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)

42. The Unicorn Years

(Posted September 14th, 2023)

The Unicorn Years

Autumn of the Murky Roots

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I have to confess, it amused me how mortified Sanderson was to have his first real birthday party. He'd always been a difficult nut to crack. I knew of little that could fluster him. Of all the things to do it, it would be a birthday celebration. To my own surprise, I actually didn't mind the event… or the shifting of attention from me to him. Let him have his day. Things would be back to routine again soon enough.

"Are you still sore?" I asked when I fetched him from his apartment that morning. Hawkins and I had already started cooking breakfast in the other building. It wasn't like Sanderson to be late when it was his turn to help. Granted, at 159k myself, I'd been a loudmouthed rebel- but Sanderson? Nah. He was too dependable to bail on me without a two weeks' notice.

… Huh. I'd been 174,000 when I fled the Academy, jumping from Fairy World to Earth. I was over 491,500 when I came crawling back. And over 650,000 now, though Venus Eros had worked the best magic on my body that she could in an attempt to keep me youthful. How strange. A full 650k years of life experience under my belt, and sometimes I still felt only as mature as that sharp-tongued little "fairy" juvenile who dropped out of school. This body that I wore had been twisted up, dunked in the wash, scrubbed with bleach, and hung to dry again. I lived now on extremely borrowed time and Venus held my leash in the palm of her hand. That's not a favor I can ever repay. I am in her debt for the rest of my existence, and I suspect the rest of the pixie race is too. Which is just peachy. Love that for me.

"Incredibly sore, sir," Sanderson mumbled. He gripped my forearm with both hands, every step slow and wobbly as we made our way through the apartment hall. He'd put on fluffy snowflake socks that I didn't remember ever seeing him in before. No shoes. Still had his casual clothes on. His heels scraped along the thin carpet, scritching and scratching.

"It will pass."

Sanderson glanced over his shoulder at his new long, sweeping wings. I drank him in too. He's grown several inches taller than he'd been as a mere juvenile. Not quite as tall as I was, but getting closer. His wings now matched mine in length, though mine glittered transparent blue. His were tender, still smudged and milky-colored from the moulting. They reminded me in their haunting way of that afternoon nearly 160,000 years ago when Kalysta held him to her breast, nursing him until the flight casings cracked off his wings. He said, "The return to normalcy can't come soon enough, H.P.… I don't think I've ever ached this harsh in my life."

I trailed my eyes to his again. Sanderson, weak and winded, hadn't put on his shades. Those little lavender flecks looked just like mine. How strange. As a gyne, I was bulkier and more freckled than he was, but we shared every single one of our genes. We even shared the Ivorie brand cowlicks in our hair.

"That's only to be expected," I told him (in response to his complaint about the soreness). "You've just shed every pore on your body and put on several inches. The elasticity in your new skin isn't fully developed yet. Things will hurt more than you're used to. That goes for both inside and out. Be careful."

I didn't pressure him to help with breakfast, and especially not when he kept scratching off flakes of skin. His scalp had gotten the worst of it, so he kept pulling off little flakes from around his hair follicles. The younger pixies badgered him constantly about his new shape when he arrived at the pavilion. I had 320 of them now. 320 pixies who left me dripping with exhaustion and insanity every other day. Pregnancy had dealt a heavy blow to my once-youthful body, even though I didn't carry them the way that Fairy drakes did, but so far, Venus's medical intervention was winning. Hadn't died yet. And when we were in the pavilion and I sat across from Sanderson with my plate… it almost seemed a guarantee.

159,426 years.

Sanderson had his adult wings now. I'd known it was coming. Not the date, but I was just over 154,000 when I moulted into mine. He'd used less magic growing up than I did, aging more slowly because of it, but apart from that minor delay, our shedding patterns seemed nearly identical.

159,426. His inner organs, up until now the size of raisins in his tiny juvenile body, finally had room to grow. Exactly 500 years from now, he'd be fully fledged. Capable of reproducing… Well, if he were a Fairy, at least. I wasn't sure how things worked for pixies… I hadn't had Sanderson until I was almost 490k. Would his body draw the time out equally long? Or would there be third-generation pixies just a few centuries from now?

Three generations. My employees with offspring of their own. Yikes. Was I getting that old?

Bayard, holding little Featherstone (who scrambled over him), let out a whistle as Sanderson clumsily tried to push his new, longer legs between the picnic table and its bench. "Well, moulting sure acts fast. Your hips have already gotten wider, studmuffin."

"Have they?" Sanderson lifted his shirt and started to check himself over. I yanked it down down.

"Not here. Wait until you're alone."

"Yes, sir."

I contacted the Eroses during breakfast. Drk. Cupid answered my call, but he and his brothers had their hands full of work. That was fine by me. I was just glad a responsible adult - Drk. Ludell - poofed out in their place with his clipboard and wooden examination tools. Sanderson protested his probing, still wanting to eat his breakfast, but I held firm.

"Stay here and let him run his tests. You're the first adult pixie besides myself the Eros family has ever been able to observe. I need to get in contact with your Refract anyway. While I'm gone, show due respect to the Triplet of the Evening. He's overworked and underhyped."

Sanderson rolled his eyes, but that was the most youthful rebellion I saw from him. I stayed long enough to confirm the cherubs wouldn't need me, but left shortly after that for the High Kingdom. I didn't have time for a tram ride today, so I used my wand to jump from Pixie Village directly to Plane 12. I crossed the Divide to the High Kingdom by scaling the Beanstalk and the world flipped upside-down around me. I'd crossed into the higher planes. Once gravity stabilized again, I jumped from the leaves and landed in thick white grass. And from there, it was another costly jump straight to Plane 19. But worth it… I couldn't just not have a proper adulthood ceremony for my eldest pixie.

Plane 19 gets full exposure to the sun. And its heat. I shielded my eyes, skimming along the trodden path from where I floated in the direction of my counterpart's honeywheat mill. Fortunately, she didn't live far. The High Kingdom had no towns to speak of, so I'd brought some water along in case I needed it.

But I didn't get lost. Within minutes, the windmill came into view over the hills. In the distance, I could see two pixie refracts arguing over a wheelbarrow. The larger one was undeniably my counterpart, the Dame Head. She leaned most of her weight on a shovel. The younger refract flapped her wings, trying to hold too many carrots at once. Two cowlicks in her purple hair. Ah, so that was Dame Sanderson. As I approached, I caught D.H. leaning around her to squint at me for a better look. I removed my hat to wave at them. Once I came close enough, I bowed.

"Sister."

"Brother," she replied simply with a slight curtsy.

I waited until she'd kissed me, then held out my hand. "I suppose you know why I'm here. Sanderson's just moulted into his adult wings."

"What," muttered her daughter, "and he stayed at home? I surrendered my hammock to Keefe and Madigan to get ready for this kiss, and you didn't even bring your Sanderson?"

"Please be respectful." Dame Head curled her arm and wing around Dame Sanderson's shoulders. "Brother Seelie is a guest in our home. He breathes so I don't have to. We need to treat him with the respect he's owed."

Dame Sanderson pushed her off with one shoulder, still clutching all her carrots. "Mother, when you're ready to drag me to the filthy Deep Kingdom for my ceremony, I'll be in our nest. Otherwise, if I am not needed, I request you call me only for dinner." She spun around and marched off through the field, heading towards the farmhouse without awaiting so much as a hand gesture of dismissal.

"Strong-willed, isn't she?" I drawled as honeywheat stalks fell into place behind her purple hair. If my Sanderson had used that tone with me, I'd have cranked his wings so tight, they wouldn't untwist for a week.

Dame Head made a face after the younger refract and crossed her arms. "Bossy and impudent- you can just say it. I'll let it slide today. She's sore. Her adult feathers just came in. And she wants me to call her Sandy now. I apologize for her behavior. Wait." She rounded on me. "No I don't. You're the one who showed up here unannounced." But she threw her arms around my neck anyway, no longer trying to suppress emotion. I stumbled, catching her before she tipped us over. "Oh, Brother Seelie, I can't believe it! Our firstborns have their grown-up wings! To think my daughter is practically a mother herself now… I can't even imagine. Have you heard from Anti-Fergus yet?"

"Not yet… Let's not forget I had an appointment with you first."

"Just don't procrastinate. You know how jealous he gets when we leave him out of things."

"He gets it from me. I'll slap you both if you ever hang out together without mailing me an invite."

"I've missed you."

"I missed you too."

D.H. invited me into the farmhouse so I could eat and rest my wings briefly before we set off for the Deep Kingdom again. It had expanded greatly from the last time I saw it, now an enormous building with several smaller barns around the perimeter. When we floated inside the main house, we found two dozen pixie refracts sitting around the long dining table. Two dozen more sat at picnic tables outside the far window. It took them a wingbeat to process the situation. Then, with a squealing of chair legs, the batch of them sprang to their feet. Dame Head made shushing motions with her hand.

"He's an immediate relation of mine. You may sit in his presence unashamed. Everyone." She rested her talons on my shoulder. "This is my Primary counterpart, Brother Head Pixie."

"'H.P.' will do fine. Or 'Brother H.P.' if you insist."

A couple of the damsels leaned together and began to whisper. Dame Sanderson hunkered above the tall pot of oatmeal, glaring at them over the horned rims of her glasses. From the twitch of her hands against the table, I suspected she would have liked to smack each one on the backs of their heads. Dear niece, I thought in amusement as I inched out my counterpart's chair, you're above petty things like violence in the High Kingdom, aren't you?

I hardly knew where to begin when it came to catching up. I hadn't seen my counterpart in millennia, as it was more often proud Dame Sanderson or shy Dame Longwood who descended the planes alongside young refracts when the time came for baptism at the Faeheim shrine. I talked about Pixie World's growth and asked about the younger pixie refracts. Dame Head could only recognize her first four or five daughters, but she'd kept every piece of mail I'd ever sent her with their names, so at least they could identify themselves. Midway through the conversation, little Dame Redmond brought out a plate of rolls. I took one, then stopped before taking a bite.

"Wait a second. Is this made from honeywheat?"

Dame Head turned to the pixie refract on her left. "Sandy, is the bread at the honeywheat mill made from honeywheat?"

"It is, isn't it?" I asked with growing alarm. My eyes zipped across the table. "I'm allergic to honey. Awfully, awfully allergic."

Dame Sanderson stared at me in mounting horror. "Uncle Seelie, you showed up unannounced to a honeywheat farm, and you didn't bring any food yourself?"

Guiltily, I pressed my fingertips to the edge of the table. Dame Head rested hers against her temple and simply raised her oatmeal spoon to her mouth. She murmured, "How we are possibly going to function after we die and unite into our Daoine form, I will never understand."

"Don't look at me, Sister. You have the largest share of our magic pool. It'll be your call."

"Vapor no. I nominate you."

(Dame Sanderson snorted in unsuppressed disgust. Frankly, I don't know how my counterpart can tolerate her presence. She's snippy and critical, but at least she gets her chores done on time and does them well.)

We dined and talked business for an hour, settling plans for Sanderson's ceremony. Dame Sanderson informed me quite persistently that she'd moulted all the feathers off her wings and that historically, the day a refract's adult feathers finish sprouting is the day the old casing cracks off a Seelie's wings. I don't know what she was trying to argue. The smug gaze she looked at me with left me certain she expected a tantrum. Like… You know, moulting first didn't make her suddenly older than her host. She was three months younger than my Sanderson and that wasn't about to change.

