(Posted September 5, 2017)

Cutting Gingerties

Autumn of the Red Petals

Once we'd cleared our tables of food scraps and cardboard trays, we said good-bye to Emery and left Amity Central Headquarters behind. As promised, Ambrosine split off from us and led the Refracts down the street in search of fabric for those pointy hats Dame Head had long been dying to make. And, most likely, a floppy pink one for herself and one in navy blue for Anti-Fergus. Those should match my cohuleen druith in looks quite well, even without the special abilities such hats offered creatures who breathed. Despite our restless group of mismatched pixies and anti-pixies, the rest of us crossed the city and found the shop I'd been looking for without losing anyone. "Ah dunno," Anti-Fergus said when we stopped, tugging at one end of his mustache. "This place's kinda…"

"Yes?"

He looked at me. "It's too thrift store for me ta feel yer actually bein' generous, but too expensive-lookin' that Ah dunno if I can ever pay yew back."

"It is not a thrift store. This is Faeheim. It's just your regular Fairy World clothing outlet."

"It's jist. Shirts. And plain pants."

"Fancy coats are Anti-Fairy culture. Even we Wish Fixers workers get our vests from them." I motioned for my pixies and his to head inside the store. "I don't want to be paid back. This is a gift. You and your anti-pixies will get a new change of clothes, probably for the first time in your lives since you insisted on dragging that ratty cape about with you constantly during our time in the Nest, and I can rest happily knowing there's a little more order and a little less chaos in the world. Anti-Fergus, the curse of being near-immortal is that without the proper care, our clothing will wear itself to shreds long before we outgrow it. Your anti-pixies are hardly delicate when all dressed up."

He bowed his head with a mutter.

Inside, Anti-Sanderson and Anti-Madigan had frozen on their toes like they didn't know what to do, while Anti-Keefe and Anti-Springs toddled about, grabbing fistfuls of cloth and laughing to themselves. Still gawking, Anti-Madigan turned to face me. He pointed with one claw at the rainbow of colors that swept the shelves and racks. "We can seriously have any of this?"

"Anything you like that fits you. When the two of you figure out your sizes, we'll gauge between them and pick some things up for the others who aren't here." I tilted my head. "Well? Go hunting, then. That's what you anti-pixies do, isn't it?"

Snapping to attention, Anti-Sanderson and Anti-Madigan scampered off. I turned my eyes on my own pixies, who hovered patiently nearby. "You all remember my rules? What you choose to spend your paychecks on is none of my business, unless more than a handful or miniature can of sugar is involved. How you decide to dress yourselves when off the clock is none of my business. We'll go suit-fitting next week and then it's back to work for all of you. But for now, we're shopping here. Just this once, I'll pay for whatever you want myself. As a reunion gift. Do budget yourselves within reason, or I may go back on my offer altogether."

They needed no further prompting, and scattered like startled bees. Sanderson, though, lingered by my side. "What's on your mind?" I asked, glancing down at him.

"I wanted to ask for your advice, sir. For the last five hundred years, I've been wearing whatever clothes the cherubs decided to wash and bring me, even if they didn't fit. I haven't been shopping since I tagged along after Hawkins and his friends one day ages ago. What would you suggest I get here?"

I mulled his question over, rubbing my chin. "I'm not sure I should answer that. Do you think you could try thinking for yourself this once? I value obedience, but I don't like telling you what to do every single step of the way. And I don't like suck-ups. At all."

Sanderson started to place his hands to his waist, then dropped them by his sides again, clearly fighting to keep his face straight. His eyebrows went up nonetheless. His fingers splayed against his thighs. "Can we stop assuming my entire life revolves around gaining your perfect and explicit approval in every little thing I do, sir? I'm still learning and growing, and I just don't want to look like a total wreck and lose anyone's respect. H.P., you're much smarter and more experienced in the ways of the world and professional appearances than I am. Am I not allowed to ask if I may hear your real, actual advice ever?"

I stared down at his innocent lavender eyes. Then I crouched and poked him in the chest with one finger, so he stumbled half a step back. "You played me straight into your hands, you manipulative little smoof. Who says drones can't keep up with gynes, eh?"

"Who says… What's a gyne?"

"I'll tell you when you're older."

"If you tell me now, you won't have to do it later."

I held up one hand as I stood again. "Even you can't sweet-talk me all the time. Let's go find you something nice."

Like most of the clothing shops in Fairy World, this one was organized by color before size or style. A bit silly, I thought, since I was pretty sure changing the color of a piece of fabric was easier and cheaper than altering its size. But then again that's probably why they did it. I suppose brightly colored hair and a passion for rainbows had led naturally to a culture of color coordination, and messing with fabric magically did always carry the cost of renewing the expended power on a daily, draining basis.

A mix of my mutation and inbred Whimsifinado genetics had left my magic always more limited and shaky than most, so shopping for clothing and furniture instead of poofing (or pinging) them up had long been a necessity. With Venus's warning about limiting my magic usage to avoid speeding up my death still fresh in my mind… Yes. We would shop in a mundane manner.

Sanderson had his eyes on the red section, but I strayed towards the grays and purples and he switched to follow me. Once there, I studied my options. Short sleeves had become a fashion craze as of late as Fairies who had once lived down on the warm Earth had begun to migrate back to the chilly cloudlands in response to the encroaching settlement of Unwinged Angels, and brought their style tastes along with them. Yes, in my youth I had been known to don some short-sleeved party shirts, and yes, I was wearing my holotype shirt with its sleeves no wider than two of my fingers now, but long sleeves had always been my preference. We were ectothermic creatures, subject to the whims of weather and season. Those who flitted about with sleeves cut to their shoulders were only tempting fate, and they knew it.

Shame, then. I did like my dazzled new shirt. It seemed silly to reject it when I was literally the only one in the universe its Pixie Holotype label applied to. It wasn't exactly professional, but perhaps I could keep it around as pajamas until it wore itself out to threads. Venus or one of her assistants had taken the time to cut it perfectly for my body, and I saw nothing wrong with wearing it around Wish Fixers or Ambrosine's home after hours. What I wore when officially off the clock was none of anyone else's business. And, it certainly wouldn't hurt to remind the world how many freckles coated my arms, and that my years in the Eros Nest had turned me into a muscled gyne in his prime. You always win the gyne fights you don't engage it.

