(Posted February 6, 2018)

Strong Suits

In which the Summer of the Drifting Storm occurs, and Julius attends Spellementary School at the tender age of eight

Anti-Elina tapped her claws against the table. "Try it again. You have to let the last syllable buzz on your tongue. Tír Ildáthach."

"Tír Ildáthaccchhh." I eyeballed her hand as she moved her knight of speckled blue ceramic along the game board. I sighed. Truly, little was worse for an inquisitive, impulsive child like myself than having to play the defender at fidchell, whether we were playing hneftafl rules or not. I reached for one of my generals. "Why don't you want me to go to Spellementary School?"

"He will go," Anti-Bryndin said, peering out through the window in her office, his hands playing with one tail of his scarf. Anti-Elina glared at the back of his head.

"Because you have a brilliant mind and you deserve better," she said. "Now. Name the three spirit bears of the modern-day cloudlands."

"Avalon, Hy-Brasil, and Tír Ildáthach." I set my general a space closer to the Water point of the board.

"Very good. And they are?"

"The dormant spirits of the land we reside on. We Anti-Fairies have been charged with keeping Hy-Brasil, the Ursa Red Like an Ember and spirit of Anti-Fairy World. Ursa Avalon watches over the Refracted, and the Fairies live and play beneath the eye of Tír Ildáthach, the Ursa of Many Colours." I watched Anti-Elina pluck up her courier piece. "I think Spellementary will be good for me."

"And I say it will ruin you. You'll lose your curiosity and be forced into a formulaic box. You'll be taught to underachieve. Who are the zodiac spirits?"

"The seven sons of Tarrow the Luck-Twister. They hold mastery over the seven facets of life that Fairykind consider elements, and following the Sealing War, they were given Temples of their own. I won't underachieve, I promise."

She set the courier on a Breath stump. "Maybe you won't, but the Fairies will stuff your head with trivial facts and figures anyway. It's such a waste of your brains."

"Whisperwings?" Anti-Bryndin turned around, and clenched his teeth in a smile. "My decision was made. I wish he will go to the school, and then one day other Anti-Fairies can go to the school."

"Ha! You hear that?" I pointed my claw. "Anti-Bryndin wants me to be first for something I want to do. As a second-born runt, I never get to be first for anything I want."

"Anti-Bryndin, puffytail… I'm not comfortable with this." Anti-Elina took up one of my discarded pieces and tapped it idly against the table's edge. "I don't like you using Julius as a guinea pig to test the waters of Fairy relations before our heir is born."

"I want to go!" I pounded my fists against her desk, trying not to knock over any of our fidchell pieces. "I'll make our colony proud, and after your heir is born, I'll teach him everything I'm taught so he can get a head start in learning from the moment he arrives in this world. Please?"

Anti-Bryndin leaned his folded arms over the back of her chair. "Anti-Elina? Is this okay?"

She pressed her knuckles to her forehead and sighed. "Yes, dear love."

Reaching around her, Anti-Bryndin took her chin with the forefinger and thumb of his left hand, and tilted back her head to kiss her softly on the lips. I waited, tapping my claws, until their brief exchange finished. Anti-Elina straightened her hair with a quick flick, and resumed our game as though no interruption had been made.

"How do the zodiac spirits pair up?"

"In the way that best balances their respective elements and personalities. Perhaps you're right about one thing, Anti-Elina. Why should I concern myself with trivialities when I can have underlings manage such tasks for me one day?"

"I implore you not to let your confidence get to your head, Julius. You'll lose yourself. It's your move."

I stared at the board, my claws twitching against the table. Anti-Elina's army had been backing my High Count into the Sky corner all game. I didn't know how she intended to stop me from reaching it and claiming victory, which put my nerves all the more on edge. "Frankly, High Countess, I'm insulted at the insinuation. You know I am nothing if not meek in all things."

"Who are Prince Morn and Princess Eve?" she asked, ignoring me. With a grunt, I slid my First General three spaces down the Hy-Brasil side of the board.

"The spirits of day and night, light and dark, drakulanity and damselinity."

Anti-Elina captured one of my knights and set it with a clink on the table beside my hand. "And the Grim Reaper is?"

I sighed. "The second-born son of Mother Nature and Father Time. He's known as the spirit of death and prosperity, currently settled in a committed relationship with the Cycling Hen, the spirit of life and fertility. Anti-Elina, will you truly let me go up to Spellementary? I never get to be first for anything. Anti-Bryndin said I could go, and I want to go."

Anti-Elina raised her gaze to meet mine. "And I'm not going to stop you. I just want to be sure it's your decision. Now, what is kiff-tying?"

"The ultimate bond between two spirits, and a symbol of unity between a nature spirit and his representative on the camarilla court…"

I left for school the following Sunday. Due to the extreme time zone difference, I spent Saturday night bidding an excitable farewell to Mona, and attempting to soothe the ego of a disgruntled Electro, who shot me sour glances all weekend whenever he couldn't avoid me. Just as well, I supposed, that he'd still be asleep when I left for school.

"How do I look?" I asked Anti-Buster, straightening the yellow badge on my perfectly unwrinkled black suit. Spellementary School had a dress code, and I daresay I looked smashing in it, even with my drowsy eyes. With his help, I'd even managed to tame some of the scruffiness of my hair. And of course, as had become tradition with Augustus and I, I secretly wore my undershirt inside out to keep the evil spirits at bay. Shame he wasn't here to see me off, either.

"Very good, sir," Anti-Buster replied, actually sounding like he meant it when he sized me up. "Now then, young master, if you would follow me downstairs, I shall guide you to the Spellementary portal."

I threw one last glance at myself in the mirror before hurrying down the corridor after him. "I heard that no one, not even Fairies, can poof directly up to Spellementary School. Will a magic portal really take me there?"

"If we're on time, sir. We have thirteen portals beneath the Castle, but they were shut down once the Barrier was erected. However, with you going to school, we are specially permitted to open the one which leads to Spellementary School very early each morning, as well as open it again in the afternoon. Should we miss our window, I'm afraid you'd need to take the long way up there."

"Well now, isn't that sporting of the Fairies?"

Anti-Buster used a key to unlock the seventh door in the basement corridor, and it opened into a room like a bathhouse. The floor fell away in steps, leading down to a pool of water which swirled with stripes of yellow and white. "That's the portal?" I asked unnecessarily, peering down at it from above.

"Yes, sir."

I glanced behind me, wondering if I ought to have asked Mona to see me off here rather than last night, over the supper table among the chattering of a dozen other voices. Ah, well. She was sleeping now, and I would be home again by afternoon.