I'd have to provide the ping costs down, seeing as D.H. was the only pixie refract with a wand, and even then she'd been taught very little magic and only knew basic shapeshifting, levitation, and cleaning spells. She told me she'd be ready shortly, but that she needed to touch base with her usual babysitter. I don't know who I expected, but it wasn't the dame with light curls in the back of her golden hair who flounced in like she owned the place. She wore a tracksuit instead of robes like the other refracts and even owned a possession: a headband to keep her bangs out of her eyes. It had a flower on it. The ends of her hair curled up at the tips. I took one look and recognized her instantly.

"Oh. Dame Cosmo. It's a pleasure."

"I live here," she said, shrugging in a nonchalant way. I looked at D.H., mildly incredulous, and she dropped her forehead in her hand.

"She's a kleptomaniac who wouldn't stop stealing from my cloudships… Inviting her to move into the mill seemed easier than falsely shooting at her. Now, everything here is hers anyway. It isn't a bad arrangement. She watches my pixies when I'm away and she won't tip over the farm equipment in her haste to scramble off. Plus… She doesn't have to sleep on the ground anymore. Having a shelter to come home to seems to keep her out of trouble."

"I thought all Refracts built their nests on the ground."

"Okay, she's on the ground," D.H. amended, "but at least she has a nest of her own at this point."

Dame Cosmo laughed, fluttering her peacock-feathered fan across her cheeks. "Yes… 'My own' nest."

That got raised brows out of me. I glanced at D.H., who twirled her finger around one of the plumes curling from her scalp and told me we could "talk about this later."

While they were both off to the sides discussing the conditions of Dame Cosmo watching the younger refracts for the day, Dame Sanderson held nothing back to me. She kept me informed with great gesticulations of her hands about the first time she walked in on her mother "braiding that sinner's hair." From the way she spoke, it sounded as though her fragile psyche would never recover from the trauma. I feigned enough sympathy to rumple her feathers back into place before she stalked off, but her mother and I got a good chuckle out of it later that night.

Finally, the three of us gathered together to return to the Deep Kingdom. I lifted my wand, but instead of pinging us, it wilted with a pathetic farting noise. I frowned. "Something's blocking it."

I readied myself to pull out a copy of Da Rules, but before I could, D.H. turned on her daughter in great exasperation. Dame Sanderson pursed her lips, but obediently removed her horned glasses. Ah. Of course. Starpiece magic doesn't affect those who wear clear glasses as a fashion statement. Nothing works on them. But once the glasses were in her hand, I pinged us down without any trouble.

When I returned to the Deep Kingdom with D.H. and Dame Sanderson in tow, the first thing I did was ask Drk. Ludell what he'd found in observing Sanderson. That got interesting. He pulled D.H. and I aside privately, leaving the two Sandersons to catch up since last they'd seen one another. I don't think they ever got along as well as D.H. and I did, but Sanderson kept a smooth attitude regardless and patiently listened to her venting spiral. He's a good man. She was still the tallest one between them even after his moult, and I found that more humorous than I maybe should have.

"His reproductive tubes haven't changed," Drk. Ludell said, stroking his chin. "They're still linking back to whatever mass exists under the egg nest… I can draw egg samples if you'd like me to and we can keep them in storage, but his aren't half-fertilized, the way that yours are. I'm not entirely sure what to think of that. Venus and Charite are more familiar with your case, I'm afraid."

I frowned. "His eggs are still… blank? Is that a mark of infertility?" It wouldn't surprise me, though it sunk my gut. Sanderson was a drone. And drones were born infertile 75% of the time. D.H. gripped my hand, staring firmly at the cherub. And we waited. Drk. Ludell ran his fingers through the short tips of his pink crew cut, sucking on his lower lip.

"I'm going to give you the facts. The truth is, I don't know what blank eggs at this age mean for your race. Eggs like this are absolutely normal and expected for all Fairies freshly graced with their adult wings, but it's not what we've observed in you. We just don't have any other adult pixies to compare him to."

"If it turns out he's infertile because of his status as a drone, what signs would indicate that?"

Drk. Ludell shrugged, holding up three fingers. "Between gynes, kabouters, and drones, only kabouters don't have overactive antibodies that attack foreign sperm. If you're a dominant gyne, those antibodies shut down, allowing sperm to flow freely through the system. A dominant gyne also puts out signals in his pheromones that suppress the fertility of other gynes in the area, which triggers their antibodies to overreact. Most drones experience a similar condition, though it's not something we can test unless we examine him while a damsel's sperm is actually in his system."

"Not happening," I said, quick and firm. "He's a child."

"I understand," Drk. Ludell said mildly, though he pushed his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his heels. From the way he studied me, I got the impression that he didn't particularly care if the agreed-upon age of majority for Fairies was 200,000. Age of consent is technically in effect the moment you get your adult wings, and I watched him with tense wariness in my veins as I wondered if he would try enacting the Aphrodite Protocol right here, right now. He said, "One possibility we may wish to consider is that while his eggs are blank at this time, they may possibly be influenced by the sperm of another species and develop into half-pixie offspring, the same as though he were born of any other species. Do you recall the crossbred pixie-wisp you bore at the Eros Nest? It was ages ago. You might not remember."

"Cherry." No, I hadn't forgotten. It was the Spring of the Red Petals when he was born. It was the year of my coronation. D.H.'s hand tightened in mine, her talons biting skin.

"Yes. As far as I can tell, Sanderson is like you. While he has a functioning uterus and all his tubes run correctly up his spine to the egg nest, I don't think it's possible to be impregnated naturally by an outside species. The dropping tube doubles back on itself and there's no way I can get a good look at it without cutting the egg nest out of his head to examine what's underneath."

"You're definitely not doing that."

"I understand," he said again, still patient with me. "It looks like Sanderson, and perhaps the rest of your drones, will reproduce parthenogenetically someday. He's now an adult, but we'll have to wait and see what happens in his body before his eggs are ready to drop. I'm very curious to see how his body manages to 'half-fertilize' those eggs. I think it's cytoplasm."

"Thank you," I said. "Do you see any benefit in him donating at least some of his eggs? For our species?"

Drk. Ludell grimaced. "Possibly, but I might not suggest that yet. All three counterparts would need to contribute their part to ensure a Fairy, Anti-Fairy, and Refract can all be fertilized properly. If our goal is to preserve the purebred species, we can't cross-contaminate. The very nature of counterparts makes this much more difficult than it would be for a non-magical species. We can get egg samples from the primary and refract, but Anti-Sanderson can't produce his part until three months after Sanderson Prime is stimulated. Even then, no action short of the honey-lock will kick his glands into gear…"

"It can wait," I agreed. "Thank you, Drk. Ludell. We'll be in contact perhaps 50,000 years from now. I'll talk it over with Sanderson and we'll determine together when the time is right." Sanderson was a child, adult wings or not. I wouldn't force a damsel's touch on him so soon, like Ambrosine had attempted with me. It could really mess him up. "Um. If I did turn to dust before that day comes, would you still be able to rebuild the pixie race using what you took from me and my counterparts?"

"We took samples of your partially fertilized eggs, yes." Here, Drk. Ludell looked me up and down. "But you do realize what would happen to our samples after your death if they were all fertilized with purple… right?"

… Ah. I stared away. I'm sure I did know… but at that moment, it had slipped my mind. Pixie eggs were not like those of other Fairies. Every single one in my egg nest had already been half activated. At the time, I still didn't know entirely what that meant. Only that purple magic falls apart at the seams when its caster dies, and if every one of those eggs had been fertilized with purple, then the whole lot of them would go with me. Even if surgically removed and preserved someplace else. I don't know why I thought the eggs would stay.

"But Sanderson's eggs are still clean?"

"His are still unfertilized, if that's what you mean."

"And… those would work? If my pixies are purple-borns, I die, and Generation 2 dies with me? You would be able to bring back a third generation with Sanderson's eggs?"

Drk. Ludell shrugged. "Maybe, but none of our tests ever determined what caused your body to reproduce asexually in the first place. Likely a genetic mutation, but we can't be sure. Without your physical body to handle the asexual reproduction, our only option would be to fertilize your eggs with the sperm of another species. Your eggs rejected most of the attempts we made, but I remember will o' the wisp sperm worked out. If we had Sanderson's eggs, then we can revive the pixie species as half-breeds, not purebreds… It's the best we could do." He grimaced, scratching his cheek. "Venus hasn't lost a single species since she took over as Triplet of the Morning from our father. I don't think she'd particularly like to lose you now."

Right. And it was essential that we get donations from all three counterparts. If we chose to go that route. The Eros Triplets didn't want a repeat of what had happened to Cherry, whose Refracted counterpart had never been born, leaving him to drown in his own oversaturated magic. I grimaced. About a year before his adult wings came in, Sanderson had sought my advice on how to have "a fling" with Idona Ivorie. I told him quite plainly that if he was really curious, she'd be happy to demonstrate step by step instructions when he was old enough. I guess "old enough" had finally come.

How weird would that be in the history books, though? If once upon a time, the first 300 pixies in existence were identical drakes, but when they passed on, wisp sperm was used to fertilize the eggs that were left behind? And a new society of pixies rose from the ashes, no longer reproducing in that same asexual way?

Sigh.

I hate this.

"Thank you, Drk. Ludell. Sanderson is too young for that type of stimulation and I cannot in good consciousness suggest he go through with it. I'll just be extraordinarily cautious until he's older. I'll talk about it with him then."

"H.P.?" said a weak voice behind me. I turned, as did D.H.

Sanderson and Dame Sanderson stood behind us. Sanderson's brows hovered above his head and his refract had already whipped out her fan to cover her mouth. Funny- I'd have thought owning possessions was a sin. She quivered, clutching his arm with her talons. Sanderson held tightly to her shoulder. Staring back at me. He still wore his pajamas, his eyes bare, and his throat throbbed with a new and very visible lump.

"Don't let them take my eggs."

"They won't," I assured him, letting go of D.H.'s hand. "No one will take your eggs if you don't want them to."

"Hm," said Drk. Ludell, drifting out of reach, and I nearly wanted to smack him for that. Sanderson glanced at him sideways like he didn't believe the cherub for a second. I didn't even blame him. He'd gone through the Eros Nest with me.

I relieved Dame Sanderson of her duty in keeping mine on his feet. I waited until he'd finished eating all he wanted to for breakfast (which was quite a substantial amount as he refilled his empty belly). Then I brought him to his room again. His useless wings rustled at his back, but he didn't protest my helping hand. His eyelids drooped with exhaustion, and he looked at me painfully when I chuckled and told him not to drift off, because his long day of ceremony was only just beginning.

"Ceremony?" he mumbled.

