(Final draft posted October 25th, 2024)

.: Reedfilter Rules :.

Such music tries to tell us that

The air is yearning to contain

Whatever consonance of passion

Happens to be the current fashion

Of disembodied pain

- Excerpt from The Grey Among the Green, John Fuller, 1988

Swimming With Sharks

Spring of the Lightly Trodden Stones

~20 minutes after Chapter 3

Graydale - Outskirts of Pixie World - Morning

She hears his voice just north of the worst of times; it drifts in from the front counter to where she's working in the back: "Will you ask Tas-pri d'vixil if she'll speak with me after her shift?"

"Blitz you," says the girl at the counter, who probably didn't even look up. She's a teen; she's always like this with everyone. At this point, Vixil's the only one willing to lend her a job… and she did, of course, because she was that kind of girl once upon a time. She smothers her laughter as Eskel's voice tips up in confusion.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You want to drag us into a war with the Pixies, right? Well, get your sandwiches somewhere else."

"I want to avoid another war," he says, so bewildered now that Vixil does laugh, "and I'm not here for a sandwich. I need to see Vixil."

"What, are you gonna blitz her on the food prep surfaces or something?"

"No? I need her help, woman; I suggest you mind your tongue."

"Are you threatening me?"

That's enough. Vixil wipes her hands dry on a towel and heads out front to greet him. "Aw, hey, High Count! Really been missing you lately. You should come around more often; I could make your favorite sandwiches half-price. Not for free. That'd be cutting you down a lot." And to the girl, who's floating there looking salty, her hair cascading down just one side of her head, she adds, "You can take your break, hon. I'll help him; we can't keep the boss waiting."

One frumpy look later, she'd gone and they're alone. "So what's up?" Vixil asks. She glances across the empty sandwich shop. They only have three tables. It's not lunch yet… "Is this private Count business? You can step in the back. It's just me today. Good to see ya."

"Yeah… Hey." Eskel says it real casual, swaying just a little on his heels so one arm flops. He swings it high to scratch behind his neck, following her to the back room. She shuts the door tight. "It's, uh… Well, it's been quite a while, hasn't it? How've you been? … You look good. Is the jacket new?"

How has she been? Vixil purses her lips, tapping nails against her thigh. "I've been keepin' busy. We had some holiday events at the shop." Her ex came a'lurking a couple times this week, but Eskel won't wanna hear that. She don't wanna tell him, either- It ain't none of his business. It could be, if he came around and tried to be her friend (or even just be social). It'd be a start. Why don't he come? Maybe he just forgot she cared. Vixil leans one hip and elbow on the counter, stretching out her legs just enough to put her back end out there without him calling her fast. She is, he knows, but they're playing pretend. "You ain't lookin' bad yourself. Shed the suspend-ies like a rattlesnake, huh? Or do they go all the way up underneath?"

Eskel's eyes flick to her rear, lingering a few beats longer than they probably should (If he really were polite). But he draws his focus to her face again before he speaks, which is close enough to looking at her the whole time. Technically, he was looking at her. "They're… present. My mother thinks I'm less likely to tumble into trouble if I dress in buckles and modern flair."

"Well, are ya?"

"You know who I am," he softly says. With his head tilted forward, his green eyes look ghostly peeking out beneath his night-blue hair. Yeah, that's the color of trees when they're lit with lightning that's not yet struck. Vixil's arms prickle up. Oh. She plays it cool though, gliding one hand along the counter. It's just whatever, y'know… that he's here. He never visits enough. She moves her elbow back, prepared to turn away, only for Eskel's hand to close over her knuckles like a mousetrap. He catches her eyes in those flytraps of his. Really, traps is the best way to describe him. You better learn this fast if you think you can steal him away.

"Hey."

He doesn't move the hand away. "I still think of that night, if I'm honest… How electric the air tasted in those moments before you'd so much as laid hand on me."

"I remember you din't brush your teeth and ya tasted like cheese and jam."

Eskel's grimace dances in the corners of those shiny-lit eyes. "Yes, well… Perhaps I was a mite hasty to follow on your heels like a drooling hound to bed, but don't pretend you didn't enjoy it. When I kissed you past the point of sentient thought, you groaned hard enough to snuff every candle in the room."

"Mm… Yeah, I did. You were pretty good at that. Whatcha want? Why'd you come?"

His face slides back into practiced professionalism; he clears his throat in his hand. Vixil watches that, barely trying with her own. She pulls her fingers through her ponytail and lets the rest fall where it may. "Ah, yes… I'm afraid I do have a motive for showing up unannounced after all these years. Have you seen our son? He didn't make it to school."

Oh. He's only here because he's looking for Eskel-ju. Vixil flits her thoughts towards Pixie World, caressing it the way she's always wanted to, but rarely gets to try. She was in disguise the first time Eskel ever crossed her path. It was at the greenhouse. She's quite certain her pixie disguise turned out less flawed than his; she studied those whose culture she sought to infiltrate before she took the plunge. Pixies are not nearly as crisp, clumsy, and charming as he.

Really though, it's his interest in candy that gave him fast away. It sure didn't take long to pick him from the crowd. It didn't take long to thread themselves in conversation, walking parallel through the garden center, both on the hunt for poisonous plants. And it definitely didn't take long after that to pull him in by the wrinkles in his shirt, lips to lips, teeth to fangs…

I's gotta be real gross, she thinks now, still untangling clumps from her hair. I'd still blitz him again, even knowing who he is. Can't tell her twin sissy that one. See, Anti-Fairies can do whatever they want, except one little thing. There is only one rule. You can go off and blitz your Fairy countypart if you wanna, but you ain't never - never - s'posed to pick the opposite of the guy your counterpart's gone and married. Anti-Fairies ain't watered-down copies of Fairies; there ain't no division between "original" and "mimic" at all. And that's important. The world keeps turning. Everybody's happy this way.

