(Final draft posted April 14th, 2023)

.: Reedfilter Rules :.

It does not calculate or risk.

Pleasure's unknown and so is force.

It does not crawl across the bed

And is too steadfast and well-bred

To contemplate divorce.

- Excerpt from The Grey Among the Green, John Fuller, 1988

Best Regards

Spring of the Lightly Trodden Stones

~3 days after Chapter 1

Inkblot City - Capital of Pixie World - Morning

For three days after New Year's, the High Count's perfectly scrawled, perfectly creased invitation to dinner theater hung like a bat on the bedroom corkboard. Fergus kept it there beside a calendar featuring pixies in trees and vaguely motivational phrases like Tomorrow is a day of work and Look before you ping. He needed to go. He needed to bring Talon to see his father. They needed to talk about Talon, about his future, about the roles they would or wouldn't each play in raising him… It was necessary. An appointment.

It was not, as Columbine Longwood called it in the copy center, a date. The instant the word entered conversation, Sapphire placed a hand on Fergus's back, right beneath his wings.

"Walk away," she told him, cold and firm. Her effervescence tickled the inside of his ear in a swirl of irritated magic and exhaled breath. "She's not worth it."

"I won't walk," Fergus muttered back, but he did stuff his hands in the pockets of his work pants… It would keep him from grabbing the star-tipped pen inside his jacket. "I'm waiting for my copies." Which was obvious; the machine practically screamed when it ran. He'd experimented before and you could hear the noise from here to the toilets. He needed many copies. These were for Hawkins' finance presentation in 40 minutes (Evaluating the effectiveness of current wand technologies and comparing them to other options on the market; Fergus had to be there because Thane couldn't make it and he was the only other person who studies wands enough to give unbiased advice about their inner workings regardless of Fairy propaganda and pretty shells).

Anyway, Longwood couldn't tell him where in this building to go or what to do. She wasn't his boss. Sapphire's, maybe, but not his. Maybe he'd stay in the copy center all day. It might just be a little room, but it smelled sweetly of ink stains and lemon cleaning sprays. Here, the carpet stripes ran north to south instead of east to west. It was a good room. He'd park his butt. Work remotely from here in place of the office down the hall. What was she going to do about it?

Longwood's wings slanted back at his words, drooping low. Incidentally expressive. All six people in the copy center looked directly at her because of it… even her own freckle-faced intern, who floated nearby with a manila folder pressed against his chest. Longwood corrected quickly, pushing herself back into a floating position. Her dull gray fingernails clenched so tightly against the meeting notes in her hand, the page crumpled.

"I was making a joke. Ha ha, ha ha."

No one else laughed. Sapphire's cold fingers pressed so close to the slits for Fergus's wings, she grazed bare skin. Nearly imperceptible. Tiny half-moons. He turned around.

"I think you knew exactly what you were saying. You're accusing me of matchbreaking."

"It was a joke," Longwood defended again. Fergus tried to speak, but Sapphire's nails bit softly against his skin.

"She's not worth it… Longwood, back off."

Now that sounded like a joke worth laughing at. Back off? Longwood lived her life fighting to be the type of person who was worth responding to when she let some quip or challenge fly. She sort of basked in being the workplace enemy… Fergus couldn't define exactly why, but he'd long suspected her need for attention stemmed from being the lastborn child in a very big family. Longwood liked to own things, and things required money. She worked for that. She always knew exactly what she was doing, buzzing around in a fuzzy gray sweater that only barely passed the company's workplace attire requirements… It was very nearly silver. Very nearly against the rules. That seemed to be her motto.

Longwood landed then on one of the copy machines not in use, gripping it with her hands and curled toes. She crouched like a mountain cat with an invisible twitching tail. "It's a joke! … I'll say it again for those who didn't hear, and I'll emphasize the part of it that's meant to get a rise: 'It seems like you're making more of an effort to see Talon's daddy since your match took on a damsel's body, and if I didn't know better, I'd say you're meeting up with him for a date…' It implies matchbreaking, which is statistically unlikely. It's hilarious."

"I will bite you," said Sapphire, holding Fergus's arm with both hands now. "This is your only warning."

Longwood beat her wings in heavy thrums. "Why is that not funny? It's literally that old saying about how only 1 in 100,000 pixies ever matchbreak. I said I knew better, didn't I?"

One pixie across the room cleared his throat. Eyes swiveled over. The drake stood against the white wall, leaning back on one heel, with arms tightly crossed. Fergus recognized him instantly by the crooked way he wore his tie. By how high up his ankles he wore white socks. By his ponytail. At least, that's what he told himself… because it seemed more polite to notice those minor details than to acknowledge his sliced-off wings. When Longwood turned her head, Kalahari Sanderson tilted up his chin.

"Columbine, if you're looking for a matchbreaker punchline, you have full consent to joke about me… instead of throwing accusations at our neighbors in Building 6."

Trouble coming, Fergus sing-songed inside his head. He glanced first at the printer, which had still barely made a dent in the amount of copies he needed. Then he watched in straight-faced amusement as Longwood stared blankly back at Sanderson, opening and closing her fists around the edge of the machine she still crouched atop. As a general rule, pixies did not turn colors when they flushed. They did their best to avoid it. If nothing else, the proper thing to do would be to leave the room. Her intern looked as though he wanted to do exactly that, but in the face of her own ex-match, Longwood did not seem inclined to follow protocol.

"It was… a joke."

Sanderson looked directly at her through his shades, calm as gentle waves across a pond, until finally he spoke again. "How's the wife?"

Longwood's teeth gritted so tightly, they scratched like sparks. "Well! Sandy, if you're truly curious, I've learned many things I could describe to you in private… But you'd take a request for a private moment as an invitation for something more. Wouldn't you?"

"I might have once."

A scoff. Longwood swung down from the copy machine and left without copying the meeting notes after all. Her freckled intern peered in Fergus's direction, green eyes glinting over his shades. He nearly expressed visible emotion. But as she stalked past him, Longwood grabbed him by the nape of his shirt collar and yanked him through the doorway after her. He had to scramble to fix his footing. Good.

Movement and muttering resumed in the copy center. Fergus stayed until his work was done, then gave Sanderson a brisk nod. He always had liked Kalahari Sanderson… They only spoke occasionally at company parties and when the payroll system was jolting through a few bumps, but the man worked in HR now. Sanderson had once been involved with the complaints department, but H.P. Lovington had decided he would be more help if moved internally. Fergus half expected Sanderson to make some comment about how "Even if the dinner theater event with Talon's father turned out to be a cover for a date after all," he would "support it and wish all the best to the happy new couple." But the drake only nodded. No judgment passed.

"Whimsifinado. Kerning."

"Morning, Sanderson," Fergus answered evenly. "I hope your last few days have been swell. Tell me about your son. I believe I read a file that said he just completed his job shadow right here at Headquarters. If that's a true statement, he was very close to home."

Sanderson dipped his head. "Yes, but no longer. He's abroad in Anti-Fairy World for six more years to work on his capstone. His focus is on studying the intricacies of music around the cloudlands."

"Six years is notable," Fergus said, nodding slightly. He glanced at the copy machine between them. Still pumping out papers. Still screaming. "Is his match away as well? If not, you should bring them to eat with Kerning and I sometime. It's been too long since we exchanged words. I'd be glad to host you."

"As would I," Sapphire put in.

The sound of rustling paper filled the copy center. Sanderson did not flinch, but looked directly in Fergus's eyes. "Thank you," he said. "My son hasn't yet received his matching information, but I appreciate your hospitality."

No match? Most pixies were given their match during the job shadow period. Wasn't a capstone assignment a bit late to hear the news? Fergus quirked one brow, asking silent questions he didn't want to pry out the answer to. But instinctively, his fingernails tightened in his palms.

