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)

34. Nothing Needed

(Posted December 31st, 2019)

Nothing Needed

Summer of the Silver Silk

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When summer came, Ambrosine, Emery, my pixies, Iris, and myself caught the Rainbow Transit bus up to the Wanderplains. Rice had been fitted with a harness leash for the occasion. He didn't like it, but since I was expecting to cross paths with other gynes, I made him come. Keefe and Springs had just finished pooferty, and it showed. Springs hadn't shut up since, so I'd already planned to tune him out for the next nineteen centuries. Iris held him in her lap, bouncing him on her knee as she taught him a baby song. "I'm sorry you have to deal with this," I said to her. "They're not related to you and you don't know me that well."

"I don't mind. I have a lot of patience for kids. Um, I like to think I do, at least."

"Iris is wonderful with kids," Emery interjected, slinging an arm around her shoulders. Iris forced a pained smile. I stared at my clasped hands, wondering if I'd made a mistake in wearing my sleeveless Pixie Holotype shirt today. It had seemed appropriate, and I liked the way it showed my shoulder freckles off. Only now did I wonder if Iris thought I was pleading for her attention.

"Hey," Rice said from Longwood's lap. When Iris looked over, he said, "I once watched this peachy pie throw a baby from a roof. Compared to him, you're a natural."

Ambrosine shot me a glance. I rolled my eyes. Iris's hesitant smile flickered up again. "I, um, have a nephew."

"How is Junior anyway?"

"Fine."

Rice still didn't raise his head, but watched Iris for a moment in silence. "I've still got those connections with Roxanne Roebeam I mentioned, hon."

"No thank you."

"Galaxia's got the whole musical world open to him."

Iris did not reply.

"Just saying, don't hold him back-"

"I'll be sure to steer my nephew on a path of useful education, sir."

"Wait," Emery blurted. "Harry 'Fairy Cowlick Jr.' Galaxia?"

I snapped to attention. "The singer?"

"The brownie kid?" my sister asked at the same time. Iris looked at her, looked at me, then looked away. Interesting. She was an alux, and had the oversized pink crown to show for it. The brownie in her lineage must have been a great-grandmother. I upturned my hand, trying to signal Emery she'd offended her guest, and she responded with a defensive shrug.

Just then, Keefe came flying from the back of the bus. "H.P.! H.P., Caudwell's playing tricks on me!"

"Tricks?" Grateful for the distraction, I turned on him. "That doesn't sound like Caudwell."

"It was me!" Bayard hollered.

"I figured," I called back, and he punched the air.

"Yes, I'm memorable! That could be my hook!"

Madigan shook his head.

"He says- he says-" Keefe tripped over his own tongue trying to get the words out. "He calls me Springs, but that's not me!" He was quite offended for a baby, stomping his tiny foot. His wings quivered.

"I'll tell Bayard not to tease you," I assured him, stroking his hair. "But did you two know you look the same?"

"But I'm Keefe. I tell everyone I'm Keefe and I don't tell them I'm Springs. He's playing tricks that aren't true."

"Well, he's only goofing around while off the clock. He knows who you really are. This is why we have pheromones to help tell each other apart. You and Springs look alike, but you smell different."

"Different?"

"Yes. Grow up and go to school so you can learn things."

Keefe huffed and stomped away again. I heard him call one of the others the wrong name, and all my pixies dissolved in dry chuckles and shaking wings.

The bus unloaded us at the Fairy Con gates soon enough. "Let's move through quickly," I told them, handing the stack of tickets to the attendant at the counter. "Fairy conventions are notoriously short. We can't waste time zigzagging back and forth across the field. We'll peruse the booths in the order they're laid out."

The attendant counted all the tickets, then gave me a funny look. "Is someone missing? There's one extra here."

I pointed at Madigan, who sat under the lip of the counter with his Plane 7 bird identification book. We were waved through. Keefe scampered over and held his arms up to me.

"Carry?"

"You're a year old. While you live with me, you should float or walk. Head up. Back straight. Face blank."

Whining, Keefe pawed at my shirt. Springs put his thumb in his mouth, toes and wings curled. I glanced at my right wrist and sighed at the bracelet dangling there. Springs was next in line to feed on my magic. Pushing Keefe away with my foot, I lifted my shirt enough to grant Springs access to my pouch. Once he was secure, I scooped Keefe in one arm.

"This is going on your permanent record, kid," I muttered, but headed after Emery and Iris anyway. At least I was holding the one that didn't fidget or dive with grabby hands at every new smell.

"Carry?" Rice asked, trotting after me on little legs.

"You get to walk."

Just inside the convention grounds stood a tall map of the area. The venue size was significant; tens of thousands of Fairies would mill around here today, and visiting every must-see hot spot would be impossible. It updated every few seconds as new tents poofed in and others poofed away. Every gyne was marked with blinking lights (we'd been given tracking buttons as we came in). A guest book bobbed nearby, fat and happy with excited signatures from Fairies far and wide. I eyed it for a moment, then glanced at Iris and Emery again. They were deep in conversation with Ambrosine… Too deep to notice me if I was fast. This was my first Fairy Con since I was 72,000 thousand years old; Ambrosine had been specially invited to give a speech on some therapy topic he couldn't resist. Fairies from all over the cloudlands marked their names in that book as they arrived, right? And Fairy Con was an event few Fairies besides my father would miss if they could help it, wasn't it?

I wonder…

I started flipping pages back to the 'B' section. My finger darted down the list and stopped on a name near the bottom. Her box wasn't checkmarked yet, but the name hadn't changed a bit.

Emery's hand came down on the page. "Looking for someone in particular?"

I met her gaze, eyes half-lidded. "Maybe."

She squinted at my finger. "Who's Marina Black?"

Ambrosine turned sharply. "Marina isn't good for you, Fergus. She wasn't then and she certainly isn't now."

Emery's eyes flew wide. She looked at Ambrosine, then him, then me, then him, then me again. "Who's Marina?"

I clapped the guest book shut, and she yelped. "Probably no one you'd know. We went to school together."

Ambrosine set just one hand to his waist and tipped his head, the way he'd always done when disciplining me in my youth. "Marina has always been a difficult damsel who hailed from a family with no status and from a young age planned to waste her days studying Anti-Fairies. She's the one who first put the idea of law school in your brother's head."

"There were, like… two kids for me to hang out with when I was young. Odds were I was going to like one of them."

"Isn't there a Black family who live down the street from us in Novakiin?" Emery asked. "They're habetrots, right? They have a spinning wheel you can see right in the front window. I last saw them at church a few years back."

Ambrosine nodded, lips tightly pressed. "Marina is their daughter. I believe she introduced herself to you at Wish Fixers' three millionth anniversary party, though she's an easy name and face to forget… For some inexplicable reason, Fergus found her fascinating all his life up until he ran off. As I recall, those two drank themselves fritzy and nearly gave their souls away at the first and last Academy party he ever attended."

Sanderson, Hawkins, and Wilcox snapped their heads around to me in startled unison. "The Academy?" Wilcox whispered to Hawkins, who shushed him with a soft finger. My sister's face lit with interest, her mouth a perfect O. Even Iris arched a curious I know the first thing I'm asking during Truth or Shooting Star eyebrow. I maintained my blank-faced stare (this time aimed at Ambrosine), and shoved my hands in my pockets.

"What?"

"Marina is crude and unpredictable."

"We share common interests. She likes parties and soda just as much as I do."

"Just as much?" Rice asked innocently.

"She lacks considerable respect for her elders."

"Then it's a good thing I'm younger by two years anyway."

He frowned. "What happened to my little drake who wanted nothing to do with damsels?"

"Kissing got way more interesting when I found out its actual biological intention is assessing the health and genetic compatibility of a potential mate. See, that actually makes sense. Besides that, exchanging bacteria boosts the immune system in the long run. That's why it's mostly rare for Anti-Fairies to get sick when their counterpart does. They've figured out life."

Emery was practically jiggling up and down. "I knew you weren't a lost cause!" she shouted, floating higher. She dove forward to grab my shoulders. "Swear you'll go out with this Marina dame if I ever get her contact information!"

"I can't. You're always 'busy' and Dad would never agree to watch my pixies."

"I could watch them for you," Iris offered. When we all looked at her, she dropped her gaze. Her hands tightened in an anxious ball. "So you can have a nice evening out."

Emery gave a brisk nod. "See? Iris will watch them. And I'll pay her so you won't have to. Everybody wins."

Ambrosine cleared his throat. "Marina is directly responsible for weaseling dozens, if not hundreds, of Anti-Fairies out of punishments they're on trial for. The bad luck in the universe would have been contained long ago if she didn't think sticking her nose in their world was a fantastic idea."

"Emery," I said calmly. "If you find Mary Black, tell her I'd love to meet her for bowling and pizza sometime. Where she's concerned, I'm available whenever."

"Bowling and pizza?" Her expression turned to awe. "That is classy…"

"How romantic," Iris breathed. "Like Queen Vyanda's ball in Great Sidhe all those years ago."

