(Posted March 13th, 2018)

I Sing The Body Aflame

Year of Water, Winter of the Sunlit River

Friday, December 27th, 1991

"That kid is hurt," Kenny said, holding Betty's arm as Gary continued to muffle his sobs in the sleeves of his jacket. "That guy hurt him."

"No, I did not," H.P. said. He withdrew the file folder from Mr. Sanderson's head, and hid it behind his back with one hand. With the other, he pointed at Kenny. "Stop. Don't tell people that I hurt children. Okay? That's illegal. I don't need to deal with rumors like that right now."

"W-what's wrong with me?"

"Hm?"

Gary wiped his eyes, which didn't stop all of the tears, and drew in a shaky breath before he asked again. "You're pixies. You're magic. You can do all sorts of things with magic–I saw you. Can't you get rid of that nasty extra chromosome in my DNA that makes me crazy? I don't want to be crazy like my mom."

The Head Pixie's forehead wrinkled. There were lots of wrinkles. "Okay. Who said you were crazy? Sanderson, did I tell him he was crazy?"

Mr. Sanderson looked up from the incriminating DNA report. "No, sir."

"Exactly." H.P. set the folder down and crossed his arms, obviously pleased with himself. "Sure, you're a bit of an anomaly, but let's not jump to conclusions. We can't call you crazy until we get Caudwell in here to confirm it. He does therapy over at Wish Fixers, you know."

Gary didn't know. He didn't look up either. He simply slid one of his feet back and forth across the dirty floor, while Betty watched him. She reached out her foot, and the toes of their shoes bumped. "It's okay," she whispered. "Don't be sad. I don't think you're really crazy."

Instead of trying to make him feel better, Mr. Sanderson was more to the point with the facts. After first looking at H.P. for permission to speak, he took a small piece of wood from inside his jacket. It looked like a pen, but it had a small star on the cap. He swiped it in the air like a magic wand. Ping! This time, Gary didn't jump when he heard the noise and saw the cloud of dust, although Betty still did just a little, and Kenny covered his ears and briefly howled. Ignoring him, Mr. Sanderson said to Gary, "This is a picture of a genie. I checked the DNA results. You have one of these for a great-great-great-great grandmother. That's four greats."

"Four greats is good, I guess." Even so, Gary stared blankly at the small photograph now hovering in front of his face. It was a boy genie, for some reason, even though Sanderson had said Gary had a genie for a grandmother. The genie in the picture had skin a little darker than Gary's, although he didn't have orange hair. His hair was slick and black, and a little long. He had a short beard on his chin, and no legs. Instead of legs, he had a long pink tail like a snake's. He was also surrounded by a huge cloud of purple smoke. The longer he stared at the picture, the more confused Gary got. "So, I have one of these for a grandma? How?"

H.P. leaned forward, wrapping his hands around the edge of his desk. "Gary, when a male genie and a female genie are left alone in the same lamp for a long time–"

Instantly, Betty sprang out of her tiny seat and stuck her fingers in Gary's ears. "Shh! My dad says only kids who grow up with farm animals are allowed to know how babies get made."

"I, um…" Gary felt his face grow hot. Well, hotter than usual. Carefully, he pushed Betty's hands away. "Actually, I already kind of know most of how that stuff works, Betty. At least a little bit. The part about moms and dads getting married because they always want to be together." As she sat again, he ruffled his brow. "So… my parents are genies too? That's weird. I think I would have noticed if they had tails. Will I get a tail like that when I grow up?" Another thought popped into his head. His parents had two legs. "Will I get two tails?"

"Your DNA records reveal that you're only a tiny part genie," Mr. Sanderson explained. He made the picture disappear with a pinging sound and a cloud of white dust. "The truth is, you're mostly human. Only about 1.56% genie. There's so little Genie blood in you that we couldn't detect it straight off, and that's why we had to run the DNA test on you. But in the cloudland legal system, a witch's magical heritage always takes precedence over their non-magical one. To us, you would officially be called Djinn American. You're considered part of the seven elemental Fomorian tribes—since you're a genie, that would make you part of the Fire tribe, specifically—but to keep things easy, we simply refer to you as a witch. That's been the standard term for a magical/non-magical crossbreed for generations. I assume that you noticed the genie in the picture had a pink tail. Blues and purples are the most common colors, followed by pinks, reds, yellows, greens, and finally orange. You're interesting, Gary. If you were a full-blooded genie, your tail would be as orange as your hair. Orange is the rarest color nowadays."

"So it really is in my DNA to be a freak?"

"Not a freak," H.P. put in. "You were just born with a very tiny genetic quirk. So was I. It made me square. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Oh." Gary looked over his shoulder at the door to H.P.'s office, squeezing his knees in his hands. "I guess that's why none of the other kids ever liked me much. I'm not human like they are."

"Could be," Mr. Sanderson agreed, replacing his wand inside his gray coat. "Humans are nasty, prejudiced folk, and they could likely sense the Genie on you. But, 1.56% isn't a lot. That's why I never noticed until now."

Gary slit his eyes. He'd said "never". There was that hint that he'd been spying, again. "So, am I really a human, or a genie?"

"You're both. Your XY sex chromosomes make you human, but that extra one, the Z, is obviously from the Fomorian side of your family. You're a witch."

His fingers tightened into the bottoms of his jacket pockets.

"Mostly human, though." H.P. leaned back in his seat. "With that tiny amount of genie blood in you, I would bet that you're too far removed from your heritage to perform any real magic. 'Witch' is just a legal title we have to bestow on you for tax reasons. There's paperwork we'll need to file. And, I'll need to review a few court cases. Genies, witches, and humans all have a few different rights in the cloudlands."

Mr. Sanderson smoothed down his coat. "Now I'm curious. How do genies reproduce, anyway? Do genies have belly buttons?"

"I have a belly button," Gary said, pulling his shirt halfway up. "But maybe that's just because I'm mostly human." He tried not to feel disgusted about the "M" word. It tasted bitter on his tongue.

Mr. Sanderson turned his head and fixed him with a stare through his sunglasses, like in the two seconds he'd been distracted, he'd forgotten Gary was there. "You said you like to sing."

"I don't know."

"I like to sing too." Mr. Sanderson stayed very straight and formal, as though he were talking about cooking a very fancy Christmas meal with another grown-up. He almost didn't even bob up and down in the air. He just sort of hovered in place. "You should sing now. That will return your distressed mental state to optimal levels. You'll stop crying. That's ideal."

Oh, Gary really wanted to. Singing sounded so good right now. Nothing in the world calmed him down as much as singing, except maybe writing songs. He thought about how earlier, Mr. Sanderson made it sound like he'd been spying on him for a long time. Did that mean he already knew what was going to happen once Gary started? And he was okay with it?