Besides myself, Kalahari's son is the only will o' the wisp hybrid in all Pixie World…

What's he supposed to take away from that? He himself had been matched while H.P. Lovington was in power. One could theorize that H.P. Reedfilter was new to her position and still taking her time, fumbling through the proceedings. Was that the case? Or did Reedfilter look more harshly upon crossbred individuals than Lovington had?

What does that mean? Only the Head can matchmake. If Sapphire and I unmatch… Will I even be reassigned?

He did not like that train of thought, but kept his face as smooth as buttered glass. In Pixie World, young pixies lived in their parents' homes. They were assigned their first match when they came of age and passed all their exams, after which they moved together in a room already perfectly prepared for them. Fixed mortgage. Full benefits packages. Dull and gray. Very simple. Pixie World held the lowest mortality rate of all the fae classes, their ventures down to Earth so fleeting that the threat of non-magical weapons remained basically nonexistent. But anyone who lost their match would be quickly reassigned. Trios weren't uncommon. Sometimes trios were necessary when it wasn't definitive who would be a better choice.

But the only pixie who ever stood without a match long-term was the Head. To be Head Pixie was to shed all ties, all distractions, from the old life you had. To be Head was to devote yourself in full to Pixies Inc. and Pixie World. To be Head was to make matches, but stay aloof from carnal touches yourself. The role of Head Pixie was one of internal paperwork. Maintaining an intimate partnership would be too distracting. Everyone agreed.

… Did Reedfilter believe that crossbreeds shouldn't reproduce?

Maybe H.P. Lovington hadn't stamped his and Sapphire's breeding card for that same reason. Maybe denying them the chance to raise interns of their own had nothing to do with "Maintaining the current balance between resources and population" or "Too busy raising Talon" at all.

Big yikes.

Sanderson swept out of the copy center mere seconds before Fergus and Sapphire did. The gaping holes in the back of his work vest, which showed the stumps of wings that repeatedly tried to heal and grow in again, were difficult to wash from his mind.

What IS that ethereal thing that leads one to matchbreak anyway? Fairies enjoy waxing poetic about love and lust, which they lord over pixies who keep their own emotions private, but… Is love truly so strong a pull, it's worth risking your wings over? H.P. never showed any hesitation in ordering Sanderson's to be sliced to the nubs again and again and again. Fergus didn't often speak to his own father anymore, but… that's because mostly, he preferred not to think about the fact that he was the reason for Ambrosine's missing wings himself. No one forced Ambrosine to keep his half-will o' the wisp spawn. But he did. So he was deemed a matchbreaker. Fergus didn't see why this should be his burden to bear. He ignored it.

So that was the encounter with Longwood. RSVPs to dinner theater were made mentally, but the invitation begged an actual response. The High Count already had the tickets and if Fergus didn't claim them for himself, Sapphire, and Talon, they'd more than likely end up in Jorgen's hands. Jorgen and the Anti-Cosmo quite despised each other in all practical ways, but tolerated one another just enough that they certainly wouldn't let good tickets go to waste (Politics be blitzed).

On the morning of the fourth day, Fergus unpinned the invitation from the bulletin board and moved it from the loft to the kitchen. Talon sat atop the icebox, already wearing a black turtleneck and black sweatpants for the day, but also eating a block of cheese. Hmm. When the young anti-fairy saw the invitation, his eyes popped a little behind his glasses.

"Oh! Can I see Anti-Cosmo's handwriting?"

"Yes, but I'd prefer you sit at the table. Or at least come down from there and stand." Fergus stuck the card to the icebox with a magnet. "I could act like I came downstairs to respond to this, but I'd be lying to your dull little face if I did. I just didn't like that I could see this from my bed. In fact, I think your father sent it to me by mail instead of extending a verbal invitation because he knew exactly where I'd hang it up and he likes to get inside my brain." There wasn't even anything inappropriate about the card… It was just distracting in the bedroom. Particularly after Longwood's matchbreaking jabs. Sapphire remained upstairs for the moment, but she'd watched him unpin it and hadn't said a word of protest.

Talon winced, visibly. "Um, Mr. Thirty-Seven, can we please not call Anti-Cosmo my father? I'm getting older. And as accurate as it is, I really don't like it, actually… Remember, I start middle school next year. Can we please not?"

Strong play. A swing and a miss nonetheless. "I think every day since the new year I've asked you to use your father's proper name, and yet you refuse to. We should address that before we worry about the fatherly title." He floated back, setting his hands to his waist. Doing that would keep him from fiddling more with the magnets or (more importantly) prevent him from any actions that might embarrass Talon, like trying to "catch" the boy when he believed himself perfectly capable of getting down from the icebox on his own. Pixies were shameless by nature (or at least that's the image they presented to the media), and Fergus always relied on Talon as a measure of determining what might and might not be considered "embarrassing" in parenthood.

I can't even remember being 4,000… In all honesty, four millennia was but a breath in the cloudlands. Fergus tried thinking back to anything Ambrosine may have done to embarrass him when he was young, but his own father had always been a nervous and tight-lipped pixie: practically perfect in every rule he followed except the one that led him astray to a will o' the wisp's open arms.

Without thinking, he added to Talon, "I won't call it 'luck' in front of an anti-fairy, but I don't think you understand how 'good' it is that you know your father's identity. I never learned my mother's."

"I don't know my mother either," Talon threw back at once. That sucker punch landed. Oof. He made a point. And to really twist the knife on the boxing glove, Talon added in a mutter, "I don't even know if my second parent is usually a damsel or a drake."

Fergus turned away, musing over this in polite silence. The rest of the kitchen wasn't much to look at, cold and gray and minimalist. It was better than facing Talon's scarlet glare. "Yes… You know, it's funny. When I met High Count Eskel over New Year's, he mentioned your second parent. Not by name, but he told me said parent was an anti-fairy he ran across while flitting about Pixie World. He didn't confirm whether he or this other parent was the one to carry you to term, but if I had to guess, one of them brought you here intentionally. I can think of very few anti-fairies who stray this way. This would give us opportunity to narrow down our options, if you're ever interested. I don't think you've met some of my Unseelie contacts."

"'High Count Eskel' can choke on a toad."

Fergus swiveled around. "I hope you won't tell him that when you see him at dinner theater."

"Sorry," Talon muttered into the collar of his turtleneck. He stuffed the rest of the cheese block in his mouth and slid down from the icebox, landing a few inches above the tile as the ability to float kicked in. Maybe he needed more cheese… His bony frame looked shadow-thin, especially dressed in black. He tugged down his shirt. "Okay. I won't call him Eskel because that's my name, but I'll call him 'High Count' instead of 'Anti-Cosmo.' Is that fine?"

"I'll allow it."

Talon shrugged. "I just don't like calling him my father. I don't like having two dads."

Two dads? That comment earned him a swift up and down stare. "You didn't seem to mind having me and Roran for your fathers."

A dark blue flush swirled across Talon's face. He shook his head, black curls bouncing. "It's not that. I didn't mean… that. Look, this isn't me feeling weird about, um, Mrs. Kerning or anything like that. I don't care if she wants to lock in a body change every 500 years without deviating from it… I mean, I don't really get why she doesn't change more often in between, but it's… it's not about her. I just…"

His words slipped away. Talon plucked off his glasses and started polishing them furiously with the edge of his sleeve, brows drawn down. Silent. Seething. He looked so much like his father that way, right down to the same hiccup-like hitch in their wings when working hard and leaning over. Fergus waited, twitching his own wings but otherwise unmoving. Talon only wanted to break eye contact. Talon wasn't a pixie. He was always the first to break eye contact.

