(Posted May 8th, 2018)
Gone Batty
Year of Water; Winter of the Sunlit River
Saturday, December 28th, 1991
"Hey," she said.
"Hey," he said. He stood there at the entrance of the kitchen, looking around awkwardly like he didn't know if he was allowed to sit down or not. Betty pulled out the bar stool next to her so he knew it was okay.
"How'd you sleep?"
Gary ruffled the back of his hair, yawning as he did. "Ooh. Way, way better than I thought I would, actually, haha! But it's weird not having sunlight come through my window. I don't feel awake. How about you?"
"Eh. I didn't fall asleep until way late. Like, after midnight."
"Oh. Sorry. That's hard."
"Yeah, but I still got up before you." She held out the cereal box. "Want some cereal? You'll have to get it all yourself, though. Sanderson got that bowl and spoon out for you, and there's milk in the fridge, but it's soy milk. He went to see H.P. this morning, Hawkins took Kenny to see if he likes the toys they give the pixie kids, Wilcox went to work, and Longwood's doing something in his room. Making beds or something. So it's just us here."
Gary walked over to her bar stool and took the cereal from her hand. He flipped it over and studied the cartoony dragons on the back of the box. "Is it good?"
"Ehiyeh. I just started eating it."
"Huh." With a thoughtful look on his face, Gary opened the top and poured the cereal in the bowl. "I've never had this kind before."
"Yeah, they're squares with holes, kind of like Cinnamon Toast Crunch and kind of like Cheerios. I think it's probably magic."
"Why do Pixies need their own cereal? I thought all the cereals that could be made had already been invented."
Betty spooned another bite of the stuff in her mouth. "Because this is magic cereal, duh."
"Haha." Gary brought out his Vitamin D medicine and set it on the counter next to his cereal bowl. Then he went to get the milk. Betty kept eating as she watched him.
"It's not very sugary, though. It tastes like the dry pieces of Lucky Charms that aren't the marshmallows."
"That's too bad. Is this the milk?"
"Yeah. Is it too heavy? Do you need help?"
"I've got it, thanks." The counter was low enough that he could reach the top easily. The milk carton came down with a soft thud, and Gary unfolded its lid. "You know, I never thought about magical creatures like fairies and pixies having to use the fridge before. I always thought they just ate berries, dew, honey, and stuff like that."
"I hope they don't eat people and they're not fattening us up," Betty said. Gary almost dropped the whole entire carton in his bowl. His fingers skidded down the sides as he caught it and lifted it up again.
"What? Why would you even say that?"
Betty fiddled with her spoon. "I was just worrying about it."
Gary blew out his breath, rippling the milk in his cereal. He'd poured in more than Betty liked in hers. "Well, I don't think you need to worry about that."
"Yeah, maybe not." Taking another bite, she said, "I hope we don't get eaten by a dragon."
"Did Mr. Sanderson say if there are dragons in Pixie World?" he asked as he came over to sit on the stool next to her.
"No." Betty paused. "But he didn't say if there weren't."
Gary looked around like he expected to find a dragon lying on the living room couch, then started to eat his cereal quietly.
Thinking about Gary was infinitely better than dwelling on her parents' fates. Outwardly, Betty knew she appeared calm on Saturday morning as she ate her magic square cereal and sipped her water. But inside, her mind was spinning like a top. This was the first time she'd had the chance to talk to Gary since she'd hugged him last night, and she wasn't sure what to say. What if she said something that hurt his feelings? She didn't even really know him. Maybe he didn't like talking to people. Maybe he was one of those weird guys who didn't want to have any friends, and liked to dress in black and stand alone on a corner of the street staring at everybody. He didn't even like hugs. He was scared of them.
It was then that Betty made a plan. Gary was her friend now, and friends were supposed to help each other face their fears. If Gary didn't like hugs, then she'd just have to start him off with small touches and work her way up until he did. Then he would see there was nothing about hugs that was scary, and that she was trying to be nice. She should just reach over and touch his hand. Right now, while they were eating breakfast. Here she went. Right now.
"My backpack!" Gary suddenly cried. Betty almost dropped her water glass. After flinging his medicine pills into his mouth, Gary jumped off the bar stool next to her and ran to the apartment door. A new pixie had just come in through there, one that Betty didn't know. He looked tall for a pixie. Taller than she was. And he had a faint mustache beginning to grow above his mouth. He wore a gray shirt that wasn't very fancy, with short sleeves. His sunglasses were up in his hair. The new pixie smiled at her, running his fingers through his shiny black hair as he handed the pudgy blue backpack to Gary. Gary fell to his knees and hugged it tight.
"I thought I wasn't ever going to see this again! I had it with me in the crash. Thanks a bunch, Mr. Bayard."
Mr. Bayard grinned. "How ya doing, hot stuff?"
"Better than yesterday, thanks!"
He had Gary's backpack, but not the toy farm set her papa made for her with all the animals and twelve horses? Okay. It probably broke when the cars did.
"That's wicked, ya little cool cat. Where's Sanderson?"
Gary said, "I don't know." Betty said, "He had to go see H.P. or something. Everyone else is gone too, except for Mr. Longwood." She pointed down the hall. "He's still getting ready for work, I guess."
"Really…" Mr. Bayard glanced in that direction. "Okay. In that case, I'm just going to pop in and request permission to take the two of you out for a little ride."
"Ooh, sounds like fun." After Mr. Bayard fluttered away, Gary turned back to the kitchen counter. And the broad smile dropped completely off his face like it had been wiped. "Uh. Betty? Why does your other arm look like that now? It didn't look like that yesterday."
Betty set her spoon in the cereal bowl and glanced down. Her left arm had turned a little pink and stripey. "Oh, they're just scratches. They'll go away soon, probably tomorrow. Maybe tonight."
"Did Mr. Sanderson do that to you?"
His words were whispered and very serious. They caught Betty off guard, and she jerked up her head. "No, of course not! What? I'm a kid. Grown-ups don't hurt kids. Why would you even think that? Sanderson is nice, and he wants to help us. Don't worry, they're just from something I was doing with Mr. Longwood. He was teaching me to put needles in my skin to calm me down. They're not even deep. It's just like scratching an itch. It makes me feel better. It's called acu… actu… Actually, I don't remember."
"You mean you–? Why… Why would you do that to yourself?" Gary sounded honestly concerned, and confused, like he'd never been hurt on just one side of his body before. Betty was pretty sure she'd explained this to him in the hall yesterday, but she decided to do it again.
"Well, this arm was hurting." She pointed to the long red scrapes on her right arm. Then she switched over and pointed to her left. "It bothered me to feel pain on just one side, so when Mr. Longwood said he could teach me something that would help, I had him add some needles over here. He scratched me a little on accident, but it's okay. I feel more balanced now. I think the scratches actually helped. Now my brain isn't focused on just one arm. It thinks that it's normal for arms to feel this way, so it just blocks the pain out."