And yet…

"But my mom says… But sometimes when I sing…" Gary finished wiping his eyes on his arm. "Weird things happen. It's only sometimes, but I can't control it. It's scary?"

H.P. and Mr. Sanderson didn't say anything. H.P. was writing something down, and Mr. Sanderson seemed to be searching for words. Gary looked at his feet again. Then Betty stood up. "I'll sing with you," she said. "What should we sing?"

"I asked Gary to sing," Mr. Sanderson said. "You're not Gary."

Betty flung out her arms, almost hitting Gary in the face. "But he doesn't want to. You can't just make him if he doesn't want to. That's not right."

"Ooh, you know, I think I want to," Gary said, a little softer than he meant to. Carefully, he got to his feet. "Please sit down, Betty. I can do it by myself. But I really might not be very good. I haven't sung in a while."

Actually… this was kind of exciting! Gary let a small smile play out over his lips. When was the last time he sung? Not for a long time. Mom always warned him that he turned scary when he started singing, and Dad always tried to grab and stop him when he started. But H.P. and Mr. Sanderson were magic, and Betty was nice, and Kenny was too young to worry about things like this. His smile grew wider, and for the first time in ages, Gary felt his shoulders relax. He closed his eyes, and breathed deeply in and out. Then he took off his jacket and folded it up neatly. This would be fun. This would be way fun!

"Well, okay." Betty sat, but this time she sat backwards in her chair, up on her knees with her arms folded over the top. "What song are you going to sing?"

"Um…" Gary started snapping his fingers, trying to think. H.P. and Mr. Sanderson both turned to look at something at the same time, which made it harder to concentrate. "How about… Maybe… I'll just make one up."

"Right now?" she asked in surprise.

"Yeah, let's see. Um…" He cleared his throat, and started up a low-voiced, slower song, kind of like a chant. "Oooh. Oooh. Oooh… In the clouds there stand some men of myth, and that's who I'll be living with. Ooh. Ooh. I'm not alone, I'll have a friend. Oh, I hope this joy will never–"

Halfway through the third sentence, Gary froze. He stared at his hand, which was still held next to his face with his fingertips pressed together. Then he glanced up, breaths scratchy in his throat and nose. "Uh-oh. Did it already happen? I didn't know!" Instantly he patted down his front. Okay. Well. His feet were still touching the ground. He hadn't changed any of his body parts, and as near as he could tell, there was still just one of him in the room, not four…

He looked around real fast. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Hopefully there weren't four. Not now. Not again.

"What's wrong?" Betty asked. "That sounds like a good song. Did you really make that up right now?"

Gary grabbed his elbow and held his hand flat against his side. "It's just–my hand, you know? S-sometimes, when I get excited, my hand takes control and goes crazy. I can't stop it. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry! Wh-what happened? What changed?"

H.P. pointed with the end of his pen at a glass vase sitting on the other side of his typewriter. "These petunias used to be daisies. And that painting on my wall used to be of gray and white snowy mountains, instead of dewdrops glistening on blades of grass."

Instantly, Betty turned to look.

"It doesn't matter," H.P. monotoned. "Much. I'll have Jardine bring me some new flowers. And, I'll get used to the painting. Go on with the song."

Gary swallowed and threw a nervous peek at the picture on the wall, but he did what he was asked. "U-um. I'll just start over. If that's okay."

"Do whatever comes naturally."

That didn't take the pressure away. Gary clenched his fists in front of them, keeping them low and squeezing tight. No more freaking out. He just had to let it go.

"Okay… Let's do this, then. Oooh. Oooh. Oooh… In the clouds there stand some men of myth, and that's who I'll be living with." As he went on, he started to walk around H.P.'s office. Moving always calmed his nerves, although he wished the window would show a sunny sky instead of one of stars. Way down on the ground, he saw that there wasn't any green grass or dirt, only puffy clouds. Smooth roads led between the buildings, although Mr. Sanderson had said there weren't as many on this side of the Headquarters building as there were on the other. Too close to the edge of the floating cloud island, he guessed. People could fall off the edge all the way down to Earth below, so most of the land on this side of the building had been left undeveloped.

This was going to be his home now. Gary let his eyes linger on a certain building that stood away from the others, connecting to things with a small path instead of a fancy road. Compared to the building he was in now, that one was short and blocky, with rigid white walls and a mostly flat roof. In the middle of the roof was a little tower full of bells. It didn't look like a very interesting building, except for the fact that it had a giant waterfall pouring from the front. A long stretch of lower roof split the waterfall in half so it fell down the two slanted sides, keeping the entrance to the building dry, but it was still much too damp and dreary-looking for Gary's comfort. He suppressed a shiver. The only thing worse than water or being trapped inside a small building would have to be being trapped inside a small building full of water.

Shifting course, Gary moved away from the window, towards the white couch beside the office door. The pizza box, now empty, rested on the middle cushion. He kept his eyes on it, focusing on taking even breaths. "I'm not alone, I'll have a friend. I hope this joy will never end. Na na na na. Na na na na! Ooh. Ooh. Her name is Betty, and she seems nice. I think she is as cool as ice."

"Oh," Betty said softly.

Gary bounced his fingers in the air, counting the syllables of all the words floating around in his head. "And now? Now!" He slammed his foot down on the floor. "Now we're starting, ooh yeah! It's a whole new life I'm starting in the sky. And I'm parting. Mama, please don't miss me when I learn to fly! And I still love you. But I've never been so glad that I'll get away from you."

They were letting him sing, without interrupting him. Gary wiped his face, refusing to turn back and look at them in case they were looking on in horror. His fingers flexed. It had been so long, much too long…

Raising his hand near his ear, Gary snapped his fingers. Ding dong! A soft chime of bells filled the air, and he felt his heart warm inside his chest. Both arms went straight out to the sides. Keeping his eyes shut, he spun around in a small circle.

"And I cry 1, 2, 3"—Ding dong!—"and it's 1, 2, 3"—Ding dong!—"You have one son, two homes, three paths for now. Mama, please don't try and ask me how!"

Actually, maybe it wasn't his heart that was warm. When he looked down, Gary realized what he'd done. The shirt he'd been wearing, the one with the roaring green lizard monster on it, had turned into a fancy vest, like the kind grown men wore in the old movies. It was orange, with buttons down the front, before it ended at the bottom in two sharp points. Suddenly he was wearing a tie. It was wrapped sloppily, but he was pretty sure that's what it was. His sleeves had grown out, long and white. The collar was folded down at his neck. Oh. Oh well. Gary let his grin take control. He really liked that monster shirt, but he liked singing way more. Slotting one arm behind his back, Gary raised the other into the air with a swirling motion, like he was about to sweep it to his waist and bow.

