(Posted March 10, 2020… Four years old with 500,000 words!)

Senseless

Autumn of the Silver Silk - Summer of the Low Sun

Samhain always arrives when you're juggling four dozen responsibilities. My older pixies knew the week-long drill, but to Keefe and Springs, everything was new and they goggled like geese. Ambrosine and I were up early to bake the bairin breac and colcannon, and Emery lit every candle.

I hadn't yet seen the village during Samhain. Tiny flames glowed like a thousand stars. I leaned on folded forearms against a cold windowsill, snapping a low-sugar cookie in my front teeth. They say this was the first day our Aos Sí ancestors began to Split apart long ago, and that under the direct light of a full Samhain moon, our reflections take the forms of Anti-Fairies. All false, of course. I'd proved that during my millennia traveling Earth. Not that I'd ever believed it anyway.

"Thanks," Rice said, half curled and half flopped on the cushioned seat beside me.

"Why?"

"I dunno."

I stared through the window a moment longer, swiping my tongue to catch cookie crumbs, then turned my head. "Have you celebrated Samhain since you became a cù sith?"

"No way, buttercream. Paws make the world so hard."

"What were your traditions growing up?"

He stretched his legs, twisting his back as he rolled over. "Growing up? We weren't that kind of family. Pa hated the old ways, especially the gyne stuff. He thought it stupid and my brother's condition only worked to prove his point. I kept my head low and didn't ask frosting questions. Stayed at school until I moved out, never went home to pack my things." He pawed his face. "But my wife and I were into historical reenactments. The Second Battle of Magh Tuireadh is a favorite of mine this time of year. I particularly enjoyed being the Dagda to her Morrigan."

I rolled my eyes. "Sorry I asked."

"Thanks for bothering."

My childhood wasn't the norm in Fairy World, living in a wealthy town with a single father and no other family to turn to. Despite that, Ambrosine did make an effort to practice the customs if ever I came home from school on the seven-year mark. We celebrated privately, not with the others in the park down the street. He didn't like most of the neighbors, yanking me indoors with stuttered warnings that I wasn't to associate with so-and-so and all their family. In my adolescence, I'd wondered if my father's social anxiety, not their bad breeding, was the actual reason why.

But Prince Northiae had always liked me. As I grew older and more aware of the social hierarchy, I wouldn't dream of calling him a friend. I was half aristocrat, but he was fully royal. Our wrestling grew into less of a game and more of a submissive signal. Leaning by the window, one hand rubbing Rice's fur, I gazed at my reflection and wondered whether I ought to talk to him at the next Council meeting. Despite nearly 350,000 years of separation between us, we'd been friends once upon a time. I'd been baptized at the Pink Castle shrine, after all.

I wound the chain of my scrying crystal necklace around my finger. Wouldn't that be funny? To be on good terms with the leader of the Anti-Fairies and the common fairies too? If the grocery store tabloids were to be believed, Anti-Bryndin and King Northiae couldn't hold conversations without their advisors' support lest one of them leave with steam gushing from their ears. But wouldn't that be funny? To befriend them both and be their middleman?

Hm.

"No hog this year?" I later asked Ambrosine, staring in the overstuffed icebox. He shook his head.

"Anti-Fairy World is cracking down on exported goods."

"That makes no sense. The Tuatha Dé Danann gifted their race the Dagda's bottomless cauldron. They can produce all the roast hogs they want."

With a sigh, he slapped the second batch of bairin breac dough on the counter. "Tell that to your good friend the High Count."

Was that a jab? I glanced at him sideways as I shut the icebox door. "Maybe I will."

Caudwell, ever the early riser, was the first out of the drone cabin. I'd laid a catching cloth across the floor, and he and I weaved juniper crowns with Keefe and Springs until Wilcox and Sanderson filed in. Then we started writing poems.

"Where's the cedar shoots?" Longwood asked, hovering in the door with a fist clenching his pajama collar. Moss green. He insisted on wearing deep colors no matter how many times I tried to match them all in mint.

"The what?"

"The cedar. For making the apple baskets."

"Oh. Willow's better. Certainly not easy to find at this time of year, but I know the markets well. That bundle on the end is yours."

Longwood looked at Ambrosine. "Willow's better," my father said. "Have some cider. We have nutmeg and hazelnuts on the counter."

"Okay," Longwood muttered. I motioned for him to take a seat at the table. Then I paused, tapping my cheek. Hmm…

"This year, I want to set a place for Sanders. We've never given him one even on the Day of Daoine. I think it's time we started including him around here."

"Who's Sanders?" Ambrosine asked, getting a mug for Longwood. I stopped halfway to the end chair.

"What do you mean 'Who's Sanders'? My twin. The one I absorbed in the womb. Sanderson is named after him."

Ambrosine looked at me strangely, holding the one mug we had that was shaped like a pumpkin. Its decorative ridges had worn with the years. Streaks of white showed through the orange. He said, "You didn't have a twin. Who told you that?"

"… I don't know." I rubbed my forehead, then sat down to rub it with both hands. "I thought I had one. His name was Sanders. He dressed nice."

"If you were almost a twin, I would have mentioned it before now."

Oh geez, prickles shot across my head like fire ants. I rubbed it harder. "No. No, you're right. I don't have a twin. I've never had a twin."

Longwood still had his hands out for the mug. I dropped my arms to the table and stared at him. Very hard for some reason. He took a sip of cider, then glanced in my direction. "Um… Why are you looking at me, sir?"

"When we lived in Lau Rell, people used to think Sanderson and Hawkins were twins. Did I never mention I almost had one myself?"

"No, sir."

"I told Anti-Bryndin I absorbed my twin." I frowned at my fingertips, curled around the table's edge. "That's odd."

Ambrosine shot me another peculiar look. "You told Anti-Bryndin you had a twin? Why?"

I couldn't answer that. Trying to think just made my vision blurry. I squeezed my temples. When I stirred my brain, I could picture Sanders in my mind's eye. If he'd lived, he would have dressed nice. He might have had his own nymphs by now. I envisioned him holding one. But everything else floated out of reach and left me scraping in the dust.

"I'm your father," Ambrosine went on. "I know for a fact you were the only child."

"Me too," Rice said, rolling over so Caudwell could give him belly rubs.

In a suit holding a nymph… That's how I always saw Sanders. But since when was there an "always"?

"Maybe you did have a twin," said Longwood, owl-eyed. He slurped his cider again, peering over the lip at me. His eyebrows scrunched down. "In a past life. You can have past lives, you know, so maybe before you were H.P., you were someone with a twin named Sanders. Talking with Anti-Bryndin could've triggered a memory. That makes sense."

"Markell," Ambrosine said, making him glance over. "We're Fairies. Only Anti-Fairies believe in past lives."

Longwood shrugged. "And me."

I scratched my head again and went to shave in my washroom. As I started for the stairs, Ambrosine tossed a novel at me. "Take this up. I think you should read it when you have the chance."

I looked at the cover. Amarilla had been scrawled in ribbon-like writing. Kalysta's book. "Thanks, but I don't read in my free time. Especially not stuff this long. And I definitely don't like erotica."

Ambrosine tilted his head, staring at me strangely. "I think you should read this one. You'll like the end. But no peeking."

I gave him a puzzled frown, but brought the book to my room. I set it on my nightstand and walked away, then stopped. I turned back and scribbled myself a note on my pad: Ask Anti-Bryndin if Fairies can reincarnate. Who is Sanders?

Why did I tell him I had a twin? I've never had a twin.

… Never.

On the fourth day of Samhain, Rice and I were halfway to Godscress before we saw another bright-eyed soul. I bought a warm cocoa at the chocolate house and waited in the border crossing station, sipping through a straw. I'd even gotten cream and flecks of cinnamon.

An hour passed. I conversed quite a bit with the Keepers on duty, even offering my autograph. Still threw me to sign H.P. instead of my name. I spent ten minutes on one side of the station, then shifted to another wall. Not pacing, exactly. Keeping watch. Rice chewed between his toes.

"Maybe he misunderstood the time zones," I muttered.

Another twenty minutes went by.

"I'm sure he's just walking through the day plan with Anti-Elina."

My wings itched for free flight. I picked up a Godscress travel guide with bright timestream images showcasing the Breath Temple, the river, the marsh, and glowing mushrooms through the woods. I went for coffee. Twice.

Finally, I scryed Anti-Bryndin's personal crystal. Even taking the signal delay into account, it was a long time before he answered. When he did, he blinked sluggishly up at my face, dangling his crystal's chain above his head. He wasn't roosting, though. From the looks of it, he was lying on his back over a few silky black cushions. His scarf and sweater had been removed, revealing the yellow undershirt beneath. I paused, my hand resting on Rice's back.

"Am I interrupting?"

"No, no, Head Pixie," he said halfway through a yawn. "Continue this. I always have time for you."

I didn't say anything. Anti-Bryndin muttered sharply to someone out of view, squirming his shoulder in the pillows. My fingers curled in Rice's fur like dragon fangs. The High Count was preening someone. I couldn't see the face, but I could see the large, pale hands gliding down his sides.

"I just thought I'd ask if you want any bagels when we meet up…"

Anti-Bryndin blinked, jerking wide awake. "Today? Are you coming to visit?"

Coming to visit?

I tried to remember how to breathe. One by one, my lines flickered out of contact with the energy field. My hand clenched Rice so tightly, he gave a low whine and scrambled his paws. "Uh," I said. I… didn't know what part of the crystal to look at. "We're still going to Mag Mell today, right? I invited you and we agreed I'd show up early to get you fitted for your dress? I should have… called to confirm…"

Horrified recognition dawned on his face. Anti-Bryndin flashed upright, slamming his head into the chin of his preening partner. I didn't recognize the red freckles or fluffy brown hair, but I knew a gyne when I saw one. The crystal went white before I could hear the High Count's reply. I held the necklace in my palm and stared at it all fifteen minutes until Anti-Bryndin arrived at the station.

"He's with me, officer," I called to the Keeper who walked in with him. The station was deserted and I'd been waiting for this, but it didn't hurt to be clear. I shoved the crystal in my pocket, cleared my throat, and floated over like I didn't care.

"Happy Samhain," Anti-Bryndin greeted me, pushing his head against my cheek. His arms hooked around my neck. I hadn't expected an embrace, especially in public, and went completely stiff. He blinked up at me, cheek against my collarbone. "Is this okay?"

"Uh." I leaned my head back. He smelled like blueberry tarts. I knew those pheromones. They belonged to the gyne he'd been preening with. Someone of high rank, though I couldn't remember who. So he hadn't even bothered to wash up before he joined me. Like he wanted to rub it in. I pushed my hands against his shoulders. "I'd rather you don't touch me."

Anti-Bryndin put out a pouting lip, withdrawing in slow motion. His claws skimmed down my sleeves. "I only wish to make my courgette smile, Head Pixie. I am sorry if this is not what you like. And, I apologize I came late. I stay busy running Anti-Fairy World." He ran an innocent claw up the curve of his neck, smiling with his mouth drawn tight. I waited, trying not to show the squinting in my eyes. He didn't mention the other gyne he'd been preening with. He must not have realized I could see. I crossed my arms.

"Well, glad you showed up. I brought bagels." I didn't hand him the bag, only nodded to where it sat on a chair.

"How nice," was his absent reply. We floated over. He took one coated in rainbow seeds from the bag and broke part off for me. "Where do we go first to prepare for Samhain?"

I took my half of bagel. I wasn't going to say anything, really, but when our eyes linked, I couldn't hold it in. "Who's the other gyne you preen with? Do you call him courgette too?"

Anti-Bryndin didn't flinch. "It's only business, Head Pixie." His bright orange gaze stayed level with mine. And he was smiling, shoulders relaxed without a care. He stretched up to pat my jaw. "I am High Count, with political obligations to keep. But this preening was for symbols, not for pleasure. What I shared with him is not what we have."

