Frayed Knots

by FountainPenguin

"It's not my problem if you're embarrassed, Anti-Cosmo," H.P. said as I hugged my shoulders. He scratched his chin. "Hm. I suppose there's no help for it. If you honestly and truly want to wear a hat, then you'll have to secure a high position of power so no one ever dares to say anything about it that's negative in the least." (Written August 2016 - Ongoing)

28. Deep

A/N - Obligatory reminder that Anti-Cosmo experiences hypersexuality during his manic mood swings and his narration will reflect this more and more now that he's an adult. He has many extreme thoughts and makes a lot of impulsive, harmful choices while manic. Hypersexuality is not fun and games, even for him.

(Posted January 14, 2020)

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Deep

In which Anti-Cosmo confronts Snowball the dragon and rescues a fairy prince

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Nowhere else in Faeheim could you find a view like this. I swept my wings like spinning skirts. Tongues of fire smacked the sky. An inn near the Big Wand dissolved to the ground with a rumble and Keepers whizzed about. The infamous Cave of Destiny towered over distant homes like a fortress. Smoke writhed through my nostrils, hooking me forward…

And I realised I was no bigger as a dragon than I had been as an Anti-Fairy.

Two seconds later, I also realised the Head Pixie had been yanked off the roof when I jumped. I hovered in empty air for a blank-minded instant. His body dropped and swung beneath my belly as though tied on a rope. He whisked right past the corner of a building. And his weight, helium-filled head or not, jerked me by the tail.

"No!" I screeched. We plunged towards the broken road, a sharp heap of stone and metal rubble directly beneath me. Wind shot through my ears. I pumped my wings, mouth drying faster and faster with every sweep. My mind weighed me down like an ox strapped to sailboats. I twisted this way and that, but it didn't matter how many times I tried to right myself because he was still there. "Oh my gods, are we woven? Are we woven!?"

Had I not done it right? I didn't have time for flashbacks. I smacked the rubble heap, bounced and backflipped in the air, turned instantly into an anti-fairy again, and tumbled down the heap with the Head Pixie flopping after me. We rolled to a stop halfway down among the bricks. I tried to sit up, but my vision blurred in three directions. I lay back again. Chips of cloudstone wedged between my scales. When I raised my hand to push my claws through my hair, I couldn't remember how many fingers I was supposed to have. I'd lost my monocle in the crash. No matter. With a twitch of my pinky, it reappeared in my palm. I stared at that palm for a moment, then at my other arm. I wasn't all blue anymore. Every few seconds, shocks of rainbow cracked like lightning through my skin. They erupted here and there like breaching mermaids, even through my scales.

"Are you all right, old sport?" I asked, staring at the sky. I forced myself to my feet even though it made me sick. I groped for the half-collapsed wall of the bakery beside us. It smelled of burned bread, times one thousand. For a moment, all was fine. The next, I coughed up several silkworms. A glob of rainbow goo came with them. It spattered the street, turned into a tiny crab-mouse demon, and scuttled off. I watched dully, then felt around my jacket for a handkerchief. The one I pulled out was badly scorched. I rubbed it across my face anyhow, even though it likely smeared my nose with soot.

The Head Pixie, temporarily deprived the functionality of his limbs, couldn't respond. He huddled in a heap a few wingspans away from me, his face centimetres from a puddle of pie. But I imagined he must have some snarky comment on his lips such as "Who taught you how to transform?" Only his would actually be clever. "You call that a dragon? THIS is a dragon!" Or, well… something of the sort.

Had he jumped after me? Had his shirt been caught on my tail? Anything was possible. I coughed up another worm (possibly a leech), then massaged my nose. I could feel the gooey gloss of my teeth. I tasted copper. The hydra hadn't noticed my attempt to engage yet, thank smoke; Prince Eastkal still had its full attention. For how much longer? I couldn't say.

I patted cloudstone dust from my hair, not sure why I bothered. Call it a weakness; I can't stand filthy fur. All right. Squaring my wings, I flicked my flashing rainbow hand. The silver scales pattered into place again. My legs thickened out, claws lengthening like searing swords. Heavy horns curled behind my ears. "Sorry," I said to the silent Head Pixie. There was nowhere to move him- it certainly wasn't any safer inside the damaged bakery. I had to trust he'd be okay. For now, my priority was the dragon.

Well, this was less than elegant. Nonetheless, I repeated my crouch and leapt into the sky. I made it three wingstrokes before a cord around my neck cinched tight and jerked me down. I crashed on my side, jaw banging a solid cooking cauldron. My wings flapped and caught themselves on nothingness. I kicked and squirmed, but the more I thrashed, the closer the invisible netting clutched.

"Let go of me!" I scrambled into a sitting position, panting- Why was I panting? I tasted nectar on the back of my tongue, right there alongside a crispy honey sensation I'd never known before. I twisted my neck and felt a loop draw steadily tighter around my throat. I heaved. "Smoke. We are woven, aren't we? I knew it; bloody smoke." Sniffing, I fumbled with my paws, lurching up. In two steps, I'd come close enough to bend and nudge his wings. "Head Pixie, cross your fingers behind your back. I'm quite certain I can untie our weaves, but I can't see what I'm doing."

Of course, he couldn't move. As one doesn't when still adjusting to the reunion of body and soul. A twinge settled in my stomach. You know, I couldn't help but feel this was my fault somehow. Stifling a moan, I dragged my claws down my cheek. My tail curled at the end. Bricks rattled to the road.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry, I've never done this before. I thought I… Oh smoke, are you all right?" With a gentle paw, I rolled the Head Pixie on his back. His arm flopped limply near his knee. His blank eyes burned the sky without vision, mouth agape. Ah. I backed away, huffing glowing embers from my nostrils. I'd broken both lenses of his glasses in that fall. The empty frames cowered at the very fringes of our rubble.

"Please," I whispered. I could still taste cookie dough and cake batter. "I can't help you if I can't see your weave. I- I think we're tangled up, and I can't view it without you offering it first. Please wake up. I'm sorry I took so much. I'm sorry… Please…"

Dark wings flashed above my head. Every scale down my neck stood on end. I glanced over my shoulder, heaving my own wings wide.

"We have to go. The Wester family can't stop that thing, as much as they would like to- you know that and so do I. Additionally, from the looks of it, drawing from your karma has tangled our weaves together, so… I'll have to carry you."

No response. He couldn't so much as twitch. Although I doubted he could glean what was happening around us, I offered a reassuring, pointy-toothed smile anyway. Then, snapping into action, I grasped the pixie's shirt in my claws and took flight. For real this time. I swept above the buildings in an arc, nearly flipping over. No matter which direction I looked, the city burned. With three heads, the hydra's flames had made quick work of it. Faeheim had never been as large as Luna's Landing; Fairies were territorial creatures, after all, and much preferred spreading out to tucking close.

From my tram station perch, I hadn't appreciated exactly how gargantuan the hydra was. Its whisking tail slammed straight through a tower. The needle point whipped away, spinning like a star, and pierced a window three streets down. Glass erupted in and out of the energy field. Prince Eastkal had dropped his own scaly form, huddled on a rooftop on his hands and knees. Emerald blood soaked his shoulder. But the king was with him - King Northiae - and he jumped into the sky a second later. A pink cloud of dust burst around him, revealing a great purple serpent with wings like fins. He arrowed straight for the hydra, which noticed him with one head and turned to catch him in the throat. And on that head…

My eyes snapped wide, talons hitching in the Head Pixie's suit. "Holy smokes, there's a kid up there!"

A young fairy drake - just about my own age - clung atop the leftmost hydra head. His green hair blew backwards, arms clenched and cheek smashed against the beast's crooked horn. Little rivets of acne flecked his skin like fallen stars. He spat and shoved a soft fist against his eye, blinking back his tears. His little nose crinkled up. He was tall, curved like an elegant teacup handle in the back. He wore socks without shoes. I couldn't tell whether he was muscular or pudgy beneath that flopping white shirt, but nonetheless I hovered like a hooked fish, claws uncurling one by one.

I'd never seen a more beautiful drake in my life.

Then the fangs connected with Northiae's neck. The hydra jerked and nearly knocked the fairy loose. The head twisted sideways. The yelping drake dangled in open space from the horn, kicking with his legs. His wand plunged towards the road. Wings beat like falling swords, nearly tearing him away. Fingers skidded over scales.

"Look at me, Snowball! You don't want to do this! Or even if you do, I sure disagree!"

Snowball? Who-?

The hydra shook its highest head, King Northiae writhing in its teeth. The middle head reached around to snap at the fairy's flailing feet. I swooped in, blasting the open mouth with a gush of ice. My throat lit like lightning. The startled hydra let go of the king. Its head lashed, bucking the young drake into the air. He came down smack on the snout of another head. His core rushed so fast, I could feel it in my own. It raced faster than I'd once run at my canetis. Faster than I'd ever flown.

"Hey!" It was the only word I could force out through the thin pipe in my throat; the ice beam had scorched the rest. I blinked, knowing already my mouth would be raw for days. I veered towards the green-haired fairy, but the right head reared to catch me. Teeth sliced shut centimetres from the Head Pixie's limp arm. I dove and twisted, the lava-like heat of those scales heating my face even so. My tail smacked the neck. I coughed a puff of startled smoke. The fairy glanced beneath him, then wedged both feet against the dragon's lower lip. He kicked off as hard as possible, flipped over and over, and came down on the roof beside Eastkal in a crouch.

"Snowball!" he yelled again. I saw one head turn. When I swooped near, the green fairy fell to his knees, hands tangled in his hair. He wore a hooded shirt with sleeves much too long for him, giving him the appearance of a leaf in a snowdrift. "Snowball, please!"

I could hardly make out his words. The energy field clanged with bells and horns, drums pounding in the distance. I gulped a smoky stream of air and banked around to meet the fairy, but the hydra reached him first. One head knifed forward and caught him by the wing. He screeched. So did I. Even the Head Pixie jolted in my claws. Spiralling back, I charged the third head, parting my jaws for another blast. A cascade of crystals clinked their way across solid scales. Snowball snarled back at me. I whisked my eyes back and forth, huffing smoke. Somewhere in the spears of crashing ice, the hydra had dropped the green fairy. He spun like a snowflake in the hail, heavy spikes raining after him. I bent my head, straining to watch him tumble…

… and time slowed down. My wingbeats slipped.

Hold up. I know that face.

The nose was wrong. The perfect eye was wrong. The bright colours and spotted socks and dragonfly wings were all so wrong. But that was my face.

The rush hit me the moment it hit him. Although I'd never met my counterpart, the link between our minds had widened when we came into our adult wings. I knew the shape of him against my mind, the burning taste of his fear, and he was screaming for his life.

My counterpart.

Fairy-Cosmo.

Our life.

Snowball swung around and crashed its tail against my throat. The hydra was so large and I was so small that it flipped me right over. Pain flared through my veins. Scales blinked in and out like frightened embers. I think I screamed, maybe, but mostly fell. My hind claws slashed the sky. I couldn't foop away as a dragon - not when transformed with karma - and tried desperately to remember which part of my back would paralyze the spine if I slammed the ground.

… I couldn't let the Head Pixie hit first. If my weight crushed him, he would die. Even fae bodies couldn't survive a mass of dragon scales.

Fairy-Cosmo came down with feline grace. And I do mean feline. He poofed into an enormous striped cat and twisted as he fell. I had one split second to register this before I mashed the Head Pixie to my chest and changed us both. Since the threads of our karmic weaves had woven, I fooped us into balls of yarn. When we hit the roof, we bounced and twisted and tangled again.

"Alive," I croaked, not sure what I'd done with my legs. They were here in this mess somewhere. But more importantly- "Alive!"