"Oh! Oh! Ooh, ooh. Oh, I know that I'm a troubled kid, but music stole my heart, it did. It's part of me I can't explain, and lying low just brings me pain…"

Gary snatched the empty pizza box from the couch and jumped up where it had been sitting. He snapped his fingers. With a quick Ding dong! the pizza box disappeared. A hat appeared in his hand instead. It was just as fancy as his new orange vest–a top hat, he thought it might be called, round and black with a thick orange stripe running around the bottom. Naturally, he placed it on his head and, half-turning, jabbed his pointer finger towards the ceiling at a slant.

"Whoa, oh, oh! And I'm the one who has a say in how I want to live my days! So I'm staying. Oh, oh, Mama, don't be hurt; I have to sing, so do! Your! Worst!" Opening his eyes, Gary focused on Betty's face and stretched out his arm. He walked straight off the couch and landed on the floor, making sure to come down on his first foot with a solid slap on just the right word. "And here I stand. It feels so right to be free. You're sitting there, but won't you stand, and you can share a little dance with me? Whoa! Oh. Oh…"

Betty was staring at him, absolutely slack-jawed. Even Mr. Sanderson seemed to be at a loss for words. The pen slipped from between his fingers and click-clacked to the floor. Kenny slid off his chair and picked it up, waving it around and saying, "You dropped this. It fell. It fell on the ground."

Gary stopped. "Um." Even though his insides were still jumpy and craving the sound of music, he took off the top hat and held it in front of him. "Ooh, y-you know, I think I'll just be done now, and that'll be all right. I'm just starting after a long time and, um, it's good."

H.P. hadn't raised his head since Gary started singing. He was still writing things in his pad. Gary fidgeted with the edge of his hat, squeezing it until his knuckles hurt and wishing he could turn it back into the pizza box and forget all of this had ever happened. His heartbeat echoed even all the way down in his toes. He shouldn't have sung, or at least, if he was going to sing, he shouldn't have gotten so carried away. His clothes had changed! By themselves! Well, not really by themselves–he'd helped a little bit. But normal kids didn't change their clothes like that. Now Betty would think he was a total weirdo. Mr. Sanderson and H.P. might be okay with it, but Gary was just starting to like Betty, and if she called him a weirdo or a freak… Well, that would really hurt most of all. He fought to force the bubbly, swelling feelings inside of him out of existence.

"Your timing needs work," H.P. said, finally finishing with his notes, "and some of your rhymes are too forced. Your uncoordinated dancing would suggest you lose all control of your limbs in the heat of the moment. But you have promise."

"R-really? Does that mean you aren't going to make me stop?"

"Whoaaa, that wasn't scary," Betty said, grinning the hugest smile. She kicked her feet. "That was sweet! You were awesome! That was the best thing I've ever seen anyone do in real life."

"Thanks, Betty," Gary said quietly. He let the top hat drop to the couch and rubbed his eyes with his fists. "Oh my, my, my! That used up lots of my energy, though."

"It's late, and children need sleep," H.P. said, giving Mr. Sanderson a nod. "Sanderson will show you where you'll be staying tonight. We'll discuss how things are going to go for you now that you're under Pixie jurisdiction in the morning."

"And you'll have to do that tomorrow too," Betty burst. "Gary, you sing so good! And you dance like a fairy tale prince, or a butterfly, or a hopping frog. Maybe you can teach me how to sing and dance. We can be a team, and enter contests, and wear pretty clothes, and we'll win first place all the time. You're super good!"

Somehow, bleary-eyed and exhausted though he was, Gary managed a weak smile. "Thanks," he breathed again. He really meant it.

Before Mr. Sanderson could lead them out of the office, however, H.P. grabbed him by the tie and reeled him in close to his face. "Do not. Let Anti-Cosmo. Find out about this. He studied genies at the Academy, and since he created the conservation program he's been breeding and raising them ever since, and he might know a way to exploit the child that we don't."

Gary flinched just watching how close they were to each other. But Mr. Sanderson said, "Yes, sir" without even blinking. When his boss let him go, he smoothed down his suit. "Once I have them settled, I'll organize some pixies who can carefully run file searches on genies in ways that shouldn't trip Anti-Cosmo's senses, even if he's found a way to tap into our systems. We should be able to learn some information we can use to protect Gary from any and all greedy exploitation."

Half a beat of hesitation.

"Yes."

Gary was the coolest person ever. As Mr. Sanderson walked with them down the very gray and light purple hallway and away from H.P.'s office, Betty found that she couldn't take her eyes off the back of his scruffy ginger hair. Yeah, he was kind of weird, and really shy, but he was so interesting!

"So about how you used Genie magic to change that pizza box into a hat," she said, tugging Kenny after her by the hand. He kept wanting to stop and look at every door they passed. Even Betty couldn't resist peeking through a glass one that led out to a giant bucket of water even bigger than a bathtub on the balcony. "Can you make all different kinds of hats? Or is it that all pizza boxes turn into hats? Or can you only make hats out of pizza boxes? Can you make dresses too, or only fancy suits? I think it would be cool if you could make fancy dresses. Dresses cost a lot of money, but I've always wanted a pretty dress. Can you only change your own clothes, or could you change mine too if you felt like it?"

"Betty, ask your questions one at a time. Gary needs room to think about his answers."

"Actually," Gary whispered, "I don't really want to talk about it."

Betty crinkled her forehead. "Why not? Your powers are so great."

"Well, gee, it's a little bit hard to explain. It just happens."

"When you snap your fingers, though."

Gary put his hands in the pockets of his worn jacket, bundling them tight. "But that's not my idea. I don't ever think about it. I just do it sometimes."

"Well, whatever it is you're doing, you're doing it right. Don't ever stop, okay?"

"Hey," Gary said suddenly. "Why are you holding your arm like that?"

Betty looked down. In all the craziness about meeting magical pixies, the sadness of losing her parents (Which she was not thinking about), and the excitement of learning that Gary was part genie, she hadn't even noticed there might be something weird happening with her arm. She kept it pressed against her chest instead of swinging it by her side. All of a sudden, when Gary pointed it out to her, the soreness sunk in. It was scraped up and down, maybe rubbed raw by the road or pieces of the car or something? Betty moved her arm up and down, then winced and moved it back. "Uh, I must have hurt it in the crash."

"I'm sorry."

Betty frowned. The soreness was really getting to her now, and she found herself wishing Gary hadn't pointed it out. "Yeah. It's too bad my other arm's not hurting too. I think it would bother me less if they were balanced."

The hallway ended in front of two shiny doors. When Mr. Sanderson pressed a button next to them, it turned yellow and the doors pulled apart. They didn't open like regular doors. Instead, they slid sideways, straight into the walls. Sanderson went through, and Gary went after him without pausing for even a second. But Betty stopped and looked around in confusion.

