Dedications:

For the tender omnipresent shadow and adored friend, Umbra viridis –tco, may this story evoke the scent of Autumn air and scatter rose petals on your path as you enter this princedom, heed the loving murmurs of the vermillion leaves, and, there in the grove, a Fae rests, waiting for you, eager to enchant you with stories and ballads, perpetually chanting, of good, of evil, of life, singing in the night until you close your lids and continue dreaming; in the dream, you enter a dimly lit corridor, webs undulate in the breeze and the scent of old parchment mesmerizes you, a will-o'-the-wisp guides you through the chambers, each of them containing a hidden prize; a signed book about a young sovereign and his beloved flower, a golden orb, an old monocle, exquisite tea leaves, the secret diary of a certain hunter, a feather of an angel…you hear laughter from the other rooms and you know you're safe. On a nearby desk, you discover a note. It reads: sacred arias rise again, in lofty opalescent vaults echoing, yearning, of universal meanings yelling, foretelling, reciting, in eternity never disappearing.

And

For Zanteh, the wise and magnificent being, weaver of phantasmagorical and excruciating tales, my muse and source of courage, neverending determination and strength, a flaming phoenix rising from the ashes in all its regal colours. Catharsis floods my heart when I read your words, purging it and enriching it, revealing new dimensions. Because of you, I have managed to conquer my fear of writing and publishing, and for that I am forever grateful, and forever your humble servant. May the celestial powers watch over you and grant all of your wishes, may your precious mind continue to grace this world and produce new wonders.

It was certainly not the type of situation he was used to dealing with. A strange combination of completely unfamiliar sentiments came over him as he stared at his reflection in his sublime Baroque mirror, whose framework was adorned with golden vines and small amethyst grapes. He tapped one absentmindedly with his index finger as he tried to decipher the mechanism behind the insane proposition of a certain brawny buffoon. It was quite amusing in the beginning, when the first letter had arrived via the usual diplomatic formalities between Fairy and Anti-Fairy World, but things did escalate to a very interesting degree when he kept on refusing to schedule a meeting. Anti-Cosmo was displeased to find that annoying messages were worming their merry way into every imaginable aspect of his life, and the sole reason for his current dilemma was the fact that his own tea cups had turned against him and screamed in Jorgenʼs booming voice. Oh, or maybe it was the exploding water closet. No, it must have been the killer crumpets and flesh-eating scones. For evilʼs sake, how embarassing. It did not do him well. Vulnerability had a horrible effect on his psyche. Truth be told, he could have sworn that the pair of emeralds that was staring back at him were not his own eyes. No. Definitely not. Those eyes are dripping with fear and panic. They disgust me. That is not me. Not even my moronic counterpart would have the nerve to appear in public with that terror-stricken expression on his face.

Of course, there was no room available for such ridiculous and useless things in his profession. Fear?! It was nigh impossible for a person in position of power and in possession of great responsibility to survive such a mistake. He could not afford any sort of weakness; his enemies would eat him alive. Moreover, his own son would stab him both in the back and in the front repeatedly if he were to falter and stop emanating his usual aura of superiority and charisma. Maybe he just lacked patience. That was the trait he admired his mother for: the ability to keep a cool mind and a steady, resilient heart. Mama Anti-Cosma was truly the embodiment of poise and reason. Discretion had always been of utter importance to her, a calm woman capable of solving a crisis by pouring cold water over it and slapping it into equilibrium. Schemes represented the weapon and tool of unimaginative cowards in her opinion; unfortunately, she had been incapable of passing on her credo to her son. His paranoia and tendency to find refuge in clandestine activities were the primary characteristic of his fatherʼs personality. Papa Anti-Cosma was indeed a refined galant, a true gentleman and a cultivated genius, but far too severe and greedy for his own good. Things had gone to the deuce the moment Anti-Cosmo made the idiotic blunder of turning his father into a fly when he received his wand. His mother was forced to act as Regent and organise a search party for her missing husband. Eventually they did find him and turned him back to normal, but his nerves had already gone down the drain.

He still remembered the fury he had felt when he was dragged from the freedom of his youth and had to assume the duties of the Heir Apparent. It would be a lie to say that he hadnʼt been interested, but not under those circumstances. He stood there, wearing his shirt and waistcoat, his overcoat hanging from the edge of the couch. His hair was presentable, but he was having problems with his scarf. He tied it and untied it with his nervous and cold fingers, his irritation level growing every second; oh, why was it so difficult to tie the bloody thing? He sighed and took out a piece of cloth to polish his monocle. As he busied himself with this activity, he failed to register the presence of another being that had entered his study. He only realised this when he felt a pair of arms snake around his waist and pull him closer to the warm feminine figure behind him; when did Anti-Wanda become so sneaky?

ʺWhy arenʼt ya cominʼ ta bed?ʺ

ʺBecause Jorgen has taken leave of his senses.ʺ

He leaned his head back on her shoulder and enjoyed the fragrance of her wonderfully fluffy hair. Honey and sunshine. What an odd combination for a creature that represented the darker side of reality. He traced her cheek with his fingers and focused his efforts on leaving small kisses on her neck. Her reaction to his fangs tickling the surface of her skin was priceless. It wouldnʼt be a surprise to him if he started purring like a very satisfied black cat. Warmth...she had always been so welcoming. Suddenly, he felt her grip tighten and he could not help but gasp.

ʺOuch! What is it, woman?!ʺ

ʺThem poor lilʼ senses! He left them all alone in the cold? Are ya gonna go save them? Er...what do they look like anyway? Oh, lemme guess; kittens! Lilʼ darlinʼ kittens!ʺ

ʺOh, for evilʼs sake, there is only so much one person can take at a time. Yes, my dear, kittens. Little kittens that live in your head and give sage advice and useful instructions; the only problem is that most idiots ignore them.ʺ

As he spoke, he tried his best to release himself before her hold on his midriff got even tighter. It was a very interesting scene to behold, and even more so if we calculate in the fact that Anti-Wanda giggled hysterically when she saw the reflection of Anti-Cozzie in the mirror in front of them. He was struggling for some reason unknown to her, but she did put the pieces of the puzzle together when he started coughing.