Still cleaning the frames, Talon stammered out, "I just don't like thinking about both you and the High Count as my dads… I don't care about him. Just because he's some hotshot noble, it doesn't mean he's a good guy. I mean, he overthrew his own brother for the seat, yeah? I don't want him in my life. I just want you."

There it was. Not an unusual expression, and not even an unwelcome one, but… it felt like an expression of emotion nonetheless. Even if it came out fumbled and guarded. Fergus paused, asking in the frosty silence, What would a full-blooded pixie do?

He knew the answer. Knew the sort of things he was meant to say. Talon had recently turned 4,000 years old, and all his life, Sapphire had acknowledged him cooly as "My match's ward" if she had to refer to him at all. Well, that's what she said outside the doors of Apartment 6, Room 314. She had enough grace to call him "Talon" to his face.

Talon continued hovering, waiting for an answer. The clock ticked behind the kitchen sink.

"I like you too, Talon." Fergus touched down on the tile floor, bringing his eye level a bit closer to the scrawny anti-fairy's. He reached out a hand to Talon's shaking shoulder. "You'll always be the Anti-Cosmo's biological child, but the past 4,000 years of my life have been better because you're in them. I've never regretted bringing you home when I found you chewing wires in the casino, and if I'd taken you straight back to Anti-Fairy World, I think I'd always wonder what had become of you and if you were hanging out with the wrong crowd." Fergus considered this statement for an extra wingbeat, then added, "But in that world, I'd probably have to buy less cheese."

Grumpily, Talon shrugged. "I can pick my own friends… I would've been fine. Like, if I ever want to run away, I can take care of myself."

"If you'd ever like to move to Anti-Fairy World, you can, but I'd like you to talk to me about it first. There are documents you'd want to file for safety. For instance, you're only welcome in Pixie World while you're under my roof, but if you denounce me and don't have a legal Anti-Fairy caretaker, you're more likely to get thrown into foster care than you are to be allowed to roam through Anti-Fairy World." Fergus placed a hand to his heart, leaning back as he did. "And if you left, I would miss you. Who else would stay up late eating pretzels with me and laughing at my jokes? Ha ha."

Talon squinted, using one knuckle to bump his glasses higher on his nose. They slid straight down again, as they always did. Like his clothing, the glasses always seemed too big for him. He'd always been scrawny and there didn't seem to be anything Fergus could do about it. Talon said, "I thought Anti-Fairy kids were allowed to free roam."

"Only if the proper documents are filed. If there are no documents, a roaming child is counted as neglected, which usually gets them relocated. In your case, if you want to live in Anti-Fairy World, we'd have to transfer legal parenthood rights to the Anti-Cosmo. Then you'd need his permission to free roam. He might give it, but I'd be required to rent out your room. So if you came back, you'd be paying me allowance instead of earning it."

The young anti-fairy stuck out his tongue, which was just as blue as his skin, and Fergus smiled slightly to himself. "I don't really want to run away," the child said next. "Anti-Fairy World is ugly and stupid. I don't even want to go to dinner theater."

Only to be expected. Fergus turned away, leaving the invitation clinging to the icebox by its lone little magnet. He floated to the breadbox to prepare a bit of toast. "That's fine. I won't make you."

"If I go, I want ice cream."

"I can't promise ice cream, but you can have any dessert you want on the menu."

"Okay… I guess I'll go, then."

He really was a good kid. Talon always set the table and washed his plate, even if he did get obsessive over counting salt grains sometimes. Fergus prepared plain yogurt and toast for both of them and called up to Sapphire that if she wanted granola in hers, she'd need to order online or eat at the work cafeteria because the canister was empty. She called back that she would handle it. This was followed by the sound of the shower rumbling on. Talon listened to this, eating his toast, and asked another question.

"How long did you and Mrs. Kerning live together before you found me?"

"Why do you ask? The flow of time doesn't mean anything after high school. Once you get your adult wings, your immortality is secured. Except for non-magical accidents, but there's no reason to track aging anymore."

Talon shrugged and scooted his chair closer to the table. It scraped along the floor. No verbal response, but his little fangs poked beyond his curled bottom lip. Fergus… relented.

"A little over 54,000 years. We're nearing our 60,000-year milestone."

"So… Is that a lot for a partnership, or just a little in Pixie World?"

Why the sudden number questions? Did all interns go through a question phase like this? Fergus tapped his spoon in his yogurt, eyeing Talon quietly and trying not to give away his own confusion. "Hm. I wouldn't say 'long,' but it's a notable amount of time."

Talon nodded… slowly. He sat with his hands folded against his mouth now, thinking hard. His eyes stayed in squinted slits. "How did you guys meet?"

"Henry-Henrietta Lovington, the Head Pixie before Reedfilter, arranged us. Genetically, we both have black hair." He felt the need to clarify genetically out of habit… On New Year's Eve, Sapphire requested he adjust his appearance by pulling back to a younger look, closer to what he wore early on in their marriage. He still misses his fluffy white curls, but out of respect, he hasn't gone back on his word.

Talon blinked. "Black hair? That's it?"

Fergus raised a brow, wondering (not for the first time) what Talon was actually learning about at school if not basic life facts. "Black-haired pixies work in the Headquarters building. The H.P. of the time foresaw a need for more interns in that area, and the best personality tests of the time determined Sapphire and I would be a compatible match. Why do you ask?" A new thought flickered into his head. He leaned forward, bracing his chin on one hand. "Are you already discussing ideas of domestic compatibility in school? I did hear a rumor that they're starting to teach that younger." Talon knows more details about where nymphs come from than Fergus would like him to at his Spellementary school age, but the parent in him can acknowledge the importance of the subject… even though he'd rather keep the boy innocent for as long as he can.

Talon stayed silent. The clock ticked loudly behind the sink, over and over again. The boy's mouth opened and shut a few times as though on a hinge. Fergus waited, unable to break eye contact of his own will, until the anti-fairy adjusted his glasses and found his voice again. He exhaled in a gust.

"Are you and Mrs. Kerning really getting unmatched?"

Hhhhhh…

"We've discussed it. We don't know yet." It felt colder in the apartment every day. Things hadn't been the same since Sapphire brought up the possibility. She wavered daily between flirty and cold, confusing him and Talon and even herself. Sometimes she hovered in a room like she wanted to say something, only to float away again and start pacing up and down the hall. Fergus hasn't been able to decide if his daily actions are now seen as trying too hard or not hard enough. Every move must be second guessed. But not even Sapphire seemed to know what she was looking for. He felt certain she'd tell him if she did. But she bobbed around in a confused sort of way like there were words tangled in her head and she didn't know how to articulate them with one tongue alone.

Talon shifted his wings, folding and unfolding them in a rustle like silk. "Um… Does Mrs. Kerning… hate me because I'm not her kid?"

"What? Sapphire doesn't hate you… She's… full-blooded." The first words that sprang to mind. He would rather not acknowledge the reason why. "She's a pixie. Emotions don't escape her often. She doesn't feel them the same way you do."

"I think she hates me," Talon said quietly. He stared at the empty plate in front of him, now freckled with toast crumbs, and shook his head. His curls bounced around again, this time with more force. "I think… it's because I'm not a pixie. Would she stay with you if I moved to Anti-Fairy World?"

There it was. Should he have seen it coming? The questions made more sense now. Fergus set down the spoon, trying to put words together in his head, and folded his hands before his mouth. The ticking clock intruded loudly on it all. He looked across the table very seriously at the scrawny Anti-Fairy in the other seat.

