Origin of the Pixies

by FountainPenguin

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

40. Inner Workings

(Posted May 12th, 2023)

A/N - Contains a brief mention of self-harm (1-2 sentences about cutting the palm to stop the flow of magic, then a little more discussion about the effects of it, followed by recovery). Iirc, this is the last self-harm moment in the 'fic, apart from one sentence about 10 chapters from now when Sanderson bonks his head on a wall.

---

Inner Workings

Summer of the Running Yale - Spring of the Crisp Whirlwind

---

A few days after the Seven Festivals wrapped up in Anti-Fairy World, High Count Anti-Bryndin came to see me. He brought Anti-Florensa with him, partly because she had family in Shadeblink and partly because she was his personal bodyguard and he was allowed to do that. Also, apparently she visits the Fire Temple every Saturday and has been doing this for a hundred thousand years or something, so I wasn't going to be the one to tell her "Nope."

We'd made arrangements with all the right people to ensure the travel validity checked out, but it didn't stop the Keepers from sending Adelinda's son, Jorgen von Strangle, right on his heels. Jorgen even had an escort of his own, but… I'll get back to that thought in a minute.

My visitors met me and Sanderson at the tram station on my border. Anti-Bryndin had tied his signature black scarf around his neck as usual, the beryl button gleaming, though he'd bundled it up in a way that covered his mouth and part of his nose. Between the scarf and his dark blue coat, he looked quite cozy despite the nippy teeth of Fairy World's slithering springtime wind. Actually, with his horns sticking out, he looked like he could pass as one of Santa's rain deer. I think he did that once, one year. He strung lights between the points.

Jorgen had bulked up in recent millennia, which finally granted him the appearance of someone who deserved to hold the massive star-tipped staff he'd been toting around for as long as I'd known him in the news. His pureblood heritage was undeniable in his staggering height. Still, youthful acne peppered his face like stars. His fluorescent orange escort vest didn't do him any favors. Ah, upper school days… That time of life makes twits of us all. I regarded him coolly, my hands folded behind my back. Technically, it's rude to tell a von Strangle they've "come into their adult wings." They slice theirs off while still young to signal utter devotion to the Fairy Elder.

"It's bold of you to come here right as your pheromones are showing potential," I'd have liked to tell him then. But I didn't. And that's because of the next member in our traveling party.

Bancroft "Binky" Abdul (Jr.) was a half-elf that I'd always known secondhand. I attended upper school with his father, and Abdul Sr. used to visit the Nightbloom family when I butlered for them Earthside. Their daughter became his wife only a dozen years after I began working there. It's actually because of that marriage that Cattahan moved out and I handed in my resignation to follow him to softer clouds. Or "greener pastures," as we said on Earth.

(Well. There was his sister's marriage, and Cattahan's parents cut him off after the whole, you know, "No counterpart consent, no forced honey-lock" protest thing, but the media has covered that spicy topic extensively and I digress.)

His sister did introduce us to each of the two Abdul sons after they were born, so the one who turned out to be a gyne had been on my radar for quite some time. I literally held him in my hands before his freckles even showed. So, suffice to say that I'd come to know Abdul Sr. quite well… from a distance, and usually several rooms apart. Cattahan always said he admired both my sassy remarks in private and my restraint in the presence of company, but he knew better than to let Abdul and I linger too long in the same room. Since he lived Earthside, I kept a closer tab on that drake than I did on gynes like Waterberry, Reddinski, and Cracklewings, but I'm far more acquainted with the father than the sons.

Jorgen and Abdul Jr. made for a peculiar pair. They lived two streets apart, yet I swear half of Fairy World knew what was going on between them. And the half that didn't was probably just being polite. From what I'd heard, the two fairies met in their younger years when both signed up for the border escort program for completely different reasons: Jorgen because he bored easily and would throw himself at any opportunity for structured work and tight deadlines, and Abdul because he genuinely liked getting to know Anti-Fairy travelers and visiting their temples alongside them. Jorgen had a sister, too. They get along well now, but in their younger years, he was scrawny and she was a wildcat. He needed a reason to get away.

And, well… Abdul Jr. never had been good with managing money. I'd seen evidence of that myself. Sometimes when I went into Faeheim, I saw him disappear down little streets, selling gemstones and bracelets in pawn shops and borrowing more than he could afford. He'd even tried to scrape a little cash off me in his younger years when I only had a few pixies to my name.

I suppose I can't blame him if he saw the need to compensate for "something." As gynes go, he'd always been a small one (though he did boast a heavy dusting of freckles on his cheeks and arms). I never did confirm why, though I assume being born and raised on Earth and its thin energy field instead of in the cloudlands will do that to a kid. Jorgen was actually the younger of the duo, though if you knew nothing about them beyond their looks, you probably wouldn't guess it. He still dwarfs Abdul completely to this day… which made their arrangement all the more eye-catching to those people - yours truly included - who were in the know.

Jorgen von Strangle is a drone. This is well-documented public knowledge in Fairy World today, so I'm not breaking Canterbury v. Oakwing in stating it, though I will point out he hadn't come out about it at the time. With his father barking orders to the Fairy militia every hour of the day and his mother constantly at the Fairy Elder's side, Jorgen was regularly cooped at home alone and unattended, and it was only after puberty that he realized what he was at all.

I don't blame him for keeping quiet. Frost von Strangle was the rough sort who tended to drink too much soda in one evening and spit a lot of poorly planned opinions when he did… like how he considered drones "far too namby-pamby for a warzone" and he'd claim they weren't good for much except "seducing fine warriors away from the battlefield." Frost was no gyne himself, and I'm glad for it. I think a good number of us would have tried to take him down if he was, just because the insults he used to slap around were enough to make even Abdul Jr. see red. Frost was always fury on wings- I don't think I'd be exaggerating if I said his wife's the only one who ever truly liked him.

Suffice to say, he didn't take kindly to drones (and trust me on that, because I'll introduce you to him another time). I don't blame Jorgen for keeping things under wraps, but I think he'll go down in history as one of (if not the only) drone who succeeded in hiding that part of himself past Spellementary…

Then again, if a drone is out there hiding the facts skillfully enough, I guess we'll never know. I think Jorgen got a smack of smug pleasure out of revealing his status as a drone in his father's eulogy, and Frost probably bucked and kicked all night inside the urn. Personally, I only knew of Jorgen's drone status beforehand because I was raising twenty drones at the time. I'd seen a rainbow's range of behaviors between them. Not only that, but Anti-Bryndin and I had spent hundreds of hours meeting at the border station, watching Jorgen out of the corners of our eyes…

Well, these things helped lay the foundation for my drone theory in the early days, but I also knew it from the casually defensive way in which Abdul Jr. stood in front of him when greeting me. They did not call each other "Mister" in the traditional way that signaled an unbending bond, but I knew they'd formed one. Like everything in Jorgen's private life back in those days, this detail was, quite simply, kept under wraps as best as they could manage.

As we gathered close to exchange greetings, Abdul watched me with calculations in his eye. He was undersized for a gyne, actually… Not at all like his father. The elder Bancroft still held the title "Boss" in those days - and held an uncontested position as the most elite terminal controller in Fairy World - so none of us dared call Abdul Jr. by that term. I didn't want Boss Abdul cracking a wand in my direction and technically, his double duties with ASPRA set him squarely as one of Emery's bosses (albeit a few rungs up the ladder). If Boss Abdul came to detest me and I screwed her over for a promotion by nature of us being half-siblings, she'd never let me hear the end of it.

The younger Bancroft "Binky" Abdul was, quite simply… Abdul: young, spry, and wondering absentmindedly how much energy he would need to exert to take me down. The way he watched me made me all too aware of the white streak in my hair and the dull ache that had settled in at the base of my spine. The heavy drain on my magic from pregnancy after pregnancy was certainly taking its toll. I was not as young as I should have been for my age of barely 500k.

In Jorgen's presence, I marked the appropriate signs of submission across my neck with two fingers the moment he looked at me. I came third in the social hierarchy of this five-person meeting, so I waited for him to finish speaking with the High Count and the High Count to finish asking questions. When it was my turn to lead the conversation, I gave Abdul a curt nod and we briefly discussed his family. He had a brother who held a high position among the Keepers in Faeheim itself, though I'd forgotten his name at the time. It's Draven.

"I'm glad to hear it." And to Jorgen, with a curt nod, "von Strangle. I thank you for spending your precious time escorting us to the Fire and Breath Temples today." Idly, and with my suspicions of Jorgen's drone status pulsing in my head, I wondered how heavy the scent of my pheromones in the air would need to be to flip him from Abdul's service to mine. Even if it only lasted until we parted ways from our escort, it might be a useful experiment. As the pixie ambassador, not to mention sire to nearly two dozen offspring, there was no question in my mind that I held more authority than a younger, smaller, and more lightly freckled drake. Virgin too, by the taste of his pheromones.

Anti-Bryndin turned to me then, arcing his brows in question. "Both Zodiac Temples? This is in a single day? I did not think this was the plan. It is more appropriate to travel by foot or wing in pilgrimage to the temples, especially when you wish to speak with the spirits there."

I looked back at him without turning my body, blank and immovable. "I don't know how you think you're going to do that and travel with me at the same time, then. Plane 6 also goes by the name 'Fairy World Outskirts' for good reason. There's no tram that will get us to Shadeblink, and pixies aren't true fliers. We hover. I'll plunge straight out of the sky the moment I step off a cloud."

Anti-Bryndin sighed, but didn't protest. He consented to the touch of Fairy magic upon himself and Anti-Florensa. I knew neither of them liked it, but at least this way, I didn't have to exercise. I'm all for saving money, but Shadeblink and the Divide gate are about as far apart as you can get while still staying in Earth's cloudland boundaries. It's extremely difficult to make it to the first resting point, and one slip-up will send you plummeting to Plane 5 below. For jumps that distant and dangerous, the cost was always worth it. I didn't see a point in earning money if you couldn't use it on a decent poof cloud when it really mattered. Everyone should spend money when it's useful. That's my take.

The Far West region was once the central hub of Anti-Fairy culture. There are many reasons why, ranging from its position as a valuable trade port, to its low starlight levels for most of the year, to its many strong trees for roosting from, to its clear skies and scenic views. However, we shouldn't overlook the importance of the Anti-Fairies' Earthside capital city: Solsbirth. A few generations before the days of King Elynas, Solsbirth was a thriving community for Antis who were still new to the idea of not hibernating through the winter. Huge colonies of them migrated Earthside when cloudland temperatures grew too chilly.

Today, the Far West is overseen by the Maroon Robe on the Anti-Fairy Council. It wasn't always. Back when the skies were united, the majority of Anti-Fairies still lived under the same roof as their Fairy counterpart. This peculiar city with its floating rocks and iron fences was once a perfectly normal place for Fairies to be. The Green Robe - an elected Fairy, mind you - even managed the land millennium after millennium.

Ha. I may not have been alive back then, but I remember hearing stories from the adults around me about when that was allowed. Actually, the first Maroon Robe after the war was a Fairy. "Anti-Fairy World" didn't even exist as a concept back then, still fluttering along by the name of Hy-Brasil. Fairies still made decisions for them. But you try suggesting that now and you'll get chucked off a cloud.

I'd never traveled to the Far West region before. I never had a reason to. To be perfectly honest, from the moment we stepped out of Jorgen's poof cloud, I could see why the region was named after the color maroon in particular. Anti-Fairy World's skies always dripped with hazy sunset colors, but this region emphasized that to a degree I hadn't seen elsewhere. The grass in this region didn't grow in the usual lilac purple you see in Fairy World. It was more of a coral. Maybe peach. Even Anti-Fairy World grass normally sprouts in dry yellow, slate gray, sapphire blue, or ghostly white. For what it was worth, the coral-colored grew in luscious patches all around the floating rock we stood on… right up until the rock dropped abruptly away into the open sky. When I checked over the edge, trying to get a better idea of where Sanderson might land if I took my eyes off him for too long, I could see the trees of Plane 5 glittering with crimson leaves below.

Sanderson coughed as the poof dust faded away, then raised his head. "Whoa. This place looks… really old."

I didn't disagree. We'd arrived at the lip of the city of Shadeblink, although we may have been standing in the one location of the cloudlands where we could claim we were both at the lip of it and in the dead center. I'll explain.