I lifted my head and pushed my shoulders back. My wings were straight. My feet were steady. So what if I was only eight years old? So what if I'd been born scrawny and bore fur a sickly shade of dark blue? I was the first Anti-Fairy back at Spellementary in thousands of years, and I intended to own it.

With Anti-Buster's blessing, I descended the stairs until the swirling, colourful liquid lapped against my bare feet. I kept going, wading now, as it covered my knees.

This was it. I closed my eyes, and plunged my head under. With my entire body now submerged, I was off across the cosmos to Spellementary.

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself washed up against the shore. Only, it wasn't per se a shore, so much as another portal room, much like the one that I had just left Anti-Buster in. Only, this one wasn't nearly so well lit by torches. I raised my head, looking left and right in the dark.

Well. There were stairs. Still dripping portal liquid, I grasped the handrail and climbed them up to the door.

… It was locked. I rattled the knob, and it remained locked.

For a moment, I could only stand and do nothing. I felt the door with my fingertips, only to confirm to my horror that it was wood. Anti-Fairy's bane. Any knocking I made upon its surface would rain arrows of pain through my blood and leave me nursing a sweltering headache for hours. Our doors in Anti-Fairy World were carved of lightweight polished stone for exactly that reason, even though for some odd reason, Anti-Bryndin always seemed to struggle opening them. We even had stone tables, and of course, stone floors.

But, fortunately, I had not been invited to Spellementary School because I was dim enough to try the knocking on wood option first. I raised my voice and shouted, "Hello? Is somebody out there who would be willing to let me out of here? It's Julius, the Anti-Fairy who was invited and expected to show up today!"

I didn't have to lay my ear against the door to hear voices on the other side. Someone muttered about a locked door, then there was the sound of rustling cloth, followed by whirring wings. A wooden wand scraped across leather as one of the two drakes (I could tell they were both drakes) drew it from its sheath. The wand tapped against the lock from the outside. A chain unhitched, the doorknob rattled, and the door swung open on its own accord. I stepped out, blinking in the sudden candlelight. I appeared to be standing in some sort of office space, though with all the stimuli hitting me from every direction, I couldn't sort out its every detail. Was that a window between the dark red curtains on the other wall, or was there no wall there at all?

The fairy nearest me handed me a towel. I took it with gracious thanks and proceeded to rub my fur dry of portal juices. He reminded me to some degree of Ambrosine. His body type was tall and thin, though not quite as pudgy in the stomach. Light on his toes, I would guess. Rather than black hair turning white, his hair appeared ginger just starting to streak into grey. Round ears, silver eyes, and a long black ribbon of a tie tucked beneath his blue-grey vest. He kept his wand cocked in his hand. I took a cautious liking to him, or at least to his non-invasive aura of authority.

The second fairy sat at a very large desk in a very large padded chair, not terribly unlike the one that Anti-Bryndin used back at his office. Currently, his hands were busy fixing the collar and top button on his shirt, even though he looked as though he wished to lean back in his chair with both arms behind his neck. He gave off that sort of commanding attitude. There, now he looked more like the Fairies I'd expected to encounter outside of Anti-Fairy World, with wide shoulders, powerful muscles, strong wings, and pink hair wearing away around his ears. Dark freckles coated his nose, cheeks, and what little neck of his I could see. His shirt was white, much to my concern, and he didn't wear so much as a vest on top of it. That would attract poor karma, you know. I knew pointing it out would be rude, but as I straightened after my bow and waited for him to acknowledge my presence so I could speak, I felt increasingly annoyed by it.

"Oh," he said, a half-note of disinterest in his voice. "You must be the new anti-fairy student. The eight-year-old iris from the High South Region."

I couldn't help myself. Forgoing the usual responses of respect, I chuckled. "However did you guess? Are you perchance Fairy-Richard?"

The fairy nodded, but not in answer to my question. Rather, he nodded towards the slender drake hovering in front of me. "That's Dick Thimble. He'll be instructing you during your time here at Spellementary. I'm Principal Orin Winkleglint."

Principal? That title sounded important. My smile faded. Two seconds in here, and I'd already messed up. And not only had I messed up, but Principal Winkleglint looked nothing like Anti-Richard. Dick looked like Anti-Richard. How charming.

Dick studied me, tapping his wand against his chin. I squirmed my toes into the rough cloudstone that made up the floor. "You're certainly a member of the common anti-fairy subspecies," he observed, taking the chance to sheath his wand, "but you're clearly ¼ anti-brownie too."

"You can tell?" I'd pestered Augustus the other night, and he had confirmed anti-brownie heritage through Anti-Robin's line.

"Of course. The long brownie nose always skips a generation and presents itself in the next. You have a six-pointed crown like the common anti-fairies and the anti-will o' the wisps. From the shape and colour of your wings and the rounded edges of your ears, it's obvious that your patron is the Elrulian free-tailed bat, making you legally a Faeumbra fae. And," he continued, studying my mouth, "you have distinctly curled fangs at either corner of your mouth. Not a single protruding fang in the middle. Therefore, it's logical to conclude that neither of your parents is an anti-brownie, but one of your grandparents is. Presumably, your grandmother."

I was impressed. "Why, you're exactly right. I say, you certainly know a lot, sir."

"I studied Fairykind biology in the Academy." Dick upturned his hands, and I placed my palms against his. "Please address me as Mr. Thimble. You then must be Julius Anti-Cosmo Anti-Lunifly."

I jerked back my head. "You called me 'Julius' before 'Anti-Cosmo'."

Mr. Thimble stared down at me with a drawn brow and thin lip. "As I understand it, you're an anti-fairy under age of majority. You are to be addressed as 'Julius'."

I smiled shakily up at him. "Oh, yes. You see, Mr. Thimble, most Fairies don't remember we give our prrrivate names first that way. They shove those in the middle and call us by our adult name, regardless of whether or not we're 150,000 years old. I'm simply impressed that you did your research on the matter. I'd like to thank you for taking the time to understand and respect my culture and our traditions."

Principal Winkleglint made a curious sound in his throat, as though my phrasing impressed him. Mr. Thimble lifted one eyebrow, and offered an encouraging nod. "You clearly have a sharp mind and a brilliant intellect, Julius. I will enjoy teaching you. That is all the thanks I need. Please, take an open seat anywhere." He leaned down. "Between you and me, I would claim the front row. It will be easier for me to notice anyone who dares make you feel unwelcome there."

I nodded. We bid good-bye to Principal Winkleglint, and to the nix managing the secretary desk outside his office. Mr. Thimble guided me down the short hallway to what was called his classroom. We were the first ones inside. I looked around, flicking my ears forward and back as I took in the interior.