"A ball I myself attended," I said, searching for my name in the guest book. "Remind me to tell you that story sometime. Prince's glass shoes were murder on that floor, bless his dust…"

I skimmed the gyne page up and down and finally noticed myself listed as 'Head Pixie' instead of 'Fergus Whimsifinado.' Suddenly it was real then. Yeah, I'd been picked apart at the Eros Nest, yeah I had my own portrait hanging in Holotype Hall over there, and yeah I'd been coronated a few months ago, but to not see my birth name stamped out on that page… That was an odd experience. I'd embraced my title in full, identified myself as inseparable from my role before the eyes of the Supreme Fairy Council and Fairy law. The Head Pixie ruled for life. Until the day I died, this was my new legal name. I wasn't getting my old one back unless I passed my title to the next pixie in line. Anti-Fairies weren't invited to Fairy Con, so Anti-Bryndin wouldn't be in the book, but I wondered if he ever felt the same way when he saw the words 'High Count' and knew they meant him.

Finding all my pixies took longer. The names I usually called them were legally their surnames in Fairy society, so they were found in different places. I combed through pages and checkmarked each one slowly, methodically. It wasn't an efficient system, but it gave me cruel pleasure to keep Ambrosine, Emery, and the line behind me waiting for just a little while. In future years pixies would be listed in our own section of the guest book, with some of us both there and on the gyne page, but that year I took my time while everyone watched me with growing boredom. It's the little things in life, you know.

I finished with the book and floated after the others, who'd already started exploring the earlier booths. Wilcox flew up to me. "You've never said you were at the Cosmorella ball, boss."

"I don't tell you a lot of things. Get used to it." A moment later, I noticed a purple banner flapping from a nearby post and stopped. "Smoof. It's a Samhain year, isn't it? Yes it is. While we're here, I should check the Council tent so I don't have to make a special trip to Fairy Court later."

At least that was something, I reflected as I drummed my fingers at the ticket table. Since I was Head Pixie now, I'd never be at risk for becoming tamlin again. I pitied the two young gynes standing behind me, both of them wriggling and whispering to steady their nerves.

"I used to go to Samhain," Rice said, leaning against my leg. "Sometimes I miss that."

"I suppose. You mentioned you were born a gyne."

"Yeah… Didn't like the idea of committing shortcaking murder too much. That's also why I tapped out and went cù sith, not just the falling-in-love-with-an-anti-fairy thing. Still weird I can look at gynes now and not puffing hate them. I don't hate you." He fell briefly silent, rubbing his head on my knee to scratch the place beneath his floating feathered hat. "Still cocoa weird I gave it up sometimes. I was a gyne with the creamiest preening partner in the cloudlands: my brother. I wonder what he's doing. I'll bet he's out there frosting my wife. He was always sweeting sweet on her. Yeah, I bet he is."

The clerk behind the ticket counter finally found my name on his list. He marked it off with a green stamp, then slid me an envelope. I checked inside and whistled.

"Well?" Emery asked when Rice and I caught up with the group again. "Five hundred lagelyn you got marked Balcony Only. This year for sure."

I flipped the card around so she could see. "Guess who won himself a free ticket for the stage. As usual."

"I hate your stupid face," she muttered, poofing an IOU into her hand.

"What's that for, sir?" Longwood asked. He squinted at the sparkling script across the envelope. "Sam… hain? Samhain Night?"

"That's pronounced sow-in."

"What's that?"

I ruffled his hair and pocketed the ticket. "I'll tell you when you're older. It's not a thing juvenile gynes have to worry about."

Emery and Iris both jumped and shot me wide-eyed looks. "I said guys," I protested, and put the envelope away. "Guys."

Bayard tugged on my coat. "What's gynes?"

"Shh." I cuffed the back of his head. "We're in public. Don't let the adults hear you use that word or I'll get disgusted looks all day."

That's one of the details I ensured was different in Pixie society as our world expanded. No one had a problem using the labels 'gyne' and 'drone' when I was just a baby, but the next generation had been infected by the media. By the time I'd started upper school, we were taught that preening was an intimate thing meant for dim rooms with closed doors, not the casual display it once had been. Soon there were special classes gynes and drones took to get the talk about the nests and the honeycomb without disgusting innocent kabouters with these facts of life. As a young adult down Earthside, I'd been under orders to wear a pheromone-suppressing scarf whenever I wandered a Fairy town, even if I was just skirting the edge on my way to the beach. Frankly, it sucked.

So as our numbers grew, I lost interest in conforming to that hush-hush norm of Fairy society. Preening is a thing and every pixie knows it, so we speak blatantly about who's a gyne and who's a drone. The politer social circles of Fairy World find this completely inappropriate, and it's still common there for young gynes to cover their freckles with make-up and glide through life pretending to be kabouters, at least until they're old and strong enough to hold their own in a fight. Fairy society tries to promote unity that way, but they go about it all wrong by making young gynes and drones feel like freaks. That's my view. One of my strengths as a leader, I'm convinced, is assuring my pixies that we aren't pointy-hatted freaks of nature, no matter how Fairy society may judge our genetics or our ways.

As I write this chapter now in the Year of the Salty Winds, Fairy society is changing again. I have High Count Anti-Cosmo's own counterpart, Cosmo Cosma, to thank in part for that. I'd given up and surrendered to a lifetime of gynes and drones getting told they were savage, undisciplined beasts with instincts they couldn't change, but Cosmo found opportunity where I found an unbreachable wall. I still remember the day he published his sixth picture book, How the Honeybees Say Goodnight.

His gentle, innocent portrayal of preening shook the cloudlands into uproar. I mean, even back when preening in public was commonplace, it wasn't something kids were meant to witness. I'd been trying to turn the minds of adults. Cosmo opened the eyes of children. He painted preening as something beautiful. And he succeeded.

The book is banned in most of Fairy World, of course, as were most of his others after critical eyes analyzed political subtleties between the lines. Anti-Cosmo knows more on the subject and is working on a document that details Fairy World's post-war revolts and his counterpart's unlikely survival when the revolutionaries hunted him down. I will thus leave the explanation in his hands and include a citation for the piece when it's finished. In any case, he's an incredibly influential writer, that Cosmo, just like his poetic father. I'm not fond of the views towards Pixies he's let slip in interviews, but I can't fault him wholly. He writes political commentaries and I'm a politician. He's not supposed to think me flawless. I'd like to sway him someday, but we'll see what becomes of it.

We'd all been making our way along a row of people selling everything from legitimate potion ingredients to instructions for using some hot-shot adolescent's homemade spell modifiers to lucky charms "sure to keep the Anti-Fairies away this time" when one booth's title caught my eye: Magic Springs - Magic Finger Massages. It was written in both Snobbish and Elrulian. "Now that's marketing," I said aloud. I pulled Emery's sleeve. "Watch my pixies. I have to do a thing."

"You cannot be serious," she grumped when I walked off. Nonetheless, she motioned my pixies to follow her. They hesitated, torn, until I snapped my fingers. Sanderson was harder to convince, and tailed me until I took him by the shoulder and stuck him firmly by Ambrosine's side.

"Stay."

"Come?" Rice asked, waving his tail, a loop of leash in his mouth.

"Stay." But I brought Keefe along.

The fairy at the massage booth noticed me coming from a long way off. He looked strikingly familiar with his shiny black pegasustail, though I was blanking on his name. With a wave of his wand, all the brochures before him disappeared. One poof later, a new stack materialized on the table and magically fanned themselves out for my viewing pleasure. "Holeilo, señor."

That was an Elrulian greeting. The scented candles glowing around him masked the majority of his pheromones, but I still paused and looked at him. "Wait a sec. I think I know your father."

"Oh." He didn't seem particularly pleased about this. Nonetheless, he offered me a brochure. "Your baby, es muy lindo. I have never seen a child so calm in a busy place like Fairy Con."

"Yeah, I'm surprised he's not squealing for your candles," I said, staring at Keefe's head. He just let me hold him in one arm, looking at his feet and tapping them together on occasion. "My other pixies would've burned themselves already, I swear. Bless their lines, but they're dumb as bricks and they like to poke things. Keefe's a weird nymph. But you should see him get upset. He screams louder than the rest."

"The rest?" The drake's expression turned wistful. "Ah. Good fortune smiles upon your life, Head Pixie. I still wish for a sweet babe of my own when I am older. I pray every day the mandate will be lifted, for then a common fairy like myself might have a child with the damsel of his dreams." Then he remembered the brochure and lifted it towards my hand again. "Would you care to learn of my employer's work, señor? He is a good, gentle drake."

He placed unnecessary emphasis on those last few words, like he didn't believe them himself. I accepted and flipped through several pretty images of bathing pools, massage tables, and lemonade bars with one hand. "So then, you must have-" I looked back at the fidgeting fairy as I spoke, but broke off when something caught my eye. A dark smudge near his collarbone, mostly covered by his shirt. He'd just shifted at the wrong time.

Maybe some would have waved the mark off as a claiming kiss. But the drake was young, and I knew the difference between an affectionate bruise and an angry one. Oh, I knew. My fingers froze.

Somebody hit him.

A rival at school? Maybe a gyne? I tore my gaze from the spot before he could notice I was staring. My fingers skimmed his cheeks for freckles, not finding as many as I'd expected. Some gynes chose to cover theirs with assorted make-up powders, especially the weaker ones. The bent head made it harder to tell. "Uh," I said, scratching for a way out. "Is that a fake mustache?"

The drake touched his face. "Ah, it is real. A real fake mustache."

