Beneath the Saint’s Mask

By Gimwinkle


(unfortunately, italics does not come through in this post. There are characters who speak in a different language than English that, in the original text, I italicized to emphasize the change. This might be a problem for you. Sorry. Just go with the flow! :)


 



Prologue



Abstract, Excerpted. Albertson, Sampson, Gardner, 2045, Blackwell-Harrison Medical Press



Schizophrenia reconstructs reality. Not as "lies," but as a parallel logic where meaning is fluid and terror/beauty intertwine. It’s where you are an unwilling artist of your own unraveling.


The first thing Elias noticed upon waking was the crack in the ceiling had grown overnight. Not in the way cracks normally spread, slow and indifferent, but in deliberate, branching patterns, like veins mapping a territory only the house remembered.

"They’re listening," whispered the voice only Elias could hear. It came from the left, just behind his ear, where his childhood best friend (dead seven years) liked to perch. "The walls learned to breathe last Tuesday."

Elias pressed his palm to the plaster. It vibrated faintly, a hum like distant machinery.

[see Roanoke Memorial Journal of Experimental Psychiatry, Vol. 12, 2045, p.45]

• The crack is real (old building, settling foundation).
•
• The hum is the neighbor’s faulty refrigerator.
•
• The voice is a hallucination, but to Elias, it’s as real as his own pulse.
•
________________________________________

Outside, the city was a collage of hidden messages. Street signs rearranged their letters when Elias blinked:

STOP → POST → POTS (a recipe in the asphalt, waiting to be read).

A woman on the bus stared at him. Not at him. Into him. Her pupils were keyholes, and behind them, Elias saw his own face reflected back a thousand times in a dark corridor.

"She’s one of the architects," said Dead Friend, now sitting in the bus seat beside him. "They built the hive in your spine. Can’t you feel it?"

Elias’s back itched. He scratched until his nails came away flecked with gold dust.

[Ibid.]

• The woman is just tired, her gaze unfocused.
•
• The gold dust is dried paint from Elias’s DIY repairs.
•
• The "hive" is a tactile hallucination (common in schizophrenia).
•

Elias’s job as a file clerk should have been simple. But the folders bred when he wasn’t looking.

"You missed one," hissed his boss (except his boss wasn’t there… hadn’t been in for weeks, after the "incident" with the fire alarm).

A cockroach skittered from a manila envelope. Then another. Then…

"They’re not bugs," Dead Friend giggled. "They’re punctuation. The architects write the world in commas and wings."

Elias stomped. The crunch sounded like a sentence ending.

[Ibid., 45]

• The office is understaffed; Elias’s workload has doubled.
•
• The "cockroaches" are paperclips scattered during his panic.
•
• His boss is on medical leave (Elias forgot).
•
________________________________________

By afternoon, the architects spoke through the air vents. Their voices were static and teeth:

"Elias James Carter. Birthmark shaped like Greenland. You left the oven on. Your mother never loved you. The bees are almost here."

He ran to the bathroom, splashed water on his face. The mirror showed a stranger. The same brown eyes, same scar above the eyebrow, but the reflection mouthed words Elias hadn’t spoken:

"You should’ve died in the womb."

[Ibid., 45]

• The oven is on (Elias forgot his toast).
•
• The mirror is just a mirror but his brain can’t integrate his own face correctly.
•
• "The bees" are a recurring hallucination (symbolizing impending breakdown).
•

The pharmacy refused to refill his prescription.

"Insurance says you already got this month’s," said the clerk.

"That wasn’t me!" Elias screamed (except it was. He’d blacked out and taken them all in one night).

On the sidewalk, the pavement bubbled like tar. Bees poured out. Not insects but tiny, winged versions of himself, each carrying a fragment of memory:

• His mother’s funeral (the bees wore her face).
•
• The first time he heard the architects (they’d sounded like wind chimes then).
•
• The hospital (where the walls had bled alphabet soup).
•
Dead Friend put a hand on his shoulder. "You’re the hive now. That’s why they’re here."

[Ibid., 45]

• The bees are a dissociative episode triggered by stress.
•
• The "memories" are distorted (his mother is alive but estranged).
•
• He’s relapsing because he’s off his meds.
•
________________________________________
Elias woke in a white room. A nurse (real? unreal?) adjusted his IV.

"The bees!" he croaked.

"No bees here," she said gently.

But as she turned, Elias saw the keyhole pupils. The architects had followed him.

Dead Friend sat at the foot of the bed, swinging his legs. "Told you they’d win."

Elias closed his eyes. The hum of the fluorescent lights sounded like wings.

[Ibid., 45]

• He’s been hospitalized after a public breakdown.
•
• The nurse is real; her "keyhole" eyes are paranoia.
•
• Dead Friend is a constant, the one "hallucination" he can’t bear to lose.
•
Days passed. Nurses came and went. Meals came and went. Doctors came and went. Until one final doctor walked into Elias’ room. She smiled at him. When he frowned weakly, the Doctor held up her finger. “Take it easy, Elias. I’m here to help you learn about the gift you have. Have you ever been to North Carolina?”



 

Chapter 1

Dr. Phinsky continued dictating into her recorder. “Neurological exam shows no focal deficits. Patient reports mild side effects of dizziness and fatigue. Visuo-spatial memory is not detected. Treatment plan: continue current medication, schedule follow-up in 3 months, and referred to, uh…” She looked at her notes on her desk, “… Westmoreland Counseling for stress management.”

Dr. Phinsky absently tucked a loose strand of graying hair back under her slate-gray turban headband, the silk shimmering faintly as she turned. She put the microphone down and keyed briefly on her computer’s keyboard. As she shredded her scribbled notes, she looked up to see her next patient.

She smiled, “Hi Jeff. How was your week?”

Jeffrey Gardner had been her patient for several years. Typically disheveled and apparently having difficulty maintaining personal hygiene, his social support from Roanoke Memorial was probably listing him as not active.

He answered softly, “It was a week.”

“Did you eat this morning?” She glanced at his hands to look for extrapyramidal tremor. Seeing none, she knew he was not taking his Haloperidol.

He nodded and eased himself into the cushioned leather chair opposite her desk.

“How’s the picture of the river coming along?” She studied his eyes to see if he was tracking any hallucinations he might be surrounded with but his gaze locked to hers.

“Trashed it.”

Her own eyes widened beneath a frown. “What happened?”

A warm smile spread across his face announcing his comfort in discussing his hobby. “I had a tube of Cerulean Blue that didn’t shift to the cool, green side, like others do sometimes. It was very muted in its tint and most valuable as a pure hue. But I ran out so I tried a tube of Manganese Blue Hue. That didn’t go very well and by then, it was too late. Totally fu…. ruined up.”

Dr. Phinsky shook her head, “Sorry to hear that. You going to try again?” Still watching his eyes for a distracted glance, she saw him shrug.

His expression turned somber, “I was going to scrape the canvas but a lot of it had dried so I just tossed it.”

“You couldn’t salvage it?” Losing a canvas was an expensive loss. He wouldn’t have just thrown it away if he didn’t have to.

He shrugged again.

“You have another, then?”

He nodded, blankly staring down at his knees. She wondered if he had come into some luck and perhaps some money. She waited for him to continue but he remained silent.

The moment dragged on until she commented, “I hear that the park service is having problems with coyotes down by the river again.” Jeffrey’s schizophrenia usually sparked animal hallucinations in his daily life.

“None have been my way. But I don’t hang out there except during the day.”

“And nights?”

“Up on Mountain Avenue.” A residential area.

“You got an apartment?”

He offered a quiet, knowing smile.

“Tell me true; are you squatting or did they give you an actual apartment?”

“Doc, I’ve been on the list since before they switched me to you. It’s about time I got off the streets, don’t you think?”

“I am so happy for you.” It was good news, definitely.

“They said as long as I’m going to your appointments and don’t cross the cops, I’ll keep it.”

“And you’re not skipping?” She was referring to his Haloperidol.

“Faithful as can be.”

She complained, “Don’t lie to me, Jeff.”

His eyes grew sharp. “You’re not going to snitch, are you?”

“I’m your friend as much as I am your shrink. If you start down a rabbit hole, then of course, I’m going to dive right down there with you to pull you out.”

“I don’t need it, Doc. Really, I don’t.”

“How would you know if you did? You’re not going to know it’s a rabbit hole when you start to go down it.”

“I guess you have a point.”

“If I say, then you’ll go back on it?”

He stared into her eyes more intently. “And you’ll not just say just because you’re my shrink?”

“Jeff, if I say, it’s because I know it’s how to pull you out. But, no, we trust each other, right?”

“I trust you same as I trusted Sarah.”

Dr. Phinsky hesitated, but knew she had to broach the sensitive topic. “How do you feel now about her loss?”

He took a deep breath. “Even though we were never married in a church or anything, she was my wife.” He emphasized the word “was”. “So, yeah, I am still in pain right down into my soul.” Jeff's eyes clouded, his gaze drifting away from Dr. Phinsky's. “It's...complicated. Some days it feels like a fresh wound, others like a dull ache I've learned to live with.” He paused, his voice barely above a whisper. “And then there are the times I think I see her, or hear her voice. When that happens, it's like she's still here, and I feel...guilty for moving on, I guess.”“

“She talks to you?”

He frowned and chuckled, “If she did, would I tell you?”

“I’m serious.”

“No, Doc. I don’t hallucinate her anymore. It just feels like a memory that pops in at odd moments.”

“It’s okay to have that intense pain still.”

“Yeah, I know. But it’s not a rabbit hole any longer.”

“Lewis Carroll would be proud of you.”

Jeff sighed. “Carroll's world is like my own – curiouser and curiouser, where the absurd and the ordinary coexist. He showed me that even in madness, there's a strange kind of logic – a logic I'm still trying to decipher.”

Dr. Phinsky noted a steady resolve in Jeff's eyes, a testament to his growing emotional foundation. Despite her confidence, she asked, “You have meds in your new place in case I say?”

“A month’s supply still. Maybe less.”

“It renews twice more if you need it.”

“I’m going to begin another painting. This time, a winter scene. Maybe the Roanoke River frozen over.”

The appointment meandered through a discussion of painting techniques, how Jeff found a pre-stretched canvas, and his sharing of his latest artistic endeavor. Dr. Phinsky listened attentively, nodding along as Jeff spoke about his favorite colors and brushstrokes. The conversation then shifted to the practicalities of Jeff's new apartment, from navigating social awkwardness with neighbors to finding the perfect spot for his easel. The dialogue flowed easily, like a gentle stream, as they delved into the everyday stuff of life.

***

Jeff walked down Norfolk Avenue’s narrow sidewalk, past the Virginia Museum of Transportation as it bordered the chain-link fence guarding an idle set of rails that promised one or two very loud freight trains to pass later in the day. Here, also was the brightly spacious glass and steel Taubman Museum of Art that held his one and only painting that he tolerated to be on public display. The curators had asked for several more of his works, but no, he had decided; the world didn’t deserve more. Just one would have to be enough to satiate the critics who may or may not understand the levels of color and shapes of what he had granted them. Some had called it Impressionism while others had complained that it was too abstract. Most find it complex enough to study. He was amused to see them all try to figure out how he had gotten the finished image. Of course, his vision was his alone and no one would ever be able to duplicate the effects. It had taken delicate touches of abstract color that only he could merge into an impressionistic rendition of Wasena Park as the slow Roanoke River cut through it. And he knew it was not his best work. He always felt the pain of seeing the subtle mistakes he had left in whenever asked to speak at a showing of it. Yet, true to his artist reputation, he never mentioned them. Questions inevitably focused on how he could have capture creatures so vividly that were populating Wasena Park’s large, widened riparian corridor. Of course, the park as an aviary, produced an interesting variety of tanagers, thrushes, and flycatchers. In summer, however, one could see a yellow-throated and yellow warbler, an indigo bunting, a yellow-billed cuckoo, and even an American redstart. It was these creatures, cast in wild hues only capable of oil paints that had attracted such intense interest. Previous psychiatrists has suggested that he paint his visions and, having done so, shocked the Art community with the results of his early attempts. Perhaps, he thought, being crazy had its advantages. It had worked for Van Gogh.

Jeff walked around to Salem Avenue and through the glass doors of the front entrance of the Art Museum. He climbed his way past a gentle hum of conversation that filled the air, punctuated by the occasional clinking of cups and saucers. Friends, family, and strangers alike gathered, united by a shared passion for art and culture.

He knocked on the senior curator’s office door. “Karl, you got a moment?”

Karl Williams lit up his face with a broad smile. “Hi Jeff! For you, I always have a minute or two for you. ‘The River’ is finished?”

Jeff shook his head, “Sorry, Karl. It’s in the dumpster now.”

“What happened?”

“My dog ate it.”

A frown of incredulity struck the suit-and-tie executive, “You have a dog now?”

Nonchalantly, Jeff replied, “No.”

Karl laughed, “Okay. So don’t tell me.” He pointed to a white and chrome chair before his desk. “You will be working on another, yes?”

Jeff declined the offered seat. “That’s what I wanted to tell you,” he explained. “A friend of mine has a new job up at the Mill Mountain Zoo. He’s going to give me rides up there so I can poke around along the Blue Ridge Parkway.”

The Curator’s smile returned. “Oh, that should give you some awesome ideas. Just be careful of the traffic up there.”

“Won’t be none deep along the trails. Just trekkers lost and chasing butterflies or some such.”

“Joanne said that you’re off the streets now. I know it wasn’t us that put coins in your pocket. Where are you at?”

“The topside of Wasena Park. Anyway, Karl, I just wanted to let you know that I might be missing for a couple weeks. If I can get a good image out of my wanderings, I’ll let you hang it.” He started to back out to leave.

“Really? A second masterpiece? Alright, then! Our walls are your canvas, ol’ buddy. Just give the word, and we'll make it happen.”

The Curator's enigmatic smile faltered, his brow furrowed in puzzlement as the door whispered shut behind Jeff. Karl and Jeff had met a decade past when the two were studying art at Roanoke College. The two had spent many a night arguing over Karl’s Lutheran concept of God and Jeff’s atheist concept. He couldn't grasp why this fun-loving crazy but brilliant artist would decline the lure of financial rewards for his creations. Karl’s mind wandered painfully back to the abandoned laundromat, Jeff’s makeshift studio, where half-finished canvases and scattered studies seemed to pulse with creative energy. The adjacent mechanic's garage, a charred and crumbling sentinel, had leaned precariously against the laundromat's entrance, as if nature itself was trying to reclaim the space. Yet, amidst this neglect and decay, Jeffrey Gardner's artistry thrived, a beacon of beauty in the most unexpected of places. Great artists often were unconventional and Karl categorized Jeff’s obvious eccentricities as just part of him being an artist.

***

Deep within the emerald embrace of the Blue Ridge Mountains, a secluded clearing beckoned, shrouded in an aura of tranquility. Jeff gazed at towering trees, sentinels of the forest that stood discreet watch, their leafy canopies rustling softly in the breeze. Soft, ethereal light filtered through the branches, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor, where wildflowers swayed to the gentle dance of the wind. The air was alive with the sweet scent of blooming rhododendron and the soft chirping of birds, a symphony of serenity enveloping all who entered this hidden glade.

In this secluded haven, Jeff found solace, his creative spirit stirred by the majesty of nature. A weathered log, worn smooth by time and elements, invited him to sit, to breathe in the beauty, and to let his brushstrokes capture the essence of this peaceful sanctuary. The soft earth beneath his feet, the gentle rustle of leaves, and the warmth of the sun on his skin all conspired to calm his mind and awaken his artistry. As he began to paint, the forest came alive on his canvas, a testament to the beauty that surrounded him, and the serenity that resided within.

As Jeff's hands moved deftly, preparing his art supplies, his gaze wandered to the surrounding foliage. The gentle swirl of leaves caught his attention, and he paused, his brush hovering above the canvas. Something was amiss, a subtle disturbance in the underbrush that seemed to defy explanation. The movement was almost imperceptible, yet it sent a shiver down his spine.

Jeff's mind began to wander, questioning his own perception. Was he truly seeing something, or was it just a trick of the light? The memory of his past struggles with hallucinations crept into his thoughts, making him wonder if he was teetering on the edge of a familiar abyss. He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath to calm the rising unease.

As he reopened his eyes, the movement had ceased, leaving behind an unsettling stillness. Jeff's grip on his brush tightened, his thoughts racing with the possibility that his grip on reality might be tenuous at best. The forest, once a serene sanctuary, now seemed to hold secrets and whispers that only he could sense. The lines between reality and fantasy began to blur, leaving Jeff wondering if he was losing his footing.

With a sense of trepidation, Jeff returned to his canvas, his strokes hesitant and uncertain. The movement in the foliage lingered in his mind, a constant reminder that the world was full of mysteries beyond his comprehension. As he painted, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being pulled into a realm where the rational and irrational coexisted, and the boundaries of his sanity were tested.

Jeff's thoughts swirled with the dilemma, his mind torn between the desire for secrecy and the need for guidance. He knew that Dr. Phinsky, with her keen insight and gentle prodding, could help him unravel the mystery of the strange occurrences. Yet, a part of him recoiled at the prospect of revealing his fragile state, fearing that it might undermine the progress he had made.

The possibility of relapsing into the dark rabbit hole of his past hallucinations haunted him, and he wondered if sharing his experiences would somehow make them more real. Jeff's hands stilled on the canvas, his brush poised in mid-air, as he grappled with the weight of disclosure.

Dr. Phinsky's kind face and reassuring smile floated into his mind, and he knew that he had to trust her. She had been his anchor during the turbulent times, and he couldn't navigate these uncertain waters alone. With a sense of resignation, Jeff acknowledged that he needed to confide in her, to share the strange happenings that threatened to upend his fragile balance.

With a deep breath, Jeff made the decision to schedule an appointment with Dr. Phinsky, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he would have to confront his fears and doubts head-on. The canvas, once a source of solace, now seemed to loom before him like an uncertain future, as he steeled himself for the conversation that would change everything.

As Jeff's gaze lingered on the crackling foliage, a sudden, fleeting glimpse of a tiny, tousled head and a smudge of shadowy freckles across a small nose caught his attention. His heart skipped a beat as he realized that the subtle movements he had been sensing were, in fact, a tiny, visible form. A little girl, no more than eight years old, slowly emerged from the underbrush, her bright, inquisitive eyes scanning the surroundings as if searching for something.

The little girl moved with a quiet confidence, her small hands silently brushing aside leaves and twigs as she made her way through the dense thicket. She seemed utterly unaware of Jeff's presence, her focus fixed on some hidden treasure or secret only she knew. Her slow, deliberate movements belied a sense of mischief, as if she were savoring the thrill of exploration.

Jeff's brush hovered above the canvas, forgotten in the face of this unexpected apparition. He felt a whisper of wonder, a sense of enchantment wash over him as he watched the little girl's gentle progress. Her presence seemed to embody the essence of the forest, a spark of magic that ignited something deep within him.

As the little girl drew closer, her eyes still scanning the surroundings, Jeff's mind formed a single, urgent question: Who was this tiny, mysterious creature, and what was she doing here, in this hidden corner of the forest? He felt an overwhelming urge to reach out, to speak to her, but something held him back, a sense of reverence for this tiny, wild thing.

 

Chapter 2

The little girl had a slender build and stood at about four feet tall, with a wiry energy that seemed to radiate from her very pores. Her hair was a wild tangle of curly silver locks that often escaped her ponytail, framing her heart-shaped face with a soft, fuzzy halo. Was she albino?

Her eyes were a deep shade of blue, almost purple, with a mischievous glint that sparkled with curiosity. They were almond-shaped and slanted upwards slightly at the corners, giving her a perpetually cheerful look. Her nose was small and slightly upturned, giving her a pert, pixie-like appearance.

Her skin was a smooth, creamy complexion tinged with a mixture of pinks and blues while heavily influenced by the surrounding brush, trees, and grasses flooding the clearing’s image with calico verdigris. There, too, Jeff could see a smattering of light freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks likewise colored by nature’s malachite, jade, and olive hues. She had a small, button mouth with a subtle Cupid's bow, and a smattering of tiny, baby teeth that seemed to gleam with excitement whenever she smiled.

She wore no clothing, not a faded t-shirt nor even scuffed up sneakers that all little misses prefer to parade in. Proper modesty demanded at least a pair of pants or a dirt-smudged, grade-school jumper yet neither was presented. And the ongoing light, cool breeze would have necessitated at least a faded denim jacket as a constant companion, worn tight about shoulders perhaps like a badge of honor except this youth, curiously, wore just her skin. Obviously, she didn’t care if Jeff was as shocked as he was. Was there a swimming hole or rivulet stream nearby that she could have started out skinny dipping or perchance was on her circuitous way to?

Nevertheless, the little girl's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she explored the edge of Jeff's forest studio, her fingers trailing, with a gentle touch, over the surfaces of the beautiful light pink and white Mountain Laurel flowers of the shrub. She seemed to be searching for something. With a focus that excluded everything else, including Jeff, she darted her gaze between the art supplies and the easel, her intensity mesmerizing. Her small feet moved silently across a tapestry of textures and hues painting the meadow’s floor that both she and Jeff stood upon woven from the remnants of the seasons past.

As she wandered, her attention was drawn to the vibrant colors on Jeff's palette, the swirling brushstrokes on the canvas, and the way the light danced through the paint droplets. Silently, she reached out a hand to touch the edge of the canvas, her brow furrowed in concentration. It was as if she sensed a hidden world within the artwork, a secret realm that only she could see. Her acknowledgment of Jeff's presence was solely to navigate around him.

He could see that the little girl's search seemed to be driven by a sense of wonder, a desire to uncover the hidden patterns and connections that governed the world of art. Her eyes shone with a quiet intensity, a sense of purpose that was both captivating and unnerving. As she moved through the space, she seemed to be leaving behind a trail of subtle changes, a whispered promise of magic and possibility.

Despite her focus, the little girl's gaze soon drifted to Jeff, her eyes lingering on his face with a quiet fascination. He remained frozen for her except for watching her move about. She seemed to be studying the way his hands hovered near the canvas, the way his eyes sparkled as he watched, and the way his brow furrowed in concentration. It was as if she saw something in him, a hidden spark of imagination that she was determined to understand.