It was… an interesting place, to say the least. Not at all what I had anticipated. Miniature tables, only wide enough for one person to sit in each chair, filled at least two-thirds of the room. Naturally, when I'd heard I would be attending an environment intended to foster learning, I had assumed the tables would be long, and we would be grouped so we could all face each other and communicate. A chalkboard took up most of the room's front wall. The colours in here were bright enough that I couldn't help but feel a little nauseated- mostly pinks and pale blues. By channelling a combination of Love and Water, they balanced out my magical senses, but they certainly were blurry and bright before my physical eyes.

I walked over to a nearby shelf (Brown, of course- maybe the Fairies did know something of interior design after all) and picked up a bound stack of bark strips that had caught my attention. "Oh, now this is curious. Mr. Thimble? May I ask, what colour is this? It isn't native where I'm from."

"Orange?" he asked in surprise from some ways behind me. "I'd have thought you knew all about orange, seeing as it represents the Fire year on the zodiac. Aren't there large orange glider snakes in Anti-Fairy World, too?"

I tilted the book from one side to the other. "No, this isn't orange. It's too pale. But it isn't yellow either. Nor is it pink. It's something in between. What is it?"

"I'm not really sure, Anti-Lunifly."

I turned my head. "How can you not know? Colours are important."

Mr. Thimble could not answer me.

"Hmm." I replaced the book with care and took my seat in the first row of tiny desks. It was much too large for me. My feet didn't dangle anywhere near the floor, but at least when I sat up on my knees, I could see over the table and look around the room to some degree.

In pairs and trios, the Fairy students began to file into the classroom. Some were leprechauns, others elves, some aluxo'ob, and a few appeared to be fairies of the common variety. "Oh," one of them said in surprise, stopping short. Her hair lay tangled in short yellow curls, and it bounced about with every flap her wings made. Just trying to watch it with my eyes made me dizzy, let alone with my echolocation.

"Yes, I'm an anti-fairy," I said, tightening my fingers around one edge of my desk (I couldn't quite reach the other edge at the same time). I held her gaze, even though my wings quivered and my ears begged to fold back. I couldn't allow her the satisfaction.

"You're short," she observed.

"Well, yes, there's that too."

Mr. Thimble stepped out from behind his desk and motioned for the damsel to take one of the seats nearby, while the rest of the class gave me a carefully wide berth. "Lora, this is our new student, Julius. Since you're our class president, I hope you will show him a warm welcome, and help him learn his way around our school."

"Okay," she said, sounding more confused than enthusiastic.

Our textbooks were passed out. Mr. Thimble said they were relatively new, only a decade or so old. Previously, Fairies had chiselled their works in clay tablets. Now, it seemed, they were finally catching up with us Anti-Fairies. The textbook I received was a package of bark strips, but it was certainly closer to a scroll than the heavy tablets I'd anticipated.

But when we were asked to turn to page seventeen, I encountered an unexpected problem. I turned the strips over, then back again, and then raised my hand. When Mr. Thimble motioned towards me, I said, "Pardon, but mine doesn't have words on it."

Someone behind me snickered. Several somebodies. Mr. Thimble shut them up with a sharp glance. Then he ran his fingers through his hair.

"My apologies, Anti-Lunifly. It's written in pheromones, and I forgot the limitations of your species. Lora, please pull your desk up next to Julius, and translate for him as we go along."

As she obediently did so, I stared down at the packet of bark strips until the dabs of colour across it all turned into a swirling mess. I'd heard rumors that the common tongue between the Fairy and Anti-Fairy races was purely verbal, but I'd never believed it for myself until now. I say, someone ought to look into standardising the written language too. Our people needed a collaboration with a Seelie Courter to produce texts on a massive scale, that's what. Texts, research papers, and stories of every kind, in a medium all Fairykind could understand.

Mr. Thimble floated at the front of our classroom, his hands clasped at his waist. "Before we enter our lecture on how cloudland mountains are formed, let's take a look at our final magic cycle presentations. Magnolia, if I'm remembering correctly, it's your turn to present."

"I went yesterday," protested the elf, adjusting her pointed hat.

"No. I specifically wrote it down. I asked you to have your project in last week. The last time I asked you to present, you also told me you forgot."

"Well, I forgot to do it for today too."

Mr. Thimble took his wand and wrote her name on the board at the front of the classroom. "Then you'll present tomorrow. Please don't forget again."

I shouldn't.

I knew I shouldn't. I knew exactly how my peers would react to me - laugh at me - but I couldn't stand letting the burning question go unasked. Slowly, I raised my hand. Mr. Thimble pressed his lips together.

"Julius?"

"Um… Pardon the interruption, good man, but what precisely does 'forget' mean? I've heard the word once or twice before, but I don't quite understand it."

Several groans echoed around the room. My twitching ears picked up whispers regarding my speculated intelligence, or lack thereof. I forced myself to ignore them, even though their sting made me want to cry.

Mr. Thimble, however, didn't even blink at my request. "Of course," he said. "That's something else I forgot to cover. We'll have a demonstration. It's appropriate to discuss the nature of Anti-Fairies now that we have one attending our class anyway. Julius, Lora, please come up here and stand by me."

I stiffened. But Lora rose and floated to the front of the room, so I did too. Or I walked up, anyway. Mr. Thimble poofed up a long strip of bark and presented himself before us both.

"I'm going to read off a list of facts. Class, I encourage you to scribble these notes down as fast as you are able to." Mr. Thimble brought his attention to Lora and me. "Both of you, pay close attention to what I'm about to say, and we'll see if you can answer my questions right when I ask them."

It sounded like a newborn's game. Lora and I exchanged glances, but nodded.

"All right. As we understand the universe, there are 24 Planes of Existence. There are 34 recognised subspecies of Fairy. The Earthbound cloudlands were shaped by ancient Fairy pioneers and the few remaining Aos Sí together. The Big Wand produces roughly 17,842 megawishowatts a day six days a week, before it is shut down late each Thursday night to recharge through Friday morning. The deepest lake in the cloudlands is Lake Sunflicker at 2,574 wingspans deep. The highest mountaintop in the cloudlands is Mount Stinger, part of the Ever-Reaching Ridge system, which stands at 29,414.3 wingspans. The heaviest dragon ever recorded weighed 4,623 boulders and 367 petals. The fastest land animal in the cloudlands is the serpopard, which can reach speeds up to 145 wingbeats a second. The largest known serpent is the Hairy World glider, which measures on average twenty wingspans long with a two wandlength diameter, and is capable of swallowing a Fae whole…"

My head swam with Fairy words and foreign units of measurements. Mr. Thimble continued in this way for a moment, then looked at Lora when he finished. "Your first question. How many subspecies are classified under the Fairy umbrella?"

"Thirty-four."

