Chris did the whole human thing—plane rides, car rides. His fake identification got him through, no questions asked. He'd thank the Jokuras later.

Once he was in Canada, he purchased an old clunker with cash and drove it to a campsite about a two-day hike away from his Boreal Forest destination. He completed the hike in twenty hours straight, no sleep, little rest, since he was running late.

He climbed a robust balsam fir and hung his human-sized army transport pack in a place that was high and hidden from view. He was well north of the road—to be safe—and west of what was supposed to be Pyxis.

It was time to Modify. He had left a cord dangling down from his human belongings. He slid down it at fairy size and zoomed in on the location for Pyxis with his fairy pack. It was heavy on his back. He had to be prepared for anything. . . .

Hours went by. The forest was growing dark and cool as evening was shifting to night. There was intermittent cloud cover and the wind had really picked up. It didn't feel like June. Or like Hawaii, ever. It was more like late October in Salem, Massachusetts, where he grew up, and it was even more spooky.

A branch snapped, a big one from the sound of it. Then came the howl of a wolf. There were actual animal predators out there—not just the potential for evil fairies—and massive birds of prey. Without a doubt, they had much better senses in the dark than he had.

And he was only four inches tall, alone and lost.

Kale had been the one to give Chris the GPS coordinates for Pyxis. Relying on them was probably Chris's first mistake, one of many. And at fairy size, he had only the help of a compass. He wasn't even sure it was working right.

Joe's wedding was the following afternoon. Chris had never even considered that he might miss it because he couldn't find the underground city.

Chris fanned out his fairy-sized map—again—and was about to head southeast—for the second time—when dots of light appeared in the direction he wasn't going. Voices became audible above the background clicks, hums, and snaps of the forest.

Chris's ears zoomed in on the buzz of their wings. He inhaled and swallowed the fear that it evoked and shoved the map in his pocket. He pursued the little fairy torches at full speed. Even so, Chris had difficulty catching up to them. They nearly disappeared over the crest of a hill. "Wait!"

The three flying fairies closed their wings, landing them on the ground. Chris continued to charge forward. He slowed down when the aging fairy-male guided the two younger fairies behind his outstretched arm.

Chris was afraid too, but in that moment, it came to him how he must have appeared. He was tall for a fairy and his clothes were filthy from the knee down. On top of that, his unruly hair, months overgrown, and unshaven face probably suggested "Tarzan" and Chris was clearly looking into the frightened eyes of the nobility. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I'm just lost. I know I'm close to Pyxis. But I can't find it."

The fairy's arm dropped and his expression softened. "You're right, me lad! The entrance is a wee bit over that hill."

"Oh," Chris replied, squinting in the direction the fairy pointed, while also trying to make sense of the Scottish accent. "I saw only trees that way, not the cliff I was looking for."

He waved for Chris to come closer, his smile both genuine and immediately reassuring. "I'll lead ye there. I've made the very same mistake. The trees are much broader than once, they were."

Chris released a breath. "Thanks."

"Yer welcome. The name's Finnean and these are me bairns, Camdyn and Adairia."

"How do ye do?" the young fem-fairy and fairy-male said in unison. They both nodded their heads. For the boy, it was more like a bow, and the girl's resembled a curtsy.

"And where are ye from?" Finnean asked as he shifted his wide-brim top hat.

Even without hearing their accents, Finnean and the children he was with—probably his grandchildren judging by Finneans's age—had an old-fashioned British Isles look. For lack of anything better to compare them to, they resembled leprechauns with wings. But that would be doing them an injustice. They were so well put together, as if that much-sought-after pot of gold had been in their possession for centuries and was wisely invested in their deportment.

"That's a good question," Chris answered. "Originally? Massachusetts, but for the last few years, I've lived in Hawaii."

"Aye!" he blurted with recognition. "Yer the lost son of Scott MacRae. The whole fairy world believed ye were dead!"

The world? In his former human life, he had lived in his old neighborhood for almost his whole life and had trouble believing even his direct neighbors would still remember him by name. "That must be a common misconception. Do you know my father?"

"Aye. We've met, indeed. After a nip of whiskey and a wee bit of storytelling, we discovered we're kin! Me great grandmother was a Kincaid. I believe it was her uncle that left Scotland to join Polaris in Nova Scotia. Did'ye ken yer father was born a Kincaid?"

"Yes, he told me that." Although storytelling, in general, was not something he could imagine Scott engaging in, not in any great detail. The same held true for the whiskey. "He changed his last name to MacRae, his mother's maiden name, when he decided to go 'human' for a while."