Gary thought about that for a second, then nodded. "Oh, well, I guess that makes a little bit of sense. Just a little bit. Like a little-wittle bit–Poking yourself with needles still sounds like it would hurt a lot. But you probably shouldn't do that. Mr. Sanderson and Mr. Longwood are magic. He probably could have fixed your arm for you if you asked."
Betty hesitated. If she told Gary that Mr. Sanderson had been too busy helping him to help her, that might make him feel bad. He might start to argue when the pixies needed to help him, and then if he didn't get all the extra help he needed, that would make her feel bad. Instead she said, "Oh yeah, I didn't think about that. I'm okay, though. Really. One time, I got my arm stepped on by a horse. That hurt way more than this."
Her words were supposed to cheer Gary up, but instead, a look of panic splashed across his face. "You were stepped on by a horse? Oh no! Are you okay?"
Betty blinked. She'd been stepped on a long time ago. Of course it didn't hurt anymore. But it was actually kind of sweet that Gary was so worried about her. Maybe he really had meant that stuff he said about wanting to be her friend.
"Okay," she said. "I'm sorry I scared you. I won't do any needle stuff by myself, and I'll make sure Mr. Longwood practices more before he tries on me again. I promise. Thanks for worrying about me."
Before she could say anything else, Gary plunged his hand into his backpack and pulled out a pale blue notebook that had darker polka-dots on the cover. "Here." He held it out with both hands. "I want you to have this. It was a rule when I was growing up that I wasn't allowed to sing, because I can't control my hand. So instead, I would write the songs I made up down in a book like this. It really made me feel better when I started to worry about things and wanted to distract myself."
"I can't take your journal," she protested.
Gary ran his thumb along the pages. Twice. "I don't think you're not taking it. No, I don't think you're taking it at all. I'm giving it to you. I don't really need it anymore. H.P. and Mr. Sanderson are going to let me sing out loud as much as I want now."
"But what about your songs?" The thought almost made her throw up her cereal and soy milk. Betty had written a story at school once, and had let her friend Katie take it home for the weekend to show her big brother, who was a story writer as a job. Then Katie lost the story, saying that her dad probably threw it away in the trash can on accident. Even though Betty had held herself together with a smile when Katie told her that on Monday, she still cried in her mother's lap for an hour after she came home. And that was just one story. She couldn't imagine losing half a notebook full of songs. How could Gary trust her to be careful with his songs so soon? Katie had been her best friend for a whole year, and she and Gary only met yesterday.
But when he smiled shyly at her, it melted the whole world into tiger butter. "I can remember my songs. And if I don't, then I'll just ask you if I can look." Gary pushed the notebook into her stomach. "Please take it. I'll feel better if you do. I want you to have a way to distract yourself when your body hurts. I just don't want you to pick at those scabs or scratch your skin or stab yourself with needles on purpose anymore. I don't think that's good for you. It doesn't sound very safe."
Keeping a diary sounded like a really girly thing to do, and Betty had never thought that kind of thing was for her. But she took it anyway. "Thanks, Gary. But I wasn't really hurting my arms. Mr. Longwood said the needles really help if you do it right, and he didn't mean to scratch me. It doesn't really hurt. They just feel itched."
Gary bent his head and zipped up his backpack again. "Um. Well, maybe in a few years, when you're a teenager, you'll, um… You might start hurting more? My mom said all girls' stomachs start hurting after they become teenagers, because that's part of being a girl, because there are babies inside you. So yeah. I'll just feel better if you have a notebook to write in. It really helps, I promise. And I'll buy you a new one with my allowance when you fill that one up. And I'll ask and see if any of the other pixies know about Mr. Longwood and the needles. If he's poking you for no reason, someone should tell them, and if needles really do help with pain, they'll know. Maybe they can have someone better than Mr. Longwood show you how to do it."
"That's really nice of you. Thanks."
"Yeah, you're welcome. You're my friend."
Betty caught her breath. "We're friends?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. Great."
They waited another awkward minute for Mr. Bayard to come out of Mr. Longwood's room. Betty drummed her fingers on the notebook's soft cover. She wanted to open it and see how many songs Gary had written, but she was afraid that if she did it in front of him, he'd be embarrassed. Instead she said, "I like your pajamas. They look comfy."
"Thanks, they are. Yours are neat too."
"Mr. Sanderson gave them to me."
"Me too."
They waited a little longer. Betty finished her cereal and took her bowl around the counter to the sink. Gary did the same, then sat down on his stool again. They waited even more a little longer. Finally, Mr. Bayard came out again, with Mr. Longwood behind him. Mr. Bayard looked annoyed, and Mr. Longwood looked like he wanted to cry. His freckles blended in with his pink cheeks. He cupped a bunch of tiny needles in his fist, and a few more were sticking out of his ear.
"Let's go, kids," Mr. Bayard said calmly. "Mr. Longwood said it was okay."
"But–" Betty began.
Mr. Bayard gestured with his hand. A wave of warm energy slammed into her face, knocking Betty almost to the floor. She grabbed for the edge of the counter, but missed. When she looked down, she found that she was now outside the apartment building. Like, way, way outside of it. They were in some kind of cloudy field now, with the buildings rising up in the distance on the other side of a short purple bridge. Betty was still in her pink pajamas, but Gary's notebook was gone. Even though it was morning now, the sky was still starry and purple-blue overhead. The three of them were standing next to some kind of huge bike. Except, instead of wheels, the bike hovered on two tiny white clouds a few inches above the ground. Longwood hadn't come.
"Eep!" Gary slapped a hand over his mouth. "M-Mr. Sanderson said I'm not supposed to ping!"
"No, it's fine. Now let's get down to business." Mr. Bayard flicked his sunglasses down over his eyes. After unstrapping a large silver dish from the side of the big black bike, he handed it to Gary. "Okay, you two. I hope you got some good rest last night, because here's what we're gonna do this morning. See that giant hill there right behind you?"
Betty turned first and gasped. Gary turned with her. And jumped. "Oh my goodness!"
Betty crept forward. Her stomach flew into her throat, then down to her knees. Mr. Bayard's "hill" wasn't much of a hill. It was like a gigantic slide, but without edges. Five thick purple stripes made a smooth path that stretched far, far, far down to whiteness below. Was that Earth? She could see a few little trees, although a lot of the land was empty. "Oh," Betty said. The Head Pixie had said they were in the clouds above Earth, but somehow, it was way scarier actually seeing for herself how high they really were. She reached out to take Gary's arm. He held hers in return.
Mr. Bayard nodded and leaned back against the black bike, holding himself up with his elbows. "That beauty, my friends, is the Bit Bridge. What you want to do is ride this dish all the way down this monster ramp, and then at the bottom, I'll be there to drive you up again."