"That's right. And how high is Mount Stinger?"

Lora fidgeted her wings. "26,000-something wingspans?"

I was baffled. Why would she say that when she'd just heard the correct fact?

"I'm sorry. That's wrong." Then Mr. Thimble looked at me. "Julius, how high is Mount Stinger?"

"29,414.3 wingspans. That would be measured with the snow on top, of course."

"Correct. How far away from Earth is the planet Yugopotamia?"

"Approximately a million million kilobeats. Cloudlengths," I corrected myself with a mutter. Stupid Seelie Court measuring system. They could be bothered to use the same money that we did, but not the same words?

"Who founded the Earthside nation Scotia Alba?"

"The Milesian king Fergus Mòr Mac Earca."

"What is the Fairy equivalent of the condition Anti-Fairies refer to as 'Going thinningcore'?"

"Getting tingle-fritzy, meaning emotionally aroused or sugared up with sweets."

"Under which court case are Fairies and Anti-Fairies alike forbidden from practicing magic should they have a blood sugar concentration exceeding .10 mites?"

"Mintwave v. Wandflick."

"What measures a Fae's magical prowess?"

"A nymphviometer."

"How so?"

"By assessing the flow of magic as it leaves the palm of one's right hand, the most sensitive place on a Fae body." For emphasis, I pressed a knuckle from my left hand into my right palm. It was much too warm in the classroom to glimpse the traces of magical effervescence leaking out of my body from that point, but I knew the magic was there. I could feel it rushing in my veins.

"Name the seven Fomorian tribes."

That one was especially easy, considering the seven elemental snake races all matched up to one of the elements on our zodiac. I'd heard them mentioned by Anti-Elina once back in Anti-Fairy World. "The Succubi, Genies, Merfolk, Pressyne, Milesians, Djanggawul, and Cnemids."

"What contest of strength and skill did Lugh establish following the death of his foster mother?"

"Áenach Tailteann. It's in August and is also known by the name Lughnasa."

"And his foster mother's name was?"

"Tailtiu." My eyes began to glaze over. What was the point of this exercise anyway? We'd all just heard him recite this exact information a moment ago. I adjusted the weight between my feet and sighed in embarrassed pity for my staring classmates.

"And her status was was?"

"The last queen of Old Elrue before the end of the Sealing War."

"What is a pixiu?"

"Pixius and bìxiés are spirits of wealth and devotion said to fiercely protect those they befriend, even after one should pass into the next life." Not that anyone had notably befriended either one for centuries, as I recalled. Both were said to be immensely stubborn, solitary creatures who tucked themselves away from the world for the most part.

"Approximately how many Earthside Fairies were killed during the rampage of King Elynas?"

"166,809." Four times the total Fairy population currently, as I recalled. I resisted the urge to run my hand down my face. Good smoke, was this act of regurgitating information ever boring.

"How were the cloudlands created?"

"By Beira, the daughter born of the very first union between Sunnie and Twis, and the perfect blend of Water and Soil. Following a spat with her great-grandmother Mother Nature, she taught herself to sculpt worlds from the clouds, where flora grow and fauna thrive and Fae walk despite the scientific realities claimed as fact in our day and age."

Mr. Thimble paused for a beat. He looked at me, and I met his gaze. "That wasn't what I said."

"That's where the cloudlands came from," I said defensively.

"I see… Julius, how were our ancestors, the Sluagh, divided in ancient times?"

"Into three classifications. The Sluagh were three distinct tribes who evolved from the singular Aos Sí parent race. First, there were a people we call the Domestic Fae, created when the loose magic in the universe coagulated with dust, and who over many generations eventually became the Fairies as we know them today. We call them Domestic Fae because they settled in friendly groups and tilled their farms together, and bartered their resources and were given in marriage and lived in relative peace one with another. Then there were Solitary Fae, who were formed of smoke and who evolved into the Anti-Fairies. Originally they took on animal forms and hunted for themselves in the wild, until they, well... were domesticated by the Domestic Fae, hence the name we've given to the condition."

My ears twitched when I said it. I tightened my claws.

"For generations, the Solitary Fae protected gardens from pests and livestock from predators and thieves. They acted as loyal spirit guides. Not mindless pets kept around for Domestic Fae amusement. Eventually, they discarded their animal forms and took on the physical characteristics of those with whom they bonded, although we Anti-Fairies still honour our ancestors and the wild animal blood which runs in our veins. The Anti-Lunifly family, meaning me, are direct descendants of Her Glory Cadmea, the renowned Teumessian fox famed for her quick wit and cunning thievery, you know." No one applauded, so after an awkward beat, I shifted my feet and went on. "Then, um, finally there were Trooping Fae, composed of mist, who became the feathered people we refer to as the Refracted. Even now, they migrate regularly through the upper Planes of Existence, traversing the High Kingdom majorly as hunters and gatherers. And, um, yeah."

None of this was precisely what Mr. Thimble had said either, given that I placed more emphasis on the evolutionary aspect of our history instead of the silly beliefs regarding the ancient Aos Sí people splitting into three different races. Daoist rubbish, that. Mr. Thimble asked me his final Anti-Fairy's dozen of questions, finally finishing with, "And how many generations has the Anti-Coppertalon dynasty lasted?"

"One hundred and twelve. With the newest heir on the way now," I remembered.

Mr. Thimble nodded and poofed away his bark strip. "Very good. Apart from the notorious culture differences regarding your people's beliefs of evolution and the nature spirits' influence in history compared to ours, which was my fault for thrusting upon you, you recalled every disconnected fact I threw at you with total precision. Lora did not. She couldn't remember, and that's called forgetting."

Lora's face had turned from light to dark pink. Camouflage against the walls of the classroom? Perhaps. I studied her face curiously, searching for chinks and abnormalities. Fairies, I observed, had such flat faces compared to we Anti-Fairies. Something about our faces seemed more rounded or pointed at the front, in imitation of muzzles or snouts.

"I'm not sure I understand," I said finally. "Do you mean that she answered incorrectly on purpose because she understands how out of place I feel being the only Anti-Fairy here, and her intention was to offer me faux comfort in regard to my acute sensations of embarrassment?"

"I mean," Mr. Thimble said, peering down his nose at me, "that Fairies are notorious for having bad memories. In contrast, Anti-Fairies are wired so as not to forget anything. Forgetting is a foreign concept to your race, but now, perhaps, you have a point of reference to allow you to visualise it in the future, and sympathise with your fellow classmates."

"… Oh." That was… interesting information to learn. Upon my next visit to the library, I would have to look into that. Of course, I already had my suspicions. Namely, Fairies confined themselves to living in small family units, whereas historically, Anti-Fairies were exposed to colonies filled with up to hundreds of distinct individuals from a tender age. It would only make sense that Anti-Fairy brains were better equipped to assess, organise, and retain new information.