ʺOh, I get it! Iʼm chokinʼ ya! Why didnʼt ya say somethinʼ?ʺ

ʺYou...may... want...to call the ambulance...ʺ

ʺAh, ya big baby.ʺ

She made a snort and placed her hands on her hips. Meanwhile, a very grateful Anti-Cosmo was desperately trying to inhale as much as his lungs would physically allow and flailed his arms about with unnecesary pathos.

ʺWhy do the Fates detest my existence?! Why do they always have to toy with my life?ʺ

ʺHuh?ʺ

ʺLook at this.ʺ

He conjured the letter he had received several weeks prior and tossed it in his wifeʼs hands. The small green envelope had been sealed with wax and bore the star emblem of the Fairies. There wasnʼt much of the seal left on it now when it was already broken, but the upper part of the golden star was discernable. The letter within was uncharacteristically long, handwritten(courtesy of Binky, one could suppose), formal to the point that even made Anti-Cosmo wince and the language was quite archaic. Not normal. Not even the usual mature style used in official correspondence, but the type that had once served only in the most drastic and desperate situations. Wars were declared in such a language, alliances were forged, complex situations resolved. In short, something that had not been used in centuries. Not even when they had been condemned to eternal imprisonment. But that was done through a perfidious act, so no official document had ever been issued or delivered.

She held it in her hands and tried to make some sense of it.

ʺI canʼt even read this darn thing. What sorta language is it?ʺ

ʺThat style is a clear indicator that we are either in great peril...or that Jorgen is under the false impression that every day is the first day of April. Whatever it may be of those two options, I am definitely not going to assist in my own murder by going and granting him an audience! Who does that boob think he is?! I bet not even their bloody Council is familiar with this. They would never allow this sort of nonsense!ʺ

ʺWhat in tarnation are ya talkinʼ of? I thought ya were going to save them senses.ʺ

ʺAh, if only I had your head for a day. That would be a true vacation.ʺ

ʺEr...ʺ

ʺJust a figure of speech, beloved.ʺ

He averted his gaze back to the mirror and continued his mission of tying the scarf properly; it was quite hard to achieve its usual puffy effect. His fingers were icy and sweaty, which did nothing to simplify his not-as-easy-as-it-looks work. Eventually, he sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Ah, scarves could be so evil and vicious. But the vision of dismembering von Strangle did make him feel a bit better about life.

ʺLemme get that for ya, honey.ʺ

One would percieve it as a true miracle that she was capable of some very prodigious acts at the most ridiculous moment. There was this awkward time when Foop and he had been staring at the chessboard for hours, sweating and experiencing tremors over every single move. Insane emeralds of his eyes trying to defeat and triumph over sociopathic amethysts of Foop. A pair of curious pink diamonds had come along and wanted to join in the little game with horsies and queens. She had picked up a piece, much to her sonʼs and husbandʼs chagrin, and moved it diagonally. Satisfied, she had also decided to move the horsie from the opposite side to keep the first little lonely darlinʼ soldier company. ( They are called Knights and Bishops! Mother, what are you doing?). A few moves later, she had created the ideal playdate: she combined those who behaved and got rid of trouble makers. She had given her son a quick peck on the cheek and she floated away to an unknown direction. Anti-Cosmoʼs jaw had dropped and Foop was probably having some difficulty with blinking. ( Oh, my...I...think I should go and lie down. Yes.)

She untied the messy knot he had made and began to show her skill; he refused to dress himself by using magic. After a few adjustments with her deft fingers, she summoned his sapphire broach and pinned it on. It was adorable when she was the one in charge of affairs. She would make a goofy grin and bounce with joy.

ʺThere! All fancy and cute!ʺ

ʺCome here, my evil temptress.ʺ

ʺHey! Yer squishinʼ me!ʺ

ʺNo, Iʼm not. I am merely acting like the lovestruck fool that I am. And I am getting even with you for trying to take my breath away ‒ literally.ʺ

ʺHmph, ya great big British wacko.ʺ

With arms locked around her middle, he nuzzled her neck and whispered gentle words to soothe and placate her false anger. Verses of the most treasured and revered poems were being recited and partially sung when he arrived at the older Greek ones. Maybe he should conjure a lyre and do it the old way. Or maybe hire a satyr to play it for him in the background.

ʺAnti-Cosmo?ʺ

ʺYes?ʺ

ʺWhat about that no good letter?ʺ

ʺI am trying to woo you. Do not spoil my attempts.ʺ

ʺBut ya were so upset! Itʼs gonna keep eatinʼ ya and yer gonna be mean to me when ya get angry!ʺ

ʺOh, enough. I never mean it, you ninny! Has it not dawned on you that you are the only person keeping me from going berserk and blowing the universe to bits? That you are the sole reason why I get out of bed every day and face this travesty of a life?!ʺ

ʺAh, shucks, how sweet of ya. But ya have to do what ya must. I hate to see ya so grumpy. Ya get that funny lilʼ look in yer eyes when yer nervous. Like a possum that sleeps right-side up!ʺ

Preposterous. Possum? I am not a possum in any manner whatsoever! Still, the logic of her argument was conspiring against him; quite an amazing feat, considering the fact that Anti-Wanda was the author. Morbid curiosity be damned to a thousand torments, he was preparing to give in and indulge von Strangle in his request. It was more than obvious that he would continue to persist and annoy the Anti-Fairy to no end. A trap? Well, what sort of an idiot would announce his intentions several weeks in advance and repeat them ad nauseam to a very irritated potential victim of his schemes? Hmmm, letʼs leave that question unanswered.

