I have often wondered idly about the role of genetics in magic.  I have a lot of theories, but it’s not like I can manipulate time long enough to view it, and the few who I know who could live or have lived that long won’t be able to give me a straight answer.  Really, I think that even if they speak my language (and it’s really convenient how many can) they live in fear of some kind of giant ruler of knuckle-whapping that comes down on them if they even answer a “Yes/No” question without a twist.  Wielded by a cosmic nun, of course.  (Don’t ask about Dark Matter.)

I mean, I could take all the great things the Small thing was saying at face value, but that would be dangerous.

The fey are aliens. Honestly, I’ve read a ton of urban fantasy that goes on about how long those things on the Outside have lived in comparison to the short recording span of humanity.  I don’t believe it.  For one thing, I know from experience that for the things Beyond to come into what I think of as Reality they have some translation to be done — some synchronization to my universe.  The vampires do it by parasitic attachment to existing members of the Reality club.  What the Small one said about adapting to our dreams was very telling.  Power changes not just the world around us, but the worlds Beyond, which is why I’m not sure where it begins.

See, the general assumption is that Power, whatever its source, is some kind of recessive gene, and if you get two powerful types they come up with Power Junior.  I don’t really see it working like that.  Another school of thought says that Power is available to everyone with Will (thanks, Mr. Crowley) but it takes training to manipulate beyond the basic little things everyone seems able to do (like hitting all red lights.  You do that to yourself, you know.)  I’m a little better with that.  I’ve heard the “some people have more access to the untapped potential of their own minds,” and because that whole 90% of your brain theory is hogwash, doesn’t mean all of that needs to be thrown out.  After all, not all of us even strive to reach our full potential, and there seems to be some magic in that.

I can’t even tell you how I close Doors.  There just are no words for it.  If I could project the feeling I would, but even that changes.  Sometimes it’s just relief like being able to pee after holding it for an hour longer than you thought you should.  Sometimes it’s like buttoning something just below the inside of your ribcage, only completely not physical.  Sometimes I just know I have to wave my hands, and once I had to hum, and it’s all kind of based on gut instinct crossed with little urgings I hope are my talents talking to me and not just some cruel masochistic streak.  Since I get results, I’m good with looking like a crazy fool.

And this kind of stuff shows up in a family tree.  It’s all those stories of the weird cousin that I think got the whole “seventh son of a seventh son” kind of rule.  The black sheep of the family is usually the wizard.   And while I have suspicions about Gran, I don’t have anything solid.

And my sister, if she has any special powers, they’re certainly not being used for Good.  Twenty-some years later, and I still hold it against her when she blamed me for stealing the brownies in the refrigerator.  I make a point of bringing some to every Family gathering, just so she, “has enough.” …and she does the same for me.

Of course, the word, “chosen” when he spoke of my magic indicated that there was something with sentience involved.  Peredur had chosen me for something, that was sure, and I noticed how the Small had weaseled out of explaining the situation.

“See me clearly, and I speak crystal,” he said.

“Does not compute,” I retorted.  “Why three messengers?”

“Each bears a puzzle with a solution to guard or guide,” he shrugged.

“Synchronization into your world, in other words?” I guessed.

“You bear a mark which could prove incompatible.  By whose design, do you wonder?”

“Do you know, or are you just asking me to ask the questions?”  I retorted.

“You cast a wide net, but sometimes the answers are minnows.”  He smiled.

“I don’t like fishing.  Too many things I could be doing instead of waiting on a smelly lake for some fish to decide my bait’s worth the potential trap.”  I shrugged.  “I think too much, but that doesn’t mean I’m dangerous.”

“Why would Dragons use illusions in their currency?” he asked me.

“When they can bite out chunks of Reality instead?  You’re asking the wrong guy.  I just figured out what I could do to trap them.”

“Did you go too far, or not far enough?” he asked me.

My mouth felt dry.  “I didn’t kill her.”

“How do you destroy a legend?” he asked.

“Doloise was a new story,” I said.  “Artur, he had echoes of old stories, but he too was fairly new.  Ivan.  Ivan I think had old stories written all over him.  If he wanted me dead, I’d just keel over, and no one would know the difference.”

“An Ivan, a Jack, a Puck, names of power, perhaps?  What about an E?”

“I’m trying to at least leave it a capital letter in my world,” I smiled.  “Are you the second messenger?”

