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)

35. Made To Be Broken

(Posted January 28, 2020)

Made To Be Broken

Summer - Autumn of the Silver Silk

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Fairy Con, I noticed, would be an excellent place to set up a tent once I decided on a business. Tens of thousands of Fairies arrived every year to rub shoulders with aristocrats and old friends. Of course, competition was deadly. Since Fairy conventions were notoriously short, few tents were visited and prime positions were snapped up like chunks of chocolate. Commonly, tents would rotate throughout the day as each inched closer and closer to the hot spots among the crowd. While most people flitted back and forth, sometimes poofing, I paused to calculate how many flew in and out of the washroom building. It reeked in a circle wider than a dragon's wingspan. As far as cloudland days went, it was a warm one, and that made it all the stronger. I wouldn't choose a stink like that around my tent, but with all the eyes around, it would be an excellent place to hang a poster. No one else had tried. I made a mental note to follow up on that later.

Ambrosine and I browsed the other tents along Kalysta's row in stiff silence. Mostly I browsed and he lingered at the fringes of my awareness, fidgeting his thumbs, until I told him to stop being annoying. Then he didn't do anything or make any noise at all, only tailed me close like he thought he was a retinue drone. Rice snuffled around the ground in front of me, licking scraps of food from shiny grass. Former ishigaq or not, it didn't seem to bother him to eat off the ground. Passing Fairies veered away from him, falling silent within range of his ears. Parents crushed children against their sides.

"You know," I said over my shoulder, "I'm hiring at the village. Looking for a grocery forager in particular. You're welcome to submit your resume if you have references."

Ambrosine didn't bother to look disgusted. He just looked… nothing.

There were too many blue tents, too many purples, too many pinks. None caught the eye more than any other. Occasionally the flash of a yellow sign drew attention, but only for a moment. Nothing was much noise. Everywhere we went, table after table, I scanned the set-ups and drew pictures in my head. Thus far, I'd gotten by on the Whimsifinado family fortune along with what money my tourist shop and Wish Fixers had brought in. Not to mention the continued compensation from the Eros Triplets. But sooner or later, that wouldn't be enough. I'd need a job. A business. A successful business.

But what to sell?

I drew up short. Ambrosine bumped into my wings. "Wait. Where's Keefe? I thought you had Keefe."

"I did." He glanced behind him. "He couldn't have gone far."

My lips tightened. "You lost him?"

"He's a drone," Ambrosine pointed out. "Drones don't just wander away."

"They do if a more dominant gyne crosses their path." I pinched my nose. "Just… go back the way you came. I'll keep going this way; the pheromones smell stronger here."

He nodded and flew off. I went on foot, chirping contact calls that went without reply. After a few minutes of this, I heard my other pixies chirping back and followed the sound through the next row of tents. Emery, Iris, and the others floated at the end, for good reason. A sizable crowd had gathered near a fenced ring of cloudy white sand, and I can't resist studying the interests of potential future clients. A trio of big fairies with well-spotted faces tussled in the dust, bouncing across the wide arena as they rolled and snapped at one another. Several onlookers poofed themselves into whistles or cheerleaders. Others booed even louder than ghosts. I grimaced.

"Bloodsports," I muttered to Iris as I came close. "Typical."

"Oh," she suddenly said. "They don't have shirts."

Wilcox and Sanderson exchanged glances and pushed each other's sides with their elbows. As one, they moved closer to the fence. Hawkins followed a step behind. I moved after them, frowning over the heads of the crowd. A sparring ring, dominant gyne pheromones thick in the air, was exactly the sort of place I didn't want to misplace my pixies. I tasted birch and cedar.

"Look quickly," I told them, "but we're moving on in just a moment. It's not even a real fight. If it was, you'd sense the energy field shift around them to prevent outside interference. They're playing."

A small figure wriggled between my stomach and the fence, hooking his forearms over the lower bar. "Whoa," Longwood breathed. His wings relaxed against his back. "They're amazing."

"Hmph," Rice said. He scrambled on a post beside us. "Bunch of gummi-brained cupcake-heads if you ask me."

I informed both my sister and Iris about the Keefe situation. Emery told me to wait with my pixies while she looked around. So we watched the grappling go on, gynes rolling and skidding in the dust. Or rather, everyone else watched the gynes. I eyed the purple-haired figure dressed in blue leaning against the left wall of fence, where the crowd hadn't tucked close. He barely fit between the guardrails and the locker room. His hair swirled back like a lick of soft ice cream. Violet fuzz lined his cheeks. Anax wings. Common fairy. I wasn't close enough to make out any details beyond that. I shuffled through my mental celebrity catalog, trying to guess where I knew him from. Then I saw the black gloves, part of the drone tournament uniform. It clicked. My fingers tightened around the fence.

"Cosmo…"

"Did you say something?" Iris asked. She'd followed me to the fence, though she wasn't watching the sparring either, pointedly holding Madigan close and keeping her back to the fight. The crowd shoved against her, cheering voices crashing on our ears. The scent of salty snacks swirled through the air. Pretzels. Popcorn. Even sliced chunks of fish.

"Someone I used to know, that's all." Since she wasn't looking, I supplied, "My first drone."

I kept the last word quiet, but it turned her head anyway. "You, um… parted ways? Mutually? I mean… You're alive."

"Yeah. Well." I stared down at my hands, trying to flatten the spike of curiosity pushing at my mind. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

Iris didn't push. Nothing further than a delayed, "Oh, I see… I'm sorry."

I shrugged and leaned against the fence, letting wood splinters bite against my forearms. With one finger I pushed my glasses closer to my eyes, but Cosmo didn't catch either movement or look my way. He rubbed his gloved hands, eyes on the match - eyes on his new gyne - and clapped or shouted with the rest of the crowd. And I wondered what would have happened if we hadn't gone to that party.

He'd been a good drone. I met him Earthside, not long after I'd parted ways with Sparkle, Leonard, and Great Sidhe. Cosmo was almost as inexperienced with the whole gyne/drone thing as I was, which I'd needed back then. He taught me how a drone can dip a gyne, how to say the ah'kas, how to perfect my licks. I lost track of him once at a party and saw him leave with another gyne. One who wasn't still a virgin and could offer mature pheromones by the armful. I hadn't seen either since.

Cosmo had that sweeping purple hair and tufted goatee back when I knew him too. But he looked more solid now, more stable, and had put on plenty of weight. His arms were pudgy. Soft. The tournament uniform hugged him tightly, emphasizing the smoothness of his sides. I'd known him for centuries- far longer than nine months. Would he recognize me even though Kalysta hadn't? And would I would confirm or deny who I was?

Cosmo Higgins… I wondered if he'd taken his new gyne's name.

"Sir," Sanderson interrupted. I glanced down and realized I'd been clenching his hair, twisting his cowlicks into his eyes. Like me, he wasn't watching the sparring itself. But instead of Cosmo, dressed in blue, his attention was fixed on the opposite corner: the drone in red. Luis Magnifico, a full bucket of water waiting at his side. Rupert Roebeam stretched on the top rung of the fence beside him, apparently trying to strike an alluring pose but having trouble with his balance. The third drone had curly white hair that bobbed around his face. I didn't recognize either one. A glance at the three gynes wrestling in the ring confirmed they were here for Reddinski. My neck itched.

"Do you see that drake with long black hair?" I asked Sanderson, taking back my hand. "He's friends with the big red-haired fairy. Can you predict what he's about to do?"

"I don't know."

"Hm. Hawkins?"

He looked up from Sanderson's other side. "No, sir."

"Do you want to guess, Wilcox?"

Wilcox shook his head.

"Longwood?"

Longwood leaned even farther forward, placing one of his shoes against the fence's lower bar. "I think he's going to pick up that water bucket and dump it on the fighter wearing red pants."

"So do I. But why do you think that?"

Longwood glanced up at me. "Because he's hot and sweaty."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Hawkins asked. Sanderson squinted.

"He didn't say he wants water."

"No," Longwood said. "You can just tell he'd like it."

Wilcox gave him a sideways look. "I don't know… If he doesn't say it, you can't be sure."

"Watch him," I said, leaning my folded arms against the fence. "You'll see."

Ambrosine and Emery poofed beside us then, Keefe in his arms. He sucked his fist, but when he saw me he reached up his hands. I hadn't realized my wings were so stiff until they suddenly relaxed.

"There you are. Don't go wandering like that. Again. You'll get lost."

"No."

"Yes you will." And to Ambrosine, "Do not. Lose him."

He mumbled assent, squeezing the nymph tighter.

We all lingered by the sparring ring a moment more. When Reddinski swerved by the red corner, Luis snatched the water bucket and poured it over his head, careful to run it down his back without splashing his wings. Reddinski nodded in thanks, then bumped their foreheads together before skimming towards his rivals again.

"… Oh," Sanderson said. He plopped his chin on his hands, scowling at the scene. I tapped his arm.

"Do you see? Sometimes when you're assisting your boss, it's helpful to make your own decisions, and not wait to receive an instruction for every little thing."

He made a low grumbling noise in his throat and turned his face away without answering me. "That's tricky, sir," Wilcox said, gazing thoughtfully over the arena. "I think guessing right consistently would be difficult. Maybe they communicated in advance, and decided that when the g- the dominant fairy is sweaty, that means he wants water dumped on him."

"Sounds like that would get messy during fancy meetings," Hawkins observed. "And how could H.P. guess what they planned in secret anyway?"

Wilcox shrugged. "He's the boss."

"Uh…" Rice kicked his paw twice against my shoulder. "There's one that got away."

"What?"

"Think fast, snickerdoodle. Your pixie's getting away!"

Rice jabbed his foreleg across the arena, where a skinny figure could be seen darting towards the gyne in yellow. "Longwood," I yelled.

He flew, wings blurred together. The hood of his shirt bounced against his unbroken little neck. Tiny hands, half covered in puffy sleeves, reached to jerk it up.

"Longwood!"

"I just want to look," he shouted back.

"No- Longwood! Smoofing dust-" I jumped the fence and sprinted after him. Hawkins and Wilcox lunged forward to clutch the slats, signals flaring with nervous interest. Rice barked, but Longwood didn't respond.