Magic. Anti-Cosmo was a renowned expert at all branches of the magical craft, a gifted conjurer and sorcerer par excellence. Necessary precaution would be taken, several well cast defensive spells and a masterfully conducted teleportation. Yes. That would get him out of Jorgenʼs impromptu trap. He left his wifeʼs side and approached the arched window of his private study; the Gothic ornements were quite soothing and meditative, and the glass itself had been painted with the Chartres blue colour. Yes, it was horribly difficult to reconstruct the formula that had been lost in the first half of the second millenium, but he was persistent. It had been a shame that he wasnʼt present at the construction of the Chartres cathedral itself, as it would have been easier to bribe the masons and the artisans into sharing their secret. He contemplated the figures on the vitrail.

ʺI am approaching the scaffold like a brainless dolt.ʺ

ʺNo, yer not. Yer just standinʼ in place.ʺ

ʺI am going to meet him.ʺ

ʺOh! Ya go anʼ give him a good whoopinʼ for leavinʼ those senses!ʺ

ʺHe is going to get a hard kick in the behind if this isnʼt a matter worth discussing. I will bring his heart in a jar and place it in the treasury.ʺ

ʺServes him right!ʺ

He grabbed his overcoat and buttoned it up. Casting one last glance at the room, he took Anti-Wandaʼs hand and pressed his lips on it. Her giggles reverberated around the study and she pulled him in for a tight hug. Not too tight, for fear that she would start crushing his thorax once more. He made a grin and allowed himself the liberty of giving her a playful pinch on the thigh.

ʺYa pervert!ʺ

ʺCouldnʼt resist.ʺ

As he floated down the vast corridors of his castle, he indulged himself in marvelling the beauty he had created through his own designs. The current version of the castle had been finished in the sixteenth century, when Anti-Cosmo decided to add the combined elements of both Gothic and Rennaissance architecture, which he had found so appealing in the Chambord castle, as a replacement of the initial donjon version that served for defense against sieges. However, he was forced to leave the outer walls that concealed most of the castle from public view. Corinthian columns and rib-caged vaults were quintessential to the inner design, along with carvings at the top of the typical thin Gothic pillars that formed intricate lace patterns. Statues of Greek deities and Roman equivalents were placed in most rooms, Rococo furniture, crystal chandeliers and the art of the Baroque, Classic and Romantic period.

He snapped out of his fantasies when he noticed a pair of glowing amethysts in the semi-darkness of the corridor. Frowning, he was forced to come to an abrupt stop. His son emerged from the shadows and made a mocking bow to the ruler of the realm.

ʺFather.ʺ

ʺUngrateful whelp. Shouldnʼt you be in bed?ʺ

ʺShouldnʼt you be rotting in an unmarked grave?ʺ

ʺFor your motherʼs sake, I will let that one pass. I would hate to mutilate her Foopy.ʺ

ʺOh, what a merciful gesture. Going soft with age.ʺ

ʺOur wonderful father-son relations aside, I need you to do something for me.ʺ

ʺI have better things to do than run errands for you like a common servant. You have no jurisdiction over me, you old codger.ʺ

ʺOh, I beg to differ, you rotten fruit of my loins.ʺ

Before the small cube could react, his father had shot a powerful blast of indigo energy from the onyx star of his wand in his direction. The impact of the blast had thrown him straight at the stone wall and he groaned in anguish and unbearable pain.

ʺNow, my son, let us try again. You were about to say that you would be thrilled to respect my wishes. And in a respectful and subservient tone typical for a common servant.ʺ

ʺWhat have you done to me? I canʼt move! LET ME GO!ʺ

ʺParalysis Spell. You too would know how to cast and counter it if you were not such a stubborn dunce. Now, let me reword this in the only language you undestand. I, the Leader of this world, am asking you, my worthless son, to keep your mother, my Consort, safe, while I am on a short business excursion. Is that too difficult for you?ʺ

ʺBusiness excursion?! At half an hour till midnight? Oh, you may have been able to sell that story to my idiotic mother, but I know that you are probably using it as an excuse to sneak out and participate in lecherous activities with random women of dubious behaviour.ʺ

Foop had to bite his tongue at the last word. He was merely trying to anger his father, but his last remark had gone too far. Anti-Cosmoʼs love and loyalty to Anti-Wanda was beyond discussion, and he knew that he would pay dearly for his insolence. He closed his eyes and prepared himself for the blow; none came. How he loathed this body of an infant, the very one that would always tremble with fear and react to pain.

ʺYour grandfather would have slaughtered me for that sass.ʺ

ʺYes, well, you are the main reason why Grandpa always gets a tad bit agitated everytime he hears buzzing sounds. That is even worse than my way of conduct.ʺ

ʺHear me well: there is potential danger in our proximity, and I need you to keep things under control should anything happen to me. Our archives will automatically relocate themselves and a barrier shall be lifted to protect our dimension. Your mother is incapable of acting as a temporary ruler and you are going to have to take care of the Anti-Fairies. Anti-Studwell and Anti-Cupid will be your advisors. We canʼt rely on Anti-Binky, he is far too chaotic.ʺ

ʺI beg your pardon? You are surely toying with my mind, because I could have sworn that you just offered me your post.ʺ

ʺOut of pure necessity. If I get captured or injured, I need to know that I can rely on you. Now, I am not asking you as a father, but as your ruler. And you are my heir, so I expect you to act the role.ʺ

ʺI knew I shouldnʼt have eaten that quiche that Mother had made.ʺ

ʺThis is serious! Jorgen has presented himself as a potential threat to the somewhat stable relationship between Fairy and Anti-Fairy World, which can only find its result in conflict. I have been given a temporary salvus conductus to their world so I could participate in a ridiculous meeting. The outcome can only be speculated about and I need someone here to react if something undesirable happens. Are you aware of the seriousness of our situation?!ʺ

ʺI...suppose.ʺ

ʺWonderful.ʺ

The streets and alleys of the domain of Fairies were plagued by an omnipresent blue fog. It wound itself through every available surface, engulfing the buildings, streetlamps and other random objects; the night air was pleasant and the stars were enjoying themselves by sparkling and showing off their indifference. No Fairy would deign to show its face at such a godless time of the night. As the fog approached the entrance of a particularly large building that served as headquarters of the Fairy World administration, it grew darker and denser. Meanwhile, the rest of it had dissipated and the remaining smoke started to shape itself into a solid figure. Elegant black bat wings emerged and flapped, followed by a torso and a pair of arms. When the fog disappeared entirely, the head and the rest of his physical self took shape. He grabbed the handle of his wand and pressed it against the gates. A dark blue light manifested itself and disappeared. He crossed his arms and waited.