"I think I wet myself," Cosmo groaned nearby.

King Northiae landed after us, skidding backwards at high speed with one hand clean above the ground. He hadn't switched out of full fairy form to fall. I didn't even blame him. The Westers hailed from a pure bloodline: glistening skin and bulging muscles had never left their genes. He lifted his wand and shot a stream of purple sparks in the air. I heard someone shout several buildings away. Four wooden beams flashed through the air, each aimed for Snowball's wings. Three bounced harmlessly off its chest. The fourth bounced off its leg.

"Again!" Northiae roared. This time I recognized Jorgen's shout of reply, followed by Eastkal's (soft with pain, that one). I huddled limply in my new form, gasping pointless gasps.

I'd never been yarn before. Until today, I'd never been a dragon either.

I wasn't supposed to be either.

I hadn't meant to change, exactly. I would have been a fox if it were up to me, but I had to save the Head Pixie too. He hadn't been awake enough to arrange all those limbs. Any other day I would have become a fox, but this just wasn't the right time. You know what I mean? Cadmea forgive me…

Snowball roared, indicating a direct hit in the soft wing membrane. King Northiae took to the sky and became a dragon again. Just as I sat up, still very much yarn, Fairy-Cosmo raced towards me. He snatched my wand right off the ground and kept running.

"Hey!"

Cosmo poofed a long, perfectly straight stick in his hands. Sprinting like a streak of fire, the fairy jabbed the bottom foot at the edge of the rooftop. With his momentum, he launched himself in the air and let stick and wand drop away. All this screaming a war cry that set my fluff on end. I've no idea how he knew the proper length that stick should be, but somehow or other, he made it. His feet slammed straight into one of Snowball's cheeks. The middle head, specifically. When Cosmo kicked off, he stretched his hands and caught the next head by its horns. Yarn or not, my mouth fell open. My counterpart danced like a will o' the wisp, always aflutter and more elegant than an ice sculpture. Even King Northiae paused to study him.

Can I do that?

Shrieks filled the sky and city, reinforcements pressing in. A bit of yarn wriggled beside me. Oh. The Head Pixie was waking up. I reversed my own transformation, replacing fuzz with thin blue plates and long hairs. My mouth had never tasted dryer. Even in Liloei's lamp. I pushed myself to my feet, hacking dust. Rainbow sparks scattered through my skin, flashing on and off like every alarm I'd ever known.

The Head Pixie squirmed against my foot. I'd need my wand to revert him. Where had Fairy-Cosmo dropped it?

My counterpart was back where I'd first seen him, dangling from a hydra's horn. A slip of pale stomach flashed below his shirt. His face was scratched from ice shards and his shirt had burned where he'd slid across Snowball's scales. He hung there with a swelling black eye I could feel in my own face AND HE WAS STILL THE MOST BEAUTIFUL DRAKE I'D EVER SEEN. Cosmo reared back his foot, clearly intending to kick Snowball in the eye…

… and hesitated.

Snowball didn't. Another head snapped around to catch him, just like before. "Ah!" Cosmo yelled, jerking up his legs. One head slammed against the other. Cosmo flapped about, clinging to the horn. When one neck jerked too hard to the side, he snapped off. With his injured wing, he couldn't fly. Instead, he poofed into a rock and clattered between the buildings. I didn't feel his bumps and bruises, but winced nonetheless. I shook a loop of karmic energy from my arm.

"Fire!" shouted the king from somewhere on my blind side. Or… what use to be my blind side. Another barrage of rocks and beams - this time ten at once - ricocheted off the hydra's tough scales. Outraged moans flew up around me. Cosmo poofed to Eastkal's roof, tugging his bangs in the front like me. Exactly then, Snowball swept down and hooked the injured fairy prince in its claws. Eastkal screeched and kicked like a lightning bolt. Rocks and magic beams rained after them, echoed by shouts, to no avail. The hydra flew towards the Cave of Destiny high above. One leg dangled, dripping blood.

"EASTKAL!"

That was King Northiae, rapidly losing hold on his dragon form. He shot after Snowball, but scales slid off him like falling rain.

"NO!" I scrambled across the roof for my wand, coughing, and tripped on my own feet. Apparently the size of the Head Pixie's weave rooted him to the energy field even when he weighed no more than string. My fingers just grazed my wand handle. Missed. Gritting my fangs, I grabbed for it again. This time it flipped sideways and clattered just out of reach. My eyes stung. No matter how I wriggled, I couldn't shake the Head Pixie's weave from mine.

"Come on… come on…" Lunge- "YES!" Foop! He became a pixie again, albeit one in shock. There wasn't time. I morphed into a dragon again, beating my wings in a private storm. Even when I tried to think big, I came out a runt. No matter. My eyes darted between the stunned pixie and the mountain. Okay. Um. I had to pursue- Eastkal couldn't use direct magic on the dragon- if he wasn't dead yet then he would be soon. The Fairies couldn't fight the dragon; their magic was useless. The best way to wear a dragon down was to keep it talking, but Snowball hadn't said a word. And if that thing had Eastkal, I doubted the king would have the patience to converse.

I only knew one other option: send the beast back to the plane it had come from. The arched horns were a dead giveaway- Plane 18. But I didn't want to haul the Head Pixie into danger either. He whimpered behind me, arms tight around his head. I noticed for the first time he'd lost his hat along the way. Um. I scratched my claws against the roof, ears twitching back. I didn't even know he could make such a pathetic sound.

And they were gone. Snowball disappeared into the mountain cave, all in the flick of a tail. The Fairies down below took sides, yelling for either Northiae or Adelinda to guide them. The king was halfway there, even as his form flickered back to fairy. He plummeted to the street, too unfocused to hold form. The von Strangles couldn't fly, and they still had fires to quench and a city to save.

What could one anti-fairy do against a three-headed dragon? Even a homeostasis specialist like me?

A poof sounded on my right. I knew who it was without looking, but looked anyway. My counterpart clenched his elbows, leaning forward as though sick to his very core. "Can you fly me up there?" he demanded. "It's too far to-" Then his eyes bulged, flashing brighter. "Is that H.P.?"

I'd never heard that name for the Head Pixie before, and spent a few seconds too long just letting it sink in. By that point, Cosmo was on his knees beside him, eyes bright, bright green.

"You didn't reach yellow when you snared! He's dying!"

"What?" I reeled. "What does that mean?"

"Here, let me." Cosmo ran his fingers through the Head Pixie's hair. He checked over his shoulder, then whipped around and sunk his teeth in the space the pixie's crown would be. Something SNAPPED in the energy field, and I cried out on instinct. A smack of magic rebounded against my throat.

"Tastes like liquorice," he grunted, teeth locked together. "I've got 'im stable. You help the prince. And kick Snowball's caboose two tram stations away, okay?"

I didn't need encouragement. Once more I flung myself in the air, but this time no tell-tale weight whisked after me. I snuffed a satisfying spurt of snowflakes from my beak. I may be a small dragon, but without the Head Pixie dragging me down, at least I was nimble once again.

Snowball. What a highly original name. More creative than the rabbit Anti-Saffron and I raised while practicing for Lohai, though: Lucky.

I touched down on the ledge outside the Cave of Destiny. I'd only been here once before, on a school trip for a project about The Darkness (Anti-Lance and I had spent more time staring down at Faeheim than at the Chosen One prophecy etched on the wall inside). The gate was open, as it always was, and I wondered why the Fairies hadn't simply yanked it down. It wasn't as though it could keep any of us out anyway. I stood at the cave entrance, blinking inside. I could see better than a Fairy in the dark, but only with my eyes. Fairies could detect the signals of individuals popping against the energy field all around them. I could only read a room. Where they sensed individuals, I only sensed wholes. Technically, I was at a disadvantage if I stepped inside.

Or was I? I squeaked down the long tunnel, then remembered I couldn't echolocate. It came out like a mewl. Hardly heroic. Stifling my nervous laughter, I padded into the cave. I'd seen my fair share in Anti-Fairy World and this one disappointed me. It smelled of rock, but not much else. And not even interesting rock. I tasted layers of visitors, but they blurred together.

I studied the scuff marks on the floor between my paws. Claw gouges. They ranged through different sizes, like something had been living here a long time. I'd never heard of a dragon living in Faeheim, and judging from its size, Snowball looked to be thousands of years old. Someone would have mentioned it.

Unless no one ever knew. Not until today. No one except the green-haired fairy who'd yelled the name.

"What have you been doing, Cosmo?" I murmured. I stared into the tunnel again. It twisted, probably split several times below. I heard drips, maybe a river. Certainly little animals. Definitely bats. Snowball knew the way better than I did. I adjusted the strap of a satchel I didn't wear.

I wasn't sure whether Prince Eastkal was still alive. Whether his death was fated or not, the hydra should at least be confronted. If anyone was going to march into its lair, it ought to be me. I couldn't die while Fairy-Cosmo lived. Though honestly I'm not sure how we lasted if he was out here raising dragons.

I hadn't been afraid joining Northiae and Eastkal in their fight. But standing lonely in the cave, I'd never felt like such a scrap. I didn't even have dexterity. And that, I might need. I dissolved my silver scales and reformed clutching my wand. Once again, rainbow threads of karma shot like snakes beneath my skin. I swallowed it back.

"Let's go. Come on, Julius. Not far now."

Which way had the monster gone? I wandered from one tunnel to the next, running my sparking hand along the rough left wall. The stone was incredibly dry. It broke off in chunks of dust. I scratched a jabbing bit with the tip of my wand. It left a long gash and sparked like blood. I traced my thumb along that line. Here I was, 160,000 years old, creeping down to the heart of the dragon's lair. That beast was large enough to swallow me. I'd fit inside its belly. And if I dissolved in its stomach acid just to regenerate and die again and again…

I squeezed my eyes shut. Flecks of ice gathered on my lips. I held my wand tight. Self-sacrifice was noble. I gave my life once to rescue Ambrosine and the rest of his division from a cave collapse. I gave it once and died. Died flightless, but free. I had a new life now as Anti-Cosmo. Sure, it had its ups and downs, but there was a reason I kept fighting. I loved to be alive.

… And if it came down to it, I wouldn't give myself for Eastkal. Not this time. This life was mine.

My foot slid across a puddle. I paused, then crouched to better examine what I'd found. I dipped my finger in, then wrenched it back instantly. "Ah!" My knuckle burned deep black. Fire dragon blood. Snowball had been injured. Badly. I stood again, wiping my scorched finger on my shirt. At least I'd gone the right way. Snowball's emotions hung thicker in this tunnel than anywhere else in the cave. Dragons speak in raw emotion, weaving stories without words, and for a moment I just hovered there with my wand, centimetres off the ground. My mouth barely formed the whisper.

"You're dying. You beautiful creature, blessed with scales to reflect the sky. You're dying here alone in the dark, without a single friend."

Cosmo had been on that roof when Snowball grabbed the prince. Cosmo had been the target. Cosmo the friend.

Cosmo… my friend…

A tidal wave of nausea crashed over my head. My leg broke beneath me. I collapsed on my hands, retching before I made it to the ground. Knives of colour shot from my mouth, each one taking a tiny, living shape when it hit the ground. My wings kicked instantly into gear. I tried to fly, but I was frozen. Tried to run, but my leg wouldn't go. Tried to scream, but I didn't have form.

I had to breathe. I had to breathe or I would die, the world was screaming, except I COULDN'T BREATHE and I was dead. My claws seized against my own volition. I screamed in energy, screamed in this… this force that crushed my every side. This was pure emotion.

And it BURNED.

