A/N - Thank you all for your patience with the wait for this chapter; life has kept me pretty busy. I'm also in the process of reviewing all of Origin, Knots, and the 130 Prompts up to this point and making minor revisions to previous chapters. Nothing will change plot-wise and no critical foreshadowing will be slipped in that wasn't there before, but I'm cleaning things like pacing and info-dumpy details that have been on my mind. A year, number, or surname might change, sentences might get cut, and there are some cultural details I want to emphasize now that I've further developed the magical societies. Just some little tweaks like that.

Thanks again for reading this long, wild 'fic of mine. I have a buffer now, so regular 'fic updates have returned!

(Posted October 15, 2019)

Almost

Winter of the Red Petals

I snapped Da Rules shut and shook my head at Iris. "So long as humans remain the dominant species on Earth, nothing stands in our way of proposing their addition to the program. They undeniably have appendixes, so linking minds for wishes will be a simple task. The semi-invisibility can be handled by skilled and determined godparents, and if what you told me at lunch the other day applies to all Fairies, it won't be long before our society as a whole expects to find humans on Earth and their kind lose the invisibility entirely. We've seen they're capable of clothing, art, and organization, albeit in a limited form. I suspect the biggest hurdle will be the language barrier. I recall at least one occasion when the Fairy Council rejected an Alien species because of the expected difficulties. However, the decision never became official law. We have a chance. If we can prove humans are capable of learning some of our languages, all the better. So let's write an official proposal. I'll provide the legal outline, and you translate the middle into Fairy."

"'Into Fairy?'" Iris asked, lifting her brows.

"Proper jargon gets your request looked at, but appeals to emotion get them accepted. Emotions aren't my thing. I'll offer my strength and you offer yours so we both land a win."

Iris drilled her fingers against the edge of her desk. "You're very efficient."

"I try to be. It's what I do."

"I think there's more to you than you give yourself credit for."

I looked up from my notepad. "What?"

Iris tapped a quill nib against her teeth. Her gaze roamed my face, picking it apart and putting it together in a way that made it almost difficult to look her in the eyes. I started wishing I'd made it back to Pixie World in time to change after all instead of ending up in her sights with my rumpled sweater, still smelling like lava and anti-swanee spit. She said, "You're diligent and methodical, sir. More focused with a text in your hands than I've ever seen another Fairy. You obviously know your way around Da Rules and Fairy Court… And when I watch you work, I actually feel like I understand what you're doing. My ambitions are all coming together because of you, after all this time. Thank you for meeting me in person today. You're very helpful."

I shrugged. "Thanks for rescheduling to fit me in. Hurling pleas at the Robes is my favorite pastime. If I hadn't had to be Head Pixie, I'd have liked to be a lawyer."

"A lawyer?"

"I was a cocky snot as a child who really thought I could fight the Council on their home turf." I held my notepad up so she could see. "Honestly, you're in luck. I'm one of few Fairies alive today who's actually written a business proposal before. I opened this cute tourist shop in my hometown of Novakiin back when I was only looking after one nymph. That place was all my own, not inherited in any way. Appealing for a new addition to the Amity program shouldn't be much different. What's the name of our branch?"

"Amity Angel Safety and Protective Recall Agency."

"Mmhm. Hereafter referred to as 'Amity Angel' for short." I slid my quill further down the page. "Then we add an address. I figure that for an Amity addition, that would be whatever office space you've obtained for the branch manager. Since you're speaking as yourself and not the owner of Headquarters property, who is of course the Council itself, I'd recommend you write your own office's number. That makes clear you intend to hold the manager position yourself and decreases the chance that they'll handpick someone else to take command."

"Right. Do I suggest a potential successor as well…?"

"I think technically that's the Amity Head's decision, but either way, no." I flipped the pad to the next page. "After that you should describe the services you intend to offer, so basically being godparents to the Unwinged. I'm adding a note recommending you list benefits unrelated to the angels themselves, like the fact that your team will be able to keep an eye on Earth developments or have easy access to farmland or something. In the final document, we should have at least two whole pages where we really sell the Council on our position; like I said, I'm leaving that part to you. Use important-sounding phrases like 'The angel population is projected to increase rapidly,' but add some friendlier ones in there too. I don't have examples, but really sell it. Be passionate."

"I can do passionate."

I penned down a few more notes for her, labeling the spots where I thought she should predict how many godparents would be willing to work with angels, the resources she would require to pull this off, and what the program might be like in the future. "When writing a business proposal," I said, sliding the pad across her desk, "I've found it's best to describe your target market. That's where it gets tricky. You can sell the Council on the idea that some new race should be added to the Amity roster, but unless you come forward with an actual, tangible list of angels you'd send godparents to right now if you could, I doubt they'll really bite. You might end up convincing them to find more Aliens instead."

Iris took the pad and studied it with care. "I think I'm getting it. This will take me at least a few days… I wish it could be finished sooner, but that's life even with magic, isn't it? Um. Thank you for your time, Head Pixie. I wouldn't have thought to include some of these points."

"I enjoy putting my old skills to use again. So get that potential godkid list, prettify the whole proposal, and contact me again in the future so I can look it over with you. When I'm through with it, we'll send it to the Council. You'll be summoned in person if they like what they see. They like your writing, now you have to convince them verbally. After you do, they'll talk it over and pick a representative to meet with you in private for preening. If you get the choice, go with Purple. Purple's the most open to new ideas and he isn't pushy during sessions. If you want to run practice on either presentation beforehand, give me another scry and we'll arrange a meeting."

Her shoulders lifted with faint nerves, wings flickering, but she relaxed again. "Of course. Do you have any other advice you could give me, sir?"

I had to think for a minute, staring at the commelina flowers still wrapped around her crown. "If you want this godparenting branch to succeed, keep seeking help from people with niche interests and skill sets. People like me. If you get enough support, there's no way you can fail. But if you do fail, put the project aside. Do something else with your time until you're ready to try the Council again. It's good to have hobbies. Life's not a race."

Unless you were me, I remembered then. My fingers clenched. 18,000 years to live… Already I was struggling to raise nine pixies while being frugal with magic, and though Venus's drugs boosted my magical energy each morning, I had no idea if they truly worked as advertised. And no other way to find out.

Iris smiled. "Thank you, Head Pixie. Um… do you have any last questions about the project or your expected involvement during the next few millennia?"

I hadn't come prepared with any. Not wanting to let the pause drag on, I said, "One of my roommates at the Academy was a far darrig studying the angels. His name was Apollo. An angel escaped the laboratory once and I've always wondered if it killed him. He was working late that day. Did you ever hear about that in school? If he's alive, do you have contact info?"

"No… Sorry. I'll keep my ears open. I'm a few dozen cycles younger than you, and I don't remember meeting him in school." Iris frowned for a moment, tapping her fingers together. "Did you also have a roommate named Sparky?"

"He went by Sparkle when I knew him, but yes. He killed a friend of mine without a fair fight and had his soul taken by a cù sith. Golden fur, red ears. Scrappy thing."

"Then I've met him a few times while I was Earthside. I think he mentioned you. All good things." Her wings shuddered. "But I don't even want to imagine what that's like, having your body torn away like that… having to steal a new one just to avoid a dustless death… inserting yourself in someone else's body, life, and family like that."

"I know. But it gives me peace of mind to know Sparkle's happier as a mutt than he was as a brownie. 3,500 years ago he was living a lavish life with Queen Vyanda. I wonder how he's doing. Maybe I should check in with him. Leonard too. Hmm…"

… I missed Leonard. I hadn't known him long, but he'd thrown me a baby shower for Sanderson (even if it was in teasing) and I'd never said thank you. Maybe I'd do that this week.

"Well, thank you, Dm. Needlebark. Did you get to ask everything you wanted to today?"

"Um… If I may ask, what's it like to really live among the Unwinged?"

I spent the next hour telling her stories, staying later than I'd planned too, but I didn't mind. Ambrosine and I didn't talk much about my time Earthside; it reminded us both of the fight that led to me getting there in the first place, and he preferred steering my mind away from thoughts about killing him. Emery didn't care for me or my past in general. Sanderson's eyes glazed over if I talked too long about anything other than him or his future, and my other pixies were much the same.

But Iris made an attentive listener. I told her how I'd snuck into an Unwinged camp once to steal one of their wands back before I'd witnessed them make fire without magic. I told her how I'd crossed will o' the wisp country in their care and felt invincible. I told her about the two children I'd taken care of like godkids, though I left out the part about the damsel sinking into a pit of tar. I told her of the way a young drake had held me in his arms, washing my hundred insect stings in the water that day I'd destroyed their hive.

"Huh," I said, staring at the wall. "It seems so long ago even though it wasn't. So much has changed."

"I suppose so. You're Head Pixie now and I imagine that's a lot different, staying in the cloudlands instead of wandering below. Um, what made you stop traveling with the Unwinged?"

"I lost my wand, so I left my angel companion in a pack that accepted him. Strange to think that less than five hundred years later, I had my firstborn. When I left that angel I had no damsel, no plans for offspring. No idea my genetics were that messed up and my body would start having nymphs on its own." My eyes drifted down my arm. Liver spots had already formed on the back of my hand, the skin rough and wrinkled and old. "That was only 4,000 years ago. Just 4,000 years ago I'd have woken up this morning for another day of wandering with my godkid. Everything is so different now."

18,000 years to live. And if my pixies were born of purple magic, only 18,000 years before the pixie race died as quickly as it had come. If my calculations were accurate, there would be just over 40 of us. Venus had such confidence in the magic-boosting drugs she'd given me, but I still wasn't sure. Until Sanderson began fertilizing eggs with yellow magic, me dying was not an option. There had to be something else I could do to slow my aging down. Anything.

I rotated my hand palm-up, where the magic in my body gathered thickest.

"It must have been very hard," Iris said. I lifted my eyes. She didn't look at me with skepticism or pity. She didn't look at me like I was a fascinating experiment or a disgusting freak of nature. Reading expressions had never been my strong point, but even I recognized concern glowing in her eyes. "Emery didn't tell me much and I didn't want to pry, but I understand you were all alone when your first was born, sir."

