Origin of the Pixies

by FountainPenguin

"I wasn't finished." Setting my glasses down on Cupid's stack of translations, I leaned back on my rusty stool. "The Wolbachia pipientis bacteria changes the entire reproductive system of the host insect. Those who've caught it don't just lose the ability to reproduce with other species. They gain the ability to reproduce parthenogenetically." (Written March 2016 - Ongoing)

33. The Phoenix and the Courgette

(Posted October 30, 2019)

The Phoenix and the Courgette

Spring of the Silver Silk

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My birthday fell at the end of winter. I turned a little over 495,600. It wasn't a crowning number, and I'd already grown my 44th line some time back, but I insisted on a party. It was my first birthday since my coronation as Head Pixie. I deserved this.

Anti-Bryndin scryed me while Rice and I were out for our usual morning walk around my property. He chirped a greeting and invited me to the border city of Godscress for a meal "at a time of your choosing, according to the time zone you best prefer."

"My birthday's not for three days," I said. In Fairy World, I was born the second Tuesday of Late Winter. But by the Anti-Fairy calendar, they called the months by different names and assigned importance to number dates. Anti-Bryndin knew my age and had counted all the way back to the Winter of the Fallen Mountain to prove it. As far as Anti-Fairies were concerned, my birthday fell February 12th every year.

Anti-Bryndin offered to pay for a filling meal, and getting away from my pixies for a few hours sounded perfect. I accepted. When the scry ended, Rice asked, "Isn't it bad luck to celebrate your birthday early?"

"That's traditionally agreed upon, yes."

"And you're going to let an Anti-Fairy celebrate your birthday early?"

"Don't worry about it. It's fine. Technically, on their calendar, it's not early."

"If you're sure," he sulked. "But I'm not coming with."

"Fine. You're in charge. Don't screw up."

I washed and dressed back at the village, then scooted out when we heard Emery bustling around downstairs. Anti-Bryndin awaited me in Godscress, touting the usual excuse to the authorities that he was visiting the Breath Temple today. They couldn't stop him from doing that, though they did slap him with an escort.

"Von Strangle," I said when I saw him, pausing in the door of the border crossing station. The enormous fairy carried a staff for a wand, its handle as thick as both my arms tied together. He'd have dwarfed me even if I floated. While my jaw could be used as a straight edge, his could've been a diving board. Sleek purple hair stuck up in massive spikes around his ears. Hunkering over the cheerful Anti-Bryndin, staff sparking, he would've been pretty intimidating if he hadn't been bundled in a baggy sweater that drowned his muscles completely. He grunted in greeting, saying nothing else.

"What is that you brought?" Anti-Bryndin asked after I'd greeted him with careful licks.

"Fairy bread, duh." I held out one of the buttered triangles. Not all the sprinkles had stuck, and a small heap of them slid to the floor when I moved. "It's my birthday."

Anti-Bryndin smiled and took a piece. "I have heard of this tradition, but no Fairy has ever given bread for my birthday. Thank you, Head Pixie."

"No prob, dude. Ring me if you want more. My pixies wanted to prove they knew math so they multiplied the recipe by twenty-nine. I've got six dozen loaves of this stuff. And my sister's making me cake too."

"Cake?"

"It's this pixie tradition I'm inventing. Cake on birthdays. Used to be my dad's way of sneaking me sugar when I was growing up- he'd make some in a little cup once a year. 'Cup cakes' are the perfect size for my pixies and I only have to bake one batch. Works great. I'll bring you cake for your next birthday. When's that?"

"August 13th, Head Pixie."

I had no idea when August was on our calendar. Not wanting to look stupid in front of the glowering von Strangle brute, I didn't ask and decided to figure it out later. I checked the basket Anti-Bryndin had brought me: a new wand sheath, a bottle of orange cream soda, several firm purple fruits that only grew on the Hy-Brasilian side of the Barrier, and a book that taught inexperienced creche fathers how to lead their first colony of anti-fairies. Not totally accurate to my situation, but it looked useful, so I thanked him.

"Of course. I like to bring you gifts."

"I'll bring you something next time. For sure."

"If you wish, Head Pixie, but it is not expected."

"H.P. is fine; no need to be formal." Then I looked again at the von Strangle drake. My hands were stuffed with sprinkle-coated bread triangles and now the gift basket, so I didn't try to shake his hand. Instead I said, "Adelinda's kid, right? I used to wrestle with her and Northiae when my dad got invited to stuffy meetings at the Pink Castle. Depending on who you ask, I technically beat her on my baptism day. Good times. Good dame."

Von Strangle's eyes flicked over me in a way that almost punched me into the wall. "Jorgen."

"Nice threads."

He grimaced, crushing the sweater's front in his hand. "My nana knitted this. You should see the socks." Then, less aggressively, "Your hand is very bandaged."

I glanced at it in disinterest. Silver gloves healed wounds faster, but they insulted King Nuada's memory, so I'd gone with one of white silk. Usually I took it off or kept my hand in my pocket if I was going to be in public. Today I'd just forgotten. "Yep," I said, and Jorgen let the subject drop. During lunch, Anti-Bryndin noticed me picking at it and leaned his head closer.

"I think that hurt makes you brave, H.P. You do not need to be shy with it, or hide it from me."

"Mm." He was an Anti-Fairy. He didn't get it.

When Naming Day rolled around, I took Anti-Bryndin up on his offer to spend the holiday season in Anti-Fairy World. With the turn of the zodiac cycle, his people were throwing an entire week of celebrations. I'd grown up hearing how wild their New Year parties were, so I'd planned to leave my pixies home. Then Ambrosine caught Rice and I readying ourselves to go and slammed his foot down.

"Emery and I can't watch your pixies."

"Anti-Bryndin specifically requested I be there," I said, not taking my eyes from the mirror. I had a cape today, gray with an ink-black underside to match my hat. Even at a party, gray suited me. And since I couldn't fly thanks to my injured hand anyway, it was the perfect time to enjoy a swishy cape. "I've already agreed and you know I don't cancel plans."

"We cannot and will not watch your pixies while you spend a week whooping and hollering naked with their kind."

"Fine. I'll take my pixies with me. Because I'm going to see Anti-Bryndin."

Ambrosine sighed. "Don't do that, Fergus. Anti-Fairies are sociosexual. They display… affections publicly. You'll expose their minds to things they aren't ready to see."

"Anti-Fairies are bats; they don't look like us down there and they don't even mate like we insect-bodied people do. Even Wilcox won't notice, and he's the sharp one. They don't teach Anti-Fairy reproduction until upper school."

"Both our species have pouches. Exposing their sights to bare stomachs is inappropriate."

"Then color the times I nurse my nymphs illegal." I finished with the clasp of my cape and turned on him. "Anyway, pixies reproduce asexually. Pouches don't excite us. Never have since the day I was born. And with me approaching age 500,000, I think I can safely say they never will. We don't feel things like that."

He bobbed unhappily, stroking Rice's head. "Emery told me you've fallen into vices with Anti-Bryndin."

"'Fallen into vices?'" I repeated. "I preen with him like a business partner."

"You preen him like he's your superior."

"Duh. He's High Count."

"He's an Anti-Fairy."

"We're friends."

Rice looked back and forth between us, tucking his head between his paws. He pulled his hat over his eyes.

"Anti-Bryndin is an evil man. A con artist who worships a deity of manipulation. He's seduced you."

"Maybe I'm into it."

I got a sharp smack to the wrist for that one. "Fergus!"

"Anti-Bryndin invites me to lunch and likes touring Fairy World landmarks. He asks about my pixies and knows each one by name. He scrys me personally. He got me my own crystal ball on a direct line. He's sensitive. He celebrated my birthday. He brought me a gift basket. What's to hate? He's literally done no wrong."

"You're a Whimsifinado," my father sputtered. "We don't like Anti-Fairies. They spread bad luck and evil influence wherever they go."

"I like them."

Ambrosine covered his mouth. "Wash your dome. Your ancestors are writhing in torment for your sins. Only on Plane 23 are we meant to reunite with their kind. We're tested in this day and age to resist their lure. You're almost 500,000; you know what the Finella reflex really is behind its media portrayal of hate. Today you're sharing licks, but what soon? It's said no one can pull away from Anti-Bryndin's advances."

"The High Count is my friend. He personally invited me to attend the Seven Festivals alongside him. He's already made the table settings, and you of all people know I can't break the rules of social convention. I'm going with Rice and all my pixies." And I did.

Well… almost all my pixies. When Longwood came scampering outside with the others, I grabbed his scarf and yanked him back. "No. You're grounded."

"What?"

"Until I figure out how your wand got inside the Pink Castle, you don't get to play."

Longwood's face shattered, mouth clutching nothing. "But I'm Zodii! The new Love year is the biggest celebration of the whole zodiac cycle. You have to let me go."