“No, but I’m a member of the family.”  He jumped down.  “Now, I’ve told you everything I can tell you freely.”

“Does that mean you could teach me but you’d have to charge?”  I couldn’t resist.    The elf didn’t get the reference.  “Hey, just because I’m bright doesn’t mean I’m not dense.  Astronomy taught me that.”

“The stars have their own answers, but they read from a much older book.  Goodnight, E.  Get some rest before your lady returns.”  He turned the corner around the bookshelf and disappeared.

It was amazing how easy it was to ignore him as I opened the box.

I can’t tell you what was in the box, of course.  The chefs probably had some kind of illicit portal to heaven that they sliced thin and then drizzled a devilishly rich sauce on to hide their theft from the angels.  Or maybe the angels were in on it, bored of ambrosia and baklava (if such a thing is possible.)  (Maybe Uriel is allergic to nuts.  That would explain a few things.)

I mean, I am just listening to the lies my tastebuds told me.  I’m innocent, man, just the force of delivery.

Rent-a-Wreck stared at me for a while as if trying to get me to talk through the sheer force of his presence.  Then he started muttering in what was probably some kind of ancient fey language, except for the bit about my mother being an aardvark.  (She wasn’t, but I figured that to be self evident.)  Instead, he went strolling across my bookshelves, kicking the occasional mass-market paperback as if he had opinions.

When I sat back with a satisfied sigh, he looked at me again, giving me what was likely a pure 1960s Spockian Eyebrow.

“Hey, you’re the one who shows up unexpected and uninvited,” I said, putting my hands up in the air.  I felt too good to argue, so I surrendered from the first.

“I am not uninvited.  You accepted the mission.  I am certainly part of it.”  He actually crossed his arms and glared at me.

“Wow, is the mission how to banish you forever?” I asked, sounding at least mock-enthused.

“I have not even begun to annoy you,” he frowned.

“Are you going to read my Spider-man graphic novels and then spoil the endings?” I asked.

He shook his head and looked confused.

“Are you going to paint my nose in egg whites while I sleep?”

He shook his head again.

“Are you going to kill my potential girlfriend?” I snarled that one, but I managed to not make it a full yell.

“No!  No, that is why I’ve arrived!” he responded.

“Then talk,” I slammed the spoon down on the counter.  It made enough of a noise that I had to keep myself from jumping.  He flinched.

“You have not used the stone,” he said.

“Darn right I haven’t.  I have no idea what I’m supposed to use it for.  Do I break it and six fairy godmothers come in some kind of Bollywood moment and take me away to Calgon world?  Do I eat it?  Do I stuff it in the mouth of a Dragon and faint until I’m back home?  Because that’s what happened to the last fairy gift I got.”

“Whoa.  Whoa.”  He put his hands out and shook his head.  “Maybe you shouldn’t have sugar before bed or something.  Infinity within, infinity without, but the rock is our promise.  We can… we can do something for you.”

“That almost sounded like a straight answer,” I growled.  “All I have to do is let you pull some kind of Morden, `What do you want?’ scene and be held to you forever.  Maybe I want a little less weird in my life?  Maybe I want to have a girlfriend, a normal, non-witchy girlfriend, and a chance to read my trade paperbacks, and maybe even catch a movie.”

“Self pity is a terrible color on you,” Rent-a-Wreck said.

“It’s not self pity.  I am not a freakin’ wizard!”

“Shhhh!  You will scare the neighbors.”  Rent-a-Wreck sat on the shelf near the Stephen King books my sister sent me.

“Like the firetrucks and the dead woman didn’t freak them out enough?” I fumed.

“Mortals have a fabulous ability to veil themselves from reality, and I expect they are weaving their blinders of rationale as we speak.  Sit down.”  His voice filled with power for a moment, and I found myself sitting where I hadn’t realized I was standing and yelling at the small man on my bookshelf.

The Small King.

Oh.

Duh.

“I am sorry, your majesty.”

“Hah!”  He laughed.  “And I am sorry that you are incorrect.”

I gave him my best Spockian Eyebrow reply.

“You are a Small Wizard, but a wizard nevertheless.”

I swore.

“Nevertheless, I said.  Peredur has great hopes for you, but I don’t expect you enjoy being a Dragon’s pawn.”

“I never understood the wizard-Dragon relationship.  I thought the world Beyond thought I was more of a George than a Merlin.”