She didn't know, that night, who he really was. Neither did he (for her). Not even when morning light filtered in and found them tangled in each other's arms, undisguised. Nah… They didn't know 'til after Urn d'eskel took his first wee breath and it got a little late to take it back. "Oops," had been Eskel's faint remark, and he'd looked so stunned and shaken, Vixil laughed right in his face. She won't forget that tiny "Oops" for as long as she lives. Not even when she hits a million years old.

No, they're never telling Little Eskel. It would've gone worse for him if she and his daddy tried to be a family, because people would've found out and then they'd talk. He can come find her if he ever wants to, but she's keeping well away. Then he doesn't gotta know his mum and dad are a little too connected for anybody's comfort. Hey, if she's gotta be "dirty," at least Eskel's even filthier.

And at least it felt so good, she'd never wanna take it back.

"I didn't tell Eskel-ju I'm his ma."

"Yes, I know," the bigger Eskel replies, almost impatient. "But please keep an eye out for him. He'll have to eat sometime. They eat sandwiches in Pixie World. Your shop's near the border. He soon enough might come here."

"Yeah, but we can shapeshift. I ain't gonna recognize him if he's hiding out. If he's running, he'll be disguised; he ain't dumb." She doesn't know this for certain, but she likes to think Urn d'eskel's a clever boy. She keeps her distance, but he comes around with his other dad; the pixie one. His daddy's always nice to her. In another life, they could be good friends. Too bad she's chaos reborn. Thirty-Seven might not like that. Ah, well.

Eskel doesn't even blink, stepping forward like a hawk. Or an ostrich. "That's true… and I have not forgotten the ease of shrugging on a sleek disguise. Perhaps I just came to see you for the fun of messing with your pretty head, hm?"

She wrinkles up her nose. "You're bein' unfair… Don't talk to me like that if you're gonna walk out."

"Is the door locked?"

Vixil's unsteady core begins to pound inside her head. Every slam pulses energy through her whole body, round and around again. "I's still working-"

"Is the door locked?" Eskel interrupts, getting very, very close. His hands find both sides of her chest, hands tight to skin. How's any guy got hands big enough for that, let alone this one? She's memorized the way those hands slide down her back and bunch up her hair. Vixil looks at him, almost uncomprehending. Her mind ticks forward and, like… Well, is this a bad idea? I'm making food. I'm making food. Her hands shake, though, when she grips his narrow shoulders for support. He feels like a twig underneath that fancy coat. The wrinkles in it look funny, like he does his laundry himself and didn't get the creases out. Maybe he really does have the suspenders on.

"It ain't locked, but I shouldn't… It's gonna be lunch rush."

"I'll do your dishes," he tells her, his hands almost light enough, she forgets 'em altogether. But he pushes in the thumbs, and you remember where he's got the thumbs. Her wings flinch. He proceeds, unbothered, in the same silky voice he used the day they met. "I'll mop the floors when I'm done; you have my word, woman. What? Don't you trust your own High Count? Good lords above, what've the cloudlands come to? Come on. Won't you let me touch you nice? I'll be quick enough and then out of your hair."

… Well. You want to? she almost asks him. She doesn't. The pleading in his eyes is too familiar, after long nights of gnawing at each other's lips and searching one another's souls. She's been with other drakes. Anti-Fairies have cold hands, cold touch, that sticks to them like mud even if they change their shape. She knew him at the greenhouse and she would've recognized him anywhere. He only wears blue socks. He never changes them in disguise.

As her silence drags on, Eskel clears his throat. "I'm very busy, you know. I can't stay for long. Can I touch you again? And then I'm off."

She knows why Anti-Fairy World's beloved (or beloathed) bachelor prince doesn't hang around more often. She really ain't stupid, at least not in that part of life. She ain't blind. She's seen the way he bites the corner of his lip with one fang when he stares across the counter, ordering some wrap full of lettuce he wanted sprinkled in blood and salt. Maybe he's seen the way she checks his big wings out - or at least suspected - or knows how she likes the way he kicks his heels behind him when he flies. If it's dirty to want Eskel, his lips shouldn't taste so good. That's just the way it goes.

"It's wrong. Our Fairies match. We're soul-crossers if we do."

"That just tempts me more." His hands don't move, still waiting for further acknowledgement - more permission - or at least that's what she wants to think. Her mind spins above the surface of something that's got the answers. She scoops up none of it. She's just there, spinning along with the ride. He says, "Don't tell me you haven't wondered how they drive each other mad. We're their perfect opposites, are we not? Their souls stamped out in reverse?" He lowers his voice, leaning his mouth much closer to her ear. It stands the backs of her neck hairs on end. "Oh, Vixil… There isn't a day that goes by that I have ever regretted what we did that night. And I pleasured you fiercely, because everything the Fairy-Cosmo won't do is everything I will do, and everything the Fairy-Wanda despises is everything that drives you mad. Well? Tell me that I'm wrong."