"Do you remember when I took you to be baptized at the Faeheim shrine? Your refract led you through the first steps of a simple dance and kissed your lips. Now that you've entered adulthood, it's time to renew your vow. This is the third and final pillar of the ceremony." I lifted my arm to indicate Dame Sanderson standing not far off in the grass, near the library. Refracts didn't exactly have weddings, but they waited their entire lives for moulting day, which was sort of the same thing. As far as she was concerned, today was all about her. She ordered my pixies around, waving her arms and insisting on the perfect set-up. McKinley complied with every request without hesitation, scampering back and forth, though I saw D.H. roll her eyes more than once. She popped a caramel in her mouth, leaning back against the library wall to watch the show. Hawkins floated next to her, chewing on his thumbnail, and Smith stood on her other side with doubt etched across his features. He smoothed it out when I caught his eye, but I saw.

At one point, Dame Sanderson walked straight up to Newman and ordered him to remove every stray leaf and stick from the premises. He put his foot down instantly, crossing his arms. Despite his younger age he dwarfed her extremely, glaring down at her with irritation seething from every pore. Hamilton, standing nearby, shot her an incredulous look while Faust just shook his head in disbelief. None of this bothered Dame Sanderson, however, because she merely kept her lips behind her fan and glowered up at all three of them.

"I request this ceremony be perfect if you expect me to bestow holiness upon your brother."

"Yeah right, doll-face… We only take orders from the boss."

I drifted over, snapping my fingers. "Newman, you can come with me. Hamilton, please help carry any of the larger boxes, and Faust, if you would be so kind as to inform the younger pixies I request they follow your cousin's orders."

"What?" Hamilton protested. Like Newman and Faust, he was already taller than me… the result of magical oversaturation from all those medicine strips I'd consumed tens of thousands of years ago. I raised my eyebrows at him, however, and he dropped his gaze. "Yes, sir. I'll move any boxes she asks about."

"And I'll, uh, go someplace else," Faust added, and scurried off. Dame Sanderson dropped her arms, staring after him in annoyance, then made a gesture for Hamilton to follow her. She started walking off, shaking loose feathers from her wings. Hamilton glanced at me as if to say Are you sure you want me on her tail?

I leaned in, lowering my voice. "Keep a close eye on her. If anything gets weird, I'll want your strength close at hand."

This cheered him immensely, and he trotted off behind her with new purpose in his step. Newman, however, wasn't so easy to soothe.

"Who is she?" he demanded, grabbing his hair in both hands. He twisted his fingers in the inky blackness, snapping off several of the strands. "I don't care if she's Sanderson's refract. What gives her the right to show up out of nowhere and start bossing us around? I want to smash her to a pulp!"

"That sounds like you're expressing an emotion. I think I heard inflection in your voice. Go bake cupcakes. You'll feel better."

He stalked off, still pulling on his hair and muttering. I shook my head. Sanderson walked up behind me, rubbing his eyes. At that same moment, Longwood stepped outside the Headquarters building with his forager bag on his shoulder. Right. Grocery day. Oh, now this I had to see.

Dame Sanderson finished fussing over the color swatch that McKinley had brought her and turned around. When she saw Longwood, who had taken a moment to survey the activity in the area, she adjusted her glasses and hurried up to him.

"Cousin Seelie, I will need assistance tonight hanging up the lantern strings. They must be all colors of the Fairy rainbow and spread evenly apart, none of the strings crossing one another."

She matched Longwood's height, seeing as he hadn't yet moulted into his full gyne body. Longwood stared back at her, puzzled, and carefully adjusted his shades. "I think Thane is the one you want to talk to about that… I need to bring new cereal around the apartments."

"I'll help you!" Bayard yelled from the rooftop he was standing on. I hadn't even seen him until he shouted, but he held a rolled-up banner in his hands. "Do you want my advice on outfits? I like fashion!"

Longwood skimmed off in the direction of the warehouses. Dame Sanderson floated where she was, holding one hand to her cheek as though she'd been slapped. She bristled, flapping out her wings, then spun around and laid eyes on my counterpart. "Mother! Did you hear what that drake said to me? He said he's too busy for me!"

D.H. pressed her hands to her face. "What? Surely not."

"He did!"

"He can't do that to you. This is such a travesty."

"Mother," Dame Sanderson whined, her ego bruised by sarcasm. I snorted and led Sanderson back towards his apartment.

"Come on," I said to him. "Let's get you in your suit. And I need my paint box. You'll need the right symbols on your skin. In fact, let's get that done before your suit and we'll leave you a minute to dry before you dress."

"Yes, sir."

Sanderson's apartment was a far cry now from the little cabin he'd stayed in throughout the early days of Pixie Village. The building itself was small, only six layers, but with several of them standing where the old cabins once had, we had a lot more room for young pixies. Open floorplans had faded out, replaced with halls and doors. It offered more privacy than those old cabins with twelve beds to a building, though the apartment set-up still fostered the eusocial culture I'd come to enjoy.

None of the rooms were particularly big, though I had plans to expand them someday when I had the funds. Sanderson and Hawkins were roommates and had decorated their space with sleek black and white furniture. They also shared a walk-in bathroom, and I had Sanderson undress and stand near the sink so we could both keep an eye on the mirror. He gripped the edges of the counter, staying as still as possible while I painted swoops, dots, and swirling symbols on his back- right between his wings. The ink jar alone felt freezing in my hand, but to his credit, he didn't even flinch beneath my brush as I did my work.

"Almost… There." After sixteen minutes of painting, I lowered my hand. "That should work. I added my own flair to it. Instead of all that nonsense about meeting beautiful, wise, and kindhearted damsels, I focused on you, and your journey of self-discovery."

"It itches," he noted dryly.

"It's Yugopotamian ink. Suck it up. Believe me, it's preferable to having me carve into your back with a jagged stylus the way my father did for me." I added the four swishing lines for the Water year on his left cheek, then requested his right hand. Sanderson shifted his eyes downward as I brought the brush to his wrist.

"What is it you're doing, again?"

"I'm writing your name and the year of your birth in Milesian. You were born in the year of Water on the zodiac."

"Sunnie's element. The Focus spirit."

"That's right. We note your element on the zodiac to show respect to Mother Nature and the year of your birth to show respect to Father Time. This afternoon, you and Dame Sanderson will head out on a ceremonial unicorn hunt. You're supposed to bring a crystal weapon and collect some of their blood. Then this evening, you'll dance with Dame Sanderson to acknowledge the different pieces of your soul. Then she'll bestow her kiss upon you and you're done."

Sanderson's dry expression didn't change. "Unicorn's blood, sir? … That's atypical compared to our normal business routine."

"It's an old tradition; all my ancestors did it too. When I was growing up, we had to chase the unicorn until we either won its approval or scored a lucky hit and collected the falling droplets. These days, unicorns tend to be easier to deal with. Judging from the word on the wind, it sounds as though any one of them will lend you some blood for the right price, and instead of you and Dame Sanderson working together to physically hunt your unicorn, you'll work together bargain hunting. However, I can't confirm that's true. The ritual can vary. Its only real rule is that you're not supposed to use your wand."

"I can handle striking up deals, H.P.," he insisted, pushing his shades nearer his eyes. "I'd rather have my counterpart's company than have to do this by myself, but does she really have to come? Can't it be you?"

"She's trained her whole life to adhere to tradition and perform these types of rituals. Let her have this." I rapped him on the nose with a knuckle. "It's like a rule, Sanderson. As far as I'm aware, I coated my hair with unicorn blood, Ambrosine coated his hair with unicorn blood, Praxis coated his hair with unicorn blood, Nettle coated her hair with unicorn blood, all the way back for a hundred generations. It's your responsibility to uphold our ancestors' traditions, not to twiddle your thumbs idly as they die out. That's how it's done. And when you have your nymphs, I expect you to send them each off to color their hair in rainbows too."

He thought I didn't notice, but I saw him mouth some of those words along with me. What he said was simply, "Yes, sir."

I took him by the shoulders and made sure he was looking at me. "No matter what happens, do not, under any circumstances, kill the unicorn. I don't want you dying a dustless death. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Easily, H.P."

"You're expected to do the work. Dame Sanderson is only here to cover your back and step in if she has to. Just try not to be back too late. You're expected to return with your hair crusted rainbow from the blood, but there's still a dinner and dance we need to finish before bed."

Sanderson kept his face expressionless as I finished painting his wrist, but he said, "It sounds horribly colorful."

"That's how the cloudland Fairies do it. And if you were an Anti-Fairy, we'd be grooming your fur with spices and salts and things, and chanting your name for Nuada knows how long. Hm… Of course, we're also pixies. I suppose we ought to start some traditions of our own. I'll keep that in mind."

We waited a few minutes for the paint to dry on his cheek and back. Then Sanderson dressed in his transition suit. He stood before his mirror for a moment, then turned to face me and spread his arms. "How do I look, sir?"

I glanced up, the "Good," reply balanced on my lips, but it died in my throat when I saw him standing there. Sanderson peered at me over the tips of his shades, his wings hanging lazily at his back. The way he stood indicated total confidence. But with his eyes exposed, he gleamed with softer light than a stained glass window. He could've been made of porcelain. Despite the millennia of training, an uncomfortable look flickered across his face as my stare grew longer and longer. He pressed his hand against his ear. Unwavering but cautious. Patient and expectant.

He smoothed himself a second later and dropped the hand down again. It came to rest on his little tapered waist. The cuffs of his suit sleeves had been folded neatly back to show the wrists, hands strong from a lifetime of moving things physically instead of with magic, and from… from… (Little plip tongue, I could've yanked it-)

Right. From massages. Firm hands. He stood barefoot with his clothes a bit smaller than I'd anticipated, so we'd definitely have to get him something more properly tailored to his new body. He looked… healthy, actually. Sanderson had a tendency to undereat, so it wasn't unusual for his clothes to hang loosely around his frame even when he tucked in his shirt. He'd gotten so big… Still scrawny, of course (and Jorgen wouldn't have hesitated to call him puny), but every one of those extra inches he'd gained after shedding his juvenile skin last night now showed their mark. His black hair still curled out to the sides in the back. And although he didn't carry the Whimsifinado family cowlick like Palomar did…

… He looked just like me.

Now, I'm not stupid. Logically, I'd known for ages that Sanderson was genetically identical to me. We shared a yoo-doo doll. I'd been a bigger kid. The grappling class was the only one I truly excelled in once I reached my upper school years, because once my eyes went bad, my grades started to go with them (Thank smoof we have glasses now and that's all I'll say). Sanderson didn't have my muscles or freckles, nor had I had those double cowlicks in my hair when I was his age, but… now that our heights nearly matched, there was no denying our similarities between us. Once upon a time, we could have been mistaken for twins.

And I blinked. Twice. Because… I think that in my head, I still saw myself as the young adult I had been for so many years. I often forgot my white streaks. How weird to see Sanderson standing before me, only a little shy of the age that I still tended to envision myself.

And his adult pheromones had come in. Light and virgin, obviously, and lacking the underlying tang of caviar and bananas, but they were definitely there. I could taste flecks of cinnamon gathering along his skin. Maple leaves. His pheromones were naturally heavier on the smoky wood scent than the citrus, though accents of orange danced around the edges. I moved a knuckle to my mouth and glanced away at the floor. "Mm…"

While I wouldn't say I felt an emotion, I did experience an epiphany then. Sanderson was to be my alpha drone. I'd taught him that since he was young. Other gynes often raised their offspring to be their alpha, but… it really sunk in, then, what the future was going to hold. I still had Luis and Dewdrop living under my wing (plus Juandissimo when he was home from the Fairy Academy, over at the studio apartment he shared with his girlfriend). Both drones had become invaluable to me over the years, acting as the extra hands I often needed and using their magic when I couldn't draw from my own. Luis had helped me teach Sanderson about preening, and he'd always known that one day, Sanderson would take over after him.