He cackled.  “And I am not the Seven King, but that is neither here, but only there.”

“You’re not the Seven King here, but you might be where you… are?” I tried.

“Precisely, and yet completely incorrect.  The first messenger explained in part.  I expect you shall weather the weather just fine, but can you be in lien or on loan alone?”

“I don’t–”

He cut me off, and there was the faintest hint of majesty to it.  “Test your own mettle.  You had a simulacrum made.  Where is it now?”

I was horrified at the thought.  “The Shadow King…”

“Ah yes, but just as you say you are not a wizard, he can only be so much you.”  His manner had changed, and I saw less of the little green elf and more something perfectly comfortable with the world outside, a master of it, provided that world was about four feet shorter than the one I knew.

“Wait.” I thought quickly.  “Can I use that?”

“No.  You are not a wizard.  A wizard could, perhaps, throw a Shadow of the Shadow in the way.  You can only close doorways.”

I was disappointed.  I had had the inklings of a plan.  An idea.

“Do not look so glum, E, my good fellow.  You are not a wizard… but you know of at least a few places to find them.”

“And I am owed a favor in advance, is that it?”

“I am not a wizard, either.  So let us talk of your dead friend.  Perhaps Peredur’s beloved is not the only one to build simulacrums.”

“Sylvie’s alive?”  I felt something tight in my chest give way, and I felt suddenly far more tired than I had any expectation to be.

“And your Rohana is more of a witch than either of you think.  She is, however, not of the lineage that has drawn to you.   Think of this as a trap that you have escaped.”

I frowned.  “You don’t have to pay the deductible.”

“Hah!  A handful of leaves and twigs may have their electronic counterparts.  We do not go away just because your dreams have changed their venue.”  He smiled a little.  “Not any of us are what we seem today.  Tomorrow, we again become something of what we always were.”

“That’s the kind of philosophy I expect from a self-help seminar.”

“Your dreams do not run on calendars and fountain pens.”  He shrugged.  “You complain at the same time that you want something different.  That you do not want the wills of those in the worlds intersecting and overlapping to present to you.  Do you ever wonder how you were chosen for this particular magic?”

“If you say that my sister is a hidden Jedi, I will squish you,” I said, but I was smiling.

I sputtered. I couldn’t, in all honesty, explain that the first time I met her she tried to grab my man-parts. She’d been under the influence, after all. I started to try to explain how ridiculous the very premise was, but couldn’t find the words.

Rohana laughed, and it was an honest laugh, not a snicker. “You have the wrong guy,” she said.

“Please answer the question, sir.”

“I have not offered violence to anyone, male or female, including myself, in my recent memory. I did make a fist at Johannes Stein-something-I-forgot in 6th grade suggesting I might fight back if he tried to push me into another locker, but I am more the Chaucer type.” I didn’t offer violence to Naul, or Viktor, or Ivan, or the Shadow King. Well, I thought violence towards that latter, but wishing him banished didn’t mean wishing him hurt. Banishment always sounded far more painless… on the other hand, I’d never been banished from anything except my little sister’s room, and that didn’t hurt a bit.

I was thinking it was a great reference, but it was either unknown or left without comment. Oh well. They were busy taking notes and conferring with each other in oblique glances. (No really, there’s a look I think they practice in their basic training. I’ve seen it the few times I’ve watched “COPS.” You know, because I’d seen the “Law and Order” episode that was on some twenty times.)

“We have statements from the deceased’s roommates that put you there last night.”

“Uh, yeah. We didn’t go on a date, but we did hang out for a while. My ex-girlfriend and Ed were there, too. Oh, and Matana. I don’t know Matana’s last name.”

“There was no mention of anyone else in the house,” the officer said, bluntly.

I searched my memory. After the whoop-de-doo with the lights and all, the three of them came in, but I don’t know if any of the roommates (Barbie, Buffy, and Veronica, as I’d mentally named them) may not have been there. But what about the Shadow King? He probably wiped their memory or some such evil trick.

“I can give you their contact information to verify my story.”

They took it and indicated that they didn’t want me making any calls or doing anything but sitting right here. I was allowed to talk with Rohana, but I couldn’t tell if that was because she was or wasn’t someone of interest.

“I need to leave soon,” she said, shattering my illusions. “Tom called into my shift supervisor, but I’m not dressed for work.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” I said, immediately. It was true, but I didn’t want to be left alone.

