retire. We can make it through this if we complement one another and work together."

She took one of my wings by the costa and stretched it out. "Yours are the same," she murmured. "They don't seem to look like the mother's at all. I know it's a testy subject, but could your mother be a brownie?"

"Solara was a fairy. That's what Ambrosine always told me, and the crown proves it, broken as it may have been. The long nose always skips a generation, anyway, and none of my offspring show it."

"That's true… Still." She stood over the box, arms folded, then shook her head. "I suppose I could make a little pointy gray hat for him. It will keep people from asking questions, if the wings don't draw any up. We'll make it a thing. Let's bring those back, all four of them. They can match your cohuleen druith. I'll even embroider a stripe across its lower half, with their names sewn on like a decoration. It'll be adorable."

I placed my hands to her waist and drew her nearer. This time, I kissed her lips instead of her hand. "Mm. Like our wedding. I'd like that."

The following week they each had one, snugly settled over their splintered crowns. "It itches," Hawkins said once, cricking his neck as though his lines were suffering interference, and Wilcox said, "The other kids laughed at me and said I had horrible taste in hats, so I turned into a dragon and destroyed the southern half of the cafeteria, because they're trash and their opinions are trash too. I'm not even going to make up an excuse about how sorry I am. My mom made this for me and I'm proud of her. Here's the bill, boss. Just as a word of warning, you might want to double how much you pay, because if they mock me tomorrow then I'm doing it again."

I let it go.

That winter was ferocious. We felt it up in Fairy World. Wilcox and Hawkins woke me up together, thinking perhaps that if they joined forces I wouldn't punish them both. "Look," Hawkins shouted, "look outside, sir! There's snow! Real snow!"

"You're dreaming. Go back to sleep."

He dragged me by the hands towards the curtained window. The glass had fogged and I actually needed to rub a clear spot to match the one he had already scrubbed away. I squinted.

"That's not possible. We're above the cloudline on a separate plane of existence."

But apparently it was. China zipped downstairs to join us for hot chocolate ten minutes later, still tying a pink and green scarf about her neck and with her grin stretching between her small ears. While Hawkins scrambled to find his warmest clothes, she told me the theory bouncing around the town was that whirling winds in the clouds below had spat actual snow up into our zone layer, higher and higher until it settled over all of Lau Rell.

"That's what we get for living only a single plane above Earth," she chuckled, scrubbing down Sanderson's cowlick and trying to coax a smile from his frozen features. "Shall we go sledding? Hawky?"

He lifted his arms above his head. "Yes'm. Then I want to push the snow together and make something. It should stick, right? I don't know what I'll build yet, but I think maybe a stapler. And then Sanderson can climb on top and pretend to staple me. Then can we put a copy of that moment on the wall? Please?"

"What?" Sanderson wrapped the purple blanket more tightly around his shoulders and shuddered. "Freeze your own wings off. I'm staying right here."

"Don't take Hawkins outside," I said without looking up from my mug.

China frowned. "Are you sure? I'll watch him close. It will be easy, especially if Sanderson, Wilcox, and Longwood stay with you."

"Don't take him out. He's a drone. I want him to stay in until the snow has melted."

"But the other kids are playing in it! They have sleds and hats."

"Then that's the life of the other kids. You had your chance to play 450 years ago when you ran away. Stay in here because I'm your caretaker and I asked you to. If I catch you sneaking out, I'll twist your wings."

He looked down at his bare feet. "Yes, sir."

"That's all right," China said, shrugging it off like a sealskin coat. "There are other nice things we can do inside on a day like this. Fergus, do I have your permission to break out the usual Krisday traditions? Dust, it's been centuries since we actually had a nice celebration for it. Whyever did we stop that, do you remember?"

I glanced up at the window, then took my spoon out of my hot chocolate and swallowed a sip. "Go ahead, as long as they stay in here and the snow stays out there. Make sure they all keep warm. I don't want to see any of them shivering and gasping."

While I attended to Longwood, China kept the older three busy with red and green and white decorations from her closet, elf-shaped cookies made of gingerbread, and nonsensical songs I only vaguely remembered from my nymphhood. Hawkins passed the moments in between on his knees with his nose pressed against the window, and little but finger snaps could draw him away.

"You should ask Santa for more money," Sanderson suggested later as he watched me count up our assets and devise a budget for the upcoming season.

"Mr. Kringle hands out presents using Fairy magic. Giving money that way would be counterfeit, though I think he's allowed to offer gift cards. Not that that helps us any." I licked my finger and flipped to another paper. "I dread this time of year. We Fairies transfer most of our magic lines up to the North Pole. That alone distorts the energy field some, and taxes spike. Besides that, if there's an emergency, it's difficult to get anyone organized to fix the problem."

"So we have to give our magic up too?"

"Unfortunately, yes. In previous years I've taken all your wands up with me while you were asleep. If the snow disappears before the Eve of Krisday, you can come with me this time. We're further from Faeheim now and it's a long, slow trip back, unless we want to join the throngs and stay there until midnight."

"Oh, can we? There will be caroling, won't there be?"

I studied him until he shrank back. "I think you should be grateful I'm letting you come at all. I expect you won't complain?"

He smiled thinly. "I don't like complaints, sir."

The next person who checked up on me was China, with Longwood set to her hip and chewing on the cork of an old ink bottle. She took away the papers I was poring over and set them on the other side of my dim lamp. "Hey," she said. "The Shufflewings have a cozy fire burning over at their place, and Hawkins tattled on you- said you've lost your faith in Kris Kringle. I've baked all those cookies and I want us to pay them a family visit."

I picked up my papers again and adjusted my glasses with the end of my quill. "Fine. But I won't promise to be cheery. This holiday always leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Kris Kringle has never brought me anything since I was a nymph, and never anything for mine either. Admittedly he was an affectionate hero of mine once upon a time, with that efficient delivery system and organized naughty and nice list of his, but I suppose even he plays favorites."

China tilted her head. "Did you stop writing him letters?"

"What?"

"Oh, silly bother." She eased the inkwell out of Longwood's chubby fingers and handed him one of her bracelets instead. "See, you're supposed to write a letter and burn it in the fireplace you want him to deliver your presents through. That's how it works. I guess I just thought that since we don't have a fireplace, you burned yours somewhere else. I always do mine at work. I never even asked if you guys wanted to come with me. Bad parenting move. We're not very festive around this place, are we? The curse of being hundreds of millennia old. Did I ever mention I'm still learning the ropes to this mom thing?"

I squinted. "Fair enough. Let's write some letters."

So we did. Sanderson wanted a voice-recording device of some sort, Hawkins asked for a rainbow of new paints, and Wilcox wrote for a box set of books he was interested in. Longwood decorated his note in ink scribbles and fingerprints. As for me, I tilted my paper back and forth on the my knee as I sat on the Shufflewings' yale leather couch, balancing a mug of cocoa in my free hand. Did I even want anything besides money?

Then I snapped my fingers. I knew exactly what to ask for. Taking a quill from Longwood before he could stick it in his mouth, I scribbled, To Kris Kringle, or whom it may concern- Some time ago I took a coat and boots and bread from an imp who gave me aid during a snowstorm. Her name was Shelly Marmot (spelling may vary) and when I last knew her, she resided on Earth in the Mid-Northern Reaches, beneath an elder tree. Please deliver replacements of the highest quality to her, though she does not have a chimney.

I folded my letter, then stopped and pressed it open again. In that same area, you may find the burrow of a will o' the wisp named Kalysta Ivorie. She has no chimney either, but she gave me shelter for a year. If it's possible, I would very much appreciate it if you could give her nymphs and maybe her drakes whatever you are able to. As for Kalysta, she would like a ladder permanently fused into the wall of her private waste cave.

Sanderson and I made our trip up to Faeheim to visit the Big Wand, and I picked up a box of chocolates for Hawkins and Wilcox to split, to soothe any ruffled feelings they might have had about the two of us sneaking away without inviting them. If the risk of losing them in the enormous crowds wasn't so great, I'd have been tempted to make a whole trip of it. But they were too small. There were too many tromping feet, even among creatures with wings. I didn't want to take more sideways glances about babies than I had to. And two of the Eroses would be there. I didn't want them to get their hands on my progeny. Having merely Sanderson to watch kept me on edge as it was.

The trams were stuffed as everyone dispersed following the ceremony. Sanderson and I made the return journey to Lau Rell by wing. Or rather, I did. True to his word, despite the cold he never complained, but he did fly himself to the point of exhaustion. Left with little choice, I scooped him to my shoulder and struggled on through the cold with merely my own voice for company.

When Krisday came, we all got what we'd asked for, as near as I could tell. Even Longwood had been given a black and white scarf with a design that seemed to match his ink blotches. He chewed on the end without mercy (Still has it tucked on the highest shelf of his closet to this day, if I'm not mistaken- a ratty, disgusting thing). Sanderson demanded I take him to go caroling with his friends, China reminded me how to use mistletoe to keep the Anti-Fairies away, Wilcox discovered that penguins exist and studied every bit of their anatomy, and I allowed Hawkins two hours out in the snow before he soaked himself silly and decided, shivering in the tub, that perhaps I'd been right to forbid it, because above the clouds the temperature was much colder than anything he remembered from when he'd lived with the elves below. It was a successful time of year all in all.

Of course the cheeriness wouldn't last. Longwood turned out to be a late shedder. When he finally did shake off the scraps of his awkward exoskeleton and proudly buzz his wings, I actually felt a note of alarm swelling up in my throat.

Because he had freckles. Dozens of them. Hundreds of them, all over his face and arms. All of them so ghostly pale, it took me several minutes of watching him feel his way around the kitchen before I even noticed they were there.

"We raised a gyne," I later told China, who sat alone among her pillows, a board braced against her knees so she could still ink out various floorplans until she fell asleep. As for me, I stood with my back plastered to the door, staring at the pink and budding trees painted along the walls of her room and shaking my head. "We raised a gyne. How could this happen?"

"No one knows. Gynes just crop up. Personally, I think it has to do with diet."

"I seriously doubt that. All he ever eats is kitnut butter and jelly sandwiches." I covered my ears, throwing my utmost strength into preventing my wings from fluttering forward. "I can't do this, China. We can't have another gyne in this house."

She set aside her quill and drawings. Taking my water cup from the bedside table, she walked over and stood beside me. "Keep those magic lines straight, Fergus. That's it. Don't gasp. Everything is going to work out."

"You're not a gyne yourself- damsels can't be. You don't understand."

"I know enough to see that it's bothering you."

My fingers shook against the glass. Droplets spattered down my gray pajamas. "I can't do this. I can't. I can't. He's a gyne. Did you see his freckles? He's a gyne."

China smiled in a familiar, tired way. "So are you, but I'm not freaking out. I think I won the lottery. You're both lookers, aren't you? My pretty freckle-faced drakes."

"That's exactly the problem," I pointed out as I gave her back the empty cup. "The gynes always kill each other, China. When they have to closely interact within the same social group, they do. They do among the insects and they do among the Fairykind. I've killed, China. I've killed seventeen gynes in my lifetime. China- China, I can smell him from here, down the hall."

"He's just a nymph. We don't kill our nymphs. Say it with me, Fergus- we don't kill our nymphs. We're better than the huldufólk."

My hands went to my nose. "Oh my smoof, I want to kill him. I want to do it with fire. I can smell the smoke- his dust is a beautiful shimmering lavender cascading between my fingers. His blood, while it lasts, tastes like warm maple syrup. Syrup comes from trees. He's a tree- he's called Longwood- I don't want a tree in the house, China."

She never stopped looking me in the eyes. "It's okay, Fergus. I'm sure all gynes feel like this. Just focus on your lines and stay with me."

"Dangit!" I slammed my fist against the wall. It dragged downwards with a squeal. "I can't live this way! What if one of these days I decide to kill him?"

China took my arm and held it vertically, pressing both of her thumbs against my palm. As I watched, she made circular motions, over and over, in a simple, boring way. I withdrew my panting tongue and closed my mouth as I watched her repeat the pattern.

"We'll adjust," she promised. "Do you know that riddle, about the alux trying to cross the river with the fox, the chicken, and the sack of grain? She has to do it very particularly to make sure they don't eat each other? That's what we're going to do. Sanderson and Hawkins are yours, but Wilcox and Longwood are mine. Is it going to hurt your feelings if I say that they always liked me better anyway?"

My chin came down against my chest. "No. It's true."

"Well, they've always liked me better anyway. We'll keep him away from you. Just don't let yourself be alone with him, and whenever he's around, focus on whoever else is in the room with you. I'll make sure he gets all the care that he needs- enough from both of us, and you won't hear a peep of complaint out of me. It's not really my thing."

"I'll do it," I told her quietly. "Even if you stay with me, I'll do it when you fall asleep. I'll sneak out and smother him in his own pillow."

"You can't do that," she told me patiently. "He takes in magic through his pores. All his pores."

"Then I'll drown him."

China's brows went up. "Oh you will, will you? What in? There are no bathtubs here anymore. Only showers. No buckets. A magically-formed bucket would leak magic into the water, and then he still couldn't drown."

I set my jaw. "I'll run away with him to Earth and find a lake."

"That might work. But, you cannot. He's under a year old. True Love Clause applies- he can't be taken from someone who's fallen in love with him, only given freely."

"Then I'll roast him in the new fireplace. It's been here two months- about time we broke it in."

"You hate the fire because it snaps and crackles and flings sparks like fireworks at you while you're sitting in your chair, and because you've watched Hawkins burn your important paperwork stuff way too many times."

I looked around, growing more desperate now. My fingers clenched around hers. "I'll slit his throat at the windpipe."

"First thing I did when you and the kids moved in was ensure I only had magical silverware so they couldn't hurt themselves."

"I'll turn him into a spider and step on him."

A spurt of laughter bubbled up from her throat. "With your choppy magic? Let me know how that works out. I'll just get one of the boys to magic-touch all the furniture and our shoes, all the way down to our washroom paper. Sandy will do it for me- he's such a meticulous boy. And that will be so awfully expensive for you."

"Don't mock me, Mayfleet," I growled back. "I'll drop him off a cliff."

"Wings, boss."

"I'll put him in the oven, and tip the entire oven over so the door is against the ground and then sit on the back of it so you can't get him out. You don't have a wand."

She shrugged. "Magic oven."

I stopped. "We have a magic oven? We can't have a magic oven." Then I turned my head crossly away. "That's why I'm always still hungry when I eat the food that comes out of there. It gets magic-touched and tasteless."

"Which is why I keep scolding you for using it. It's for when my mom comes over- I'm sure you've noticed from the times we've visited her, but her regular cooking is actually worse than dusty magic-touched bits and scraps. Are there any other ways you're going to try killing him? It was just getting good."

I shook her arm off and folded both of mine. "No. In light of new information, I have determined that killing him is too much effort. He can stay. In all likelihood I'm raising my own murderer, but he can stay."

China braced one webbed hand against the door. "Well, you can be strong, right, Fergus? What you were born with matters sometimes, I guess a lot of the time, but you can beat it when it itches at you like this. There are probably lots of gynes who don't kill their gyne offspring, maybe. Please don't ask me to name any, because I can only think of dead ones."

I blew out a stream of warm air. "All right. I can be strong for you."

The selkie raised her brows. "Hey, not for me. Be strong for yourself. At the very least, be strong for the self you want to be. And, well, for him too. Just remember: Longwood is only what you were back when you were small."

"Young, you mean. I was always heavily-built. Definitely not small." I stiffened. "He's coming. Oh my smoof, China- he's coming up the hall. He reeks like- like himself. I can't do this."

She sent me to her bed and, once I was wrapped in green and pink blankets and she'd pulled on her robe, opened the door and went out to see what had coaxed him from his room. I waited, my cheek mashed to the pillow, until she finally came back without him.

From then on, China and I had a rule. When Longwood was around, I placed both my hands on the nearest flat surface, like a table or a vase or a wall, and ensured that they stayed there. If he needed help with something that required me to remove my hands, I verbally directed him to one of the others. It worked. For how long would it be enough? I preferred not to think about it. Sanderson demanded to know once why Longwood had freckles like mine while he himself didn't, and we simply told him that he was born with them, and left it at that.

When Longwood was 400, we took both he and Wilcox to be baptized. The latter had an easier time with it than the former did- Dame Longwood turned out to be a nervous wreck who clung to Dame Wilcox's wrist and refused to meet anyone's gaze. She showed the Refract version of gyne freckles or Anti-Fairy black fur stripes too- a pair of long, glistening plumes that sprouted from above her ears and curled over her shoulders halfway down her back like a bird of paradise. That's what they called their gynes, plumes. Longwood lifted her chin and told her in his soft, thoughtful way that it was okay, and he would kiss her first if it might help soothe her anxiety. It seemed to.