"Mmhm." My eyes trailed back to the brochure. "So you represent Magic Springs Spa."

Giving up, he unstuck the loose mustache from his face. "Sí, señor. I have not yet completed my education, so today I only run our booth. But, I assure you, I intend to pursue the ways of massage with the utmost fiery passions, and I shall rise to high standing within my field someday."

"You guys do physical therapy, don't you?"

"Sí. My employer, Boss Reddinski, is connected with Makayla Firebloom, and this is her life's work. You are of Wish Fixers and the Whimsifinado family?"

"Yes. Yes I am." I glanced again at the brochure. "Maybe I should reach out to Firebloom. It was 50,000 years ago she switched from mind and magic therapy to body. Maybe I should work with you before Applespark tries to make a move. Applespark's been a thorn in our heel for a long time."

"Perhaps, señor."

"My feet," Keefe said, kicking them. The drake smiled at his lap. I spotted a second bruise on his upper arm, right around the hem of his sleeve. That must have been some hit if it showed up on elastic fairy skin.

"I know your father," I said again, studying what I could see of his bowed face. "You're Luis Magnifico's kid. I went to school with him. Infertile drone… I remember. Didn't he seduce a genie or something? I was down on Earth working for Cattahan, but even we heard about that." I whistled. "That makes you a luz mala, doesn't it? You're rare, you know. Super rare." Only in unusual circumstances did wishes play a factor in bringing a Fairy to life, and always their magic turned out to be intense… Come to think of it, a newborn luz mala would arguably possess the purest form of raw magic in the known universe. I wondered what the ramifications for experimenting with that level of power would be. Could you distort space on a wide scale with that stuff? Permanently rearrange time?

The drake blinked unhappily at the table, having avoided eye contact all the while. "My name is Juandissimo Magnifico. I am born of genie magic, sí. Not of natural conception, but of magic first and foremost. Yes. I was born triplets with my kalkara, my counterparts. We three were born to my father, and I have no mother. Sí."

"You legitimately have no mother. That sounds familiar."

"If I may say, señor, I should like to note that luz mala are not the scary freaks we are said to be. I control my emotions. They are not wild and dangerous as the media says, especially as I am older. I am a good fairy."

"Then you and I have something in common, Juan. See, I pride myself-"

"Juandissimo."

He said it with more conviction than I'd have expected from his hunched shoulders and drooping wings. I paused, tightening my fingers on the edge of the brochure. He didn't spit it like a threat. More of a question. A concern.

"… Juandissimo. I pride myself on controlled emotions too. Not a lot of Fairies see that as a positive trait, but I don't think you're a freak. You know, I think I saw you in the Eros Nest a few times, babysitting Venus's little brats."

"I have interned at the Eros Nest for all my life," he said carefully. "I work closely with Señors Cupid, Lucius, and Apuleius. This is true."

I tapped the brochure against my hand, trying to keep my eyes off those glaring bruises. "That settles it. Scry me the moment you get certified for physical therapy. I want you as my masseur one of these days. If you're anything like your father, you have a reputation for dedication and executing plans."

Juandissimo looked blankly at his palms. "I will still be learning the trade, señor. I could not impress a drake such as yourself, for I fear it will take time to master this craft I love. No, even after my certification I intend to massage the Eros Triplets only for many millennia."

"Put me on the waiting list, then, because I like you already."

"Que?"

"You're a Magnifico, duh. Good family."

"Good family?" Juandissimo lifted his head. "The Magnificos?"

"In the bodywork business, I should smoofing think so. Your father wasn't known across the cloudlands like Rupert Roebeam, but at our school, we named him most desirable drone every year. Lured a lot of gynes. Reddinski fought hard to keep him."

Juandissimo folded his fingers, resting them thoughtfully against his lips. "My father? I wouldn't know it in him now. He has become so lost since my birth, I think. Always he is nervous and never tells me much of his life before. He scolds himself much for being bad, and with a name like luz mala upon my head, perhaps I have struggled with my worth as a noble otter struggles with a clam. Thank you for sharing this news, señor… My confidence is boosted and I shall fly it like a gorgeous flag. I will live up to this name of magic finger massages."

"Stick with me and we'll do business, kid. For starters, I can help you and Firebloom up your marketing from this little banner to flyers across all of Fairy World. The D.U.M.P. is probably your biggest competitor in terms of therapeutically rinsing away a crusty build-up of stale magic, and they have a smoofing good loyalty program. I should've bought a loyalty pass this cycle. Maybe I will if Magic Springs doesn't take off. You'll want to be sure you offer benefits in other areas they don't cover. Let's not forget the importance of quality, pricing, and convenience."

"Oh," he said, already looking dizzy. He poofed up a clipboard and began to scribble notes. I liked that.

"How's school going, drake? Probably well if you're like Luis. Do you need a list of drones to network with? I can't give names under Canterbury v. Oakwing, but I can direct you to the general area you might run across them. And you know, if it makes you a better masseur, I could sponsor-"

"My dust!" my father suddenly called behind me. The energy field brightened. "Ivorie, is that you? You're all grown up! And with your daughter training under Dustfinger, so I heard. Love the hair, as always. How are the books, my dear? It's been forever since last we talked."

Ivorie…

I twisted away from Juandissimo. There at the stall across the path sat a will o' the wisp with fiery hair and black wings speckled with rainbow stars. She glanced up when Ambrosine called her name. Strings of funnel cake dripped between her teeth. From the sudden set of her jaw and the pinpricks of hot white in the energy field, I guessed my father was the last fairy she'd hoped to see. Her eyes froze on Sanderson.

And me? What would she do to me when she saw me standing here? The last time I'd seen her, I'd destroyed her latest novel and she'd nearly killed me with a Kiss of Frost. Who knew what cruel punishments she'd thought up in the last 3,500 years. And really, what stopped her from catching me, paralyzing me, and tucking me under her table until it was time to carry me home? I'd escaped thanks to Sanderson. Even if Keefe came with me, I doubted I could pull the same trick twice.

I pulled my hat lower. Long ago, she'd licked the front of my hair into twin peaks. I usually let them curl out from beneath my hat the way they naturally wanted to fall, but… she'd recognize me for sure. Her attention was diverted. I had just enough time…

I stuffed the brochure away and moved to the next booth, wondering how fast I needed to walk to not look suspicious, when I realized Ambrosine was probably seconds from blurting my name. Or if not him, Sanderson. Sanderson with her brand in his hair and Rice undeniably beside him. She'd wanted him for Idona's harem once. He was thin, almost scrawny, but tall for his age and healthy enough. And the two had hit it off so well at the Council meeting…

I spun around mid-step and came forward, pushing all my attention into a lazy gait. I even smiled thinly. Without magic, I had no chance to whip up a disguise… and her senses would inform her if I wore one anyway.

Suddenly Ambrosine was at my arm, pulling me forward with Rice and Sanderson at his heels. "There's someone I'd like you to meet. I spent more time with Ivorie in her younger years than her own parents, and I remember her fondly. Her daughter is the wisp ambassador in training. You should consider buying her a juice- I suspect you two would get along well. I think you have a lot in common."

"I met Idona at the Council meeting," I said, locking eyes with Kalysta. At least I didn't have to fake a deeper voice. I'd settled into a comfortable monotone since leaving her, and it came without stuttering, without desperation. I was eating better now. Recently I'd cut my hair, trimming it shorter in the back than she'd ever seen. Her gaze, blue, locked with mine. Still half-hunched over her plate, caught with her mouth full of funnel cake, she looked more anxious about our encounter than I was.

I expected some part of me to react in some way. To flinch. To clap my hands to my face. To gasp and sweat and flutter my wings. To clench Keefe more tightly if nothing else. But it was nothing. I gazed at the dame I'd despised all those years ago. And I felt nothing. Kalysta attempted a greeting, her eyebrows pinched and mouth still stuffed.

All gynes showed facial freckles, though coverage areas varied by family (or species, in our case). Mine ran beneath my eyes and just over my nose. Longwood's spiked higher but retained the general inverted V. Our body freckles were clustered around our shoulders, lightening farther down the arms. I'd worn my Pixie Holotype shirt today. No sleeves. It had been less than 4,000 years since I'd seen Kalysta, but I'd only stayed with her nine months. How closely had she studied my upper body during that time? I doubted much; she was a wisp, after all. She might recognize a certain pattern, but chalk it up to Ambrosine's genepool.

I wasn't sure what to do with my wings. They were my blatant signature, and wing notches alone wouldn't be enough to put her off the trail. I decided trying to hide them would only look suspicious, so I left them lifted and outspread, not dangling them as I'd done in her burrow. My clothes and glasses were new. Glasses can do wonders for a disguise. My hat covered all but a few spikes of black hair around my ears, my cowlick curled from the back.

My pheromones had changed considerably since I'd left her. No longer was I a submissive gyne sniveling at her beck and call. I was Head Pixie. I did not clench my fists or drive my heels into the ground. I held a baby in my arms and tried to exude the same careless confidence that came so easily to Rupert Roebeam.

Ambrosine took hold of my shoulder. "Ivorie, this is my son-"

"Sanders Whimsifinado," I interrupted, shoving Keefe in his arms. I stretched out my hand. "If you're Kalysta, then Fergus mentioned you several times."

My father paused. So did Rice.