"You ain't wrong," she says, seeing no reason to lie with him breathing and holding her like that, his hips so close to hers, they almost crush her like the meat in a sandwich. She can feel itty-bitty parts of herself twitch and strain for him, looking 'round at the other parts like rabbits in a field who ain't yet sure if they should be liking what they like… or if they should bolt into the woods. Eskel's never touched her behind closed doors since Eskel-ju was born. He moves to do so now, readying himself to play the part, but Vixil stills him with a lifted hand. "Once… it was just an accident. We didn't know. But soul-crossing on purpose is purposeful. I dunno if we should."

I want to. I want it wild and nuts. I want YOU.

You couldn't fit a knuckle between their lower bodies anymore. Not that you'd want to, with how tight he's pressing in. Unless you're a weirdo or something. But you'd have to be a sandwich-maker to get back here, and then you'd really have to wash your hands.

Eskel trails his tongue across his fangs. "It isn't wrong, my love… The Anti-Fairy Council has been keeping secrets all to themselves. They never tire of keeping us under their control."

This seems unconnected; unrelated. Vixil tries to follow that line of thought, but feels dizzy and stupid when she grasps for hanging threads. Eskel's still holding her breasts like that. They're touching, separated only by their trouser fabric. Maybe she should say something. She could make him stop.

"I could ruin you," she warns him. "Just destroy your reputation bad. I could… just tell the Council we dun soul-crossed."

His breath tickles her ear. His fingers scrunch the back of her hair, lips shaking a dash away from hers. "I know. And that is why I can never tell. You alone hold that power, because I never will. You have me in chains! It drives me wild; Vixil, I must kiss you. It's out of my control. Oh gods, let me now!"

What's his big plan? Her eyes dart aside. There's a counter wedged behind her, but it's got boxes all over it. There's not enough space to do very much. But the High Count must know that too, and he'll figure things out. He'll make this work. She pulls her eyes back. "You can do whatever you want, but I ain't gonna forget how you screamed and squirmed and begged when I had ya stripped bum-naked and pinned down way back in Pixie World. And if you wanna get that again sometime… You gots to see me more often."

Eskel's breath paints her lips like wind in a rainstorm. His eyes trail down the curve of her face and along her neck. Slowly. With precision. His hand follows a similar path down the curve of her side, feeling out the edge of her breast and the shape of her hip. He lets the hand linger at her belt, and Vixil lets it stay. He licks his lips. They glisten with the lightest spark you've ever seen, but there's a fire in his tongue and poison past those fangs. He'll kill ya if you let him. You'll die without him in your veins. He can do those things. He's High Count.

He says, "Your charms haven't changed a bit, my dear; nor have they changed my mind. Were it up to me, I would no longer keep my distance. Nay, I would smuggle you off to my mother's country home! There, I'd kiss you in the yard so anyone could see. I have a full quarter of the cloudlands at my command, and as soon as I'm united with a partner, it will be half. I should make a wife of you beneath the stars our ancestors hung in the sky a hundred thousand years ago. But my dear, my dear… Should I stray across the one and only line that holds us back? It forbids us. Our emotions have gotten away. This isn't done."

The counter's cold and hard behind her, but his breath is colder and the way she wants him even harder. "Aw, it could be… if you weren't 'fraid of what you're Mama says."

"Yes, it could've been," he murmurs back, pushing against her. That presses her back against the counter, and she is one again grateful for the cloth between them and the false protection that it offers. "We could have woven romantic songs openly once, if I'd found you before that dreaded Cosmo found his Wanda. Ah-ah, don't squeal! You shouldn't giggle like that, Vixil! This is very inappropriate."

"Sorry."

He shook his head, poetry in motion. "We are disgusting if we find this attractive, you know. We're much too close now… Our counterparts have undressed and made love a hundred times without our consent. It could have been us. It could still be us." And he takes her by the shoulders then, pinching his nails through her shirt, and kisses her neck like he's going for a bite. Vixil tenses, wings flapping out, only to let the nerves roll off her back to the drain below her feet. Oh. This is okay.

Eskel moves closer, drawing a line of kisses from her throat to collarbone. Each one stings with the nick of his fangs. Each kiss is accented with a word or two, mumbled in between: "Were I free to do so, I would take you again. I would run off if that is what you wished of me. Or take you here, stripping you of that constraining denim and simple cotton fabric. Are you wearing lace beneath? Ha! It makes no difference. I crave you without; I even crave you bare. Toy with me as you will this day, but my memories shall fill in every blank. 4,000 years apart and I've not batted an eye."

Vixil's fingertips grip the counter's edge; her other fist finds his scruffy hair. She shifts her leg. Eskel hooks it in his hand. He lifts it to that thin, empty spot on the counter with the rest of her- He plops her seat there. His kisses move down her clothed shoulder to her exposed arm. And she lets him. She lets him, again, like she did before. Except it was reversed before.

"I gotta make sandwiches. We can't…"

"Please let me touch you," Eskel begs, drawing back from a small mark he left on her arm. Well, it's a good thing she brought the jacket. "If you stay right there and don't touch anywhere beneath my clothes, your hands won't get filthy. That's all right, isn't it?

Vixil squirms her wings. "I don't… know." It sounds lame against her tongue. Eskel gazes up at her, crushed and crestfallen. So she clarifies. "You don't see me enough. I dunno if this should be the way it goes."

His nails pinch her skin, right at the place her shirt flutters with her breath. "You're ungrateful, you know. The High Count is here on his knees for you, and still you turn up your nose."

"The High Count ain't special."