The turning of the lock made him twitch and his heart had decided to beat like a hammer drill. He was relieved to see the eyes of a very nervous Binky.

ʺUh, sir, um, Jorgen is waiting for you in his office. Oh, yeah, and do come in.ʺ

ʺRelax, I am not here to murder the entire town. Yet.ʺ

He made a diabolical grin and showed his canines in their full glory. Binky let out a little yelp and moved aside so the dark visitor could enter the hallway. White marble had lost its glowing splendour in the absence of light, and the golden ornements were reduced to black shapes. The silence was deafening. It almost reminded him of a mausoleum. Binky made a motion with his hand and led the way to the upper storey that contained von Strangleʼs official rooms. They ended up in a dark corridor illuminated by a shy ray of light that escaped from beneath the grand door that belonged to the brawny idiotʼs office. Binky knocked three times and paused. Then he used the tips of his fingers and tapped the door. Only then did the man give his permission for them to open it and enter.

ʺYouʼre on your own, sir.ʺ

ʺWhat the hell is wrong with all of you? What is all this nonsense and why are you being so mopey?!ʺ

ʺNot my place.ʺ

Irritated, Anti-Cosmo grabbed the handle and made a rough entrance, all decorum forgotten and left for dead. He was about to blast Jorgenʼs brains out, but then he paused and his mouth opened of its own will. The figure sitting at the desk was a pale shadow of what must have been Jorgen von Strangle. The fireplace was the sole provider of light and it cast a macabre combination of shadows on his face. He was...so thin. The veins on his ams protruding and giving off an unhealthy air. His tan skin reduced to a ghostly pallor.

ʺFor the love of...Jorgen?ʺ

ʺPuny Anti-Fairy! Stop staring at me with pity and sit down!ʺ

ʺJorgen, indeed it is you.ʺ

A feral growl escaped the Anti-Fairyʼs throat, for he was not used to such disrespectful treatment. Foop was an exception to the general rule, but still. He floated to the chair on the other side of the desk and banged his fist against the mahogany wood.

ʺYou have three seconds to tell me what you want. I ought to rip you to ribbons and decorate the room with your body parts!ʺ

ʺThat is just gross, AC. The janitor is going to kill you.ʺ

The familiar monotone drawl came from Anti-Cosmoʼs left. His eyes widened and he cast a glance at the barely illuminated corner of the office. HP was lounging in a leather armchair, sipping from his crystal glass and watching him with all the wisdom of a cynic. So grey, yet so colourful when it came to insults. Collaboration with him had always been a delight, but their visions of dominating the world were in perfect opposition. Order could not reconcile with chaos.

ʺWhat the bloody hell are you here for?ʺ

ʺBen Stein was too busy. Donʼt worry about time, by the way. I am charging Jorgen by the hour, so you can go on and prolong this as much as it pleases you. Youʼll get your revenge by forcing him to bankrupt.ʺ

ʺCharging him? For what?ʺ

ʺActing as the Devilʼs attorney and keeping my mouth shut. Cognac? Brought it just for this occasion. Although, I think that there is no amount of alcohol that could help Jorgen now.ʺ

ʺNo, thank you. I donʼt need that poison in my organism.ʺ

ʺGive it a minute or two. Sanderson is waiting in the car and blasting Eminem. Thank goodness I made the limousine sound-proof.ʺ

Meanwhile, a very up-beat Sanderson was uploading his newest break-dance achievement on TooYube. Just to make it appear that he was being constructive and diligent in sorting HPʼs affairs, he amused himself with the drafting of a document that would ensure that those cunning buggers would stop abusing loopholes in tax legislation. It annoyed him to no end that the final accounts were not in accordance with the planned income; may they all be plagued by inflation and a negative GDP!

Chasing the unsettling image of a Pixie listening to rap from his mind, Anti-Cosmo fixed his attention on the overgrown Fairy. Von Strangleʼs eyes were bloodshot and wild, the former dark green reduced to a glazy haze. His bottom lip trembling.

ʺVon Strangle, what is this rubbish?ʺ

ʺWinston. I think I condemned him to death.ʺ

ʺWinston?! Your godchild?ʺ

ʺYes. They will come for him...oh, what have I done?! It was all an accident, the magical interdiction had lifted somehow from my core and...and...I didnʼt even notice.ʺ

He let his face fall on the surface of the mahogany desk and made inarticulate sounds that sounded like faint cries. Anti-Cosmo was sorely tempted to leave while he still had the chance and was still blissfully ignorant, but curiosity was a nasty little thing. HP was more than happy to put salt on an open wound.

ʺIt sort of reminds me of the cyclic problems the modern economy has to deal with. Interventionism. Liberalism. Interventionism. Liberalism. And it goes on in a vicious circle.ʺ

ʺTranslation?ʺ

ʺJorgen has a knack for repeating catastrophic mistakes. Only this time it was not intentional. Do you want me to demonstrate it with plush toys?ʺ

Blink. Thoughts racing around and arriving at the forbidden zone. Sudden stop. Instant panic and realisation. Anti-Cosmoʼs eye twitched and he raised his wand in Jorgenʼs direction; he made no sign of resistance. Anti-Cosmo took deep breaths and let his fury pour in waves over him. Blinded by anger, he shot a blast that barely missed Jorgen and bounced off the mirror behind him. It found its way to the hearth and eradicated the fire, turning it into blue smoke and pouring darkness over the room. HP rolled his eyes and used his smartphone to shed some light on the crazy puerile duo he had the displeasure of dealing with.