"Is this where we're staying?"

"No, this is an elevator," Mr. Sanderson said, pushing the wall with his thumb. "It's a compact, mobile room that will carry us down to the bottom of the building. From there, we will walk outside to my apartment building, and take the elevator to the top floor. Until we conduct a little more research on Gary's condition, H.P. and I thought it would be best if we refrained from pinging him around until further notice. Genies can be tricky to ping, especially when they're awake, and we don't want to rupture anything on accident."

"Sorry," Gary whispered.

Betty eyeballed the scary crack dividing the floor. She tightened her grip on Kenny's wrist. "What's pinging?"

Mr. Sanderson put out his arm, placing his hand over another crack in the wall where one of the elevator doors had gone. "When pixies use magic, it makes a ping sound. I could magically teleport us through the air so we get back to my apartment in approximately two and a half seconds, but I won't. Walking or floating back takes longer, is more strenuous, it's more scenic, less expensive, and it's the way Pixies prefer. Exiting a building from the bottom is soothing, don't you think so? I think it fulfills an innate need in our insect DNA to live in a hive."

"I guess," Gary said through a yawn. "But I'd rather fly if I had wings. Flying would be cool." Briefly, his green eyes went misty, like he was wondering if he would ever get to fly someday. Could he? Genies could float, couldn't they? Betty didn't fully understand what a genie was, but if they were magic, they could probably float.

"Oh." Betty pointed at Mr. Sanderson. "Yeah, your pixie magic makes that ringing noise like Gary's bell sound, when he snapped his fingers. It was a cute sound," she said when he got a panicked look in his face. "It was like this: Ding dong. Like a tiny little cowbell."

"Are you coming?" Mr. Sanderson asked. His low, cold voice never, ever changed.

Betty was still reluctant to step into a room that was supposed to move, but Kenny kept trying to hold Gary's hand, so she let him inside and followed, making sure not to step on the scary crack. There weren't any windows in the room. Mr. Sanderson took his hand off the wall. The doors started to slide closed, without being pushed or pulled, like magic. Gary jerked up his head. He cried out. Too late. As soon as the doors shut, he fell to the floor and put his hands over his ears.

"What's happening?" Betty asked, crouching low over Kenny. Was she supposed to do that too? Mr. Sanderson wasn't, but maybe Gary knew how kids were supposed to ride elevators.

Gary didn't sound very good. It was like a tornado came out of nowhere inside his head, mixing up all his feelings in less than a second, and turning him from calm and sweet into loud and squirmy. Already his whimpers were turning to gasps, and then they blended together so Betty couldn't even tell which was which anymore.

"I can't get out! Dad! Dad, where are you? I can't get out! Get me out!"

Just then, the room started to rumble. Betty grabbed the metal bar on the wall with one hand and pulled Kenny against her waist with the other. He seemed more scared by her reaction than he was of the moving room, but Betty wasn't taking any chances. "Is Gary okay?" she asked Mr. Sanderson over and over as he looked down at the writhing child without expression.

"Most genies are afflicted with some type of agoraphobia," he said. "It's actually quite common. Claustrophobia is included in that category. Symptoms of witchhood vary between witches depending on which of the seven Fomorian tribes their magical ancestor belongs to, but this one does tend to be specific for the Djinn."

Huffing and panting, Gary scrambled to his feet and flung himself at the doors. He pounded with his fists, hollering all the while. Betty threw a glance at Mr. Sanderson, but he didn't seem very concerned. At least, not for the first ten seconds. Then he said, "Well, smell what the chupacabra dragged in," and reached out to take Gary in his arms. He wrapped him tight, trying to stop him from struggling. Instead of calming him down, it just seemed to make Gary fight harder.

The elevator slowed down, and the doors opened. Betty blinked. On their other side was a long hallway, with cold white floors and bright yellow lights. It didn't look as nice as the hall they'd walked down when they left H.P.'s office. The elevator really had moved to a completely different place. But Mr. Sanderson didn't let Gary leave. Another guy floated into the elevator, and the doors shut again behind him.

This new boy who joined them was blue. He looked like he was only a little bit older than Betty, though it was hard to tell with magical creatures. He was only a little bit taller too. Like the pixies, he bobbed up and down in the air like a balloon. But he had wings like a dragon or a bat, not a bug. And regular human arms (but blue). Instead of regular human ears, his were pointed like a cat's (and blue). He wore glasses, though Betty had no idea how those fit around his ears. He was even furry like a cat, but he had hair like a human. It was black and curly, and Betty was pretty sure the arms of his glasses were just stuck in his hair, and that was how they stayed on his face. Kenny looked right at him and said, "Meow."

The blue boy looked at the buttons on the elevator's wall, but he didn't push any. The button that Mr. Sanderson had pushed, the 1 at the bottom of a whole tower of buttons on the wall, was glowing yellow. Maybe that's where the blue boy wanted to go too. His ears twisted around at the sound of Gary's struggles. He turned his head, skimming his eyes across Betty's face and Mr. Sanderson's before they actually settled on Gary.

"Is that human okay, Sanderson? He sounds like he wants to get off the elevator."

Mr. Sanderson covered Gary's mouth, and Gary screamed into his hand. He kicked and waved his arms, and probably bit, but Mr. Sanderson stayed as calm as though he were just holding a piece of crinkly paper. "No," he said. "He likes it. Emotional turmoil really brings out the color of his eyes."

Kenny tugged on Betty's sleeve. "I want to tell you a secret," he whispered.

Betty bent her head. "What is it?"

"Um. That boy is blue."

"That's a good secret, Kenny."

The blue boy wrinkled his nose. "Sandy, Sandy, Sandy. I used to struggle like that all the time when someone tried to hold me—still do, sometimes—and when I did, it wasn't because I liked it. Anti-Cosmo always says you need to respect other people's personal space. You know, I can't help but notice that his colors are intriguing. Is he a witch?"

Mr. Sanderson lifted Gary's feet off the floor. Betty ducked so she wouldn't get kicked in the face. "Of course not. Orange coloration has never been documented in a witch before. Besides, wouldn't you be able to sense a magical aura around him if he was?"

"Meow. Cats say meow. Betty, we had that black cat for a little bit. Right? He was old."

"That's right, Kenny."

"Ah ah, maybe so." The blue boy grinned at Mr. Sanderson, showing very sharp fangs like a wolf's that made Kenny suddenly whimper and press his cheek against Betty's waist. "But I can hear the magic running faster in your blood. You're nervous. You're lying! Ooooh, I'm telling Anti-Cosmo!"

Anti-Cosmo? Betty jolted to attention. Anti-Cosmo was the one person H.P. said shouldn't find out that Gary was part genie! Even though Mr. Sanderson was good at keeping a serious face, he was obviously having a hard time focusing on both Gary and the conversation at the same time. He was running out of ideas.

