Chapter 5: Friday

Lupe

Despite staying up late with homework, I got to school early, hoping to catch Dana. She wasn’t there yet—though Babs and Tatja were. They stood by the flagpole, watching for her as they talked. I hesitated, then joined them. Thing was, I was still annoyed at Dana telling her parents, but I wanted to talk about her magic.

The girls nodded to me, Tatja as coolly poised as usual and Babs as coolly aloof as ... well, never. Given where I’d left things with Dana, yesterday afternoon, I couldn’t blame her. They continued talking about math homework. Which since I wasn’t in their algebra class, did make me feel excluded. Not that the feeling wasn’t normal, for me. But somehow, it bothered me now.

Then Fritz joined us, camera hanging from his neck—making me think seriously of walking away. He barely acknowledged me. He hadn’t gotten the troublesome math problem either.

Tatja turned to me. “Do you know how to do it?”

“I’d have to see it,” I said. I hadn’t really been listening—something with secants and co-tangents, which shouldn’t be too hard.

“Lemme show you,” she said, slipping her backpack off.

“Hang on,” Babs said, looking towards the corner.

I turned. Dana walked towards us, large coffee in hand as usual. Though what caught my eye was her repressed excitement—her antennae were almost shimmering in place. Hello.

“You look like a cat who got in the cream,” Babs said as she reached us.

Dana failed to hide her smile. She reached into her messenger bag and pulled out a wand. Her wand. I let out my breath. I guess I didn’t have to tell her.

Tatja figured it out first. “Dana! Yours?”

Dana nodded vigorously, grinning. Babs squealed and hugged her. They squealed together. Tatja looked on, amused, but when Dana jumped into her arms, she hugged her back. Then Dana whirled on me.

I opened my arms just in time for her leap. Her momentum spun us around, full circle.

“¡Felicidades!” I whispered in her ear.

“Squee!” she whispered back. I’d never heard an exclaimed whisper before. I put her back on the ground.

Fritz looked at us. “But what is it?”

“My magic wand,” Dana told him. She turned to face him, her left arm still around my waist—it felt nice, being so close. I kept my arm around her waist in turn, trying not to crush her hidden wings. She was trembling with excitement under my hand.

Babs looked at the cup of coffee in her hand, as if not sure how it had gotten there.

Fritz blinked behind his glasses. “You, uh, didn’t have one?”

As Dana shook her head, Tatja told him, “It’s like the fairy equivalent of getting your driver’s license.”

I nodded. Dana had said she wouldn’t get one until she was an adult—but better would be to say, you became an adult fairy when you receive your wand. When you come into your magic. Dana squeezed my hip for a moment, and I did the same to hers.

“I have to say I’m a little disappointed,” Babs said. “It looks like a conductor’s baton.”

It did, kinda—plain dark wood, maybe a foot long, with a foam handle for a better grip.

Dana blinked at her. “So?”

“It’s just, I was expecting something a little more elaborate,” Babs explained.

“With a star on the end,” Tatja added. “And glitter.”

Dana rolled her eyes. “Those Harry Potter movies.”

“I was thinking more of Tinkerbell,” Babs said.

Dana looked puzzled. She must have been too old for Disney, when she moved to Earth.

“So what kind of magic do you do?” Tatja said.

“Peacework,” Dana said proudly.

The others looked blank, but I nodded again. I’d figured it out last night. “A conflict resolution fairy.”

She beamed at me. “That’s what Kaidlêarnien calls it. Well, he calls it upadiandrielt, but that’s a good translation.”

“Yes, but what do you do?“ Babs said.

“When tempers fray, I can ... mend them. Calm people down, so we can work it out. Stop the fighting.”

I glanced at Tatja. I wondered how strong Dana’s magic was—strong enough to turn aside the Hunt? Or Rite, whatever Diana’s nymphs wanted to call it. Either way, running with Dana during the full moon was sounding like a good idea.

Yeah, I know—me taking advantage of magic. But if it could protect me, was that such a bad thing?

Assuming I could keep my fur from standing on end just thinking about it.

“Ah,” Fritz said in a knowing tone, “so that’s how you tamed the lone wolf.”

I stiffened—how did he know? But no, he was just teasing my name again. Dana’s hand pressed my hip—in warning?

“Fritz, really,” Tatja said sternly.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Dana said.

