(Posted February 22, 2017)

The Chapter With Nine Snakes In It

Summer of the Unmelted Snowflake - Winter of the Last Hippocampus

A hundred and nine years after Caudwell was born, I returned to Novakiin to seek out Ambrosine. I had three million crisp, perfect lagelyn in hand, and I bought the place straight off of him. Emery was livid, but it was my birthright. There was nothing she could do to stop me. Over my sister, over my father, over my offspring, over my town, over my business, over my clients, I held all the power in my tightly-clenched fist. It. Was. Perfect.

Yet there was one being who wouldn't let me win. Oh, on paper, yes. By the letter of the law, yes. But in spirit, that was up for debate. As a married man, I always had to answer to my wife, and she expected me to even if she didn't ask a direct question. Why did she need me to take the scrying bowl along and contact her every twenty minutes to show her the leather band around my middle finger when I'd already told her four times I was just going out for snapjik night with the drakes? Damsels are such puzzling creatures.

It was ironic, really. One of the sylph ran marriage counseling in the very same building that I suddenly now owned. I never thought I'd find myself on her side of the door, but I looked about one day and somehow I was there. It took her two weeks to convince me to sit on her couch instead of pacing insistently back and forth to the point that her carpet wore thin, and even then I found myself playing with the stacks of journals, textbooks, and note cards on her low table (which she could never get straight enough before I came in).

Seeking her counsel wasn't admitting weakness, she regularly said. I didn't necessarily agree with that sentiment - my last hopes for achieving happiness within my lifetime were, after all, crumbling away between my fingers, and desperate shreds of my sanity with it - but I appreciated her insights nonetheless. Sometimes when I was clawing for a hold, trying not to drown in my little world of wife and five who relied on me, it helped.

The Friday afternoon following my purchase of Wish Fixers, I came into the office with each of my charges in a row behind and handed out parchment outlining the changes I planned to make now that I was in charge. "No more wine-colored suits," I said, sweeping my eyes over the six employees who hunkered in the corners of the waiting room couches. "In case you haven't yet guessed from how these five behind me are dressed, we're going to wear gray now."

"Why?" Emery asked instantly from her place on the edge of the coffee table. Ambrosine may have conceded to retirement with grace, but she had stuck around the business with the sole goal of making my life utterly miserable. As I flicked my heavy-lidded gaze to her, she leaned back on her knuckles, one leg hooked over her knee.

"New manager, new look. I've always interpreted reds and browns as bitter, passive-aggressive colors, and I don't much like it. Gray is smooth and easy on the eyes. Good, safe memories associated with it. Plus, it matches my very nice hat. It won't flatter you, but I'm going to look dazzling."

Emery - my dear, sweet Emery - stuck her foot down hard. While the others in the lobby shifted their weight between their wings, she launched herself up from the table and grasped the top button of my suit in her fist. Then she jerked me forward (The damsels do that to me a lot, don't they?). "This is an infringement upon my rights, Fergus. For three million years our dress code has ranged between red and maroon, and after all my hard work, I'm not about to waste what cash I do have on new clothes purely so I can play to your little fantasies."

I let her hold me there, not struggling, as her cheeks flushed brighter and brighter pink when she realized she was the only one here blowing up. No more back-and-forth bickering like we used to engage in when we lived under Ambrosine's roof. This was war, not a child's game. "We are Whimsifinados," I said, placing my right hand against my waist. I let her fingers stay in my jacket where they were. The rapid flash of her whirring wings glinted off the tile. "Whimsical aficionados, if you need me to break it down for you. Every act of behavioral therapy to go on behind these doors should occur with the utmost schooling and logical expert care. We are serious professionals. I expect all those who wish to continue working here to dress like it."

"Loving this," Fao said at once, his sentiment quickly echoed by Zachary and Shylan. Emery set her teeth.

"I for one won't stand for this. You may have control of my paycheck, 'boss', but you're still just my brother, and I don't see what gives you the right to uproot tradition and force me into uniform."

Swallowing my smirk, I rubbed my chin. "Oh, all right. If it's going to hurt your feelings that much, I'll allow you to wear a dull lavender or purple shade instead. I do want to start my career as a business owner off making sure my employees are happy, after all."

The look on my half-sister's face when she realized the corner I'd backed her into made every second spent counting dalia coins and balancing budgets over the years so deliciously worth it. If she showed up tomorrow in purple, then I became the benevolent boss who'd accommodated to her requests. If she came in gray, it was a sign that even fire-tongued Emery bowed her head to me.

"Pink," she said. "I like pink."

"You wore a dusky purple overshirt nearly every day back when we shared a home. The one with the striped trim around the collar that alternates with white and brings out those starry flecks in your black hair and the indigo tint in your eyes? That color will do."

"They don't make suits in that color," was her stiff reply then.

I lifted my eyebrow. "That sounds like a problem which will easily be corrected when you take it in for fitting so it matches your rounded figure. Now, if I'm not mistaken, the first appointments of the day should begin to show within fifteen minutes. If no one else has comments to make, we'll bring this meeting to a close. No? Off with you, then, thank you. Juvies, you're with me."

"Snake," Emery whispered under her lines, and when I clipped her with a spin of my wings, I pretended it was accidental.

(Later, as she was pulling on her coat that evening when her hours were done, I curled my hand over her shoulder and spun her around. "Are you still upset about my dress code policy?" I questioned.

"I still think you're overstepping your boundaries. Wish Fixers has always been promoted with the purple-red vests."

"Then am I correct in understanding that my offer of an alternative lavender suit will not be enough to soothe your ruffled feelings?"

She grit her teeth. "I haven't decided yet."

I could hardly restrain my delight. My fingernails sunk deeper into her sleeve, but I managed to keep my face expressionless. "All right. I'll make it easy on you. Emery, we're friends, right?"

My half-sister studied me, eyes flickering. The creases in the fabric of her coat deepened as she shrank into it. "I don't know."

"Great. You're being let go."

"What?"

"I'll say it again so you can understand. It's over for you. I can't have that nepotism label dabbing me behind the ears, can I? You know I don't believe in it. Bad for business."

She tried to argue that I couldn't do this, that there was no reason for it but spite, that I was destroying years or decades of trust build-up with her patients. I would not hear it. She could be replaced. No one's indispensable.

Well, no one apart from me, of course. "No Emery today?" Laramie asked on Saturday, and I replied over my shoulder, "I'm afraid she simply found my dress code too stringent", and left it at that like a warning.

But, I got ahead of myself.)

We were on the second floor, and Ambrosine's old office lay below us near the building's entrance. It was my office now. "He took his knickknacks and whatnot with him when he retired," I told my charges as we descended the stairs. "However, I glanced in here last night and since it is Friday, I think it could use some spring cleaning. We'll start with that today before you break out for your shadowing or filing tasks. Hawkins, you clean the windows. I don't want smudges on my glass door. Caudwell, you take that brush and sweep. Sanderson, wipe down my desk and drawers. I'll go over the shelves. Wilcox, I want you to comb through these texts as I hand them to you and determine how relevant they are to the practices of this day and age, and how much I'm going to want to keep them in my personal bubble."

"What can I do?" Longwood asked as they dispersed. I briefly glanced at him over my shoulder to see him floating there, wide-eyed. Over the six hundred and seventy-four years since he'd first shown his freckles, I'd steadily improved at controlling my restless gyne nature- we'd only had a few close calls. Particular times of the day or year were better than others. However, it was always easier to swallow the fantasies of ending his life in wide spaces, or when outdoors. Enclosed rooms trapped the pheromones and carried with it promises that no one wanted to keep.

"Why don't you inventory the storage room down the hall? That would be the most helpful thing for you to aid me in. Wilcox can bring any useless books in as he finishes. Show him where it is, Sanderson."

They left, Sanderson returned without him, and we got to work. The off taste of fairy attraction signals slowly seeped away under bursts of lemony cleaner and soap suds. Hawkins reluctantly sheathed his thumb as the taste of first one hand and then the other became too septic for him to bear. One by one, Wilcox skimmed through the pages of each book I handed him, sometimes commenting on a lack of interesting information or out-of-date therapeutic practices (Long ago, most everyone believed the powder of a ground-up unicorn horn - taken from a live beast, of course - possessed ultimate healing powers, but a mere placebo, that) which would then prompt me to sentence it to the storage pile. As Sanderson finished wiping my desk, I tasked him with unpacking the boxes I had dropped off last night (and one of these days, if those two chunks of beaten cardboard never settled their differences, I was going to shove them face-first through a shredder). As the hour passed, Ambrosine's old office lost its dirty, cluttered feel and accepted the influence of neatness and order in its kingdom. I felt my shoulders unwinding.