But mostly, I rejected Fairy fashion. Moreso now knowing I'd become head of a budding race in the universe than before. We're Pixies. We could forge our own ideas of what fashion was "in" this season. So, if Sanderson wanted my advice, I would select something thoroughly warm. He was a drone, after all, and drones could never fall into diapause and survive too cold weather. Given the choice, I would rather he didn't die.

My fingers trailed along a shelf of thick gray wool and expensive cashmere. I pulled a gray sweater off a stack of them and held it up with a flap. Red gingertie trees and singing bluebirds danced across its front in a band wrapping around the stomach. "Sanderson, you should try on this."

His eyes widened. "I can't wear that in public! It's totally ugly."

"But they're gingertie trees. You like gingertie."

He backed away. "H.P., I am not wearing that."

"Sanderson, just try it. I had a gray sweater that I loved when I was your age. I wore it all the time."

"What I wear when off the clock is none of your business, sir. You're my boss, not my dad. Unless it interferes with work, my personal life is not yours to micromanage."

"Fair enough." I folded the thick sweater and placed it neatly back on the shelf. Then I took it off again. "I'm buying it just in case. I give birth to a new pixie once every five hundred years. So that's a thing. Apparently. Someday, one of you will wear this and it will be adorable."

"That thing is going to fall apart before anyone wants it," he sniffed.

"Well, I do want it."

Sanderson shook his head and moved off to browse the red section.

Hawkins and Caudwell sought me out with their choices to confirm the price range and my approval. Even Anti-Madigan shyly approached me, holding up a dark green shirt with pale spots spattered across it like the dappled canopy of a jungle. And always, I sensed Anti-Sanderson's imprint in the energy field. He zipped back and forth, grabbing whatever caught his interest. At one point, he hurried straight past me, spritelining for the checkout counter with his arms loaded up. "Slow down, manticore," I said, catching him by the back of his jacket collar. It was so spotted with holes, the threads looked ready to snap at the slightest pull. "You should try those on first."

He looked at me, wild-eyed. "Huh?"

"Make sure they actually fit before we buy them."

"What?"

I pointed to the fitting room. Anti-Sanderson stared at it, then seemed to understand. "Oh. Okay. How'll I know if they fit right?"

"Anti-Fergus, can you help him try those on while I take care of Bayard?"

For awhile now, he'd been lingering at the front of the store like he wanted to catch hold of anyone who tried to leave. But at my question, he raised his head and stared at me, dull-eyed. "This was yer idea," he said. "Yew help 'im. Ah'll look fer somethin' fer me."

"Anti-Fergus," I protested, but he wandered off among the racks. Hesitantly, I turned to Anti-Sanderson.

He shrugged. "Well, you've a'ready seen me naked before. Let's do this, H-Pix."

I avoided fidgeting as he stripped himself down in front of the mirror, squeezing his bunched wings through the gaps in the back of his jacket and obviously not needing to take off a shirt, but I couldn't think of anything to say. I did not know Anti-Sanderson well, and I did not care to. Anti-Hawkins was a smooth conversation partner, albeit a dirty trickster who could have strangled someone on one side of the scry bowl without the person on the other end ever noticing. I'd had several millennia to get to know the ins and outs of my Sanderson's brain. His anti-self was thoroughly unpredictable, crude, and unhesitatingly vicious.

"Anti-Sanderson?" I prompted at last.

He glanced over his shoulder, still patting down the messy hairs on his chest. "My name's Ennet. I'm not s'posed to use my adult name until I'm 150,000."

I paused. "Okay. Ennet. While you're already undressed, would you mind telling me about your scars?"

"Yeah, I would. Toss me that light blue sash, would you, candy crusher?"

"This is an indoor bra," I said as I examined the indicated piece of clothing. "It's damseline underwear, and it's probably half a dozen sizes too big for you anyway."

"Oh, I just grabbed anything that looked interesting. What about… that little pink shirt."

"That's an outdoor bra, for traversing the cloudlands at great speed as the dragonfly skims."

"Is this also underwea'?"

"Earmuffs. They won't fit over your big pointy ears at the top of your head."

"Necklace?"

"Headband. You can try, but I can't imagine it will be useful."

"Okay, but is this one a necklace?"

"That's a hanger."

"Can I put on these socks?"

"Leggings. Your legs don't bend the right way to wear those. Here." I picked up a shirt that was way too big for him, then put it down and held up another instead. "This red one. Try this."

"Not a big fan of red, but h'okay." Anti-Sanderson pulled it over his head, tugging it over his wings with a bit of help, and made a face at his reflection. "Pfft. Needs more yellow."

We perused the rest of the pile in a similar manner. "None of these fit," he huffed, kneeling on the floor with a mess of fabric surrounding him like a puddle of liquid rainbow. "All these cool patterns and neat designs and pastel colors, and I guess none of 'em even fit."

My eyes trailed to the gingertie and bluebird sweater still dangling over my arm. I took it in my other hand and held it down to him. "Here. Try this one. It might be more your size."

Anti-Sanderson took it carefully in his claws and wriggled his way into it. I took his wings and pushed them through the slits at the back. They popped and he flapped them once. With his back to the mirror, he didn't see how it hugged his frame to confirm there was a normal body and not a stiff tree trunk under there. He blew a blond S-shaped curl out of his eyes, and then swung around. I stepped back as his ears suddenly flicked to attention.

"Oh," he managed when he found his voice. He stared into the eyes of his reflection, his mouth gaping halfway open. Both hands rested against his chest, and slowly trailed down his pudgy stomach. "Ow, wow. Is that really me? I look so…" He touched the sharp bones of his cheeks. "I actually look kinda, y'know. Normal."

Anti-Sanderson continued to stand there, utterly perplexed by what he saw. His right thumb traced one of the gingertie trees along the stripe at his chest, then moved on to touch a bird. "I neve' knew," he started to say, and his voice cracked. "I neve' knew I looked good in gray, or that it matte'ed. I dunno. I thought my square green face'd be bright and ugly no matte' what I wore. But it doesn't look so bright when I'm wearing this. I dunno what ta say."

"Take your time."