"Yes. The last day of spring in the Year of the Charged Waters. I lived in a valley at the border of the Mid-Northern Reaches, not far from Ice Falls."

She thought about that. "Then we just missed each other. I was doing research in Caribou Town around that time."

"That was such a tiny town," I said, staring at her. "Less than three dozen Fairies lived there. There's no way we wouldn't have seen each other if I'd shown up seeking a milkmother for Sanderson. But when I came to a fork in the road, I went the other way."

"That's funny," she said, with a smile.

"No it's not. I wouldn't have gotten snatched by a wisp for a year. Everything would have been different."

Iris had nothing to say to that. I folded my fingers over my mouth, thinking on it longer.

"Everything would have been different. If no one there could nurse him, I'd have gotten someone to poof me back to Fairy World."

"I was the only one with a wand, sir. Caribou Town didn't want much to do with magic."

"Then we would have met. You'd probably have given me shelter from the snow and asked what I was doing, and maybe you'd have found out I lived among the angels. You'd have sent me back to Fairy World and I'd have given Sanderson away. But because of the fairy baby mandate, he'd have been killed. I wouldn't have had the strength to fight the Keepers off and get him back."

"Um… I don't mean to paint myself like I'm perfect, Head Pixie, or make high assumptions about how I think I'd behave, but I wouldn't have poofed you back to Fairy World with a fairy baby. I knew the Keepers would kill him. So, er… If you didn't want him, I'd have taken him in."

"And I'd have loved that." If Iris had been as genuine then as now and offered care to both of us when I was at that low, lonely point… Maybe I would have stayed. I could have lived in Caribou Town, working at the research station and visiting Sanderson every day. Sandy, he'd have been called. After a few decades spent watching from afar, maybe I'd have accepted him as my own and married Iris. Even if she kept the strange off-violet tint to her hair.

"I like nymphs." Her voice grew softer, distant. "I always had too many plans to settle down… but I did want a nymph once. Especially a cute little son. My father and brother were both gynes, and I saw how hard it was on them. I'd have loved to raise a little gyne or drone and teach him he wouldn't grow up to be as mean and scary as the media made him feel."

"And I wanted a wife and daughter. But life had other plans for both of us. Obviously."

We reflected on that in silence. Iris straightened her parchments. I leaned my chin on my knuckles, staring into her forehead. Yes, I probably would have married her if I'd stumbled into Caribou Town 3,500 years ago. If she'd taken Sanderson in like her own without judgment. Without force. If she hadn't tried to pressure me into a relationship… that would have lured me to her side faster than any ear scratch ever could. I almost courted you except we never met and now I might be working with you for the rest of my life.

Maybe Iris would have turned out just like China. Maybe she had a temper behind that soft-spoken voice. Maybe she'd have freaked and cried and screamed when I had my other pixies. But for some reason, I didn't think that was the case. Iris might have judged me silently, but I didn't think her the type to yell. Her energy signals were too pleasant, too calm. Her voice was too gentle. Her confidence not strong enough, not yet. Iris was a person who analyzed things and tread softly. I wouldn't have hidden the fact that I bore nymphs from my head from her, and maybe she'd have encouraged a hospital visit sooner rather than later. Maybe I'd have been strong enough to seek help from the Eroses by choice instead of force, willing to submit myself to Venus without sassing her at every turn. Maybe I wouldn't have hated it. Maybe I wouldn't have suffered. It was interesting to look for parallels between her and China, imagining myself begging her forgiveness for bearing babies with fairy crowns instead of alux ones. Iris had such a gentle soul. I wouldn't have cared if she hated me or if she thought I was sneaking out to see other damsels just as long as she heard me out with patience and didn't make apologizing feel like a fate worse than than death.

Dust, I miss that good damsel so much. Iris… I screwed up. I should have treated you so much better than I did. If I could seize all the magic in Fairy World, I'd turn the clock back to those early weeks in your office and stretch every hour into ten. I'd take you to lunch every day and wouldn't postpone another meeting. Cross my lines. I'd tell you a thousand stories every night. You never knew everything about my past. You knew less about me than Anti-Cosmo, less than Anti-Wanda, less than China, less than Kalysta, and that drives me to the brink of every mental cliff I have. You said yes thinking you knew me. Why did you place so much trust in my hands when you knew so little? You who never rushed into anything in your life, who always calculated the pros and cons before you even opened a door? You stupid, stupid damsel. You shouldn't have said yes.

I miss you. I miss those days when our fooling around in the world of angels was innocent and the impending war wasn't a blip in anyone's mind. I miss those days you were comfortable in your own skin. I always kind of liked your weird purple hair, even when I teased. I wish I would've told you that. I never once complimented your hair, only mocked it because that's the way I am. You didn't deserve me. I didn't deserve you. I'm a selfish jerk and I'd destroy the Earth in a wingbeat if someone told me I could see the smile in your eyes again. I always act like I'd do it for the pocket change the insurance policies bring in, for the way it makes the Fairies scramble to clear the grocery shelves and stock their food storage, or say I'd just do it because it's funny, but you're the real reason I'd hit the button and watch that planet die. I long to wipe those humans - those fallen "angels" - from the universe and destroy the godparenting branch that started so much chaos in the first place. It's so hard, Iris, it's so hard, to look at them and not remember you. I want their race and planet gone. But I know how much you loved them, so I could never be the one to pull the lever. I never could.

"Thank you for your time, sir," Iris said, taking my hand again.

"A pleasure, dame."

We exchanged parting licks and I just floated away. I left you tidying your notes and didn't even offer to help. You had an incredible organization system, you know. You were really good at stuff like that. Some nights I sit on the end of our bed, gazing and gazing at the boxes on the shelf above my dresser. I can never open them. Because you organized them so neatly and tied them up with clean white string, and if I ever look inside… my obsessive brain won't let me put your things back the same way again.

I mused over my lunch options on my way down to the food court, thinking it was such a good, peaceful morning. Anti-Bryndin and Iris: What more can you ask for? I'd just left the tunnel when a sudden crash below caught my attention. Not far from my ledge, a golden-haired damsel plummeted to the ground, startled by a floating cart of scrolls that had slammed right into her. A small head popped out from the pile of papers, shouting an apology as the cart whizzed on. Someone's loose godkid. Typical. Shame they didn't look Boudacian, or I could get on Emery's case about that.

My eyes shot back to the damsel who'd been knocked from the air. Her pointed hat with its single curling feather suggested ishigaq blood. She was, most probably, blind. Or nearly blind, anyway- their kind always were to some degree. I pinged down to her side

"Quality smack," I said. "I heard you all the way from up there."

"Tell me you got the license number, Fergus," she groaned.

"Sorry. Not my department." I helped her back to her wings and paused. "Have we met?"

"Oof. Long ago now. The pheromones are different, but the ringing sound your magic makes is too distinct to easily forget." Her fingers traced across my chest. Her brow crinkled. "You always did like wearing sweaters… And, I'm assisting Dm. Needlebark on her angel godkid project since working with creatures I can't see is nothing new to me. She mentioned you'd be coming by today, but I certainly didn't expect to actually run across you." She extended her hand. "Starla Roebeam."

My fingers hovered, barely brushing her palm. "Roebeam the ishigaq. Hmm… If I'm not mistaken, we did quite a bit of dancing at our 145,000-year semi-formal back in upper school."

Her smile tugged up in the corner. "We did. You remember that?"

"I remember every damsel who's ever asked me out."

"Asked you out? You 'borrowed' me from my date and 'forgot' to bring me back."

"Yes. After dancing, you didn't complain when we went for ice cream. I had a lovely time that night."

Starla laughed, pulling her hair back from her face. "I married that drake in the end. Custer Arrowdive, if you remember him. As a matter of fact, I'm heading out to meet our younger son for lunch right now."

"I was going for lunch myself. Would you mind if I joined you? We could catch up. I'm in the market for rekindling old friendships at the moment."

"I won't stop you," she said, floating on. "It's Thursday. My son said there was a new Snobbish restaurant nearby that doesn't close for Fairy holidays."

"I know the one. Never eaten there, but I've been meaning to. I picked a good day to start carrying my credit-chipped wand."

"Can I ask what's jingling on your head?"

"What? Oh." I flicked the star on my cohuleen druith. "It's just decoration. I don't wear a crown anymore, but I have this dazzled hat now. I was just coronated Head Pixie. It's fancy. Here." I guided her hand to the gray cloth. Starla ran her fingers over it, nodding slowly.

"I heard about that. Your name wasn't released to the public, though, so I had no idea he was an old friend of mine… Congratulations."

"Thanks." I pushed the front door open. Starla blinked as city noise swept over her, but took my arm and floated through. I made sure her wings didn't smack. "Does Custer still play saucerbee? He always did want to go pro."

"He spent years with the Fireflies."

"Fireflies, of course. It's a shame I didn't know sooner. It'd be good for my poor pride to find another team to root for with the Dragonflies in this slump." We paused at a certain street corner where juveniles were known to barrel down the hill on flying carpets too fast. "Is he in town? I know we avoided each other at school, but we're adults now. He was the best at keyfinding studies. I'd like to hang out."

"Well, he would have loved that… But he climbed the highest bridge when our three were still young."

"Ohh… Right." I tried to remember which of my peers' names I'd read in old obituaries and which I'd seen in the pheromone census seven years ago. Hm… If my calculations were correct, there were only five gynes left alive who'd attended upper school during any of my years there: Reddinski, Cracklewings, Waterberry, me, and Abdul Junior.

All those years. All those freckles. All those faces, some innocent and others fierce. Not counting gynes from other schools, just four besides me remained. I had diplomatic immunity now, but my fellow gynes remained in an eternal gridlock playing king of the hill. I didn't know what to do with this information.

I'm getting old.

"That's unfortunate," I told Starla, leading her towards Faeheim's restaurant plaza. "I always did find Custer clever, even though I stayed away from him. He was a good drake."

She squeezed my arm. "Yes… But I knew the risks when I married him. I'm grateful the gyne who beat him still lets me see my son."