ʺHP?ʺ

ʺYep?ʺ

ʺGive me the cognac and donʼt bother with a glass.ʺ

ʺWe got a live one here. Maybe we should organise a rave.ʺ

A crystal bottle appeared with a pingon the desk and Anti-Cosmo grabbed it without a second thought, removed the cork and swallowed a mouthful, his eyes never leaving Jorgen. His monocle fell off in the process, but he payed it no heed. Deciding that he needed something more to calm him down, he conjured a pipe and tobacco. He took out an onyx lighter from his coat and did his best to light the pipe properly without collapsing. His right eye began to hurt.

ʺNow what? How long is it going to take your merciful and just Council to rip the boy apart and throw his remains in a ditch? Erase his existence from the memories of those who knew him? Who else knows about this?ʺ

ʺNobody.ʺ

ʺNot for long. If this gets out, you will cause a riot among Fairies. Has it not been enough that you have destroyed their fertility potential and ability to procreate? And, by doing that, ours too? This subject is tabboo, Jorgen. Need I remind you of the real reason why you no longer have wings? You are a murderer, Jorgen. Miss Powers blasted them off for a very good reason. And they will never grow back.ʺ

ʺStop it, damn you. Who was supposed to think that the damn kid had such emotional issues? The bonding process has already been placed in motion. He can shoot sparks and move objects. I had to bring him here ʺ

ʺOh, am I hurting you? Mission successful. I am not participating in this.ʺ

ʺOh, you are going to. Nana Boom Boom would be happy to blow you to pieces if you try to get out of this room. ʺ

ʺHow smashing. It must be eating you. Oh, guilt is such a successful parasite. Universal and never fails. Remember when Miss Powers was a little human Saxon girl? A refugee from a town desecrated by the Frankish armies, injured and horrified. Her tooth fell out when she lodged herself in an empty tree trunk in the forest, alone and trembling. The Tooth Fairy came to collect it. You had come along because you were bored. Oh, her screams echoed throughout the entire land. Your rough appearance made her think that the soldiers were back to slaughter her. Your wife had to seize her and calm her down. Nothing helped. A certain trait caught her attention though; your wings. It confused her and she came to an abrupt stop with her sobs. A sparkle of childish curiosity in her eyes and a weak smile. I believe that moment was quintessential for her future, the moment when she began to trust you. The Tooth Fairy had always wanted a daughter. You took her to Fairy World.ʺ

ʺIt was my first and only witch. Everybody was doing it. Damn Cosmo was the reason why we could no longer have children and we were forced to seek replacements. The problem is that they would undergo a transformation. Her eyes became violet, she grew a pair of wings, assumed the colours of the Tooth Fairy. Our joy and pride were indescribable.ʺ

ʺHow long does it take to become a familiar? A bond had to be created, because godchildren were officially assigned, not taken. The entire human culture is familiar with the notion of Faes and similar elvish creatures that steal children from the cradle, lure them into forests and raise them. So, whenever a Fairy was not qualified to get a godchild, they would snatch a baby and become a familiar. When the bond was created through love and other emotions, the magic was already lodged in the child. So the authorities had to grant it a status.ʺ

ʺSeveral years. It takes at least five years for them to adjust to the magic.ʺ

ʺOf course. Because a bond between a familiar and a witch is stronger than that of blood. But a ban was placed on the practice in the 17th century. For the Fairies at least; it was not in accordance with the quid pro quopolicy of the Council, the one that requires the faith of humans to power the Big Wand. Fairy Witches were gaining power from their Fairies, but their own faith could give none, for they were no longer human. Not affordable, donʼt you agree? But, there is a catch: the existing godchildren would form a bond, too, for their godparents were reluctant to lose them. So, the same curse that stops them from reproduction is currently stopping them from creating new witches and warlocks. You are handling godchildren like vermin, now! Ripping them away from their godparents and taking away their loving memories of the only parents they ever really had. Disgusting. I may be evil, but I despise all hypocrisy.ʺ

Anti-Cosmo leaned back in his chair and puffed a few smokes. The tobbacco was fresh and of excellent quality, which only made him angrier about the fact that he couldnʼt enjoy it the way he wanted to. How was it possible that Jorgen could make such a mistake? The old wounds had still not healed and many ghosts from the past were still waiting to get revenge. It was no joke, unfortunately. He would have preferred an attempt on his life, even. But to be faced with this...

ʺWe feed on the misery of human beings, Jorgen. Fairies give false hope and feed their power off the happiness it produces, Pixies fuel their world with ambition and Anti-Fairies have a limitless source of fear and superstition. You took the positive, we were left with the negative. But it takes effort to create a positive emotion. The negative is always present, no matter what. That is why we are never in danger of losing our power. You, on the other hand, have to create an image and keep it. Fairies are the ones that lead, and their humans follow. The Fairy Witch always follows the Fairy. Arthur was taken to Avalon. Oberon took the boy from his wife. Fairies taking orphans for themselves. The Anti-Fairies follow the human. We too were affected by your fertility bans and we have been forced to seek replacements as well. But we did not have godchildren. You were forced to create Fairy Witches when you could not receive a godchild, we had to create ours because we had nothing else. Invisible to humans and roaming the world, we were waiting for them to call us. We would come. Be it a boy that was battered by his parents or a lonely girl, we would plan revenge on their tormentors. Brought bad luck to them. Floating around the object of our obsession and affection, we would whisper to them, amuse them. Became their guardian spirits. Eventually, when our magic would find its way in their veins, they would start seeing us. They earned their power to see us. After a few years, they became full Anti-Fairy witches and warlocks. They would stay in their own world, and we would become the spirit that belongs to their descendants as well.