"Talon, this has nothing to do with you. Never once has Sapphire told me she wishes you didn't live here. Now, if you ever want to move to Anti-Fairy World, let's talk about it seriously and consider all your options. As I said before, you'd legally become the Anti-Cosmo's ward if he chooses to step up and claim you, which I'm sure he would." Because if he ever hooks his claws in you, he'll rub you in my face for the rest of our immortal lives… But he chose not to add that part. "But moving to Anti-Fairy World is something that's your choice alone. I enjoy your company and I will miss you regardless of where you move once you leave this household, but that's because you're my ward. And a ward should be free to grow up and live on his own when he's ready. Don't let either me or Sapphire make that decision for you."

"Okay," Talon said, and went off to enjoy his last day at home before Spellementary School began its new semester. Fergus lingered at the table a moment more, staring at the dinner theater invitation hanging on the icebox door.

A million and one reasons to talk to High Count Eskel, yet I still don't want to bring up any of them. They needed to discuss Talon… Talon was half the Anti-Cosmo's son too, and one of these days, the time to sort things out would be unavoidable. Anti-Cosmo dropped by Pixie World on occasion, but always infrequently. Sometimes two months in a row, sometimes not for years. Sometimes not for decades. It had never been predictable, never formed a pattern, and it never seemed to be the right time to discuss things like medical records and Anti-Fairy dental care and allergies. Fergus made a mental note to follow up with Talon on "The Talk" he apparently got at school, but that would require cross-referencing with the High Count to confirm these things work for Anti-Fairies the same way… and that sounded unfun in a way that even Pixies despised. Later. It could wait.

Ha. Raising a kid together would be so much easier if they were married. Or lived together, anyway. Too bad Talon already made it clear he's opposed to having 'two dads.' Ha ha, ha ha. Fergus rolled his eyes and went to change from pajamas into work clothes. He had a job to do.

He didn't RSVP for dinner theater that day, either.

Saturday came and the invitation fluttered hungrily at him from the icebox. Yuck. Fergus couldn't even put into words the reason why he stalled in answering the letter… He simply couldn't muster the energy to write a reply. How does one respond to a request from the High Count of the Anti-Fairies? Would a simple "Yes" be considered rude, and should he bring up his honey allergy in advance or only tell the restaurant (and not the leader of a rival species)?

Briefly, Fergus considered trying to contact him with a crystal ball, but the chances of actually reaching him were basically negligible. He didn't have the High Count's serial number. Even if he did, the signal delay between Pixie World and Anti-Fairy World was downright horrendous. And it might offend the High Count if he locked him into conversation when a written reply would do.

Anyway, his and Sapphire's crystal was still in storage somewhere from when they moved to this room three years ago. Digging it up would endanger the minimalist set-up they had going on. He couldn't be bothered. So he did not RSVP for dinner theater on Saturday.

On Sunday, distracting thoughts of his match took over from dawn to dusk. Fergus stirred awake with his cheek in his pillow and a weight on his back, the feel of slender hands and a square jaw undeniable from the way they rested against him. One finger played coyly with the costas of his wings. The chin dug into his shoulder blade. Faintly, Fergus tightened his grip on the pillow. He vaguely bobbed into the realm of the conscious, but kept his eyes tightly shut. Just for a little longer.

"What time is it…?"

"Shhh," said a voice that hissed across his ear. The loft took in an abundance of natural light, but at certain times of the year - like this one - Pixie World shifted far enough from the sun that only a few hours soaked in genuine daylight. His closed eyelids couldn't detect anything but darkness. Maybe the palest colors of purple-blue sky. And he couldn't help the twitch in his left wing when his match pressed too hard against a nerve.

"Roran, it's a work day… What time is it?"

"Mmm… We have ten minutes before the alarm goes off."

Fergus stilled then. The blankets were warm. The bed sheets had been recently washed and refitted, so they clung on tightly, securely, maintaining warmth. The firm foam of his pillow invited longer sleep…

… but "Roran"'s voice was just a bit too high. The memories came back and he opened one eye. "I'm sorry. I meant Sapphire."

Sapphire's thumb wandered around the place his wings melded into skin. The soft spikes in her cropped, inky hair looked more ruffled this morning than Fergus had seen for a long time, like she'd slept on them wrong and they felt the need to bristle with irritation because of it. She looked like a cockatrice. Funnily enough, the spikes forcing the pointed hat above her head to float even farther from her skull than usual. How wildly inappropriate. But despite this slight mussing of her hair, he always knew his match. She gazed at him with the same icy blue eyes that had woken beside him on and off for the last 60,000 years. Fergus rolled the comforter from his shoulders and tried to stretch his wings without pinching her fingers in the process.

"Mm, good morning… Is that a new top?" Sapphire wore a pink piece with very thin straps, not at all blue like her namesake. The old Head Pixie had frowned on color even in the privacy of one's home, but Reedfilter allowed it as long as everyone maintained gray once they clocked in for work. She was good like that.

"Yes… I'm trying pink this week. I like feeling feminine again." Sapphire no longer traced her hand over his back, but stayed propped on one elbow while he lay essentially face-first in his foam cube of a pillow. When he told her the color suited her, she bit her lip. "Thirty-Seven, I have a question. Just now, you called me by my old name."

"I called you that name for 2,000 years and you've only been Sapphire for less than a week. I request forgiveness. I was still half asleep."

"Did you find me more bearable when I was Roran?"

Bearable? He chuckled just softly enough to make her pout. Not enough to get him pinched. "'Bearable' is a harsh word, dear. I liked being matched with Roran, but I also liked you as Honey, Marcus, Emma, Orion, Lavender, and all the other names you've worn. That slip-up doesn't mean I won't enjoy being matched with Sapphire." He always gave this or a similar response every 500 years or so when his match felt the urge to switch from one presentation to another. He changed his own appearance less frequently, but he can remember the early-day excitement of testing shapes, colors, and body types in the mirror. That sort of thing seemed to be Sapphire's drug.

Maybe he did miss Roran. A little. He missed the softer, more rounded feel that Roran had compared to Sapphire's new skin-tight figure with abs faintly showing through her frilly pajama top, but he'd never tell her so. Not unless directly asked, and maybe not even then. Sapphire deserved to enjoy whatever body shape she'd decided was in season at the time. Beach bod seemed to be her current vibe.

Sapphire patted down a few of the spikes standing in her hair. "I think the next time I lock in a drake's body, I want to try the name Lionel."

"That's a good name. It sounds powerful." Briefly, Fergus debated asking her to call him by his real name in private instead of "Thirty-Seven." He tolerated the nickname among his work friends, but it wasn't entirely appropriate for a pair who slept in the same bed. But that also could have been his will o' the wisp blood speaking for him, so he held his tongue.

… He realized then that he didn't like the thought that Sapphire might not even know his actual name. Somewhere in nearly 60,000 years of companionship and all her own name changes, he wouldn't have been surprised if she misremembered his old self as someone she once used to be. The Seelie have notoriously poor memories.

Sapphire leaned forward, brushing her hand gently down his back and under his wing again. This time, her knuckles touched the crisp edges… Imperfect edges with will o' the wisp curves at the ends. Fergus watched her with only one eye, the rest of his face still nestled in foam. She said, "Don't forget, you requested I remind you to RSVP for Anti-Cosmo's dinner event."

"I will… I'll do it after breakfast. But tell me this. You seem oddly affectionate this morning." He kept his words low, tone soft. Sapphire slowed her hand, but didn't remove it.

"I find it easier to speak openly when Talon is at school. Do you actually find this affectionate?"

"You're rubbing my back as I wake in the morning. That seems like a sign of close intimacy to me, yes."

Sapphire hummed briefly in thought, then tossed back the blankets. She scooted her legs to the other side of the mattress. Fergus felt his stomach plunge. Like a shimmer, she slipped from the bed. "How curious, the things that make you show emotion," said she. "Sometimes I forget you're not really a pixie."