“How do we know that?” Fritz said. “None of us knows the first thing about magic.”

“Magic can’t change who someone is,” Babs told him. “Just shift their emotions.”

“And you’d know about this?” Fritz said sarcastically.

This boy was starting to annoy me. I let go of Dana and shifted away from her, in case something started—she let me go.

“Yes,” Babs said simply.

“And in any case,” Fritz went on, “that sounds like taming to me—soothing the savage beast and all that.”

I ought to have said something—but dammit, it wasn’t anything I hadn’t thought of myself.

“I can’t change someone’s loyalty,” Dana said. “That’d be changing them.”

Fritz let out his breath, as if in exaggerated patience. “It’s just, I don’t think I know you any more.”

Whatever that meant. As far as I could tell, Dana was the same person she’d been all along—not that I’d known her well, before this week. But I’d listened to her in classes for years.

Dana held up her wand. “This isn’t me—it’s just a tool, to make spells easier.”

“Is that the tool,” Fritz said, “or are we?”

If this tool didn’t know Dana couldn’t lie, then he really hadn’t known Dana. He stepped forward, looming over her. Before I could push between them or Tatja could hold him back, Dana pointed her wand at him.

“Calm down,” and as she said it, a glitter of sparks streamed from the tip of her wand to his chest. The same rainbow sparks I’d seen trailing her finger, Wednesday lunch. The hairs on my neck stood up.

Fritz took a deep breath, calmer. Then looked down at the wand. “Dammit, Dana, don’t do that.”

He spun around, camera case bouncing, and walked rapidly away.

And I thought I was the one freaked by magic.

The bell rang, officially announcing an anticlimax. We stood there, looking at each other, then Babs offered Dana her coffee back. Dana stared at it a moment, as if uncertain what it was, then took it with a sigh. We hurried to the door to strip for the day.

The principal narrowed his eyes at us. “Final warning,” he rumbled at Dana and me as Babs and Tatja slipped inside.

“About?” Dana said innocently. She put her wand in her mouth to use both hands to shimmy out of her skirt.

“Tardiness.”

“Bur glum powff burr,” Dana said. She took the wand out to say, “But we were right here!”

“You should be in homeroom by now.”

She was having a devil of a time juggling her clothing and bag and shoes and wand—with the last giving her the most trouble. I hesitated—she’d said it was just a tool, though that didn’t mean it might not be magical itself. But she needed help, and she was my Program partner. She was Dana. I took the wand from her, holding it between thumb and forefinger, and pushed it under the flap of her messenger bag. She smiled at me gratefully, then rounded on the principal again.

“Yes, but if we’d been stopped by requests, we’d be just as late.”

I wanted to put my face in my palm. Didn’t she know to leave well enough alone? I picked up her bag, caught her arm, and pulled her into the building. “Come on, or we’ll be late for first period as well.”

Which made no sense, of course—first period was still ten minutes off—but Dana accepted it with an “Oh!” Then she glanced down at my erection with an impish grin. “And we wouldn’t want to be late for relief now would we?”

I swear my cock jumped an inch in length, just at the thought. “Later,” I said at the intersection. When she followed me, though, I pointed behind us, down the other hallway. “Isn’t your homeroom thataway?”

Dana blinked, looked back, and said. “Oh, right.”

“No, left.” This was the right hallway.

“Exactly.” As I hurried on, she called after me, “Later!”

I hadn’t known a single word could be so seductive.

Dana

Distracted as I was (my wand! stupidhead Fritz! first period with Lupe!) it wasn’t until halfway through homeroom that I noticed something was bothering me. It took most of announcements, thinking things through, to figure out what it was.

Lupe had been annoyed by my assuming we were going out without our talking about it, but he was perfectly willing to keep on as before without our talking about it. I mean, was his arm around me an acceptance of my apology, for telling my parents? I thought so, but like he pointed out, we had to say it.

Much as I didn’t like to admit it, I knew what Babs would say to that.

I knew Lupe was too honorable to deliberately take advantage of me. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t get hurt anyway. I had to—

The bell rang, ending homeroom. On my way to English, I had just the one request, a really bizarre one from this geeky boy—to put my right foot in, then pull my right foot out, then put my right foot in and turn it all about—but that was quick. Lupe caught up with me halfway to English.

His hand slipped into mine as we walked. The first time he’d taken my hand. It was so sweet, I forgot my misgivings.