But I don't think it hit me then until I saw him standing there, holding his ear. The tiny, squirming nymph that I'd once bathed and changed and slept with while we were in Kalysta's burrow nearly 160,000 years ago had grown up. And he was prepared to devote himself to me as my alpha drone, for the rest of my life.

And I wanted him to stay.

I wanted him to want to stay. Here in Pixie Village, with me. If Reddinski tried to take him from me, or Fairywinkle, Waterberry, or even Longwood, I'd deck them with the hardest left hook in my repertoire. And that was a whiplash of a thought. Would I hit Longwood? Or Smith, if it meant keeping Sanderson to myself?

I need to get back to working out. The Eros Triplets had me on a good diet and exercise program once upon a time, and although it had been a pain and I'd long since fallen out of the habit, it had beefed up my muscles. You know, it wouldn't hurt to brush up on my grappling. Juandissimo was strong but submissive and never had enough to do on his school breaks. Maybe I could arrange some practice spars against him.

Yeah. Yeah, I'd absolutely sock Smith in the jaw if he tried to run off with Sanderson. I wanted him to stay.

I don't regret a lot about my life, but I do wish I would have told the first Sanderson he had that effect on me. He'd either be really mad or totally thrilled. With the new Sanderson… Preening's difficult. Just holding him is difficult. The handwriting's the same. The limp's the same. The gentle trace of massaging fingers is the same. The sass, the rhymes, and prompt obedience are all the exact same. Mother Nature and Father Time to this day swear up and down they fixed you perfectly. But when I look at you… my last few seconds with the original flash across my brain. The enormous diamond crashing to the floor, the blip, the error in reality…

No offense. You're an excellent duplicate under that synthetic skin and it's not your fault, but… it's a turn off. You're not him. You understand.

"Sir?" Sanderson tilted his head. "Am I correct in assuming I clean up nice?"

You're not eating breakfast until your face is slathered in hot saliva, that's for sure. "Yes," I said, flicking my gaze back to him. My piqued interest in him as a drone had been an unexpected side effect to his obtaining an adult body, but I'd recovered and would reassert myself calmly and professionally. I steadied my wings. "Yeah. You look like a clean, ready-for-work adult pixie. Excuse me; I need some fresh air. I mean water. I mean nothing. I'm just leaving. Stay here." Outside his room, I swiped my finger across the back of my neck and painted an X of sticky pheromones on his door. With him thus secured, I pinged straight to my bedroom and found my copy of Da Rules on its high shelf. Gyne/drone relationships and associated legalities were outlined in full around the 2,000th page. The RDM law, boundary lines, raising gynes, raising drones, territory disputes, wergild… Three minutes into scrutinizing the section, I found the snippet about relative relationships. I didn't technically find the words "Having extra territorial thoughts regarding drone offspring is a behavior all gyne sires experience someday," but it also wasn't listed as either illegal or a symptom of any medical condition I should be concerned about.

"Good enough for me." I clapped the book shut and replaced it on its display shelf. Then I changed my shirt and took care in brushing my teeth again. "Someone's getting personalized dominance licks this morning. Smoofing dust. If I looked that good at his age, why was I single?"

I pinged into the hallway of Sanderson's apartment building again, near the stairs, and found exactly the two pixies I wanted to see arguing over the correct way to prepare two kinds of cereal in the same bowl. Today's warehouse visit must have been successful, then. "Longwood, Smith," I greeted. They shut up and floated still and quiet, which made it incredibly easy to skim up, sweep each one by the throat, and slam them into the wall. Hard. I bore in my weight, fingers crushing. "New rule: Sanderson is mine. No exceptions. Am I clear?"

Smith squinted at me while Longwood clenched his fists, both of them trying their hardest not to express stress despite the pressure on their windpipes. I held them a moment longer, constricting tighter, and watched them wriggle. Longwood caved first, spitting pleas, and Smith finally squeaked a "Yes, sir!" When I dropped them, they fell to their knees, wings heaving, and coughed all over the carpet.

"I'm glad we had this talk. Play with the others if you're confident you won't get caught, but keep your tongues off Sanderson. Have a nice day."

I turned around and almost flew right into McKinley. He gaped at me, holding his hands to his mouth. Right. He was one of my softer pixies, a bit more sensitive to threats of murder than most. "You didn't see anything," I told him, and he nodded agreement before flying off.

I invited Sanderson to preen with me before we went outside for the ceremony. He agreed, with hesitation. We moved to the preening room and went through the usual steps: washing up, shaking hands, et cetera. But when the time came to begin the licks, Sanderson stood above me with his tongue hovering at my neck. Instead of completing the gesture, he carefully straightened me up and then stepped back.

"Uh," he said. He stared at me in a blank sort of way. "This seems a little weird all of a sudden."

"Oh? That doesn't surprise me." I adjusted my glasses. "You're an adult now. Your body is starting to pump actual hormones through your blood. That's normal. You'll adjust in a few days. Should we skip preening routines until you have a week to settle in?"

"Um." Sanderson ran his finger down his arm, avoiding my gaze. "Actually sir, could we just… talk? While we're alone?"

"Is there something we should talk about?"

He sat on the preening pallet and crossed his legs at the ankles. "What was it like for you when you moulted into your adult wings?"

"Oh." That kind of talk. I brought my forefingers in front of my lips. Sanderson stared back at me, the picture of patient innocence. I squinted. "Let me see. The Dame Head and I went hunting unicorns. You know, as you do. I had my crossbow, although just between you and me, I hadn't really practiced with it like I was supposed to. Didn't need to. I'm an excellent shot. It has nothing to do with my vision, because Anti-Fergus is the only one who got the sharp eyes between us. I'm simply good at detecting patterns in the breeze and the angles of the shaft when you line up-"

"Not that, sir," Sanderson interrupted. His hands shifted along his knees. "I mean, what was it like?"

I had to think about that for a second, staring at the four squiggly blue lines down his cheek. Year of the Charged Waters. It seemed so long ago. I guess it was. An adult lifetime ago. I massaged my mouth. My wings rustled. I checked over my shoulder at them, eyeballing their dusky sheen.

"Well," I began carefully. "Admittedly my body did go through some… changes, like yours. I got a lot bigger. My hips widened out. I started wanting to eat more meat. I was often sore. I outgrew a few of my more annoying chewing habits. My freckles turned ruddy brown. Most of all, I became very aware of drones like you and wanted to hang out with them more often. I guess the opposite would be true in your case."

"Yes, sir."

"Did you have other questions about being an adult? We don't need to go over…" I made a rocking motion with my hand. "Lekking or plugs just yet? We're good? Because those things are gross and I don't want to touch them if I don't have to. If you involve yourself in that world, I'd rather not know about it."

Sanderson dipped his head very slightly. "You smell stronger now. More like bananas."

"Do I?"

"Bananas, ink, ulk blossoms, oranges," he ticked off on his fingers. "Before, you mostly smelled like cinnamon, sir. Now you're a lot of things. It's new. I guess that's part of changing, and I just need to get used to being more sensitive to your pheromones."

"I suppose so." I waited for a second, but when he didn't elaborate, I stood. "Good talk. Let's go outside. We'll resume this another time."

Just outside my building, I found Longwood and Smith conversing in low voices. They snapped to attention when they saw me. Smith dusted off his jacket and Longwood made the Fairy salute. "Is Sanderson's refract still bossing the others around?" I asked, glancing between them. Longwood grimaced, pressing his lips together. Smith, however, didn't hold back his groan.

"She's being a pill, sir. I'm not sure how much longer some of the younger ones will tolerate it."

"Gotcha. I'll look into that."

"Longwood," Sanderson whined, leaning back against him. I hadn't even noticed him sneak around me. He pressed all his weight on Longwood's arm, gingerly pushing the younger pixie sideways. "I want to wrestle…"

Carefully, Longwood took hold of Sanderson's arm and straightened him up again. "You only want to wrestle because this is as big as you're going to get and I'm going to keep growing."

"It's my birthday."

Longwood flicked his gaze to me. I said nothing, evaluating Sanderson's question in silence. Wrestling was nothing new. They'd done it a lot while growing up, and Sanderson always won. But to request this of another gyne right after rejecting me during preening? I don't know if that was intentional or not. "Can I, sir?" Longwood asked.

"Um…" Frankly, I didn't like placing Longwood in any position where his gyne instincts might flare. I had no fear of him killing Sanderson. He had no instincts to urge him to do that; killing drones would be stupid. I was more concerned with where he might direct his aggression if Sanderson got him riled up. Would he turn on me, ready for Round 2?

"Please?" That was Sanderson, digging in his heels on the matter. I glanced at Smith. Dame Sanderson flitted about, still ordering my pixies around. It was her right as a refract, but she seemed to take great pleasure in rubbing it in. At that moment, Tindell pointed me out to Dame Sanderson and scampered off as soon as she looked away. This was my Sanderson's first time reuniting with her in ages, actually (I think their last visit was during a baptism for some of the younger pixies that I'd asked him to attend in my stead). He turned to see who I was looking at, then raised his hand in silent, tight-lipped greeting. She gripped her skirts and hurried towards him.

"Brother Seelie, are you ready? We ought to leave now, I think, if we intend to reach the Wanderplains by the end of next hour."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I brought a starzooka, a crossbow, a knife, a sword-"

He didn't get to wrestle Longwood, though Longwood muttered to me that if he'd tried, he would have grabbed for Sanderson's hip as soon as possible, yanking his wand from the sheath and wielding it against him like a dagger. Smith lay a hand on his chest and insisted that he'd never treat Sanderson so poorly, which made Longwood turn a frustrated stare on him and argue that "treating him poorly" wasn't the point, because the topic was wrestling. I left them to it and drifted off to find my counterpart. As I went, I touched the walls and kept mental notes of the adjustments that the refracts had made to the village so I could reverse things in the morning. Parties shouldn't be more than one-day affairs. I still had a business to run.

The Sandersons spent a few minutes talking before mine came to see me once more. I was talking to Cresswell and Alderson. When Sanderson approached, he tilted down his shades at me. "You really aren't going to come, sir?"

"No. The unicorn hunt is something you're supposed to do with your refract, not with me. You're a big drake now. I have some preparations for the rest of your ceremony that I would like to finish. Cooking and gifts and such. Stick with Dame Sanderson and you'll be fine. She can't die and she'll be able to lead you back to the Bridge if you struggle finding your way. I'll see you when you return for your dance."

"Remind me what kind of dance."

"It doesn't matter. You're only allowed to dance with your counterpart, so I already know you're going to hate it."

"Fairies have some wacked-up traditions," he muttered, but obediently flew off to join her. I broke up an argument between Smith and Longwood, then found Emery and Iris and skimmed over to asked how their recent months had been.