"Okay," I said, not sure. "Look. I don't have a problem with you preening other Fairies. I accept that, just like you understand I'll be preening other drones in Fairy World when I'm not around you. It's just that we promised we would make each other a priority. I need to know if anyone's going to come between us." I swung my hand down on my palm like an ax chopping wood. "We agreed to meet and you didn't make it because you picked someone else over me. Next time a conflict like this comes up, contact me early. I won't be happy you canceled, but I'll understand. You can't leave me hanging though. I don't deal well with being forgotten. I have schedules and plans." Anti-Fairies. I swear, they think the world revolves around lazing about and plucking grapes straight off the vine.

Anti-Bryndin shook his head, gently clicking his tongue. He brought his bagel near his lips. He ran his other hand along my arm, and I didn't shove him off even though I wanted to. Their people apologize through touch, after all. "I am sorry, Head Pixie. This was my fault. It will not happen again. Now, where do we go first today?"

I mentally scratched the chocolate house off my list. And the caramel shop. And the theater. "Our first stop has to be Mistleville for your Samhain dress. Because no Plus One of mine is showing up at Mag Mell in a sweater and scarf like that."

Anti-Bryndin touched his yellow button with a claw. "It must go?"

"If you want to be traditional."

So he signed in at the passport desk and off we pinged. For the first year ever, I'd custom-ordered my dress months ago. Nothing fancy… just a white gown coated in brilliantly purple chesberry leaves. Anti-Bryndin didn't have the luxury of time. After browsing the shop a few minutes, we settled on a dress with a black top and a hem of yellow roses. Anti-Bryndin insisted on yellow, even though orange would have matched his eyes. Talk about commitment to his brand image. The tailor watched suspiciously from her desk, arms folded.

We rented the dresses and hung them in a shared locker in the back of the store. I flipped the switch to send a tracking pulse through the energy field and scribbled the coordinates down on a card, just in case I couldn't sense it from Mag Mell. But when I went to pay, Anti-Bryndin intervened by sliding his wand across the desk.

"I'll get it."

"Don't," I said, floating over. "I'll get it. I'm the host."

He smiled. "Head Pixie, remember. I have many taxes from my people to pay for things like this. It is nothing. You, though, are working with your business, and raising your young. Keep your money."

I stared at him before reluctantly tucking my hand away. Anti-Bryndin smiled, eyes heavy lidded, much cheerier now than when he'd first arrived. I'd seen Sanderson look that way before he stomped on a passing leaf. Or Wilcox before he handed in his paperwork for the evening and knew he'd be getting shapeshifting privileges for a job well done.

Or Anti-Cosmo when he was spewing plans outside the preening room door.

The tailor rang us up. Inwardly, I winced at the price. Anti-Bryndin scanned his wand without blinking and we left. "We want to look our best for the chimera," I said outside, brushing my hands down my shirt. Why were they still shaking? I coughed into my fist. "They were kind enough to give us the lower cloudlands and we want them to know we're grateful and we're doing well for ourselves. I've scheduled an appointment for the salon. They agreed to look at your claws too." And see if they could do anything about my bitten nails.

After the salon, I brought Anti-Bryndin to the village so he could meet Ambrosine and Emery and join us for lunch. It was his first time, and he seemed genuinely curious about the layout, which he described as "exceeding current needs and must have come at a high price." We were just inside the manor, leaning against the guardrail of the stairs, when a knock at my door made him wince. I excused myself and went to open it. When I saw who'd shown up on my doorstep, I raised my brows.

"Iris? I thought you weren't coming."

"I'm sorry," she blurted. "An hour after our meeting, I changed my mind. I hope it's not a bother, but I don't know the way and have no one else to ask. I bought my own ticket. I just want to follow you there. I'll stay out of the way. Sorry."

My lips twisted up. "What in smoof are you wearing?" She'd put on a tight, elegant white tunic stitched with decorative orange symbols along every hem. Her purple hair had been untied so it flowed in waves. Lovely get-up, but far from the look I'd expected. Flustered, Iris touched the hair behind her ear.

"Um… Dancing clothes? We honor the sun…?"

I couldn't hold back my snort. Iris jerked back in surprise. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve, then put my hand on her shoulder. "Ha ha. You researched the mortal side of Samhain, my dear. Several Alien races have their own traditions, but on our side, it's different. Don't stress," I said as her signals began to heat. "I'll help you. Wait a second." I checked the starlight measurement on my wand screen. "Fritz, I'm late. Emery will help you with your dress in Mistleville. Poof out and pick one you like. I'll pay her back. Meet you in Mag Mell. I promise, I'll wait for you at the bridge to Caer Pedryvan myself." I snatched my coat from its hook (the faux coat China had made me). "Anti-Bryndin, you can stay here. I have an errand to run. Back in a bit."

"I can come," he offered.

"Probably a bad idea. I don't know how Fairywinkle feels about Anti-Fairies."

Anti-Bryndin looked at me and lowered his voice. "I would please like to come, Head Pixie."

Oh. Because Ambrosine and Emery hadn't stopped with the sidelong glances. No wonder his ears had been twitching. "Uh, sure," I said. "We'll take the tram. I have to save my magic for the poof home. It's three hours to Faeheim and another one from there to Starglint Town, so use the washroom now."

"I can foop us there," he offered, flipping the tail of his scarf behind his shoulder. "I do not mind the payments."

So Anti-Bryndin and I met Fairywinkle at his mansion, which should have been the Whimsifinado mansion if his ancestors hadn't driven mine out of Starglint Town generations ago, but I'm not bitter. Fairywinkle had two children. The older was a damsel in upper school - "high school" was apparently the modern word - who dyed her curly hair the same tint of pink as her eyes. She kept on her mother's wingtips, nodding and smiling. It's a shame that youth these days don't know how to spread their wings in a proper bow, too many of them keeping them lifted as though they're about to fly off, but Fairywinkle had raised her right. Good handshake. Good kid. Wanda was her name. Dm. Fairywinkle entertained Anti-Bryndin politely, pouring him tea and inviting him to sit beside her on the sofa. He looked about the sitting room in rapture and launched into an immediate round of compliments on the lack of stinky magic build-up in the home. I left him there when I followed Fairywinkle to a back room.

I didn't know what to make of his secondborn, Walter. He was the odd drone I'd seen on the fence at Fairy Con who never seemed quite in step and kept bumping into me and coughing apologies. I took the lead in prepping Fairywinkle for Samhain, carefully scrubbing his wings and rubbing stale magic from the hard to reach places on his back. Now and then I paused, expecting the drone to, I don't know, do something besides stand there examining his fingernails. Maybe ask if I could show him the proper way to tie up a Samhain dress. But he didn't. Just sipped his own glass of water without offering either of us a drink.

When Fairywinkle and I returned to the front room, Anti-Bryndin had moved from gushing over the energy level in the mansion to praising Wanda for her school projects (while she looked both embarrassed and thrilled at his attention). Fairywinkle kissed her and his wife good-bye and went to use the washroom. That left Anti-Bryndin and I floating on the hill outside, staring down at the headquarters for Fairywinkle Garbage Incorporated.

"So," I said, trying to think of something to say that didn't remind me that's where my family should be living now. "I see you hit it off with the damsels."

Anti-Bryndin smirked, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Wanda is plain in looks and wise in brain. As the opposite, her counterpart will be very attractive and not speak much of her mind. She will be the perfect addition to my colony. I must find her and let her be my concubine."

… Did he really just say that? I looked at him. "Wait, what? She's in high school. She's a kid. If you were a Fairy, your son would almost be in high school now."

"Her counterpart is an adult in Anti-Fairy World," he assured me with a smile and a pat on the arm.

Okay… Well, Anti-Bryndin was over 100,000 years younger than I was. Maybe it was less weird to him. I guess Anti-Fairies do mate at a young age for cultural reasons. I just… didn't realize some of those young dames were handpicked by the High Count.

Anti-Bryndin watched me curiously for a moment as I rubbed my knuckles. Then he tilted his head. "The age difference between me and Anti-Wanda is only 230,000 years, which is smaller than the difference between you and Iris. Iris has reached maturity in your culture, and you have attraction for her. Why should the same be wrong for Anti-Fairies?"

"Point taken. I guess it's fine to like younger damsels as long as you follow the law. Which you made." I regretted the last part the moment it left my mouth and swore behind my teeth. "No, I didn't mean that. Your culture's different than mine and I respect and celebrate our differences. I'm just being over-logical about this because I don't understand emotion. I wasn't trying to say you're a bad person."

He smiled up at me, ears crooked and teeth biting his lip like I'd socked him in the jaw. I stared down the hill, wondering where I was supposed to draw the line between what was and wasn't okay when cultures disagreed. It was easy to support Anti-Bryndin when I agreed with so many of his political goals. Because we agreed, I liked him as a person. It was easy to defend him to Ambrosine when I could say "That's just how it is in Anti-Fairy culture and they're different from us; they know what's best for their people and we need to respect their right to live that way."

But Fairy culture had flaws. Why wouldn't Anti-Fairy culture have some too? One of my political goals was to improve Fairy World's acceptance for Anti-Fairies. That meant I was willing to defend them to Fairies who believed they were totally evil. But did I have to agree with everything about Anti-Fairy culture? Thus far I'd only dipped my toe in politics, but sooner or later someone would call me a hypocrite if I didn't support ALL Anti-Fairy beliefs.

I closed my eyes. Don't use Fairy morals to define what's okay in Anti-Fairy society, I told myself. Anti-Fairies made the rules for Anti-Fairy World. And following the rules was the right thing to do. Anti-Bryndin wasn't breaking any rules if he treated an adult anti-fairy like an adult anti-fairy. Therefore, nothing was wrong. I would continue to be his friend and support him politically. Because how could I claim to support Anti-Fairies if I wanted them to change and be more like Fairies?

Anti-Bryndin was still talking about what a good wife he expected Anti-Wanda to make, solely based off his expectation that she was dumb but beautiful. He said she could dance for him and maybe, if she behaved, he'd gift her a seat on the camarilla court. In Anti-Fairy World, damsels were expected to be quiet and submissive. Anti-Fairy damsels couldn't lead colonies because of this. I'd never thought about it. I'd never had to. In Fairy World, anyone could run a profitable business if they created a good product and put in the work to market. Iris and Emery had their angel godkid program. China had risen to fame as an architect. I thought Holly Applespark did a good job with her mind and magic therapy business, even if they were Wish Fixers' rivals. Venus Eros was probably the most successful business owner the cloudlands had ever seen. But from the way Anti-Bryndin laughed at Anti-Fairy damsels, you'd have thought he was talking about children.

And in that moment, I made a choice. I didn't nod. I didn't say "Mmhm." I didn't even grunt. I said nothing. Simply listened and took a neutral stance. I'd let out my true thoughts to Rice when I came home.

In Mag Mell, we all waited by the stone bridge that led to the isle boasting Caer Pedryvan. Plane 12 was a quiet one, full of purples and blues and rocks, including upside-down mountains that leered over us from Plane 13 and the High Kingdom where Refracts thrived. Black lake water reflected white stars. The haunting flute music flowing from the open castle door suited the land perfectly. Iris met us right on time, showing up just before the second crowd. Emery had done well. Iris now wore a brilliantly poofy dress like a marigold, her skirts sweeping. The bodice was a little lower cut than she was clearly comfortable with, though I didn't point that out. I looked her up and down, lingering on the thin crate in her arms. Well, she'd gotten the 'bring offerings of corn and milk' part right. I offered to hold it, wanting something to do with my hands so I didn't tuck the loose hair behind her ear, but she shook her head and clutched it close like a swaddled baby. I floated between her and Anti-Bryndin as we crossed the bridge.

"What do I do when we go inside?" she asked, clenching the box.