"What if I only kissed you?" Eskel presses, and after a moment's weighing of her options, Vixil reasons that would be all right. Yeah… okay. Yeah, you can kiss before making sandwiches for lunch rush. You probably don't even have to wash your hands after that, though she was gonna do it anyway since she can't trust Eskel not to have fleas in his hair. The High Count is a whole lot of things, but 'good in bed' hadn't made him any better at dressing fancy. Maybe his brother did it better. But Prince Mon d'lin is gone, and Lin ain't staring at her place on the counter right now, huh? So Lin doesn't matter. Only Eskel does.

And if kissing's clean, it stands to reason that kissing with their shirts and jackets off is probably even cleaner, 'cuz then their mouths won't drip on fabric, and the fabric will cover any place on their bodies that took a hit.

He draws down her trousers, tug by tug, as her grip trembles in his hair. It's all wrong, and Vixil does not stop him for reasons she isn't ready to face. But you gotta think smart, y'know… It's the cleanest thing they could do right here, right now, squirreled away in the back of her shop. She can still make sandwiches when he leaves.

I wonder if he'd stay if we were squirrels.

Eskel's fangs nip hers, but they're gentle to the roots. They fit like they were meant to, like he did 4,000 years ago; like they were made for this. Like it ain't soul-crossing and it were never wrong. And then it's over, and when it's over, it's done. They dress again in silence. They don't check each other's burning faces even once.

"I might get betrothed," he says, and she looks at him, because she was lying that she weren't; she lied about all that. She's just a fat liar. She's lying to everyone that she ever slept with him in the first place. Nobody asks, but somehow, it's lying not to tell.

"To a princess?"

"To some damsel of the Autumn Court my mother's picked out. I'm meeting her on the morrow." He catches her nervous stare; his lips twist like snakes as he smiles back, tucking the collar of his shirt around his jacket flaps. "Hush; it won't last if she doesn't hold a candle to you in bed."

Vixil jumps. "She's comin' to my bed?"

"No, no… But may I? This week, if you're offering."

Something guilty and guiltless prickles in her face, which knows this is wrong even when her brain clicks around like it's overturned and kicking little leggies in the air. "I don't know," says she. "I get real busy making sandwiches. Besides, it's wrong to do this now that we know our Fairies match, and we're just gross."

"Next Tuesday at 9, perhaps? I can't do 10; I have to be home by 11 or my mother will suspect."

"Yeah, 9's good, but you can come at 8 if you wanna do it long. It'll be proper then. We'll be real secret and proper, just you and me. Like a date." She watches him float towards the door, drawing out his wand. "Hey… You're gonna do my dishes, right?"

Eskel glances back, disinterested. He bites that one side of his lips he always does and twirls his wand in his hand. "Yes, all right… but it will have to wait for now. Eskel-ju is missing. There's not a minute of my time to waste."

Vixil lifts her brows. "Maybe we shouldn't have done all that, then," she says, but he throws back his head and laughs like a crow.

"Darling, I wanted every moment of that… That's no waste! Just efficiency at its very finest." And he disappears out the door. Vixil shakes her head, eyes rolling big. He ain't gonna do the dishes. Maybe he will, if he's honorable, but he prob'ly won't.

She doesn't stop him, though. She's got sandwiches to make.

Dinner theater sounded delightful for two weeks after the invite came in. All the more so after the late-night call that Talon had been found, wriggly and exhausted but very much alive. "I brought him to school," Eskel reported, speaking loudly into his receiver with all the air of a drake who'd never used one before. He must be in the principal's office. Talon seemed to be with him, loud and protesting in the background. "I've taken care of discipline and he's been rightly fed. I'll see you and the match at dinner, won't I? I don't believe I got an answer. These tickets I've set aside won't be yours if you delay much longer."

"Yes," Fergus's tongue answered for him. Pussyfooting around it wouldn't help him anymore. "I'll see we're both there. I did promise Talon a dessert if he behaves, so you'll have to recommend one. I'm not familiar with Anti-Fairy cuisine."

"Smashing! We'll have a jolly good time together; you and I haven't had an activity night with Talon in decades. What's your match's name again?"

"Six-Five."

A flicker of pause echoed back, like Eskel really thought Fergus might trip, spilling names like feathers from a torn-open pillow across the floor. He picked up the click of a tongue and the way Eskel shifted, wings rustling as he found a new position to rest in that he liked a little more. Was the office cramped? Every scraping, fussy noise carried through, and Fergus gave a grimace.

Eskel had nothing more to say. Not even critique. He bid farewell. They both hung up. And in a way, the long-awaited RSVP for dinner theater had finally been made. But the night before he and Sapphire were to arrive, Fergus almost canceled it. High Count Pag-sün d'eskel would be there. Did he need another reason to falter?

Why is it, Fergus thought, fighting with the buttons on his shirt collar, that even when I do nothing more than meet the High Count for food and drink, I still feel like I'm doing something illicit? It would be thrilling, if it felt thrilling. It wasn't. At least, it shouldn't be seen as such (Either thrilling or secretive and unbecoming). They may share custody of Eskel's illegitimate child, but that didn't paint them as "matches" in any way. Eskel had his preferences in the field of romance and affairs. Fergus had his. And his plans had Sapphire.

His eyes shifted from the mirror to the empty space beside him. Right… Sapphire and our now separate rooms. But they weren't unmatched. All things considered, private rooms were a light price to pay. Fergus had no intention to say so, but it might be helping him, too… Extra space, extra breathing room, unrestricted by her decision to turn the lights out early every night. And he could roll, stretch, or fart as much as he needed to without a thought of her crossing his mind.

So things were going great.

