Ursa took one last look in the mirror before she answered the knock at her door. Even though she wasn't yet dressed for the day, the black diamonds were in her ears. Quite probably, they were an impetus for change, the beginning of the end, the force behind the downfall of a disloyal, disreputable family. 

When Ursa opened the door, Joe strolled in as if he belonged there.  He had a black sack propped underneath his arm that looked cumbersome. He carefully set that, his documents, and activity logbook on her bed and presented himself, hands sweeping to the side. "How do I look?"

Joe was wearing his finest apparel and he wore it well—a black cloak with a pointed lapel, a neatly pressed white dress shirt underneath, black trousers, and a royal blue tie that hung in loose decorative loops around his neck.

His glasses were clean. His shoes were shined.

Ursa smiled her approval. "Perfect," she said. "I would give you a kiss. . ."

He pulled his head back. "But your lipstick would make blood look washed out." He crinkled his nose. "It's not really my color."

She stepped closer and smoothed her hands over his chest. "I don't think you'll mind where I leave my mark later."

When her tongue entered his ear, he squirmed like a ticklish child. "No, probably not."

Ursa was the one to pull away first, more to tantalize him than to assume the role of the responsible one.   

He stole one last nibble on her neck and went to gather his things from her bed. "Well, wish me luck." 

"You don't need luck," she said, her hands on her hips. "You have something better."

"What's that?"

"Me."

"I thought you were going to say sheer brilliance." He winked and then strolled to the door, secrets to success in tow once again. 

"That too."

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Joe couldn't run, he had nowhere to hide, and no one to turn to. He had to face Queen Andromeda alone. He hoped he would eventually walk out of the Strategy Room in her good graces. If not, he would be leaving the room in a much less lively condition. Either way, it would all be over soon. 

Andromeda was expecting him at promptly eight a.m. Not a moment earlier or later. And when the second hand of his pocket watch reached the twelve, Joe knocked on the door.

He waited. His knock's echo rose and fell, and then came a profound silence and an accompanying shudder. He knew he couldn't always count on a verbal invitation into Andromeda's domain, but by no means did this give him permission to cower in the hallway.

He decided it would be best to enter.

Andromeda's throne was in the far corner of the room, and it had been shifted to the side for a view of the palatial window. Joe could only see her interlaced fingertips and the scars on her face. Whether or not her position and profile were meant to be a reminder of his father's misdeeds, he took them as one. 

For the first time ever, Joe resented his father. That was usually Chris's job, but he was too preoccupied having his ego massaged to do much resenting lately. Someone ought to take over and do a better job. If it wasn't for those damn scars. . .

"Lingering in the hall for a reason?" the queen droned with haunting musicality.  

"No, of course not. I just . . . I wasn't . . . sure you were in here," he claimed, although it was a lie, and he mentally kicked himself for the stammer. He took a deep breath through his nose and kept the air in his lungs for a painfully long time. Hold it together! "I have the Progress Report you asked for," he said through his exhale. He lifted his hard work for her to see. "Would you like a copy? I have two."

She didn't look over. "No. Summarize."

He set the heavy sack he was carting from room to room on the floor and flexed his hand and arm. The relief was immediate. "Any place I should start?"

She gave him a frigid glance with one eye. "Do you expect me to deliver the presentation for you as well? Save you the trouble?"

Don't answer that. He cleared his throat. "Procyon is doing much better, as you know. He likes his father's old toy soldiers—"

"Grandfather's," Andromeda corrected.

"Right. He likes using his new scepter to blast them with fireballs. It's a game to him. He also likes to use water. He can occasionally produce enough of a blast to knock them over, one at a time, if he concentrates."

"Life is all about fun and games, right MacRae?"

"No, but for now, it's working," he replied assertively. He tried not to let the disrespectful emphasis on his name get him down. His given name was MacRae. But he was really a Kincaid descended from royalty and he had inherited his smarts and ambition from the Wakefields, his mother's side, the human side of his family. He had nothing to be ashamed of and was proud of his accomplishments with Procyon. "Let's move on."

"Fine," she replied nasally, her nostril flaring. "Let's."

"You wanted to know more about your daughter. You were surprised when you found out she was still alive. And now you suspect there's something unusual about her." 

"I'm aware of your task. Get on with it!"

"Cassiopeia never died from the poison on your blade, enough to kill ten full-grown fairy-males, because she's not a fairy. She's a Pixie Elf and bears their mark. The Astral, they call it. Have you ever heard of the Pixie Elves before?"

"There are many kinds of elves out there." She readjusted her folded hands into a new grip and placed her elbows back on her armrests. "Some I've dealt with, some I haven't."