Not… really…

A swirl of magic rumbled in his ears, flushing through his cheeks. Fergus pushed himself up on his arms and pulled his wings in instinctively. "I didn't show emotion, Sapphire. I asked a question. And yes, I may have been born of one non-pixie parent, but that's only a small portion of my genes. I was raised a pixie through and through, and I'm no less pixie than anyone else employed at Pixies Inc. What am I meant to feel, then? If not affection?"

Sapphire looked at him, thoughtful, and lightly hummed her wings. "Pleasure, I think. Pleasure in what is dull and gray."

The beat of his core thrummed all the way down to his fingertips. Pleasure. That's what she'd said over New Year's, too, when he'd asked what their relationship meant to her. Pleasure… What did that even mean? His nails curled faintly in the bedsheets. They might be white, but he felt like he was seeing red. "I'm not looking to debate, Sapphire. That said, I would like to acknowledge that I actively seek out what's dull and gray."

The pixie fidgeted her fingers through the back of her short hair, then… plucking at it. Combing it. "I think we won't need to unmatch if I move my bed to a different room."

"I can respect the need for personal space." He should take a shower. He'd rather not take a shower. A long day of work awaited him with widespread arms. Much nicer to stay home in bed. Sapphire turned then, her wings skimming low behind her, and gazed down the stairs that led directly up to their shared bed in the loft.

"I need an honest answer, Thirty-Seven. If we unmatch… Are we going to become like Longwood and Sanderson?"

"What do you mean?" And did the tiredness bleed through his voice? That certainly wasn't a discussion he wanted to start. Even less than the inevitability of Talon's future.

"Will we be like Columbine Longwood and Kalahari Sanderson?" Sapphire clarified, turning to face him again. Her wings hung behind her now, faintly unfolded, in a way that gave the impression she was leering over him… even though it was a simple, rather innocent question. She asked it in monotone, using the same lack of inflection she used for everything else. That was the Pixie way. "Do you think we'll banter every time we see each other in the halls at work? Banter has never really been our thing."

This question required a careful answer. Sapphire set it up like she wanted him to walk with care. Fergus breathed evenly through his nose, calculating different pieces of the relationship as he recalled them. Who slept where, who kept what, who took over the interns and their training…

"Longwood is prickly by nature. I don't think we'll be like her, although I understand the concern. Let me think… They were a brief match, Sanderson and Longwood." Somehow, it just felt better saying it. Ensuring the divide between himself and his peers. They were brief. He and Sapphire have been together since they were barely out of high school. "By the last report, Sanderson has two presently female interns and one male. One damsel is a redhead and the other a black. His youngest is the half-wisp hybrid with the unknown parent. He has black as well, if I recall. It… It can't be easy for them. Longwood only has one child. From her previous match with Elkington, I think, because her intern has the same freckles." He stretched his body like a cat's, wings thrumming, and let out a hissing sigh. "Those two are regularly under high stress, but Sanderson seems to keep his cool well enough. I think if we separate, we would both be like him."

"I'd rather we didn't unmatch… but sometimes, I… I don't think I understand the way… your mind works."

"That's because we aren't the same identical being, Kerning. It doesn't mean we aren't both pixies."

Fergus showered, ate, and went to work. He did not RSVP for dinner theater on Sunday.

On Monday afternoon, he returned home with his apartment keys in hand (a long day of work behind him) and stopped moving just before unlocking the door. His wings buzzed like snapping sparks in the silence. Down at the end of the hallway, a brunette pixie dame stood on the floor with drooping wings. Watching him. With a little lollipop in her mouth. Fergus rotated his eyes down to her socks, then up again. Hm.

"Pag-sün d'eskel… I trust you've come to see me for dull and boring reasons. Is it High Count, or High Countess?"

The "pixie" popped the lollipop from her lips. It was spiraled green and white and had colored her tongue the same. "What's this? What gave me away?" Glancing down at herself, she huffed and asked, "Was it the candy now? Am I predictable? Or just the fact that I wasn't flying when you spotted me because I fumble with pixie wings?"

"Yes." Sure; whatever she wanted to think. Fergus did not point out the socks she wore were blue.

"Ta, mate. Well, I certainly can't help the candy… May I come in? I won't be long. And personally, I do prefer 'High Countess, the Anti-Cosmo' when I wear a damsel's body. I appreciate you voicing that in question; we really should talk more often. Also, it's Pag-vi, for damsels: Pag-vi d'eskel. In my native Vatajasa, that means 'a daughter' instead of 'second son.'"

"Thank you. I do try." As a rule, Pixies didn't swing between forms and pronouns as rapidly as Anti-Fairies did. Whatever physical appearance you locked yourself into after renewing your ID card was the way Pixie World expected you to look until you were given the green light to update your information. These things had to be structured; it was all about accurate paperwork. Fergus didn't like to bother with that sort of thing, although he'd been curious on occasion. He and Sapphire had agreed long ago that he'd carry their first child, she their second, and he didn't have a further desire to change himself than that. He was content with Pixie World's policies, but had always admired the lighthearted nature of Fairies and Anti-Fairies alike. They could start a fart in one body and finish it in the next, and no one twitched a wing. "Pag-vi d'eskel. Did I say that right?"

"Yes, perfectly. Without a 'the' after High Countess unless you're addressing me by the Anti-Cosmo part of my nature."

"Of course." Pag-vi d'eskel, or a daughter born under willow trees, was her name. 'The Anti-Cosmo' was a title slapped upon her by Fairy culture, not her own. He'd practiced that a thousand times with his father when he was young. There were no such thing as 'Anti-Pixies' out there in the universe - or none that he knew of, anyway - though quite a few people would argue that structured Pixies and wild Genies balanced each other out in a similar fashion. "That does leave me with one question, though… I thought Anti-Florensa still ruled as High Countess."

The pixie dame frowned. "And?"

"… Right. Of course. Tell your mother I said hello." Fergus said nothing else, calculating every word. He'd known a couple Anti-Fairies in his time. None had ever asked to enter his home before. They usually just barged in, hexed a couple things with a swish of their wands, and would make themselves scarce again. They manipulated luck. They targeted individuals sometimes. It's what they did. Well, most didn't bother finishing the job when they realized Talon had already made his nest here, but occasionally they did drop by. Talon did his best to warn him off when he could, but Anti-Fairies were a social species by nature. They tended to attract each other, behaving in polite ways you'd never see a few Fairies bother with unless they knew each other well… Fairies were very territorial.

No Anti-Fairy had ever asked to request permission inside before. And here the High Countess herself stood under bright yellow lights and waited patiently for an answer.

"I don't give that consent," Fergus said at last. "We can talk in the laundry room. It's just down the hall and should give us the privacy you're looking for. This way. I only have a moment, though, because I need to start the first load of my own laundry before Kerning returns or we'll disrupt our careful schedule."

The pixie scowled back at him, crossing her arms. "A 'private moment?' In your home? Darling, if you wanted a second child with me, all you had to do was ask."

Fergus glanced at her, tucking his keys away again. Odd. She certainly didn't sound like herself. Well… maybe she did. He'd never heard the Anti-Cosmo speak as a damsel before, so granted, he couldn't really be sure what she sounded like. The words slid flatly from her tongue as though someone was standing just behind her, twisting her arm to force them out.

"Something's distracting you," was all he said. The Eskel he knew could be snippy, yes, and witty on occasion… Flirtatious? Abso-blitzing-lutely. If she had to choose living forever at the cost of never flirting again, she'd simply choose to die. But sarcastic jokes weren't her natural way. He could see the nerves in her twitchy pixie wings.

"I'm… Well, yes." The High Countess shrugged, uncaring. She dressed in white shirt and tie, like a pixie would, but the way she rolled her shoulders wouldn't have fooled anyone in the company. "I won't be long, darling. Perhaps not even a moment of your time. Answer me this: where is my son?"