The Sandersons were gone for hours. I spent the time with my counterpart, giving her a tour of Pixie World and addressing some of my upcoming life plans. She fiddled with her claws for much of it, looking like she wanted to ask me something, but when I tried to prompt her, she refrained. We made our way towards Graydust Ridge and the waterfalls, along with the apartments I'd built for high school and university students to rent. Many Fairies were away at school, but some of them were more familiar with Sanderson and wanted to attend his adulthood ceremony in person, even on short notice. Their colorful clothing and hair stood out in a crowd of gray and black, but I allowed it. This wasn't a typical day in Pixie Village.

I led my counterpart around to the lookout point above the waterfall. She slumped over the safety bar, staring down in silence as the water raged and rushed. The spray slapped against the rocks.

"With a winter birthday, I was always the youngest of my peer group," I said, for the sake of conversation. I had to raise my voice above the noise. "This might just be the first ceremony I've attended since my own. They used to have a different ritual Earthside."

"I remember when we had our ceremony," D.H. said, staring at her hands. She'd kept them linked in front of her, her shoulders stiff as we floated along. Now, they drooped over the safety bar. Limp. "You know my relationship with my parents is less than ideal. It was kind of your father to let me spend a few nights in your Novakiin home. We left early in the morning to find the unicorns during the warm, lethargic part of the day. Only once my naturally purple hair was coated in rainbows did I relax and stop fretting over my appearance."

"That was a long time ago," I said, staring down at the water. "We once considered running off together. Leaving my dad and your parents. Starting a new life, just the two of us, as if we'd never be found."

"Yeah."

Silence. I didn't look at her, and she tried not to look in me. D.H. had adored me once upon a time. She'd told me herself. She'd pulled on my hand, confessing her desperation to trust someone who understood her. She begged me to run off with her. We could live in secret. Have one another's backs. Start our own farm. But she hadn't had a real plan, and I couldn't commit to anything so vague. I'd told her I would think about it. We stayed in touch, writing letters, and nothing ever came of it. I don't think it's so wrong to long for connection with your own refract. After all, they're the embodiments of the perfect parts of our soul just as the Anti-Fairies embody the worst of us. But for some reason… it just hadn't felt like the right decision to me.

I pressed my cheek to my hand, eyeballing her there by the waterfall and wondering if any of those dreams remained. She leaned her elbows on the safety bar, covering her face with her palms. And there we waited, passing the long minutes until our eldest would return.

"Sister," I said carefully after maybe five minutes of standing there. She lifted her eyes from her hands. They gleamed crimson. I grimaced. "Don't take this the wrong way, but… are you seeing… Cosmo Cosma's counterpart now? As a partner?"

She steadied her wings against her back, slowly drawing her hands from her face. "Do you mean… in a romantic way? The answer to that is no, but she does live with our flock now, under our roof. These arrangements are common in Refracted society. We think it's stranger to live in family groups that mix drakes and damsels."

"I was just curious. She seemed to like you."

"She's young and spirited, but you know as well as I do that expressing romantic affection outside the honey-lock would be a sin. I won't bring that shame upon me or my daughters." Then, almost in scorn or laughter, "I trust you have no interest in beginning relations with Cosmo Prime."

Cosmo was over 287,500 when Sanderson came of age, though I forget the specific year. I shook my head. "No. I've never been drawn to drakes, and I've barely met Cosmo Prime in passing. I see his anti-fairy on occasion. The Anti-Cosmo is High Count Anti-Bryndin's step-son. I visit Anti-Fairy World now and then, and since Anti-Cosmo likes to pick my brain with questions about Fairy World, we've hit it off. He doesn't get out much. He interned at the Eros Nest when we were there under Aphrodite Protocol, you know, so sometimes he simply likes to check in with me and ask how my pixies are doing."

"I see… Brother Seelie, are you happy with the way your life has gone?"

It would have been very different if we'd run off together. I tried to imagine growing older alongside the Dame Head. What might have happened if it had been her steady hand at my back instead of Kalysta's when Sanderson was born?

"I don't know," I finally said. "I have my feet under me now, but I've never been satisfied. I feel like I don't have answers. I don't know what I'll do if my pixies turn out to be purple-borns. I've considered starting a relationship with a damsel I know, but I was rejected 150,000 years ago and I ask myself if it's worth the risk to try again, even now that time has eased those wounds and we've still maintained our friendship. She'll be here tonight, actually; I scryed her this morning and she's coming by after work. Ambrosine will be here, but I still don't have contact info for Solara. I never even met her. I wonder sometimes if she'd be interested in knowing me now, since I wouldn't need any financial support or require her caregiving. I wonder if I'm destined to die unfulfilled."

D.H. moved her hand to mine, squeezing her fingers over my knuckles. "Well… You won't die forgotten. We survived the Aphrodite Protocol. You haven't lost a single pixie who made it through the first week, and you're in the 300s now. You've created an import/export empire that thousands in Fairy World and Anti-Fairy World rely on. You've built so much."

I turned around, staring back in the direction of my buildings. They were little smudges on the horizon now. I grimaced. "I don't know. If I ever have one bad fall… if I ever slip from the cloudlands and drown in the ocean… if a vicious animal wanders through this land and takes me by the throat, then all of this could end overnight. If my pixies are purple-borns, that means this society is never more than two minutes away from becoming a graveyard. I can't die of sickness until I reach my senescent stage, but that doesn't mean adulthood is free from danger. It would only take one mistake, D.H. I could be crushed by a shelf at any time. I have diplomatic immunity, but I still might be challenged someday by another gyne who decides he doesn't care about the law. Reddinski, maybe, seeking revenge. I usually keep Rice around when I go walking so he can use his magic in case I was ever in real danger, but he's only one cù sith. I'm just holding my breath until Sanderson's reproductive system develops. Maybe then he'll produce a yellow-born generation."

D.H. nodded, slowly. "I remember the Eroses couldn't confirm it one way or another… right? Do your pixies know you suspect they were fertilized with purple magic?"

"Ambrosine, Emery, and Rice know. None of my pixies do. I don't want to worry them."

Silence.

"You should tell your gynes. Longwood and that younger one with the crisp flops in his hair are less likely to challenge you if they know that killing you would kill them."

"Younger one? You mean Smith?" I rubbed my face with both hands, exhaling loudly, and leaned over the railing as the waterfall raged below. "Not yet. It shook my world when I found out I might take them all down with me when I go. They deserve their innocence a while longer."

They deserved to be children.

The Sandersons returned eventually, both of them with rainbow unicorn blood soaked in their hair. Neither looked particularly pleased with one another, the air sour between them, but neither acknowledged this. At the time of their return, most all of my pixies were waiting for them around the outdoor "dance floor" that had been decorated with ribbons, lights, and lanterns. We greeted them, but D.H. and I kept the crowd at bay while we escorted our offspring to wash up before the dance. The stars were shifting towards the low point in the brightness cycle. I spoke with Dame Sanderson, then with Longwood, Wilcox, McKinley, and a few of my other pixies. Butler tailed me, asking if there was anything he could do to help.

"Everything should be in order," I began, then trailed off. I craned my neck towards a single pixie making the attempt to slip from the public restroom where I'd left him and off towards his apartment building. "Where are you going, Sanderson?"

He paused. The crowd of pixies (and a few Fairies from the apartments) twisted around to catch a glimpse of him. Slowly, he turned back to face me. "The traditional bargain hunt took a lot out of me, H.P. I'm resting."

Did he really think I wouldn't notice if he left? I pointed towards his counterpart, who stood stiffly in the violet grass with his pink dancing robe hanging from her arm. Dripping reluctance like a slug, he clipped back towards her. He took the robe. But instead of accepting her hand, he changed direction and walked up to me and D.H. instead, pulling the robe over his shoulders as he went. We both raised our brows at him. Sanderson stood in front of me and crossed his arms.

"I've performed the other traditions to your liking, H.P. I've let you paint me, I've argued with unicorns, I've eaten a feast, and I've worked nice with others. My wings ache and the unicorn blood in my hair itches like sprite bites. You know Anti-Sanderson is the dancer between us, sir. I have four hindwings. Do I really have to do this?"

"That's the hilarious thing about Fairy ceremonies," I said. "They're extravagant affairs. You know how Fairies are about their rules." I motioned to D.H. beside me as she adjusted her glasses. "Plus, a lot of time and money was spent preparing for this ceremony. Your counterpart has been waiting for this day all her life. Walking out on her would be wasteful. And rude."

Sanderson stared back at me, silent and unblinking. Then, carefully, he smoothed a wrinkle in his shirt. "How long does the dance last?"

"Until your counterpart declares that your talents and attraction signals have reached an 'adult' skill level and chooses to bestow her ceremonial kiss, much the same as she did when you were baptized."

A muscle near his eye twitched, but it was almost hidden behind his shades so I chose to let it slide. He turned crisply and walked away from me. When he reached Dame Sanderson, he grabbed her hand and yanked her towards him.

"Sanderson," I called. "That's no way to treat a damsel."

"Oh. Oh. The mistake is mine, Dame San-"

She lifted a warning eyebrow. Fortunately, Sanderson had been trained to detect subtle facial movements, and he caught himself and remembered that he wasn't supposed to speak her name down on the lower, 'unholy' planes of existence.

"My fair lady," he corrected himself, clasping her hands low in front of him. "Might I have the honor?"

"The pleasure is yours, Brother Seelie. But you don't know what you're doing, so let me lead."

"I never lead anything," Sanderson assured her. They took to the floor, this time more carefully. Dame Sanderson spoke to him briefly about the steps he needed to follow, and he nodded while staring at his feet. She began to tug him around the grass. Always moving backwards, guiding him to follow her. They whirled, spinning faster and faster with every step. Hands meeting, fingers sliding, wings twisting, robes spinning. Then they slowed. Sanderson released her hand and bowed. Dame Sanderson, however, shook her head.

"That's not right. Follow my lead again."

Sanderson twitched his wings. However, he took her hand again and they repeated the dance. I watched, standing on the sidelines with D.H.

"It's still not enough," Dame Sanderson declared when they finished. "Try again."

They danced a third time, making their way around the square of onlookers. My pixies watched in silence, but some of the fairies began to twitch. When they finished their third attempt and Dame Sanderson again rejected him, I rubbed my temples. "Please stop stalling, and give him the kiss."

Dame Sanderson snapped her head around. "He is impure, Uncle. This moulting ceremony is my day too, and I will kiss him when I declare him worthy of my mark."

And so we watched them dance again. And again. And again. The same steps, repeated over and over. I wouldn't say that I was bored. Pixies don't feel precise boredom. But I had things I'd wanted to do tonight.

At long last, Dame Sanderson declared her satisfaction by pecking his lips. Sanderson bowed his head, exhaling. Relief ebbed across the area and all my pixies swept forward to congratulate the two. D.H. and I waited together for thirty minutes before the crowd had dispersed enough for us to speak to them personally.

"Get off to bed," I said, tapping Sanderson with a light swat to his shoulder. "Thank you for patience. Wash the rainbow from your hair, and once it's out, you'll finally be a true adult."

"And you," sniffed the Dame Head, wagging a claw at her daughter, "ought to brush your teeth. No sneaking caramels."

Dame Sanderson's wings prickled up. "I don't sneak caramels!"