He rubbed his eyes. "I don't look like one a' the kids who hangs around the candy shop passin' around the peppermint bark. I don't look like my pops stays inside his house crying on the couch and eating ice cream instead a' telling us not to sled off the roof on rusty pieces a' metal and rotting wood. I don't look like I sneak around at night pokin' in dumpsters and fightin' off strays foops and black cats for real food scraps we can eat back home. I don't look like the idiot without an education who can't even do simple math and gets cheated at all the town shops 'cuz everyone knows he doesn't know any bette'. I just look like a normal 3,506-year old kid. A regula' kid with a regula' home life, and… and a regula' dad who cares about his kids and takes us shopping so we can actually have clothes that fit right."

"Sanderson didn't want that shirt," I said, leaning my elbow against the wall. "You're his opposite. If you'd like me to buy it for you-"

Anti-Sanderson whirled around before I finished, throwing his arms around my torso and squeezing tight. His claws pinched my skin through the back of my shirt. "Off," I said, peeling them free. "I don't do hugs."

He hugged himself instead, leaning partway over in the process so his ears drooped slightly in front of his eyes. "H.P., I love it. D'ya have anything else that your Sanderson doesn't want? Especially in gray? I love gray."

I turned him around and checked the tag on the back of the sweater. "Take this off, put your jacket back on, and then search this place for Size 5. It's written on the tag, understand? Anything Size 5 should fit you. And you can always try your Anti-Pixie Paratype shirt."

His eyes bulged in the mirror. "Anything Size 5?"

"That's how sizes work."

"Okay, well hurry and help me get this off my wings! I've still got a lot a' shopping to do, and we're burnin' starlight."

The moment Anti-Sanderson had thrown his jacket over his shoulders, not even buttoning up the front, he zipped through the door. I picked the hangers and loose clothes from the floor and started to follow, only to be intercepted by Sanderson. "Would you help me try these on, sir?" he asked innocently, his arms dripping with fabric in every shade of red known to Fairykind.

I groaned in the back of my throat, but held open the fitting room door for him. "Don't overthink this."

Sanderson had far more experience shopping than his counterpart did, so deciding what fit him and what to discard went much more smoothly. We stepped out with two red shirts, one white, one watery blue, and three pairs of pants- plenty, I hoped, to keep him dressed when he was out and about without wearing his suit. Anti-Sanderson stood not far from the door, babbling to tiny Anti-Keefe about how when he was older, his big brother would ensure he always had anything to wear that he wanted.

I raised my eyebrows as he sent Anti-Keefe toddling back towards Wilcox and Anti-Madigan with a pat. Then I called his name. "So? Have you changed your mind about the gingertie sweater yet?"

"Nah, no way, H-Pop!" He'd thrown it back on regardless of my earlier request, with his tattered jacket thrown on top of it for now. He flashed his fangs in my direction as he straightened up. In his hands, he clutched several more shirts, presumably of the same size. "It's the best present anyone's eve' given me. I'm serious, I've neve' had anyone be so nice about givin' me new clothes when I grow out of-"

Anti-Sanderson froze mid-sentence. His ears went up, then down. I followed his gaze a short distance across the store to Anti-Fergus, who sat alone in a chair by the door with his dirty cape resting over his knees. Anti-Sanderson flicked his crimson eyes between him and the shirts heaped in his arms.

I watched him, my hands resting on my waist. "Ennet, look at me. Don't think about what Anti-Fergus is doing. Don't think about what your brothers are doing. Don't even think about what I'm doing. What do you want?"

"I… want…" Anti-Sanderson shifted the clothes he held. "I want…" He squeezed his eyelids shut. His throat constricted. "H.P., I want new clothes. I want them so bad."

"Then I'll buy you those clothes. If you're all done, take them up to the front counter and wait for me there."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

I circled the shop, weaving among Fairies and racks of clothing to give my brood the last call. They came scrambling, giddy to receive my approval, hand me everything, and head down the street in search of the familiar sweet shop. Anti-Madigan followed their lead, with Hawkins and Longwood each picking up one of the young anti-pixies as they left together. As they went, I checked the size on Anti-Madigan's tag, and used it as a reference point as I wandered about, selecting items on behalf of the anti-pixies who weren't here.

I'd known it was coming, but I'd half-hoped I might purchase everything and be out before he managed to corner me. I didn't. Back in the blue section, Anti-Fergus pushed up his goggles and rubbed the heel of one hand across his eyes. "Ah know Ah'm a terrible dad, but Ah wish yew din't have ta rub it in my face like this."

I paused. "Well, you're not exactly giving your anti-pixies a good environment to grow up in. Children need clothes, clean diapers, the appropriate food, drink, sippy cups, toothbrushes, blankets, thermometers, maybe one of those floating buckle chairs for the table, order, structure, discipline, perhaps some child-safety locks for your wand, that squishy thing that clears stuffy noses, nail trimmers, those automatic butterfly nets that scoop up a small fairy who strays too close to the edge of a cloud, regular check-ups at the doctor, cribs are useful when they outgrow the pouch and if you get the kind with the netting over them (for dust's sake, don't buy the drop-side types, and don't go asking around why if you want to avoid nightmares), and especially for Seelie babies soft washcloths and regular baths in warm water are an absolute must with our oily-"

"Ah don't have those things!" he exploded, turning his hands into fists. Fat tears traced dark emerald lines down his cheeks.

"Well, I can see that. That's the problem." I examined a pale green shirt with wide pockets that hung from a metal bar. A dark shamrock design lay centered in the middle of the shirt, but I was pretty sure fabric clovers wouldn't chase Anti-Fairies off any better than paper ones. It seemed like a nice, ironic find to give as a gift. Anti-Hawkins would probably get a kick out of it. I hooked the hanger on my wrist. "Now, if you had those things for raising pups-"

"But that ain't a choice! Ah don't know where to find 'em, and I couldn't afford them if I did. Anti-Robin even brought me some a' that stuff, but s'not like it really helped. Ah need more - always more - and Ah can't just keep takin' and takin' and never givin' anything back. Ah kin hunt food fer the older kids, but mashin' it all up for babies is harder. Peryton meat ain't enough, and we ain't s'posed ta kill the foops 'cuz they's endangered, and unicorns are out a' the question. Ah'm not fast enough t'catch the bugs, and it's so hard to bring 'em back anyway, or have enough of 'em ta eat. And water-" His eyes rolled like a centaur's. "Water, Fergus. Yew ain't got a flippin' clue how tough it is ta git clean water back home. Anti-Fairy World's so cold that all the rivers freeze unless yer right up against the border. And e'en then, our main one got poisoned by the four-leaf clovers from the Little Olympus side a' the Barrier not long back. Sometimes it'll still make yew sick if yew drink it without one a' them expensive filters. Ah don't have the kind a' money yew do. And even with money, Ah can't buy stuff people don't sell. It's not mah fault yew had babies when Ah wasn't ready!"