Truthfully, I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to go to jail. I had this sad false correlation situation where I was afraid that if she left they were going to find some reason to arrest me.   It was funny, here I was, having faced down Dragons, and I was completely out of my league with the real world.

I sat down on the curb, looking at the asphalt.

Then it hit me: “deceased.”

“What happened?” I breathed out.

“Honestly? I don’t know.  Tom said it looked like she jumped from a tall building onto your rental car and then it exploded.”  Rohana said it with a straight face. 

I couldn’t help but let out a stress snort anyway.  “There aren’t any tall buildings.”

“Hence the weirdness.”

I blinked.  “I wonder if it’s really her?”

“I don’t know if I can go out with you, E.  I mean, you’re fun.  You’re nerdy and quick and I like you, but this is…” she made a gesture with her hand I don’t think my native English has a phrase for exactly, but I knew what she meant.

I put my head down and stared at some of the little pebbles that accumulate at the edge of the road.  “I think I’ve found a coping limit,” I said.  “I don’t know what to do.  I’m overwhelmed, and this is easy.  I didn’t do anything.  I’m not guilty of anything.  I’m shocky.  I’m going to start blabbering in a minute and I want you to stay just because I’m looking for some kind of touchstone.” I broke off.

I put my hand in my pocket.  Yes, it was still there. 

Rohana kissed my forehead.  “I have to go.  You’ll be fine.  They won’t arrest you.  Leave your door unlocked and I’ll be back in the wee hours.”

“The yes hours?”  I tried teasing but my heart wasn’t in it.  My voice didn’t crack at least. That was some small blessing.  I felt better from her touch, which was foolish, but true.

“Be careful or I’ll wee-wee all the way home.”  She left.  I watched her walk away, but then realized that staring at her rear wasn’t helping because I was too distracted.

She came back a minute later with a box.  “Wait to eat this until you’re inside,” she said, giving it to me.  She kissed my head again.  “I’ll try to find out what I can.  Patience, E.”

I gave her as much of a smile as I could muster.  “I’ll try.”

The police returned my wallet and let me go a few minutes later.  They didn’t seem pleased, but they didn’t tell me to not flee the country or the cosmos or anything.  I took the box in with me to my quiet apartment and got my insurance agent’s voicemail.  I expected that my rates would increase for this. 

I sat down at my so-called dining room table after grabbing a fork in the dark.  I turned on a light and stared at the box.  The way I was feeling, I envisioned the bottom of the box suddenly turning red and soaked with blood.  What body part would be inside?

“Mmmm.  Smells like sugar.”

I dropped the fork.  

“Are you going to eat that?” Rent-a-Wreck was staring at the box.  “Because I’m starving.”

That was an interesting question. I ran mentally through the girls I’d known and the relationships I’d had, remembering Thomas’ letter. “They are fascinated by love.” It took too long for me to answer, and there was a sad smile on Rohana’s face.

“Never, E?” she asked. “Nevermind. You’re a guy – the three words cause anaphylactic shock in some of the lesser specimens.”

“Hey!” I retorted intelligently.

“I’m not saying now. A night of hot monkey-love does not a relationship make, although I do expect you to declare everlasting adoration once you taste the icing.”

“How many times?” I asked, and it sounded sympathetic.

“How many roads must a man walk down? How many times have I been hurt by a relationship? How many exits left on the highway before I turn right?” She shrugged. “You’re the one who brought up the L word. The other one,” she added with a grin.

“Ah, spring, when a young man’s fancy turns to lesbians. And poisoning pigeons.”

“Or maybe a squirrel or two. Yes, yes, I’m a geek!” She laughed, hitting the steering wheel with the palm of a hand.

“I was just going to compare parks,” I said, grinning.

We bantered along the way, and she drove up to my place.

I heard the sirens first, but I lived near Colfax and hadn’t really been too concerned. As we got closer and I saw the fire trucks I started to get a little more worried. As I saw the two police cars, and the ambulance in the parking lot, I was past dreading and into the first stages of total freak out.

“I think that’s Tom,” Rohana said. “I’ll find out what’s happening.”

She drove up and popped out of the car. I smelled the smoke first, and then realized the haze in the air was coming from… yeah, from the direction of the rental car.

I should have paid for the extra insurance.