Wilcox eventually finished his schooling with grades I could accept, and as each year for dozens flickered into the next, they joined us in our filing work. That became especially difficult for me. Now Longwood was around more, actively participating in every task not far from my elbow, always having questions that needed to be answered, and it was hard for him to understand why I always had to send him away. Even having him stand on the other side of my office door, on the far side of my desk, my ankles crossed quietly around the leg of my chair in the hopes that untangling them would slow me down and give him the chance to run, made my entire arm shake and the ink smear over every page.

Praxis's comments about drowning haunted me each passing day without fail. It only grew worse when he was four hundred ninety-seven and my egg cycle returned, and I started to wonder if my grandsire wasn't quite as cruel as I'd always made him out to be. Most days, I dwelt bitterly over the inflections of a voice that I hazily remembered from my nymphhood, and I stopped blaming him for everything he'd ever said.

I took a holiday from my work, locking myself for sixteen months in my room, eating what China brought me, and almost never leaving except to use the washroom and assure Sanderson that I was still around. Those were tough times for all of us. And Longwood, naive Longwood, would slide notes for me under the door, and try to talk to me through it, until China could distract him with yet another cooking project, yet another card game. Because you don't tell such a young drake that every time he speaks, you daydream those words will be his last. That when you need a pick-me-up, you imagine closing your hand around his neck and giving him a curious squeeze until his eyes burst from their sockets. That if the room weren't magically locked from the other side, and you stripped of your starpiece, those dents in the wood wouldn't have stopped at the door.

The cycle brought another addition with it. A gift, or a curse- at times it was unclear. He was a tiny drake. Another son, unfortunately, but I would accept him the same way I accepted all the others. He was gentle in my hands, and I knew from the start he'd be gentle still as he grew. I named him Caudwell without thinking, because something about how he scrunched his little round nose and the way his hair fell around his ears reminded me so much of my old friend Irica from millennia long ago. He was the only nymph so far to share Ambrosine's signature cowlick curling upwards from the back.

Then I looked up at China, who stood frozen in my bedroom doorway. "I-"

"His crown," she said bluntly.

"I swear I didn't-"

She excused herself, politely locked herself in the washroom down the hall, and began to cry.

And for a moment, I let her. Caudwell needed his lines, and Longwood was out there somewhere, and I needed to recover from the magic I'd lost to him and his distant counterparts. With my largest pillow squished against the headboard, I held the hexagonal nymph close to my chest so the single tuft of black hair on his head brushed my lips, and I drank her pain, and wished I could take it all for myself.

But I couldn't let my wife hide forever, any more than I could hide myself. Still cradling the cooing baby to my neck, I dragged my sore self down the hall and rested my cheek against the door. It was painted like the summer night sky. I lifted the backs of my knuckles and knocked three slow times. "China?"

No response, but I knew she was listening. I shut my eyes and shook.

"China. China, China… I know how this looks from your angle. I know. But you have to believe me. I'm sorry I can't give you a nymph. I tried. It's no use. Something's wrong with me. Something the doctors can't either explain or fix. I have a biological problem. I'm just not a real fairy. I'm… I'm only a broken one."

"It's no excuse."

"I know," I whispered. "But this changes nothing between us. I'm your husband, you're my wife…"

The door flew open as I was in the process of sliding down the opposite wall. China turned crisply on her heels, chin high. "If I'm not the mother, who is, Fergus? Who is?"

"Maybe the wisp-" I sputtered, straightening fast.

She snapped, "You can't store sperm. Sperm dies. And I'm not lactating. I know perfectly well he isn't mine."

"No. Think through this logically, China. I've been out of commission this entire time. I've tucked myself away in my room, all on my own, and you alone have paid visits to me. Surely you'd know if some other damsel's imprint had tainted the area?"

"I'd like to have half as much faith in my abilities as you're trying to put in them."

"But-"

China took me by the collar of my dirty pajamas and pulled my face down so our foreheads bumped. The effervescence leaking from her mouth and hand smelled of frying fish. "Look your reflection in the eyes tonight, Fergus, and realize that things will always be different now. Because I will never trust you again."

I blinked. I blinked again. In my hands Caudwell, startled by the sudden movements and sharp words, began to wail. "Ch-China, that's… not fair. I didn't cheat on you. I don't lie. I never lie! Listen to me. Please… Please, just hear my side for the fiftieth time. You'll change your mind. I swear it on my lines, I didn't do it."

"But you got caught," she pointed out as she released me, her fingers twirling away with that signature flick of hers, "and I'm hurt. That looks like solid evidence from where I'm floating. It stands to reason that you'll have to be punished."

I took her wrist and pressed her webbed palm to my face. My wings trembled, the apexes brushing the backs of my ankles. As she watched me crossly, I clutched her dark arm and sank down to my knees. "China, give me another chance. One more. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It won't happen again, I promise."

She took her wrist back and held it in her other hand. When she looked away, it was with wetness glistening on her cheeks. She bit her lip.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm sorry too, hon. You can make it up to me some night when you aren't feeling so hurt and sore. Bring your A-game. Starting now, I need a few days to think."

So I sat there on my knees with the crying nymph kicking and clawing at my chest as China wiped her eyes with her thumb and walked away, her socks shooting up sparks of static as they skimmed the carpet, and I had another thought about my grandfather Praxis that up until that morning, I'd never dared spell out the words for.

I wished Ambrosine wouldn't have stopped him.

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 2: LEAP

The Chapter With Nine Snakes In It

Summer of the Unmelted Snowflake - Winter of the Last Hippocampus

109 years after Caudwell was born, I returned to Novakiin to seek out Ambrosine. I had three million crisp, perfect lagelyn in hand, and I bought the place straight off of him. Emery was livid, but it was my birthright. There was nothing she could do to stop me. Over my sister, over my father, over my offspring, over my town, over my business, over my clients, I held all the power in my tightly-clenched fist. It. Was. Perfect.

Yet there was one being who wouldn't let me win. Oh, on paper, yes. By the letter of the law, yes. But in spirit, that was up for debate. As a married man, I always had to answer to my wife, and she expected me to even if she didn't ask a direct question. Why did she need me to take the scrying bowl along and contact her every twenty minutes to show her the leather band around my middle finger when I'd already told her four times I was just going out for snapjik night with the drakes? Damsels are such puzzling creatures.

It was ironic, really. One of the sylph ran marriage counseling in the very same building that I suddenly now owned. I never thought I'd find myself on her side of the door, but I looked about one day and somehow I was there. It took her two weeks to convince me to sit on her couch instead of pacing insistently back and forth to the point that her carpet wore thin, and even then I found myself playing with the stacks of journals, textbooks, and note cards on her low table (which she could never get straight enough before I came in).

Seeking her counsel wasn't admitting weakness, she regularly said. I didn't necessarily agree with that sentiment - my last hopes for achieving happiness within my lifetime were, after all, crumbling away between my fingers, and desperate shreds of my sanity with it - but I appreciated her insights nonetheless. Sometimes when I was clawing for a hold, trying not to drown in my little world of wife and five who relied on me, it helped.

The Friday afternoon following my purchase of Wish Fixers, I came into the office with each of my charges in a row behind and handed out parchment outlining the changes I planned to make now that I was in charge. "No more wine-colored suits," I said, sweeping my eyes over the six employees who hunkered in the corners of the waiting room couches. "In case you haven't yet guessed from how these five behind me are dressed, we're going to wear gray now."

"Why?" Emery asked instantly from her place on the edge of the coffee table. Ambrosine may have conceded to retirement with grace, but she had stuck around the business with the sole goal of making my life utterly miserable. As I flicked my heavy-lidded gaze to her, she leaned back on her knuckles, one leg hooked over her knee.

"New manager, new look. I've always interpreted reds and browns as bitter, passive-aggressive colors, and I don't much like it. Gray is smooth and easy on the eyes. Good, safe memories associated with it. Plus, it matches my very nice hat. It won't flatter you, but I'm going to look dazzling."

Emery - my dear, sweet Emery - stuck her foot down hard. While the others in the lobby shifted their weight between their wings, she launched herself up from the table and grasped the top button of my suit in her fist. Then she jerked me forward (The damsels do that to me a lot, don't they?) "This is an infringement upon my rights, Fergus. For three million years our dress code has ranged between red and maroon, and after all my hard work, I'm not about to waste what cash I do have on new clothes purely so I can play to your little fantasies."

I let her hold me there, not struggling, as her cheeks flushed brighter and brighter pink when she realized she was the only one here blowing up. No more back-and-forth bickering like we used to engage in when we lived under Ambrosine's roof. This was war, not a child's game. "We are Whimsifinados," I said, placing my right hand against my waist. I let her fingers stay in my jacket where they were. The rapid flash of her whirring wings glinted off the tile. "Whimsical aficionados, if you need me to break it down for you. Every act of behavioral therapy to go on behind these doors should occur with the utmost schooling and logical expert care. We are serious professionals. I expect all those who wish to continue working here to dress like it."

"Loving this," Fao said at once, his sentiment quickly echoed by Zachary and Shylan. Emery set her teeth.

"I for one won't stand for this. You may have control of my paycheck, 'boss,' but you're still just my brother, and I don't see what gives you the right to uproot tradition and force me into uniform."

Swallowing my smirk, I rubbed my chin. "Oh, all right. If it's going to hurt your feelings that much, I'll allow you to wear a dull lavender or purple shade instead. I do want to start my career as a business owner off making sure my employees are happy, after all."

The look on my half-sister's face when she realized the corner I'd backed her into made every second spent counting dalia coins and balancing budgets over the years so deliciously worth it. If she showed up tomorrow in purple, then I became the benevolent boss who'd accommodated to her requests. If she came in gray, it was a sign that even fire-tongued Emery bowed her head to me.

"Pink," she said. "I like pink."

"You wore a dusky purple overshirt nearly every day back when we shared a home. The one with the striped trim around the collar that alternates with white and brings out those starry flecks in your black hair and the indigo tint in your eyes? That color will do."

"They don't make suits in that color," was her stiff reply then.

I lifted my eyebrow. "That sounds like a problem which will easily be corrected when you take it in for fitting so it matches your rounded figure. Now, if I'm not mistaken, the first appointments of the day should begin to show within fifteen minutes. If no one else has comments to make, we'll bring this meeting to a close. No? Off with you, then, thank you. Juvies, you're with me."

"Snake," Emery whispered under her lines, and when I clipped her with a spin of my wings, I pretended it was accidental.

(Later, as she was pulling on her coat that evening when her hours were done, I curled my hand over her shoulder and spun her around. "Are you still upset about my dress code policy?" I questioned.

"I still think you're overstepping your boundaries. Wish Fixers has always been promoted with the purple-red vests."

"Then am I correct in understanding that my offer of an alternative lavender suit will not be enough to soothe your ruffled feelings?"

She grit her teeth. "I haven't decided yet."

I could hardly restrain my delight. My fingernails sunk deeper into her sleeve, but I managed to keep my face expressionless. "All right. I'll make it easy on you. Emery, we're friends, right?"

My half-sister studied me, eyes flickering. The creases in the fabric of her coat deepened as she shrank into it. "I don't know."

"Great. You're being let go."

"What?"

"I'll say it again so you can understand. It's over for you. I can't have that nepotism label dabbing me behind the ears, can I? You know I don't believe in it. Bad for business."

She tried to argue that I couldn't do this, that there was no reason for it but spite, that I was destroying years or decades of trust build-up with her patients. I would not hear it. She could be replaced. No one's indispensable.

Well, no one apart from me, of course. "No Emery today?" Laramie asked on Saturday, and I replied over my shoulder, "I'm afraid she simply found my dress code too stringent," and left it at that like a warning.

But, I got ahead of myself.)

We were on the second floor, and Ambrosine's old office lay below us near the building's entrance. It was my office now. "He took his knickknacks and whatnot with him when he retired," I told my charges as we descended the stairs. "However, I glanced in here last night and since it is Friday, I think it could use some spring cleaning. We'll start with that today before you break out for your shadowing or filing tasks. Hawkins, you clean the windows. I don't want smudges on my glass door. Caudwell, you take that brush and sweep. Sanderson, wipe down my desk and drawers. I'll go over the shelves. Wilcox, I want you to comb through these texts as I hand them to you and determine how relevant they are to the practices of this day and age, and how much I'm going to want to keep them in my personal bubble."

"What can I do?" Longwood asked as they dispersed. I briefly glanced at him over my shoulder to see him floating there, wide-eyed. Over the 674 years since he'd first shown his freckles, I'd steadily improved at controlling my restless gyne nature- we'd only had a few close calls. Particular times of the day or year were better than others. However, it was always easier to swallow the fantasies of ending his life in wide spaces, or when outdoors. Enclosed rooms trapped the pheromones and carried with it promises that no one wanted to keep.

"Why don't you inventory the storage room down the hall? That would be the most helpful thing for you to aid me in. Wilcox can bring any useless books in as he finishes. Show him where it is, Sanderson."

They left, Sanderson returned without him, and we got to work. The off taste of fairy attraction signals slowly seeped away under bursts of lemony cleaner and soap suds. Hawkins reluctantly sheathed his thumb as the taste of first one hand and then the other became too septic for him to bear. One by one, Wilcox skimmed through the pages of each book I handed him, sometimes commenting on a lack of interesting information or out-of-date therapeutic practices (Long ago, most everyone believed the powder of a ground-up unicorn horn - taken from a live beast, of course - possessed ultimate healing powers, but a mere placebo, that) which would then prompt me to sentence it to the storage pile. As Sanderson finished wiping my desk, I tasked him with unpacking the boxes I had dropped off last night (and one of these days, if those two chunks of beaten cardboard never settled their differences, I was going to shove them face-first through a shredder). As the hour passed, Ambrosine's old office lost its dirty, cluttered feel and accepted the influence of neatness and order in its kingdom. I felt my shoulders unwinding.

Then a shriek rebounded along the hallway walls. The hairs on the back of my neck and knuckles flared up. "Longwood?"

There wasn't an answer. A sharp shock raced down my spine. What was I supposed to do? I'd never had to rush to Longwood's rescue before- not without China to support me. On the one hand he was a gyne and we shared a biological rivalry, and on the other, he was… mine. Those rhyming words bounced about in my head as I hesitated an uncharacteristically long time with one hand resting on a high shelf. Gyne, mine, gyne, mine…

My concern over whether he'd discovered something dangerous eventually won out. If something had attacked him, it needed to be apprehended and contained- that was step number one. Tossing my rags and books haphazardly across my desk, I hurried down to the storage room with the other four fairies on my tail. The door was open. I paused for a beat outside of it, listening for the sound of someone threatening my little charge, but when I heard nothing but a soft shuffle of papers and cardboard, I stepped forward.

"Longwood, there was a distinct yelp which originated from your general area. All evidence points to you as the culprit."

He hovered a few flaps inside the wide room, and turned to blink up at me when he heard my voice. "Um, sorry, boss. I figured it out. I just got surprised, is all. I opened a drawer, and there were snakes in it."

"There were snakes in it."

He gestured to the shiny black dresser behind him. Tubes and wires fed into it through the bottom, and in the open middle drawer, I could indeed see two thick, orange snakes coiled together, evidently sleeping. I tilted my head. "So there are. I remember now. They're used in phobia treatments. That's not something I was ever allowed to participate in because I didn't finish school, but I believe Emery may have mentioned it in passing. These tubes you see here are pumping them oxygen from what I presume is a structure here in the bottom drawer, or something. Maybe they go through the floor and through the clouds below; without moving it, I can't be sure." I knelt down and reached my hand inside. "Ah. These here are golden gliders. Originally from Hairy World on Plane 17, but specifically bred down to this small size we have here so as not to scare the clients more than necessary. You can recognize them by the white stripes across their snouts, see?"

"Are they poisonous?" Hawkins asked, peering over my shoulder.

"They're not venomous, no. Gliders constrict their prey. As you can plainly see, all of you are much too big to be swallowed. You'd have to be a nymph, but they don't like the oils in our skin anyway. If we were Anti-Fairies, then we'd have cause for concern. As I mentioned, the gliders' natural habitat is Hairy World. They feast on furry prey. And look." I pried open the mouth of the larger of the pair. "Its fangs have been removed. Totally harmless."

Caudwell frowned. "How do they eat, sir?"

"Rara is our trained professional here who mainly focuses on phobias and exposure therapy. In light of this, I would presume she hand-feeds them a substitute. If you're interested, then you should ask her for details. This is one of the few subjects I am not very familiar with."

"Can I hold it?" Longwood asked, watching me.

"Don't be ridiculous," scolded Sanderson from my other side. "Mr. Fergus said it constricts its prey. It might wrap itself so tightly around your hand, it cuts off the circulation."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "If I thought it would do that, I wouldn't be holding it, Sanderson. You should all learn to trust my judgement. As beings who absorb oxygen through our pores - all pores - we don't have to worry about circulation being cut off in any particular limb, so long as our windpipes remain intact. Sit by me, Longwood, and I'll let you hold it if you really want to."