"You act like I had a choice," I said incredulously, picking up a light yellow shirt with a red sun on its front. The perfect anti-pixie color scheme. "I wasn't ready either, but I did fine, didn't I? Sanderson lacked several of his needs as a nymph. I lived in a wisp's burrow and I couldn't go out and buy them either. Even in the Eros Nest, we were deprived. I was at the lowest point of my life both those times, but I did fine. Just try harder and it'll all work out."

"Yew don't get it!" Anti-Fergus stared up at me, suddenly fragile and small, with his lower lip trembling. His fangs had left punctures in it from constant nibbling, and as I watched, it began to bruise and bleed. His chin dropped to his chest. "Yew don't get it. Ah wouldn't a' broken like Ah did… if I hadn't tried my hardest, and everythin' still fell apart. Ah don't wanna go home. Oh smoke, Ah don't wanna go home. Ah can't go back and do this all over again fer the rest of mah life. Over and over… fer the rest… of… our… lives."

"Well. I'm sorry. It's going to be hard. But I can't just die. My pixies need me to lead them."

"Yer purty lucky they like yew as a leader," he muttered. He paused, eyes wandering, and shifted his weight between his feet. "They don't like me much anymore, mah sons."

"Well, not everyone is going to fall at your feet. You'll have to work around that."

"'specially not Cecil. Cecil don't like me a lick."

We'd been floating up and down the backs of the rows in the rear of the shop, but I decided to move full-on down the blue aisle. Blue was fairly close to gray, and not much of an eyesore. "Anti-Fergus, be fair. Anti-Hawkins hasn't seen you for five hundred years. I'm sure he misses you."

He tugged at the faux ruby clasp that held his cape together in the front, trotting after me. "No, Cecil's never changed his mind about a thing in his whole life. And sure, he don't ever say it, but yew can tell from the way he treats me. He never comes inside mah house, and he walks with his snooty nose in the air. It's silent, the way he judges me. That's worse than hearin' him say it straight. And Ennet hates me."

I lifted a finger. "And we're done. I see the 'H' word has entered the conversation. That word has an emotionally-charged connotation, and emotions are not my thing."

"Ah wish he'd run away."

"Er, Anti-Sanderson? Run away where?"

"Ta the Blue Castle. To an orph'nage. Home with yew. To anywhere better'n mah little place." Anti-Fergus clenched his fingers into light fists again, either sniffing or wiping his face every several words. "Ah ain't good with hate, Fergus. I wouldn't never throw one of mah other boys to the curb, but Ennet's gotta go. He's tough. If he don't run soon, I… I'm gonna have to turn him loose mahself. He hates me anyway, wishes Ah were dead, that he could kill me."

I glanced down at the clothes still piled in my arms nearly to my chin. We were halfway along the blue section, and not exactly in the back of the store anymore. A couple of fairies and an elf milled about, rattling hangers and sliding things down shelves. I could spot heads bobbing behind racks nearby. "Anti-Fergus, this is getting heavy. Please. Why don't you pause for a sec and we'll pick this discussion up at SweetHouse Chocolates?"

"No! I'm sayin' it now. Ennet hates me." His eyes flashed as he declared it. "E'eryday back before the Eros Nest I sees him watchin' me, just outta the corner of my eye. He's a snotty cobra, and if the Unseelie Court could die, he'd stab me in the belly with a rusty knife and laugh as he twisted it 'round. He'd work the blade up ta my collar and keep comin', zig-zagging across my neck. One day he's gonna kick mah feet out from unde' me and shove me in the basement without any clean wate'. He hates me."

As he'd gone on, voice rising, I'd landed and backed uncertainly towards the wall. Now my wings bumped against stacks of 'fashionably ratty' clothing. As one of my lines fritzed from the energy field, I lost interest in and focus on the other patrons in the store. Anti-Fergus gestured with one claw at my heap of items, including in his gesture the basket and hangers dangling from my arm.

"Ah know what yer doin', Pixie-Fergus. Ah thought yew'd had enough of kids already. But 'ts a low blow, stealin' mine, turning things around so Ah'm the bad dad who don't take good care of 'em, and yew the god who gives 'em presents and wins their loyalty."

I dug my heels into the thin carpet and straightened up with two spinning flaps of my wings. "Anti-Fergus, I'm a charitable person by nature. I'm of the opinion that having so much money you can afford to give it away in bunches is the most pleasurable experience a Fairy can have below Plane 23. Neither of us was in a position to provide for our broods in the Eros Nest, and you haven't been around your other-"

"Ah know what yer doin'," he repeated, and even floated low enough to stomp his foot. "Ennet's upset with me abou' Ollie, and yew took advantage of that. Yew give him presents and sway him with words 'bout how yer pixies get clothes regular-like and Ah make ours mahself. He wants yew more than me? Keep him. Fair trade. He gets clothes and shelter and clean water, and Ah'm rid a' that mouthy brat who coul'n't even figger out that how mah dad was treatin' him behind closed doors was wrong. One less mouth for me ta feed. He don't wanna be with me and Ah don't want him. You'd do us both a favor."

"Anti-Fergus." My mouth was actually gaping now. I swallowed. "He's your pup. You went back for him in the Eros Nest."

His words said, "Ennet will and already has betrayed my trust", but his eyes said, "I'd rather go to smoke than force him to stay with me against his will." His gaze darted behind me, low to the ground, and snapped instantly back to my face. "No, yew saw him when Ah was handin' over Oliver," he continued, yanking at the lapels of his jacket. He sniffled once more, then shook his head. "Hittin' me and screamin'. Yew saw him act up fer no reason when Venus dragged him away. He's spiteful and mean and there ain't a speck of love in his soul for me. Fergus, Ah'm tryin'. It's not like Ah ain't tryin'. But yer Sanderson likes yew. Yew like havin' the li'l suck-up flit around yer heels." With that, Anti-Fergus turned slowly towards the front door. "Maybe it's best if Ah jist let mine go before anyone gets hurt. 'Cuz if Ah'm sugared up and he acts up like he did back at the Nest, Ah think Ah'll hit him. Throw somethin'. He already hates me. He'll hate me more. And gods, Ah kin't deal with bein' hated. Coping healthy-like with emotions ain't my kind a' thing."