"It's because he's half-mermaid!" Betty blurted. Both Mr. Sanderson and the blue boy looked at her. "What?" the blue boy asked.

Betty waved the arm that wasn't sore around in the air. "Yeah! He thinks he's a fish, and that he's in a fish tank. He's just playing–Gary's real smart, and he always comes up with the best stories. One time, he came up with a story about us riding horses in the rain, and then when there was lightning we hid in a cave and fed them apples, but we gave them too many apples and there were none left for us. It was so cold and we were hungry until my dad came to find us in the storm. But that's a different story. Right now, he's pretending to be half-mermaid. Say 'Glub glub', Gary."

Gary continued screaming into Mr. Sanderson's hand and trying to get out of his arms as though he hadn't heard. It was starting to scare Kenny a little.

"Humans have such active imaginations," Mr. Sanderson told the blue boy. The blue boy's ears twitched.

"I guess. But he doesn't sound like he's half-mermaid."

The elevator stopped. The doors opened again. The blue boy swept out first, but not without taking one last, long look at Gary. Betty looked at Mr. Sanderson, wondering if they were going to get out of there now too, but he kept perfectly still until the blue boy disappeared around the corner of another hallway. At least Gary had calmed down a little bit once the doors were open. Mr. Sanderson carried him into the hall, then set his feet on the floor and held him in place with his hands on Gary's shoulders.

"The Headquarters building is a testament of structural ingenuity. In fact, all the buildings in Pixie World are of the soundest craftsmanship. Calm down. We're magic. Magical buildings aren't going to close in on you. They won't fall, and you won't get trapped underneath them."

Gary kept shaking. He looked around, blinking and frowning, still gasping a little bit as he did. His hands were shaking worst of all. He kept running them down his legs, wiping off the sweat. Quietly, and without letting go of Kenny, Betty reached out and took one of his hands in hers. Gary flinched, but he didn't yank it away. Good. Her right arm was her sore one, and that might have hurt.

"Calm down," Mr. Sanderson said again. "We're not in the elevator anymore. Nothing out here is going to hurt you. If anything tried, I would use my magic to keep it away. You don't need fear. It's a worthless emotion. Don't let it control you."

Slowly, Gary settled back to his normal self. He still looked scared, like he might cry, although his face stayed dry. "I don't want to go in there again," he said. "I couldn't breathe."

"Yes you could. There was air."

"It's okay," Betty said, giving Gary's hand a soft tug. She pointed across the hall to a sign that read Stairs. "Next time, you can walk up or down instead of taking the elevator."

Gary looked at the sign, then nodded. He pushed Betty's hand away from his. "Okay. Where are we going now? Through those big doors over there?"

"That's right." Mr. Sanderson drifted over to them, leaving the three children to follow. "Don't step on any cracks in the sidewalk. Especially you, Gary. There will be consequences."

That didn't sound good. "Consequences?" Betty asked curiously.

"It's bad luck. The Anti-Fairies will chase you."

"Anti-Fairies?"

Mr. Sanderson bobbed his head. "You just saw one in the elevator. Anti-Fairies are unlucky. They get hungry for regular food, but they also have a second stomach that gets hungry for negative energy. They tend to cause trouble so they can feed on your bad luck."

Betty blinked. "Really? These Anti-Fairy people have a second stomach? Is that true?"

"Not totally. But we tell small children this because it's easier to understand than the complications of maintaining homeostasis in the universe. I'm sure H.P. will explain Anti-Fairies to you when you're older."

"Who was that elevator person anyway?" Gary asked.

"Yeah," Betty chimed in. "Why was he blue?"

Gary turned on her, looking stunned. "You can't just ask why someone's blue!"

"Well, he was," she said defensively. "What was I supposed to say?"

Mr. Sanderson sighed. When he reached the glass double doors, he pushed one of them open, and held it so the three of them could walk outside. "That delightful flower was Talon Anti-Lunifly. He's…" It took him a moment to find the words. Even when a moment had passed, and they started walking and/or flying down the sidewalk, he couldn't seem to pick the right ones to explain. Finally, Mr. Sanderson glanced up at the sky and simply said, "Anti-Cosmo is Talon's dad. Talon's special. He's very, very sick for an Anti-Fairy, so he spends a lot of time in Pixie World with us. When he isn't out causing trouble, at least. The energy field isn't as clean in Pixie World as it is in Anti-Fairy World, and he doesn't like the activities that we Pixies consider enjoyable, but it's calmer and safer for him to be here than live there. On most days, when he wants to, he rings the bells in the Water Temple every hour to signal what time it is."

"The Water Temple?"

Mr. Sanderson turned and pointed behind them. Betty twisted. Way at the end of the street and over in the puffy cloudy area, she saw a square white building, shorter than the others in the city, that had a waterfall pouring out of a gash high up its front. The bells must be in the little tower at the top, like at the church.

"It's scary," Gary said, at the same time Betty said, "It's pretty."

"Thank you. I designed most of it myself, with some help from Mr. Cinna." Mr. Sanderson turned and floated away again. "Anti-Cosmo lives in Anti-Fairy World, and can't always spend time with Talon. So, he and H.P. take care of him together, and Anti-Cosmo and his wife Anti-Wanda visit him when they can. He's the youngest anti-fairy in existence."

"Oh." Betty didn't think Talon was really the youngest anti-fairy since he wasn't a baby or anything, but she didn't say that. Instead, she said, "Who is Anti-Cosmo anyway?"

Mr. Sanderson glanced back at her again. "Anti-Cosmo isn't much cause for concern on his own. He's even shorter than I am. And due to his instability, if he starts threatening you one day, you can simply wait him out until he hits one of his emotionally low periods, and take revenge. It requires very little effort. However, he does happen to be the leader of a powerful group of magical creatures called Anti-Fairies. He is also a very good friend of H.P.'s. For some reason. That complicates things."

Gary frowned. He was walking next to Betty, keeping closer to the street than to the walls of the buildings they passed. Betty kept lookout for cars, but didn't see any. "I thought Anti-Cosmo was the scary guy."

"I wouldn't disagree. Anti-Cosmo thinks he's helping."

Maybe Anti-Cosmo was only scary to kids who were part genie. Betty bit her lip and changed the subject before Gary could get too scared. "Talon was a pretty color. He looked soft and fluffy, like a cat. Are all Anti-Fairies blue like him?"

"You can't just assume all Anti-Fairies are blue."

Kenny tugged on her arm. "Cats say meow, and I think that guy was a blue cat."

"I don't know," said Mr. Sanderson. "That's just the way Anti-Fairies are. Just forget about them for now. I'll protect you from Anti-Cosmo. He doesn't scare me. Now, do you see that tall, wide building?"