Plane 6 is well known for being made up of floating cloud fragments, which is why we call it "The Outskirts" in casual conversation. The landscape is mostly rugged and barren, the clouds are too thin for building much on, and there are much nicer places to live. The city of Shadeblink had sprung up in a location where thirteen floating chunks of rock had gathered together in an otherwise empty sky. Anti-Fairies have always valued the number thirteen, so I suppose it's no surprise that they fell in love with the place at once. I'm not even sure any Fairies lived here even when the rocks were still clouds and it was under the Green Robe's wing. Thirteen rocks, in their minds, made an ideal set-up for a city that grew from all thirteen of them.

The isle we floated on was far smaller than I felt comfortable with (having two drones with us and all that). It housed only one building: the grand obsidian Fire Temple. This sleek jet black building with its high arches and pointed turrets looked like an evil birdhouse sitting alone on its designated chip of land. The lavafalls pouring down the sides didn't help that. The air snapped and sparked with the smell of brimstone, smoke, and open flames. Chunks of charcoal and pumice decorated the ground like flowers on Earth. Sanderson took one look at the place and shot his gaze to me. He kept his body pointed forward, opening and closing his fists at his sides. I didn't have to be standing this close to him to read his signals in the energy field.

"It's fine," I muttered to the tops of his cowlicks. Sanderson buzzed his wings, but didn't protest.

A city split in thirteen floating pieces was really quite… practical. I think that's the best word I could use to decide it. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't want to raise offspring around here… or even live here myself, considering my inability to truly fly. But for Anti-Fairies who could easily propel themselves through the air and wouldn't die if they slipped and fell, I could imagine the location seemed ideal. Charming, anyway. They say you can still hear the history.

Still, standing at the edge of the floating rock and peering down, I grimaced. Plane 5 and its crimson trees weren't the only things waiting below us. While I couldn't see it from here, I knew that far, far below us lay a small continent that Shadeblink had once touched with the Night Bridge before the war. And somewhere on that continent, although the elements had likely worn them away, were the ruins of Solsbirth… the grand city of the Anti-Fairies before Luna's Landing came to be.

[Author's Note - Speaking as Head Pixie in the future, I don't imagine the Anti-Fairies would even want Solsbirth back in modern day. The cool paradise they enjoyed during the Great Ice Times has been replaced with a scalding hot continent now. If they fight for it nonetheless… Well, sentimentality is a deadly drug.]

I'd been born two years before the War of the Sunset Divide. I hadn't fought there. I hadn't destroyed the shiny Bridge. But would the Anti-Fairies who lived here in present day either know or care? My father fought in the war. He helped strike their Bridges down. Would they shun me for the things he did?

Far West architecture looked long out of date even to my untrained eyes. Classical and organized, yes, but not even remotely modern. The tall structures featured arches and domes. Plus, far too many of the buildings in the area were constructed of fragile concrete dust instead of the cloudbrick, foggilite, and cinderstone that you see more often nowadays. I still think wood passes as a much easier resource to gather and put to good use, but you can't say that around Anti-Fairies. They'll shriek at you about the bear guardians or whatever else their Zodii philosophies have cooked up. Ask Longwood. He can explain it better than me.

[Editor's Note - The "bear guardians" the Head Pixie refers to here are more properly called spirit bears by the Zodii. These great beings embody every stretch of cloudlands in the known universe; at the time of publication, there are five spirit bears who have taken residence near Earth. H.P. and I have agreed we intend for Origin of the Pixies to focus more heavily on the physical world and traditional Seelie beliefs. Anti-Cosmo has assured me he will include the spiritual side of Sprigganhame's birth in his future autobiography for those who are interested in how (in Zodii view) Pixie World came to be.]

"So," I said to Anti-Bryndin, staring up at the obsidian temple before us, "your mom's core is buried in the catacombs here… Right? What's that like?" At my age, I should probably make more of an effort to visit the notable landmarks like these. It's never a convenient time. Legally, the cloudlands required a Zodiac Temple to stand in a location before it can call itself a city. I can name the location and correct zodiac for each one.

Even beyond those seven, there are dozens if not hundreds of spirits the Anti-Fairies worship, and every one of them is built a place to live. Walk down any path in Anti-Fairy World and you'll see tiny temples on the side of the road in honor to the spirit of reflected sunlight or wilting flowers or something incredibly specific. In all honestly, My favorite temple is the one they call the Seasonal Temple. Those spirits are young and far less destructive than their elemental parents. Specifically, I hear twelve nature spirits live there and they rotate which one of them answers the door based on what month it is at the time. That's my kind of efficiency. See, if all the temples had such small footprints, I wouldn't mind them taking up so much space or being so expensively adorned.

In response to my "your mom" comment, Anti-Bryndin pricked his ears. "Ah, I have a certain privilege in holding my bond with a nature spirit. When I step into a temple that is not of Winni, he will switch places with me across worlds. My body will remain here on Plane 6, but my spirit will wake on Plane 23. That is where I will speak with my mamá and inquire her advice in what I will do."

Wait. What? I blinked. That wasn't at all the answer I'd been expecting. "I… always thought the Anti-Coppertalon family believed in reincarnation. Not uniting on 23."

"Yes, but my mamá is only recently gone to smoke. Others are waiting their turn, and I have no descendants born in the year of Fire. She cannot be born as any other than Fire, so she will wait- if to return is her desire." He looked at me so expectantly then, I waited for him to chirp "Is this okay?" But he didn't. I scratched my head, flawlessly maintaining a blank and emotionless response. I exchanged a glance of Sanderson, who peered up at me and quietly adjusted the black shades balanced on his nose. You know, they really did look good paired with our gray suits. Kris Kringle hadn't been wrong.

"Let's rewind to that bit about you swapping bodies with Winni. Are we here to commit a jail break? I'm very not okay with releasing the nature spirits from their chains. They'll wreck the whole cloudlands if we do."

"It is not bodies, but spirits which I switch with Winni. And he will not be here long. I will return to myself after passing outside the temple walls."

Abdul slightly flicked his hand to catch my eye. "And we'll make sure he leaves."

Beside me, Anti-Florensa shifted her shoulders as though she took those words as an insult. I found out then that I badly wanted to see Jorgen von Strangle tackle the High Count to the ground. Why not? Adelinda and I used to wrestle when we were kids with Prince Northiae. That would be funny, I think.

"Okay," I said, then moved to the next thing he'd completely brushed over. "And just to be clear, you're saying that in the temple, you're going to worship so hard that you poof to Plane 23. As in the real, actual Plane 23. I don't see how that's possible."

"Only my soul. My body remains."

"Right." Anti-Fairies would believe anything is possible with the power of the nature spirits. And to be fair, just about anything was, back before they were chained inside their temples. I mean, they're spirits. I looked again at the obsidian building. It leered over us, dark and spiky and shimmering. Gooseflesh danced along my arms, though that could easily have just as much to do with our high position in the sky.

I didn't see why Anti-Fairies found comfort in this place. The six of us weren't the only ones on the front steps. Locals and visitors alike frolicked on the tall set of black stairs. All of them Anti-Fairies. Sanderson stuck close to my leg, fluttering his wings like a noisy little burr. I put my hand on his head to try and hold him still.

"So when you walk in there and switch bodies with Winni… Can I talk to him? Like, directly? With a nature spirit?" If he was so convinced, I didn't see why that wouldn't work.

Abdul and von Strangle both looked at the High Count, though Anti-Florensa kept her eyes firmly on Sanderson. Anti-Bryndin leaned backwards, his hands deep in his pockets. "Ummm… The nature spirits are not picky. They always want to switch so they can come out and be in the world, and they will try a lot. Yes… Winni will talk to you if he wishes to say things, but… It is perhaps best if you let him alone. When he is here, you cannot talk to me. It is silly, no? It destroys the point of our travel here. You can maybe wait out here, if you like to. It is mainly the temple for Breath I wish for you to visit with me."

What, wait out here? Next to the cliff with another gyne and two drones around us who might walk right off the edge? Neither of them could fly. "Hardly. I want to go see these nature spirits everyone makes a big deal about. He can talk to me all he wants. In fact, I look forward to it."

I started up the temple's glossy steps. Anti-Bryndin followed, his head bent and his eyelids squeezed shut. "That was a better thought when it still lived inside my head before," I heard him mutter to himself. But as we neared the door of the Fire Temple, Anti-Bryndin paused. His gently pointed ears drooped behind his head. I could feel how dry his mouth had become from where I floated. He swallowed nonetheless.

"What's the hold-up?" I asked, keeping my hand firmly on Sanderson's head.

"I…" Anti-Bryndin rubbed behind his neck. His other hand stretched slightly out, palm upturned. "Can you… pretend you never met me? When Winni takes me, he… he might say things I do not agree with. He may do what I won't. I don't want your feelings hurt. Please pretend I am no one."

I didn't like the sound of that one bit. Starpiece magic wouldn't work inside the temple walls. I opted to wait behind and let the High Count pass through the temple's curtained doorway first. Anti-Bryndin crossed the threshold, his body as tense as a rail. The thin curtains flapped back into place behind him, but I could still sense him on the other side. He stood there on the floor for several seconds. Nothing happened that I could see. After a long pause, he turned and looked at me. Confused.

"Ah… He did not take me today. I will walk with you down the stairs."

Yeah, that figures.

Even once I stepped inside, I didn't see the Fire Temple as anything particularly special. Or rather, I didn't get the chance to explore it. The entry hall looked wide and gaping, full of bright orange torches. Anti-Bryndin had us wait a moment until he spoke to the temple's High Acolyte, Garnettia. She directed us down a hall to a pearl door and a set of stairs. Anti-Bryndin stretched his arms and flapped his hands the whole way. I watched. I don't think his body got possessed, but he certainly looked like he was trying to remember how a body functions. He seemed to find it easier to walk than to float.

Just in case, I gripped Sanderson's wrist the entire way down to the temple's undercloud tunnels, keeping him as far from the High Count as I could. Maybe the nature spirit wanted to take over his body as soon as he had a free chance to do so. Sanderson kept trying to look past me, and I kept lightly flicking my fingers against his cheek until he surrendered to my will.

I stopped walking when I reached the bottom steps behind Anti-Florensa. "What. Is. This?"

The theme of archways had followed us from up there to down here, although these black walls were much smoother, shinier, and less decorated in fancy designs. Before me stretched a long black rug like a tongue, which ran all the way from where I stood to what I assume was the other tip of the floating island. I could see the wall from here, which didn't make me regret my decision to keep within eyesight of Jorgen and Abdul. The walk would only take me three minutes or so, but it constantly branched off to reveal additional halls. And because most of us can fly, even more hallways spread above us in a never-ending spider web. For the naiads who can't lift off the ground, there were carved ladder rungs leading up to higher levels. I ran my hand along one of the obsidian walls, peering around the first corner. When I sucked in, saliva splattered against my teeth. I felt that summed up my opinions quite well.

"Is this how you Anti-Fairies organize your dead? You just don't? You throw them all down here and brush your palms clean of duty?"

Row after row of clogged, overflowing shelves had piled up down here. I saw playing cards, bowls, cooking utensils, books… Cores of all shapes, sizes, and functions had been crammed as close to the doorway as physically possible. In most cases, anyway. I think there were equally as many far down the rows. Those were people once. It looked like most of the items had tags that listed the late individual's names, but as far as I could tell, there were no plaques or signs to label them beyond that. If I'd been sent down here to find Anti-Ember's core, I would have been hopelessly lost. I stared at them all, my mouth slack, then turned to Anti-Bryndin and Anti-Florensa. The former looked caught off guard, eyes wide, while the latter held her palm against his chest and glared back at me.

"This is a dustforsaken nightmare," I said. "This level of disorganization shows a total lack of plan for longevity. Plus it's giving me an aneurysm. Your people live like this? It looks like a tsunami lifted out of the mermaids' realm and deposited huge shipfuls of junk in here."

Sanderson leaned around me, swinging most of his weight from his tight grip on my forearm. "Oh, the boss is mad… He's actually asking questions."

Anti-Bryndin nudged Anti-Florensa's hand away. "I see this with my eyes, Head Pixie… but this is how we have always been. When an Anti-Fairy becomes smoke, it is sometimes alone. Even if with friends, it is sometimes unknown who their relatives are. On this side of the Barrier, we often do not have time to prepare ourselves for death. It comes over us like a cloud. The cores which are brought here are brought sometimes by strangers who find them and know nothing. We have many ancestors and their cores lain to rest here, unorderly, and to adjust this would be more than I can do. There is no starpiece magic to help us here."

My fingers itched. There had to be thousands, if not tens of thousands, of Anti-Fairy cores spilling off the shelves down here. Yarn balls, lamps, water bottles, picnic baskets, snow gloves, salt shakers, flower pots… The list went on and on. "I'll organize this place for you. Since I'm an ambassador, I should be able to get access to the death records without issue. Matching them with counterparts should be easy enough. I'll set up proper shelving units and check everyone off against their family names. In fact, I'll handle all three of the Zodiac Temples within Anti-Fairy territory. I could use an opportunity to spend more time with my pixies when they come back from school."