Often we had to disguise ourselves as a black cat, or an owl, or a toad, spiders and bats, black hounds, general domestic animals that helped their witch. The modern notion of their kind was created through our version of them. Your own were mistaken as Fairies and good spirits. In truth, they both liked each other and had taken similar roles in society. Doctors, astronomers, scholars, midwives...the only difference was the source of their power. And the fact that our witches were vengeful. We destroyed crops, brought hailstorms, ruined financial transactions and similar things. Humans were always afraid of magic, but they could not kill a real witch. They shared our immortality. But a witchling, a child of a witch that had not yet bonded with a familiar, was gifted with power, but a mortal nonetheless. They were vulnerable, and they could be killed. This is were you enter. What happened in the 17th century? Hmmm?

Those who had familiars, but had not yet achieved the level of a real witch, were mortal too. As the Fairies grew angry with the decision of the Council, you took matters in your own overgrown hands. Fairies and Fairy Witches were taking all the remaining witchlings and bringing them to Fairy World, for fear that they would be killed. Nobody could harm them there and they would reach maturity under protection. Their parents had to help them adapt and they did this by giving them wings. Several decades later, you turned your focus on Anti-Fairy Witches that were living on Earth. As the secrecy policy became more strict than ever, you had to get rid of our witchlings. It was the equivalent to genocide. But, you had to ensure that there would be no escape; so you had to seal Anti-Fairy World and stop the Anti-Fairies. How much magic did it take to imprison us? It must have taken you years to recover.

Every single one. Behind a magic barrier. For three and a half centuries. Tell me, Jorgen, what went through your mind? You have inspired the minds of madmen to hunt down and murder witchlings! Their parents could not grant them immortality, not without their familiar. They were running and living like refugees, dreading the cities and inhabited places. Treaties were written on how to torture them, horrible crimes were commited against their person. Imagine the insanity of full witches. Of the pain of losing their Anti-Fairy. They went mad. And when their own children were slaughtered, they turned on the children of humans and did not refrain from murdering them as a punishment. Amazing that that would be the century when the Hansel and Gretel story was brought to its finishing touches. The Anti-Fairies did all they could to escape. They could work magic from within the barrier, though. Conjuring mirrors to see their witches and witchlings, they were bearing witness to the carnage only a sick mind would create. Do you remember how we pleaded? For every witchling dead, one mirror broken. Again and again. We are the only ones allowed to break mirrors. Bad luck befalls those who dare take that prerogative from us. Broken mirrors represent the souls of our late offspring.

Oh, she knew it. She knew that you were behind it all. And so, Miss Powers came to you, cursed you for destroying her own kin and used the very magic that was given to her through your love to destroy your wings. The symbol of the trust she had once given to you.ʺ

ʺYou have no idea what it was like then. I had to, there was no other way. You were becoming chaotic, the entire system was on the verge of collapsing!ʺ

ʺMy sister-in-lawʼs warlock was of Dutch descent, and he was forced to flee for the American continent. He came to what is now Dimmsdale. Quite remarkable, considering the fact that the Californian peninsula was not even a colony then. But he moved several people in need of habitation there and created a small town. They loved him. He was charismatic and tried all he could to appear as a perfect member of human society. But his sanity was declining, for he was incapable of living without his companion. Did you know that our witches lose the ability to fly when depressed? That is why they use broomsticks as a replacement. In order to keep stability, he had to throw accusations at undesirable foreigners, making them appear as witches. I believe you know him. Alden Bitteroot. Imagine my surprise when I took a peek at Anti-Blondaʼs mirror: a buck-toothed boy in pink that arrived from the future with the counterparts of both Anti-Wanda and me! That was the first time I ever saw Timothy, irony be damned. Naturally, Alden felt the need to get rid of the suspicious boy. But, luck was not on his side. His ability to fly lost and his magic diminished, he ended up at the bottom of a very interesting well. Planted by you, if I am correct. It was sucking his life energy, so he could not teleport. He climbed, breaking his nails on the sharp stone and leaving his blood as the only trace of his existence, choking on the carbon monoxide. Grieving, nervous and desperate. For he had a fifteen year old son hidden in the vast basement of his cottage. The son that had waited for days before he realised that his father was not coming back from outside. A great amount of courage must have taken him to get out and continue his life without him. Three centuries later, Alden finally climbed up. Again, he fell down. We canʼt even reach him because the curses you have placed are far too potent.

Alden was not a bad person. I had personally tutored the boy when Anti-Blonda introduced him to our world. A small child with thick black hair, black eyes and spectacles. Sarcastic, studious and obsessive. Anti-Blonda could not bear it. Her mind undone. Do you know where my wifeʼs sister is today? In a sanitarium, burning the roots of plants and dreading the holes in the ground.

The house is still inhabited by a descendant. He had found the underground hiding place and turned it into his private laboratory. Spitting image of Alden. Diluted, but still present magic of Anti-Fairies manifesting itself in him. Born on the thirteenth day of the fifth month, genius, knows how to figure out a situation and provide stunninng details just by guessing them. And possesses an incredible ability to attach to magical creatures. Now, what sort of a sacrilege is it that Cosmo and Wanda ended up as godparents to the descendant of an Anti-Fairy Warlock?! And that they would then be given to another person that was responsible for Aldenʼs demise? Amazing coincidence. Common denominator-Timothy Turner. His current student.