"So your son's a drone, then? Wait." I stopped flying, jerking Starla to a sudden standstill. "Roebeam, duh. Your son is the Rupert Roebeam."

Starla sighed. "Yes. And he's a bigger handful than all my friends' children put together. Even as a nymph he used to instigate fights between the neighbors just for the fun of it, I swear. And don't get me started on the torments he put his siblings through."

His name alone sent my skin prickling. Rupert was the type of drone who had "a reputation." As I'd heard, he wasn't one for structure and tolerated the people who favored it even less. His tastes were elegant, his preferences high-maintenance, and he wasted coupons and loopholes at inopportune times just for the sake of playing with your head. And more than anything… rumor had it that no one in the universe preened the way he did; Fairy World didn't know him as "the gyne-tamer" without good reason. Rupert didn't beg to preen with gynes. Gynes begged to preen with Rupert. I couldn't count on one hand the number who'd died for a chance with him alone.

"I'd like to meet him," I said. "He doesn't impress or intimidate me."

"If you're sure."

I wasn't much for the theater, but I sure as smoof knew Roebeam. Up until he'd hit the stage, Fairy World had an extensive history of portraying all drones the exact same way. Shy, quiet, and mostly there to show the audience which gynes were dominant when pheromones couldn't be conveyed easily to the crowd. But one day, some scriptwriter made up something different: a quick-witted drone whose rapidfire preening innuendo had Fairy World in an uproar of flushing laughter. I'd never met anyone who recalled the character's name these days; we just knew the actor. No one really knew whether Roebeam had been offered a planned persona and had simply embraced the fact we all confused it for his real personality, or whether he'd always been like that and was the inspiration behind the character in the first place. He contradicted himself in every interview, laughing and smiling and teasing and tying everybody else in knots while he stayed alluring and delicate in his fluttery way.

It'd take a lifetime to peel away his mysteries and reveal whatever truths lay beneath. The only thing I knew with total certainty was this: Rupert wielded some serious celebrity status. Therefore I wanted him. As Starla and I floated up the street, the cogs in my head began to turn. What products could I persuade such a famous figure to advertise if he worked for me? When it came to celebrity endorsements, his reach was second only to the Eros Triplets. If I ever, ever had that clever drake land in my lap, I'd put him to good use. I needed product. I needed plans.

Hmm…

We ended up floating into a small, quaint restaurant that sadly doesn't stand in Faeheim any longer. A few heads turned as my pheromones washed over them, then a few more as people recognized me as the newest ambassador in the cloudlands and started to murmur. I quickly identified Rupert at a nearby table by the enormous widespread wings and thick golden hair, though his red uniform with all the fancy snaps was new to me. He popped up and scooted to my side of the table. Only, he didn't even glance at me… He skimmed around to kiss his mother's cheek. No lingering hand of his "accidentally" brushed my back on the way. The kiss brimmed with affection; he squeezed her shoulder in his hand, lashes dancing against her skin.

"You're sweet as ever, Rupey," Starla said when he leaned away.

"And you're the star of my life, mother dear," he replied. Then he wove past her, chirping over his shoulder that he'd just need a moment to "Have a quick puff out in the street." He oozed through the door. The long feather on his hat bobbed like the lifted tail of a rain deer in heat.

That was rude, I thought. Okay. Technically, drones weren't required to acknowledge other Fairies in public since their gynes were usually at the front of all discussions. But if he did offer a greeting to anyone - including his mother - he was supposed to greet us all. Starting with me. Someone certainly had the big CIYD. Confidence in his dominance indeed.

"Don't take it to core," Starla said when she sensed the puzzled jerk in my wingbeats. "Rupert isn't one for proper etiquette, but he means no offense."

"He means every offense," said the gyne at the table. I turned, studying him for the first time. He sat with his forefingers pressed against his lips, elbows boldly guarding his plate and his chair scooted pretty far back. Scarlet hair clung in a messy poof around his head. The instant I recognized him, my face burned with low heat. As though I'd granted permission by acknowledging his presence, a gallon of pheromones whipped across my face. BAM! My brain staggered backwards, crumpling halfway to its knees. My jaw clamped tight, but it didn't stop my saliva glands from kicking in. Of all the times not to bring Rice along. My wings chirped.

The gyne lifted a curious brow. "Chirp?"

"As you might remember from the last time you asked, I'm part imp on my mother's side. So… I chirp." I tried to look him in the eyes, but I knew how wrong that was and let my gaze drop. I straightened my feet and slid my hands behind my back. "Hello, Reddinski. I haven't seen you since graduation."

"The necklace suits you, Whimsifinado."

My fingers brushed the half-heart crystal Anti-Bryndin had given me just that morning. I clenched it tight. "I know. May I sit?"

"You may."

I settled in the chair across from him. Starla sat beside me, her fingers lingering on the back of my wrist. Those stupid pheromones slithered in and out of my nostrils with every passing tick. Adulthood had hit him like a bolt of polished marble… He looked good, all tough in the arms, and smelled even better. Lightly toasted cedar bark and marshmallow, wasn't that? His energy field signals tasted like a full banana split, whipped cream and everything. A hint of creamy caviar. A fair amount of years behind his wand. Four drones. I hesitated, then scooted my chair a bit closer to the table and tucked my hands in my lap.

My relationship with Jean Reddinski was not a complicated one. While I'd kept my head low during school, maintaining my pheromones and dominance at a nonthreatening level, he'd actively sought out challengers to fight. He'd killed a lot of rivals, but not me. My temper had been annoyingly short back then, but I wasn't stupid and hadn't been easily baited into a fight. I'd analyzed him from afar and always prepared to face his taunts in advance, then left him smeared against the wall with all the snarky wit in my repertoire. At least once a year the whole first half of upper school, he'd tried to goad me into fighting, and every year I'd danced out of reach. Then he'd changed tactics, hooking his wand beneath my turtleneck collar and pulling me into the washroom to swipe a few dominance licks across my face. In fact, there was this one time he kept me there so long, working his cold fingers down my sides…

… I'll skip that bit.

I hadn't prepared any sarcasm in advance to fend him off today. We spent two minutes in silence. I toyed with the edge of the tablecloth, balancing one-liners on my tongue. The words jittered in my brain. I thought about acknowledging the loss of his job I was pretty sure I'd heard something about a century ago, but very swiftly Reddinski could turn it around with a story of success. And it wasn't as though I hadn't lost several jobs myself. I considered jabbing at a certain gap in his pheromones that indicated the absence of a mate for many millennia, but he'd only counter that with a quip about quality over quantity when it came to his drones.

Or would he? Was he that sharp in the head? Was I making up excuses for my silence? Why did it have to be him, of all gynes? Most people had left me alone in school, but Reddinski had made a point to remind me of my place as often as he could. My body, slipping into the molten cave of muscle memory, screamed I should submit. My brain fired back that as ambassador of an entire subspecies, dominance was my smoofing right. Right? Right.

I lifted my wand and pinged my sweater from lavender to red. Starla twitched, but her posture never changed at all. Reddinski nodded, folding his arms.

"So," he said. His glowing gaze burned holes above my eyebrows. "You're Head Pixie now. Funny how we've grown. I didn't expect us both to live this long."

"I didn't snare with Luis Magnifico," I blurted, still clenching the wand. Starla's wings jolted. Reddinski paused.

"What?"

"Magnifico, back in school. In our cohort's 4k14th cycle, Fairytwirl spread a rumor that I snuck into your dorm while you were at market. He convinced all my friends, even Marina and Magalee, that I preened Luis so hard we started sharing magic and our lines were snared for the next two days. But I didn't. I never touched your drones. I didn't do a deep preen in my life until I went Earthside. I just went along with the rumor because Fairytwirl was already blackmailing me into sharing magic during study hours and I didn't want to annoy him." (I'd thought I'd be expelled or dead if anyone found out I might have a thing for the Unseelie.) "That's why I didn't have a problem kissing Fairytwirl at my party, for the cookies. I mean, I'd already been snaring with him for years and he knew I could excite him like nobody's business, so he made sure the 'random' wand he drew was really mine."

My eyes flicked away, fingers flexing in and out. I shoved the wand in my sheath again. "I kissed a lot of people at the party. I know it was stupid. Really stupid. But he kept talking up the cinnamon taste of my magic and it made me desirable for just one night. I didn't say no. I'm saying this to acknowledge I was super impulsive in my younger years. But I swear on my dust, my tongue never went near your drones. Not even once. I flirted with a few damsels, but I always kept away from what I knew was yours. Really. I did. I shouldn't have lied to you. I was all kinds of messed up back then. I'm doing better now."

Again we plunged into silence. My fists clenched the tablecloth, wings chirp chirp chirping at my back. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that," Starla murmured. Reddinski slid his hands from his shoulders to his elbows, gazing at me in a peculiar way.

"You didn't have to be quite that honest, Whimsifinado."

"I can't not be," I said, staring back at him. "I'm not a liar. It's not who I am. When I'm around someone… I just remember anything I ever said to them that was untrue. I can't repress it. It's always there, biting me and taunting with their jagged swords. When I lie awake at night, the nagging thoughts come back, all the words swimming in my eyes until I can't focus on anything else and I stay up way too late just trying to crash my brain to sleep. I've been like this my whole life. I hate it. I hate it so much. They're everywhere, and not just mine. When I know someone else is lying, it crawls under my skin like fire on the run, and I can't stop thinking about those lies either. I hear the inflections in their voice nailed perfectly, the shape of their moving lips in absolute detail, the rush of magic racing in their veins… It drives me to the stars. I'm not like a perfect lie detector, but I notice little tells and I feel the hesitations. If I find out about a lie, it's like it becomes my own after that. The only thing that makes it all go away is putting it out there in the open. Perfectly. Verbatim. So there you go. I never messed with your drones."

"Glad to hear it," Reddinski said. He sipped his carbonated water, watching me while I smoothed every wrinkle near me in the tablecloth and tried to calm the sudden twitching in my lines.

"How's being Head Pixie?" Starla asked.

"I don't know… Fine. How's the food here? I haven't had it."

"The grouse is wonderful."

"Then I'll try some."