Maybe, after a long day of theater and socializing with high-ranked individuals across Court boundaries… she would welcome him among the blankets for a night. She should. They'd been matched for nearly 60,000 years, and lived together for most of it. And not everyone could claim that type of familiarity long-term.

He pushed aside the reminder that Kalahari Sanderson's son - too half-wisp to pass as fully pixie - had yet to be assigned a match. This may have come easier if he hadn't been standing in front of a mirror, pulling his tie around the front. There was no helping the rounded tips of his wings or the slight curve of his chin. He could pass before anyone who didn't give him a second glance. Eskel knew - or suspected - and no one else important would be at dinner tonight. Unless they were, but he'd cross that bridge when it arced in front of him.

H.P. Reedfilter hadn't been thrilled to hear news of the invitation. Fergus had reported it, of course. Reedfilter tilted the invitation left and right in her hands. She hemmed and hawed over it for some time, but the reminder that Talon needed his other father (and that Fergus needed to brush up on his Anti-Fairy knowledge before the kid hit puberty) finally won her over.

"Perhaps I'll come along," she'd said, extending the invite back to him. I've never attended dinner theater, and with all due respect, you aren't trained in proper etiquette. We mustn't sour relations due to cultural insensitivity." At least, no more than they already were (You may recall that Rani and Jorgen von Strangle excluded the Anti-Cosmo from their merrymaking over New Year's).

At that, Fergus straightened up with interest. The Head Pixie outside of Pixie World? That would certainly attract more attention than his dining with Eskel alone. "I wouldn't mind, H.P., but you may need to eat at a separate table. I believe the High Count's is reserved."

She'd dismissed him with a hand on his back, guiding him through her office door. She would work something out, and when it came to H.P., that was a threat. Jorgen admired her; she had him quivering in his combat boots with a snap of sharp fingers. How might Eskel react to her sweeping in and making demands? Oh, to be a sprite on the wall for that conversation.

He broke from his thoughts when Sapphire strode from her room. She'd dressed nice in plain-colored, unwrinkled attire that couldn't be mistaken for overdressing. Yet… an anomaly at her neck caught his eye. Fergus frowned by a pixel width.

"Are you sure you want to wear that when we meet the High Count?"

Sapphire gazed impassively, unreadably in his direction. He didn't blink. You know, it really was a pretty dress. The ruffled sleeves hung from her shoulders, pairing well with the messenger bag at her side. The shape of the cloth caught her hips. The pearl necklace matched her earrings. "Must you control me?" she asked though, like a slice.

"I question your intentions, yes." Fergus moved across his room to bring his fingers near her neck. "The collar is 1.75 cm below its usual resting place on your breast. Frankly, I'm jealous. You may as well arrive in frilly lace. I'll be straightforward: I can't imagine H.P. won't have something to say. This seems indecent, if not outright scandalous."

"Why are you jealous," she asked with a flattened voice. It would color his cheeks if it weren't for his half-pixie blood. He stays pale. Stays cool. He opened his mouth, but Sapphire continued before he could speak. "I recently took on a feminine body. This may be the natural position my shirt falls now."

His wings bristled despite himself. It might be the pixie in him. It couldn't be the tactful wisp, smothered his entire life. "I haven't seen it that way before. It seems to me you're actively seeking attention outside our match."

"You leap to conclusions," she simply said. "Check your facts. And please don't speak unfavorably of me when we're in the public eye."

Yes… How very dangerous his remarks. How traitorous his tongue. Fergus smoothed his shoulders out, releasing the grit in his teeth. He walked back those recent words. "You look lovely, Sapphire."

She returned this with one eyebrow lifted a sliver more. "Mind your dirty thoughts. That feels scandalous."

"Of course, dear. If you're ready, I'll cover the ping."

They pinged to their meeting point with H.P. herself. Expert-level teleportation that it was, the cloud of dust and silicon stayed minuscule. Sapphire, Fergus noted, wasn't the only dame who'd dressed herself up for this event. Rani wore gray so dangerously near to silver, any other pixie may have been demoted. Yet she held herself with pride, and she was Head Pixie, so no one would debate it. Fergus watched in silence as H.P.'s eyes locked onto the dangerously low collar at Sapphire's neck. The faintest narrow flickered across her face.

"You approach immodesty," she remarked. "Don't let it get out of hand."

Sapphire tightened her lips. "Yes, dame."

Then Rani turned her attention to Fergus. He held very still, looking respectfully at her eyes, as she studied the way his suit lay against his form. After precisely 4.62 seconds, she nodded. "You're within expectations. The cufflinks are an excellent touch."

"I'm pleased to hear it, H.P."

Eskel had Talon in Anti-Fairy World already, or so Fergus had heard. With a twirl of her wand, H.P. shot their trio from Pixie World to the border. You couldn't deny her magical prowess, regardless of her youth. Head of the Pixies strode to the border crossing desk, shaking out her charcoal-black hair, and to deny her anything would be social suicide. Fergus and Sapphire exchanged a glance, then flanked her as quickly as their beating wings allowed. Perhaps it was just as well H.P. had come along. He couldn't exactly back out of his commitments now.

Technically, they'd be having breakfast when they met the High Count today. The time zones were a whole thing, chasing sunlight like it charmed everything it ever touched; early dinner for him would be an event they likewise would swing as the lightest meal possible. Frankly, Fergus envied the approach of night. He had a full day of work looming ahead while Eskel would be winding down. You know, people always said that Pixies made perfect hosts and even better houseguests. When you rise with the sun and take your orders without complaint, was there any room for doubt?