"Yeah?"

"That's Rapunzel Tower. My bedroom is at the top. I share an apartment with three other pixies, but we've prepared everything so the three of you can sleep in nice beds tonight."

Sleeping in a warm, soft bed did sound nice, but Betty didn't understand why they had to come outside to get to the new building. "Why couldn't we just ride the elevator over there?" she asked. But as soon as she said it, she realized her mistake. She looked over at Gary. "Oh. Sorry. I mean, I know you were scared of it."

He shrugged, avoiding eye contact, and kicked at the ground. Betty tried again.

"Anyway, you could fly us where we're going too, huh, Sanderson?"

"No. And call me Mr. Sanderson."

"I'll bet you could fly us," she decided. "Your wings are really big. Can I ride you?"

Mr. Sanderson opened the door to the Rapunzel Tower's lowest floor. "No. That behavior would be highly unprofessional. Come inside now."

Geez. Who fed him salt instead of a sugarcube? When he started towards the elevator, Betty stuck out her tongue at the back of his head. Nyeh.

"I saw that. That's also highly unprofessional workplace behavior."

Betty huffed. "Well, you're boring."

"Thank you." Mr. Sanderson pressed the button for the elevator and folded his hands together behind his back. The button started to glow, though the doors didn't open right away.

"I'm not going in there," Gary said, moving to the other side of the room. "Let's go up the stairs."

Mr. Sanderson glanced over at him. "It's a long way to the top floor."

"I'm not going in there."

"All right. You take the stairs, and Betty, Kenny, and I will ride in the elevator. When you get to the top, look for the room with the sign on the door that says 002. Knock, and I'll let you in."

Gary nodded. With a quick "'Bye, I'll see you later," he ran off to the door with the sign that said Stairs.

"Shouldn't we go with him?" Betty asked. She didn't climb stairs very much back on the farm, but she knew she didn't like it. Climbing stairs was hard and it made her tired.

"No. That's his choice. Taking the elevator is our choice."

"But he's alone."

"He chose to be alone. Nothing will hurt him in the stairwell. Gary can look out for himself."

Ding! The elevator doors open. Betty looked inside, holding her arm, then looked at the stairs.

"I want to touch it," Kenny said, letting go of her hand and hurrying inside the elevator. "I want to touch the button."

"I don't know," Betty said. "Let's not take the elevator."

Mr. Sanderson considered her words. "Actually, since Gary isn't coming with us, we can just ping straight to the top."

That wasn't what she meant. But Mr. Sanderson took the pen from his jacket and flicked it in the air before she could say anything. Ping!

One second, everything was normal. Betty was standing in front of the open elevator, nibbling on her lower lip. But then her stomach twisted, and her eyes grew blurry. She stretched super tall until her feet left the ground, then smashed super flat. Then she was normal again. Was she normal? Betty heard a second ping and decided to take a chance opening her eyes. When she blinked, they were all of a sudden in a new hallway with purple carpet. Like magic. She stumbled, reaching her hands towards the walls.

"W-whoa."

"That was like flying like birds do," Kenny said, laughing hysterically. When he leaned forward, his dirty blond flops of hair fell into his face. He looked so much like Dad that way, and Betty winced.

"Come in." Mr. Sanderson had opened a door that led from the hallway to another room. It seemed really nice in there. Nicer than lots of homes Betty had seen. First there was the little kitchen area off to the right side, with a white tile floor and pretty cupboards, even if they were so purple they were almost gray. It made the place look clean, but cold. Past the kitchen area, she saw a gray couch and some really comfy-looking chairs. Kenny squealed when he saw them and ran over to flop his face in a furry pillow. A giant TV hung on the wall, and there were three tall windows with the blinds open to let in the starlight.

"Shouldn't we wait for Gary?"

"Don't worry. He's on his way." Mr. Sanderson put his hand on his shoulder and pushed her into the apartment. As she hesitantly obeyed and started to look around more carefully, Betty realized something else.

"Wow. There are a lot of plants in here." Some sat in bowls along the counters, some hung in baskets from the ceiling. All of them were slightly yellow and starting to wilt.

"The multitude of plants give off oxygen so you can breathe. Normally, humans can't stay in the cloudlands for more than a few hours. They definitely aren't supposed to spend the night. However, this is an emergency."

Betty frowned. "But I thought we were going to live here?"

"There's not enough oxygen for you to stay in the cloudlands forever. Tomorrow, we'll take you down to Earth for a few hours so you can get some fresh air. Then we'll find a place on Earth where you can live. Obviously we don't have the arrangements already made. That would imply we planned for your arrival."

"You live here."

"Yes, that's a fact. Duh." Mr. Sanderson unbuttoned his gray coat. When he took it off, he was only wearing his shirt and tie. Somehow, not having the gray coat made the white cloth look really bright, and it was kind of weird to see him dressed like that when he looked, sounded, and acted so boring. Gray fit him very well. "Betty, humans have these organs in their chests called lungs, which fill their blood with oxygen so their heart can pump the blood and oxygen throughout the body. Pixies are different. We don't have lungs. Instead, we breathe magic from the energy field by taking it in through the pores in our skin. The energy field is all around us, and it's always been there, although some parts of the universe have more magic in the field than others. Earth is one of those places."

Betty remembered H.P. mentioning they were in the "cloudlands" near Earth when he'd been talking about her parents. She blinked at the thought, and tried to distract herself with another as Mr. Sanderson started whistling and folded up his coat. "Well, what about Gary? Can Gary live here forever? He's magic."

Mr. Sanderson put the coat on the kitchen counter. "Gary is only 1.56% genie. He has a human body, and he needs to breathe oxygen. Even if he was fully genie, genies are creatures of fire. He would still need plenty of oxygen to survive. Besides that, we don't get as much sunlight in the cloudlands as the Earth does. Genies need a lot of sunlight to be healthy. That's why Gary has to take his Vitamin D medicine."

H.P. had said the word "cloudlands" when he'd told her what happened to her parents. Betty made her mind go blank. She'd had to bury her favorite horse, Blossom, before. Well, her dad had buried Blossom, while Betty just tried not to think about how much she wished she could have gone for one last ride along the road. She knew she would never see Blossom again, but it was okay, because everything had to die someday. Even her parents. Someday, even her. She wasn't going to let it get to her, she decided as she picked at the skin on her arm. She dug into it with her thumbnail and decided she just wasn't going to think about her parents at all.

When Mr. Sanderson turned to her again, studying her intently, Betty wondered for a second if he had read her mind. Then he tilted his head. "Betty, while we're waiting for Gary, I have some information to relay to you."

"Okay. What?"

"Sit down."