He didn't hesitate to pause his work, but her unwavering stare sparked a flurry of questions in his mind. Was she seeking insight into his art? Or was she simply captivated by the process? The silence between them grew thick with unspoken queries. Why didn't she speak up? Was she unable to, or merely choosing not to? The enigma of her gaze left him intrigued and uncertain. Where were her parents?

Jeff tolerated the intense scrutiny for several moments, his focus wavering only when the faintest whisper of a distant call carried on the breeze. The little girl's response was immediate and startling - a loud, melodic reply in a language that was utterly foreign to Jeff's ears. He strained to place the tongue, his mind racing through the possibilities. French, with its familiar cadence, was not it. Nor was it German, with its guttural edges, or Polish, with its distinctive rhythms. The sounds didn't evoke the musicality of Punjab or the tonal nuances of Mandarin either. Jeff's linguistic knowledge was limited, and he couldn't hazard a guess. All he knew was that the language was beautiful, exotic, and completely unintelligible to him.

As the girl's voice trailed off, Jeff found himself transfixed by the mystery of her words. Who was she speaking to, and in what language? The encounter had shifted from a simple observation to a fascinating enigma, leaving Jeff with more questions than answers. He felt like a traveler stumbling upon an unfamiliar culture, with no guidebook to decipher the customs or tongue. The girl's secret conversation had awakened a curiosity in Jeff, and he couldn't help but wonder what other secrets lay hidden beneath her enigmatic smile.

As she turned to leave, the realization hit him like a splash of cold water - he was hallucinating again. The familiar sensation of free-falling down the rabbit hole, just like Lewis Carroll’s Alice, was both disorienting and infuriating. He felt like he was losing his grip on reality, and it angered him. Why now, when he was so invested in his art? Why did his mind have to conjure up these fascinating, yet fictional, characters? He wanted them to be real, wanted to know more about the girl and the distant voice; he wanted to understand their secrets. But the fact that they were mere products of his imagination was frustrating. Dr. Phinsky was going to demand a return to his medication and many lengthy discussions of just how he had let this lapse in his connection to reality affect him so.

The interruption to his work was what really irked him, though. He had been in the zone, lost in the flow of painting, and now his concentration was shattered. The girl, the voice, the entire surreal encounter - all of it was just a distraction, a detour from his creative journey. He felt like he was being hijacked by his own mind, forced to indulge in fantasies when he should be focusing on his art. The irritation simmered, a low-grade frustration that he couldn't shake off. He took a deep breath, trying to refocus, but the memory of the girl's enigmatic smile lingered, refusing to be dismissed.

As he began to pack up his tools, he thought to give the hallucination one last affirmation. So he chastised the little girl. “It might be best if you put some clothes on when you explore like that.”

With a blurring turn, little girl faced Jeff, her eyes widened in surprise. She took a step back, as if reassessing the situation. “You can see me?” she asked, her voice laced with a hint of wonder.

Jeff burst out laughing at the question, a deep, hearty sound that filled the clearing. The little girl's expression changed from surprise to curiosity, and she took a step closer to Jeff.

“Why is that funny?” she asked, her voice clear and in unaccented English.

“Just because you are naked doesn’t mean that you are invisible.” He chuckled, packing brushes into his wooden box.

The little girl barked a brief but complex shout over her shoulder. The sudden arrival of a second nude, silver-haired girl was like a whirlwind, leaving Jeff's senses reeling. The two girls stood shoulder to shoulder, their eyes fixed on Jeff with an unnerving intensity. The brief exchange of words between them was like a rapid-fire burst of exotic music, leaving Jeff wondering, again, what language they spoke and what secrets they shared.

The silence that followed was oppressive, punctuated only by the sound of Jeff's own ragged breathing. He felt like a specimen under a microscope, with the two girls scrutinizing him with an unblinking gaze. The air was heavy with tension, and Jeff's skin prickled with goose bumps as he waited for something, anything, to break the silence of the fantasy.

The girls' faces were identical in their serenity, their features finely chiseled and delicate. Their eyes, however, were different – the first pair sparkled with mischief, while the new arrival’s stare seemed to bore into Jeff's very soul. The contrast was unnerving, leaving Jeff feeling like he was trapped in his mental rabbit hole from which he couldn't escape. But, then, why not enjoy it while he was un-medicated and unable to stop it?

Jeff decided to shatter the silence. “Do you two have names?” he asked, his voice breaking the stillness.

The girls exchanged a rapid-fire dialogue, their words tumbling over each other in the language Jeff found enjoyable to hear, although comprehension remained missing. Then, they returned their attention to him, their gazes piercing and unyielding.

Jeff shrugged, resigned. “Okay, we can stand here and stare at each other all day. But honestly, it's going to be a pretty dull hallucination.”

The second girl responded in English, but spoke to the first. “Crazy. Insane.” Her tone was dismissive, as if Jeff was a curiosity that had worn off.

The first girl countered, first in their native language, then in English, “I don't think that.” Her voice was measured, her words chosen carefully.

Jeff chuckled wryly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But unfortunately, I am insane. My doctor calls it schizophrenia. It's a curious thing – can a fantasy illusion know it's just an illusion?”

The second girl suggested, “Let's go. He's uninteresting.” She turned to leave, but the first girl lingered.

The first girl addressed Jeff, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “How can you see me? How can you hear me? Are you...” She used a word that meant nothing to Jeff, a term that hung in the air like an unanswered question.

Jeff smiled wistfully. “I'm an artist. I see and hear the world as it truly is, not as it pretends to be. Sometimes, like now, I see and hear the world only as a creation of my own mind – a mind that's flawed, but still searching for beauty.”

The second nude girl snorted in disgust, turned on her heel, and vanished into the emerald embrace of the leafy brush and foliage, leaving behind only the faintest whisper of her presence.

The first nude girl shrugged, her slender shoulders barely rising off her torso. “How is it that a flawed mind such as yours perceives me? I am as real as the sun's warmth on my skin.”

Jeff's curiosity got the better of him. “What is your name?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words tumbled out as she replied in her native tongue.

“Other than identifying you, does your name hold any deeper significance? What language is that?” Jeff asked, his fascination growing.

“My name captures the essence of the west wind, the gentle caress that brings light and early spring breezes to awaken the world from its slumber,” she explained, her eyes sparkling with glassy flashes.

Jeff's mind wandered to the mythologies he had studied. “In Greek lore, Zephuros was a god who embodied the west wind's gentle touch. May I call you Zephyr?” he asked, hoping to find a common ground.

She repeated the name, her lips curling into a gentle smile. “Zephyr... What is your name? What kind of wind do you bring?”

Jeff hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. “My name originates from German and English roots. It means 'to pledge peace' or 'to promise harmony.' In German, it also signifies 'traveler' or 'wanderer.'“ He paused, studying her reaction.

She stared at him, her gaze as still as a quiet pond.

“I am Jeff,” he added, feeling a sense of vulnerability, as if he had shared a secret part of himself. He glanced at the clearing’s edge where the second girl had disappeared into.

Zephyr's face lit up with a soft smile. “She is my sister. She is...,” Zephyr paused, searching for the right words in a language not her own. “She is the feeling of love, infatuation, excitement, and intensity. Like the beginning stages of a relationship, when everything is new and exhilarating.”

Jeff's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, enchanted by the description. “Ah, the spark of a new love. May I call her Spark?” he asked, his voice filled with a sense of wonder.

Zephyr nodded, her silver hair bobbing with the motion. “I will tell her,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But Jeff, Spark is...unpredictable. She can be fierce and all-consuming, like a wildfire that burns bright but brief.”

Jeff's smile faltered for a moment, but his curiosity kept him enthralled. “I'll keep that in mind,” he said, his eyes never leaving Zephyr's face. “But I have to ask, what are you, Zephyr? What is your essence, beyond the west wind and the bringer of light?”

Zephyr's eyes fluttered closed, her head tilted at a subtle angle, as if listening to a distant whisper. Her pause was brief, but Jeff sensed a depth of contemplation in that moment, as if she were communing with a wisdom beyond her years.

When her eyes opened, they shimmered with a knowing glint. “I am told that you call me a Pixie,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of mischief.

Jeff's mind raced with wonder. “‘Curiouser and Curiouser, said Alice.’” he murmured, quoting Alice's famous phrase.

Zephyr's brow furrowed, her expression puzzled. “Alice?”

Jeff chuckled, realizing he'd referenced a fantasy beyond her realm. “A different fantasy,” he explained, smiling. “Never mind. So, you're a Pixie. All Pixies are naked? Don’t wear clothing?”

“Are all…”, again, a word in her language, “… covered in things to hide skin?”

It was a fascinating paradox, the contrast between them. Zephyr, the Pixie, stood before him, unadorned and unashamed, her slender form radiating an ethereal glow. Meanwhile, Jeff, the human, felt cumbersome in his clothes, his tall frame awkwardly looming over her petite stature. The disparity in their ages only added to the enigma - Zephyr's youthful appearance belied an otherworldly wisdom, while Jeff's adult facade concealed a mind teetering on the brink of madness.

And yet, this dichotomy was entirely a product of his own fractured psyche, a symptom of the schizophrenia that Dr. Phinsky was so eager to “cure” him of. The doctor would likely view Zephyr as a manifestation of Jeff's subconscious, a symbolic representation of his deepest fears and desires. But Jeff couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her, that she represented a doorway to a world beyond the confines of his own sanity.

As he gazed at Zephyr, he wondered - was she a product of his mind, or a glimpse of a reality beyond his own? And did it even matter, when the lines between reality and madness had grown so deliciously blurred?

 

Chapter 3

“Close?”

“I think so.”

“Where?”

“Probably at the river.”

“Not the Star? I got boxes all up and down the river.”

“You can’t see?”

“Gotta be close.”

“Okay.”

“I need some sort of idea where.”

“He’s in the area. That’s all I can say. It’s too soon for him to go near the Star.”

“Ah. We’ll get him.”

“If you don’t, I’m going to kill him.”

“I said, we’ll get him.”

***

As Jeff continued to pack up his easels and brushes, the gentle rustle of the wind carried another soft whisper, a distant call that he now knew to be Spark. Zephyr's delicate features turned towards Spark’s demand, her eyes sparkling with a hint of curiosity. Then, her music-like voice blew with the breeze - “My Spark calls me,” she said, her words were effortlessly articulate and accent-free. With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she vanished into the foliage of the Blue Ridge Mountain meadow, leaving Jeff to wonder at the secrets that populated the illusion he was enjoying.

The warm afternoon sunlight cast its golden hues upon the clearing, gilding the edges of every petal, leaf, and blade of grass with a soft, radiant light as Jeff continued to gather his belongings, an idle smile revealing his amusement. The imaginary encounter with Zephyr and Spark had left him delighted, he would definitely attempt to capture the essence of the magical moment on canvas. As he made his way down the mountain trail towards his ride home from Mill Mountain’s zoo, the whispers of the wind grew fainter, but the memory of Zephyr's ethereal voice and the sparkle in her eyes lingered, inspiring his thoughts of future brushstrokes and beckoning him to return to the meadow's dream and two whimsical sprites.

The days that followed were a blur of routine for Jeff, but his heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. He couldn't shake off the memory of Zephyr and Spark, their mischievous grins and playful antics lingering in his mind like a gentle breeze. As he went about his vagabond life, he found himself smiling at strangers, exchanging pleasantries with his new neighbors, and even whistling as he wandered through the streets.

Grocery shopping became a more enjoyable task, as he imagined Zephyr and Spark flitting about the aisles, hiding behind pyramids of canned goods and leaping out to surprise him. He chuckled to himself as he selected fresh produce, picturing the pixies playing hide-and-seek among the leafy greens.

Even his usual dumpster diving expedition took on a new sense of adventure, as he half-expected to find a pixie perched atop a pile of discarded treasures, waiting to grant him a wish. Though he found nothing more remarkable than a few usable scraps, his imagination ran wild with possibilities.

As the week drew to a close, Jeff made his way to Dr. Phinsky's office, feeling almost... hopeful. This would be the first session with her since his encounter with the pixies, and he wondered what she'd make of his newfound optimism.

As he settled into the familiar couch, Dr. Phinsky greeted him with her usual warm smile. “So, Jeff, how's life been treating you this week?” she asked, her eyes intense with curiosity.

Jeff hesitated, though, unsure how much to share. But something about Dr. Phinsky's kind demeanor put him at ease, and he found himself launching into a vivid account of his pixie encounter, leaving out no details, no matter how fantastical they seemed. Dr. Phinsky listened intently, her expression unreadable, as Jeff relived the magic of that unforgettable day.

Dr. Phinsky leaned forward, her eyes locked intently on Jeff's. “I'm afraid, Jeff, that your encounter with these... pixies, was merely a hallucination. A manifestation of your subconscious mind.” She scribbled some notes on her pad, her expression unreadable.

Jeff felt a pang of disappointment, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that Dr. Phinsky knew that he was indulging in enjoyable daydreams. “I guess you're right, Doc. I mean, I know pixies aren't real.” He sounded uncertain, even to himself.

Dr. Phinsky's expression turned grave. “Actually, Jeff, in some mythologies, pixies are considered demons of lust and corruption. They're known to prey on human desires, manipulating them for their own purposes.” She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I'm worried that these... visions of yours might be related to your... other issue, Jeff.”

Jeff's heart sank, as he knew exactly what Dr. Phinsky was referring to. His pedophilia, the dark secret he'd been struggling to suppress. He felt a wave of shame wash over him, and he couldn't meet Dr. Phinsky's gaze. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Maybe I am just projecting my own... desires onto these pixies.”

She continued. “Painting can be a powerful therapeutic tool, Jeff. It allows us to express emotions, to process experiences, in a way that words often can't. And I think, for you, painting these pixies could be a way to release some of that pent-up energy, to let go of some of the shame and guilt that's been holding you back.”

Dr. Phinsky's voice was firm but gentle. “We'll explore this further, Jeff. But for now, I want you to be cautious. If you experience any more of these... encounters, I need to know. And Jeff?” He looked up, meeting her gaze. “Be careful what you wish for. These... pixies might not be what they seem.”

Jeff stepped out of the psychiatrist's building to stroll through Roanoke’s familiar street encampments, his mind reeling with a mix of emotions while images drifted back to the silver-haired pixies he had met in the meadow. Although Spark had been a stunning creature, his thoughts were consumed by Zephyr. Her ethereal beauty and gentle spirit seemed to be the only beacon of light in his otherwise turbulent world. He wondered if he would ever find his way back to such a wonderful distortion in reality, or if she was only going to be a fleeting glimpse of perfection.

The city streets seemed to blur around him as he stepped over a slumbering silhouette-like old woman, his feet carrying him on autopilot while his mind wrestled with the demons that haunted him. Jeff felt like he was trapped in a never-ending cycle of confusion and despair, with no escape in sight. These pixies might not be what they seem, Phinsky had said. But they were just a dream. Right? The sole constant in his ramblings was the captivating memory of the silver-haired, nude young girl, a bittersweet echo of the forbidden allure that he yearned for, a taboo that gripped him.

Jeff paused again to huddle in the shadows of a crumbling alleyway; his mind escaped to the sun-drenched paddock where he had been painting and had met the two of them. But it was Zephyr’s image that danced before his eyes, a vision of loveliness that mocked the bleakness of his surroundings. He recalled the way her hair cascaded down her back like a river of moonlight, the delicate features of her face, and the gentle cadence of her voice. Every detail was etched in his memory like a work of art, a masterpiece he couldn't stop gazing at. He knew he was going to paint her portrait. Could he paint his pixie girl’s appearance perched on a twisted tree branch, her platinum strands fluttering in the breezes? Could he capture this whimsical scene on canvas with subtle brushstrokes carrying vibrant oil paints to capture the gentle play of light and shadow on her shimmer azure skin and the soft curves of her feminine youth? She danced, still unclothed, in his imagination, beckoning him to bring this enchanting vision to a painting. He fixated on her tiny sensuous frame, her dainty hands, and her feet, which seemed to barely touch the ground as she moved. The contrast between her ethereal beauty and the harsh reality of his own existence was almost too much to bear. He clung to the memory of her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight, and that incredibly magical moment of the gentle touch of her hand on his undercoated canvas wishing that it had been his skin. His obsession with her grew with each passing moment, a bittersweet reminder of all that had evaporated into the past dream and all that he might never have again. He knew he had to find a way back to her, to recapture the magic of that astonishing moment in the meadow, no matter how impossible it seemed.

In the midst of downtown’s squalor and despair, his thoughts of her remained throughout the day. He knew that they were just that: flights of fancy, weightless wonderings. Not real, no matter how much he wanted such intangible notions to be real.

With the day’s scavenging tasks completed, Jeff retreated to his apartment.

As he dried his hands on his pant legs after washing his one supper dish, the knock at the door broke the silence of his new residence. His neighbors were not conversational enough to intrude and he would never invite anyone over. Curiosity got the better of him, and he made his way to the door.

When he opened it, he was surprised to see Karl Williams standing in the hallway, the typically friendly smile on his face ushering in the aroma of a hot pizza box. Reminiscing of their college days, a shared pizza was always welcomed. But what could possibly bring him to Jeff's doorway today?

“Hey, Jeff! I wanted to bring you congratulations on the new place,” Karl said, his eyes scanning the room behind Jeff. Jeff's mind raced as he tried to process Karl's sudden presence.

As Jeff invited Karl in, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The pizza visit seemed too coincidental, too out of character: formal Karl versus hermit Jeff. They both sat down on milk crates in the living room, surrounded by art supplies, old clothing and blankets, broken tools, and used magazines and books. Karl began with questions that seemed genuine. He wanted to know about Jeff's inspiration, his current creative process, and his plans for future pieces.

But just as Jeff was starting to relax, Karl's eyes landed on a particular sketch, one that Jeff hadn't shared with anyone nor ever would. Zephyr, unselfconsciously bare and beautiful. A shiver ran down Jeff's spine as Karl's gaze lingered on the paper, a strange intensity burning in his eyes. In their friendship, they had never discussed Jeff’s pedophilic orientation for obvious reasons. Suddenly, Jeff wondered if Karl's visit was really about art at all. What was he hiding? And why was he really here? What would he say about a drawing of a nude little girl?

 

Chapter 4

The Zephyr’s pose accentuated the gentle, childish curves of her body, from the soft slope of her shoulders to the striking straight lines of her boyish hips. Her spine arced gracefully, a smooth, fluid line that lead the eye to the gentle curve of her lower back. The elegant contours of her thighs and calves were obviously those that all 10-year-old goddesses possess, a harmonious balance of shape and form. As she sat, her youthful chest’s softness echoed in the rounded curve of her belly. The overall effect is one of serene, understated beauty that had granted Jeff complete freedom to capture her likeness with sensitivity, nuance, and obsession.

Karl’s gaze studied the nude pencil drawing noticing just how anatomically correct it was. He mumbled to himself, “Well, that’s a fucking surprise that’s going to put a crimp in things.”

“What?”

“I said that’s a beautiful thing. Are you planning to paint her in oil?” he asked Jeff.

But Jeff shook his head, “Nah, the drawing didn't turn out right. She looks too young.”

Karl’s eyes lingered on the meticulously crafted shadings, wondering if Jeff was being entirely truthful.

Moving on, Karl’s eyes scanned the finished paintings randomly stacked against the bare apartment walls, and he quickly found the one that had caught his attention weeks earlier at the old laundromat where Jeff had been staying. The painting depicted a wingless bird circling a nondescript tree near the Roanoke River. “That's the one!” Williams exclaimed, his curiosity piqued. “Where is that tree?” he asked with urgency, his eyes fixed on the canvas. “And what inspired you to paint the bird without wings?”

“You paint what you see; I paint what I see,” Jeff said enigmatically, “but I'm not going to show it.”

Karl’s eyes lingered on the painting. “It's beautiful, though. I'd love to photograph it. Is that a real tree?”

Jeff nodded, seemingly puzzled by the question. “Yup, it’s real.” Relieved that Karl hadn't pressed him further about the nude drawing and eager to steer the conversation away from it, Jeff quickly went on to describe where he had painted that particular tree. “It stands alone on a small promontory, where the Roanoke River bends sharply to the east, just upstream from the old steel truss bridge at Riverdale.” He described how its branches stretched towards the water, commenting that it was as if it was reaching for the river's tranquil flow. “On the opposite bank,” he said, “the worn wooden docks of the Riverdale Marina jut out into the river, weathered to a soft silver gray. The tree's isolation and striking silhouette make it a hauntingly beautiful setting.” It had been beautiful, he thought. He knew it would be easily visible from the winding river road that follows the Roanoke's gentle curves. “If you paint it, I get a commission from it.”

The two laughed, “Yeah, right! You? Money? But, seriously, I’m fascinated by the wingless birds. You have paintings of them in other locations?”

***

Taylor swept his gaze across the darkness, the only sound the gentle lapping of the Roanoke River against its banks. His hand-held VHF radio crackled, and his supervisor's voice echoed through the night air, “Remember, team, the creature will only show up on the scanner. Anything that moves, net it!”

Taylor adjusted the scanner's box-like screen, its glow casting an eerie light on the surrounding foliage. He trudged through the dense underbrush, his electronic net at the ready, its mesh glinting like a metallic spider's web.

The scanner's silence was oppressive, punctuated only by the occasional static burst. Taylor's eyes darted between the screen and the darkness, his senses on high alert. Suddenly, the scanner beeped, and a blip appeared on the screen. Taylor's heart quickened as he called out to his supervisor, “I've got something here! Moving in on the target!”

He crept forward, net poised, his eyes fixed on the scanner as the blip grew larger. The underbrush seemed to close in around him, the shadows twisting into menacing forms. Taylor's skin crawled, but he pressed on, driven by his supervisor's urgency.

As he burst through the underbrush, a calico cat emerged from the darkness, its eyes glowing like reddish-yellow lanterns. Taylor's instincts screamed “false positive,” but his supervisor's voice shouted back, “No, that's the target! Capture it, Taylor!”

Taylor hesitated, but his supervisor's conviction propelled him forward. He lunged with the net, but the cat twirled, dodging the mesh with ease. It counterattacked silently, claws flashing, and Taylor stumbled back, gasping for breath in shock, his skin burning as the cat's claws raked across his face, arms, legs, and crotch.

The cat's agility belied its size, its movements a blur as it wove around Taylor's defenses. Taylor's net flailed wildly, but the cat evaded every swipe, its claws noiselessly finding their mark again and again. Taylor's vision blurred, his body screaming in agony.