"Until the queen invites you forward, nothing. Just smile and nod and hold your gifts. Then, when she calls you to the throne, place it at her feet. After that, join the dancers and follow their lead." I pointed to my right palm. "With the chimera, it's best to be cautious. We dance while they watch from the edges of the room. Unsmiling. Just watching. Some years there are tons of them, other times only two or three. It can be unnerving. But we dance all night until the queen says stop. And if any chimera steps forward and asks to have this dance, you say yes. No questions asked. Does that make sense?"

"I think so." Iris bobbed towards the castle keep. I blocked her with my arm, easing her back.

"Don't."

"But… There's music."

And it tugged at me too, dragging my wingtips forward. My feet twitched at every pulse, colors exploding in the corners of my eyes. My hands clenched my offering box.

"We wait for the queen."

Anti-Bryndin tapped my shoulder with a claw. He tilted his head, motioning me to step away from Iris. When I did, he lowered his voice.

"I heard today in the city of someone called the tamlin. Who is this?"

I pushed down his twitching hand. "No one you have to worry about. The tamlin spends all night dancing with the queen." I shifted back towards Iris, but Anti-Bryndin grabbed my elbow, more fiercely this time. His orange eyes had stretched wider than coins.

"Is there danger for him?"

I paused. "Not if we do a good job. Shh. That's the queen's guard at the door. We've been invited to cross the bridge."

The crowd of Fairies behind us pressed forward, voices bright and wingbeats thumping. Every person smelled of soap. Anti-Bryndin studied the figure who waited for us on the isle, his face nothing short of perplexed. "He cannot be chimera! He has no horns!"

"Well, he must be. That's what they call themselves."

The entrance of the keep wasn't far from the bridge. It was a small isle, with just enough room for the keep and surrounding courtyard. Silver branches laden with golden apples swayed above our heads. Iris reached up to touch one. I pulled her hand down again. Anti-Bryndin bobbed unhappily behind, smoothing his skirts with his hand. I nodded to the guard as we passed him by- part lion and part turkey, I think he was. He wore a tunic woven of rosy gold.

Three tall stairs offered entrance into the keep. Fairywinkle flew up, as did Iris. Anti-Bryndin took one step across the threshold and immediately lost his footing. His grasping claws gouged the doorframe. I caught his arm just in time for him to retch pastel butterflies across the white floor. I'd heard of anti-barf, but never seen it. Not as gross as expected, actually, but really creepy. Living insects swirled in a funnel around us both, then took off towards the bridge. Fairies yelped and ducked out of the way. Anti-Bryndin seized my arm, only to drop it and grab his temples instead. He shrieked in a higher pitch than any Anti-Fairy ever should, even for a bat.

"Uh-"

Anti-Bryndin leaned over, clutching his stomach, and threw up one final butterfly. This one was three times as large as the others and bright, bright yellow. Its wings glowed like a wisp lantern. I immediately put myself between it, Iris, and Fairywinkle. Yellow was Winni's color on the zodiac, and Anti-Bryndin worshipped him. Whether the butterfly was some messenger of his (or even some weird Zodii manifestation of Winni himself), it stank of nature magic. I was at karmic equilibrium. The zodiac spirits respected me. Probably.

The butterfly folded two of its legs behind its head, trembling in the dust. "Don't take me in there!" it screamed. Then it looked up. Its bulging eyes seemed to flick up and down Anti-Bryndin's dress. It lowered its legs. "What are you wearing? Wait. Where are we?"

"I do not think I am welcome inside, Head Pixie," Anti-Bryndin said weakly.

"Yeah, no kidding." I dug my fingers into my offering box again. It seemed stupid to be afraid of a butterfly, and all these people I knew were watching me. Especially that tall guard, who hadn't made a move. I turned to Iris. "Go on with Fairywinkle. I'll wait in the garden with the High Count."

Fairywinkle tipped his hat and offered Iris his arm. She hesitated, then took his elbow with care. I watched them swirl away to join the early crowd, all of whom were whooping and clapping, wings thrumming. Anti-Bryndin wiped insect guts from his lips with the back of his wrist. With a sigh, he lifted the yellow butterfly from his hand to his shoulder. We moved away so the Fairies behind us could sweep inside.

"No," he said. "You enjoy your Fairy party. I will stay out with Winni. This is your cultural place, but even part chimera, I am too Anti-Fairy to be here."

I looked at the party. Iris was in there. This would be my first chance to get to know her better as a person outside the work environment. She was nice. I sort of wanted to invite her to dinner sometime. I looked back at Anti-Bryndin. He'd gotten insect juice down the front of his dress. He didn't look offended at my hesitation. In fact, he motioned with his hand towards the door.

It was a party… and I'd paid decent money for my dress… and I'd been gifted a free ticket for the stage… and I did want to talk to Iris; I'd invited her before the High Count anyway… and the queen…

I clenched my hand to my face, then dragged it down. No. When Anti-Bryndin asked if I would be his courgette, we made a promise to prioritize each other. Maybe he'd slipped up, but we all do once or twice. "There are other Samhain parties. I'll go a different year. They might call me in for the tamlin ceremony, but for now I'll stay with you."

Genuine surprise flicked across his face. Even the yellow butterfly pricked its wings. Anti-Bryndin rubbed his hand behind his neck. "I guess we can… talk? I don't have food or tea to offer. Is this okay?"

"Sounds perfect. Let's find somewhere to sit and just talk. Tell me how politics are going. Anything interesting since I saw you for New Year's? What about Anti-Cosmo- has he given you any trouble? And how are the wives?"

We sat on the stones by a nearby pond. I held my offering box in my lap and tried to keep Anti-Bryndin talking, but from the way he held his stomach, I could tell he was distracted. The butterfly flitted on and off his shoulder, always returning to its perch when Anti-Bryndin muttered for it. I gazed across the scraggly purple cliffs. String instruments and flute music played behind those doors, interspersed by whoops and cheers. Then I stood and turned to him. I held out my hand.

"It would be a shame to let the dresses go to waste. We normally group in three instead of pairs, but would you grace me with this dance?"

Anti-Bryndin smiled grimly. "I do not often dance. The Autumn Masquerade is banned at the Castle, and only Anti-Elina may be my Tarrow partner."

"It's instinct," I said, then paused. "Well. For Fairies."

He took my arm and rose to his feet, gripping his skirts to one side. "It's a dance of gesture," I explained, positioning myself beside him. "The steps and music are simple, so it's the hands that carry meaning. The right hand is the most important. It leads all the gestures, and you should touch only one person with it during a single dance. In some dances, you touch no one at all. That's symbolic. It says you're waiting for someone ceremonially." I painted circular motions in the air, took four steps, and twisted on my heels. My skirts fluttered at my ankles. I gave my tail end a good shake and almost dared to smile. "See?"

When I turned back around, I found the yellow butterfly perched on Anti-Bryndin's nose. It waved a leg in front of his misty eyes, trying to snap him back to reality. Self-conscious now, I lowered my arms. Anti-Bryndin blinked.

"Will you teach an Anti-Fairy these steps?"

This time, I did smile. "Ha. Ha. There's no teaching. It's just talking."

"Talking?"

"It's instinct. I just used my dance to say 'Thanks for coming.'"

"I can't read Fairy dance," Anti-Bryndin told me seriously, hands clasped at his waist.

"I know." I held out my hand. "Tell me something to say and I'll walk you through how to say it."

Anti-Bryndin hummed in thought, floating cautiously forward. He tucked his hands in mine, palms down. Despite the fur, his hands were smooth and small. "How do you say 'I am happy and I like this'?"

I walked him through that sentence and several others, swirling him across the courtyard without trampling on the silver flowers. Anti-Bryndin shook his head, smiling up at me.

"You are different than my other Fairy friend. I like your gentle ways."

"And you're a weird Anti-Fairy," I replied, spinning us again. "That's why we're courgettes."

Ten minutes later, a commotion broke out inside the keep. Anti-Bryndin's claws clenched my dress. I stared over his head at the door. It burst open, spilling an alux dame halfway to the ground.

"Iris?"

She kept running. I let go of Anti-Bryndin and flew after her, pressing my hat to my chest. "Iris?"

"She killed him," she sobbed. This early in the evening? I winced, wondering if I'd been too distracted by Anti-Bryndin's touch to hear any yells from inside.

"The tamlin? Well, duh. We have a tithe to pay. Iris, don't tell me you know nothing of Samhain. My sister said you grew up sheltered, but to not realize-"

She whirled on me, snapping her arm through the air. I caught it on instinct. Iris flinched back. "Let me talk," I said. "Hey. Hey. I thought you researched this."

"No one told me an innocent would die tonight!"

"Well, thank dust I didn't take you to the Starshine Cotillion. If you react this strongly to one death, a dance like that would scar you to the core."

Iris huffed in a sniffling way and turned aside again. Her arm slithered from my grasp. We'd reached the cold, empty bridge. She quieted down and stared across the lake. She clenched her fingers in her shoulders. A section of hair had fallen forward in her face, and I had to shove my hands in my pockets just to stop myself from fixing it.

"Is this common for your kind?" she asked. "Someone said the tamlin is always a gyne, and always someone who attended the previous Samhain here. You've been here. If your life may be at risk, why do you agree to come back?"

You. Gynes. 'Others.' I looked down and kicked a stone. It plinked and bounced into the black water.

"We swore a geis. The Queen of Hells demands a tithe from Fairies every seven years and we have to honor it. It doesn't always end in death. Sometimes it's just seven years of servitude."

Iris brought her hand to the place I'd touched her, but she still didn't look at me. "How many times have you attended Samhain?"

"Not as often as I'd like. Tickets are expensive, time is a precious resource, and it's more enjoyable with friends. I'm lacking in friends. But I have been summoned about two dozen times, so I make the most of it when I go."

"So you like it here," she said, softly. "You even come when you don't have to. Even when the tamlin might be you."

"I've been chosen six times. The Fairy Council prefers to send gynes and there aren't a lot of us to choose from after a while."

Iris frowned. "And you served the queen?"

"Danced all night and served seven years each." I shrugged, rubbing my knuckles. "I'm charming. She likes me. It was something to do when I wanted a break from school. It gave me seven confirmed years of life away from other gynes like Reddinski and Fairytwirl. And since I like parties, I keep buying tickets."

"But why? She could kill you!" Iris tightened her folded arms. "Honoring the geis I get, but to play her game on purpose?"

My gaze drifted to my feet. "Well… I dance to feel alive. To be true to myself. That's the keystone of Fairy culture, isn't it? When you're dancing at a party, more than any other time… you know this is the reason we were made like insects. You feel it in your blood and in the air. This is what Fairykind were born to do." I let go of my wrist and fixed her hair after all. "It's right. It's home. It's… like kissing if you're the type who enjoys kissing. No matter how many times you do it, you enjoy it. And if you avoid Samhain too long, it's lonely."

"Um, have you ever known a tamlin who was killed? Like a friend?"

"Once."

"What was his name?"

"Can't tell you. Part of the ceremony."

Iris fell silent then, still watching ripples glide across the lake. "You know, my brother never wanted to tell me what it's really like to be a gyne. It embarrassed him. He used to bring this one drake home from school and pretend they were studying in his room… We all knew they were preening, but Mother insisted we play along. My father was the same. He didn't want my sister and I to ask questions… He didn't want us to even have questions. It just wasn't something we ever talked about in our family."

Harry "Fairy Cowlick Jr." was her nephew. I tried to do the math and build her family tree. "Where's your brother now?"

"Gone."

"Can I get his name?"

"Sage Needlebark." Iris sensed me counting on my fingers and finally turned around. "My father killed him, actually."

"Oh." I put my hand behind my back. "I see."