Then he pulled to a halt. The trio of scuffling gynes broke apart and watched us, ember-eyed. "Oh, hello," said the one wearing yellow, holding the gyne with blue pants down by his shoulders. Reddinski was underneath him, his teeth in the second fairy's arm.

Against my fairy instincts screaming to rush forward and sweep him up, I slowed my pace and stood there in the sand. "Longwood. Um. You shouldn't be inside the sparring ring."

"Sorry, H.P.," Longwood said, still gaping up at the yellow gyne. His scent danced with cherries and almonds around the edges. A Fairywinkle. My tomte hand burned.

The three untangled themselves, shaking out their wings. The gyne in blue raised his hand to wipe sweat from his brow. He studied my face, staring especially at my eyes, and made a swirl with his finger like the one curling from the back of my hair. "Hey. Have we met?"

"What?" His sleek hair gleamed turquoise blue, like a lake reflecting the sky on a rosy day back on Earth. His muttonchops could have chopped mutton without knife or wand. I squinted, tasting the pheromones in the air more carefully. I remembered those notches in his costas. Those dark eyes, freckles reaching higher near his ears than up his nose… I scented Cosmo in there. "Hang on. Jack Waterberry? I don't think I've seen you since you came down Earthside for your honeymoon." I'd gotten a good whiff of his pheromones that day and scooted along, fast.

Waterberry broke into a broad grin. "Check it, Redd! It's Whims, from school!"

"Hard to forget wings like his." Reddinski folded his arms behind his neck. "Ho, Whimsifinado."

I nodded, watching warily. Out here in open space, with my own drones nearby and him flipping dominance levels with his rivals, I had an easier time keeping my head clear than I had at the restaurant. "It's… nice to see you both. Still civil after that little squabble in Fairy Court?" Waterberry v. Reddinski went live the autumn Longwood was born. Ironic, actually. My only gyne was born the year drone rights flooded the cloudlands.

Reddinski and Waterberry flicked their eyes at each other, not turning their heads. "We have Fairywinkle to thank," Reddinski said, dry knives slicing the corners off his words. "His neutrality on the issue was… invaluable."

Fairywinkle gave a grunt. Forcing a smile, Waterberry lifted on his heels.

"Never thought I'd see you in broad starlight again after that Academy fiasco, Whims! Wasn't there to witness the chaos myself, but I heard your pa sent you running with your tail between your legs."

I placed my hand on Longwood's head, tipping up my chin. "Then you heard wrong, I'm afraid. I left the Academy on my own terms all those years ago. I've done pretty well in life, actually. Eleven offspring and counting." I stood slightly sideways, wings spread, to ensure all three noticed the commitment notches in my costas. They did. Their eyes went directly from me to Longwood to the pixies clinging to the fence behind. Not to mention Rice standing attentively at their sides, his expression cool. Waterberry let out a long, low whistle.

"You're squishing my face, boss," Longwood mumbled into my leg. I loosened my grip on the back of his head. Slightly.

Turning to the Fairywinkle gyne, I said, "I don't believe we've met before. We must have lived in different regions."

So this was "Big Daddy," most likely. He looked younger than me, but not by much. His black hair had been gelled with legitimate product, not magic, which indicated his family still held higher status than Waterberry and Reddinski just as they had when I was a nymph. His freckles ran awfully far down his arms, and although his hairy chest partly hid them, I could see several rows running from his underarms down his torso. Interesting. Freckles below the upper chest were rare, especially along the sides. My genepool didn't carry that pattern at all.

I considered Waterberry dumb but friendly, Reddinski's weakness was his lack of speed, but I didn't particularly like what I saw in this drake. Strong legs. Strong arms. Something told me the scar across his cheek hadn't ended up there on accident. He'd worked up quite the sweat, and every particle of that cherry-almond tang snarled against my face. Any similarities to his mild-mannered counterpart Anti-Buster were purely physical in nature. Those rosy, blazing eyes glittered without remorse. I tried not to turn my face away. Far to my right, I noticed two damsels in yellow sitting on the fence, brown hair tied up and legs dangling. His alpha drone perched with them, looking… off somehow.

"Dusty Fairywinkle," said the new gyne. "But call me Big Daddy."

My eyebrows shot up. "Dusty? Dude. You're looking sparkles for pushing 800k. And here we Whimsifinados are supposed to be the ones frugal with our magic."

"Junior," he amended, his eyes darting to the ground for just a blink. They darted back. "I'm my old man's pride."

"I imagine you are. Believe me, Dusty was a big name when I was younger. Even when he retired, he went with glory. Except everyone called him Skywings because no one could flip him on his back." I traced my fingers through Longwood's soft hair, wandering through my memories, until it bothered him enough to lean away. Dusty Sr. was an inspiration for gynes like me because so few of us lived to hit the senescent stage of our life cycle. How well-endowed was his son in the gyne department anyway? His pheromones suggested immensely, but that alpha drone he'd landed…

My eyes wandered back to the fence again. Something about that drone just looked off. Maybe something in the way he sat, tucked between the two yellow-dressed damsels on the fence instead of hovering respectfully to the side. Fairywinkle followed my gaze and slid between him and me. I tore my attention away with a puzzled shake of my head. Down by the corner, Rupert waved hello. He'd managed to balance in that alluring position he'd been aiming for, hand under his chin and one leg lifted high.

"Mr. Big Daddy?" Longwood asked. "How did you get that scar?"

Fairywinkle rotated his eyes down. Rather than crashing over my head, as Reddinski's had done at the restaurant, his washed forward around my legs, tugging at my knees and sweeping over everything. Longwood flinched, touching my arm on impulse.

"I've won a lot of fights, kid. Some people don't respect the rules around my part of town."

"Whoa," Longwood whispered.

"Enjoy your fight," I said, stepping backwards with my hand over Longwood's tiny chest. "We didn't mean to interrupt."

Waterberry tilted his head, walking around me. "Come tussle with us, Whimsy! We were just sparring, so we can add another party."

"Yeah, I don't think so. Any other day I'd be tempted, but my pixies haven't been indoctrinated yet. This is their first Fairy Con and I don't want to confuse them." I stepped back again. "Let's do this again next century."

Longwood tugged my arm. "You should do it! It'll be fun."

"Yeah, no. Fun's not my thing. We're not doing this." Seizing his elbow, I turned and pulled him back towards the fence. Seeing us coming, my pixies immediately erupted into pleas to 'Show off' and 'Kick their butts,' with Wilcox loudest of all. Waterberry watched them fondly. He rolled his attention back to me.

"Won't you? You were always dazzled at this back in school, but I'd like to set the record straight."

I turned back, squinting, with my fingers squeezing Longwood tight. "You think you can take me? I seem to remember tearing your wings every time we used to spar. One time you left with a concussion and a broken arm. And Redd, I could knock you out of the arena before I turned a hundred thousand. I'm bigger now."

"That sounds like you're considering a rematch," Reddinski said steadily.

"I'd like to see how we measure up," said Fairywinkle, arms crossed.

"You should fight," Longwood added, staring up at me in total awe.

Hmm… I thought about Springs, suckling in my pouch as content as butter in a stream. I hated to disturb him when it meant he probably wouldn't feed again until the exact time Keefe was ready. I couldn't stand the thought of slinking back to my pixies after a scuffle, wings dragging and face scratched with fingernail lines.

But imagine the pros… Showing off and kicking butts. My two favorite things after coffee. I decided that when I won, I would buy myself the most expensive coffee they sold here. I deserved that much.

"All right," I said, loosening my fingers. "I have time for a quick round. So long as we keep it civil."

"Standard rules," Waterberry promised with a nod. "No wands, no damaging the windpipe, no open domes. We want a clean match."

Fairywinkle inclined his head. "Worst case scenario, some outsider cuts in since no one's breaking a starpiece over this."

"Yeah. Normally we'd allow short-distance poofing with whatever magic is on your skin, but…" Waterberry looked at the others. "We're already drained, Whims. Gotta keep it fair."

"Fine by me. I'm on ration except for nursing anyway." I didn't need pinging to kick a good rear.

I walked back to the fence, shrugging my wings from my shirt enough to pull it over my head (Iris let out a small "Eep!" and covered her face). Longwood was placed in Ambrosine's custody under firm instructions not to run onto the field again. Emery took Springs and Hawkins held Keefe. Rice lifted a paw for a slap. I didn't leave him hanging.

"You've got this, sugar pie! You're beautiful!"

"What do you think, Sanderson?" I tossed him my shirt. "Think I can take all three on and win?"

He caught it in one hand, blank-faced. "Yes, sir."

"You're allowed to cheer at sparring matches."

He stayed silent. But, Wilcox clapped and Bayard whistled. "Who are they?" Madigan asked, biting his thumb.

"Boss Fairywinkle, Boss Reddinski, and Boss Waterberry. I might invite them to the village someday; Reddinski's prime networking material, and Waterberry has kids your ages. As for Fairywinkle, I'd prefer us hosting him at a barbecue to the other way around."

Before I could skim away, Ambrosine grabbed my wrist. "Fairywinkle gynes are ruthless, Fergus. They're fluid as snakes and they master strong kicks as children. Don't-"

"Don't you start, Ambrosine." I let my hand go limp in his grip. "I'm a grown gyne. How can you tell me this is stupid when it makes so much sense and seems so right? This is just nature for me. You wouldn't understand."

My father fixed me with a bemused smile. "I was going to say, 'Don't let him go for your wing joints.'"

Before I could stop him, he pulled me closer and planted a kiss on my cheek. I scrubbed it twice with my hand, but I could hear my rivals snickering behind me. "Thanks, Dad," I muttered, and headed along the fence in the direction of the well. When I passed her, Iris uncovered her eyes and walked alongside me. She snatched up a water pail hanging from a post.

"You don't have to do that," I told her. She only shrugged.

"I grew up with a gyne father. I watched him spar plenty of times, and someone should be there for you if you don't have an alpha." More quietly, "Reddinski's arm is out of socket. Go for him before it heals up."

I saluted in reply, swinging myself over the fence. Then I stopped and turned back. "Wait. Would you-? … What?" Iris had already put her hand over her eyes again the moment I'd hopped the fence. I raised a brow. "What do you have against shirtless drakes?"