"Yeah, I don't know," Gary murmured.
Betty gulped. "Are you sure this is safe?"
"It's just a bit of snow at the bottom," Mr. Bayard assured them. "It's soft. You'll like it. Then I'll bring you back to the top on my starcycle so you can ride down again."
"Starcycle?" Betty repeated. She looked the bike contraption over again. It did look a lot bigger and fancier than a normal bike, with an engine and everything. And of course there were the cloud-wheels. A huge yellow star was painted on the side. "Why don't you just call it a motorcycle?"
"Because it's a starcycle."
Betty looked again at Gary, who was backing away. "I don't know," he said again. "Why don't we just, uh, tour the city instead?"
"Yeah, what Gary said. Maybe we should do something else. After I go on just one run."
Gary looked at her like she'd gone bonkers in five seconds. "What?"
She shrugged defensively. "Mr. Bayard thinks it's safe, so I'll try it at least one time. My mom says that's how we 'broaden our horizons'."
… Mom. Mom who was there when she first rode a horse, when she first helped a mare birth her colt, when she first cooked on the stove, when she first went on a butterfly fairy hunt with her parents in the rain, when she first learned to read, when she first helped to make Kenny's birthday cake. Even when her belly had been huge with baby Kenny inside her, Mom always gave the best hugs. Betty couldn't really describe them, but it was the way Mom put both hands on her spine and pulled her in close, leaning down to rest her head just above Betty's shoulder. Her squeezing hugs made Betty feel like the most special person in all of Kansas. Or all of the world.
Mom would want her to broaden her horizons by riding the dish down the Bit Bridge hill at least once. Mr. Bayard thought it was okay. She'd be careful.
"You don't have to go with me," she assured Gary, reaching out to take the silver dish. "I don't want you to go if you're scared, but I want to try once. I have to."
Gary looked at her, then the giant purple hill, and then at her again. He moved between it and her, holding up his hands near his chest. "No way. You're crazy. What if you fall?"
"Can I fall?" she asked Mr. Bayard.
"Nah," he said, rolling his bike forward. "The Bridge is magic. It tugs magical things and people to it, so they stick like magnets."
Immediately, Gary locked eyes with her again. "Betty, don't. You're not magic."
"Oh!" Mr. Bayard's eyes cleared up with understanding. "No, it's fine. If you fall, I'll catch you."
Betty chewed on her upper lip. Okay, the hill or the bridge or whatever it was called was crazy high. She knew she'd probably get a little scratched up at the bottom, but Mr. Bayard had said it was snow down there. Snow was soft, and she'd only be down there for a second before he brought her back to the top to warm up again. What if she changed her mind later and wanted to slide down, but the season changed and then it was all dirt and rocks at the bottom? Then it would hurt. What if it didn't snow next year? She could wait until next year when she was nine, but would she still be in Pixie World then? Mr. Sanderson and Mr. Longwood made it sound like she and Gary were only here in Pixie World until the Pixies could find a place for them to live on Earth because there wasn't enough oxygen here. What if she never came back to Pixie World?
What if she died in a car accident like her parents? What if she died and then never had the chance to sled down the highest, craziest, funnest hill ever in her life?
"One time," Betty said. Clutching the dish to her heart, she tiptoed right up to the Bridge. Gary seemed speechless, but he got out of her way. The Bridge was so shiny and slick, it looked like a bowling alley. Betty knelt down and positioned the dish carefully at the top. For a few seconds, she stared down the steep drop, trying to decide if even considering this made her crazy. Now that she was up close, about to slide down, it was actually a lot higher than she'd realized. She wet her lips with her tongue and swallowed.
"So this goes straight down to Earth?"
"Yep. The only way to get into the cloudlands without poofing or pinging is to climb one of the Bridges. This one belongs to us Pixies, and connects Pixie World to Kansas. We're right above Mushroom Rock now. The Fairies have a Rainbow Bridge in California. The Anti-Fairies used to have a Shadow Bridge, but they don't anymore. They broke it. Whatcha gonna do?"
"Really? We're above Kansas?" Betty raised her eyebrows. "I've never seen or heard about a giant beam of purple light making a bridge into the clouds."
"You have to be magic or a godkid to see it," Mr. Bayard explained patiently, rubbing the handlebars of his bike with his palms.
Or someone had to blow magic dust in your eyes, she guessed. "What's a godkid?"
Mr. Bayard placed two fingers on his nose, just below the bridge of his sunglasses. "It means you're a kid who has a fairy godmother or godfather to grant your wishes."
"Like Cinderella?"
"You mean Cosmorella? Yeah, like that. Fairies can choose to be godparents as a job when they grow up. They find miserable kids all over the world and use their magic to help them have a good childhood and learn to take care of themselves when they grow up. But their kids can't tell anyone about magic, or else their fairy godparents have to quit and leave them. We have to keep the cloudlands secret and safe so adults don't try to take control of us or steal our magic or anything."
Betty looked at Gary. "Okay. So, are Kenny, Gary, and me godkids? Is Mr. Sanderson our fairy godfather?"
Mr. Bayard glanced down at his lap. "We're Pixies. We're not totally allowed to have godkids. Instead, Mr. Sanderson wants to adopt the three of you. Then if he does, he'll be allowed to take care of you kind of like you were a godkid, but you won't have to be separated from him when you grow up to be adults."
"Adopt us?" Betty tried to catch her breath and missed. Was that like for forever? Sure, she knew the Pixies sort of liked her, but this was like, wow.
Adopted by Pixies.
Magic.
Love.
Home.
Forever.
Gary crossed his arms. His foot went up, then came down on the front of Betty's sled before she could push it forward and ride down the Bridge. "Why aren't Pixies allowed to have godkids? Is it because they keep letting humans fall out of the clouds to their deaths?"
"What? No! It's because the Fairies don't like us, that's all. We didn't do anything wrong." Mr. Bayard used one finger to push his sunglasses closer to his eyes. He wasn't smiling anymore. "Heck, we fought on their side in the war against the Anti-Fairies. We didn't even want to, but they forced us and so we did. We deserve to have godkids, but they cut us out of the spoils and didn't give us one lick of anything."
Betty curled her fingers around the edges of the dish. "Um. Yeah. That's too bad."
Gary didn't flinch. "Okay, but H.P. said that legally, he wasn't allowed to be left alone with children unsupervised anymore. What's that about?"
Mr. Bayard forced an obviously fake laugh and looked away. The red bird tattoo on his neck spread its wings and flew up along his throat, close to his ear. "Yep, old H.P. is such a josher. Don't take him too seriously all the time, okay, kid?"