Rohana was joking with a guy who was closing off the hydrant. She did a little twirl in her skirt which I appreciated. I was interrupted from my adoration by the police officer who came up in that “you’re not supposed to be here” kind of walk. A keen observer of the Ministry of Silly Walks, I could recognize an entire array of methodologies from the stroll, the skip, and from my retail employ, the casual shoplifter.

Hey, everyone has a hobby.

“I live here,” I explained before she could say anything. I pulled my wallet out of my back pocket to show my ID and the address. There were a couple of people standing on the way up to my door so I didn’t see any point in trying to go anywhere.

She didn’t say anything, but took my wallet and examined the ID. She turned and said something I missed in a fast radio bleep, and then looked back at me. “Stay here,” she said.

I nodded mutely. Rohana stopped and put her hand up to her mouth as if hearing something terrible. I felt it in my gut.

She was subtle, I’ll give her that. She didn’t quite break off and run towards me, but she started drifting back this way until her conversational partner was called to take the hose back to the truck.

“It’s Sylvie,” she said.

“Wait, what?”

“She had her school ID on her.”

“She’s here?”

Rohana’s eyes moved towards where the two fire trucks blocked our view. The ambulance’s lights came on, but not the siren, and then they turned off as it headed back onto the street.

That was not a good sign.

“I’m so sorry, E,” she said.

“What happened?” I asked. I started moving towards the truck, and then stopped short as Rohana grabbed my arm.

“You’d better wait for the police.”

“What do you mean?”

She gave a knowing look over her shoulder. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Me, too, Princess, me too.”

“Why didn’t you think I was quoting Han?”

“Aren’t you a little too short to be a stormtrooper?” I said, but it was half-hearted at best. I kept looking around to try to figure out what was happening. There were a bunch of people not really moving but all involved in something, the normal scene of an accident. Or highway construction.

She smiled. “Who are you, Master Yoda?”

“There are times in one’s life that one is afraid they’re actually the role of Jar-Jar Binks, in someone else’s saga,” I said as if it were a truism. Maybe it was. The police officer was returning with another and they were not looking happy.

“Mr.,” she butchered my last name, “could you come speak with us for a moment?”

I knew better than to ask if there was a problem, or something stupid like that. I just shrugged. “Call me E. It’s easier.”

“E, then,” the officer I had been speaking with nodded. The other flipped open a small computer of some sort and started taking notes. He had large, dark fingers, but he was very fast on the netbook or whatever it was.

“Can you tell us where you were tonight?” she asked.

I shrugged and gave them the story, the time I left, the place we went, the name of our waiter (actually, Rohana had it on her receipt) and what I had done all day.

“How do you know Sylvia,” and they gave her last name. I had remembered seeing it on some school work, but I don’t think I had ever said it aloud.

“Well, it’s kind of complicated. She and my ex-girlfriend… shared a hobby.” Because, you know, witchcraft was kind of like a sewing circle, right? “She and I were going to go out on a date last night,” I didn’t look at Rohana, “but it didn’t work out.”

The officer with the keyboard didn’t smile at Rohana, but did glance over with a hint of disapproval.

“Did you offer Ms.,” and she used the last name again, “any violence for not wanting to date you?”

I know I tensed up. I had read a while ago that one of the reasons people get so hurt in collisions is that they’ll watch the car hitting them in the rear view mirror and then brace themselves in ways that don’t match the kinds of forces they’re about to experience. I guess we always do want to catch the numbers on the freight trains coming towards us.

The waiter’s smile turned into that familiar almost-teasing smirk I had come to associate with Peredur, but then it faded, as did the flash of red. He set a box on my plate. “Your dessert, sir.” He said it like a pronouncement of doom rather than the casual statement.

“Um, thank you?” I murmured. A similar box dropped onto Rohana’s plate. Another waiter came by with the bill, and that absolute sense of placement on the table that didn’t make it anyone’s immediate responsibility and certainly didn’t indicate anyone in particular to have to take it, because, you know, they can wait as long as we needed, provided we didn’t want any more service and we vacated the table as soon as possible for the next paying customer.

I don’t blame them, I just roll my eyes at the choice of language. If my agency sent me, I’d work in food service. I would just have to prepare the charm that protects my soul.

“There was something strange,” Rohana said.

The rushing sound of wind that I had been hearing stopped. The portal had more of a thin, whistling bit that had been part of the background rushing and bustling, but it had been closed shut.

Behind something, not by me.