I considered that. "All right. I'll un-ground you if you explain what happened to those scrolls about cores and counterparts. In detail."

"I don't know what you're talking about." His face flushed up. "I didn't do anything! I didn't even leave the village. Squeeze my core and hope to die, snip my lines and drink them dry."

"Disappointing," I said. "Come find me when you have a story."

He fell to his knees, gaping, as I led my drones off without him.

The High Count hadn't exaggerated when he'd warned me Luna's Landing would be packed. I'd never been claustrophobic, but walking - forcibly grounded - between so many Anti-Fairies flung my senses into high alert. I carried Springs in my pouch and pulled Bayard along by his hand, trusting the others and Rice to stay close, at least. Not that I totally knew where I was going- I couldn't even see the glowing crystals that lined the roads. Tents loomed in spiky rows everywhere, all of them small and tightly packed because that's the only way they'd all fit inside the city's famous crater. I'd never seen so much blue in one place. They sat in front of their open tents, these Anti-Fairies, with bare feet on display and coats parted enough to show the undergarment shirts beneath. They laughed with every neighbor and sipped from soda bottles while food boiled in large pots between every twenty tents or so. The stench of dirty fur nearly knocked me from the air even without all the bustling bodies. Anti-Fairies only bathe like once a month, after all, frisking about their soapy lakes when the stars were brightest in the sky. Don't get me started on their fleas.

After considerable wandering, I did locate the market plaza and find Anti-Bryndin waiting for me there. His son Anti-Phillip was with him, along with his newborn daughter Anti-Stacey. So was his personal guard, Anti-Florensa, dressed in black and orange with her famous staff in hand. Anti-Cosmo had told me during my first visit to the Castle that Anti-Florensa was his mother, but I certainly didn't see the resemblance. He had scruffy blue hair while she had high black curls. He was thin and dark like twisting evening shadows where she was strong and pale like moonlight dancing on the water.

"Anti-Bryndin," I greeted, marking a few stripes across my neck. I handed over the gift basket I'd brought with me. "Happy Spring Turn."

"You did not need to, Head Pixie," he chided, pushing it back. Even I knew that part of Anti-Fairy culture: a gift shouldn't be accepted if it was offered with reluctance or out of obligation. Anti-Bryndin knew I knew it too, watching me with his hands still prepared to accept the basket if I gave it back. I did.

"I wanted to."

"Then I will take it to study later in private. Thank you." With a twitch of his wand, the basket vanished. He put his head to one side. "Are you missing a pixie? I count only eight, with eight being you."

"Longwood's grounded," I said. Then, "Wait. Eight? Not nine?" I counted all my pixies again and paused. Even Madigan had stuck with the group. "Where's Keefe? I know I brought Keefe."

My eyes slid up, drinking in row after row of tents and dancing, stomping, excitable Anti-Fairies. Anti-Bryndin reacted faster. The star on his wand glowed blue. One puff of smoke later, Anti-Cosmo materialized beside us, holding a young sea serpent by its tail and looking utterly baffled.

"… High Count? Is this an emergency? I left the cooking fire burning."

"The Head Pixie has lost a pixie," he said. "I wish you go and find him."

Anti-Cosmo looked at me, him, Rice, and me again. The sea serpent wriggled in his grip. "Here? Right now?"

"Is this okay?"

Pause.

Longer pause.

Continued pause… Anti-Cosmo lifted two fingers. "High Count, may I express my honest reply?"

"You may."

"If I may be so forward, I wish to gently remind you I've been called upon to don Sunnie's honorary garb and run esimraa cür tonight. I haven't even started dressing. I don't have time to hunt for children."

"I want it to be you, Julius," said Anti-Bryndin, waving him away with a flick of his hand. I didn't miss the offended look that darted over Anti-Cosmo's face- nor did I miss the startled look that crossed Anti-Florensa's. His cheeks puffed. The two fingers went up again.

"High Count?"

"Continue."

"Slap me for my insolence if you so desire, but I'm not a servant. I'm nobility and I'm cooking dolline wik with my friends for lunch. Then tonight, I'm expected to walk the salt path. It will take time to get ready and I can't keep the people waiting. I'm certain either Electro or Ashley, however, would be eager to help."

With an absentminded hum, Anti-Bryndin ran a finger over the yellow button on his scarf. "The Head Pixie's magic and flight are stolen and I have asked you. It will be you. You are fast."

Two cautious fingers.

"Is this okay, Julius?"

The fingers went down, clenching in a nervous fist. Anti-Cosmo's gaze flickered to his feet. "Yes, High Count." Releasing his irritation, he swiveled to me and hugged the sea serpent to his chest. "Where did you lose him, and how long ago, old sport?"

"I don't know. I wasn't watching." His stare turned stunned, and I said, "We're Fairies. I shouldn't have to watch him. He knows my scent."

Anti-Cosmo shook his head in disbelief, then fooped away with a swirl of his wand.

Anti-Florensa led us on a brief tour of Luna's Landing, especially the flourishing market district at this time of year. Most of my pixies took interest in her or in Anti-Bryndin himself, but Sanderson gravitated towards Anti-Phillip. The anti-swanee was 125,000 years his senior and I'd never have expected them to get along, but Sanderson was curious about all he saw as we roamed the city and Anti-Phillip seemed pleased to answer every question. They're still friends to this day, though I'll never understand what they love so much about elephants…

At one point, however, I did get the chance to speak with him. Wilcox and Bayard bobbed for skyberries in a water barrel with a few other Anti-Fairy kids, my other pixies played a counting game in the dirt, but Sanderson stood apart, tapping his foot. "New pen for your thoughts," I said.

"I've never heard music like this before, H.P."

The music in question whisked all around us, little pockets of it drifting from different tents here and there. I nodded. "It's the klikka genre: light, quick tempo, full of energy. The intervals on the Hy-Brasilian music scales are different than ours, so they have notes we don't. Or something. Lots of bells, lots of drums, lots of strings. Listen to that beat… 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, back to 1 again. It's unbalanced at first, but evens out by being a repetitive pattern. You just have to give it time."

"I didn't know Anti-Fairies made music. I thought they just caused bad luck, ate lots of food, cuddled a bunch, and believed in the zodiac."

I tapped my foot too. "You'll often hear that. Remember that before the war, only a small portion of Anti-Fairies actually lived in Hy-Brasil. A lot of them were spread across Tír Ildáthach because they lived with their counterparts. So they had little pockets of music, but only when the Barrier went up and they all ended up together did the culture here really flourish. A lot of Fairies still live in the past, forgetting Anti-Fairies aren't so different from us. They do things we do too, including make their own art and music. Klikka's probably the best known Hy-Brasilian music because Anti-Fairies use it for most of their dances and ceremonies. Tomorrow there will be a lot of klikka dancing in the Tarrow amphitheater. I'll be sitting at a back table with Anti-Bryndin and Anti-Elina, but I'll make sure you get a good seat up front. It's impressive; Anti-Fairies who get into dancing spend their whole lives perfecting their Tarrows."

"No," Sanderson said. "H.P., I didn't know Anti-Fairies made music. And I like music. I even like this music, even though it's different from what I mostly listen to. Remember when we lived in Novakiin and you had that little shop? I bet if you made a new shop where you taught Anti-Fairy music to Fairies and Fairy music to Anti-Fairies… I bet people would pay for it."

I considered this. When I'd lived Earthside, I'd heard all types of music that didn't exist in the cloudlands. Likewise, the Earthsiders hadn't been partial to cloudland instruments, preferring to design their own instead. The will o' the wisps had their own music. Even the anti-pixies had taught us a few songs we didn't know back at the Eros Nest.

"That's an idea worth pursuing, Sanderson. While we're here, see if you can do a bit of market research on the subject. With all these Anti-Fairies in one place, it's the perfect time to survey their population. No wonder we get census data every seven years."

"Can pixies make music?"

"I don't know. Maybe we should try. I always did want to mix a few good party songs." I looked down at Rice, sitting at my feet with his braided tail sweeping back and forth. He'd wandered away earlier and had been sulking ever since his return. "How's life with you?"

"My wife's counterpart has a wife herself now," he said evenly. Then he got up and padded off. "In this sugar-coated body, she wouldn't even know who I am. So much for that plan."

I drifted after him. "I mean… she's an Anti-Fairy. They're promiscuous. You might still have a shot with her."

Rice crumpled one paw against his eyes, rubbing up and down. "Cinnamon and custard… What am I doing with my life?"

"Foreshadowing?" I suggested, but he didn't find it as funny as he had a few months ago.

"I used to be a gyne with no choice except killing people to stay alive. I'm attracted to Anti-Fairies. I put all my eggs in the basket of a daydream I never even met. It's all falling apart. Whose soul do I take? Do I become a Fairy again and get beat up for the rest of my life because I'm weak and don't wanna hurt anyone? Or become an Anti-Fairy and live like an outcast because I didn't grow up in their culture and no one's gonna be there to teach me? There's no way out. Just… just leave me alone! I gotta think."