Confused, Betty kept watching him as she crossed into the living room area of the apartment and sat down on the couch next to Kenny. He'd gotten distracted with the rug on the floor, which was gray and had a lot of straight white lines running across it. Kenny ran his fingers up and down the white stripes, saying, "Vrrrm, vrrrm," as if he had a toy car to play with. There weren't any toys.

Mr. Sanderson sat down next to Betty, and folded his hands in his lap. "All right. Ms. Lovell, I know that coming to a new place can be difficult. I want to make the transition for you as smooth as possible. You know that H.P. and I rescued you after we saw your parents crash their cars. I hope you understand that we want to help you have the best lives you can. All three of you."

"Yeah?"

"You're under Pixie jurisdiction now. Pixies Inc. is going to help all three of you grow up and live happy, safe lives. It will take time. Years, even. At least a decade, and possibly two. But in the end, you're all going to be happy."

Betty couldn't remember how long a decade was, but it sounded like a long time. She frowned. "Yeah?"

"But, I have to explain something. Gary has to deal with particular circumstances that you don't. That means a lot of people will be giving him extra help for a long time. Sometimes, you might feel like people don't pay as much attention to you as they pay Gary. Betty, you're eight years old."

"Eight and a half."

Mr. Sanderson's face remained stern. "This is your warning, so you'll know what to expect. Gary is going to take up lots of our attention. However, you are not less important than Gary, no matter what anyone else might tell you one day. You are not less capable, or less interesting, or less liked. You are full of passion, energy, and intelligence. You're a bright-eyed girl who loves math, card games, horses, and her brother. H.P. and I like you, Gary, and Kenny the same. We know we can trust you to take care of yourself without getting hurt, and we're proud of you. It just so happens that Gary will probably need some extra help as he grows. He might be asked to do certain jobs that you aren't. Sometimes you might conclude that you are being left out of things. I assume you can be mature about this, and not complain or display jealousy towards him."

Betty shrugged. She reached up to tug on the sleeve of her good arm, wishing the soreness of her bad one didn't annoy her so much. "Yeah, okay." Her parents had told her almost the same thing when Kenny was born. Sometimes he needed more attention than she did, especially back when he was still in diapers and couldn't feed himself, but Betty still loved him. She didn't even know it was possible not to love him. They grew up together. They were family. Not that she was thinking about her parents.

"Good talk," Mr. Sanderson said. He licked his fingers and touched them to her cheek as he stood up. "Put on these pajamas"—he pinged up a pink shirt and soft gray pants—"brush your teeth with the yellow toothbrush in the bathroom down the hall, floss, turn out the lights, and get in bed. I'm going to head out and fly with Gary up the stairs, and then put Kenny down."

"All by myself?" Then Betty remembered what he'd just said about Gary. Of course. Climbing all those stairs meant Gary would be tired, and Mr. Sanderson would have to help Kenny and him get ready for bed. Gary needed extra help with things sometimes. So she said, "Oh, yeah, right. Don't worry about me. I can do that by myself."

In this game of life, consider Player 8. A king, like ours, but a frosted one. He is small; a man of the books. Strong in legs and wings, but not big and broad-shouldered as our good gray king is. Noble and polite Player 8 casts himself to be, stability is yet a fickle mistress, and at times he breaks and bends. Some days come exhilaratingly high, with passion and sunshine-bound starlight carving paths beneath his sprinting feet. But some days, uncurling from a ball is an effort, and the inner battles leave tired scars beneath his eyes. His queen doesn't think less of him in either state; she is married to her work, to living and doing and cherishing the moments, and he is the most interesting person she has ever set her sights upon.

"It sure was nice a' the Head Pixie t'let us use his private hot tub for takin' a nice long flea dip together," she says, leaning her head against his chest. He is blue, as is she, their fur damp and cold in the brisk Pixie World air. She doesn't mind it. Her king is there to warm her up, curling his arm behind her neck and drawing her in to plant a kiss above her nose.

"Oh, my love, you just have to know how to handle him."

Flea dips aren't a regular occurrence for them, at least not in recent years, but after spending weeks in close quarters with entire colonies of furry blue folk from all over Anti-Fairy World, they really should be mandated. The fleas are nasty enough, and then are the magic-sucking sprites. Killing them off in the Water Temple's pool isn't an option. That's Prince Sunday's place, a sacred place. No. The hot tub on the C-level balcony had been their only choice. Anti-Cosmo tells himself this three times, although he knows H.P. disapproves, and truthfully that nags at him.

But the trick to these sorts of things, Anti-Cosmo has found, is not to request permission to engage in such activities beforehand. Rather, he'd first poured the pesticide mix into the hot tub, and then when the Head Pixie came out for one of his frequent private(?) evening soaks, Anti-Cosmo had turned him down with a polite, innocent explanation and gracious thanks. Of course, H.P. had stalked back inside grumbling, and had wasted no time in the least in exacting his revenge. When Anti-Wanda next dips her head below the water's surface to entertain herself by blowing a stream of bubbles, Anti-Cosmo glances up at the two security cameras that recently pinged into existence overhead. Both glare down with uninterrupted scrutiny. You were mean to me, so now you get no hot tub privacy.

It mattereth not; his queen is too tempting a jewel to resist, and she loves him so. When she pops up with a splash and he pulls her lips to his, she doesn't resist him; in fact, she encourages it. Their tender moment is finally interrupted by the squeak of a sliding glass door. Anti-Cosmo and Anti-Wanda each flick an ear in its direction, but don't end their kiss until they finish it on their own time. Anti-Cosmo turns first, anticipating the only other anti-fairy in Pixie World to be badgering him for Tarrow knows what, but it isn't him.

It's a pixie. Anti-Cosmo has trouble at times recalling all the pixies by their faces, but they are a largely identical race, and everyone does. This one, however, has red-brown freckles all across his cheeks, which significantly increases Anti-Cosmo's odds of guessing right. Then, too, his hair lies flat at the front of his head, and stands up in scruffy spikes all along the back. He's tall, although thin, like a cobweb twirled around a twig. Most of all, the pointed gray hat floating above his head bears on its end a little silver star. His position is a significant one, and Anti-Cosmo dreads whatever he has to say.

"I say, good man. Aren't there three human children you could be looking after rather than bothering the High Countess of the Anti-Fairies and I after business hours?" As Longwood drifts over, almost hauntingly not bobbing up and down so much as remaining level, Anti-Cosmo does not say anything about the permission he and his wife don't have to be up here. Technically, the Vice President of Pixies Inc., and second in command of the Pixies as a whole, outranks him on Pixie ground.