He'd purchased nothing for himself, so left without paying, his cape dangling over his arm. The bell jingled as he went. I stared for a moment, then turned my head. The damsel behind the checkout counter had a bright red face, though it was difficult to tell behind the copy of Wand Street Journal she'd shoved in front of her nose. Her shoulders were hunched, and her wings shook. Typical Fairy culture norms: live and preach tolerance, let someone make bad choices, don't interfere with other people unless they're interfering with you.

My eyes fell a bit lower, to a huddled, flattened figure beneath the lip of the counter, pressed against the wall. I sucked in my cheeks. Both arms were wrapped around his tattered yellow and red jacket. His eyes were stretched, the soft tears rolled, and he stared at nothingness even when I floated over and lowered myself in front of him.

"Ennet?"

"I don't hate him," he said, softly.

"No, no. Anti-Fergus only said those things because he knew you were listening. I saw him look."

Anti-Sanderson sneered. "The whole store was listening. Why'd he say that stuff? I'm not bad."

Interesting question. I thought it over. "I imagine he wanted to make it convincing. I do similar things sometimes. Ennet. Ennet, listen to me. When we were in the Eros Nest, Anti-Fergus missed you so much. But he knows he can't give you everything you need to grow up the way society thinks you should. He doesn't want to hold you back."

"Too bad," he said, and his voice cracked. "He's told me ta go before. He always tells me ta go. He says I should run off to the Blue Castle and try ta make it on their precious camarilla someday, or become a rogue. He says I'm tough and I can make it. But I won't leave him! He's wrong about everythin', and if he wants me to leave, he's wrong and I won't! And… he says he doesn't want me, after missin' him for five hundred years, after bendin' over backwards ta help him back home, keep the place running… and he knows that hurts my feelin's. Oh smoke, that hurt so much. But not enough to chase me away. I don't care what he thinks is best for me. I wanna be the one to pick what's best for me, and I'm not leaving my family unless I wanna leave!"

I tapped my finger against my thigh as his voice thinned and pitched upward. "You seem upset," I said. "Give me your clothes so I can ring them up while you cool off. You'll feel better once you stop having these emotions."

Anti-Sanderson finally collapsed, pulling his knees to his chest and covering his eyes with his hands. "I don't hate my dad! I j-just need my space and I don't always wanna hear his advice- why doesn't he get that? I'm young and stupid and I try so hard, but I c-can't be perfect. No one's perfect. And I don't hate him."

I listened carefully to his words, trying to decide how to respond to that. Then I turned around and pushed myself under the edge of the counter beside him, until we were sitting next to each other. Anti-Sanderson wiped his eyes and turned his head away. "Did you know," I said, "that I don't get along with my father either? I never have. Ambrosine and I fought so many times, we've even tried to kill each other. Literally."

"Snff. You're only saying that to make me feel bette'. Anti-Ambrosine is so horrible. Sandy Prime's grandpa's gotta be the nicest, sweetest guy eve' in the universe."

"No. Ambrosine is hardly a good father. He forced me to go to the Academy, and he'd only pay for it if I studied psychology. He beat me in a fight to the death and then spared my life in front of everyone. He never searched the Earth for me when I ran away from home. He stole the name I was going to give to my future daughter. He threw me out of the house with nothing but one suitcase for my inheritance. He tricked Wilcox into thinking he'll die if he doesn't shapeshift every day. He-"

"Did he lead ya down to the frozen rive' for baths and take his sweet time drying you off when he pulled you out and you were all stunned stupid from the cold? Did he always tell ya how cute ya looked 'cuz you were green and then take you by the hand one day talking 'bout how he was gonna show you exactly how cute he thought you were? Always crack jokes about how just a tiny taste of your sweet sugar spit could get even a giant all suga'-drunk and high? Did he tell you he'd help ya practice how to make a damsel like you? Did he tell ya he'd sneak you up to meet Dad on Plane 6 for a special huntin' trip if you'd leave your jacket behind so the animals din't see ya coming? Did you believe him, and then did he smuggle ya off and sell you and each of your brothe's to the highest bid, not caring if we got separated and neve' saw each other eve' again? Did you realize that day why your daddy dresses you in the brightest colors he's got and mends 'em when they're torn and makes you swear every morning that if you stray beyond the houses, you'll neve', eve' take 'em off?"

I closed my mouth.

Anti-Sanderson continued staring in the other direction, towards the door. "H.P., I was so glad when I got out a' that big room five hundred years ago, when those alien guys were drawin' us naked. I was scared, okay? Scared Anti-Ambrosine would snatch one of my brothe's up and Venus wouldn't notice one was missin'. Or wouldn't care. That's the only reason I stayed as long as I did."

"You didn't think Venus would protect you? Or me?"

He shook his head, cheeks scraping against his knee. "I don't trust adults. I don't trust Anti-Kalysta. I don't trust Anti-China. I don't trust Venus. I don't trust you. I don't even trust my dad." Anti-Sanderson raised his head, patting his sweater sleeve again across his face. "But I don't hate him. I wish he'd listen a' me talk. Like you do. Like this. But he won't let me talk about that stuff with my grandpa, or Anti-Kaly hitting Cecil, or Anti-China snapping at us to go play outside when she came ove' to see my dad. It's like… not cool, okay? We just kept meeting people who were mean to me an' my brothe's. For no reason!" That seemed to injure him most of all- not the fact that he came from a damaged background, but that he'd be willing to take the punishments if he just understood why he deserved them, and no one would take the time to explain. He screwed up his face. "Jist creepy adults who try gettin' us to drool in their shot glasses or kiss 'em or whateve' 'cuz they wanna get an instant high off anti-pixie spit. Not a single nice person. Not even once!" But, he amended this a second later with a muttered, "Except Anti-Robin. Anti-Robin's neve' mean. But I knew him when he was a juvenile, so he doesn't really count."

"See, this is why I tried to explain to Anti-Fergus that he isn't raising you properly. If he'd just-"

"Don't." Anti-Sanderson glared up at me, his wings folding and unfolding as he shifted them into place. "Hey, I've got a rule. When I want to hear advice, I'll ask."

I hesitated. "I really think-"

"H-Pix, when I talk to you, I wanna be treated like an adult. If you're gonna treat me like a dopey li'l pup who can't count to ten, you can leave. I'm not a baby." His face crinkled up even further. "But Sandy Prime wishes he was a baby again."