"Um… We're coworkers now and I have an ethics code to follow, sir. I'm sorry. Did you need something else?"

"I was just going to ask if you'd hold my glasses." I gave them to her, but couldn't resist adding, "Careful. They belong to a shirtless drake."

"Mm."

Weird dame.

I joined the other gynes in the center of the arena, still musing over the thought of Iris trying to watch our match only through her aura senses. I'd forgotten to remove my tomte glove. Oh well. The gathering crowd had seen it by now; no point in hiding it. I took it off anyway, just to examine my palm and stretch my fingers. Sickly rainbows pulsed through my hand like slugs.

"Should've come scarfing," Fairywinkle said, watching me trudge up.

"Not a big deal to me. But stay out of my village, Winkle. West of Faeheim, I have no problem returning the favor."

Reddinski stretched his arms above his head, fingers lazily linked. "We're all dominant adults here. You lose this fight, you lose your alpha drone."

"Roebeam?" I questioned, and he nodded. Fairywinkle and Waterberry both lifted hands in surrender. "Pass," one of them said, and the other, "No thanks. I've had my fill."

"Wait." I glanced around, and suddenly it was upper school all over again. "Am I the only one here who hasn't preened with Rupert? What makes him so desirable? I'll be real, I mostly want him for status reasons."

Reddinski tapped his teeth with one finger. "Rupert's quick to help, and very good at helping. He takes pride in how his gyne looks because he knows it reflects on him. He's versatile. You can keep him as a regular drone, place him in your retinue circle, or name him your alpha and either way he'll never whine, only dive into his new role with pride. I've never heard him request anything for himself. It's always you, you, you."

"I have," Fairywinkle chimed in. "My daughter once stuck kitnut butter in that golden hair of his. Got him all upset and begging for help washing it like I never heard before; he's got a nut allergy, see. He wanted to use my bath. Don't usually allow that, but I let him, and after he was clean he flopped across my lap for hours in the biggest huff I've ever seen a good drone succumb to. Kid's a pretty boy, through and through."

"But mostly," Reddinski said, staring my way again, "he has dysolfactya. He doesn't respect pheromones because he can't read them."

"No smoofing way. Is that real? I thought drones with dysolfactya didn't live past Spellementary unless you never let them outside."

"Way," Waterberry said with a shrug. "He figured out gynes will take care of him if he presents himself a certain way. He's never left unattended and that's what keeps him alive."

"Huh. Does that mean his preening game isn't everything the rumors say?"

All three of them laughed. "Oh, the preening's smoofing wonderful," said Waterberry. "He knows how to twist that tongue in all the right shapes without fumbling his whole body around to reach, and he doesn't have a mental cue telling him when to go from foreplay licks to core weaving. If you let him command the session, he'll draw the first part out longer than any other drone I've ever heard of. He won't even whine about it! As patient as a cowlicked beaver chasing off crockeroos, that drake."

"Like an Anti-Fairy," I said without thinking. They all looked at me. I shrugged, face blank. "Rumor has it."

Reddinski nodded, slowly. "Never failed to snare with him before we even started ah'kas."

"So he is good," I murmured. I straightened my wings. "It's been a long time since I've had a satisfying preen. Really long. I had these twins 10,000 years ago. That's how long it's been. I never really thought about it, but you're right. There's something about drones and them always wanting to hurry the foreplay licks along. I do prefer a slow set-up… What the smoof, Redd. I'm interested if Roebeam's on the table."

"Normally I'm all for new drones," Waterberry said, "but he's so… You know…"

"He's Rupert," Reddinski summed up. "He's invasive and rude and would take a thousand punishments if it meant getting his way in the end. You can try to force him low in rank, but other drones flock to him as their alpha anyway. And if you don't have the alpha's respect, you don't have a retinue. No gyne will ever tame the dominance out of him… If I didn't think he'd plot revenge, I'd wet his wings and pitch him out a window."

I raised an eyebrow. Sure, they thought that. But Rupert hadn't known me. If he fell into my lap, I could put him in his place easily enough.

Fairywinkle tapped his foot. "You have to watch that one. He wheedled me out of all the drones I used to have. Now that I've lost him too, I've had to get creative."

Hmm…

"Let's make this more interesting." I tipped my head in Iris's direction. "My alpha isn't much of a prize next to Rupert. So instead of putting him on the line, I'll give you my damsel if you win."

Reddinski and Fairywinkle both glanced over. Somehow, it was satisfying to watch their eyes roam across her back as she leaned over the well, wings spread, and have them think that she was mine. "I never married," Redd said with sudden interest. "My partner withdrew before our Year of Promise was up."

"I already have a wife," Waterberry said firmly, flipping his gaze to the sky. I kept my thoughts on Iris. Perhaps her senses reached farther than I'd calculated… I could have sworn her butt stiffened up at the touch of three drakian gazes looking her over.

Fairywinkle groaned and kicked the ground. "You know how to make a tempting offer, su questo non ci piove. But I have to pass. Monogamy."

Reddinski swiped his tongue around his lips. "I'll take the offer. She's a well-muscled damsel with an admirable wingspan."

"Yes. She is." I pulled my eyes away from Iris. "Here's the catch. If I win, you three owe me a preening session where I call the shots."

"A session?" Reddinski repeated. He and the others exchanged glances.

"So all together," Fairywinkle clarified. "Like a full circle of retinue drones."

Waterberry ducked his head and added in a mutter, "Yeah, that's… not one of my fantasies."

"Fantasies?" I echoed. "This hesitance from you, Waterberry? As I recall, you and Fairytwirl used to hold me under the bleachers before saucerbee practice while the team took turns to see if my 'special cinnamon kisses' were real or exaggeration. You'd both lick my face in between to shut down my will to fight back. I actually killed Fairytwirl my first month at the Academy, but I'd still like a chance to play your game when I'm the one in charge. So, yes. I think I'll enjoy calling the shots over three gynes at once someday."

"You always did loosen up at parties," he murmured.

"Loose? Me? Never."

Fairywinkle crossed his arms. "I've got a counter for that. Yeah, you win this fight and we're at your beck and call for a whole session. No questions asked. If it's 'berry or Redd, he can have your damsel and my alpha drone. But if I win… You gotta prep me for Samhain."

Prep me… The threat of treating me like a drone for a day was tantalizingly clear. My brow went up. "Hm. While annoying, that's not shameful or humiliating. What's the point?"

His brow arched too. "Hey, I shouldn't want you to be afraid of losing. If you are, you're only gonna fight harder." Shrug, lazy. "Been years since I had good help from a retinue. Like I said, Rupert swindled me into dropping the ones I used to keep. If I win, give me a day to remember what it's like, having a drone help me out." Beat. "And you'll have to be the designated poofer for Samhain. When we get back, 'berry has to pay for all the sodas I buy."

I shook my head. "Sober at Samhain? That's cold, Wink. That's cold. Blitz me, but I accept."

He turned to Reddinski. "And if I beat you, I get your cabin in the mountains."

Redd narrowed his eyes. "Fair enough, Dirtywings."

We all turned to Waterberry, who hovered thoughtfully on the side. He tapped his cheek. "I've been stuck in an undersized suite for most of my adult life… I've been working to upgrade to a hive estate. If I win, you all split the cost for it."

We agreed and shook licked hands, then split apart to our separate corners of the arena. The sight of four gynes talking in the center had attracted quite the crowd, and when they saw us moving, they broke into whoops and cheers. "Nervous?" Iris asked, leaning against the fence with her eyes still closed.

"Nope. I used to grapple with Adelinda back when we were juveniles. These punks have nothing on her."

"Von Strangle?"

"I was the Whimsifinado kid of her generation. The old king grew up with my father, so she and I ran in the same social circle growing up. Sometimes. The two of us and Northiae used to slip into the hall at stuffy dinner parties and play around. Only damsel who's ever beaten me."

Iris fixed me with a thoughtful stare. "Did you ever beat her?"

I hesitated. "Technically no, but also yes."

"Oh. Um… Have you ever fought three drakes together?"

"Not since I ran my mouth once during a grapple class at school and Coach threw me into a match. I've analyzed potential situations a thousand times, though. I'll be fine."

She nodded absently before changing my pants the same lavender as my eyes and poofing herself in a jumpsuit just the same. I flicked my gaze between the gynes and drones around the ring. Cosmo didn't seem to have looked my way at all.

My life philosophy was simple: If I don't lose, I can't lose. These friendly rivalry matches weren't to death or even pain, but merely to submission. Up until I surrendered, I was still in the game. Some grappling matches lasted minutes, others easily an hour. Most gynes grew quickly bored with messing around and made impulsive mistakes in an attempt to hurry things along. But not me. The Head Pixie never got bored. If our sparring lasted all afternoon, let it. As long as I didn't get pinned in a bad twist, it didn't matter how long it took me to find an opening. I just had to keep my wings off the cloud. You can't lose if your back is to the stars.

The crowd cupped their mouths and shouted a countdown in unison. I studied my options. Iris had recommended I take out Reddinski before his arm could heal. Between that and the lure of Rupert, he made the perfect target. But when the crowd hit zero, Fairywinkle got there first, so I veered for Waterberry instead. I'd always beaten him in our play-matches before, and by taking him on I forced the competitors who worried me most to face each other. He caught me in a clash of palms. Mine were nearly twice as large and I had no trouble shoving him back. Waterberry lost his footing, but regained it quickly, whirring his wings. So I used that to my advantage. The best thing you can do in a gyne fight is keep your feet on the ground. I jerked him towards me and, when he stumbled, shoved him upward instead. His wings caught a hold. I kept a solid grip on one wrist the whole time. Spinning on my heel, I pulled him crashing down.

"Yeah!" Longwood called behind me. "Go H.P.!"

My rival wasn't down for long. He rolled into a crouch and sprang up the second his toes touched cloud. I dodged the punch he threw at my jaw, but only just. His hand plunged. It grazed past my chest, fingers groping bare skin. If I'd had a shirt, he would have snagged the collar. I grabbed his forearm. Unfortunately with both hands. Waterberry brought the other around to smack my cheek. I didn't recoil, but I was distracted just enough for him to wiggle free. The loss of weight made me stumble. Waterberry knocked me down. My wings crunched against solid cloud.