Again, Betty looked at the hill. She nudged Gary's foot with her fingers, and reluctantly he slid them away. But to her surprise, he knelt down in the large dish behind her, and wrapped his arms loosely, carefully, around her stomach.
"I'll just ride with you too, okay?"
Betty twisted around to smile at him. "See? I told you it would be fun!"
"Haha," he said, bracing his teeth in a line. "I'd just reeeally, really feel a lot better if I came with you, since I'm part magic and I'll probably stick to the Bridge better than you could by yourself."
"So." Betty lifted her shoulders near her ears. "It's pretty high, huh? Those trees look like ants, or rocks."
"We can't really do this," Gary said, and for the first time, a niggling thought in Betty's head wondered if he was right. That was a steep drop.
"Yeah, um, maybe we should think–"
"Yeah, nope, we're not doing this," Gary said, and tried to roll them both to the side just as Mr. Bayard's hands shoved the dish forward. Betty screamed. She fell back into place, Gary yelping behind her. His fingernails dug through her shirt and into her skin. His legs squeezed around her, and Betty wished she could let go of the sled and grab him in a hug. But she couldn't. Her fingers wouldn't come off the dish. She held it so tightly, her knuckles were as white as the snow far below. Biting wind stabbed into her face as they whooshed down the huge purple Bridge. Her hair screamed behind her in crazy waves, probably getting in Gary's mouth and eyes. They howled together, eyelids fluttering. There was too much wind, too much speed. Her eyes wouldn't shut.
It took too long to reach the ground. The whole Bridge was steep, but the bottom curved extra sharp towards the end. Just when Betty swore they were going to hit hard and break their arms and legs, the steepness became too steep, and the dish sailed straight off the whole Bridge. They plopped in the snow. They skidded forward. They twirled around and around.
They stopped.
Betty's breath billowed in the air in front of her, steamy and warm against the cold. Her hands stayed wrapped around the edge of the dish. It was so cold. Her pink pajama shirt had short sleeves. Out of breath from screaming and the high altitude, she and Gary sat for a moment to gasp and rest.
"Whoa-oh-oh," Betty finally managed to say. She turned around to find Gary panting beside her, tugging his silky sleeves over his hands. "Was that crazy or what?"
"Actually…" Gary raised his head, and their eyes met. Betty had forgotten what a pretty green his eyes were. He held his elbow, and actually smiled. "That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. It was scary, but actually fun."
Mr. Bayard's starcycle roared down the ramp after them, coming to a much easier stop at the Bridge's base. "You kids were totally rad. I didn't think you would actually do it. Way to be! What a team."
Betty couldn't stop herself from beaming. "Can we go again?"
Gary balled his hands into fists. "Yeah, can we?"
Mr. Bayard waved his magic pen, and a rope appeared in front of them with a ping, connecting the front of the sled to the back of his motorcycle. "Be my guests. Hop on and hang on tight. I'm going to pull you crazy kids up."
It wasn't as scary going down the second time, even though she and Gary did scream the whole way. Some of that, they were just laughing. On their third run down, they hit the jump weird and actually flipped over, plowing face-first into the snow. When they sat up and looked at each other, they both had to wipe off a ton of powder. Betty licked at the ice crystals on her mouth, and at a bit of snot sneaking down from her nose and getting all wet on her upper lip. When Mr. Bayard brought his starcycle down, she hopped up and blurted, "Can I drive?"
Mr. Bayard grinned. "I was worried you wouldn't ask. You look plenty big enough to me." He slid off the cycle and, still holding one handlebar, motioned for Betty to take his place. He gave her a boost. The seat was pretty high up, especially since the whole cycle was floating a few inches off the ground. Tentatively, she wrapped her fingers around the 'Go' lever and revved the engine. It puttered, like a happy animal. It puttered again. Betty glanced over her shoulder to check on Gary, who sat grinning in the sled, then pushed the throttle thing forward. The starcycle jolted up the Bridge, and everyone cheered the whole way. They rode down over and over, gaining speed and bravery with every run.
But, cresting the Bridge after their dozenth time down, Mr. Bayard suddenly made a clicking noise with his tongue. "Uh-oh, it's the boss man," he called back to them on the dish.
"Faster!" Gary pointed his finger towards the distant woods. "Don't let him catch us, or we'll get in trouble!"
Betty tightened her grip on the dish's front, careful to avoid the bouncing rope that tied it to the cycle's back. The sled jolted beneath them. "Are you nuts? We can't just ignore him! That'll make him angry."
Mr. Bayard glanced down at the dashboard of his starcycle, like he was seriously considering gunning it and flying off into empty space. But instead, he banked the cycle sideways and dragged it to a stop in front of the Bridge, right next to H.P. When the bike started to tip, he put his foot down. Betty and Gary slid to a stop behind him and looked up at the Head Pixie's neutral smirk.
"Mr. Bayard," he greeted, all conversational. He clasped his hands behind his back. "What's going on in this neck of the city?"
The younger pixie's wings skipped a beat. "We're on tour."
The Head Pixie's eyebrow went up. "You're on tour, or you're touring? Those are different. One implies business expenses, and one implies profit."
"Aw blitz, H.P., you know I'm not any good with linguistics."
As they began to bicker about Mr. Bayard's word choice, Betty wandered over to the edge of the clouds and took a peek over the side. Gary set down his rope and crept after her. It was beautiful. Really beautiful. Betty hadn't realized Kansas looked so flat from way up high. The few little trees far below looked like the bristles on a hairbrush, capped with fluffy white bobbles and–
"Hey! Get back from there!"
Betty spun around, pinwheeling her arms. She caught her balance, but that didn't stop H.P. from grabbing her waist and yanking her towards him. He twirled her in the air and placed her firmly on the more solid cloud.
"Good dust. Stay away from the edge. It's not safe. You almost fell off."
"I was fine until your scream scared me," she muttered as Gary scampered behind her.
H.P.'s hands flew out, but withdrew in a snap. He covered his face briefly, then held his hands down in front of him again. "Betty, the entirety of Pixie World is open to you. I only ask one small thing."
Betty had a pretty certain idea about what it was, but she decided to ask him anyway. "What's that?"
At this, the Head Pixie reached out and gripped her shoulders like he was gripping a broken rope bridge on the side of a canyon wall. "Don't. Go near. The edge. That's all I want. Frolic anywhere else you please, but not near the high places like this."
"But it's so pretty," she said. "I just wanted to look. I've only seen pretty cliffs in pictures before, and they weren't made of clouds like this one is. I was being careful. I didn't get too close to the edge. There's no wind up here to knock me over, so I wasn't going to fall. Even if I did, you guys are magic and can fly. You could catch me."
H.P.'s hands moved up to her neck, then her cheeks. He pressed them inward with his thumbs. "Betty, Betty, Elizabeth Lovell. It would make my life infinitely less stressful if I did not have to worry about you going near the edge of the clouds. I don't even allow my pixies this close. One way or another, I will be keeping you back from the edge. It's too high. I want you to make this easy for me."