In a desperate bid to end the fight, Taylor lunged forward, net and all. But the cat was ready, its claws flashing in a deadly arc towards an exposed neck. But Taylor felt his back explode in excruciating agony, his vision dissolving into darkness. He crashed to the ground, his body wracked with convulsions.

When his supervisor finally arrived, Taylor lay motionless, his chest barely rising with weak breaths. His body was unmarred, without a single mark or wound. The supervisor's face contorted in horror as he checked Taylor's pulse, but there was none. Taylor's body went still, his eyes frozen in a death stare.

The calico cat's eyes seemed to gleam a deep blue, almost purple, in the darkness, its presence still palpable as the supervisor stumbled backward, his voice hoarse with astonishment, “Taylor's down... He's dead...” The night seemed to swallow the words whole, leaving only the sound of the Roanoke River flowing inexorably on.

***

Grabbing his easel from the back seat of the car and dropping his box of paints, brushes, chemicals, and rags to the ground, Jeff offered a broad smile, waving goodbye to his neighbor as he closed the door, leaving him poised at the mountain trailhead. “Thanks again for the lift! I’ll be staying all night, tonight. I want to catch some dark colors.”

“You sure you're ready to tackle this trail? It looks a bit rough.” the neighbor asked, his voice laced with a hint of adventure.

“Heck yeah, I’ve done lots of this!” Jeff shot back, his words bursting with a sense of fearless enthusiasm.

As he meandered down the mountain trail, his wooden easel slung over his shoulder, he felt the warm morning sun dancing across his face. The scent of pine and earthy dampness filled his lungs, invigorating his senses. His paints, brushes, and solvents rattled and clinked in their boxes, a symphony of creative possibility. The trail wound on, a serpentine path that beckoned him deeper into the woods. Ferns and wildflowers swayed in the breeze, their delicate forms a tantalizing contrast to the sturdy, weathered wood of his easel.

The trees grew taller, their canopies a kaleidoscope of greens, as Jeff made his way down the narrow footpath. The sound of a hidden stream grew louder, its gentle gurgling a soothing accompaniment to his footsteps. The air vibrated with the songs of birds… winged birds, he thought… a joyous chorus that seemed to match the rhythm of his heart. Jeff's eyes roamed, searching for telltale movement that might be a pixie but all he saw was the vibrant tapestry of colors and textures. Still, though, he felt alive, connected to the natural world, and the art that awaited him.

The morning slipped away into the afternoon, and as the sun dipped below the treetops, a serene stillness settled around him. Jeff set aside his daytime artwork and mounted a fresh, dark canvas on the easel, ready to begin his next creation. Night's veil drew near, and Jeff sat entranced, his eyes locked on the tree trunks as they stood like sentinels, their rugged forms slowly succumbing to the shadows. The last remnants of daylight faded, plunging the forest into an inky blackness. But then, the full moon rose above the distant mountain peak. Its gentle light danced across the tree trunks, illuminating the scene Jeff had been waiting for – a moment of magic he hoped to bottle on his canvas.

Zephyr, a fleeting whisper of light and shadow, reemerged from the darkening underbrush, her slender form blending seamlessly with the rugged pine tree bark before flashing back into visibility like a firefly's gentle glow. Her presence was a mesmerizing dance of hide and reveal, as if the forest itself was conspiring to conceal and disclose her mystical beauty. Jeff's eyes, attuned to the magic of the night, caught sight of her, and he couldn't help but be struck by her ethereal beauty matching his daydreams of her. Her skin, like moonlit petals, glowed with a soft, otherworldly light, and her hair, a wild tangle of silver-blonde locks, seemed to shimmer with a life of its own.

“Zephyr, you look lovelier than ever,” Jeff breathed, his voice barely audible over the rustling of leaves. The pixie's gaze, like a flash of starlight, met his, and she smiled, her lips curling upward like the petals of a flower. Yet, even as he admired her, Jeff still wondered at pixies' peculiar custom of eschewing clothing. It seemed to defy the conventions of mortal modesty, and yet, on Zephyr, it seemed as natural as the rustle of leaves or the song of a brook.

“Why do your kind never wear garments?” Jeff asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Your beauty is already captivating, but wouldn't clothing only add to your allure?” Zephyr's laughter, like the tinkling of a bell, echoed through the forest, and she leaned in, as if to share a secret. Jeff's heart skipped a beat, wondering what wisdom she might impart, what mystery she might reveal.

“I will find garments to put around me if you remove your garments.” With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she darted back to the bush, her image a blur as she flitted about, continuing her game of hide-and-seek among the leaves. She watched Jeff with an unblinking gaze, her curiosity getting the better of her, her eyes locked on him with the concentrated fascination of the mythical being his evening daydream was creating for him.

“Zephyr, what's become of Spark?” Jeff inquired, a hint of concern creeping into his voice. “I've been looking forward to dreaming of her again. Is she still playing hide-and-seek among the sleeping wildflowers?”

Zephyr's laughted, “Oh, Spark's on a mission to delight the snails! They've been pleading with her for the elusive,” Zephyr's voice rose to an unintelligible squeak, “mushrooms, a treasure that Spark's vowed to uncover! She's been scouring the forest floor for hours, leaving a trail of happy creatures in her wake.”

“What kind of mushrooms?” Jeff's eyebrows knitted together as he tried to make sense of Zephyr's words.

“Oh,” she replied, “Like a feyhorn trumpet, dark brown, or with a grayish or bluish tint, just a bit shorter than my knees, smooth and slightly wrinkled under their dresses.” Zephyr's face lit up with another mischievous grin. “They're ripe for the picking, and Spark's nose is leading the way.” She giggled, her voice barely above a whisper. “Follow the apricot fragrance, and you'll find the mushrooms – and maybe even Spark herself, dancing among the trees.”

“We have to be careful about mushrooms. Some of them can be poisonous if we eat them.”

Zephyr's grin widened, her eyes shining with mirth. “A mushroom connoisseur, I see! Spark will get along famously with you, then. And yes, we pixies do enjoy a good snack, just like our slimy friends. But we prefer to savor the flavors, rather than slurp them down like the snails do.” She chuckled with amusement. “Though, I must say, the snails do have a certain... enthusiasm for their food.”

“Oh, no! Not me. But other humans love them.”

“Would you like me to call her, so you can see her?” Zephyr's soft, serene voice posed the question.

“I'm happy to just let this dream unfold as my mind fashions it,” Jeff replied, his eyes locked on Zephyr's mischievous grin.

“Dream?” Zephyr's eyebrows arched with curiosity.

Jeff's gaze faltered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I'm hallucinating you. This is one of my dreams. If I keep...”

Zephyr's expression softened, her eyes filled with concern. “I'm sorry, I don't know that word.”

Jeff's shoulders slumped, his eyes downcast. “A dream is how... Never mind. I told you when we first met, I'm insane. Schizophrenic. You're just an illusion, a product of my bent reality.”

Zephyr's face fell, her motions stilled. “I am an illusion?”

Jeff's voice cracked, his words laced with pain. “A beautiful one, but yes.”

Zephyr's eyes flashed with determination. “I am real! You are real! The mushrooms are real! How can I be an illusion?”

Jeff's gaze drifted away, his voice barely audible. “My mind is making you up because I like looking at you.”

Zephyr's voice rose, her words tumbling out in a passionate torrent. “What if I'm far away, and you can't see me? Does your mind create another Zephyr? When I'm far away, I'm still real! I don't care if your mind is having an illusion!”

Jeff's eyes snapped back to Zephyr, his face twisted in anguish. “If you're real, then I'm not insane... But I am insane, so you have to be an illusion.”

The air was heavy with tension as Zephyr pressed on, her voice gentle but insistent. “Why do you like to look at what I appear to be?”

Jeff's face contorted, his voice strangled. “If you're an illusion, I can answer that... If you're real, then I shouldn't answer that.”

“What do you see?” She spread her hands to refer to her body.

“I see a naked little girl who I love to look at because you appear to me to be a naked little girl.”

“I am naked. I am little. I am a pixie. You are not a pixie. You are not naked. You are not little. Are you an illusion to me?”

Jeff paused. “You are confusing me.”

Zephyr's eyes shone with tears, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why do you like to look at a naked little girl that I appear to be?”

Jeff's gaze dropped, his voice a mere whisper. “Can we talk about something else?”

Zephyr's face lit up with a soft smile. “Mushrooms?”

Jeff's head jerked up, relief washing over him. “That would be much better than...”

Just then, a whirlwind of leaves, twigs, and a blue streak burst into the clearing, sending Zephyr's hair flying. A high-pitched chatter erupted as the blue pixie enveloped Zephyr in a flurry of squeaks and growls. Zephyr's eyes sparkled, her face aglow, as she chattered back, oblivious to Jeff's stunned silence.

Zephyr's voice pierced the air, summoning Spark with an urgent tone. She pointed uphill, her finger quivering with intensity, and dispatched the blue pixie with a swift hand gesture. The blue pixie shot off like a tiny arrow, vanishing into the underbrush.

Spark burst into the clearing, her eyes wide with excitement, and exchanged a rapid-fire conversation with Zephyr. Their chatter was like a flurry of sparks, filling the air with an electric sense of purpose. Jeff remained frozen, his eyes fixed on the whirlwind of activity before him.

As suddenly as it began, Spark took off, dashing uphill with a determined look on her face. The blue pixie reappeared, beckoning her onward, and together they vanished into the dense foliage. Jeff's confusion boiled over, and he finally broke his silence.

“What's happening?” Jeff asked, his voice rough from disuse. Zephyr turned to him, her expression a mix of concern and focus. She hesitated, as if weighing how much to reveal, before responding...

She began, “My cousin did something very violent and…”

“Spark?”

“No, a cousin, a queen.”

“How many…” Jeff interrupted himself, “What happened? What was violent? Pixies can be violent?”

Zephyr hesitated, weighing her words carefully. Finally, she spoke, her voice measured. “Some science people... were trying to take one of my cousin's males. He was grazing on a nearby berry bush, unaware of the danger closing in around him. Males don't think much, they just... exist. My cousin's sister tried to protect him, but they... pursued her. My cousin intervened and stopped one of them.”

Jeff tried to approach Zephyr to console her but she stiffened, indicating she did not want Jeff to approach. So Jeff asked, “Was anyone hurt? Your cousin stopped the science person with violence?”

Zephyr's gaze lingered, as if torn between departure and revelation. Her slender form seemed to waver, like a leaf in an uncertain breeze. Then, with a quiet resolve, she turned back to Jeff. “She... bestowed upon the science person... his fadement,” Zephyr's voice trembled, as if the words themselves held a sorrowful weight.

A pause, heavy with unspoken thoughts, hung in the air before she continued. “Jeff, I must away. This violence... it weaves a tapestry of puzzles. How are science people able to pursue us? How do you, a human, perceive and converse with us? These enigmas swirl, a maelstrom in my mind, yet I must tend to my cousins. The call of their distress beckons, a siren's whisper I cannot ignore. I will watch for you later. Tomorrow, maybe.”

Zephyr's gaze, like a soft breeze, caressed Jeff's face, and for an instant, her eyes shone with a glimmer of hope. But then, the weight of her responsibilities and the secrets of her world seemed to descend upon her once more. Jeff's voice laced with worry, he asked “Let me come with you. Maybe I can help somehow?”

Her voice barely above a whisper she replied, “Your presence, though well-intentioned, would only add peril to our midst. We must navigate the shadows, unseen and unheard, to protect our kin and our way of life.” As she darted uphill with increasing urgency, Zephyr's light blue skin deepened, gradually shifting through shades of blue and violet, until her exertion finally flushed her complexion to a radiant, almost ultraviolet hue and she was gone.

***

As Jeff slowly opened his eyes, the warm rays of sunrise pierced through the trees, illuminating his face. The gentle light crept across the forest floor, casting a serene ambiance. But, his tranquility was short-lived. A shadowed figure emerged, eclipsing the sunlight and casting a dark silhouette over him. He instinctively smiled, expecting to greet Zephyr or Spark.

However, as the figure stepped closer, Jeff realized it was a new pixie, unlike any he had seen. She looked comparable to Zephyr, just as naked, about the same age, with the identical slender yet athletic build but hers seemed to radiate tension. Her delicate features, usually a hallmark of pixie beauty, were now twisted in a scowl, her tiny nose wrinkled and her full lips pursed. Her eyes, a deep, rich violet, flashed with a fierce intensity, like two dark stars burning bright with inner fire. Her silver-white hair, cut in a choppy, pixie-like style, framed her heart-shaped face, adding to her aura of fierce determination.

Despite her anger, the pixie's light blue iridescence shone through, casting an ethereal glow on her skin. However, her radiance was muted, as if overshadowed by her dark emotions. Her small, graceful limbs seemed taut, as if ready to spring into action. Her tiny hands, usually so expressive, were clenched into fists, adding to the sense of contained fury. Overall, this pixie exuded a sense of coiled power, like a storm waiting to unleash its full fury.

She struggled to form words, her lips trembling with effort. Finally, she managed to stammer, “You, no go. Stay... still, yes?” Her broken English was laced with a hint of aggression, leaving Jeff bewildered and frozen in place. His muscles tensed, ready to defy the tiny pixie's command, but something in her fierce gaze made him hesitate. He slowly relaxed back onto the forest floor, his eyes locked on the little girl's determined face. She stood less than two feet tall, perhaps an inch or so shorter than Zephyr, her ears quivering with agitation. The sunlight managed to dance across her skin, highlighting the delicate patterns of what looked like glistening dust, but her expression remained stern.

“No. Still!” she repeated, her voice firm, brooking no argument. Jeff's curiosity got the better of him, and he wondered what she wanted with him, but he remained motionless, intrigued by the tiny, fierce creature standing guard over him.

Her pixie, childlike eyes opened even further as Jeff's deep voice uttered a single, curious syllable: “Why”.

The sound sent a puff of sparkles of dust rising from her skin, for it meant he had not only seen her but also understood her words. In her experience, the giant two-legged beings were oblivious to her kind, their senses dull to the presence of pixies. Yet, this one had detected her, and his query hung in the air like a challenge. The pixie's gaze bore into Jeff, as if searching for an explanation within his very being. She had revealed herself in her approach as a test, expecting indifference, but his response had turned the tables. His awareness of her was unthinkable, and the implications swirled in her mind like a whirlwind. “Ah! See you me. Hear you me. Abnormal creature!”

Just as Jeff was about to reassure the pixie that he meant no harm, a flash of deep purple, almost ultraviolet, streaked across his vision. Zephyr, alone, flew in from the treeline, bright sparks of dust spreading from the trail she had just created. She came to an abrupt halt mere inches from the pixie standing over Jeff, her eyes blazing with an intense, almost fierce, light. The air seemed to vibrate with tension as the two pixies faced each other.

The pixies burst into a high-pitched, staccato conversation, their words tumbling over each other in a language that sounded like the tinkling of tiny bells. Jeff's ears struggled to keep up, but he was surprised to find that he could pick out a few words amidst the torrent. His name, “Jeff”, was mentioned twice, and he caught a phrase that sounded like “zhar-kal”, which he somehow intuited meant “family”. The word wasn't English, but it sparked a connection in his mind, and he felt a shiver run down his spine. Was he actually starting to understand the pixie language?

As the pixies continued their animated discussion, Jeff's mind raced to keep up. He sensed that Zephyr's arrival had shifted the dynamics, and the pixie standing over him seemed to be explaining something to Zephyr. The irate little girl's expression changed from fierce to curious, and she shot Jeff a glance that seemed to hold a mixture of surprise and intrigue. The air was electric with tension, and Jeff felt like he was on the cusp of something momentous, something that could change everything.

Just as the conversation between the two pixies seemed to be escalating, an ultraviolet Spark emerged from the underbrush, her bright, inquisitive eyes fixed on Jeff. However, before she could take another step, Zephyr whipped around to face her, her tiny hands raised in a halting gesture. A sharp, staccato phrase burst from Zephyr's lips, and Spark froze, her expression flashing with surprise. To Jeff's astonishment, he comprehended the phrase, grasping the meaning behind Zephyr's urgent warning: “Nirixi, sha!” - “Back, sister!” Zephyr's command was clear: Spark was to keep her distance. Jeff's mind reeled as he processed this new understanding, his connection to the pixie language growing stronger with each passing moment. Zephyr and the other pixie’s conference soon calmed to a relaxed discussion.

As the two little girls reached their understanding, they sealed their agreement with a delicate touch. Their fingertips met, and a brief, shimmering circuit of light flashed between them, like a spark of electricity. The connection was fleeting, but its significance was clear. Throughout the meeting, Zephyr's ultraviolet glow had begun to fade, gradually shifting to a deep purple, and then a rich, dark blue, like a sunset on a summer evening. The intense energy that she and Spark both had displayed moments before seemed to dissipate, replaced by a sense of calm determination. With their pact made, the two pixies separated, leaving Zephyr, Spark, and Jeff alone.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Jeff asked Zephyr, “What was all that about? Who was she, and why was she so angry at me?” Zephyr and Spark, now seated together on the grass, facing Jeff, exchanged a glance. Zephyr's iridescent glow had returned to its calm, light blue state, matching Spark's.

Zephyr began to explain, “She is the queen of a neighboring country.”

Spark clarified, “Aerthys.”

Zephyr smiled at her and turned back to Jeff, “She had heard about you and your unique ability to see and hear me.” Zephyr's gaze locked onto Jeff's, her expression serious. “She wanted to determine if you posed a danger to our kind.”

Jeff's confusion deepened. “Why would I be a danger because of my abilities?” He leaned forward, eager to understand. Zephyr's expression turned somber, and she hesitated before responding.

“All pixies have heard about the death of the science person by the queen from a third pixie tribe,” Zephyr said, her voice barely above a whisper. Spark interrupted with, “Her tribe is Luminari.”

Jeff's eyes widened as he grasped the implications. He asked, “Do you mean 'family'?” and then, surprising himself, he asked the same question in the pixie language, “zhar-kal?”

Zephyr's eyes went wide, and she sat up straight, her gaze fixed intently on Jeff. “Korvu sha?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly, her question meant to ask how long Jeff had been able to understand.

Jeff replied in English, “It just started happening.” Zephyr's expression remained stunned, her mind reeling from this unexpected revelation.

Spark's words tumbled out as she spoke to Zephyr, “See? Insane. Many insane people can see and hear us.”

Zephyr replied, “He does not appear to be insane.” She glanced at Jeff then back to Spark.

Jeff replied, “But I am. If I take medications, all of you will go away.”

Zephyr raised a silvery eyebrow and directly faced Jeff again, “I do not go away. I am not a hallucination.”

Jeff chuckled, “What fruitful path can a mind take when it's already lost its way?”

Spark stood and her words tumbled out in a hurried jumble, leaving Jeff bewildered. He turned to Zephyr, hoping for clarification, but the pixie's enigmatic smile only deepened the mystery. Zephyr's response, “Niamon,” was equally perplexing.

However, Zephyr's expression transformed, and she decided to explain. “Niamon is...a guardian. My elderly queen mother, wise beyond measure, who has not yet chosen fadement to the ground.” Zephyr's eyes sparkled with a knowing glint. “Her wisdom is boundless, and her counsel invaluable. Two of us and you should go to converse with her.”

Jeff's curiosity was piqued. “What makes you think we should visit her? Because of what happened last night? You are part of her family?”

Zephyr's gaze turned thoughtful. “She is Zhilin. Spark and I are Zhilin. Our family. Niamon's insight would be invaluable in navigating our current...uncertainties. And I believe she would be willing to share her wisdom with us.”

Jeff's mind raced. “Where do we find her?”

Zephyr's nod was deliberate. “Near the great waters, where the river's flow is stemmed by the hand of...your kind.” She paused, studying Jeff's face. “You might know it as the place where the waters are held back by a barrier of stone and steel.”

Jeff's eyes widened as understanding dawned. “You mean Smith Mountain Lake?”

Spark, who had been quietly observing the exchange, spoke up. “That is the name given by...those kind who dwell in the surrounding lands.”

Zephyr's smile returned, and she nodded. “Yes, let us go to Niamon. I sense that her guidance will be crucial in the days ahead.”

Jeff gazed down at his attire, taking in the smock and pants splattered with vibrant, mismatched paint stains, and pondered Zephyr's words. His artistic endeavors had left their mark on his clothing, and he wondered if his colorful appearance would be fitting for an audience with the wise and enigmatic Niamon. “Wait, should I...um...remove my clothing? I don't want to offend Niamon.”

Zephyr's laughter was a tinkling breeze. “Niamon is not one to be offended by physical appearance of fake skin. She would see the true nature of the wearer, rendering the covering irrelevant. Her wisdom is beyond such petty concerns.”

Spark, however, chimed in with a mischievous grin. “I have seen many of your kind become embarrassed without their fake skin.”

 

Chapter 5

Jeff, Zephyr, and Spark set out on their journey down from Mill Mountain, eager to reach the distant Smith Mountain Lake and meet with Niamon. Jeff imagined her as a pixie Oracle of some sort and was excited to learn from her. The morning sun’s golden light filtered through the leaves in mottled patterns, casting a warm kaleidoscopic glow over the landscape as they made their way through the winding trails.

While they walked, the trio discussed the recent events that had shaken their world conversing in a mix of English and the musical, symbolic words of the pixie people. Jeff was rapidly acquiring some of the twittering phrases and descriptive nouns. The death of the science person at the hands of the Luminari tribe queen was a topic of great concern. “How did they even manage to track us?” Zephyr wondered aloud. Spark shook her head, “It is a puzzle. Our families have always been able to evade detection when needed.”

Jeff listened intently, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he could see and hear pixies at all. It was a gift Zephyr had told him, one that few humans possessed. Spark scolded her, pointing out that many humans, though perhaps a bit unhinged, share this extraordinary gift. Spark teasingly called Jeff crazy, but Zephyr's gentle smile implied she thought otherwise, her eyes sparkling with a hint of defiance. But why him? Zephyr asked if his queen was a bit unhinged. He giggled. He had so many questions, but the pixies seemed just as perplexed as he was. Jeff explained that he did not know his biological past, having grown up without knowing his parents or his true heritage.

The trail grew more rugged, and the trio found themselves pushing through dense underbrush. Zephyr led the way, her agility and quick reflexes allowing her to navigate the tight spaces with ease. Spark followed close behind, her eyes roaming the terrain surrounding them, alert for any sign of intercept or pursuit.