Then a shriek rebounded along the hallway walls. The hairs on the back of my neck and knuckles flared up. "Longwood?"

There wasn't an answer. A sharp shock raced down my spine. What was I supposed to do? I'd never had to rush to Longwood's rescue before- not without China to support me. On the one hand he was a gyne and we shared a biological rivalry, and on the other, he was… mine. Those rhyming words bounced about in my head as I hesitated an uncharacteristically long time with one hand resting on a high shelf. Gyne, mine, gyne, mine…

My concern over whether he'd discovered something dangerous eventually won out. If something had attacked him, it needed to be apprehended and contained- that was step number one. Tossing my rags and books haphazardly across my desk, I hurried down to the storage room with the other four fairies on my tail. The door was open. I paused for a beat outside of it, listening for the sound of someone threatening my little charge, but when I heard nothing but a soft shuffle of papers and cardboard, I stepped forward.

"Longwood, there was a distinct yelp which originated from your general area. All the evidence points to you as the culprit."

He hovered a few flaps inside the wide room, and turned to blink up at me when he heard my voice. "Um, sorry, boss. I figured it out. I just got surprised, is all. I opened a drawer, and there were snakes in it."

"There were snakes in it."

He gestured to the shiny black dresser behind him. Tubes and wires fed into it through the bottom, and in the open middle drawer, I could indeed see two thick, orange snakes coiled together, evidently sleeping. I tilted my head. "So there are. I remember now. They're used in phobia treatments. That's not something I was ever allowed to participate in because I didn't finish school, but I believe Emery may have mentioned it in passing. These tubes you see here are pumping them oxygen from what I presume is a structure here in the bottom drawer, or something. Maybe they go through the floor and through the clouds below; without moving it, I can't be sure." I knelt down and reached my hand inside. "Ah. These here are golden gliders. Originally from Hairy World on Plane 17, but specifically bred down to this small size we have here so as not to scare the clients more than necessary. You can recognize them by the white stripes across their snouts, see?"

"Are they poisonous?" Hawkins asked, peering over my shoulder.

"They're not venomous, no. Gliders constrict their prey. As you can plainly see, all of you are much too big to be swallowed. You'd have to be a nymph, but they don't like the oils in our skin anyway. If we were Anti-Fairies, then we'd have cause for concern. As I mentioned, the gliders' natural habitat is Hairy World. They feast on furry prey. And look." I pried open the mouth of the larger of the pair. "Its fangs have been removed. Totally harmless."

Caudwell frowned. "How do they eat, sir?"

"Rara is our trained professional here who mainly focuses on phobias and exposure therapy. In light of this, I would presume she hand-feeds them a substitute. If you're interested, then you should ask her for details. This is one of the few subjects I am not very familiar with."

"Can I hold it?" Longwood asked, watching me.

"Don't be ridiculous," scolded Sanderson from my other side. "Mr. Fergus said it constricts its prey. It might wrap itself so tightly around your hand, it cuts off the circulation."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "If I thought it would do that, I wouldn't be holding it, Sanderson. You should all learn to trust my judgement. As beings who absorb oxygen through our pores - all pores - we don't have to worry about circulation being cut off in any particular limb, so long as our windpipes remain intact. Sit by me, Longwood, and I'll let you hold it if you really want to."

When he crouched, I wound the larger snake over his hands so her tail draped from his forearm. "Oh," he whispered.

Caudwell giggled. "It licked him."

"Mmhm. Snakes flick out their tongues to taste the air the same way we Fairies do when tasting each other's imprints in the energy field."

"I've never seen a snake this close up before."

"And I hope you now understand why I don't let you wander the starfields unless you promise to stay in the air. These snakes are small and harmless. Usually. However, if disturbed in the wild, this and many similar creatures will bite you if you come too close, and continue coming even after they've warned you back with a hiss or moved away." Then I looked around. "Wilcox? Where are you? Did you want to see the snakes?"

"No," he said from his place behind an old chair with a broken leg. I craned my neck.

"Are you… hiding from the snakes?"

He gulped. Fingers tightened in the beaten fabric. "R-remember back when I was fifty and stupid, I said I thought I could shapeshift into a snake if I had to live alone and take care of myself, because snakes don't eat much? I changed my mind. I don't think I like snakes after all."

While Hawkins, Longwood, and Caudwell cooed over the snake and Sanderson sulked where he'd been snubbed, I massaged my forehead. "Dazzled. One of you is afraid of snow and being left alone, another sharp objects and getting yelled at, and now we have snakes on our blacklist too. At this rate, we soon won't be able to go anywhere."

"I'm not afraid of anything," Longwood insisted, "am I, Mr. Fergus?"

I could think of at least one thing he ought to fear, but didn't voice it. "Wilcox," I said instead. "Please come here and see the snakes."

"Really Mr. Ferg, I can see them just dandy from here."

He said this as he was covering his face with one arm. I snapped my fingers and he came, still oozing reluctance. He refused to look at me. He refused to look at Longwood. He refused to drop the arm that blocked his vision. While he floated there (steaming, of course, but he rarely wasn't in my presence), I took hold of his other hand and forced it to come into contact with the snake's scaly body. Wilcox flinched hard and snapped his arm back to his side. Then he shrugged at me, landed, and began to back away.

"Can't do it, boss. I just can't. Snakes eat too many cute little animals, and they look weird and feel weird and I seriously think I'll die if I stay here much longer. I'm not doing this."

He didn't leave the storage room, but he refused to approach the drawer and kept a constant grip on his chesberry wand.

I dwelt over that encounter for the remainder of the afternoon, playing his reaction over and over in my head. I'd always found Wilcox to be the most stubborn and difficult of my lot. While the result was that he and I locked horns on any subject either of us disagreed with slightly, it was a trait that had served him well in school and when working with difficult clients during our simple paperwork days before I took control of Wish Fixers. The thought had been unconscious; I hadn't noticed it until now, but I admired Wilcox's strength to stand up for himself and stand firm when he was challenged- whether by a direct threat or a safer setting such as a social gathering. To see him reduced to such a squirming mess was… discouraging.

The concept became increasingly bizarre the more I thought about it. Wilcox had never seen a snake in his life; Hawkins and I alone had encountered them in the outside world. What brought such fear upon the little shapeshifter?

"I'm not afraid of anything," Longwood had stated with admirable confidence. And here he was, holding his ground, as the glider tightened its coils around his wrist. Now, that was admirable. A being who did not let fear control him got things done, no matter what the situation. If I could only implant that same outlook on life into the others, I wouldn't have to deal with any more of this "Don't make me do that, Mr. Fergus, I'm scared," nonsense anymore.

The laws of exposure therapy suggest that we grow more habituated to stimuli that have in the past unnerved us over time with repeated contact. I understood that much. Hawkins and I, perhaps, who had lived for years on Earth, did not fear such things as snakes and snow.

But you couldn't possibly expose someone to all fear…

Could you?

I mulled over the notion for a long time. Some would argue fear to be a necessary thing: an emotion or biological construct which sprang out of necessity to keep one safe and alive with the end goal of spreading one's genes; a particular bookworm friend of mine has written an extensive piece on the subject.

I disagree.

I don't believe in learning from your own mistakes if someone else has already done it for you. Repeating research is a waste of time and resources. The information is already there. Would you attempt cooking a new meal without ever looking up the recipe, without confirming the ingredients, and instead playing the melody by ear? I would certainly hope not. Why, then, put yourself in danger without knowing the risks? Safer to research. Safer to learn.

Now that I had my office at Wish Fixers, I no longer needed one in China's home. I moved my desk up to my bedroom and turned the office below into a library. For three hundred and eighty-four years, I just wrote papers. What happens if you place your wand against your face? Pros and cons of different types of flooring? Who were High Count and Countess in the Year of the Creeping Grapevine? All of them I filed in my library. Every morning over breakfast. Every evening until exhaustion or China coaxed me upstairs to bed.