He charged off, shoving aside anyone who dared cross his path. "Rice," I shouted. He didn't answer. I took off my glasses and rubbed my nose. That's what I was doing when - foop! - Anti-Cosmo popped into existence beside me, this time without a sea serpent but with a butterfly net slung over his shoulder.

"I found him chewing on a stick by the bonfire," he said, handing it to me. Keefe lay crumpled in the netting. "If I may make an honest suggestion, sir, with the utmost respect?"

I waited, but so did he, his two fingers in the air beside his cheek. A salute without a wand. "Oh," I said. "Yeah. Sure."

"If I could humbly implore you, sir, to keep a close eye on your nephews. It's so dreadfully easy to lose babies this time of year if you aren't attentive, and as much as I'd like to, I really don't have time to hunt them down if any should continue wandering off throughout holiday." His eyes flicked in a glowing green roll. "Of course I say that, but I fully expect it to happen again. I am not particularly skilled in spell modifiers, so I highly recommend Anti-Bryndin send someone other than me next time."

"You're a good man, Anti-Cosmo."

"It's Julius, my good bloke, and let's hope I don't make a habit of it; this level of kindness has upset my stomach already and I'll be gagging on silkworms for days." He ruffled his hair and exhaled a puff of effervescence shaped vaguely like a crescent moon. "Will you be at esimraa cür, Head Pixie?"

"Not sure. Will Anti-Bryndin? I'm mostly following him around."

Anti-Cosmo nodded distractedly and waved his wand. In another cloud of smoke, he disappeared. I saw him again an hour later, camped with his friends near one of the cliffs and doubled over giggling. Jasmine the cat sith played with a fish nearby. With his eyes closed and shirt tied around his waist, surrounded by peers bigger and stronger than him, he didn't look much like nobility. Odd to think sometimes that if Anti-Fairies still used the Fairy legal system, he'd have been next in line for the High Count seat instead of Anti-Phillip. Anti-Bryndin had three (legal) wives: an anti-fairy, an anti-korrigan, and an anti-goblin. One's subspecies mattered little in Anti-Fairy World, so they accepted Anti-Phillip as Anti-Bryndin's heir without question. But Anti-Cosmo was the son of that common anti-fairy wife, and sometimes I wondered if it bothered him that he'd been born so close to leadership, yet still so far.

(Spoiler alert: It totally did.)

We shared an authentic Hy-Brasilian dinner with our hosts, kneeling beneath the branches of several trees on an encircling, connected cushion around a low table. You pay before meals rather than after in Anti-Fairy World, but when I tried to pass my wand over, Anti-Bryndin intervened.

"I said you could get this one, but I insist. I like to make you happy."

"You paid for the last one. Let me get it now."

"No, my treat!"

I lowered my wand, watching him over the rims of my glasses. "I don't want any debts stacking up against me."

"Head Pixie, I am offended," Anti-Bryndin protested, placing his fingertips to his chest. "We are courgettes. I have many feelings of friendship for you. There are not debts between us. There are no grudges. When you are happy, I become happy too."

"You're right. I'm sorry."

Anti-Bryndin and I enjoyed pleasant talk of business and politics, though Anti-Elina and Anti-Florensa made no attempt to enter the conversation even when I tried to turn the topic to things I thought would interest them. I saw them flinch each time I touched the serving utensils, so my Fairy table manners probably offended them. But Anti-Bryndin didn't criticize me in public or kick me in the back of the leg once we left, and I think a certain anti-fairy who's probably reading this could benefit from me pointing that out.

After dinner, we gathered on a slight rise above a path strewn with salt and giant silver leaves to watch figure after figure parade past on foot. They wore no clothes, only adornments of silver and gemstones on colored threads, with dark clay caked in their hair. It's true, you know. They really don't look like us down there. They came waving fans of griffin feathers and shaking jugs filled with beads; purple symbolized children, brown were seeds, blue meant rain, and so on. Some carried torches, others banners, others handfuls of herbs which they sprinkled in their wake. Their silver ornaments jingled with every skipping step. I counted seven particularly decorated jug-bearers bringing up the almost-rear of the parade, and noticed Anti-Florensa straighten to attention. I walked to her side and asked, "Where's your son?" From this vantage point, with everyone's hair dirtied up, I couldn't find him.

On perfect cue, an anti-fairy with a winged headdress tripped and broke his jug on the ground. Turquoise beads spilled everywhere. Anti-Florensa dropped her face in her hand. The crowd descended on him immediately, clicking gentle tongues and trying to reassure him with gentle pats and presses. He could not be soothed. In a burst of smoke, the naked, decorated Anti-Cosmo vanished from the salt path and appeared between us. He flung himself at his mother, choking out a string of apologies and shaking like he'd had too much to drink. She bonked him with the crystal tip of her staff. This rebuke seemed to calm him down better than any body touch he'd gotten. He quieted in a heap of remorseful tremors, forehead pressed to her feet. I silently excused myself and returned to my place beside Anti-Bryndin.

In his own dialogue, the High Count conveyed to me this: Every seven years, all but a few stray Anti-Fairies gathered around the Blue Castle for the Tarrow celebration. They came with tents, prepared to camp for weeks at a time. On the first day of Tarrow, always Friday, partners competed in events to promote a sense of community. On the second, jousting matches were held; that's where Anti-Florensa had won her fame throughout the cloudlands, and why Anti-Bryndin had married her (Stunning dame- I still wanted to fight her myself someday). The third festival was a day of absolute silence. The fourth had its enormous picnic outside the Castle. The fifth day I knew already: the most dangerous competitive events were held during the Soil festival, and their people were notorious for losing control of themselves and ravaging the land, damaging buildings in their wake. The sixth festival was a day spent socializing and repairing the damage caused the previous night. Finally, on the seventh day, Anti-Fairies partied as though it would be their last. My background knowledge of leprechaun customs told me the eight days of Leprechauneka always followed the conclusion of wild Anti-Fairy festivities as their people worked to balance the luck in the universe once again.

This simple information about the seven Zodii festivals proved critical to my success as a businessman in several years' time when I pitched my own tent in Luna's Landing - a tradition Pixies faithfully continue to this day - and we will return to this subject three chapters from now. Let it not be said I forgot to cite my source. Odd people, Anti-Fairies, but I do like them.

When the stars had grown dim overhead, the ancient warriors closing their eyes for sleep, I left my pixies with Anti-Elina and went wandering among the tents to look for Rice. After a few minutes, I stopped. The small blob of magical energy behind me stopped too.

"I can sense you," I said, not turning around. "Anti-Cosmo's cat sith, right?"

The cat sith trotted out of the shadows and up to my side without hesitation, chin and tail raised. "No one sent me. I came on my own."

Load of dragon dung, but I didn't say so. "You're from Applespark's practice."

"And Wish Fixers places too much value in drugs and not enough in emotional support. Let's agree we disagree." She slid ahead, fluttering her wings. I walked, and so did the cat. On either side of the salted road, Anti-Fairies had retired to their tents. Most had let the door flaps flutter down, though their rustles and squeaks betrayed they were still awake. Oil lamps cast shadowy figures against the wall.

"Jasmine," I said. "You're cath palug; your kind take souls to the afterlife. Where do they go?"

"Wherever they want to. I'm just the guide."

She left me a few minutes later to chase a glowing frog. How concerning, I thought, that even a guardian of spirits didn't know what happened when we die.

"What do I do?" I muttered. "Rice might not be content as a cù sith much longer. He'll want a new body. He might ask my help with that. I can't condemn another person to a dustless death. But my pixies are so young and sooner or later, he might bait one of them into lying."

Were my pixies still my pixies if their souls swapped around? As Head Pixie, which would I be responsible for caring for: the body or the soul? The body would reproduce, and the pixie race had to survive. But the soul was the part you shared magic with when the rest of the world disappeared.

I massaged my temples and kicked the blue beads Anti-Cosmo had spilled along the path. If it really came down to a choice, the body would have to be protected. The soul offered nothing but sentimental value, but only the body could continue our species' existence. Did it really matter whether my pixies kept the souls they were born with, or whether Rice lived his life as one? Take Longwood for example. He was Zodii and didn't believe coin sith died dustless deaths at all. If my pixies didn't agree with that story, wouldn't everybody win if one of them switched spots with Rice?

"Why does the pixie race have to survive anyway?" I asked aloud. If I chucked my offspring from Plane 8 into the ocean below, who would even care? Ambrosine would blame himself, Emery would wail for the child a faulty Eros arrow had prevented her from raising, Venus would punish me for ruining her favorite project, but would they actually miss my pixies? Their personalities and interests? Their individual lives? Would anyone?