As they walked, the conversation turned to Jeff's unique abilities. “Do you think it has something to do with your unknown past?” Spark asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. Jeff shrugged, “I've always felt like there's something missing, but I never thought it was connected to...this. I just considered that insanity was my lot in life.”

Zephyr stopped suddenly, her head cocked to one side. “Wait,” she whispered, “do you hear that?” Spark and Jeff fell silent, listening. A faint humming noise drifted through the air, like the quiet buzzing of a harp string. It was the giant Smith Mountain Lake Dam.

The pixies exchanged a knowing glance. “There's a hidden path nearby,” Zephyr explained, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “This way and we shall surprise a raccoon or two.” And with that, she vanished into the underbrush. Spark winked at Jeff, “Come on, human. Let's see if you can keep up with her wings.”

Jeff hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, his eyes adjusting to the sudden shift in scenery. “Wings?” he thought, his voice barely a whisper.

The hidden path unwound before them, a serpentine trail that wound deeper into the heart of the forest. The humming noise grew louder, and Jeff felt a thrill of excitement. Did Niamon live at the dam? What other secrets lay hidden in this enchanted world?

As they walked, the trees appeared to lean in, their branches tangling overhead, while the trunks grew taller and the air vibrated with an eerie, unnatural power. With the dam slowly receding behind them, Jeff could feel the weight of the forest's magic pressing in around him, and he knew they were getting close to their destination. Niamon, she had said. Queen Mother. Would a wise old pixie look old? The two little girls moved with purpose, their knowledge of the path guiding them toward Niamon as they led him deeper into the heart of the looming woods.

Jeff was beginning to get frustrated as he struggled to follow the duo of pale azure creatures but, as they emerged from the dense underbrush, a breathtaking clearing unfolded before them, encircled by a stately colonnade of towering Eastern White Pines. These ancient giants, sentinels of the forest, stretched toward the sky with elegance and poise, their trunks strong and straight, their canopies a vibrant tapestry of emerald green. The air was alive with the typical soft rustle of their needles, a gentle whisper that seemed to carry the secrets of the ages. The clearing itself was bathed in a warm, ethereal light, as if the very essence of the forest had been distilled into this singular, magical space. Along the far side of the clearing, two majestic Eastern Hemlocks stood watch, their slightly shorter forms a testament to the ancient sagacity of the forest. Their gnarled trunks, twisted with the weight of centuries, also rose like colossal pillars, supporting a canopy of soft, bristly foliage that seemed to shimmer in the shaded light. One stood firm and dark green while the other was adorned with delicate white blossoms affixed to many of the greenish grey bristles. Amidst this verdant splendor, a score of pixies flitted about, their cerulean bared forms dancing amidst the pine needles and whispers of the wind. Like tiny, shimmery jewels, they sparkled and shone, their laughter and music weaving a spell of enchantment that seemed to draw the very heart of the forest into this sacred space.

Jeff, unaware of the pixie social hierarchy, offered a respectful bow as a gaunt, taller figure approached. Zephyr turned to witness Jeff’s idea of decorum but Spark's giggles filled the air as she corrected him, 'You're bowing to a drone! He's not a queen or a royal, just a...a shell, really. No thoughts, no feelings, just a vessel.”

“Oh.”

Jeff's face flushed with embarrassment as he realized his mistake. He absently swatted at a nearby beetle, but Spark's giggles turned to a gentle reprimand. 'No, don't hurt it! That little beetle is our helper. It's keeping the hemlock tree safe from harm.”

He frowned and began surveying the clearing for anything that could be a Queen Mother. Spark guided Jeff's gaze back to the hemlock tree and pointed to the beetle swarm that was laboring to save the tree from an adelgid pest infestation. Zephyr moved closer to Jeff, grabbed his hand and gently tugged him lower so he would face a tiny, six-year-old little girl. The little girl's eyes sparkled with mirth, and her wild silver tangle of curly hair seemed to quiver with excitement as she gazed up at Jeff. Zephyr's voice whispered in his ear, “My Queen Mother.” Jeff's eyes widened in surprise, for this tiny, mischievous creature was the last being he would have imagined as a monarch.

Spark took a step back and the other two misty blue girls stood facing and staring at Jeff as he gently lowered himself and knelt before them.

Niamon: “You wish me to decide?”

Zephyr: “No. I already have.”

“Why come to me?”

“Another like him threatens.”

“It is for Luminari.”

“No. All.”

“Enlighten.”

“Luminari could not hide.”

“Fading Luminari.”

“No. The other threatens.”

“How?”

“Ask.”

The two remain silent for a moment. Then the nude little girl gestured to Zephyr who turned abruptly and left with Spark.

In unaccented, fluent English, the little Queen Mother began her discussion. “Do you want me to sit on your lap?”

Jeff opened his eyes wide and stood straight up. “What?”

“Did that thought not go through your mind?”

“You’re short and you look like a little girl but I know you are the leader of Zephyr’s family.”

She laughed heartily, “I no longer lead. I now teach.”

Jeff pointed to a fluff of thick grass and sat on it with a plop. The tiny girl moved to approach him. He held up his hand, “No. Stay out of my lap.”

“But you do want me to, yes?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Jeff chuckled, “You don’t mince words, do you?”

“I teach.”

“So you said.” He asked, “What makes you think I would want…”

“Why do you prefer Zephyr?”

“How do you know my English name for her?”

“Is ‘how’ important? Tell me why you prefer Zephyr.”

“Did she tell you that I was insane? Crazy? Spark thinks so.”

“Don’t you think so, as well?”

“Yes. I am. I have shrinks that tell me all the time.”

“So that makes you insane?”

“I see you.”

“And if I’m real?”

“You are not.”

“Can you prove it?”

Jeff sighed. He knew it was a trick question. His hesitation drew moments longer but he finally replied with a question of his own, “What’s this all about? Why can I see…? How can I see you and all the pixies? Why did the Luminari Queen kill a science person? Who was that science person?”

“May I finish my inquiry?”

Jeff snorted. “Ask away.”

“Do you want me to sit on your lap?”

He gestured with his hand that she could.

“Is this what you want?” She paused. “You?” she emphasized, “Don’t lie.”

He stared at her. She knew him, somehow. “Yes. I would like that.”

She remained where she stood. “This is why you prefer Zephyr?”

“Yes.”

“A pixie?”

“Well, of course. But…”

“You want to have sex with her?”

“I think I want to get up and leave now. This isn’t a very fun hallucination anymore.”

“Hallucinations are lazy thinking. Can you answer my last question?”

“Have you asked your last question?”

The Niamon laughed, “Ah! Semantics. Good point.” Still chuckling, she repeated the question she wanted him to answer, “Do you want to have sex with Zephyr?”

“Yes.”

“Will you?”

“Can I?”

“No.”

“Then I can’t.”

“Would you attempt to?”

“Would she want me to?”

“No.”

“Then, no.”

“See? Not crazy. This investigation is completed.”

“I see,” he concluded. Then added, “My turn.”

“Proceed.”

“How can I see you if you are real? Nobody else can see you. Unless, of course, as Spark says, they are crazy.”

“It is not known.”

“You are real?”

“If I was not, would I not say I was anyway?”

“This isn’t getting me anywhere.”

“You are finished your investigation?”

Jeff scoffed in frustration. “No.”

“Proceed.”

He thought for a moment more. What could he ask her to help him understand more of what was going on?

“Why do pixies not have wings?”

“I don’t have wings?”

“No.”

“Yet, I have. Lack of seeing does not indicate lack of existence.”

Jeff sat puzzled. She claimed to have wings and Spark had mentioned them before.

She prompted, “Your conclusion?”

“I have no conclu…” Jeff stopped abruptly. “How old are you?”

“Old.”

“How tall are you?”

“I am not tall. My feet are just closer to the top of my head than your feet are to the top of your head.”

“That’s a silly way of saying I’m taller than you.”

“Why ask?”

“I think I have reached my conclusion now.”

“Shall we discuss other things?”

“You don’t want to hear my conclusion?”

“I asked to hear it previously yet you avoided describing it.”

Jeff smiled, “I see you and Zephyr and Spark and all the other pixies as I want to see you and them.”

The solemn Queen Mother replied, “Your people have a propensity to vigorously pursue your wants and desires. This, then, is what I was searching your mind for. I tested to see if you control your susceptibilities.”

“And your conclusion?”

“You are still here, yes?”

“I’m not a threat to you.”

“No.”

“Zephyr will be pleased?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Ask.”

“Later,” he replied. Then he asked, “Why did the Luminary kill the science person?”

“I am told that the science person wanted to capture a Luminary.”

“Why?”

“Ask.”

“Is this your job here? You protect the trees?”

“The tree needed help. Should we not help?”

“Why? It’s just a tree. What kind of help would a tree need? It has plenty of water and a good place for its roots.”

“She is ending. It is not her time.”

“The tree is female?”

“The tree is a tree. But she was once a great Queen Mother who had decided on her fadement here.”

“The tree used to be a pixie?”

“My Queen Mother, yes.”

“You will become a tree when you have your fadement?”

“I have not decided yet.”

“Soon?”

“How do you define ‘soon’?”

Jeff laughed. “Semantics! Good point.” Then he asked, “If you teach but not lead, who leads?”

“A pixie family Queen leads her family.”

“Who is Zephyr’s family’s Queen? May I meet her?”

“You have.”

Jeff thought for a moment. Then smiled.

***

Irritated man: “I thought I told you not to call unless you had something else concrete to give me.”

Exasperated woman: “They are not at the river.”

“Well, not any long…” There was a pause. “They?”

“There’s more than one.”

“How many?”

“No idea. But the Reader is showing some really intense indicators.”

“Are they with him?”

“At first. He went up to Mill Mountain and…”

“Great. We’re on our way.”

“Uh, hello? Can’t you wait? Let me finish explaining the Reader's readings before you rush off on a wild goose chase. The Reader is showing that the center has moved.”

“Okay. Where to?”

“Southwest. Somewhere near the lake.”

“At the dam?”

“No, the center is about the middle of the lake so they could be anywhere along the shore.”

“Well that’s a big fucking help.”

“Get a boat and sit in the middle. You should catch something.”

“You want me to go fishing?” he seriously asked.

“Funny,” she complained sarcastically. “No, your scanners should catch a glimpse. Probably many.”

“Did he go with it? Them, I mean?”

“Probably not… Maybe… Hell if I know.”

The man’s voice grew somber. “We lost a good man last night.”

“Yeah, I heard. What did he do, fall?”

“The Virginia Department of Health said cardiac arrest but he and all my staff had to pass thorough physicals. How his heart stopped is beyond me.”

“Hit a power line?”

“None in the area. And no burn marks. No marks at all, really. He said that he had gotten a solid contact but it was a cat.”

“Yup. That’s how they appear. Sometimes as birds, sometimes as skunks, mostly small animals of some sort. It depends on what the person expects to see that would make sense in that environment.”

“Hmm. Okay.” He paused. “Somewhere on the shores of the lake, then?”

“Yup. All but one, okay? You keep just one.”

***

The little girl walked hand in hand with her visitor as they stepped slowly back into the main clearing. With a sigh, Jeff said, “It’s been a long day so far. I need to get something for lunch. What do you guys eat?”

The Niamon shrugged, “No pixie consumes life to sustain life.”

“You don’t eat leaves or nuts or berries? Things like that?”

“Would you eat your cat?”

“I think people in Vietnam eat cats.”

“If your foot fell off, would you eat it?”

Jeff wrinkled his nose. “You don’t eat rocks or dirt, do you? What do you drink?”

The tiny sage explained that her kind, including sprites, fairies, nymphs, tylwyth teg, brownies, and pixies, cannot consume living things to sustain themselves. Instead, they rely on sunlight to exist. Additionally, she stated, tylwyth teg and leprechauns absorb liquid starlight, according to ancient lore.

“Liquid starlight?”

“Our words for drinking alcohol.”

“You don’t sleep at night?”

“Fairies do. Sometimes. Tylwyth teg and leprechauns do.”

Spark flitted into the clearing, carrying a delicate straw basket adorned with tiny, intricate flowers. The basket was overflowing with an assortment of juicy, wild fruits, carefully selected from the area about them. Plump blackberries, ripe raspberries, and small, sweet strawberries (which Spark called “feyberries”) filled the basket, alongside a few wild plums, their purple skin glistening in the sunlight. The fruits were arranged artfully, with a sprig of fresh mint and a few edible flowers added for garnish. The aroma of the fresh berries wafted through the air, enticing Jeff to partake in the sweet treat. Spark's eyes twinkled with delight as she backed into the obscuring nearby greenery.

Jeff hesitantly began to sample the assortment of wild fruits, savoring the sweet and tangy flavors. Niamon watched him with an amused smile. Once Jeff felt comfortable, he turned to her and asked, “Do you turn colors with different emotions? Like, do you get darker blue if you get angry?”

Niamon’s eyes shined as she began to explain the intricacies of pixie physiology. “When we exert physical force, whether it's for flight, dance, or any other reason, we generate excess energy. This energy must be released, and we do so by altering the frequency of light that we contribute to the ethereal mist of the feyfold.”

She gestured gracefully, “The more energy we need to release, the higher the frequency of light. It's a gradual progression, really. We start with blue, then shift to purple, and finally, deep violet. But that's not all - as we continue to release energy, we move into the ultraviolet range, and beyond.”

The miniature Queen Mother's voice took on a musical quality, as she described the symphony of light. “As we reach the higher frequencies, our energy release becomes more... nuanced. We enter the realm of glimmering, where our light begins to shimmer and dance. From there, we move into songweaving, where our energy takes on an intense harmonizing with the feyfold itself.”

“And finally,” she concluded, her eyes shining with delight as she taught her new student, “We reach the pinnacle of mirthstreaming. Ah, that's a truly wondrous state - our energy is released in a sparkling cascade, blending with the feyfold in a blast of cosmic light. It's a truly magical experience that few pixies can survive creating.”

“How is it that people cannot see you.”

“That’s the feyfold,” Niamon began, “It’s the realm that underlies your physical world. It's an ethereal mist, woven from the threads of what you would describe as magic and wonder. Humans, such as yourself, possess a unique gift – the ability to sense the feyfold. Your minds, attuned to the whispers of the mist, create a reality that mirrors the ever-shifting landscape of the feyfold.”

She paused, then continued softly, “You see, the feyfold is not a fixed place, but a fluid, dynamic realm. It ebbs and flows, responding to the emotions, thoughts, and experiences of those who inhabit it. When humans tap into the feyfold, their minds create a corresponding reality, a reflection of the mist's whispers. This reality is not always concrete, but rather a dreamscape, shaped by the individual's perceptions and beliefs. It is why you see us with what your pedophile mind creates, us as little naked girls.”

The little pixie’s eyes sparkled with delight as she lectured. “But we fairie life possess the ability to step outside the feyfold, should we desire or need. We can move beyond the boundaries of the mist, into the realm of the imaginarium. It's a simple matter, really – we merely shift our focus, and our essence follows. We become non-corporeal, taking on a lack of form that allow us to become impossible to detect in any way by any Conscious-essence.”

Her voice took on a hint of wonder. “The feyfold remains with us, a constant companion, whispering secrets and guiding our steps that weaves together the threads of magic and your physical reality.”

“But us crazy people can see you.”

“Yes. Unless we step outside into the imaginarium. Then we are not detectable at all. But now? Now, the Luminary did exactly that yet the science people could still see them. And, from what Spark and Zephyr have told me, it is the same with you although I’ve not tried it with you myself.”

“Go ahead. I'll let you know if I can't see you.”

A moment passed, and Niamon shrugged, her slender shoulders barely rising off the forest floor. She seemed to blend into the surroundings, her pixie form shimmering with a strange form of light.

Jeff reported that his sight of her never wavered, her image remaining crisp and clear in his mind's eye. He wondered why the science person wanted to capture a pixie. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Having a captured pixie would be a groundbreaking achievement, a coup for the physicists, and a potential goldmine for cosmologists, medical researchers, and lawyers. The implications were staggering – unlocking the secrets of pixie biology, understanding their connection to the natural world, and possibly even harnessing their unique energy.

He offered, “When I go back to Roanoke, I can ask about the dead guy if you like. I could try to find out more about it.” Jeff's mind was racing with questions, but one lingered above the rest: “But why is this happening now and not back when pixies first evolved on this world?” The timing seemed peculiar, and Jeff's curiosity was piqued. What had changed? Was it something in the environment, or perhaps a shift in human understanding? The mystery deepened, and Jeff's curiosity to uncover the truth grew.

Jeff sank into a grassy knoll at the edge of the clearing, enchanted by the pixies' complicated ballet beneath the Hemlock trees. Though their actions seemed subtle, he was aware that they were nurturing the trees in some hidden way. He turned to Niamon, curiosity getting the better of him, and asked, “What's my part in this enigmatic tale? How do I fit into the world of pixies and ancient magic?”

She laughed, “Yes, your kind does love to put history into words that you can be happy with.” She gently crawled onto his leg, spun around daintily, sat in his lap and leaned back against his chest. “Behave while I lecture.”

“You are testing me again?”

“I wish a soft place to recline.”

Jeff smiled down at her and she began, “In the dawn of human civilization, when your kind first began to shape the land to their will, we pixies felt the tremors of their ambition. The ancient forest of Dartmoor, where our kin once danced under the moonlight, was cleared for farming and settlements. Your people, unaware of our presence, disrupted the delicate balance of nature, causing our essence to falter.”

“They couldn’t see you?”

“Not then, no. During the Middle Ages, as human cities grew and trade routes expanded, our paths crossed in unexpected ways. We would tamper with merchants' goods, replacing valuable spices with worthless leaves or tangling their hair in knots. Your people, attributing these pranks to 'fey mischief,' never suspected our kind's involvement.”

“Oh,” Jeff laughed, “We had a good idea. Much has been written about you.”

“In the 17th century,” she continued, “as the scientific revolution took hold, your people began to probe the secrets of nature with increased curiosity. Alchemists, seeking the philosopher's stone, inadvertently stumbled upon our essence. They mistook our luminescent trails for the glow of precious minerals, leading to a series of comical misadventures.”

“Leprechauns’ pot of gold?”

“So I’m told,” she replied drily. “During the Industrial Revolution, as you harnessed the power of steam and coal, our habitats were disrupted once more. Our people, displaced from their ancestral homes, found themselves in the midst of bustling factories and soot-choked cities. We adapted, playing tricks on the workers and causing minor malfunctions in the machinery.”

Zephyr darted by, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she fixed Jeff with a piercing gaze. He responded with a gentle smile, and their eyes held a brief, wordless conversation of their own. In an instant, she was gone, swallowed by the foliage, leaving Jeff with a sense of wonder at the fleeting encounter. Was she upset with him? With Niamon? Or just curious?

He focused on what Niamon was saying. “In the early 20th century, as your science people delved into the mysteries of quantum mechanics, our essence began to resonate with their discoveries. Pixies, intrigued by the strange new theories, started to manipulate probability fields, causing minor fluctuations in the behavior of subatomic particles. Science people, oblivious to our influence, attributed these anomalies to experimental errors or equipment malfunctions.”

“You think this quantum stuff is what the dead science guy was after?”

“No. I think what he wanted is unknown at this time. I think that, with a newly discovered understanding of quantum mechanics, science people have found a way to dip into the Feyfold. That’s been done before, long ago. As for how, that’s beyond me. I’ve never studied that part of our mutual history. But what scares me more is…” she hesitated.

“He might have been looking,” she explained, “for you.”

 

Chapter 6

Jeff sat silently in a small, plush cushioned chair in the reception area, surrounded by calming watercolors and the gentle hum of a fountain. Soft morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a warm glow on the polished wood floor. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted from a nearby side table, where a few dog-eared magazines lay scattered. The sound of muted chatter and keyboard clicks drifted from the adjacent office, but Jeff's gaze remained fixed on the floor.

“Jeff?” Dr. Phinsky's voice called out from her doorway.

No reply.

“You, Jeffery Gardner!” she said with a hint of playful sternness.

Jeff stirred, his eyes slowly focusing. “Here!”

Dr. Phinsky chuckled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “I know where you are. Would you like to step into my office now?”

Jeff stood, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands as if trying to shake off a lingering dream. He shuffled into her office, the soft carpet muffling his footsteps. The familiar room was a soothing sanctuary of earthy tones and lush green plants, with a few strategically placed art pieces that seemed to whisper words of serenity. He eased himself into the cushioned leather chair opposite her desk, sinking into its comforting depths.

She smiled warmly, her eyes sparkling with genuine interest. “So, sleepy head, how was your week?”

He answered softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “It was a week.”

Dr. Phinsky's gaze lingered on his face, her expression concerned. “Did you eat this morning?” As she spoke, her eyes darted to his hands, checking for signs of extrapyramidal tremor – a telltale indication that he wasn't taking his Haloperidol.

Jeff's response was almost inaudible. “No.”

“Do you wish to go back home and sleep it off or do you want to chat with me today?” Dr. Phinsky asked, her tone gentle but probing.

Jeff's eyelids drooped, then snapped back open. “Sorry, Doc. I’m getting my days and nights twisted around again.”

“Is that bothering you, then?” Dr. Phinsky leaned forward, her elbows resting on the desk.

Jeff's shoulders barely lifted in a shrug. “No. I’m used to it doing that. I just let the day/night drag into night/day and then back around again. No problem. Just weird of me, I guess.”

As Jeff spoke, Dr. Phinsky's eyes never left his face, her attention absorbed in the nuances of his words and the subtle language of his body.

“So. Mill Mountain.” Dr. Phinsky leaned back in her chair, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

“Yeah. I…” Jeff's words trailed off, his gaze locking onto Dr. Phinsky's. “Doc? How do you know I’m painting up there now?”

Dr. Phinsky's eyes sparkled with a warm smile. “Oh, there’s a news article… an art newsletter from the museum downtown that has an article on you. You’re quite famous, I see.” She gestured to a neatly stacked pile of magazines on the edge of her desk. “The article mentioned that you shifted to Mill Mountain to do studies there.”

Jeff's expression turned guarded, his shoulders inching upward. “Oh.”

The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the brief silence before Dr. Phinsky asked, “So how is it?” Her eyes, filled with genuine interest, encouraged Jeff to open up.

What should he tell her? Surely she would be pushing for him to get back onto meds again if he told her more about Zephyr. But, he had to trust her. Jeff's palms grew moist as he hesitated. “I’m not going back on Haldol, Dr.”