When he crouched, I wound the larger snake over his hands so her tail draped from his forearm. "Oh," he whispered.

Caudwell giggled. "It licked him."

"Mmhm. Snakes flick out their tongues to taste the air the same way we Fairies do when tasting each other's imprints in the energy field."

"I've never seen a snake this close up before."

"And I hope you now understand why I don't let you wander the starfields unless you promise to stay in the air. These snakes are small and harmless. Usually. However, if disturbed in the wild, this and many similar creatures will bite you if you come too close, and continue coming even after they've warned you back with a hiss or moved away." Then I looked around. "Wilcox? Where are you? Did you want to see the snakes?"

"No," he said from his place behind an old chair with a broken leg. I craned my neck.

"Are you… hiding from the snakes?"

He gulped. Fingers tightened in the beaten fabric. "R-remember back when I was fifty and stupid, I said I thought I could shapeshift into a snake if I had to live alone and take care of myself, because snakes don't eat much? I changed my mind. I don't think I like snakes after all."

While Hawkins, Longwood, and Caudwell cooed over the snake and Sanderson sulked where he'd been snubbed, I massaged my forehead. "Dazzled. One of you is afraid of snow and being left alone, another sharp objects and getting yelled at, and now we have snakes on our blacklist too. At this rate, we soon won't be able to go anywhere."

"I'm not afraid of anything," Longwood insisted, "am I, Mr. Fergus?"

I could think of at least one thing he ought to fear, but didn't voice it. "Wilcox," I said instead. "Please come here and see the snakes."

"Really Mr. Ferg, I can see them just dandy from here."

He said this as he was covering his face with one arm. I snapped my fingers and he came, still oozing reluctance. He refused to look at me. He refused to look at Longwood. He refused to drop the arm that blocked his vision. While he floated there (steaming, of course, but he rarely wasn't in my presence), I took hold of his other hand and forced it to come into contact with the snake's scaly body. Wilcox flinched hard and snapped his arm back to his side. Then he shrugged at me, landed, and began to back away.

"Can't do it, boss. I just can't. Snakes eat too many cute little animals, and they look weird and feel weird and I seriously think I'll die if I stay here much longer. I'm not doing this."

He didn't leave the storage room, but he refused to approach the drawer and kept a constant grip on his chesberry wand.

I dwelt over that encounter for the remainder of the afternoon, playing his reaction over and over in my head. I'd always found Wilcox to be the most stubborn and difficult of my lot. While the result was that he and I locked horns on any subject either of us disagreed with slightly, it was a trait that had served him well in school and when working with difficult clients during our simple paperwork days before I took control of Wish Fixers. The thought had been unconscious; I hadn't noticed it until now, but I admired Wilcox's strength to stand up for himself and stand firm when he was challenged- whether by a direct threat or a safer setting such as a social gathering. To see him reduced to such a squirming mess was… discouraging.

The concept became increasingly bizarre the more I thought about it. Wilcox had never seen a snake in his life; Hawkins and I alone had encountered them in the outside world. What brought such fear upon the little shapeshifter?

"I'm not afraid of anything," Longwood had stated with admirable confidence. And here he was, holding his ground, as the glider tightened its coils around his wrist. Now, that was admirable. A being who did not let fear control him got things done, no matter what the situation. If I could only implant that same outlook on life into the others, I wouldn't have to deal with any more of this "Don't make me do that, Mr. Fergus, I'm scared," nonsense anymore.

The laws of exposure therapy suggest that we grow more habituated to stimuli that have in the past unnerved us over time with repeated contact. I understood that much. Hawkins and I, perhaps, who had lived for years on Earth, did not fear such things as snakes and snow.

But you couldn't possibly expose someone to all fear…

Could you?

I mulled over the notion for a long time. Some would argue fear to be a necessary thing: an emotion or biological construct which sprang out of necessity to keep one safe and alive with the end goal of spreading one's genes; a particular bookworm friend of mine has written an extensive piece on the subject.

I disagree.

I don't believe in learning from your own mistakes if someone else has already done it for you. Repeating research is a waste of time and resources. The information is already there. Would you attempt cooking a new meal without ever looking up the recipe, without confirming the ingredients, and instead playing the melody by ear? I would certainly hope not. Why, then, put yourself in danger without knowing the risks? Safer to research. Safer to learn.

Now that I had my office at Wish Fixers, I no longer needed one in China's home. I moved my desk up to my bedroom and turned the office below into a library. For three hundred and eighty-four years, I just wrote papers. What happens if you place your wand against your face? Pros and cons of different types of flooring? Who were High Count and Countess in the Year of the Creeping Grapevine? All of them I filed in my library. Every morning over breakfast. Every evening until exhaustion or China coaxed me upstairs to bed.

Every scrap of knowledge I could bring to the forefronts of my mind, I scribbled down and squirreled away. What I did not know, I put myself out there to learn. I asked questions constantly. I consulted experts. I purchased books. I paid attention to every detail. Who pioneered the theory of key points? When was it confirmed that shapeshifting is possible? What is it called when a genie grows old enough they lose their powers and remain trapped in their lamps forever after?

I. Was. Obsessed.

But I could never stop. Every last fact had to be documented. I wanted answers! Where did written language come from? How can one obtain purified rosewater? In which region was the Night Bridge located before its destruction during the war?

I burned regularly through ink and parchment, constantly leaving home to shop for more. Parchment was traded in for index cards of increasingly small size so everything might fit. My offspring poured their hard-earned paychecks into art supplies or tickets to the Lau Rellian carnival each year, but my focus remained strictly on the future. What inspired the Anti-Fairies to place their faith in their zodiac? What is the name for a group of leprechauns? Can I really turn base wood into dalia?

Then came the next step: the hunting spell. I'd consulted every do-it-yourself magazine and research journal I could spend the lyn on. Spell design adjustments and alterations were not my field of expertise, but sitting on my bed, surrounded by lists of tips and tricks, I was eventually successful.

Under my hand, my work achieved ultimate organization; the system was assured. Now, so long as one sat in my library chair, wrote their question out, and scanned it with a starpiece, the spell would take control. Their answer would be located like, well, magic, the parchment it was scrawled upon flying from its shelf or drawer to humbly present itself upon the desk. The only real drawback here was the fact that the aforementioned parchment had to be returned to its proper place by hand.

With this vault of knowledge at their fingertips, there was no excuse. Now there were answers. I presented myself before my five charges and told them so.

"So saying," I droned, folding my hands together on top of my desk, "we will see if we can't weed some of that now-pointless fear out of you."

So when Sanderson was hardly two thousand five hundred years old, I lined them - all five of them - on the same side of the long table I'd dragged into my office back at Wish Fixers. I brought in several cushy chairs and they passed many an afternoon up on their knees, scribbling in paperwork and going on to scribble multiple copies of the very same paperwork that so many Fairies kept pestering us to fill out for them, regardless of whether I had a different business to run altogether (I couldn't simply turn away their shiny dalia coins, so I accepted it all).

Day 1. While they worked, I paced back and forth behind them, pausing occasionally to answer questions or critique their work ("Too rushed, too sloppy, too much. Don't hold your elbow so high, Wilcox. Hawkins, leave the cursive for the elves. Longwood! What do you have in your mouth? Can't you all try to be more like Sanderson?")

Regardless. After the first twenty minutes passed and they were all intensely focused, I aimed my starpiece directly at the target board on the wall facing them, and fired a bright blast over their heads. Every one of them jumped.

"What?" Caudwell clapped a hand to his forehead. "W-what happened? What's wrong?"

Sanderson and Longwood whipped out their wands, Hawkins made a little slower on the draw by the thumb in his mouth. "Keep working," I told them patiently. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just doing a little test."

Gradually, the fwiiiip! and ttchrrrrshh! of rustling paperwork returned to the room. After 37 minutes this time, I performed the action again. As my target steamed with a direct hit, my little worker bees all turned around to stare at me as though I'd lost my last dust flake.

"Please continue working."

Throughout the remainder of the day, I continued performing the action, until Shylan finally came down to remind me that her next client didn't react well to loud noises, and we took a break.

"Why?" Wilcox wanted to know straight off.

"Because I'm performing a test. I want to see how long it will be before you all stop flinching and crying out when you're startled. Such things are unbecoming of adults, and I don't want you to be laughed at as though you were nymphs. You did very well, Sanderson."

"Just trying to be the best I can be, sir," he clipped.

"I don't like it," Caudwell muttered, pushing his soy in circles around his plate. "It makes me nervous."

Day 2. The same practice with similar results. At first they started off by wincing each time the sparks crackled above them. Sanderson was the first to get it down, and I would watch him and note merely the tightening of his left hand around his quill, and a certain skip in one hindwing. As the afternoon wore on, Wilcox and then Longwood followed suit.

By Day 3, Hawkins was getting it too, and by 5 you couldn't detect much reaction in their body language at all. But as time grew on and the rapid shuffling of the papers reached a crescendo, I noticed there was one who was beginning to cringe away more and more often instead of less and less. With that in mind, I slowed down as I reached the end of the table nearest the door where he sat. He flinched away when my shadow fell on him, his left arm flying up to cover his face. I lowered my wand. "Caudwell?"

His latest curl of parchment gleamed with wet, inky blotches and scribbles that jumped and fell like a corebeat. Jolting, jarring scribbles which kept growing worse and worse farther down the page. He had one hand pressed to his forehead, fingers wound in his curls and elbow propped on the table. Snot dribbled from his nose. Every gasp he drew in - and there were several accenting his whimpers - ended with a hiccup. His hands jittered at the wrists at a tempo even Sanderson wouldn't have been able to sing along to. Keeping my gaze on him, I picked up several nutrition labels that he had been filling out earlier today and began thumbing across the stack.

Caudwell rattled beneath me, teeth chattering and arms jerking up and down with his shoulders. His wings tensed. As he shook himself, his fingers crawled back behind his neck. Without glancing up from the papers, I flipped my wand to the side and fired another blast just above Longwood's head. Only one of my fairies reacted to it.

"I can't do this anymore!" Caudwell screamed as violet smoke curled out from the wall. Flinging the last page of his work into the air, he scrambled across the table, off the other side, and flew out of the room. The door banged shut behind him. "Ah, just keep working," I told the others, and went after him.

I prowled through each room on the first floor with care, moved up to the second one, and then made my way down again. After fifteen minutes, I at last found him holed up in the back utilities closet with the heater and atmospheric gas filter, rocking back and forth with his face hidden behind his knees. Sliding down into a crouch, I took his chin between two fingers and lifted it towards me. "Caudwell. Look at me, Caudwell. That's right, in the eyes. Why did you run away before you were dismissed?"

He was reluctant to answer for several minutes. I didn't let go. Then, "I can't do it, sir. D-don't make me do it."

"Don't make you do what?"

"Paper- Wands- I can't- can't-"

I watched him as his rocking grew faster, his fingers running through his dark hair, each chunk of strands falling one at a time along with his whimpers. His wings fluttered like shutters in a storm.

"I can't do this again," he choked out.

"Why?"

He tasted the words and the meanings behind each one, translating his thoughts through his own young tongue, before finally mumbling, "I get scared."

"What of?"

"Th-that you'll hit me."

"That's a load of brownie spit. I won't. You know I won't."

Before he answered, Caudwell slid his knees towards his chin until they bumped my hand and dropped his gaze to the corner of the cramped room. "Well. Sometimes, I think you will. Sometimes. A lot."

I longed to ask him why he thought I wore the glasses if he believed my aim was still that bad. Instead, I forced myself to forgo the first thought to pop into my head and try to think it over. What would China do? What would Ambrosine say?

"Why do you think that?"

"I don't know."

My fingers pinched his chin more tightly now. "Then why are you acting like this?"

"I d-don't know."

Discarding all attempts at having a core-to-core, I pushed myself back up to my feet and dusted off my hands. "Well, you certainly can't sit in here counting air bubbles in the filter fluid all day. Let's get back to the others and we'll have you try again."

One more time, Caudwell shook his head, curls bouncing around his ears. "I-it's the paper that makes me uncomfortable, sir. That rustling sound, I- I can't stand it. I can't! Never again."

"And what exactly do you want me to do about it? Unbelievable. You can't avoid paper for the rest of your life."

"I can too!"

I snapped my fingers twice and pointed at the door. "No. You are my employee and you will do as I ask. I brought you here to Novakiin so you could work. If you don't work, you won't receive your paycheck. Nor will you learn valuable skills that will help you in the world once you're grown and I am no longer responsible for you. Which, evidence suggests, will be sooner than anyone expected, because I am coming this close to snapping nowadays and shipping you all off to Yugopotamia! Smoof it, Caudwell- do you want to be responsible for that? Thought not. So. Are you going to come with me to work like a big drake now, or are you going to hide in the filter closet sniveling like a little fragile coward?"

Neither of us moved. I hardly blinked, aware only of the gentle way the star on my cap bounced and twirled against the back of my neck in the eddys put out by the heaters through the air. I half-thought we'd be frozen forever. Then, after the silence had entered its second minute, Caudwell unfolded his limbs and climbed to his wings. He glanced at me once, stung, then shifted his eyes away again. His bright lavender eyes.

My arm, with its crooked pointing finger, dropped back to my side. What if… he wasn't fleeing from me out of instinct? What if he had hidden in the utility closet because he had chosen to dislike me, associated me, myself, and I with the instances I'd shot loud, sizzling beams of energy mere inches over his pointed hat?

He was aware. Afraid. Processing. Sentient. He was reacting to the paper the same way Sanderson had reacted to my snapping fingers as a nymph, only so much worse, and this time without an upturned hand signal to reassure him I really intended no harm. I'd given him no sign of reassurance, and left him with escape as his only reliable resort.

My Caudwell, little nymph whom I'd carried three months in my forehead chamber, clung to in my bed when China rejected me and I couldn't touch Longwood and the others were too big, held and eventually turned loose from my pouch, so thrilled to watch him shed his flight casings and make his first flap…

Afraid. Of me. No matter what else I had done for him up to this point, that quiet winter day when we both floated in front of that closet, wings spinning, he was scared of me.

I sighed. Deeply. Perhaps I was allowed to cave to my offspring's wishes just one more time before swearing off all wiggle room forever. I reached into my pouch and drew out my wallet. "Fine. Caudwell, here are a few coins for the tram. I want you to go home for the afternoon, and maybe get some sleep. You seem as though you need it. I expect you back here tomorrow and we'll try again."

He shook his head yet again, as though he were possessed or trapped in some sort of time loop. Since his wings prevented him from flying backwards, he landed and shifted away on his feet. "Please! Please, Mr. Fergus, don't make me. I c-can't do this anymore."

Lavender eyes gaping up at me. Backs pressed flat against dirty brown walls. The splash of black hair accenting a familiar squarish face. I squeezed the upper portion of my nose and massaged the surrounding area for a long time.

"We'll find something else for you to do," I said at last. "A job with less paper. I won't promise to let you go cold phoenix, but we'll figure something out. I might suggest you work to improve your social senses. We'll find somewhere you can put them to work."

Caudwell rubbed his face and nodded, just once. When he lifted his eyes to mine again, I could see the relief glistening there. He reached out for me. I patted him a few times on the shoulder and sent him away with the coins.

After lunch, we returned again to our training. My plan was to continue firing startling blasts at my four remaining fairies from behind for another few weeks. Always varying the position and angle of each one to ensure the blast itself was what they were bracing against, not the place I stood or a moment I stopped talking or clicked my teeth or even snapped my fingers. Yes, just another two weeks of this. After that I'd switch sides of the table with my target board. Then we'd see if it was any harder for them to retain their straight faces and patient eyes once I was firing in their direction rather than away. After that, well… perhaps I'd position them against the wall. No distractions this time. Just utterly expressionless, facing forward.

No, expressionless implies the lack of emotion to be fake. I didn't want fake. I wanted them entirely.

I'd begun offering incentives for jobs well done. There were sharp pencils, sometimes a small handful of candy. Lagelyn too was slowly entering the pot. On Wednesdays, I planned to require the other three to sacrifice a small amount of their paychecks, which would then be presented to the one I deemed best at overcoming fear. A good system; I came up with it myself. I was awfully proud of it. And to think I'm the one of Ambrosine's offspring who dropped out of the Academy.

My gaiety evaporated when we stepped off the tram in Lau Rell the same evening following the Caudwell incident and started down the street. China was at her door. Hands on hips and thin eyebrows drawn. Caudwell clung like a flea to her leg. I froze at the base of the front steps in the process of removing my tie.

"Oh, smoof. I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

I was. As the other four skulked past, I floated there, keeping my tongue pressed to the inside of my cheek as usual when she tore into me, the essence of her fury being that this was no way to treat my offspring and her patience was running thin.

"I'm not trying to raise a family," I stated simply as she wound down. "I'm trying to run a business. The house is yours, but Wish Fixers is mine. Beyond those doors, they are my employees and I'm entitled to put them to work as I see fit."