Hmm… If Fairies have poor memories, and Anti-Fairies never forget anything… and here I was attending a school of Fairy peers… I wonder…

"You may both sit. Thank you."

Quite understandably, I received sideways glances, some appearing hostile and others merely curious, all throughout the morning lecture on cloudland mountains. It kept up during our active exercise class as well, where I was much too small to fit into any of the provided uniforms, and ended up trying to play the ball games the Fairies were in my suit until permission could be obtained from the overall school board to shrink an outfit for my needs. Even then, my wings had to be stuffed awkwardly through the slits.

Many of the students had nothing to say to me, whether along the positive or negative spectrum. They simply kept their distance. Of course, the mounting awkward tensions were bound to crack sooner or later. In the cafeteria for lunchtime, while I strained to reach the ladle of the cauldron so high above me, they finally did.

"Hey," said one leprechaun with two tufts in his red hair (I hadn't been properly introduced to him, or I would of course have remembered his name). "Why are you eating our food?"

I looked over my shoulder at him, arms still stretched above my head. My tied wings twitched uselessly against my back. "Ahem. As I understand it, the food provided here is offered to all attending students in the entrance-level building on the sprawling Spellementary School premises. As I fit within that definition, I am therefore permitted to eat it if I like."

Lora frowned. "But, you're a member of the Unseelie Court. You don't even need food to survive."

"Yeah," an elf drake cut in, his face blotched with freckles. He puffed his chest. "You Anti-Fairies can't die while we're still alive. That's why we're called hosting counterparts. You're just shadow people. So, the Great Ice Times down on Earth makes it hard to farm food untouched by magic. Don't just waste our food if you don't even need it."

I focused my eyes on the cauldron again. "Uh…"

Before I could formulate a coherent response so full of brilliance that it would cow them all into silence, a hand touched my shoulder. I jolted, not having sensed there was someone behind me until contact. When I looked up, I found Mr. Thimble hovering there with his own tray in one hand. He said, "Why don't you eat lunch in the classroom with me, Julius?"

"Yes… That would be lovely."

He helped me serve myself the offered soup and potato skins. Then he floated, and I walked, down the corridor back to the classroom. I took careful notice of the architecture as we went, as Anti-Elina and Anti-Penny would have wanted me to. Fairies as a whole tended to build large rooms, but such puzzlingly narrow hallways.

"We have this tradition at Spellementary School," Mr. Thimble said, waving his wand at the doorknob to his room. The door pushed itself inward, and the candles within flickered automatically to life. "We put on an annual play towards the end of winter."

"Oh?" I took a seat in the middle of the classroom. Mr. Thimble tucked away his wand and clicked his own tray down on his desk.

"Yes. Perhaps you'd be interested in trying out for it, particularly with your talent for memorisation. You'd make a very convincing Lord of Liquorice."

I plucked up the first potato skin on my plate and considered his offer. "I don't know… Aren't these 'play' things normally presented in an amphitheatre in front of dozens, if not hundreds, of parent onlookers? Public rhetoric isn't as of yet a polished skill of mine, and I should very much loathe to lose occupational opportunities or some such thing according to my performance if I shouldn't perform to standards."

I took a bite of the thin potato skin and found it dripping pleasantly with salt flakes. After I swallowed, I added, "Anyway, it wouldn't technically be my first time performing in front of a large audience. Every New Year, my betrothed and I work on perfecting our traditional Tarrow dance. We perform in the courtyard alongside all the other young couples with one foot in our cohort, and frankly, I enjoy dancing en masse so I'm not left to be the centre of attention. Being the only anti-fairy on stage would wreck my nerves. You should grant the opportunity to perform onstage to someone who will value it more than I will."

Mr. Thimble hadn't yet sat down. He lingered in front of his desk, trailing his fingers along strips of bark and stacks of yellow parchment and not yet touching his food. "Of course, you certainly don't have to perform before the crowds if you don't want to, Julius. I just thought you might be interested. The Lords of Liquorice capture Princess Sunshine midway through the first act, and the leading, scheming brother between them sings a song that I imagined you might enjoy."

I stopped mid-chew and looked at him. "Wait a moment. Hold the crystal ball. Are you only asking me to perform for you so I can be blatantly typecast as the villain in your pretty, happy play?"

He didn't answer me, but to be fair, he didn't entirely have the chance. Just after opening his mouth, Mr. Thimble paused. A noise like a jumping spark from a firepit zinged across the energy field an instant later. He jolted to attention, straightening all the papers on his desk as the classroom door swung open on the other side of the room.

"Richard," greeted Principal Winkleglint, floating right up to him. He had his hands tucked in his pockets, the thumbs jabbing out. Mr. Thimble combed his fingers through his grey and ginger hair twice before he turned around. He still kept a stack of parchment clenched in his arms.

"Mr. Winkleglint. H-hello, sir."

I tilted my head. At Principal Winkleglint's sudden arrival, Mr. Thimble's face had turned as red as wine, and he kept fidgeting with his feet and his wings. Did he like Principal Winkleglint? Like, like-like? It was really quite sweet to see the stiff and logical man suddenly turn awkward and shy in the presence of emotions.

"We were interrupted this morning. I didn't even get to explain why I'd asked you to linger in my office. I noticed you were out late last night."

"You assigned me to a lot of errands," Mr. Thimble whispered.

"Mm." Principal Winkleglint took one of the papers from Mr. Thimble's hands, studied it, and lay it aside. "I asked you to drop off my outgoing mail and pick up anything that had come in. And yet for some reason, those letters I instructed you to mail ended up at the Scarletfeather place. Specklestar brought them to me this morning."

Mr. Thimble hesitated. "Mr. Scarletfeather intercepted me. I'm sorry, sir."

"I understand," Winkleglint said, taking hold of Mr. Thimble's tie. He pulled my teacher forward without breaking eye contact. "But of course, I trusted you, and you betrayed me. This means we have some business to take care of."

"Do we, sir?" The wine colour of his face had gotten brighter. He hugged his papers to his chest and flicked his eyes in my direction. "You realise there's a child-"

"A child," Principal Winkleglint scoffed, while I pricked my ears at this rare chance to witness a Seelie courting ritual. He walked his hands fist by fist up Mr. Thimble's tie. Each time he grasped it, he would give a sharp tug, jerking Mr. Thimble's head lower. "First you sneak out on me to see another gyne, and then you claim there's a pregnancy involved too. We both know you're sterile, and we both know you wouldn't go chasing Mrs. Scarletfeather when her husband smells so delicious. Don't play that game."