Dr. Phinsky's eyebrows arched slightly. “Okay. Why bring that up?”

Jeff's voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve been seeing pixies. And, before you comment, no: they’re not hallucinations. They are real.” His eyes darted around the room, as if checking for unwanted listeners.

Dr. Phinsky's expression remained neutral, but a hint of surprise flickered in her eyes. “Pixies are real?”

Jeff stopped and chuckled, a low, self-deprecating sound. “Well, that does sound crazy. But…”

“But?” Dr. Phinsky leaned forward, her elbows resting on the desk.

Jeff's voice gained conviction. “I don’t know, Doc. I’ve had hallucinations before. This ain’t it. These people are real.”

Dr. Phinsky nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving Jeff's face. “Okay.”

Jeff's words spilled out in a rush. “So, I’m going to paint some of the settlements that they have. You want me back on Haldol?”

Dr. Phinsky's expression turned thoughtful. “I’ve prescribed it for you, Jeff. But so long as you are comfortable with what’s been happening to you, I’ll withhold my judgment until you begin losing your grip on reality again.”

Jeff's gaze narrowed. “You don’t think they are real.”

Dr. Phinsky's hesitation was almost imperceptible. She reached over to her desk recorder and turned it off, the soft click echoing in the silence. “I, uh…” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I know they are real, Jeff. Just as you know they are.”

Jeff's eyes widened, surprise etched on his face. “Really?”

Dr. Phinsky nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “Really. We have a word for them.”

“Pixies.” Jeff's voice was laced with skepticism.

Dr. Phinsky's smile grew. “No.”

Jeff leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “What?”

Dr. Phinsky swiveled in her seat to face Jeff directly, her eyes locked onto his. “You remember when I asked you to join our church?”

Jeff's expression turned wary. “I’m atheist, Doc. You know that.”

Dr. Phinsky's voice took on a persuasive tone. “But, still. I think you will make great strides with the fellowship that you will find with us.” Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

Jeff's curiosity got the better of him. “What words do you have for my pixies?”

“They are a group of creatures called the succubi and incubi.” Dr. Phinsky's voice was measured, as if gauging Jeff's reaction.

“Is that Latin?” Jeff's brow furrowed, intrigued.

“Actually, yes.” Dr. Phinsky nodded. “Succubi are female; incubi are male.” Her eyes never left Jeff's face, monitoring his response.

Jeff's expression turned whimsical. “Well, they are all little pixies so I’ll call them that, if you don’t mind.” A hint of defensiveness crept into his tone.

Dr. Phinsky's smile was warm and reassuring. “Sure. And they inhabit Mill Mountain?” She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the desk.

Jeff shook his head. “No. They’re down close to Smith Mountain Lake.” His gaze drifted off, as if conjuring images of the lake's serene waters.

Dr. Phinsky's eyes narrowed slightly. “So you’re painting there now?” Her voice was laced with curiosity.

Jeff's response was noncommittal. “Some.” He fidgeted in his chair, the leather creaking softly.

Dr. Phinsky's expression turned thoughtful. “Don’t you get lost in all that forested area?” The concern in her voice was genuine.

Jeff's face relaxed into a gentle smile. “Yeah, but they help me get there and back up to The Star so Dwayne can give me a ride back off the mountain.” His eyes sparkled with gratitude.

Dr. Phinsky's expression turned serious. “You know what succubi do?” Her voice was low and measured.

Jeff's brow furrowed. “Pixies?”

Dr. Phinsky's smile was wry. “Okay, pixies.” She leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers.

Jeff's voice was filled with wonder. “They take care of trees. Other stuff, too.” His eyes seemed to glaze over, lost in memories of the pixies' gentle touch.

The air conditioner’s muted purr filled the silence again, as Dr. Phinsky absorbed Jeff's words, her expression a mask of neutrality. “They will try to seduce you, Jeff. That’s their way. And, with your pedophilia background, this is why you see them as naked little girls.”

Jeff said nothing.

“Little girls, Jeff. Are you sure they are succ… pixies?”

“Oh. Definitely. Their skin lights up as a very light blue with silver-ish white hair.”

“And you want to have sex with them.”

“Funny that you should ask that,” Jeff said, a hint of introspection in his voice. “Niamon challenged me about it.” His eyes drifted upward, recalling the conversation. “I told her that it was something I wanted, but I would never violate their laws, just as I would never violate Virginia laws.” His tone was resolute, underscoring his determination.

Dr. Phinsky's expression turned inquisitive. “Niamon now is the name for your female pixie?” She leaned forward, her pen poised over her notebook.

Jeff shook his head. “No, that’s Zephyr.” A soft smile spread across his face at the mention of Zephyr's name. “Niamon is Zephyr’s Queen Mother. She’s retired.” His tone conveyed a deep respect for Niamon's authority.

Dr. Phinsky's eyes narrowed slightly. “So that’s Zephyr, Spark, and Niamon.” She ticked off the names on her fingers, committing them to memory.

Jeff's gaze expanded, as if encompassing the entirety of the pixie village. “Yeah, but there are about 30 or 40 more all around. It’s quite a small village.” His voice filled with wonder, conjuring images of a thriving, hidden community.

The morning sunlight filtering through the blinds cast a warm glow on Dr. Phinsky's face, illuminating her thoughtful expression. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving Jeff's face. “Tell me more about this village,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jeff's eyes sparkled, eager to share the secrets of the pixie village.

***

The Gothic Revival styled Basilica of Saint Andrew with its prominent bell tower, ribbed vaults, and a facade adorned with intricate stone carvings stood proud upon its hill overlooking the city it served. The building's rustic appearance, complemented by beautiful stained-glass struck Jeff as somewhat antique and archaic for such a bustling modern city as Roanoke. Dr. Phinsky smiled and explained that it was first built in 1902.

Upon entering the basilica, the doctor and patient were greeted by a spacious nave flanked by side aisles, a grand altar, and a magnificent organ. The interior was adorned with ornate wood carvings, including a beautifully crafted pulpit and intricate detailing on the pews. The church’s most striking feature, however, were those stunning stained-glass windows, which depicted various saints and biblical scenes. As sunlight streamed through them, the kaleidoscope of colors shifted across the stone floors. And for a fleeting moment, Dr. Phinsky’s slate-gray turban glowed emerald, then sapphire, as if absorbing the light itself.

She reached up almost reflexively, her fingers tightening along the silk where it met her temples, before smoothing it back into place. Then, quieter, just above a whisper: “The Basilica of Saint Andrew has played a significant role in the spiritual life of Roanoke's Catholic community for over a century. Twenty-five years ago, it was officially designated as a minor basilica by Pope John Paul II as he recognized its historical and spiritual importance. Today, this is my beloved place of worship, our testament to the city's rich cultural heritage.”

“It’s a nice church,” Jeff sighed. “So, show me what you have to show me.”

Dr. Phinsky indicated a small, ornately carved doorway with a gold frame, its delicate details gleaming in the light. “Through here,” she said, her voice leading the way, “and we'll make our descent.”

In the cozy basement auditorium of the church, a warm and intimate atmosphere enveloped the space. Soft lighting illuminated the room, casting a gentle glow on the folding chairs arranged in a semicircle. A humble table stood off to the side, hosting a steady coffee machine that gently gurgled and brewed, filling the air with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The gentle hum of conversation and occasional clinking of cups created a soothing background melody.

Amidst this peaceful setting, a group of nine women had gathered, all dressed in calming blue and white robes that seemed to radiate serenity. Their faces were aglow with warm smiles as they engaged in calm and respectful discussions. Their voices were hushed, yet animated, conveying a sense of camaraderie and shared purpose. As they conversed, their hands gestured gracefully, emphasizing points and illustrating ideas. The air was filled with an atmosphere of mutual support and understanding, and created a sense of sacred community among these women.

As Dr. Phinsky and Jeff descended the final step into the basement auditorium, the soft murmur of conversation droned on ignorant of the two’s arrival. The gentle hum of the coffee machine seemed to slow, as if holding its breath. One woman spoke out in a voice that resonated through the silence like a clarion call: “Hannah!”

The room seemed to shudder, as if the very mention of the name had sent a jolt of electricity through the assembly. The blue and white robed women turned as one, their faces swinging towards Dr. Phinsky with a unified motion, their eyes burning with a mix of curiosity and a hint of something more profound. The atmosphere was electric, the silence palpable, as the room held its collective breath, awaiting the response, the revelation, or the reckoning that was to come.

Then, the collective gaze of blue and white group zeroed in on Jeff. The air was heavy with anticipation, the silence so profound that the faint hum of the coffee machine seemed to fade into the background. The women's eyes, burning with an intense curiosity and suspicion appeared to bore into Jeff's very soul. The room seemed to hold its breath, the stillness so absolute that the faint tick of a clock or the soft rustle of fabric would have been jarring. Time itself seemed to have slowed, as if the universe was holding its breath, awaiting Jeff's response, his revelation, or his reckoning. The weight of the collective gaze was palpable, and Jeff stood at the center, frozen, as if trapped in the midst of a moment that would forever alter the course of his destiny.

Dr. Phinsky's voice resonated through the room, “Sisters,” and then she paused, letting the single word hang in the air like a challenge. The room remained frozen, as if time itself had been arrested, awaiting her next words. The blue and white robed women seemed sculpted in place, their eyes fixed intently on Jeff, their faces masks of anticipation.

She continued, her voice measured and deliberate, “Jeffery Gardner... my patient.” The words hung in the air like a revelation, heavy with significance. Still, the silenced women remained motionless, their collective breath held in rapt attention.

Dr. Phinsky's voice broke the spell, “Shall we discuss how we can help Jeff with his fight?” The question seemed to shatter the trance, and the room exhaled collectively, the tension dissipating slightly. Yet, the weight of the moment remained, and all eyes turned to Dr. Phinsky and back to Jeff, their gazes filled with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Dr. Phinsky's voice was gentle and genuine as she began to introduce Jeff to the women. “Jeff, this is Sister Margaret, our leader in spiritual guidance. She's been instrumental in helping many individuals find their path.” Sister Margaret's face radiated warmth as she smiled and extended her hand to Jeff.

As Dr. Phinsky continued the introductions, each sister greeted Jeff with kindness and compassion. “This is Sister Elizabeth, our expert in herbal remedies. She's created wonderful treatments to soothe the body and soul.” Sister Elizabeth's eyes sparkled with concern as she nodded hello. The other sisters followed suit, their faces filled with empathy and understanding.

The atmosphere in the room had transformed, replaced by a sense of unity and purpose. The women's earlier suspicions had given way to a collective desire to support and help Jeff. As Dr. Phinsky finished the introductions, the sisters encircled Jeff, their faces aglow with warmth and encouragement. It was as if they had all come together to form a protective circle around him, ready to offer their guidance, care, and compassion.

After mingling with the others, Dr. Phinsky's voice was laced with a hint of amusement as she approached Jeff, a gentle smile playing on her lips. “Jeff, I think there's been a misunderstanding,” she said, her eyes sparkling with warmth. “You mentioned earlier that you thought we were nuns, didn't you?” Jeff nodded, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. Dr. Phinsky chuckled, “Well, let me clarify. We're not nuns, but rather a group of women dedicated to supporting and serving our community.”

“We're similar to the Knights of Columbus, but exclusively comprised of women,” Dr. Phinsky explained, her tone filled with pride. “We're a sisterly order, bound together by our shared values and commitment to helping others.” The women surrounding them nodded in unison, their faces radiating a sense of unity and purpose. Jeff's eyes widened in understanding, his expression transforming from confusion to curiosity.

Dr. Phinsky's smile broadened as she placed a gentle hand on Jeff's shoulder. “We're glad to have you here, Jeff. You're among friends now.” The women encircling them nodded in agreement, their faces aglow with warmth and acceptance. Jeff felt a sense of belonging wash over him, as if he had stumbled upon a long-lost family. The air was filled with an atmosphere of inclusivity, and Jeff's heart swelled with gratitude.

As the group dispersed, the room grew quiet, leaving Dr. Phinsky and Jeff sitting alone on folding chairs. The soft hum of the coffee machine and the gentle creaks of the old church building were the only sounds that remained. Dr. Phinsky's expression turned thoughtful, her eyes gazing into the past as she began to speak in a gentle, measured tone.

“Jeff, our group has a rich history, one that spans centuries. We've been a part of something much larger than ourselves, a movement that began with a small group of women who were dedicated to a common purpose.” Dr. Phinsky's voice was hypnotic, drawing Jeff in as she continued. “These women were drawn together by a shared passion, a desire to serve and support one another in a world that often seemed hostile and unforgiving.”

Dr. Phinsky's eyes seemed to cloud for a moment, as if the memories she was about to share were shrouded in a faint mist. “Our story begins in a time of great turmoil, when the world was torn apart by conflict and strife. It was an era of great heroes and heroines, of people who stood strong in the face of adversity.” Jeff leaned forward, his curiosity piqued, as Dr. Phinsky paused, collecting her thoughts before continuing.

“A young woman born in a small town in France grew up in a devout Catholic family and was raised with strong religious beliefs. From a young age, she experienced mystical visions and heard voices, which she believed were messages from God. She believed she had a divine mission to save France from the English, who had occupied the country for nearly a century.

“France?”

Dr. Phinsky nodded. “Mmm hmm. She traveled the French countryside to find an escort to take her to the French court, but was rejected at first. She eventually gained support and traveled to the court, where she met the King of France. Her conviction and faith impressed the king, who allowed her to lead a relief force to the besieged city of Orléans.”

“France has a king?”

“It did back then. This was quite a few years ago. The young woman led the French army to several victories, including the capture of a fortress and the defeat of the English at a battle. Her successes boosted French morale and earned her the nickname ‘The Maid of Orléans’.”

“She was a house maid?”

Dr. Phinsky chuckled, “No. Maid in the sense that she was a virgin.” She continued, “While leading an attack on a town, she was captured by the allies of the English, raped, then sold to the English for a ransom, and put on trial for heresy and witchcraft. The trial was a sham, with the outcome predetermined. She was subjected to physical and psychological torture for months. The rape had produced a child. But the child taken from her to be killed. She cursed each of her tormentors who soon intensified her torture, which eventually led to her recanting her visions and beliefs.”

“Like the Salem Witch Trials.”

She shrugged and continued, “At the age of 19, she was burned at the stake in the market square of Rouen. Twenty-five years later, she was declared innocent and declared a martyr by the Catholic Church. In the 20th century, she was canonized as a saint, and her legacy has endured as a symbol of French resistance and a testament to the power of faith and conviction.”

“Oh,” Jeff exclaimed. “This was Joan of Arc!”

“Yes.”

“There was a movie about her played by Leelee Sobieski.”

“But the woman I’m talking about was real. And, as we now know, she had the same abilities that you, today, possess.”

Jeff frowned. “I’m going to be burned at the stake?”

Dr. Phinsky suppressed a chuckle, “No. She was hunting down the incubi in France that had been invaded from England at the time. She could see them as you can now.”

“Incub… what?”

“Your pixies.”

Jeff's eyes widened in bewilderment as Dr. Phinsky's words hung in the air, his mind struggling to reconcile the unexpected revelation with his prior understanding. His gaze drifted off to the side, as if searching for a hidden connection or a clue to explain the astonishing statement that had left him speechless. Finally, he asked, “You want me to fight pixies because I can see them?”

“They are evil spirits that must be resisted and removed from the Earth. We…” she pointed to the blue and white robes, “… are the descendants of the Armagnac. Now, we are the Armagnac. And, because of your sight, you, too, are Armagnac.”

Jeff grew stern. “I won’t hurt my friends.”

“They are not your friends, Jeff. They are seducing you because you are a pedophile. They hope to win you away from us. Away from God’s soldiers. Away from the Armagnac.”

Jeff stood. The folding chair beneath him fell backwards and clambered to the floor with a crash. The women nearby jumped, turned, and looked at Dr. Phinsky and Jeff.

“You all are crazy!” Jeff yelled. “These people are not evil! They… they… oh, hell. What the fuck have I gotten myself into?”

Jeff's eyes blazed with terror as he frantically scrambled up the cold, dark stairs, his heart racing with every step. He burst through the basement door, slamming it behind him, and emerged onto the hillside streets of Roanoke, gasping for air. His mind reeled with the shocking betrayal, his trust in Dr. Phinsky shattered into a million pieces.

With a sense of desperation, Jeff began to run, his feet pounding the pavement as he sprinted back towards his apartment, his heart heavy with fear and dread. He felt as though he was fleeing a nightmare, the blue and white robed women's sinister intentions haunting his every step.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he thought of his beloved pixie friends, their gentle laughter and playful antics now tainted by the sinister plot to harm them. Jeff's breath came in ragged gasps, his lungs burning as he ran, his mind consumed by the fear of people, their smiling faces now masking hidden agendas.

He couldn't shake the feeling of being hunted, the weight of Dr. Phinsky's betrayal crushing him. How could someone he trusted, someone he thought was kind and caring, turn out to be a monster? The world seemed to have turned upside down, and Jeff's sense of security was shattered.

As he ran, the streets seemed to blur together, a kaleidoscope of fear and panic. Jeff's only thought was to reach the safety of his apartment, to lock the door and shut out the horrors that lurked in the shadows. He couldn't trust anyone now, not even himself. The world was a dark and sinister place, and Jeff was just a small, vulnerable target.

 

Chapter 7

Jeff's mind was reeling from the shocking revelation at the church. A profound sense of betrayal washed over him, threatening to consume him after Dr. Phinsky's betrayal. He had confided in her about his pixie encounters, and she had not only dismissed them as hallucinations but also revealed a paradoxical sinister intent to harm them. The image of nuns and Phinsky discussing the destruction of pixies haunted him. He felt lost and vulnerable, questioning who he could truly trust.

He couldn’t just sit in his apartment, his refuge from the streets but where to go? Mill Mountain? His old haunts downtown Roanoke? Jeff quietly closed his apartment door and began meandering through the streets to think. Mindlessly, he found himself drifting into the art gallery. Jeff's emotions were still raw. The memory of Phinsky's warm smile and gentle tone, now laced with malice, lingered in his thoughts. His usual creative sanctuary of the Roanoke River and surrounding forests now seemed tainted by the harsh reality he had uncovered. His eyes wandered up to Karl Williams’ office. For a moment, Jeff hesitated, wondering if he should open up to Karl about the horrors he had faced. But something about Karl's genuine demeanor had always put him at ease, and he decided to share his story.

Jeff stepped across the art gallery and up the stairs, the familiar displays of paintings and old canvas enveloping him like a warm embrace. Karl looked up from his desk, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in Jeff's disheveled appearance. “Hey, Jeff, what's going on? You look like you've seen a ghost,” Karl said, his voice tinged with concern.

Jeff hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. But Karl's gentle tone put him at ease, and he found himself pouring out the story of his visit to the church. Karl listened intently, his expression growing increasingly somber as Jeff recounted Phinsky's true intentions. “I can't believe it, Karl. I trusted her,” Jeff said, his voice cracking.

Karl nodded sympathetically, his eyes filled with understanding. “You're shaken, Jeff. No wonder. That's a lot to take in. But I'm here for you, my friend. You're not alone in this.” He gestured to a nearby chair, inviting Jeff to sit. “Tell me more about what happened. I want to understand.”

As Jeff continued to share his story, Karl listened attentively, his expression a mask of calm interest. But beneath the surface, a subtle tension simmered, a hint of something Jeff couldn't quite put his finger on. Still, Karl's friendship, empathy and validation enveloped Jeff like a balm, soothing his frazzled nerves. For the first time since the church, Jeff felt a glimmer of hope, a sense that maybe, just maybe, he could rely on the close friendship with Karl.

Karl's expression turned grave as Jeff continued to recount his experience with Dr. Phinsky and the church. He leaned forward, his eyes locked onto Jeff's, and said, “I can only imagine how distressing that must have been for you, Jeff.” He shook his head, his brow furrowed in disgust, “I can't believe a place of worship would harbor such malevolent intentions. It's appalling that they'd target innocent beings like pixies.” Jeff sensed a genuine outrage in Karl's tone, which further validated his trust.

“I know, right?” Jeff replied, his voice still shaking. “I feel like I've lost all faith in the medical profession, too. And the worst part is, Dr. Phinsky seemed so kind and understanding at first. I guess you never really know someone's true colors until it's too late.”

Karl nodded thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Indeed, you don't. And sometimes, people's motivations can be shrouded in deceit. I'm not saying Dr. Phinsky is a terrible person, but perhaps her interests aren't entirely aligned with yours, Jeff.”

“I just don’t see how she could have turned on me like that,” Jeff said, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “Just talking to you makes me feel like I can finally breathe again. You're a true friend, Karl.” Karl smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and Jeff sensed a deepening connection between them.

As Jeff continued to open up, he shared more about his experiences with Zephyr and the pixie world.

Karl listened intently, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Tell me more about Zephyr,” Karl asked, his voice filled with genuine interest. “What's it like to communicate with a pixie?” Jeff smiled, feeling a sense of wonder return. “It's like having a conversation with a gentle breeze on a summer day. Zephyr's presence is soothing, and Niamon’s wisdom is beyond measure.”

Karl nodded thoughtfully, his expression encouraging. “I can only imagine. I've always been fascinated by the idea of hidden worlds within our own. The art world can be so...human-centric. I love that you're exploring this other realm.” Jeff felt a sense of gratitude toward Karl, who seemed to truly understand his passion.

“Exactly! The pixie world is full of magic and wonder. I feel like I've only scratched the surface.”

As Jeff prepared to leave, Karl placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Jeff. I feel honored that you trust me enough to open up. Remember, my gallery is always a refuge for you – and your pixie friends, if they ever want to visit.” Jeff smiled, feeling a sense of relief wash over him.

“Thanks, Karl. That means a lot to me. I'll definitely keep it in mind.”

As Jeff left the gallery, Karl's expression turned introspective. He felt a pang of sympathy for Jeff, who had been through so much. But Karl's mind was also racing with the implications of Jeff's story. He had to admit, the idea of pixies and a hidden world was tantalizing. Just not the way Jeff would understand.

Karl's thoughts were a jumble of conflicting emotions. He genuinely liked his long-time friend and admired his artistic talent, but his allegiance was to the hierarchy that he worked under. He had to develop a deeper understanding of Jeff's connections to the pixie world. It was a delicate balancing act, but Karl was determined to see it through.