He leaned closer to me to whisper, “So what is Fritz?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well if three of you are, ya know, what are the chances he isn’t?”

Non-human. I glanced around—no one in the hallway was listening. Besides, he’d been careful. “You heard him this morning—he doesn’t know anything about magic.”

“Neither do I.”

“Nor do I, for that matter,” Tatja suddenly said, from my other side.

I nearly jumped, I was so started, and stopped still.

“Sorry,” Tatja said.

The bell rang, and I jumped again. We started for class.

As the halls thinned, Lupe asked Tatja, “What about during the—the Rite?”

Tatja frowned at him, before finally saying, “That’s the goddess’s power, manifesting in approval of our sacrifice. Not magic.”

Lupe stopped outside out classroom. “What’s the difference?”

Tatja turned to look at him. “I don’t know—I don’t know enough about magic.” Then she looked thoughtful. “From the outside, maybe it looks the same.”

Lupe glanced at me, a flicker at the corner of the eye. “Well, no, there’s differences.”

Between my peacework and nymphs trapping their sacrifices. Well, yah. From the way he stood—with me, facing her—he preferred my powers. Another little piece of me melted.

Tatja grunted, then opened the door for us.

“Dana, Lupe—relief?” Ms Emerson said as we entered.

Lupe stopped and looked at me, eager.

I almost said yes. But as much as giving and receiving relief from Lupe would have been nice, the way I felt, it would have taken longer than our five minutes. I was beginning to wonder how five minutes could be enough for any sex act, really. Well, unless you didn’t have an emotional connection with the person—which I suppose most of the relievers don’t. Which struck me as kinda sad—

“Dana?” Ms Emerson asked.

I shook my head. Despite my scattered thoughts, what I’d realized in homeroom—it still applied. Until Lupe was willing to tell me what he wanted, not just stand with me, I couldn’t risk getting closer—couldn’t risk falling more in love with him, till he was willing to commit.

Though if my mother was to be believed, I was already in deep—we both were.

Lupe

“Tú o nadie,” Dana whispered to me as we sat down. You or no one.

I looked down at my desk. Oh. And here I’d been startled—okay, and a little pissed—that Dana had turned down mutual relief after her implied promise before homeroom. She’d take relief from no one but me. But she wasn’t taking relief from me, now.

Until I finished thinking it through, about us, we were on hold.

“Act five,” the teacher called out. “Pyramus and Thisbe. Tell me, anyone—what does this scene remind you of?”

A boy behind me called out, “Drama Club productions!”

Laughter.

The teacher called on a girl. “It’s like the Elizabethan equivalent of Mystery Science Theater 3000.”

More laughter—this time joined by the teacher.

“You have a point, Selina—but I was asking about the mechanicals’ play itself.”

“It’s bad—the acting, the writing, everything.”

“True—but what about the scene, the situation?”

“You mean, taken seriously?” Dana asked.

“How?” the same boy called out. “It’s so stupid!”

“Stupid in what way?”

“Well just look at Pyramus—one bloody scarf and he jumps to the conclusion that she’s dead.”

Chorus of agreement.

“But,” Selina said, “how many of you have seen someone you’re sweet on talking with someone else and get jealous—jumping to conclusions?”

“Or seen a friend do it,” Tatja added.

Dana nodded. Was she thinking of Fritz? Though Dana was interested in me, so it wasn’t a false conclusion. Someone else, then?

The class talked about it a while, and under the teacher’s leading questions came to the conclusion that both Pyramus and Thisbe get in trouble because they think in all-or-nothing terms. Life without the other was as good as death.

Pyramus saw a torn scarf and assumed the worst. Fritz and I saw magic and assumed the worst.

The thing was, I knew in my head that Dana’s magic was harmless—that she could only use it for good. My heart, the part that stays me through every change—all it knew was that in the past, every magic spell I’d seen had tried to kill me. Never mind the magic that let Dana cover her wings with a shirt, or the twice I’d seen her mojo Fritz when he was upset. And me, once.

I don’t know how much you know about wolves, but one important thing is, they’re proud, man. The heart that stays through both wolf and man didn’t want to admit that it was wrong. About either her magic or her family. Her family, which had successfully hidden their identities for however long it’d been.

If I waited for my heart to come around, I’d never get together with Dana.