Every scrap of knowledge I could bring to the forefronts of my mind, I scribbled down and squirreled away. What I did not know, I put myself out there to learn. I asked questions constantly. I consulted experts. I purchased books. I paid attention to every detail. Who pioneered the theory of key points? When was it confirmed that shapeshifting is possible? What is it called when a genie grows old enough they lose their powers and remain trapped in their lamps forever after?

I. Was. Obsessed.

But I could never stop. Every last fact had to be documented. I wanted answers! Where did written language come from? How can one obtain purified rosewater? In which region was the Night Bridge located before its destruction during the war?

I burned regularly through ink and parchment, constantly leaving home to shop for more. Parchment was traded in for index cards of increasingly small size so everything might fit. My offspring poured their hard-earned paychecks into art supplies or tickets to the Lau Rellian carnival each year, but my focus remained strictly on the future. What inspired the Anti-Fairies to place their faith in their zodiac? What is the name for a group of leprechauns? Can I really turn base wood into dalia?

Then came the next step: the hunting spell. I'd consulted every do-it-yourself magazine and research journal I could spend the lyn on. Spell design adjustments and alterations were not my field of expertise, but sitting on my bed, surrounded by lists of tips and tricks, I was eventually successful.

Under my hand, my work achieved ultimate organization; the system was assured. Now, so long as one sat in my library chair, wrote their question out, and scanned it with a starpiece, the spell would take control. Their answer would be located like, well, magic, the parchment it was scrawled upon flying from its shelf or drawer to humbly present itself upon the desk. The only real drawback here was the fact that the aforementioned parchment had to be returned to its proper place by hand.

With this vault of knowledge at their fingertips, there was no excuse. Now there were answers. I presented myself before my five charges and told them so.

"So saying," I droned, folding my hands together on top of my desk, "we will see if we can't weed some of that now-pointless fear out of you."

So when Sanderson was hardly two thousand five hundred years old, I lined them - all five of them - on the same side of the long table I'd dragged into my office back at Wish Fixers. I brought in several cushy chairs and they passed many an afternoon up on their knees, scribbling in paperwork and going on to scribble multiple copies of the very same paperwork that so many Fairies kept pestering us to fill out for them, regardless of whether I had a different business to run altogether (I couldn't simply turn away their shiny dalia coins, so I accepted it all).

Day 1. While they worked, I paced back and forth behind them, pausing occasionally to answer questions or critique their work ("Too rushed, too sloppy, too much. Don't hold your elbow so high, Wilcox. Hawkins, leave the cursive for the elves. Longwood! What do you have in your mouth? Can't you all try to be more like Sanderson?")

Regardless. After the first twenty minutes passed and they were all intensely focused, I aimed my starpiece directly at the target board on the wall facing them, and fired a bright blast over their heads. Every one of them jumped.

"What?" Caudwell clapped a hand to his forehead. "W-what happened? What's wrong?"

Sanderson and Longwood whipped out their wands, Hawkins made a little slower on the draw by the thumb in his mouth. "Keep working," I told them patiently. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just doing a little test."

Gradually, the fwiiiip! and ttchrrrrshh! of rustling paperwork returned to the room. After thirty-seven minutes this time, I performed the action again. As my target steamed with a direct hit, my little worker bees all turned around to stare at me as though I'd lost my last dust flake.

"Please continue working."

Throughout the remainder of the day, I continued performing the action, until Shylan finally came down to remind me that her next client didn't react well to loud noises, and we took a break.

"Why?" Wilcox wanted to know straight off.

"Because I'm performing a test. I want to see how long it will be before you all stop flinching and crying out when you're startled. Such things are unbecoming of adults, and I don't want you to be laughed at as though you were nymphs. You did very well, Sanderson."

"Just trying to be the best I can be, sir," he clipped.

"I don't like it," Caudwell muttered, pushing his soy in circles around his plate. "It makes me nervous."

Day 2. The same practice with similar results. At first they started off by wincing each time the sparks crackled above them. Sanderson was the first to get it down, and I would watch him and note merely the tightening of his left hand around his quill, and a certain skip in one hindwing. As the afternoon wore on, Wilcox and then Longwood followed suit.

By Day 3, Hawkins was getting it too, and by 5 you couldn't detect much reaction in their body language at all. But as time grew on and the rapid shuffling of the papers reached a crescendo, I noticed there was one who was beginning to cringe away more and more often instead of less and less. With that in mind, I slowed down as I reached the end of the table nearest the door where he sat. He flinched away when my shadow fell on him, his left arm flying up to cover his face. I lowered my wand. "Caudwell?"

His latest curl of parchment gleamed with wet, inky blotches and scribbles that jumped and fell like a corebeat. Jolting, jarring scribbles which kept growing worse and worse farther down the page. He had one hand pressed to his forehead, fingers wound in his curls and elbow propped on the table. Snot dribbled from his nose. Every gasp he drew in - and there were several accenting his whimpers - ended with a hiccup. His hands jittered at the wrists at a tempo even Sanderson wouldn't have been able to sing along to. Keeping my gaze on him, I picked up several nutrition labels that he had been filling out earlier today and began thumbing across the stack.

Caudwell rattled beneath me, teeth chattering and arms jerking up and down with his shoulders. His wings tensed. As he shook himself, his fingers crawled back behind his neck. Without glancing up from the papers, I flipped my wand to the side and fired another blast just above Longwood's head. Only one of my fairies reacted to it.

"I can't do this anymore!" Caudwell screamed as violet smoke curled out from the wall. Flinging the last page of his work into the air, he scrambled across the table, off the other side, and flew out of the room. The door banged shut behind him. "Ah, just keep working," I told the others, and went after him.

I prowled through each room on the first floor with care, moved up to the second one, and then made my way down again. After fifteen minutes, I at last found him holed up in the back utilities closet with the heater and atmospheric gas filter, rocking back and forth with his face hidden behind his knees. Sliding down into a crouch, I took his chin between two fingers and lifted it towards me. "Caudwell. Look at me, Caudwell. That's right, in the eyes. Why did you run away before you were dismissed?"

He was reluctant to answer for several minutes. I didn't let go. Then, "I can't do it, sir. D-don't make me do it."

"Don't make you do what?"

"Paper- Wands- I can't- can't-"

I watched him as his rocking grew faster, his fingers running through his dark hair, each chunk of strands falling one at a time along with his whimpers. His wings fluttered like shutters in a storm.

"I can't do this again," he choked out.

"Why?"

He tasted the words and the meanings behind each one, translating his thoughts through his own young tongue, before finally mumbling, "I get scared."

"What of?"

"Th-that you'll hit me."

"That's a load of brownie spit. I won't. You know I won't."

Before he answered, Caudwell slid his knees towards his chin until they bumped my hand and dropped his gaze to the corner of the cramped room. "Well. Sometimes, I think you will. Sometimes. A lot."

I longed to ask him why he thought I wore the glasses if he believed my aim was still that bad. Instead, I forced myself to forgo the first thought to pop into my head and try to think it over. What would China do? What would Ambrosine say?

"Why do you think that?"

"I don't know."

My fingers pinched his chin more tightly now. "Then why are you acting like this?"

"I d-don't know."

Discarding all attempts at having a core-to-core, I pushed myself back up to my feet and dusted off my hands. "Well, you certainly can't sit in here counting air bubbles in the filter fluid all day. Let's get back to the others and we'll have you try again."

One more time, Caudwell shook his head, curls bouncing around his ears. "I-it's the paper that makes me uncomfortable, sir. That rustling sound, I- I can't stand it. I can't! Never again."

"And what exactly do you want me to do about it? Unbelievable. You can't avoid paper for the rest of your life."

"I can too!"

I snapped my fingers twice and pointed at the door. "No. You are my employee and you will do as I ask. I brought you here to Novakiin so you could work. If you don't work, you won't receive your paycheck. Nor will you learn valuable skills that will help you in the world once you're grown and I am no longer responsible for you. Which, evidence suggests, will be sooner than anyone expected, because I am coming this close to snapping nowadays and shipping you all off to Yugopotamia! Smoof it, Caudwell- do you want to be responsible for that? Thought not. So. Are you going to come with me to work like a big drake now, or are you going to hide in the filter closet sniveling like a little fragile coward?"