Someone cleared their throat right behind me. "Jean! I leave you alone five minutes and you already broke the guy? That's my job. Yikes. Hey, when we're done here, you'd better lend a spare coin for the shower hall. He looks like he needs it."

I could read Rupert's posture without turning around. He leaned against the back of my chair, one elbow propped and wings displayed wide. Tiny flecks of sugar powder clung to his fingertips, the snuffed incense stick tucked in his pocket. He looked at Reddinski the whole time he spoke, never once glancing down at me.

"I'll consider it," Reddinski said, straightening his back. "Won't you join us, Rupert? I'd like to introduce you to an old friend."

"Sure, I'd like that! Thanks for asking. Just give a sec while I wash my hands." Rupert ducked away again, floating towards the washroom with his heels kicked up. Halfway there, his entire body froze. He zipped to another table where an unfamiliar young gyne and his wife sat together. I heard him dish at least three compliments on the delicious dominance of his pheromones, and the gyne thanked him in turn. Though I tried to keep my focus away from that corner of my eye, I couldn't help but squint.

"He's baiting you," Starla warned, watching me watch Rupert. I tightened my fingers in the table.

"It's working."

We had lunch anyway. Starla was just as swell of a conversationalist as I remembered, and Rupert almost didn't make me want to fry his eyelids with the sun. "So is this that old lover you mentioned?" he asked his mother when he returned to the table, gesturing at me, and then, "I'm glad you picked the pretty one in the end, ma." And just as fast, "But look at those shoulders, wowee! Not everyone can pull off a look that's gentle and eggheaded and powerful all at the same time. Where have you been working out, Head Pixie? Jean and I will have to try it."

I didn't answer for a few seconds, assuming he was joking, but Rupert's eyes remained on my face like it was an honest question. "Um," I said. "The Eros Nest put me on a health program. Custom-made for me."

"Hey, Jean's alpha drone's son works at the Eros Nest. I'm sorry I missed you all the times I came to visit! Whatever they put you on did glory for your glutes. Good, solid buns. And the hair too; I've always liked the Lachlan brand of gel. That is Lachlan, right? Expensive stuff. You should stick with it. I like it." Rupert gazed at me with sudden fondness. "If I were ever your drone, I'd really live the lavish lap of luxury, huh? You'd treat me right. So, so right."

So that was Rupert. When we started eating, I eyed him and tried not to let on that I was. Did he like my pheromones? Or didn't he? Most drones made their preferences clear, gravitating towards the more dominant figure in the area even if they'd arrived with someone else, but Rupert… Something was different about the way Rupert moved, though I couldn't put my finger on it at the time. Expressive. He reveled in the whiplash he gave my brain. Every time he boosted my confidence with a hint that he did have a bit of interest in me as a potential gyne, and I acted on that confidence with a careful move forward in conversation, he ripped the rug from under my feet and sent me crashing down. By the time we'd finished the appetizers, I'd already covered my face with my hands at least three times, trying to think of something witty he couldn't possibly flip around.

Reddinski cut himself a long piece of meat. "I heard you killed Fairytwirl just before you dropped from the Academy."

"I did. I took the last fancy candle and bar of soap from the campus store. He didn't take it back."

"Ian," Rupert sighed, fanning his face with a dopey smile. I ignored him.

"Whatever happened to that nice Marina dame?" Starla asked me over a sip of soup. I hesitated, teeth set. It had been a long time since I'd thought about Marina. We'd been friends through the ages, but the last time I saw her…

"We grew apart."

Rupert said, "She's a lawyer now. Mostly Ivywish cases."

I snapped back to attention. "A lawyer?"

"Sure is. She goes by Mary Black. I met her when we had to get my brother out of Fairy Court. Again."

Mary Black. The name was so simple but rolled off the tongue so beautifully. I liked it better than Marina. Rupert thought for a moment, drumming his fingers.

"Did she have that tattoo on her backside back when you knew her in school? Was it a fish or a salamander?"

"I… don't know." We'd been fully dressed during our kissing session at that Academy party; the only time I'd ever seen her naked was when we were 200 years old and streaked through Novakiin giggling like the little punks we were. What? Had she really ended up in his arms some years down the road? My hand tightened around my water glass. Rupert didn't sound like he was lying, but so far he'd made it difficult for even my expertise to tell. Marina - Mary - had never looked down on drones and had written many essays critiquing old Fairy literature that did. And Rupert had a certain allure few drones possessed. I could see her going for him. She was into oddballs and he fit her type probably better than I did. He watched me with his chin in his hands, not quite smug but not quite anything else either. I wanted to punt him off a balcony.

"Mary's the one who figured out I was sterile," he said. "Took a long time, but we realized it eventually. Let's just say it's no accident I'm named after one of Ilisa's first nine kids, eh?"

"Rupert," his mother scolded.

Yeah, I was totally going to punt him. Okay, was he for real? I wasn't jealous. I was just taken aback because everything about that statement set my insides on fire. Mary and I were never a thing, but we were pretty much a thing. I mean, Ambrosine disapproved of her and I was a suck-up daddy's boy back then, so we would've had to elope and that's not my style. But yeah, she wanted me. Since our marriage would have elevated her status, her dad always brought out a second courting candle when she and I were flirting on the front steps. I think we were flirting. I gave her money folded in a letter once and she smiled. This is not an exaggeration. Don't follow up with her.

Starla turned to me. "Do you stay in touch with the wisp ambassador? You grew up together, didn't you?"

"Sure, Magalee… I knew her in school. I suppose it's time I made my peace with wisps since I'll be working alongside her for a while now." I tapped my finger against the table. Wow. I'd been minutes away from starting my Year of Promise with a future lawyer before I'd challenged Ambrosine to that stupid fight at school. I mean, Mary had always told me she wanted to do Anti-Firebox v. Ivywish work someday, standing up for Anti-Fairy rights and everything. That's what made her so beautifully controversial. But I hadn't expected her parents to actually let her. I set my fork down quietly and looked at Reddinski. He inclined his head, so I excused myself to the washroom. I hovered in front of a mirror and ruffled my hair all over with my hands.

"Sacred smoof. I could've been married to a lawyer right now. Mary accepted everyone, even Anti-Fairies… She'd have accepted my pixies too. Oh Fergus, you knew from age 10,000 she was perfect for you. Why'd you have to blow it? Why do you always blow it?"

Reddinski's stupid pheromones had gotten in my head and made me lose my practiced Pixie cool. I rubbed my stinging eyes.

"Look at me. I'm getting old. I'm finally off Earth, I'm out of the Eros Nest, and I'm making a life for myself again. But I don't have any friends. I'm a grown Fairy and I have no friends."

… Except Anti-Bryndin. I touched the crystal on my necklace. Maybe I could be friends with Iris. And Starla hadn't minded me inviting myself along for lunch. And I did have Emery. Logan by extension, I guess. I just didn't want my only friends to be my pixies.

Maybe I needed an alpha drone who wasn't a pixie. I might be happy then.

When our meal was over, Rupert again turned to Reddinski and suggested he toss me a spare coin. It was "the least he could do," after all, seeing as his pheromones "had pretty much dragged mine into a shady alley and kicked their butts to smithereens."

"The public showers are free and I can afford soap on my own," I pointed out, rubbing my hands with a napkin.

"A professional wing cleaning then," Rupert said. He sized up my tinted wings with a frown. "Free of charge. It'd be good for you. Head Pixie, I don't mean to be too forward, but maybe Jean oughta rent me out for a bit. I think you need a little ATD tonight."

I lifted an eyebrow. "And ATD stands for…?"

"Attention to detail. It's my expertise."

A warm swirl in the energy field told me Reddinski's thoughts were straying to the sweet playful days and gentle summer nights that came with a certain attention to detail. "The color's natural," I said, pinning my wings against my back. "My own alpha cleans them just fine."

"Hey, if you're happy, I'm happy."

I wasn't.

We finished up and all went outside. Reddinski actually did toss me that shower coin as he and Rupert were leaving. I caught it, awkwardly silent, with nothing snarky to say.

"Blitzing DUST!" I yelled once those two had gone. I slammed my fist against the cloudstone wall. Starla hovered behind me, alarm tingling in the air. I crushed my knuckles to my mouth and clenched my eyelids tight. "I hate being under another gyne's pheromones… I sounded like an idiot, didn't I? Gah, he's made me leak emotions too… It'll take hours to steel myself again. I work hard on my image. Did I emphasize a word just now? Smoof, I emphasized it. I hate this. I'm blabbing. Am I babbling?"

"Should we walk to the showers?" she asked softly. "We can rinse off and clean each other's wings when we're done. I don't mind if you don't."

I didn't love public shower halls. They were all over Fairy World and every town prided itself on keeping theirs sparkling clean (unless they didn't), but I still found them totally gross. All those sweaty Fairy bodies, all that stale magic dust, all those stomping feet…

Starla had a point, though. My own pheromones wouldn't start coming back until Reddinski's were gone. So we went. I bought us both the expensive soap and a fancy candle because I could. I didn't take off the sweater at first, just stood there and let running water peel stripes of red away and reset it back to white. Thick curls of color disappeared down the drain. I scrubbed my skin until chitin tore in patches. For a long time I stayed in my little rinsing booth, sitting on the bench and counting freckles on my arms. My mind danced with thoughts of Reddinski standing outside the glass door, waiting for me to step out so he could lick my face and send me back to start again. I clenched my teeth and smeared my hands up and down my face.

Don't let them get to you. They're not worth it. Think about your pixies. Dust, I want to kick him in the jaw. Forget celebrity endorsements. At this point I want Rupert out of spite. And Magnifico too.

I toweled off, and Starla and I brushed each other's wings to the accompaniment of the pleasant fancy candles. That lightened my mood a little. I floated with Starla back to work, and we talked about little things.

"I hope you're doing well," I said. "Your husband gone. Kids out living their lives. Seems lonely."

"I keep busy. I've had a good, long life in Fairy World. I've nearly finished my third godparenting certification, and then I'll be off making a difference in the lives of other children. Snobulac children this time."