I closed my eyes. "I would."

Even if no one else in the universe cared about them… I would. They hadn't asked to be born. I hadn't asked to bear them, but for some reason it was my lot in life. And I liked them. They were cute, the way they panted and rolled and shook their heads so their hair flopped all around. They wiggled their little butts when they crouched to watch a leaf. They drew math equations in the dust, and chirped when they found a bug they didn't recognize crawling on their hand. The same things I used to do as a Novakiin kid. Now I got to watch those pleasant memories of childhood play out over and over again, pixie after pixie. Sometimes they were pains in my rear, but they had their moments. They didn't care whether I was overweight or square or had stunted magic or didn't shower as often as I should. They didn't care about much as long as I fed them and gave them nice head scratches every now and again. Whether they kept the same bodies their whole lives or got their souls swapped one day, I didn't care. They were still mine. I wanted them to survive. I couldn't give them normal Fairy lives, but if I could give them normal Pixie lives… that would be okay.

I pulled off my glove and stared at my injured hand. Colors throbbed just beneath the surface in pulsing squiggled lines. I clenched it tight. "They make me like myself. They're my everything. And so, so worth it, no matter how gross. If I keep reproducing for the rest of my life, they won't all grow up before I die… I'll leave behind juveniles, tiny babies, no matter what. But the others will take care of the little ones. Life goes on. You just have to survive to glimpse the next generation, and it'll be okay. Once there's a confirmed yellow-born, you'll have your peace of mind. Stay alive, Fergus, stay alive. No matter what it takes. Dear dust, if they're purple-borns… King Nuada, don't let them be purple."

They all had pinkish purple cores. I'd seen as much myself via field-sight time and time again, the color praising the Eros family like a waving flag: Fertilized purple if you didn't have our arrows! And without achieving yellow magic, your mother would have died too! The weight of those purple cores pressed on my shoulders hour after hour in an obsessive loop. But my body was so messed up in so many ways… maybe those purple cores weren't all they seemed on the surface. Maybe, through some quirk in my genes, there was still a chance they'd survive without me.

If, if my early pixies survived to reproduce someday, there were other problems I'd have to face. Namely, releasing an exponentially reproducing race upon the universe. I didn't know how we were going to feed so many. Thousands. Millions. All descended from me. I didn't know. I still don't know. One way or another, sacrifices will have to be made. But we'll worry about that later.

I searched another hour for Rice, but wherever he was, I didn't find him that night. He waited beside my bed when I woke the next morning, though. He didn't want to talk. I didn't force it.

I spent the entire week in Anti-Fairy World. Anti-Bryndin's excitement sloshed my brains around in the best possible way as he yanked me from flashy market booth to fancy restaurant to high-stakes contest to betting game to soda to, well… everything his city had to offer. Anti-Cosmo and his mother took turns watching my offspring, along with help from Anti-Phillip and the High Countess. I checked in every hour during the first two days, but by my third, I was fine leaving my pixies totally in their hands. It was thrilling. It was freeing. I cheered at the Festival of Energy's jousting tournament and watched elaborate stage plays during the silent Festival of Focus. I jumped. I danced. I shouted until my windpipe burned. I even stripped down and meditated in an Anti-Fairy hot spring. I didn't feel like a loser who'd lost his magic. Occasionally Anti-Cosmo would foop in and whisper something in his mother's ear, avoiding my eyes. Anti-Florensa would open her mouth to ask a question about one of my pixies on his behalf. But I could normally predict the answer before she even spoke, and Anti-Cosmo would disappear again with a bow. Other than those moments, I shoved my thoughts about my pixies to the back of my mind.

All around me, day after day, Anti-Fairies swarmed and chatted, cuddled and kissed, split up and paired off. They mated constantly, as their people do. It's how they are. One drake married two husbands within a day and had three drakefriends the next, and no one cared. Only accepted. I spent an evening with Anti-Cosmo and his friends, sitting on their tent mat in nothing but my socks and underwear, drinking soup straight from a square bowl and playing traditional Hy-Brasilian games with dice and pegs 'til dawn. They had no reason to welcome me, but they did. They didn't even question it- just offered me a seat the moment Anti-Cosmo called my name.

I get it, I thought one night, gazing over the silver forest from a Blue Castle balcony. Anti-Bryndin had offered me and Rice a guest suite with a Fairy style bed, and I didn't have to think about my pixies at all. I get why they love being Zodii. Their new year isn't as chaotic as I thought. They know exactly what they're doing.

I stood there in my bathrobe, holding a moping cù sith to my chest, doing absolutely nothing. Worrying over nothing. I just sipped hot cider from a mug engraved with my name, basking in the cool air while on the other side of the woods, Anti-Fairies passed the night in blissful happy play. Anti-Bryndin had rubbed the tension from shoulders and gifted me all the soap and candles I could want. Everything was good. I didn't even resent my injured hand. Of course, the fireworks came out immediately after I thought that, so I pulled the balcony veil shut. I actually had a good night's sleep that evening.

"I enjoyed yesterday's massage," I told the High Count the following evening, crossing the castle drawbridge beside him. The Friendship Picnic was winding down in the courtyard behind us, and Anti-Fairies from here to Luna's Landing snuggled up with new acquaintances for a long, happy night. Except maybe Anti-Cosmo (more dressed and less sobbing now than he'd been when I'd seen him at the parade). Anti-Bryndin had ordered him and his cat sith on a series of petty errands purely to annoy the kid; he'd just brought the High Count a second cup of tea and was now leaving to fetch a library book with an unknown title and a topic so vague that he'd probably be in there all night. Though, I sensed him linger in the dining room doorway so he could listen in. Punk.

"I know this, Head Pixie. You are loud with pleasure at my touching."

"Don't judge me; you're smoofing good at it and I can't stop my wings from getting noisy."

Anti-Bryndin chuckled. "It was not only your wings."

"I'm simple, Kitigan. Scratch my head and I chirp. Rub my back and I moan. Fart and I laugh. Try tickles and you die. At least I censored my swears this time, so you know I'm making a serious effort for you."

"Hmm… I would not mind the occasional slip, H.P. Among Anti-Fairies, raw emotions are expected. It is intimate and pure."

"And if it weren't the pixie way to keep my raw emotions locked inside, maybe I'd let you see them. Look, you Anti-Fairies might be skilled with massages, but we Fairies do something similar that I'm probably more expert at than you."

He sipped his tea, not breaking eye contact. "Oh?"

"We just left the Friendship Picnic and I'm in a mood for bonding. Could I clean your wings tonight?"

The High Count entertained this offer, tapping his claws against the teacup. "My wings are different from those of Fairies. They have nerves and bones and bend in ways yours do not."

"Believe me, I know all about the nerves." I smiled thinly. "My counterpart and I were stuck in the Eros Nest together for five hundred years and it drove both of us to anxiety. We experimented with a lot of muscle relaxant techniques."

Anti-Bryndin smiled too and brought the cup to his mouth again. "Then I accept. We will see if you pleasure me as much as I do you."

He flitted inside the castle, humming as he went. I followed more slowly, tapping on the dining room door as I passed it. I didn't say it aloud, but the It's rude to eavesdrop on the High Count and Head Pixie message came across clearly, I thought. Anti-Cosmo didn't reply, though I sensed him flinch. Like I said… Punk kid. He reads too much into things. To this day, he still jumps and sputters if I so much as allude to cleaning his wings in public, quick to inform anyone around that "I-it's not a sensual favor sort of thing, of course!" while Fairies snicker softly at his flushing face. Cleaning each other's wings is such a common thing for us that the proper way to do it is even listed in Da Rules. For someone from a culture that encourages things like coupling with random strangers in public, Anti-Fairies get incredibly skittish if you move behind their backs. At least he's direct about his thoughts. What an egghead. I like him.

Most people were sleeping outside after the Friendship Picnic, but Anti-Bryndin and I withdrew to the washroom of the shallow preening chamber in the castle's rear anyway. "Don't get in," I told him after he'd fooped up the warm bathwater with a wave of his wand, "but sit on the bench over here and let the steam wash over your wing membranes. I'll be back soon."

He stuck out the slightest pouting lip. "You must go?"

"Not for long; I just need to check in with my pixies before bed. I trust Wilcox and Caudwell to stay out of trouble while they wander the market, and Sanderson's with them last I heard. I left Hawkins with enough of my magic for Keefe and Springs and he knows how to feed them-"

Anti-Bryndin took my gloved hand and played with it for a second, splaying the fingers and tapping them together again. "Always, you become so stressed after time with your pixies. This was you yesterday. Why worry on purpose? Here we can relax, just this night."

I hesitated.

"Is this okay, Head Pixie?"