China scooped the trembling Caudwell into her arms. "They're our sons, Fergus. Treat them like they're Seelie, not like they're animals. You don't need to be like this."

"I didn't want any of these nymphs to begin with, but none of them were even my decision, were they?" I pointed at Sanderson. "Accident." Hawkins, "Coercion." Wilcox, "Unplanned." Longwood, "Definitely didn't want this one." Caudwell, "You insisted." My forehead, "Evidently, we weren't being careful." As China fumbled for words, I threw my tie back around my neck and twirled around. "I'm sleeping in the office. I'll be back for dinner tomorrow. I expect all of you to arrive for work showered, fed, well-dressed, prepared, and on time."

"Don't you go after him, Sanderson," China called as I started back down the street. "Mister Ennet Sanderson, you bring your bottom lagelyn back here!"

I turned to see her grab his elbow as he wriggled against her, and snapped my fingers at her twice. "Don't touch him, China. Go back upstairs, and good night."

She released Sanderson, and he flew to join me. They all watched as I scratched him behind the ear and the two of us left to make the hour return trip back to Wish Fixers without a second thought.

The building was cold when we first came in, and the heaters warmed it slowly. "There's no point in wasting power if we don't need to," I said, handing Sanderson another blank tax report and a quill. "Do as many as you can until you get tired, and then you're welcome to sleep."

He nodded and pulled out a soft chair. I worked beside him in silence until I heard a light tapping at the window. It was Wilcox, in owl form, using his beak. I let him in and waited until he'd gotten himself a drink of water.

"China's upset," he said finally, tossing the cup away. "She went straight for her coat, turned into a seal just to show us that she could, and then she took everybody's wands and locked herself in your room. I'm just glad she didn't force me out of owl form."

I frowned. "She can't have. Her coat is here in the lockbox. I saw it this afternoon before I left."

"That wasn't the real coat. She sewed another one a long time ago. I saw her with both before the wedding, but I didn't really think you needed to know and then I forgot 'til now. I mean, I was only forty-eight."

Leaning my forehead into my hand, I tapped my fingers across the table. "All these centuries… Keeping up the act, so I'd never once suspect. Just in case."

"Maybe you should go back and talk to her, boss. She might have been crying, or mad. I'd get a flower and give her an apology. We're not just yours. We're her family too."

I kept my elbows on the conference table and covered my mouth with my hands. My eyes wandered meticulously around the room as Sanderson did his work and Wilcox preened his feathers. Finally I took my hands away.

"I'm going to draw up some divorce papers."

Both of them jerked up their heads. "Are you sure, sir?" "Don't you want to think about-?" "It's been a long day-" "This was just one disagreement-" "At least sleep on-"

"My mind's made up. It's the logical thing to do. We needed China because we had nothing else. We no longer need her house, since now we have Wish Fixers. There are storage rooms, old offices. We'll eat and sleep here and generally make do. The commute will be much easier too. We won't spend money on her food or her sewing needles and fabrics. None of her curtains and pillowcases and frivolties. Her income isn't very noteworthy, and these days we're in a good financial position. She can no longer help us, and if she's unhappy, she shouldn't be made to stay against her will. It's better this way."

Wilcox opened his beak, but seemed to change his mind and said, "Sure thing, boss. I think I'll stay here for the night, sir, if that's okay. It was a long flight, and if you shed my feathers I'll head off to Emery's couch now. Don't bother poofing me up a blanket. I already brushed my teeth back at the house."

He went, and Sanderson and I worked for a little longer, but I stopped when I saw him lay aside his quill and rub his eyes with his fists. "Come on," I said. "There's that green and white hammock strung up in the break room. Ambrosine used to lay me in it for naps when I was a nymph, and when I was a little older I'd eat snacks and read books before he was ready to have me work."

He yawned and nodded and we went. As I opened the door and flicked my eyes across both the hammock and the couch, it occurred to me that the place was completely empty of other living beings.

"Sanderson? Do you want to sleep with me tonight?"

He scratched his elbow and looked down at the floor. "I don't really feel comfortable with that, sir."

I studied him then, with his scruffy cowlick and his twitching wings. He was just over 2,500 now. Still a long, very long while before his puberty years, but growing up nonetheless. After he'd shrugged out of his suit coat and I'd loosened his tie, I took him by the waist and lifted him into the hammock.

"Good night then," I said. I spread his jacket across his back and took the couch for myself alone as I fingered the notches at the ends of my wings.

The others arrived for work as usual, if tentatively, and I whipped up some pancakes that evening and made them stay at Wish Fixers while I went to see China. She had the wooden spoon she was using to mix the cake batter in her mouth, but it went hastily into the sink when she realized I'd caught her red-handed. I leaned back against the counter and gave her the papers to read. She skimmed over the first two lines, and looked up at me.

I do not wish to recount all the details of that night. They are unimportant. It suffices to say that in the end of it all, she received her house and I took my offspring and my hat. The rest of our things were poofed to storage until I was ready to reclaim them, once I found somewhere to live that could be a little more homely than my place of business. I made twenty-three clicks selling off the leather wedding ring band that the Eros Triplets had sent with their honeymoon arrow, since I had no use for it anymore. I assume China put hers in her jewelry box with all the others.

The action was the most logical one to take at that time, and it did indeed turn out to be better for all Pixies in the end- a great gain for a small cost. Our species survived and prospered because of it. Nothing else matters. I have no regrets.

Bayard was born two weeks after all the legal paperwork was officially settled, hexagonal and broken-crowned and identical to all the others. He had a box in my office where I set him, and I found a winged lawn gnome who agreed to be his milkmother until he could eat solids. I made him a hat- the same color of cloth but held together with thread magically, since I lacked China's sewing talent. No matter. I'd shoulder the load and swallow my pride. Anything China could do, I could manage a passable substitute for.

"So, where will we live now?" Longwood haltingly asked as I scratched one of my cardboard boxes beneath the chin and sent it bounding down the hall in search of Wilcox and his books.

"Somewhere," I replied simply. A better answer than "I don't know". Abandoning him because my gyne instincts were prickling up again, I moved down the hall towards my bedroom so I could grab Bayard's folded clothes. He snuggled inside my pouch for now, dozy and dreamy.

Behind him, Longwood let out a soft snicker. "It's still so weird that there are six of us little ones, wow. We could pretty much start an entire Little League saucerbee team. All we need for it is two other teams of six kids to play with."

I stopped dead. For another beat, I stared forward. Then I turned around and pointed one finger at him. "Actually, I might know some people with those qualifications."

I couldn't sit about China's house another two weeks awaiting a letter. The Refracted didn't allow themselves to keep scrying bowls or crystal balls- having as much contact with the outside world that the letters and shrine acolytes offered tended to be as much as they could handle (and they even detested the merchant ships that passed them by).

Anyway, even if I could reach her, I could just imagine myself begging, "Come on, Dame Fergus, it would be cute," as she denied all offers to ride my cloudship across the kingdom barrier and down to Plane 3, no matter how many caramels I offered to supply her with. And there was next to no chance of her being willing to smuggle us into the lands of the Refracted, even if she did live near a port. No, unfortunately my stylus sister was unlikely to allow us to stay on at her farm by the mill, with all those wide, open spaces that would lift the weight of being a gyne raising a gyne from my shoulders…

My plan had been to live on at Wish Fixers for a time, but Longwood's comment had brought a new thought to my head. Apart from letters detailing the names of my nymphs, it had been centuries since I'd made contact with the distraught old fellow. He'd want to hear news of the divorce of course- he'd love me for it. Perhaps he would even pay me now, as he had offered to so many times.

So with Bayard in my lap entertaining himself with my toes, I sat cross-legged on the end of my old bed and balanced my scrying bowl on top of his flat head. It took nearly ten minutes of patience, but eventually my signal reached Plane 4, and a few minutes later, someone small, green, and yellow picked up.

"Anti-Hawkins," I said, relieved to spot someone familiar and whom I respected (all things considered) even if he was an anti-fairy. He seemed to be the sane one, and easily my favorite of my counterpart's brood. "How is Anti-Fergus doing?"

He pulled a face. "Anti-Fergus? You should express concern for me. The entire place has gone to the crockeroos as of late. Can you tell?" As he spoke, Anti-Hawkins tilted the scrying bowl as far forward as he dared without spilling the water inside. I raised my brows. Where once had stood four houses, now there were eight, and none of them in fair condition. Windows had been smashed, the broken glass scattered in the ashy soil of Hy-Brasil. Claw marks and scrawls of graffiti decorated the outer walls, and the dangling shutters, sagging roofs, and dented doors made me doubt I would find the inside ones in far better condition. Even through the rippling veil that divided us, I could pick up on the sticky dread that clung over that little, well, village of despair.

"It's disgusting," I said in my most matter-of-fact way. "I'm astounded you stick around. Honestly, at your age I would have left millennia ago."

"I want to," Anti-Hawkins exploded, upturning a green hand with a sharp motion, "but someone has to make some attempt to keep things in order here. Father doesn't look after Mitchell" - Anti-Caudwell - "or James" - Anti-Bayard - "or, well, any of us. Not since around the time Alapin" - Anti-Wilcox - "was born. I have to look after them, and at least if I stay I have my brothers to support me when they want to. I can't just abandon the pups. No one would treat them right. They'd grow up to be like, well…"

A crash split the air. Clouds of ash and dust flew up with it. Though the image was distorted by sudden ripples, behind Anti-Hawkins's shoulder I could make out a figure who seemed to be Anti-Wilcox climbing shakily to his feet after apparently having sledded off the roof on a damaged chunk of pink plaster and wood. Anti-Sanderson, still standing at the roof's peak with his own board in hand, pointed and guffawed.

"Like that," finished Anti-Hawkins.

"I see your problem." For a quarter of a wingbeat, I considered asking him if he would like for me to take him in. Though China's house had grown more crowded with the new additions, and Longwood and Caudwell had split from the elder three and made themselves at home in the summer bedroom ages ago, we could make some arrangements…

Then I remembered the divorce, and my own limited resources, and why I had elected to make the call in the first place. I shook my head.

"Is Anti-Fergus there? How is he doing?"

"Oh, the usual. He drowns his sorrows in sugar for most of the day, then coughs most of it back up overnight. Some mornings he tries to do a little work mining or cleaning or whatever odd job he can find in the nearest town, but always hungover so such things rarely last long. We at least have Anti-Robin, who comes to visit us at times with food-"

"Anti-Robin?" My thoughts flashed back to a swap meat so long ago, when I had stepped forward to offer charity to a young anti-fairy who so desperately needed it. Perhaps he had followed through on his promise to extend kindness to my counterpart after all. Still was. The thought was deeply humbling. "Green eyes?"

"Yes, and his son."

I stroked my fingertips between Bayard's wings as he cooed over a loose thread on my blanket. "Curious. Mentally, then, is your father in just as sorry a state? Does he talk much?"

"Oh, he babbles."

"All this for a doe-eyed, dough-headed damsel?"

The narrow glow in Anti-Hawkins's eyes faded. "He loved her. Don't you know about the zodiac? You in Year of Soil, he in Year of Breath… But in answer to your question, no, not quite. Anti-Ambrosine happened."

I leaned in. "Continue."

"I think I'd rather not. It was horrible, what all he put us through in such a short span of time." Anti-Hawkins stuck a knobby knuckle in his mouth and bit down. "I daresay I shall never fully recover, even if I came to your Wish Fixers and received centuries of therapy. Don't make me talk about it, for it will trigger the memories I've made such attempts to forget. The ones that weren't repressed shortly after due to the nature of the brain and trauma, anyway…"

"Never mind that, then. Backing up, so would you maybe even say you've-"

"Whatcha got there, butterwings?" Anti-Sanderson asked from somewhere out of my line of sight. The water glinted wildly as he flipped the bowl into Anti-Hawkins's face, and the connection shattered. I shook my head and let it go.

If I hadn't been convinced before, my scrying bowl conversation definitely wrote Anti-Fergus's place of residence out of the realm of possibility. What we needed was a home. A sturdy, safe, well-kempt home. Over the centuries, I'd acquired a fair sum of money. I could afford anything from a simpler dwelling in Novakiin to the ritzier ones of Lau Rell. Live with my insufferable father, or with my insufferable ex-wife?

I had a better idea. There was a certain plot of cloud I'd had my eye on for a very long time. It had everything: It was situated on Plane 3, reducing transportation costs between it and many locations I was known to frequent, the clouds were soft and sprawling, the surrounding forests plentiful in trees and low in walking paths to coax in visitors, there was no ocean beneath, and it was positioned under an area of Plane 4 that didn't have an acid pool for skylengths (thereby sharply reducing the concerns related to leaks of quite literal acid rain). Location, location, location.

The only problem was, it was already occupied. And by a small retirement village of sorts, no less. A little retirement village, I couldn't help but notice, contrived namely of fairies. Forbidden from having nymphs, there were very few children holding claim to the houses there. Without a school or much of a market in the area, what younglings there were in the area had quickly grown restless. For centuries I had watched them, and for centuries had borne witness to so many eager, round-cheeked faces setting off for a more adventurous lifestyle, never to return.

I didn't have the money at that time- not yet, not yet. Nearly five centuries were spent with Wish Fixers as our one and only home. The break room became something of a bedroom for me, and a storage room with mattresses, blankets, and pillows suited my young fairies well enough. When I could afford the money, I eventually caved and snuck a real bedroom in too (Admittedly not one of my best ideas, for though I had picked up a few tips on architecture from China, my shaky magic - always accented by that high-pitched rattling noise - made working with floor plans and walls more difficult than I personally think it had to be).

No matter. As the years turned, so did my luck. I'd noticed my life seemed to cycle that way between the ups and downs, though often with a seemingly heavier focus upon the latter. I worked constantly at my business skills. I had six mouths to feed if we include my own (which I of course do), and I had long ago fallen into a pattern of clipping coupons and bartering for better deals that it soon became second nature to me. Apart from a few rare occasions when I was lured to slip a portion of my own money to those less fortunate than I (Oh Anti-Robin, I blame you for this entirely), I saved every el. I count it a blessing when I had the thought to return from a long day of work bearing groceries for myself alone. "I'm paying you all decent wages," I pointed out when my brood floated into the break room with complaints dancing on their lips. "The market isn't far and you all know the way. Get your fresh vegetables. Most of you know how to cook. If you have questions, you know where I set up my research library. I'll leave you to manage yourselves."

Struggles and sacrifice, soreness and sweat. I gathered my funds like a hen gathereth her kernels of golden grain. And certainly you know by now exactly what I did with that money, for I bought the whole village out. Hilarious what you can do when you wave enough dalia around.

Sanderson and I spent a Thursday there, lying on our backs in the fluffy purple and white offered by the clouds. Sprinkles of teal, cyan, and pink clung to the curls like seashells along the beach. Of course, the old houses would need to be knocked down, the clouds restructured, building lines redrawn, spring cleaning performed, maps adjusted, legal papers signed, and the evergreens of what in present day is known as Pixie Woods trimmed back; the place was a long way from finished, but I basked in its future all the same.

"This will make you happy?" Sanderson asked, gazing with me up at Plane 4's underside.

"Correction, Sanderson. It's going to make us happy. Think of it." I held my arms above my face and made a picture frame with the fingers of both hands. "A house, something like a great manor, tucked away here among the woods. Space for young juveniles such as yourself to wander and sit and fly about in. The clouds are continuous- none of that nonsense with the different gaps and layers that so often lend themselves to expensive accidents, falling Fairykind. I trust that it will be glorious. Here in the woods, we'll have no one much to answer to, no neighbors to bother us. No doorbell-ditching scamps, no nosy busybodies attempting to peek under pointed hats or elbow their way into my lovelife. If I want to stay up until three in the morning and blast my rave music, the only ones who will be here to complain are the handful of you. This out-of-the-way place has become mine, and after me, that of my successor."

He turned his head. "I'd like that, sir."

"Mmhm, yes, I imagine you would. And up here it will never snow, and every room will be heated enough that you won't be able to see your effervescence. Can you imagine that? Here in the cloudlands, Sanderson! Warmth!"

"Oh, don't stop."

"There will be a tall tower, so we can gaze across the forest with ease. We'll build you a place where you can sing. Hawkins can have an art studio. There will be a library for Wilcox, with a special reading room designed for Caudwell containing books with the words etched into old clay tablets. Certainly I'll include plenty of distractions for Longwood too. I'll arrange to put a storage shed over there, perhaps, and potentially another over there. We'll have a big sign, Sanderson, announcing who we are and what we do. And all the buildings will be in purple, of course. Or gray. I really only work in purple and gray."

Sanderson gave another mild groan, but this time it was one of disappointment, not of pleasure and excitement for the future. "I like red."

"That's too bad, because if that's your attitude, you leave me no choice but to name Longwood head of my decorating committee."