Betty frowned. "I was being careful. How about you let me look over the edge when I'm nine?"
"Two hundred."
"Humans don't live that long. Ten."
His eyes narrowed. "One hundred fifty. Final offer."
"Ten!"
H.P. pulled his hands away. "Don't go near the edge," he said. "No one goes near the edge. And don't eat the yellow clouds. That's what people say, isn't it? And Bayard…"
Mr. Bayard had wheeled his starcycle towards the road as quietly as possible. When H.P. called his name, his wings stiffened.
"Sir?"
H.P. flicked his eyes over both Gary and Betty. "These two may be adult pixie size, but their mental capacity is nowhere near that of adults. They're very young humans. Only children. You need to understand that."
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Betty. Gary. The next time you're in Pixie World, no more visiting cliffs. Read some books. Look at pictures of cliffs if you want to."
Betty glanced over her shoulder at the edge of the clouds. It would indeed be a long way down. In fact, she'd dropped down it on the sled a dozen times now, so she had a pretty good idea of how far it was to Earth. "Yeah… Sure thing, H.P. No more cliffs."
"Good. I'm glad we had this talk." H.P. swung around and started to float away. "So Gary, you're to come with me now."
"What?"
"Anti-Cosmo wants to talk to you personally. Who am I to refuse?"
Gary gulped. Betty leaned forward, stretching her hand towards Gary's arm. "Uh, should I go too?"
H.P. waved his hand without turning back around. "That won't be necessary. I only care about Gary. You can stay with Mr. Bayard. Away from the edge."
"Oh. Okay."
As he walked away, Gary looked back over his shoulder. Betty gave him an encouraging wave. He waved back, smiling a very nervous smile that didn't fool her one bit. Betty moved over to stand next to Mr. Bayard.
"Do… you think Gary's going to be okay? Will Anti-Cosmo try to hurt him?"
"H.P.'s with him." Mr. Bayard tightened his grip on the handlebars of his starcycle and blew out his breath. "Oh boy, oh boy… Hey, blondie. Let's take a ride across town. We'll get you some frozen yogurt. It's on me."
Betty couldn't peel her eyes from the back of Gary's head, his shoulders tense and hair all prickly orange. But she heard herself say, "Sure, I guess. Lead the way."
"Are you dumping me on Anti-Cosmo because you think I'm too crazy to handle?" Gary asked, trudging through the puffy purple clouds after the Head Pixie. He wanted to slip his hands in his pockets, but he was still wearing the magic gray pajamas, and the best he could do was let his palms brush against his waist.
"What?" H.P. looked down at him (down because he was floating, even though the two were about the same size) and wrinkled his nose. "No. Of course not. I just want you to meet him. He wants to talk to you about your Genie heritage. He thinks he might be able to get you in contact with your great-great-great-great grandmother."
Gary brought his hands together. "Oooh. But, um… Don't take this the wrong way, sir, but I'm almost positive you said that we shouldn't, under any circumstances, ever let Anti-Cosmo find out about my Genie heritage."
"Well. Right after you left my office, I changed my mind."
"In the same hour?"
H.P. placed his hand on Gary's head and turned him towards the blocky white waterfall building that was supposed to be this big Water Temple place. "Shh. Walk."
Easier said than done. Every one of his instincts was rattling around inside his head, shouting that he should take off running in any direction except the one that led to the small, wet building. His hands rattled. The hairs lifted on the back of his neck. His stomach gurgled a bunch in an unpleasant way. And yet, Gary swallowed and forced himself on, because H.P. was watching him and he had nowhere else to go. If he wanted to stay in Pixie World, then he had to listen to what the Head Pixie said. That seemed like it was the rule.
Two blue figures, dressed in equally blue clothes, waited for them just outside the temple's entrance. One was Anti-Cosmo, with an expression on his face like he'd just heard he was allowed to burn all the marshmallows over the campfire that he wanted to without getting into trouble. The other figure, of course, was Talon, who leaned his back against the arched doorway, bat wings dangling. When they approached, Anti-Cosmo spread his arms to either side, then brought them together again with a quick clap.
"Why, Garrett! Garrett Juandissimo Tuckfield Cabrera. So very good to see you again. My name is Anti-Cosmo, in case you weren't aware; I'm afraid in all the excitement before, I may not have had the mind to introduce myself properly. Sooo sorry we got off on the wrong foot last night, chap. I was just so excited to meet you."
"You yanked out my hair," Gary said.
"Yes, I did, didn't I? I'm afraid I was conducting a scientific study, and I do apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you." Anti-Cosmo squared his shoulders, smiling a close-lipped smile. "Look here. I understand that Talon and I may have unnerved you yesterday, but I wish to put all of that behind us now. Mistakes were made and mistakes were learned from. All I want now is to get a good look at you, hm? How about it, then?"
I wish you wouldn't, Gary wanted to say. But he didn't. With a sigh, he pulled off his pajama shirt and allowed Anti-Cosmo to poke at and pull him, circle him and bend him. His blue hands weren't as furry as Gary had expected, although they were really cold, like he'd just carried a dozen frozen soda pops from an icy cooler and across a room. Talon watched half-sympathetically from the sidelines, twisting one of his curls around a claw.
"My dear friend H.P. here told me that you sing," said Anti-Cosmo, patting both his hands down Gary's sides. His blue tongue flickered against his fangs like a snake's. "How would you describe what happens when you sing?"
Gary recited his usual muttered spiel about losing himself in music and lacking the ability to control his snapping fingers when the instinct kicked in. He half expected Anti-Cosmo to scoff and comment that he "simply ought to try harder to resist", or thought the anti-fairy would at least stifle a snort. Instead, Anti-Cosmo kept his eyes on his, nodding with sympathy every other word.
"Ah, now that alone proves your Genie heritage. It's called the wish granter's reflex. Being part Fomorian, your body lacks the patellar reflex, or the automatic urge of the leg to kick when hit below the knee. The Fomorian tribes are elemental snake folk, you know, so they of course lacked real knees altogether. Even when using magic to change from their natural state to one with two distinct legs, the patellar reflex doesn't carry over. That was a big deal during the 1st Creature War, when anyone accused of being a witch would be subject to such prodding. Anyway." He blew his bangs out of his eyes. "Each of the Fomorian tribes has their own set of reflexes otherwise. Only the Fire Tribe shows wish granter's reflex, so therefore, we can prove you are part Genie."
H.P. had been watching Anti-Cosmo's pat-down with half-closed eyes, bracing himself against the curve of the arch opposite from where Talon stood. Hearing this, he leaned slightly forward. "Friendly tip: Don't listen to 'We wish you a Merry Christmas' on repeat, even if 'tis the season for it. Actually, they had to ban it up in Fairy World altogether a few years ago. It was messing with people's minds."