As they approached the main entrance to Pyxis, Chris's pace slowed to a crawl. There were soldiers guarding it, wearing an unfamiliar green-and-white uniform. The mixed group of Modifiers and Royals didn't appear particularly hostile. Even so, the swords hanging by their sides reawakened more of the nightmarish memories than Chris would have liked to admit.

"Please present your invitation, your Right of Entry documents, and Identity Certificates for all parties," the guard with the clipboard stated with crisp annunciation.

Chris didn't have any of those documents. With his luck, they would detain and question him until Joe or his father could vouch for him. Chris considered mentioning Cassie as a backup plan. Then he immediately dissuaded himself. She would have every right to turn him away.

The guard in charge looked over Finnean's documents and let them through. Finnean and the children stopped at the open gate and waited for Chris to join them.

The guard looked to Chris next. "Documents, please."

"I'm sorry. I don't have—"

"No documents, no entry!" he snapped. "Detain him." Six soldiers drew their swords and surrounded Chris. The youngest soldier, not much more than a child, had his sword wobbling in his hand. He didn't even know how to hold it correctly.

Chris relaxed a little, even with swords pointed in his direction. He submitted to their authority, but he could feel a smile starting as he put his hands in the air. "If I could just talk to my father, we could get this sorted."

The guard in charge examined Chris from head to toe. His nose flared once he met Chris's eye. "And who is your father, might I ask?"

From the other side of the gate, Finnean cleared his throat on Chris's behalf. "Do'ye not realize yer speaking to the elder son of Scott MacRae?"

Chris watched a pair of eyes widen with what looked like fear. "Excuse me, sir?" the young guard said to his superior. "Earlier today, I was asked to deliver a memorandum to the gate." He rummaged through his pants' pocket and supplied the envelope. "I was informed the message was from the Prime Minister. It had something to do with the arrival of his son, Christopher."

The commanding officer snatched the document out of the soldier's hand and skimmed the letter. When he folded the paper back up, his elfishly pudgy cheeks were berry-red. "I am very sorry for the misunderstanding."

"That's all right," Chris replied. "It was an honest mistake."

They let Chris pass through.

"They're not usually verra strict at the gate," Finnean said with a chuckle when Chris rejoined his side. "Their vigilance must be attributable to the wedding."

At the word wedding, a heavy pit returned to Chris's stomach. "Forgive me if I sound overconfident. I don't mean to be. But, if I wanted to get in without their permission, I could have and I'm one fairy with one sword. I should talk to my father about this. If my son were marrying the princess. . ." Chris spiraled into the inevitable scene—the beautiful couple exchanging their heartfelt vows—and the pit in his stomach lurched. "I would want to ensure their safety at any cost," he affirmed, hoping his conviction wouldn't be misconstrued as something ignoble.

"It sounds like yer expecting trouble, me lad! Pyxis has been quite peaceful as of late."

"And I hope it stays that way, but you can never be too prepared."

Their conversation set off a wave of whispering. "You ask!" Adairia hissed audibly to Camdyn. She blushed and cowered when she realized that Chris had overheard her.

Camdyn then cleared his throat. "Is it true, Christopher, that you were the one to defeat the mighty Prince of Pyxis, Canis Major?"

"Now Camdyn, 'tis disrespectful to speak so forwardly to yer elders," Finnean said.

"Yes, that's true," Chris admitted as they descended the tunnel's step-like decline. They were now inside the city of perpetual darkness. He felt that should have been written on the "welcome" sign to give visitors an honest depiction of what they were about to enter. "But it's not something I'm proud of even though he would have killed me without any hesitation."

"Spoken like a son, true to his father's heart!" The ground leveled off. They were now on Royal Way. Finnean stopped walking in front of the third residence on the left. It seemed odd that the main entrance was placed on the third story of the glossy black building, perhaps designed to assert that Modifiers were unwelcome there. "Well, we have reached our destination, me friend. . ." Finnean hovered off the ground and so did the children. "Have a fine evening. With a wee bit of luck, we'll be seeing ye at the chapel on the marrow. And we hope to welcome you to Scotland someday soon. We call Cruthlach home. It's a fairy village in the Highlands, north of Inverness. I will see that ye get a king's welcome."

"I look forward to it. Thank you."