They'd been waiting at the station mere moments when three dark-furred anti-fairies fooped into existence across the border. Ah, here they were, and right on schedule… Which is to say, they wouldn't last long at Pixies Inc. with timecards like that.

The first figure, striding forward, was undeniably Anti-Fairy World's bachelor king in flesh and blood. Judging only off appearances, it seemed likely he'd favor the name Pag-sün d'eskel over Pag-vi today, and Fergus's assumption proved correct the moment he took H.P.'s hand. Formalities were exchanged. A shake. Hmm… Fergus leaned a little sideways, peering from behind Rani for a close look at the way she and Eskel squeezed each other's palms. Shadows carried unspoken words between them like cinders kicked in the air.

The second anti-fairy, however, so blurred the lines between politics and casual family meet-ups that Fergus eased up on the strain in his wings. Oh… Maybe Eskel had thought ahead. Say one thing for the man: If he'd swung the expectations for this overly ambiguous event to one of far lower importance than the Head Pixie's presence warranted, he was sharper than he looked. Or very, very stupid.

This second anti-fairy, see, fell just short of royal titles. Viscount Wed'irzush (further known as the Anti-Bryndin) branched off the family tree as an illegitimate half-brother of Eskel's, and he looked it. Half anti-fairy, half something with horns, and all squawk. With nothing to fear in losing his already soiled reputation, his boldness preceded him; he smiled coolly at Fergus today, hands in his pockets, but Fergus did not let down his guard. That fast-talking man could charm the feathers off a sleeping bird. He could keep bribes in his puffy blue hair and no one would even blink.

Fergus knew the third figure only vaguely, and studied her with a scrutiny reserved most often for proofreading words around a semicolon. On further inspection, even vague knowledge was a stretch. She was young. Very, very young and small to boot. Scruffy blue hair peeked around her ears and stuck up behind her neck. I don't know her, Fergus decided, and his suspicions glittered. Neither of Eskel's daughters had floppy blue hair like this; he'd met them both over holidays with Talon and theirs were just as curly black as his. But his confusion didn't last long, because Eskel introduced her not as a daughter, but as his niece, Kat d'reija.

"Is she new?" Fergus asked when he stole the chance. Eskel glanced sideways at him. The way he furrowed his brow left his face looking like beavers had dragged trees across his head.

"'New?' She's 600 years old. Heir presumptive, you know… and we're all so grateful."

Fergus flicked his eyes between Reija and Eskel, unsure. She really was young… and to be young in their race was to be fragile. And mortal. "If you're looking after your brother's heir, he must trust you a great deal." Such a forward thing to say, but half-wisp skin crawled with questions. He overthrew Prince Mon d'Lin. Who would let him near the former blood heir? And to his amusement, Eskel barked a laugh, swinging one arm and a wing behind Fergus's neck.

"Oh, no no no… She won't inherit when I have my own heir with my ruling partner. I'm only sitting her as a favor for my sister-in-law tonight, and she would flay my skin if I let a hair bend on her head. I assure you, I have some standards."

This only pricked Fergus's interest further. With how early tonight's tickets had been purchased, this sister-in-law must wield influence indeed to request a favor on an important night. Fergus made a silent note, then folded it away in the back of his mind. "Well, you could've fooled me with the niece act. She looks just like you."

Eskel rolled his eyes. "Yes, my brother and I happen to be related… Well, come along! Dinner awaits."

The six of them - Fergus, Sapphire, H.P., Eskel, Irzush, and Reija - arrived at their theater table with a wave of the High Count's wand. A black cloth coated in white spiderweb lace hung over every lap. Tiny bats had been stitched around the hem. To Fergus's great relief, Talon was already seated in the 7th chair. He glanced up, then returned to studying his menu like it helped him block out the entire world.

He did not recognize the anti-fairy in the 8th chair. Blue hair hung in a swirl low across her forehead. She'd dressed nice in a button-up blouse and skirt. Not much in the way of fangs. But she sat between Eskel and Talon, so she must be here for the High Count…

Talon didn't seem particularly impressed that his own father hadn't chosen the seat beside him. Well. At least he'd shown up. Eating would keep him fed. With H.P. and Eskel already on edge around each other, Fergus opted not to press him on where he'd been and why he'd run off. He shot him a long look instead. Talon flapped his wings, but didn't respond.

"This looks delightful," H.P. said, speaking for all of them. Eskel, who'd turned aside to strap his niece into a high chair, beamed back with the smirk of a man who'd put his underlings to work and hadn't raised a finger. He practically said as much too.

Next to Reija sat Viscount Irzush, resting with his fist on one cheek. Amber-red eyes wandered, but when he sensed Fergus glancing at him, he snapped to attention. "Hi," he mouthed across the table, and Fergus mouthed "Hi," back just to be polite. It seemed appropriate. Some time had passed since he'd last spoken with Irzush, and it had been… distracting. The damsel sitting next to Eskel didn't say much at all, sitting with her arms folded loosely on the table. Elbows and everything. Anti-Cosmo kept one hand behind her back, bouncing his leg up and down. Typical. Even with a dame in hand, he seemed eager to bolt.

All the food served would cater to the Anti-Fairy palate, full of meat and spices. The weak sunlight and poor soil in their world didn't lend itself well to fruits and vegetables, but the struggling plants produced enough leaves for animals to get by. Ham was most plentiful, the turkey a little higher in price. Those would ring familiar to any pixie who'd prepared sandwiches for lunch, so Fergus selected one of those. He spoke little as they waited for their food… H.P. and Eskel did enough of that for both of them. But from the looks Eskel kept shooting his way, Fergus realized a few minutes in that the High Count wasn't any happier about the late arrival to this event than he was.