"We call our offspring 'interns' in Pixie World, High Countess."

With a snap of her wings, the pixie catapulted forward, barring the hallway with her arms. What? It took a moment to rebalance herself… She didn't quite grasp the delicate nature of Seelie wings. She stood taller than in her anti-fairy body, but still shorter than Fergus did with his back straight. She brandished her lollipop then like a wand. All her chocolate-brown hair cascaded down one shoulder like a waterfall, but the way it twitched suggested it might be about to light up with flames. "I say… What's that supposed to mean, then? Are you dodging my question? Where the bleeding hell is my SON!?"

Green eyes, entirely bloodshot. Fergus recognized instantly that she was running on empty, her stomach thin with hunger and panic above all else. Oh? Now that was odd… Had she been up all night, worried sick for Talon's well-being? That checked out. Anti-Fairies lose the need for sleep the same time they shed the crude, puffy blubber of their early years. Once they were old enough to dress in children's clothes instead of baby onesies, the only time you'd catch one nodding off is if something came along and drained their inborn magic reserves down to zero. Dreadful existence. Politics these days must be really eating at her.

Though, it seemed she hadn't lost her touch too badly, if she'd still managed to slip away from her private bodyguards. Fergus didn't quite know how to analyze that. No guards? That meant no witnesses. And a trip to Pixie World, unannounced? Uninvited? He'd prefer to see her wand dangling uselessly in a sheathe at her side, but alas.

Either way, the lack of guards didn't particularly surprise him. Rumor had it that Eskel was a master at shaking them so she might pursue lechery with the same indulgence she showed her longstanding candy addiction. But… still. She'd come alone to ask him this? In disguise? Everyone knew she'd either sired or carried Talon. Everyone knew he was raising the child as his own. What difference did it make, and why risk approaching him without her guards?

Stars above, the shaken-up High Countess looked pale and gray. Not even a good shade of gray (from a pixie's perspective). No. Soft bags weighed heavily beneath her eyes. This only fueled the theory that she'd been too distracted to keep herself fed. Shame the only sleep she ever got at this age came from straight-up passing out. Frankly, Fergus thought sleep was good for all societies. Anti-Fairies worried too much. They'd be happier if they didn't. In fact, that was the issue with society as a whole. Anti-Fairies were worriers. Fairies didn't worry about anything. This resulted in equal-sized splashes of chaos in the world, and the Pixie race had to find time to somehow balance them both.

Hmm. Gingerly, Fergus used one finger to direct the lollipop so it no longer pointed between his eyes. He could clean the carpet later. If that piece of candy was meant to be her wand, he hardly needed to worry. A magical blast wouldn't do lasting damage to a magical creature, although it would still be such a hassle to fix his eyes. Potentially expensive. How exhausting. "You may not want to shout so openly at this hour… Someone will hear you."

"Where is he?" Slightly softer, but no less demanding. "You know who I mean… Or must I spell his name out for you in crayon like this is child's play? Where is Urn d'eskel?"

"Talon is at boarding school. Spellementary."

"Oh, poppycock. Don't give me that!" The false pixie directed the lollipop towards the carpet, but the flashing didn't leave her eyes. "Do you rrreally think I'd come out here twice in one month if he was securely up there?"

"… Is Talon… not… at school right now?" It wasn't normally in a pixie's nature to ask questions. It wasn't in their nature to slip out of monotone or see their hands slightly shake. Fergus tried to focus on the pixie's eyes, but the eyes kept flickering from one color to the next as the High Countess struggled to maintain the illusion any longer. Fangs had begun creeping over her otherwise perfectly square teeth. Frozen flakes of sweat gathered on the back of Fergus's neck. He'd let Talon climb on the glistening school bus and he hadn't called to confirm the boy safely arrived.

He ran away…

"'Is Talon not…?'" Eskel broke off and took a breath, closing her eyes. Her jolting wingbeats slowed, fading into the more natural beating of a standard pixie.

It did not match the beating in his own core.

"No," she said next. Eyes still scrunched. "He cetainly isn't. I asked one of my contacts to ring me when he arrived, but he never checked in. I thought temporarily you might have kept him at home one weekend late, but I can see I was quite… mistaken about that now."

"It's this stupid separation between us." The words leapt from his tongue without a thought. Fergus regretted them faintly, regretted that he'd just betrayed a piece of his private life to nosy neighbors who didn't need to hear, but he squashed that regret beneath the rising discord in his mind. Talon rarely left Pixie World. The only time he did was to visit the Anti-Cosmo (supervised) or attend school.

Eskel looked confused, her fingers tangled in mousy brown hair. It had started morphing blue again. "Here now; what separation do you mean?"

A stupid separation. He'd said that, hadn't he? Fergus focused inward, paying particular attention to the expression on his face and the way he moved his arms. He could not be seen displaying emotion. Even in Talon's absence. Too many people might strike him down for will o' the wisp behavior, and that he didn't need. "The conflict between myself and my match… Talon's convinced he isn't wanted. He doesn't quite believe Kerning gave equal consent to raise him when I brought him home."

That snaps Eskel upright. "What's this? 'Unwanted?'"

"He asked this week if I'd be happier if he just ran away."

"Why in smoke didn't you write to me?"

Actually? That question just annoyed him from head to heels. "Why should I? He's my ward, Eskel. Not yours. I didn't realize you still cared for an illegitimate child."

Eskel scowled down at her lollipop. Her fingers had turned blue as far as her thumb. "I care for all my children equally, thank you… Inheritance rights have nothing to do with it. That isn't your concern." Looking up at him then, she said, "My two eldest, Lomdi and Tatla, free roam regularly in Anti-Fairy World as we speak. It's different with Eskel."

Fergus blinked. "Ru-vika d'hi's children?"

"What?"

"You said Lomdi and Tatla. Their mother's name is Ru-vika d'hi. Right? I just… never realized you and she had a thing. Sorry. Go on."

Eskel stared blankly back at him, a faint blue tint rising in her pale pixie cheeks. "H-hold the crystal ball now… Yes, Ru-vika d'hi and I had a summer fling in our adolescence… but that was over 100,000 years ago. My father was still ruling then and Prince Mon d'lin was heir. How did you know about that?" Blushing more deeply, practically steaming, "Must you Pixies rrreally keep track of everything?"

"Well. Talon talks about them every time he visits your mother in Anti-Fairy World. I've never met them myself. I assumed they were his friends. I'm just now realizing they're actually his half-sisters." Fergus lifted his hands, palms forward. "I'm not judging, Eskel. I just have context now."

"You… take Talon to see my mother?"

"Was I not supposed to? I don't know Talon's other parent and I don't know my own mother. Sapphire's parents are eternally busy and don't like anti-fairies in their home anyway, so the High Countess Anti-Florensa is the only grandma he has. We spent Winter Turn with her and your half-brother, Irzush. I thought it would be nice."

Fergus watched, puzzled but doing his best not to show it, as Eskel stood in silence. Her face turned ever so slightly bluer. "I mean, technically Lomdi isn't even mine… Only Tatla is his sister. But see, Lomdi's father was absent and I was young and eager to flex my wealth, too naïve to know the reasons why I shouldn't, so I helped Ru-vika d'hi in raising her. I do think of her as my own. You might know her father, actually. There's a pixie studying abroad in my world and staying with him now. No? … Anyway, Lomdi and Tatla are fighters. They know how to hold their own; I don't have to worry about them. Eskel is only 4,000. Of course I fret."

"I see." Fergus glanced past Eskel at the hall beyond, then made the decision not to force his way to the laundry room door. Eskel's distracted enough and already looks like she's one breath from toppling over. The bags clinging beneath her eyes are awful. If their conversation is overheard in the hall, so be it. "Well, I'll make a larger effort to keep in touch. I didn't know you cared."