Iris exhaled a fluffy cloud of silver magic. "It's interesting… Sage always skipped his classes. Never tried to court a damsel. Maybe some gynes just grow up knowing they'll never win a fight… Were you ever worried about something like that, H.P.? Um. Maybe not. I mean, you're Head Pixie. That's a pretty powerful position."

"There were some fights I wasn't sure I'd win," I acknowledged, picking my words carefully. "But I only thought about those when they crossed my path. I practiced my skills plenty of times growing up. When I did have to fight, I always tried my best. Now I'm here."

A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Of course you don't worry too much… You did mention you're a procrastinator."

"Well, for once I'd rather not procrastinate this apology." I shoved my fists back in my pockets, trying harder this time not to bother her hair. Even though it was still in her face. "Sorry about Samhain. I imagine that to an outsider, it can be a shock. But I mean, it has to be done… Our ancestors swore a deal with the chimera eons ago and it still has to be upheld today. We can't break our geis. Fairy World only belongs to us if we pay our dues."

"I liked it, though… The rest of it. You were right, H.P. There is something wonderful about dancing… Something ancient and right and home. It's like you said. It's instinct." She ran her hands down her torso, smoothing out her skirt. Probably an excuse to avoid my eyes. Or avoid me fixing her hair. "I do think I'd like to attend another party again someday. One we can both attend this time." She winced. "A less violent one."

"Parties can be hard to come by," I said, my interest piqued. "But those of us who've made Fairy World's nightlife a second home have a scry bowl forwarding chain. Everyone who gets contacted contacts the few people they're assigned to keep up with and so on down the list. If you're serious about parties, I don't mind talking to you from across the pond."

Iris attempted another smile, this one still uncertain. "I don't know. I'll think about it."

She'd think about it. Research first, solid answer later. It was her way.

"Head Pixie," Anti-Bryndin said when we rejoined him. He lifted a claw, making the yellow butterfly flutter at his shoulder. "I peeked inside. The queen is not chimera. Her body is mortal. I think she's of the Zodii nature spirits and has picked a host."

"The chimera were always shapeshifters," I said. "She used to look like a Fairy when I was younger. Now she's a Refract. Maybe she'll be an Anti-Fairy someday."

"I don't think she's chimera," he said quietly. His eyes flickered down his skirts. "I think she's lying to you and fake. The chimera are dead. She's of the spirits and she wants something the Fairies have."

"None of my business," I said, and that was that.

We stayed for the feast and stuffed ourselves until early morning. When we finally returned to the lower planes, we traveled with Anti-Bryndin to the border. Then to Fairywinkle's home in Starglint Town. Lastly, I escorted Iris to her apartment in Faeheim. I didn't kiss her on the doorstep, but she patted my cheek and thanked me for my time. And for our talk. Even while drunk, which I thought said a lot about her. At her request, I loosened the tightest bow of her dress. She had a little Eros heart symbol tattooed upside down on the back of her neck. Well, well, well. Bad girl after all. I shook my head in silent amusement and pretended I hadn't noticed. Iris sent me home with a basket of treats she'd prepared - "compensation for avoiding sugar" - and I looked her up and down.

"You're a good dame, Iris."

"Um. Thank you, H.P."

I shook her hand and went home whistling.

Rosée Keer, the Crown Duchess of the gnomes, asked me to brunch that Winter Turn. I sat at my desk, chin in hand, frowning at the invitation. Gnomes had earned the nickname "lawn gnomes" for a reason. They lived in dirty Earthside mounds similar to will o' the wisps, except wisp damsels flaunted the beauty of their bedrooms and private shower chambers more than their own bodies. Gnomes lived, breathed, and ate the soil.

Nonetheless, I accepted. Her invitation pointed out I'd ruled as Head Pixie for a year now, and I figured if no one else was going to throw me a party, I'd let her have her way. Rosée welcomed both me and Sanderson with open arms and kisses on each cheek, like a Refract, and glided from room to room with her gaping sleeves dangling behind her. Her fluttery fingers rested on my hand all through the meal, and I excused myself to wash up a good nine times within the hour. "Filthy," I hissed to Sanderson in the hall, wiping every drop away on my shirt. "I've never seen such an uncivilized place. And I've met Anti-Fairies. Gnomes are just not… not…"

"Not pixies, sir?"

"Exactly. Not pixies."

He bobbed his head, staying silent.

The sylph ambassador I visited the following spring presented better. We spent an hour touring his library alone. Their ilk were strictly carnivorous, and I studied the dinner spread with quiet distaste. I'd gone off most meat in recent years. I liked fish. Thin slices of yale were permitted for sandwiches, and I enjoyed a good valravn roast if it was cooked to my precise specifications, but vegetables, soup, and soy cubes made up the pixie diet. And corn. Lots of corn. I picked about my plate, trying not to draw attention to the way I organized it by different shades of red and brown. Should've brought Rice. Was it any wonder I enjoyed lunch breaks in Anti-Fairy World whenever possible? Their people served the most filling blue beans in the world, physically and magically. Good cooks, Anti-Fairies. Helps that the treasure of the Tuatha Dé Danann that had been bestowed on their race long ago was Coire Dagdae.

"You're stalling," Rice grunted when I came to bed that night.

"I'm not stalling."

He dropped his squeaky steak toy on his paws. "The fact I don't have to tell you what you're procrastinating is proof enough you're thinking it, honeydew."

"Fine," I said, "I'm stalling." I pulled off my shirt and sighed at my reflection in the full-length mirror. "What do you suggest? Reddinski isn't going to roll over for me, and if I take him in an unfair fight, I'll lose my soul. I have to put my pixies first. I don't want to save his drones that bad."

"Even Rupert?" He said it as though personally offended.

"Especially Rupert."

That summer, the Fairy Council approved Iris to begin godparent work for the Angels. I took her to dinner at this young restaurant on the border called Cracklewings, and we both drank a little more soda than we should have. Iris wasn't used to sugar. She swayed on her stool, running her hands over and over her face from the forehead to her lips and chuckling into her fingers. I told her stories about my pixies, and somehow we got on the topic of my village layout and how close Keefe had come to plummeting off the edge.

"Like with dysolfactya?" she asked, swirling a decorative dragonfly toothpick with her finger. I stopped, my drink an inch from my tongue.

"No," I said. I clicked my glass back on the counter and turned on her. "Keefe can't have dysolfactya. He's a drone. He wouldn't survive."

Iris blinked, slightly sleepy from the soda. "Does he ever ask for licks?"

"There's nothing wrong with not wanting licks." Now I was standing, my wings spread behind me. "Keefe is perfectly capable of signaling proper submission with his pheromones, just like anyone else."

"Okay," she mumbled. I leaned over my glass, massaging my temples.

When I returned to the village, I found Emery bringing dinner to the pavilion. I muttered my suspicions and we both looked over. Keefe held a stone while Springs poked beneath it for worms. Sensing our stares on the back of his head, he froze.

"Keefe," I said. "Come here."

Slowly, he replaced the stone on the path. He and Springs trailed over together, fingers brushing. I lowered myself to one knee and took off my glasses.

"Can you smell me?"

He and Springs exchanged immediate wide-eyed looks. Keefe covered his face in his hands. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. I could discern his distress from his scent. I rubbed my forehead and muttered a word I shouldn't have in front of them, then motioned for them to follow me. Emery went to round up the pixies climbing in a nearby tree. I rapped on the door of the drone cabin.

"Sanderson, Caudwell, Bayard. I need you outside." When they appeared, I pulled Keefe in front of the trio. "Look. If you can do this, there's no way you have dysolfactya. Which one of them is Caudwell?"

Keefe glanced back and forth. "Um…"

As the seconds drew on, I tried to swallow my frustration. I waved the three pixies and Springs to the pavilion tables, then led Keefe to my office. Springs went with them, but Sanderson followed us instead of leaving. I shut the door behind him with a sigh. A loud one.

"Okay, that was my fault. Pixie pheromones are almost identical. And it doesn't help that Bayard is taller. If you can pass this new test, you don't have dysolfactya. I'm normally against exposing juvenile drones to inappropriate olfactory stimuli, but in this case I'll make an exception." I pulled a certain purple binder down from the shelf and dropped it on my desk with a thud. "This is the catalog of pheromone samples gathered from every gyne residing in the Central Star Region when the last census was taken. Find mine."

"Uh. Well." Keefe flipped towards the back of the binder, rustling the papers and several of cards in the process. "I- I guess they put you under Whimsifinado, so you're probably in the back."

"Do you have to go so fast?" Sanderson complained, peering over his shoulder. I raised my eyebrow. He looked up. "What? I'm just sampling."

I watched Keefe page through the binder with mounting irritation. Especially when he flew right by the page with my scent without a pause. "You've lived with me every day of your life. How can you not know?"

"I don't know!" Keefe dropped the pages, covering his ears. "Stop pressuring me! I can't do it, okay? I've never smelled anyone as good as the other pixies can. Why does it matter if I can't keep the scents straight in my head anyway? Emery told me once that she can't smell too great either!"

I rubbed behind my neck and turned my eyes towards the ceiling. "Oooh, boy… Sanderson, take a seat. I'd intended to give this talk when you were all older, but you're both mature for your age… so I think you ought to know a bit about the nests and the honeycomb."

While I walked around to my chair, the two pixies exchanged glances. Keefe closed the binder softly and pushed it across my desk. Sanderson sat with one knee pulled beneath his chin. I sighed and lay my palms flat.

"You can't ignore your biology. We're little more than insects and there's nothing that can be done about that. Let's start with the basics. There's a sex-linked gene tied to the same one that gives a Fairy plentiful freckles, and it makes these freckled Fairies smell very, very good. Little drakes like you two think it's nice that freckled drakes like me share our good smells with you by letting you lick our necks. Is this helpful?"

No answer.

"I see. Do you two know what the words 'gyne' and 'drone' mean?"

Their faces stayed blank. I rubbed my chin. "Okay. Sanderson, you're a liar, but let's not get into that. A gyne is a big fairy with an abundance of freckles, like me. Boss Reddinski, Boss Waterberry, and Boss Fairywinkle are other gynes you might remember. A drone is a little fairy with no freckles. Like you two."

"Oh," Sanderson said. He didn't elaborate. He slid his leg back to the floor.

"Let me see if I can explain this better. Keefe, what do you like?"

Keefe shrugged, his hands between his knees.

"There has to be something."

"I like fighting with Springs. He's taller, but I'm smarter. I always win when we fight."

"Useful, but not relevant in this situation. Do you like soda? I'm using soda. Imagine that you like the smell of pheromones just as much as you like soda. Pretend you like soda for this talk."

He wrinkled his nose. "I don't even know what soda tastes like, sir."

"Then I'll share some of mine with you." I waved my wand and a half-empty can appeared in my hand. This, I offered to Keefe. He took one sip and his brows shot up.

"I do like soda!"

"What about me?" Sanderson asked. I rolled my eyes and gave him the rest. He licked around the opening like he always did, thinking I'd be too grossed out to take it back. I think he missed the part about how we're genetically identical. I don't fear pixie saliva.

"Drones are special," I said. "Gynes have a good sense of smell, but drones have the best sense of anyone."

Keefe's brows peaked. "Even me?"

"Sort of. You know what things smell like, right? Can you sense the difference between a weak smell and a strong smell?" He nodded. "You just can't match the right smells to the world around you. When you smell, say, garbage, your brain might activate in the wrong spot and tell you you're smelling cookies. Or lemons. What do I smell like?"

"Today? Um. Kind of good, I guess." Keefe moved his hands as he tried to explain. "Sort of soft with a bit of fuzz. Kind of cool, but kind of damp and kind of dry all together."

"Like… leather?"

"I don't know. It's different every time."

"Sanderson?"

"Mostly 9-oxo-2-decenoic acid, but your 4-hydroxy-3-methoxyphenyl ethanol is rather strong too, sir."

Keefe looked at him in horror.