"That's a matter I intend to discuss with you, High Count." Longwood brings in his wings and touches down with both feet at the same time. The buzzing ends when he folds them away. He leans his crossed arms against the edge of the hot tub, although doesn't dip his head far enough forward that Anti-Cosmo can see the lavender eyes behind his unbreachable shades. His expression remains neutral. "I'm impressed by your ability to obtain privacy on the C-level floor. Congratulations. I'd have expected the Head Pixie to be out here with you at this time of night."

Anti-Cosmo catches the passive-aggressive remark, and squeezes his toes into fists beneath the water. But, he retains his temper, and slides his arm down to Anti-Wanda's waist. "Flea dip."

Longwood looks down at the swirls of white foam in the water. If one isn't in the know, they could perhaps pass for foam. For one instant, his facade cracks. The tiniest inkling of fear peeps out in the corner of his mouth. It's swallowed up again. "Ah," Longwood manages weakly, and takes half a dozen steps back. Anti-Cosmo can't resist the chuckle, though it's more the cackle of a madman than the disguised, muffled laughter of a well-mannered friend.

"He said somethin' about the darling children," Anti-Wanda says, snuggling against her husband's thin shoulder. "How precious. Hon, I wish we had a pup we could coddle over now. I still want a li'l damsel."

"The children." Longwood is distracted by the pesticides now, although he pretends he isn't. "Yes, the human children. High Count, I wonder if you can help me. You and H.P. are… friends."

This line is said with feeling, though not emotion. Even though every pixie has read the Head's autobiography a dozen times, none of them are certain of his true standing with Anti-Cosmo. Longwood understands that it's intimate to some degree, because one time, Longwood saw them holding hands as Anti-Cosmo careened through his castle, dragging the Head Pixie after him and babbling the whole time. If H.P. allowed another creature to take his hand without yanking it back, their relationship must be serious indeed. Longwood has been with his girlfriend, the selkie Naelita, for 9,000 years and counting now. In all that time, he'd only dared to hold her hand three times–and only for five minutes at most before it was always determined by his stutter and flushing cheeks that things were becoming much too steamy for this to go on.

To make matters more confusing, Longwood has also seen Anti-Wanda take H.P.'s hand twice: Once at the hospital, and once at a mosh pit somewhere in Comet Falls. Briefly, he considers the idea (considers, not entertains it, for pixies do not entertain) of telling Anti-Cosmo his wife hasn't been as faithful as he doubtless believes she is. Anti-Wanda was so fast, she even tried to take his hand once when he lost Aspen–as if Longwood were as easy to seduce as the Head Pixie clearly was. With Anti-Cosmo still in the room, too. The nerve of that dame!

Then he decides against revealing anything. He wants Anti-Cosmo to stay on H.P.'s good side, and as far as Longwood is concerned, this business of holding hands is just one more offense he's caught his king committing. Those are just the times he was noticed in the act. Who else has the Head Pixie been holding hands with when Longwood hasn't been around to see? How can he preach the flaws of emotional reasoning when he himself engages in such hypocritical acts behind the scenes? And to think, his fellow pixies absolutely idolize the man. Sanderson especially. Is he blind?

"You and the Head Pixie are friends," Longwood says again, refocusing his thoughts. He watches Anti-Cosmo's face for any sign of embarrassment, for after all, Anti-Cosmo isn't a pixie, so if he and the Head Pixie really have been lacing their fingers together in secret behind closed doors, his emotions are bound to bleed through. Anti-Cosmo waves his hand in a spiral. Translating such body language doesn't come naturally to a pixie taught since nymphhood to speak with words instead of motion, and Longwood muses over the interpretation carefully. He is fairly certain that Anti-Cosmo used the swirl to indicate that what Longwood has said about their friendship is "probably true". Longwood goes on.

"I thought I might encourage you to invite H.P. to your castle for dinner. Tomorrow night, if at all possible, before the children get attached to Sanderson. They'll imprint, you know. That will be disastrous for all of us. Of course I admire all of Sanderson's wonderful qualities"—not that he can think of any off the top of his head—"but this is out of his expertise, and I think you'll agree with me, High Count, when I say he shouldn't be permitted to look after children. You remember what happened with Aspen, of course. I trust you can put in a good word for me to the Head Pixie." Longwood steels his wings. "H.P. thinks that Sanderson could raise them, Valleysky v. Geraldson. I disagree. I want to adopt them myself."

It takes Anti-Cosmo a split-second to remember which court case that is, but when he does, he howls with laughter, splashing back in the tub. Even Anti-Wanda snickers along with him, though one might question how much of the conversation she really understands. Longwood stares at them both, cold and offended, until Anti-Cosmo sits up again and wipes pesticides from the places around his eyes with both hands.

"Ohhh, I'm sorry, chap. You actually wish to adopt the human children? That's your grand plan here? And H.P. is in on this idea too? Why, you're Pixies! The Fairy Council would never allow it. That court case is used for adopting godchildren only in extreme cases when no other healthy solution can be found. While I admit to not knowing the entire situation, I highly doubt that Pixies will be preferred as legal guardians over other humans or Fairies."

Longwood clasps his hands behind his back–the Pixie equivalent of a pout. He inches a step closer to the hot tub, and gains enough confidence to lift himself into the air again. "High Count, I've tried talking to him, but he won't listen to me. Could you try to get through to him?"

Anti-Cosmo, continuing to grin, props his elbows up on the hot tub's edge. His wispy wings beat twice behind him, swirling the water as he brings them in around his shoulders. "Oh, give me a moment to understand, now. Vice President, you want that I should place all my plans on hold, host an exquisite dinner party, and spend my night attempting to sway the Head Pixie on a matter of his personal decision which purely affects your company, all in return for nothing? Surely you jest; you're a saucy boy."

Longwood floats in silence for a long moment. Then, with care, he reaches up to adjust his shades by one arm. "I think I can offer you something you want, High Count, sir."

"Haha!" Now Anti-Cosmo is merely toying with him, stringing him along with taunting promises and unfulfilled expectations. "Do you have even the slightest idea how difficult it is to coordinate that much unenchanted food? Particularly on short notice. I am High Count, well funded by my people, but these are not the olden days when the Dagda's bottomless cauldron lay securely in Anti-Fairy hands. No, no, no. While I crave equality for my despised subjects who have been so cruelly locked away in Anti-Fairy World all these years, why, you granting me anything of the sort remains outside of your abilities at the present moment. What, pray tell, could you possibly offer me that should make me want to risk political relations with the Pixies in an attempt to change your dear Head's mind?"

Longwood closes his eyes. "High Count, you can keep one of the humans. Taking two under my wing instead of none is the practical choice."

At this, Anti-Cosmo frowns. "Really, I have no interest whatsoever in–"

"I should mention, sir," Longwood said, cutting him off by raising his hand, head still bowed and eyes cringing shut, "that I spoke with my coworker Ralston as I checked their DNA reports tonight, and the orange witch we just picked up is part genie."