Neither of us moved. I hardly blinked, aware only of the gentle way the star on my cap bounced and twirled against the back of my neck in the eddys put out by the heaters through the air. I half-thought we'd be frozen forever. Then, after the silence had entered its second minute, Caudwell unfolded his limbs and climbed to his wings. He glanced at me once, stung, then shifted his eyes away again. His bright lavender eyes.

My arm, with its crooked pointing finger, dropped back to my side. What if… he wasn't fleeing from me out of instinct? What if he had hidden in the utility closet because he had chosen to dislike me, associated me, myself, and I with the instances I'd shot loud, sizzling beams of energy mere inches over his pointed hat?

He was aware. Afraid. Processing. Sentient. He was reacting to the paper the same way Sanderson had reacted to my snapping fingers as a nymph, only so much worse, and this time without an upturned hand signal to reassure him I really intended no harm. I'd given him no sign of reassurance, and left him with escape as his only reliable resort.

My Caudwell, little nymph whom I'd carried three months in my forehead chamber, clung to in my bed when China rejected me and I couldn't touch Longwood and the others were too big, held and eventually turned loose from my pouch, so thrilled to watch him shed his flight casings and make his first flap…

Afraid. Of me. No matter what else I had done for him up to this point, that quiet winter day when we both floated in front of that closet, wings spinning, he was scared of me.

I sighed. Deeply. Perhaps I was allowed to cave to my offspring's wishes just one more time before swearing off all wiggle room forever. I reached into my pouch and drew out my wallet. "Fine. Caudwell, here are a few coins for the tram. I want you to go home for the afternoon, and maybe get some sleep. You seem as though you need it. I expect you back here tomorrow and we'll try again."

He shook his head yet again, as though he were possessed or trapped in some sort of time loop. Since his wings prevented him from flying backwards, he landed and shifted away on his feet. "Please! Please, Mr. Fergus, don't make me. I c-can't do this anymore."

Lavender eyes gaping up at me. Backs pressed flat against dirty brown walls. The splash of black hair accenting a familiar squarish face. I squeezed the upper portion of my nose and massaged the surrounding area for a long time.

"We'll find something else for you to do," I said at last. "A job with less paper. I won't promise to let you go cold phoenix, but we'll figure something out. I might suggest you work to improve your social senses. We'll find somewhere you can put them to work."

Caudwell rubbed his face and nodded, just once. When he lifted his eyes to mine again, I could see the relief glistening there. He reached out for me. I patted him a few times on the shoulder and sent him away with the coins.

After lunch, we returned again to our training. My plan was to continue firing startling blasts at my four remaining fairies from behind for another few weeks. Always varying the position and angle of each one to ensure the blast itself was what they were bracing against, not the place I stood or a moment I stopped talking or clicked my teeth or even snapped my fingers. Yes, just another two weeks of this. After that I'd switch sides of the table with my target board. Then we'd see if it was any harder for them to retain their straight faces and patient eyes once I was firing in their direction rather than away. After that, well… perhaps I'd position them against the wall. No distractions this time. Just utterly expressionless, facing forward.

No, expressionless implies the lack of emotion to be fake. I didn't want fake. I wanted them entirely.

I'd begun offering incentives for jobs well done. There were sharp pencils, sometimes a small handful of candy. Lagelyn too was slowly entering the pot. On Wednesdays, I planned to require the other three to sacrifice a small amount of their paychecks, which would then be presented to the one I deemed best at overcoming fear. A good system; I came up with it myself. I was awfully proud of it. And to think I'm the one of Ambrosine's offspring who dropped out of the Academy.

My gaiety evaporated when we stepped off the tram in Lau Rell the same evening following the Caudwell incident and started down the street. China was at her door. Hands on hips and thin eyebrows drawn. Caudwell clung like a flea to her leg. I froze at the base of the front steps in the process of removing my tie.

"Oh, smoof. I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

I was. As the other four skulked past, I floated there, keeping my tongue pressed to the inside of my cheek as usual when she tore into me, the essence of her fury being that this was no way to treat my offspring and her patience was running thin.

"I'm not trying to raise a family," I stated simply as she wound down. "I'm trying to run a business. The house is yours, but Wish Fixers is mine. Beyond those doors, they are my employees and I'm entitled to put them to work as I see fit."

China scooped the trembling Caudwell into her arms. "They're our sons, Fergus. Treat them like they're Seelie, not like they're animals. You don't need to be like this."

"I didn't want any of these nymphs to begin with, but none of them were even my decision, were they?" I pointed at Sanderson. "Accident." Hawkins, "Coercion." Wilcox, "Unplanned." Longwood, "Definitely didn't want this one." Caudwell, "You insisted." My forehead, "Evidently, we weren't being careful." As China fumbled for words, I threw my tie back around my neck and twirled around. "I'm sleeping in the office. I'll be back for dinner tomorrow. I expect all of you to arrive for work showered, fed, well-dressed, prepared, and on time."

"Don't you go after him, Sanderson," China called as I started back down the street. "Mister Ennet Sanderson, you bring your bottom lagelyn back here!"

I turned to see her grab his elbow as he wriggled against her, and snapped my fingers at her twice. "Don't touch him, China. Go back upstairs, and good night."

She released Sanderson, and he flew to join me. They all watched as I scratched him behind the ear and the two of us left to make the hour return trip back to Wish Fixers without a second thought.

The building was cold when we first came in, and the heaters warmed it slowly. "There's no point in wasting power if we don't need to," I said, handing Sanderson another blank tax report and a quill. "Do as many as you can until you get tired, and then you're welcome to sleep."

He nodded and pulled out a soft chair. I worked beside him in silence until I heard a light tapping at the window. It was Wilcox, in owl form, using his beak. I let him in and waited until he'd gotten himself a drink of water.

"China's upset," he said finally, tossing the cup away. "She went straight for her coat, turned into a seal just to show us that she could, and then she took everybody's wands and locked herself in your room. I'm just glad she didn't force me out of owl form."

I frowned. "She can't have. Her coat is here in the lockbox. I saw it this afternoon before I left."

"That wasn't the real coat. She sewed another one a long time ago. I saw her with both before the wedding, but I didn't really think you needed to know and then I forgot 'til now. I mean, I was only forty-eight."

Leaning my forehead into my hand, I tapped my fingers across the table. "All these centuries… Keeping up the act, so I'd never once suspect. Just in case."

"Maybe you should go back and talk to her, boss. She might have been crying, or mad. I'd get a flower and give her an apology. We're not just yours. We're her family too."

I kept my elbows on the conference table and covered my mouth with my hands. My eyes wandered meticulously around the room as Sanderson did his work and Wilcox preened his feathers. Finally I took my hands away.

"I'm going to draw up some divorce papers."

Both of them jerked up their heads. "Are you sure, sir?" "Don't you want to think about-?" "It's been a long day-" "This was just one disagreement-" "At least sleep on-"

"My mind's made up. It's the logical thing to do. We needed China because we had nothing else. We no longer need her house, since now we have Wish Fixers. There are storage rooms, old offices. We'll eat and sleep here and generally make do. The commute will be much easier too. We won't spend money on her food or her sewing needles and fabrics. None of her curtains and pillowcases and frivolties. Her income isn't very noteworthy, and these days we're in a good financial position. She can no longer help us, and if she's unhappy, she shouldn't be made to stay against her will. It's better this way."

Wilcox opened his beak, but seemed to change his mind and said, "Sure thing, boss. I think I'll stay here for the night, sir, if that's okay. It was a long flight, and if you shed my feathers I'll head off to Emery's couch now. Don't bother poofing me up a blanket. I already brushed my teeth back at the house."

He went, and Sanderson and I worked for a little longer, but I stopped when I saw him lay aside his quill and rub his eyes with his fists. "Come on," I said. "There's that green and white hammock strung up in the break room. Ambrosine used to lay me in it for naps when I was a nymph, and when I was a little older I'd eat snacks and read books before he was ready to have me work."

He yawned and nodded and we went. As I opened the door and flicked my eyes across both the hammock and the couch, it occurred to me that the place was completely empty of other living beings.

"Sanderson? Do you want to sleep with me tonight?"

He scratched his elbow and looked down at the floor. "I don't really feel comfortable with that, sir."