To the best extent of my frugal emotions, I was thrilled by this turn of events. It would be many months before anything was built and we could move in. I daydreamed of my secret kingdom constantly nonetheless, and have the scar across my left pointer finger - left there by a ceramic kitchen knife when I was distracted - to show for it. China had gotten to keep all her magically-crafted silverware after the divorce, and though I'd bought a set of my own, I kept this particular knife around… just in case I ever decided it was time to use it.

However, regardless of my ecstasy, I lacked the ability to speak for everyone. I'd bought the retirement town out at a price both sides, after months of argument, had agreed on. Obviously, some homes had sold better than others. A pair of little fairies and their cù sith chose to be particularly vocal about their thoughts on the matter. "You tore down our houses," was a thing they constantly said. "These were fine houses that've been standing here for thousands of years, and you tore through them like they were fried cheese sticks surrounded by marinara sauce."

"Yes. That's how the real world works."

"We had hoped to buy them back someday, when we could afford to," huffed the green-haired one. "When we were older. We didn't know you were taking them away for good."

"Yeah, what my brother said. We would have insisted you pay us more."

Every encounter with them left me massaging my temples. "One of you built a house completely of reinforced steel. Steel, though sturdy and well on its rise as a building material that allows for the addition of many towering floors, does not a pleasant aesthetic make. We agreed on the payment, and all transactions are final. Your old houses have been torn up by the foundations. You need a reality check."

At last they skimmed away grumbling and snorting, their puppy trotting at their heels with a tennis ball in his mouth. That's what they were: some little pigs, really.

For my next trick, when I could spare a weekend, I went northwest to Lau Rell again. This time, Sanderson stayed behind to look after the others. I didn't want him here. I didn't want any of them here. This was a goal on my to-do list that I would have to complete alone.

"Hello, this is Helping Hands Design," is how I was greeted when I floated through the front door, fiddling with one of my sleeves. The fairy behind the front counter tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear. "We work short notice and never quit until you're satisfied. My name is Astra. How may I help you?"

Before I could answer, a selkie approached down the hall, clutching bundles of parchment to her chest. "Here's that address you wanted," she said, planting a small one on Astra's left, and then she saw me as I reached to catch one of the papers that was slipping, and she stopped and stared as though her brain had switched to off. Then it flickered to life again. She stepped away. "What are you doing here?"

I looked her straight in the eyes. "I'm here on business, China. Not for a pleasure visit. I need an architect. A clever architect who believes she - or he - can design something that has never been designed before. May I schedule an appointment?"

"I don't want anything more to do with you."

Astra's gaze darted between us as I pulled out my checkbook and leaned forward on my arm. "Don't pretend you wouldn't be interested in 20,000. As a starting point, of course- you'll be paid more once I've reviewed the designs and the job is well under way."

China shifted her eyes left and right, then rubbed her brow. "I'm listening. Buy me a chocolate milkshake and let's talk."

We made the arrangements - she even accepted the job at a far-reduced price - and I went back to Novakiin purring inwardly like a sprite in the cream. Within two months, the inner and outer designs for every building were officially settled, and in another two all the clouds had been non-magically prepared and the foundation was set. The first walls were scheduled to be poofed up the following day after I gave my approval that everything was indeed in order; I planned to see it after my appointment with Dr. Ranen. I was just gathering my things together so I might bail early for the evening when someone pushed open my door.

"Next time, I'd rather you knock first," I said, and then looked up. My shoulders jumped. "Ambrosine. Hello."

"I'm sorry I didn't knock, Fergus. This place used to be mine and new habits are hard to come by. Thought I'd pop in and see how you're taking care of my business. And, your birthday's chugging around the next bend in the road, so I got you something early." He placed a purple gift bag on the edge of my desk and slid it over. "Open up."

Not taking my eyes of him, I did. The cloth inside was gray. It had sleeves when I flapped it out.

"Ah, a new suit coat. Thank you. My other ones are all beginning to wear and tear." I folded it up and placed it back in its bag. Then I rested my hands on the edge of the desk, thumbs pressed lightly to the underside. "Was there anything else that brought you here?"

He smiled wryly. "Word on the street's that you're up to your crown in some new project. It's supposed to be big. And expensive. Can I hear the details?"

"Certainly. I've purchased a plot of cloud nearly above an area on Earth where I used to live in my wandering days. The action is purely sentimental. I intend to have a home - a cabin of sorts, and for storage too - built in the area. I have the money for it. It's near enough to will o' the wisp territory that the price isn't terribly expensive. The business won't go under, or even suffer at all. Trust me, Ambrosine. I know what I'm doing."

"Awfully far off," he noted, tapping his thumb against his teeth. "You'll have to poof, and with so many in your little family, that will get expensive soon. Funny. I didn't peg you for the sentimental type."

"I lived near the area for centuries. It's a nice place to go when I need to be away from it all."

"Mm. Heard you went up to Lau Rell just before your newest was born. What's his name?" He glanced towards the corner, where I'd put the cardboard box lined with blankets. "Madigan?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Yes, I did. I needed an architect for my new residence. I'm not good with poofing up buildings. If there's a structure in place then I can improve its outward appearance, but everything I build up from the ground myself tends to fall over. You know my magic is scattered around the edges. I calculated that it would be cheaper to have someone else do the work for me rather than attempt to fumble through it myself for a result of poorer quality."

Ambrosine leaned across the desk, taking off his spectacles. "So what you're saying is, you paid a visit up to Lau Rell, which happens to be your ex-wife's place of residence, in search of an architect, which happens to be her occupation, and three months later you happened to give birth to another nymph."

"I went there purely on business," I snapped back. "You can ask her yourself."

"That crimson color your neck is turning beneath your freckles suggests you got a little more out of your visit when you went. I always did wonder how you were so good at striking up such favorable business deals."

"How dare- In my own- After all the- When you know perfectly well I- I have a scrying bowl right here in my drawer. You can ask China with your own tongue."

He leaned back, palms balanced on the edge of my desk. "I'm just curious, Fergus. You can't seem to commit to a mate, or lack of one. Especially with this 'new residence' under construction, are you really committed to the family business?"

"Is that what this is about? The presents were all a farce?" I shoved the bag further aside. "I can do this, Ambrosine. I'm managing fine. Wish Fixers is prospering. You don't need to worry. The business is in capable hands."

He pointed his spectacles at me before they went back on his nose. "You don't want me for an enemy. No more nymphs. I know you don't like to quit at anything, except for school, but isn't seven enough?"

"I'd have settled for Sanderson! Madigan's crown is proof he isn't China's, and I haven't copulated with any other damsel. It's that will o' the wisp who imprisoned me in her burrow for a year. Too much sperm and it fertilized multiple eggs. I told you this. It's the only explanation."

As Ambrosine left, he shook his head and said again, "No more nymphs. Or I'm buying you back out. We both know I can."

I put my head in my hands. But after feeling sorry for myself for only a few wingbeats, I got up from my desk and went over to the corner. After I'd hovered above Madigan's box for a moment with my hands clasped behind my back, just studying that square face, I sent Zachary's secretary upstairs to take over window-washing duty from Sanderson. He entered my office, straightening his tie.

"Sir?"

"It's nearly closing time. I've scheduled an appointment with Dr. Ranen so he might take a look at Madigan, and he'll also check Wilcox's fagiggly gland for any signs of strain. I'm leaving you in charge of making sure the others eat dinner and get to bed. Lock up-"

"You're leaving again?" he burst out. I took off my glasses.

"Sanderson, I was talking. You know where to find the yale meat-"

Sanderson shook his head. "I want to come with you, sir."

"I'll only be gone for perhaps two hours. You can last without me for that long. You do just fine here at Wish Fixers."

"That's different," he whined. "When I'm here, you are too, sir. But if you leave, how do I know you're going to come back?"

"Don't I always come back?"

He locked his fingers together. "Please let me come. I won't get in your way."

So I called upon Hawkins instead. He was more than glad not to return to that facility, and once I found Wilcox, I spun my wand and the four of us poofed together up to Faeheim.

"Ow!" was the first thing I heard after reintegrating us in front of the hospital reception desk. Wilcox hit the ground.

"Drop your starpieces!"

I squinted through eyes that still hadn't finished reforming, searching for the source of the damseline voice. "What?"

"I said, drop your starpieces! I shot an inrita arrow through the hand of your middle son over there to kill his magic supply. You won't be able to poof him anywhere until it wears off. We'll ensure he receives SHAMPAX if you follow our instructions, but he'll be dead in fifteen minutes if you choose not to cooperate. These other arrows aimed at all of you are tipped with self-loathing, and one scratch will send you spiraling downward in despair anyway. Drop. Your. Stars."

My vision cleared before she finished up. Two pink-haired cherub damsels - one with a braid and one with a pegasus tail - hovered on either my left or right with three black arrows notched to each bow and drawn back to their cheeks. Every point was pinned on us. About a dozen drakes stood around us in a circle, posed in a similar fashion. A fat white cù sith spotted with red sat at attention near the door, crown bobbing and wings aflutter. Wilcox had curled up on his side, clutching his hand as the poison seeped through his veins, visible in a trickling black sludge beneath his skin. Just like a brownie bite. I allowed my wand to clatter against the ground. Sanderson's and Madigan's joined it in quick succession.

"That's right- Wings down, on your knees, hands behind your necks." The cherub with the braid - her face was vaguely familiar - twisted so the heart-shaped clasp on the lapel of her rosy-pink business suit caught the light. "My name is Venus Eros, Triplet of the Morning, and you're under arrest by the authority of the Aphrodite Protocol."

Drawing my wing around Sanderson as I knelt against the hard tile, I protested, "On what grounds specifically, might I ask?"

Venus didn't bat an eyelash. "Bearing nymphs without copulating with a damsel."

My gaze flashed to the wall behind her, where an imp in purple scrubs stood shaking with another arrow aimed at his lower half. Dr. Ranen. His antennae trembled. Otherwise, the area had been cleared of bystanders, including the receptionist. I'd seen scuffled papers and overturned inkwells all about her desk before I'd dropped.

Sanderson crouched still as he'd been instructed to with only a faint tremor running along his wings. Wilcox let a tiny whimper seep out from between his lips. When I briefly slipped into field-vision, I saw all three of his magic lines lying limp around him like spaghetti noodles. As Venus and the second damsel circled us, Madigan began to wail in front of me. Grimacing, I glanced up at Venus for permission to pick him up again. Her simmering eyes dared me to remove my hands from my neck. The sound went on.

She nodded in my direction. "Tag him, Charite."

A muscle in my cheek may have jumped once or twice, but I forced myself to stare straight ahead, emotionless, unblinking, until the pegasus-tailed cherub withdrew the point of her white arrow and allowed my forehead dome to fall shut. She rotated the shaft around and around in her fingers. After several seconds, words seared their way across it in gold print.

"His name is Fergus Whimsifinado. Fertilized at precisely 2:27 on a Wednesday morning in the middle of the Autumn of the Fallen Mountain by the egg of Ambrosine Whimsifinado and sperm of Solara Wurpixiz."

"Of course it would be Wednesday. Note that, Lucius. Now, tag the smaller one."

Sanderson pressed his nose into my elbow, but Charite straightened him out and swiped a clean arrow around his head. She pulled it back, examined it, then flipped it around so I could see the shaft blink its segments one at a time: Fergus Whimsifinado - 2:27 Wednesday - Autumn of the Fallen Mountain - Egg: Ambrosine Whimsifinado - Sperm: Solara Wurpixiz. Then it repeated the cycle. Uncomprehending, I stared back.

"That's my name. It would seem your technology needs to be upgraded."

Her feathered wings bristling, Venus said, "Our technology is fine, thank you. Charite, show him the nymph's."

Charite scooped up Madigan as he continued to whimper and used her wing to flip his lid. When she displayed his arrow, I could only raise my eyebrows. All the information was identical. Every detail. So was Wilcox's.

"Explain."

"The Spring of the Charged Waters was almost exactly three thousand years ago," I pointed out. Pressing my fingers deeper into my neck, I gazed up at Venus- at the swell of her cheeks, the ripple of her jacket, and the way she pulled back all of her hair into her braid except for one single swirl across the forehead. "That's when Sanderson was born- I remember it exactly. He'd obviously be my age if born in the Year of the Fallen Mountain. He's not Ambrosine's child. The error has to be on your side."

"Eros technology is automated and flawless, and has been since Aengus of the Tuatha Dé Danann bestowed us with our sacred duties, may the Lost Ancients return from their underground prison. Can you explain to us why his DNA reads as yours?"

"What?" I asked, still squinting at her face.

Venus took a flutter closer, never once lowering her bow and three black arrows. "Our categorizing system does not make mistakes, Whimsifinado. This good doctor here tells us that two thousand years ago, your fallopian tubes were disrupted, and yet it's known that you have given birth since. Unfortunately, he did not contact us with this valuable information until yesterday."

Behind her, Dr. Ranen swallowed and pressed his wings closer to the wall. My eyes widened of their own accord. "Pip!"

She ignored me. "Good doctor, will you conduct another of those examinations you were telling us about now that he's here?"

"I need my wand for-"

"You don't. Show me his dome."

I noticed the three small cherubs lingering behind Venus' back for the first time as Dr. Ranen tugged at his gloves and flew over. "Those your nymphs, madam?"

"Yes; finally triplets, and the next in the Eros line. Cupid, Lucius, and Apuleius." Venus came closer to peer inside my forehead chamber, though she dipped her black arrows only slightly. That brought one of them in line with the spot exactly between my eyes, and I repeated to myself that magical objects could not kill a magical being. It didn't make me want to get scratched by its tip any more.

"S-see, his tube doesn't continue down through the rear of the neck. It c-curls somehow under the egg n-nest bubble. I don't know- that's all I know. They didn't teach us this in school."

At last, Venus passed her weapons off to the young Cupid. But then she did something I wasn't expecting. She leapt towards me, in the process morphing into a pink dragonfly. In she went.

"That's…" Dr. Ranen let his hand fall. "That's not sanitary. We're really not supposed to do that."

I watched Cupid fumble to notch and re-notch his mother's arrows, because it kept my mind off the scratchy dragonfly. After a few moments, Venus flew out again and popped into her natural form. She glowered at her sleeve as she dusted it off.

"Charite, I'm going to need a second opinion."

She nodded and passed Madigan off to her sister. After springing into the shape of a pink beetle of some such, she began crawling around in my head too. Dr. Ranen squirmed, fingers twitching. Sanderson scooted a little closer to me.

Charite returned and, still in beetle form, perched on the lip of my head. "Was that actually a-?"

"Yes."

"But there's no way that can be-"

"Yes."

"And were his eggs fully-?"

"Yes. Ludell and I saw the same structure when we took a look at that green anti-fairy while you were on your shift." Venus tapped her badge with a fingernail, producing a solid clicking sound like raindrops. "Everyone, back to the Nest. You too, Whimsifinado, under the authority of the Aphrodite Protocol."

I took my hands from my neck and braced them on the floor. "I'm sorry. You can't do that. I'm scheduled to have a doctor's appointment right now."

"If it's anything like your appointments in the past, you won't be needing to. We'll take care of it. That reminds me. Doctor, you're coming with us. Aphrodite Protocol," she finished, killing his argument before it started. The imp closed his mouth.

"What's the Aphrodite Protocol, sir?" whispered Sanderson. He'd removed his hands as soon as I had.

"Lets the Eroses butt in and do whatever they want," I muttered back. "Anything concerning nymphs or reproduction." Louder, "What about Wilcox? The one you shot?"

Wilcox couldn't so much as raise his head. His mouth was open, his eyes unfocused. Half of me wondered if rigor mortis had overtaken him, as it does in the Earthen animals who don't go dusty when their core gives out. Never before and never since have I witnessed any magical being fall into quite that state of paralysis without a wisp kiss, and even then he should have been able to blink. It appeared as though he'd been frozen on the furthest lip of death. Venus tossed him a vague sideways glance.

"Three of my assistants will remain behind to ensure he receives SHAMPAX at regular intervals, and when the inrita poison wears off, he will be returned to your place of residence and compensated. However, until he does, for your sake as much as his I would highly suggest you make this as easy on me as possible." She drew her wand. With a single motion, she poofed the rest of us across the cloudlands.

I didn't like that. It would have been both simple and cheaper for her to order her cherubs to teleport themselves. It probably cost her a straight million, and that was before current inflation. She was showing off to cow me into submission. And it worked.

"So that's what my tax dollars are going towards," I managed when we had all rematerialized in a dark, round room.

"A small portion of what I receive, perhaps."

When my disoriented vision finally swam into full focus again, my wings pricked up along my back. I knew this place. I'd never seen it in person - very few ever had the fortune or misfortune to - but it matched the description of Sparkle's Academy boasts in addition to the stuff of legends.