"The answer I expected was bananas, but close enough. That's right. Since I'm the boss, you'll smell the 9O2D on me, but not on a younger gyne like Longwood. That's the specific scent you like, Sanderson, along with the 10H2D."

"How do you become a gyne?" he asked.

"I get it," Keefe mumbled before I could answer. He leaned forward, hiding his mouth behind his folded arms. "So I'm doomed to be useless forever."

"Not necessarily." I came around to his side of the desk. "You can learn to adapt. You'll figure out a way of life that doesn't require you to navigate by scent. Your eyes will adapt. I'll pick up some dysolfactya books from the library right away. We'll work on this together."

"Does this mean I'll never be a good pixie?"

"Keefe." I put my hand on his shoulder and stilled my wings so I could bob down to his level. "You're a great pixie. Your genetics are only part of who you are and you're not to blame for them. It's going to be very, very hard to live in the cloudlands if you can't recognize scents. But you can adapt. Instead of sorting scents with your mouth and nose, let's play to your strengths. You can help me sort papers by using your eyes."

Keefe slid his scowl to his feet. "Okay, I guess."

My fingers lingered on his shoulder. You didn't meet a lot of Fairies with dysolfactya, and drones were even rarer. In fact, Rupert Roebeam was the only one I knew who'd survived past adolescence. Maybe I'd ask Reddinski if I could talk to him. Rupert knew way more about this situation than I did. There was no shame in calling in the experts.

I rubbed Keefe's hair in my hand. "It's not all bad. Do you know what the best part of dysolfactya is?"

"What?"

"You're too smart to let one of the mean, scary gynes take advantage of you. Since your senses aren't clouded with pheromones, you can make informed decisions against what should have been your instincts. With you, everyone will have to learn to expect the unexpected."

He thought about this for a moment, the wheels evidently turning on the tram cable in his head. Then he rocketed from his chair to the door. "Ice cream for dinner! No one would expect ice cream for dinner! I'm the master hunter of dessert!"

"Hey! That's not what I meant! Walter Keefe, get back here!"

He ignored me, of course, as a drone who couldn't read pheromones might.

I spent the week busy, helping Iris undertake the next steps of her godparent project while also researching dysolfactya with Ambrosine. The following Tuesday, I scryed Reddinski and requested his permission to meet with Rupert. My intention was to ask questions, but Redd insisted I introduce him to Keefe in person.

"I'm bringing my cù sith," I said.

Reddinski lived a cramped life in the Cottonwood Boarding House (Probably a recent downgrade; he had to make budget cuts somewhere to sponsor the Magic Springs Spa). Cute place with an abundance of flowers and balconies. When I arrived, I found him on the stone bench outside the door, dragging a knife to peel the wood from what looked like a bow. A wispy drake with white hair - Rupert had called him Dewdrop - perched beside him with a basket. Two damsels milled about the garden while Rupert chatted up a third by the well. Reddinski rose to his wings when we strayed near. I'd made an extra effort, but it was no use. I couldn't get within speaking range of the guy without my hand itching for my wand. Ping went my suit, a deeper shade of red than anything Ambrosine had ever worn. I liked visiting Fairywinkle better, I thought, biting my lower lip. I reached back to touch Keefe's chest.

"Whimsifinado," he greeted, extending his hand. Once we shook, he pulled me in. I was taller than him, but not as much as I would have liked. Especially when my instincts squirmed to let him float a little higher. I took my time striping licks across his neck. Rice stood beside me, deliberately planting himself in front of Keefe. When Redd asked him to step aside, he oozed away in clear reluctance and lay in a purple patch of cloud.

"This is Boss Reddinski," I told Keefe, motioning him to float forward. "I met him when I was a little older than Sanderson is now. We went to school together."

Keefe gripped my leg, hiding his face in the fabric. He shook his rattle. Redd lowered himself to a bobbing crouch and rubbed his fingers in his hair. He frowned. "Young."

"He's two."

Redd tapped a finger on his teeth. "Two. That's younger than I would have hoped, but all right. I'll take him in."

I hovered there, wings hitching. "Take him in? Why?"

Redd pinched Keefe's hair again, then brushed out several chips of wood. "Drones with dysolfactya don't live long if left to their own devices. He can stay with me and I'll have Rupe teach him the ropes." He clicked his teeth at the end. "We're inland. No drop-offs. Railings on the balconies. Plenty of neighbor kids to play with."

"The ropes," I repeated. "Wait… You want to make Keefe the next Rupert Roebeam? As in, alluring?"

"Start him young enough and I can make him better." Reddinski straightened, slipping his hands in his pockets. "Rupert can teach him every trick he knows. And, I can send you back with Dewdrop. It's been a long time since you've had a proper alpha, hasn't it?"

I glanced at Rice and didn't say anything. He stared up at me, eyes wide. Slowly, he shook his head.

"How many neighbor kids?" I asked. My nose itched. I resisted the urge to rub it, lest Redd think I was challenging him by trying to wipe his pheromones away.

"Twelve too young for Spellementary." Reddinski gestured to the boarding house for emphasis, then spread his arm wider to encompass the surrounding land. Woods comprised three edges, a playground and path towards the nearest town another. "Several are between five and twenty. He'll have playmates for a long time yet."

"No," Keefe said, tightening his grip on my leg. "You said I can say no to scary guys and I don't want to leave Springs."

"Springs is his twin," I told Redd, unhitching Keefe. "Totally inseparable. They just weaned. Could you take them together?"

He agreed. I left him to watch Keefe while I went home to pack. Rice refused to leave him, and even when I returned with Springs, he was reluctant to peel himself away. Only Rupert's arrival convinced him to leave the kids behind. I guess those two don't like each other.

I met Iris the next day. When I mentioned where I'd taken my two youngest, she about hit the roof. "You just handed them to a fire-rutting nymph-blitzer?"

"Iris," I said, taken aback that she didn't stutter when she swore. "It's not like I trafficked them. I've given them an internship opportunity. Reddinski was a gentledrake about it. He even traded me one of his drones."

Her eyes slid left and right across my face. "And… that doesn't send up any red flags that he doesn't see them as people?"

I slammed both palms on the table and stood up. "Keefe has two options. He can grow up told he has a disability, or he can grow up told he has a gift. I want to give him the best life I can, and in his case, he needs to be marketable."

Iris dropped her gaze. Still, her wings stayed steady. After taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she looked up at me again. "Okay. You're Head Pixie, their sire, and a gyne. I trust you to know what's best."

With Rice as my witness, I didn't sleep for two days. I rolled in my bed and paced around my room. Splashed water on my face. Had I really done what I thought was best for Keefe? Or did I just want Reddinski to turn him into my own personal Rupert Roebeam?

I surprised Redd with a visit Friday morning, before the shops could open for the week. When I knocked at the boarding house, the dame who owned the property informed me he'd gone out for a run. I found a place on the porch to stand that didn't stink so strongly of his pheromones and waited until he showed up, wiping sweat from his brow. He stopped floating the instant he saw me. We stared at each other, separated by the garden.

"What are you doing, Whimsy?"

"It's Head Pixie," I said. "I just came to check on Keefe and Springs. I didn't touch the door. Or your chair. I didn't do anything."

Reddinski drifted towards me, arms straight by his sides. I backed up until my wings brushed the porch railing. Before I could stop myself, my eyes were on the ground and my shirt pinged red again. Redd hovered there until I lay my cheek on the rail, quietly squinting up at him. Then he mussed my hair with his hand and turned to open the door.

"Go home, Whims. I'm taking care of your kids."

"Okay," I whispered, and left.

When I told this story to Emery, she threw a rag at my head. "He practically confessed! You have no proof they're all right. Why didn't you demand he call them down?"

I'd already covered my ears, but I tightened my fingers when she said that. "I don't know. I just can't. One whiff of his pheromones turns me into a kitten."

"Kittens have claws," she snapped back. I massaged my knuckles, staring at the floor. What were Keefe and Springs up to right now? Was Reddinski treating them right? Why hadn't I gotten his word on paper?

And why couldn't I have his kind of effect on people?

When Ambrosine got off work in Novakiin, I scryed him several times until he took up his bowl. He listened to my explanation fully, not interrupting. "I remember Jean," he said when I was done. "You used to scry from school to rant just like this."

"Rice and Emery want me to fight him. They think he's abusing his drones and will hurt Keefe and Springs even though they're just kids, but he told me he'd take care of them. I believed it. What do you think I should do?"

"Nothing," he said. When I stared, he arched an eyebrow. "Talk to Dewdrop. He might have ideas. Get the information before you decide anything."

"I won't ask him to talk about his ex," I grumbled, and hung up.

On Wednesday - now a week since I'd left the twins - I met Anti-Bryndin for lunch at the border and talked through the situation again. Our food got cold, but he didn't even snack on his, just held his elbows and watched me in concern until I wound down. Then I had another thought.

"Can you give Reddinski bad luck before I fight him? In case I have to fight him, I mean. If he won't give Keefe and Springs back when I ask nicely."

"I don't kill," he said, not moving. I slumped against the table, running my fingers through my hair.

"You wouldn't be killing him. I'll take care of that, assuming I beat him. Can you just manipulate the forces of luck to give me an advantage?"

"This isn't what I do as an Anti-Fairy. My kind hunt the universe's negative energy and scatter it into small clouds of bad luck. If we did not do this, great amounts of stinky magic would gather and become breeding grounds for great monsters who prey upon the fae. Without negative energy to take from, I cannot give your rival bad luck, just as you can cast no magic without energy of the Big Wand. My people keep your energy field clean and this is balance."

I thought about that for a minute. "Can you escort me to the Soil Temple? Maybe if I pray to Twis, he'll help me fight. If I'm perfect in Zodii eyes, he should be thrilled to meet me."

Anti-Bryndin shook his head, this time in a sort of fond amusement. "You are at equilibrium because you behave as Twis does. You are obsession and devotion balanced on a point and confidence is your mainstay. Twis does not seek help from Twis. Twis seeks help from Sunnie."

"Sunnie's the… Water deity, right?" I frowned at my sandwich. "I don't think so. His grandson, Fergusius Mòr Mac Earca, was my namesake and Sunnie killed him with a storm. He's too anger-prone for me."

"Sunnie feels emotion," Anti-Bryndin said patiently. "This is why he balances Twis, who is steady and firm. Seek Sunnie. He will help you."

I rubbed my head. "Is there another Anti-Fairy I can ask to give Redd bad luck?"

Anti-Bryndin placed his hand on mine. "I know your religion. You would not be happy if you won an unfair fight."

Well. He had me there.

I knew the Water Temple lay in Faeheim, but I didn't know exactly where. I weighed the pros and cons of seeking it out as Anti-Bryndin and I ate, then shook my head. The Zodii might believe the nature spirits were benevolent, but I still thought them unpredictable. They hate when you bring this up, but we have records of Zodii generals asking the spirits to help them, only for their deity to kill people in the general's army just because they were born in the wrong year. I couldn't see a single reason for Sunnie to take interest in me and I sort of preferred staying off his radar. I walked Anti-Bryndin to the entrance of the Breath Temple he'd come to visit, but that's as far as I went.

I couldn't preen with Dewdrop. Not when I couldn't wash Redd's pheromones from my skin. I took three showers on Thursday and visited the boarding house again. This time, I found Redd on the porch carving his bow like before. I floated right up to him, pressing my turtleneck sweater close to my throat with one hand.

"Head Pixie," he said, looking at me with dull eyes. "What do you want?"

"I want to see Keefe and Springs. I'm not leaving until you let me."

"They're not here. Rupert took them to Glassy Falls."

My wings went down. "What? Are they on the edge?"

"No, stupid. They're watching the water through the gift shop window, trying to catch a glimpse of the stinky magic fish demon that's rumored to live there. Juandissimo's with them, so don't think Rupe's outnumbered. They're fine." His knife sliced across wood three times before I spoke.