"From what I remember of your grades back in school, you'd be good at it. Maybe I'll get into godparenting one day. I have experience and references. I think I'd be good at it too. So you've had godchildren before? What's it like?"

"Rewarding."

"I thought it didn't pay well."

Starla laughed and shoved me with her elbow. "It's rewarding to make a child happy, you dolt. To tuck them in at night and just think… I did this. Even if the details blur, I'm giving them childhood happiness they'll remember fondly for the rest of their life."

"Which godkid would you say grew up to be most successful?"

"I don't care about that. I don't track them longer than a year or two after I've left them."

"I see," I said, not agreeing. "Do you ever go back on Midsummer's Night? I've heard that's legal, if you're careful."

"Oh no, I always cut ties and request their appendixes be removed at once. I couldn't stand it if my emotions remained linked to theirs forever… I have other children I should help. I let the old ones go and move on."

"Are godchildren usually more agreeable than regular offspring?"

"Not always. Compared to mine? By a storm."

I still think about her words from time to time when I reflect on my education. I think I'd be good with a godkid. Most races don't live as long as the fae, and godparents rarely stay with one assignment longer than a year or two. Raising youth wasn't as hard as I'd expected as long as they had food to eat, somewhere to sleep, and room to run around. How hard could godparenting be? You get paid to wave your wand and teach important life skills to impressionable minds who cling to you as a figure of stability. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. I despised the part about my efforts being forgotten time and time again, but every job has its downsides, I suppose. Still, I've found molding kids from infancy to be the most effective way to rear them…

After Starla went back in the Amity headquarters building, I lingered in the road, gazing at the gentle violet sky. Emery and Logan would still be at church, but Ambrosine had work off. Emery had probably called him to check on my pixies, maybe. He usually did on Thursdays. If he had his eye on them, I had no need to rush back. Keefe and Springs would need my magic tonight, but I'd left them each a bottle to get through the day. Hawkins would take care of them. He was a good drake, Hawkins.

"I haven't even been out of the Eros Nest a week," I realized. Five and a half days. I'd left on Saturday, spent Sunday flitting around until my argument with China, was coronated Monday, taught my pixies the village rules Tuesday, Winter Turn was Wednesday, and now Thursday had arrived. Faeheim seemed like such a familiar city, yet so foreign.

I took the afternoon for myself, or at least as much as I could with the majority of shops closed today. No sugar bars. No haircuts. No card house. No caramels. No golf. But the local market had its doors open, so I picked up a few snacks I'd been craving over the last five hundred years. Blue and gold lights hung in loops everywhere, still shimmering with Winter Turn spirit. Fae customs urged the sharing of gifts on that day. As thoughtful as Anti-Bryndin had been in bestowing each of my pixies a toy on short notice, I felt threatened enough to want to step up in my duties. I probably passed an hour in there, wandering from aisle to aisle with two baskets floating after me. One butted the other in an old familiar way.

Finally, I decided on eight books for the kids, a cinnamon roll for Emery, a bottle of cherry soda for Ambrosine, and an entire slice of vanilla cake for me because I deserved it. That was good enough. "Would you like to donate a wish to a child in need today?" asked the damsel at the front counter.

"Make it ten," I murmured like I always did, handing over my wand. The damsel moved to take it, but stopped with her fingers inches from mine.

"Fergus?"

I gazed at her, weary now. Today I'd spent a long preening session with Anti-Bryndin; while the lava had relaxed me, it hadn't made my muscles less sore. I'd had a major spat with Emery that we really needed to talk about once we both cooled off. Working with Iris had sapped a lot of concentration. I'd gotten my dominance flipped by another gyne, dealt with Rupert, and even the shower hadn't soothed me. A long day, that was for certain. I really didn't want to engage in conversation with a brownie. Even if she had a crown instead of a soft hat that hinted at a fairy mother. Still counted. She dropped her eyes and scratched her arm.

"That's me, dame, though I identify as the Head Pixie now. My apologies, but I really have no idea who you are. Did you maybe teach at Oberon Upper School about 350,000 years ago?"

"Creative writing."

"Slept through it. My eyes were so bad at that point, I could barely read."

"I know." The damsel accepted my wand and waved it over her scanner. She wore a brown coat with several dozen pockets and fluffy trim as white as her hair. From one of these pockets, she produced an orange quill and scribbled down my receipt information. "You get that from your father."

"You're right-handed," I observed. "That's rare. My sister's a northpaw, but all offspring minus my second switched to their left once their counterparts were born. I'm ambidextrous myself. Were you familiar with my father, dame?"

"To a degree. We knew each other at the Academy and I babysat you a few times your first year. I was at your wedding."

"Oh yeah. He insisted."

"Dear Ambrosine was in the news for the Whimsifinado v. Eros Nest case a few season cycles ago… How is your sister, by the way? I see her sometimes with that cute imp who wears the scarf."

"I don't know." The brownie handed me the receipt then, and I scowled. Scratch all that I said about kids being easy to care for- at this rate, my pixies and their needs were going to devour me alive. I recounted the items in my basket. "Peachy. I forgot Madigan. Hang on; I'll be back."

I grabbed one more book from the shelf. The damsel was waiting for me when I returned, this time leaning on her chin, eyes half-lidded, much the same way I did when I knew my sass was particularly on point. "Would you like to donate a wish to a child in need today, sir?"

I rolled my eyes. "Make it ten."

When I finally returned to Pixie Village and floated into the kitchen, Emery looked up from her mixing bowl. Keefe did not and continued jabbing with his rattle. "How'd your meeting-?" she started to ask, then stopped. "Did you get flipped?"

I pulled the hem of my sweater forward and sighed. Some of the red still showed between the white loops in splashes like desperate blood. "Yep. I had lunch with Rupert Roebeam."

"The gyne-tamer?" she spluttered. Amusement twinkled in her eye.

"He's over-hyped."

"… Well, how'd the meeting with Iris go?"

"Well enough. We definitely did the stuff we'd agreed to do. Doesn't get much better than that. It's going to take hundreds if not thousands of years to iron out every kink once the project gets started, assuming the Fairy Council don't get hitches in their wings, so I'm just going to touch base with her every-"

"I don't care about all that," Emery interrupted. She leaned across the table. "What did you think of her?"

"Hm?" I shoved some food in the nearest cabinet, then changed my mind and pulled everything out again so I could organize it. After wiping it down. "She was professional. Her notes were tidy. A little timid, lacking confidence, but she works hard and is passionate about pursuing her goals. I respect that."

"And?"

"And I'm not interested in courting her."

Emery's wings fell. "What? Why not?"

I gazed back at her. "Kalysta ended badly. China ended badly. Why should a third damsel be any different?"

"Because she's Iris!" Emery flung her hands out in opposite directions. "Sacred smoof, are you thick? I've worked with her for thousands of years. You two would be adorable. She's the sweetest creature you can meet below Plane 13."

"I seriously doubt that. Evening, Keefe. Well, long day for me, good afternoon for you." I ruffled his hair. He jolted. Losing interest in the cookie dough, he threw himself in my arms and squealed for attention. "What took you so long to notice me?" I asked, lifting him high. "Did you get too distracted to notice my pheromones? Yes you did. Yes you did, you silly messy thing."

"You and Iris have so much in common," Emery insisted. "Like paperwork. You both do paperwork."

"China started nice too," I pointed out, dumping Keefe on a chair. "If Iris is such a catch, why hasn't anyone else made a move on her?"

"Oh my dust." Emery peeled her fingers down her cheeks. "Fergus, it's insane. I'm telling you, the dame has no social life. I don't think she was even invited to a Season Turn party as a kid, and she's never had processed sugar since she was born. Every day she comes to work with her home-brought lunch, does her job, and leaves. She goes straight home to her reading scrolls and only poofs out when she has to buy groceries. How is anyone supposed to realize how dazzling she is? She's our boss, so no one at Amity is going to date her. For the love of starlight, please ask her out. She's amazing, I swear. You both need this."

I massaged the place my glasses balanced against my nose. "I'm not interested. If I were going to pursue anyone I met with today, it would be Roebeam. But that's not what I do."

"Are you serious?" Her arms went in the air. "I couldn't sleep for six years after I started working with Iris!"

I waited for her to go on. She didn't, just stared at me. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"I was turned on as all smoof, Fergus. She's hot as fudge."

"Oh." I brushed my hand through Keefe's hair. "I'm still not following."

Emery sighed, dropping her hands back down. "I spend six years fantasizing over that damsel before I started mooning after Logan. Every night I just laid in bed, sticky with sweat, thinking, Iris. Iris. Iris. I replayed my confession about liking her constantly in my mind. I planned where I'd share my feelings and how I'd kiss her when she smiled. I wondered if she was lying awake too, and if she liked me back. You know, like you do. Couldn't sleep."

"That sounds annoying. Maybe you should get that checked. You might have nymphomania."

"What?" She reeled back. "Have you never done that with someone you like?"

I thought back to the damsels Ambrosine had pushed me into asking out when I was in upper school. "Can't say I have. I only ever liked one damsel, but I didn't lie awake thinking about her. I just hung out with her between classes. Then I went back to my dorm, procrastinated on homework, ate snacks, and went to bed."

"Then what did you fantasize about at night?"

"I don't know. The next time I was leaving campus for the holidays and could sneak a little sugar, I guess. Usually my head swims with truths and lies at night until I start rattling off math patterns like increasing multiples of 37. It's a good number, 37. Though I've had to switch to 63 recently, and vary it with 86 to keep from memorizing them too easily. I know too much and it's a curse."

She huffed. "What did you fantasize about when you were alone in a room working on a school project with a really cute damsel or something? And don't say 'getting the project done.'"

"I guess the dinner I planned to cook after she left."

"What did you fantasize about when you were married!?"

"Why would I fantasize when China was right there? It's not like she was hard to find."

"You're a gyne," she said irritably. "Do you ever fantasize about drones?"