Emery had been born in a Fire year. Usually, an Anti-Fairy will be bumped a year or two later on the zodiac than their host - after all, they can only be born on Friday the 13th - so I wasn't certain which zodiac Anti-Emery belonged to. Water, maybe. But if she was Fire too, I didn't particularly like the fact that Anti-Fergus and the anti-pixies might arrive here looking for her core and find it buried beneath notebooks, glue bottles, keys, and high-heeled shoes.

What did the Soil Temple look like on the inside? Were those catacombs as cluttered as this? Where were the Anti-Fairies planning to bury Anti-Fergus's core when he someday went to smoke? Would he, too, be doomed to be forgotten among thousands whose cores were piled here?

Anti-Bryndin looked at Anti-Florensa. She looked back at him. Then the High Count shrugged and tucked his hands away in his pockets again. "Ahh… This will not be an easy task, Head Pixie… but if you are willing and can truly conquer this plan, I am certain we can make arrangements."

"Let's write up a contract." I had to actively stop myself from offering to work for free. If it wasn't bad enough that empty fish bowls, unopened locks, glass jars, and unfolded blankets lay strewn on the actual ground, this place smelled of mustiness and brimstone. I looked pointedly around the hallway branches nearest me and added, "I've been needing an excuse to do something with my hands anyway." Maybe this would keep a knife off my palm for a few more years.

Anti-Bryndin agreed. It took over an hour to dig up his mother's core, even though he assured us every few minutes that he knew "exactly" where he'd left it the last time he came. In the end, we found Anti-Ember's core. It was a lantern, the glass walls tinted red. An unlit candle stump rested inside. All fae cores are invincible, or so we're told, but one look at Anti-Ember's core made me wonder how true that could be. A faint spiderweb of cracks had spread across the glass. The lantern's silver edges had tarnished. One piece of the handle swung sideways in a way I don't think it was meant to swing. When Anti-Bryndin pulled it from a heap of paintbrushes, a piece of flint, a small catapult, several quill pens, a single slipper, and a heavy book that had all once belonged to living Anti-Fairies, he pressed his palms tight against the lantern and exhaled. He was kneeling there among the piles of things, facing away from me. His wings drooped against his back.

"Perhaps it really is time to change these old ways… I would like for all Anti-Fairies to find their loved ones cores here someday."

You might get more foot traffic then, I thought, so it might be worth buying a few properties around here and setting up a few small shops. But I didn't say that aloud. We all hung back, allowing Anti-Bryndin to stroke the lantern's side and murmur soft questions in the hopes his late mother might answer from Plane 23. How weird that even a High Countess didn't get special privilege with her core on display. There was simply no place for it. Wild.

That's when I realized I'd lost track of Sanderson. In a maze of shelves and old smoke-coasted cores that spilled onto the floor like this? That didn't bode well at all.

I didn't call his name, trying not to disturb Anti-Bryndin. I picked my way back along the halls. Anti-Florensa stayed with the High Count, but I sensed Abdul nod his head after me to indicate he wanted Jorgen on my tail. Jorgen complied. I didn't speak to the large fairy as he shouldered his way even more awkwardly through the hall than I did. The ceiling might be high above us, but the width of this place hadn't been made for both a purebred von Strangle and their massive star-tipped staff. I didn't acknowledge Jorgen's presence at all. I simply kept my senses alert. Searching the energy field for an imprint of Sanderson's overlapping with my own.

Eventually, I found him two levels above my head. When I climbed the ladder and peered down that hall, I found Sanderson kneeling on the floor. Not unlike Anti-Bryndin, actually. He held something small, square, and bulky between his hands. When my head appeared over the lip of the floor, he didn't even look up.

"Is… my core going to look like this when I die, H.P.?"

"What?"

He held out his hands. Between them, he held a shimmering silver stylus sharpener. He was right. It did look like the core I remembered seeing in his own head when he was a baby, back when he'd been learning to channel his eyes into field-sight and wave a wand. I stared at the core in silence. It had been labeled with a name we both recognized: Anti-Nettle Anti-Gumswood. This was the core of my late grandmother's anti-fairy counterpart.

Neither of us spoke for a long time.

"Yes," I said at last. "That's all that's left of her physical body in the lower planes. We Fairies often keep the lifedust, but lifesmoke and lifemist will dissipate if not immediately bottled up in something. Her soul is elsewhere now."

"Her core looks just like mine…"

"Does that rattle you?"

Sanderson raised his head then, straightening his wings. He moved the core aside and set it gently against the wall. "No, H.P. Pixies don't experience emotions. I made an observation. I attach no emotion to the thought."

All the same, I brought him upstairs after that. With Jorgen watching over us, we waited outside on the front steps of the Fire Temple until the rest of our traveling party finished their meditation. Sanderson sat hunched over with his face in his hands the whole time. I spent some time talking to Jorgen. Mentioning how I used to know his mother. Asking about his father. About his sister and niece. The more we talked, the more he relaxed. But Abdul froze at the top of the steps when he came out eventually with Anti-Bryndin and Anti-Florensa. Ha. His imprint sparked in the energy field, but short of challenging me, there was nothing he could do. I think that's when I knew, absolutely, even without the official confirmation, that Jorgen was a drone. Abdul Jr. can't button his lip to save his life.

After we left the Fire Temple, our next stop was the Breath Temple in the city of Godscress, nestled right up against the border with Anti-Fairy World. Once again, Jorgen used his staff to bring us all there in an enormous poof cloud. Godscress is a town of waterfalls that kick mist into the air, and the milbark trees are thick with the stuff. It's funny, standing where you can glimpse the half-naked trees on the other side of the glowing green Barrier. On our side, the leaves are long, lively, and silver. On theirs, they're black, twisted, and droop like licorice vines.

Now, this should be interesting. This was the only temple Anti-Bryndin had actually wanted me to visit alongside him; the Fire Temple was for emotional support. I kept one eye on Anti-Bryndin as he approached the bridge that led across the Evadne River and down to the temple doors. While the Fire Temple had been guarded by enormous white, carefully carved stone statues of lizards, the Breath Temple had stone leopards flanking its door. One lay curled on its side. The other sat prim, proper, and very tall. I looked up at them as I floated behind the others. Sanderson followed, but held his folded arms across his midsection. He didn't admire the architecture at all. Jorgen walked in the rear, and I smiled thinly as Abdul steamed. Frankly, I don't know what he was expecting.

As we crossed the bridge, Anti-Bryndin slowed his pace to drop back beside me. He shot me a curious look. "Thank you for coming to the Temple with me, Head Pixie… I did not think you would."

"Why wouldn't I? You extended an invitation. I put it on my calendar."

"You do not believe in the Zodii philosophies."

"Oh. Well…" I shrugged. "Just because I won't get anything out of being here, it doesn't mean that you won't."

Abdul said brightly, "I think all the Zodiac Temples are beautiful in their own special way!"

None of us acknowledged him. Even Jorgen stayed quiet. I sensed Abdul throw me a desperate glance.

Winni was the nature spirit who represented the year of Breath on the zodiac. In addition to being the spirit of Communication, he also stood for teamwork, healing, sewing, education, herbal remedies, and self-care. If I remembered my Zodii classes right, he was the second youngest of Tarrow's seven children (Tarrow being the nature spirit who represents Reality- we always say he was born of the union between Mother Nature and Father Time before he turned back and taught them how to take on solid forms, morphing from aspects of nature to individuals with personality and shape).

Our modern calendar drew the names of its 7-day week from Tarrow's children. Dayfry, the nature spirit of Love, is his eldest and marks the dawn of the work week. The story goes that Dayfry was born to Tarrow and the Hocus Poconos. I'm not sure how that works. I mean, the Hocos Poconos is a location. It's a place. In my generation, the Fairy Council didn't allow us to discuss the Hocus Poconos much in school. I don't know what it's like there now, but the Anti-Fairies speak of her in hushed tones here and there. I think there's also a great universe spirit queen too, but I always forget Her name. I need to check with Anti-Cosmo.

Anti-Bryndin had asked me here to bathe in the Breath Temple's healing waters. He said the temple housed multiple pools. He knew one in particular that could supposedly rejuvenate the lines and the core.

I had my doubts. The fae have always been quick healers, but breathing lines don't regenerate once given to a newborn. There are many fae who live exceptionally long lives, but the longest lived of all will always be tomtes who expel very little magic. My foster father Papa Rueben, for example. If the Anti-Fairies had access to this kind of healing power, it either worked for their race alone or not at all. And Anti-Fairies regenerate. If you can experience death for the length of time of a puff of smoke and still come back again, then I don't doubt a bit of enchanted water can soothe their pains

But the agony of a fairy who's sired twenty offspring and counting, and who risks losing them all if they turn out to be purple-borns? … I think only the rule-free wish of a genie could solve that problem for me. And even then, I've heard traditional Genie policy is not granting wishes for the fae. Even if they did, their species is so rare that I won't waste my time looking for them.

Genies are an interesting race, and it's said that the reason they hold such powerful magic is because they desperately need it to stay alive. They're some of the most fragile creatures in the cloudlands. Getting wet can drain them of their energy, and if they stay cold for too long, they'll keel over and die. They used to live on Mars where infrequent rain and rich iron levels kept them healthy, but their race was nearly wiped out. The energy field their species drew from wasn't thick around Mars, so while their magic came in powerful bursts, very few of them actually knew how to use it. Many took advantage of their gift and eliminated most of their predators. In doing so, they inadvertently paved the way for takeover by the large beasts who reproduced faster than they did. They were rapidly outnumbered. That (combined with interstellar travelers bringing wild beasts, disease, and famine to their planet not long before I was born) led many genies to leave Mars for Earth and the Fairy World colony.

The Great Ice Times hit the planet right after. Only too late did they realize the colder temperatures in our world didn't allow them to reproduce. And the Eros Triplets of the time jumped in at once after that. Under Aphrodite Protocol, they bottled genies up in magical vessels that were meant to protect them from the bitter cold. I think that's how the story goes. Genie history is complicated, but Anti-Cosmo knows a great deal about it. I think he's written a few books on their history and culture. Good read. There's a pirate attack in it that overturned a shipping vessel and scattered genie lamps across the Earth, or so I've been told.

Maybe a genie could use their rule-free powers and change my offspring to be yellow-borns. But compared to us, their lives are short and they're easy to overlook. I grew up with a damsel who spent Spellementary through upper school searching for genie lamps, but two of the only three genies recorded in the cloudlands right now are locked away in the Eros Nest under Aphrodite Protocol. Even Genie magic pales in the face of the Triplets, it seems.

The third known genie in the cloudlands? Essentially off the table. I didn't know the details, but suspected Anti-Bryndin had been involved seeing as he'd been scolded for keeping one around for "personal study" during my very first Council meeting. Genies are pregnant for five years at a time, and with the Eros policy being to contact them immediately if you ever see a genie wandering freely about, I'd rather not get involved. I'd neither like to sentence a non-consenting individual to a genie breeding program nor land myself on the receiving end of Eros fury if I was caught associating with one in secret. I've had enough.

Anyway, Genies are tricky. They'll twist your words and will avoid clear-cut contracts almost all the time. And since their magic is completely rule-free, nothing can stop them from modifying a contract before or after it's signed. Even when printed on magical paper. I don't particularly like them, and I highly doubt there's one alive who would take sympathy to my plight. Individuals in their species can spend their entire lives inside a magic lamp. Sympathy for free-roaming individuals isn't high on their priority lists.

Inside the Breath Temple, Anti-Bryndin arranged a quick meeting with the High Acolyte. One of the perks of being High Count, I suppose… Everyone falls at your beck and call. She was an older Anti-Fairy damsel, though she dressed in clothing for a much younger generation: baggy pants with enormous pockets, which she kept her hands stuffed in the entire time. The pearl necklace she wore didn't quite match the striped acolyte robes, with bright yellow and white alternating against black. Her fluffy white hair hung in a long cord down her back. Looked my age. Thought I recognized her via her Fairy counterpart from my school years, but I'm pretty sure I'd be sued if I wrote down her prior name. Interesting dame. One of her duties is to look after this ancient Breath Temple artifact named Väikalle d'Higetõkklo and honestly, being paid to babysit a magic sword sounds like a job I would have been all over as a child. You know- if the position wasn't exclusively for Zodii acolytes.