"Take me there."

"Sit down," he said. "You're stressing over nothing. Can I offer you a drink? You came all this way."

I hesitated. Then I shook my head. "Maybe later. I'm going to the lake."

Reddinski sighed and put down the bow. "Fine. I'll poof us both. Unless you have a problem with that?"

I allowed it. We materialized in the lush purple hills beside a small building part gift shop and part museum. I'd been here twice as a child, once on a school trip and once when I tried to run off to the North Pole but the pink tram wouldn't accept me without my baptism medal and I ended up here. It was warmer than I was used to . A few tourists, mostly parents with small children, meandered the path between the shop and the hiking trail. Below us, smooth multicolored water coated the landscape like a scoop of melted sherbet ice cream. Once upon a time, this lake had looked like snow. Thousands of years of stinky magic had turned it into mashed-up clay. I could just make out Glassy Falls in the distance, pouring pure white foam from between dark trees. And more importantly, I could make out three figures standing on the rocks above the rainbow lake, definitely not inside the gift shop.

"Hey!" I shouted. Keefe and Springs both jumped. "Stay inside, or at least up here. It's not safe at the edge."

"But-" Springs started, pointing at Juandissimo.

"All of you."

"We want to see the fish monster," Keefe protested. I snapped my fingers twice, which finally made them move.

"The monster isn't real. What's real is the stinky magic that runs off into low water. If you slip, you might land in some half-dissolved spell no one made a counter for." And even if there wasn't enough food for a giant fish to survive long in the lake, who knew what sort of corrupt, magical beasts DID swim in its depths. I took out my handkerchief and crouched, ready to scrub their faces clean no matter how much they wiggled.

Reddinski turned his head back and forth, still holding his wand upright. When Juandissimo herded the kids up the short path to us, Redd looked at him. "Where's Rupert?"

Juandissimo shrugged, gliding his fingertips across a sparkling white picnic table. Redd sheathed his wand.

"Where is he?"

"He went for lunch, Señor Reddinski, but I don't know exactly where. He'll be back in a moment with food for us all. Of this I'm certain."

"No he won't," said Springs. "He said he was visiting Arthur Cracklewings."

Keefe winced. Redd flashed forward. With a clap like collapsing bricks, he slapped Juandissimo across the face. "You were supposed to be watching him!"

Juandissimo banged against the table, whirring his wings like pinwheels. Springs covered his eyes while Keefe bolted forward to hide between my legs. "Redd, stop!" I shouted, leaping up. "It's not his responsibility!"

"Is this where he always goes when I send you two out? Have you been covering him all this time?" Reddinski turned on me, hot tears sparking from his eyes. I put up my hands and backed away, favoring the leg Keefe clung to.

"Look. Cheating is wrong. I get that. But Rupert's the one who chose to seek another gyne behind your back. Don't take it out on anyone else."

"So it's my fault?" he demanded. "You don't think I'm good enough for him? I've lost my touch and I'm stupid and weak and you're so much better than me?"

"That's not what I said." I took another step closer to the lake, realizing only then how little solid ground I had. My blood thumped in and out of my mouth. "Keefe," I said. I stared Reddinski in the eye. Maybe it was the light spray. Maybe just the breezy open air. Maybe his distress. But suddenly, he didn't seem so scary anymore. I reached for my sheath. "Hold Springs' hand and run inside. Even if he tries to stay out here. Make him go."

Keefe looked up in terror.

"Now." I drew my wand and held it out. Reddinski flung his arms to either side.

"You're challenging me? You can't even eat brunch without getting flipped."

He had a point. I lowered it again. I couldn't risk my pixies.

… But I already had, hadn't I? If I walked away, he'd keep Keefe and Springs. And he wouldn't treat them to ice cream and unicorn rides.

"Fine, take the normal one back," Redd said, clearly reading my mind. His hands went to his hips. "Leave me the kid with dysolfactya to train. He's just one. You have a dozen others. Someday a hundred."

"Keefe matters too," I said, and snapped my wand in half. The energy field swirled around us, pressing us both in a little bubble of attention. Redd pressed his palm to his cheek and looked me up and down.

"What are you doing, Head Pixie?"

But he didn't wait for an answer. Withdrawing his own wand, he snapped it too. "You started this," he said. "Diplomatic immunity be smoofed. I'm allowed to fight back."

I lunged forward, not wanting to be pinned against the drop-off longer than I had to be, but Reddinski was expecting that. He didn't drop his wand and instead stabbed at me with the sharp end that bore the star. It sliced down my forearm. A familiar buttery, minty sort of scent swirled through the air. "H.P.!" Springs called from up the hill. I grabbed Redd's wrists and flipped them to either side, trying to force him to drop his wand.

"Get inside!" I shouted back. Reddinski twisted, trying to dig the star into my right palm.

"Are you hurt?"

"Springs, go inside."

My wings whirred, instinctively trying to seek higher ground, but not digging in my heels only made it easier for Reddinski to shove me backwards. I made the mistake of dropping Redd's hands for his shirt. As soon as his hand was free, Redd clenched my turtleneck in one fist. I scrambled for a hold on the ground, only to realize in slow horror that he'd hoisted me higher. I couldn't touch. And he was moving me towards the end of the cliff.

"Redd," I said, "you don't want to throw me down there. You won't be able to drink my magic- you want to keep me up here-"

"Let him go!" yelled a small voice, a lot closer now. I risked a glance behind Redd to see Springs streaking forward, wings pumping and hands outstretched. He crashed into Redd's shoulder, which made the larger fairy turn and look at him. Springs bounced off and fell to the ground in a daze. Redd studied him for two seconds, then kicked him out over the lake.

"SPRINGS!"

I kicked Redd in the stomach as hard as I could, which wasn't much while he dangled me. But while he was distracted, I sunk my teeth into his hand. Redd's grip loosened just enough for me to touch the grass. I ducked, grabbed his feet - which he hadn't spread after kicking Springs - and lifted him up. Redd's wings kicked into action, triggering the helium gasket in his head. When he weighed nothing, it was easy to flip him over my shoulder and bring him crashing down behind me. I turned on him and, before he could move, brought my heel down hard on his wing. He grabbed my foot, digging in his nails and trying to yank me off balance.

"Redd," I said. "You didn't have to do that. He couldn't interfere in the fight and he's just a baby."

Reddinski rolled halfway over, glaring at me the whole time. He tried to jerk his wing free, but I crunched it with my other foot.

"We postpone this until my pixie is safe."

He lay still. I moved back, and instead of lunging at me, Reddinski dove off the cliff and splashed into the water. Several voices screamed behind me, though I found myself speechless. Had he just jumped into pure stinky magic? On purpose?

I flew down the hill to the edge of the water. Springs wasn't far out. Neither was Reddinski. Who was swimming right for him. "Springs," I called, "swim to my voice!"

Springs slapped his hands against the surface and coughed several times in a row. He shivered like the water was Plane 21 cold. Behind him, Redd cut through it with sharp strokes, fingers stretched each time like claws.

"Springs!" He wasn't going to make it. I flew out over the water, reaching down my hands. Springs reached up and I caught his arms. I lifted him and turned to shore again just as Redd's hand shot up. Hot fingers closed around my ankle. I strained my wings, but he dragged me under.

Stinky magic hit my skin like a dozen bee stings. A dozen more by the time I opened my eyes. That was a mistake. I'd heard stinky magic described as "salt water" - there was an abundance of it on Earth - but I hadn't expected this. It bit my flesh like I was made of paper, even up my nose, which only spilled it down my throat. But the burning eyes were the worst. Springs clung to the low part of my sweater, kicking his foot against the flap of my pouch. I looked up just as Redd drove his boot into my face. CRACK went my glasses. He kicked again. I pushed back with my wings, trying to put as much space as I could between him and me. With Keefe in my arms, I couldn't fight back. Not properly. So I just turned and swam.

I fell to my knees on shore, dropping a wing across Springs' back. We stayed curled there for a time as the crowd pressed forward to look at us without touching our dripping skin. Off to one side, I watched Reddinski crawl onto the mud. He stayed on his hands and knees, head bowed. His damp wings couldn't fly, so he hovered away with a staggered limp every other beat, feet dragging on the ground. He didn't look at me.

I stared down at the pixie nestled at my chest. "Springs?" I whispered. I pushed back his hair. He groaned, squirming his fingers in the loops of my sweater. When he blinked his eyes open, his pupils had expanded quite wide. Not knowing what else to say, I turned to the small crowd that had gathered on the rocks nearby.

"And that," I said, "is why I support letting Anti-Fairies roam Fairy World." There was a reason they didn't vacation near salt water: the constant hum of imbalanced energy irritated their sensitive ears. They wouldn't have let it get this bad. The fact that they enjoyed spreading bad luck out in small, manageable chunks was one part of their culture, at least, I could wholeheartedly accept. I checked over my shoulder, resting my hand on Springs' shoulder. Reddinski had vanished into the trees. My eyes went narrow.

"He got away…"

I'd never seen him as a coward. But at least he wouldn't dare come back. Not to his current home with his current name. And at least he'd no longer be hurting his drones.

"I can't see," Springs whimpered, rubbing stinky magic from his eyes. I pushed my sleeve across my own, trying to brush the burn away.

"Shh. It's okay now, kiddo. Let's get out of here."

I pinged Keefe and Juandissimo to the village, then took Springs to Dr. Ranen, who immediately poofed us to the Faeheim Hospital. The doctors there decided Springs would have to stay the night. They weren't yet sure what effect the stinky magic exposure might have on his health, or if it had damaged his brain or any of his senses, but they said he didn't appear to be in any life-threatening danger. I was okay with that. I bid him good night and pinged to the boarding house again.

This was my first time inside. Luis was the only drone there, though Rupert showed up only a moment after me, hands in his pockets and face expressionless. "All right," I said, looking between them in Reddinski's hallway. He owned three rooms on the third floor. "You drones are under new management. Which of you is the alpha?"

Rupert looked at Luis. Luis looked at Rupert. Both with eyebrows raised. After two frozen seconds, Rupert ran his fingers through his hair. "Which of us do you think should be alpha, boss?"

I rubbed my head. "I don't care. You. Just… oversee whatever packing needs to be done. Pull out any perishable food and get any pets or plants that need to be fed. I'm going to clean myself up. I'll wait for you outside."

Reddinski's bedroom had walls of rock, each of the many stones dull and worn after all these years. Several candles shaped like flowers sat on his bedside table beside a small fountain trickling water in an endless loop. A thick brown rug coated the floor. It was a yidreamu if ever I saw one, and I paused. I backed out and searched the hall again, but I couldn't find his sleeping bedroom. Was this both? Some people combined them nowadays, though I was traditional. I returned, slowly, to the rock-walled room and hovered in the doorway, fingers linked. The room had a cushioned bed, not a preening pallet. But did it… double as the mhaisci room where Redd had regularly preened his drones? He'd decorated it like a mating bedroom, all dark colors and animal-skin blankets and candles. That didn't… sit well with me.

I drew one foot in a line across the wood floor. It was polished. Pretty. My shoe squeaked. Reddinski didn't have a spouse. All you could smell on him was drones…

"Oh." My fingers unclasped, sliding up my arms. I rubbed my hands up and down. "Ick." Redd had never been much for romance back in school, but I hadn't realized he secretly wanted to… you know… with drones. I wondered how Waterberry found out. Taking forceful advantage of them was probably why he took Redd to court.

I'd almost let Keefe and Springs grow up under his hand.

I didn't stay there long. There was only one thing I wanted. Reddinski hadn't come from a wealthy family, but he'd come from a strong one. He was 6,000 years older than me, so we'd just missed each other at Spellementary. I'd met him for the first time in Lower School when he already had a pink headband to his name. While the drones were packing, I searched his closet. Finally, in one of his dresser drawers (Don't ask under what), I found the ribbon. It was well faded now, but I recognized it by the official heart-shaped clasp pinned to one side. Yellow rank. He'd earned it halfway through upper school and had worn it every day.