Talon picked his claw between bits of spidery lace. "Did Eskel make you come, or did you actually RSVP?"

"I did in the end. That's what matters. How is-"

"Eskel-ju," Eskel growled from a few seats over. "I am your father, and you will address me as such."

Fergus and Talon both ignored him. "How is school?" he finished.

For a flicker, only silence. "Fine," Talon said at last. "But there are no other anti-fairies… or even fairies."

"What about Westley?"

"Just Westley," Talon conceded in regards to his fairy counterpart. "But the lawn gnomes don't like me, the leprechauns really don't like me, and the other kids stop talking when I want to hang out with them. I don't know most of the elf kids. I want to go back to school in Pixie World."

"It's important to become a well-rounded individual. Interacting with peers your age is good for you. And classroom teaching will broaden your horizons."

Talon shrugged, bringing his water glass to his lips. "Did you know anti-fairies only bathe every few months? I want to switch to that."

"Let's talk about this at home." Fergus slid his eyes around the half-empty dining room, watching waiters carry trays laden high with scrumptious appetizers. Mostly bread, he hoped. Hmm… Maybe Eskel had a few contacts here at the theater. It would certainly explain why only the most busty, most eyelash-fluttering, most forward waitresses floated up to serve their table, and why they seemed to lean especially low as they set things out in front of him and the viscount.

'Art lovers who enjoy the theater,' my dome…

Irzush feigned disinterest in every server, at least pretending to keep up appearances like a wyrm courting a she-dragon only for her treasure. Even when his eyes strayed low and stayed low (as though he were reading a very long and interesting word printed on the back of a tight pair of slacks), he kept a certain aloofness that Fergus noticed. H.P. too, evidently, by the way her frown deepened by a fraction of an inch.

They're playing to their own crowd, Fergus thought, picking the edge of the tablecloth beneath his nails. And just as well. Pixies did not need their entertainment punctuated with breasts instead of commas.

But compared to his brother, High Count Eskel didn't take near enough pride in subtleties… regardless of the dame he had his arm and wing around. His smirks curled wide, his conversation direct, and Fergus just knew he'd be leaving a massive tip. Which was fair, and quite polite. Watching them, Fergus sipped his water in silence. Maybe he really had overstepped in getting on Sapphire's case about the low collar. She would forgive him. Pettiness was not productive.

"Excuse me," he said when the conversation between Eskel and H.P. lulled to quiet. "I'm going to step out and wash my hands before we eat."

"I'll come with you," Eskel said immediately, as Fergus had suspected he would. They stood together, so Fergus took that moment to upturn his hand in the direction of the damsel beside him.

"I don't believe I've met your friend." H.P. hadn't addressed her either. He could feel Rani's quivering lip, her eyes locked on him from their wary corners. He knew her discomfort in the way she balled the black tablecloth in her fist. Subtle. Pixies weren't fans of wrinkles, but she made them anyhow.

The anti-fairy dame looked up in some surprise, but stood too to give a curtsy. "I'm Anti-Coleen of the Anti-Fernfire line."

"Oh, I've met your family."

"No," Eskel coaxed, "you can tell him your real name. He listens."

"Ah. Then you can call me Odó d'srón."

Pride of the rhinos. Fergus repeated the name to be sure he encoded it right. Srón nodded politely and sat again. With that, he and Eskel swept from the dining room like cobwebs whirling in the breeze. "She seems charming," he remarked to the High Count, who'd already mopped his brow with a black handkerchief. Hm. "What's her relation? From the way you held her, I suspect a fiancée. The future High Countess, perhaps?" … H.P. hadn't asked. She should have. This could be important. I can't imagine she wrote the High Count off as bringing one of his flings to meet us tonight, even if it is a more casual meeting ground than the Castle itself.

"Oh," said Eskel, utterly disinterested. As they floated down the hall in search of restrooms, he folded his hands, toying with one knuckle without quite meeting the pixie's stare. "Yes, something like that. Not quite. It's political, actually; it's not expected I'll be faithful."

"Ah."

"Do you have other Anti-Fairy friends, Thirty-Seven?"

"None I'd introduce you to."

Eskel jumped at the shoulders. His hands fell away, head snapping up. He looked like a raven who'd just had his beak in a deer carcass. "Beg pardon?"

Fergus, who found it hysterically unlikely to imagine the Anti-Cosmo begging anything of him, simply shrugged and held open the door to the restroom that best suited their current bodies. He said, "I know you treat your comrades more ferociously than you do your business partners." Eskel could translate to sensual in colloquial speak these days. "If my friends ask me to make introductions, I will do so, but I will not invalidate their privacy."

"Your monotone leaves nothing to the imagination, does it, old chap?" Eskel leaned forward, and this time, he put his full body into it. What was he after now? He tilted back his head, eyes half-lidded, and clearly seemed to think he was doing a phenomenal job of portraying himself as some sort of calculating mastermind leering over a dinner table, a fireplace flickering behind him and his mortal enemy cowering on the floor. Even if in reality, he floated before the restroom stink. The sneer felt palpable, but his scrawny limbs ruined the effect entirely. He was, after all, a mere child not yet 300,000 years old. "I say, sport… I know all about the Anti-Wanda. I know you're acquainted."

"I confirm or deny nothing."