Silence fell between them, broken only by the soft gurgle of Eskel's stomach. She crossed her arms against her abdomen, leaning back on her heels. "I know, I know… You're right, of course. I didn't ask. I'll try to be better about that sort of thing… I didn't want to interfere across the border. I just came looking because he's gone. Well then, I think I'll take my leave now. There's no point in wasting time here any longer." She started searching her pockets for her wand, clutching her lollipop between two knuckles. Fergus didn't touch her, but reached out his hand.

"Let me help you."

"Frankly, luv, I don't need any of your help. You lost him. He was under your care and he bolted; that tells me all I need to know, wot? Gods, I think I understand now why he's always so bloody thin… He's been underfeeding just to avoid drawing too deeply from you." Bristling, she landed on the carpet and stilled her wings, trying to focus even harder on the quest for her missing wand. "Oh, you and I badly need to talk about him. He's nearly out of Spellementary. It isn't healthy to rely on only one source for feeding at his age… I won't force him across the border to live with me, but I bloody well think I should… Pah! If I were bolder, maybe."

Underfeeding.

Fergus blinked. So… Eskel thought Talon wasn't drinking all the luck from pixie skin that he needed during feeding time? Is that why he incessantly devoured blocks of cheese? Was he starving inside, fighting to seek comfort from physical food, but never truly satiated? Fergus withdrew his hand. As he watched, Eskel patted her pockets several more times, then finally stopped and squinted at the half-chewed lollipop in her hand.

"Wait. Is this my wand? Did I do this? How terribly annoying; I must have sugar on the brain."

"You're hungry," he said.

"What?" She stared at him blankly, oblivious entirely to the heaviness weighing at her bloodshot eyes. Oblivious to the fact that he could sense the teetering in her wingbeats. She blinked. It made her eyelids flicker. "Oh… Oh, gods, yes- I am, actually. Extraordinarily hungry. But pay it no mind, please. Politics are painful and I'm lucky to step away for now. I assure you, I'm still quick on the draw. Darkness devour me, I think I swapped my wand out for this lolli… Oh, just blitz me now. Please don't, actually- that's not an open invitation. You lay one hand on me and I'll scream. I say, you lay one hand on me and I'll scream, darling… Have you got all that?"

Fergus, fighting now to stay completely blank (even with his mind racing around the tracks), lifted his hand again. "Wait. I can help. Do you need a spare wand? Or… food?" The word food graced his lips coldly, flatly. Eskel jerked up her head. She gazed back at him, her mouth a perfect 'O' of surprise and brown hair shimmering almost gold beneath the yellow lights, so he felt the need to clarify. "If you need to, you know… feed… I mean, if you need more energy to look for Talon… then it's fine if you take it from me. He's my charge. Let me help."

Eskel's stomach growled a second time as though in thanks. Eskel's fangs, however, bit her lower lip. Her wings rustled behind her, trying to fold, though they were still the stiff wings of a pixie and not the leathery type that would fold nicely at her back. "Ah, no… No, that's quite all right. Thank you. The offer is appreciated, but that will take too long. It's best if I leave now."

"You're hungry," Fergus challenged, stepping a little closer. The High Countess didn't back away, but straightened herself and frowned up at him. She brought the green and white lollipop near her mouth.

"That's none of your concern, actually… Save your strength in case Eskel comes back here. He'll need it more than I."

Fergus… hesitated. His eyes fell to his arm. To the pale, fleshy skin that had been cut and closed with anti-fairy saliva thousands of times before. The media never spoke about the way their spit can heal. It didn't fit the agenda of portraying them like screeching vampires of the night. Maybe someone should tell them even vampire bats can close wounds with tender licks. "I didn't mean to underfeed him, Eskel. He didn't tell me he was hungry."

"I know," she answered, sighing between clenched fangs. "I know… I should have checked on him as he's gotten older, or informed you, or… Anyway, I'll be better. I should go."

"Eskel," Fergus said then, more softly than a pixie should. He lifted his attention from his arm. The lollipop bobbed in her mouth. "Are you underfeeding? … Is that why you always carry candy? Does that help?" Candy to Eskel might be what cheese was for Talon. An opportunity. A distraction.

Something to do with your fangs besides bury them in the nearest juicy skin.

Crack! went the lollipop between her teeth. Eskel grimaced around her broken candy, cupping one hand beneath her chin. This made her bend forward, trying to catch every bright splinter of it before they could hit carpet. Disgusting. Fergus rustled his wings, fighting back an inborn pixie instinct to rapidly clean the mess.

"You don't need to pity me," she told him coldly. Coldly felt like exactly the right word. Her brows scrunched together, knuckles completely blue around the lollipop stick. "I'm always hungry, luv. That's the bitter curse of being what I am, but I'm a grown damsel these days. I'll be fine."

Fergus drew back down the hallway, fumbling internally for a response. He did not, in fact, pity the Anti-Cosmo by any stretch of the imagination. She'd been coronated young at 290,008 years, which made her little more than a child no matter which cultural lens you looked at her from. Well… A legal young adult, absolutely, but not a dame with enough experience to run an entire nation. Never mind the fact that he himself had barely crossed 310k… Fergus had no children of his own and the Anti-Cosmo had three the public knew of, plus an abundance of political expectations stacked on top of that. Fergus contented himself with Talon. He didn't need the rest of that busy lifestyle, regardless of the upper class benefits that Eskel so enjoyed.

"You look exhausted," he told her, not bothering to phrase it like a question. She didn't deserve it like a question. He could barely get the words out. Barely look at her. "How much do you really need? Tell me how to help you find Talon. If you need to eat, let me help. You're no help to him if you pass out midway through the search."

"Blitz you," the High Countess muttered back, lapping at the end of her stick. "You flatter yourself… Pixies rely far too much on probability, maths, and measurable figures to be useful. You don't exercise enough faith in luck or random chance. That's what I mean: my contact at Spellementary ensures that Eskel feeds while he's there, but I've neglected to track how he was doing in your household with only pixies to draw from during breaks. I should have told you. I should have demanded he migrate to Anti-Fairy World. I don't know. Not a very good parent, I am."

"I don't follow."

Eskel scoffed, but gestured to his body with a swirling finger. "Darling, you pixies are the Anti-Fairy equivalent of macaroni and cheese… There's nothing healthy about you and you're a comfort food that leaves us feeling sluggish in the end. Now, mortals… They believe in luck. Fairies too, to a large degree. The luck of mortals is simply delicious - and, in fact, they are the only believers in luck in the world to compete with that of Anti-Fairies on a species-wide scale - but a Fairy will do all right in a pinch. I can manage."

Her stomach snarled louder, which made her clamp her jaw shut with a snap. She muttered behind her teeth that she needed to get going. Fergus, who now had barely six minutes to throw clothes in the laundry before Sapphire was due to arrive home, equally would have liked to shoo the anti-fairy out of here. And still…

He leaned forward, blocking the easy escape route down the hall with his arm. Eskel looked up, squinting at his face. He said, "In case I don't see you for some time, High Countess, answer me this… How much should Talon be feeding when he's at home?"

"At his age?" She ducked his arm, sliding past him without a care. "Can't quite say, really. Half his body weight in luck every week to maintain peak performance, but you won't need to parse the good from the bad. He's young enough that he'll quickly burn off the extra calories. Wait until puberty. That's when things get complicated. Write to me more often, hm? I'll evaluate."

Lowering his arm, Fergus turned to follow Eskel with his eyes. "It sounds to me like you've decided to go after him alone. If you won't let me help, I won't stand in your way… but tell me you'll be fine."