"Sure. But lusting after drones is different than wanting a romantic partner. With drones, your hormones actually get turned on and make it hard to concentrate on your schoolwork. You stutter and blush and fidget and envision every detail of sliding your hands down their sides. You want them close to you. You want them to talk about their day with you. You want to be the only one they talk about their day with. You want to watch them bustle around the kitchen with a whisk or a broom, and you don't want them in anyone else's kitchen. Ever. You want those dainty fingers tugging apart the buttons on your shirt and folding your clothes nicely, and the total security of knowing they don't do that for anybody else. There's a certain drive, a certain hunger that might crash over you if a drone turns around and blinks up at you several times in a row. Or if he wants to go home and leans his head against your arm to say so. It's cute. And if they poke out their little tongues in tiny blehs, it makes you feel so smoofing wanted."

"That's the point-"

"-which is why I said it. Dust, you can't get a thing done when a drone starts getting restless out and about. Your muscles just turn to liquid. You want to take them home and let them pleasure you as long as they like. You want to feel their hands curl behind your neck. You want them to know you. Really know you. You want to feel their every particle shift as they move like perfect paper birds. You want to feel their wiggles of anticipation when they go from foreplay licks to ah'kas. They're funny when they wiggle; all drones do it. You want to feel them get sleepy as they droop on top of you and you spread licks like butter across their faces. You want that pride flowing under your skin as you look at them so pleasured and calm and know you're the reason for that. And if you can charm them to the point where they actually fall asleep, that's the best. You can't understand because you're a kabouter, Em, but yeah. There's so much to drooling over drones… Not just a mental thought of 'I could see myself raising offspring with this person' or 'She tastes like strong, healthy genes.'"

"That's what lusting after a partner is like too!" she yelled, having grown more and more pink in the face as I talked. Keefe started getting upset with the noise. I licked my thumb and rubbed his forehead, chirping contact calls until he settled down again. Emery dragged her hands down her face and shook her head. Crocodile tears glimmered in her eyes. "I just don't want my brother to be alone!"

"I have my pixies. I have you and Ambrosine. And I've found a good friend in the High Count."

The tears dried as quickly as they'd come. "Well, whatever fantasies you have at night, you should replace them with fantasies of Iris. Seriously, she'd be great for you! She's hardworking, she does paperwork, she's cute, and she's mega subordinate. You're a gyne. Don't you like that?"

"Theoretically, but you're missing one crucial component: I don't know enough about Iris to decide if she's desirable. What I know is that her hair is the weirdest shade of purple I've ever seen. Also she had a Centipedes jersey on her office wall. I could never court a Centis fan. And she looks like she could punch a hole through my chest to the other side. Hard pass."

"Give me a week and I can fix all that."

"Emery, no. I don't want to fantasize about Iris."

"It's not a choice!"

"How is it not a choice?"

Emery smacked her hand on the table. "This is because of Anti-Bryndin, isn't it? Oh my dust, he did seduce you! I warned you about him. I must have said a dozen times-"

"I'm the one who initiated preening with the High Count. We've confirmed our relationship with pheromone cues. It's not like those are easy to fake. We're friends, but there's no seduction there. He doesn't want to be romantic with me, thank dust."

"You preened with him?"

"I preen with anyone who respects me and wants to," I said, picking Keefe up again. "Race is irrelevant."

"But- but- that's Rhoswen syndrome!"

"Not the way my generation was raised. Rhoswen syndrome is for romantic affection, so I don't qualify. I like Anti-Bryndin as a friend. It works for me."

Emery dropped her arms to the table. "I get it. It's too soon after China and you still need time to heal."

"Are we back to assuming I need and want a damsel in my life? I'm not looking to get remarried. I didn't believe in serial monogamy as a fairy and I don't believe in it as a pixie. I split up with China knowing exactly what I was turning my back on." I reached for the cookie dough bowl. Emery pulled it away. "Just forget it. I'm not a romantic person. Me and Iris will never happen."

Emery puffed her cheeks. "Dad says you used to be into Refracts."

"I like that their marriages aren't goopy and gross."

"What's wrong with romance?"

"It's slobbery, sticky, and unprofessional, and there's usually blood and babies everywhere. Not my thing."

"But there's oxytocin-"

"My pleasure isn't worth her suffering," I snapped back. I… will admit I broke out of monotone then, and Emery's eyes widened. I clutched Keefe tighter. "You know what I mean. How long were you moaning and cringing after you bedded Logan?"

"Not long," she protested. "Just four weeks. It's not that bad, and I heard the Eros Triplets are this close to developing an arrow that will drop it down to two."

I pointed between her legs, and she jumped. "You literally, physically ripped apart down there, Emeralda. You should be dead. If we didn't have the Triplets watching us mate and shooting arrows that boost our healing magic, we wouldn't be having this conversation. You would be absolutely stone-dry dusty dead and I wouldn't have a dumb sister to argue with anymore. Why do you put yourself through this?"

"Because he's worth it," she said softly. "I really like Logan. I love it when he's happy. I like holding him, being silly with him, being myself. I love being together. I might marry him someday."

"And what if someday the Triplets miss you? Nuada knows they try their best, but sometimes even they slip up. Happens all the time. Can you live with that on your conscience? Knowing someone literally died because you couldn't handle going without ten minutes of physical pleasure?"

"No. I'll be dead, duh."

"Exactly. Don't you leave me too." I turned my attention back to Keefe, shoving a finger in his mouth for him to nibble on. "If you're going to spend an evening in private with anyone, it's better to be with drones. When you preen them, they enjoy it. When it's over, they curl up and fall asleep all blissful and content. They don't spend the night fluttering on the edge of death and whimpering in pain."

Emery rubbed her elbow. "I mean… fair. There's a reason only those who inherited Ilisa's healing mutation pair multiple times a season. But isn't it special if a dame's willing to put herself through all that for you?"

"I hate it. I don't like making innocent people cry. Am I supposed to just ignore my wife when she's clawing for life beside me? Treat it like it's healthy? Let her hurt herself like this over and over, cycle after cycle? It's messed up. It's mega messed up."

"If damsel parts worry you, maybe you need a husband."

"What's the point? No one's life has ever been better with me around. I'm boring."

That word stung the air. Emery was just… speechless. I didn't look at her, still leaning over Keefe's head.

"What if I'm boring, my partner hates me, they suffer for the rest of their life, and then they die? Who wants to live like that?"

"You're not boring," she whispered, floating forward. Her fingertips grazed my arm. "You're the wittiest person I've ever met."

"Yes, I realize that. And I want to be witty with good friends. Not a spouse. Romance is messy. I'm happier without it, so it's for the best if potential sex partners think I'm boring; they need to get a life. Anyway, Ambrosine managed to raise both of us without a damsel's help. It worked out."

Emery pulled back. "Sure, because he only had to juggle one kid at a time. Nine pixies, remember? And more on the way. Even if you don't mate with your next partner, you should really think about getting remarried. I mean," she added, raising her voice as I shook my head and walked away, "what are you going to do when you die? I'm certainly not taking care of your fifty babies. And let's face it: Dad's getting old too. You want Praxis to swoop in and adopt them all so he can have his name printed beside something positive in the history books?"

"They might be purple-borns," I said after a moment's pause, holding Keefe close. "If they were fertilized with purple magic, it won't matter what happens next. They'll die when I do."

"You're willing to take that risk?"

I sighed, rubbing the nymph between the wings. He was oddly calm for a baby, lying nicely against my shoulder instead of grabbing at the scent patch behind my neck. "I have no reason to marry again. I approached China because I was desperate, but don't forget I'm raising drones. They need a strongly dominant figure in their lives. Damsels are always kabouters, and drones only latch onto kabouters when they have no other choice. Kabouter pheromones are faint, so the moment a gyne comes around, that's it. Game over. One might wander in and take Sanderson and Hawkins. Another might snag Wilcox. A third might pick up the rest. I don't want to split them up. This tram station we're building here is eating at me as it is. Ever since I got back from the Eros Nest, I've been spreading my pheromones everywhere just to discourage gynes from skulking around and taking what's mine."

"Keefe didn't notice the warning painted on your office door," she said dryly. "He pinged himself in there while you were gone. It's a good thing his rattle's so loud or I wouldn't have found him."

"That's what I'm afraid of. Maybe my pheromones aren't as strong as I thought they were… I got flipped by another gyne at lunch today. Took forty minutes of scrubbing just to get down to this level, and I'll still be out of sorts until tomorrow, at least." I faced her again. "There's no point in chasing after another damsel. Even if everything worked out perfectly, even if she didn't hate me, she wouldn't be able to defend and care for my pixies the way I can. I don't have many options. I just need to not die."

Emery squinted. "So what you're saying is, no damsels and you'd rather I found you a cute gyne to marry instead."

"Another gyne?" I laughed. A harsh, dry laugh. "Super extra no."

"Think about it. Another gyne they can tie themselves to when you're gone? Someone who'll come to know them as individuals and happily take all of them under his wing?"

"That's a horrible idea, Emery. And not the good kind of horrible idea."

"Come on. You pixies are all about logic over emotions, remember? Isn't this logical?"

She stared at me, chin lifted. I stared at her, fingers twisted in Keefe's hair. "Listen. I literally have to fight every day not to kill Longwood. Seriously. Another gyne my age taking up permanent residence here will only make things a hundred thousand times worse. Please don't do this to me."

Emery took the mixing bowl in her arms. "Okay, so marrying a gyne is out… Are there any drakes I could hook you up with?"

"I'm not opposed. I don't feel anything for Seelie Courters, but you'd have to sell me on a drake. Really. I see clean, well-dressed men and I think 'My place. You. Me. Bring a ready tongue.' If you match my drone preferences, it's a turn-off for mating. But I don't trust easy. The stereotype is that kabouter drakes sexualize preening, especially in your generation. Stereotypes come from somewhere. Find me one who doesn't want gross deep kisses and won't make preening weird, and then we'll talk."

"No kisses?" She wrinkled her nose. "I'll try. Are there other options? … Well, you remember how I'm mostly in charge of the Boudacia study abroad program at Amity? I swing by the Academy sometimes to check in with the students. Students in general are always looking for internship opportunities. An internship wouldn't mean permanent residence here. The youth could just come by sometimes and you could show them the ropes. What if you started training one of them to take over from you? At least until Longwood comes of age."