"H.P.!"

Waterberry dropped too, slamming his hands on my belly. I pushed him off so hard, he rolled. Fairies shouted all around us, pressing against the fence, all their wings and voices blurring. I scuffled back up to my knees. Waterberry was still on his back, wincing at a twisted wing. He could kick hard, I knew; I remembered those kicks. I shifted, coming at him from the side and pressing on his stomach. With my other hand, I clenched the underside of his far knee and lifted. That compromised some of his movement. He stilled, eyes narrowing. His palms slid over my skin. Again I adjusted myself, bearing my weight on his upper body. Waterberry twisted beneath me. If he'd been a naiad fairy, perhaps he would have gotten away. As it was, I caught one wing in my teeth when it swiped up my face, and grabbed another with my hand. He tensed. The crowd ooed and murmured. I had a good grip, and he knew my teeth well. If he jerked too much, the membrane would tear. He went on the offensive, attacking my legs and pulling them instead. I let go.

Waterberry's skill had always lain in his agility. He wasn't broad-shouldered like Reddinski or tall like me, but he used his slippery skin to his advantage. When I climbed on top of him, he squirmed away between my legs. That tipped the scales in his favor; he bounced back to flatten my face to the vapor before I could stop him.

We scuffled in that manner for some time, each of us taking our turn atop the other in between rolls and twists and flips. We wrapped ourselves in knots of limbs and shook ourselves out again. From the reactions of the crowd and what little I could pick up with my senses, Redd and Fairywinkle were fighting faster, fiercer. I tasted blood in the air. They shoved and thumped and tore. The onlookers ate it up.

But the Head Pixie was patient, and in the end he had his reward. I wrenched Waterberry on top of me, squeezing his torso with all my limbs. My leg pinned his hand at an awkward angle. My arms encircled his neck. The second leg held down one of his. Waterberry writhed. When he started to slip, I dropped my hand beneath his armpits and flipped him sideways with all my strength. This time, I caught his foot with mine. With the upper portions of his wings squished against my chest, he couldn't shake himself loose. He fell limp in my arms. After a few seconds, he turned his head and extending his tongue. Excited shouts circled the crowd. "That's my brother," Emery bragged, floating above the rest.

After Waterberry and I had exchanged licks, I released him. He left for the blue corner and I followed him with my eyes to Cosmo. He had to have seen that. Right? Probably. But he was watching Waterberry.

I stumbled over to my pixies at the fence. Rice punched the air. "That's what I'm talking about, muffinbutt!"

Emery zipped down to embrace me. "We'll get someone crushing on you yet! Do you think Marina saw that? I'll bet she's here. Oh my dust, you are so gross. I could roast a hog in your sweat; I'm going to stink for a week. Hey, seriously though, nice work on Waterberry. I had no idea you could win a fight from underneath."

"Some stereotypes are true," I said, reaching through the gap in the fence to rub my pixies' heads one by one. "I'm a gyne. I like being on the bottom."

She rolled her eyes. I looked at Ambrosine, silent.

"Look at you now," he said, folding his arms. "My pretty nymph is all grown up. Solara would be proud."

I shrugged. "It's just sparring."

I joined Iris in the purple corner. Though she still refused to look at me with my shirt off, she knew what I wanted and dumped the water bucket over my head. "So?" she asked.

I smirked. "This is living."

"Uh-oh," she said then, softly. She peered over my shoulder at something just out of range of my aura senses. I glanced back. Fairywinkle and Reddinski were just wrapping up. From the looks of it, Fairywinkle was winning. Iris and I watched a few minutes as they bit and tore. When Fairywinkle was finally named the winner, he didn't even smell like sweat. Barely strained.

"Hm," I said.

We were given a few minutes more to rest. I stretched my elbow, then worked my wrist with my thumb. Waterberry's slap had been brief, but it still stung. I watched Fairywinkle across the field and noticed him watching me. Our fights had lasted almost the same amount of time. Neither of us had really gotten a good look at the other's movements.

"Iris." I nodded towards the yellow corner. "Does something seem off about his alpha?"

She turned her head carefully before cracking open her eyes. Fairywinkle's damsel had come close to kiss a scratch on his forehead, but the yellow drone still sat on the fence beside his daughter, both of them murmuring and kicking their legs. Totally uninterested in his gyne.

"Wait. I don't think that's a drone." I looked at Iris in surprise. "He said Rupert Roebeam tricked him into losing all the drones he used to have, so he's been forced to get 'creative.' I think that's a kabouter. Fairywinkle has his strength, but his confidence took a hit and his pheromones are lacking. That's why he wants me to prep him for Samhain. No one likes him."

"Um. Maybe."

I slid my eyes back towards Fairywinkle, humming a deep, long note. "This changes everything. I know exactly how to beat him. So drones - you know drones - are extremely sensitive to fluctuations in the energy field. Anyone who preens can release signals in the energy field, but gynes and kabouters can't preen like a drone can. Drones soothe. He doesn't have anyone who instinctively understands how to clear the stressed magic from his lines like that. He's top-heavy."

She was laughing at me. Not laughing, exactly, but smiling a little with one side of her mouth and sparkling in the energy field. I paused, hands lifted. "What?"

"You still talk in monotone when you're excited."

"Yeah? You should hear me flirt. Oh, there's my cue. Catch you later. I'm going to win me a preening session."

Waterberry and Reddinski gathered in the corner of the field near their respective drones, arms folded, heads bent together as they watched us. Rupert and Luis leaned against the fence beside them, listening to their whispers, while Reddinski's white-haired drone propped his chin in his hands.

Cosmo was looking straight at me. I froze two thirds of the way to Fairywinkle. Right there in the ring where the whole crowd was watching.

I told myself to keep my thoughts steady. Cosmo and I had ended things a long time ago. I'd been with other drones since then, he'd had a few gynes. I barely even missed him.

It didn't stop me from wanting to ask why he'd walked away.

"Lovely tattoo," Fairywinkle said, breaking me from my thoughts. I grunted back and we began. With Reddinski, Rupert, and Cosmo all watching, I couldn't resist the urge to put on a good show. Finish this quickly. Get out fast. Protecting my face, I charged and slammed my cheek to Fairywinkle's chest. He crashed his elbow down just above my eye. I gasped. Even so, I swept my arms behind his back and grasped his wings at the joints. Fairywinkle instantly dropped his hands, fighting to slide them between our chests. His wings snapped out. I slid my fists farther down their lengths, scratching the costas with my nails. Stinging drops of sweat trickled down my cheek. When I licked my lips, I tasted salt.

Unfortunately, he did get his hands where he wanted them. He thrust me back so I stumbled. One foot went up and I nearly fell. Just as I caught myself, he hit my chest this time. Up close, his arms were even thicker than I'd thought. All muscle.

I'd made the mistake of keeping my wings too low. He wrapped them in his arms, pinching them to my skin. Although I couldn't fly, it stopped me from smacking them at his face. I switched tactics, shoving a knee into his stomach. Fairywinkle held his position, so I turned the knee into a foot. When I lifted, he tried to grasp my hips and topple me. That's what I was counting on. He lowered his head while adjusting his grip, and I leaned far enough back to push my hands between us and grip his neck in both. A sharp spark snapped up my arm when his lines began to fritz.

Fairywinkle knocked me down and tried to straddle me, but pinching his windpipe delayed his reactions. I rolled away. He whipped back to his feet, but so did I. We were up again. I clamped onto his wrists. When he pushed against me, I pushed back harder. I twisted his hands sideways. He wriggled his arms, but I kept my wrists rotating right along with them, not letting him catch my thumb off guard. Slowly, he began to lower towards his knees. His bare feet slipped in the vapor.

"Enough yet?" I grunted through my teeth.

"You tell me," he huffed back. He heaved all his strength to my right, trying to tear away from my injured tomte hand. I shoved Fairywinkle back. Sudden shouts flew up among the crowd. Just as I lifted him by the waist, about to smash him to the vapor, a dash of gray arrowed across the ring.

"… Longwood?"

My distraction, however brief, was all the opportunity Fairywinkle needed. He snapped his teeth against my arm and jerked sideways. My skin tore. I lost my footing. Violet blood welled like lava in the gash. My wings whirled for balance, pushing me forward, but his foot swept around and knocked mine from under me. I toppled. Fairywinkle came too. Crashing. He skimmed his fingers across my shoulders, testing my reflexes and trying to bait me into giving him a good opening. I went to wrap my leg behind him, but as quick as I was, he was quicker. Every move I made, he deflected. Every touch he tried, I didn't block as quickly as I wanted to. With the ground below me, I couldn't pull far enough back to throw a solid hit. Purple dribbled down my arm.

He found his chance soon enough and mounted me. Hot hands wrapped around my neck. Loose but meaningful, the thumbs resting directly over my windpipe. I lay very still, watching him with one eye. Fairywinkle held my gaze. Waiting for me to blink. His wings, shiny clean, spread wide behind him, catching the stars high above our heads like a canvas. Just like the charcoal sketches of his father in the old texts about the war, that drake. Thank dust this was a sparring match instead of a real fight. Thank dust that even his family restrained themselves in play.

Fairywinkle and I kept staring at one another. Finally he blinked. I lurched sideways, but after a few seconds of scuffling, Fairywinkle had my shoulders pinned again. This time, he pressed one thumb against my windpipe a little deeper. We lapsed into silence one more. I lay quietly with my cheek pressed against cold vapor, my wings fidgeting at the edges. Onlookers murmured. Fairywinkle waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Once more I tried to throw him off, thrusting with my wings and heaving my lower body at the same time in an attempt to lift him. I just needed time to free my leg. We rocked left and right in half-rolls, grappling and spitting, grunting and biting, but no matter what twists and kicks I tried, I could not flip that drake on his back. For a third time, Fairywinkle drove his thumbs into my windpipe. The lines connecting me to the energy field began to fritz. A low whine buzzed in the back of my head, rattling my teeth and making my wings thrash on instinct. I tried to squirm loose. Fairywinkle locked his legs tighter. I went still, half my face flat to cloud as before.