As he turned back to his work, Karl's eyes lingered on Jeff's painting, which still hung prominently in the gallery. He felt a shiver run down his spine. Little did Jeff know, their friendship was about to become a dangerous game of cat and mouse, perhaps a shattering of their bond in the near future. Karl's smile returned, but this time, it was tinged with a hint of malice.

***

Jeff wandered through the dimly lit Roanoke streets, blending in with the shadows that seemed to move of their own accord. But the shadows weren’t pixies. He passed by a huddled group of people sharing a bottle in an alleyway, their laughter and murmurs fading into the night air. A prostitute, her makeup smeared and her eyes sunken, approached him with a tired smile, but Jeff shook his head and continued on. He wasn't looking for companionship, just a distraction from the thoughts that swirled in his mind like a vortex.

As he turned a corner, Jeff stumbled upon a makeshift gathering outside a rundown bar. A cluster of motorcycles leaned against the wall, their chrome handles glinting in the faint light. A grizzled biker, his beard thick and braided, eyed Jeff with a mixture of curiosity and hostility, but Jeff's neutral expression defused any potential tension. Instead, the biker offered him a swig of whiskey, which Jeff shook his head, no, to turn down the offer. They exchanged small talk – nothing meaningful, just words to fill the silence.

Further down the street, a lone figure sat on a bench, hood up and face obscured. A guy? A girl? Certainly not a pixie. Not a nun. Jeff sat to one side, sharing a silent understanding that sometimes, company was enough. They sat there for a long time, the only sound the distant hum of the city and the occasional passing car.

Eventually, the figure stood and melted into the darkness, leaving Jeff alone once more. He rose from the bench, his legs stiff from the cold, and began walking again. The streets were emptying now, the revelers and lost souls alike seeking shelter from the approaching dawn. Jeff had no destination in mind, no particular goal; he simply kept moving, letting the city's underbelly wash over him like a dirty, comforting tide. And in the midst of this aimless wandering, his thoughts began to untangle, threads of clarity emerging from the knots of his mind. He needed to go find Zephyr and Niamon.

As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, Jeff spotted Dwayne's familiar truck rumbling towards Mill Mountain. He flagged down his friend, and Dwayne, bleary-eyed from the lack of enough coffee, welcomed Jeff aboard with a quiet nod. The drive up the mountain was a blur of darkness and silence, the only sound the rumble of the engine and the creak of the old vehicle. Jeff's mind was elsewhere, replaying the events that had led him to this point – the encounters in the city, the restless wandering, and now, this desperate journey into the unknown.

As they reached the drop-off point, Dwayne eyed Jeff with concern. “You sure you're good, man? You look like you've been through hell.” Jeff forced a smile, reassuring his friend that he just needed some fresh air and solitude. Dwayne nodded, though his expression remained skeptical. “Be careful, then. Don't get lost.” Jeff watched as the truck's taillights disappeared towards Mill Mountain’s Zoo, leaving him alone in the rapidly brightening dawn.

With a deep breath, Jeff began his trek down the side of the mountain towards the far Smith Mountain Lake, seeking out the faint path he hoped would lead him to the pixie village. The dew-kissed grass sparkled like diamonds, and the air was alive with the songs of birds and the rustle of leaves. He moved cautiously, his eyes scanning the terrain for any sign of the hidden trail. Memories of his previous visits swirled in his mind – the whimsical dancing, the mischievous laughter, and the ethereal glow that seemed to permeate every corner of the village. But the path remained elusive, and Jeff's doubts grew with each step.

As he walked, the trees seemed to close in around him, casting speckled shadows that obscured any discernible trail. Jeff's pace slowed, his senses heightened as he tried to recapture the thread of memory that would guide him to the village. He recalled the way the sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting an emerald glow over the forest floor. He remembered the sound of a side stream of Roanoke River, its gentle burble weaving in and out of the silence. And he recalled the scent – a sweet, earthy aroma that seemed to emanate from the very heart of the forest. With renewed determination, Jeff pressed on, trusting that the path would reveal itself, and the pixies would welcome him back into their mystical world.

As Jeff trekked through the lush foliage, his determination began to wane, replaced by a creeping sense of unease. The familiar landmarks he had managed to recall during his previous visit with the pixies seemed distorted, and the trees seemed uninviting. It wasn't until he stumbled upon a familiar stream, flowing in the opposite direction he remembered, that he then realized his mistake. He had inadvertently wandered to the east side of the watershed – a territory he had never explored before.

Just as Jeff was starting to feel a pang of worry, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves, and Zephyr’s bluish nude figure appeared before him. Her sparkling eyes fluttered rapidly as she drew near, concern etched on her face. “Jeff, what are you doing here?” she asked, her voice tinged with a mix of surprise and amusement. “The pixies from the eastern tribe told me of your wanderings. You're fortunate I found you before nightfall.” With a wave of her hand, she beckoned him to follow. Of course, he was going to follow. How could he not? She was his goddess.

As they glided through the forest, Jeff's thoughts turned to his pressing concerns. “Zephyr, will Niamon be available to speak with me?” he asked, his voice laced with a sense of urgency. Zephyr's brow furrowed, and she turned to him with an inquiring gaze. “What problems trouble you, Jeff?” she asked, her tone soft and inviting, her skin easing into a light, pastel blue. Jeff hesitated, unsure how much to reveal, but Zephyr's empathetic expression put him at ease.

He recounted the shocking revelation of Dr. Phinsky's true identity and her entourage of nuns, who had seemingly infiltrated the entire Roanoke community with an ulterior motive. Zephyr listened intently, her expression growing increasingly somber. As Jeff finished his tale, she nodded thoughtfully. “Niamon will indeed want to hear of this,” she said. “Come, let us return to the village. We will seek her counsel, and together, we will unravel the threads of this.” With that, Zephyr led Jeff back to the safety of the village, where the soft glow of luminescent flowers and the gentle, giggling chirp of pixies welcomed him like an old friend.

As the warm sunlight of the mid-autumn afternoon began to wane, casting long shadows across the village, Zephyr quickly located Niamon. Jeff, still shaken by his recent encounter, began to recount the events that had transpired in the basement of the church. His words spilled out in a rush, as if he had been holding them in for far too long. “It was Dr. Phinsky and the nuns,” he explained, his voice low and urgent. “They're not what they seem. They're hunting pixies, Niamon. That’s what happened at Wasena Park. They want me to join them, to help them track and kill you... all pixies. They call you succubi. Have you heard of that word before?”

Niamon's expression turned grave as Jeff spoke, her eyes narrowing in concern. Zephyr's eyes darted back and forth between the two, her silver-white brow furrowed in worry. The village, once a peaceful haven, now seemed tainted by the sinister intentions of Dr. Phinsky and the nuns. The very thought of hunting and killing pixies, people that were harmless and even beneficial, was abhorrent. Jeff wondered what could be driving his fellow humans to such extremes.

Niamon knew.

***

Niamon, sat folded-legged beside a colossal, crumbling tree stump, its once-majestic form, now surrendering to the relentless passage of time just as she was. “Alone?”

“He sleeps.”

“Sick?”

“He walked.”

“I see.” Niamon corralled a handful of shimmering beetles and fed them succulent leaves one by one, her slender fingers moving with a soothing slowness.

Zephyr settled onto a low branch, her weight barely registering as she folded her own legs beneath her, her slender form merging with the slender limb. She began: “Teach.”

“Know the old name?” Niamon asked.

“Succubi. Why ask?”

“Forgotten painful truths.”

“Truths forgotten why?”

Niamon’s gaze narrowed. “To protect.”

“From what?”

“Human hearts.”

“Heart’s desire?”

“Dangerous lure.”

“Lure to what?”

“Dark binding.”

“Bound to who?”

“To mortals.”

Zephyr sat motionless, pondering the concept. Then, she asked, “Mortal cost?”

“Eternal debt.”

“Debt to pay?”

“With soul.”

Zephyr laughed, “Soul is consciousness. Illusion.”

“Physical processes in brain,” Niamon explained.

“You are an illusion.”

“Really?”

Again, Zephyr laughed, “No.”

Niamon waved her hand in dismissal. “Dangerous lure, Daughter.”

“So you said.”

“Good bye, your nice human.”

Zephyr frowned, open mouthed.

Niamon stopped feeding the beetles and stared at her daughter. “Leave him,” she demanded.

Zephyr raised her voice, “Why?”

“Danger in his eyes.”

“Sees us, yes?”

“Too close.”

“Good bye without understanding him?”

“Understand, we must.”

“How?”

Niamon returned to her beetles. “Observe distantly.”

“Loss too great.”

“Knowledge greater.”

Zephyr's face contorted in anguish. “His heart?”

“Already bound.”

Zephyr’s anger increased, “Just cut ties?”

“Too late to be nice. Leave him.” Niamon unfolded and stood. As she slowly walked away, she added, “See? Pain.”

***

Jeff's laughter echoed through the pixie village as he chased after a cluster of mischievous pixies, their arms and legs blurring wildly as they darted between the trees. Nearby, Zephyr stood amidst a circle of pixies, including her sister Spark, their faces grave with concern.

Zephyr's conversation with her kin was hushed, but urgent. As she finished speaking, she nodded to Spark and broke away from the group. Her slender form glided effortlessly across the clearing, her footsteps in slow, measured rhythm.

Approaching Jeff, Zephyr's expression turned solemn. “You must leave,” she said, her voice gentle but firm.

Jeff's grin faltered, confusion etched on his face. “What? Why?” He glanced around, taking in the pixies' serious expressions. “Did I do something wrong?”

Zephyr's eyes locked onto Jeff's, her gaze piercing. “You see us,” she said, her words barely above a whisper. “You should not be here.”

Jeff's brow furrowed. “But, I thought we were friends.” His gaze swept the village, searching for Niamon, but she remained elusive.

Zephyr's expression remained unyielding yet a tear betrayed her. “That is precisely the problem.”

Jeff's eyes narrowed, sensing a deeper meaning behind Zephyr's words. “What do you mean?” he pressed, his voice laced with curiosity.

Zephyr's lips compressed into a thin line. “It is decided,” she said finally, turning to gesture toward the village entrance. “It is time for you to go.”

 

Chapter 8

As they began to traverse the winding trail, the rustling of leaves beneath their feet served as a stark reminder of the tension simmering between them.

"I could see you when I first met you," Jeff said, his voice laced with a hint of curiosity. "That wasn't a problem then. Why now? Because of Phinsky and her nuns?"

Zephyr's gaze locked onto his, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes."

Jeff's face contorted in anger, his words grinded from between his teeth. "I will kill them."

Zephyr's expression turned solemn, her voice firm but gentle. "You must not. Killing is illegal for you. It is forbidden for us, also."

With a light touch, Zephyr pushed Jeff forward, urging him to continue their journey. "Sorrow, my human. Painful leaving."

Jeff stopped abruptly, turning to face Zephyr. His eyes searched hers. "Sorrow in...” he stopped. Then, his voice was laced with incredulity, “…heart. Hearing your words! Saying words! Confusion."

Zephyr's laughter echoed through the forest, her eyes scrunching with amusement. With a gentle push, she turned Jeff toward their destination. "Speaking pixie. Magnificent human. Continue leaving."

Jeff cried softly, "Demand why. Anger. Together with Zephyr!"

Zephyr pointed forward, her voice barely above a whisper. "Together," she agreed.

The exchange continued, their conversation a delicate dance of questions and evasions. As they walked the air settled heavily with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves.

Jeff's sudden stop was abrupt, his head cocked to one side. "Pixie," he whispered, his eyes fixed on a point ahead.

Zephyr's gaze followed his, but she saw nothing. "Where?"

Jeff's eyes didn't waver. "Exact there. Translucent?"

Zephyr's brow furrowed. "Can't see."

Puzzled, Jeff's reported factually, "I see almost all."

Zephyr's eyes snapped back to his, surprise etched on her face. "You can see Imaginarium?"

Jeff pointed and called loudly, “I see you pixie. Stop hide.”

The pixie's sudden appearance was a shock, her translucent form solidifying into a deep purple with bluish glowing hair. Zephyr's gasp was audible, her eyes wide with wonder.

The little pixie braced as she drew her wooden dagger and held it at the ready. "He hunts us?"

Jeff and Zephyr's reassurances were immediate, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of sound. "No."

The little pixie's abrupt attack was cut short as a sparkling blue-white flash passed Jeff’s elbow and struck her face, followed by her entire body crumpling to the forest floor. Spark’s sudden appearance was a whirlwind of motion, her iridescent silverish-violet form a blur as she zipped to just in front of the fallen pixie.

Jeff's outraged cry was immediate, his voice echoing through the forest. "Spark! You killed her!"

Spark chided him, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "Spark! You killed her!” Then she angrily added, “Idiot. Not dead."

Jeff's incredulity was palpable, his voice laced with confusion. "She is white. Means dead."

Zephyr's gentle reprimand was soothing, "Not dead. Stopped."

Jeff asked, "Sleep?"

Zephyr's laughter was melodic, her eyes sparkling with delight. "No. Orgasm."

"What?"

Zephyr answered calmly, "Orgasm. Can't move."

"Sex orgasm?"

Zephyr and Spark's laughter was instantaneous, their voices overlapping in a joyous cacophony. Spark's reply was tinged with her repetitive sarcasm, "What other kind?"

As the tension dissipated, Spark's expression turned serious, her voice firm as she ordered Zephyr, "Home, now, you, me. Jeff should become lost."

Jeff continued to doubt what he had heard. He insisted, "Dead! Why kill?"

Zephyr repeated her explanation, her voice a balm to the tension. "Not dead. Stopped."

As Jeff approached the prone pixie, Zephyr's admonition was immediate, her voice determined, "Not touch! Stops orgasm."

Jeff's curiosity was evident, his voice quiet with wonder. "Orgasm? Real sex thing?"

Spark's expression turned stern, her voice firm as she addressed Jeff in perfect English. "Leave now, Jeff. Zephyr and I will depart, leaving you with the happy Eastern pixie. Go home and do not seek our village again."

Zephyr's command was immediate, her voice calming as she addressed her sister. "Spark, go home. I attend my studies."

Spark's voice rose as she challenged Zephyr's decision. "Study or mate?"

“Go, Spark. Hide your opinion.”

“Stupid queen. Mate? Extra stupid!”

“My decision.”

“Stupid decis….”

Zephyr cut in, “I am queen.”

Spark nodded submissively and replied, “I protect.” She groaned, “I join two stupids.”

“No.” Zephyr stomped her foot.

“Yes.” Spark stomped her own foot.

Zephyr’s sigh was audible as she turned to Jeff and replied, “Three stupids.”

***

As they emerged from the forest's misty veil, the trio stepped into the deserted city streets of Roanoke. The early morning sun cast a pale glow over the scene, cold and desolate, like a dull watercolor painting waiting to be filled with vibrant hues.

Jeff, clad in worn jeans and a faded band t-shirt, led the way, his eyes scanning the streets with a mix of caution and familiarity. Beside him, Zephyr walked with a lively bounce, her bright eyes sparkling as she searched for opportunistic mischief. Her wild tangle of silver hair seemed to have a life of its own, sprouting loose strands that framed her heart-shaped face.

Spark, commanding as Zephyr's loyal protector, walked with a quiet confidence, her lean frame radiating an aura of calm authority. Her piercing blue eyes swept the surroundings, ever watchful for potential threats. Jeff could hear a soft hum from both pixies, the loudest presence emanating from Spark. This, then was a gentle reminder that both little girls were not human.

As they navigated the streets, the group moved swiftly, following alleys and side streets where the nuns might not see the travelers. The Sisters of the Armagnac, as Dr. Phinsky had called them, were a constant threat to the trio's safety. Jeff's ramshackle apartment, with its creaky stairs and faded welcome mat, would offer a fragile sanctuary from the dangers that lurked in every shadow. That is, of course, should they get there unnoticed.

The city streets, typically bustling with activity, were eerily quiet this morning. The only sounds were the distant hum of traffic, the cooing of pigeons, and the soft rustle of Zephyr's and Spark’s footsteps as their feet whispered along beside Jeff. The city’s air was still crisp and now carrying the scent of freshly brewed coffee along with the sweet hint of blooming flowers.

As they turned onto Jeff's street, the group's pace slowed, their senses heightened. Spark's skin hummed softly. Zephyr's grin faltered, her eyes locked onto the apartment building with a mix of longing and trepidation. They climbed the open stairwell. Jeff's eyes narrowed, his hand instinctively reaching for the door handle of his apartment building.

With a shared nod, the trio slipped inside, disappearing from the musty darkness of the stairwell. The city streets, once again, were left to their secrets, the morning light slowly burning away the shadows that hid the nuns and their sinister intentions.

“Shouldn’t you two put some clothing on? I could go to the Salvation Army and get some kids’ clothing that should fit.”

Zephyr thought for a moment, a puzzled frown formed above her eyes. “Why?”

Spark complained, “See? Stupid.”

Zephyr chuckled, “Oh. Jeff, you forget. Human people cannot see nor hear us.”

“How is it that I can? How is it that the nuns and their Armagnac can see pixies? How is it that me seeing you and Spark has me embarrassed by my man response?”

Zephyr remarked to Spark, “See now why cloth skin necessary for humans.”

Spark’s eyes widened and with a puzzled frown asked, “He mates with you and me?”

“Possible. Human males can.”

“Mate with pixies, also?”

Zephyr laughed, “Pixies never allow. Inconceivable pixie minds.”

Jeff laughed, as well. “Spark attraction is inconceivable to my mind. You are ugly bitch.”

Both pixies stopped and stared at Jeff, confused. Zephyr finally thought to ask, “See Spark as dog?”

He stammered, “No, no, no! Spark is beauty pixie. See Spark as naked little girl.”

“Bitch?”

“Sorry, Spark. Sorry Zephyr. Trying to exaggerate. Only want Zephyr.”

Spark stomped her foot, “Not me?”

In English, Jeff huffed, “For fuck’s sake. I’ve stepped in a grand mess this time.”

After grabbing a dry bowlful of sweetened children’s cereal and munching on it for his breakfast, began his planning. “Zephyr, I think the nuns have some sort of police or military group that somehow knows how to see you. It is possible that someone might come here with some sort of way of creating violence and forcing their way into here. I think it would be a good idea if I find a cheap gun off the streets. But the only…”

“Guns kill.” Spark was about to call Jeff a “stupid” again but he beat her to it.

“This not stupid. Think. Guns come here to attack. Guns here attack back.”

Spark looked at Zephyr and waited. To Jeff she asked, “How can guns not kill?”

He sighed and replied in English again, “I’ve never fired a gun in the city before, girls. But I do know that they are scary and if people try to come in here, if they know that I have a gun, I might not have to shoot it.”

Zephyr asked, “If shoot?”

“Point different. Shoot wall. Shoot floor.” Using his fingers as a gun, he demonstrated.

Spark sat atop the seat back of Jeff’s ragged sofa, with an open hand, pointed towards Jeff, “How see Eastern pixie?”

Jeff offered some of his cereal to Zephyr who shook her head but waited for his reply. “No color. Just body. Then my shout put color in Eastern pixie.”

“No machine?”

He replied, “No.” Then he asked, “Spark cannot see Eastern pixie?”

“No. You shout. Eastern appears. What words are magic?”

Zephyr shook her head and said, “Not Jeff words. Eastern pixie surprised. Came in from Imaginarium.”

Spark complained, “Jeff sees Imaginarium. Science people see Imaginarium. Armagnac see Imaginarium. Spark not.”

“Zephyr not, also.” Zephyr sat at the crude table next to Jeff, shaking her head.

In English, Jeff shrugged and said, “I don’t know how I can do all this. I just know I can and I’m not using any kind of thing to do it. I never got to hear how Dr. Phinsky and her nuns could do it.”

“Science people can do. Have guns?” Both girls’ eyes riveted on Jeff.

“I don’t think so. But cops do. Soldiers do. Lots of humans do. I don’t.”

Zephyr glanced at Spark. “Money.”

Jeff laughed, “Everything can be solved with money.”

Zephyr nodded to Spark who got down from her perch and went to the door. She gave an order, “Two Stupids, stay.”

When her tiny hand reached for the door knob, Jeff warned, “Not good idea. Not safe. Three go?”

Spark laughed, opened the door and left, silently closing the door behind her.

Jeff just stared at the closed door.

He turned to Zephyr, “And she calls me stupid.”

“Two things with one smile.”

Jeff laughed, in English he explained, “We say ‘kills two birds with one stone.’”

Zephyr frowned in pain, “Not funny.”

“Sorry. What two things is Spark going to do?”

“She goes to find some money to bring to you so you can exchange money for guns.”

“And?”

“And she leaves you and me to mate. I told her before that I do not know how humans mate but I do know humans do so in their beds in groups of two or more and become upset when interrupted by phone calls. I wait for your flight in bed.”

“We don’t fly in bed. We touch each other.”

“We touch males in flight. This makes them respond and we mate. We have no phone calls.”

“How in the world did you get that understanding of human sexuality?”

“I am understanding wrong?”

He laughed, “It sounds like you’ve been watching too much television.”

“Why hide under cloth?”

“Oh. Bed sheets.” He frowned, “Not sure but it gives us comfort. We spend a lot of time in bed and, with a lover, we have a good opportunity to mate then sleep.”

Zephyr sighed, “I do not know how to mate unless I fly. But I will try to hide with you so we can mate.”

“Beautiful Pixie, I am so incredibly attracted to you but our laws do not permit an adult like me to mate with a little girl like you.”

“I am not tall enough?”

“You are too young for an adult to mate with you.”

“How old must I wait until?”

“At least 18 years old.”

Zephyr broke out laughing heartily. “Silly Jeff! I have been Queen for 20 years. Niamon created me fifty years before that. I am not 18 years young.”

***

Woman: “They’re here in town.”

Man: “Can you narrow it down? Or are we playing hide-and-seek with the whole city?”

Woman: “1626 Mountain Avenue. Apartment 202. Top of the stairs, left.

“That’s…”

“Yup. He’s home.”

“Is one of them with him?”

Woman, pausing briefly: “Probably.”

“I’m not rolling in with the whole crew if it’s just him. Too much noise, not enough payoff.”

“It’s either tailing him or inside with him. I can’t tell.”

“You can’t tell? What’s the point of all this… intuition, if it can’t give us a straight answer?”