"Come now, darling… She runs that pretty sandwich shop in Graydale. You take Talon there sometimes for lunch, wot? You've attended her parties before. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if you'd slept with her yourself, you know what I mean?"

Fergus squinted very slightly behind his shades. The accusations were hardly fair. How could he defend himself without admitting the Anti-Wanda was indeed his friend? If he's suggesting I put in a good word for him, he hasn't a clue who he's dealing with.

Still, his wounded pride recoiled, licking at its flank. It would be ingenuine to lie and pretend he didn't know Vixil. Lies were dangerous. They could be plucked from the air and woven into physical form by an expert of the craft, and Fergus didn't trust Eskel not to do exactly that. He could sense the faintest inaudible twitch in his own fingertips, which jerked his attention like a pot crashing down on tile floor. "You don't recognize what you're implying, High Count. You're accusing a pixie of matchbreaking. You must realize how statistically unlikely that is. Ha. Ha ha."

It was not funny. Maybe it would have been. Once.

Eskel tilted his head. It left him looking not unlike the great star-coated wolves that prowled especially often in his part of the cloudlands; the mountains and trees were thick with them. "I am right, though… That you consider yourself a friend of Vixil's. That's all I want to know; I meant no offense. Look here: I spoke with her when seeking Talon's whereabouts. She knows you. Don't lie to me."

Fergus, because he had a tactful heart, did not ask whether the drake's meeting had devolved into a full affair. It wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility, given his track record, until Fergus recalls a very small fact that halts his thoughts. No. Their fairy counterparts are Cosmo and Wanda. They're intertwined. He'd licensed the marriage himself. Nice kids. Young and foolish with their eyes brimming full of stars, but they sought peace and pleasure. It was not his job to deny them that.

He said instead, "Yes; yes she does. I eat regularly at her sandwich shop. Vixil knows how to make a turkey club." He'd have liked to use the toilets, but with Eskel hovering around him, he settled for washing his hands. He removed his glasses and splashed water across his face. It did help cool his core. The High Count's curled lip suggested further irritation, which Fergus couldn't be bothered to entertain. When the glasses went on again, their eyes linked up in the mirror- dull lavender to green. Smoking, sizzling green.

"Are you fond of her?" The words swelled up in a growl.

"You suggest attraction," Fergus remarked, toweling off his hands. "In that case, you misunderstand how pixies work. We don't choose our partners. The Head Pixie does that for us. It's an efficient use of company time; we avoid your lengthy courtship."

"Yes, but you're only half a pixie."

Fergus stopped drying. The High Count (oblivious) prattled on, slipping around to float beside his elbow.

"Forgive my open manner of speech; I really don't care to dance around it or misunderstand. But you know, will o' the wisps are an openly promiscuous people. The underground's crawling with their harems. And you're half of one… so I merely wondered if Vixil has… ever caught your interest. Or granted you her private company."

Fergus brought Vixil's face to his mind's eye. The anti-fairy really did excel in her culinary craft. She'd catered more than a few parties in Pixie World. In fact, that's likely why she chose to open her shop in Graydale in the first place, and if she had any sense in her, she'd shift herself to the heart of Inkblot City as soon as she was able. More than one of his friends had coaxed her out from behind her prep counter so they might dance the night away. Vixil brought novelty to their fun and games. Not that any pixie would admit aloud they were engaging in secret fun.

Fergus did not attend those parties so often once he had Talon to raise. There were rumors - however brief - that Vixil was in fact one of Talon's parents, and the second pixie-born and pixie-bred. A third potential matchbreaker in however many generations? The news spread like wildfire. But those rumors had been dashed when news broke that the High Count himself claimed the child as his own. For them to come together, Eskel and Vixil would be guilty of soul-crossing in its highest offense. Talon's second parent was never traced.

"Why would that matter?" he finally asked. "Do you have interest in Vixil? That's inappropriate. Is Talon safe with you?"

"Of course he's safe," Eskel snapped, flushing purple in his dark blue face. "What's this? Why- I would never touch a child! You… absolute boob! What? You can't throw accusations around like that! Whatever have I done to make you think I'm this uncouth? I am upfront in my affairs. Oh, that's disgusting. He's my son!"

"I'm only asking. Like it or not, I am his father. We share custody." So the threat And I could snatch him from your hands forever hung in the air with icy stillness. Eskel blinked then, like he was thinking of the daughter his ex-partner had withheld from him for about 4,000 years. Maybe that denial, Fergus thought, had contributed in some roundabout way to Talon surviving to term. Surely the High Count had connections; he could have prevented the birth if he'd really wanted to. What anti-fairy would stand up to him? A fierce one; that's for sure.

"You wouldn't," Eskel said, lacking conviction. "You can't deny me visitation. He's my son too. You may be Daddy in practice, but you and Six-Five can't raise him like an anti-fairy. Not like I can. And you're hardly a stable home, so don't give me that excuse; it's this threat of separation that sent him gallivanting off."

Fergus's skin prickled at the thought. "Did he tell you that?"

"He may as well have. And I worried myself sick over him, you know. Next time, I may not be so quick to find him." Eskel sighed. "Look here… Eskel-ju is fragile. If you and Six-Five break apart, then it falls to you and I to stand firm. If we're going to raise him right, we must be on the same page. He needs us both."

With patience beyond what any half-wisp should possess, Fergus withheld the innuendo pressing up against his mind. "You should come around more often, then."

"I know," said the anti-fairy, wings wilting at his back. His eyes clicked in rapid blinks. "My gods, Thirty-Seven… I know."