The teacher called my attention back with an observation: nor would the four Athenians have gotten sorted out, if they—and Puck—hadn’t admitted they’d gotten things wrong. The choice of Pyramus and Thisbe wasn’t random on Shakespeare’s part. Which got everyone off on a tangent again. I followed it for a while, before looking at Dana again.

The thing about self-control is, that if you act like you haven’t lost your temper, then you’re a good way to keeping it. That was something Caesaria had taught me.

The bell rang, ending the discussion. The teacher reminded us of our essays due Monday—bleagh—and released us. I sat at my desk a moment.

The way to train my heart into accepting Dana’s magic the way it already accepted herself was to act like it.

I stood and looked at Dana. She returned my gaze, waiting. Then I whispered,

“Nadie puede var a la mierda.”

Dana

I watched Lupe leave, puzzled. Only when he was out the door did I figure it out. My heart felt like a blossoming field of butterflies.

Tatja wrinkled her nose. “Did he just say Nadja has diarrhea?”

“‘No one’ can go to, uh, a bad place,” I translated. Forget no one—I’d get relief from him. He’d thought about it. He’d accepted my apology.

“And this makes you giddy because?”

Was I giddy? Though I did want to like giggle and titter and twirl. “I asked him out,” I explained as we left the room. “That’s his way of saying yes.” Well, more or less. We’d have to talk, during lunch. Make it explicit this time. I’d so learned my lesson about that.

Tatja raised an eyebrow at me, then shook her head. “All I can say is, I’m glad you found someone who understands you.”

Again, Fritz didn’t meet us in the hall, but reached biology before us. And I, of course, had to sit up front instead of getting a chance to talk with him. Though I was pretty sure Babs would tell me that, like Lupe, Fritz needed to think it through for a while.

Ms Leyden didn’t give me the chance for relief—because I would be doing that later in class. I stuck out my tongue at her naked back, when she turned away. Okay, so maybe taking relief from Lupe last period would have been a good idea. Well, it would have been bad at the time, but good for now. Oh, you know what I mean.

We started with a discussion of fairy sexuality. Yes, fairies have sexualities—we’re nature spirits, aren’t we? No, Nature isn’t all straight—homosexual behavior occurs in nature, along with other things. Yes, that means there’s gay and lesbian and bisexual fairies. No, there’s no prejudice against gays among fairies—though hobs can be nasty about it. Yes, the Gay-Straight Alliance would be pointless in Elfland. No, I’m straight myself. Yes, I have kissed another girl—that’s how I know I’m straight. No, I’m not a virgin. Yes, with a human.

The questions had gotten such the personal. I could see the term papers now: “Sexual Habits of the Adolescent Fairy.”

Leyden asked, “Are you dating anyone now?”

I hesitated on that a moment, before admitting, “I’m sorta kinda seeing someone.”

“Would he or she mind if another person assisted you in a sexuality demonstration?” In response to which, a couple kids eagerly raised their hands—though not Fritz. He grimaced for a moment, before wiping his face blank.

Wait— “She? I said I’m straight.”

“Just covering all the bases.”

Which gave me the time to think. I honestly didn’t know if Lupe would be jealous or not. Fritz would be, but that was besides the point. No, the point was that I would mind. You or no one, I’d said—and meant it.

“I would prefer not to have assistance.”

The hands went down.

Leyden then asked me to masturbate for the class. Nothing more than we’d already seen, earlier in the year, from other students. Right?

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and touched myself.

I fantasized about—well, I’m not sure I want to share it. Not that it was anything embarrassing or perverse—I mean, I wasn’t near ready for sex with Lupe in wolf form, beautiful as it is. But it was mine and his. So let’s just say it involved me and Lupe naked to the warm moonlight in a field of fluffy bunnies, and a paint-bucket full of glitter. Glitter looked really nice frosting Lupe’s body hair—at least in my imagination. I wanted to find out, now, whether that was true. Not that I had that large a bucket at home.

Yes, I know, the glitter when I cast a spell—but that winks out after I cast it.

I took my time, not being limited to five minutes. When I was done, the class talked about their observations of me, which made me feel totally odd, like I wasn’t there. But this turned into more questions, about fairy sex. No, fairies don’t usually use the missionary position, unless they have beetle wings. Yes, flying does mean some interesting positions. No, I haven’t tried them. Yes, they’re supposed to be fun. No, I preferred sex with my boyfriend—and he stays on the ground. Well, yes, I did mean that literally, but yanno a bed is the same principle. No, I’d rather not list all the positions we’ve tried—nor the places we’d done it.