Sizzling tears dribbled down my cheeks. My vision fuzzed over even with my monocle, but I knew the hydra was there. An invisible foot crushed my spine against cold rock. I complied, because you do. You listen when a dragon speaks. I lifted my eyes without raising my head. I could have been blind and deaf and dead, and I would have known exactly where that voice was coming from. Rainbow drool ran in ribbons from my teeth. A puddle gathered around my hair. Across the cave, Prince Eastkal lay in a crumpled heap beside the dragon's broken leg. Crumbled, but not dust. Alive.

"Snowball, I… I…"

Snowball lifted the middle head. Hot eyes rotated around to sear me. I stared back, too transfixed to look away. Even as the jaws parted and the depths of the throat glowed white. I wasn't Cosmo. I was the exact opposite. I was not his friend.

My fingers clenched around the handle of my wand. The star glowed with a feeble spell. Even sobbing, I lifted myself back on my heels. When the flames shot up Snowball's throat, I flung my wand between those teeth. The startled dragon shut his jaws. Flames licked across the wand, melting it, melting magic-

-and my wand exploded chunks of ice. Spears of it pierced the hydra's throat from the inside, row upon row of them stabbing in a line all the way down the neck. I clapped my hands to my ears when Snowball wailed. And roared. And cried.

When the dragon's every noise had stopped, I collapsed on my chest, wings and sides heaving. A drop of blood trickled against my eyes. "It's gone," I said, then couldn't breathe. I clenched my eyes, dragging my wings up to my face. A chip of ice bounced across the floor.

I did it.

Ha! Ha ha! I did it!

"What was that?" Eastkal gasped out, clutching his wounded shoulder. I pushed myself up again with a grunt. He still lay where we'd left him, squirming on a crumpled wing.

"Magical backlash of a sort. The head will regrow, but until that day comes, it won't bother us again. It's dormant now. I, um…" I gazed up at the silent beast, at its quivering sides. "It's still alive. But I took out the middle head. It won't go anywhere until the neurons in its brain reform."

"How… did you do that?" He choked the words between sharp grunts of pain. I crawled over, one hand at a time. He'd been scratched by the dragon's claw and burned to boot. The wound looked awful. It oozed a strange goop that made his skin bubble. It might take days to heal that, even with magic. Assuming it didn't become so infected that it had to be removed. "With the ice?" he said next. "Fairy magic can't freeze so cold."

Did he think I was Seelie? I paused with one hand lifted, not sure what to do.

"Who are you?" the prince demanded, straining to beat his wings. His tongue flopped out. "Soot… mulch… ipe trees… No fruit. I don't recognize your pheromones. You aren't one of the aristocracy."

"No." Not his circle of it, anyway.

Eastkal tried to turn his head, but moving made him flinch. "And yet… Your magical prowess is indescribable. Thin. Ice cold. Bold, yet you maintain complete control. If you aren't an aristocrat, who are you?"

"I'm a lone foop just passing through." I stared again at his shoulder, my hands trembling. Fairies weren't much for healing charms. They had their medicine. Healing magic was unreliable, but my people made it work because that's what we had: our "silly herbs and rhymes." Winni was the healer, and Sunnie's rival brother. I had no business learning that craft and so I never had, studying art and architecture instead.

I didn't know what to do.

He rubbed his shoulder once again. Wisps of white magic swirled where he'd been scraped. "You saved my life. My mother is dead and I'm my father's only heir, so you've saved the Wester bloodline. I'll never forget that."

"Nor should you. It was a pleasure, Prince."

Again he tried to roll, but cried out almost louder than the dragon's roar. Several bats in another tunnel squeaked and shuffled about. "I'd- I'd like to thank my rescuer face to face. Will you free my wing?"

"Um," I said. Surely he recognized my High Southian accent? Did he know?

But this was what the prince asked for, and he was in pain. He wore a black shirt. I gripped the fabric in my claws and rolled Eastkal on his back. His trapped wing flickered loose. I brushed the grime from his chest and reached to tuck back his hair. Eastkal was pretty, actually. I mean, for a fairy. His face glowed baby-soft around the cheeks, gentle like starlight. He wasn't fritzy, but certainly beautiful. Wispy stubble pricked from his skin. He wore a purple skirt that rippled like wind. But to my surprise, the prince's eyes didn't match. One sparked red, the other green. Both seemed to glow properly, but my, my! Wouldn't that be a sight in a lover's face at dark!

He jerked his head away, a sparking gasp jumping from his lips. "Yes, I'm an Anti-Fairy," I said, gazing down at him. "What of it?"

"I smelled pixie," was his weak reply. Ah. I still had the Head's scent smeared across me from our karma sharing.

Sweet Prince Eastkal was not a gyne. He didn't have the body for it, all lithe instead of chiselled like his father. His pheromones pressed gingerly from all sides, politely, like they'd been bred as well as he had. And as I tasted them, I let my shoulders soften. His light pheromones had yet to mature, with none of that sticky, milky crash in the Head Pixie's scent that tried to bend you to his will. No. The prince's touch was gentle, inviting strangers in like friends. Even as fear flashed across those two-tone eyes. I studied him carefully as I lifted him up to sit. The arm looked worse up close than I'd expected.

"But I thought…" Prince Eastkal clenched his hair in a twist. "Were you the silver dragon?"

"Yes."

"This doesn't make sense. Anti-Fairies can't turn into dragons."

"We choose not to turn into dragons," I corrected, sitting back against the cave wall. I folded my legs. "And I'm socially dead back home if anyone ever finds out I've done. Stripped of my status, my identity, my name, blacklisted for the rest of my life. So I'm placing absolute trust in your hands, Prince Common Fairy. The fact that I transformed can never get back to the High Count."

Eastkal held his shoulder, blinking in the dark. "You… You went against your people's customs to save my life. Why did you do that?"

"Faeheim needed saving," I said with a shrug. "Your family live in the Pink Castle. Mine in the Blue. Faeheim is to you what Luna's Landing is to me. Fair is fair, Prince. After all, you'd save our capital if you arrived when we were in need."

No reply. A stalactite dripped. Even his pheromones flickered in the quiet. One finger picked at the end of his moustache. My knees felt very cold against the hard ground.

"I said, you'd save our capital if our roles had been reversed, right?"

Prince Eastkal jolted, snapping his eyes from my feet to my face again. "Of course I would. Luna's Landing is a valuable hotspot of art and cultural heritage for all of Fairy World, and we can learn a lot about the past from its museums and library."

And it's home to hundreds of passing colonies, hosting 70,000 people for the Seven Festivals every cycle, I thought, raising my brows. Eastkal didn't seem to notice. I watched him touch the sheath that held his wand and wrinkled my nose. "Does my presence make you uncomfortable, Prince Common Fairy?"

Eastkal had the decency to look embarrassed. He swallowed and moved his hand away. One foot scuffed behind the other. "I've never been hexed before. Do I need to stand a certain way? Or… kneel?"

My brows knit. "Oh no, that's quite all right. You're healthy enough as it is. Your mother's death did wonders for your sense of balance and in fact, you're tipped a little too far in the negative. What you need is a little more good luck in your life, though ascertaining how much exactly is beyond my expertise. Talk to the temple acolytes."

"You're bad luck," he said, looking like he might shift to kneel after all.

"Depends where you're standing." I drew that wand of his and raised it as though I intended to tap him on the nose. "I am a creature of fluidity. When I approach you at your high, I am your doctor, your worst nightmare. When you're sick and beaten down, I'm your sweetest daydream- and then some."

"Uh," Eastkal said, fidgeting as I placed the wand in his lap. "No matter who you are, I meant it when I said I wanted to thank my rescuer face to face. Um…" He looked at me curiously. "What do I call you?"

"Anti-Cosmo, Prince."

He tasted both halves of it, rolling it around and painting it with his Faeheim accent in a way I'd never heard before. The energy field twinkled especially around his face. With a slow nod, he bent his head, reaching out to plant one hand on the ground between us. "On my honour, I am indebted. Kalra kalra keiko mwrisa cara."

Oh. I'd never heard the phrase before. Even my Ilisa memories stalled on its meaning. It sounded Gaideliac. Each word rolled together, so different from the staccato shortness of Vatajasa. I must have hesitated too long, because Eastkal straightened up again, pushing his butter-brown hair back from his eyes. The other hand tugged his skirt. He offered a lopsided, sheepish smile and looked away to adjust his wand sheath.

"It's… more poetic in actual ceremony. May I express gratitude with my natural tongue?"

I tilted my head. "Yes, all right."

I thought he meant a speech. Only when he leaned in did I realise exactly what he'd said. His pheromones billowed like a cape, painting a peach-scented fence both left and right. I pressed back against the cave wall on instinct, wings crushed up, and bit back a startled squeak. The prince, half off balance, caught the wall with his good hand. His palm grazed my wing. That gentle peachy dusting settled on my shoulders. Effectively pinned, I unfolded my legs and pushed them out far, not… not wholly sure what to do with the sudden burst of flutters whirling round my stomach.

Prince Eastkal's tongue flicked against my forehead, brushing right across the centre. One simple little dot and my knocking knees nearly gave way. I could scarcely speak a startled word.

He rolled back on his knees and wingtips, withdrawing his tongue from the dot only to lick a new dash in its place. The dash melted into a zigzag tracing up to my hairline. His tongue practically pulled my feet from the floor. It traced down through the zigzag in reverse. Eastkal dragged his hand down the wall, resting it just above my shoulder. His tongue made one final dot across my forehead. I felt every strand of fur that tickled its tip.

Wish he'd do that lower, I thought, forcing my wings not to wiggle. A lot lower.

That squeak I'd tried to keep suppressed squirmed out of me with a long, low trill. It was a chirping, popping sort of squeak that sliced the quiet of the cave. I stiffened.

Eastkal did not acknowledge my social blunder. His tongue bled down my cheek, swishing sideways in a scoop towards my nose. I squeaked again, then clamped my jaw as tight as it would stay. Which wasn't much. That's the flaw with me, you know… Once I start my noises, I just can't seem to stop; Anti-Saffron knew this well from the start. Makes secret pleasures a nightmare if you've got roommates around, I must say. Thank gods the prince didn't seem to know what my squeals meant… or if he did, he was most polite. Surely his Fairy senses could detect the flecks of magic plunging through my blood…?

If I licked that bare shoulder, would his sweat taste like those peachy pheromones?

"S-sorry… It's new to me."

"Of course. I understand."

He understood. I breathed him all in. My hands itched to roam behind his head, touching bare skin and fingering the edges of his glossy wings. Flowing tongues were Fairy language, but among Anti-Fairies, the appropriate way to express a thank you would be a swift, sideways brush of lower bodies and soft nip at the ear. Appropriate, yes. But the way I'd have liked to respond? Oh, you know… Nestle my head below his chin. Take his hands and set them to my hips. Wings wrapped forward and out of the way. Lifted shirt. A universal signal no Anti-Fairy ever misunderstood, and only those born later in the zodiac politely refused until the arrangement was shuffled properly the other way.

That tongue lingered above my brow again. My last squeal stretched longer than the others, rolling in a near purr. Butterflies, for once bugs of pleasure, shivered up my spine. Smoke and ashes, Tarrow knows it took every muscle not to push my head forward, smudge him with my scent, treat him like an Anti-Fairy.

Rhoswen knows I didn't want to. I drew a literal breath just to calm my skittish blood. I could hardly hear the energy field through the pumping of my core.

I know we've hardly met. I know we're of such different worlds. But if you begged a kiss, dear prince… I wouldn't refuse you for all the genies that ever were.

Eastkal leaned his head away, slowly. A thin cord of saliva broke from his tongue and fell across my shoulder. "What happens now?" I asked, keeping very still. One twitch might shatter my resolve. My toes curled deeper in the cave floor than roots six metres below a flowerbed.