“I know one’s in the downtown core. I can feel it. But he went back to his place. That’s all I’ve got.”

“Why don’t you go? You’re the one who’s so eager to clean this up.”

“You’ve got the hardware to make the capture. Alive or dead, I don’t care. Just keep it under control. If I get near him, he’ll bolt. Yesterday didn’t exactly go smoothly.”

“You’re okay with collateral damage?”

Woman: “Don’t kill him unless you have to,” A brief hesitation. “If things get messy and he’s still breathing, call me. We’ll handle him after.”

“You like the guy.”

A brief pause, and then, “A bit. He’s… historically significant. To us.”

“I’ll go in alone. Set up the scanners, see what’s what. If one’s close, I’ll call in the crew.”

“What about Campbell Street? They’ve been sniffing around.”

“I’ve got someone on the inside their criminal investigations unit. That’s why no cops showed up at the Wasena Park mess.”

“Must be nice.”

“You know Ralph Butterworth? In Richmond?”

Woman: “Yeah.”

Silence.

Woman: “He’s in your pocket, too?”

Man: “He’s one of us.”

“No shit? Well, anyway, keep me posted. And before you do anything, call me. I want to listen in.”

“Morbid curiosity?”

“No. I want to make sure you don’t screw this up any worse than you already have.”

“Part of the learning process, Hannah. We make allowances for it. New tech, new problems.”

***

“Zephyr’s mind now dead?” Spark’s voice was a blade in the dim apartment air, her body hovering inches above the battered couch where Jeff lay sleeping. The faint bluish glow of her flight pulsed erratically, betraying her fury.

“Human mate forbidden more! Treason. Mother exiled Jeff has reason. You take off crown, goodbye tribe, for stupid man?” Her fingers twitched toward the tiny silver dagger at her hip, a reflex.

Zephyr didn’t flinch. She floated closer, her own flight steady, deliberate, the bright bluish-white aura around her casting long shadows on the walls. “Armagnac hunt pixie until extinction, Spark. You saw their strength. Child of human pixie blood is needed weapon.” Her gaze flicked to Jeff’s sleeping form, then back to her sister. “Not desire. Saving pixies.”

Spark let out a sharp laugh. “Lie. Zephyr’s eyes drink him.” She shot forward, stopping just short of Zephyr’s face. “If queen happy breaking pixie law, then I happy breaking pixie law. Spark law equals pixie law: I mate with ugly human, too.” Her voice dropped, low and dangerous. “Maybe stupid queen changes laws?”

Zephyr’s glow flared bright for a heartbeat. “You. Me. Rivalry?” she snapped, then forced her voice back to a whisper. “If two pixies risk, tribe loses queen and guardian in one night. Armagnac would dance on pixie hearts.” She reached for Spark’s arm, but her sister jerked away. “You protect Jeff. Protect all when time arrives. Good Spark should not reckless fight stupid queen.”

“Spark protect Jeff. Protect all when time arrives. Stupid Spark not fight stupid queen. Zephyr mate with Jeff. Spark mate with Jeff. Two strong pixie nymphs.”

Zephyr paused, then nodded, “Agreed.”

“Remember Hearth?”

Zephyr thought a moment. “Pixie?”

“Yes. English name Vesta.”

“When?”

“North South fighting.”

“Oh! Human fighting. Yes. Hearth mated with human named…” she struggled to recall.

Spark smiled, “Alvah Walker.”

“Remember story of Hearth. Don’t remember human. Made a nymph.”

“Human pixie became Mary Walker.”

“Ah!!!” Zephyr exclaimed. “Yes! Pixie human healer.”

“Illegal.”

“Yes. Amaltheia exiled Mary Walker.”

“So?”

“Niamon will exile Zephyr, Spark, Jeff, and two nymphs.”

“No.”

“Yes. I worry exile for Zephyr.”

“Niamon sequestered now. I am queen. Zephyr exiles Zephyr?”

Spark laughed loudly. “No. Spark exiles Zephyr; Zephyr exiles Spark!”

Jeff stirred mid-snore, “Wha? Exile? Who?”

Zephyr smiled at Spark and zipped to Jeff, “Come Jeff, we go…” she broke into English, “Let’s go hide under your cloth and mate. You show me…”

Jeff sat up briskly, “Are you crazy? You want to mate with me? I told Niamon I would not. I told you; it’s illegal for me to…”

“It’s illegal for me, too, Jeff. But it is my decision. That makes it legal.”

Spark shook her head muttering quietly, “Still illegal.”

The three of them continued in animated discussion until there was a glass bottle from the kitchen that crashed to the floor noisily.

Frozen silence until Jeff cursed, “Shit!”

Puzzled, the two pixies stared at Jeff for an explanation.

“I have an alarm wire at the stairwell that was connected to a beer bottle in the kitchen. That was the crash. Someone is coming and it ain’t Squiffy next door. He’s in the hospital from cirrhosis. The Bad Guys. Might be Dr. Phinsky and the nuns. Squiffy has a Harley downstairs. I know where he hides a spare key.” He sat motionless, listening.

The apartment was thick with tension as Jeff, Zephyr, and Spark listened for further sign of the Armagnac hunters closing in. The crude tripwire along the stairwell was their only warning, and the apartment door wouldn’t hold for long. The pixies’ skin shimmered with faint blue hues, their bodies thrumming with nervous energy as they exchanged glances. When Jeff motioned for them to follow, they shook their heads. They had their own escape. Before he could protest, they darted toward the window, their forms shifting to deep indigo as they launched themselves into the night with unnatural speed, vanishing into the shadows like streaks of violet lightning.

Jeff didn’t hesitate. He threw open the apartment’s balcony window and dropped to the ground below, his knees buckling slightly from the impact. Pain shot through his legs, but he forced himself forward, sprinting toward the neighbor’s abandoned motorcycle. The spare key was still hidden where the dying man had once drunkenly revealed that it was tucked behind a loose brick in the wall. His fingers scraped against rough mortar before closing around the key, cold and solid in his palm. The distant sound of footsteps pounding around the stairwell sent a jolt of panic through him. They were out of time.

The motorcycle roared to life as Jeff twisted the ignition, the engine’s growl cutting through the night. A glance back confirmed his fears. Dark figures spilled onto the landing, their movements sharp and purposeful. He revved the throttle and shot forward just as one of the hunters lunged toward him, grasping at empty air. The bike fishtailed before finding traction, throwing up gravel as Jeff wove through the alley, heart hammering in his chest. Above, two streaks of deep purple flickered between rooftops: Zephyr and Spark, pushing themselves to their limits, their bodies glowing with the effort of their flight.

Wind tore at Jeff’s face as he sped helmetless, face-shield-less, tears clouding his vision. Almost blindly, he raced through the labyrinth of streets, every turn a gamble. The Armagnac wouldn’t stop, and he had no safe place to run. The pixies were his only allies, and now they were gone, their glowing forms swallowed by the city’s skyline. He had to trust they’d circle back when it was safe. If it ever would be. For now, survival meant speed, and the motorcycle’s engine crackled beneath him as he vanished into the neon-lit maze.

High above, Zephyr and Spark darted between buildings, their bodies pulsing between violet and near-black as they strained against the air. Without wings, their flight was a marvel of magic and sheer will, every burst of speed draining them. They needed to hide, to recover. But first, they had to lose any pursuers. The night air rippled around them as they banked sharply, their colors dimming to a faint blue as they slowed, slipping into the cover of a nearby storm drain. They would return. But not yet. Not until the hunters gave up the chase.

 

Chapter 9

“Why are we here?”

The question hung in the air, sharp as the scent of plastic and industrial cleaner. Jeff didn’t look up, too busy prodding a shrink-wrapped bundle of pens, their price tags fluttering like defeated little flags.

“I need to buy a cheap pocket calculator,” he explained.

“In Walmart?” The unspoken judgment between them thickened, dense as the hum of fluorescent lights overhead.

Jeff’s lips twitched. “Oh, so you do know what Walmart is.”

Spark’s glow pulsed a smug indigo, rippling through her tiny form like a lit fuse. “Yes. I’m not as uneducated as my sister.”

“I’ll tell her you said that.”

“And I’ll tie your shoelaces together again.” Her fingers flexed, already itching for mischief.

Jeff rubbed his knee, the phantom sting of pavement still fresh. “You do know you could’ve hurt me, right? When I fell?”

“Stupid human.”

“Stupid Spark.” He exhaled, long-suffering. “I haven’t figured out how to trick you yet. But I’m watching for any weakness in your…”

A streak of violet lightning - Zephyr - blazed into view, skidding to a halt beside them. The air crackled in her wake, her usual pallor darkened with urgency. “Hey, you two. Why do we have to meet here?”

Spark’s glow flared electric. “Stupid human wants adding of things. Can’t use brain.”

“No. I want something cheap to use as a pretend cellphone.”

Zephyr’s form solidified into wary slate-blue. “Why not just get a real cellphone? You said we needed money, so I got money.” She dropped a small bank bag at his feet with a thump.

Jeff blinked. “I don’t want a real one. Just something that looks like one.”

Both pixies chimed in perfect, skeptical harmony: “Why?”

“So I can walk around talking to you two without people thinking I’ve lost my damn mind.”

The pixies wrinkled their noses in unison. Jeff nudged the bag with his shoe. “Where’d you get this?”

Zephyr giggled. “Stupid bank people have…”

A sudden, sharp shout cut her off. “Queen!”

Jeff and Zephyr whirled only to find Spark clapping both hands over her mouth, eyes wide. Zephyr recovered first. “Agreed.”

Jeff’s pulse spiked. “Problem? Danger?”

The pixies exchanged a glance. Spark shrugged. Zephyr’s frown deepened, but she turned back to Jeff. “Pixie law ignore human law.”

A couple of heartbeats of silence. Jeff’s gaze dropped to the bag. His stomach lurched. “Zephyr… is this money stolen?”

She switched to halting English. “Permitted by our way. Not permitted by yours. Humans should not know this.” A pause. “Many… centuries of time,” she continued as a pixie, “pixie law says we take from humans. Practice tricks.” She jabbed a finger at Spark. “Spark tricked you. Practice.”

Jeff’s voice flattened. “Stealing from humans is pixie-legal?”

“Yes.” Zephyr’s glow dimmed. “Jeff becomes angry?”

His mind raced: fairy tales, old stories, the chaos of pixies toying with mortals. But bank robbery? That wasn’t a prank. That was a felony. What else did pixie law allow? Murder? (No, he’d seen that answer in Wasena Park.) But what about pixies killing each other? Was that why the Armagnac hunted Zephyr’s tribe?

He snatched up the bag, fingers tightening around the canvas. “United Community Bank, East Main Street, Franklin.” His throat went dry. “You just… took this? No alarms? No cops?”

“Sorry, Jeff. We do this when needed. You said…”

“How much is in here?” He yanked it open. And froze.

Two thick bundles of cash, banded in white and dark yellow. “$10,000” stamped across each.

Twenty thousand dollars.

***

“What is that? Spark asked full of curiosity. She hovered closer, her tiny arms animated with restless curiosity as she poked at and studied the canvas. The vibrant strokes depicted two delicate figures nestled among evergreen branches, their colors too soft, their forms too human. Her nose wrinkled in disbelief.

Jeff continued painting, his focus steady, unbothered by her skepticism. He blended the hues with slow, deliberate strokes, capturing something she didn’t recognize, something far from the sharp, wild energy of real pixies.

She jabbed a finger at the canvas, then at herself, her brow furrowed in protest. “Me?”

Without looking up, he gestured with the handle of his brush toward the other figure… her, supposedly… but the likeness was all wrong. Too gentle. Too still. She crossed her arms, her foot twitching in irritation.

A quiet challenge glinted in his eyes as he offered her the brush.

She recoiled, shaking her head fiercely. Warrior’s pride flared in her stance. She was no artist.

For a moment, she hesitated, then gestured vaguely at him, her expression shifting to something almost shy. Her gaze darted between the canvas and him, lingering on the empty space beside the painted pixies. A silent plea burned in her eyes; why wasn’t he there too?

The brush stilled in his hand. He understood. The omission hadn’t been accidental. Humans didn’t belong in pixie tales. But the way her body trembled, the way her tiny fists clenched: she wasn’t asking for a tale.

She was asking for him.

He chuckled, low and warm, as if her silent question amused him. Then he asked, “What do I look like to you?”

“Human.”

Jeff laughed at the ambiguity. “Describe me, then.”

The little pixie stood firm, hands on her hips, and rattled off, “Stupid. Slow. Can’t fly. Kills life. Consumes plants and animals by eating. Has many, many bad practices. Why do humans just don’t die off.”

“I meant, what do features do your eyes see that tells you that I am a human?”

She frowned and sighed. Slowly, in English, she described him. “I see sunlight dance on you making liquid gold. Your shoulders are big branches of a wise oak, strong enough to carry the weight of dreams. Your eyes do a …” She switched languages, “…shimmer like water pools…” then, in English again, “… found deep in the forest, holding secrets and kindness in equal measure. Your smile curve is warm dawn, and your hands, rough, gentle. Tell tales of strength and kindness. Even the way you stand, tall and sure, makes air hum with quiet power. And your voice… oh!, distant thunderstorm rumbles, sending little shakes down me. Truly, I rushed through many glades and glens, but I never seen a man who makes heart flutters in me. My heart becomes a summer breeze. You are... deliciously enchanting.”

Jeff stared into her eyes, in shock. “Damn, Spark, you’re a beautiful poet.”

Spark tilted her head, the glow of her skin flickering like a caught breath. "I’m beautiful, or just I’m make good poetry?" Her voice was light, but her eyes pinned him, daring him to clarify, to choose.

A slow smile broke across his face, the kind that started in his eyes before it ever reached his lips. He held her gaze, unflinching, letting the weight of his silence stretch between them, long enough for her to notice the way his breath caught, just slightly, when her glow pulsed brighter. Then, with deliberate slowness, he dipped his chin. A single nod. Not a deflection, not a compromise.

Both.

The brush tumbled from his fingers, abandoned. Spark furrowed her brow, confused. Jeff’s gaze flickered down, then up, then down again, tracing her form before finally meeting her eyes.

Zephyr’s voice carried from afar, a pixie word unfamiliar to him. Yet Jeff remained fixed on Spark.

“Come,” she said with a smile. “Stars fall.”

***

The bacon grease popped as Jeff flipped the strips with military precision, his new morning ritual: cast iron skillet, eggs sunny-side up, coffee black as the old-growth pines outside. He caught his reflection in the smudged window: shadows under his eyes, stubble flecked with gray. Too many sleepless nights watching for things that shouldn't exist.

Zephyr appeared like a heat shimmer at the edge of his vision. Her nose wrinkled at the pork scent. But she knew humans ate things. "Where's Spark?"

"Out near Nickajack Road," Jeff answered automatically.

"Nick...nick..." Zephyr's tongue stumbled over the syllables like a child on river stones. "A road that costs nickels?"

Jeff's chuckle came out rougher than he intended. "Native name. Means 'rock that echoes' in Cherokee." He scraped eggs onto his plate, yolks breaking like tiny suns. "Karl used to tell me stories about the tribes who…"

"Karl is a queen?"

“No; just a friend. A man. This is his vacation home we’re on.”

Zephyr's bare feet left faint glowing impressions on the linoleum as she drifted closer. "The Armagnac come at dawn sometimes." Her fingers traced the salt shaker, leaving prismatic fingerprints. "Yet you paint trees."

Jeff's fork froze mid-bite. "We're safe here. Nobody…"

"Pixies know." She perched on the table's edge, legs swinging. "Far ones. They don't care about me." Something vulnerable flashed behind her eyes before hardening. "But they'll care about our child."

The coffee turned to acid in Jeff's throat. "Zephyr, we've been over this. I see you as a little…"

"Not a little girl!" Her shriek sent the salt shaker toppling. Crystals scattered like tiny bones across the table. "Look!" She grabbed his hand and pressed it to her sternum. Beneath the fragile skin, her bones shimmered with trapped moonlight. "Do little girls have this? Do human children dream the Imaginarium into being?"

Jeff's pulse hammered against her palm. The legal definitions blurred in his mind: “pedophile”, “monster”, prison and the firing squad waiting for violators. But her ribs vibrated with a hum no human throat could produce.

"A hybrid, pixie-human child could walk between worlds," she whispered. "See through the Armagnac's veils. You know this truth."

“Niamon was upset that I told her I felt the urge to mate and she made sure that I would follow human laws and…” he emphasized and repeated the “and” before continuing, “… pixie law. Why do you want to mate with me if it is illegal for both of us?” Outside, a branch scraped the window. Jeff imagined agents of the Armagnac listening. "Breaking human and pixie laws is suicide. They'd punish us both."

“I will fly under your cloths to mate with you,” she insisted. “And then I can go back to my home.”

He chuckled red-faced and explained that mating was very different from what she was expecting.

“I will do human mating flight however you teach me. Unless you do not find me worthy of flying to meet me in a mating.” She added, “However humans meet for this.”

“Zephyr, you both are beautiful creatures. I am attracted to both of you. But my laws and my entire society would want to kill me if I tried to mate with a little girl or a little pixie.” He explained, “I just cannot violate my own human rules.”

Zephyr's smile showed too many teeth as she persisted. "If not me, then take Spark. She's pretty. Fertile."

"Christ!" Jeff's chair screeched as he stood. "It's not about…" He caught himself, lowering his voice. "Your laws, too, you silly creature! I won't risk getting any pixie in trouble over some... pixie prophecy."

She floated up until their faces were level. "Not prophecy. Survival." Her breath smelled of crushed juniper. "The child already sings in the between-place. Don't you hear it? A child of Spark. Or a child of me."

The kitchen walls throbbed suddenly, plaster breathing like a living thing. Jeff squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to. He desperately wanted to. But both sets of laws demanded obedience. Should he anyway? Should he give Zephyr her super pixie? Could he? Human and pixie? How would that even work? When he opened his eyes, Zephyr was gone. Only her afterimage remained, burning at the edges of his vision like the ghost of a star.

***

The mountain air was sharp with the scent of pine and damp earth, the last remnants of daylight fading behind the jagged peaks. Jeff had set up camp in a small clearing behind Karl’s cabin, where the trees thinned just enough to reveal a swath of star-speckled sky. A modest fire crackled between them, its glow casting flickering shadows over the faces of the two pixies seated across from him.

Zephyr, ever the restless one, had been poking at the flames with a stick, sending up tiny embers that spiraled into the dark. Spark, arms crossed, sat with her usual guarded posture, her sharp eyes scanning the trees as if expecting an ambush. Jeff knew better than to assume they were relaxed. Pixies were nocturnal by nature, and even without wings, their instincts kept them alert.

"Quiet brain tonight?" Spark said, tilting her head at him. "Thoughtless human?"

Jeff exhaled, rubbing his hands together near the fire. "Just thinking."

Zephyr smiled at Spark and then asked, "About what?"

"Things not talked about."

Zephyr’s gaze flicked to him, assessing. "Avoiding talk since talk with Niamon."

He knew she was right. They had shared close quarters for days now; hiding, running, surviving. And yet he had never let them see the fractures in his past. But something about the firelight, the isolation of the mountains, the way they watched him now with something dangerously close to trust. It made the words press against his ribs, demanding release.

"I was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia," he said, the admission rough in his throat.

Zephyr’s stick stilled. She turned to Spark and explained, “Word for crazy.” Spark didn’t move, but her pupils dilated slightly.

Jeff kept his eyes on the fire. "In and out of hospitals. Couldn’t hold a job. Ended up on the streets for a while." He swallowed. "I saw things. People, creatures that weren’t there. Or at least, that’s what they told me." A bitter laugh escaped him. "Turns out, some of them were real. Just… not human."

Spark’s fingers twitched like she wanted to reach for him but stopped herself. "Intense fear."

"Agreed." His voice dropped. "I didn’t know what was real. I still don’t, sometimes." He grew quiet. His shoulders stiffened, a wall slamming down behind his gaze. Even the air around him went still, as though the memories were things that could hear him if he moved.

Spark’s playful grin faltered, her usual cerulean glow dimmed, her pigment leaching into a translucent frost-blue, like moonlight through winter mist as she sensed his shift. Zephyr’s tone was unreadable as she went unnaturally still, her eyes tracking the way Jeff’s pulse hammered at his throat. She prodded, "Proceed."

Jeff’s head jerked slightly, as if trying to shake loose the images clinging to the back of his skull. A sharp inhale, then the sigh unraveled, long, unsteady, like his lungs were forcing out more than just air. His fingers dug into the fabric of his pants, anchoring himself to the now, the dirt, the fire’s heat. Anything but the past. "Karl, the friend who owns this place, suggested I try painting. Said if I couldn’t explain what I was seeing, maybe I could show it." He ran a hand through his hair. "That’s how Dr. Phinsky found me. She said she believed me. That she wanted to help." His jaw tightened. "I trusted her. Right up until she showed me that she and her nuns wanted to started hunting you."

The fire popped between them, the sound loud in the silence.

Zephyr’s voice was low. "Betrayed."

"Yeah." The word was raw. "But I also… I get why she did it. If I hadn’t met you, if I’d just seen you from a distance, I might’ve thought you were just another hallucination."

Spark made a small noise. "But we are not,” she complained in English.

"No," Jeff agreed softly. "You’re not."

For a long moment, the only sound was the whisper of wind through the trees. Then, with a quiet sigh, Spark shifted, moving to sit beside him. Before he could react, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

Jeff stiffened. "Uh…?"

"It’s cold," she said, her English… innocent.

He blinked. "Pixies don’t get cold."

She hummed, nestling closer. "Maybe I do."

From across the fire, Zephyr’s eyes narrowed. Without a word, she stood, stepped around the flames, and sat on Jeff’s other side, her arm brushing his as she reached to push a log into the fire.

"There," she muttered. "Better."

Jeff’s pulse kicked up. He was hyper-aware of both of them. Spark’s touch against his side, Zephyr’s deliberate nearness. Pixies didn’t do casual touch unless it meant something. And they certainly didn’t cuddle up to humans for warmth.

They were pushing him.

And he was torn.

Zephyr, as if sensing his tension, finally broke the silence again. "When young," she said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet, "I always did fly fighting against my sisters."

Spark perked up. "You? Never."

Zephyr shot her a glare, but there was no real heat in it. "Other sisters. Jealous."

"Of what?" Jeff asked before he could stop himself.