The conversation stayed brief. I could tell she was trying to focus on what the High Count was saying, though she looked so exhausted the entire time that if she was my employee, I think I would have let her go at the end of the shift. Topazimi was her name, but then, that shouldn't be new information. Every High Acolyte of that temple is renamed Topazimi. Talon too, one day, if he gets knocked out of the heir presumptive slot by a hotshot kid with colored irises and doesn't pivot his career trajectory.

It's the Water representative on the camarilla court who handles renaming ceremonies. Frankly, I don't know how Anti-Cosmo will handle going through that a second time. I was there when he shakily had to strip the name off his ex-wife's daughter and go "no contact," and the whole thing sent him into one of those spirals I'd never like to see him in again. So. Yeah. My thumbs are up for you, Talon. It's for Anti-Cosmo's own sake that I hope his counterpart never has kids. Anti-Fairy culture's stigma against royals who are born with red eyes has never made sense to me, but Talon will be a fantastic High Count someday. Probably. His whole life has been an unpaid internship for this.

Anyway, the High Acolyte had already made plans for our arrival, even though she and Anti-Bryndin had expected us here on a different date. Abdul, the smart man, had gotten in touch with a messenger before we left the Divide gate. Topazimi had everything organized by the time we arrived. As a group, we all filed down the hall to the healing pools that Anti-Bryndin had been so excited to show me. I drew great satisfaction from Jorgen's choice to walk with me and Sanderson instead of in the back with Abdul.

We talked, undressed, and waded into the shallow water. I thought the twin Breath pools were relaxing, but I wouldn't describe them as life-changing. Officially I think they're known as hot springs. The bathing room was large, but the walls, curtains, and floor were entirely black. Even the towels were black. We were given black bathing clothes to change into. Though yellow torches lined the room, it was just as dark in there as you could imagine. I enjoyed the warm water. Anti-Bryndin stood in it, watching me with what I think was concern shining in his eyes. I don't know what he was waiting for. I tried to relax my aching joints. Abdul sat away from me. We watched Jorgen and Sanderson swim around, occasionally splashing each other's faces, until I grew far too wrinkly for comfort in the water.

Anti-Bryndin, to his credit, didn't drag out the event. We exchanged some words about my stress. Then he and Anti-Florensa went around the corner to change into their traveling clothes. "Sanderson," I called across the pool. "Let's start wrapping up."

He held his thumb up to indicate approval, but stayed floating on his back, drifting towards one of the pool drains. That was fine. Jorgen was already out and Abdul halfway. Since I'd finished, I hauled myself up the tiled pool steps and shook out my wings.

Abdul and I reached for the last towel at the same time. Looking back on it, I don't know who made the brilliant decision to schedule a private event for three of the most powerful people in the cloudlands and yet failed to stock enough towels. His hand closed around it first. And when he made eye contact with me, he… he didn't change his mind. He didn't let go.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, as innocent as the tinsel on a Season Turn trellis. Without waiting for an answer, he turned his back to me and began shimmying the towel against his bare buttcheeks. Jorgen lifted a hand to quietly block his eyes, being the sheltered rich boy he is and not sure how to handle the sight. My vision flared with red.

No, no… Keep it together…

My fist tightened on empty air. "Abdul, I think you have my towel."

"I think it's mine, actually."

I didn't have a wand to snap. I blinked at him, my mouth hanging open, then glanced over my shoulder to search the room for my missing clothes. I had to get my wand. I kept it in my pocket… But it was all the way across the room.

"Abdul, you don't want to go there…"

He crouched a little lower, wrapping the towel around each of his legs in turn. He displayed his full buttocks directly at me. I took half a step towards him.

And that's as far as I got. Jorgen reacted so fast, I didn't even register his movement until he'd slammed me back against the cloudbrick wall. I gasped despite myself, eyes rolling in my head. Anti-Fergus and the Dame Head snapped to attention, shoving all their magic at me the instant they sensed my panic flare to the extreme. Their thoughts hit me in a tidal wave. Anti-Fairies hold command over soundwaves; I could hear someone shouting for Anti-Fergus- most likely one of his anti-pixies, who must have seen him keel over in sudden pain. Maybe Anti-Sanderson. My vision flickered with threads of what the Dame Head was seeing right now at her windmill, the rolling fields bare of wheat. Dame Sanderson grabbed her arm, beating her wings in a flurry of brown feathers and trying to keep her mother from sitting in the soil. D.H. clutched a hand to her forehead, winded, and tried to shoo her away.

When my mind spun back to normal, I found Jorgen leering over me, pinning my wings above my head with the heel of his hand. He had to crouch to bring his tall, purebred body closer to my face. His effervescence smelled of tuna and soggy bread. I blinked back at him, my core thumping, and only realized then that I was holding my hands in surrender. Uhh… I shook my head at him. No way did I plan to fight a von Strangle. I'm on the bulkier side even for a gyne - genetics which I assume hail from Solara's lineage since they certainly don't come from Ambrosine or Praxis - but even then, two of me stacked on top of each other would barely match a purebred Fairy's height.

Jorgen knew this as well as I did. He held me at the wall, watching me squirm, while Abdul Jr. loitered in the background and rustled the towel in his hair. Then, Jorgen brought his mouth very, very close to my ear. Much too close. Warm and sticky sort of close. He let out a low growl.

"Don't. Touch. Him…"

I glowered back at Jorgen, saying nothing. A wingbeat later, he had his answer. A blur of bright light sliced straight through the space between us, bark arched like a cat's, and snarled at Jorgen with all the venom of an Anti-Fairy. Jorgen dropped my wings. I hit the floor so hard with my rear, my elastic body jolted me up again and I landed on my feet instead. Ah. I fumbled against the wall and tried to hold my glasses to my face. The thing between us began glowing white. That made it hard to look at it directly. I blocked my vision with my hand, squinting into the piercing light, and recognized the long, lithe form of a feline. A leopard… with… uhh…

… subtitles? Floating above its head? I tried to read them, but they kept flicking from one sentence to the next too quickly for me to process. The most I could process was the word "growling." I stared at the cat, which kept its back to me. Jorgen seemed to require every drop of its attention. Its tail twitched lightly at the end.

"Winni?" Anti-Bryndin hurried around the corner of the hall a second later, clutching one hand to his scarf. He stopped short and gawked at us all: me stunned from a drone huffing in my face, Abdul with his towel, and Jorgen barring a leopard's path to his throat with his massive staff held horizontally. The leopard growled again at Jorgen, pinning its ears flat. It had to be at least Jorgen's size, though Jorgen was so well built that I wouldn't be shocked if he kicked it into the wall and sent it scampering. Still, he regarded it with the glare of a man who didn't want anyone to catch him punting kittens. Abdul lowered his towel then and wrapped it around his waist, as though that would protect him should the animal turn its anger his way instead. He pointed a shaky finger the leopard's way.

"I… I thought magic didn't work inside the zodiac temples…"

I watched Anti-Bryndin's eyes slide from one face to the next. He must have felt like a detective at a murder scene. His hands went to his waist. The tail of his scarf flopped down in front of him. "Starpiece magic," he chided. "Starpiece magic is the kind that does not work in sealed temples… The magic of karma and that of spirits remains. He may be in chains on Plane 23, but this is his home. Winni, what is happening here?"

The leopard stopped growling and turned its head. Metal clinked. Oh. I could see it now: a golden collar wrapped around the leopard's throat, almost invisible against its shimmering fur. Anti-Bryndin cocked his head to one side. The leopard padded over to him and butted its head against his shoulder, then began writhing its way around his body. Although I heard no spoken words, I watched the nature spirit's thoughts play above his head in writing. In brief, he recounted that he'd sensed Jorgen bullying me, and Anti-Bryndin's calm reply was to request we return to the Divide Gate as soon as we could.

Needless to say, none of us spoke much after that. I spent the tram ride home rubbing my hand against my neck, twitching the ends of my wings, and watching over Sanderson when he curled up on the bench to sleep.

So, that was my visit to the Zodiac Temples. It satisfied Anti-Bryndin's curiosity and I think convinced him that my aging couldn't be reversed with a bit of blessed water. We threw ourselves into our reverse engineering project. Ready to take the Eros Triplets down a notch, if we had to. In the years that followed, he and I met often and in secret behind closed doors. I know this spawned rumors that we became sexual partners then, but that can literally not be farther from the truth. The last people in the universe we wanted to tip off about our time together were the Eros Triplets. Anyway, half the time we had Sanderson in our presence. I should hope that knowledge ends all rumors there.

We kept our work relationship professional, drawing up schemes and designing machines. I still wedged a knife lightly in my hand on occasion, but tried not to let Anti-Bryndin notice. Venus had warned me that if I didn't cut back on my magic usage, I could put my entire species in danger. I wanted to believe our plan to reverse engineer the recipe of her mad creation would work, but… If it didn't, then I needed another option.

Anti-Bryndin and I both had political duties to attend to, not to mention we were both raising youth under our hand. It slowed our research, slowed our work, but we made progress. Our hours together changed from hunching over the desk together while examining schematics to him reading instructions to me in a musty room beneath the castle while I assembled the machine in question with my hands. I didn't resent him for that. He had bad wrists, after all.

Our reverse engineering machine was bulkier than I would have liked, but we both had faith it would get the job done. And most importantly, so long as we kept magic out of the process, it didn't have to go on our monthly wand reports. I already suspected Venus was monitoring mine to adjust her estimate of when I'd die (Mainly so she could prove herself right if her numbers stayed up to date). Cutting magic out of the equation left no chance for Venus to catch even an inkling of what was going on. I'm pretty sure the room we cleared out for our project lay near the undercloud lava pools. It was hot, sweaty work, but I scheduled a meeting with Anti-Bryndin twice a year for this. No more than that. Too many social activities would get us both dinged by the Fairy Council. Sanderson would always set up a lemonade stand in the corner. It was worth every coin I paid him to keep us all hydrated.

Breaking our work into infrequent visits was nothing short of maddening. I itched every time I thought of the project, ready to slide the pieces together and bolt the whole thing down. But Anti-Bryndin kept warning me to watch my wings.

"It would only take one visit from the high-ups above to shut our plans down, Head Pixie… Be patient with this. We will make it work."

There was still a second machine to build. I tried to stay patient. After the reverse engineering machine began analyzing my medical strips, we still had to translate the data it reported into a recipe on our own. Even then, we had little understanding at first of how much of each item went into it, whether or not it needed to be cooked, and things of that nature. Several more years passed in silence, sometimes without us making visible progress at all. I'm not proud of how antsy I got throughout that time. But Anti-Bryndin had a point, so I kept my hands off. I only visited the Blue Castle when he contacted me to allow it, and he threw a small feast in the camarilla court's dining room every time I came.

500 years after Smith was born, I had Tindall. It was four years after that when Anti-Bryndin and I sat on the floor, me mopping my brow, while he stared blearily at the conveyor belt we'd installed on our production machine. A small, pressed piece of… something rested on the end of it, like a bread crumb on a tongue.

"Is it edible?" I asked. It didn't look appetizing.

"I do not know this," Anti-Bryndin said, blinking tiredly back at it.

"Do you think it works?"

He shrugged his wings, leaned back his head, and looked like he wanted to sleep. I didn't even blame him. I'd arrived early and we'd been down here well into the evening. Barely talking. No drinking. Not even enjoying ourselves. I wanted to be done too. I put my face in my hands and held still for a moment, breathing in the musty castle air.

We still had work to do. Years upon years of work. Sanderson and I left shortly after that, with product samples. I started the logbook I'd been procrastinating on for centuries, documenting how the medicine tasted and what I felt like it did to my system. We needed answers. We were getting so close.

Then Anti-Bryndin started dealing with Anti-Fairy holidays, a small revolt, and intense political pressure, all at exactly the same time Anti-Elina and Anti-Florensa had a major falling out about something or other. He stressed all the time. Never wanted to talk about it. Apart from hanging out together after Council meetings, I didn't see him again until after I'd had Butler, Keight, and Scott. I stayed in contact with Venus all throughout that time, but dust if the scry calls with her didn't leave me sweating.

We went back to work eventually, but Anti-Bryndin cut our meetings even further. He said the Anti-Fairy Council had turned a steely gaze on him. They wanted to know why he met with me so often. Gossip flitted through the cloudlands. Tensions tightened. He invited me to the Blue Castle only on occasion, and I had no choice but to agree. I had Clark during that time, then Phillips, then Richard.

