I was dazed for a moment. I realized I hadn’t just been physically slapped, but there’d been a slight magical element to it, too. Kind of on the level of a psychic pinch; just enough to clear the cobwebs from my brain and to start to make me aware of what an idiot I was.  I mean, the levels of idiocy I had just attained were being saved as trophies to my personal user account in the universe.  I had achieved some kind of award for utter thoughtlessness, probably with a cute little dunce cap icon next to it.  There weren’t words for how stupid and how sorry I was, and I couldn’t even imagine how distasteful and unpleasant I was now to Tumnus.  Even the little self-congratulatory, “See, kissing a guy wasn’t that bad,” kind of party that had started in my head had burned to ashes.

“I,” I started to say, and Tumnus’ look shushed me.

“Any sentence that starts with that letter you’d better think about, and not just once or twice,” he said, backing up as much as he could in his seat.  “It’s really presumptuous,” he added.

“Yeah,” I said.  I was hanging my head in shame, but it wasn’t enough.  “That was really insensitive of me.”

“Good start,” he said, curtly.  “Now how about we fast forward to the end where you’re leaving the car?”

That stung even more than the slap. I fumbled for the handle, and opened the door.  I turned back to him.  “Wait,” I said.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he said, shutting me down.

“No,” I said, “Look, I’m a jerk. I’m worse than a jerk.  I’m an utter and complete ass,” I admitted.  “I don’t want forgiveness or absolution or anything. I just — I kissed you.  I meant that part.”

Did I deceive myself, or did the frown turn a little bit? I was willing to hope.

“Get out,” he said, and he turned back to the steering wheel.

As I turned away, I heard him say something.  “What?” I asked.

“I said that my sister was right about you.”  He sighed, but the smile came back to his face.

“Your sister? You knew me?” I asked, and then right on it, “What did she say?”  Which should have come after, “How did she know me?” but I figured I might get the answer to that with the first bit.

“She’s a wizard.” He shrugged. “She said you weren’t hopeless.”

“Rousing endorsement. Any wizard in particular?”

“Oh, you know her.  She’s married to a fellow they call the `Questor.'”

Oh.

He started the engine, and I got out, closing the door behind me.  I shook my head.

He sped off into the early morning and I fumbled for my keys to the apartment. Rayya was sitting on the futon while I dropped the keys in the octopus-cup.

“You survived,” she said.

“Never a doubt,” Nen said, coming from around the kitchen half-wall with a mug in his hand.  It left off a bit of steam, and smelled like cocoa and something sharp.  Ah, Irish Cocoa.  My liquor cabinet had gotten a bit strange with the Sibs.

Rayya rolled her eyes at her brother, then turned them back to me in a quick, suspicious movement.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.  I took my jacket off and slid it onto one of the chairs at the table.  I couldn’t keep myself from yawning.

She glanced at Nen, and I don’t know what kind of signal he gave off, but she shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I said.  I pulled my phone out of its pocket and went into the bedroom.  I shut the door and stretched out on the bed, fully clothed.

I felt drained, and I felt chastised.  I looked at the time. I wanted to call Ed, I realized, but it was super-late, and while he was definitely one of the friends I could call anytime, that might have changed with Zach.  That probably wasn’t fair, and it sounded super jealous. Zach had headed over there after our session, and really, I didn’t want to interrupt the time they had together.

I sighed, kicking off my shoes.  “Naming is the first magic,” I said aloud.

Self-identification, then.  I was still heterosexual.  I felt a little ashamed and a little proud of that, a loop that kind of ouroboros’d off itself.  I rationalized it with knowing that it was good to know what you were, and what you liked, presuming what you liked was a consensual relationship.  I liked girls.  I amended that quickly — I liked women.  A cynical part of my head noted that I liked witches. I still was trying to believe that it wasn’t some kind of law of nature or curse, just a fluke of the universe.  So, I hadn’t changed my passions, exactly.

But I had liked Tumnus.  Had I liked him somehow subconsciously knowing that the body beneath was a she? The pronouns sucked. Had I been drawn to him magically? That was an excuse.  It was an excuse that worked with Zach because it was true with Zach; I had no reason to believe there was anything about Tumnus other than his charisma, and his delicate features, and his inviting nature, and that he laughed at my jokes.  You know, the things that would attract you to anybody.

Maybe that was it. Maybe heterosexual wasn’t the word.  Maybe there was some kind of word that says you’re attracted to people who you’re attracted to for the reasons you’re attracted to them.  I sighed aloud.  If that word existed I didn’t know what it was.  Maybe that was just one of the facets of “love” and I was an idiot.

No surprise there.

I sat up, and scooted over to turn on the light next to the bed.  I threw the phone onto the pillow, and  got up to brush my teeth and hip-shrug out of my pants, which yes, mom, I left on the floor in the bathroom.  When I came out, I popped a quick e-mail on my phone (I prefer a real keyboard, but yes, my phone has e-mail capability.)  I laid on the bed again, but this time I actually did it under the covers.