She hesitated, then shrugged. Matching his English, "I was close to Niamon. My flight instructor. She… pushed me. Always faster, always sharper. She said I could be the best." Her fingers flexed. "The others hated it. Hated me."

Spark’s teasing smile faded. "That’s why you’re so hard on yourself."

Zephyr didn’t answer, but the way her shoulders tensed told Jeff enough.

He didn’t know what to say. So instead, carefully, he let his arm rest behind her, not quite touching: an offering.

She didn’t pull away.

Spark, watching them, suddenly yawned dramatically. "Tired now. Sleep." And then, without warning, she slid down, draping herself halfway across Jeff’s lap, her head pillowed on his thigh.

Jeff’s breath caught. "Spark…"

"Shhh. Sleeping."

Zephyr muttered something under her breath, but to Jeff’s shock, she shifted too, her back now pressed against his side, her arms twitching slightly.

He was surrounded. Trapped. Chosen.

And he had no idea what to do about it.

The fire burned low. The stars turned overhead. And Jeff, caught between two pixies who had somehow carved their way into his fractured world, wondered, how the hell did I get here? And more importantly…

What happens now?

***

Zephyr materialized from the Imaginarium to join Spark. “Jeff? Where”

“Goes to pee.”

“Why?”

“Queen studies miss something?”

“I know humans pee. But why?”

“Happens often. Body function. Works as needed.”

“I never counted.”

“Some slow. Some fast. No idea why.” Spark hesitated. “I protect you. I protect Jeff. My job. But…”

Zephyr stopped her and smiled, “Spark feels human love.”

“No.”

“Yes. Silly Spark.”

“Love?”

Zephyr recited from memory, “Love is a feeling of strong attraction and emotional attachment to a person, animal, or thing. It is expressed in many forms, encompassing a range of strong and positive emotional and mental states, from the most sublime virtue or good habit, or the deepest interpersonal affection, to the simplest pleasure. An example of this range of meanings is that the love of a mother differs from the love of a spouse, which differs from the love of food.”

“Sex is love.” She gave her example in English, “Make love not war.”

“It is expressed in many forms,” Zephyr clarified, “encompassing a range of strong and positive emotional and mental states, from the most sublime virtue or good habit, or the deepest interpersonal affection, to the simplest pleasure. An example of this range of meanings is that the love of a mother differs from the love of a spouse, which differs from the love of food.”

“Feel…”

“Good thoughts from him?”

“Confused. He thinks I play. I think love concept is…” Spark shrugged. “Confused.”

“Six humans loves: familial, friendly or platonic, romantic, self-love, guest love, and unconditional. Also are fatuous, unrequited, empty, companionate, consummate, infatuated, and courtly. Not English are Ren, Yuanfen, Mamihlapinatapai, Cafuné, Kama, Bhakti, Mettā, Ishq, Chesed, Amore, charity, and Saudade. Some culturally unique words, definitions, or love expressions not available in English.”

Spark’s usual glimmer dimmed as a frown settled on her face, her fingers absently tapping against her leg. “Will study tomorrow,” she muttered, then hesitated. “…Should I avoid Jeff?"

The ancient laws had been clear: A human-pixie bond was incredibly powerful but as such, any bond is best prohibited.

Zephyr toyed with the crumbling edge of the prophecy in her mind, her stomach twisting. She had spent decades studying human laws, their customs, their fear of her kind. And now, all that knowledge led to one impossible conclusion. They must break every rule to save their world.

Across the dim glow of the campfire, Spark shifted, her fiery silver curls catching the light. She was staring at Zephyr, her usual vibrancy muted by dread. Neither of them had spoken the truth aloud yet: Humans were monogamists. Jeff would only take one of them. Which pixie would he choose if forced to choose at all?

Pixie law forbade it. Human law forbade it. The survival of their realm depended on it.

And yet…

Zephyr’s chest tightened as she watched Spark’s fingers curl into fists. There was no rivalry in the gesture. Only resignation.

Spark had always been the bolder of the two, quick to laugh, quicker to act. But now, her usual confidence wavered. She pressed her palm flat against rock she sat on, as if she could absorb a truth from it through her own skin. She knew that Zephyr was right. They needed Jeff. Her gaze flicked to Zephyr, searching for an argument, a loophole, anything. Instead, she found her own fear mirrored in Zephyr’s storm-gray eyes.

A silent understanding passed between them. They had spent years side by side, training, surviving, protecting their hidden grove. They had just fought human hunters, outwitted their traps, and endured the slow erosion that fear brought. And now, the only solution was to share what neither had ever dared to want.

Jeff.

***

No formal agreement was made. No oaths were sworn.

But the next morning, when Jeff knelt beside the motorcycle that he rode to the cabin on, grease smeared across his cheek, Spark was the first to move. She darted forward, her small frame barely taller than the wheel hub, and pressed a cloth into his hand.

“You missed a spot,” she teased in English, her voice light, but her fingers lingered near his wrist a heartbeat too long.

Zephyr watched from the shadows, her pulse erratic. This was the plan, then. Not competition. Collaboration. One or the other. It didn’t matter. The novels they both had read, the movies they both had watched from behind witless humans, the lengthy discussions amongst friends, all combined to help formulate their strategy. Spark would be warmth: laughter, playful nudges, the kind of easy affection humans craved. Zephyr would be depth: quiet conversations under the stars, shared purpose, the unshakable certainty of a partner who understood his burdens. Together, they would make him need one of them.

Spark’s touch was fire. She perched on cabin’s workbench where Jeff fussed with metal parts, swinging her legs as he tinkered, her laughter bright as wind chimes. When he reached for a tool, her fingers brushed his, sending a jolt of her idea of pixie magic, just enough to make his breath catch. At night, she “accidentally” curled against him in his cramped fluff of a bed, her body struggling to be a furnace for him under the thin blanket.

Zephyr’s presence was a slow burn. She memorized the way Jeff took his coffee (black, two sugars). She left repaired gear where he’d find it, the cleaned and flawless, pixie enchantments subtle; again, her guess at what that might be. When he spoke of his past, she listened -- really listened until his voice softened in the dark.

And Jeff? He noticed. The way Spark’s eyes glittered when she challenged him to races through the meadow. The way Zephyr’s silence held more truth than most speeches. He certainly understood why his chest ached when they were near.

So did they.

A week later, Zephyr found Spark trembling behind the oak tree, her fists clenched. “I cannot do,” she whispered. “If choice is you, do I leave? If choice is me, can I do? If choice is neither?”

Zephyr exhaled. So long as he picked one of them. But Spark was right: what if he chooses neither. The truth was a blade between her ribs: The need was for just one bond to fight the Armagnac. But the laws simply forbade mating. Since it would be taboo, would it matter how many?

She reached for Spark’s hand. “Choice is required?” A pause. A flicker of hope. The two pixies stared at each other.

That night, under a sky thick with stars, where neither pixie law nor human law held no power, where all rules dissolved like mist, two pixies knew their mission.

***

Jeff sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, the weight of the past weeks pressing down on him like a physical force.

What the hell am I doing?

The question had gnawed at him for days, ever since he’d started noticing the way Zephyr’s gaze lingered on him in the dim light of the dirty workshop, or how Spark’s laughter seemed to curl around him like smoke, warm and intoxicating. At first, he’d told himself it was nothing. Pixies were playful by nature, weren’t they? Maybe this was just how they were.

But then the touches had become deliberate. The glances had deepened. And the dreams -- god, the dreams had left him waking in a sweat, tangled in sheets, heart pounding with something between guilt and hunger.

Now, in the cold clarity of midnight, the reality of it all crashed over him. They’re trying to seduce me, he concluded. And worse, it’s working.

Human law was clear: No relations with minors. The edict had been carved into the legal codes centuries ago, the pure definition of taboo. The Armagnac, the apparent human order tasked with policing the supernatural, still enforced any kind of fairy relations with brutal efficiency, child-like that fairies were or not. If the Armagnac found out…

Jeff’s fingers dug into his thighs. Would they even know?

Pixies didn’t leave marks. The Armagnac had no way to track magical signatures. Did they? If he was careful, if he never spoke of it, maybe no one would ever find out. Human law would never be an issue. Who would believe it anyway? Other, of course, than the Armagnac who would believe, violently.

But then there was pixie law. Zephyr had told him, once, in that quiet, scholarly way of hers, that pixies were forbidden from bonding with humans. It produced incredible magical powers in the hybrid child, she had said.

And yet here they were, both of them, pushing him toward the very thing their own laws condemned. Why?

The answer slithered into his mind before he could stop it. Because they have no choice.

Her face flickered behind his eyelids whenever he closed them. Sarah. With her sun-warmed hair and her sharp, knowing smile, a beautiful, loving wife who had died because of the world’s cruelty -- because of his failures; she would hate him for this. The thought cut slices through his heart. He could almost hear her voice, dry and unimpressed. "Really, Jeff? Two of them?"

But then, softer, the memory of her fingers brushing his cheek. "You’re allowed to be happy, you idiot." Was this happiness? Or was it just another kind of ruin?

The worst fear came at 3 AM, when the night was darkest and his thoughts were loudest. What if there actually would be a child? Pixie births were rare, but not impossible according to pixie history. And if it happened… if a hybrid was born…

Niamon, the ancient pixie elder, would know. The moment the child drew its first breath, the magic in its veins would sing to the old laws, and every pixie in the realm would feel it. Would they hate it? Hunt it? Would they blame him?

His stomach turned. The Armagnac certainly wouldn’t tolerate a half-breed. A pixie. And, if pixie history was any indication, they’d see it as an abomination, something to be feared, destroyed. And if they couldn’t find the child, they’d come for him instead.

Would Zephyr and Spark even tell me if a child was born? The doubt was poison.

It was a trap they were making that he wanted. That was the cruelest part: he wanted them. Zephyr, with her quiet intensity, the way her mind worked like a blade, sharp and precise. Spark, all fire and mischief, her warmth like sunlight on his skin.

But, was it a trap? Yes.

Did he care? That was the question that haunted him.

He had spent years building walls, locking away the parts of himself that could still want. And now, here they were, picking at the cracks, slipping through like thieves. If I fall into this, it’s because I let myself.

And then there was the other thought, the one that made his chest ache. What if I choose one over the other? Zephyr would never say a word if he took Spark to his bed. She would lock her hurt behind those steel-gray eyes and pretend it didn’t matter. But it would. And Spark -- fiery, fearless Spark would burn with betrayal if he reached for Zephyr instead. Could he live with that? Could they?

Or was the only way forward to break every rule at once? To take them both and damn the consequences?

Dawn was creeping through the curtains when he finally stood, his body heavy with exhaustion. There were no good answers. Only choices. He could walk away. Preserve the laws, the peace, the fragile balance. Or he could step into the fire.

For the first time in years, Jeff allowed himself to imagine it, the warmth of their hands in his, the whisper of their voices in the dark, the reckless, terrifying rightness of it. The world would call it a sin. But as the sun rose, painting the room in gold, Jeff realized something worse.

I don’t care.

***

The sizzle of eggs in the cast-iron skillet was the only sound in the cabin until the pan hit the floor with a clang. Jeff’s breath locked in his throat.

Outside the window, the sunrise wasn’t just blinding; it was alive. Golden light sliced through the trees, but between the beams, shadows moved. Not deer. Not stray hikers.

Something was stalking his cabin.

He exploded into motion -- a blur toward the living room gun rack. The 30.06 leapt into his grip, cold steel and worn walnut, Karl’s old hunter, oiled and hungry. Cartridges sprayed across the dirt-dusted old desk as he wrenched the bolt back, slammed a round home, and cracked it shut, a sound like an executioner’s hammer.

Who the hell was out there?

The porch boards groaned under his bare feet as he hit the deck, dropping prone. The rifle butt nestled against his shoulder like an old friend. Iraq wasn’t that long ago. The scope’s crosshairs swept the tree line…

… and found nothing.

No, not nothing. Camouflage. Too perfect. Too deliberate.

A shape flickered between the pines. Humanoid. Armed.

Jeff’s finger kissed the trigger.

The scope’s world blurred, not from movement, but from a sudden wash of blue.

Jeff jerked back, pulse hammering…

… And found Zephyr crouched beside him, one finger lightly pressed over the front lens, her grin sharp as a knife.

“Bad idea,” she whispered in English.

Beyond her, the forest rippled. Figures emerged. Not enemies. Pixies. Dozens of them, their glamour melting away like mist. Electric-like spears glinted. Eyes burned. And at their center, Spark stood with arms crossed, confronting them, daring them, her usual mischief replaced by something darker. She had just zipped in, a dark indigo shimmering lightning bolt.

“They’re not here for you,” Zephyr murmured, her breath warm against his ear. “They’re here for us.”

Jeff’s blood turned to ice. At first, he had imagined the Armagnac. No. Worse.

Pixie law had found them first.

***

Jeff put the hunting rifle back onto the rack where he had taken it from. He complained to Zephyr, “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Did you ask?”

Jeff held out his hands in confusion. “How possible?”

“Humans cannot see pixies.”

“Oh,” Clarity struck him. “Bullets cannot see pixies?”

“Correct.”

Jeff sagged against the edge of the desk, his broad chest heaving. A sheen of sweat glazed his temples, his breath coming in ragged hitches that fogged the air between them. He pressed a calloused palm to his ribs, fingers digging as if he could claw the panic from his bones.

"My heart." His voice was gravel and exhaustion. "It runs fast."

The words hung there, raw as a fresh wound. Around them, the cabin creaked like a living thing -- judging, waiting. Somewhere distant, a clock ticked. Or maybe it was just the hammering behind his ribs, loud enough to drown out the coming storm.

“Sick?”

“No. Not fear, not pain, English word.”

Zephyr switched to English, “Your heart hurts you somehow because of them?”

“No, I was scared shitless!”

“Your heart has shitless?”

“It’s called an adrenaline overload and it happens when I get pumped for battle,” Jeff said, his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and wariness.

Spark returned alone, a triumphant grin spreading across her face as she announced, “From Beaches. Curiosity. Queen for Beaches is Horsefly.” Her voice rang out, confident and clear. The Beaches family of pixies, their tribe, had all felt the slight tingle of presence of other pixies and had travelled from the Atlantic Ocean beaches, hence their family name, to investigate. They didn’t know Spark nor Zephyr but had known of Niamon. Curiosity satisfied, the Beaches pixies dissolved like sea foam on the wind: here, then gone, their presence lingering only as salt-stung air and the faintest of breezes. The ocean called them home, 250 miles of rivers and pines away, where tides would swallow their whispers and dunes hid Queen Horsefly’s dominion.

Jeff stepped quickly to Spark, swept her up in his arms, and hugged her tight, eliciting a startled squeak from the petite pixie. Her eyes widened in alarm as Jeff's enthusiasm nearly overwhelmed her.

“Crushing!” Spark gasped, her voice muffled against Jeff's chest.

He eased his pressure on her, a gentle smile on his face, and kissed her cheek. “Come here Zephyr, let me crush you, too!” Jeff opened his arms, inviting Zephyr to join the hug.

Zephyr frowned, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Is mating procedure?” she asked, her voice laced with skepticism.

Jeff laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. “No, definitely not. Celebration. Glad no problem. I cannot fight pixies.”

***

The sun cast a warm glow over the forest, its rays filtering through the trees to dance across the creek's gentle ripples. Jeff sat on a rock at the water's edge, his feet bare submerged and his pants rolled up to his knees. In one hand, he held a flat stone, his fingers tracing the rough texture as he searched for the perfect spot to skip it across the water. With a gentle flick of his wrist, the stone sailed through the air, landing with a soft plop and skipping twice before sinking beneath the surface.

As he reached for another stone, he sensed a presence behind him. Turning, he spotted Spark standing a short distance away, her eyes fixed on him with an uncharacteristic softness. For a moment, Jeff forgot about the stones and the creek, captivated by the vulnerability etched on Spark's face. She looked... uncertain, a far cry from the confident warrior he was used to.

Spark's gaze drifted from Jeff's face to the stones scattered around him, and she took a hesitant step forward. "You practice," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Jeff raised an eyebrow, surprised by the quiet tone. Spark's eyes met his, and he saw a flicker of fear there, a fear that didn't seem to belong to the Spark he knew.

"What is wrong?" Jeff asked, setting the stones aside and standing up. Spark's eyes dropped, and she took another step closer, her bare feet scuffling against the dirt. Jeff's instincts told him to go to her, to offer comfort, but something about Spark's demeanor kept him rooted to the spot.

Spark's voice was barely audible as she spoke, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Fear. Not enemies, not battles... losing you." The admission seemed to cost her something, and Jeff felt a pang in his chest as he took in the vulnerability etched on her face.

Jeff's first instinct was to deflect, to make light of the situation and reassure Spark that everything would be okay. But something about her words struck a chord within him. He took a step forward, his eyes locked on Spark's, and began in English, "Spark, I…"

Spark cut him off, her eyes flashing with a mix of fear and determination. She closed the distance between them, her hands reaching out to frame Jeff's face, pulling him down to her height. For a moment, they stood there, their lips mere inches apart, the tension between them palpable. Then, in a movement that caught Jeff off guard, Spark leaned in and pressed her lips to his. A human kiss.

The kiss was gentle, a soft exploration of emotions and possibilities. Jeff felt his heart skip a beat as he hesitated, torn between reciprocating and pulling back. His mind was a jumble of conflicting desires and doubts, but his body seemed to have a mind of its own. He kissed Spark back, the touch sending shivers down his spine.

But as the kiss deepened, Jeff's doubts resurfaced, and he pulled back, his hands gently grasping Spark's wrists as he broke the contact. Spark's eyes met his, a knowing glint in their depths. She smiled, a soft, tender smile that seemed to say she understood exactly what was going on in Jeff's head.

"You're allowed to want this, Jeff," Spark said in English, her voice a soft hush. "Both of us. We are breaking rules by feeling this way but it is necessary." He knew that her words held a deeper meaning, something more than just a simple attraction.

Jeff's mind reeled as he processed Spark's words. And he knew she was right; the rules that prohibited them from exploring their feelings for each other was both human as well as pixie. But the conflict within him ran deeper, rooted in fears and doubts that he couldn't quite articulate. Spark's eyes seemed to bore into his soul, as if she could see the turmoil brewing inside him.

Spark's smile never wavered as she took a step closer, her hands still framed on either side of Jeff's face. "I know you scared, Jeff. I know you unsure. But this must take place." Her words hung in the air, a challenge and a promise all at once.

Jeff's heart pounded in his chest as he met Spark's gaze, the creek's gentle babbling fading into the background. In that moment, he felt like he stood at a crossroads, with the possibility of something more waiting just beyond the horizon. Spark's eyes sparkled with a mix of vulnerability and determination, and Jeff knew that he couldn't turn away, not without exploring the emotions that seemed to be growing between them.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm orange glow over the forest, Jeff felt a sense of trepidation mixed with anticipation. Could he be the human this pixie wanted? He knew she could give him what he wanted but could he even give her what pixies really needed? A forbidden child. What pixie history said was possible.

***

The cabin’s lone bulb flickered like a dying heartbeat, its jaundiced light pooling over the scarred kitchen table where Jeff sat methodically cleaning the 30.06. Again. The ritual usually calmed him: the oiled cloth sliding along the barrel’s cold steel, the precise click-snick of the bolt cycling through empty chambers. But tonight, his calloused hands betrayed him with a tremor he couldn’t suppress.

A prickle of static raised the hairs on his neck.

Pixie.

Zephyr materialized in the air beside him, her bare feet hovering an inch above the warped floorboards. Had she just returned from the Imaginarium? Her form shimmered at the edges, a mirage given flesh, displaying the uncanny stillness of pixie flight, as if the universe had momentarily exempted her from its laws. The scent of ozone clung to her, undercut by the wild mint that grew along the nearby ridge, sharp and green.

"You avoid." Her voice was a blade wrapped in velvet. "Us?"

Jeff kept his eyes on the rifle. "Reloading."

"Lie." She landed soundlessly, her iridescent fingers warm as sunbaked stone tilting his chin up. When she continued in English, her accent curled around the words like smoke. "You humans mourn things before they’re even dead."

The rifle between them felt suddenly absurd. A weapon designed for distant, faceless targets, useless against the intimacy of this moment. Useless against them.

"Zephyr." He exhaled her name like a man stepping off a cliff. "I don’t want to hurt either of you."

She scoffed, a sound like shattering crystal. "Who says you have to?"

And then she kissed him.

Spark’s mouth had been soft. Not like Zephyr’s -- all teeth and claiming pressure -- but like the first brush of sunlight through storm clouds. Her lips had grazed his with a warmth that hollowed his ribs, her taste a riot of wild blackberries and stolen sugar. The ghost of her touch lingered still -- the featherlight tracing of his jaw, the way her laughter had vibrated against his skin, a tease or a sigh.

Zephyr kissed like a storm surge. Salt and relentless pressure, her teeth catching his lip, her hands fisting in the sweat-damp curls at his chest. She dragged him closer until the chair legs screeched against the floor, a sound like an animal dying.

Jeff’s pulse roared in his ears. He’d survived the sand-choked hellscapes of a desert war he hadn’t believed in and the asphalt indifference of American streets, but this… this collision of want and terror was the edge he’d never learned to balance on.

A fluff of nothing, a suggestion of empty thought, a sense of presence undefined. Spark was near.

Zephyr tore away, her pupils blown wide. "Damn!" she cursed in English, the word jagged with frustration.

Jeff barked a startled laugh. "I’ve never heard any of you cuss in English before."

"Know many English crazy words," she hissed, her iridescence flaring. "Should I say all?"

Spark’s sardonic laughter floated from the doorway. "Ohhh. English lessons."

The two pixies locked eyes over Jeff’s heaving chest. A silent conversation passed in the twitch of Spark’s playful fingers, the deliberate curl of Zephyr’s.

The two flashy light-blue pixies darted around Jeff like minnows, their touches electric against his skin before they zipped away, giggling. And frozen, Jeff observed.

"Enough dancing," Zephyr said at last. She lifted her chin, every inch the queen as bestowed upon her by Niamon’s abdication. "The Armagnac hunts two. Shall the two give reason?"

Spark tilted her head, considering. Then, with a grin like a lit fuse, she looked at Jeff: "...Fair."

Jeff looked between them, the wildfire and the lightning strike, and realized the choice wasn’t theirs.

It was his.

And he was ready to make it.

Or so he thought.