At their departure, Chris was alone again. And he realized how strange it was to be strolling down Royal Way. The fairies flying down the street were appropriately dressed for the street's extravagance—skirts or slacks, frilly dress shirts finished off with long cloaks that fanned out beneath their wings. The cool climate also seemed to necessitate tall boots, top hats, fancy neckties or scarves, and furry gloves. There were dots of dull color here and there, but for the most part, black, gray, and white were the colors in fashion.

Chris recalled the other times he had been on Royal Way. His movement was, by no means, a "stroll." On his first exploit, he was carrying Ryan, a sobbing four-year-old at the time. He hustled through the hostile environment as if his life had depended on it. It did, in fact. One wrong move and it would have been over quickly and decisively. For the second venture, he was marched through a mob of angry fairies to what he thought would be his execution.

And that humiliation marked just the beginning of the night's horrors. The rebels had ultimately won the battle, but there were profound losses, the near-death of the princess being the worst of them. The third and final trip down Royal Way was his departure, his final effort to remedy a life in shambles. He left Pyxis to find Andromeda and vowed never to return unless she was dead. And now he was back and, regrettably, he didn't even have news of her or her army's whereabouts.

Chris stopped in front of the Aerial Palace and gripped the gate's bars. Just like the first time he saw the castle, it took his breath away, with awe that felt like suffocation.

"Can I help you, sir?" called a voice from the shadows. Chris's hands slipped down and off the bars.

He walked closer to the guard station. "My name is Christopher MacRae. I'm here to see my father or brother."

The guard looked him over, nodded, and grabbed keys off a hook. At least someone had received the memo and could detect his resemblance to his father.

"Mr. Joseph MacRae has left for the evening. I believe your father is present," the guard commented as he unlocked the gate. It made an ear-splitting metallic shriek as he pushed it open. "Anyone inside should be able to direct you to his quarters."

"Thank you."

Chris went up the staircase to the main entrance, stately in both breadth and height. He opened the heavy wooden door on the right side of the two-story doorway.

The Hall of Crystal was a flurry of activity in all dimensions, even the air.

It was like a battle without bloodshed.

The wedding reception was clearly going to be right before him. Tables with shiny blue-lavender tablecloths were lined up—too many to count. There were music stands organized in two half-circles. Musicians were performing sound and balance checks with their horns, flutes, and stringed instrument. Fem-fairies with wings were hanging glass globes from the cavernously high ceiling and were placing wide white candles inside.

There were ribbons, bows, sculptures, and . . . Jeez! Is that real snow?

Chris slipped into the hall, meandered around tables, nearly stumbled over a bucket, and still managed to avoid notice. His instincts led him toward the Grand Staircase, but he didn't know where to start looking for his father or whom he should ask for help. Everyone was preoccupied.

Chris looked left, looked right. And he nearly tripped over his own feet when Cassie emerged from a first-floor hallway to his right. She was reading and leafing through papers as if time spent walking could be put to better use.

Cassie moved closer and closer. Everything went quiet, or perhaps he was simply incapable of hearing. She turned toward the stairs and somehow missed seeing him there, not more than a few strides away at her closest point.

He watched her back as she climbed the steps. She was not dressed like the Pyxian version of the princess he remembered—long simple skirt, gray cloak with a hood, and a white blouse buttoned tightly from wrist to neck. And she didn't resemble the Hawaiian version of the girl he grew very attached to, either. Those feminine, above-the-knee sundresses were apparently only meant for a narrow expanse of time, now long over. Instead, she wore a floor-length emerald-green gown, satin and sleeveless with the straps stylishly low-cut down her back as if designed for a fairy with wings. She had matching accessories—dangling emerald earrings and a matching jewel at her neck.

She was the shining portrayal of a storybook princess. And Chris suddenly found her more intimidating than a hundred Andromedas and a thousand armed soldiers.

His feet and mind remained sluggish. But he forced himself to move before she reached the top of the Grand Staircase.

Say hello, you idiot!

"C-Cassie!" Chris blurted with a word stumble and a bit of a delay.

He staggered forward.

On the fifth step, she paused, and lowered her documents. She shook her head, as if the recognition were absolute, her disbelief, overpowering, nonetheless. She slowly turned around and did nothing to hide her shock.

Chris stopped a few paces away from the stairs. He let his clenched arms drop. They were open, making himself willing and vulnerable for an embrace. And yet she didn't come charging forward, much to his dismay. Chris stashed one hand in a pocket, and, as a nervous habit, his other hand went into the hair at the back of his neck. "You look . . . surprised," he said. But not happy, he wanted to add.