"What? Why do you say that?"

"Dunno, I can just feel it. Or maybe that's Dame Sandy; dunno. But it's because I wanna grow up. I wanna grow up more than I've eve' wanted anything. Grown ups take you seriously when you're a grown up too." My gaze had moved to my hands, but I heard his tongue licking at his running nose. "I just wanna be grown so I can take care of my brothe's. I can do what I want, I can fight off all the creeps I don't like, I can maybe… hang out with damsels? I dunno? Find one of 'em who likes me even though I have green fur - who actually likes me for me and not for my sugar-high kisses - and maybe she'll do a bette' job at teaching me how ta make damsels like me than Gramps did. Maybe then I can fo'get about what happened and let my hatred go? If I find the right girl? Yeah." In perfect imitation of Anti-Fergus, he scrubbed at one eyelid with the heel of his hand, claws slightly curled and fangs set and showing in a nervous way. "Yeah, there's not a lot of people I really hate. But I don't hate my dad."

The tears came rushing back. Anti-Sanderson had started to uncurl from his ball, but at the mention of his father, he grabbed his knees again and ducked his head. His hind claws flashed. "I know I'm s'posed to hate him 'cuz he's not treating us right, but I don't! He's my daddy! I can't hate my daddy! But I thought I couldn't hate my grandpa eithe', and I don't know if I'm doin' the right thing, okay? I used ta tuck my brothe's into bed when Pops sprawled out on the couch and ate suga' 'til he fell asleep. And I took care of 'em and I wouldn't let 'em leave, 'cuz I told 'em they'd be sick and lost an' miserable out there without me. And I made them s-stay. And I dunno if that's wrong. Maybe it's wrong? Maybe I'm as bad as Pops, too. My dad can't take care of us. Sometimes he doesn't t-try. But I'm so stupid, and I always see the best in people, and what if this turns out to be Grandpa all ove' again? Maybe it'd be bette' to take all my brothe's and run away. But I can't, 'cuz I love my brothe's but I don't hate my dad. And he loves us- all of us, even me. He'd never stop loving us and it'd shatte' him if we were gone. And I don't think it's right either, to make 'em leave and grow up without their daddy. Everybody's gotta have a daddy."

He'd begun to shake pretty badly. I realized what was coming, but couldn't get the words out or my hands up quickly enough to stop it. Anti-Sanderson grabbed the back of his gray sweater and yanked it upward. With a riiiip, the threads tore straight over his wings, leaving gaping holes all down the back. Anti-Sanderson threw it on the floor as we both started to stand.

"Anti-Sanderson, this emotional behavior-"

"I don't want your Fairy World filth! I don't wanna remember we came here and I got mad! I don't want your charity or your advice or your pity. I want my Daddy! Don't turn my brothe's against my daddy. Don't you dare buy any of those things for them, or I'll jist toss 'em in lava anyway. Just stay away from us!" Still wiping his face on the red and yellow jacket in his arms, he took to his heels and sprinted outside. The door crashed shut behind him. With a sigh, I picked up the tattered gingertie and bluebird sweater and placed it on the check-out counter.

"I'll pay for this, dame. I apologize for any disturbance my companions may have caused."

Anti-Fergus didn't meet us at the SweetHouse shop. Neither did Anti-Sanderson. When I asked, Ambrosine said Anti-Fergus had come in and picked the others up. Left without a word or a taste.

"Where's my Sister?" I asked, dully.

Ambrosine pointed to the back of the shop. They'd only been in here a moment, he'd said, and when I looked, I saw for myself that Dame Head was still paralyzed. She stood in the center of a circular alcove by the far window, holding her cheeks. I watched her eyes dart back and forth, trying to absorb everything from the rock candy wind chimes to wands sculpted entirely out of chocolate to a cookie bird's nest filled with minty marshmallow chicks. Woven threedspiral bags with the logo of the fabric shop lay at her feet. Sanderson sat nearby, glimmering with thin amusement as he looked on. His counterpart, leaning over a chocolate snapjik set, had the same expression on her face that she'd had in the Eros Nest long ago, when she'd kept flicking curious glances at the scars on Anti-Sanderson's back and looking away when she realized her stares had been noticed. Indeed, the moment she realized I'd come in, she straightened up and turned to stare out the decorated window instead. A flawless child above the temptations of the material world. All the other pixies wandered about the busy little shop too, taking care to look and not touch.

Dame Head motioned me over with a handful of lagelyn. "I don't know how much this money is worth."

"It's not too small an amount. About the net profit I would make at Wish Fixers in two months."

"Good. I want a pound of caramels."

I about fainted where I floated. "Sister, let's think this through. You only weigh like a hundred forty- Er, I mean, a hundred ten petals-"

She fixed me with the beady glare her people were best known for. I resisted the urge to shrink into my shoulders, even though I half wanted to. "I want. A pound. Your money is worthless in the High Kingdom. Nothing matters except caramels."

"I've created a monster," I muttered, pushing my fingers through my hair. I grasped a fistful of my hat. My eyes trailed from her to Dame Sanderson to my Sanderson to the other pixies and refract-pixies milling about. "I don't… You know, why don't you do what you want. It's none of my business. I need to sit down for a minute. Somewhere not here."

"Are you…?" Ambrosine started to ask as I moved past him. He followed me, his staff thunking against the wood, to the far end of the glass display case with its rows of chocolate-dipped strawberries, fudge cubes, and candy apples. I knew he was watching, but I grabbed my hat and pulled it down over my eyes anyway, between my face and my glasses. With my wings and back pressed to the glass of the sweets case, I slid down until I plopped on the floor.

"Fergus," he said, bewildered. He moved around in front of me. For a moment, he said nothing. I sensed him rub his chin. Then, "Did something happen at the clothing outlet? Your counterpart stormed in here-"

"Nine."

"What?"

"Nine," I said, refusing to push my hat up from over my eyes. My fingers curled in tighter. I shifted my legs, bringing them down to a cross instead of pinning my knees to my chest. "I can't raise nine pixies all under the age of four thousand. Three that close is completely unheard of except in triplets. Nine? I can't do this."

Ambrosine tsk tsked. "Don't go telling fibs that the Eroses broke you, Fergus. You're much too strong for that."