"Until Longwood snaps and gets himself killed by a more experienced gyne, you mean."

"Fergus," she said, a whine trickling into her voice, "don't just assume gynes always kill each other. Aren't there gyne kings who pass their thrones peacefully to gyne princes sometimes?"

"That's asking for trouble. I know how gynes work, and I'm not going to take that risk. Being Head Pixie isn't a position any Academy kid can just strut in and apply for. No. All your ideas are bad. I don't want to deal with this. I'll finish what I'm dealing with at the moment and figure this out later."

"You can't just procrastinate your own death."

"I procrastinated talking to medical professionals about the fact that I birth nymphs from my forehead for a thousand years. Just watch me. I'm an expert procrastinator."

… I really was.

I sighed and let my irritation die down. My fingers slid along Keefe's back. I took his itty-bitty hand and rubbed a circle on his palm. "Emery? Do you think Ambrosine would let me go back to school next year?"

"What for?" she asked, a warning note in her tone. "You already have Wish Fixers. Do you think he'll let you get a law degree? Because that takes ages. We can't keep babysitting your pixies for you. Law degrees are expensive, and the work barely pays-"

"Not a law degree," I cut in. "I want to take some training classes on how to deal with nymphs and juveniles."

Emery looked at me. "They're called parenting classes, Fergus."

"The point is, I need to know the current literature. I've fallen out of the loop. If I'm doomed to raise pixies for the rest of my life, I want to be totally sure I'm doing it right."

She thought this over for a second, then nodded. "Let's talk to Dad and see what he has to say. Who knows? Maybe you'll even meet your future partner while you're there."

"Don't count on it."

Ambrosine resisted. School costs money, he argued. Spellementary and lower education came free with Ildáthachian nationality, but what I was demanding would- would-

"I'm insulted," he spluttered. "I paid your way through upper school, never forcing you to spend a single lyn from that bookstore job you had. Not a one. I paid for the Academy too, and you threw it away like a string of snot."

"I've changed, Dad. I won't procrastinate on my homework. These classes will help me be a better Head Pixie. I only want to take a few. I'll be attending part-time anyway; really, just a few."

We argued for an hour, but in the end he relented. He'd spare enough funds for a few semesters at Fairy World University until I could get my legs under me again. Living in the dorms would've been cheaper than commuting, but less practical. I'd ping home to watch my older pixies any second I wasn't attending class ("Without fail," he ordered) and Keefe and Springs would stay with me. I figured I'd keep in the back of the lecture halls and one would be suckling my magic anyway. That left me two hands and a wand to keep the other quiet.

After visiting a few post offices the next morning, I tracked down my old friend Leonard in the tiny town of Emper on Plane 6. That's where it got tricky. Emper fell within the dayflight range of a dominant gyne from the Fairywinkle bloodline (identifiable by the distinct cherry-almond tang to his adult pheromones). My diplomatic immunity as Head Pixie meant next to nothing when it came to their family. They kept whole mountains of cash on hand just for paying wergild. And if they really didn't like you, they'd pay it in advance.

The Whimsifinados and Fairywinkles had an extensive history of bad blood; our families once held neighboring estate properties up there. Literally we could walk outside and see each other's manor homes glaring back two hills over. And in accordance with traditional Fairy inheritance laws, we always passed them from parents to the firstborn. We both had big families; kill the firstborn and a sibling would claim the property. So neither bloodline left the area and eventually we just got on each other's nerves. When gynes run in both your lines, that tends to be a thing. A dozen generations ago, the last Whimsifinado gyne before me - Telford - died at the hands of a Fairywinkle damsel. His wife fled with their daughter and secured a much smaller property in Rowanbeam, the town where Ambrosine had grown up and Praxis still lived today. Those jerks seized my family's estate and turned it into a garbage dump out of pure spite. Then they made money off it out of more spite. We'd avoided each other ever since out of mutually assured destruction.

I hadn't realized Fairywinkle territory encompassed Emper these days until I hovered at the door of the tram station, my steepled fingers pressed against my lips. Thinking. Hard. Sanderson floated beside me in silence. But after considering the consequences for a good eighteen seconds, I decided to risk it. Everyone knew the Fairywinkles were smoofing good at making stray gynes "disappear," but as long as I crossed at the thickest part of his pheromone ring to signal I'd recognized the scent markers and wasn't trying to sneak around, things would probably work out okay. Besides, the markers were fresh. Fairywinkle had come this way two days ago and probably wouldn't be back until next week. By that point, I'd be so long gone he probably wouldn't notice the scent of cinnamon and oranges.

I showed up on Leonard's doorstep without prior notice, just the way he'd greeted me almost four millennia ago, and he was home. Electric red hair, enormous dirty teeth, his favorite happy sundress. All of it. Like nothing had changed. "You were right," I said, presenting Sanderson. "Turns out I really was expecting a nymph all those years ago."

"Head Pixie," he said, laughing and shaking his head. He kept patting his knees every time he thought about it.

Our visit lasted so long that Sanderson started fidgeting, so I finally shooed him outside to join a green-haired fairy writing in the clouddust with a stick. Leonard and I ate toast and watched from the window, just talking about a million stupid things like damsels and exercise and work schedules. Leonard didn't have kids, but he had an aunt and at least four uncles through Sparkle's "side of the family." Those uncles were all half-wisp, and that meant dozens of cousins. Oh, the stories he told about those cousins. They could flutter your wings. I couldn't help but wonder what that would be like, having cousins. Attending weddings. Family reunions. Watching them raise their offspring while I raised mine. I could have gotten advice from other Whimsifinados who understood my family's cool-headed, sometimes cold-shouldered ways like no outsider ever did. When the war killed all four of Ambrosine's siblings, it had stolen any chance of family away from me. I hadn't known them. Praxis sure avoided us. It was just me and Ambrosine all those years. Us and Emery now. 4,000 years ago I'd been blissfully unaware I had a sister. Life was so fleeting. I'd never really thought about it until Venus had painted an expiration date above my head.

I wondered what my life would be like if Sanders had survived to term. I had the occasional dream of an unfreckled drake spitting with anger at the life I'd stolen from him. Sometimes he'd charge at me and knock me over. I'd grapple with him until I jolted awake with my teeth in my pillow and wings flapping like hooked fish. In my waking thoughts, I preferred to imagine him as the peaceful, respectable son Ambrosine had always hoped I'd be. I think if I'd been born with my twin, we'd have gotten along. Maybe I wouldn't have ditched the Academy. Maybe Sanders would have had offspring before I started having pixies, and I could have gotten practice rearing them. Maybe I could have talked to him about the things I babbled to Leonard- things that didn't relate to him, that he didn't care about, that made his eyelids flutter no matter how hard he tried to pay attention. Maybe Sanders wouldn't have found my company dull and boring. Maybe that would've given me the companionship that always seemed just out of my reach. Maybe he'd have wanted to co-rule as a second Head Pixie along with me.

"I needed this so much," I realized at one point, replacing Leonard's plates in the cupboard. "Thanks for letting me crash in."

"I should be thanking you," he said, watching me work. "I won't have to clean this place for centuries."

"Trust me, you did me one better. Thanks for helping me get over China. I spent five hundred years in the Eros Nest wishing I'd better appreciated the centuries I spent with her and hoping she would take me back. I had a lot of rosy retrospection glinting in my eyes. I told myself we'd never fight again, that I hadn't hated mating with her as much as I did, that I could fake enough attraction this time around to convince her to stay forever. Five centuries of desperation made last week's rejection sting a lot. But this was a brand new week of connecting with other friends. I think I can move on now. It's slow. But it's a start."

"Good for you, sugarboy," he said, eyes shining with pride. "Good for you."

"Today was dazzled. Let's do this again sometime. We should go drinking."

"Babe, I am so there. Keep in touch, okay?"

When we left, Sanderson asked, "Why are you friends with a brownie?"

"He's not a brownie." But my wingbeats slowed. My thoughts flew back to Leonard pacing around his kitchen. His long nose. "He's… Leonard."

"I think he's a brownie, sir. He had brownie wings. That green-haired drake I was with had a brownie nose too, but he had fairy wings. I talked to a fairy and you talked to a brownie."

I stared at the clouds rushing past our feet as we flew towards the tram station. "Leonard's not like other brownies. He's different."

"Why?"

"Because he used to be a qalupalik. Then he was a cù sith. He's still a qalupalik… He's just in the wrong body. Like how Rice still thinks and acts like an ishigaq, but he's a dog for a while. His social status changed, but he's the same inside. Leonard doesn't count as a brownie, so it's fine if I'm friends with him."

"Well, I still think that if he has brownie wings, a brownie nose, and he can kill you with the inrita poison in his spit, he's a brownie. Sir."

I thought about that for a few minutes. Then I swore and flew faster. Sanderson had a point. I couldn't go out for drinks in public with a brownie. He'd drag my Head Pixie reputation through the dust. We were just lucky the media hadn't caught me hanging around Emper, or they'd flay me alive.

Speaking of which…

I pulled up abruptly. Two fairies floated between us and the station. Though they lacked freckles, both carried the scents of cherry and almond. The only other town on this floating chunk of cloud stood an hour north, and it was even deeper in Fairywinkle territory than Emper was. Since I couldn't fly directly in open sky, the only other way off this cloud was poofing. I resisted the urge to grab my wand, knowing any sign of movement would upset the two fairies bearing down on me. They waited for me to drop to my knees. I stayed up, watching them approach. One, with a large chin and squinty eyes, tilted back his hat.

"Big Daddy don't like other gynes trespassing in his territory."

"I needed to visit a friend. I'm leaving. I won't be back. Ever."

They circled me from two wingspans away. I kept gazing forward, unblinking, gripping Sanderson's arm. "Should've come scarfing," said the other fairy, lifting his wand. It was an expensive model. I stared at it unhappily, face straight, as their circle grew tighter. A button was pressed on the wand shaft and a knife unfolded from its handle. I grit my teeth and landed on the ground. They waited. Slowly, I extended my right hand and turned my palm up in submission. I'd gotten caught doing something wrong. I had to be punished. They were honorable too and at least let me stay standing, thank dust. I suppose they knew I'd have fought them if they tried to force me too far. This way, "Big Daddy" kept his pride and I kept mine.