Eventually, we did get the production figured out. We narrowed down the recipe. The texture. Cut down the bitterness. Improved the taste. Turned strips into chips. And it worked. I was quite sure of it. I'd kept up with my logbook in enough detail that when I tasted those crunchy white chips, I could feel the magic flowing through me. Anti-Bryndin wished me well, but had enough of his own problems to worry about. He didn't really follow up. I brought the machine home with me and set it up in a room I'd prepped in Pixie Village. When the first chips began rolling along its conveyor, I picked one up and turned it over in my fingers.

"Look at this, Sanderson. Can't you just feel its power?" Then I popped it into my mouth.

He narrowed his eyes behind his shades. "Sir, what are those? Really?"

Even after all this time, he still didn't really know. "Immortality," was my casual reply. "If my calculations are accurate, each of these is the equivalent of receiving a day's worth of SHAMPAX. A full day, without stopping. You could eat these for the rest of your life and live like a king."

His notepad dropped to the ground. "You created a drug that can give us immortality? Actual immortality?"

"Pick that up and ask again without sounding surprised. Face straight."

He repeated his question. I nodded.

"Venus Eros gave a few of them to me as compensation for our imprisonment a long time ago. But only a small amount. She said the materials were expensive. So, I took matters into my own hands. With Anti-Bryndin's help, I got more." I drew a handful of the chips towards me. "I wonder what would happen if I ate a few hundred of these before the night is out."

Sanderson hovered uncertainly beside my shoulder. "Sir, I don't think you should do that."

Yeah. Right. After all my work? I rolled my eyes. "When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it," I said, then held a chip in his direction. I waved it slightly back and forth. "Care for a bite?"

He took the chip, but didn't eat it. More for me. Every single bite rippled through my skin and left my shoulders weak. Sanderson watched me for several moments, then set the chip back on the storeroom's little table. "Sir, I really think this is a bad idea. It's fritzing your lines. You're acting the same way Wilcox does when the fagigglyne is roaring through his core."

Who the blitz was he to tell me what to do? "I don't know what you're talking about," I said, and crunched through another three trips. "This is quite possibly the best idea I have ever had in my entire life."

Sanderson stayed to watch me eat until the stars neared their midnight brightness. He was quick to shoo me up the stairs after that, and readied the warm bath water for me in a dead, methodical way. Not an ounce of his usual care. That night, and every night after that for nearly two centuries. I had Ross very early on, ate more in those years than I'd ever eaten in my life, and went to bed satisfied with myself every time.

It didn't take long before I moved my office set-up down to that storeroom. Why not? I could work and eat at the same time, all while keeping up appearances with village guests when I met them in a different room. I ate hundreds of those chips every month until I was eating hundreds a week. Then hundreds a day. No calories. No strong flavors. Just pure, unblemished magic washing over me from head to heels. It was the sort of thing that made your eyes roll back into field-sight without any effort at all, wings heavy at your back, gooseflesh tingling on your arms. But there came that fateful day when I floated into that makeshift office to start work and froze.

"Oh no."

It was gone. The whole machine had disappeared. Vanished. There was nothing left of my centuries of research, travel, and toil. I stared with mounting horror at the empty patch of carpet.

Then my senses went into overdrive. I flipped over my careful stacks of paperwork. I knocked aside my lamp. I yanked my drawers completely from my desk so their contents spilled across the carpet. I ripped the books from my shelves. Then I flopped, clenching two fistfuls of my hair, into my chair and spun around.

"No, no, no…"

Wilcox - bold, stupid Wilcox - watched from the doorway, very calmly. He wasn't even in an alternate form- just Wilcox, as a pixie. "H.P., you've torn your office apart. That's not really like you."

I halted my twirling with one foot and glared at him. "What are you doing here? Where are they? Where are my immortality chips? I need them."

"They're gone."

Gone? I stared back at him, my lines twitching in the energy field. "No. You don't understand. I have a medical condition. I'm going to die, Wilcox. If I don't take my chips, I'm going to smoofing die."

He crossed his arms, even when I got up and flew towards him. He didn't flinch. "You have an addiction, H.P., not a condition, and you're not going to die. This is exactly what having an addiction is like. Trust me on that."

Sanderson must have told him everything. Or even if Sanderson hadn't squealed, it must have been Rice. He'd always had it out for me. I grabbed Wilcox with a fist at his neck and slammed him to the wall. "I won't ask you again. Where are my immortality chips?"

"I burned them," he said simply.

"You did what?"

"I destroyed your machine. Then I asked Adelinda von Strangle to erase mine, Sanderson's, and Anti-Bryndin's memories of it. Yours too, last night when we woke you up, but you won't remember that. She took all the time keys. Now those memories are locked away where you'll never see them again."

"Wilcox, you dusty smoofing knotted-lined snatterblitz!" I cuffed him upside the head and let him go. With his wings pressed to the wall, he slid down to the floor. "I needed those! Don't you understand? What possibly possessed you to act against my orders?"

He studied my face without blinking and slowly picked himself up. He didn't move. Not even when I hovered there, glowering at him. He didn't yell or spit in my face. He just dusted his front with the back of one hand. "We're all scared, boss. You haven't been acting like yourself for a long time. It's our job to protect you."

Through tight teeth, I answered, "No, no it's not. I don't need protecting. Especially not from the offspring I spawned from my own magic. It's your job to obey me. I am colony founder. I wear the Head Pixie hat. I spared your life when I could have abandoned you to the elements. You're supposed to trust me."

"You're stronger than any addiction, H.P. You can get through this. I know you can."

All I could do after he'd left was sit on the floor and stare at that corner of the room where the carpet had long been pressed a little flatter by the chip machine. Hours later, Rice and Luis came to find me because I hadn't joined them outside for lunch. Food changed nothing. I didn't get an ounce of work done that day.

Hhh… If bringing my offspring into the world didn't do me in first, then Venus was going to kill me.

The rest of that year didn't go well for me. Once Wilcox tipped the scale, I began to crash. My nights turned sleepless and I'd wake up shaking. I paced day and night in an attempt to keep my focus. It confused the drones. It confused me. My skin itched all the time and I couldn't sit still. I racked my mind for any memory of the recipe, but it never sparked inside my head. That space in my mind had, quite simply, been replaced by an empty void. How infuriating. I'd never minded lockboxing memories of my own free will, but never had I lost something so recent. I felt like a cù sith sitting and scratching at my ear, trying desperately to jog the memory back into place.

My interactions with Sanderson grew more tense after that. He was 13,000 at the time. I was of the mindset that I'd introduce him slowly to different retinue duties. A few weeks after I lost my machine, I taught him how to cut my hair. I had him trim it every month and leave his tools with me. I think it was out of functional fixedness that he didn't realize what was up. He'd forgotten why Wilcox had taken my sharp objects away. But after Sanderson left each of those nights, I took the knife went to work as usual. First I tidied up my hair a bit, then went over the patches of my chin he'd missed. Then, when that was done, I sat back in my chair.

"There has to be some other solution," I muttered to myself, as I tended to. And maybe one day I would find one. But for now, I wedged the blade into the palm of my right hand, slashing it first in a line, then an X, then a star. I ran the knife along all the creases, all the old scars. I drove it deep until yellow turned to rainbow. Month after month after-

"Er… H.P.?"

My wings started up around my ears. When I raised my eyes, I found the last pixie I would have expected to find in my undercloud office. My grip tightened around the knife's handle. "Caudwell. Smoof… You should knock before you come in here."

He'd been laying bricks for the walking paths. He loved doing that because it took him as far away from paper as he could get. He'd never outgrown that childhood phobia. He drifted towards me, hugging a purple brick to his chest. His gaze slid up and down my arm. "W-what are you doing to your hand?"

"That is none of your concern."

Caudwell bit his upper lip. "Oh my dust. You're hurting yourself, sir. You're trying to go tomte. Why are you killing your magic?"

"I…" I looked from him to the blade in my left hand. I didn't know what to say. My fingers loosened. The knife slipped to the wooden floor, where it embedded itself in a crack between the boards. My rainbow-stained fist, I closed and brought to my chest. "I… don't want to do magic anymore, Caudwell. I can't afford any of it slipping out."

"Why?"

"Because it's expensive. If there's anything I need, I can have one of you ping it up for me. There's no reason for me to drain company funds."

Caudwell floated forward, squinting at my face through his shades. He lay the brick on the corner of my desk. "I don't think that's the actual reason, sir."

I ruffled a few papers on my desk. He paused, flinching slightly, but still continued coming forward.

"H.P., China always said we have to talk about things like this. She says that sometimes Fairies try to go tomte because they're scared of hurting people, or because they're sad. Are you sad, sir?"

"This isn't your business, Caudwell," I growled, rolling my chair backwards. It bumped against the bend in my L-shaped desk. Before I could recalculate, Caudwell pinned me against the cushioned back of my chair, his hands braced to either side.

"Please just tell me, boss. For China's sake. She'll be so disappointed in me if she ever finds out I saw you doing this and didn't talk to you about it."

Pity. Stupid me couldn't ping out of there, and I certainly wasn't going to smack him across my office. You don't hit Caudwell. I lowered my eyes to my fat fingers, smeared with yellow, blue, and green.

"How long have you been doing this?" he asked quietly, pulling back.

"Caudwell, I… I'm an urvogel."

"What's an urvogel?"

I stared past him, focusing on the bookshelf beyond his shoulder. "That's right. The metaphor is different now. What do we say now? 'Pheasant?' Or is it 'chicken?' … Caudwell, I just don't want to do magic anymore. Can't you leave it at that and be satisfied?"

"Not without knowing why, sir. I'm a drone and you're aldra mór. It's in my genetic code to look after you." He picked up my hand, then pulled his own into his sleeve and began to dab up the colors on my hand. "Let me clean you up. You can talk to me while I do."

"It's a complicated situation," I mumbled. "You'll understand when you're older. But in short, if I don't do magic, I almost won't age. And if I don't age, I won't wear out my body and core so quickly. I don't want to die, Caudwell." When I turned my head back to him, I met his eyes for the first time. "Dear King Nuada, I don't want to die. But I have to use magic every time I bring one of you to life. It takes so much out of me. I don't want to do it anymore. I never wanted nymphs. I never wanted any of you, but I can't stop."

"You can't?" he asked, sounding like he was hearing this information for the first time. Maybe he was. He was young… tender and young…

"No. My body's on the common fairy menstrual cycle. Each time it peaks, one of my eggs fertilizes. It's automatic. And every time one of you is born, it just wears on my core. I can feel it straining sometimes. No drake has ever borne as many offspring as I have. None. None in history. Not even the will o' the wisps. There have been damsels, maybe, but never a drake; I've smashed the old records to pieces with 28. I don't even know why my body was built this way." I took back my hand and, making two fists, brought them down on my desk beside his knee. "Caudwell, there's a reason Fairies aren't supposed to be this reproductively active. I should be dead."

Caudwell stared back at me, his wings shaking all the while. "But you aren't, sir."

I looked away again, resting my chin against my hand. "No. Not yet. Partially because I have Sanderson. He helps me through it. He lends me part of his magic when he can spare it, and although it isn't nearly as much as I was getting from my old source, it helps to cushion the blows when they fall like some cruel hammer of Justice. But still, it's too much. And one of these days it's going to catch up to me. Oh Caudwell, blitz me. If I run out of lines because I've had to give so many away to the nymphs… Yes, the milkmothers assist, but the situation is so tense now. All in all, if I can't find a solution to this problem, then I will die very soon. And I don't want to die. I don't want to be forgotten."

He bounced one of his feet very slightly up and down as it dangled off the side of my desk. "I'm sorry, H.P. No matter what we like to think, or what the stories say, or what we tell people… the fae are not immortal. I can't do anything about that. But if there's anything you need us to do for you, we'll be there."

Would they? I dragged my fingers down my face. It's blitzing awful, actually, how many days you wake up with an aching back when you're older. Was I even old? I'd barely crossed the 500k mark, but I felt sometimes I had the body of a drake a hundred thousand years older. As Caudwell lit his wings again, reaching for my hand, I murmured, "As a nymph, Sanderson once asked if my core developed into a type of cannon-like structure because it was meant to be aggressive or defensive."

"Sir?"

"I have my answer now. I know the core trait I share with my Unseelie counterparts." Turning my hand over, I said, "I would do anything to prevent all that I've made from coming to nothing. There is no one I wouldn't kill. No thing I wouldn't steal. No sin I wouldn't commit. And that, I think," I finished as he studied me, "is the part that scares me the most. That's at least partly why I've been trying to go tomte. I'm going to lose my mind one day. But I'd rather be a magicless scum-scraper than an insane god."