"I guess that's fine… All but Bayard were sleeping when I checked on them yesterday, so I trust Anti-Florensa to know what she's doing when it comes to babies." I figured Anti-Cosmo had grown up to be a decent kid, so she must be doing something right. Ambrosine liked to snip that Anti-Fairies were products of nature and no amount of nurture could ever change them, but he always shut up when I pointed out that predetermined destiny was a Zodii belief.

"I need to hire a live-in milkmother," I muttered. "She has to be tough. My pixies are such biters. Venus Eros called us parasitic, you know… Maybe I didn't leave Hawkins enough to feed them. Maybe he forgot. Maybe Keefe wandered off again. I should check. I can't ping, so it'll take a while, but-"

"Head Pixie?"

"Yeah?"

Anti-Bryndin smiled at me patiently. "There will be time for pixies later. Now is the time for us."

"Got it." Still, I couldn't help running a finger down my stomach. "I think I filled one of the bottles higher than the other. I probably did. They're uneven. I should've noticed. I'm supposed to pay attention to these things."

"H.P.?"

"What? Right. Wing cleaning. I'm on it."

The washroom didn't match my own color tastes - I liked bright white and lights - but Anti-Fairies think white is a special conduit of bad luck or something, and noise would travel through the bars they use on windows, so I guess it all makes sense. Although dark, the washroom was spacious, offering plenty of room for us to maneuver. We settled on a long cushioned bench in the middle. Anti-Bryndin perched on the edge with his wings drooping. I described the items I'd need and he fooped them all up. I ran my fingers over them with care, rustling the leathery bits and feeling for the thickest parts. Pip from long ago had been an anti-cherub with feathered wings, so my experience with this type wholly involved anti-pixies. Anti-Fergus had enormous wings, brown ones. Anti-Bryndin seemed small and quiet, twitching as I touched. He's a rare case, you know, being anti-swanee… He doesn't have a "real" patron bat to share his wing pattern with. He's part chimera.

"Love year," I murmured.

"What?" he asked, jumping his wings.

"It's a Samhain year and there's the usual tithe to pay." I dipped my hands in the tub and rubbed them with a bit of lotion. "We Fairies have to pick a tamlin to present before the chimera on Plane 18. No one I know, I hope."

Anti-Bryndin mulled over this as I drew my hand along his wings, leaving sudsy stripes. "How is this?" he finally asked. "Samhain is an old tradition we follow no longer. The chimera exist no more, except those born of crossed breedings such as the anti-swanee people. The Prince of Dew killed all chimera cities long ago. The ruins live on Plane 12, in the Hush World. I have seen them with my eyes. Samhain is ended."

"Only the Zodii believe they're dead, though I don't blame you for not knowing. The Council tries to keep it quiet. The chimera still exist and keep the Fairies on a short chain; they're annoying, but they make good taffy. If I get summoned this year, I'll bring you back a piece." Not wanting to bicker over it, I went to work soothing the stiffness around his wing joints with a warm cloth. It seemed to agitate him slightly, which was definitely not the reaction I was going for. I slowed my motions. That made his wiggles worse.

When I was growing up, the custom for wing cleaning was to hold conversation. Fairies didn't progress through routine topics as stiffly as Anti-Fairies did, what with us being so "whimsical and free-spirited," praise, praise. Anyway, you'd have thought a guy who studied the Zodii deity of Communication would've known about that. But the more I ran the soft cloth down the arms of his wings, the more Anti-Bryndin fidgeted. A dark patch on the back of his neck shifted and darted away across his skin.

"You have a tattoo," I observed.

"Yes. It is Laelaps, the hunting dog. The Anti-Coppertalon line honor her as an ancestor. Anti-Florensa's family - the Anti-Luniflys - honor Cadmea the fox. My Laelaps does not sit still around their family, and she growls at them. But, she will adjust to you. Whimsifinados long ago favored Twryth the hog, if this is correct. Your counterpart offers food for him at some feasts."

I set the cloth aside in favor of the wingbrush. "Have you met my counterpart?"

"Some. He is green and is called the Motherkind by many who know him. Sometimes I speak with Anti-Robin, who assists him with his anti-pixies. Anti-Robin watched them many years and brought them to the Castle many times."

Anti-Bryndin still shuffled around the seat. More and more as bristles skimmed his wings. I stopped using the brush and changed to gentle circles along his membranes with the cloth. His hands slid quickly up and down his knees. Fingers flexing. Wings squirming in my grip, lifting and lowering. He actually inhaled.

"Do you not like this?" I finally asked. I'd been waiting for a verbal request to stop, figuring that I had my share of twitches during massages even when I enjoyed them, but Anti-Bryndin had clamped his mouth more tightly than the lid of a cookie jar. He jumped when I asked, flinging a guilty look over his shoulder.

"I do, Head Pixie, I do!"

"Okay." So I went back to work making circles. After a minute, Anti-Bryndin covered his face. I raised my eyes, dully watching him in the nearby mirror. "You hate this."

The High Count scratched his claws unhappily down his arm. "I am not hateful. It is only that in Anti-Fairies… this is uncomfortable, to have one behind the other. It is our dominant ones who mostly take the guardian role in back, and the castle is mine. Not yours, Head Pixie."

"I am aware of this, which is why I've remained a literal wingspan away from you. Look, it's not supposed to be weird. It's just wing cleaning."

"This is how it's done. I am not upset, saying this only to inform. I do not mean to hurt or anger."

"I can change my position so I don't upset you," I said, trying to keep the irritation from my voice. "You just have to be clear with me. What do you want?"

"I want as you want, Head Pixie," he answered smoothly.

Freaking Anti-Fairies. They never can give you a straight answer when something bothers them. "Okay." I scooted farther back along the padded bench. "How's this?"

"It is good."

Once more, I returned to my washing. Anti-Bryndin sat hunched over, fiddling with his hands. I didn't go far before I paused again. "Do you want to stop?"

He flinched. "I am fine. You can do this nice thing."

"If you don't like this, I'm not going to make you do it."

At first, the High Count didn't answer. His wings twitched against my palms. "It is your culture," he said softly. "You clean wings with friends. It is what you do instead of the sociosexual ways of Anti-Fairies, and I think it rude to refuse. I do not wish to insult your status and kind gesture."

"If you don't like it, I can stop."

"It is culture, so it is fine. It is not a thing to fear."

I got up, walked around, and plopped in front of him. Anti-Bryndin instantly flattened his ears and snapped two fingers against his neck to mark the I'm sorry preening symbol, staring at me with massive eyes like he expected to get slapped. I only upturned my hands. "Dude, we're dazzled. I already know we're friends and you don't have to make yourself uncomfortable to prove it. Cleaning wings is just a casual thing for Fairies, like pressing bodies together and licking low places is normal for you guys. I'm not going to force you if you don't like it. I'm not that big a jerk."

Anti-Bryndin studied me, tapping steepled fingers against his chin. "You are very pure of thought and gentleness, Head Pixie. You are… different from another Fairy I know. I did not speak up concerns when he taught me new Fairy things, like your physical pushing away of chests to move someone backwards and ways of smelling heads. There was discomfort sometimes. I think I will be braver with my speaking in future days… but only for you and him. Mostly I am nice."

"I think you're very brave. It takes a lot of strength to do something you don't want to. But, I have no problem stopping if you don't like it."

He flapped his hands down modestly. "I will like it one day, Head Pixie."

"Or maybe you won't. Just to be clear, I'm not expecting you to change your mind."

"I will change. You will see."

"… But if you don't, it's okay. I'm still going to like you even if you don't want your wings cleaned."

"Someday I will like it," he insisted, so I gave up. There was never any use arguing with the High Count. We sat for a time in the warm washroom, basking in the light steam. I wondered if Hawkins had gotten Keefe and Springs fed yet. I wanted to ask, but not with Anti-Bryndin so unsatisfied. If I left, I risked getting dragged into watching them all night, and I was on vacation. I deserved a good night's sleep. Yeah, no. They were fine. Probably. I deserved some peaceful time alone with my courgette.

My courgette.

"We could preen again," I said. "We both like preening. Although I have to warn you, I can't share magic with this" - I pointed at my injured hand - "so we'd have to stop after the second ah'ka."

"Yes, I would enjoy that tonight. Shallow only, I think, since it is late. Is this okay? Yes? Then I will prepare the room." Anti-Bryndin drifted over to the connecting door that led into the main preening chamber and glanced back at me. What? Did he want me to follow him, or…? Oh. Got it. I opened it and he flew inside. Once he'd gone, I walked to the scallop-shaped door that led into the corridor. When I pulled it open, Anti-Cosmo toppled in with a squeak.

"I could sense you the whole time, dude. Temporary tomte or not, I can always sense you."

"I'm an Anti-Fairy," he said defensively from the floor. "We're a social species who don't keep secrets. I was going to hear you from the library next door anyway, so I may as well ensure I make out the words accurately, wot?"

"It's your life. I won't stop you. But since you got caught, I will remind you that it's rude."