And all the while, Fritz turned stiffer and stiffer, until he was more like a stone than a student.

Lupe

It wasn’t until the end of math that I realized why Dana had never feared me as a wolf. Something Fritz, of all people, had said pointed me toward it. She hadn’t known she could soothe the savage beast, as he’d put it, but that’d been her instinct. Her magic fit her character—or her personality chose the form of her magic. Something like that. Not nature versus nurture so much as ... precursor versus predetermined?

Sometimes I wish I was better with words.

As I pondered this chicken-and-egg thing, I accidentally walked into the boy’s locker room—again. Again, three big football players objected. As if a naked guy, among all the other guys changing, was threatening their manhood or something. This time, instead of just backing off, I stood there, hands spread.

“Guys, honest mistake, eh?”

The linebacker narrowed his eyelids—I hadn’t realized piggy eyes could get even smaller—and said, “Just don’t do it again.”

It was my last school day in the Program, so it wasn’t like it’d come up again, but I just nodded.

We all turned away together, and I crossed over to the girl’s side.

Tatja saw me before Luisa’s gang did. With her was another basketball/volleyball player—a brunette with the same disinterested look about her as Tatja. The look that didn’t really care that I was a naked boy. The look of another nymph.

Just how many supernaturals were hiding in our school?

Tatja introduced her as Helene Kourdakopolos. From a line of nymphs that stayed in Greece, I was guessing.

“This is... ?” Helene asked Tatja.

“The one who got away,” I answered for her. Yeah, as much boast as anything.

She didn’t like that I knew who she was—no more than I liked Tatja telling her about me. “And why should we trust you?”

What answer could I give but, “The same reason I should trust you.”

I met her gaze as she went from annoyed to disdainful to thoughtful. Tatja smiled slightly.

To Tatja, Helene finally sneered, “What-ever.”

I watched her stalk off, then said to Tatja, “And you think you can keep me safe from her?”

“It’ll take a little convincing,” she admitted. “It’d help if you can assure her you’ve never mauled a cow.”

I blinked.

“Her mother and grandmother raise cattle, north of town.”

Finally I said, “A single wolf can’t take down a full-grown cow. If they ranch, they’d know that.”

Tatja grunted, and went into the gym.

I spent P.E. outside under Coach Dean again, me and three cross-country runners, as she coached us on tactics for tomorrow’s meet. Most of which I knew from every other meet I’d run in, but you know coaches. I wouldn’t have minded except for standing outside naked. It was a warmer day, but still. Finally she had us run a 3000m—and then dissected our performance in just as much detail.

Enough so, that when she finally let us go in to shower, the gym was empty—not even Tatja was waiting for me.

But Helene was.

She studied me with narrowed eyes. “Almakova claims you scrub backs well.”

Why would Tatja say that? “There’s only one way to find out,” I replied.

Not the answer Helene was looking for. She wanted an excuse to not like me. A week ago, I would have blown past her, not caring whether she liked me or not. A week ago, I wouldn’t have known how much my safety depended on it.

“You may have seduced Tatja into trusting you—” she started to say, but I cut her off with a laugh.

“She has even more reason to worry about me than you do,” I said. Off her look, I explained, “I’m going out with her friend.”

Helene almost sneered. “Babs Scranton can take care of herself.”

“Other friend.”

“Fritz?” When I choked, she corrected herself. “The fairy?!?”

I nodded. When she stared at me without responding, I walked past her into the locker room.

Tatja was at the far shower again. I joined her. Before I could finish shampooing, Helene joined us.

And I scrubbed her back.

Dana

Fritz was still stone-silent as he walked me to math—or partly walked me, for when Babs caught up, he left us. I was looking after him when Babs said, “So I take it I don’t get to beat him up?”

“No beatings,” I told her. Why do so many humans suggest violence as a solution, even as a joke? Not that Babs is human, but I still thought of her that way.

“What, not even in bed?” she said teasingly. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

“But I don’t want to take him to bed,” I protested. “That’s like the whole point!”

Babs raised her finger, then paused. “I was talking about Lupe,” she finally said. “Not Fritz.”