"Sir, that's not what I-" His voice died when Winkleglint pressed his tongue to his forehead. I could hear the soft squish against skin from where I sat, quietly swirling a thin potato skin in my tomatoes as I watched them. Mr. Thimble's high, twitching shoulders instantly relaxed. His wings stilled. They fluttered. Stilled. He muttered what was either a flirt or a Fairy curse word behind his teeth. His weight shifted, parchments rustling in his hands, and he licked his lips.

Then, without another glance in my direction, Mr. Thimble threw himself at Principal Winkleglint and instantly smeared his own tongue up and down his boss's neck. Winkleglint stumbled against the front chalkboard with a low chuckle, shoved there by whirring wings. I put back my ears. I couldn't predict Mr. Thimble's motions in advance, but I realised after a minute that his movements weren't nearly as erratic and random as they seemed. He was confining himself to a certain area, painting certain paths - certain symbols - with his own saliva. I'm sure they meant something to Seelie Courters, and it was really quite fascinating to watch.

"Good," Principal Winkleglint murmured when the smaller fairy, gasping, shaking, tongue dangling, eyes blinking rapidly, finally lowered his wings and slid away. "Now, loosen your collar."

The fingers of his free hand flew to the top button of his shirt. They hovered there, and then they dropped. "I… can't."

"Did I misspeak?" Principal Winkleglint tugged his tie again and returned to his routine of licking Mr. Thimble's forehead. He began to move downwards, closer to nose and lips. My teacher squirmed.

"No, sir- sir, please! It's embarrassing."

"Why so resistant today, Dick? It's not like anyone is-" Principal Winkleglint noticed me sitting at my desk for the first time. First, his jaw fell open, the tip of his pale tongue still pressed to the far side of Mr. Thimble's nose. Then he shut his mouth. His eyes narrowed. "-watching?"

He meant me. Realising this, I lifted my hands. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, sir. Please don't think I'm interrupting your special moment. I'm an anti-fairy. Because of the way my kind honey-lock three months following certain bodily contacts with their hosting counterparts, I witness some of the most intense public displays of affection nearly every day, and it's all buck teeth to the curls for me. Did you know, tongues happen to be involved in Anti-Fairy courting rituals too? For all our differences, it turns out our two races do have some similarities after all. I just think that's interesting. Well. I will eat quietly and not mind if you do your thing. I must admit, the customs of Seelie Courters are certainly curious. I think I'll enjoy learning them. I hope my presence doesn't bother you."

Mr. Thimble shot me a desperate glance, still pressing his papers to his chest with one arm. The fingers of his other hand wrapped around the edge of his desk until his knuckles turned white. Principal Winkleglint continued to hover there, with my teacher's tie clenched and twisted in his fist like a very short chain.

"Why are you here, Julius?" he asked after about ten seconds. "Children should eat lunch in the cafeteria."

"Oh, well, you know." I made a vague circular gesture with my hand and plucked up another deliciously salty potato skin. "I'm a new anti-fairy student in a class full of Seelie Courters. It's only to be expected that the other children should want to pick on me. I didn't really mind it, but Mr. Thimble gave me permission to eat in here for some time until their teasing dies down, and I accepted. He's fascinating to learn from."

Principal Winkleglint slid his eyes back to Mr. Thimble, who had already turned his face away and gulped audibly. "I see." Straightening then, he shoved my teacher back to the desk. The papers in his arms scattered, and Mr. Thimble's wings hit a stack of scrolls, knocking all of them to the ground. "Very well. Enjoy your lunch, boys. Richard, we will continue this discussion when we get home."

"Y-yes, sir."

The door swept magically shut on his heels. Mr. Thimble stayed trembling against his desk until the principal's wingbeats had vanished from even my hearing. Then he reached up and tugged his tie. The papers went down. He fixed his collar, then the hem of his shirt, and began to smooth his hair.

"I'm… sorry you had to see that, Julius," he mumbled in my general direction. "That wasn't my intention. I didn't think he would."

"Oh, no apologies necessary, sir. I didn't mind. You Seelie Courters are absolutely intriguing."

Mr. Thimble winced, still plucking at the few streaks of grey in his hair. "For my sake, let's keep this between us. I do my best to present myself as respectable to the students I educate. I assume I can treat you as an adult, and trust you not to spread word of what transpired here among your more gossip-prone classmates."

I nodded enthusiastically as I carried my empty tray to the trash can. "Certainly, sir, certainly. I'm very mature for my age, and you ought not to worry about your reputation in my hands. I hope you realise that I respect you a great deal."

He smiled wearily, easing into his chair. "Even after that?"

"Whyever not? I knew when I came here that I would face culture shock of every sort. What happened here is hardly the most intimate exchange I've borne witness to in my young life, believe you me. My people are Anti-Fairies, after all, and cannot always control our own urges once the honey-lock kicks in. Honey-locked Anti-Fairies are a common sight where I'm from, and as such, we simply normalise such expressed emotions and displays. I'm only sorry if I caused you any inconvenience." I paused, tapping my chin, turned, and approached his desk with quick steps. "If I may tell you something, sir?"

"Yes, Anti-Lunifly?" he asked, peering down at me.

"I hope I'm not being too nosy, but well, I'm from Anti-Fairy World, and since we live in communities, I've seen a lot of couples fight. I think I know how you can make things up to your husband."

Mr. Thimble's entire face, from his neck to his ears, turned red again. "Mr. Winkleglint is not my husband."

Oops. I glanced down at his hands, and specifically at the middle finger on his right hand which didn't bear a ring. "Um. Your boyfriend? Well, anyway, I think you should surprise him tonight. Clean your home and have food prepared before he arrives. Dress in something nice, something with buttons that he can undo later. Use your nonverbal cues. You'll know he's in the mood if he picks them up. Take advantage of that, and pleasure him fiercely with kisses and nonsense words. Drakes overwhelmingly prefer lovers who are wild with them- it's a known fact. If you live that life often, then he'll never want to leave you."

Mr. Thimble waited until I was done, holding one pale hand to his still-flushing cheek. When I had finished, he lowered the hand and leaned forward. "Your romantic advice is appreciated, Anti-Lunifly, though I'm afraid it won't be necessary. My relationship with Mr. Winkleglint, along with our exchange today, remains strictly professional."

I blinked. "I hear your words, sir, but I noticed he said you live with him, and it appears clear that you like him considerably."

"Oh, um- no. How do I explain this to an Unseelie pup…" Mr. Thimble drummed his fingers. His face started to return to its normal colour. Then he said, "You're an anti-fairy. You understand living in communities. In fact, my counterpart informed me that you reside in the Blue Castle itself. Let me think. High Count Anti-Bryndin. You know him. He lives in the same home as many damsels and many drakes. Even though he lives with them, is he romantically involved with all of them?"