"Snickering would have been rude, my good drake. I was merely curious and kept very quiet. Had you been an Anti-Fairy, you wouldn't have noticed I was there. Nothing wrong with that." He sprang up, dropping his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "If I may ask a question, Head Pixie?"

"May as well at this point," I muttered.

"When I informed you over Winter Turn that my mother is Anti-Florensa, you said that in the Fairy legal system, I'd be next in line for the High Count position."

"If your brother really did denounce his inheritance and leave home, yes, that's true. I'm quite familiar with Fairy law and wouldn't have told you something incorrect."

Anti-Cosmo puffed his chest. "I sensed you losing patience with the High Count just now. Not that I'm surprised, knowing him as I do. Good fellow, but your cultures are so, so different and he has yet to study Fairy World as well as I have. Your people are direct. Mine are not. You value sincerity where he values softness. Anti-Bryndin will never give you what you're looking for."

I stared down at him, really not sure how to respond to that. He quivered, but held my gaze.

"If I may be forward, sir? No, I will be forward. The bonnacon leaves the first mark of battle, but the patient phoenix receives her gift in the end. People sing how it was the bees who declared a war; even a genie can make no move without his master's initiation."

He gave me a pointed look. I narrowed my eyes, fighting to make sense of his metaphors. He tried again.

"As the geis of the von Strangle family prevents interference with true love beneath their watchful eye, so I am bound by the laws of my people to raise not a finger unless I do so alongside a friend. I shall watch from the peak of Cedarcross awaiting such a signal for the rest of my days, darling bothánaí."

"Anti-Cosmo, are you… threatening a coup?"

"I am asserting my intellectual prowess," he said steadily, dropping eye contact, "but threatening, no. I respect you, Head Pixie, and therefore in my humility wish to breach the question of your intentions with the High Count. I am intimately familiar with the ways of politics and I understand you've offered your tongue to Anti-Bryndin's neck before. No Fairy has ever done this, sir… Even another drake he so dearly admires will only accept licks, never give them."

"Wait. What other Fairy has Anti-Bryndin been preening with?"

"If you don't know then I shan't say, sir, for that isn't my place." Anti-Cosmo pressed the star of his wand against his lips. "I consider you an honorable man, believe you treat Anti-Bryndin with more kindness than any Fairy ever has, and I find it quite fun to watch this mental game of fidchell play out in the skilled hands of expert politicians. I've looked ahead and identified the places you will stumble, so I request to heal the wounds of aduantas."

Again, he fixed me with an expectant look. "I'm not following," I said.

"Aduantas. Your unease with Anti-Fairy customs."

"I know what it means, I just don't know what subject you're dancing around if not a coup."

"I shall teach you the ways of indirect communication that will aid you as a new ambassador who works closely with Anti-Fairies if in return you help me remove Anti-Buster and secure the First General position myself some future day." His confidence wavered with his wingbeats. "His counterpart is a gyne… and a long rival of the Whimsifinado family, if I am not mistaken. It could so easily look like an accident."

"What, no bribe?"

Anti-Cosmo cocked his head. "As I understand it, the Fairywinkles turned your family estate into a literal heap of stinking garbage. We Anti-Fairies are experts at maneuvering stinky magic. Perhaps I could be of assistance?"

"What if you can't?"

He didn't have an answer for that. After a moment, he said, "I've been trained as a homeostasis specialist since my childhood. My demon summoning skills grow more refined with every passing day. Surely there must be some help I can offer you. Or if my work with demons fails to capture the imagination, picture your future with a nimble Anti-Fairy at your side. Anti-Bryndin trips sensors when he crosses the Barrier, but I can get in and out of any home. Oddly specific curses are my specialty, you know what I mean? I'm an expert at laying them on sooo gently, my targets don't even notice them. You know, just this Friday I placed a curse on you that any flower to spend the night under your roof would be dead within a day."

I raised an eyebrow. Maybe he was a little overqualified to be my lackey. "Why did you do this?"

"Catharsis, my good man. It isn't harmful; it's just a little push towards chaos. Anyway, it can be removed if a specific set of circumstances fall into a row, so it isn't as though I've ruined your life forever. Perhaps one day you'll break the curse." Anti-Cosmo's eyes lit with delight, and he hugged his stomach in a squeeze. "But until then, your house will lack a lovely piece of lasting decor! Ahahaha! Isn't that a smashing delight?"

"That sounds like something you'd do to your crush back in school."

"And you thinking so says more about your perceptions of our relationship than mine, doesn't it?" he shot back. Oh, snap. I'd hoped to turn him into a stuttering mess with that one. Say one thing for the kid- he always was fast on his feet.

"Thanks for cushioning how irritating the flower thing will be by informing me I can blame Anti-Fairy curses for my problems going forward."

He shrugged. "Yes, yes, I'm aware of the irony, but there's certainly no glory in making mischief if my name isn't attached."

"Fritz you. I'll keep as many flowers as I want and I'll replace them every morning. I don't even care. I'll bring you a fresh cut every time I visit. Anyway, this is irrelevant. Killing Anti-Buster's counterpart seems likely to tick Anti-Bryndin off. How would that benefit me?"

"You end the relationship on your terms before a certain someone here breaks a certain someone else's tender core," Anti-Cosmo answered, waving his hand like it was obvious. "With my wand beside yours, we can both cut ties with social obstacles and move on to brighter futures."

"You think I'm leading Anti-Bryndin on."

"Ha! I might suggest he's leading you on and that you will retaliate in time, yes. You're nice to him and nice relationships simply don't last. Take mine for instance: My wife-to-be hid her preference for monogamy when we were first betrothed. Recently she's come into jealous ways. Frankly, I'm starting to wonder how much longer I'll be allowed to chat with my friends alone without her watching over my shoulder. And if she isn't bemoaning my longing for at least one drake partner before I die, she's scorning my dream to outwit the fairy baby mandate and father my own children someday. I admire the woman dearly, but smoke, hiding my thousand crushes is an anchor on the mind!"

You seriously can't have a short conversation with Anti-Cosmo. This one goes out to the Fairy media for gossiping that he and I would make an adorable couple. I love the guy, but he's always a blabber even when he isn't in his manic state. Fairies make relevant small talk, but Anti-Fairies do… this. Unfortunately Anti-Bryndin still hadn't called for me yet, and I didn't want to offend him by trying to help prepare the preening room when he hadn't asked me to. Anti-Cosmo watched my movement, tapping his chin.

"Oh dear, I'm dreadfully sorry. You're a Fairy; the practices of an intimate social life simply bore you. Back to Anti-Bryndin, perhaps you share similar political views, and perhaps it flatters both your egos when someone takes affectionate interest in your friendship, but you're both very powerful, darling - he in magic, you in raw strength - and both wish to up your social status. You know what I mean?" He squinted. "As politicians you shall make excellent allies, but as courgettes I have my doubts. The Seelie and Unseelie customs of expressing friendship are too different. One of you will break things off when you realize this relationship will never satisfy your needs." Pause. "I would."

"Aren't you quite the cynic?" I drawled, and he shrugged listlessly.

"I have a card up my sleeve that I think will interest you, Head Pixie: an utter weakness of Anti-Bryndin's which I shall only deign to reveal if you accept my proposition. When things fall apart, come find me. I'll be around, and my ears shall always be open. As I said, I await your signal to make my move. If you should help me claim that First General seat, you'll have a friend in high places. Whatever Anti-Bryndin won't give you that's within my power to grant, I will."

"Then expect to wait forever. I already have a friend here. I don't have enough interest in Anti-Fairy politics to care about overthrowing someone I don't hate just to shove a new peg into that hole. Until it absolutely benefits me otherwise, Anti-Bryndin stays High Count and Anti-Buster stays First General. They're under my protection."

Anti-Cosmo wrinkled his nose. "Oh, pooh. Then I suppose I must leave this colony forever one day. I had hoped in securing the red cloak, my betrothed would content herself with my status and I might live my days in the comfort of my castle. The dear damsel is not easily satisfied by a drake of low standing, you know what I mean? She desires a man of status. And monogamy." He rolled his eyes. Then he launched into a rant about the lowly rank of damsels in Anti-Fairy society and how his status as a drake placed him high above any of them and how it was basically his right to cheat on her with as many affairs as he wanted to, may Tarrow smite him for his insolence with a thousand frayed knots. All this while pacing in a circle and waving his arms about like a clown. The panic of being betrothed as a kid to someone who now demanded monogamy had clearly been building in his mind for several months, so I listened politely until he finally wound down, pulling his hair in both fists. His wingbeats stuttered and his words came out like gasps.

"So how mad will you be if I tell Anti-Bryndin your plan to off Anti-Buster?"