So much for showing up Reddinski. Or impressing the drones. Or Iris.

A long two minutes and twenty wingbeats passed before I finally relaxed my muscles and put out my tongue. The pressure on my throat stayed a few seconds more, then eased away. My lines stopped their painful sparking. Shouts went up around the crowd. But Fairywinkle did not revel in his victory with a proud smirk, choosing instead to bend his neck with solemn expression. Respect glinted in his eyes. Our foreheads brushed. Our scents mingled. I scraped a few symbols along his throat. When he finished, he traced more dominant signs along my face, ending with the traditional soft kiss. He tasted like power. His pheromones wreathed around me in a mask that would take days to scrub from my pores. They were already stronger than they'd been when we started, now and forever carrying a faint whisper of my own scent to tell the story of where he ranked in a fight against the Head Pixie.

Then he slid off me, holding out a hand. I accepted it. "You fought well," he told me in what I think was Lialia, lifting me to my wings. I didn't know the language in full, but the meaning was clear enough. In Snobbish, "I'll see you Samhain."

"Past my prime," I said. "You're very strong." No more daring trips across his scent ring… I'd definitely be steering clear of him going forward. Although it did solve my quandary over which garbage company I'd be submitting my village's waste to. It was only fair I paid any price he requested for his services. Frankly at this point I didn't dare seek out one of his business competitors, diplomatic immunity or no diplomatic immunity. And that's the tale of why Pixie World has always worked with Fairywinkle Garbage Incorporated, and why I for one always will.

Fairywinkle trailed back to his drone and damsels in the yellow corner, and I looked around. A thin, freckled pixie crouched behind a thick clump of scuffed-up cloud, eyes the size of fists. His wings shivered. My lips tightened. When I positioned myself in front of him, he lifted his gaze to mine without raising his head.

"H-hi, H.P."

I hauled him up by his hand and stood him on his feet. "I already warned you once about staying off the field, Longwood. I don't know what to do with you. I can't believe you disobeyed me like that. And ditched Ambrosine. And abandoned your coworkers! What the blitz were you thinking, running out here in the middle of a fight? I lost that scuffle thanks to that. It's just one problem after another with you right now."

Longwood gazed at me in silence, arms straight by his sides. "I'm sorry, boss. I just wanted to see."

"And I just want to keep you alive," I snapped. "Smoofing dust, Markell" - I wanted to shake him - "you can't do this. You're young. With that many freckles on your face, these drakes will kill you without hesitation if you stumble in their path. Fairywinkle especially. You were born looking like a threat and they don't know you like I do. They won't give you a chance. I'm Head Pixie and I know what's best. Next time, actually listen to me." I turned my back without waiting for an answer, rubbing grime from my face. Longwood watched in silence. I felt his eyes travel up my forearm.

"… You got hurt."

My fingers slid to the sharp gash where Fairywinkle had bitten me, sticky with purple blood. "I'll heal. You won't."

"I'm sorry. I just…" Longwood blinked, tried to speak, dropped it, looked away, and yanked up the hood of his shirt all at the same time. "I-it looks like so much fun!"

"Fighting isn't fun. We are not fun. Let's go. But when we get home, I'm twisting your wings. Twice."

We returned to meet my other pixies, and Iris handed me a towel. I wiped my face, still steaming. When I'd found my cool again, I said, "I need to get back on that Eros Nest health plan. I'm already out of shape… What a rush, though. You know, I grappled with a merman once back when I lived on Earth. In Kershaw. Lost a bet about the quality of their scales, but I won that fight. Even sweaty gynes aren't as slippery as he was."

Bayard gaped at me. "You never said you'd met a mermaid before!"

"Yeah, well… I've lived a long time and done a lot of impulsive things. No one will ever know everything about me. Even if I wrote a book. Speaking of the Merfolk, wasn't the new princess born a few weeks ago in Atlantis? I should schedule time to visit, Head Pixie and all. Remind me to do that later." I gave the towel back to Iris. She looked at it, then poofed it someplace else.

Wilcox slipped his hand in mine. "I thought you did great, boss. Even if you didn't win."

Hawkins bobbed his head in agreement. "Yeah, that was dazzled! I've never seen you fight before!"

"Would you say he's the best?" Rice asked innocently.

"Boss Fairywinkle kicks mega buns," Sanderson announced. He gazed across the ring the same misty-eyed way Longwood had worn the first time he scampered on the field. I followed the back of his head with my eyes. When I looked up, Ambrosine was watching me. He'd heard it too. So had Rice. And so had Longwood. The younger pixie cleared his throat.

"Boss Fairywinkle just got lucky. You're really good, H.P."

Ambrosine tilted down his glasses. "Luck is for Anti-Fairies. Hard work and dedication a strong fairy make."

"Yes, sir," Longwood mumbled, shrinking back between his peers.

Emery poofed my shirt on again. At that point, admirers began pressing forward from the crowd, though a few stalled when I bent down to pick up Rice. Some requested autographs, some the simple confirmation that I was the Head Pixie they'd heard so much about. One ishigaq, unafraid, practically shoved them aside as he shouldered forward. No one could miss that bright red uniform and golden hair. Rice stiffened in my arms.

"Hey," Rupert chirped, gazing up at me in total rapture. I felt his hairs prickle up. Unable to suppress a grin, he reached behind his neck with one arm. His eyes squeezed shut. "You looked great out there, Drk. Pixie. Whatever exercise plan you're on, you should keep at it. It's really working."

"Tending to all my drones keeps me busy." I sized Rupert up with just one eye. "And it's 'Mr.' not 'Drk.' I appreciate the feedback. Really, I do. But shouldn't you be with Reddinski? It looked like his arm was out of socket."

"He has Luis," Rupert answered breezily. "He's the alpha. I'm sort of free range. Nice puppy," he added, looking directly at Rice. "Reminds me of someone I used to know."

Rice growled low in his throat. Then louder when Rupert reached out to scratch his oversized ears. I backed two steps away, wishing the crowd hadn't pressed so close around us. Ambrosine, Emery, and Iris had shuffled aside to give my admirers a little room, but I could feel their eyes on me. All eyes on me. Actually, most of them on Rupert. Flitting whispers sang his name. Cold sweat and sugary pheromones tingled in the air with grease and fairy floss.

"Reddinski's probably looking for you," I said, voice low. It scratched at the tip.

"Hey, the longer he's looking for us, the less time he's hitting us." Rupert grabbed my arm. A hundred million daggers shot up my skin, stabbing my brain in a wall of ice crystals. I jerked my arm away and a gasp went with it. But Rupert's stare locked me where I was. He took back his hand and tugged the tall collar of his shirt down just enough to show a bruise even more plum-colored than Ambrosine's deepest purple vest. The same kind of bruise I'd seen on Juandissimo's neck.

"Oh s'mores," Rice muttered.

Rupert let go before the crowd could see, pleading with his eyes all the same. I swept my eyes up and down, my effervescence clenching in my throat. "I… What? Reddinski did that?"

"What about Lily?" Rice asked, claws digging in my veins. Then, instantly, "Where's Emma?"

"Someplace safe," Rupert said, glancing at him briefly. Then me again, soft above the babbling crowd. "I'm not the only one he hits, flip. Ever wonder why you can't smell a wife on him?" His eyebrows scrunched together. "She ditched Jean when the Year of Promise was up. She saw the monster inside and got out fast, but she didn't come back for us."

"You have dysolfactya," I said. I couldn't move. How can you knowingly walk away from someone who's been bruised like that? "That's a bad situation to be in. Get out of there. Why do you hang around?"

Rupert grimaced. "Dewdrop is like family and Luis has a son. The drake's young, still in school. Sweet kid. He's a painter."

"Juandissimo."

"That's him. He won't abandon his papa. And as long as they're all under Jean's roof, I can't walk away. Not knowing what goes on there, sir. That's not what friends do." Rupert checked over his shoulder, craning his neck despite floating higher than most of the Fairies around us. He fluttered. "Geez, I should skedaddle, but one more thing. You don't have an alpha, do you?"

Rice and I exchanged a glance. "Not one who can preen," I said.

Rupert placed a finger to his lips. "And four of us are in the market for a new gyne. I saw you fight, Mr. Head. And as tough as Big Jean is…" Here he bobbed a bit closer, bringing his forehead almost up against mine. "… you're worth a million of him."

My limp wings shivered against my back. "Think so?"

"Hey." His smile was pained, as were his eyes. He drew back. "I saw you fight. You've got babies and they've lasted this long. If anyone knows how to treat a drone right, I know it's you, Boss Pixie."

Then he was gone. Gone in a shower of dust. Again the crowd surged forward, spewing questions and hoping for a good look at my face. I kept it straight, even though my brain was whirling. Sunlight warmed my blood. I tasted every fleck of magic flowing through my skin.

Eventually, the attention on me waned away. It was just as well; I wasn't in the frame of mind to enjoy it. I couldn't not picture the flash of that bruise on Rupert's neck. The longing in his eyes. Even Kalysta had never hit me. Will o' wisps treated me better than Reddinski treated his drones. I'd only smacked Sanderson once in my life and regretted it immediately. What was going through Reddinski's mind if this was behavior he engaged in over and over again?

Rice pressed his nose against my hand. "Boss-"

"I know. I want to. But… I don't know. I can't fight Redd. He's too strong."

"Yes you can," he said. "And I know that because I'm not stealing your soul."

Voices. I mumbled comments to my fans. I didn't hear half of what was said to me. By anyone. But I did jolt to reality again when Emery declared we should all go for rolled ice cream. Ambrosine allowed it so long as she agreed to pay. My pixies swirled around, begging for vanilla. Even Rice perked a bit at that. I nodded. We were about to follow them when Iris tapped my shoulder.

"Um, sir? What was that bit earlier about trading away your damsel if you lost to Boss Reddinski?"

A chill snaked down my lines. Iris asked the question in an innocently sing-song tone, but I still didn't like it. I turned, still blinking thoughts of Rupert from my eyes. "So you did hear that. I wondered."

"I'm an alux. The universe always lets me hear when someone's talking about me. Um. I don't like to eavesdrop, but I thought it was fair to bring this up… I wasn't really comfortable with that, sir."