Gary twisted his lips into a smile. "Well, imagine that! It always has been my least favorite holiday song."
Anti-Cosmo bobbed his head, sliding his hands around Gary's waist until his fingers linked in the back. "Now, see here. If one is in the know, as I am, one can feel through your skin that some of the lowest vertebrae in your back right here around your pelvis are much more akin to that of a Fomorian than a human. You of course have two legs instead of one large tail, but the bone structure shows through all the same. Those are witch's hips, my friend! Wider than a fully human drake's, and when you're older they'll slither and sway so nicely when you walk. There's an interesting red flower by that name, you know. Witch's hips. That's our name for it, anyway; I believe the humans call them blood blossoms. Another relic from the days of the Creature Wars, though it was much more prominent during the 2nd than the first. Nasty stuff, so I've heard, but my wife finds them quite gorgeous and always insists on growing bunches of them in her greenhouse nonetheless."
As uncomfortable as he felt having his body touched by a stranger, Gary was still sort of glad that Anti-Cosmo was doing it. H.P. had made him sound super scary, but he really seemed to know what he was talking about. It was like a visit to the doctor's office, even if it was in the creepy temple. "Have you seen other kids like me before?" he asked, and winced as Anti-Cosmo's talons poked into his back.
"A few. I really don't pay much attention to human witches nowadays, I must admit. It's sooo busy in Serentip recently, keeping tabs on the Alien tourists."
"Aliens! You mean like"—Gary wiggled his fingers—"Alien aliens?"
Anti-Cosmo flicked his bright green eyes up to Gary's face. "Whyever not? Fomorians can really take on any temporary form they choose, especially when they're in love. You humans aren't so self-centered as to assume you were the only race such powerful magical creatures have ever taken an interest in, now were you? Yes, there are many Alien races we Fairykind consider non-magical, and when they breed with genies, the offspring are referred to as witches."
"Wow," he breathed. "I wonder if I have any Alien cousins on my genie grandma's side."
"I suppose that's possible." Anti-Cosmo counted the bones in Gary's spine again, tapping his fingers against each one and nodding his head while still keeping up with their discussion. "Do forgive me for saying this if you find my comment offensive, but it's my job as a conservationist to preserve the dying Genie race. Genie pregnancies last for five years at a time, so a doe taking on the ways of women with a man of another species can ofttimes be a horrible inconvenience to people such as myself, let me tell you."
"So you work with genies? Do you know my genie grandma?"
"No, I'm afraid I don't. The Pixies apparently have her listed in their infinite files for one reason or another, but I myself didn't recognize her name. She has a red tail, if you were curious."
It was so weird to hear him say that: "Your great-grandma has a red tail." Gary had hated that time in second grade when the teacher made everyone do family trees. Yeah, he'd gotten some help from his mom so he could at least fill in his ancestors' names and talk a bit about the Cabrera/Silvestri side of his family, but thinking of how little he knew about the individual people just hurt. Although, it didn't hurt nearly as bad as when people sometimes asked him how his parents met, and he didn't know if he was allowed or not to mutter, "My mom puts on these big show-off performances for grown-ups in this building I'm not allowed to go inside even when my dad isn't home after school and I need a place to hang out, and my dad saw her when he was celebrating with his friend one time and actually thought she was interesting more than he thought she was weird, for once…"
And even that didn't hurt as much as whenever someone at school flat-out accused him and his dad of not being related, and said that his mom had gotten pregnant from some random stranger at the "creepy adult place" where she worked. Gary knew his mom was a little crazy sometimes, but he didn't think she was that kind of crazy. Both his parents had promised him it wasn't true, and they talked about how after his mom found out she was pregnant, they'd done all this fancy math to figure out exactly which day they'd, um, had him and stuff. To make him feel better, they even had him quiz them on some of the details, having them write their answers on paper to questions like if his dad had brought flowers and if they'd gone to see a movie that day.
They both got all the answers right. Or at least the same. So they knew the day. And he didn't think they would lie to him. It still didn't stop the teasing, though. Gary hadn't known what to do, because it was true. He and his dad didn't look even a little bit alike. He had spiky orange hair that stood straight up on his head like thick grass. Since his dad's hair was dark black, shouldn't Gary's hair have been black too? Was that how it worked? Well. Gary knew why people gave them strange looks when they were out together without his mom. Or sometimes even when his mom was with them. Sometimes other kids even asked him why his dad would want to marry someone who was crazy.
Well. Gary knew for absolute sure he was Elaine Cabrera's son. But wasn't that weird, that he felt like he'd learned more important stuff about his family after one day with the Pixies than during the whole eight years he'd spent with his actual parents?
"Have you met other human witch kids? Do you know if there are any my age?"
"Oh dear me, I'm not so good with human rates of aging." Anti-Cosmo glanced over at the Head Pixie, still waiting by the wall. "I'm sure there are many witches around, but I only take interest in Djinn. There was a redheaded girl a few years back living somewhere near the Rainbow Bridge. Do you remember, H.P.? That one punk-haircut godkid's sister. Emery gave you a report about her and had you deliver it to me in person. She was a P-class witch, so she had some nasty, bulging parasite that grew from her face and was supposed to irresistibly seize control of her brain and body for itself around the time she underwent puberty, poor doll. Her mother had it too, albeit on her back. What was her name?"
H.P. blinked. "Remembering her name was not one of my priorities. I could have someone look it up. It was in that one country song. The traveling one."
"Hmm." Anti-Cosmo shrugged. "Alabama something."
"Don't you cry. Come from Alabama. Banjo. Oh. Susanne."
"Susanne! Yes. Susanne, the little redheaded witch of Dimmsdale, whose older sister had a fairy godparent. We should put Garrett in touch with her. Perhaps they might find something they have in common. How long ago was that now, exactly?"
H.P. shifted his feet. "A decade and a half. I think. She could have kids of her own by now. Or she never married. Probably a mom anyway. Parasitic class. Id-happy face parasite. You know how it goes."
A worm of unease crept into the bottom of Gary's stomach. He remembered Betty, crying on her bed because she was afraid that since he was sort of magical, he wouldn't want to be friends with a regular human like her. "Anti-Cosmo? Or Mr. Anti-Cosmo? H-how long do witches live?"
"Not long," Anti-Cosmo said absently, tonguing his cheek as he squinted into each of Gary's eyes one at a time.
Wait. That was worse.
"Wait. Wait. Wait. Is this one of those sicknesses where if you have it, you don't live very long? When will I be a ghost? Is it before I grow up?"