"Did he?" Kalysta stood to accept the shake. Her hand was sticky, and she faltered when she noticed. Only a bit, but I saw. She dropped her gaze, and they traced the words Pixie Holotype on my shirt. Her eyes shot to mine again. "Oh! Head Pixie. It's… it's an honor to meet you. I didn't expect to have the chance within my lifetime."

I kept my cold smile in place, though I half wanted to scowl. Did she recognize me as Fergus, or had she bought the Sanders thread? I couldn't tell. Though I'd hoped to avoid an awkward re-encounter, it was almost insulting she didn't remember. It had only been a few thousand years.

Ambrosine had fallen silent, watching me with narrow-eyed suspicion. For her part, Kalysta shifted where she stood, running her thumb across the palm of her other hand. I said, "It surely must be my lucky day, not yours. After all, you're here. I've read some of your work."

Rice scratched a foot behind his ear. "Yes," Kalysta said, gripping her elbow. "I write often. It's my passion. I… Is this Sanderson?"

Sanderson bobbed to one side, glancing at me for permission to ask how she knew his name. "Yes," I said. "The name stuck, so I kept it."

Her eyes flicked from me to the gray mutt sitting in the grass. "I see you have a cù sith with you, sir."

"I do." I relished the nervous prickles running up and down her Daoist skin. Maybe that explained her distracted mind. I shifted myself between her and Ambrosine with my wings spread in clear indication that I wished to speak with her alone. Obediently, he backed up to give us more space, carrying Keefe to a booth of toys better suited for a young pixie. I nudged Rice with my foot and asked, "Would you prefer I send him away?"

"Only if you intend a conversation, sir." Kalysta stuck up her chin as she said that, the words I won't talk if you don't glowing in her eyes. Then she frowned. "But… could I ask one thing before he goes?"

Rice threw me an inquisitive glance. I tapped my fingers. Was there a downside to this? If Kalysta lied in his presence, it might tempt him to swap their souls. Rice had been itching for a new body anyway, and perhaps I'd get some well-deserved revenge. And if she didn't lie…

"How about three things, dame? You get three totally true answers. Then I get three totally true answers. Fair's fair."

Her darting eyes drank me up as I bent to pick up Rice. She sat down again, slowly. Oh, she terribly feared my game, but it thrilled her to her blushing core. She'd always used coin sith in her writing to prompt emotional confessions from stubborn characters (so bland those scenes, always identical, brimming with love affairs), but a challenge of just three snared her interest and didn't let her go. It didn't surprise me in the least when she asked, "If you're Sanders, are you the biological sire of this little speck here?"

Sanderson tipped his head. "Yes," I admitted. I threw all the offhand disinterest into the confirmation that I could muster. "I didn't want nymphs back then. I tried to drown him when he was born, but Fergus disappeared with him into the night. Thank you for nursing him."

I was a genetic chimera who'd absorbed Sanders in the womb. Even though he hadn't lived, it was still his name. None of that was lying, which I found entertaining. Like a puzzle inside a puzzle. That's why it wasn't lying: I'd absorbed my twin. Alternate explanations are wrong.

The wisp put her head to one side too, mirroring Sanderson. "To whom did Fergus give his soul away before me? Surely you know."

"Actually, I don't make a habit of nosing into someone else's romantic life." I thought for a second, scrubbing Rice's fur. Then I added, "You gave him his first mating plug, dame. Were your looks not enough to charm a monogamous fairy like him? My condolences."

Kalysta drummed her fingernails in a familiar way. A rapid, irritated way, though her face remained icy smooth. She played her third card without hesitation. "If I may ask, sir, since I am very curious, can I get the name of Sanderson's mother? I visited the Eros Nest while doing research for my latest novel, but confidentiality was so strict that the cherubs wouldn't give me any details."

"That would be a little rough."

Her hand paused atop her water flask. "You don't know either?"

"I cannot reliably offer any identifying information about the specific sperm-contributing female parents for a single one of my many pixies and do not expect to be able to in the future. I may be a simple man, but it's complicated." Just to irritate her, I added, "There are many damsels at the kinds of wild parties I attend, Ivorie. And when I'm not pregnant, which is not often, I drink a lot of soda."

"I see…" She stared at me again, and I noted with delicious interest that there wasn't a fleck of attraction on her face. Maybe that's why wisps are obsessed with the aggressive game they play. The discomfort glinting in her eyes was hilarious. Even Sanderson shot me a glance.

"You've asked your three, dear. My turn."

"Fair's fair, sir." She was still eyeballing Rice. "Ask away."

I pushed Sanderson back towards Ambrosine, and he went reluctantly with more than one backwards glance. Kalysta and I watched him until I was sure he was out of hearing range. Then I lowered my voice. "Did Fergus please you in bed? Really, really please you. Not just satisfy a carnal need."

The wisp considered this question, patting her forefingers against her lip. "He did. He wasn't exactly the most cheerful drake in my burrow, but… when we were together, it felt like he had the utmost respect for me. He never looked me in the eyes, but he showed it in other ways. He wasn't like any wisp I'd ever known; even from Day 1, it wasn't just a job for him, or just a way to get himself a baby and boost his social rank. The man never did anything if he wasn't going to do it with pride. Always had to be the best at everything he did, Fergus. He knew so much about a world I never saw except those brief pieces when I came for appointments with your father, and he always told wonderful stories when brushing my hair… But there was shyness behind that confidence too. He was careful. He looked at the world in his own Fergus way. I'll never forget the first time he pretended to lose a play-fight with the nymphs, and how much it lit little Sanderson's world to sit atop his chest. I grew up with Fairy media in my hands, and even I'd never heard of a drake doing that before. When I asked him why he played defeated, he just looked at me and said, 'Because they wanted to win.' That's the day I fell for him, Head Pixie… I remember staring back and thought, I stole a sweet man from a heavenly realm, and I have no right to keep him."

Rice gagged. Suddenly she laughed.

"And he was so funny, no matter how passionate I tried to sway him to be. There was this one time we were just a few shudders from transitioning to the sharing magic stage, and he said something I lost my mind over… I don't even remember what it was, but I got up in the middle pretending I needed the washing cave just so I could go and laugh. Don't tell him I laughed- it'll go to his head. King Nuada knows that's the last thing anyone needs. I miss his humor so much."

… She'd gotten really distracted from the original question. I frowned. "And was it still pleasing those times he took the lead in things? In bed, specifically."

She blinked like she wanted to ask why I cared, but true to our game, she thought about my question again. "Yes. I would say yes. He started out so nervous, and I understand why looking back now and realizing I was his first. But after his early hesitations, he started initiating it, demanding I let him practice because his fragile little ego would rupture on the spot if anyone suggested there was room for improvement. Those nights were interesting. Not necessarily passionate, not necessarily wonderful… but interesting. Not that I'd tell him that. He hated being interesting. He wanted to be undesirable. Untouchable. Wild. Everything you didn't want him to be while pretending he was just enough so he could lure you in and conquer. He'd drive you to your limit, only to yank you back before you got there and slam you down with a blazing stare, panting and glittering with sweat and dust, laughing dryly at the disgust and hate in your eyes. And… that's when you knew he was ready. That he'd breathed your brainwaves and touched the threads of your soul and was about to give you everything you never knew to ask for."

When she finished, Kalysta watched me for signs of reaction, smiling softly. I scrutinized that smile, biting my lip and fighting incredibly hard to keep my wings from trembling. Did she recognize the Fergus in me? Despite my different pheromones, my new dry and steady voice, and the name I'd given in Rice's presence, did her attention to detail suspect a thing?

"But he did please you. You said he did."

"Like no one ever had or will again. We grappled like warriors, making no love but conquering our inner demons side by side. When we shared magic, he never allowed me access to his core chamber, and I likewise denied him. Physically, emotionally, mentally, magically, he always guarded himself and I thought that absolutely fascinating. That distance only made me crave him more. To answer the original question, yes. He pleased me by frustrating me to the roots of my hair. Fergus was a strange drake. Beautiful, but strange… I'm glad he got away. I like to think the world needed him out here more than I did down there. I hope he's doing well… Did that answer what you were looking for, sir?"

"That was fine, thank you."

We fell quiet as I scratched my brain for something else to say. Kalysta's brows grew more and more peaked, her signals in the energy field throbbing lower and lower in her throat. "Well," I finally said, "I guess that's all I really wanted to ask."

"Oh." And she looked at me like a puppet that fell from grace after someone cut its strings. "I suppose that's fair. We haven't met. You only know me as a wisp, and the stereotypes that go with it."

"In my defense, you asked about my mating life first."

"You're as sharp-tongued as your brother."

"Correction: I'm worse."

… In perfect truth, Kalysta did not reveal every word of what's written above that day we met at Fairy Con. Maybe not even most of those words. She is less poetic, less confident, less forthcoming, less honest than I am. She actually might have said things contrary to what I wrote up there. I include my interpretation in place of hers because I know this is what she really thought of me, even if she refuses to admit it to this day. If you ask her in person, she'll surely criticize my technique or make nasty comments on my kisses, but as I hope I made clear during the restaurant encounter with Reddinski, I am very sensitive to liars. That's why I know her protests aren't true. I did please her and I want that noted down. Even though she thought she ruled her burrow, I ruled where it really mattered. I lost China because she was too stubborn to appreciate me, that string of damsels I toyed with before Palomar's birth don't count, Anti-Cosmo's erratic mood swings are the reason our friendship's unstable, we all know I screwed up with Iris, and I'm playing the long game with the Fairy Elder, but I pleased Kalysta. Don't bother interviewing her for details because she'll just lie and say I didn't when I really did. Here's the thing: I'm Head Pixie. No one blitzes damsels the way I do. I have certain skills everyone else can only dream of. I'm a professional.