"Top of your grappling class," I muttered. I squeezed the fabric so tight, a piece of it broke off in my hand. "No one dared to touch you." I traced my thumb in two circles across the heart pin. Then I shook my head and stuffed it back in the drawer. Redd had spent all his extracurricular time grappling for fun. But in his middle age, he'd stopped training. If I didn't want to end up like him someday, I'd need to practice for the rest of my life.

I met up with the drones again. We left the boarding house, for now. I'd be back in a week to decide what to do with it. I met with Rice in my office to tell him what had happened. When I came out I found Juandissimo hovering by the kitchen door, one hand behind his neck. "What?" I asked.

"I have school, señor. I'm due back when the semester starts…" Juandissimo made an uncertain noise in the back of his throat. He hadn't yet come into his adult wings, let alone his adult voice, and it squeaked. "Fairynando High is rather far from here now. It is Poofypants nearby, yes?"

I hesitated. "The Fairynando chariots won't pick you up from here and I can't afford regular poofing costs out there. But I can get you registered at Poofypants. You can enter as an exchange student and we'll see how you like it. If you don't, you can go back to Fairynando."

Juandissimo floated back, actually thinking it over for a minute with his hands folded in front of his mouth. Then he said, "I will try Poofypants this year. It will be good to start over. Change my identity." And his smile broadened. "Hey! Now that Boss Reddinski has gone, I can be me again!"

"Just don't get underfoot and we'll get along fine." Beyond him, I found Luis, Rupert, and Dewdrop unpacking bread and cereal they'd brought from Redd's. I tapped my knuckle on the doorframe to get their attention, though the two who didn't have dysolfactya looked up the second I came in anyway. "Hi. I hope you're settling into Pixie Village. We'll warm some soup tonight and work on a meal plan tomorrow. I've made up your beds in the second cabin. In the morning I'll give you all an official tour. Alpha, you sleep with me and start spreading pheromones tomorrow." Dewdrop and Luis glanced at each other, and I paused. My fingers slid down the doorframe. "It's been a long time since I've had adult drones around… Did I miss something?"

They didn't want to speak. Juandissimo did it for them; he fluttered his wings, drawing my attention. "What mistakes must we avoid to not be punished, señor?"

Hmm. Reddinski's drones were strangers. Luis was a little older than I was. It seemed wrong to twist their wings if they stepped out of line. "Don't use the tram without asking first. Reddinski didn't have a forager, did he? Well, I do. His name's Longwood. He and I pick up groceries every week, so you don't need to worry about that. If you want to leave the village, I'd like to know where you're going. Basically, just pay attention to the pheromone line. This is Plane 3 and it's a long drop to Earth if you slip." I looked at Rupert. "You should probably stay in the manor. Or if you do leave, stay around the village square. Reddinski's estate was inland, but mine's coast and canyons. I don't want you falling off. You can give Keefe advice about dysolfactya, but you don't need to take on any 'tutoring' responsibilities. And please don't preen other gynes."

"I don't preen outside my primary," Rupert said, half-scrunching his eyebrows.

"Springs told me you were visiting Arthur Cracklewings. I know Crackle from school, and I'll recognize his scent. If I catch you, we have to talk about it."

"I don't preen other gynes when I'm partnered, but I like it when you use your big boy voice. Bossy looks good on you." Rupert folded his arms behind his neck. "Arthur just opened a restaurant and I flew out there to get us lunch. But when he saw me, he told me about your fight, so I turned around. No preening." Rupert gave an up and down flick of his wings to indicate his body. "This is a paid subscription. I don't give free samples."

"Well, good," I said, not sure if he was lying.

Again, the drones looked at each other. Then at me again in expectant silence. "Anything else?" Luis asked, quietly.

Was I out of touch? Maybe I had been too long alone. "Uh… Don't move things around too much. I like the rocks and flowers where they are. Don't poof up new buildings."

They were still staring, expressions guarded. Juandissimo quickened his wingbeats again. "And what shall be our routine?"

"We eat two big meals a day: brunch and dinner. One day I'll be better about having us eat breakfast together, but mostly my pixies just figure it out themselves. I allow snacks as long as they don't get expensive. Showers every morning. No exceptions."

"Do you hit?" Dewdrop blurted, half-hunkered behind Luis.

"Oh. No. I don't hit." I stared down at my hands, noticing for the first time just how much bigger they were than the drones'. "Just… don't change stuff without my permission. Keep clean. Show up for meals. Tell me if you want to go out. If there's a problem, talk to me about it. I appreciate feedback and I won't hit you. And, um… I only preen drones. I don't… I won't… I won't blitz you. I'm traditional."

Luis sighed in relief. Dewdrop nodded. "This is fun," Rupert said brightly, stacking the fifth box of powdered milk in his tower.

I warmed tomato soup while the drones made sandwiches. We brought everything out to the pavilion. My pixies were curious about the new faces, but I simply told them some "old friends of mine" would be staying in the village for a while. All except an uneasy Sanderson accepted this and went back to their soup (He asked to be excused early and skimmed off, dragging his feet near the ground).

When everyone had finished, I assigned Madigan and Bayard to help Dewdrop with the dishes. Everyone else would put themselves to bed, asking Luis if they needed help brushing their teeth ("Yes, sir"). "Alpha," I said, placing my bowl on the clean-up tray, "you're with me tonight."

Rupert didn't move. His eyes had wandered up the pavilion roof. Then Luis pushed his shoulder. "Oh, right, that's me," Rupert said. He scampered towards the manor like a mouse, thrumming his wings. I shook my head and turned to Emery.

"I get it," she said, raising her hands. "I'll stay in the library until late."

"I didn't say you couldn't use your room-"

"If you're preening, I don't want to sense it."

"Keep an ear on the kids," I said, trailing after Rupert. I studied the back of his wings, wondering how long it had been since he'd preened with Redd.

When I floated into my bedroom, I found Rice resting on the pillow I never used. Coin sith can't sleep, but he always tried to nap anyway. I smacked his leg with the back of my hand. "Back to the doggie bed. Roebeam's staying with us a while and I need the space."

"Who?" Rice mumbled, blinking. Then he saw the drone in the doorway. His ears perked up. "Oh strudel, this is rich. Hello, brother. Remember me?"

"I remember your wife better, dog-breath," Rupert retorted without skipping a wingbeat. His lazy smirk never even wavered. He put up a finger- specifically the one that bore his wedding band. "She's getting my niece ready for bed as we speak. Except I call her 'Daughter.'"

Rice sniffed. "When did you two last speak? About anything other than her and her needs, I mean."

"Last Thursday. Wanna know what about?" Rupert scooped Rice up and dangled him over his head, making exaggerated kissy noises all the while.

"Brothers or twins?" I asked over my shoulder, digging through my closet's shelves.

"Triplets," they said together. I snorted.

"Then my collection isn't complete. Where's Number 3?"

Rice squirmed from Rupert's grip and landed on the floor. "Roxanne? Cupcakes if I know. Some club in Serentip most probably."

"I saw her in a Playsprite magazine a decade back," Rupert mused, tapping his chin.

"Then let's not invite her over. You two are going to give me enough trouble. Here, Rupert. As alpha, you're sleeping with me." I tossed him a pair of my pajamas. He caught them, one brow arched.

"Thank you kindly, boss. I see they already have your pheromones on them, no preening required. Efficiency at its finest."

"Preening's on the table tonight if you're interested. I don't have a mhaisci room, so we'll have to do it here. I hope you don't have a problem with coin sith."

Rupert looked at me for so long, eyes and smile thin, that I began to wonder if he'd asked a question and I'd missed it. "None whatsoever," he said smoothly. He floated over and started unpicking the buttons on my suit, humming a disinterested tune all the while. In between each one, he swished a lick across the bottom of my chin. Rice muttered, "I'm going to toss my cookies," and plopped in his bed with his favorite toy steak.

"It must be nice to be a drone," I said, watching Rupert work. He froze on the final button, startled for a single wingbeat. Then looked up.

"How do you mean, boss?"

"You have so much freedom. Outside of retinue duties, what you do in your spare time is up to you. You don't have to schedule in preening and hold a high-paying job and watch your back in public too. You never have to worry about money or if you'll get fired or if you'll have food that night… Fairy law protects you more than it protects me. You never have to wonder if you'll live to see a million or if someone will kill you off before then. You're not expected to claim a small patch of territory and stick with it forever. You can cherry-pick from all the gynes you ever meet. You get the opportunity to network with the greats and learn a hundred skills from a hundred interesting people. Those you hang out with don't just shove you to the side or forget you exist when you're not around. You can share incredibly special bonds with your best friend without rumors of bedrooms and preferences snagging onto you. People don't avoid you. They flock to you." By no accident were our museums hung with paintings of drones in quiet forests surrounded by flowers and gentle animals…

"It's nice," Rupert said, unpinning the last button after all. He took one sleeve and peeled my coat down my wings. "Being a drone works if you love meeting people as much as I do. I like learning stories and it's why I got into acting."

"I remember."

"How's Emma?" Rice asked from the corner. Rupert yawned.

"Struggling in school, but didn't we all? Not me, of course. Never went."

Rice squeaked his steak again. "I can't let her see me like this, but could you tell her Daddy said Happy 9,000th?"

Rupert finished folding and poofed my coat to the closet, never losing his smirk. "You're not her daddy anymore, Ricey baby. You ditched. She's got me."

"… How's Lily?"

"You broke a good damsel, brother, and left me to pick up the pieces. That's all I can say."

Squeeeak. "Good tarting riddance."

"Did you really court Mary Black?" I asked as Rupert started on my shirt buttons. He smiled up at me, feigning innocence.

"Courting's not my style, boss, but there sure was a lot of play."

I… tactfully ignored that.

He pulled off my shirt and poofed it away. Then he poofed the pajamas on. I took my bed covers and flipped them to one side. "Just a simple scent exchange tonight," I said. "We'll talk details in the morning."

Rice got up and made a show of turning around several times before he plopped in his bed again, his back to us. The steak kept squeaking in his teeth. I turned a dial on a small device on my side table - some music box contraption I'd won off a gyne in Lau Rell - and set it to a low chiming, jingling sort of tune. "Oh, chocolate," Rice groaned. He never had cared much for elven music and it shut him up. I nodded at Rupert and lay back on my bed, carefully folding out my wings. With equal care, he crawled past me and took his expected position kneeling at my side. He touched one hand to my chest. Careful. Confirming. I didn't move, of course. A distressed gyne would have released a certain warning pheromone in the air. And I wondered if Rupert knew that or if he was just copying whatever template he'd seen.

Reddinski had wanted to teach Keefe to be just like this. But who taught Rupert? And how old had he been when he learned? He was still young, somewhere around Iris's age. Was he like this because he chose to be? Or was he 'trained' for it? Did he even enjoy preening? What if it made him miserable and I was forcing him into this, like Kalysta had forced me?

Had any drone enjoyed preening with me? My wings squirmed. "Rupert," I said, but he said, "Shhh," so I decided questions could wait.

Rupert took my silence for consent and scooted closer. With lizard-like grace, he leaned over my neck and began to scrape his tongue. At first, I couldn't decide what to make of his foreplay licks. They were soft. Long. Not at all what you'd expect. Rupert must have detected the tight squinting in my eyes, because he caught himself and pressed a little deeper after that. I made an uncertain sound. His dragging patience wasn't familiar to me… but I liked it. Enough that I couldn't resist arching my back when he crossed my windpipe, giving my wings enough room to briefly swish. But not enough to make me moan, even a fake moan. Jorgen's the only one who's ever wheedled a real one out of me (Blitzing dust, that man can preen).