I studied him then, with his scruffy cowlick and his twitching wings. He was just over two thousand five hundred now. Still a long, very long while before his puberty years, but growing up nonetheless. After he'd shrugged out of his suit coat and I'd loosened his tie, I took him by the waist and lifted him into the hammock.

"Good night then," I said. I spread his jacket across his back and took the couch for myself alone as I fingered the notches at the ends of my wings.

The others arrived for work as usual, if tentatively, and I whipped up some pancakes that evening and made them stay at Wish Fixers while I went to see China. She had the wooden spoon she was using to mix the cake batter in her mouth, but it went hastily into the sink when she realized I'd caught her red-handed. I leaned back against the counter and gave her the papers to read. She skimmed over the first two lines, and looked up at me.

I do not wish to recount all the details of that night. They are unimportant. It suffices to say that in the end of it all, she received her house and I took my offspring and my hat. The rest of our things were poofed to storage until I was ready to reclaim them, once I found somewhere to live that could be a little more homely than my place of business. I made twenty-three clicks selling off the leather wedding ring band that the Eros Triplets had sent with their honeymoon arrow, since I had no use for it anymore. I assume China put hers in her jewelry box with all the others.

The action was the most logical one to take at that time, and it did indeed turn out to be better for all Pixies in the end- a great gain for a small cost. Our species survived and prospered because of it. Nothing else matters. I have no regrets.

Bayard was born two weeks after all the legal paperwork was officially settled, hexagonal and broken-crowned and identical to all the others. He had a box in my office where I set him, and I found a winged lawn gnome who agreed to be his milkmother until he could eat solids. I made him a hat- the same color of cloth but held together with thread magically, since I lacked China's sewing talent. No matter. I'd shoulder the load and swallow my pride. Anything China could do, I could manage a passable substitute for.

"So, where will we live now?" Longwood haltingly asked as I scratched one of my cardboard boxes beneath the chin and sent it bounding down the hall in search of Wilcox and his books.

"Somewhere," I replied simply. A better answer than "I don't know". Abandoning him because my gyne instincts were prickling up again, I moved down the hall towards my bedroom so I could grab Bayard's folded clothes. He snuggled inside my pouch for now, dozy and dreamy.

Behind him, Longwood let out a soft snicker. "It's still so weird that there are six of us little ones, wow. We could pretty much start an entire Little League saucerbee team. All we need for it is two other teams of six kids to play with."

I stopped dead. For another beat, I stared forward. Then I turned around and pointed one finger at him. "Actually, I might know some people with those qualifications."

I couldn't sit about China's house another two weeks awaiting a letter. The Refracted didn't allow themselves to keep scrying bowls or crystal balls- having as much contact with the outside world that the letters and shrine acolytes offered tended to be as much as they could handle (and they even detested the merchant ships that passed them by).

Anyway, even if I could reach her, I could just imagine myself begging, "Come on, Dame Fergus, it would be cute," as she denied all offers to ride my cloudship across the kingdom barrier and down to Plane 3, no matter how many caramels I offered to supply her with. And there was next to no chance of her being willing to smuggle us into the lands of the Refracted, even if she did live near a port. No, unfortunately my stylus sister was unlikely to allow us to stay on at her farm by the mill, with all those wide, open spaces that would lift the weight of being a gyne raising a gyne from my shoulders…

My plan had been to live on at Wish Fixers for a time, but Longwood's comment had brought a new thought to my head. Apart from letters detailing the names of my nymphs, it had been centuries since I'd made contact with the distraught old fellow. He'd want to hear news of the divorce of course- he'd love me for it. Perhaps he would even pay me now, as he had offered to so many times.

So with Bayard in my lap entertaining himself with my toes, I sat cross-legged on the end of my old bed and balanced my scrying bowl on top of his flat head. It took nearly ten minutes of patience, but eventually my signal reached Plane 4, and a few minutes later, someone small, green, and yellow picked up.

"Anti-Hawkins," I said, relieved to spot someone familiar and whom I respected (all things considered) even if he was an anti-fairy. He seemed to be the sane one, and easily my favorite of my counterpart's brood. "How is Anti-Fergus doing?"

He pulled a face. "Anti-Fergus? You should express concern for me. The entire place has gone to the crockeroos as of late. Can you tell?" As he spoke, Anti-Hawkins tilted the scrying bowl as far forward as he dared without spilling the water inside. I raised my brows. Where once had stood four houses, now there were eight, and none of them in fair condition. Windows had been smashed, the broken glass scattered in the ashy soil of Hy-Brasil. Claw marks and scrawls of graffiti decorated the outer walls, and the dangling shutters, sagging roofs, and dented doors made me doubt I would find the inside ones in far better condition. Even through the rippling veil that divided us, I could pick up on the sticky dread that clung over that little, well, village of despair.

"It's disgusting," I said in my most matter-of-fact way. "I'm astounded you stick around. Honestly, at your age I would have left millennia ago."

"I want to," Anti-Hawkins exploded, upturning a green hand with a sharp motion, "but someone has to make some attempt to keep things in order here. Father doesn't look after Mitchell" - Anti-Caudwell - "or James" - Anti-Bayard - "or, well, any of us. Not since around the time Alapin" - Anti-Wilcox - "was born. I have to look after them, and at least if I stay I have my brothers to support me when they want to. I can't just abandon the pups. No one would treat them right. They'd grow up to be like, well…"

A crash split the air. Clouds of ash and dust flew up with it. Though the image was distorted by sudden ripples, behind Anti-Hawkins's shoulder I could make out a figure who seemed to be Anti-Wilcox climbing shakily to his feet after apparently having sledded off the roof on a damaged chunk of pink plaster and wood. Anti-Sanderson, still standing at the roof's peak with his own board in hand, pointed and guffawed.

"Like that," finished Anti-Hawkins.

"I see your problem." For a quarter of a wingbeat, I considered asking him if he would like for me to take him in. Though China's house had grown more crowded with the new additions, and Longwood and Caudwell had split from the elder three and made themselves at home in the summer bedroom ages ago, we could make some arrangements…

Then I remembered the divorce, and my own limited resources, and why I had elected to make the call in the first place. I shook my head.

"Is Anti-Fergus there? How is he doing?"

"Oh, the usual. He drowns his sorrows in sugar for most of the day, then coughs most of it back up overnight. Some mornings he tries to do a little work mining or cleaning or whatever odd job he can find in the nearest town, but always hungover so such things rarely last long. We at least have Anti-Robin, who comes to visit us at times with food-"

"Anti-Robin?" My thoughts flashed back to a swap meat so long ago, when I had stepped forward to offer charity to a young anti-fairy who so desperately needed it. Perhaps he had followed through on his promise to extend kindness to my counterpart after all. Still was. The thought was deeply humbling. "Green eyes?"

"Yes, and his son."

I stroked my fingertips between Bayard's wings as he cooed over a loose thread on my blanket. "Curious. Mentally, then, is your father in just as sorry a state? Does he talk much?"

"Oh, he babbles."

"All this for a doe-eyed, dough-headed damsel?"

The narrow glow in Anti-Hawkins's eyes faded. "He loved her. Don't you know about the zodiac? You in Year of Soil, he in Year of Breath… But in answer to your question, no, not quite. Anti-Ambrosine happened."

I leaned in. "Continue."

"I think I'd rather not. It was horrible, what all he put us through in such a short span of time." Anti-Hawkins stuck a knobby knuckle in his mouth and bit down. "I daresay I shall never fully recover, even if I came to your Wish Fixers and received centuries of therapy. Don't make me talk about it, for it will trigger the memories I've made such attempts to forget. The ones that weren't repressed shortly after due to the nature of the brain and trauma, anyway…"

"Never mind that, then. Backing up, so would you maybe even say you've-"

"Whatcha got there, butterwings?" Anti-Sanderson asked from somewhere out of my line of sight. The water glinted wildly as he flipped the bowl into Anti-Hawkins's face, and the connection shattered. I shook my head and let it go.

If I hadn't been convinced before, my scrying bowl conversation definitely wrote Anti-Fergus's place of residence out of the realm of possibility. What we needed was a home. A sturdy, safe, well-kempt home. Over the centuries, I'd acquired a fair sum of money. I could afford anything from a simpler dwelling in Novakiin to the ritzier ones of Lau Rell. Live with my insufferable father, or with my insufferable ex-wife?