His words made Anti-Cosmo glance up with some surprise, and he laughed in a way that rattled Gary's bones. "Oh, so sorry for the confusion. Not long in a Fairy's eyes, I mean. Witches last a couple hundred years; that's all. Five hundred is really about average I'd say, though I believe we have on record a witch who reportedly made it up to six, hm? Really nothing compared to genies, or for Tarrow's sake, we Fairykind."
"Oh. Oh."
Oh.
All of a sudden, Gary really wanted to sit down. Or maybe take a nap. He tightened his hands against his stomach and clenched his teeth. Was that for real? A couple hundred years? That couldn't be right. If that were true, someone would have figured witches out by now. Someone human. There weren't people running around on Earth who were hundreds of years old. And he had aunts and uncles. Cousins. If all of them were witches, and all of them lived for hundreds of years, and there were other witch families like his, someone would have noticed by now.
Five hundred years. Was it supposed to be like that, even though he was only 1.56% genie? Shouldn't he live closer to, oh, 100 years?
Six hundred years. Would he have white hair and wrinkles like H.P. by then, or would he still look young and normal like Mr. Sanderson?
Could he hide from his mom for five or six hundred years? No, he'd give in and want to see her eventually, right? Wouldn't she live 500 years too? They had time to patch things up. Maybe it would be easier after they were both grown up and his dad was dead.
Oh, wait. His dad was dead.
Five hundred years. How many wars was that? What was five hundred years ago? 1491? Christopher Columbus hadn't even found America yet. He was going to be older than America! That was a lot of fireworks. Would he still like the Fourth of July when he was 500? Would he still live in America by then? Would America even exist anymore? What about polar bears? What about endangered pandas? Would they still be around? Gary didn't really want to live in a world where every panda was dead.
How many people would die in 500 years? What if humans cured all diseases and found a way to live forever? Or what if they didn't, and they ran out of cemeteries? What if there were just bodies everywhere? What if people ran out of food and everyone was so hungry that they started eating each other? What if zombies attacked, and he had to fight back all by himself?
… What if Betty's zombie attacked him?
Oh. He was going to be there at Betty's funeral. Kenny's too. And their kids, and their kids, and their kids, and their kids. Maybe even some of his own kids. What if some of the dead kids looked just like Betty and Kenny? But they wouldn't be the same. They wouldn't have grown up with him.
Gary's breath got stuck in his chest. His hands jittered, even when he wiped them against his legs. Oh no. Oh no. He didn't want to see Betty's and Kenny's funerals. He didn't want to see their graves. Betty, lying face-down with her pretty blonde hair covered in mud. Kenny, so tiny and innocent when he curled up beside her, sucking on two fingers of one hand and clutching a toy train in the other. Bones. Buried. Tight. Small. Closing in.
He had to get out of the Temple. Like, probably right now.
"Well." Withdrawing his hands from Gary's waist, Anti-Cosmo took half a flutter back. "That about settles that. Garrett here is Djinn American, all right. Oh, can I keep him?"
"What?" Gary went rigid, except for his eyes. They widened like full moons in high tide. He shot his gaze to H.P., who tightened his mouth in an even sterner frown than usual.
"Gary's mine. He stays with me."
"I'll get you a new human drake," Anti-Cosmo begged, spinning around. The two long tails of his coat whisked behind him. "One without an extra chromosome, even, and then you can do whatever you want with him. I don't get a lot of access to humans in Anti-Fairy World. Perhaps we can work something out, hmm?"
A thin vein throbbed along the Head Pixie's forehead. "I'm afraid that Gary needs me more than he needs you. I'm keeping him. Please do not argue with me about this."
Anti-Cosmo's claws tightened at his sides. But instead of pushing the fight, he simply puffed out his cheeks. "Righto, old sport. But do give me a scry if you ever change your mind. Oh, and that reminds me. Are we still on for supper at my place Tribute Day?"
"We absolutely are. Now, tell me about the DNA transfer. That's still a thing witches can do, right?"
As their conversation migrated to boring adult things, Gary tried to distract himself from thinking about living for 500 years. He picked up his pajama shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head again without undoing the buttons. His attention slipped behind Talon and into the depths of the creepy temple, where he could hear the water gurgling down from the ceiling and into a large pool. He wondered if people were allowed to swim in it, although he didn't really want to. Where did that water come from anyway? Was it just the same water going around and around through the pipes? That was kind of gross. Did old pixie bathwater get dumped down to Earth? What about when pixies flushed their toilets? Was that where rain came from? Oh, gross. It probably was. Oh gross. Rain was so gross.
"Gary."
"Ah! I'm sorry? Um. I mean, I'm sorry, sir?"
H.P. leaned his hand against the nearest archway. "So Gary, how would you like to donate some of your blood to Betty so she can reap some of the benefits of having genie DNA in her system too? I think that would be very useful in certain situations. You'd really be helping the Pixies out."
What did that mean? Gary searched his and Anti-Cosmo's faces, and Talon's too, not daring to get his hopes up. If he was supposed to live for 500 years, did that mean he had super healthy blood? What would happen if he gave some of that to Betty? You could do that, right? Donate your blood without dying? It was supposed to be painful, with needles and things, but he could be brave enough to do that. Could he donate blood to hundreds of people? Or thousands?
Hey. What if everyone lived for 500 years like him? Then he wouldn't have to feel so alone.
"Wait." Anti-Cosmo touched H.P.'s arm. "We'd better run a blood test for any nasty diseases that can be transmitted via blood contact or, ah, other bodily fluids first."
Talon straightened immediately. "I can do that. Let me! I wanna do it!"
Gary realized what was coming and took several steps back, out to the Temple's front pathway. But Talon bounded towards him anyway. In the split-second he had to make a decision, Gary realized that if he tried to run, it might just make the Head Pixie and Anti-Cosmo upset, and they could probably use magic to drag him back again.
So he put out his arm and stayed quiet. Talon nicked his skin with his fangs until it bled, then disappeared in a dark, smug cloud. The bite stung. Anti-Cosmo rubbed it down with a handkerchief before waving his wand over the indents. Gary's skin bubbled, although the punctures didn't close up. Anti-Cosmo frowned, but said nothing, so Gary kept his mouth shut and tried not to whimper while they waited. After a few (long) minutes, Talon returned with a sharp poof. Gary tried not to cough on the smoke that came along with him.
"Thank you, dear boy." Anti-Cosmo swiped the new report from Talon's hand. He and H.P. skimmed through it in silence. Then they looked at each other. "Um."
"So Gary," H.P. began again, slowly turning back around. "How would you like to kiss Betty on an extremely regular basis for the rest of your lives so she can reap some of the benefits of having genie DNA in her system too?"
Huh? Did that mean he shouldn't give away some of his blood? Even if it helped people live for 500 years? Gary tilted his head as H.P. turned his attention on Talon and ordered him to wipe the last traces of blood out of his mouth.