After a few long, carefully crouched minutes, one elven song flowing into the next, Rupert withdrew his tongue. "Ah'ne ah'ne ah'ka, awa krei'ish cara."

I opened one eye. "Wait. I thought you had dysolfactya."

He smiled lazily in a way that withered my wings. "You were enjoying it too much, pasty. That's my cue to start on the ah'kas. May I, boss?"

"No," I said. Rupert blinked, bravado crumpling, and I held his gaze. "That's not how this works. You're a rarity who can disobey the pheromones urging you to move on. I want an extended foreplay session and we aren't progressing further until I get it. I don't mess around. If you want dominance licks, you have to earn them. And do it right. You're too gentle."

He sized me up with a curious look. "The door's over there. As of the Autumn of the Tall Cedar, my rights are protected under Waterberry v. Reddinski. What if I walk out?"

"You won't. You're a drone. My scent is raging in the air and you want this."

"Ah, but I have dysolfactya. Preening means nothing to me. I can go and I will." He thought for a moment, tracing his finger across my neck. "Normally I leave when I'm this bored… but I think the last thing I want to do to you, Head Pixie, is rile you to the point you actually enjoy this. So I'll play by your rules tonight. After all, you asked so nicely."

Rice's toy steak squeaked in the silence.

Rupert returned to his work, swiftly cutting his tongue across a small patch of my skin. A little deeper, a little rougher. He hit the right spots through pure trial and error, lingering in certain places when I grunted and balancing his skims with his scrapes. After several minutes of this, he asked again: "Ah'ne ah'ne ah'ka, awa krei'ish cara."

"No," I said, not opening my eyes. "Keep going."

Rupert stayed silent. I peeked at his face, making no attempt to hide my impatience. He knelt above me, hands braced on either side of my shoulders, and had the nerve to look baffled.

"Keep going?"

"You heard me."

He hesitated, a hum slipping from his teeth. His wings rustled at his back. "Okay, I can't read pheromone cues, and even I know that's a bad idea. Your skin's peeling up, boss. If I continue, you'll start bleeding magic."

"It's worth it. Go on."

"But-"

"Keep going if you want your licks," I snapped. Rupert frowned, not flinching.

"Dominance licks don't do anything for me. I just preen for the sport."

I fixed him with a deadpan stare, fighting back several profane words clawing at my lips. My lines thrummed in the energy field, straight and clean and all in a row in a way they hadn't been since before Sanderson was born. I sensed a certain wriggle in my wings. We weren't stopping now. "Get back to foreplay licks. We're not done."

"If you say so," was all he mumbled, tucking his knees back into place beside me. "You're the boss, boss."

The playfulness had left him, and he completed his licks dutifully in silence. That annoyed me. I'd summoned him for preening because I expected him to perform well. I'd have to talk to him about this tomorrow, and maybe leave a performance review on his breakfast tray. By the letter of the law he did what I asked, but he had no pride in his work ethic.

What a disappointment.

I watched Rupert with my mental senses, eyes closed, as he licked along my neck. I'd never known a drone to agree to more licks past the first ah'ka initiation. On some purely physical level I knew this was something I liked, but without Rupert's enthusiasm, nothing excited my brain. I tried to pretend he was teasing, pretend I was enjoying this. I already knew I'd have to switch my sheets and pillow in the morning or the scent of alarm pheromones would keep me awake for a month. But from the way Rupert clicked his teeth between every few swipes of his tongue, I could tell he was upset. His signals were too tense, too distracting. His body too stiff. He lapped colorful beads of magic from my skin with all the interest he might show a stain on the carpet.

"That's enough," I finally said, reaching up to rub my scratches. There was no doubting the skill of his tongue, even if he'd been holding back. Rupert sat quickly on his knees.

"Do you need a break, boss? Your neck's a little-"

He stopped when I pulled in my knees. "Just finish the session. I want to be done before the next Aurora Fairyalis."

"Hey, unless you're some stone-cold freak, I can do that." Rupert tightened his hands in the sheets "Ah'ne ah'ne ah'ka, awa krei'ish cara."

"Kalra kalra keiko krei'ish cara," I replied. Rupert's wings relaxed in relief. He scooted forward so he could sit on my stomach, just in front of my raised knees… and as he slid his leg over, he arched an eyebrow. "Am I doing this right?"

He did that on purpose. I couldn't say yes and I couldn't say no. Sudden smugness flickered at his fingertips; we were entering his preferred territory now. "I gave you permission to mount, didn't I? Krei'ish? Don't pretend you don't know ceremonial Gaideliac."

Rupert positioned himself carefully on my stomach. He ran his hands up my sides until they finally settled on my cheeks. "Every gyne is different. Trust me, I know. If I screw up, just tell me how to fix it."

"What other option is there? I'm not letting you sleep until I'm satisfied."

He gave a pointed look. "Don't hit me."

Oh.

I sat up and Rupert settled into his new perch in my lap. He was big for a drone, I realized for the first time. Dewdrop was wispy, Luis short, but Rupert was almost as big as I was. He'd taken after his father. We held eye contact for a long moment, tasting our weaving pheromones in the air. Well, I was. I don't know what Rupert thought we were doing. Then he leaned in and began painting symbols with his tongue. Familiar symbols, even though no one had written them on my skin for 5,000 years. As he worked, I picked my fingers through his golden hair, almost wishing I had a brush. I kept my own hair short for a reason. Tangles irritated me and his wasn't straight. Beneath layers of Reddinski's pheromones, I could taste green apple shampoo. I made a note to pick up a new bottle the next time Longwood and I went shopping.

The licks slowed, then died away. Rupert rubbed his cheek on mine. Odd that he had an instinct that told him to do that when he couldn't even recognize my scent. When I didn't respond, still brushing at his hair, he pushed harder. I forced myself to focus on his face. Preening with Rupert, I fast discovered, was a strange experience. I took it slow, letting him lead it, and matched my touches on his body wherever he put his hands on mine. "Why did you choose to do that?" I asked more than once, until he finally grumped, "Is this a friendship ceremony or a school exam?"

"You're just interesting." I didn't tell him he preened like Anti-Bryndin. Like he'd rehearsed a script. Proper preening is like itching someone's scratch when you can feel the spot yourself. You move with perfect precision, satisfying one point of the body, then the next, then another. The better you know one another, the more in sync you are.

Rupert couldn't sense those same tension points in the energy field. Feeling him preen, tongue and fingers gliding, was like watching a single dancer perform ballet while the others waltzed: impressive, but wrong. Every now and then he'd perform a step right and I couldn't help but glitter with amusement. Rupert would pause, looking at me strangely. Like he was haunted. He preened like someone who had been told to lick skin but didn't have a clue what he was doing for. His technique was different, but he moved like Anti-Bryndin. Like an Anti-Fairy in a Fairy's body.

And everyone was right. I didn't turn to liquid in his arms - I had too much dignity for that - but when Rupert did everything wrong, he did everything new. No drone with a job to do would ever lick so slow. Every one I'd ever had moved a little fast, a little hungry, a little rough. That had intimidated me my first session with Cosmo, back when I was young, but that's the way drones were and I'd accepted that. Most drones flicked the tip of their tongue, alternating between the rough spines along the top and the soft part on the bottom. Rupert used his lips. He put his whole mouth to work, chomping like a fish, teeth grazing skin. I'd never once known a drone to do that, and it was all so refreshing that I did, I admit, almost purr. My wings chirped instead. I stretched my toes and almost didn't want to paint the pattern on his face that lulled a drone to sleep, just in case it worked.

Squeeeeeeak, went Rice's steak in the background. Squeak. Squeeeak.

If this was Rupert distracted and uneasy, what was he like as a familiar partner? For just an instant, I saw no shame in becoming the gyne-tamer's plaything.

Rupert squirmed around so his bunched wings were pressed to my chest. He scrubbed his cheek on mine again, his belly now exposed. I noticed all this with a quarter of my attention. Mostly, I watched the dull, bored look in his eyes.

He was holding back.

"Ah'ne ah'ne ah'ka, awa lámha cara," he said.

He was holding back. That jerked me out of it, suddenly wide awake again. Here I was, preening with the jewel of the cloudlands, and he wouldn't bother to meet me halfway. My signals flared, but if Rupert noticed, he gave no sign. Teeth tight, I upturned my hands, sliding them around his front so he could reach.

"Kalra kalra keiko lámha cara."

Rupert set his palms in mine, clasping our fingers so they interlocked. Leaning back his head, he drew another stroke below my chin. Another and another. I tried to relax into it. Tried to ease myself back down, lowering Rupert with me. He leaned against me as closely as he'd lean into his pillow. "Ah'ne ah'ne ah'ka," he said again, mostly murmuring it. His tongue swiped higher up my jaw. Squiggly, without attention. "Awa taná cara."

Yeah, that did it. "Shri'ana vi scintu."

He stopped moving. "Wait. What?" His focus snapped back to the present, like no one had ever stopped him only 2/3 of the way through preening before. Probably they hadn't. His practiced routine fell apart. Rupert twisted to look at me with brows peaked. "What do you mean, 'No?' What did I do wrong?"

I kept the dull, firm look across my face. "I'm not enjoying this. We're done." When he wanted to give me his full attention, then I'd let him share my magic.

"Okay, boss." He sounded mildly injured, but slid from my grip so I could sit up again. I didn't, however, and just stared at the ceiling. Rupert watched for a while, padding the blankets into a bowl around him. He flopped down in it, chin in his hands. I tapped my fingers.

"You're different from other drones; I'll give you that. Still, that wasn't anything special. I wouldn't pick you over a drone who actually preens right. I thought you had 'a reputation.' What's it for?"

Rupert looked right at me and smirked. "Oh, that? Wouldn't you just love to know, sugar?"

Tense, bitter silence fell over us, broken only by the jingle of Rice's collar tags as he scrambled up my bed and took his usual place beside me. Between us, today; his brother gave him a cheerful scratch behind the ears before Rice muttered for him to shove that attitude in a cherry milkshake.

Wouldn't you just love to know…

I didn't sleep. Rupert's final words haunted me all night long. They hooked into my skin and dragged me across the coals until my knuckles bled. My mouth dried up while my sweat glands kicked into overdrive. Rupert was the black sheep passed among gynes for a reason. Everyone who'd preened with him and everyone who never had agreed he was a catch worth claiming. How had he pleased so many others before, and why wasn't he willing to give me the same treatment? What was he holding back tonight? Would I ever get to know? Or would he just keep dangling that coy puzzle piece over me like a wad of lagelyn bills on a string?

He's baiting you, Starla had warned me at the restaurant. And again, I tightened my fingers into my pillow and thought, It's working.

A/N: Text to Show - In "Truth or Cosmoquences," Juandissimo reveals he spent one year at Carl Poofypants Fairy High as an exchange student and claims this was the year he met Wanda. In Frayed Knots Act 3, Wanda and Juandissimo are an established couple. Cosmo has glimpsed Wanda passing by his house and thinks she's pretty, but they have yet to interact (He'll hit her with his car à la "Cosmonopoly" before they interact at the diner à la the Musical). I do not consider "The Fairy Beginning" canon (except for Cosmo's aunt and uncle, and therefore Anti-Cosmo's aunt and uncle).

On that note, "Cosmonopoly" heavily implies Cosmo visited the laundromat near Pixie Woods the day he met Wanda. We won't see his visits in Origin, but for the record, Carl Poofypants is near Pixie World. Lots of Fairies poof their clothes clean (the most draining and expensive way) or wash them using magic to stir clothes in soapy water (less draining and expensive). Cosmo takes the tram to visit the Pixie laundromat. It's a long process, but it's an excuse to get out of the house and keeps his hands free for homework. Mama never supported his dream of becoming an author, so he drafted a lot of stories on those excursions.