Sanderson walked away, holding his hands up in the way he always did when he didn't want anyone to touch or talk to him. I sighed and called him back to bid good-bye to his counterpart, which he did with grand reluctance. Then he went off again. Hawkins ran after him, chatting up a storm. He'd be okay. I let them go, turning to answer some of my other pixies' persistent questions. Smith flitted back and forth on one edge of my vision, rubbing behind his neck and staring after Sanderson. Longwood hovered on the other side, his hands in his pockets. Wilcox kept close to me, fiddling with his wand.

"H.P.?" he finally said. "I think I might be getting close to shedding too. I'm starting to get feelings… and they taught me in school that this happens not long before you moult."

"Feelings, Wilcox?"

"For gynes… I think I want to join the retinue circle."

"Right. That makes sense. That's a thing you would be experiencing at this age. I'll bring it up with Sanderson." And he wasn't going to like it.

I sent my pixies off to bed, lending a hand to assist Luis and Dewdrop with some of the younger ones who wanted stories or had questions about the ceremony. After they were safely in their apartment, I went to find my counterpart again. I tracked her to the library, where she stood by the window, leaning against a shelf. She stared vacantly through the glass towards the Pixie Village sign in the distance, near the tram station. The refract equivalent of a gyne is a plume, called such after the twin antennae-like plumes that spiral like ribbons from their scalps. She wound one around her claw.

"Brother Seelie?" she asked as I floated into the room. "Have you considered remarriage?"

I raised my brows at the back of her head. "To a degree. My relationship with China proved difficult, but this was largely due to misunderstandings. We didn't understand my asexual reproduction at the time. My pixies are older now and our race is more established in the cloudlands. My oldest are now adults. I've considered seeking a new relationship, yes. I do sometimes wonder what it would be like if I went into one as the modern Head Pixie instead of pathetic Fergus Whimsifinado." The Dame Head said nothing. I folded my arms, watching her stare through the window like a ghost. "Was there someone you had in mind?"

She threaded her fingers through her hair, tugging at her purple curls. Streaks of white gleamed along their bases. Her hair was whiter than mine, I realized then. Which was weird. Traditionally the Refracted only use their natural shapeshifting magic and don't use starpiece magic at all. This places only mild strain on them and they tend to look younger than the Seelie do. But she looked… much older than I did. Had Venus's drugs affected me that much? Was I not showing the same signs despite the many millennia I'd lived? "No," she finally said. "I don't feel anything towards prospective partners. Showing favoritism between options would imply a sinful interest in them."

"I might ask out Iris Needlebark," I told her. "She's worked alongside me for a long time and she's always been kind to my pixies. She listens when I need someone to talk to. Are you on good terms with her refract counterpart?"

"I don't believe we've met."

Right then, a dish shattered behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to find a mortified Dame Sanderson hovering in the doorway, her hands clutching nothingness in front of her chest. Caramels and bits of gray ceramic littered the ground beneath her feet. Her eyes went from me to her mother to me again. Then her fingers went to her mouth. "Mother, you… you're in a room with a Deep Kingdom drake… alone…"

"Don't make that face, dear niece. Your mother and I were just discussing an old friend of mine."

"I should hope so," she snapped, the pale brown feathers bristling on the back of her neck. "My mother is not the type to succumb to fits of passion. I trust she wouldn't kiss you here, in such a public place, no matter how tempted she may find herself to be. Falling into that temptation would be a sin! Rather understandably I might conclude, therefore, that you have taken advantage of her." Dame Sanderson, with a toss of her head, blue tail swishing beneath the hem of her robes, circled around and placed her free palm on her mother's back. In that way, she pushed her towards the door. "Now, Mother, we are expected in the shrine. Let us prepare to leave the day after tomorrow; we have a fair amount of paperwork to finish up before then."

Dame Head stuck her tongue in my direction, although it was obviously directed towards the other person in the room. I chuckled softly. So fascinating, I found it, that one of us had ended up with a firstborn who followed orders without question, another with a spunky rebel, and she with a no-nonsense busybody who chattered in her ear like an advisor to a queen. As they departed, I said, "I'll make sure you both have plenty of caramels when you leave the Deep Kingdom. Take care of your Sanderson. I had best check up on mine."

First, I needed to clean this mess off the floor. I waved my wand, and the pieces of broken ceramic pulled themselves back into a bowl. I picked it up. The cracks still showed. My magic wasn't strong enough to repair those. But it was enough. What a joy, to be able to afford such frivolities as magical repairs rather than gluing shards together by hand or simply throwing them all out. At least I wasn't too far gone to enjoy that.

Upstairs, I knocked on the door of Sanderson's and Hawkins' apartment. Hawkins opened it, sucking on the edge of his thumb, and pointed towards Sanderson's room. Snack wrappers and open cereal boxes littered the countertop. When I asked, Hawkins shrugged and told me that Sanderson had been "extremely hungry."

"I can imagine," I murmured. "Moulting always takes a lot out of you."

Sanderson kept his bedroom fairly clean. His closet and dresser stayed organized and there were no loose clothes strewn about the floor, though his nightstand was covered in papers. Sanderson loved writing lyrics and composing songs in his spare time. He'd been that way ever since he was old enough to hold a pen. Though his bedroom door was open, I knocked my knuckle on it to prompt him into looking up. He didn't, staying bundled beneath his gray blankets.

"It was one humiliation after another," he declared, burrowing into his pillow. "I don't ever want to moult again."

I floated over, stroking my hand down the heel of his exposed foot. "In that case, I have some wonderful news for you. Now that you have your adult wings, you'll only have twelve more moults before you reach your senescent stage in another 600,000 years or so. You won't be growing much more, so none will be as painful as this. Although when you do enter that last stage of life, you're guaranteed a few more inches, so you'll enjoy that. Of course, the trade-off is the hair loss and weakened immune system to the point where sickness could kill you off… but then, such is life. Even we fae are not immortal." I patted his ankle. "Chin up. Even I'm still 100- to 200,000 years away from entering the senescent stage. I've only moulted six times since my adulthood ceremony. You've got a long way to go yet."

"I was so uncomfortable today," he mumbled into the pillow, still not looking up.

"So I noticed. You liked part of the ceremonies, didn't you? You'll carry these memories with you forever."

He poked a bit of his face out from beneath his pillow. "Next celebration, sir, can I decide how we celebrate my birthday?"

"What, when you reach the senescent stage of your life cycle? Absolutely. Few traditions are associated with that one since…" I had to pause, the words humming between my teeth.

"Since?" Sanderson prompted. Oh, he hated when I left my sentences unfinished.

"Since it's your last moult," I finished carefully. No need to mention that the dams and sires of most senescents were dead or weak or senile by that point. No need to bring that up at all. I paused in the doorway, juggling thoughts of purple-borns and Eros Triplets.

I was nearly 500,000 when Sanderson was born. The earliest possible age you can moult into your adult wings is 700,000. Even if he lived another 550,000 years to reach that point, I'd have surpassed the million year lifespan mark. I could rely on Venus's drugs for a while, but would I be still be around to see him then?

Would Sanderson even live long enough to reach the senescent stage of life?

As I dimmed his lights with my wand, I said, "I know this wasn't satisfying to you, but I'll make it up to you when you're 200,000. That's age of majority in Fairy World, so you'll be old enough to enjoy high concentrations of candy and soda all you want. We'll make your 200,000th something special. Really."

"I want three fairyoke machines."

"Then you'll have three fairyoke machines. Rest well. Take the week off, because it'll be back to work as usual sooner than you think."

"Yes, sir."

I turned his lights fully off and floated from his room, then stopped. "Actually, Sanderson… I've just had a thought. It's the duty of the Head Pixie to know his employees as individuals and recognize their needs. He should always strive for the ideal that every pixie is pleased with their position in the company and the way things run. I have an idea for a Pixie tradition. You tolerated the Fairy ceremony, so what if tomorrow, you and I spend the day doing anything you want to do? Just the two of us."

He sat up, pillow forgotten. "Just the two of us, sir?"

"We could go out to eat. Talk." I linked my fingers and shrugged. "Stay in. Work. Travel anywhere. Do anything. Give it some thought tonight. Tomorrow, I'm yours."

He opened his mouth, but I interrupted him with a raised hand. "Seriously, think about it. Surprise me. I'll see you in the morning."

The next day, Sanderson approached me with his request. He still couldn't fly, though his wings were much more active at his back: twitching and flapping as they recovered their strength. I stood outside Sanderson's apartment, giving instructions to Iyer and Kinsley for the day while Rice sat at my feet itching a scratch behind his ear. When I turned to Sanderson, he squared his shoulders.

"I know I'm underage for high amounts of processed sugar, sir, but… I want to experience the nightlife. I want you to take me to a rave, like the kind you used to attend when you were my age. Just… the two of us. And I'll only take sugar in moderation."

That wasn't the request I'd expected from him. I tilted my head. "Hm. Well, if no one's throwing a party, we can't have a rave. Give me forty minutes to scry some old contacts and make arrangements. I'll see what I can do and check back after breakfast."

He nodded. Rice and I withdrew to my office. He picked up his squeaky bird toy and I made an important scry. When the water cleared, I flicked my two fingers in salute to the damsel on the other side.

"Hey, Roxanne. It's Sugar Boy. I need to call in that favor from the Year of the Darting Snake. You remember. I helped clean your house before Rupert, Cracklewings, and your mom came over."

"Eugh," Rice muttered, dropping his steak. "You need my sister's help… Why am I not surprised? She owes everybody something…"

I ignored him, staring into the water while Roxanne stared curiously back at me. I jabbed my thumb behind me to indicate the village. "I've got an underage pixie who needs the sugar scene pronto. Lights, soda, dancing, all of it. Freshy testing the waters with his adult wings for the first time. Think you could hook us up and we can take him out on the town tonight?"

Roxanne arched her brows at me, pushing golden hair back from her face. She was nearly blind, as most ishigaq are, but she'd always had a great eye for party decorations. "Sugar Boy! I haven't heard from you in ten years!"

"I've been busy. We can catch up when we meet, but I'm on a time crunch right now. I have a business to run. Can you help a fellow out?"

"That depends, Head Pixie. How much are you willing to burn?"

"Money is no object. I want wild, but professionally organized. Did I mention my eldest just came into his adult wings?" I chuckled. "Me, with adult offspring. You better believe it."

"Give me twenty minutes to ask around," she said, and twenty minutes later, she called back to say the party was on. Roxanne, I don't know how you do it, but you never disappoint.

That night in Serentip, we coughed up a lot of carbonation and Sanderson ate way too much colorful powder. There was a miscommunication regarding who our designated poofer was supposed to be, but it all worked out in the end. Pixie saliva is a cleansing agent, you know. It's biologically impossible for us to end up blackout drunk, because we'll rebound to a sober state as soon as we start to tip. One kiss from a pixie can completely clear your mind after you get sugarloaded. Getting a designated poofer after that wasn't so hard.

So that was Sanderson's coming of age day, and the dynamic between me and my pixies gradually began shifting after that. My interest in my oldest drones spiked into a muddled mess when Wilcox and then Hawkins (Yes, Wilcox first) moulted into their adult wings over the following centuries. The draw of drones to gynes (and gynes to drones) wasn't something they openly spoke about in school while I was growing up. I guess it was generally expected that parents or older gynes would teach the youth as they came of age, even though that older generation might not have received a proper education either. That's Fairy culture for you. Mind your own business and expect everyone around you to do the same.