I had a better idea. There was a certain plot of cloud I'd had my eye on for a very long time. It had everything: It was situated on Plane 3, reducing transportation costs between it and many locations I was known to frequent, the clouds were soft and sprawling, the surrounding forests plentiful in trees and low in walking paths to coax in visitors, there was no ocean beneath, and it was positioned under an area of Plane 4 that didn't have an acid pool for skylengths (thereby sharply reducing the concerns related to leaks of quite literal acid rain). Location, location, location.

The only problem was, it was already occupied. And by a small retirement village of sorts, no less. A little retirement village, I couldn't help but notice, contrived namely of fairies. Forbidden from having nymphs, there were very few children holding claim to the houses there. Without a school or much of a market in the area, what younglings there were in the area had quickly grown restless. For centuries I had watched them, and for centuries had borne witness to so many eager, round-cheeked faces setting off for a more adventurous lifestyle, never to return.

I didn't have the money at that time- not yet, not yet. Nearly five centuries were spent with Wish Fixers as our one and only home. The break room became something of a bedroom for me, and a storage room with mattresses, blankets, and pillows suited my young fairies well enough. When I could afford the money, I eventually caved and snuck a real bedroom in too (Admittedly not one of my best ideas, for though I had picked up a few tips on architecture from China, my shaky magic - always accented by that high-pitched rattling noise - made working with floor plans and walls more difficult than I personally think it had to be).

No matter. As the years turned, so did my luck. I'd noticed my life seemed to cycle that way between the ups and downs, though often with a seemingly heavier focus upon the latter. I worked constantly at my business skills. I had six mouths to feed if we include my own (which I of course do), and I had long ago fallen into a pattern of clipping coupons and bartering for better deals that it soon became second nature to me. Apart from a few rare occasions when I was lured to slip a portion of my own money to those less fortunate than I (Oh Anti-Robin, I blame you for this entirely), I saved every el. I count it a blessing when I had the thought to return from a long day of work bearing groceries for myself alone. "I'm paying you all decent wages," I pointed out when my brood floated into the break room with complaints dancing on their lips. "The market isn't far and you all know the way. Get your fresh vegetables. Most of you know how to cook. If you have questions, you know where I set up my research library. I'll leave you to manage yourselves."

Struggles and sacrifice, soreness and sweat. I gathered my funds like a hen gathereth her kernels of golden grain. And certainly you know by now exactly what I did with that money, for I bought the whole village out. Hilarious what you can do when you wave enough dalia around.

Sanderson and I spent a Thursday there, lying on our backs in the fluffy purple and white offered by the clouds. Sprinkles of teal, cyan, and pink clung to the curls like seashells along the beach. Of course, the old houses would need to be knocked down, the clouds restructured, building lines redrawn, spring cleaning performed, maps adjusted, legal papers signed, and the evergreens of what in present day is known as Pixie Woods trimmed back; the place was a long way from finished, but I basked in its future all the same.

"This will make you happy?" Sanderson asked, gazing with me up at Plane 4's underside.

"Correction, Sanderson. It's going to make us happy. Think of it." I held my arms above my face and made a picture frame with the fingers of both hands. "A house, something like a great manor, tucked away here among the woods. Space for young juveniles such as yourself to wander and sit and fly about in. The clouds are continuous- none of that nonsense with the different gaps and layers that so often lend themselves to expensive accidents, falling Fairykind. I trust that it will be glorious. Here in the woods, we'll have no one much to answer to, no neighbors to bother us. No doorbell-ditching scamps, no nosy busybodies attempting to peek under pointed hats or elbow their way into my lovelife. If I want to stay up until three in the morning and blast my rave music, the only ones who will be here to complain are the handful of you. This out-of-the-way place has become mine, and after me, that of my successor."

He turned his head. "I'd like that, sir."

"Mmhm, yes, I imagine you would. And up here it will never snow, and every room will be heated enough that you won't be able to see your effervescence. Can you imagine that? Here in the cloudlands, Sanderson! Warmth!"

"Oh, don't stop."

"There will be a tall tower, so we can gaze across the forest with ease. We'll build you a place where you can sing. Hawkins can have an art studio. There will be a library for Wilcox, with a special reading room designed for Caudwell containing books with the words etched into old clay tablets. Certainly I'll include plenty of distractions for Longwood too. I'll arrange to put a storage shed over there, perhaps, and potentially another over there. We'll have a big sign, Sanderson, announcing who we are and what we do. And all the buildings will be in purple, of course. Or gray. I really only work in purple and gray."

Sanderson gave another mild groan, but this time it was one of disappointment, not of pleasure and excitement for the future. "I like red."

"That's too bad, because if that's your attitude, you leave me no choice but to name Longwood head of my decorating committee."

To the best extent of my frugal emotions, I was thrilled by this turn of events. It would be many months before anything was built and we could move in. I daydreamed of my secret kingdom constantly nonetheless, and have the scar across my left pointer finger - left there by a ceramic kitchen knife when I was distracted - to show for it. China had gotten to keep all her magically-crafted silverware after the divorce, and though I'd bought a set of my own, I kept this particular knife around… just in case I ever decided it was time to use it.

However, regardless of my ecstasy, I lacked the ability to speak for everyone. I'd bought the retirement town out at a price both sides, after months of argument, had agreed on. Obviously, some homes had sold better than others. A pair of little fairies and their cù sith chose to be particularly vocal about their thoughts on the matter. "You tore down our houses," was a thing they constantly said. "These were fine houses that've been standing here for thousands of years, and you tore through them like they were fried cheese sticks surrounded by marinara sauce."

"Yes. That's how the real world works."

"We had hoped to buy them back someday, when we could afford to," huffed the green-haired one. "When we were older. We didn't know you were taking them away for good."

"Yeah, what my brother said. We would have insisted you pay us more."

Every encounter with them left me massaging my temples. "One of you built a house completely of reinforced steel. Steel, though sturdy and well on its rise as a building material that allows for the addition of many towering floors, does not a pleasant aesthetic make. We agreed on the payment, and all transactions are final. Your old houses have been torn up by the foundations. You need a reality check."

At last they skimmed away grumbling and snorting, their puppy trotting at their heels with a tennis ball in his mouth. That's what they were: some little pigs, really.

For my next trick, when I could spare a weekend, I went northwest to Lau Rell again. This time, Sanderson stayed behind to look after the others. I didn't want him here. I didn't want any of them here. This was a goal on my to-do list that I would have to complete alone.

"Hello, this is Helping Hands Design," is how I was greeted when I floated through the front door, fiddling with one of my sleeves. The fairy behind the front counter tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear. "We work short notice and never quit until you're satisfied. My name is Astra. How may I help you?"

Before I could answer, a selkie approached down the hall, clutching bundles of parchment to her chest. "Here's that address you wanted," she said, planting a small one on Astra's left, and then she saw me as I reached to catch one of the papers that was slipping, and she stopped and stared as though her brain had switched to off. Then it flickered to life again. She stepped away. "What are you doing here?"

I looked her straight in the eyes. "I'm here on business, China. Not for a pleasure visit. I need an architect. A clever architect who believes she - or he - can design something that has never been designed before. May I schedule an appointment?"

"I don't want anything more to do with you."

Astra's gaze darted between us as I pulled out my checkbook and leaned forward on my arm. "Don't pretend you wouldn't be interested in twenty thousand. As a starting point, of course- you'll be paid more once I've reviewed the designs and the job is well under way."

China shifted her eyes left and right, then rubbed her brow. "I'm listening. Buy me a chocolate milkshake and let's talk."

We made the arrangements - she even accepted the job at a far-reduced price - and I went back to Novakiin purring inwardly like a sprite in the cream. Within two months, the inner and outer designs for every building were officially settled, and in another two all the clouds had been non-magically prepared and the foundation was set. The first walls were scheduled to be poofed up the following day after I gave my approval that everything was indeed in order; I planned to see it after my appointment with Dr. Ranen. I was just gathering my things together so I might bail early for the evening when someone pushed open my door.

"Next time, I'd rather you knock first," I said, and then looked up. My shoulders jumped. "Ambrosine. Hello."