"Now? Smoof…" He ran his hand up his neck and into his fuzzy hair again. Soft, sweet peaches. "I present you to my father, and Fairy World praises you as our champion."

I wondered where the champion slept. And more importantly, who with. Did Fairy World already have a champion whom I was about to knock out of place? Hmm. I could be persuaded to share… for a favour.

"I'd love a party," I said, quick wind flowing through my blood like river ice. "I'm socially dead in Anti-Fairy World if my people find out I took a dragon form, but I'd love to go!"

Prince Eastkal glanced at the silent mass of scarlet scales behind him. "Socially dead?"

"Oh yes, it's absolute betrayal to adopt a form outside my family line - I'm descended from Her Glory Cadmea the Teumessian fox - but that's all rubbish. I'd love a party, Prince." I scooted closer, wondering how near I needed to be before it was acceptable to run my hand down his arm. My attention flicked to his lips. "What would you suggest I wear?"

The prince slid his eyes down. My fingers lingered on his elbow. Oh, look at that! Apparently I went and touched his arm after all. "Ah, family colours would be appropriate," he said. "Or Keeper's wear, or knight's dress… Is that how you do things in Anti-Fairy World?"

Laughter spurted from my lips in a jittery giggle. "No, no, I'm no dashing knight or summer soldier! Just an anti-fairy who happened to pass by the right place at the right time and possessed the perfect skills to do the job."

"You saved me," Eastkal said, smiling with pain or pleasure. Likely pleasure. He placed his hand on his arm just above mine. "I was the greatest warrior of our generation. But then I met you."

I sort of laughed again, pushing my claws through my hair. "Yes, really, I suppose that's true. I guess I did!"

"Your people's traditions or not, it would be a shame not to compensate you with some reward. Dragons are impervious to magic, and killing them isn't easy. Or putting a hydra into dormancy." Prince Eastkal thought for a moment. Each finger tap against his thigh made my dangling wings hitch up. "I know. Meet me tomorrow night by Winter Lake when the stars are darkest."

"Meet? Tomorrow? Us?" My tongue nearly unrolled from my mouth then and there at the thought. "Why not tonight?"

"My father will expect me," he said, shrugging apology. "People will… want to hear the story of how the dragon fell. And if they don't kill it, they'll want to relocate it to another plane."

"Forget them."

"Believe me, I'd love to. The pooferazzi are always on my wings and they're more than a little pushy." He smiled, pressing back his hair. The energy field's white chatter fell to a murmur. "I'll meet you tomorrow at the lake. I think I can reward you without calling attention… Your family don't have to know you broke your shapeshifting oath."

Those playful pheromones practically waltzed along my shoulder and drew warm knuckles up my cheek. Prince Eastkal smiled. Smiled like a stupid fairy who didn't know his scent could have that effect at all. "Not there," I said, shuddering with curiosity. "An Anti-Fairy has no business being there; I know somewhere more private. Meet me just inside the Water Temple, by Sunnie's warrior bride."

"What?"

"The kiff-tie blade. The, um…" I made the sacred symbol with my hands. "Inrita dagger with turquoise in its hilt. It's on display; you can't miss it. We Anti-Fairies call it Sunnie's wife."

"Perfect. Tomorrow evening, just as the sky turns its deepest colour, I'll be there with your reward." The prince glanced at the unmoving dragon again. "And… you should probably go before my father arrives to see if I've gone dusty."

"Oh, pooh. Must I?"

Prince Eastkal arched a brow. "He isn't as patient with Anti-Fairies as I am. Even one who saved my life." And a smile, two-tone eyes skimming shut. "But I'll talk to him! He'll change someday."

"You're hurt."

"I'll be all right. You'll want to go. They might blame you instead of praise."

Eastkal presented me his wand. I did go, disappearing in a cloud of bitter smoke. Seconds later, I materialised in the garden of the Water Temple just to soak my face. The city still burned, but cool grass rippled across my ankles. I stepped on the wide stones that ringed the waterfall pool. There, I bent to scrub smears of oily pheromones from my fur. The smarting in my flush wouldn't go with it.

"He wasn't that handsome," I said aloud, though my stomach gave another pleasant churn. That stung my soul a little deep. I paused, hands dripping, and stared at my reflection. Something was wrong with it… something was horribly different, though I couldn't put my claw on what.

Was that how adult Fairies were supposed to smell? I touched my fingertips to my cheek and rolled back on my heels. My stomach prickled up. I didn't recall my peers smelling that strongly back in school, though Mickey and Binky, being gynes, seared my nose more boldly than the rest. Jorgen? His taste had been so faint even in anger that it had evaporated completely.

I fidgeted my feet, sliding down the stone I perched on. I held my knees against my chest. My therapist, Dm. Applespark, didn't smell like this. She was flowery, the scent blending with surrounding nature in a way that didn't distract from our sessions. Ambrosine, I recalled, was much the same, though the tang of fruit hinted at an aristocratic bloodline. The cherubs had an airy, cliffside scent clinging to their wings. Juandissimo smelled of ink and candle wax, nothing more.

Most puzzling of all… Prince Eastkal didn't smell like the Head Pixie. The Head Pixie's spicy, citrus-y scent poured over me like a chocolate fountain, delightful in its own way, but… firmly pulling my fluctuating thoughts into focus. I never felt this antsy around him. He gave me the grace of a dancer, the fluidity of a jaguar, the softness of a mouse.

… Maybe I was the one who had changed. I hadn't seen other Fairies for a long time. Fairy-Wanda had been the first I scented since gaining my adulthood, standing naked in the pool with one hand on that frosted glass door, gentle smile high in her face. Eyelashes dancing. True, she'd snagged me for a moment… Almost, almost lured me in. But water had mostly rinsed her clean, splashed those tricky pheromones away…

The Head Pixie did something different to my insides. Different than what hold the prince had grabbed. I wanted to nuzzle up to the Head Pixie and bundle beside him at roost, or perhaps curl beneath the blankets in his cushy Fairy bed. Whichever he preferred, as long as I could be with him. I wanted to drape myself across him, feel his safe tongue swishing along my nose. I'd press my mouth against his neck, soaking up his every touch. Oh, then perch in his lap and wrap my wings beneath his arms, secured there a few peaceful moments before I peeled myself away to face the world.

I wanted Eastkal to slam me to the wall and tear my trousers down. I wanted him to shove me until my head cracked on stone. I wanted him to snog me fierce until acid dribbled down his throat and I couldn't tell if either of us existed anymore. I wanted naked bodies in a tangle, a cracking slap to sting my face if I tried to seek a little pleasure too soon, or if I slipped so deep into passion that a smack was all the warning he gave when I was moving too slow.

Swallowing thickly, I brought my hands to my temples and pushed my claws back through my hair. I realised with a sudden start that it had all turned sunny yellow instead of blue. Gods, that would be trouble…

I pushed the thought away for now, replacing it with the immediate panic of where I intended to spend the next 24 hours until I met with Eastkal again. I had quite the itch in my lower body now. I doubted any passing Anti-Fairies would happen by tonight. Fantasizing without magazines wasn't going to cut it. I had to find the market or the library or whatever was left standing and buy every copy they had. But that meant stepping out into the public streets. Here at the Water Temple, I technically stood on clean ground. More Anti-Fairies roamed this garden than Fairies did. But outside, on what remained of Faeheim's streets, millions of years to layer down millions of beautiful Fairy scents…

"Oh. My. Gods."

My hands oozed from my head, pressing deep into my cheeks. I stared at my toes, clean and white and healthy for the first I'd seen them in a year. I noticed then my vision seemed blurry through my monocle. I plucked it out, and let out a bitter laugh when the world sharpened into focus. Not in full, I imagined, but it was an improvement over what I'd had. My shoulders shook. Yellow hair glimmered in my reflection, threatening to tell the world how far I'd gone with the Head Pixie, the anti-pixie traits I'd started to take on… Green fur had sprouted in my palm.

No, don't think about that now. And I couldn't, actually. Deep at my centre, I knew the change was cause for concern, but…

Eastkal.

Whole butterflies bubbled in my stomach. Imagine Prince Eastkal crushing me against the wall, slicing through my lips. The soft pinch of his teeth. The gentle press of his tongue, this time tracing the ridges of my mouth rather than my face. Fingers seeking holds beneath my shirt, wings whirring with an audible buzz that set the core alight. The brushing of his most sensitive spots over mine.

Eastkal.

I shot a quick prayer to Sunnie, then buried my face in folded arms. I'd never had these thoughts about a Fairy before. Even when I'd taken to self-pleasures following my break-up with Anti-Kanin, I'd flipped through the pages of my will o' the wisp magazines and tried to change them blue, picture friendly faces beaming back at me. That passing acknowledgement of Fairy-Wanda's beauty up in Cedarcross was meant to be exactly that… a bit of appreciation, a sort of "You're so lovely you even turn an anti-fairy's head" sort of speech-stripping moment. I wasn't… supposed to feel as though I actually… You weren't supposed to want to… to…

Thin crackling noises forced me to lift my head. The water near my feet had frosted over, ice chunks bobbing in the waves of cold put out by my flushing core. If that didn't give my filthy thoughts away, the humming in the energy field certainly would.

I want to blitz a fairy.

The word popped uncensored in my mind. I pressed my fingers to my mouth, squeezing my eyelids as tight as they could go, because… because… Well, what do you do with a thought like that?

Let him tease me to my limit; I don't care if they pretend our bodies won't fit. I'm sure it can be done. If nothing else, we can kiss.

Kiss, although that was far more sacred.

My grandnana Anti-Miranda had a fairy partner, and as a child I'd entertained the thought of marriage too. I picked the hair colour, the wand type, the city we would live, the wedding we would have depending on my mood that evening… But it was all pretend, you know what I mean? To daydream was one thing, but this-

I want you in my pouch, fingers dancing, exploring with grace… I want your lips spitting laughter into mine. I want your taste, your arms bundled around me, your hips skimming over mine-

-and I want you as a Fairy.

I pressed my palm against my stomach, wondering if there was somewhere in this city an anti-fairy could find a little privacy. Though the place would likely stink of pheromones… Not that I was entirely opposed.

Pink Castle. Castle smells like Eastkal. Find Eastkal, tease Eastkal, rile him up until he gives you what you need.

Inhale sticky Faeheim air.

Exhale a silver cloud of crescent moons.

I want Eastkal in my dreams tonight.

The longer I thought about it, pressing my hand at the low curve of my stomach, the more sense it made. I made no distinction between subspecies when I fantasized about my future. I didn't care what societal rank (My servant fantasies likely outnumbered my thoughts for nobility, actually). Zodiac and gender hardly crossed my mind. Why should I limit my imagination to Anti-Fairies? The Fairies were another race just like us. Physical separation was our only divide. Above all else, we were Fae.

Was it wrong? Well, my body certainly didn't think so, writhing in turmoil at the memory of Eastkal's caress… or rather, at the mere memory of my envisioning his caress. It didn't feel wrong. The only thing that surprised me was that I hadn't felt such feelings any earlier, stuffed in school with Fairy peers day in and day out. Just the thought of my roommates back in Frederick Shinesworth sent a jiggle down my wings. My tongue darted around my lips. I wondered where they were now…

"Julius. Listen to me. It isn't your fault."

Gasp.

Release.

"My name is Julius Anti-Cosmo. I like Anti-Fairies."

Breathe in.

Breathe out. Hand pressed a hint more tightly against the flutter in my stomach.

"And I like Fairies too."

Suck deep.

Let it go.

"I am a Fairy in an Anti-Fairy's body. Their pheromones turn my eye. If this is wrong, it's not my fault. I can blame my divus displacement disorder."