I shrugged, pressing Rice to my chest. His hind feet dangled. "I knew I wouldn't lose to Redd. I'm worth a million of him."

Iris raised one eyebrow. "It must be such a burden, being right all the time."

"Not really. Sparring matches are all about being willing to do anything the winner wants; there's no honor in victory if you refuse that kind of bet. It's tradition for a dominant gyne to offer another dominant gyne the most valuable thing he has. So."

"O-oh. Um…" She glanced at Rice. "You hardly know me."

"And that says a lot about the brains you've shown already, doesn't it, Needlebark?"

Iris didn't move. After a moment, she stuttered out a thank you and flew after Emery. I called her name before she went far. I didn't think she would turn around again, but she waited for me to catch up.

"Dame, I have a proposal for you. It looks like I owe Fairywinkle a Samhain night where I'm the designated poofer. Since I put you on the line without your permission back there, perhaps I could make it up to you. Would you care to be my Plus One?"

Iris smiled in an uncertain way. "Samhain? Um… I thought we didn't follow the old ways anymore."

"You're not a gyne, so that's what the Fairy Council wants you to believe. Think about the Alien races near us. Delkians, Scarabid, Lampri, Boudacians…" I listed each one on my fingers. "All Tylwyth Teg who trace their ancestry to Old Elrue like us. They're not going to leave candy and soda out for fae; they're going to be shaking down other planets for treats themselves. Samhain's still a thing. You just have to know where to look and be willing to work your wings."

Her knees curled a little tighter. "I don't really… like parties, Head Pixie. I'm sorry."

"Designated poofer," I reminded her, plopping Rice on the ground. "Should you accept, I'll stay by your side all night to ease you into things. The chimera treat us well in Mag Mell… Too well, maybe. Purest taffy you'll find in twenty galaxies. The butterscotch isn't bad either. The last time I showed up, they even gave us konpeitō and churchkhela. I'm under oath to stay sober. Your presence will make my night a lot less dull. In a strangely good way."

"Taffy?"

"The salty kind."

Iris bit her lip. "I'll think about it, sir. Thank you for offering."

She would think about it. I could accept that. "Fair enough. Don't keep me waiting, dame. I'd like a solid answer in two weeks' time."

"Um… Perhaps give me a month? I-if you're all right waiting." She glanced away, combing fingers through her pegasustail. "I have to find time to research what the party scene is like, which means scheduling interviews, and I'm already so busy with work, and I have no idea what to wear-"

"Take three weeks, then. Or more. Just give me a scry when you've decided one way or the other." I linked my hands behind my back. "I can wait for a possible yes. I'll even put together a guide about what to wear and how to act at a party for you. Expect to see it in your office box the day after tomorrow or something. Maybe."

"I might try to go," she told me. "I just have to think about it."

"I hope you will. I look forward to it. And I'll wear a shirt. Not for long probably, but an attempt will be made."

Iris smiled at me shakily. "That would be great, sir."

"You can call me H.P. if you like it better. That's what I go by in public. Normally the only ones who call me 'sir' are my drones. We're business partners. You can use my name."

She nodded and flitted away between the crowd. I watched her go, pretending to eye more of her backside than I really was just in case Reddinski and Fairywinkle were still watching me. I mused over her passions, her ambitions, her anxious stutter, the way she turned to pudding the moment I removed my shirt… You know, in her own strange way, she really was a curious damsel.

Such a shame she had to be a Centipedes fan. And seriously, that hair was such a dust-awful tint of purple-pink…

That night, I went to check on my pixies in their cabin as I always did just before I retired to my room. Springs snuggled in Madigan's bed, holding the soft ant toy Anti-Bryndin had given him for Winter Turn. The low door panel to Longwood's crawlspace was locked. Caudwell had dropped his pillow. Hawkins had fallen asleep sucking his thumb. He stirred at the taste of my pheromones in the air. Wilcox slept in the form of a mouse tonight. Bayard sprawled with his drooling mouth open, one hand stretched towards the wand that glowed on his bedside table. Even the phoenix tattoo on his shoulder had settled in its nest. But Sanderson was still awake, arms folded behind his head and pointy elbows jabbing up. He gazed at the glow-in-the-dark music note stickers he'd pasted across the ceiling months ago. I paused. I'd never seen him crawl into bed without his pajama shirt before.

"Hey. Time for bed."

Sanderson stretched his arms. "H.P.? How old were you when you started growing freckles?"

"Mm." I pushed back his hair, lifting his hat into a better position for sleeping with. "Too young."

"When will I get mine?"

I stopped, palm still curled against his forehead. Sanderson stayed still beneath my hand, blinking occasional trusting blinks. And I remembered suddenly how he'd wrestled with Longwood in the hall, firmly planting the younger to the floor. So sure of the kind of pixie he'd grow up to be.

"Do you want freckles?" I asked, stroking his hair. Had I sheltered him too much? Not enough? Ambrosine had given me the nests and honeycomb talk two months after I turned 5,000. Back then, I'd recoiled with disgust. Hearing that random drakes might want to snuggle close and lick my face someday had weirded young Fergus out. And all my pixies were genetically the same as me. I'd felt uncomfortable learning too soon. I didn't want to scar my pixies the same way. And I especially didn't want them whispering about the things I told them in the halls at school, where word might spread among kabouters and judgmental eyes would turn my way. I decided Sanderson could stay sweet and innocent a few millennia longer.

"I don't know," Sanderson said, yawning wide. "I just wish I was smart with people like you and Longwood are. Like at the fighting ring."

So he'd noticed. I suppose even at that age, he was looking. Watching how freckled drakes like Waterberry, Reddinski, and Fairywinkle acted differently than the smaller drakes leaning against the fences. Watching me, watching other gynes, to decide who would get his loyalty. Deciding if my scent - a single scent - was worth the time of day. Had I been studying other drakes when I was that young? Probably not. I'd been the weird kid with a broken crown and messed up wings. My best friend was a wisp. No one really came close to me. Even my roommates laughed behind my back. I heard them.

I looked at Sanderson very hard. "You don't need freckles to be smart. There are so many things in the world to learn about. We're all good at some and bad at others. And even if you never show a single freckle, you can grow up to write songs and record music and do anything you want to with your life. I just want you to pick things you like learning about and teach yourself to be as smart at those things as it makes you happy to be."

His eyes were already closing, but he turned his head so my fingers slid up to his ear. "But I'm dumber than the freckled kids, right?"

"No one's smart or dumb because they have freckles, Sanderson. You just have different roles to play. Different ways to live that will make you happy. One day you'll know all about things I don't. And we'll both be smart." I ruffled his hair. "But right now, you're a little juvenile and I'm your boss. Get some sleep."

… Dear Nuada, Longwood was halfway to 5,000. Sooner or later the Easter Bunny would hop to our doorstep with a basket full of duck eggs, happy to let the hatchlings imprint on him like their mother. Someday he'd moult into his adult wings. Adult pheromones would curl from behind his neck and generations of practice ducks would be replaced with drones.

My drones.

I grimaced. One of these days, Longwood would turn his fellow pixies' heads. If he stayed here, there was no way around it. Someday, tens of thousands of years from now, Longwood was bound to try preening beneath my radar. Possibly in this very cabin. Possibly stretched on this very bed. One day I might be working in my office while a drone or two pleasured him with secret licks just outside my sensing range. I didn't like thinking about it.

But I wasn't about to deny my pixies would grow up someday either. I'd once been a child. Now I was grown. 495,600 years old. Four and a half millennia short of the halfway point in my expected lifespan. The pixie race had to survive. When I died, whether that was 18,000 years from now or 380,000, I wanted to leave behind offspring who understood the world well enough to take care of themselves.

If they were yellow-borns.

I stroked Sanderson's hair with my tomte hand until I realized he'd fallen asleep.

I couldn't do the same. Rice and I talked in my office until the early hours, scrawling out plan after plan for initiating confrontation. But they all came up the same. Finally, I pushed the parchments across my desk and dropped my chin in my hands. "I can't. I want to help Reddinski's drones, but I can't risk my pixies. If they're purple-borns, they'll die when I do."

"You have diplomatic immunity," Rice protested, lying on his stomach at the edge of my desk. His tail waved in the open space, beating on wood like branches in the dark. Every whip was uneven. If I'd had the mental focus to shove him off, I would have.

"But Reddinski's allowed to defend himself. If I challenge him, or if he perceives me as a direct threat to his way of life or personal well-being, he can finish me just like any other gyne."

"Call the Keepers, cupcake," Rice said, folding one paw over the other. The flames of my candelabra flickered like cold bones crawling through the dirt. Beyond that, the darkness of my office huddled at my shoulders. A single ghostly grayfish mouthed the glass wall of its tank. He finished with, "It's illegal to abuse drones like that. The Keepers can investigate Redd and, assuming he's guilty, help them relocate."

I started counting other gynes I knew in my head, but ended up rubbing my thumbs against my eyes. We'd been scribbling notes most the night. My eyelids had turned against me, threatening to plunge. "Can't. If I blow the whistle, Reddinski will never let Fairy World forget it. Everyone will know I knew there was a problem and didn't take him on myself. My honor will be in the garbage bin before the season turns."

Rice plopped his head between his forepaws. "But we can't leave them there, cookie."

"I know, but I can't afford to be labeled an ineffective gyne when I have pixies to support. I'm trying to get a business off the ground. I need my good name. Smoof it, Rice- I have to fight. I can't leave them. I couldn't look myself in the eye if I did. There's no way out. Drones need gynes. Good gynes." I stared at my desk, pressing my pointer fingers to my lips. "Rupert's lived with Fairywinkle and Waterberry. There has to be a reason he didn't ask their help. Or if he did, they turned him down. He came to me because he's desperate. No one's there for him."

No one at all. Not even me. I pushed up my glasses and massaged my nose up and down. Look. I wanted to help Reddinski's drones. I wanted to. In the Autumn of the Tall Cedar, a successor case to Canterbury v. Oakwing had granted drones even more legal rights. For 2,017 years now, it was unquestionably legal for drones to hold jobs without a supervising gyne on the premises, leave rooms without waiting to be directly dismissed, and even inherit property before a gyne if the drone brother was born first. The court case that had brought these changes was literally called Waterberry v. Reddinski. It didn't take an Anti-Fairy to figure out who was on the losing side.