"I thought of something else," I said. "Why did you go to Wish Fixers for therapy when you were an adolescent?"

Her gaze slid down to her hand. She flipped it over, palm up. A familiar faded scar. "My mother sent me because I was trying to go tomte. I was afraid to grow up and someone told me losing my magic would slow my physical aging down."

I slid my own injury in my pocket automatically, which she noticed. A questioning brow went up. I ignored it, holding Rice tighter to my chest. "Yes, it would have… Preserves the vitality of a younger body at the cost of increased wrinkles and mental deterioration. Why were you afraid?" How odd. I'd longed for my adult wings when I was still a nymph.

"That's four questions, Head Pixie," she scolded, but said, "I was afraid of growing up and keeping drakes. I didn't want to be seen as the stereotypical wisp trading drakes every other year and sucking up to the ambassador. I wanted to climb the social ladder based on what I did for my people through my writing, not what drakes I could offer my superiors." She trailed off, shrugging her shoulders. "That's why."

I stayed silent.

"Sir?"

My fingers curled into the wispy fluff on Rice's chest. "You think you're not the wisp stereotype?"

Her mouth opened slightly, then closed again. I didn't say anything. She didn't either. Then Rice spoke up, holding his hat close to his head with one paw.

"Miss Ivorie, I haven't read your books, but my brother's a huge fan. Huge fan, dame- possibly your best. He quotes your lines all the time."

Kalysta's eyes linked with mine again. "Have you ever even met a will o' the wisp?" Her voice lowered to a cut. "I'm not like them. Ask your brother. He was the ambassador's lab partner in school. He met other wisp damsels, and he saw how I was raising Idona. He knows I didn't kill Ellowi or toss aside the drake everyone insisted couldn't produce a damsel. And he knows I didn't turn him over to the ambassador that first week, even though he was a fairy and my status would have shot to the upper level if I did. Don't lump me in that group."

"The group of wisp damsels?" Were her stereotypes of her people different than mine?

She made a frustrated noise that suggested she didn't quite know herself and regretted saying anything at all. Rice wrapped his paws more tightly around my forearm, peering up at me. His braided tail wavered, the star at its tip beating against my shoulder. Kalysta gripped her wrist, rubbing her thumb against the scar on her palm again.

"You seem to be okay being one nowadays," I said, watching that little movement. "What made you decide against pursuing an alteration specialist to change your body?"

"That's none of your…" Kalysta paused then, staring at Rice in my arms. "My children, sir. Mine didn't die, so… I stayed."

I watched her thumb make another swipe across her palm. Maybe we had something in common after all. "How old were you when you had your first?"

"Late. Average by your standards, I suppose."

"Guess."

She glanced again at Rice. "I'd rather not."

"Now who's buying into stereotypes?" he sniffed. I hefted his paws.

"You would, though."

"Yeah, but she didn't have to say it."

Kalysta sighed and tilted back her head. Her fingertips came up to skim her lips. "I was… between 180 and 190,000 years, I suppose. We don't use the Fairy calendar underground."

"… Wait, that's when you had your nymph? Your first?"

"I came into my adult wings late, sir."

Late.

"Fuuudge," Rice breathed, wiggling in my arms. It was my turn to open and close my mouth like a salamander. I'd started the Fairy Academy at 175,000, a mere fifty years after upper school graduation. And I considered that the bullheaded adolescent period of my life. Raise Sanderson at that age? Hawkins, Wilcox, Longwood too? Yeah right. Old enough to get my general magic license, nearly 30,000 years too young to buy my own soda. Back then, I thought riding a broken piece of roof down the snowy Tortoiseshell Peaks was a good idea. I still had the same little chapter books with silly etched pictures on my shelf I'd read as a juvenile. I daydreamed of the winged horsies and chariot I planned to beg my father for. I stuffed candy in my sleeves just to sneak it into my room. I mean, I was still wearing pants with star-shaped pins down one leg three centuries too late. I barely brushed my teeth. Raise my pixies too?

"How old was Magalee?" I asked.

Kalysta frowned. "The ambassador? I think 165,000 or so. Maybe a few millennia less."

And she'd never told me. Magalee had flawless attendance every day of class. I knew she'd spent multiple nights with drakes, and occasionally she'd regaled me with stories. When she was in season, there was no keeping her mind on task no matter how many points our latest potions class project was worth. I'd caught her kissing in the beekeeping garden twenty times. But we were… kids. She wasn't a mother. She was my study partner. I'd seen her in the stands at saucerbee games and watched her give a hundred class presentations. After studying, we'd get ice cream and doodle pictures in our notebooks of our favorite comic book characters kissing. We devised elaborate plans to figure out how many of the drakes who caught my eye were actually drones. We swapped Celebrity Families cards. We chased each other around the saucerbee field wearing sock puppets every homecoming. She hadn't breathed a word about a kid.

180,000 was late in wisp culture? I'd been scrubbing floors and picking weeds, counting down the days until I could buy soda legally; I hadn't wasted any time after turning 200,000. How many nymphs had Kalysta had by then? And how many sickly, inbred infants had she watched die?

I was 495,000 when I met her.

Ní larki.

"It's rare one gets to speak face to face with a holotype, sir. What's it like, being Head Pixie?"

I blinked myself to the present again. "Oh… Boring. I was only coronated last winter, so nothing's happened yet. I've met Anti-Bryndin and Anti-Elina in person a few times, which I think is neat. I've had lunch with him in Godscress when he goes to visit the Breath Temple there. I've done a few interviews with Anti-Willow. I've done a lot of market analyses. If things go well for me in the next few years, I'm hoping to closely rub shoulders with Kris Kringle. I've got my pixies. I like spending my evenings with good music beats and lots of dancing. Not stuffy galas, I want to point out. Can't resist soda. Especially orange." I searched the sky while I spoke and realized belatedly that Kalysta was smirking. Adjusting Rice, I pressed my glasses closer to my eyes. "What?"

She braced her chin in her hand. "I think it's sweet you're into wild parties considering how stiff and proper you pretend to be. The cherubs have you classified as a lekking species."

"Competition's a turn-on. That's no secret, honey."

Kalysta nodded, reaching for her water flask. Just watching. I went cross-eyed trying to follow the bead she burned against my head, and suddenly staying focused became impossible. I shifted my wings, very, very aware of how close I stood to the booth, how easy it would be for her to lunge forward and douse me with a Kiss of Frost. With my injured hand, I'd be helpless to ping away. I sort of missed Sanderson hovering at my heels.

My eyes refocused on her mouth. Fingers clenched deep in Rice's fur. I squared my shoulders up. Confidence, confidence, confidence. I was older, stronger, she was totally buying my Sanders story, even excused the spiral cowlick, oblivious to any similarities in my pheromones, I was doing fine, couldn't break character now…

And she was still smiling.

"You've been nothing but dry and straight-faced since you arrived, Head Pixie, and Idona said you were the same way at the council meeting. You talk like you're above everyone, yet when there's a crowd in neutral territory…" Here her voice went softer, leaning just a little forward, a little farther and farther, and I did not flinch. Practically into my lips, "… you'll compete to impress a pretty face just like any other simple drake."

"I'm far from simple," I argued back, skin smarting. Smoof, I was slipping up. This was stupid. Had to focus. Her pheromones wreathed through my nose like hooks begging to draw me closer. I released Rice to the ground and used the end of my hat to wipe my glasses clean, stepping back in the process. Out of tact, not fear. The hat pulled in my hand, threatening to reveal my Ivorie brand cowlicks if I turned careless.

"I'm sure you are, sir." Kalysta twisted the lid from her flask and raised it to her mouth. "How is Fergus anyway?"

I shrugged, snapping off eye contact. That made it easier to keep a level head. I skimmed through the collections of bark pages on her table for the first time, touching random stuff, spreading my scent, spreading me. "I'm a gyne. Fergus is a gyne. Clashes between gynes are inevitable."

"… Ah." Her hand faltered. A bead of water ran down her chin. Rice sat up with a grunt, shaking out his wings.

"Is this your newest work, Ivorie?" I picked a book from the tallest stack, making sure I did so right after rubbing behind my neck so I could get my pheromones all over it. Black cover with a yellow rose and a shining blue moon. Another common fairy romance, most likely. Quite thick, as cloudland literature tended to be… I'd never noticed until now that she didn't write them short in the traditional Earthside way.

"Amarilla." Kalysta watched me in silence, brows arched.

I understood she wrote erotica. It's the only thing wisps knew. I thumbed through the book right in front of her, pausing here and there to read the squishy bits, but always keeping expressionless. After my experiences with her burrow, the Eros Nest, and married life with China, certainly no description of intimacy could unnerve me. My skimming eyes caught the tail end of a university saucerbee match. The championship game. Going out for food with the team. Playful competitive spirit in the afterglow of the game, drakes bumping and pushing and glancing over shoulders at a damsel who'd… brought a brush… to fix… her hair…

Wait a second. I slowed, turning pages with more purpose now. Chatting late. Covering the tip for someone without funds. Flying home… Then home. A village. My village. Pixie Village.