I'd never said that last sentence aloud before. It leapt from my tongue with a gushing spring, and I blinked up at it with dewy eyes, pulling my knees closer with my wings.

"But if it's right," I whispered. "Oh gods, if it's right…"

Eastkal.

I tried to nudge the thought away, tried to think in words. Options. I had to know my options. Ambrosine, for all his faults, was still a therapist. He had graduated from the Fairy Academy knowing how to handle someone like me. Right? Well, sort of. He'd made some effort.

Ambrosine had prescribed mature gyne pheromones to control my swinging moods. I'd watched that one drone, Rain, back away from a cornered Mickey when I handed him a bottle in the washroom long ago. I'd watched others mill happily around campus, content to scribble notes and show up for exams… while some drones lay sprawled on the dorm sofas, or curled in nervous balls beneath the unfeeling trees outside.

When I'd tasted the Head Pixie's pheromones up there on the roof, my brain begged for snuggled hugs, not stolen kisses. Warm licks across my cheeks, not playful prodding at my pouch. The two desires could not coexist inside my head. Or at least not without a mighty fight. If I wanted to cut this feeling off, the Head Pixie was still lying immobile where I'd left him. I only needed to rub my head against his arm and that would settle me for days.

"At this rate I'll have to," I murmured, twitching my fingers along my stomach (my right hand had turned full anti-pixie green). "I'm due to meet the common fairy prince tomorrow night, and I highly doubt he's interested in what I want to do."

Knock me down. Shove me back. Tease me with your eyes until I'm screaming every beg.

Yes. Those pheromones were vital, and I'd need to move fast if I hoped to catch him before he recalled his strength. Come to think of it… did I leave him the ability to gather his own strength? I thought I remembered closing his karmic pouch, although I very easily could have left it open.

Eastkal…

Look at me, Prince. At ME! Don't think of me as Anti-Cosmo or Ilisa. Just look at me… like we're both Fae.

I wanted Eastkal. I wanted his eyes, his fingertips, his utter focus combing down my skin. Rank was unimportant. I cared not a whit whether he was a prince… only whether he wanted me.

Don't throw me out. I'm worth it. I am, and I can prove it if you give me half a chance. I'll beg, I'll scream, I'll serve you… Don't you want a little servant tonight? Just this one little night?

Was this me? And were the thoughts even mine? They trickled through the fingers of my mind, painting foreign ecstasy across uncertain hands. I felt no real guilt at my general attraction to Fairies, but chasing royalty was a dangerous game…

Why shame myself? He likes me too.

I'm reading into this; I haven't known him an hour.

So what? The feelings are genuine and asking never hurt a soul.

The Head Pixie was up on the roof, lying in a pool of more pheromones than he could ever need. All I needed to settle my urges was a few little sniffs. Get through tomorrow, shove it all behind, flit on without a backwards glance.

Yes. Farewell, sweet prince. May you satisfy another half as much as you'll satisfy my thoughts tonight.

… Then again… if Eastkal and I truly did find ourselves alone tomorrow…

I pressed my palms together, pointer fingers balanced at my lips.

… Would one tiny, tiny experiment be so wrong?

I fooped quietly back to the rooftop, where a whimpering figure still lay on his side with one wing bent. Fairy-Cosmo leaned over him, fingers interlinked. When my cold magic washed across his skin, he snapped up his head. He scrambled back on all fours. Hands swiped for a wand that wasn't there. I tried to speak, but before I could say a word, he poofed away. I heard him reappear below the edge of the roof, then vanish and poof again a little farther off.

I sighed. Well. I'd felt the spike ripple through my mind when he saw me. His people feared mine. I'd give him space.

"Head Pixie?" I crouched and shook his arm. "Drk. Head, wake up. Wake up. It worked. The dragon's gone."

He groaned a string of foul Fairy words, curling his arms and legs near his stomach. "How much did you take?"

He meant karma. Guiltily, I slid my tingling hands behind my back. "N-not any more than I needed."

"You [redacted] liar." The Head Pixie didn't open his eyes. Instead, his lids squeezed more tightly. He coughed up droplets of purple magic, and his entire body shook. "You enjoyed that."

I couldn't think of anything to say. Only, "I'm sorry."

One of his hands closed weakly in a fist. After gasping out more profane language, including two words I'd never heard before, his simmering eyes lifted to mine. He lay in a flop, limp and easily crushed beneath my foot should I have chosen to place my heel to his face. "Anti-Bryndin only took ceremonially… How much did you?"

"Only what I needed to fight the hydra…"

"Your ear flicks back when you're lying."

Tears blurred my vision as disappointment crushed my wings. He had me like a rat. I hadn't even used it all. Even now, rainbow flickers danced across my hands. I gripped my wrist, squeezing tight and wishing the singed sleeves of my coat would smother me whole. "I… I'm sorry. Your karma is more pure than any I've ever heard of, and… I just wanted to be… I thought it would be fun if I turned into… I couldn't possibly have stopped that beast without your help, you know what I mean? I won't do it again, I swear! On my family's honour, may The Great Universe Queen herself devour my core!"

"'Won't do it again,'" the Head Pixie repeated. He tried to sit up, but his arms didn't have the strength. Even his wings struggled against the air. "If you're sorry, why didn't you not do it the first time?" His limbs gave out then, and he thumped back to the roof.

"You don't understand. Raw karma is my people's siren song, stronger even than the pull of chicken cordon bleu. I couldn't resist."

"Of course you couldn't. You're an Anti-Fairy." His fingers touched a deep purple bruise on his neck. "Your morals aren't like mine."

I stared at that mark, face draining until all that was left was ice. I clenched my fist against my chest. In my culture, sharing karma was twelfth of the thirteen stages of intimacy, lesser only to the sacred kiff-tie Evadne and Ione had stolen from the nature spirits in ancient times. Should I tell him that? I could still taste hot cinnamon on my tongue under all the ice and peaches.

I drew a line with my bare foot, curling my toes. I'd wanted my first time to be with Anti-Saffron. I hadn't meant to go so far. Not before I'd been with her.

"I just… wanted to have a little fun. Your weave was incredible. And at equilibrium too. You're rare, darling, and if I didn't enjoy this now then I knew I'd never get the chance again. Here, I'll help you back to your property-"

He jerked his arm away. "Don't touch me, rodent."

He couldn't go anywhere in that condition. So I sat beside him, huddled over my knees. What should I do? Wait for him to recover his strength? The Keepers would be here soon, I was sure, once Fairy-Cosmo found them. I couldn't stay long. Although my people were allowed a few visiting days a season, it wasn't wise to wait around the scene of destruction.

The Head Pixie watched dully for a time. Then he said, "You changed your hair."

"What?"

"Your hair. It's yellow now."

I clapped my hand to my bangs and yanked them down. Sure enough, scruffy blond locks twisted between my fingers instead of familiar blue. "My other eye is healed," I realized at the same time. And weakly, "I've flipped hosts…"

"Flipped hosts?" The Head had to speak slowly, faltering on the words. "How is that possible? You're Cosmo Cosma's counterpart."

I threw him an irritated glance with my former bad eye, curling my claws more tightly in my hair. "'Counterpart' is such a modern term, you know. We used a word back in the day that translates to 'beloved': kalkara."

"What day?"

"The Splitting theory is a fairy tale. In truth, the Aos Sí were the ancestor race of you Fairies alone. My ilk were guardians of smoke and stinky magic who took animal shapes long ago; I trace my family line as far back as the chimera. Your people, the Domestic Fae, tilled the ground and planted seeds. My people, the Solitary, defended your farms from vermin and thieves. In time, the Solitaries discarded their animal forms and altered their looks to mirror that of a single creature they grew, well… emotionally invested in." I inhaled. "When I took your karma, my body responded in kind. I'm no longer Cosmo's counterpart. I'm yours. Once the blue falls out, my new fur will grow in green."

The Head Pixie was quiet for a time, mulling over my words. "I don't agree," he finally said. "I still believe in Splitting. You can't change who your counterpart is."

"Yes, yes, you would say so, wouldn't you? I do hope it's only temporary." I tugged helplessly at my yellow hair again. "Thank smoke I'm not in Anti-Fairy World. The colour should reverse when I fall out of sync with you, but gods, I can't let anyone see me like this! Such alterations do happen, but they're rare. Oh, they're extremely rare. My people will ask questions. My mother will have my hide!"

No wonder my people called this the twelfth stage of intimacy. I could already taste my new love for the hunt, my hatred of soy.

"You snared with me," he murmured.

I was weeping now. Dripping and whimpering all over my knees. I rubbed my wrist across my eyes. "S-snared? I haven't the foggiest what you mean by that, darling."

His voice scratched when he tried to speak. "When sharing magic gets particularly intense, we Seelie call it snaring. Our breathing lines meld together in a single tube and we can't wander far until the afterglow fades. It's like we're tied." He turned his face, cheek pressed against his arm. "You say karmic weave. We say liquid magic. Maybe our people have different names for the exact same thing."

"I'm… sorry. I didn't want to hurt you. But we saved Faeheim, at least."

"Whoop-de-fritzing-do."

I buried my face in my hands. How cruel the world was, bestowing me the hair it had and the anti-pixies theirs. And the longer I thought of it, the tighter my chest seized. Though other natural colours existed in the Anti-Fairy gene pool - silver, sunset, white to name a few - black was by far the most dominant. "Snaring," H.P. called it. Hm. Might taking on other traits be a guarantee for Anti-Fairies, my people being the living mirrors we were? If we both had black hair, it might not be so easily noticed. With my blue, a solid 90% of my karmic weave tastings would result in such a switch. And worse… if it turned out that singing with a lover at roost could also trigger this sort of thing, I was really in for it. Anti-Saffron would catch my secret ventures too easily.

What absolutely rotten fate.

I massaged my temples, leaning back my head. I wondered if the Head Pixie knew Eastkal. The prince's gentle smile rippled through my brain. I envisioned that soft hair tickling my forehead, spidery fingers easing just inside my pouch. What zodiac was he anyway? Could I ask? I decided that until I knew, nothing was wrong with imagining us in both positions. The spirits would forgive me. Hmm. Did they sell art of the prince in this city? We carved busts of our famous faces, though a bust wouldn't quite suit my current needs.

I waited nearly two hours on the roof, watching for Keepers, dreaming of Eastkal squirming in my arms and trying not to let on I was, until the Head Pixie gathered enough strength to ping away. He didn't say thank you. He didn't appreciate my saving Faeheim at all. That whole time, I didn't dare rub my head along his neck. Just the thought of asking him for pheromones cut my windpipe in two.

It frightened me to walk the Fairy-scented streets alone. But my itches were screaming and the Head Pixie's snarky comments peeled my skin with a crooked knife. Prince Eastkal wouldn't meet with me until tomorrow night and I simply couldn't wait that long for release. Even so, did I dare step inside a market run by Fairies and play right into their stereotypes of my race? I hovered above the road, lips pursed and forefingers balanced on my nose.

The Fairies considered us a wildly raucous people. From their literature to their pill bottles, we were the face of ecstasy, the harbingers of sexual delight. Especially as an Anti-Fairy drake. Such an image had been burned into their minds from the time Fairy children knew what the zodiac was, and I was only perpetuating such a view if I purchased a magazine tonight.

But when the need crawls through your skin and leaves you shivering to the tips of your ears, why deny it?

My hand slid to my stomach. Hmm. I wasn't due to meet Eastkal at the Water Temple until tomorrow. That was more than enough time to catch a tram to Serentip tonight. And once there, in theory I could blend with the crowd. I'd lived two years in Serentip and unless too many buildings had changed, I knew where to find the peeping house.

Or, why not both?