Caudwell bandaged me up and I spent a day in the hospital so doctors could evaluate the damage. One of them sat me down very seriously and told me I'd be going home with a silver bandage if I wanted to go home at all. Another told me my body was straining horribly just to hold itself together. I'd put it under too much strain by forcing it to contain all the magic I'd absorbed. Everyone agreed the levels I'd consumed were beyond toxic. They didn't know how I could function at all, especially with a magic pool as small as mine. I should have exploded several times over.

They held me overnight. A few examinations later, they chalked it up to the eggs in my forehead dome. Pixies are the only species of fae with eggs that partially fertilize in our younger years. In an effort to keep me alive, my body had dumped its excess magic on the next unborn pixies in line.

I said nothing.

By this point, I'd spent total centuries cutting my hand. And even though I stopped cutting my skin several years before their birth, Pixies 30, 31, and 32 paid the price for my actions. I had ruptured my magic capabilities. You can't do that if you're planning to birth offspring any time soon. It's not that I'd forgotten. I just… didn't realize the full extent of my actions at the time.

Newman, Hamilton, and Faust ended up with barely half a normal magic pool between the three of them. They'd never fly more than in short hops. They could ping small distances, but I'd sealed their fate long before their birth. That's a weight I carried for centuries. It was something I couldn't fix.

All three of them were born oversized. It was the excess magic in my system: it expanded their exoskeletons, but didn't grant them any substance inside. Killer on my spine each time I carried them, to be honest. I won't deny that. They were born 500 years apart. Definitely not triplets, but they may as well have been. The first time I held Newman in my arms, I was so shocked by his size that I almost scryed the Eros Nest. I don't think Sanderson got this big until he was six. I couldn't carry any of the three inside my pouch. I had to call in help from purebred Fairies.

But the trio accepted their low levels of magic and sought out a different path in life. They made things work.

As it turned out, Newman liked to run. He couldn't summon the energy to fly - the occasions he managed to ping were very rare - but that wouldn't stop him from challenging anybody and everybody to, well… anything and everything. He loved running races. He considered it a game of beating the "flittywings" and "wand-wavers" in a territory on his mental map that was all his own. Hamilton, upon his discovery that there was under a hundred of our kind in existence, became determined to be the strongest pixie in the entire universe (a title which, I imagine, he presently holds and will for quite awhile- drone or not). Faust was soft-spoken, but no less of a competitive fanatic than the older two. He aimed to please, checking in with me faithfully day upon day, century after century. The trio dwarfed the elder pixies at a young age, and even Sanderson didn't stay the largest of the lot for long. Jealousy ebbed beneath his skin, but he did his best to tamp it down.

And then in the blink of an eye, everyone started growing up.

My pixies were only young a little while. Sooner than not, the years began to roll. They tumbled into one another, scraping across each other, and in a whirlwind of dust and loose calendar pages, all of them were moving through their school classes and our world was growing fast.

The 500-year cycle of my reproductive system never ceased. After Faust came Roberts, Wolfram, Carmichael, Lee, Wright, Fisher, Brown, Middleton, Ward, Lloyd, and Shaw. Emery, Ambrosine, and some of the friends I'd made in the business world completely gave up on trying to tell my pixies apart. Most could identify the first four or five (plus Madigan by his clear glasses in later years; he never took to shades), but the rest seemed to be a blur to them.

But not to me. I've never had a problem with it. Bayard is tall and skinny, identifiable even when his tattooed shoulder is hidden beneath his sleeves. Thane can't sit still because he always needs a project in his hands, plus he insists on cutting his own hair and it's always uneven in the back. McKinley never tucks in his shirt because he likes the feel of a flowing hem. Also, he stands with his hands together in front of his chest as though in prayer, his wings always tilted too far up at rest. Palomar has mittens magically bound to his hands so he won't scratch off his skin. Cinna's always doodling, and if he can't doodle, he's always looking down at one pants leg in search of a thread he can start to pick at. I don't expect anyone to know my pixies like I do, but sometimes it does bruise egos if you're left like a fish in the crowd. In fact, until identical twins Mullins and Tolbert were born, I could tell all my pixies apart at a glance. I never lost track… Especially not when it concerned my gynes.

"Your freckles are starting to darken," I told Longwood one day, realizing it for the first time myself. Vaguely flustered, Longwood touched his cheek and ducked his head.

"Yes, sir."

Sanderson was turning 20,000 around that time. Longwood, of course, wasn't much younger. He had over a hundred thousand years before his freckles would take on their adult coloration, but the color was undeniable now. They no longer glinted like pale salt flecks on his cheeks. The color sat closer to pink than gray. It was only a matter of time before they turned ruddy brown. I didn't really know how to handle that. Every night while lying in bed, I played the sight of Longwood's budding freckles across my mind's eye. Should I seek someone to marry? The Head Pixie presently ruled alone, but with two authority figures in place, Longwood would be far more likely to hold back.

But I couldn't marry now. It wasn't up to me. I'd burned my bridges with China and Iris. I'd burned many more during that impulsive spiral of mine. Kalysta was a non-option. Ambrosine grew older every day, even though my physical form was rapidly catching up to his aged appearance (and might even pass him by soon enough). Emery had moved out. My fairy drones weren't exactly obstacles to a gyne. Who did I have left to consider as an equal?

Everything was a matter of time. Time mattered so much to me. I made one minor attempt to reconnect with Iris, but although she accepted my lunch request and kindly caught me up to date with what was happening with the angel godkids, she seemed wary of my presence. I let that relationship be. I didn't find a ruling partner. So Longwood aged, freckles darkening every year.

Not long after I had Shaw, Venus Eros called on me again. Good timing. It was 17,192 years after she'd told me I had hardly 18,000 years left to live. My body still felt stiff and sore. I ached. Sometimes filtering clean magic through my lines seemed a struggle, leaving me coughing and clearing my throat more often than I meant to. I napped more, rested more, and I knew exactly why. I was losing the elasticity in my skin. My body faced mortal sores and pains I'd never experienced to this degree before. The fairy drones helped me where they could. Good. I wouldn't have managed meal prep for so many pixies three times every day.

I could barely feed myself.

I'd reached the point where I became a younger drake living through an older man's body. My vision grew black and foggy at random times, forcing me to sit and cover my eyes until the dusk specks faded out. My hands sometimes shook when I wrote documents or signed my name. I felt like Anti-Bryndin with his bad wrists. Harsh wrinkles cut through my face and hands. I stared sometimes in the mirror, just trying to see myself behind my hazy eyes.

But Venus offered eventual relief. The effects were, supposedly, only temporary. When I reached out to her about it, she said this was according to plan. My body was passing through "the pinch of a needle." The medicine strips I had taken all this time was to prepare my mind and body for this low point my magic pool would face. Because I'd taken them, I'd manage to pull through.

I wasn't so sure. At the tender age of "barely over 500k," my hair was sprouting streaks of white. 300,000 years earlier than the average time. They left bright cuts through the inky blackness I'd come to appreciate. Day after day, I stood before my washroom mirror, tugging at my hair only to force myself to press it smooth again.

But Venus insisted. She said it was fine. My hair would all turn white and start falling out. In a century or two it would start growing in black again. The wrinkles would lessen. I'd look like myself again. Right now, my body was under such pressure to adjust my magic levels that it forced my outer shell to become a lower priority. Once my life wasn't on the verge of ending, my skin could start rebuilding.

Venus summoned me to the Nest again. She sounded like she knew what she was doing, like she'd expected this all along, and the physical ailments of my body were too drastic to ignore. I accepted. Sanderson took a temporary leave from the physical school building, instead "studying abroad" under the official title of an internship at the Eros Nest. He'd have liked to be behind the wall with me, I'm sure, but I preferred the distance. It granted him minor independence and gave him the chance to make friends. I just hope the emotional cherubs didn't rub off on him.

I didn't mind the Eros Nest this time. I was permitted to stay in the pixie enclosure with Graham and his counterparts. He was 15,000 and growing into a very fine little drake. He'd made his "cell" a home. And his counterparts were the most mild-mannered little things you could imagine, likely reflecting Graham's smug and adventurous nature. Since sustained high flying was impossible for our bodies, he'd taken to leaping between the artificial tree branches and gliding through the air. He could do it so quickly, it all became a blur. His long black hair had grown messy, his skin dashed with scrapes and dirt, but he seemed content with his daily routine.

The first time we reunited, I stepped into the enclosure while he sat in a tree, watching me with a curious fire in his eyes. His two counterparts hid behind him, holding each other's forearms. They looked like they weren't sure if they should push each other forward or pull each other back. Maybe 15,000 is young for any fae, but he still looked like a big drake to me.

"Graham…"

Graham dropped from the tree branch, landing in a crouch. "Uh, hi. They told me the Head Pixie would be staying here for a while. They said we're identical and called you my 'sire.' Does that make you…" He scratched his head, hesitating over his next word. I finished up for him.

"I'm the Head Pixie. I nurtured you when you were just a nymph. You're filthy… do they not let you bathe here?"

Graham glanced about the enclosure, with its trees, grass, and rocks. Then he looked at me and slightly shrugged. His wings buzzed. "I do wash. I just like to run and climb, too."

"You're a pixie," I said softly when I saw him that first time. Wild, filthy, and mischievous. He carried a bright twinkle in his eye. Maybe Graham is what we would all be like if we didn't keep our noses buried in paperwork. Or maybe the Nest just brings out the wild side in all of us.

Graham introduced me to his counterparts. They didn't know what to think of me, and I didn't force them to interact if they had reservations. They flitted around the edges of my awareness, sometimes pushing at each other as though baiting one another to walk up to me and ask questions of their own parents. They never did. They would wait until Graham had walked some distance away from me, then hurry up to him and speak to his face instead of mine. Graham handled this like a natural leader. He would listen, then approach me and ask their questions like it was the most casual thing in the world. And he'd nod along to everything I said as though taking notes inside his mind, seeing as he had no ink or parchment. Even if he did, I don't think he could read.

But he still took mental notes… and he looked exactly like a pixie. I gave each of the Grahams pointed hats that the Dame Head had made for them. The cherubs wouldn't mind. It's not like the pixies in here were undressed.

"You need a magic transfusion," Venus said when she finally came to see me. She still maintained her youthful grace and beauty, which left me smarting in silent frustration. She didn't even invite me to her office. Instead, she leaned against the doorway of my enclosure with the most casual air you'd ever seen. Personally, I think she acts far too entitled and smug for a woman who wears diapers under her pink three-piece suit. Doesn't mean she doesn't own it. Doesn't mean the image of controlled chaos she portrays makes her any less than the most desirable fae in the modern cloudlands. But… still.

"A magic transfusion? Like…" Only one similarity came to mind. "A fagiggly transplant?"

Venus shrugged, feathered wings stretching lazily at her back. "Yes and no. We're putting you through a largely experimental procedure that has never been attempted to this extreme before. For thousands of years, we've been preparing your body with those medicine strips to allow it adjust to non-native magic in small doses. We've been cycling you through new tastes and textures of it every year. I'd hoped the drugs alone might stave off the effects of magic loss on your body, but I see I was too ambitious in my dreams. This is our new plan, but one we'd prepared for as a fallback. As long as you don't die, you'll come out of this okay."

"Oh," I said. I felt as though I hovered above a thread, and should it snap beneath my weight when my wings gave out, I'd erase my species from the universe entirely. "What are the odds I don't pull through after this?"

"Do you feel lucky?"

"Luck is for Anti-Fairies, Dame. Give me the facts."

She almost smiled. On paper, the plan was simple. I'd spent over 17,000 years being exposed to different variations of magic while I'd been consuming Venus's medicine. In theory, this meant my body would experience less extreme reactions to almost any type of magic out there. I think the best way I could explain it would be to compare it to the Anti-Fairy tradition of exchanging kisses: in their culture, kisses aren't signs of inherent romantic desire, so much as a show of affection and commitment. They kiss cousins, parents, and siblings indiscriminately. It's because of the acid in their saliva. All throughout their lives, they select a few individuals with whom they share a close emotional bond. They kiss family and friends frequently to ensure that over time, they habituate to one another's saliva. The acid loses its sting. It's a sign of trust, of showing that you don't intend to hurt that person and you see no reason to defend yourself against them.

My medicine strips were like that. Because Venus had fed me strips for so long that exposed me to so much magic, my body was far less likely to reject a transfusion- no matter who the donor was.

The effects of aging on my body should be temporary. Once I magically stabilized again and everything was flowing consistently through my lines, my body could start drawing on that magic to repair my appearance. If I could just reach the stability point…

Everything will be different, then.