Pale pink panels - screens and monitors of every kind: measuring pulses, running equations, and just generally spying on a choice few of the lovey-dovey couples in the known universe - glowed along the available space of every single wall like pale forest mushrooms. With the room being an octagon, that was quite the amount of surface space. There were hundreds- I calculated quickly and came up with a thousand four hundred and twelve. Every few seconds, the majority of the monitors flipped to display new images. For the next several minutes, I'd glance regularly at them in search of anybody I knew. With the exception of a few faces I thought I might have seen in passing throughout my life, the monitors didn't appear to be running any information that would be of particular interest or use in this scenario, so they won't be mentioned again.

The screens were eye-catching, but really it was the dark that I might remember most. There were no candles burning, no lanterns aglow. No fireplace or match or futuristic technology. The only light came from the thousand dim screens; otherwise, the room was bathed with shadows. And somehow, they weren't the comfortingly familiar type of shadows, like those you may skim though because they keep the sunlight off your head. This darkness crushed. It lay no cold finger upon me. Not in a physical sense. But something… something in the taste of the air, or the negative bias I felt after witnessing how Charite and Venus had treated my three offspring (and me), generally hushed me like a warning.

I turned my eyes around the room again. Spots of glowing colors popped out in the corners: a bright row of multicolored vials along the shelves here, a quiver of suspicious-looking arrows tossed across the coffee table there. A couch made from smooth, green material glinted on my left as the twinkle of Venus's wand reflected off its slimy surface. Behind me, towards the north, there seemed to be a single hallway. It too remained clothed in darkness until it neared its end. In front of me, across the octagon, a cherub with his pink hair trimmed into a crew cut (since now I know the word for it) sat in a scooped blue chair like an egg, swishing a mug of what I presume was coffee in his hand. Dr. Ranen squirmed beside him, wringing his hands and refusing to connect his gaze to mine.

"Holy smoof," I muttered. "We're inside the Love Nest's control room."

The cherub in the seat spun his chair halfway around to take us in. "You're just in time," he said. "The Yugopotamian king and queen will be mating in a few minutes. Three years from now, the next prince or princess will be born."

"I'm glad I came with you, sir," whispered Sanderson before I could decide on a sarcastic quip to make that would declare my lack of interest in such information. "Otherwise you may not have come back."

When I turned my head to look at him, I realized with dread that Sanderson certainly wasn't going to allow me to leave anywhere else without him for as long as he still had wings to beat.

"No more talking," Venus ordered after demanding her brother face forward again, so there was no more talking at all.

Chapter Text

Origin of the Pixies

ACT 2: LEAP

How to Yoo-Doo

Winter of the Last Hippocampus - Spring of the Dipping Moon

Venus Serafina Eros was glorious in the rosy lights of the control room. I've never been the sort to crave kisses enough to seek them out myself, but I've also never been opposed to them, and as I knelt there on the floor with my arms around Madigan's stomach and Sanderson clinging to my elbow, I wanted to sweep her off her feet and swing her around so badly. Why not? Sparkle did it. And I was beginning to realize, at her approach, that she really wasn't as tall as she had appeared to be when bearing down with her bow and arrow. In actuality she was shorter than I was and would fit well in my arms if we danced.

Oh, perhaps it was the braid- I might have some trace of Ambrosine in me after all. It could also be the bragging rights. After all, who wouldn't wish to boast to Kiiloëi that they had spent a night with the universe-renowned love goddess, the queen supreme, the empress of… Well, perhaps I'd better not go there. Of course, once I rose to power my pool of potential damsels widened considerably, but I don't see why all the related details are relevant to this text, so we won't be delving into that (Yet Venus remains outside my grasp even now, no matter what presents I shower with. Pity, really).

Inviting as she was to trail my eyes across, I wished we met under better circumstances. I was not particularly fond of the way she bore down on me with that steely ice blue gaze (lovely and strict as I found her irises to be). Although she floated rather than walked, her wings made the equivalent sound of clipping high heels on marble floor as she approached, as if the hundred or so arrows still aimed at me and the two little fairies from whom I hadn't been separated hardly registered as blips on her radar; they weren't directed at her, so I suppose they didn't. Chin high, shoulders up, back straight. Her pink business suit and long red skirt left everything to the imagination, her mouth formed a bitter straight line at a tilt like a backslash, the rosy gleam of the flickering monitors rippled over her like light filtering through a set of half-closed blinds with every step (Dear Nuada, she was my dreams personified, and I found myself squeezing Madigan tighter and pressing my tongue into my cheek when she finally stopped just in front of me).

Venus had asked us not to speak, so I didn't respond when she drawled my full name again as though she were encountering me for the first time. She peered down over her heavily-powdered cheeks at I who knelt on the ground, resisting the urge to kiss the toes of her polished black shoes. Damsel pheromones carried limited command over gynes, but hers filled my jaws and nose nonetheless.

Her arm flew out to the side. She pointed at Dr. Ranen without turning around to look at him and motioned him forward with a few impatient circles of her wrist. The way he approached, antennae bobbing, made his hastiness and reluctance simultaneously clear, but he stood himself on the floor beside her. He accidentally met my gaze, but not for long.

"Your full report, good doctor."

Dr. Ranen started in with his usual babbling, telling his observations of the inside of our forehead chambers and the nature of the tubes down our spines in a manner that suggested he'd given her the gist before (presumably in a letter, making him a backstabber in both senses of the word) and was merely filling in details. As they spoke, I slid one arm behind Sanderson's neck and brought my hand up to the other side in order to shield his peripheral vision from a few screens on his right.

"… but we've never known what to do with this information, and how to confirm any hypotheses, or even know what hypotheses to make," Dr. Ranen finished. He was doing the hand-wringing thing again, making a motion with two fingers up and down the middle of the other hand as though he were playing with a wedding ring. "I haven't been in the field for all that long, really - just a hundred thousand years next week - but of course, as I told you before, I did all that external research, and there has simply never been a case like this before documented in the medical books from here across the cosmos…"

"Hmm…" Again, Venus looked me up and down while I averted my eyes so she didn't think I was doing the same to her. She tapped her chin with a broken nail. "Someone's body here is playing by a more primordial set of rules. I for one still hold to my belief that when we start looking around inside of you, we'll find we're a bit lacking in sperm. But, your reproductive system seems to have taken care of that minor detail on its own, hasn't it? Genetically-identical offspring, of course- it explains everything."

This time, Dr. Ranen and I did glance at one another and hold. I flashed back to Wilcox's textbook, with the trees and the vegetative reproduction. My fingers tightened, pinching Madigan until he squealed. At Charite's signal, I set him down and climbed to my feet (with Sanderson just behind). "Are you saying what I think you're… Is that possible?"

"There are ways one can test such things scientifically. But yes, from my standpoint, you do appear to be the sole parent of your offspring; sire without dam." Venus called for one of the cherubs to search out a Fergus Whimsifinado from the Winter of the Fallen Mountain, and a few minutes later he poofed back with a bin. It bulged with files, but I only studied them for a second, because Venus picked up a soft object lying on top of them - a soft object with a little gray hat sewn onto its head, as were its oval-shaped glasses - and drew my attention back to her. "Sanderson, do you know what this is?"

He nibbled on his lower lip. "Is that a yoo-doo doll? Uh, Mr. Fergus's yoo-doo doll? Wilcox told me he learned about those in school. There's, um, only one of each being in existence, except of the Unseelie Court, who share their counterpart's dolls. These dolls, once their fabric is bathed in Kiiloëi's water, become a perfect likeness of the being, and what's done to the doll happens to that being too. And…" His eyes moved around the chamber. "They're all… here. Somewhere in the Nest, in storage."

"Yes. Now, we're going to perform an experiment. I'm going to lightly twist a part of this doll. Please signal if you feel it."

She tugged on the hair sticking out from behind the doll's hat. Sanderson and I both raised our hands, and glanced at one another.

"That doesn't prove anything," I said. "We could see you."

"Very well." Venus turned her back, and ordered Sanderson and I to face away from one another. She waited for almost a full minute before pulling on my right foot, then tickled beneath my left arm. I lifted my hand again. When I glanced back, Sanderson had his up as well.

Venus put the doll (gently) against her hip. "Sanderson, I did two things just now. What was the first one?"

"You moved the doll's leg, like you wanted to take off my shoe. This one."

"And then?" she asked, looking to me.

"My… left arm, underneath. No, no, I still won't believe it. He's cheating. He looked. He guessed."

Shaking her head, Venus tossed the doll across the room to Charite, by the right-hand wall. A split-second later, Sanderson and I were both in the air. We flew sideways without beating our wings, slammed into one of the monitors (Sanderson into me), and slid down. One of the cherubs, fortunately, had the brains to drop his bow and catch Madigan instead, so at least I had one charge who wouldn't be suffering from a bruised head or wing.

I wriggled out from under my firstborn. "But- but that doesn't make sense! How can my doll affect him? His DNA couldn't be a match… unless…" I pressed my brows together. "Time travel. I'm really… Ambrosine? Oh dust, I'm Ambrosine! I'm smoofing Ambrosine! That's why I never met my mother! She doesn't really exist!"

Venus sighed. "Time travel is not the reason. Your father has the anax wings of a full-blooded fairy, direct muscular structure included. Very different from yours. And anyhow, the arrow we scraped your forehead with wouldn't have brought up your mother's DNA."

"Oh. Right." Embarrassed, I shuffled my wings. And his eyes were dark blue, his face round, his ears pointed at the tips. And Praxis existed. Still, it would have been a fascinating plot twist.

"Of course," she continued as her sister placed the yoo-doo doll delicately in her outstretched palm, "as you can clearly see, such an unusual development must be studied in detail. Identical twins or triplets being matched to the same yoo-doo doll is of course an event I see on a regular basis. But witnessing this across generations is highly unusual." And then, while I was still processing her words, she strode past me and continued into the hall beyond. "If you would please, the four of you - yes, Dr. Ranen, I'm including you in this - follow after me, I will show you to your chambers for the foreseeable future. I anticipate you being here for at least a few hundred years."

"Our…" My wings went stiff. I cupped one hand to my mouth. "No. Your menagerie? No. Absolutely not!" I addressed Charite first and then, when she didn't show expression, whipped around with my long wings sweeping out behind me like a cape. "If no one else, I am over age of majority, and I hold the legal ability to speak on behalf of my offspring. You can't make us stay here. I have rights."

My legs jerked into action of their own accord. Sanderson, moving as stiffly as I was, walked down the hallway beside me. "The Aphrodite Protocol trumps all," Venus said, never slowing, never checking back over her slim shoulder. "You will be compensated."

I gave up struggling against the hold of the doll a minute or so in, grateful, at least, that I was able to peer over my shoulder and ensure Madigan hadn't been left behind in the dark. He nestled now in Dr. Ranen's arms. Fussy and twitching, but quiet. In the control room behind, I heard voices and rustling fabric. Cherubs lowered their bows. This job for them was done, and now they would be pausing for coffee breaks, or leaving the facility to head home altogether.

We turned another corner at the end of the hall, and Venus used a shoulder and wing to push open a door labeled Employee Access Only. Doll or no doll urging me onward, I had to stop and stare for a beat. Windows spread down the length of this new hall, which opened like a gaping whale's mouth and stretched both high and low for many levels. Above gleamed brightness and sunshine, and far below drawled with deep and dark. I heard water sloshing. Many of the rooms had metal landings positioned outside their long windows, connected by bridges and walkways, but other "chambers" seemed to be accessible by flight alone. As we abandoned the smaller hallway for this great room, the metal clanged beneath my heels. I lingered as long as I could near one window to my right that had a plaque hanging beside it reading 'Kobolds'. Sure enough, four or five drakes with brown faces, colored top hats, and ladybird wings were whistling and clapping in time with the two damsels who spun around and around in their circle.

"Every species across the universe is represented here in the Eros Nest," Venus told me as though she'd read my thoughts. She had to tilt back her head in order to peer up at me, even though the rest of her hair remained drawn back in its usual braid. "Some of them are prisoners relocated from Abracatraz, while some are volunteers who were homeless or starving or who simply wished to bow out of the rat race. Many are simple animals, but all are here and sheltered and cared for."

"What are they, sir?" Sanderson asked, pointing through another window down the hall. Venus had let up on the yanking routine, so he was able to take a long look. "They're weird."

The enclosure he was examining appeared barren and bleak, strewn with pebbles and sand. Water flowed in an endless cycle from a high point among some boulders, then disappeared through a crack in the wall. I leaned in, and my hypothesis proved correct when I spotted a green tentacle curling away into a crevice. "I'd rather you didn't call the Yugopotamians weird. They're Great Dawners who fought alongside our ancestors the Aos Sí in ancient times, remember?"

He pressed his mouth to the glass, leaving an irritating smudge. "Oh, is that how they look? I always thought they'd be more… Fairy-like. Are the king and queen in here?"

"No. They'll be back on their home planet of Yugopotamia. The Eroses just enjoy nosing into everybody's private business."

Sanderson's face fell. "I wanted to see the new prince or princess. Then in another two hundred thousand years or something, when he's the king or queen, I could tell everyone I knew him when he was small. Or she."

"You may as well change your future plans. Yugopotamians live incredibly short lifespans compared to us- something like a hundred and fifty, two hundred years. I believe some of them get up to a two hundred and twenty, though that isn't particularly common. Just in the space between you and Hawkins, they'd have gone through perhaps as many as three prince or princesses for their kings and queens."

"Oh. That's sad."

"This way, please," Venus called. I wiped the smudge away with my sleeve as best I could, and we abandoned the sight and floated after her. I allowed Sanderson to move ahead, thoughtfully zigzagging between the exhibits we passed. "What about them?" he constantly badgered me, gesturing to something like wolves with pelts (literally, always) the same deep blue as the night sky, and through my yawn I might say, "Them? Those are foops". When Dr. Ranen began to pick up the pace, I held out my arms in request to take Madigan back. At least when I was holding something warm against my chest, it helped to take my mind a bit off this dreadful parade. I just had to hope Venus didn't begin to play with the doll's hands. After what she'd done to Wilcox with no regrets, I wasn't keen to see what she might do to a nymph. Especially indirectly.

It took five minutes, but she finally found the place she was looking for. With us in tow, Venus flew three levels up and lighted on a metal landing. Beyond the windows, three great white birch trees decorated with more platforms, vines, and treehouses took up most of the area, though a waterfall and stream glittered near the opposite wall and boulders were strewn in a haphazard manner. Fresh green grass spread along the ground, fading to sand near the water's edge. The ceiling was painted red-blue like the coming sunset. Sanderson went rigid.

"Is this where we're staying?"

"Does it fit your needs?"

"It's beautiful. Like a royal castle courtyard."

I narrowed my eyes as Venus opened the door and guided us through. "Each of those treehouses contains two beds with pillows and sheets like what you are all probably used to," she said. "Of course, you are also welcome to sleep anywhere in the branches or the ground if you'd really rather. The waste cave is to the left over there, and on the right back in the corner is the thermal cave, always heated for if you get cold. If you like you may swim or bathe beneath the waterfall, though there are also private and more modern showers through the crevice in the rock beneath it. You'll receive three meals a day; breakfast and lunch you may request, but your evening meal will adhere to a strict diet for health purposes and is mandatory. Understandably, you will be prohibited from all access to wands, potions, and spellbooks. If you ever find yourself in some sort of emergency, press that red button up on the wall there above the door. Are there any questions?"

"Are those trees fake?" I asked.

"They are. There's no wind or wild storms in there to strengthen their roots and trunks, so real ones cannot survive. However, most everything else is as natural as can be."

"Natural," I repeated, brushing my hand across the grass. Sanderson had found a boulder to perch on from which he could survey his new empire. I'd set Madigan down and he now stood at its base, whining incoherently for a boost. I snapped my fingers to get them both to follow me (and Dr. Ranen after them) as Venus left us. We first examined the running water - cold and, just like Kalysta's burrow, too shallow to drown in - and then headed to the thermal cave in the back.

As it turned out, we weren't alone. Two figures clung upside-down to some sort of fixture along the roof of the cave, their leathery wings snuggled around awful clashing fabric - one cape, one jacket - which dangled by their ears. I stopped beating my own wings enough that my shoes brushed the uneven rocky floor. "Anti-Fergus! And Anti-Sanderson!"

They opened their eyelids to cracks. "Fairy-Fergus?" murmured the larger one.

"You're back," Anti-Sanderson said when he spotted Dr. Ranen.

"It's me." I glanced around as Anti-Sanderson released his perch and landed alongside us. "Are there any more of you?"

Anti-Fergus rubbed his hand against his forehead. "One, soon. To match your little skipper there."

"Of course. Anti-Madigan."

"But," he said, tilting his head, "he don't sound or look much like a selkie cross, either. That's not their crown."

I pressed my lips together as Dr. Ranen glanced my way. "The cherubs are looking for answers. Venus has suspicions."

"Fairy-Fergus." A warning note crept into his voice. "I don't much like Anti-China. Make her back off."

Finally deciding to ignore the doctor completely in favor of the question that had been burning on my tongue for fifteen minutes now, I set my hands to my waist. "Why didn't you ever tell me you snogged Venus Eros? If I'd been you, I'd have boasted to high beyond."