"Um…"

"On second thought, don't answer that. I briefly forgot you're a promiscuous culture and he is, of course, the High Count. Hmm." He tapped his nails one final time, loudly and sharply, and then spread his fingers flat. "What do you know about genies, Anti-Lunifly?"

"Genies?" Technically, since he'd rattled off the seven Fomorian tribes that morning, it was the third time I'd ever heard the word. It had been but a fleeting thought in my head. Now I repeated it slowly, sounding out each letter. "I don't think I know anything about genies, sir."

"Genies are an ancient, powerful race who lived on a red planet in Earth's solar system, Mars, eons ago. The environment was perfect for them, because it was rich in iron and the regular temperature changes made it possible for them to reproduce. However, when the environment… shifted, the genies, foops, and other less-famous creatures who lived on that planet were relocated by the Eros family."

I nodded. I knew foops: Wolf-like animals with pelts that shimmered, always reflecting the precise colour of the sky in their present location. And I knew the Eros family: Pink-haired and usually pink-dressed cherubs who armed themselves with bows and arrows and for countless generations had claimed it was their holy duty as a family to preserve breeding pairs or families of every last animal species in the universe in that great zoo of theirs in Fairy World, the Eros Nest. Anti-Venus Anti-Eros was the one who had captured me back when I was only smoke and stuffed me in a jar, after all.

"For their own safety, genies were contained in magical bottles and boxes, many of which were inadvertently scattered all across the cloudlands, and the Earth below. The destructive rampage of King Elynas some 370,000 years ago resulted in most of them being lost and buried underground. Though, here and there, you can still find a few about the cloudlands."

"The genies can't escape the magical bottles?" I asked, wondering how such powerful magical creatures had agreed to this plan if it were really for the survival of their species. Had they really been so desperate to preserve themselves, they would sacrifice even their freedom?

"The bottles cannot be opened from the inside, and we Fairykind are unable to affect the bottles magically. Magic cannot affect magical objects, after all. So even if you were to find such a bottle, it would be impossible to open. The genie would remain imprisoned inside." Mr. Thimble pulled his tie again with his thumb and forefinger. "I'm like a genie. Mr. Winkleglint is the one who keeps me contained."

I shrugged. "Yes, and it's rather obvious that you've been courting him. So you're like his husband and my advice is still useful."

"I never said I-" Mr. Thimble covered his face again, eyes squeezed shut as I looked curiously on. He pulled his hands down to his chin, forefingers balanced against his lips. "That's not important. The point is, I'm as bound to him as a genie is to whomever rubs their lamp."

"Really? You don't have a betrothal ring on your hand." I held mine up so he could see. He didn't look. "I was promised to a damsel named Mona from the day of my first participatory Tarrow celebration. This simple, unadorned ring is blue because I'm a Water year, while she herself wears a pale brown betrothal ring because she's a Soil. When we're married, we'll get black rings with each other's coloured zodiac gem set on the band instead."

"Yes. I can see there's no parallel of the concept in your culture, so I'll just explain it. "Mr. Winkleglint?" Mr. Thimble laughed bitterly into his hands, still without opening his eyes. "There are some days when I just hate him."

I tipped my head to one side, lowering my hand. "Oh. That does come as a surprise to me. Then why do you live with him?"

"Because I have to. He's a gyne, and as a drone, I'm bound to his service. I can't leave his side without permission."

"I see… Um, I don't see much, though. What are gynes and drones?"

Automatically, Mr. Thimble dropped his hands to the desk and scooted his chair forward. Teaching seemed to be the one area where he could be dominant, and it snapped him back to the cool-headed persona I knew him as instantly. "There are three orders of dominance among the Seelie Court. Among the Unseelie, there are only two. The most common rank of all is known as 'kabouter'. That's what your counterpart is, and we call their counterparts by the same name."

"That sounds vaguely familiar. So Fairy-Cosmo is a kabouter, and so am I." I thought that I could remember that. It was just another label to add to my endless list of categorizations. I was an Unseelie Courter by social convention, I was an Anti-Fairy by ethnicity, I was a common anti-fairy by race, I was a drake by gender, I was of the Anti-Lunifly family, I was a resident of the Blue Castle by noble lineage, I was a member of the Anti-Coppertalon colony by the location of my mother, I was a Water year according to the time of my birth by the Fairy zodiac, I was an iris because I'd been born with the same eye colour as my counterpart - green - instead of the default red of most Anti-Fairies, I was a subject of the High South Region and represented on the Anti-Fairy World Council by the Navy Robe, I was supposed to become an acolyte and train as an architect so I might learn to balance the universe's karma in the hopes that it might steady at its homeostasis point, and I was a kabouter by biology. So many strange concepts for an eight-year-old mind to properly identify and recall, but let's not forget, I am legally considered a genius. Labels make everything so much easier, don't they? Perhaps Anti-Fairies really do have the sharpest minds.

"Yes. All damsels are by law kabouters. There are many kabouter drakes too, and all counterparts of drones are referred to as kabouters, because that's the way they seem to function. Unlike gynes and drones, kabouters are actually less bound to the biological instincts of the patron whom they share their wings with. As such, they are considered the most evolved of the three ranks."

I nodded. "Kabouters are farther removed from their actual bat, or in your case insect, cousins, and don't share nearly as many behaviors and instincts. So what's a gyne?"

"A gyne is a drakian member of the Seelie Court identifiable by his dark facial spots, called freckles. Gynes are by default larger than your average kabouter. They're light on their feet, strong in the arms, powerful in the wings, and they always smell…" Mr. Thimble stared into space, smiling slightly, and closed his eyes. "Dazzling."

"Why are some Fairies born gynes?"

"Hm?" He blinked. "Oh, um. No one knows. We only know that their counterparts show freckled faces once they moult from their baby exoskeletons, and that anyone who solved the mystery would become very famous very quickly. Purple freckles among your people, and golden among the Refracted. Among Anti-Fairies, these freckles are linked with the gene that gives them the appearance of growing black facial hair."

"Facial… hair?"

"The stripes of black fur that appear around the mouth. Others appear on the chest as well." Mr. Thimble made motions with his fingers down his face as though painting on a moustache and goatee. "Anti-Fairies who show the freckles and this black fur pattern are called 'pilots'."

"Like Anti-Bryndin," I realised.

"Yes, although for aesthetic reasons, he tends to keep his moustache clipped, allowing only his black goatee to grow out. I've heard he used to wipe constantly at his face, thinking he had food smeared above his lips all the time."