Anti-Cosmo offered an encouraging nod. "You know the rhetorical phrase, 'Will a genie's kiss fry your lines off for a week?' The DNA transfer works like that. Or, take H.P. here for example. Were he to kiss someone, the person who received the influx of Pixie magic would have clear thoughts and hypersensitive attention to detail until the DNA works its way out of their system."
"Too much information," H.P. muttered.
Anti-Cosmo looked at him, his hands still raised in the air as he gestured during his explanation. "Really? You're doing this? You realize you literally have pixies who stand outside the Artemis Lounge in Serentip clearing drunken minds for a quick coin."
"I don't go around asking how it feels. That's gross."
"Well, I can think of at least one anti-fairy you've kissed off the top of my head. What does Anti-Fairy saliva do to you?"
"Nope." H.P. put up his arms and floated further into the Temple, repeating that word several times. Anti-Cosmo shook his head and tossed Gary an apologetic look.
"Anyhow. Fairies breathe purified magic from the energy field around them, and a fiery Genie kiss contains some of the most raw and intense magic known to the natural universe. Genie magic operates on an entirely different wavelength than a Fairy's does, you must understand. It's absolute, cosmic, and totally reality-bending. That sort of stuff would knock any Fairy unconscious in a snap and leave them gasping as they nearly drowned, but humans are different. A human could handle it and stay standing. Especially as you are a witch, and not a full-blooded genie. It's simple. And it won't transfer blood-borne magical diseases."
"Uh." Gary tightened his clasped hands. "Okay. So, you want me to kiss Betty sometimes so she'll get my, um, 'powers' too?"
"Your costume change powers, your ability to see all magical creatures and creations at any time, your eventual levitation if you ever develop that," H.P. listed on his fingers from a few paces away. He glanced at Anti-Cosmo and adjusted his glasses. "I don't think I'm forgetting anything."
"I turned into three clones of myself at a birthday party once," Gary muttered.
"Hmm…" Anti-Cosmo rubbed behind his neck, gazing up at the ceiling. It was too low. "Generally, it's impossible to be certain if there's an end to the abilities he'll develop over the course of his life. Even a few drops of Fomorian DNA can manifest very powerfully in most individuals… but then again, it does make up only 1.56% of his heritage, and most of him is human. The human magic system is entirely different from ours, what with all that absorbing energy from plant expulsions they do in preparation to moult into their final angel form after the death of their mortal body and all."
"Breathing oxygen?"
Anti-Cosmo waved his hand. "Yes, that. I for one find it fascinating that so many of you Earth-dwelling mortals can turn a gas so useless into something as valuable as carbon dioxide. Simply incredible. Now then, about your powers. It's true that witches down on Earth these days have gradually become more accepted in your society since the time of the Creature Wars. However, walking among them is never without its risks. Susanne I believe faced untold ridicules for the large boil on her face. You, being a siren, may find it awkward at times to avoid succumbing to wish granter's reflex around music. It's almost inevitable that you will be found out at some point or another, and a wonder that your mother's line have lasted as long as they have."
Gary knew the answer to that one. When someone found out about their heritage, his ancestors packed up and left. Remaining constantly on the move had kept his family undiscovered for decades, if not centuries. Maybe centuries.
Oh, goodness. All this thinking was making him really tired. It was too dark up in Pixie World, like a constant rainstorm. Especially at the entrance of the damp and dreary Water Temple. Gary really missed the sunshine.
"Fortunately," Anti-Cosmo went on, "you'll have H.P. and the rest of the Pixies to bail you out of trouble if things become too serious now. They'll keep an eye on you."
"Can he float?" H.P. wanted to know. "When will he start to float?"
"He's Genie-descended. Fire Tribe. He won't float." Anti-Cosmo shrugged, tapping his cheek with his claws. "Only Pressyne-descended witches float. Sky Tribe, remember?"
"That's disappointing."
"He can rapidly create, alter, and destroy matter simply by snapping his fingers, regardless of where in the universe he may be. Only Djinn can do that. His power is wholly internal, not half and half like our system. Isn't that fun?"
"Meh. I wanted him to float."
Gary fiddled with his thumbs. "Um. Okay. So if I kiss Betty, then… you think she'll be able to do the weird things that I do when I lose control of myself too?" And they thought that was a good thing? Did she want that? In Gary's experience, having uncontrollable powers that flared up in times of extreme stress and excitement were nothing but trouble. Had anyone even asked her how she felt about it?
And how long did that mean she would live? He was too afraid to ask. He had a sick feeling that the answer was probably "No". And it wasn't even a Yes-or-No question! But it was probably no. He couldn't just kiss Betty and magically give her the power to live an extra four or five centuries longer than normal. That didn't sound right. It was too easy. H.P. made it sound like if he kissed Betty instead of just donating some of his blood, he'd have to kiss her a lot, like every week or every day. The effects only lasted for a little while at a time.
But if his kisses did extend her life, how would that make him feel? What if she lived past the age of 100, or even 200, but she had to be kissed every single day or else she'd die? Or every single hour? And what if something happened and they were separated? Or what if one day he forgot? Then she would die, and it would be all his fault. He might go into the kitchen to get snacks so they could watch a movie together, and come out and find Betty lying dead on the floor in front of the chattering TV.
Could he live another 400 years longer with that on his shoulders?
"Only kiss her if you want to," Anti-Cosmo assured him. "The internal exchange of DNA would certainly grant her your abilities for a limited time, although she may not realize she has them if it isn't pointed out to her directly. But of course, you don't have to do anything you feel uncomfortable with."
H.P. pinched the anti-fairy's arm, and Anti-Cosmo slapped his hand away. "Well, he doesn't!"
"My sympathies," Talon chirped.
Gary straightened up, shoulders tense. He didn't want to know. He really, really didn't want to know how it worked or what he might be doing to Betty in the long run. He couldn't live with that. He just couldn't. So he didn't ask and tried to stay calm. "No, I'll do it. I get it. Maybe it'll be cool to have someone I can talk to about my powers. I grew up on a miniature golf course anyway, so I'm used to the whole idea."
"Of kissing girls you don't know very well?" H.P. asked with vague surprise, making an arch with one of his eyebrows. He seemed to do that a lot.
Gary kicked one bare foot against the Temple's entrance path, tucking his hands in the imaginary pockets at his waist. It was kind of an awkward pose, so he corrected himself by folding both arms behind his back. "Oh, no. I mean how thinking about kissing someone I don't really know all the time makes me feel a little like I'm rental equipment. My dad says that's what all relationships with girls are like anyway. Well, well, well, I'm gonna go take a little nap now." Half of that last sentence was said through a yawn. "I like nice warm sunbeams usually, but I guess up here in the clouds, I'll have to find somewhere else. Just come get me whenever you want me to kiss Betty for you. Okay?"