Venus told me to think of these few thousand years in the Nest as a period of extended surgery, as if I had a broken limb or stitches in my skin that needed rest to heal. I was to rest my magic usage, but not cut it entirely from my system. As much as possible, I was to resist placing myself under extreme stress, immense pain, or anything that could make me laugh too hard. No mating. No deep preens. This shouldn't be difficult while in quarantine, but she thought it appropriate to emphasize nonetheless. She told me the cherubs would monitor me intensely for the next pixies I would bear, and that I was to remain as relaxed as I possible could.

My body entered a time of limbo. Anti-Fergus and Dame Fergus could do nothing for me- only watch from afar as their lives hung in the balance. My life as the Seelie host stood at risk. But if I could push through this downturn, fight against the struggles of aging, and teach my body to accept the transfusions… I'd walk away from this alive.

I told Venus that maintaining neutral emotions wouldn't be a problem. It wasn't difficult to avoid mating, either. I'd never fantasized of drakes, and no dame held my interest. I'd gone through a difficult time in my life where I'd toyed around, yes, trying to discover myself, yes, but… that didn't mean anything. Those were always meant to be temporary relationships. And the one recent relationship that I'd thought had a shot at lasting no longer stood a chance. Iris had turned me down. She'd done it over scry bowl and had begged me not to hurt her. I don't think she ever had as much interest in me as I had in her.

"How do I get the transfusion?" I asked Venus, mentally bracing myself for the surgery room again. While awaiting my response, she'd actually started looking at her talon-like fingernails. Painted pink, of course.

"Sharing magic. In everyday life, our bodies reject much of what comes from another's magic pool. We've lowered your resistance barrier. Compared to the average fae, or compared to what you were before, you should be able to absorb much more now via SHAMPAX, mating, and artificial sources. That includes medicine or the large transfusion we've been storing up for you this very day. I want you to keep taking those strips consistently until I tell you to stop."

… Did I hear that right? I fixated every ounce of attention in my body on her face. "What do you mean by absorbing magic through mating?"

She didn't mean that the way it came across.

She couldn't mean it that way.

Venus, looking entirely uninterested in our conversation, made a steeple with her hands. She held them towards me, interlocking all the fingers to indicate a blend of both bodies and minds. "It takes intense levels of magic to meld cores during the mating process. This differs from the meld you experience during deep preening, which is a low-energy state that requires a head of 'cool-mindedness' to maintain, as opposed to the 'hot mind' a Seelie Courter experiences when mating."

"Yes…"

"The process of mating requires considerable energy. In the traditional sense, most of that magic goes to waste when the pair come apart."

I stared back at her as she stood there in the door. The words tumbled in my brain. I wanted to shout, but not in front of Graham while he stood there at my elbow. For his sake, I kept my tone low. "You changed my body… Now I steal magic when I mate. I steal someone's life force."

"No," said Venus, firm and cold. "You don't steal anyone's life-force. Our Eros arrows provide a boost of magic to your system, so that description would be incorrect. Rather, you absorb the traces of magic left behind instead of leaving them to pollute the energy field. This term isn't entirely correct in this context, but think of it as 'recycling' the magic around you before it decomposes into stinky magic. Everything you absorb after mating is something you and a partner could no longer make use of anyway. 'Stealing' is such a harsh way to put it."

"I see."

"Your body's resistance to that magic has been lowered over the millennia to the point that you'll be able to breathe and utilize low-energy magic in your daily functions in a way that other species can't." Venus lifted her wings in a shrug. "Drawing loose magic in this way will never give you the power to, say, spawn dragons out of thin air, but it will allow you to recycle old magic for breathing, flight, and dust production with no adverse effects. This allows you to preserve quality magic for things you actually need it for. Thus, your body will not burn so quickly through your reserves."

"Okay," I said. I didn't trust her words. "Thank you, Venus… And there's still a transfusion on the horizon that will bring my internal magic levels back into alignment. Is that correct?"

"Yes, a few. This is a difficult time for your body and we're going to give it the aid it needs until it stabilizes. Once you're stabilized, you can go home." She waved her hand. "You will age, as we all will age, but your body has adjusted to functioning on a lower wavelength than the rest of us, and there's far more magic for you to take advantage of on that wavelength. This will extend your body's ability to repair cells and maintain a physique more correct for your chronological age, regardless of the amount of magic you've already burned through in birthing 42 offspring. I trust that clarifies things."

"Yes… Thank you, Venus." I didn't know what else to say. Fortunately, I didn't have to say anything. Venus already knew for herself she'd defied all logic and fate. I could see it in the way she flipped her pink hair with the back of her fingertips.

"I'm quite proud of my team's work. It's a clever solution to this otherwise largely hopeless concern that you would die before your firstborn can reproduce. Still, this is not permission to be reckless… This solution will only hold true if you remain cautious. Don't blaze through your magic in a way that eats up the reserves your body needs to maintain its functions. Be reserved with your magic usage and we should indeed see a generation of yellow-born pixies. If you become overzealous, I will of course be forced to enact the Aphrodite Protocol and place you under supervision once again. Our plan is perfect. Your species will survive."

We would see about that.

I had to take time off work to recover from my transfusion. Juandissimo (bless his lines) stepped up tremendously, and when I tiredly muttered to Luis one evening that he'd made absolutely no mistake in requesting children from a genie, they both collapsed in tears. They're related- that's for certain. Luis brought me meals and Dewdrop tended to my pixies (with some help from Emery and Ambrosine), but Juandissimo was sent by the spirits. He offered me a massage every day for a month and didn't even charge me for it. Just told me it was "the least he could do" considering I'd set him up with a studio apartment in my rental neighborhood testing grounds and he wanted to show his gratitude. He never said anything of it, but looking back, I don't think he had his own space when he lived with Reddinski. The boarding house really was undersized for how many people Jean had tried to cram inside.

Two days after I came home, Iris showed up at the door. I was napping. Heavily. She didn't come in to visit me, but she dropped off a casserole and a handwritten Get Well Soon card. Perfectly polite. Proper etiquette. I spent a long time lying on my massage table, staring and staring at the card in my hand while Juandissimo worked his magic fingers to combat my aches and pains.

"What does this mean?" I asked him, not sure whether I was exhausted from surgery or just regular oblivious. "Do you think she likes me? No one else brought me a casserole. No one brought me anything. My family are offering help, not to mention you, Dewdrop, and your father, but that's not the same thing. Part of me wants to assume this is the simple gesture of a neighbor. But she went out of her way to bring me a dish in person instead of poofing it. Does that mean anything?"

"Perhaps you should ask her directly, señor. I do not have a guaranteed answer, but I do know that her gesture seems as kindly as though she is massaging your tongue with great delicacies in the same way I am massaging between your wings with my hands."

I did feel drawn to Iris as a potential partner. She wasn't terribly humorous, but she was a professional in her field. She always dressed in proper business attire. I missed her pauses and little hesitant "Um"s. The way she'd drop her gaze and bite her lip. I missed the days I used to walk behind her, making a little game out of trying to glimpse the upside-down heart tattoo on the back of her neck every single time. I even missed her purple hair, no matter what else I'd said about the color before.

"I'll get in touch one day," I said, then groaned. "Right. She's an alux. No matter where she is in the universe, she can hear when someone talks about her. I may have just ruined the relationship we do have by questioning her intentions aloud."

In fact, I found a letter in my inbox when I went downstairs a few hours later. It read, Head Pixie,

I'm sorry if I've offended you or overstepped. You didn't ruin anything between us. I apologize for my race's natural eavesdropping, but it can't be helped. Thank you for your patience and understanding in regards to that.

I brought the casserole because I know I wouldn't like to cook in your position. The media has essentially talked of nothing but your visit to the Eros Nest. Rumors abound, and I only know you're under the weather because your sister and I share a workplace. The casserole may be only one meal, but I hope you were able to enjoy it without feeling the need to split it too many ways.

Post-script: I'm not seeking courtship right now, and it has nothing to do with the number of pixies you're raising. I need to focus on work right now. Thank you for staying in touch despite my emotional distance. I've enjoyed our talks, and perhaps we can visit more frequently at a later time. I'm well aware that you're running several businesses and raising many pixies, and I don't wish to intrude, but even if no courtship ever comes of it, I'd like to stay in touch. Young angels, I've learned, can be quite a handful. I think I could learn a lot from your experiences in raising pixies.

Best wishes in your recovery,

Iris Needlebark

I read the letter twice over, analyzing every word of it. Her neat, slightly slanted handwriting. The crisp way she delivered her words. She didn't leave any letters too heavy on the ink. Huh. "Maybe I like having an alux friend," I said to Rice, who sat scratching his ear on the floor beside me. "Iris is straightforward and I appreciate her clarity. I think she just saved me literal centuries of questioning the casserole, because Nuada knows I was about to procrastinate and never write her back."

"Hmph. Sounds to me like you got friend-zoned hardcore, pudding pop."

"I can live with that." I set her card up on my desk, which seemed less weird than putting it in my bedroom. Iris might not be offering the level of sincere commitment and priority that I'd (mostly) been spoiled with during my time as Anti-Bryndin's courgette, but she hadn't called me a creep for questioning the meaning behind the dish. Maybe she wouldn't ever be my wife, and maybe not ever a damefriend, but I could consider her a contact in the business world. I knew her through my sister, right? Is "business partner-in-law" a valid relationship?

I did manage to pull through after the transfusion. Not only that, but I had 22 pixies from Cox to Marconi before there was another death in the Whimsifinado family.

Marconi was four at the time, freshly back from his milk mother and napping in my lap. One lunch break, the water in my scry bowl started fizzing. I glanced over. Odd. Not many people had the number to my personal dish. But once I touched my finger to the water, Ambrosine's face swam into view. He sat staring through me for a moment, unseeing, with his pointer fingers resting on his nose. It seemed to take him several seconds to even realize that I'd answered him.

"Your grandfather Praxis is dead," he told me plainly. I gazed back at him without blinking. He went on. "He was well over a million and age finally won that fight with him. And, as his only surviving child, his inheritance goes to me. This weekend, I'm going up to his home in Rowanbeam. Plane 6. I thought you and Emery might want to come and claim something there for yourselves. There are heirlooms and other items of interest. You can each take one, no arguments from me, and we'll sort the rest out in the upcoming years."

"Dead," I repeated, just to be sure I had that right. "Has there been any announcement on who will fill his counterpart's seat on the camarilla court?"

"Not that I know of."

"Hmm. Well, this is as good of an excuse as any to contact Anti-Bryndin again. I've been procrastinating long enough. He's been going through a rough patch, particularly with two of his wives on nails with each other. Let me know what time you're heading to Rowanbeam and I'll know if I can meet with Anti-Bryndin this weekend too."

He obliged, and I thought about his wording long after we ended the call. We can each take one…

When the weekend arrived, there were 66 pixies milling in and out of and around my grandsire's awkward, outdated manor home. My father tightened his lips, combing his fingers through his black and white hair. "Um… This wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

I simply shrugged at him. This wasn't against the rules. My pixies were an extension of myself. They shared my genes. We shared a yoo-doo doll. They basically were me, but in smaller, younger bodies. Ambrosine didn't argue about it. Smith, who only saw the rest of the pixies on occasion, got poked and prodded quite a bit. Meanwhile, Emery grabbed Logan's hand and dragged him down the hall after her, spouting something about how she could try on old clothes from long-dead relatives and he could tell her she looked stunning in all of them. Logan, faithful husband that he was (and probably never one to turn down his wife undressing, if I'm honest), followed obediently on her heels.

My pixies dispersed to explore the house. It was bigger than any building we had back at the village. Even Sanderson flitted away, skimming right after Hawkins and already wondering aloud if there were any musical instruments in the manor no one else was using now.

This left me and Ambrosine alone in the keeping room. Ambrosine stood in the rear, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows towards the evergreen trees. When I floated behind him, I could almost imagine what he must have looked like as a stuttering, anxious little rich boy with four siblings, a blind mother, and the destiny of Wish Fixers hanging over his head. Had he worn those tight red vests even then? I'd almost never seen him without a vest in my life, and he still wore various shades of red to this day. I tucked my hands in my pockets and hovered over to join him there.

"Taffy for your thoughts."

"Mm." Ambrosine scrubbed the back of his neck with the hand that wasn't clinging to his walking stick. "Seems I'm the oldest Whimsifinado in the line now. After I go, that title will fall to you. It might not be much longer. I'm in my sunset years."

"My body's older than yours. 66 births have taken a toll on me."