That made me wonder… I had not heard any portals when being visited by the Smalls. (Wee folk they were not – the lion thing had gone up past my shoulder. The troll had towered over me. Really, for Small Things, I would not be surprised if the King was some kind of Storm Giant.) I wonder if they wrapped themselves in some kind of cellophane like the -cubi had, only somewhat less obviously. Maybe it had been a concession to clothing.

Taking a deep breath and trying not to focus on the obvious reaction one has to contemplating what a succubus looks like in great detail (that way lies madness!) I missed Rohana taking the bill.

“Let me at least pay for the tip,” I said.

“Hmmm? Oh, no. It’ll drive you and your primitive and sexist chivalry crazy for weeks if I do it all.” She smiled and picked up her dessert and her purse.

“I hadn’t taken you for a sadist,” I grinned.

“My treat. I told you.” She gave a little sway towards me as I stood up. “You can try making it back up to me later.”

“When does your shift end?” I asked.

“Oh, I plan on stringing this out,” she smiled.

“I am beginning to suspect you are evil.”

“Only now?” she grinned, looking back at me. “Was I not sufficiently naughty before?” she giggled.

I followed her to the car with my dessert box. I hadn’t opened it. It was somewhat warm, which meant that it was likely not ice cream, but until I had verified its components, it could be chocolate or bread pudding or some sinister combination or something completely different. It was Schroedinger’s dessert, minus any cat ingredients.

She sat hers on the back seat. lovingly moving a windbreaker she’d had in around it. “Not putting the seatbelt on it?” I joked.

“You don’t know what it is.” It wasn’t a question. “That would only warp the box and get icing on the seat. Here, let me take yours.” She wrapped mine up with hers as I climbed into the passenger side.

She opened the windows a little as we went down the highway, reminding me again of the portal question. She broke my reverie. “Were you surprised when I asked if you were gay?”

“I thought I had been sufficiently naughty,” I responded.

“Oh. My sister is involved in Pride issues, so it’s kind of one of my buttons.” She shrugged. “You didn’t seem to get mad.”

“No, I mean, why would I?”

“Just checking. So when you said fairy you meant like Tinkerbell?”

“Hey, clap your hands when you say that,” I teased. Actually, Doloise had been a lot like Tinkerbell now that I thought about it.

“I always wanted Red-Handed Jill to take over the pirate forces once Hook was gone,” she mused. “But the fantasy kept flirting with Hook initiating her into various mysteries which seemed like a thinly veiled reference to having sex with her father and that got icky pretty quickly.”

“Um, yeah,” I agreed. I shook my head. “Yeah, it’s… kind of a long story, and I think I was just warned off from telling it.”

“Like, right now? Are there pixies in the carburetor or something?” she glanced at the air vents accusingly.

“Back at the restaurant. There was something strange, you said.”

“Yeah, a whiff of what I thought… was Dragon,” she said. She focused on the road with a frown.

“Me, too. Hey, you could be my Dragon detector. You’ll have to make some kind of neat alarm noise or something.”

She made a sound something like a dolphin approximating a whinney, which was a strange thought because why would sea creatures ride horses?

“I don’t know if I can make that noise again,” she admitted.

“You mean the `Flipper appreciating a drive-through showing of `Black Beauty” thing you had going on there?”

She laughed. “Um, yeah. Anyway, I don’t know if that hair-rising on the back of my neck feeling combined with something hiding in the pit of my stomach with a weird tingly static thing is necessarily confined only to the presence of Dragons.”

“Could be worse,” I quipped. “Could be love.”

She looked at me, and then put her eyes back to the road. “No, I know what that feels like. What about you? Ever been in love?”

She looked at me. “What was that for?” she asked, and it sounded a little peevish. I let her go immediately.

“Um, I was thinking you were brilliant and all the various other positive things I was…thinking.” I felt kind of uncomfortable, and the knot of waiters staring at me wasn’t helping.

She sat back down in her seat. “Well, keep it positive,” she said, and even she sounded a little vague.

“Isn’t that an electron joke?”

“Watt if it is?”

I grinned. “It gave me a bit of a jolt, that’s all.”

She considered it and shrugged, smiling back. Waitstaff did their orbit and added sugary liquid gold as needed to iced glasses.