I couldn’t sleep.

I stared at the ceiling.

I don’t know when I actually fell asleep. I know my dreams were tangled, erotic things. full of whispers, self-recrimination, and lots of moist warm things.  Things.  You know.  The brain’s vaguely adequate attempt to imply sex divorced from any kind of specifics. I hope that my cingulate cortex has been sufficiently trained that none of the “things” are attached to the sweet lips of the Seven King’s lust aspect, or some other temptress, like the Messenger.  Or maybe it’s a trick of the brain, keeping it nebulous so that it can sneak in a little sugar from the creatures that inspired (okay, “aroused”) but of which I wouldn’t consciously take advantage.  Maybe that’s the guilt and self-recrimination acting generously to cover all of the bases.

I just know that when I woke up, I was tangled in my sheets, needed a wash, and had the wrong things in my mind and out of reach of my flesh. No one likes cold showers, hence the meaning behind the phrase, so I didn’t take one. If any of my guardians (I was still somewhat glad they’d stuck around, even if I still didn’t know the terms of the arrangement) was watching, well, they could stuff it. I was a grown man and I was capable of taking care of my own needs.

Thoroughly washed and calmed, I took a look at my phone and was pretty pleased that I was only a few minutes off from what time I had thought it was.  It’s the little things.  I stretched and dressed and left the sanctum of my room.  It smelled like waffles. Nen saw me and grunted, gesturing to a plate left in the kitchen.

He was watching Dirty Jobs with the sound turned off, and the captions yellow across the screen, and drinking chocolate milk. Rayya had slipped into the bathroom past me.  Nen’s choice of shirt was a cut off black Iron Maiden t-shirt over a long sleeved button-up red and black plaid with the cuffs cleanly cut-off, and something more like a kilt than a skirt of matching plaid, and really tight black jeans, probably in a kid size. It was vaguely what I’d consider gothic fashion, but still always just that slightly-off piece.  Rayya had been wearing her white kaftan that was always impeccably white.  Suspiciously white, actually.

I poured myself a glass of milk and squirted a bit of chocolate into it, myself. There was already a fork and butter on my waffles.  Nen disdained syrup, which given the fey proclivity towards sweets seemed strange until I found out he was just a stickler for what kinds of syrup he liked, and I wasn’t willing to spend that much money on it.  I’d been doing pretty well without a sinecure since the deposit from the Russians, but I was still cautious. I’d still prefer to find something, but my resume was at least a year out of date. I’d been keeping up with the administrative world, sharpening my office software against the whetstone of formatting old gaming documents. Or something like that.

I finished up breakfast in silence. Nen’s eyes were for the television, and Rayya had been finishing up the latest McGuire. Listening to the arguments about portrayals of fey in literature were a highlight and entirely educational experience, but ultimately there were too many things Beyond and both the Sibs were crafty enough not to reveal a lot of information about themselves. Still, there were authors they liked better than others, and I caught that they were sick of the name Oberon.

“What about Puck?” I’d asked once.

“That’s a title, like a Thomas,” Rayya said.

“Depends on the Court,” Nen explained. “Remember that the classic vision of fey is not entirely off.  We interact with your Reality in such a way that what you know as real filters in slowly and is interpreted by the strongest of our kinds. Then when we make our forays across the borders, some of those interpretations in part mix in with yours.”

“So, you’re a shifting, churning sort of ripple of fantasy in with my Reality?  Keeping it surreal and sweet like a line of caramel in ice cream?”

He laughed, but most of our fiction was like candy to them, inspiration and interpretation.

I was thinking about it as I ate my waffles.  Was my library of entertaining nonsense actually empowering the Sibs?  Were they getting ready to break off and create their own domain?  Not as easy as registering one and hosting it somewhere, but who knows? Maybe it was.  Maybe I was inspiring them in some fashion, but most public libraries had more than my meagre offerings.  Or maybe being in contact with me gave them some kind of latitude they wouldn’t normally have.  I liked to think I was an easy person to protect.  I didn’t do risky things…

…like associate with Dragons. And reinforce the bars on cages for nasty mean beasts in other dimensions. Flirt with faerie queens, or Kings, or the brother of a powerful wizard, or…

I put my head in my hands.

“Long night?” Nen broke the silence.

I nodded, sighing.

“What did the,” it sounded like ‘teahneen,’ but then he went on, “the Dragon need of you?”  He asked if being gently curious, but there was something sharp in it.

“What I do,” I grinned wryly.

He looked at me. “Are you … are you right?”

“No.” I smiled. “I am quite definitely not right.   Nor alright.  Oh, I haven’t been those for years, though.  Last night was, I don’t know, something completely different in the not right zone, but not all of it was Peredur.  Although I’ll just add a bunch to the list of grudges I hold against him. He never leaves me without one or two, really.”  I decided that was fair enough.

Nen just looked concerned, I guess.  I shrugged and went to check my e-mail.  Yep, there was a response from the e-mail last night, the one to the Questor.