"I'm sorry I didn't knock, Fergus. This place used to be mine and new habits are hard to come by. Thought I'd pop in and see how you're taking care of my business. And, your birthday's chugging around the next bend in the road, so I got you something early." He placed a purple gift bag on the edge of my desk and slid it over. "Open up."

Not taking my eyes of him, I did. The cloth inside was gray. It had sleeves when I flapped it out.

"Ah, a new suit coat. Thank you. My other ones are all beginning to wear and tear." I folded it up and placed it back in its bag. Then I rested my hands on the edge of the desk, thumbs pressed lightly to the underside. "Was there anything else that brought you here?"

He smiled wryly. "Word on the street's that you're up to your crown in some new project. It's supposed to be big. And expensive. Can I hear the details?"

"Certainly. I've purchased a plot of cloud nearly above an area on Earth where I used to live in my wandering days. The action is purely sentimental. I intend to have a home - a cabin of sorts, and for storage too - built in the area. I have the money for it. It's near enough to will o' the wisp territory that the price isn't terribly expensive. The business won't go under, or even suffer at all. Trust me, Ambrosine. I know what I'm doing."

"Awfully far off," he noted, tapping his thumb against his teeth. "You'll have to poof, and with so many in your little family, that will get expensive soon. Funny. I didn't peg you for the sentimental type."

"I lived near the area for centuries. It's a nice place to go when I need to be away from it all."

"Mm. Heard you went up to Lau Rell just before your newest was born. What's his name?" He glanced towards the corner, where I'd put the cardboard box lined with blankets. "Madigan?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Yes, I did. I needed an architect for my new residence. I'm not good with poofing up buildings. If there's a structure in place then I can improve its outward appearance, but everything I build up from the ground myself tends to fall over. You know my magic is scattered around the edges. I calculated that it would be cheaper to have someone else do the work for me rather than attempt to fumble through it myself for a result of poorer quality."

Ambrosine leaned across the desk, taking off his spectacles. "So what you're saying is, you paid a visit up to Lau Rell, which happens to be your ex-wife's place of residence, in search of an architect, which happens to be her occupation, and three months later you happened to give birth to another nymph."

"I went there purely on business," I snapped back. "You can ask her yourself."

"That crimson color your neck is turning beneath your freckles suggests you got a little more out of your visit when you went. I always did wonder how you were so good at striking up such favorable business deals."

"How dare- In my own- After all the- When you know perfectly well I- I have a scrying bowl right here in my drawer. You can ask China with your own tongue."

He leaned back, palms balanced on the edge of my desk. "I'm just curious, Fergus. You can't seem to commit to a mate, or lack of one. Especially with this 'new residence' under construction, are you really committed to the family business?"

"Is that what this is about? The presents were all a farce?" I shoved the bag further aside. "I can do this, Ambrosine. I'm managing fine. Wish Fixers is prospering. You don't need to worry. The business is in capable hands."

He pointed his spectacles at me before they went back on his nose. "You don't want me for an enemy. No more nymphs. I know you don't like to quit at anything, except for school, but isn't seven enough?"

"I'd have settled for Sanderson! Madigan's crown is proof he isn't China's, and I haven't copulated with any other damsel. It's that will o' the wisp who imprisoned me in her burrow for a year. Too much sperm and it fertilized multiple eggs. I told you this. It's the only explanation."

As Ambrosine left, he shook his head and said again, "No more nymphs. Or I'm buying you back out. We both know I can."

I put my head in my hands. But after feeling sorry for myself for only a few wingbeats, I got up from my desk and went over to the corner. After I'd hovered above Madigan's box for a moment with my hands clasped behind my back, just studying that square face, I sent Zachary's secretary upstairs to take over window-washing duty from Sanderson. He entered my office, straightening his tie.

"Sir?"

"It's nearly closing time. I've scheduled an appointment with Dr. Ranen so he might take a look at Madigan, and he'll also check Wilcox's fagiggly gland for any signs of strain. I'm leaving you in charge of making sure the others eat dinner and get to bed. Lock up-"

"You're leaving again?" he burst out. I took off my glasses.

"Sanderson, I was talking. You know where to find the yale meat-"

Sanderson shook his head. "I want to come with you, sir."

"I'll only be gone for perhaps two hours. You can last without me for that long. You do just fine here at Wish Fixers."

"That's different," he whined. "When I'm here, you are too, sir. But if you leave, how do I know you're going to come back?"

"Don't I always come back?"

He locked his fingers together. "Please let me come. I won't get in your way."

So I called upon Hawkins instead. He was more than glad not to return to that facility, and once I found Wilcox, I spun my wand and the four of us poofed together up to Faeheim.

"Ow!" was the first thing I heard after reintegrating us in front of the hospital reception desk. Wilcox hit the ground.

"Drop your starpieces!"

I squinted through eyes that still hadn't finished reforming, searching for the source of the damseline voice. "What?"

"I said, drop your starpieces! I shot an inrita arrow through the hand of your middle son over there to kill his magic supply. You won't be able to poof him anywhere until it wears off. We'll ensure he receives SHAMPAX if you follow our instructions, but he'll be dead in fifteen minutes if you choose not to cooperate. These other arrows aimed at all of you are tipped with self-loathing, and one scratch will send you spiraling downward in despair anyway. Drop. Your. Stars."

My vision cleared before she finished up. Two pink-haired cherub damsels - one with a braid and one with a pegasus tail - hovered on either my left or right with three black arrows notched to each bow and drawn back to their cheeks. Every point was pinned on us. About a dozen drakes stood around us in a circle, posed in a similar fashion. A fat white cù sith spotted with red sat at attention near the door, crown bobbing and wings aflutter. Wilcox had curled up on his side, clutching his hand as the poison seeped through his veins, visible in a trickling black sludge beneath his skin. Just like a brownie bite. I allowed my wand to clatter against the ground. Sanderson's and Madigan's joined it in quick succession.

"That's right- Wings down, on your knees, hands behind your necks." The cherub with the braid - her face was vaguely familiar - twisted so the heart-shaped clasp on the lapel of her rosy-pink business suit caught the light. "My name is Venus Eros, Triplet of the Morning, and you're under arrest by the authority of the Aphrodite Protocol."

Drawing my wing around Sanderson as I knelt against the hard tile, I protested, "On what grounds specifically, might I ask?"

Venus didn't bat an eyelash. "Bearing nymphs without copulating with a damsel."

My gaze flashed to the wall behind her, where an imp in purple scrubs stood shaking with another arrow aimed at his lower half. Dr. Ranen. His antennae trembled. Otherwise, the area had been cleared of bystanders, including the receptionist. I'd seen scuffled papers and overturned inkwells all about her desk before I'd dropped.

Sanderson crouched still as he'd been instructed to with only a faint tremor running along his wings. Wilcox let a tiny whimper seep out from between his lips. When I briefly slipped into field-vision, I saw all three of his magic lines lying limp around him like spaghetti noodles. As Venus and the second damsel circled us, Madigan began to wail in front of me. Grimacing, I glanced up at Venus for permission to pick him up again. Her simmering eyes dared me to remove my hands from my neck. The sound went on.

She nodded in my direction. "Tag him, Charite."

A muscle in my cheek may have jumped once or twice, but I forced myself to stare straight ahead, emotionless, unblinking, until the pegasus-tailed cherub withdrew the point of her white arrow and allowed my forehead dome to fall shut. She rotated the shaft around and around in her fingers. After several seconds, words seared their way across it in gold print.

"His name is Fergus Whimsifinado. Fertilized at precisely 2:27 on a Wednesday morning in the middle of the Autumn of the Fallen Mountain by the egg of Ambrosine Whimsifinado and sperm of Solara Wurpixiz."

"Of course it would be Wednesday. Note that, Lucius. Now, tag the smaller one."

Sanderson pressed his nose into my elbow, but Charite straightened him out and swiped a clean arrow around his head. She pulled it back, examined it, then flipped it around so I could see the shaft blink its segments one at a time: Fergus Whimsifinado - 2:27 Wednesday - Autumn of the Fallen Mountain - Egg: Ambrosine Whimsifinado - Sperm: Solara Wurpixiz. Then it repeated the cycle. Uncomprehending, I stared back.

"That's my name. It would seem your technology needs to be upgraded."