His arms smacked to his sides. "Threaten all you like, old chap. He punishes me with servant chores whether I'm amiable or animus, and his son favors me as a future lover. I already ran the calculations yesterday and confirmed speaking with you on this matter outweighed every risk, so HA! I don't fear you or your insinuations regarding my character." He turned away. "I shall see you again, most probably. I hope it's with your crown raised high, not tucked between your enormous square buttocks, hm?" On that charming note, Anti-Cosmo floated off with his heels kicked up and hands clasped behind his back.

"Punk," I grunted.

"I am, darling. I am."

I watched him go, then went to find Anti-Bryndin in the preening chamber. Anti-Fairies weren't known for favoring woodland aesthetic, but the smooth floor, brown walls, and dark curtain despite the lack of windows called that familiar taste to mind. He'd nearly finished his preparations, smoothing a unicorn-hair blanket across the cushy couch. His ears flicked up when I wandered in.

"Do you know what tomorrow is, Head Pixie?"

"The Festival of Devotion, High Count."

"Yes, our Soil festival for Twis. You were born in a Soil year and have karma at equilibrium." Anti-Bryndin clasped his hands beneath his chin. "Today will be a day of shallow preening, but I hope to deepen more with you then. We have traditions of satisfying Soils at equilibrium on this day."

"Do you?"

He smirked. "Well, it is true now. You are the first equilibrium Soil known to the camarilla court for many centuries. Is this okay?"

"Maybe. How satisfied?"

"Compliance with your every direction," he answered breezily, and I knew he was genuine, that he saw me as a friend, that he wouldn't betray me any time soon. The little part of me that had actually taken Anti-Cosmo's caution to core warned me that every previous relationship I'd ever had ended badly, so I shouldn't hold out hope for this one… but I decided to enjoy it while it lasted.

"Mm," I said, drifting closer. "Subordinate licks on your home turf? Kitigan, that's awfully dangerous."

He placed his wand beneath my chin and coaxed me forward. "I like to please you that much."

How familiar in my muscle memory, the guiding with the wand, only this time alluring instead of Reddinski's or Fairytwirl's forceful yanks. I raised one eyebrow. "You intrigue me. I accept."

"Tomorrow," he reminded me, pushing me back. A purring smile crossed his face. "Tonight is simple and we only discuss status with licks as society wants. Tomorrow we play as drakes who are friends. I shall prepare crackers and fruit and drinks."

"Soda?"

"Orange cream for you, H.P." Anti-Bryndin dropped his wand to the floor with a soft patter. Taking my collar in two fists, he drew my forehead to his own. "You named it your favored kind when last I served you drink. I did not forget this."

"Say no more, you old gancanagh. Let's get slippery."

Anti-Fairy licks hardly satisfy the way drone licks do, their tongues too squishy to scratch skin like ours (not to mention the acidic saliva being really distracting), but he made a brilliant effort and let me drag it out as long as I wanted. I got loaded on sugar for the first time since leaving the Eros Nest and swore I'd never go dry that long again. My tongue bristles caught the fur patches between Anti-Bryndin's small scales and left me hacking hairballs, but I didn't care. We preened like age-old friends, deep and comfortable like we'd done it for centuries. Beneath the bright flicker of the torches, the brown cushions and curtains soft around the room, the thought of walking out to tend to needy little pixies seemed insane.

"We can stay on the couch this night," Anti-Bryndin murmured in my ear after we'd been done for a time, resting in each other's arms. He'd wrapped his wings behind my shoulders.

"Can we? You don't need to be with other Anti-Fairies? Or hang upside-down?"

He stretched himself lazily across my stomach. "Pixies are warm and my magic will not become upset, I think. I can do it. Is this okay?"

And that was the best part. He didn't make it weird. My gyne instincts permanently prevented me from falling asleep until Sandman had picked off everyone else nearby, so I stayed awake for a long while. Nestled in the pillows. Drinking water to combat my coming hangover.

Maybe everyone who'd called me "cream puff" back in school was right, in a way. Maybe I did like Unseelie Courters a little too much. It was hard not to. When Anti-Bryndin worked to meet my preening specifications, he moved so tenderly, so genuinely, and that's as far as it went. No whining if I was slow to remove my clothing. No begging me to master kisses I didn't care for. No loud sighs or snippy comments about how cruel it was to cut things short before "the finale." No silent treatment the rest of the night, back turned and arms crossed. No treating my pleasure like it wasn't the goal, like prompting reactions from my body was a physical stepping stone towards an event I found pretty gross. No. Not Anti-Bryndin. He never acted like he had ulterior motives for making me happy. He never asked me to change myself, unless it was to absently suggest I stand with him on voting for this or that Anti-Fairy right I hadn't realized they didn't have. Anti-Bryndin offered himself with honesty and grace, asking for nothing in return except an approximate date for us to do it again. Everything about me delighted him; in his eyes, I could do no wrong.

I admit it. I do like Anti-Fairies. Maybe I really, really like Anti-Fairies. They let you sleep beside them and don't make it weird.

And he always asked if I was okay with what we did.

I gazed down at the High Count of Hy-Brasil, the cruel and mischievous king who was supposed to be behind all the bad luck in Fairy World and Friday the 13th "raids" these days, as he lay nestled against the crook of my arm. He'd positioned his horns just so, even capping them with soft puffs to ensure neither I nor the back of the couch got stabbed while he slept. He seemed to like my hand resting on his head. Ferocious Anti-Ember had been High Countess during the war, arguing and destroying things more often than she used a chamber pot. Ambrosine still quivered at the sound of her name, withdrawing into himself as memories closed around him. I had no idea how she'd raised such a gentle son. My foster parents had taught me there was beauty in all things, including Anti-Fairies, and that I ought not to pick sides too easily. After the war ended and Ambrosine reclaimed me at age 29, I'd been exclusively taught their people were evil, violent criminals. For a while I'd even believed it. It was strange to see their big, scary leader cuddled beside me in his checkered blue pajamas. The media certainly never showed that. He felt so soft and small, like he might break. He smelled sweet. Like berries. Not too creamy, a little more like simple fruit juice than carbonated sugar. That fit him.

"You're an unusual Anti-Fairy," I said. "But you're my unusual Anti-Fairy." I could just see that hound dog on the back of his neck, sleeping too at this time of night. And as he slept on in trust and innocence, I thought, I want a tattoo like that.

"You've never been interested in tattoos before," Emery accused when I suggested getting one, back at the village now that my holiday was over. We were in the kitchen mixing little cup-sized, sugary cakes as was our new year tradition, since all my pixies had gone to sleep in their cabin as far as I knew.

"I was in the Eros Nest before. Money was tight before. I had rave parties and kandi bracelets before."

Her eyebrow lifted. "What does Sanderson think about this?"

"Sanderson won't find out. I'll put it somewhere he won't be licking."

"He'll find it when he bathes you when he's older. Isn't that what retinue drones do?"

"Emery, I'm not sure I'm even going to live that long. I'm going to enjoy my life while I can. Besides, it's not like he'll be checking me out in the bath. Appreciating what he has like any drone appreciates a gyne, maybe, but I'm not expecting him to think it's a big deal."

"And I assume you checked out Anti-Bryndin when he stripped naked for you?"

"Shirtless isn't exactly naked. And he left the full undergarment piece on, if that bothers you less. Anti-Fairies wear undershirts. Would you stop suggesting-"

"You're getting a tattoo?" piped up a voice by the door. I sighed and let the whisk plop in my mixing bowl.

"Bayard…"

"I want a tattoo!" He hopped up and down, fluttering his wings. His eyes glittered with stars and hope. "Can I come? Please? I'll pay for it myself with my own money, and I won't cry or scream. I'll be perfectly straight-faced."

I paused. Then I turned and looked at him head on. "You think you can keep a straight face even while you get a tattoo?"

Bayard's expression instantly turned serious. "Yes. Like this. No smiling. Everyone will look at me and say, 'Who's that serious guy in the chair? Wow, I am impressed at his ability not to flinch or scream in pain. Pixies are the best.' So can I get one, boss? Can I get a phoenix?"

"I'm not sure. You're awfully young. Let's go together and see what happens."

He bounced again, then stopped and gaped at me. "You should get a tattoo for all of us. You can have one for Sanderson, one for Hawkins, one for Wilcox, one for Longwood, one for Caudwell, one for me, and one for all those other guys. Oh, that would be dazzled. We can all pick one for you. Or- or you could get our handprints on your back."

"I could get your signatures," I mused. I kind of liked the thought of that.

I walked Bayard back to the cabin, letting him examine my injured hand since I'd planned to switch to a new glove anyway, when Ambrosine suddenly called me from the village square.

"Fergus? Can I speak with you? In private?"

I sent Bayard on ahead, knowing the arrival of strong pheromones in the cabin risked waking the others anyway, and walked over to my father. Ambrosine removed his spectacles and rubbed his nose.