Wait.

A duel of doorstep wit. A challenge he couldn't refuse. Contaminating the drone cabin with muddy feet. Clothing tearing off in a certain pattern, an incredibly familiar way. Quips of foreplay, of noble minds caged in the bodies of simple common people. On my turf- the cockiness of that drake!

She'd written explicit material about my pixies. Well. Imaginary pixies, adults without problems and without fear. They still counted. My eyes narrowed. That book, you see, is how I know what Kalysta truly thought of me behind her bedroom door. Cited sources tell no lies.

"Does the Head Pixie himself ever make an appearance in your works?" I asked, paging forward. It was all so stupidly familiar- the arms arranged for cuddling, the smug foreplay, the finger twitches, on and on. Bits and pieces from our best nights, stitched into her greatest fantasies. Whole pages of it. Sure, she'd smudged it here and there, withholding her grosser habits and emphasizing my passions, but I still knew. I paused, frowning at a stupid detail she'd scribbled in, the handwriting more awkward than her usual gasping slant. Kalysta loved her stupid details.

When the damsel's shirt came off… the pixie couldn't figure out what her brassiere was. Seriously? She'd painted my kind as innocent puppy dogs so starved of damsel touches that they'd roll belly-up drooling for the first to show them attention at all? This was the portrayal that would sear in the public mind for millennia to come? Kalysta's work was well known in the cloudlands, and it might take a hundred thousand years to undo that stereotype. For the record, I arrived in her burrow not only aware of what a bra is, but how to unclip one without turning into the fumbling, "pure" drake her pixie did. I could unfasten one mid-kissing session without looking, roaming a daring hand beneath a shirt and clicking it apart with a flick. Still can. Don't, but can. I may have been a virgin back then, but foreplay was an art my father ensured I mastered better than any of my schoolwork. I'd gotten at least that far with Mary.

And of course you'd give us a breast fetish, I thought, inwardly rolling my eyes. I know I usually float in front of the group, but I'm a rear-watcher, actually. I'm entertained by any kind of butt wiggle, from nervous drone to professional dancer to swaggers as confident as all smoof. Not whatever… this is. Thanks, Ivorie. Thanks for that. To this day we still get giggly shoppers swaying on their wings in low-cut bodices, cooing for a pixie to help them find an item on the shelves. My gynes aren't good for anything except directing people around, so I have no choice but to keep them managing stores if I don't want the company to fall apart, and you know how their urges scream to defy me by claiming attractive foreigners before I register they're there. Damsels are so bold with pixies. Smoof, I can't do a thing with Longwood's roaming eyes. Smith's razor-sharp drone-lust isn't any better, and Cresswell's gotten brazen enough to be pushy with those who try to avoid him. Chidlow keeps an annoyingly sensitive trigger finger on the panic button and slams it any time a strange dame looks his way, but to his credit he knows his place (Thank dust he alerts me, or the other three would get away with everything).

So, yeah. Thanks for painting my species as a lot of soft, deprived little boys who need a big strong damsel to teach them how to be a real drake in bed. Thanks for telling the public that puny pixies are shy and repressed creatures who just need a little encouragement if they resist. I hadn't kicked and screamed every night in her feathery nest, but that didn't mean I'd wanted it. You think she'd be a little more grateful that I hadn't tried to murder her. More than once.

"Oh, no," she said about the Head Pixie. "He's mentioned as a seat of authority, but he never appears as a character. Not without your permission, sir. None of the pixies are ever named."

"Mmhm." I was halfway down Page 686 when my mouth dried like a dragon's throat. Rice and Kalysta both glanced up, obviously sensing a ripple, but I kept my eyes rooted on that page. On that paragraph. On that line of dialogue. My fingers fluttered, clenching tight.

"Conailla Amarilla míchur," the pixie breathed against her lips.

… She stole my line.

That fire-rutting snatter stole my line.

By DUST, was I ticked. That was wands-down the cleverest quip I'd ever dropped in my life, though she'd of course replaced her own name with her current protagonist's. The phrase, obviously, referenced the ancient poem Conailla Medb míchuru, which told the story of Fergus mac Róich, a former king exiled from his homeland and swept into the clutches of a demanding warrior queen. It's said that once Medb had Fergus, only seven drakes together could satisfy her again. In the end some punk and his slingshot killed her with a piece of cheese to the head. Fergus had a noble death: a spear went through his core and he hurled it back before he died. Then he made his grand return as a ghost.

I clenched the inside of my cheek and tried not to let my mounting disgust put color in my face. Who had given Kalysta permission to lift the words directly from my lips? I certainly hadn't. She was okay with this? She, who'd once bragged she created all her characters purely from her own imagination? I was about to snap the horrifying book shut when I had another thought.

What other moments did she draw from to write this stiff and stubborn pixie character? And, How dirty do her private thoughts really get?

"You've written quite a lot," I said tactfully, closing the book with care. I put it under my arm instead of returning it to the stack. I don't think my voice trembled, though I was offended enough I almost wanted it to.

"They don't all sell," Kalysta muttered, flicking her inkwell with a finger. "I've written others, but my publisher only asks for erotics. That's where you cloudlanders expect a wisp's writing skill to lie. Unfortunately, I have to pour most of my free time into other methods of earning money… See, I do transcribing work for those interested in writing autobiographies."

"Transcribing?"

She glanced at Rice, sitting at my feet. "Ghostwriting. As much as I hate it, it does pay well if the client is right. Do pixie memories work like the memories of most Fairies do? I know it can vary between subspecies."

"I wouldn't know, dame. Enlighten me."

Kalysta straightened her wings importantly. She set her water flask aside and folded her hands together. "In order to perform magic most effectively, a Fairy must live her life being true to herself. Suppressed desires and unresolved personal conflicts can severely impact one's abilities. In ancient times, unstable magic put our ancestors' lives at risk. We evolved. Today, the Fairy brain secretes a natural forgetfulness chemical, allowing it to dump distracting and unpleasant memories in a 'lockbox' deep in the core, thereby freeing up the active mind for daily magic."

"I know that much. My dad does mind and magic therapy. Safely wiping unneeded or stubbornly reoccurring memories out of troubled minds is his whole career."

She bobbed her head absentmindedly, her cheeks still flushed light pink from when I'd been paging through her book. "Wiped memories are condensed to little chips and held in the vault beneath the Fairy World Archives building. If needed, they can be activated with an advanced type of magic known as 'keyfinding,' or 'time key creation.' Is that how it works for your kind?"

"We pixies don't encourage manual mind wipes. Natural forget-a-cin secretions serve us just fine. If we struggle with reoccurring bad memories, we keep them to ourselves. We suck things up, absorbing all information and never losing any on purpose. We don't like to forget."

Kalysta nodded again (Rice mocking her with exaggerated head bounces himself). "As a ghostwriter, my job is to listen carefully while the 'author' is under a keyfinding spell to recall old memories in vivid detail. They describe the memories to me and, well… I turn my notes into literature."

I stared at her, again keeping my face absolutely blank. "Fergus said you were against writing characters you didn't design yourself."

"I'm a wisp," she said as though the accompanying shrug answered everything. "My job opportunities are limited and I chose to start writing. I pursue what options I can. Give me a scry if you're ever in the market for someone like me, Head Pixie."

I plucked a business card from the stand on her table, maintaining solid eye contact. "Maybe I will… Do you take commissions for your erotics too?"

"What? Uh." Kalysta leaned a little back in her chair, clenching the table's edge. "I haven't been asked before. I don't have prices worked out, but for the right offer it could be arranged, sir."

"I'll keep that in mind. How much do I owe for Amarilla here?"

"For you? Free of charge."

"Surely not. I won't allow such generosity to go unrewarded. Dame, if I were to buy you a drink, would you perhaps accompany me to the juice tent across the field?"

"I might," she said, drawing out the word. "If my schedule wasn't crammed all week."

Rice pricked his ears. "All week?"

Kalysta froze. Evidently, she'd forgotten he was there.

"You said all week."

I put my foot on Rice's braided tail. He yelped, scrabbling his claws in the grass. To Kalysta, I said, "You're hard to get, I see."

She stared at Rice, leaning back in her seat with her fingertips balanced on the edge of the table. "It's a hard sell, sir. I have my stand, my books… I'm pretty enough. If I wanted a drake I could have one. But I've already turned down two who've asked today alone. So besides the cohuleen druith you wear, what could be so unique about the Head Pixie?"

"For one, I'm not my brother." Removing my foot from Rice's tail, I leaned my hand against her stand, studying her face. She studied back, her brows pressed together. I made particular show of gliding my eyes across her lips. "Fergus despised you. I like to flirt with danger. If he was your mac Róich, I'm your Cú Chulainn."

Kalysta's face went scarlet. Nonetheless, she shrugged and tore her attention back to her water flask. "I- I'll write whatever you wish to commission, sir. But for your information, I've lost interest in drakes as I've gotten older. I can recommend other wisps if danger's what you're yearning for, but my tram has left the station."