Did that sound like a challenge? It wasn't quite meant to be, but the words hung in the air like a bird with one wing shot clean off, in that split second before it noticed and began plummeting towards the ground. Eskel inhaled, drawing herself up to her full height, and raised a finger towards his face.

"I will be fine… Don't worry about me. I can feed off a Fairy in twenty minutes. It's just that with Pixies, it would take at least an hour to sort through the muck in your system. As delicious as you'd be, darling, I can't afford the delay… I need to find my son." Eskel rolled her eyes and tossed her lollipop stick on the carpet. Mentally, Fergus flinched. His gaze shot straight for it, struggling to focus on anything else, which was probably why the anti-fairy did it. She finished with, "Rest assured, I can get by on little snacks… I'll window shop."

Fergus would have liked to touch her then. Take her arm and hold her steady, force her to look him in the eyes… Or, barring that, he'd have liked to brace his arm against the wall and lean over her, preventing her from wriggling off until he got a good answer out of her. Was that the will o' the wisp in him? Pixies by nature were not a touchy-feely race and didn't often speak with their hands. And he hated not knowing the answer to that question. Not knowing if he'd be in the secret wrong by acting on an instinct that throbbed beneath his skin.

He did nothing. Didn't even clench his teeth. Anyone could be watching; there were cameras in the halls. He stared back at Eskel, feigning blank disinterest in the conversation. "Hmm… 'Snacks.' Here's the issue: it sounds foul when you put it that way. Do you know these people? … Are you hanging out with a bad crowd? Pardon my invasive words, but the papers state they've seen you in less than savory company in recent decades."

Eskel's eyes flicked up and down his gray work suit. Then she snorted. "Yes, well… The media says whatever they like about me. You're within your rights to wonder, old sport. I never claimed to be angelic. It would go against my nature if I did. However, I assure you, my contacts know better than to cease believing in the power of luck. They're close friends of mine; they know all too well what I'm capable of… and how I'd treat them if they withhold my due payment."

"… You'd kill them. For a day's snack."

"Bloody smoke, I wish I considered myself a notable enough name to frighten them like that… It would certainly make my life easier if everyone cowered before me when I enter the room." Eskel rolled her eyes again, shaking her head this time. "No, no… They're my clients, darling, and I wouldn't off a client who can afford my rates. Not when they pay so well, in more than one way."

"So no one's dying beneath your hand, then. Do I have that right?"

"What? No!" Eskel shook her hands back and forth, palms near her chest. "I wouldn't dream of taking lives! It's in poor taste. You misunderstand. I've no need for money in my position and there are far too many nobles who prey upon the lower ranks when chasing meals. It's extortion, that. Threatening is the old way of doing things, you know… I prefer not to count myself among the older generation. I only need a good drink to function well for an entire week, and I have more than my pick of options down at the club; you know what I mean?"

"Oh, you gamble." Hmm… Talon hadn't been allowed at the Chamomile Casino even under his own supervision. Are things different in Anti-Fairy World? Or will he be forced to wait outside while his other father rolls dice and plays cards until he's won himself a filling meal?

Eskel's eyes fixed on his, her stare blank. The A/C unit growled to life and started pumping cold air into the hallway. Nothing else made a sound. Fergus blinked back at her, lost for words, and she dropped her face into her palm.

"Well, my innuendo eludes you, it seems. Such a lark, pixies… Look here. I know this prrrivate little place on the cusp of Fairy World where an anti-fairy such as myself can earn a good meal entertaining patrons who'd rather spend their luck than coin. I mean, I don't advertise it… I daresay that wouldn't go over well if I did. But I have contacts who know where to meet me… That's where I like to feed. I don't take advantage of subjects that my own government deems 'lower class.' My father may have loved that life, but I prefer consent. I can take care of myself, thank you. My 'snacks' will suit me quite well. I'll get by; Urn d'eskel can't hide forever, you know."

"Ah," Fergus said, unsurprised. He'd never viewed it as his place to ask who the Anti-Cosmo fed on, but seeing the writing on the wall spread in front of him now, he had to admit it made a lot of sense. The 'wild bachelor prince of Anti-Fairy World,' as the media tended to describe her, had no seeming end to her list of lovers. It wasn't even Eskel's fault when news got out- every story seemed to spring not from the Anti-Cosmo's lips, but from the mouth of someone who claimed they'd snuggled up to her after dark. Totally unverifiable, then, so few people believed every story (even if such stories did influence their views of Eskel overall). Fergus didn't doubt for one wingbeat that Eskel would flirt and flounce with a club patron for a few minutes' nibble on their wrist or neck.

And for that matter, he didn't doubt Eskel would hesitate to woo a fairy in their own home as long as they paid enough to satisfy the yawning pit of Anti-Fairy hunger. Sensible arrangement, really… Fairy culture viewed luck as an invisible concept. They didn't particularly value it or regret its absence, as it had always been a resource they could neither see nor touch. It couldn't be bottled, and even if it could, it couldn't be sold easily because it became utterly useless to an anti-fairy if not drawn fresh from the source. It danced the line of being entirely, freely renewable (from what Fergus had been told), as the body would replenish back to former levels within a month no matter how deep the drink, and being a resource that very few had the nerve to hold out their arm and give.

So why not exchange it to an anti-fairy at a club who requested food over coin? High supply. High demand. Everyone walks away happy. Perfect business, and an owner of a club that provided a safe place for the Anti-Fairy community to seek someone to feed on respectfully would certainly rake in the dough if they played their cards right…

Why am I not capitalizing on that? I know a few basics about managing a club. I only worked as a bouncer for thousands of years, after all. And the Anti-Cosmo would probably put in a good word for me to her friends on the far side of the border…

But maybe he was, in fact, glad that Eskel had refused the offer to feed from his blemished pixie skin. Eskel might forget the exchange wasn't one of those appointments.

Just one more question: "And what will Talon feed on when you reach him? You won't bring him with you, I hope."

Eskel arched her brows at him. "Sir, I do hope you realize that I had two children even before Eskel came along… I may not win any ribbons for 'Parent of the Year,' but I know how to look after the young of my species. Eskel can take what I've got in my skin. I'll feed well in Fairy World before I find him and he can draw from me directly after that."

"Hmm… As long as they're good people and Talon's healthy, I take no issue with that. It sounds like you know the area well. But still, if you ever find yourself wishing for a designated poofer, consider stopping by Pixie World on the way down the cloud layers. I charge light for my services and I have years of experience in maintaining order at a club. You know how aggressive fairies can be."

"Oh, pooh! Don't sound too eager for my teeth in your skin, luv… You'll make me flush."

"You, ever flush? You must be mistaken."

She made double dismissive flaps with her hands, rolling her eyes practically out of her head. "You know, I do have more friends than you alone… It was only a week ago you gave me your name. I'm 290,000 years old and High Countess. You can let me go now."

Stiff nod. Short. "Take care. Contact me as soon as you find Talon. Or at your nearest convenience, anyway."

"Yes, of course… I would have liked to find him here, but I'll let you know the moment I have information. Who knows? Maybe I will require your assistance after all."

Pag-vi d'eskel drew her wand then. Fergus lifted his brows and stepped away. With a flick of her hand, she vanished in a puff of gray smoke. Gone as quick as she came. He waited for the smoke to clear, then bent down to peel her abandoned lollipop stick from the soft carpet. See, when he said he thought Anti-Fairies were filthy by nature, this is what he meant. It had nothing to do with the fact they walked on cinders and ashes instead of cloud and dust, and everything to do with… stereotypes stemming from the Anti-Cosmo. Who else has the flippant nerve to throw garbage on the ground before a pixie like this? Rude.

Suffice to say, Fergus did not RSVP for dinner theater on Monday.