Now, I'd had some experience with the pull between gynes and drones. Once I moulted into my adult wings, I became a lot more sensitive to the drakes around me. There were a few in my younger years I gravitated towards… to mixed results. I may not be sexually attracted to anyone, but my urge to preen well-groomed adult drakes is undeniable. I made friends. I made enemies. After my first semester at the Fairy Academy, I split from the cloudlands and traveled to Great Sidhe with Sparkle. In later years, I did bring a few drones under my wing. One of them was named Cosmo Higgins. He still lived with Jack Waterberry at this point in time.

That ethereal tug between gynes and drones is very real. As my drones began to come of age and their pheromones adjusted accordingly, I won't deny I had a harder time focusing on my work. I had to develop a routine of carrying a notebook with me every time I floated into the hall, scrutinizing it very closely, because if I looked up and caught one of my drones smelling particularly clean with his suit lightly form-fitting and wet hair combed in a snazzy way, I'd stop mid-wingbeat, completely forgetting where I was going. Sleek, fresh wet hair pressed gently into waves without scruffing up in a mess… Write that down. Certain respectful gestures go a long way, with how you hold yourselves with confidence but modesty, recognizing your skills and speaking clearly, truthfully, but socially deferring as you follow me down the hall, sometimes with those little legs tucked back… Most of you are good at it, so well done. I don't know what's up with you, Matthews.

Maybe, I thought ruefully one night, staring at the ceiling with my arms flopped out, this was why most gynes didn't stick their hands in the day-to-day runnings of a company. Excluding Kris Kringle as an outlier, no wonder only top-tier gynes could manage four drones. Between Luis, Dewdrop, Sanderson, Hawkins, and Wilcox, I had five adults scattering my senses. A tug in just one more direction might send me over the brink. It would be a long time before I was surrounded by hundreds of pixies with adult pheromones… I couldn't even guess how Longwood was going to function when he succeeded me. If he didn't even leave bed and just spent his days basking beneath pretty drone after pretty drone, I wouldn't even blame him. But he looked disgusted and affronted when I mentioned it. I smacked him lightly behind his little hair scruffs and told him to suck it up. Half the gynes in this world would kill for that kind of life.

And when it came to preening, Sanderson - the original Sanderson - bloomed into the best of the best. Oh, when he was first learning the trade we had some rocks in the path to deal with, but when his adult wings felt strong again and he came to me requesting preening, I had no idea what I was getting into…

Now that Sanderson was older, taller, and stronger than he'd been as a juvenile, I finally told him that I'd always liked being held and dipped during preening, as though at the end of a dramatic dance. I preened with Luis and Dewdrop that way, sometimes. There was a certain beauty in it. A sense of comfort and freedom rolled into one. Sanderson tilted his head when I first said it, then worked out the steps with me until we had them nailed down.

Once you become an adult, you grow much more sensitive to the energy field. When Sanderson ran his tongue up my neck, marking out the submissive patterns, he did so with an expert hand. For the last 60,000 years, I'd practiced preening with him in small doses, but the effect he had on me then was nothing compared to what he could do now. In only seven quick strokes, he could lock his tongue into the energy field and pull back in just the right way, dragging all my unsteady magic into orderly lines. I muttered a gasp the first time he did it, pushing him away so I could stand upright. I held one hand to my head, pacing around the preening room.

"Sir?"

I turned back to see him standing there, frowning at me. He wore his new, tailored suit. And by dust, did he make it look good.

"Is something wrong?" he asked when I didn't reply. I traced my fingers along my neck, feeling the slightly damp stripes he'd licked across my freckles.

"You straightened my lines. You did that. You. With just one yank."

"Yes…?"

"I don't understand. You did that a lot faster than Luis and Dewdrop ever have. Smoofing dust, I don't know what to say."

Sanderson glimmered mildly at my praise, setting one hand to his hip. He almost looked amused. Oh, he'd better not be. With the other, he pushed his fingers through his cowlicks. "Maybe it's because I'm a pixie, sir. We're genetically identical. Luis and Dewdrop are just fairies. Maybe I know the feel of your stabilized magic better than they ever will. Or maybe I'm just very good at what I do."

"That settles it," I said, gazing back at him. "You're definitely going to be my alpha drone. Now that you're an adult, it's about time we made it official. I'll let Luis and Dewdrop know. They've been anxiously awaiting this day just as long as I have. Well, come here. Let me do your licks, and then I want you brushing my wings."

Sanderson's talent for preening, I quickly discovered, seemed to be uniquely his. I could sense the energy field mingling around us both as I licked his cheeks, but try as I might, soothing his lines didn't come so easily to me. Which did not look good. As the minutes drew on, I could sense Sanderson getting fidgety. He did his utmost not to show it externally, but every twitching spark still registered in the field. When we finished for the night, he thanked me for my time, but I could tell in the silence between us that I hadn't soothed his fussiness half as well as he'd soothed mine.

Ouch.

Once he left, I went to find Luis. He sat on a bench by the sandpit, watching my three youngest pixies build castles in the white flakes. Juandissimo and his girlfriend (Wanda Fairywinkle) were with him, she leaning on her boyfriend's shoulder. The two young fairies stiffened up at my presence. Wanda let go of Juandissimo's arm, fluttering back. He and his father skimmed forward, marking his fingers across his neck in a submissive hello.

"Luis," I said, motioning for him to follow me. "I need to talk to you for a sec. In private."

Luis glanced back at his son and Wanda. Juandissimo volunteered immediately to watch over the three pixies while we were away, and I nodded to him in gratitude. I pinged both Luis and myself back to the preening room, and while he looked around in mild surprise, I gripped his shoulders.

"Magnifico, teach me how to satisfy a drone. Why didn't you ever tell me I suck at this?"

"'Suck,' señor?" he asked, taking hold of my hands. He slid them from his arms. "The way you preen has never bothered me. It is lacking nothing."

"It lacked something to Sanderson."

His wings quivered with the faintest laugh, but he kept his face expressionless. "Perhaps you are overreacting, señor. Here. Try your licks on me."

I took a moment to gather my bearings, then licked the same patterns along Luis's cheeks and forehead that I'd used on Sanderson earlier. I don't know what the drone side of things feels like, but as a gyne, I'd always felt that preening was sort of like entering a code in a combination lock. Only instead of numbers, the code required me to use my tongue. I could sense the different clicks and mental shifts in the energy field, indicating when I'd steadied the flow of magic in one area and which places still needed my attention. Luis let me work, quietly waiting his turn to speak. When I was done, he only shrugged.

"Your scent is in my pores, señor. I am happy with this preening. It may be that Sanderson is simply… extra sensitive? It is not unheard of for some drones to sense the field more strongly than others do. Some Fairies are just born that way."

Great. Just one more thing for him to snip about. "I'll keep that in mind, thank you, Luis. And… I suppose you know that Sanderson will be taking on the role of alpha at your nearest convenience."

Luis bowed, sweeping his wings to either side. "I have already prepared a list of things that I manage on a daily basis here at Pixies Inc., señor. I will be proud to train him and have him serve as your faithful assistant."

"Let's hope I'm not making a mistake… How is your son, by the way? I barely see him anymore. It looks like things are still on with Fairywinkle's daughter."

"Yes," he said, smiling gently. "I fretted for so long that the Fairy Academy would be tough, but I think that in truth, it has only brought out the confidence in my son. I see him grow increasingly fit. He is building many fine muscles, and I could not be prouder of him. He and Wanda are on the godparent track together. They are studying the Unwinged Angels."

"Glad to hear it." I'd written Juandissimo a letter of recommendation for the program, and I always knew he'd click with the work. Juandissimo was a luz mala. He had a highly emotional nature, and although Iris had been wary at first about letting one of 'his condition' godparent for fragile angel children, I'd urged her to give Juandissimo a chance. He was a thoughtful kid. I'd definitely stand vigil the night he started the Year of Promise if he asked me to.

"And your other kids?" I asked. Juandissimo's counterparts never visited Pixie Village, and sometimes it slipped my mind that Luis had birthed them all with the aid of a genie's wish. But I knew that Luis still considered them his own, and he smiled.

"Ah… They are very independent children. They find solace with their own kind. In their youth, they always wished to see my counterparts instead of me, and since it was their wish, I helped them seek my Unseelie companions. That is how they have lived for ages. I will reach out to them soon, I think, and maybe hear what they have to say."

"I can't imagine what it's like to have your offspring living away from home. I can hardly stand it when my pixies leave for school. Of course, most of them are on the basic track, not the intensive study course. I teach them all they really need, and they only attend school for the socialization."

"Sí, señor."

I tried to put the fear of disappointing Sanderson out of my mind. To his credit, he didn't rub it in my face. I brought him to the preening room a few times each month. We both practiced our skills, both improving over the years.

Then came that fateful day when Hawkins and Wilcox were both older, both anxious for their turn with my tongue, and I broke the news of the dynamic shift to Sanderson.

"It won't be just us tonight?"

He stood stiffly in front of me, Hawkins and Wilcox lingering in the preening room's doorway. I shook my head. "No. Not often. Not anymore. Now that you three are of age, it's time to teach you how a proper retinue works."

"I'm your retinue," Sanderson said, the faintest hint of argument crackling in his tone. I shot him a sharp look. He blinked in sudden regret, the faintest tint of color rising in his face. He was starting to grow his hair out longer now. It was forming waves behind his head.

"You're alpha retinue drone," I corrected him. "A retinue is a group… plural. It always was. Now that your coworkers are older, you won't be the only one in the circle. You're in charge of guiding the circle to pleasure me."

His eyes narrowed behind the shades.

"Patience, Sanderson," I soothed. "You're still favored. You just have to share the room now."

"I'm not jealous." The words lacked confidence. He shut up without being asked, floating across the preening room to get the wingbrush.

"No," I said. "You're on massage duty. Wilcox will manicure my nails and Hawkins will clean my wings."

"Yes, sir," he said through tightened teeth. He veered to grab a thick towel instead. This, he brought to me. I removed my shirt and stretched out across the cushioned pallet. There, I watched with one eye as Hawkins and Wilcox slipped around the room. They kept testing warm cloths against their hands, scrutinizing the label of every bottle, re-warming the cloths, hesitating over fingernail polish colors, counting unbroken teeth to compare combs, and soaking cloths again. Sanderson took up position behind me, arms folded, tapping his foot as he waited for them to finish.

"Don't rush them," I said, closing my eye. I nestled my chin in my arms and let my wings relax. "They're nervous. It's their first time in a circle and they really want to impress you."

Sanderson's gaze jerked to the back of my head. "Me?"

"Yes. You're the alpha."

"But you're the boss."

"I'm your boss. You're their boss. You're everyone's boss except the gynes. That's what being the alpha is all about."

This was new information for Sanderson, and he puzzled over it in silence. The foot tapping stopped. Then he said, "Drones need pheromones to live without constant anxiety. I presume this means that in the future, other pixies will need to take their turn. Does the retinue circle ever rotate?"

"Yes. Today it's Hawkins and Wilcox. As the rest grow up, new circles will form. Your job will be organizing teams efficiently so no matter who you bring to my door, everyone gets along without bumping into each other or leaving a job unfinished. I expect to always end a preening night satisfied. Everyone gets their turn with the Head regularly, but as alpha, I expect your presence at every session."