The first fairy watched me closely, holding his wand at the ready, while the second traced a gentle X across my palm. Then the blade deepened, cutting skin. Spurts of effervescence swirled in staggered puffs. Purple blood pooled between the creases. Sanderson stiffened beside me.

"Think twice next time 'fore you cross Big Daddy's range," said the fairy with the blade. The spark in his eyes suggested he wanted to spit in my face, or at least at my feet, but he kept his dignity. The wand was sheathed and they departed with twin poofs, though I knew they hadn't gone far. I eyed my injured hand, then patted it against my chest and left a smear of glittering blood. Once we were inside the station, I'd wrap it in my sleeve, but I preferred to leave them acting like it didn't bother me. Already I missed my ability to fly. The injury to my hand would rob me of my magic within minutes, and it might be decades before it healed. Oh well. At least I was on ration anyway. I'm nothing if not optimistic.

I held out my return ticket to the green-haired fairy behind the counter, expecting her to smell the blood but say nothing. Gyne business wasn't hers to poke her unfreckled nose into, and she knew it. What I didn't expect was her to shout, "Gracious, those Fairywinkles are out of line!" and poof to my side with a wet cloth. She insisted on binding the injury for me. I considered stopping her, then didn't. She'd offered without my asking, so there was no shame in that.

"The bandage is appreciated-"

The fairy clicked her tongue in scathing snaps. "Those Fairywinkles are all trouble, you know. My dear late husband got himself tangled up in what they do. The stars know I love that drake more than life itself, but he had such dreams, such wild dreams, and that caught up to him sooner rather than later. He borrowed so much money to pay his heap of gambling debts, and those Fairywinkles had their vengeance viciously. I always told him, you know. I said 'Robin, we have a family to raise. Don't risk so much when there are four mouths here to feed.' And always he went and did it anyway, seducing me with that sweet voice of his, making love in the moonlight… I miss that dear man so very much."

"I'm the Head Pixie, dame. And you are?"

"Florensa Cosma, ducky. Charmed to meet you."

"Anti-Florensa's counterpart?" I asked, like a moron. To clarify, I said, "Anti-Bryndin's personal guard?"

She flapped her hand modestly. "Yes, well, I suppose that's true. My genes did a good job with her, didn't they?"

"Indeed. How are your sons, Dm. Cosma? I met the younger one's counterpart when I visited the Blue Castle." Anti-Cosmo and I had had a whole conversation about how if Anti-Fairy World hadn't changed its inheritance laws right after the war, he would've been next in line for the High Count seat, not Anti-Phillip. Talk about rotten timing.

Florensa's face lit even brighter. "I have two of them! The first one is terribly troublesome and I can't do a thing with him, but the second is my precious darling, such a good boy." She paused. "A bit too obsessed with reading for my liking, but we'll wean him off that before he grows up to be a self-righteous egghead, don't you worry, luv. I've hidden all his books. He'll be off to train at the Academy soon enough if I have anything to say about it, and that will put the hair on his chest. And who's this?" Turning to Sanderson, she pinched his cheeks with crushing fingers. His face stayed straight, but one of his hindwings distinctly twitched. I made a mental note to talk to him about that. "Such a handsome young drake you are, dear!"

"This is my assistant, Mister Sanderson," I said. "He'll be 4,000 in a few centuries. He's training to be alpha of my retinue circle someday."

"Such a sweet pixie," she crooned, stroking his hair. Sanderson's fingers twitched this time and he leaned a little back, but Florensa didn't seem to notice. Her fingertip bounced against his nose. "Such an adorable child. Where's your mumsy, Sandy? I should like to fight her for custody." And she laughed.

"No mother," I said. "He just has me."

Florensa cradled Sanderson's chin in her hand, glancing up at me. "Is that right? Just you, all alone?"

"Oh, yes." I patted Sanderson's head. "Me with nine pixies to raise at my estate. Maybe I'll get an alpha to keep things orderly, but for now, it's us."

"How interesting," she said, drawing out the last word. She wound one of his cowlicks around her finger. "Well, if you ever do need a babysitter, do ring me up. I do so love working with children. In fact, I'm expecting to finish my godparenting degree once I ship my youngest to the Academy."

"Are you? Where are you studying?"

"Fairy World University. Not for a while yet, but that's the intention."

"Then I'll see you there. We might have some child development classes that overlap."

"Perhaps, perhaps. Oh- I'll give you the number to my scry bowl. Gracious, I've delayed you so long. You'll want to replace those bandages in a few hours, of course, and again a few hours after that. Here." With a wave of her wand, she poofed up a new roll of bandages and a mug of hot cocoa. "Please do take it, and don't fret about returning the cup; it's only pink magic, after all."

"You're too kind," I said, accepting the drink with my good hand. "Thank you, Florensa."

"Of course, Head Pixie," she chirped, clasping her hands beneath her chin. "Any enemy of those nasty Fairywinkle brutes is a friend of mine. They've grown too big for their britches, especially in recent centuries."

"I agree. I'm a Whimsifinado."

Her eyes snapped wide, hand flying to her mouth. "I had no idea! In that case, take this with you too, dear. No, I won't take refusal as an answer." She poofed up a simple shirt with I RATHER DISLIKE FAIRYWINKLES scrawled across the front in jagged lettering. I'll admit, it cracked a smile.

"I love it. Stop by Pixie Village anytime you come down to Plane 3, and I'll ensure you're treated kindly. Bring your sons, maybe. It'll be a thing."

Florensa waved farewell and took a broom to sweep the ceiling corners with. I watched her for a few extra seconds, thinking that was interesting. She poofed me up gifts, but she saved magic by cleaning via mundane means. Emper was a poor town of mostly low-ranked species on the social ladder, and she was a single mother raising two children. Since her subspecies was said to mate for life, societal pressure would keep her from marrying again. She had a lot of work cut out for her and had her sights set high on the Fairy Academy for at least one of the sons, yet she still showed me charity. I didn't have cash on hand, but I decided that next time I saw her, I'd give her some.

"I liked her," I said after we settled in our tram car. "She wasn't a suck-up. She's just Florensa Cosma."

"She pinches too hard," Sanderson muttered, massaging his cheeks.

I ran my thumb over the inky letters of her scry number. "Two sons, both alive this far into their juvenile years. Maybe I'll scry her." She seemed nice enough, and she was bound to have some good advice. Single mother against the universe, yet still so cheerful…

Ambrosine returned to Wish Fixers on Saturday. Since he couldn't watch them, I dropped my pixies off on Anti-Bryndin (or technically on both him and Anti-Cosmo, who was summoned to help despite his obvious reluctance) and made it to China's art studio in time for my appointment. She greeted me warmly, but noticed my bandaged hand, of course. I mentioned the Fairywinkles but left out details, which I think was the only thing that bothered her that day. Uneasily, she introduced me to a small purple Yugopotamian named Simeon Wolbach.

"I remember you from the Eros Nest," I said, and with a shy smile he said, "Likewise." So at least that worked out for me. He'd already drawn me undressed before, so nude pixies were nothing new to him. I turned to China. "He's the sketch artist. You'll be crafting my statue, I presume?"

"Oh, of course not. I'm an architect." She smiled. "The monument design instructor who maintains the Water Temple, Anti-Penny, will be supervising."

"I am a professional. For the price I'm paying, I expect professional work."

"You'll get it. Anti-Penny's brought her future son-in-law in on the project. He's the best."

Whatever. I decided that when I got the finished statue, I'd shove it in some closet where Ambrosine wouldn't judge me for it. I mean, there wasn't much point to it anymore since China had loopholed her way out of getting offended.

I made small talk with Simeon as he began his work. He asked me questions about my insect biology, studying my wings in careful detail. He mentioned he was working on a book about insects and their connection with the fae. I expressed interest, and he said "Squids keep libraries" before collapsing into giggles. I didn't, and when he regained his composure he asked, "Do you Fairies not have that saying?"

"Never heard it."

"Well, the Sacred Revolution will do that to you; the interactions between your ancestors and mine slowed down for a reason." Simeon brought his charcoal back to his sketchpad. "My people are stereotyped as warriors who have no interest in the arts. One reason for this is because we keep our libraries underground, where visitors to our planet don't often see them. In fact, Yugopotamia is home to a vast empire of knowledge, because we always raid planets for their art and literature during our most major holiday, F.L.A.R.G. The saying 'Squids keep libraries' suggests things aren't always what they seem, and you can't let preconceived notions of a species define them for you. Not all stereotypes are as true as you think and there are nuances in everything. The joke is that this time, I used the saying literally because the book I intend to write will be found in a Yugopotamian library someday."

"Oh. That is humorous. Ha." And I smiled thinly. "Clever. I'd like to read it sometime."

"If it's ever translated into Snobbish, I'd love that."

A/N: Text to Text - Starla was vaguely mentioned back in Chapter 7 as an ishigaq Fergus once danced with back in school. She is mentioned again in the future Origin chapter "Off," this time with her name confirmed as Starla Roebeam. Since "Off" is such a major story point, I wrote it way in advance, so her name has been canon for years. In the recent Frayed Knots chapter "The Bar Code," I introduced a character named Rupert Roebeam because I thought the alliteration sounded nice… not remembering until after I'd published it that he shared his surname with Starla. I'm not one to retcon unless I feel it's absolutely necessary, so I made them family. Rupert wasn't originally planned to appear in Origin, but the name coincidence was too amusing to ignore and he's fun to write, especially around gynes. So, an "H.P. vs. Rupert" arc now exists and I hope you enjoy.

The Wolbachia pipientis bacterium is named after Simeon Wolbach (the human). For the purpose of this fanfic, Wolbachia was discovered by the cherubs, named after the Yugopotamian Simeon Wolbach, and his research was carefully inserted into the human world during the 1930s. In Frayed Knots, Anti-Cosmo mentions that the will o' the wisp holotype, Ilisa Maddington, was studied by a Yugopotamian named Henry Bates (after the human Henry Walter Bates, who researched butterflies).