Despite my hesitations, I puffed my chest and asked the pretty duende behind the market counter for the latest Playsprite magazine in stock. When she told me the price, my mouth dried to bone. Money. In Anti-Fairy World, it was the creche father's duty to pay for his colony's everything. The fact that Fairies demanded immediate payment had completely slipped my mind. I searched my coat pockets and came up with a few triple-creased lagelyn bills I'd collected over my months of wandering alone. I hadn't expected there to be enough, but what I'd swiped from Winkleglint put me over the edge.

"We also have Anti-Fairy versions," said the duende, taking the offered money. Her judgement burned my cheeks. My wings faltered.

"Um… Th-those aren't anatomically correct. Just the Playsprite, please."

The duende passed me the magazine I'd asked for, and I breathed a thank you even as I shoved my nose in its fourth page. The damsels were mostly will o' the wisps, a few selkies and swanee thrown in. Drakes ranged from common fairies to nixes. Three drooling minutes likely passed before I realised I was still hovering in the market doorway.

With the last of my money, I paid extra to guarantee a private tram car to Serentip (grateful the dragon hadn't managed to destroy that particular line. You see? The nature spirits always come through for their believers). Oh, I could have fooped there easily enough with Eastkal's wand, but the ride granted me a gift far better than speed: time. And darling, did I use it. Every precious hour, my trousers downwind of decency. Only upon arrival at the station, tongue lolling and my buckle not fitted quite right, did I have the mind to feel ashamed for pleasuring myself in front of Lohai.

And only then did I realise I had no idea where I'd left her lamp.

As my car glided to a halt, I looked at the magazine rolled tightly in one hand. Had I left her at Winkleglint's? Or at that little passing temple? I had a vague sense of direction, though it involved crossing planes and that would rack my charges higher. So why rush? I was already at my destination and I wouldn't be here long. Even if I'd brought her, I'd have to find someplace to store her while I saw to business here. I sheathed my wand and, for good measure, placed my fingertip on the end of the handle and pushed it a little deeper.

"Just one afternoon, my dear… One little evening. You understand."

I checked the zipper of my trousers twice. Then, clutching my rolled magazine in both hands, I disembarked from the tram car and stepped into the cold, clean pink of the station. Serentip - The "Edge of the Stars" - was the most grandiose port city in the cloudlands. Though it had no zodiac temple, it was far busier here than Faeheim, with all sorts of fae and even a few Aliens being directed every which way. When a cloud of dust and a wave of hot, stinking air washed over me just on my left, I remembered why. Serentip's station bulged not only with tram cars, but also with their teleport pads, which locked into incoming fae and pulled them all to this single location to reform. Voices chattered cheerfully back and forth. Three children scampered about. No one seemed bothered by the dragon attack in Faeheim. I wondered if they'd even gotten word.

All but a few distant lifeforms knew of Fae existence and our binding claim upon Planet Earth. Though we were far off course from the interplanetary highway, merchants and tourists alike made an effort to visit. I tried to cross the station to the washroom without physically shoving anyone from my path, only to rapidly become a small centre of attention. Angry glances and demanding questions flew about my ears (from Fairies). A few bright lights flashed from the tips of wands. For most of the Aliens here, I was the first Anti-Fairy they'd ever seen, and quite possibly would be their last. A tentacle reached out to touch my furry cheek. A strange hand brushed my wing. The Keepers on duty did nothing to stop them, of course. Ha.

Once outside, I took flight high above the city's streets. Near Faeheim, the skies were forever caught at sunrise, shimmering pink and blue. Serentip offered Fairy World's nightlife. My dark clothes and wings blended in much more easily here.

We had gentledrakes' clubs in Anti-Fairy World that kept migration and the Seven Festivals orderly and navigable no matter how far from home your travels took you. By birth, I belonged to the Charcoal Club: the most prestigious one of the lot. Or, well, so I'd been told. I'd yet to visit our designated social building at Silverclaw Lake, having had no reason to visit while traveling with non-members such as Anti-Kanin, although I'd rubbed shoulders with my fellow Charcoals all throughout my life. Not all drakes of the Anti-Coppertalon colony were admitted so easily. Anti-Phillip had been awarded a seat by default, Anti-Robin and I each had one through Mother's marriage to Anti-Bryndin, and that was all in my age group. Other members (such as the young Anti-Eros Triplets) I socialised with on occasion when the Charcoal Club came together for outdoor activities, bonded by our social status even when born in such distant places.

Each club's membership was tightly regulated, with waiting lists for new entrants spanning millennia. Utterly impossible to enter club grounds without proving your membership, and even a personal recommendation from the camarilla court might not guarantee your entry. So compared to our establishments, the Serentip peeping house was notoriously easy to visit. Even damsels dropped by freely, if you can imagine that; Fairy dames are notoriously assertive. And they see us as the scandalous ones!

Despite this, I'd never been inside the peeping house before (Until today, I'd never visited Serentip while of age). Long ago, often disguised as a rat, I'd peered from the shadows at the patrons coming and leaving from those shiny milbark doors. Once, I'd found a betting book some bloke had dropped in the road. Another time a bottle of expensive perfume. Interesting Fairy treasures, though I hadn't any use for them…

I flew down to the roof of the peeping house and lingered on a window ledge (the insides blocked by curtains, of course) until the road seemed fairly deserted. Then I slipped down the side and crept around to the front. No one stood outside to block my entry, so I pushed the heavy door open and wriggled in.

The first chamber was an entry hall only three wingspans long and perhaps two wide. I pulled in my wings. My feet patted down on polished wood. A chandelier of purple candles shivered above my head. Other than that, the little room was empty. A second door guarded the establishment's more enticing aspects. I brushed my hand down my shirt and puffed out my chest. I straightened my crown. Rolling my shoulders, I pushed my way inside.

Beyond the second door, the peeping house was much darker. The only light glowed from the pairs of candles set on each table around the gaping room. Trails of smoke swirled about the air, too thin to be described as a cloud. It was more of a fog. It reflected the bright, colourful lights flickering from both the ceiling and the floor. Sharp air tasted like soot. The bitterness stung my eyes and prickled the hairs down my neck. Underneath it all, I tasted an odd woodland odour that settled on my tongue. Though quite rancid to me, a glance around revealed more than one gyne seated in the crowd. Some wore coats lined with fake fur, others dresses, ties, or vests. A few had smaller drakes perched on one knee, heads often resting against a gyne's neck or shoulder but their half-closed eyes drinking in the room. I couldn't detect the slightest trace of pheromones in the air. I steered away from them regardless.

I had entered on the second level of what appeared to be a three-level building. Tables with cushy booth seating clustered around a long stage below. No dancers pranced across it, though I hoped they wouldn't be long. All about me, the energy field glowed in half-hushed warning. Voices murmured about sports and product deliveries. Sandwiches and cards filled nearly every hand. If they didn't, a soda glass likely did. Crystal game pieces clinked against the tabletops. Side glances flew my way. Drakes and damsels alike shifted when they saw me, sometimes craning for a better look. Some leaned forward, chin braced on a fist. More than one followed my path across the room with a glare. As I drifted down the ramp towards the lower level, I tried to keep my ears pricked and my trembles non-existent. I made it halfway to the stage when a large hand closed around my shoulder. I flinched. Glancing back, I found a broad-shouldered, blue-haired drake leering down at me.

"No Anti-Fairies."

My wand wasn't touching my body, tucked away in its silver sheath. I couldn't foop elsewhere in the room. Not that that was likely to end well anyway. My fingers twitched. "I have coin."

"No Anti-Fairies."

Bowing my head, I allowed him to guide me to the door and push me from the step. At least he didn't knock me to the dirty stones. Deflated nonetheless, I meandered down the street and told myself it was better this way. Had I been allowed in, my wand might have been swiped as collateral, and who knows if the Fairies would have wanted to give it back?

Too restless to stay seated and eat a meal, I paid the entrance fee to a Fairy museum. We Anti-Fairies favoured statues, far easier to read with our sonar. Or if we did paint, we painted landscapes. The Fairies liked people. I'd taken mostly art classes at Frederick Shinesworth, but my talents still lay puddled in trees and buildings.

After wandering the whole museum and finding nothing of real interest besides the Fluffy Pillows Through History collection, I hopped the velvet rope into a gallery marked In Process of Removal. There weren't any guards on my tail and I figured it wouldn't hurt to explore so long as I didn't touch anything.

In the corner of the second room, I found a portrait taller than I was concealed by a heavy white cloth. I yanked the cloth down (not touching, you notice, the canvas itself). To my absolute delight, I found myself facing a full-bodied, nearly nude depiction of a perfect, shapely gyne with strong legs and scarlet freckles. He sat at a table, leaning his chin in his palm. The lowest smudge of his body lay concealed beneath a fuzzy blanket, but his pouch certainly wasn't. Saliva thickened beneath my tongue.

As I reached my hand down to flicker my fingers, I suddenly paused. My eyes had automatically been pulled to the nude drake in the foreground, but on closer inspection, the gyne wasn't exactly alone in the portrait. I leaned forward on my toes, squinting hard with my good eye. Ah. A thin figure lay sleeping on a couch half-hidden by the table. The candlelight caught nothing of his face beyond a faint smile. He had a pillow beneath his head and his own thick blanket, quite comfortable there despite the couch not being a genuine sleeping pallet.

I pursed my lips. Hmm…The shadow on the wall intended to be the gyne's wing wasn't the right shape for a fairy at all. That was an anti-fairy wing, gently curved in a way the candle glowing on the table couldn't have cast. The gyne had black stripes beneath his nose, exactly like his pilot counterpart would have shown. And too, the crown gleaming above his head didn't look gold so much as… white. Like a refract. My eyes darted to the right and swept along the base of the portrait, drinking in the dull browns and crates of jewelled wrist cuffs, before lifting to the upper portion where a curtained window trickled in a thin beam of moon. In a thousand cycles of art classes, I'd never seen this piece before.

For an instant, I forgot about my physical needs. I blinked, scrubbing my eyes with the singed hem of my sleeve. I looked again, but sure enough, the candle on the table…

"I say, that's an ice candle." I rotated my head, examining the painting with just one eye. Hmm. I slid my hands back, settling them on my hips, and began to tap my foot in the air. In Anti-Fairy World, we burned ice candles to mourn a death. Was that common knowledge this side of the Barrier? I checked the name painted on the wall, expecting an Anti-Fairy artist despite the focus on people instead of place, but no. It was a Fairy name.

Juandissimo Magnifico.

A smile tugged one corner of my lips. I lifted my eyes again. Having taken so many art classes, I'd watched my classmates improve their painting decade by decade. It was clear Juandissimo took great care in studying the Fairy body. Every muscle curved with elegance, every hair carefully brushed across the canvas, every freckle planted with a steady hand. So the subject of the painting was a Fairy gyne in his prime: the most powerful, dominant member of cloudland society. Yet he burned a candle to mourn the days of our traditional past, when Fairy, Anti-Fairy, and Refracted counterparts lived beneath the same roof.

A sudden, familiar urge tingled in my wrist. I needed to write a paper on this. I could whip out a scroll stretching from here to the door in no time at all.

… I missed school. I'd have been 30,000 years in upper school by now if I hadn't pulled out after lower school graduation. Smoke. 30,000 years since I'd flown away from home. Nearly as long as I'd spent inside Liloei's lamp.

Then I shook my head and slipped my hand beneath my shirt again.

An amphitheatre in the next town held a play about a foolish fairy with an inheritance still not as large as his stomach. I saw it twice and paid for neither, admittedly looking down more than at the actors. I left halfway through that second night, seeing no reason to watch the villainous gyne return to off the would-be killer who'd let him go.