"I see."

"If it gets too much for you, carefully select beta retinue drones who can manage a team in your absence. We'll have these sessions just after lunch, of course. It's more relaxing that way. Of course, you'll need to check each drone's work schedule to make sure the company doesn't collapse if someone leaves their office for too long." My eye cracked open again, watching him in the mirror. "I'm being picky today because I want to talk you through the process. Impress me with your ability to captain your workers enough times… and I'll roll back my micromanaging. Soon, it could be you calling the shots whenever we do a circle."

"Can I?"

"You can. Without a single order or abrupt change of direction from me. I'll trust you to recognize my stress points and needs each day better than I do myself. Surprise me. Just don't be dumb."

His wings whirred, bringing him into the air again. "I understand that a circle only shallow preens, sir. Will we still deep preen sometimes when we're alone?"

"Sometimes. My priority is satisfying all the drones in my care. Each drone requires regular pheromone exposure, so I need you to sniff out who's in need and bring them to me. But, you also need to ensure that I enjoy these sessions. I should be your first priority. The drones get exposed to my pheromones even if they only leave this room half satisfied, but you definitely don't want me leaving this room irritated. Otherwise, you're at risk of being replaced."

"I always satisfy, sir."

"… That's true."

I watched Hawkins and Wilcox carefully gather their things, their nerves popping like firecrackers from their skin. "You and I will both write performance reviews for circle members each day. They need feedback to improve. Improve they will, I hope. They should. You're leading them. You do your job with excellence and I'll reward you with deep preening on days I think you've earned it."

Sanderson affirmed acknowledgement again, a hint cheerier than he'd been a moment ago. He probably wouldn't mind the fact that Longwood would never be present for these preening opportunities at all… Though, even patient Longwood would get jealous someday. I made a mental note to start pulling him aside for more training about his future role, just him and me.

Finally, Hawkins and Wilcox approached me, and all three drones took the positions I'd requested. Sanderson went to work massaging my back muscles, moving his fingers smoothly around the costas of my wings. Hawkins brushed my wings for several minutes, gradually phasing out the brush and switching to a rag. He clamped my wing in the fabric, gently rubbing off the stale traces of magic. Wilcox settled in front of me with his file and a set of clippers. I have a tendency to bite my nails to stubs, but he did his best to square them off and eliminate the hangnails. He lotioned my hands and even massaged a gentle healing cream into some of the scabs and scratches along my arms. I had quite a lot of bites from holding fussy pixie kids.

The session lasted for an hour. Once it ended, Hawkins and Wilcox gathered the lotions and brushes, chattering to each other and me about how they enjoyed the circle a lot more than one-on-one sessions. Good. With hundreds of pixies to raise, I made a mental note to see how many I could juggle at a single time. I thanked the pair, watching them flit away with delighted spins of their wings. Then I turned to Sanderson, who floated on the opposite side of the preening pallet. I raised my brows at him. "Well?"

He stayed silent for a moment, then carefully adjusted his shades. "I… didn't hate that as much as I thought I would, H.P."

"What about the set-up appealed to you?"

"Nàtharru baim ná, sir." What is natural for the insects is natural for me.

"I think so too."

I spent the rest of the day in my office, resting and recovering my pheromones. I scryed Anti-Bryndin while I was at it, and I'd only just finished the call when, with a ping, Sanderson appeared in my office with several papers in his hands.

"If you have your reports for Hawkins and Wilcox, sir, I can take them down with mine."

"You finished?" I hadn't even started.

"Of course." He almost expressed surprise. "That's my job."

"I've had a busy afternoon. I'll get them to you tomorrow."

Sanderson didn't move. But after a few seconds, he said, "Yes, sir," and left.

He was back the next morning around 10:00. "Later," I promised, twirling my abacus beads. "I'm finishing a thing."

A crease appeared on his forehead. His lips tightened, but he nodded and pinged away again. After lunch, he caught me fiddling with the knob to my office, and placed his hand on the door to hold it shut.

"Sir, do you have those reports? Hawkins and Wilcox are biting their nails to stubs and I'm at a loss for what to say to them. They want to know how they did and what to improve upon. I thought you wanted another circle tomorrow, but we can't discuss a plan until we know what satisfied you and what didn't."

"Later," I said, half-shrinking beneath him. "Give me three hours. I'll get it done."

"All right, boss."

I locked my office door and pulled all the books off my bookshelves. I rubbed the shelves clean and dusted every spine, drinking in the scent of old pages. Some of these were growing smudged and warped and could stand to be recopied. I ought to assign someone to that. I worked at my tidying for a while - it felt like mere minutes - until I heard a tap tap tap on my window. I could feel Sanderson's energy impulses hovering outside it. "I'm taking a break," I called, not looking at him. Though once he pinged off, I drew the curtains shut.

30 minutes later, I left my office with some papers in hand. Just not papers for Hawkins and Wilcox, and Sanderson gazed up at me without blinking when I said so.

"No reports means no circle tomorrow, H.P."

My wingbeats skipped before I could stop them. "What? You can't do that. It's already planned. You can't cancel now."

"No reports, no circle." He put his foot down, literally. "I may not be good at looking ahead, but even I know two days of pending paperwork is a road to more days of pending paperwork. The others are too suck-uppy to say it to your face, so I will."

"I have other drones who need my pheromones."

"That's my problem. I'm their boss."

I hesitated, gripping my papers. "Sanderson, this is the cutest power trip I've ever seen, but I'm not messing around. The others will go rogue if they don't get pheromone exposure. They'll start pushing the fence to its limits and freak out when it doesn't match the signals in their brains."

"If you lack time to preen everyone, sir, then you're expected to deep preen the alpha drone. He's legally allowed to spread your scent by taking the dominant role preening them, and he won't be organizing a circle until those reports are in."

"You're a jerk."

Sanderson tilted down his shades. "Sir, you procrastinated informing health professionals that you produce identical nymphs from your head for thousands of years. And even then, the only reason you brought it up was because it couldn't be avoided. I have a right to question how soon those reports will be in when the would-be recipients are getting antsy under my watch. If you not doing your job interferes with my job or the amount of respect my subordinates show me, I'm going to be a gigantic butt about it. Sir."

"So silver-tongued for a drone. You always were so much like Kalysta."

That wasn't supposed to get a reaction out of him, but it did. A little jolt in the energy field. It didn't show on his face, and he went on smoothly. "It's either performance reviews or no more retinue circles, boss. Shout when you want me." He vanished in a ping. I leaned back against the wall, blowing a raspberry at the ceiling. This would be a really good time for Iris to invite me to lunch. Or Hawkins to set something on fire. Or Emery to remember I'd ticked her off about something and burst over here. Maybe Jorgen. Actually, why not Jorgen? With a flick of my wand, I could commit a crime in Fairy World and get arrested in five minutes tops.

No, that wasn't a great idea… I had a nymph who needed to nurse from my pouch tonight. Anyway, crime sprees take so long to plan and Fairy World was so far. It would take all day to decide what I wanted to rob or blow up or bulldoze. I decided to do that later.

So… performance review time. I worked on them for a while, but second guesses weighed down my wings. I could be brutally honest with my sister, but it was different with my employees. Honest, yes. Brutal… Maybe not. But would they respect me if I came off too nice? The last thing I wanted to do was habituate them into expecting showers of compliments every day and then crush them with critiques out of the blue. Decisions, decisions…

I lay across my desk, hands grasping the far side. That's what I was doing when Sanderson pinged in. "How much have you written, sir?" he asked primly. He didn't try to suggest he'd been pushy and overbearing this morning, but the milkshake in his hand was a peace offering. That was obvious enough.

"Um…" I looked down. "I have 'Hawkins, I like how you made square motions instead of pretty elf swirls' and 'Wilcox, if eggs didn't suck, you'd be an egg.' Um. It's a first draft."

I think he muffled a snort. "And mine, sir?"

"Oh… yeah. I forgot you were getting one too. I'll start it later." He shook the vanilla milkshake a bit, and I finally swiped it from his hand. "Compliments aren't my thing, Sanderson. And truthful critiques on Day 1 might shatter them. I'll get into the flow one of these days, but breaking the ice is hard. What did you tell them?"

"Boss, I'm going to stop you right there because that would be plagiarism." He hovered behind my shoulder, sipping from his straw… then grabbed the papers from my desk and pinged away. Okay, wow. I flopped back in my chair, kicking up my legs. Knowing him like I did, there wasn't a doubt in my mind he was presenting those to Hawkins and Wilcox right now, articulate or not. Sanderson's a person who gets things done stupid early and then sits on his buns all week waiting for new instructions. I may struggle with procrastination, but at least I do useful stuff during said procrastination time. Who's more successful each day, I ask you.

But, I got my preening circle after lunch on Friday. The instant they all left, I pinged to my office and scribbled my reports. It pleased me like nothing else to thrust those into Sanderson's hands when I saw him in the hall.

"Here. Shove these in your uptight pouch and do a backflip, punk."

"How many words?" he asked, scanning them.

"400 apiece."

"I wrote 800."

He broke a smile when I yanked the reports back and smacked them at his head. Stupid punk kid.

Eventually, Sanderson and I worked out a system. Getting fawned over by a retinue circle relaxed me, and I couldn't work up the attention span for reports for at least a few hours after that. But I obviously couldn't complete them in advance and reward myself with a soothing session (Believe me, I tried- He put a stop to that fast).

So, we concluded Sanderson would watch for indications of pleasure in my moans and energy signal flickers. He would complete his reports after cleaning up and provide immediate, individual feedback to his team about their organization and technical skills. I'd send a single report to all of them that evening clarifying what I'd found enjoyable that day and what I wanted improved for next time. That way I didn't have to track which drone was which. And since Sanderson attended every session, he could guide each team towards my vision of bliss before I even signaled anything. Everybody wins.

"I like it," I told Sanderson during a trip to Faeheim for lunch. "We're doing okay for a couple of mutations trying to build a whole society ourselves."

"We are, sir."

"Teach my successor to do it exactly like this. I think it works great."

His wingbeats faltered. "Of course, sir… I'll do that."

Longwood fluttered on the edge of my awareness, growing closer and closer to moulting every decade. But for a few thousand years… it was only Sanderson, Hawkins, Wilcox, and me who called ourselves adults in the pixie race. They did their thing and I did mine, and we kept Pixies Inc. running smoothly. Luis and Dewdrop leant helping hands, and the world kept turning. Nothing, it seemed, could possibly go wrong.

I'd no idea how fleeting those good years would be.

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A/N: Text to Text - There are a lot of subtle references in this chapter… I chose to cut the wrestling scene between Sanderson and Longwood because this chapter got long, but take note of that moment, because this will come up again. H.P.'s attitude towards Sanderson this chapter parallels the way Ambrosine treated him back in Chapter 3, so kudos to anyone who caught that!

Thirdly, if you're a fan of my one-shot series 130 Reasons Why I'm Fairy Trash, take note of Sanderson's reaction to the idea of the Eros family drawing egg samples from his head. There's a certain pixie named Cavatina who's gonna have a similar reaction exactly 100,000 years from now… I guess it all comes full circle in the end.