"Perhaps…"

I didn't reply for a moment, staring back at him and carefully lining up my thoughts. Then I said, "If you ever decide to sell your Novakiin property and relocate somewhere else, even here, don't worry I'll be offended. You have the right to make a profit instead of passing it down to me. Growing up, you never promised me a hive estate. I've done the math. By the time you die, there will be too many pixies to cram into so small a house as yours, let alone move around. You gave me enough by investing the rest of the family fortune in Pixie Village anyway."

"I'm glad you see fit to give your old man permission," he returned dryly.

"I think it's good to clarify. I'm your firstborn, not to mention the only child of your favored partner. You sold me Wish Fixers. You gave me Pixie Village. I won't hunt you down if you want to pass this house to Emery. Or anything else you want to do for yourself. You've been selfless to me for long enough. Emery too… and Logan, with his patience. Or if neither of those options appeal to you, you could turn it over to Anti-Fairies." To emphasize this point, I ran my finger through the dust on the cuckoo clock. "The stinky magic build-up in this place attracts them anyway. We should get the Fairywinkles on this."

"I'll think about it," Ambrosine murmured, gripping his walking stick in both hands. "I wasn't my father's oldest child, but… Believe it or not, even before my siblings died in the war, there was a time I was actually his favorite. It was a long time ago. Of course, he lost all respect for me when he found out I'd quietly given birth to you. Conceived the first night I ever touched Solara in that way…" He traced his eyes over my face, while I stood stiff and silent with my face completely blank. "It's quite strange, actually. I wonder if you would still be where you are now if you'd been born a few years later. Different schoolmates growing up. Different roommates in the Academy. I wonder how much longer Solara would have stayed with me if we'd both been a little more reserved. I wonder if she ever would have married me. Or maybe if I'd been more cautious, or vanished from my father's life after the Academy, maybe he wouldn't have found out about you. At least not until you were older."

"The war started right after I was born. I'm pretty sure there weren't many nymphs born 'a few years' after me." Anti-Bryndin sometimes teased me about that, but I think the zodiac innuendos he was trying to communicate to me only make sense in Anti-Fairy culture. I never really understood them, only that he'd stare at me with a smirk and look disappointed when I didn't cringe or laugh.

Ambrosine sighed. "Solara was never the same after the war. I guess you can call it luck or fate that you're alive today. The war lasted 29 years and we never clicked the same way when it ended."

"I noticed," I said in dry reply. "The lack of siblings was a hint."

Silence fell between us momentarily.

"I don't hate you," I said next. "Just to clarify. I know we fought when I was younger. I'm sorry for that day at the Fairy Academy. I don't know how to emphasize how much I appreciate everything you've done for me since I came home with Sanderson. I'm just not your bumbling little Fergus anymore. I've done an internship with Kris Kringle, I've gone through both marriage and divorce, I'm CEO of two companies, and I'm raising an endless number of pixies. I'm older now. I'm a full-fledged gyne, aldra mór of Pixie Village, and I want your respect. But I don't hate you."

Ambrosine's only acknowledgement to this statement was a tip of his head. "Perhaps my death someday won't be so bad. After all, when I go, I take my horrid anti-self with me, never to plague this world again." He smiled grimly as he spoke. I didn't smile back. Even 11,000 years after my big magic transfusion, my latest time in the Eros Nest with Graham, the memories of how closely I'd scraped past my own death still haunted my mind.

"Ambrosine… When I was growing up, you always taught me that one's Fairy, Anti-Fairy, and Refract counterparts become one in the afterlife. But do you really believe it?"

"Of course. You were baptized in the shrine, weren't you? All the Whimsifinados, all the way to the time of the Great Dawn, have been baptized. 111 generations of ancestors can't all be wrong."

"But do you believe it?" I persisted. "Science can turn up no evidence more concrete than long lists of family trees- you've had no dreams, no visions. How do you know?"

My father scratched his neck. "I don't pretend to know everything. I don't need to know everything. I'm just content with knowing enough. For me, that's just fine."

I stayed in the keeping room for some time after he left, leaning my head on my hand, my hand on the doorframe. Staring at the forest. For a while I thought about his words, and for a while I stared up at Praxis's wall decorations. He'd hung color images plucked from the timestream up there. Pictures of family. My ancestors long dead. I stared up at those images, reading names I knew from old stories like Alcott and Telford. Praxis had shown me this family tree on my tour a long time ago. I had Alcott's crisp ink-black hair and the same small arch of freckles across my nose that Telford did. Telford had been the last gyne in the Whimsifinado family before me. He died in a skirmish with the Fairywinkle family a long time ago. I touched my fingers to the base of the frame. And I shook my head in slow motion.

"Oh, Praxis. You could have had so much more than portraits on your wall… You could have been great."

"H.P., H.P.!" One of my pixies came hurtling down the hall like a metal ball launched from a spring. "I think I found something really dazzled!"

"Palomar! My favorite child." I turned away from the old pictures. He skidded to a halt, bumped into my stomach, and fell down on his rear. Quite a lot of movement and emotion, even for him. I raised an eyebrow. He sheepishly held his hands up to me.

"H.P., are these Nettle Gumswood's saucerbee gloves? For real? And if it's okay, may I please keep them?"

A twinge of annoyance shot through me when I realized he'd discovered them before I had. The fabric was black. They looked just like saucerbee gloves to me. The left one covered most of the hand while the right one had an opening to show the palm. You see a lot of gloves in Seelie culture designed that way, but the fabric for these was much heavier and more worn. Obviously intended for roughhousing instead of merely fending off the cold on a chilly day. The wrist stripes matched the Dragonflies' team colors: thick stripe of blue, thin stripe of green. I appraised one of them, then handed it back. "You'd better run your assumption by Ambrosine first, but I believe they're hers, yes. That's a very special find, Palomar. I hope you take good care of those."

He beamed, hugging the gloves to his chest. "I will, sir! Thank you… Wow. I can't believe you said yes. I'll treasure these forever."

The rest of the funeral proceeded in the traditional way. The four of us adults met in the dining room to face Praxis's core. Ambrosine pried out the inner glowing ball. Its magic flickered feebly. We awkwardly said a few words before he popped it in his mouth. He pushed it around with his tongue for a moment before he swallowed. Then Emery picked up the clay jar we'd brought along and twisted off the lid.

"What should we do with Grandpa's lifedust?"

"Drown it," Ambrosine and I said together. So we did. We filled the jar with rocks and pitched it from Plane 6 all the way down to the Atlantis Ocean. Either it sank to the bottom or it shattered on impact and scattered his remains across the waves. I didn't care. That half-leprechaun never had an ounce of gold he wanted to toss at me unless he could slap his name across the stars. He threw me from the clouds when I was a freckled baby. Tried to drown me in a well. I don't miss him.

"Now," my father said, "that does leave us with the question of what to do with this house…"

Hawkins, who'd been peering around the corner with Wilcox and Longwood, raised his hand. "Actually, it's my house now."

Ambrosine blinked at him. "Beg your pardon?"

Straightening his wings, Hawkins said, "You told us we could have one thing for our inheritance, so I called dibs on the deed to the house. I own this place now. It's mine."

"Noble attempt," I said, rustling his hair. "But you'll need that in writing for it to hold up in Fairy Court. Where's Sanderson?"

Hawkins tried not to look deflated, though his sagging wings gave him away. We'd need to work on that. At my question, however, he perked up again. "Oh. Sanderson went out to the garage and found a cloudship in there. That's what he wants to bring home."

Oh? I looked at Ambrosine. He shrugged. We could always use more cloudships at the village. Granted, if Ambrosine did rule it belonged to Sanderson, I wouldn't hire on any crew without asking his permission first. Ambrosine gestured towards the door and we all filed out to see the garage in question. It was a building of its own, like a barn, and the front door had been pulled open. When I floated inside, I found Sanderson there just as Hawkins had said. He stood there - 31,519 years old - gawking at a beautiful ship that looked like she hadn't even been taken out more than once or twice.

"A Piacere," he whispered.

"Hm?"

Sanderson ran his hand along the sides of the boat. "That's what I'm calling her, if Ambrosine says I can take her home. In musical terms, that's 'At pleasure.' It means you can play a song however you want to. It will be okay."

We went home with a shining cloudship that day. It was a small personal vessel, not a cargo ship. A little rustic, but you don't run a portside trading village without growing familiar with all the different craft. I knew I kept my captain's license renewed for a reason. I loaded all my pixies inside, tethered the younger ones into the few flight vests onboard, and kept the rest close behind me so I could sense them in the energy field. That's how we left Rowanbeam that day. I stood at the wheel, guiding the vessel, while Sanderson and Hawkins peered over the rail nearby. I didn't look down, and I didn't look back either.

"It's a she," I murmured to myself as we sailed through wispy clouds. "A damsel in Pixie Village… What won't we think up next?"

Sanderson and I took that same ship out again the following day. We had it registered as early in the morning as possible and flew it out to meet Anti-Bryndin for lunch. Or dinner in his time zone, I suppose. We had to get an outdoor table. When he didn't insist on being the one to pay for our sandwiches, I knew something was wrong with him. I'd never seen him wander around looking so shaken in his life. Even Anti-Florensa had her work cut out for her, gently nudging him with her bo staff to keep him from stumbling into the street.

"You were close to him," I realized, bringing the sandwich trays over to the picnic blanket he'd finally settled down on. "Anti-Praxis, I mean."

"What?" Anti-Bryndin stared through me like he wasn't all there. I tried to pretend I was too busy situating Sanderson to look at him. Finally, my words seemed to click. Anti-Bryndin bit his lip. "Ah. I was thinking of my youth. After my papa passed into smoke, my mamá did not wish for me to grow up without a creche father. My eleven half-brothers and their father, we are not on happy terms. I lived a time with Anti-Praxis instead."

"I had no idea."

"Yes. That is where I became a friend to Anti-Emery, the sister of your counterpart. It is strange to know this man who was like a father or grandfather of me is a gone drake now." And, grimacing, "Anti-Praxis is the only drake I know who could make his son, Anti-Ambrosine, feel afraid. He is why Anti-Ambrosine never came to the Blue Castle. This man was not kind to me when we lived under Anti-Praxis… and I worry for the pups and juveniles in my care now." He covered his face with his hands. "Some have left with a new colony, but I still have Anti-Phillip and Anti-Stacey at home with me. I worry for them, and for the younger ones. I wonder if he may hurt them when I am away."

Oh. I looked at Sanderson again. He was picking the crust off his sandwich. Then at Anti-Bryndin, who sat quietly with his wrapped sandwich sitting in his lap.

"I'll kill him," I said. "I never had to grow up with him, but Anti-Fergus has told me stories. I know his childhood wasn't pleasant. More recently, Anti-Ambrosine trafficked the anti-pixies when he found out their saliva can get you tingle-fritzy faster than soda can. If you're scared of him, don't let anyone tell you that you shouldn't be. I'm serious, High Count. If he lays a finger on you or your wards, I'll take care of it. I'll end him within a day. I fought Jean Reddinski. If I can take him, I can take my dad."

"It is kind of you," Anti-Bryndin replied. "I will not ask this of a son. I will watch for that man. We will be okay." Then he turned to Sanderson, smoothing his face. He asked whether Sanderson was going to school, whether he'd made friends, how old he was now, and things like that. We had a long chat. When it ended, I told Anti-Bryndin he could scry me any time. He said he'd be busy with politics for now, seeking a good replacement for the Seat of Sky, but that he had an inking of who he'd extend the invitation to. He thanked me anyhow.

Then we went our separate ways. I went home to my pixies in silence. When I stepped into the village, Colby was tantruming in the dirt because he'd lost his first tooth and didn't know where it had gone. Sanderson and I spent all afternoon searching for that tooth with him, but by dust, we found it.

… That's how life went for me. I'll let Sanderson take over next chapter, I think, to elaborate on this chunk of time and cover what it was like to grow up as a pixie. He's been squirming behind me with preening hunger for the last forty minutes, and I'm in the mood tonight to let him have his way after all.

---

A/N - Text to Show: In "Balance of Flour," Jorgen states that if Anti-Cosmo ever got his hands on one of Nana Boom-Boom's brownies, he'd be able to decipher the recipe. As far as Anti-Cosmo is concerned, if that machine worked for H.P.'s medicine, it can work for brownies too.

Text to Text: The first draft of this chapter (from 2016) set up the machine situation between H.P. and Anti-Bryndin as "H.P. calls a guy he doesn't know well because he knows that guy has a science machine in his basement. He asks if he can use it to get the recipe for some candy, but A.B. freaks out when there's no sugar in the supposed candy. H.P. covers it up by claiming the medicine isn't actually candy, but laxatives, and he wanted to find a way to reproduce them so he didn't have to be embarrassed buying them." The final chapter is good too, but oh how I miss that joke.