He rubbed his eyes and gave me a bewildered look. "What?"

"Venus Eros! Venus Eros, arguably the most famous and definitely most alluring Fairy in existence since Ilisa Maddington herself. She's fierce, independent, unemotional, and I want to hear this story immediately. What does she kiss like?"

"I don't r'member doin' that. Did she tell yew that happened? Ah reckon Ah'd 'member if that happened."

"Oh. Right. The honey-lock sync doesn't work without mating." I made as though stomping my foot while I hovered. Imagine the headlines: Bizarre Green Anti-Fairy Pursues Triplet of the Morning.

Dr. Ranen's antennae flattened like the ears of a crockeroo. "Wait," Anti-Fergus said, reasoning this through. "If yew t'ought I got the primary counterpart, does that mean yew tried ta-?"

Abandoning the thermal cave, I skimmed back to the door of the enclosure and patted its edges with my hands. The only handle was on the outside, and even my nails couldn't fit through the gaps near the frames. Sanderson joined me after a few minutes.

"I've started to feel… strange ever since we walked in here, sir," he admitted. "Very cold up and down my skin, but not… cold."

"Ah. Prickly? Like you want to itch, but scratching your skin has as little effect as though you were made of ice? The sensation burns quite strongly along your forearms and lower legs, but across your shoulders especially, as though that's the place the ice is thickest and impenetrable?"

He nodded. I rose a little higher in the air, still rubbing the pads of my fingers along the window seams as my teeth tightened more and more. "The good news is, you aren't sick. So far. But that sounds like the Finella reflex to me. I feel it too, though you're the firstborn of a firstborn, while Ambrosine was third in his family. Your senses are stronger than mine."

"I haven't heard of the Finella reflex, sir."

"She was a coworker of the famous Rhoswen of the ancient days. Hasn't this come up? Oh, never mind. It's sometimes called 'cold shoulder syndrome'." I waved a hand vaguely behind me to indicate the thermal cave. "It's the instinct genetically wired in members of the Seelie Court to spread goodness and destroy evil. Put another way, your biological need to kill Anti-Sanderson is acting up now that you're in his presence."

Sanderson hovered for a moment without moving. "Is that possible? Killing an Anti-Fairy?"

I brought my cheek to the upper part of the door, searching out even the smallest gaps in the room design. Our wands had been confiscated, of course, and with them our ability to shapeshift, but if I could just find some sign that escape was even possible… "Not without killing yourself," I said back to him, "but the instinct won't push you that far. Anti-Fairies hold the power of regeneration, and would just reform if you hurt them in a way that might kill a Seelie. Takes them minutes, or hours. They always come back. They don't have a choice. Just try to ignore it. Fortunately, you should be able to; we stand mostly on neutral ground, where your pheromones have not been laid down as thickly as his. If we were back at Wish Fixers and he strolled in through the front door, that might be a more aggressive story. It's a game of magnets. Horrid, angry magnets."

"What's your ruling on me killing him, then? If he'll regenerate."

"I don't care much what you do here so long as it has no adverse effects on me," I growled. Sanderson pricked to attention and floated to my side, but though we pressed and scratched and pulled, the door refused to pop open.

"Aphrodite Protocol or not, there has to be a law against this," I snarled to myself, tearing up clumps of grass.

"Are you well, sir? You seem-"

I rounded on him. "If you've ever wondered why I never brought you to the zoo, this is what it's like. We're prisoners- don't you get it? We're nothing to them. Not as sentients. We're only checkmarks on their list."

He lowered his gaze. "Is Wilcox going to be all right?"

My wings drooped. I rubbed my temples with my thumbs. "Assuming that Venus really did keep to her promise of instructing her assistants to share magic with him to prevent asphyxiation, then yes. He should recover in a few days and they'll take him back to Wish Fixers. I imagine he can tell the others what happened then."

I started to turn back to the door, but as I did so, Sanderson took his teeth from his lip and whispered, "Why did you lie to me forever, sir?"

"Hm?"

"You told me I wasn't your son. You always said I was… Sanders' son."

I removed my glasses and held them in my lap without breaking eye contact. "Sanderson, as far as I'm concerned, you are Sanders' son. If anyone ever asks, I expect you to say as much. You may even tell them how proud the drake who bears that name is of you, and how he would sell his wings if it meant he didn't have to lose you. That is your Sanders, you may say. Anything you want. I don't care. But you are not Fergus' son, have never been Fergus' son, nor will Fergus ever claim you as such."

He studied me, shoulders slumping, then shook his head. "According to Venus Eros, that's not quite true. You're my father, sir, however much you try to deny it."

"'Father' implies affection incorrectly. I am your sire. I father nymphs, and I raised you because you exist. But I'm not your father. I'm not your daddy, nor anyone's daddy. I'm your employer who expects to be treated as such in a professional manner." The glasses went back on my face. I pushed them up my nose with one finger and turned my back. "You are attached to me, Sanderson, but you believe in an idea that does not exist. I feel nothing for you. Our relationship is strictly professional, and you need to understand that. You apparently being… a younger version of myself changes nothing. You can't force me to love you, no matter what the size of your bribe."

The grass crunched. Sanderson walked in a careful circle around to my front, his arms crossed, and peered at me hard.

"Fine," he said as his lower lip began to tremble again. His right fingers closed over the knuckles of his left hand. "Th-then you can't force me to change my feelings, either. You're… You're… You're the entirety of my universe, sir. There's no one I would prefer to be around more- no employer, no coworker, no damsel. You're to me what I think fagigglyne is to Wilcox. You don't hear the music in my ears when I see you knotting your tie across the breakfast table as your eyes skim across the words of some project from yesterday that you fell asleep before finishing. Maybe you're never going to understand how it feels to just… look at you, sir, to just… just respect you and everything I've seen you push through. Even before what Venus told us today, I've somehow always… When I look at you…"

He tilted his head. "I think, 'That's me someday'. I see everything I want to be when I'm older, just barely out of my grasp. You always know how to solve problems and you always make the right choices. You make me not want to be just plain Sanderson anymore. You make me want to be the greatest Sanderson ever. When you're here, I remember that it's possible to reach my goals. Suddenly I can do anything. I don't need you to be one of those fathers who takes us to the zoo or teaches us how to play saucerbee, sir. That doesn't matter to me. I just need you to be a stable force like a mountain that I can look towards when I'm growing concerned, at times like this, s-so I remember that… it's all going to be okay. I just need you to never abandon me. That's, erm… That's how I feel, sir. A-and you can try to pay me to change, but I won't, because I just can't."

We stared at one another in absolute silence, absolute stillness. I watched his face turn pinker with every few passing seconds. His wings twitched forward near either side of his waist. Finally I said, "You forget, perhaps, that the winter of my birth occurred in the Year of the Fallen Mountain. They're not as stable as you seem to believe they are. You're a smoof if you believe wasting your time and energy on someone who will never return your affections is going to change something between us. Nonetheless, I accept your statement of loyalty. Go examine those treehouses, and then later I want you to shower before you get off to bed."

"Yes, sir."

As he left, I massaged my brow. What was I to do with him?

As Venus had promised, the rocks beneath the waterfall concealed a cave where we could all shower. Once I'd come out, still rubbing Madigan down with his towel (and Dr. Ranen with us, since he'd looked the nymph over to make up as best he could for the appointment we'd missed yesterday), I intercepted Anti-Sanderson and sent my Sanderson in instead. As the green anti-fairy scrunched his offended nose at me, I demanded, "What is Anti-Fergus to you, Ennet?"

"What's he to me, eh?" He squished his lips between thumb and middle claw. "Well, he's my pop. He gave birth ta my lifesmoke before Dame Sandy and I went hunting for Sandy Prime. Y'know, to absorb his core and stuff three months afte' he got himself born, like we do. Took us like three days. One of 'em my smoke and her vapo' just spent the whole time zipping in circles 'round and 'round above what we somehow knew was the right place, though I didn't get that you were unde'ground 'til a few days after she did. Weren't easy ta find you in the Wisp-Kalysta's bu'row. Dunno if anyone's smoke has eve' gone that long. Think it maybe messed me up in th' head. But, Anti-Fergus built me a pretty pink house in our cheery little corne' of Anti-Fairy World, an' he lets me eat all the candy I want. I like 'im fine. Why?"

I trailed away without answering.

We familiarized ourselves with our prison for a few more hours, mostly in the twilight, until sudden thunder crackled overhead. We all stared upwards in pure shock when the sprinkler system switched on and rain pelted downwards. I took up Madigan and scrambled for the thermal cave as the water began to soak into my wings. Sanderson followed, and after a few minutes, Dr. Ranen and the two anti-fairies joined us. "Why would the cherubs do that, sir?" Sanderson asked, lying down on his stomach beside me. He propped his folded arms beneath his head. "We don't need rain to survive or anything. Isn't it expensive and pointless?"

I watched the pitter-patter of the droplets shift into a thick sheet. "They're simulating the conditions of the environment, like they would for any wild animal."

The rain didn't stop the remainder of the night, so we bundled up in our clothes and managed as best we could. When I strayed too close to the rear of the thermal cave, I could hear the storm raging in the neighboring enclosure, too.

As the lights came on in the morning, Ludell brought me a pair of visitors. He called my name in a low murmur, stirring me back into the open. My wings had dried enough to let me fly, fortunately, so I avoided the unpleasant sensation of squishing through the damp grass. Sanderson remained sleeping, but Dr. Ranen was awake and trailed curiously after me. When I landed, I flattened my palms to the window.

"Ambrosine- Thank King Nuada's memory! And… Emery. Ambrosine, you have to get me out of here."

He touched his fingertips to mine, two inches apart. "Oh, I would if I could, Fergus. In a wingbeat. But I can't challenge the Aphrodite Protocol head-on, and I won't attempt to break you out and risk them robbing me of my ability to love even myself, or shooting me with inrita like they did to Wilcox. He's bedridden and he gasps every several seconds as though he needs the air to live, but the blackness is already starting to fade from his skin. I don't imagine they told you that."

"They didn't." I searched his face, hands squeaking on glass. Then I turned my attention to Emery (who distractedly refocused her attention on me instead of the enclosure beyond my shoulder). "There has to be something."

"I'm literally only here because Dad promised he'd take me out to lunch on our way home."

He smiled wryly without acknowledging her comment. "I sure wish I knew a Fairy who'd gone to law school. I'm going to try suing you out."

I stared at him. "You think you can win against Aphrodite Protocol?"

"No. No, I don't." He mimed ruffling my hair and kissed the glass between his lips and my forehead. "But that yoo-doo game they've been playing on the rest of your brood - Wilcox especially in his condition - might give me a leg up, and I'm not going to sit on my thumbs and let you think I didn't try. Emery and I'll look after the kids, completely free of charge. No matter how long it takes. They're my little Fergus grandnymphs, and I like them so much."

My shoulders quivered. "I can't stay here. Not… not for a few hundred years. Dad…"

"I'll bring them if you'd like me to. I'll try to visit every week."

"Oh, I know I will." Emery tapped her finger against the window. "Psst. Can you give me the name of that cute imp behind you? Maybe a scry bowl serial number? I mean, since you're already in there with him and all."

I kept there to the glass, fingers pressed and head bowed. We talked for a time. What about, it doesn't matter. Eventually they had to go. Anti-Fergus flapped over and rested his hand upon my shoulder when Ludell floated with my father and half-sister away down the hall. As I removed my glasses and pinched my nose, he continued to hover there, solid and stable.

Dr. Ranen linked his fingers together and cleared his throat when I slowly turned around at last. "My first name is Logan. If… anyone was wondering."

"Forget it. My father would never let his daughter marry a drake who was bald."

There had to be some way out. I'd talked a dragon out of eating me, tricked a will o' the wisp into releasing me from her burrow, married a selkie until I had the money to buy out my father, and I wasn't about to roll over belly-up for anyone now. Sanderson was still asleep with his folded arms tucked under his head, but his counterpart and mine weren't, so I recruited them and Logan to help me take inventory of our resources. We had six beds with pillows and sheets, a log that appeared free of bugs, and about twenty fist-sized rocks among three great boulders that all of us together weren't likely to shift.

And apart from the grass and fake trees, that was it. "At least a few hundred years", Venus had said. Aphrodite Protocol, Aphrodite Protocol, Aphrodite- Did she ever try to back her decision up with anything besides "because I said so"? While Anti-Fergus and Anti-Sanderson poked around the streambed, I stood nearby with my arms around Madigan, trying to remember exactly what she'd said. Vegetative reproduction, Wilcox's trees… My mind trundled about in a circle of dirty water until it blurred itself to nothing.

"She suggested that if we looked inside me, we'd find no damsel's sperm," I muttered. Turning Madigan over, I studied his hexagonal face. He chirped and reached for my tie (we'd never been brought a change of clothes). "Genetically identical. No dam. Their sire's genetics alone. Imagine that."

I held Madigan. I held him for a long time, cradling him in the crook of my arm and resting a hand on his stomach.

And I knew. I knew Venus was no liar. I knew that face gazing up at me in rapture was the same face that had blinked up at Ambrosine four hundred ninety four thousand five hundred and thirty-three years ago. Because it was Sanderson's face, and Hawkins's face, and Wilcox's and Longwood's and Caudwell's and Bayard's.

I held him to my shoulder, wrapping him in my arms, and I shook my head and stood. Very numb, of course.

"Oh, Cairbre and the Dagda. Why me? Why me?"

There had been so many hints, and I'd blown them all off. The broken crowns, always there even when China's one of coral ought to have taken precedence. The fact that Sanderson, firstborn of a firstborn, had the two layers of extra magic wrapped around his core from mother and father, both of them as pale purple-pink as mine. The fact that the pigmentation produced by his fagiggly gland was the same lavender- that one ought to have been a major tip-off. Rare enough was it for a nymph to lean towards his sire's fagiggly color, let alone share it exactly, but I'd simply denied, simply hadn't understood… The square faces, dusty purple-gray eyes, ink-black hair…

Madigan squirmed against me. I crouched on one knee to let him go. He walked a few steps towards the rock where Logan sat, wavered on one plump leg, and plopped down in the damp grass. As he began to pull up the blades, I wondered if Venus would be providing us with clean napcloths for him, or leaving me to bathe him in the stream. Perhaps if I'd trusted her more, I could pawn him off on her for a time.

"A few hundred years", she'd said, the phrase jumping as casually from her tongue as a "How are you?".

My eye twitched. These metal walls broken up by dirty windows where any passersby could come to leer at us were no home for an impressionable nymph.

"Break us out a' here?" Anti-Fergus repeated in my ear after I'd whispered it first in his.

"Shh. Do you want the Triplets to hear you?" I began to float from one end of the largest treehouse to the other and back again. "You can't tell me you want to see your Madigan grow up in this Darkness hole."

"In a sterile, well-provisioned enviro'ment where medicines ain't far off an' good people who want him ta have a good life are watchin' over him like bats an' I know my dad can't never get ta him?"

I hesitated. Anti-Sanderson, lying "on" the nearest bed with his feet in the air and his head on the floor, suddenly sat straight up. Anti-Fergus curled his lip.

"Yew ain't the only one you gotta think about anymore, Fairy-Fergus. Check yer privilege."

I stopped my pacing and stared up at the hard roof. "I wish I knew if they can see us even when we're here inside the treehouses. I don't feel any globs of scrying magic tucked away in the corners, but I don't want to discuss my plans out loud if they can."

Anti-Sanderson scratched his chin. "Well… I can think of one way we'll know. Bet those heartthrobs drink it up."

"How so?"

He unbuttoned his red and yellow jacket, threw it down at my feet, then went over and lay beside Sanderson on the other bed. As Sanderson rolled over, blinking in bewilderment, Anti-Sanderson put one clawed finger to his lips and used the other to bring Sanderson's mouth nearer to his own.

Before they could touch further, all five of us were slammed into the opposite wall. "The yoo-doo doll," I grunted as we slid down. "We'll never pull the satyr fluff over their eyes so long as they have that."

Beside my twisted arm, Madigan began to whimper. Anti-Sanderson stamped his foot and flung his hands into the air as he heaved himself up. Brown wings rustled. "Ay, send me an anti-damsel if it grosses you cherubs out to see me flirting with a Seelie. Anti-Idona, maybe. I awful miss her. You can't cut me cold turkey like this." He paused. "Although admitt'dly, cold turkey does sound super delish."

"Put yer shirt back on, loverboy," Anti-Fergus said, tossing over his jacket. "Not only are you a decade shy of three thousan', but there's another minor 'sides you two present."

Madigan was now busy gnawing on the wooden floor where he'd fallen face-first after dropping from the wall. I picked him up and set him straight, and he went tottering off to the nearest chair and drummed it with his palms. Sanderson sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"You can't have had a damsel," he told his counterpart. "I haven't had any yet."