“Wait—what? No! No beating Lupe. That’s my job.” Before she could say anything, I added, “Not that there’ll be any beatings.”

“Whip me, beat me, make me fluffy,” she murmured.

Which is why I entered algebra class doubled over laughing—loud enough that when Mr Weinberger asked if I cared to share the joke with the class, all I could do was wave a limp hand at him.

I spent the class thinking of how fun it would be, being fluffy with my boy. With or without bunnies.

Mmm—fluffy. ‘Scuze me a minute.

Lupe

Tatja and I went to lunch again together. Well, sort of together—she stood in the cafeteria line while I (with my brown bag—I couldn’t face another school lunch) grabbed a table in the Commons. For all of us—somehow, in less than a week, that had become habit—this time one of the six-seaters. Though when the others arrived with their orange trays, Fritz wasn’t with them.

I looked at Dana. She raised her chin as she looked back. We needed to talk—alone, later. I nodded, and she sat beside me. Tatja and Babs sat across from us.

The mystery du jour, by the way, smelled vile. Viler than usual, I mean. The creamy sludge on top was closer to green than white. I tried not to think about how stinky I’d find it as a wolf. I’d probably want to roll in it.

“What’s the matter?” Dana asked as I peered at her plate.

“I don’t like the look of that supposed white sauce.”

“It’s to cover the supposed food underneath,” Tatja said.

I looked up at her. “The stuff beneath it’s worse?”

“Almost certainly,” she said solemnly.

“Worse than creamed snot?” I shot back. “How?”

Tatja leaned towards me and whispered conspiratorially, “It’s ... magic.”

I scowled a moment, before realizing she was yanking my tail. She snickered. I shot back, “Or prayer, as the case may be.”

Dana giggled, and Tatja made a thin, wry smile. Score. I had to admit, sitting with Dana’s friends was more fun than sitting alone. As in more funny.

Okay, okay, man—I’ll stop pretending I can make jokes.

Throughout all this, Babs had studied Dana, chewing her cheek. She suddenly asked, “Why now?”

Dana looked at her. “Because it’s what they served us?”

Babs shook her head. “I mean your magic—why’d it happen come out your week in the Program?”

Good question, I thought. But I acted like I was only a little curious—not a big deal.

“She’s right,” Tatja said, “it is a bit of a big, ah...”

“Co-rinkydinks? It isn’t. I mean, not that it was the Program—not exactly.” Dana colored slightly. I hadn’t known that when she blushes, her nipples turned bright pink. Very cute—or maybe I mean very sexy. With her, they’re kinda the same.

“Not exactly, how?” Tatja said.

Dana took a sip of juice. “According to my mother, fairy magic develops when you first fall in love,” and she carefully didn’t look at me, “with someone who returns your love.”

I stared at her. Who said I was in love with her?

Other than her magic.

Damn magic.

Dana

There. Now, where was I? Oh yeah—lunch.

See, I hadn’t insisted on talking with my boy right then—aside from it’d mean ditching my friends again, that is—because I thought we had time. Sometimes, though, the Great Circle doesn’t let you rest. By the look on his face, he hadn’t worked it out. Yet.

There are some things magic can’t force.

Tatja and Babs looked from Lupe to me. Lupe flushed, his skin turning a richer dark. Then Tatja nodded. Babs almost snickered, but I glared at her. So it was Lupe who spoke first.

“Wait—didn’t your mother got her magic when she was twelve?”

So not what I was expecting. “?”

Tatja shook her head, as if to clear it. “You mean she—?”

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, that was when my parents met. I hadn’t noticed that before.” Somehow, I’d never made the connection. I sometimes wonder whether, if I had, that would have comforted me about my own magic—or made me worry about not having a boyfriend yet.

“Danes,” Tatja said, “wasn’t she a little young... ?”

“Of course she wasn’t too young—it happened, didn’t it? So it must be good.”

Lupe cleared his throat. “But—um, he was twenty-seven and she was twelve.”

It took me a moment to remember that humans considered an age difference like that scandalous, if not illegal. Not that any of us four were human, but still. I made an impatient noise. “We’re fairies—we can’t do anything bad. We can’t even use bad words. I mean, drat it.”

Lupe tried to hide a smile, but I was getting to know his facial ticks. He asked, “You want to cuss more?”

“No, silly—that was an example of the worst I can cuss.”