"As you well know, my permanent residence is Novakiin, and I often poof down here to check in with you on weekends. On Friday, before Emery and I left, I seem to recall you telling me you were taking all your pixies to Anti-Fairy World. It's recently been brought to my attention that this was not the case."

I stood, saying nothing, awaiting more accusations.

"Well?" he asked.

"Yes, that's what happened. What exactly am I being accused of? Punishing Longwood? He deserved it; the only evidence that leads anywhere leads to him accessing the restricted area of the Pink Castle library and potentially stealing valuable scrolls about cores and counterparts. Abandoning him? I came back. Starving him? Gynes are foragers; we're instinctively aware of food and we know how to get it. He's not a drone, so I knew he wouldn't just fall out of the sky. Trust me, Longwood can take care of himself. I could at that age."

"Longwood is 2,016 years old. He's at a crucial time of development in his life and he needs parental guidance. Not a week spent scrounging for food scraps in the garbage or eating what little nutrition he could from pinged-up meals. I raised you better than this."

"Obviously not."

"I don't even know what to say, Fergusius. If I thought I'd been disappointed in you when Wilcox was born, that's toad-lice compared to how I feel right now."

"Fine. I'll check in on him next time. But don't you think you're overreacting? He's not a drone. It wasn't a big deal to leave him without pheromones."

Ambrosine frowned. "You expect a next time?"

"Well, I'm definitely not going to un-ground him."

We bickered five minutes longer before I finally said, "I'm aldra mór." (That's "dominant resident gyne of our present surrounding location" for you, Anti-Cosmo). "It's my property. They're my pixies. It's not your business."

"They're my grandsons," Ambrosine pointed out.

"If you have a problem with how I'm raising them, take them to Novakiin and do it better. I certainly don't want them."

He clammed up after that. Figures.

Bayard and I arrived in Mistleville for our tattoo appointment two weeks later. True to his promise, he kept himself perfectly expressionless, following more calmly and quietly on my heels than I'd ever known him to before. The parlor was small, but clean and white. Examples of the artists' work filled the walls. They had tattoos of birds that migrated across your skin every winter. Tattoos of trees with leaves that changed with the seasons. Tattoos of music notes that played a melody when you touched them. Tattoos of fireworks that went off in an endless pattern. Tattoos of small animals capable of crawling from your skin to sit on your desk. Tattoos of animal tracks or footprints milling around the skin. Tattoos that changed color and shape with your mood. Tattoos of books with pages you could turn. Tattoos of campfires capable of providing warmth. Tattoos that were sprawling lists of names made especially for those wishing to keep track of an endless number of godchildren. Tattoos of clocks that always kept the time. Tattoos that measured the pulse of magic in your veins or how fast you were moving. Tattoos you could only see when they glowed in the dark. Dozens of tattoos in assorted zodiac designs. Matching chalkboards so you could write a message on your skin and have it show up on your partner's too. I studied everything closely. Good quality. Excellent brand. Maybe I'd buy the place someday.

With a poof of white dust, a half-elf drake with red hair and a thick mustache appeared in front of me. "Hello and welcome, sir. I'm Aric Swenski. Aren't you the new Head Pixie?"

"I am, and I'm here for my first tattoo. I scryed the other day about the hog."

His eyes flicked up and down my body. "Tattoos are a little permanent, you know."

"Birthing my pixies is a little permanent too."

He chuckled. "True. And if you really don't like what you leave with, you can always come back and we'll see if we can replace it with a cover-up. Even so, would you like to hear my advice?"

"Actually, yes. I assume you're more experienced in this area than me."

"No music bands," he said at once. "Actors or comedians, maybe, but people tend to grow out of bands. And political figures. Animals are a popular choice; people usually commit to sticking with an animal for five hundred years. If you want words, make sure everything is spelled correctly, because I'll put on exactly what you give me. I can spell, but I will give you what you ask for." He emphasized that part. "Elastic skin or not, it's going to hurt no matter where you want it done, but feet, the inner wrists, and around the wings tend to be extremely sensitive areas. I also suggest avoiding the face. Shoulders and arms work very well, as do legs and most of the back. I can't tattoo the dorsal respiratory patch on the back of your neck, and I don't do throats so as not to trigger windpipe contraction. And if your stomach stretches-"

"I'm not concerned about stretch marks," I assured him. "I was hoping to get a hog on my shoulder. The Whimsifinado family was associated with pigs in the old days. I brought a general design concept."

"Got it." He paused for a second to scratch his cheek, looking me up and down again. "The design will be permanent for about five hundred years before it's faded enough that you'll probably want to come in again and get it redone."

"That sounds reasonable. I also have this guy with me." I waved a hand over Bayard's head. "I know he's young, but he asked if he could get one too. Is that possible?"

Aric tapped his chin. "It can be arranged. I have some lighter ink that only lasts for fifty years. I can do a small area, and if he likes it I'll up it to one hundred years at his first touch-up. If he still likes it after that, I'll switch him to five-hundred-year sessions like yours."

So we rinsed our skin again and I stretched out on the padded bench. Aric marked out the design and confirmed it, then went to work weaving magic in his ink. I stayed perfectly still, watching Bayard with one eye. He kept his full attention on me, growing more and more restless as the off-minty scent of blood wafted in the air. "Are you hurt?" he asked every several minutes, no matter how many times I assured him I was fine. But, he clearly did not share Hawkins' phobia of needles. When it was his turn, I saw him twitch his hands a few times, his wings often skittering, but he kept quiet and did very well for someone so young. He couldn't get off that bench soon enough, shaking me awake. He twisted to show his left shoulder. A small red bird sat by itself, preening beneath its wings.

"That's the one you picked?"

Bayard grinned. "Yes, sir. The phoenix hops and flies all around my upper arm. Every few weeks she lays an egg and then goes up in flames. Then the new egg hatches, and the baby phoenix grows up for about a month before she lays her egg again."

"I like it."

"I love it. And I kept my face straight just like you wanted. Are you proud?"

"I'm very proud, Bayard."

He hovered for a moment, then flung his arms around my neck and licked a stripe across my throat. I grabbed his hands and shoved him off.

"No hugs."

"Okay," he chirped. "But I still like it, sir. Can I always come back when you get yours touched up?"

"If you want to. It can be our thing. Just remind me so I don't forget it was you. Now, what should we get for lunch?"

"Pancakes! But no sticky syrup."

"Well, duh."

So Bayard received his bird and I have my hog, and we've kept them brightly inked ever since.

When we returned to the village, I found a stack of mail in my office poofing bin. A certain purple envelope had been decorated in golden script. I showed it to Ambrosine after dinner. "Look. They actually sent us enough Fairy Con tickets this year. My pixies' names must be in the Eros files now. In future years we'll have to buy them, but this set is free as part of our research compensation. I think I'll go."

Hawkins yanked on my shirt with both hands. "H.P., can we enter the parent-child games together? Please? All my friends are entering with their dads."

"The rules say you have to have a dad to do that," I pointed out.

"But I promise I won't call you my dad! I won't call you 'Dad' for a whole year." He tugged again. "Can't you do it, just boss-employee? Please?"

"Hawkins, I am the Head Pixie. I don't play silly games."

"But it would be fun," he whined.

"I'm not fun. You know this about me."

Ambrosine thought for awhile. "Fairy Con isn't my favorite, but I think it would be a good opportunity for all of us. Living here in the village, your pixies don't socialize with other Fairy children as much as is healthy. I'll join you."

Emery poofed into the kitchen, hands clasped at her chin. "I heard Fairy Con. Can I bring a Plus One?"

"If you buy an extra ticket," Ambrosine said with a shrug. Emery turned on me, grinning hard.

"Who did you have in mind?" I asked dryly, already knowing the answer.

"I'm not hearing a 'No,'" she singsonged, and, well… I suppose she wasn't.

---

A/N: Text to Life - Drones are often stereotyped as people who will "wander straight off the clouds if they don't have a gyne watching them." This may seem incredibly harsh, but it has a grain of truth to it- Fae don't have a biological fear of heights like humans do. A human baby will falter at the edge of a table (once they're a few months old) while a fae baby won't. Drones are extremely sensitive to scents, so pheromone barriers warn them away from places they shouldn't go; their brains are adapted to react to scents above all else. Kabouters can still smell pheromones, but are less tied to their insect biology than gynes and drones (they're more like humans, though the animal behavior barrier still exists).

Kabouter brains are already adapted to look for cues other than scent when navigating the world, so they're more likely to notice if they wander dangerously close to the edge of a drop (compared to drones who move purposely from point to point within a certain scent boundary and will assume everything is safe unless they reach a "scent wall" that prevents them from crossing). If you scanned a Fairy brain side by side with the brains of an insect and a human, the Fairy brain would appear to be a "missing link" between them. Same deal with Anti-Fairy and bat brains. They're animal people through and through.