"I can do anything I want when I want to, lollipop. I just can't have pups with them and I have to mate with the anti-damsels when you take their primaries. Not a lot of choice there, quoth the universe- not any more than me hunting down your core when I was just lifesmoke. Like…" He leaned back. "Like, imagine that some damsel you din't know too well suddenly got really, really super good-lookin' and smelled like graham cracke's. It's instinct. But outside a' that, I can kiss anyone I wanna do like that, and one day when I'm older I can e'en sleep with 'em too. That's what you do, right, Pop?"

Anti-Fergus twitched his hands and didn't turn around.

"Well, I hope so. Ennet needs his bedtime snuggles. Just not from his daddy. Geez, you're so clingy, Pops."

"Why would you want to mate if you can't have nymphs?" Sanderson asked, wrinkling his nose. "I mean, that's dangerous, isn't it?"

"Only for Seelie, if you don't channel yellow," I muttered. "And not as much nowadays as it used to be."

"And it's just weird."

"I dunno. I just wanna show off in front of my brothe's. It's tough gettin' the damsels to like us 'cuz we're green instead a' blue, and the only time I've gotten a really good kiss was with this one anti-brownie who wo'e glasses." Anti-Sanderson ran his tongue across his fangs. "I like 'em when they wriggle after you pin 'em down against the couch and their squeals turn to chirps when they're all cheery-like."

"That ain't never happened," Anti-Fergus muttered.

"Aw, Pops, not in front a' Sandy Prime! How would you know anyway? You don't eve' leave your house 'less you're goin' out to find Anti-China."

Sanderson rolled his eyes. "Brownie-kisser. To think I actually believed you were getting with real damsels."

"What's wrong with brownies?"

"Brownies are the exact opposite of 'showing off'. Anyone can get a brownie because half the time they're too polite to say no, and the other half they're just too stupid, and there are lots of them without mates because no one wants to risk their poisoned lick except maybe other brownies who are immune, and they barely even kiss right or anything." He paused. "That's, um… that's what Wilcox said his school friends told him one time. Me and him wouldn't know, obviously."

"'He and I'," I corrected.

The look of frustration that flashed across Anti-Sanderson's face is one I won't forget. I glanced Madigan's way again and shifted the subject. "Anti-Fergus, did you ever meet your mother?"

He moved his eyes between me and Anti-Sanderson a few times. "Erm. Uh. Well. It's been a long time, but I sure think her name was Anti-Solara, and she were a full-blooded anti-fairy. I ended up runnin' off from home when I was still young, so I'm 'fraid I can't tell ya too much 'bout her personality. Ennet's right. The blueies don't like us oddball greens."

Later that morning, we found two cherubs waiting for us on the other side of the long main window to the right of the door. As each of us strayed from the treehouse, they tapped the glass and summoned us over to request our breakfast. Anti-Sanderson ordered turkey, Sanderson went with oatmeal, Logan had some sort of salad, and Anti-Fergus asked for steak.

"Flaky crackers," I said when it was my turn. "I want stacks of them. And coffee."

They came alongside the damsel who was to feed Madigan. I passed him over and waited for Anti-Fergus to finish with his plate. When he had, I licked it completely clean before rubbing it dry with my sleeve. Then I took my crackers one by one and brushed all their salt down onto it. Perhaps the cherubs were watching through their screens, but if so they didn't stop me. When I had a small but decent heap of salt, I tossed the plate over my shoulder face-down. It thumped in the grass.

In an instant, Anti-Fergus and Anti-Sanderson came running over from the far side of the prison. "You rang?" the latter asked.

"Oh." Attempting to keep my disappointment from flooding my face, I picked up the plate again. "I was trying to summon the nearest Anti-Fairy in the hopes of aid. Somehow I forgot you qualified."

Anti-Sanderson looked around for some bad luck to cause me for my spilled salt, then punched me in the gut and darted off. He hid himself in a treehouse or behind some plants somewhere. I didn't bother searching him out for revenge, but he stayed away for a good half hour. Then he was the first one to the windows when the cherubs came to take back our dishes.

"Hey, so can I get a couple a' damsels in here to play with or what? I've been here two days and I'm already bored."

The blue-haired drake shook his head in Anti-Sanderson's direction. "You are all forbidden from copulating or performing any sort of close-contact foreplay activities that would lead up to copulation until we can determine if you really do reproduce parthenogenetically. And, you're only 3,000."

"Genetics what now?" he asked, scrunching his brow.

"The Eroses are keeping you here to see if you're capable of asexual reproduction. So far, that's the leading theory on the table for why you all share identical genetics."

"Like a tree," I murmured as the clean and fed Madigan was returned to my arms.

"In some respects. We're fairly confident in the idea, but we'd like to get an answer as to how and why."

That made Anti-Sanderson fold his arms. "I'm not a smoofing idiot. Along with bein' underage, I know I can't repr'aduce unless Sandy Prime does his thing first. Why can't I have a little fun if I want to?"

"Honey, asexual or not, pseudocopulation can stimulate your eggs into waking," said the cherub without changing the tone of his voice, and as though he were going over the basics of mathematics with a very small and rowdy child. "After which, if they don't have a host to lock onto, they will kill themselves. Blackened anti-eggs lead to children who are technically dead, same as if an anti-damsel - er, well, I guess you - ate too much sugar during pregnancy."

"I don't care. I had this anti-brownie friend at the hospital where everyone was cutting me up who was a black egg. I know how it goes. I can handle a 'dead child' if it means I got to have a good night with a damsel. When I'm older anyway, if you let us stay so long without throwin' us out- can I jist get a kiss now?"

The cherub didn't even blink at Anti-Sanderson's stubborn words. "Uh-huh. I don't think so. Well, regardless, the black-egg condition would be severely painful for your offspring and we're trying to avoid it. As for your Seelie counterparts, we're testing the timing theory. If the theory proves itself false, then we'll let your primaries pick out all the damsels they want, and we'll see what happens. Anti-Fairy or not, at the moment you're an anomaly and we're trying to limit our variables."

"Timing theory?" I prompted when he turned away without going on. He glanced back at me.

"We made a house call last night. Every one of your offspring is almost exactly five hundred years apart, aren't they? Add or subtract some here and there. You've had one each time you've hit peak point in your cycle for the last three millennia."

Had I? I had noticed before, perhaps, but never really considered it in any great detail… If I'd been looking for a pattern then I surely would have caught it, but since I'd simply assumed that damsels and drakes were required to mate before nymphs could be produced…

He and the second cherub began floating off. I pounded my fists against the window. "Hold on! Madigan is only four months old! You can't really hold us up in here for five hundred years."

"Aphrodite Protocol," said the damsel. As she looked me over, her eyes took on a hint of pity. "I know it's a pain for you, but this is for the benefit of all Fairykind, Seelie and Unseelie alike. If you're the holotype of a budding new race, that's something we need to know. It won't last forever."

"There has to be a better way. I'll swear off damsels out there- I'm not even a big fan of damsels. There's no reason to lock me up."

The blue-haired cherub again: "We don't keep track of births, only copulations and fertilizations. Evidence suggests that you slipped through the cracks by reproducing with yourself without copulation, because for the last three thousand years, our system didn't even know your offspring existed. It can't recognize them as individuals- None of them even has a universal ID code of their own. They were entirely skipped over. Zero legal records. Only their fingerprints tell them apart. If our technology is unable to pick them up, we can't just take risks. You will stay here, in a controlled environment, under our careful gazes… It's only five hundred years."

Anti-Fergus, who had recently come over with Logan behind, twirled two sticks between his fingers like wands before shoving them in the waistband of his pants. "Yew pucks can't keep watchin' us all the time. Sooner or later, yer gonna slip up, and I'mma blow you through when that happens."

He got a deadpan look for that from the both of them.

"Right. Cherubs. Guess ya can keep watchin' us purty easy. My bad."

The damsel looked to me again. "If you didn't know, the dwarves are an all-male species. They breed with damsels of other races, and there's no such thing as a 'full' dwarf these days. You may be the same. Another mutation in the genepool, something like the Cosma mutation. That's what Dame Charite thinks."

I rubbed my chin. "The dwarves are considered a separate race, aren't they?"

She nodded and clicked her heels together. "Like cherubs, they don't have a natural cap above their heads. Their repeating behaviors match no other species either. When wings crop up then their genes render them different than the other races'. And their nymphs are shaped a specific way unique to them- that same pointed shape they cut their gems into, flat along the top. The will o' the wisps broke off from the fairies when they began developing moth and butterfly wings, and the same thing happened for brownies when the first soft hats began to appear. Mutations. Blips. Maybe you're next."

"Maybe," I murmured, and let them take the dishes away. Still, I paced back and forth by the door. A mutation I could accept. I was squarish and broken-crowned since birth. But no species had ever branched from the fairy tree by turning "parthenogenetic" before. I wasn't sure what to think of that.

Anti-Sanderson threw his black crown on the ground and smashed it into the dirt with his shoe. "I don't care what those cherubs said. I can do whatever I want. Ayo, Sandy Prime! How much you wanna bet I can plant a hickey on you before they drag us apart?"

Sanderson backed away as Anti-Sanderson started towards him, and then in the same instant they both broke into running. "Knock it off," I called, but after a good two minutes of running circles around one of the fake trees, Anti-Sanderson caught a branch and used the momentum of his swing to shove Sanderson backwards to the dirt as he came around. He grabbed his counterpart by the tie. That was as far as he got before we were all flung about four feet to the left. As Sanderson scampered to my side, Anti-Sanderson pushed himself up on his elbows and laughed.

"See, that's fun. Do you think I'll give out before they do? I think not. Come on, Sanderson. Round two."

"Go kiss a brownie," Sanderson snapped back, clinging to my arm. His wings skipped wildly. "We're way too young for this. I'm Seelie and you're Unseelie. Rhoswen syndrome is gross. We're related. I don't even like you. And your spit is acid."

I pushed him behind my back and flapped my wings at Anti-Sanderson as he came prancing up. "He wants you to let him alone."

So Anti-Sanderson shrugged and wandered off, but I couldn't be within a wingspan of Sanderson all the time, and every few hours he'd be back to chasing him again. Whenever he came close, the cherubs would twist or pull or shake or outright throw the yoo-doo doll to send us all flying apart. I could only imagine the chaos Ambrosine had to deal with back at Wish Fixers three or four times a day.

Anti-Sanderson reveled in it. Finally, after a month and a half of near-misses and tickle-fights, one of the Eroses himself came to put his foot down on the matter. Ludell knocked on the window for about twenty seconds before he turned around.

"Anti-Sanderson, if you keep this up, you will be moved to solitary confinement to prevent you from interfering with our research."

He examined Sanderson, pinned anxiously beneath him with a foot in his stomach, then pulled his leathery wings in tight and skulked away. "I was only playing, honeybunch. It's boring in here. Can we get some new games? Maybe anothe' pack of cards? Maddie chews on everything and sooner or later we'll entirely exhaust Truth or Dare and Neve' Have I Eve'."

Madigan was, indeed, in the process of nibbling holes in Anti-Fergus's jacket while he slept. Only that morning had a cloud of magic, all gray and black, come swirling out of his forehead and enveloped the little fairy. It had swept into his mouth as I held him, sought out the deepest core of his being and personality, and plucked up a few other stray traits that Madigan would no longer possess. Then it had returned to its sire's side and culminated into the green pup who now sat sucking his own big toe. We'd been told he'd get clothes. We just didn't know when. I'd already begged my counterpart to forgo the hideous red-spotted yellow suit, but he wouldn't listen to me. And, unfortunately, the cherubs respected parent-child bonds before my opinion. Even if it was for the kid's own good.

Ludell beckoned me to the door with his hand. "Venus just got off her shift, and then she wants to talk to you about your biology."

"May I come?" Sanderson asked, springing to his feet.

"I'd also like to," echoed Anti-Sanderson as he batted his blond eyelashes.

"Fine. You can all come. Wait a few moments while I get more escorts. But Anti-Fergus stays here with those two babies."

As soon as he left, Anti-Sanderson grabbed my arm and drew me closer. "Thought he might go for reinforcements. Here's the plan, turkeys. When he opens the door, I'll say 'Lead the way,' and that's our signal to jump him and bolt."

"I thought you and your father kissed the ground the cherubs floated above."

He shot me a pouting look. "Ay, your Sandy may not mind a life a' bein' cooped up in a cruddy office all day, but I've got dreams, honeypie, and I gotta be free. I can't stand fo' this."

I glanced over my shoulder to see my Madigan halfway on top of Anti-Fergus's chest, which rose and fell with his snoring. I had some doubts, but it wasn't as though he could drown in water he couldn't submerge himself in, and even if it did reach above his head in certain places, he knew to stand up and crawl away. He was five months now, and not an idiot.

Still…

"No go," I told Anti-Sanderson.

"Huh?"

"It does us no good if we fight our way out and these three are left behind. We either all leave together, or none at all."

Anti-Sanderson stared at me. "Who are you, cheese roll? That doesn't sound out a' characte' for you? Not even a li'l?"

I shook my head and uncrossed my arms. "You misunderstand. I've been haunted by this curse of bearing genetically-identical offspring for millennia. While I may disapprove of their methods, I do want answers and I'm not leaving the Eros Triplets until I get some. And aside from that, I haven't a clue if they're the type to take their anger out on Madigan if I should act disobedient. He's not even out of his exoskeleton. He still hasn't come into full immortality- it would be so easy for them to end his life. Slit! And with him, that of your brother. Is that what you want?"

Anti-Sanderson refused to look at me. I grabbed him by one side of his jacket collar and gave him a shake. "Is that what you want?"

He shoved me off. "Geez, no! I mean, if this were befo'e Lukey had been born, then sure, I won't pretend I'd stick around. I'm Unseelie first, and terr'able friend second. It's just…" He ran his claws through his yellow hair and then kicked Sanderson's ankle, hard. "I was just tryin' to act helpful, Uncle Fergie."

"Don't call me that. And don't speak of escape again unless you've managed to formulate a plan to get us all out of here together." I adjusted the tight-fitting violet shirt I'd pulled on for the day, trying in vain - as I always did - to smooth out stretch marks and wrinkles. Then I cracked my knuckles, and placed one hand on Sanderson's shoulder, and one on his counterpart's. "Now. We will be on our best behavior. In and out, adhering to the rules, doing as we're told, respecting authority, and no one gets hurt."

"Yes, sir."

"Aw, that's no fun. Maybe I won't go at all."

I nodded through the window and down the hallway. "Think fast, then. Here come our little feathered friends."

Still seething quietly through his yellowed fangs, Anti-Sanderson stuffed his fists in his jacket pockets and trailed after us. Thankfully, rather than taking us back to the dim control room, our escort walked us instead to a neighboring office with a wide door designed after the famous double heart insignia. The inside was pink, but it was a pink tinted at just the right shade that it was nearly lavender. The room was small- not at all where I'd expect the most famous damsel in this quadrant of the known universe to settle in to work.

But, I reflected as my eyes wandered over the bare walls, clean desk, and four uninviting squishy bean bag chairs which lacked proper back support, Venus perhaps didn't spend all that much time in it. She pushed through an eight-hour shift nonstop every day, and of course required time to eat and sleep, for even she was Seelie. What time remained, if I remembered correctly, she perhaps preferred to spend making rounds throughout the menagerie, or visiting the research labs, or training the heirs to the Eros Nest. Venus did not complete paperwork herself; she had underlings to fill that out for her. She was a holy figurehead, and certainly never found herself lacking in things to do.

"Sit," she said shortly when we filed in, closely followed by our escort. She did not stand and greet us with a handshake as I might have done in her position, though I was gratified, at least, that she did bother to look up. Again if that had been me in her throne-like chair with its high, ornate back, I likely would have been working until it was implausible to do so. Skimming papers and crossing out words with bleeding ink until my audience grew restless and I let the game drop.

But Venus had nothing on that shiny chesberry desk. She sat there, fingers knit, with her chin balanced on top of them. Her blue eyes followed us as we, with varying degrees of willingness, dropped or threw ourselves into our plush seats. The desk then became much too high for my liking. Clever way to make up for what she herself lacked in height. I adjusted my position a few times, regretting the tight shirt. I missed the authority of my gray suit and tie.

"Where are the others?" she snipped then.

Ludell blinked at his elder sister. "Which ones did you want?"

"All the paratypes you can get your hands on and the Unseelie counterparts. Take them all to the ballroom where I'm giving my presentation. And for Aengus's sake, don't dilly-dally. The research ambassador committee are finishing up their breakfast and they expect to see them soon."

"Y-yes, Venus." He left, wiping his forehead. Venus flicked a signal with one finger for our guards to hover in the back of the room. From the sound they made as they passed us, I had a sneaking suspicion that they were loading their bows. Sanderson glanced sideways at me, but I didn't turn around. Instead, I kept my gaze locked on the sole damsel in the room.