Her feathered wings bristling, Venus said, "Our technology is fine, thank you. Charite, show him the nymph's."

Charite scooped up Madigan as he continued to whimper and used her wing to flip his lid. When she displayed his arrow, I could only raise my eyebrows. All the information was identical. Every detail. So was Wilcox's.

"Explain."

"The Spring of the Charged Waters was almost exactly three thousand years ago," I pointed out. Pressing my fingers deeper into my neck, I gazed up at Venus- at the swell of her cheeks, the ripple of her jacket, and the way she pulled back all of her hair into her braid except for one single swirl across the forehead. "That's when Sanderson was born- I remember it exactly. He'd obviously be my age if born in the Year of the Fallen Mountain. He's not Ambrosine's child. The error has to be on your side."

"Eros technology is automated and flawless, and has been since Aengus of the Tuatha Dé Danann bestowed us with our sacred duties, may the Lost Ancients return from their underground prison. Can you explain to us why his DNA reads as yours?"

"What?" I asked, still squinting at her face.

Venus took a flutter closer, never once lowering her bow and three black arrows. "Our categorizing system does not make mistakes, Whimsifinado. This good doctor here tells us that two thousand years ago, your fallopian tubes were disrupted, and yet it's known that you have given birth since. Unfortunately, he did not contact us with this valuable information until yesterday."

Behind her, Dr. Ranen swallowed and pressed his wings closer to the wall. My eyes widened of their own accord. "Pip!"

She ignored me. "Good doctor, will you conduct another of those examinations you were telling us about now that he's here?"

"I need my wand for-"

"You don't. Show me his dome."

I noticed the three small cherubs lingering behind Venus' back for the first time as Dr. Ranen tugged at his gloves and flew over. "Those your nymphs, madam?"

"Yes; finally triplets, and the next in the Eros line. Cupid, Lucius, and Apuleius." Venus came closer to peer inside my forehead chamber, though she dipped her black arrows only slightly. That brought one of them in line with the spot exactly between my eyes, and I repeated to myself that magical objects could not kill a magical being. It didn't make me want to get scratched by its tip any more.

"S-see, his tube doesn't continue down through the rear of the neck. It c-curls somehow under the egg n-nest bubble. I don't know- that's all I know. They didn't teach us this in school."

At last, Venus passed her weapons off to the young Cupid. But then she did something I wasn't expecting. She leapt towards me, in the process morphing into a pink dragonfly. In she went.

"That's…" Dr. Ranen let his hand fall. "That's not sanitary. We're really not supposed to do that."

I watched Cupid fumble to notch and re-notch his mother's arrows, because it kept my mind off the scratchy dragonfly. After a few moments, Venus flew out again and popped into her natural form. She glowered at her sleeve as she dusted it off.

"Charite, I'm going to need a second opinion."

She nodded and passed Madigan off to her sister. After springing into the shape of a pink beetle of some such, she began crawling around in my head too. Dr. Ranen squirmed, fingers twitching. Sanderson scooted a little closer to me.

Charite returned and, still in beetle form, perched on the lip of my head. "Was that actually a-?"

"Yes."

"But there's no way that can be-"

"Yes."

"And were his eggs fully-?"

"Yes. Ludell and I saw the same structure when we took a look at that green anti-fairy while you were on your shift." Venus tapped her badge with a fingernail, producing a solid clicking sound like raindrops. "Everyone, back to the Nest. You too, Whimsifinado, under the authority of the Aphrodite Protocol."

I took my hands from my neck and braced them on the floor. "I'm sorry. You can't do that. I'm scheduled to have a doctor's appointment right now."

"If it's anything like your appointments in the past, you won't be needing to. We'll take care of it. That reminds me. Doctor, you're coming with us. Aphrodite Protocol," she finished, killing his argument before it started. The imp closed his mouth.

"What's the Aphrodite Protocol, sir?" whispered Sanderson. He'd removed his hands as soon as I had.

"Lets the Eroses butt in and do whatever they want," I muttered back. "Anything concerning nymphs or reproduction." Louder, "What about Wilcox? The one you shot?"

Wilcox couldn't so much as raise his head. His mouth was open, his eyes unfocused. Half of me wondered if rigor mortis had overtaken him, as it does in the Earthen animals who don't go dusty when their core gives out. Never before and never since have I witnessed any magical being fall into quite that state of paralysis without a wisp kiss, and even then he should have been able to blink. It appeared as though he'd been frozen on the furthest lip of death. Venus tossed him a vague sideways glance.

"Three of my assistants will remain behind to ensure he receives SHAMPAX at regular intervals, and when the inrita poison wears off, he will be returned to your place of residence and compensated. However, until he does, for your sake as much as his I would highly suggest you make this as easy on me as possible." She drew her wand. With a single motion, she poofed the rest of us across the cloudlands.

I didn't like that. It would have been both simple and cheaper for her to order her cherubs to teleport themselves. It probably cost her a straight million, and that was before current inflation. She was showing off to cow me into submission. And it worked.

"So that's what my tax dollars are going towards," I managed when we had all rematerialized in a dark, round room.

"A small portion of what I receive, perhaps."

When my disoriented vision finally swam into full focus again, my wings pricked up along my back. I knew this place. I'd never seen it in person - very few ever had the fortune or misfortune to - but it matched the description of Sparkle's Academy boasts in addition to the stuff of legends.

Pale pink panels - screens and monitors of every kind: measuring pulses, running equations, and just generally spying on a choice few of the lovey-dovey couples in the known universe - glowed along the available space of every single wall like pale forest mushrooms. With the room being an octagon, that was quite the amount of surface space. There were hundreds- I calculated quickly and came up with a thousand four hundred and twelve. Every few seconds, the majority of the monitors flipped to display new images. For the next several minutes, I'd glance regularly at them in search of anybody I knew. With the exception of a few faces I thought I might have seen in passing throughout my life, the monitors didn't appear to be running any information that would be of particular interest or use in this scenario, so they won't be mentioned again.

The screens were eye-catching, but really it was the dark that I might remember most. There were no candles burning, no lanterns aglow. No fireplace or match or futuristic technology. The only light came from the thousand dim screens; otherwise, the room was bathed with shadows. And somehow, they weren't the comfortingly familiar type of shadows, like those you may skim though because they keep the sunlight off your head. This darkness crushed. It lay no cold finger upon me. Not in a physical sense. But something… something in the taste of the air, or the negative bias I felt after witnessing how Charite and Venus had treated my three offspring (and me), generally hushed me like a warning.

I turned my eyes around the room again. Spots of glowing colors popped out in the corners: a bright row of multicolored vials along the shelves here, a quiver of suspicious-looking arrows tossed across the coffee table there. A couch made from smooth, green material glinted on my left as the twinkle of Venus's wand reflected off its slimy surface. Behind me, towards the north, there seemed to be a single hallway. It too remained clothed in darkness until it neared its end. In front of me, across the octagon, a cherub with his pink hair trimmed into a crew cut (since now I know the word for it) sat in a scooped blue chair like an egg, swishing a mug of what I presume was coffee in his hand. Dr. Ranen squirmed beside him, wringing his hands and refusing to connect his gaze to mine.

"Holy smoof," I muttered. "We're inside the Love Nest's control room."

The cherub in the seat spun his chair halfway around to take us in. "You're just in time," he said. "The Yugopotamian king and queen will be mating in a few minutes. Three years from now, the next prince or princess will be born."

"I'm glad I came with you, sir," whispered Sanderson before I could decide on a sarcastic quip to make that would declare my lack of interest in such information. "Otherwise you may not have come back."

When I turned my head to look at him, I realized with dread that Sanderson certainly wasn't going to allow me to leave anywhere else without him for as long as he still had wings to beat.

"No more talking," Venus ordered after demanding her brother face forward again, so there was no more talking at all.

A/N: Text to Show - The name Pixie Woods is canon (assuming you want to treat the Cosmonopoly board as a trustworthy map). I'm sure it's called something else now, like Pine Woods or Dusty Woods, or perhaps it doesn't even have a name. "Pixie Woods" will be attributed to it as a nickname once the Pixies have lived there awhile, until the term eventually sticks and the maps change with it.

Also, I feel like there would be huge snakes in Hairy World since it seems they would have many places to hide. Snakes can't digest keratin though, so that's fun.