Wow. I narrowed my eyes. What an irritating damsel, even with our roles reversed. My plan was to invite her somewhere incredibly expensive for the sheer purpose of ditching her halfway and leaving her with the tab, but it was certainly annoying she wouldn't let me get that far. I kept my mind soft, my temper cool, and pretended to browse her row of phoenix-feather quills while I thought up something else to say. Rice spat something behind his teeth and gave his tail a few sharp licks.

"I heard you're skilled at writing pixie courtship behavior for someone who's never experienced it firsthand."

She looked at me curiously. "Who told you that? I wouldn't have expected someone as busy as the Head Pixie to waste time on my silly little stories."

"My sister's awfully fond of them."

Kalysta stared a little harder, eyes drinking in my freckles. I held my calm, held the most "attractive" persona I could muster, and her frown deepened by a hair. "I can only hope you aren't offended. Your species is newly known to the universe and honestly, I'm trying to capitalize on that. That's the truth and I don't deny it. I have a handful of daughters to feed, and Idona needs so many dresses and classes with her ambassadorship. You understand, sir. And, I like your species… I'm mother to one of your nymphs, after all. There aren't many damsels who can say that, Cú Chulainn."

She meant Cherry. Cherry, who'd drowned in his own magic pool and turned to dust. I trailed my finger across the table. "I didn't come nosing around for excuses, dame. I'm not upset, merely curious. Your pixie courtship knowledge has yet to come from personal experience, I understand."

Kalysta watched me with skeptical caution. "I know enough. I spent a lot of time at the Eros Nest while you were there, dear Sanders… The cherubs were happy to provide the details I asked about. I filled some gaps with my own imagination."

"I see. Perhaps the cherubs also told you I'm the first and only adult pixie there is. I am the one and only Head Pixie. Knowing Fergus as I do, I assume you've drawn upon your frustrating experiences with him to design your pixie characters. I assure you, I'm even less interesting, less passionate, less forgiving, and more demandingly controlling than he is, so your portrayals of my species are inaccurate if you thought he was the least romantic drake to be born in Fairy World. If you're ever in need of primary research, schedule an appointment to see me. We'll talk."

The curious thing was… I didn't hate my offer as much as I expected to. While I loathed Kalysta for how she'd teased and tormented me a few millennia ago, luring her into my lekking site and then depriving her of expected fantasies was too tempting a revenge plan to resist. Even as an uncertain drake in her burrow, I'd taken pride in my work and made some attempt to please her. China had commanded I meet her expectations every time. How pleasant it would be to dissolve into nothingness, simply going through the motions without attachment, feeling no pain or fear, no guilt or shame, no pressure or concern, no arousal, no nothing at all…

Kalysta avoided my prying eyes. "With all due respect, Head Pixie, I'm a skilled enough author that an interview on that topic with either your partner or yourself will suffice."

"I have no partner."

"I see…"

"And?"

"Sir, I am currently trying to do my job. And, it isn't flattering you think of me as a lustful wisp who'll bed you with a tomte hand. I'm romantic, not stupid."

Huh. I studied my silk glove, pressing my thumb against my palm. Going tomte was one loophole I hadn't thought of back when she'd dragged me to her burrow. Ironically, if I'd had more experience with mating earlier, maybe I would have. "I can wait."

Her gaze shot back to mine. "Drakes of the common fairy subspecies are special, and I don't just mean their status in will o' the wisp society. I made the mistake of catching one once and now no wisp fulfills me. While your proposal intrigues my author brain, I prefer raw emotion coursing through my hips. Have the post office poof me all the primary sources about pixies you want, dear sir, and I will research your species thoroughly when I write, but there's no need to come knocking at my burrow hatch. I find pixies interesting from a distance, but I like fairies."

"Oh," I said. We stayed in silence for a moment. I wondered if I could find another damsel someday who might be interested in figuring out genuine pixie behavior with me. One who wouldn't try to force me in any direction other than the one I naturally gravitated towards, one who wasn't easily jealous or offended… Despite my history of avoiding courtship, the idea didn't repulse me. From a business perspective, I held an exceptionally rare resource at my disposal; pixie intimacy. At this point I was the only one in the universe who could offer it. Increasing demand wouldn't be difficult if I played my cards right- a major interview here, some gossip there, court a celebrity until the public's interest begins to wane, suggest it was desirable, suggest it was unique, switch it up… Surely there was some way to make profit on my horrid lot in life.

… Did I even know what natural pixie courtship looked like? Venus has locked me in cold, sterile rooms with several damsels during my time at the Eros Nest, but I'd been too full of spite to play along. I guess I didn't know. After all, 'natural' would imply expressing behaviors towards someone I actually wanted to couple with. Ambrosine had pushed me into relationships all throughout my younger years. Kalysta had pushed me. China had pushed me. Then there was Mary Black. I'd had interest in her once, though now long faded to dull could-have-been curiosity. I hadn't courted her. My father wouldn't have allowed it and I talked myself out since I assumed she'd tell me no. Mary had been the one to approach me at that first and last Academy party, so I certainly knew how a pixie reacts when the object of his affections sparks curiosity in his eyes, but I didn't know how pixies initiated such a thing. I didn't know if pixies could initiate such a thing, or if our brains would ever want to. If pixies reproduced parthenogenetically, it made sense we wouldn't be programmed to initiate. But how did I know for sure?

It's often said that brownies never make the first move even among their own kind. That hadn't concerned me when I'd been a lone wandering gyne, an individual, but now we were a species. I didn't want the pixie race going down in history as "square brownies."

I'm rapidly progressing through adulthood, and I've never been with anyone I actually wanted to.

I thought about my old friend Irica Caudwell, the tomte I'd almost paired with in my youth. It seemed so long ago. We hadn't spoken much after China and I settled in Lau Rell, but I'd socialized with her frequently back when I'd had my tourist shop in Novakiin. "Still unmarried?" I'd asked absently one day, rearranging the acid-proof umbrellas, and she'd said, "It's no surprise. As a tomte, I can't share magic. If we mate and my partner's lines fritz a minute too long, they'll asphyxiate. I'd like to know, just once before I die, how it feels to be loved and paired with... but what am I supposed to do?"

I could relate to that, floating there before Kalysta. Wanting to know just once what it's like to connect like that. I decided that was my right as pixie holotype: to get our natural courtship behavior on record. Emphasis on 'natural.' I looked at her and thought, I never actually wanted to couple with you, only conquer. I never wanted to couple with China, only secure us food and shelter.

Well, even if I'd been called a common fairy when I'd belonged to Kalysta, my courtship behaviors at that time (if you can call them such) were still accurate for a pixie. Whatever she'd written was probably mostly right. I could live with that. We can't always get the revenge we want, and I didn't really want to pursue her anyway if I didn't have genuine interest in her, so I let my flirtations drop. "I appreciate your honesty, Ivorie. I'm glad you didn't try to hide from me what you've written. Does your publisher offer continuing book subscriptions? I'd like the Head Pixie to receive a copy of everything you write that includes pixies until the end of time." Kalysta opened her mouth, probably to protest, and I raised an eyebrow. "I am not easily entertained, but seeing my species portrayed as creatures capable of romantic interest despite our asexual genes amuses me greatly."

"I think I have a card from him," she said, getting up from her chair. While she rifled through the parchments on the table, I tried to imagine the most physically attractive damsel I could. Fairy society had taught me to value strength. Venus Eros popped into my head, but I nudged her aside, still raw from our encounters in the Eros Nest. I liked her for her celebrity status, less so her looks. I didn't know where to start when it came to looks. The Ambrosine in me suggested several damsels with different hair, but within ten seconds I found myself at a loss. Whether I thought up long flowing waves or short springy curls, hair didn't excite me at all. I favored blacks and browns, but blamed that on archetypal colorful airhead Fairies and the association of black hair with clever Anti-Fairies whose brains left impacts on the world. Not that I was thinking about Anti-Fairies. Intentionally. I tried imagining Fairy drakes offering me their kisses, but that didn't work for me. My brain liked to categorize things and allowed little overlap. Drakes were for preening, not smooching. Ian Fairytwirl didn't count because he was categorized under "Jerks."

I rubbed my face with both hands. Fantasizing about Unseelie Courters was wrong. That was the whole reason I'd gotten blackmailed by Fairytwirl through upper school in the first place; I'd made the mistake of saying once that I'd like to marry a Refract and my roommates went wild. One was Fairytwirl's brother, which was how word got back to him. He and his punk drones had threatened me behind a building once, and pathetic young Fergus had begged him not to tell. So he didn't, if I agreed to preen with him, and he'd upped preening to kissing soon enough. Hadn't stopped the popular kids in school for taunting me with cries of "Cream puff!" in the halls, but at least no one learned the kernels of truth in the rumor's origin…

Kalysta hadn't found her publisher's contact card yet. Absently, I started brushing at some of her parchments and tried to hone my thoughts elsewhere. Anti-Bryndin was out of the question; we were courgettes and strictly non-romantic as far as I was concerned. Minus my own counterpart, I didn't really know other Anti-Fairies that well. Yes, it was supposed to be a fantasy, but I'd always struggled to picture people who weren't real. That's why I tended towards celebrities- their faces were harder to forget.