Does your conscience burn you? Are you not ashamed of the fact that you are leeching off Denzel Crocker to power Fairy World? ʺ

ʺEnough of this pillaging through the buried past. I have summoned you to propose an offer that I know that you would not dream of refusing; HP?ʺ

ʺOh, finally. I was already on the verge of puking from all the melodrama.ʺ

He used his magic smartphone to summon a black leather briefcase. There were multiple locks and combination mechanisms that he had imbued with magic for additional security. Any normal person would have already given up after decoding the first twenty locks, but a workaholic Pixie would enjoy every single bit of time spent on solving problems and living up to the challenge. He hummed to himself as he toyed with numbers and letters, secretly relishing the fact that he was boring the hell out of the Fairy and the Anti-Fairy in the room. A small snort escaped him when he saw that Anti-Cosmo was forcing himself to stiffle his yawns. Several clicks later, he was able to lift the lid and extract the precious material from within.

ʺI have outdone myself with this one, I have to say. This adorable little bundle of several hundred pages is the official contract which can only be entered into if the parties possess the capacity to represent a magical world. Two is the minimum number, and each of us has to provide our seal that stands for our respective races. The original shall be kept in my personal archives, since I represent the neutral world, while you two are the primary beneficiaries of this contract. You shall both receive a copy and store it where nobody can find it. Now, Jorgen, I have also brought you the false contract you will be showing to the Council when we are done. The effects will take place the very moment you place your signature. I suggest you give it a thorough read and inspection, and I shall then show you the fine print.ʺ

Anti-Cosmoʼs reaction was quite droll; he choked on his pipe and got cinders all over the floor. HP was relieved that he did not sully the contracts that he had been writing for weeks. The Anti-Fairy grabbed the original and returned his monocle in its place. He scanned the articles and the paragraphs, footnotes and addendums, rights and forbearances, but could not for the life of him realise the purpose of this garbage.

ʺThe catch?ʺ

ʺFine print. You are going to need an electronic microscope.ʺ

ʺYou are joking.ʺ

ʺThere. Between the lines in the parenthesis. This is the main part.ʺ

Using a gigantic electronic microscope to read a contract was really not Anti-Cosmoʼs idea of how one should spend the early hours of the morning. He adjusted the screws and held his monocle in place as he positioned himself. Two lengthy sentences almost gave him a cardiac arrest.

ʺYou...giving me... us...oh, evil be praised, godchildren.ʺ

ʺAs a start, only those that qualify. The same clause is present in the version meant for the Council. But ours has a few twists.ʺ

ʺWhy this? Jorgen, why are you doing this? Why, now?ʺ

ʺBecause that is the only way for Winston to be assigned to Anti-Jorgen and the Anti-Tooth Fairy. He would be out of reach of Fairy jurisdiction and under your protection.ʺ

ʺAnd why should I agree to getting you out of the mess that is entirely the product of your negligence? It is not my fault that you have initiated the transformation in Winston.ʺ

ʺThe fine print beneath the fine print next to the lines. On every odd page.ʺ

It took him a great deal of strength to resist the urge to throw the contract in HPʼs face. He began to search the relevant information. A diabolical grin appeared on his face and he continued with a newly found vitality. Oh, what a discovery. Full freedom of creation...official status...guaranteed security...and a little present.

ʺNot that I am complaining, but this is high treason. I like it. So, Jorgen, when did you figure this out? Inspired by the Trojan horse, no doubt.ʺ

ʺContinue reading and shut your trap.ʺ

Anti-Cosmo was thrilled. Extremely happy. Going through pure ecstasy. Lightning appeared out of nowhere and his cackle echoed throughout the entire Fairy World. Removing his eye from the ocular, he indulged himself in a small victory dance and proclaimed all Fairies idiotic losers that would one day bow to him.

ʺAC, quit the whole evil cliché routine and just sign the damn thing.ʺ

Early adolescent years represent a period of time in which one learns the basics of social customs and tedious rules of conduct. Reality itself often has a different definition of them and applies it with impunity. Often it throws random obstacles and unexpected benefits to those that would normally merit a prize more akin to their behaviour and treatment of their peers. As time goes on with its endless journey, children grow and divide themselves into ridiculous groups that exclude those who do not meet their requirements. The lonely congregate with their kindred souls and form little groups of their own. Timmy was almost schizophrenic when it came to these things; one part of him wanted to be loved and accepted in the ranks of the popular kids, while the other was perfectly content to remain an eccentric outlaw that actually gave a damn about his true friends. The latter part was stronger, but the former would always try to grab the spotlight.

Little lies, silly selfish wishes and a desire to be admired were his favourite recipe for a spicy catastrophe. But, his noble side would always punch his lower self in the face and grab the steering wheel to make a rapid turn before they both crashed themselves at the gates of oblivion. In short, he was a good person at heart. The only problem was that he would often confuse his arrogance with bravery and his cynicism with malice. In truth, his arrogance was malice and his cynicism bravery. His secret world-weary frame of spirit was the main source of his clever ideas and the ability to value the love he felt for those that would not stay with him forever.

He stared at the ceiling and did his best not to scream just for the heck of it. Insomnia had been killing him for the past few weeks and he had had enough of trying to explain to his parents that the purple bags under his eyes were probably just a sign of puberty; idiots. It could not be explained with words. He was turning twelve in March and was probably breaking all records when it came to the length of time of being in possession of Fairies. Three, no less.

He buried his head in the fluffy pillows and begged for his conscious mind to drift away so it could let him rest and sleep, but to no avail. Maybe it was the fact that Cosmoʼs pleading eyes had made his nerves crack. Munching contests were serious business. No, it must have been Wandaʼs strict, albeit adorable, expression when she had watched them dive into a giant cake like a bunch of hogs. The woman had the patience of a Sphinx. She had not been particularly overjoyed when both of them pulled her in to participate in the messy chaos, but she laughed nonetheless. Cosmoʼs strange little pearls of wisdom that could serve as a cure for both manic depression and psychosis. Wandaʼs ability to remain serious while saying something unbelievably funny. Love. Odd love. Cosmo and Wanda...the only ones that deserved the honour of calling themselves his parents. He had given them a little treasure in return. Violet eyes that made him melt with joy and forget the evil that lurks behind every corner. When will Poof be able to talk?