But I just couldn't risk my pixies in a fight. If I died and they went with me, I'd never forgive myself.

"Where were you?" Rice asked. I looked up, forefingers balanced above my lip.

"When what?"

"When the Waterberry case was called, peaches."

"Little town called Lau Rell. Famous for their summer carnival. It was right before I became pregnant with Longwood. The whole town shot off fireworks for it. Blue ones. Loud. Hard to forget."

Rice scratched his neck with a hind paw. "I was the cù sith chosen for the courtroom that day. Rupert held me in his lap… I still remember the look on Reddinski's smoofing face when the Pink brought the gavel down."

My eyes narrowed. "Did you support Waterberry?"

"Huh? Absolutely. I'm all for drone rights."

"I didn't."

The scratching stopped.

"I support drones as people," I amended, holding Rice's gaze when he turned to scrutinize me. "I'll defend their right to safety absolutely. But it was already illegal to abuse them as far back as Canterbury v. Oakwing. Waterberry didn't really add anything important."

The filter whirled in my grayfish tank. Even the pages of my books seemed to whisper on their shelves, pressing in. Rice frowned, scrunching his face like a discarded handkerchief crushed beneath a shoe. His feathered hat bobbed just above his scalp. He looked an awful lot like he wanted to swipe my soul for making a vague statement like that, but instead he said, "Since Waterberry, drones can look people in the eye now. They can, like, marry and stuff."

"And?"

"They should be allowed to, crumbcake."

"It doesn't really affect me."

The cù sith sat up, his itch forgotten. "What about your pixies?"

I shrugged, keeping my fingers where they were. "Drones don't need marriage. They need gynes. Drones feel urges no romantic partner can satisfy."

"So they can't be happy," he stated, like an accusation.

"Maybe Rupert Roebeam can. He has dysolfactya; he doesn't need pheromones. But no one else." I watched Rice pull his lips back from his teeth, then lifted my brows. "Did you have any drones back when you were a gyne? Besides that brother you mentioned."

"Well. No, but-"

"You know nothing about drones."

"Drones aren't stupid, mint chip. They just process things different." Rice placed his paw on my desk like he meant to leave a print. "That's no excuse to take their rights."

"It's not about stupidity; it's about biology." I slid one hand down my arm, leaving the second cradling my chin. With two fingers, I straightened one of my note pages. "Drones freak out if they're left without a gyne. They can't function without pheromones. Drone/drone and drone/kabouter relationships may be legal now, but drone/gyne marriages are still out of the question. Thanks to Waterberry, these new relationships are presented as options, and Fairy World praises Fairy Court for being modern and progressive. But the reality is, there aren't options. Not for drones. Waterberry only leads them into confusion, anxiety, and self-hatred."

"Have you asked them?" Rice demanded. His gray fur prickled as though a sudden chill had swept beneath our feet, dumping snow.

"Drones don't know what they want. The media tells them preening is indecent and they're gullible enough to believe it. It's only a matter of time before we see drone weddings onstage and hear their vows over radio. They're forgetting biology, Rice. Soon we'll see drones dive headfirst into relationships that don't meet their needs. And trust me, that ruins people. It ruins lives. Drones don't want romance. They only think they do."

Rice rose, stretched on the toes of his paws. "How can you know what drones want, strudel cake? Let me tell you one thing and make it clear: the happiest drake I ever met was a drone whose mama didn't try to shove him in a labeled box." Softer, mumbled, "Not the way Pa shoved me."

I stared at him, unmoving. Unblinking. "Because gynes are born for leadership. We know things they don't. That's how it works."

"And your pixies?"

"They don't need more rights. They have me." My eyelids drooped. I stood up to leave. Rice turned his head away.

"Maybe you shouldn't fight Reddinski for his drones," he said. "Look, I've tried to be nice, fudge bar. I didn't want to be Head Pixie. But if you don't treat your drones right, maybe they need a soul who will."

I shook my head, not believing him for a second. He didn't join me in bed that night, but chose to lie outside on my porch.

School began for my pixies later that summer. Wilcox knew his way around the Spellementary dorms and promised to oversee the others. I paid a visit to the place myself to examine how suitable it was for drones. The supervisor who'd be watching over their house was a rather twitchy damsel who muttered an awful lot about the Unwinged.

"My pixies have a history of being bullied for the hats they wear," I warned.

"Sounds like the influence of ANGELS!" Dm. Nightshade instantly shot back. She knocked her mug clear off her desk. Warm cocoa splattered in my lap. I raised a brow. So that was Spellementary School. My pixies would be attending until they didn't feel like it anymore, and maybe I'd finally have time to focus on me a while.

Back when I attended school, roommates were arranged in trios. It reflected the way we'd lived with our counterparts not so long ago. Apparently groups of four were common now. Sanderson, Hawkins, and Wilcox, would be grouped together with a nix from a traditional family; Dm. Nightshade and I hoped he could offer them insight into typical Fairy culture. Caudwell, Bayard, and Madigan were to be bundled in a younger age group. When Longwood found out he wasn't going, he whined in protest.

"You're my heir," I told him. "I need to train you on being Head Pixie someday. That's something they can't teach you. When I start my classes, you'll stay in Anti-Fairy World with Anti-Bryndin. I'll only be a year, maybe only a few months. After that, I can focus on you and we'll officially start your training."

"But I want to go to school!"

"Studying abroad is better. Anti-Bryndin and I have already made arrangements. His son Anti-Phillip has agreed to tutor you." I straightened his tie. It was the second Wednesday of the month and we were due to meet with Anti-Bryndin in Godscress for lunch. "I will not go out of my way to expose you to Zodii teachings, but I'm also not going to deprive you of learning opportunities that cross my path. If this is what you're interested in, you're going to learn the smoof out of it."

"Okay," he mumbled.

"The High Count is bringing Anti-Phillip and his new daughter, Anti-Stacey, to meet you. One of them will rule the Anti-Fairies someday. Maybe both, if they get along. Make a good impression. Networking is important."

"Yes, sir."

Lunch went as well as it could have. Anti-Phillip tried to excite Longwood about the study opportunity we'd set up, though Longwood was in a sour mood behind his expressionless face. When we returned to the village, I sent him to fetch the book he normally kept at his bedside. Ambrosine and I were going to review Anti-Fairy cultural basics with him. I stood by the kitchen window with Rice, rubbing my mouth, as the little pixie moped along the path outside.

"Is it okay for Longwood to sleep in the drone cabin? He has a private nook, but should I get him his own room in the manor? Emery won't stay forever. Once she's gone, I could fix it up as his personal space."

"Depends," Ambrosine said. "Drones mature faster. They'll start having preening urges about a century before they come into their adult wings, sometimes two or three. With gynes, it's only about a decade. I wouldn't move him until just before he moults, even if the drones start taking interest. Until he starts feeling it, it might upset him to be treated too differently."

"Mm. I wish I could send him to school, but I can't risk losing him… How did you learn to raise me? You didn't have a father who'd already gone through it."

No reply, though he'd been sitting at the table all this time. Just then, his energy signals snapped high like a shooting star. I turned. Ambrosine held a book half open with one hand, the other on his face. He could hardly stand to peer through his fingers, yet couldn't seem to put the book down either.

"Are you still reading that Ivorie novel?"

"She was a little dame when she used to come to Wish Fixers!"

I shook my head.

The following days were a blur of shopping for school supplies and packing bags. Moving day arrived so soon. Longwood, Rice, and I were out in the plaza when the horsie-drawn chariot came to get them. My pixies filed in with their bags and boxes and books, not even calling a good-bye over their shoulders. Or a thank you. Everyone fit snugly inside. The winged horsies crouched, then pranced away into the air, off among clouds and stars. I watched my two youngest, almost a year old now, splash in a puddle by my feet. "Well, at least you two haven't gotten sick of me."

With a poof, Ambrosine materialized nearby, clutching a basket of goodies in his arms. "Just thought I'd stop by and send the kids off with this," he said, scanning the sky. "Did I just miss them? Drat. I'll catch them at the next stop."

Springs squealed. Abandoning the puddle, he raced over and pulled at Ambrosine's legs, Keefe tailing right behind. Even Longwood scrambled over to see if there was a gift for him. I dropped on a bench and rested my hands in my lap. Oh well. The kids would come back as soon as they got thirsty for magic. As long as I controlled their needs, they wouldn't leave me.

Someone cleared his throat at my elbow. "Madigan?" I spluttered, twisting around. "Dear dust, I didn't notice you were there. Why aren't you going to school?"

"You didn't help me pack." Madigan put the straw of his juice box to his lips. His eyes squinted. "Did you forget I exist again? It's okay if you did. I know you have a lot of other pixies."

I leaned back my head. "Don't you want Ambrosine to poof you to the next bus stop? You can go to school and learn about birds."

"I don't think they'll teach me about birds in school if they're going to teach all the other pixies what they want to know too, boss. They're all older than me, so I'll get last pick. I usually get last pick of things, unless I'm sneaky. But, um… Maybe someday, you can teach me about birds."

"Madigan, there is nothing I would rather do right now. Come on. Let's get Keefe and Springs and go for a walk."

In all honesty, I'd had little interest in exploring the surrounding woods before then. My focus remained on the village, its buildings, and especially that tram station. We didn't receive visitors often. It was my right to decide when to close the cable line, but usually I left it open for the sake of attracting visitors. I didn't yet have a product tied to my name, but I knew I'd need to secure something to bring in the income required to raise my pixies centuries down the road. So I started small, keeping a constant eye on visitors, and began building up my brand image. I wore vests, sometimes full suits, and directed my pixies to do the same on days I expected more people. Always gray.

My tomte hand healed a few weeks after my pixies started school. Funny. You don't realize how much you take your ability to breathe for granted until your magic starts gushing out of you. Madigan and I practiced the basics together, poofing up scraps of fabric in different textures and shades of gray. Ambrosine asked if I still wanted to attend university. I decided that could wait. For now, I was just getting back to my wings.