His eyes shot to the cast over her hand and wrist. He had nothing to do with that injury, but still, it was a sharp prod to his guilt.

Cassie took one step down. She hid the cast behind her back for a moment. Must have known he was looking at it. With her papers soon clenched behind her coiled and crossed arms, she maintained an unaffectionate gap. "Surprise would be an understatement. We thought you were dead."

Chris emitted a chuckle that was thin and weak. "Everyone keeps saying that. But here I am." He presented himself with his arms slightly elevated again. "I've been sipping Mai Tais and working on my tan," he said, attempting to keep things light.

"Is that so?" she replied, not amused, at all.

Still, he continued: "In truth, I don't think anyone was looking for me very hard."

"If you believe no one is interested in your livelihood, then why are you here, Chris?"

Her eyes begged for an adequate answer.

He wished he had one.

A cold sweat was accumulating all over Chris's body. His eyes fled from her unyielding scrutiny. They darted aimlessly around the Hall of Crystal.

Fairies were no longer going about their business, readying the hall for the wedding. An audience was accumulating in doorways and along the stairway's surrounding banisters. They were hanging on his every word, especially a pious-looking redhead. She was sneering down at him from the closest spot for "distant" viewing. For some reason, her presence was making a bad moment worse.

"Um . . . well . . . I heard Joe . . . and you, of course, are getting married. Is there a problem with me being here for my brother's wedding?"

His tone probably came across as combative. And it didn't do him any favors.

Cassie stepped close enough to make him even more uncomfortable. She looked angrier than he ever remembered her being. "Yes, as a matter of fact. Before you vanished without any explanation or apology, I remember quite vividly your hand around my neck. You wanted to kill me. I saw it in your eyes. Upon which you said, 'I thought you weren't like her.' Her being my mother, and then you expressed how 'wrong' you were about me. After all we had been through, that was the worst thing you could have said. That anyone has ever said to me, and I thought I had heard it all. Needless to say, your invitation has been rescinded."

At the moment she was through, he caught a whiff of her. That sweetness. It wasn't his imagination. Whatever it was, whatever magic she had, it was rousing every nerve he possessed. Did he want to love her, have her, hurt her, kill her, devour her? It was all so muddled and weird, like all of the above. It was maddening, to say the least, and he had to hold his breath to stay that close.

"Look," he began, backing up a step once his lungs couldn't take the neglect anymore. He put his hands up in surrender. "About that. I am sorry. It was the biggest mistake I've ever made. I admit that! I've never been known for good judgment."

"I suppose I could say the same," she replied coolly and instantaneously, as if she had known all along what he'd say and how exactly she'd react.

A slap in the face would have been preferable. Her words stung so much more.

Chris inhaled, held on to it, and took a step up. She was still two above him, but his face rose to be slightly above hers. And he could feel it burning.

He wasn't angry with her. He knew deep down that he deserved her disdain. But he was angry with himself. For making too many errors, for wasting everyone's time, and for having the inkling of hope that she was capable of forgiving him, even just enough to get them all through this wedding. He suddenly wished he had never met her, never kissed her, never shared that unforgettable moment with her.

"Well, Princess, Pyxis has been fun, as always, but I can see that I'm unwelcome here. Say hello to Joe and my father for me. At least let them know that I was here? Thanks. And best of luck."

Chris didn't immediately back away and neither did she. Though her eyes were as entrancing as always, they were filling with tears, bitter ones by the looks of them. And during the time she could have said something else, she didn't. Soon, the opportunity had passed. She gave him the last word, so he turned around and walked away. He didn't want to cause her any more pain.

When his feet were firmly back on Royal Way, he considered making a left turn and leaving Pyxis . . . for good. The arduous trip to Canada was an embarrassing and monumental failure. How much more could he put himself through? Even making an appearance at the wedding seemed like a terrible idea. The bride did just "rescind" his invitation, needless to say!

But something compelled him to walk straight instead of left. Had his reception by the princess been civil, he would have stayed the night at the palace. Since it wasn't, he headed toward the only other place he knew of—Aurora Borealis.

And maybe with the start of a new day, he'd awake with a fresh perspective. It would be the first day of his new life—one he would spend alone.   

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Skylar Grey. Back from the Dead (Explicit).

~

"I never thought that you and I would ever meet again

I mourn the loss of you sometimes and pray for peace within

The word "distraught" cannot describe how my heart has been

But where do we begin now that you're back from the dead?"

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]