"Emotional much, Tim?"

ʺShut the heck up, you moron.ʺ

"I am not even gifted with speech".

ʺTragic.ʺ

"You wonʼt be able to keep them. Donʼt be such a prick when I point out the truth you are unwilling to acknowledge."

ʺNega, you are lucky I am too tired to start a real fight with you.ʺ

"Excuse me? I am you, you self-righteous bastard! All of this is you. You are having an inner monologue. It takes two in order to have a dialogue. I merely stand for all the emotions you perceive as negative, your fears and anger, your desires and suspicion. I am using the first person singular because you allow me to. Not to mention the necessity of being practical. You shove me in the darkness because, you have to admit, I am your common sense. Intelligence and imagination. I am the strength you use to defeat your enemies, I am the heart that keeps you from hiding from your mishaps, I am ambition and determination. Remember what your dad said to you two years ago? Be good. It would have been different if he had told you to be yourself. Then you would have turned into your opposite. Me? You became what you thought was evil. Not the opposite. You just became a different version of yourself. A typical villain would try to destroy the world. You went for the freaking make-up factory. That was your subconscious mind telling you that you hate it when people hide behind lies; you were sick of pretending to be something you will never be just to make people see you in a different light. An interesting way of assuring freedom to all those ashamed of their looks. The idiotic lair and clothes were just an embarassing bonus, primarily because you yourself thought that they were necessary."

ʺWhat a revelation. I already know all that. Hmph, destroying a make-up factory. The very source of human hypocrisy and the endless need to hide their imperfections behind a cheap layer of goo. I was doing them all a favour. So what if their social life goes through a drastic change? We could all be happy and ugly. No prob. Plus, I got to scare the crap out of Crocker. ʺ

"Yep."

ʺBut Cosmo and Wanda are off limits. There is no way I am opening that subject. Not untill I actually have to. And even then, I am prepared to fight with all my strength to keep them. I have already broken enough rules and survived such horrors just to stay their godchild. I saved Fairy World countless times, and this is how they reward me? By shunning me and doing all just to get rid of me? You know, maybe I should just let HP and Anti-Cosmo use Jorgenʼs head as a football prop.ʺ

"Ah, we should film it and upload it on TooYube! One million likes in the first few hours. Go modern technology, yay!"

ʺOh, I can see it happening. That would even make all the Fairies happy.ʺ

"You would still have the Council on your back. Can we build a little teeny laser to blast their hoods to cinders?"

ʺNo.ʺ

Timmy could see the first orange rays of the early sun. Five in the morning, no doubt there. Things had changed quite a bit in the last few months. Maturity was the primary culprit. The sign of his transformation being the fact that he was finally making peace with his inner demons. Gone were his toys, only the comics remained. He had even taken upon himself the task of denying Crocker the pleasure of humiliating him and ruining his sanity. It had been difficult for him to finally take out his math textbook and concentrate on the numbers that had a grudge against him, but he refused to give in. Hours and hours, days and days, weeks, months. Crockerʼs nervous breakdown when Timmy had received top grades in all subjects. A.J. making a small wink and congradulating him.

A well phrased wish and he had been capable of reconstructing Trixieʼs feelings before her memory was erased. A difficult and risky task for both Cosmo and Wanda; it was a success and they had been able to grasp that tiny bit of emotion and bringing it to the surface without actually touching her mind. He had then endeavoured to let things take their natural course. Comic store, her usual disguise, his careless walk, the two of them bumping into each other. Of course, her first reaction had frightened the living hell out of Timmy. When had she become so aggressive? But then he had sought to placate her by trading his rare edition with several of her own. To his surprise, she had agreed and shook his hand, nearly breaking his fingers.

It turned out to be an interesting friendship, one that required a certain dose of creativity and secrecy, but they did manage to go to the arcade every weekend. She would murder him on every game they played. He could not ask for more.

Five twenty. Five twenty and ten seconds...and an approaching headache with questionable intentions. Growing older. Curiosity worming its evil way into his consciousness and throwing ghastly scenarios in front of his dry eyes.

ʺI HATE THIS!ʺ

ʺPoof?ʺ

ʺOh, gosh, did I wake you up?ʺ

His godbrother floated above his head and crossed his arms. He conjured up a paper and pencil and scribbled something down, mumbling incoherent words under his breath. Timmy suddenly found himself with a very rude message. (Of course you woke me up! Take your puberty angst elsewhere or get a freaking grip.)

ʺOh, I am touched. Look, it is not my fault. Can you imagine what I have to keep on reliving? There is only one wish I have and none of you can grant it.ʺ

ʺPoof poof! Hmmm, poof?ʺ

ʺI want to see you grow up, buddy. ʺ

Some part of Timmyʼ common sense was begging him to shut up, for fear that Poof would cause some disaster if he were to give in to sadness. But, the image of his Fairies searching for the grave of someone who had been condemned to a permanent void made his insides twist. Poof did nothing; he just stared in the cerulean eyes of his godbrother, containing himself. He blinked a few times and bowed his head. Tears were useless. As he approached, he landed on top of Timmyʼs head and began to play with his hair. His lip quivering. Young children were not used to such distress, but he had been able to keep his balance and made an attempt to soothe Timmy. He buried his nose in Timmyʼs bang and made an attempt at singing. Melancholy sounds permeated the room and a betraying tear escaped Timmyʼs left eye. His right eye followed. Something impeding him from removing them, but soon he felt them disappear completely, as if they were never there.

ʺPoof, did you just cast a spell?ʺ

The confusion only augmented when he felt Poof shake his head. Timmy made a slight motion with his hand to take Poof down, but he stopped, shocked and mouth agape. Small purple sparks dancing merrily around his fingers.