I didn’t think I was being entirely presumptuous. If there’d been a “no kissing” rule instituted I would have been disappointed but last night there’d been …um … kissing as well as other things. In fact, she had specifically started the kissing. On the other hand, in search of walking the line between Nice Guy and Not A Creep I was trying to follow her prompts. Really, and I know it sounds like I’m coming close to crossing the line, but women do have the prerogative however contradictory it sounds. They will change their minds and moods, and I’ll just try and keep up.

A little part of my brain added, “Because that worked so well with Maggie.” I shut it up.

We practiced our small talk against each other, and then the food started to come out and we were reduced to making primal sounds of culinary pleasure. She started to amplify the game and I followed carefully, but something had definitely turned.

“Was it the riddle?” I asked out of the blue.

“You’re just weird,” she said. “I mean, I like the weird, but it’s kind of hard to follow. Not in needing a road map, although that would help, too, but… I’m not weird.”

“Says the woman who rescues people for a living,” I pointed out.

“You even make that sound heroic rather than a daily grind,” she smiled. But I had flattered her, which was a point back on my side. If I was keeping a score board of some sort, which I totally wasn’t because it would have been crude and that totally lost me points.

“It’s fascinating,” I tried to capitalize on my advantage. “I… do boring office stuff.”

“And fight Dragons,” she added.

“No, really, that’s…” I pushed a bite of essential deliciousness across the plate. “That’s not me. That was,” I gestured with my fork into the distance, “something I hadn’t planned on doing or getting involved in, and I’m absolutely unsure how I survived, but somehow I think my fairy saved me.”

“Like a guardian angel?” she asked.

I didn’t squirm in my seat, but I was definitely trying to find words. “Not… quite.”

“Were you having a relationship with this…fairy?” she asked. “I mean, it’s okay if you are, but I didn’t think you were gay.”

“What?” I dropped my fork. It clattered off the plate and over the table and onto the floor where I had to fish for it. One of the orbiting waitstaff whisked it away and deposited a new one.

She was giggling. “Oh, dear, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s OK. I’m, um, I like the ladies.”

“The look of bewilderment on your face was definitely worth the price of the meal,” she said. “Anyway, it was something I was going to ask your mother if we had been able to connect with her.”

“You tried to get ahold of my mom?” I swore.

“Um, normally mothers like to know when their sons are found badly injured in burning buildings,” she pointed out.

“Pinch me. Tell me this is all a nightmare, please.”

“Well!” she was smiling, but there was a hint of truth in it.

“No, no, I mean, it’s not you. Really. If I say it’s me, will you hit me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I don’t know.” I took a deep breath and smiled for the passing waitress.

Rohana slapped my hand smartly with a spoon.

“Ow!” I pulled my hand back. “First things first, I don’t want to be hit.”

“Good to know,” Rohana smiled. “Second?”

“Second, I guess it means I really do need to call home.”

“Is it that bad?” she asked me, seriously.

“I can’t talk to her. It’s like we’re using the same words to speak a foreign language. I can’t tell her anything real, and I’m afraid to lie. My sister… it’s a little easier. I could tell my sister I’m gay and I like kittens in inappropriate ways and she just wouldn’t listen. I’m still her annoying big brother who is a bit weird. My mom tries to listen and give me advice, but she wants something from me. Children.” I grinned and rolled my eyes. “I’m sure it’s more than that. She wants me to be successful, I’m sure, but unless it fits in the box she has set aside for me, it won’t register.”

“I get it. No, we got in touch with a fellow named… Ed instead.”

“Oh yeah, he’s my second emergency contact. Wait.” I looked at her, confused. “Ed said he didn’t know anything.”

“He came in while you were, well, out.” She frowned. “Maybe he wanted to hear the story from you. We didn’t have anything to tell him, and you were recovering on your own.”

“Yeah, that could be it.” I hated feeling suspicious.

“I didn’t really get to meet him, just do some paperwork. I didn’t spend a lot of time at the hospital. Really, I don’t like them very much. I know it sounds weird, but I find them more draining than healing.”

“I understand. They wake you up to take tests and then expect you to rest and recuperate again.” I stopped playing with my empty plate and my fork and let the waiter take them.

“So, is there a third?”

“I need to tell someone the story, I think. It’s going to take time, and you need to go.”

“Well, I want to say I am all ears, but you know I’m a few more parts,” she grinned. “Hey, let me get our dessert to-go and then get you back home. I am practically bursting with questions.”

I grinned and was about to make a leading comment when I noticed the waiter’s eyes, glowing with a fire like Peredur’s.