"But I can't" - I shoved my hat up and in the same movement jerked my arms in about five directions at once - "do. This. Dad, I talked to Anti-Sanderson! For like- I don't know, ten minutes, maybe? He was emotionally injured and I didn't like seeing him that way, when he'd been so happy to get that sweater. I tried. I thought he'd be here, or I could catch Anti-Fergus, before he left, but I don't get it. Why did they just- blow up like that? Out of nowhere? Even Anti-Sanderson, even after I talked to him? Why didn't he stop being upset? I was just trying to help. Why did they both get so mad?"

He tilted his head. "You need to learn that sometimes, people want to talk and receive sympathy without pity or advice."

"I didn't say I gave them-"

"You didn't have to. I know you."

I cupped my chin in one hand, drumming the fingers of the other against the floor. "Ambrosine, I just want to help people. I know what it's like to not have money. To not have your family around."

Ambrosine tapped me on the head with the end of his staff, and when I started to look up, he stuck it beneath my chin and lifted my face the rest of the way. "Hey. I'm proud of you for trying, Fergus."

"But it didn't work. They got upset. Emotions are so weird- I didn't do anything wrong! I just did what I thought was the right thing. Trying to help. And they both just got mad at me for no reason."

"Good. Then you have an area you can work to improve in. You should always have all your wishes come true except for one. Then you'll always have a goal to keep moving towards. Now, don't mope. Up. We have something we want to show you." As I shook out my wings and climbed back to my feet, Ambrosine turned to face my pixies still hunting for small treats they could afford. "Boys? We're going to show Fergus the surprise now. Can I trust you all to poof yourselves there with us on your own lyn?"

The others nodded, though Sanderson raised his arm to indicate he was wandless, and Madigan shook his head. Ambrosine floated forward and slipped his hand beneath my counterpart's. Without breaking eye contact, he brought it to his lips and kissed the back of her feathered wrist. "Dear niece, enjoy your day in Faeheim, and have a safe journey home. Tell the acolytes hello for me, and I'm envious of those secret fluffy shrine beds you described. I don't know if I'll end up ever seeing you again, but thank you for taking care of my son in the Nest. I can tell you kept him in line. Remember, you're always welcome down here in our shrine should you pay another visit."

She flicked two fingers against her eyebrow in a salute and dropped her hand to her side again. "All Fairykind go to Plane 23, Uncle. We'll see you around sooner or later."

"Yes." I pointed at her, instantly perking up. "That's right. The three of us are supposed to be united as one someday, and then I can sit back and you can help me solve any crippling personal problems that I didn't manage to fix during the long and painful course of my life."

"Har har. Come hither, you." Dame Head pulled me towards her by the front of my holotype shirt and planted a quick peck on both of my cheeks. "See you at the next baptism, Brother Seelie. And maybe bring me caramels to go next time- having so many choices just makes everything so difficult for me. Don't do anything stupid while we're apart."

When she let go, I took her hand in mine and gave it a shake. "Buy a scry bowl. We should talk more."

"Oh vapor, no thanks. Interacting with other people is the worst."

With that, my pixies and I waved good-bye. Ambrosine did the honors with a great swish of his staff. One second my arm was up and my fingers were fluttering. The next, I zinged through the air and landed in a soft cloudbank up to my ankles, waving away the accompanying smoke cloud and heat with my hand.

Sanderson grabbed my elbow. "Sir-"

I looked up, still adjusting my glasses. "Oh," I said when I saw what he'd been looking at. My hands went first behind my head. Then to my mouth, and back behind my head again, fingers interlocking. I bit my lip out of habit, fighting to keep a straight face that wouldn't stay still. "Oh- Oh my dust. Ambrosine, you didn't really… No."

"Mmhm. And we've already moved in all the bedding, clothes, and personal stuff you had lying around Wish Fixers and in storage. The place is entirely yours, to build and destroy as you so please. Do you like it?"

The words to describe all the purple buildings froze on my lips. I shook my head, blinking rapidly, meaning 'Yes' but unable to gather my thoughts.

We stood at the end of a wide golden bridge formed of frozen, opaque magic in imitation of the greater Bridges that transcended planes. It arched from our feet and across a gap to a large, soft cloud. I would have preferred purple, but yellow would have to do. Besides, there were plenty of simpler, more inviting colors to be found elsewhere in the area. For instance, a sharp cloudy mountain jabbed from the ground directly to my left, wandering with other mountains for a fair ways before it turned into a canyon. And, if I remembered correctly, one could find a thin stream leaking from a gash in the clouds back that direction that flung a light mist out into the open air where it tumbled over the edge of the Plane and down below. A stout marquee sign taller than I was had been planted into the vapor next to me, proclaiming Pixie Village in a simple, blocky script. Leftover magic dust and oils had seeped into the clouds at its base, staining them a pleasant pinky-purple.

As my pixies floated single-file ahead of me across the short yellow bridge, I fixed my gaze on the island instead of the deep emptiness below. 'Peninsula' may have been a more accurate term than 'island', seeing as the mixed pine and ipewood forest still took up the entire right-hand side of the cloud. I'd never actually explored it after purchasing this vapor, but studying it as I crossed the bridge, I noticed a trodden path that wandered at least a short ways among the brown and white trunks. That seemed new. Ambrosine's doing? Possibly.

My eyes slid from the trees to a red building just a skim from the path. A large sign hanging above the door indicated it was a laundromat, presumably with dry cleaning included. No Fairies working in it, of course, but I would see we put it to use. Yes. Swell. With an approving nod, I turned my attention to the polished cloudstone well and a two-layered square fountain that shot a constant stream of water into the air before it pattered back into its dish. Several hard, friendly benches clustered nearby.

Sprinkled around these two centerpieces were buildings. Everywhere. At least a dozen of them, and every one painted some shade of purple. The roofs were not sloped as steeply as those in Fairy culture, and didn't scoop sharply at the ends. Nearest us appeared to be a studio of sorts, like the kind one might go to sing uninterrupted, or to paint, or read. Even from here, I could make out dozens of books, thick and thin, lining the shelves just on the other side of the window. Another building looked like a storage shed with a stack of pre-chopped wood heaped against its side, and yet another turned out to be an open-air pavilion with more than enough room to seat all the pixies I would have for the next several thousand years.

That realization made me pause where I hovered and blink. So many more pixies were on their way. Pixies who could grow up not in the Eros Nest, not crammed inside Wish Fixers, not in my father's house, not in a will o' the wisp's burrow, but here. In a village of their own. With woods to wander and open space to roam. Oh. How pleasant.