Wait. I did know one that intrigued me: Anti-Florensa, a warrior no drake had ever beaten. I wouldn't mind grappling with her someday. But then I remembered she was Anti-Cosmo's mother, which made me remember Anti-Cosmo's whiny shrieks and snooty plans, which killed all passion before it could start.

Losing interest in Anti-Fairies, my thoughts strayed to lying on my back, donned in full boring business attire, some fairy's desperate lips clawing for attention while I pressed my mouth to theirs. Unemotional. I lazily admired the details of the scene, then jerked myself out of it. Those were my gyne instincts talking, urging me to let drones dip me down and more or less take command. When I imagined myself alone in a room with a single other person, drones were still my first thought. A well-behaved gyne stayed docile during preening, always letting his drones present themselves to him. Never forcing. Great, but was that my courtship behavior? I needed to separate being a pixie from being a gyne inside my head.

Well, I knew one delight was scratches behind my ear. I didn't normally view massages as arousing seeing as one of my drones had introduced me to them and China had strictly given them to me on nights we weren't planning to pair, but I did find them pleasurable. I wouldn't say no to a massage before mating. What else? I ran an imaginary finger down a list of times I'd left my damsels' beds feeling cheery, but every bullet point was blank.

The finger froze. One line snapped above me in the energy field. Wait a second. That couldn't be right. That wasn't okay.

Before I even put my thoughts into words, they were already tearing through my memories. They yanked out examples of times I'd analyzed Kalysta's body language and resituated accordingly, or complied with China's mumbled directions without even thinking. I'd slid my hands in circles over sensitive areas of their bodies, danced my fingers down others. I'd taught myself to press kisses to their throats or lick inside their mouths. I'd learned how to play with wings and the effect a few well-timed gasps and moans can have on a damsel's mood. Don't you want those things done to you? I asked myself, desperately shoving papers of facts and cited sources in my arms. But I looked blankly at those pages and let them slide to the floor.

Not really. Random flitting touches didn't excite me. Neither did kisses. And that's why I'd never told anyone what my turn-ons were. I'd never found out if I had any.

Why hadn't I ever noticed that when I'd had easy access to affections with Kalysta or China? Either one of them would have tried to please me, relieved I was opening up, eager to make me melt. Either one would have obeyed my every instruction if it lit some interest, even for a second, in my eyes. But I hadn't asked. It never occurred to me that I deserved to. I'd been too busy trying to impress them, desperate to convince myself my mutations didn't make me broken or ugly, pleading for those few and far between moments of praise that could temporarily soothe my fears, and had given them little chance to impress me.

Maybe they'd wanted to. Maybe they'd tried. The control freak in me hadn't noticed, basking in the smug glow of luring a whimper from even Kalysta's experienced lips or the twitching signal from China that guaranteed we'd get a good pancake breakfast in the morning… How ironic that catering to my specifications would be a turn-off. I guess I just didn't like suck-ups.

That was pixie courtship behavior, then. The customer was always right. Well, we never were an innovative species. And maybe that's why I'd liked Mary Black. She'd never pressured me to please her and hadn't approached with tense expectations of marriage, so I'd enjoyed our kissing session at that party immensely. She hadn't done anything special - Smoof, she'd never even given me an ear scratch - but when I pleased her… she didn't see me as a mutation. She'd looked at me like I was everything else.

I wouldn't be coming back into heat for another five hundred years. Maybe that's why focusing was so hard; I'd often heard my peers lament the fact their fantasies got lame if summoned out of season. I struggled to find anything attractive right now, but everyone went through phases like that. In another five hundred years, I could try again and maybe I'd figure something out. I'd already procrastinated a deep examination of my sexual preferences this long. A few more centuries wouldn't hurt. I'd get to it later. Maybe.

My thoughts strayed again to that image of a cool, calculated Head Pixie being fawned over by someone who longed for a reaction while I enjoyed their touches in silent peace. Even though I knew it had its roots in my preening fantasies (which I am not spelling out directly; ask Keefe for a detailed report, you sycophants), I latched on and slid it to the part of my brain that managed other types of intimacy. Calm. Collected. No strong reactions. That was definitely not traditional for a Fairy.

It was an intriguing mental image… and more importantly, an angle no other celebrity in the cloudlands had capitalized on as far as I knew. I preferred the stereotype of a dull and boring pixie to a shy, giggly pushover. There was a certain empowering strength in that.

This could work… Visit clubs often enough, but not too often… portray myself as totally logical and lacking all passion… Claim it's a unique experience to brush wings with me, stir the crowd to keep it controversial. No posters directly encouraging it, but some sort of gossip needed to spread, like 'Imagine how amazing it would feel to be the one who makes the Head Pixie smile.' No direct payments - Dust, no - but I certainly needed to get a product on the market I could tie my name to. I needed a business that attracted curious clients from far and wide as word of the Head Pixie spread. Use my appeal as a new race in the universe for free advertising, then redirect their money to my pockets. Let them compete, let them win… Drop a hint on occasion that maybe, just maybe, the stoic pixie king had almost cracked a smile, and surely the next damsel or two who got him alone would be able to win him over. All the wild parties and witty flirting I wanted, all expenses paid for by my advertising budget.

Hmm…

Finally, Kalysta found the subscription card. My hand went for my cohuleen druith, and I nearly took it off before I remembered her cowlicks. That was close. I borrowed a pen to fill the card (with the Head Pixie moniker in place of Fergus S. W.) and bid her farewell. The card went in the first page of the book. With that taken care of, I trailed away among booths that touted handcrafted furniture or fresh wool from alpacas raised on earth or what have you. Rice stuck to my heels like a bit of fairymint, collar jingling. Wherever the cù sith walked, the crowd pulled away. Whispers flickered around my ears. I stared forward, straight.

"So… Were you gonna spill you have history with Kalysta cookie Ivorie or what, strudel?"

I glanced down at the mutt, his oversized head tilted back and tiny paws almost tripping on his wings. "Your one job here is to protect my pixies. I don't think she's relevant."

Rice puffed his cheeks a little. "It's the kind of thing you wanna let a friend know."

"We are not friends."

"I'm thinking I might meet halfway. You're so interesting, cinnamon!"

What, because of who I knew? I closed my eyes. "Don't say that. Just don't say it."

Ambrosine caught up with us soon enough, leaving Emery and Iris bartering for magical amulets with a goblin some ways behind. "You introduced yourself as Sanders back there," he puffed, grabbing for my arm. I ran my eyes from his hand to his shoulder, then fixed him with a dull stare.

"I did. Now that Head Pixie is my official title, I'd like to keep my real name confidential whenever possible. There has to be some alluring secret I can offer my true friends when they get that close. Everyone likes secrets. We all know I can't charm anyone on personality alone." I glanced at the shimmering pink silk one merchant had set on display, then floated on. Not my color.

"You've met her," Ambrosine stuttered out. It was a familiar stutter in a way, though it hailed from a time long, long ago. I lifted my chin in warning, but he kept pushing. "She recognized Sanderson… She's the milkmother, isn't she? Thousands of years have passed since then. Why did you never tell me?"

"I did tell you. When you dragged me into your office and cut me from your life because of Wilcox. And again another time- I forget when. But I did. At least twice."

Rice flattened his belly to the grass. Ambrosine paused, struggling to remember the details. Poor man- he'd probably repressed them like fairies were wont to do, if he hadn't sucked them away with artificial chemicals of his own accord. He said, "I d-didn't know you meant Ivorie… Did you follow my advice to invite her to juice just now?"

"The offer was made, and I'd have charmed her as far as she let me. She dragged me to her burrow and made my life miserable all those years ago, Ambrosine. I'm allowed to toy with her a little now. I'm not really one for fantasies, but revenge on Kalysta is definitely up there."

He flew ahead to block my path. "Fergus, I don't condone this."

So what? I shoved Kalysta's book at him and pushed right past, lifting my voice just slightly above the crowd. "I'm Head Pixie, 500,000 years old, and your supervising gyne. You aren't exactly the boss of me anymore."

I realized then that I was the owner of Wish Fixers. I had a right to search her old file, didn't I?

Poof! Poof! Ambrosine reappeared in front of me, brows down, arms crossed, wings thumping. I'd never known him to waste magic for such a near-point teleportation, and I pulled up short. His teeth clenched. "Fergusius Alexander. You are a full-grown pixie and I expect you to act like one."

I let silence flicker up for just a moment.

"Are you challenging me?" I asked him quietly. "If this is the hill you want to die on, old man, all you have to do is snap your wand."

I recognized a falter in his wingbeats. Rice pulled his ishigaq hat down over his eyes and gave a low, long whine. To his credit, Ambrosine held my gaze until he couldn't any longer. He pushed his fingers through what remained of his hair.

"O-of course, you're old enough to make your own decisions, Fergus…"

I watched him in silence, then tilted my head to display more of my neck. Ambrosine hovered where he was for a moment, but finally, with great reluctance, came forward to lick my skin. Once he'd painted the second stripe, I clamped my hand on the back of his head.

"Gih-"

"Call me H.P. now," I muttered in his ear, then let him go again.

---

A/N - Text to Text - When H.P. picked up his Samhain summons, he mentioned a person called "the tamlin." The term comes from the character Tam Lin in a famous Scottish ballad that describes how the Queen of the Fairies must pay her people's tithe to Hell every seven years by sacrificing one of their number. Hmm…