I asked around about the pretty faces in my magazines. One star went by the name Riona. I discovered this because I waited outside the Sunwings Club until she left through a side door. In her long-sleeved pink shirt, hat bobbing more than a little high, she nearly blended with the crowd. A shimmering rainbow feather trembled in her golden hair, and that's what gave her away. I didn't speak to her, but picked that fallen feather off the street and held it to my lips. It smelled of warmth and sweat and lovely damsel pheromones.

From a distance, I followed "Riona" home and loitered outside the window of her boarding house room. At one point she stiffened like she'd noticed me, then brushed it off again. She cooked a little meal and changed into her pyjamas. And when she undressed for me and me alone… that was heavenly. Late that night, I picked the lock on her door. She had her own private kitchen, no servants in sight. Her handbag and papers had been tossed across the counter. I rifled around until I found something that bore her real name.

Roxanne Roebeam.

The door to her bedroom wasn't locked. I floated up to her bed, hands clasped behind my back, and took a long look at her. She slept only halfway beneath her blankets, arms splayed. A white gown clung around her legs, silky fabric spattered with tiny red hearts. Her feathered hat bobbed in gentle waves. Brassy hair covered one eye. I reached down to tuck it behind her ear.

Then those stupid Fairy aura senses kicked in. Roxanne jolted awake. Casting her blankets off instantly, she grabbed her wand and fired. The pink flash hit my facial scales and bounced off, leaving a scorch mark on the wall.

"Anti-Fairy," I said, blinking my startled haziness away. "Immune to direct blasts." Well, anywhere except my underbelly. I lifted my palms. "Terribly sorry. I'm Anti-Cosmo. I didn't mean to wake you, darling. I only came to do my job."

She stayed there, watching, as I made a show of waving my wand to scatter the stale magic about her room. Obviously she would fight me if I made advances, but my sharp ears picked up the noise of a couple rustling in their yidreamu bed several doors down. I bid Roxanne a good night and drifted through the corridor. Room 26. From the sound of it, his name was Satin and hers was Pearl. How cute. I leaned against the mezzanine banister, thumbing through my magazine, until their noises finally died away. Then I flew out to search the darker streets for a shop selling toys for the lonely soul.

Three days later, staring at my reflection in a bakery window, pockets devoid of coin, I remembered my appointment with Prince Eastkal at the Water Temple. I whipped my head around. Oh. Oh. Of course it was much too late to show up now, but…

A thin throb of guilt welled up in my throat. The fairy prince had asked me, an Anti-Fairy, if he could reward me in his people's sacred way. And I hadn't bothered to show up.

My stomach gurgled. I hadn't eaten in a week. I tapped one fang, sizing up the bread loaves in the window. I could perhaps sell that pretty dress I'd nicked from Winkleglint's estate. So long as it was still undamaged, it should sell for a decent price to one of the tourist shops; our Alien visitors ate up these sorts of trinkets.

I traced the pads of my fingers along the window glass. Normally I tried to hold my dignity, even as a rat, and resist the urge to forage through rubbish for scraps. But I was hungry and I had burned through what little money I had. I scratched my forehead, then floated on down the road. Were this Anti-Fairy World, I could have sought out a nearby colony for a meal. In the warmer areas of Fairy World, I'd have a better chance at catching sprites.

It was a lovely dress, but I decided to sell it after all. That would buy bread and soup for lunch with enough left over for a few more magazines (I'd decided to give the Anti-Fairy ones a try). I could use some shoes.

A voice cleared behind me. "Hands flat to the vapour. You're under arrest."

I turned around, blinking. Two lavender-haired drakes - sylph, I think their subspecies was called - floated over me with wands angled at my stomach. Both were dressed in the powder blue uniforms of Keepers, though their presence didn't make a lick of sense. Regardless, I complied with their instructions and knelt. The younger of the pair poofed a black cloth and tight white rope around my hands. Then he swiped Eastkal's wand from my sheath. Baffled, I sat back and tried to tug my wrists apart. "What's going on?"

The older drake squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Dangit Brad, we've been over this. Tracking spell first, then reveal yourself."

"Sorry." The younger turned on me, rubbing behind his neck. His outstretched arm quivered just a hair. "You need to come with us."

The sharpness of their faces looked familiar, and I thought I remembered their counterparts from my visit to Anti-Lance's colony years ago. I curled my lip. "What's this about? I'm allowed seven days over the border a season. I've only used three." I wriggled my shoulder, suddenly aware of a huge itch on the back of my hand. "I'm legal, I swear. Scan my wand; it's chipped and registered. I had it checked months ago."

Except that wasn't my wand. No Anti-Fairy had a wand made of wood. If they scanned it, they'd see Eastkal's name.

The older shook his head. His hand clamped beneath my wing, hauling me to my feet. His effervescence smelled of pomegranate. "If overstaying your welcome was your only offense, you'd be over the border within the hour."

"Then what? I've done nothing wrong." Well, besides illegally hopping that border without informing the station guards so no one could track which day I was on… I now saw the flaw in this plan.

"Perhaps not at home," he snorted. "But in Fairy World, unlicensed dragon rearing is a major offense, and releasing it into an unapproved area is a crime."

"What?" My throat started sealing up. "That wasn't me! In fact, I- I-"

I bit my tongue, thunder swelling in my chest. Well, I couldn't exactly tell them I'd been the one to bring the beast down, could I? It had been felled by pink and silver dragons. If word leaked out to Anti-Fairy World that I'd dishonoured Her Glory Cadmea with a different shape…

The hairs quivered down my spine.

Had Eastkal sent the Keepers after me? Had all his gratitude been a pretty little lie? The 'reward' he'd hoped to sneak me at the Water Temple, had that all been an excuse to catch me alone and capture me while my guard was down? Was that why he'd first tried to lure me to the lake? My eyes darted across the street, but none of the passersby - pitifully few this early in the afternoon - seemed at all interested in the young anti-fairy being hauled from the city by the Keepers of Da Rules.

"It wasn't me," I protested, curling in my toes.

The older sylph prodded below my wings with his wand. I stumbled forward and realised with a sudden snap that we were moving away from the Barrier. "Hold the crystal ball! Where are you taking me?"

"To the Eros Nest," Brad said, half biting his lip. "You'll be summoned to Fairy Court on the day of your trial."

I pulled at my hands again. "Excuse me, good sirs. I hate to be the bearer of contradicting news, but even if I had overstayed my travelling days, I have the right to be returned to Anti-Fairy World. I demand to speak with my creche father!"

The drake behind me shoved my head. "March," was the only reply he gave. So I marched, my brain tumbling at hyper speed. Hold on a moment here. Was I in the wrong? Had the law changed sometime without my being aware? I'd never had any trouble with the Keepers before; only one slap on the wrist when Anti-Saffron and I dawdled on our way home from a visit to the Sky Temple with Anti-Poof. Okay, yes. Sneaking through the Barrier was highly illegal (on both sides). But even so, I hadn't overstayed! I was legal in that sense. And I HAD the right to see my creche father!

"I've a witness!" I cried as they pushed me on a purple teleport pad. "Get the Head Pixie!"

They did not get the Head Pixie. Or if they planned to, they were reserving his appearance for my trial. We materialised on a floating cloud just a short tram from the Eros Nest. I spent the whole ride up with my bound hands pinched between my knees, trying not to faint.

As a homeostasis specialist, I wasn't allowed in the field on Friday the 13th without a full team. I'd ventured into Fairy World with Anti-Saffron and Anti-Poof a dozen times, along with anyone else they were assigned with. They did their work out front and I was kept in reserve, waiting to rescue anyone who became detained. I knew how to linger in the shadows and I'd never been spotted by a Fairy unless I revealed myself deliberately. I'd caused a bit of mischief (I have a special fondness for yanking braids) but I'd never been in trouble with the law. Particularly the Fairy law.

Would I be whacked or whipped now as their captive? Stripped of my flight and forced to run across hot coals? Force-fed strange foods so hot or sour they scalded my tongue beyond repair?

My core seized up. I couldn't go back. Not two lifetimes in a row.

Our tram slid to a stop just outside the grand castle-like building that was the Eros Nest. The officers and I had hardly stepped inside the reception area when Drk. Cupid himself appeared with a poof. Two poofs later, his brothers appeared behind him. "Thank dust you made it," he burst, grabbing my arm. With a flick of his hand, he shooed the Keepers off. "I'll tell Dm. Venus. You two, get going."

My ears pricked. I kept my arm limp and steady in Drk. Cupid's hold, setting an innocently woeful expression on my face. The two Keepers exchanged glances.

"Um… Sir? We can't release a felon into your hands without an adult-"

Drk. Cupid made an impatient noise, waving his wand at them both. "No visitors, okay? The Nest is closed. As Triplet of the Morning, I order it!"

Drk. Lucius took my hand and Drk. Apuleius gripped my shoulder. After exchanging another nervous look, the two Keepers bid farewell and made themselves scarce. Drk. Cupid's wingbeats hitched. He whipped about and flew down one shiny white corridor, yanking me after him. I jolted my wings into action. "Let's go, let's go," he murmured, throwing glances back over his shoulder. We turned a corner up ahead, and even then he still fluttered in a nervous zigzag.

"Has something gone wrong, sir?"

The cherub sighed, scraping his fingers through his puffy hair. "It's just not a good day to let Mother see you, that's all. It's fine, I'm smooth, I'm totally okay."

Hmm. I looked at Drk. Lucius.

"The wisp ambassador just had a baby with wings, hair, and eyes the exact same colours as Ilisa Maddington," he chimed in. "She's beautiful. Her name is Psyche."

"A wisp?" I asked curiously. A wisp who looked like Ilisa Maddington. Well, how about that?

"She's just some girl," Drk. Cupid muttered, cinching his grip on my hand. "I don't think it's any of your business. She's not even that pretty."

"Mom's mad," Drk. Lucius whispered in my ear.

"Dm. Venus," Drk. Apuleius corrected.

That was all I could get out of them. We flew in silence while I kept watch for an opportunity to tear my arm away.

The young Triplets delivered me to a cramped chamber featuring a chair that was more like a table, a washing basin for hands, and a strange metal contraption which dangled from the ceiling. It was the only thing in the room that wasn't stark white. Well, with one exception. A path of black shirts and trousers had been laid out between the door and the chair.

The Triplets pushed me in without untying my hands. I then found myself in the custody of a well-muscled cherub named Horus, his blue hair sticking up like fire around his ears.

"Anti-Cosmo Anti-Lunifly," he said, closing the door behind me. My core plunged to my knees.

"I didn't summon the Faeheim dragon. This is all a huge mistake. With the Head Pixie as my witness, I had nothing to do with it."

He exhaled. "It's not my place to decide that. When you're summoned to Fairy Court, you'll be tried and have your fate decided. But until then, it's my job to prepare you for staying here." Horus stepped back and took a good, long look at me. "The Keepers found your old colony. When they heard what happened, apparently they immediately came rushing to your aid. They're trying to contact Mary Black."

I winced. I hadn't meant to drag Anti-Kanin into this. I knew Mary, of course- she normally tackled Anti-Firebox v. Ivywish cases in defence of Anti-Fairy rights. "Charming. Will I be staying here long?"

"I can't say."

Mary Black.

Anti-Kanin thought I was worth Mary Black. The most expensive, most successful lawyer Anti-Fairy World had ever known.

Horus patted me down in case I had a second wand (Not since I ran away). He studied my coat in distaste and emptied every pocket. Canisters of herbs and salt were lined in a row on the washing basin counter, along with my slingshot and three, ah… magazines. He even found the secret pocket where I kept my favourite coin. My fingers twitched. Horus summoned a second cherub to take everything into storage. Idly, I wondered how much force would be required to pierce his sleek lab coat with my claws. Judging by how carefully he disarmed me, probably more than I could manage. He even walked to a hook by the door and took down a scarf of thick wool, wrapping it about his neck to keep my fangs from piercing skin.