Largest of all, centered behind the fountain, stood a manor home that gleamed like polished silver. White paint accented the mortar between the gray stones. It was heavyset and boxy. Like me. Stairs led up to a real porch, with pillars holding up a balcony overhead. Each window was flanked by tall black shutters. Assorted plants lined the walkway up to it. Trimmed hedges. Trees bearing fresh oranges. Beautiful flowers. The main door became a rounded arch at its top, and it was all glass.

A tower, sculpted of cloudstone but with square floorplans instead of round, rose from the manor's center, with the manor actually built around it. It jabbed the sky, stretching I swear halfway to the underside of Plane 4. From up there, I knew, I could see the approach of anyone, whether across the gaps between the clouds or over the forest trees. "Big pointy gray tower," Sanderson marveled, shielding his eyes with his hand. "Like our hats."

The design I'd originally worked out with China just before Madigan was born had been much different than this on the outside. At any other time, not getting what I'd asked for would have frustrated me beyond belief. But the end result was more elegant than I could have imagined, and after five hundred years in the Eros Nest, I was in the mood to spoil myself with luxury over my usual practicality and modesty. No unkind word could be spoken against it.

From where I stood, to the manor's immediate right sat a row of wooden cabins- evidently additional sleeping quarters for my pixies. Good; I would need plenty of space for a growing company. Next to the last one lay a small saucerbee field. To the manor's left, at the very edge of the cloud, perched a warehouse and a dock with posts just waiting for cloudships to be tied up in a row.

Yes. The tiny, village-like place, the perfect blend between modern and rustic designs, did pay homage to the plan I'd worked out with my ex-wife. Only, the reality turned out to be bigger and better. I'd never imagined it would be so… real.

Ambrosine cleared his throat. "I got bored while you were in the Nest and fooled around with more additions, so ignore the stable over there by the laundry for now. I know you've never mounted any type of equine, but… perhaps you'd be interested in buying a few someday. Hawkins and I mapped out walking trails through the evergreens over there. Exploring will give you something to do while I put the finishing touches on the tram line. If you approve, I'm planning to set up a little station on the other side of the yellow bridge. Only two cars can ride the line at a time, but I figure that suits you right now. I didn't want to finish with it and the paperwork and allow strangers to come wandering through this place before you had the chance to see."

"I don't know how to thank you. It's, well… pixie perfect." I shrugged, tugging at my collar. "I really don't understand why more Fairykind don't found their own private woodland villages. It's not like we're lacking in time or space. Though woodlands, maybe."

He shrugged too. "Food costs, mostly. You'll have to haul your groceries here, and that might get annoying and expensive. I hope that your well meets your needs, because you have no immediate access to fresh water otherwise, and collecting from the falls isn't easy. Even by poofing standards, you're secluded, and you know we Fairies are by nature social creatures. Apart from the trees, which are mostly counted as a protected park, you have no natural resources to attract people here. There are no masons or carpenters nearby, no wandporiums, no hospitals. Plan accordingly. No theaters. No restaurants. No clubs. No sugar bars. No clothing shops. No courthouse. No school. Then there are high taxes and mortgages to be paid regularly, and of course, all the paperwork to get your building permit. So much paperwork, you'll drown in it soon enough."

"My village and I will get along. Hmm. I imagine this place might become a city in just a little while."

At that, Ambrosine chuckled and leaned over his staff. His dark eyes danced. "A large town? Yes, almost certainly, and I hope I'm still around to see it. But a legal cloudland city? Not without a zodiac temple on the premises, friend. Your growth and economic benefits are capped until you get one, and the seven positions are all filled right now. On paper, you have to stay a village until your population hits a hundred. Then you can move on up from there. But a city's not a city without a zodiac temple."

I made a face at the thought of Zodii Anti-Fairies zipping about my home, begging for room and board at the end of their flightless pilgrimage. "Ah, well. Pixie Village may have to become Pixie Town, then. Though I don't like the sound of that much. Perhaps I can sneak straight past that to Pixie World. As its name, I mean, regardless of the legalities required to officially be a 'World'. Yes, I'm sure I can do that; I'll figure out the details later." I pressed my hands to my cheeks again, and shook my head. "Dad, I hope this is all one huge gift, because I can't pay you back." Charity really is the greatest thing in the universe. I don't understand why anyone would ever want to turn it down.

"Oh, you will."

"Seriously? I'll get started on saving funds right away, of course, but- how much did it cost you?"

"I don't want your money, Fergus. I only ask that you never stop working on growing your company and managing your employees fairly, so you can pay me back." Smiling, apparently resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Ambrosine reached out with his staff and tapped Sanderson, Wilcox, Bayard, and Keefe, who were within his reach, on their shoulders. "And I'm sure you will. Catch my drift?"

Welcome to Sprigganhame, I thought as I stared back at him, still holding my cheeks. Though against protocol and inadvisable for the rest of you, I did in fact allow myself to crack a thin smile. Home of the Pixies.

A/N: Text to Life - The Pixies seem to have strong connections with North America. After all, they drove and biked home from Dimmsdale, California during the Musical- implying they could reach Pixie World without using magic or crossing the ocean (Pixie World, in my headcanon here, is located above Mushroom Rock in the center of Kansas, and just a bit southeast of Kalysta's burrow, actually). They used the dollar sign as their logo during "Oddlympics", and the sign supposedly originated in the Americas. When I studied different types of suits to determine what style pixies wear, I concluded they wear the common American variety of single-vent suits (H.P.'s is double-breasted; all others are single-breasted).

So, Pixie Village architecture draws inspiration from colonial style, in the same way Anti-Fairy architecture mimics various European styles. "Traditional" Pixie foods would be things like corn, potatoes, turkey, beans, corn bread, cranberries, pies... Thanksgiving food. Frozen yogurt is viewed as a Pixie dessert. Barbecues, greasy fast food, and South American dishes are counted as Fairy culture, though. Many popular American clothing styles, body types, habits, and cultural beliefs like working hard, being proud of sleeping less to up productivity, and being a bit obsessed with originality (to the point that they're a bit quick on the draw to sue others) are reflected in the Pixie lifestyle.

The colonial village buildings will upgrade over time throughout the cloudland version of the Industrial Revolution until we get the skyscrapers we know in Pixie World today.