There was a beat of pause as I tried to figure out whether that line was meant as an insult to my kind. Had Mr. Thimble just implied that the High Count was too dumb to recognise the difference between fur and food?

"Refracts have feathers instead of Anti-Fairy fur or oily Fairy skin," he went on before I could work up the courage to ask him, "so their 'plume' traits manifest in two great blue plumes. These blue plumes curl from above their eyes and over their shoulders, like antennae."

The word "antennae" didn't sound at all familiar to me.

"As with Seelie gynes, pilots and plumes regularly find themselves tied to the instincts of their patron species, unable to shake many natural biological urges that don't hold sway over kabouters, although of course for your people, pilots error on the side of bat, not the side of insect."

Once Mr. Thimble finished, he looked expectantly at me, like he'd forgotten what my actual question had been and he required further prompting to continue being the one to speak. I said, "Can you elaborate on gyne behaviors, sir?"

"Gynes are viciously territorial creatures. It's why even when they're this young, we separate them so there are never more than two gynes attending the same class. The number used to be one, but times are changing. The number of gynes in Fairy World is increasing, and we've had to make adjustments. Anyway, Anti-Fairies such as yourself have a notoriously poor sense of smell. Your ancestors didn't inherit that from the Aos Sí when you split apart. So, you probably didn't pick up on Mr. Winkleglint's scent when he barged in here."

I tried to think back, tapping my teeth. "Well, now that you've mentioned it, I think I detected a faint banana scent lingering in the air while he was fluttering about."

Mr. Thimble's fingers twitched. "I assure you, it was much stronger for me. You Anti-Fairies don't produce notable pheromones. We Seelie Courters release pheromones wherever we go. However, kabouter pheromones are rather weak. Drone pheromones are weaker still. Gyne pheromones are dramatically more dominant, instantly commanding attention the moment they enter a room. As such, they frequently attract more damsels than kabouters do, which is beneficial to them. Kabouters are capable of producing either kabouter or gyne offspring. The son of a gyne will always be either a drone or another gyne. Gynes produce kabouters only if they bear a daughter. The majority of drones are born sterile, which limits the father's ability to spread his genes. As such, he is biologically driven to seek out many damsels in the hopes of producing many nymphs who can continue his line."

"Oh, your father is a gyne too?"

"He was. He died. Though, the drones who aren't born sterile can produce drones too." Mr. Thimble paused, then went briskly on. "Two or even more gynes can get by in the same area so long as one of them is clearly subordinate. But when the pheromones of two dominant gynes clash, their instincts kick in, and they fight one another to the death until only one comes out victorious." He said it so casually, without hesitation. I studied his face with my ears flattened. Truly, he was a man intent on relaying bare facts without a hint of sugarcoating.

My wings twitched. "Gynes who fight always kill each other, sir?"

"Nearly always. Things are admittedly beginning to change in modern times. While most gyne fights do end in death, it isn't completely unheard of for the more dominant one to let the subordinate one go, when it is clear the pecking order has been established. The dominant gyne's pheromones are the strongest, and a gyne who has become subordinate will produce more subtle pheromones."

"I see," I said, wishing I were taking orderly notes, or could return to this whole conversation later for future reference. "Quite fascinating, really. And what of drones?"

Mr. Thimble locked his fingers together on his desk and leaned back in his chair. "Drones like me are the lowest rung on the Seelie dominance ladder, and cannot be distinguished from kabouters on the surface the way gynes, pilots, or plumes can. However, like gynes, drones are biologically wired with powerful insect instincts in their blood. To be born a drone is to be born a lifelong servant. We are drawn to gyne pheromones, and attend to the needs of the most dominant gyne in the area, whether those needs include physical grooming, cleaning houses, tending to gardens and crops, raising his nymphs, or, well…"

"You mean, holding the position of a teacher at his school?"

He shrugged. "A subordinate gyne who kills a more dominant gyne will inherit his drones. So long as Mr. Winkleglint is the dominant gyne in the area, he owns my soul. Should he become subordinate, or die, I will be left abandoned and dysfunctional until another gyne takes me under his wing and puts me to work. With Mr. Winkleglint's pheromones in my nostrils, I couldn't leave this school even if I wanted to. I'm in a better position than many drones. I'm fortunate enough to hold a job that I love. Any other questions?"

My ears twitched even lower. I gaped at him. Finally I managed to say, "Oh, that's simply awful. You really can't leave him? And you have to live in his home against your will, subject to his every whim, even if he should choose to torture you? Why, even our servants approach the Blue Castle asking for jobs willingly, and they're free to go if they choose to resign."

Mr. Thimble stared down at his interlocked fingers. "Well. We're Fairies."

"Then Fairy society is outrageously horrid and cruel!"

He snapped up his head. "Anti-Lunifly, it's the way of things. Don't mock our culture."

"I can and I will, because it's not right! You shouldn't have to work for someone you don't like in the least. You can't let abusers of power push you around just because they were born into that position." So saying, I spun on my heels and marched to the door. "I'm going to find Principal Winkleglint and give him a piece of my mind."

"Oh my dust." With two poofs, Mr. Thimble disappeared from behind his desk and reappeared in front of me. "Anti-Lunifly, you will stay right here where I can see you. You are eight years old. You haven't even had your canetis. Mr. Winkleglint is eight hundred millennia your senior, and a gyne. Don't interfere with matters beyond your understanding."

I crossed my arms. "Well, as near as I can figure, you're certainly not going to. Do you want him to punish you just because you were resistant to his command that you take off your shirt today? Do you want to live the rest of your life scrambling to please him, only for him to be disappointed no matter how hard you try? Do you want to spend the rest of your life never knowing what true happiness is?"

Mr. Thimble bowed his head. "I, er, have to."

"Why, you're a coward!"

"A living coward."

My fists clenched, along with my teeth. I thrust my hand beneath the buttons of my suit, wriggled it beneath my undershirt, and felt my way to my pouch. One of the blessing tokens I'd stuffed in there had to grant me strength in a situation like this one. Winni's leopard, symbolising the powers of Communication?

"Let me pass, you big poor abused oaf. I intend to speak with that monster of a drake."

Mr. Thimble fluttered nervously back and forth in the air, wringing his hands around and around together in the hem of his shirt. "Anti-Lunifly, you don't understand. Winkleglint is a gyne. A powerful, dominant gyne. He fights and kills challengers who oppose him."

"I'm an anti-fairy, effectively immortal until my hosting counterpart himself dies," I fired back, lifting my chin and my wings. My hand slid away from the beryl leopard and wrapped around Sunnie's turquoise turtle. Its spiraled shell fit snuggly against my palm. "He can't cause the death of a smoky hair on my head."