Since I rarely had much to do besides fill a few reports, check in with Iris and the Angel project, and work with Longwood, I spent a fair amount of time circling the village. I spoke with visitors often, presenting myself as approachable and knowledgeable about both the magical and Earthside worlds. Pixies were to be a race of charm and helpful kindness in all respects. One day, whatever business we pursued, we would be professionals. I had to start laying the foundation of that from the start. It helped that with Rice trotting respectfully on my heels, I cast a very honest aura. "You can be my vice president of the security department," I told him once. More like Rice president.

Most importantly, I kept watch for other gynes. I cast a spell that would trigger an alarm in my office if strong pheromones passed through the tram station door. Not a perfect system, not the bubble I would build around Pixie World in the future, but it worked for now.

My village lay tucked between the woods and a steep drop to Earth, bordered by low mountains and a canyon on its southern side (known today as Graydust Ridge). I always went walking in the morning, spreading my pheromones in the air to fence my drones in between these drops and edge of the woods. Madigan and I walked this path with Keefe and Springs today, simply talking.

I made that a habit later on, taking a single pixie (in addition to Rice and a nymph if I had one) on my rounds. My drones came home from school for the holidays, but they showed no interest. Sanderson's rebellious phase was worsening, simple walks didn't live up to Hawkins' love for hiking, Wilcox preferred books in the morning, Longwood avoided me, the others didn't like waking up so early before school, so on and on. I made sure the offer was always on the table, but mostly I ended up with Madigan. We grew quite skilled at identifying birds together, and he asked thoughtful questions about the world. All he really knew in life was the Eros Nest, the village, and a few glimpses of Faeheim, so I described new places throughout the worlds every day.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked him once, watching him crouch to touch the violet moss growing on a rock.

"I like our walks," Madigan said, petting Rice's head. "I like how it's the same dull, boring path every day."

"I do too. I like to see the changes from one day to the next, and it wouldn't be easy to notice things if the path was always different… I think it's good for us to be in tune with nature. Most Fairies poof from point to point, zipping back and forth like there's something really important they have to pollinate. Anti-Fairies understand nature. Maybe they're on to something. I think Anti-Fairies-" I broke off when Springs erupted into frantic chirps. Rice dove forward to catch Keefe. The baby had just floated above the canyon's lip. Rice pulled back, whirring his wings, and dragged Keefe onto solid ground by the shirt. I nudged the baby with my foot. "Dude, there's a fence blocking the drop-off for a reason. Can't you smoofing read?"

"Sorry," said the nymph, staring at his feet.

"Well, be more careful."

We started into the woods and I said to Madigan, "Maybe we are Fairies, but I think it's important that as a subspecies, we establish ourselves as potential communicators who stay on good terms with Anti-Fairies as much as possible. Someone has to relay stuff between them and the Fairies, and if we show them we can be patient, reliable allies-"

Springs squealed again behind me. When I glanced back, Keefe was gone. Flat-out gone. Knee-jerk magic pinged me instantly to the cliffside. I spotted the baby lying on a ledge some ways below, wings crumpled beneath him. He'd frozen in alarm. His rattle lay not far from his hand, but he obviously wasn't in the right frame of mind to use it.

"Keefe?" I called. "What happened?"

"He's in a hole," Springs told me, clinging to my leg. "It's Keefe."

Rice wagged his tail. "Yo, cherry pie! You okay?"

Keefe did not answer, only sat up slowly. When he picked up his rattle, I waved my wand and pinged him to my side again.

"What were you thinking? You almost fell out of this plane. It's very, very hard to get you back up if you fall. What if someone else found you first and didn't bring you home? What if I lost you?"

"I don't know," Keefe said, clinging to his rattle with both hands. "Sorry."

"Be more careful in the future. Our eyes aren't that good. It's easy to miss the canyon until you're already over it, and pixies are hover/gliders, not true fliers. Don't go past the scent markers. I put them there for a reason."

"Where?"

"What do you mean 'where'? Right there." I gestured towards the trail I'd left a good distance back from the drop. He shrank into his wings. When we continued walking, he lagged behind, grouchily smacking tree trunks with his rattle and not saying a word.

Halfway through autumn, I met Iris for lunch to review her proposal to the Fairy Council. She'd completed the recommendations I'd given before and had gone above and beyond with the list of proposed godkids, even providing paper images of them plucked from the timestream. "Looks good," I said, handing back her notes. "What next? Do you want to practice how you'll preen with the Robes?" I'd used the good soap when I'd showered that morning, just in case.

"Um. No, I understand that part." She glanced down, scratching her wrist. "Um. H.P., back at Fairy Con, you invited me to Samhain. I've given it some thought and I've done some research… But I don't think it's the place for me."

I kept myself from wrinkling my nose. Barely. I laced my fingers together on the table. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to it. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly."

You know, if I weren't me, I probably wouldn't want to be around me either. Not alone. Not on a date.

"The offer was appreciated," she assured me, likely lying. That nervous smile couldn't be real. "I just… I don't know. I don't really like parties. I'm sorry. I hope there's still time for you to invite someone else."

"No worries, dame." I patted her hand. "I'll figure something out. Enjoy your holiday."

So that afternoon, I got in contact with Anti-Bryndin. At least I could always count on him. Signal delay between us and Anti-Fairy World was always horrible, but he answered soon enough. When his freckled face swam into view, I lifted my half of our scrying crystal.

"Hey, direct line to the High Count? Best idea ever."

"Hello, Head Pixie." Anti-Bryndin dropped the lip of his sweater from his teeth. He seemed to be in the High Count's office, tucked away in the rear of the Blue Castle. I'd never been inside, but the curtains behind him were yellow and his shelves and desk items appeared to be right-side-up. That looked right. He looked right. He leaned across his big black desk, arms folded, with his half of our crystal scooped in his hand. "What have you called for?"

"Anti-Bryndin, do I have an event planned for you." I leaned back in my office chair, dangling him over my face. Rice curled in my lap, watching through one lazy eye. "You invited me to spend the turn of the zodiac cycle in Anti-Fairy World. Now I'd like to invite you to join me for Samhain. It's a few weeks away. I have an extra ticket, so you can come along and I'll introduce you to a piece of Fairy culture. Easy."

"Ticket?" He said it like he'd never heard the word before, nose all scrunched up. "Samhain?"

"Samhain is a Fairy tradition," I said, scratching behind Rice's ears. "It's our most ancient holiday. Long ago, the chimera gave the cloudlands to our ancestors at this time of year. The lowlands were their nursery and mating grounds, but they agreed to relocate to the higher planes so the settlers from Old Elrue would have room to live and thrive. We swore a geis to pay them back every seven years and we still honor that oath today. It's sort of sacred. See, we used to bring changelings, but that's…" I paused. "… overwhelmingly not okay anymore. Times have changed and we've changed with them. We don't publicly advertise Samhain in our media, so the younger generations don't really remember it's a thing. It's a ceremony of song and dance. Plus candy. You might like it. You have direct chimera ancestry, anti-swanee and all. Like, super direct. That's pretty neat."

"Oh." Automatically, Anti-Bryndin reached up to touch the end of one horn. Still, he looked confused. "I am sorry, Head Pixie, but there is misunderstanding. The chimera are dead."

"Huh. If that's true, they sure throw dazzled parties from the next life."

Anti-Bryndin blinked at that. "But… they cannot be alive. All the chimera were killed by the Prince of Dew. Only the anti-swanee and the umbrae are descended from them." Anti-Bryndin wedged a claw in the wood of his desk. "I am High Count. My people love the chimera. If they were alive, I would know."

I shrugged. "Maybe you forgot to check upstairs."

Rice lifted a lazy paw. "They're definitely alive, chief. I've seen them myself."

"I will go," he decided, ears folding flat. "I will see these 'chimera' you say exist."

"Excellent." I kept my expression purposely neutral. "There are seven days of Samhain with different feasts and rituals on each one. I'm the designated poofer out of Mag Mell Day 4. That's three Sundays from now. I could really use some companionship to ensure I stay sober the whole time."

Anti-Bryndin blinked. "Mag Mell? Where does this land sit?"

"Plane 12. Caer Pedryvan, specifically. That's the castle where the border between our worlds and the High Kingdom runs thinnest."

"12? The Hush World?" His voice came out a little like a squeak. One claw lifted towards the ceiling. "Up… there?"

A tiny smirk pressed at my lips. I brought the dangling crystal back down, cupping it in my palm. "You don't believe the old ghost stories, do you, Kitigan? That's kid stuff."

He scratched two fingers along his forehead, wings hunching over his shoulders. "Um… This is a Fairy party. Am I welcome there?"

"No less welcome than I was at the Seven Festivals. Except the crowds won't be so thick. You might get a few odd looks, but no more stares than you're used to, being High Count and all. I'd consider you mingling with us an honor."

"Mm… Head Pixie, I am an Anti-Fairy. To be surrounded by only Fairies would make me feel…"

"Don't stress," I assured him. "You're my Plus One. I'll make sure you get in. Even better, I'll make sure you have a good time. I'll be there just after breakfast in your time zone to help you dress and we'll be in Mag Mell that night. Your Anti-Fairy parties have nothing on Samhain."

"Okay," Anti-Bryndin murmured, sinking back in his chair. "I will come and we will enjoy this Fairy holiday you have."

I smiled. "Glad to see you, Kitty. I'll be waiting."

---

A/N: Text to Life - I modeled gyne sparring after Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu (in addition to the fighting patterns of different insects). Search for video clips online if you're interested in watching it play out. Recreational BJJ has a point system, but Fairies can have very lengthy sparring sessions if they're evenly matched. It's part of Fairy culture to drop plans if something more interesting comes along, even if it means you miss other appointments (Since they live so long, there's always time to reschedule another meeting: see also, Fairy Mason switching gears for Timmy in "Genie Meanie Minie Mo").

"Strength beats intelligence" is huge in Fairy culture (in stark contrast to Anti-Fairy World's preference for academia). The school curriculum requires all students learn grappling skills in gym class. By the time they're in high school, most Fairies are excellent at sparring and a social hierarchy has already been established. H.P.'s eyes were pretty bad in high school since glasses weren't invented yet, so he struggled in most classes and felt more comfortable in gym.