"You're going to be placed with a standing colony," he told me, pulling the cloth cover from my hands. "A Love year named Anti-Binky is creche father. He lost his follower drake and one of his damsels just a few years ago. There's plenty of room. Or, if you prefer, you can stay in solitary until your time is up."

I massaged my wrist. "Do you ever house Fairies in the Eros Nest before they're tried before the Council?"

"Sometimes."

"Oh. You do?" I'd sort of anticipated a no.

Horus shrugged and wheeled a stool out from behind the cushioned chair-table. "In our legal system, you won't be tried as an adult. We see our fair share of juvenile delinquents. When I was your age, there used to be a summer program. The Nest would close itself to visitors a month every year. Entire classes would be shut inside this place and experience life in as natural an environment as possible. Good for the brain. May I see your feet?"

I sat on the edge of the chair. Horus filed my claws one by one, occasionally asking about Luna's Landing and my birth colony. Then he worked on my fingers. Being left-handed, I always had a hard time with that one, and when he rolled his chair away to set the file down, I examined the tips. Hm. You know, I wasn't opposed to making manicures a regularity.

Horus measured my height (An uninspiring 2'11" in the Fairy system) before gesturing to the metal oddity dangling from the ceiling. "I'll need your weight now, please."

Ah, so that's what it was for. I liked the way he asked, and the way he assumed I knew how to use it without him explaining how. I'd never seen a scale, but it looked simple enough. I gripped the bar with my feet while Horus noted down the numbers.

"Hm. Underweight."

"So sorry. Haven't eaten for a while. You know how it is, trying to purchase anything in Fairy World."

"Unfortunately, I do know. I think too many of us Fairies believe your species can maintain healthy lifestyles on nothing at all just because you can survive." At his urging, I released the scale and rolled back to my feet. Horus gave me a banana he'd carried in his pocket. "This next part won't be fun, but I need to draw your blood."

"I think I've been here before," I said, watching him pull out his things. I touched two fingers to the crook of my arm. My hand clenched around the banana. Horus paused. He started to speak, but I blinked and looked away and blurted, "No, no, I'll do it. It's fine, really," and sat.

"I'm sorry," he said, hovering there. "I could recommend you to the detention centre instead, but you won't have a colony there."

"I'm all right. How many are there, in the colony?" I tried to keep still, looking away as he fiddled around. My ear picked up every brush of his fingers, every tap of his medical instruments.

"Three creche fathers: Anti-Binky, Anti-Indigo, and Anti-North. That's Love, Sky, Breath. Each have a queen. Two follower drakes, Anti-Luis and Anti-Scott- Water and Breath. Thirty-eight damsels between the three, one committed to her honey-lock partner, the follower. One pup, three juveniles, all the rest adults. Five damsels in rotation, two unclaimed."

"Aha." I set my teeth against the sudden prick in my arm. "I, um… I like that you know colony terminology. And their zodiacs. You even listed them in the right order. I don't meet a lot of Fairies who bother with the details."

Horus didn't look at me, tried to keep his face straight, but a soft jingle in the energy field told me I'd brightened his mood. "I've spent a lot of time in Anti-Fairy World. I try my best."

"Yes, I did notice the clothes laid out so I wouldn't have to cross over white floor. Much appreciated." Golden blood leaked from my arm through a tube into the vial in his hand. I curled my toes. Foreign memories bubbled under my skin. "Um, what happened to Anti-Binky's follower drake?"

"His mate was summoned to the Blue Castle by the High Count, so he was released alongside her." Horus withdrew the needle from my arm. He held the vial to the light, leaning it one way, then the other. "That's it; you can seal it with your spit now."

A thud beat against my chest. I sat up. "He summoned Anti-Wanda? What for?"

"You know her?" he asked, glancing at me.

"Yes, I interned here during lower school. Ethograms for the pixies and genies." I broke off a piece of banana with my fingertips. It was the first food I'd had in days, and it practically melted in my mouth. "Tell me about Anti-Wanda. You said she was called upon personally?" A great big water wheel turned in my mind. "Did this happen about two years ago?"

"That's right. It was just after Anti-Praxis died." Horus capped the vial and tucked it in his pocket. "And to think, she's sitting on his half of the camarilla now. I always sensed that dame was going places. She cracks puzzles like kitnut shells."

I blinked. Twice. "I got a promotion," Anti-Wanda had snapped that day we left Cracklewings together. My brows drew down.

"Anti-Bryndin doesn't know her."

"She dances very well. He visited her often, sometimes treated her to lunch. Have you ever seen Lady Luck on Ice?"

A faint burn simmered in my cheeks. The ice show was mine and Anti-Wanda's memory. Envisioning Anti-Bryndin watching from the audience when she lifted her leg and twirled about sent a certain jealous wave over my head. Why, exactly, did Anti-Bryndin choose her to fill the Seat of Sky? I'd seen first-hand how flexible Anti-Wanda was, how confident the lift of her chin, the notoriously juicy shape of those thick blue lips. She knew what size cushions she carried in the rear… or if she didn't, I'd planned to show her exactly why they'd always snagged my eye, drowning her in a thousand kisses down each one while her laughter squealed in my ears. Now that was a damsel boasting a body that could handle a rough night of play at roost. The woman oozed raw sex appeal like no Anti-Fairy I'd ever met. Anti-Kanin boasted muscle, but even he didn't look fritzy next to her. She looked better clothed than most of us looked undressed and every word she spoke melted my shoulders into lilacs. For smoke's sake, no one ever had a conversation with Anti-Wanda and thought, That's a damsel who'll excel in politics. What, did Anti-Bryndin think none of us would question how an absolutely lush crumpet like her ended up in a position so high despite breaking from a background so low?

I leaned back, pushing both hands through my hair. Anti-Praxis, Seat of Sky on the camarilla… dead. And Anti-Wanda of all people as replacement…

My teeth clenched more tightly than a wand in a sheath. I begged myself not to think up worst-case scenarios, but I couldn't block a certain image from playing across my mind. I heard Dm. Venus talking to the High Count, Anti-Wendy told me at migration, describing the last summer she'd had alongside her twin. He approached her saying my sister's name.

It was all too easy to imagine Anti-Bryndin curling his arms around my damsel, pressing his body to hers and whispering promises of freedom in her ear. I may love and respect our High Count, but he does so like his dames.

Um. Not that Anti-Wanda was one of mine. I just meant… Look, it's not like that. She's just sweet and clever and I feel a bit randy every time she flips her pegasustail over her shoulder or slips her tongue between the gap in her front teeth, that's all. Oh my gods, have you seen the way she flicks her wrist back when she cups her elbow in her hand, then sort of turns her head sideways and taps her tooth with a claw without ever breaking eye contact? And she rotates her head back the other way and her hair falls across her face and it's just whoosh. Ahaha… Is it cold in here? Just me?

How ironic that our positions were now reversed. Just as I was being pushed into the Eros Nest, Anti-Wanda could be found on the far side of the cloudlands making friends at the Castle. I bit my knuckle. Hard. Unclothed Anti-Bryndin and Anti-Wanda didn't want to waltz their way from my head.

From across the room, Horus said, "I have a few tests to run and then I'll let Dm. Charite know you've arrived. My associate, Lyndon, is outside to escort you to a washroom. You are to wash thoroughly with soap and water, then change into the provided uniform. At that point, you must decide whether you wish to stay with a colony or be forwarded to the detention centre instead. Alone. Inform Lyn and he'll lead you either way."

I thought about that, playing with the banana peel and swinging my feet. My heels crashed against the block beneath my chair. Did I want to lock myself in the Eros Nest again? Certainly not.

Did I want to pass the days until my trial penned in a lonely cell? Not a whit.

"Thank you," I said anyhow.

Horus led me out into the corridor. There I met Lyndon, and immediately discarded all plans to scratch his eyes and run. The bulging knuckles highly advised against it. One wingbeat could snap my arm.

The washroom sat three doors down. And the tile floor was, once again, white. I looked at it, then at Lyndon. He nudged me with the back of his hand and I stumbled in. So much for assuming the entire team would be hospitable, then.

I lathered and rinsed in the bathing tub as quickly as I could, Lyndon standing over me the whole while. "Can you check my fur for sprites?" I asked after five minutes of picking under my arm. "They like to burrow in the cracks between my scales along the backs of my shoulders."

"The proper term is hairs, not fur," he told me, floating forward. "And scutes, not scales."

"Oh, I'm well aware. But that gets confusing to write and is so hard to draw."

He grunted and scratched his fingers unhappily around my wings.

Following my bath, I was presented with my monocle and some silky black pyjamas to change into. The shirt displayed three red buttons and a pocket outlined in scarlet embroidery. I paused, still pressing the pink towel against my neck.

"Where's the undergarment?"

Lyndon pointed to the Fairy-style underpants folded beside them, as if he hadn't just spent the last half hour staring at my uncovered lower body. I picked them up, then dropped them with a sigh. Rather than argue, I simply dressed without.

"Where to?" Lyndon asked. I lifted my brows, presuming "Out" was not an option.

"Oh, the colony, please. Believe me, I've been alone long enough."

We floated through the door, me tracing my hand along the grooves in the frame. I looked left, debating one last time whether to run… then didn't. Instead, we turned right and moved quietly through the corridor. I kept in front. Lyndon watched with half-lidded eyes.

"You won't last a month in there," he said. I turned.

"Oh?"

"You're a free-born. A few weeks in there and you'll go insane with boredom."

"Is that your idea of a challenge? I say, within a month I'll be the dominant drake of the lot."

He snorted. "And overthrow Anti-Binky? I'd like to see you try."

"Then see me try you shall."

Lyndon ruffled his wings, but didn't float back in response to my movement forward. He gestured to an upcoming door with a crown and pair of anti-fairy wings painted in bright blue. "Just inside this door, you'll find a large red button you can use to contact us in case of emergencies. It's my job to monitor and respond to it. When you give up and want to be released, let me know. I'll take care of everything and make your transition to detention as smooth as possible."

I shook my head. "Oh, don't you wait up for me. I'm sick of this life. I'm sick of being stepped on and rejected. I'd say I deserve a bit of coddling."

Lyndon twitched his wings as though suppressing a particularly witty one-liner, but refrained from spitting it. Instead, he clicked the star of his wand in the latch and twisted. The door slid open. Warm moisture tickled my nose. I inhaled the taste of forest through my skin. A strange, dark scent flooded my mind, and I wondered if that was what damp soil smelled like in Fairy World. Hmph. It certainly stank, didn't it? A far cry from the pleasant spicy snap of magma coursing underground. I swear the reek alone gave me worms.

The door opened into a vast chamber of wet leaves and looming fake trees that did a terrific job of appearing real so long as you didn't crash into them at high velocity. From where I stood, I couldn't make out much beyond the forms of branches and boulders in the dark. A constant plucking noise dragged my ears both left and right. After a few long seconds, I realised said plucking sound belonged to fat raindrops smattering against the mulch-coated rainforest floor. I tugged my bangs with a grimace, taking half a step back. Ever since Sunnie lost his last medium some 800,000 years ago, rain had been incredibly rare in Anti-Fairy World. We had regular snow in the mountains which poured down as waterfalls and kept our rivers healthy, but rain…

Echolocation would be useless in weather like that, and my wings couldn't handle it long either. My bravado slipped, one ear flicking back.

"Good luck," Lyndon remarked, watching me. I reached to flare my collar, then smoothed the front of my pyjama shirt instead.

"Oh, pooh. I don't need luck. I'm an anti-fairy." So with that and a nod, I spread my wings and launched myself between the trees.