"Well, the poison definitely wreaked havoc on her system. But she pulled through, and there was no rational explanation for it. I'm guessing there was magic involved."

"What kind of 'magic?' Your magic?"

"No. Hers."

Andromeda threw her head back and supplied a laugh, bitter with disbelief. It was as if he had told her the grass was blue and the sky, green.

"I'm serious!" he said and her snicker tapered off. "Other than the possibility of self-healing, I don't think she possesses any inherent magical abilities. But the potential could be there. Supposedly, with the right combination of precious gemstones and proper training by the Pixie Elf Scholars . . . I mean . . . this could be a reach, but she might be able to achieve those 'Holy Grails' of magic. We're talking about things like eternal life, mind powers, teleportation, fountain of youth . . . all the good stuff. There's a lot more about Pixie Elves in my report. If the information I've mentioned is not sufficient, I'm afraid we're beyond the scope of the Royal Library. I would have to travel to learn more. Europe, most likely."   

Andromeda brought her folded hands to her lips. They bounced to her mouth and then away, repeatedly. The eye Joe could see was like the eye of a storm. Her thoughts were racing, changing, veering left and right. Was it the past or the future consuming her thoughts? Was there fear there? Regret for making an enemy out of someone who could have been a valuable ally?

Joe didn't have a clue where her brainstorm would lead. There were too many possibilities. And Andromeda didn't operate according to any moral or ethical code. What would be out of bounds for most would be fair game for her. Nothing was sacred, no one was safe. 

"I knew Labelle was hiding something," she finally divulged. "Maybe his brother can be persuaded to cooperate."

Joe felt a pang of dread. "Leo?" He liked Dr. Labelle and despite what had happened with Cassie, he harbored no ill will. It's his own fault, Joe quickly convinced himself. He should have left Pyxis two months ago.

"He was arrested last night. There is a family 'trinket' he possesses, something he intended to give to his niece." She pointed her full glare, both eyes, directly at Joe. "Do you know anything about this?"

Joe pushed his glasses further up on his nose and tried to take a gulp. But his mouth was too dry. He could hear his pounding heart, the drumbeat of his death march. He pictured the luster his blood would take once it splashed over the gray polished stone of the Strategy Room floor. Though his head felt light and thoughtless, he was able to shake his head "no."

Andromeda's head readjusted to its original one-eyed position and her ferocity returned to tolerable. "In any case, it belongs to me once we know what it is and where it is." 

Joe took another deep breath, one that helped cleanse his mind of morbid thoughts.

She turned her attention to her long fingernails out of boredom, habit, or indifference. He wasn't sure which.

"And for our last item of business?" she asked.

Joe picked up the black sack from the floor. He bobbled the item to remove the cover and revealed to her a dazzling crystal ball.

"As you can see, it's not working," Joe informed her.

She glanced at it and returned her focus to her folded hands. "Obviously. . ." 

"It doesn't work here, I should say."

The stare she gave him . . . he discerned it to be one part curiosity and two parts disbelief. "Go on," she urged.

"You told me your grandmother had the gift of clairvoyance, but she died before she passed on the ball's secrets to anyone. All I can say is that she must have been an outdoor enthusiast. It's finicky, requires absolute and uninterrupted concentration, and you have to be fully in tune with what you're looking for, but . . . I've gotten it to work in the forest, and it works best on calm, clear nights. It makes sense, I suppose. The ball gets a better 'signal' outside the cave and with as little atmospheric 'noise' as possible."  

"Well then, what news do you have?"

Joe's task was to get it to work, and he did just that. And without ever asking or telling him, Andromeda expected him to know where to take things next.

Joe smiled because he had assumed all along that she would want information only he could retrieve. He had to picture himself in that tropical little love nest before he had any hope of seeing others.

"Your daughter managed to escape from Pyxis with my brother exactly as you predicted. They were joined by a group of their winged companions from the South End. They're all settled in the Kāne Army's 'Zone of Protection.' And by the way, the lovely couple is now married," Joe stated. The words in his mouth tasted surprisingly acidic. "Last I checked, the wedding was still going on."  

Andromeda snickered. "She works quickly."

"That's probably because she's pregnant."

"Pregnant," she repeated in a tone of surprise. With her nails, she began stroking the scars on her face while her one eye went dark and unfocused. The gears in her head were clearly revolving again. "How can you tell? She would only be about . . . two months along at most. Unless it's yours."

"It's my brother's. Trust me on that one," he assured her with a hundred percent confidence. He wasn't exactly given immediate access. Or any access, ever, and that wasn't for a lack of trying on his part. "And I can tell she's pregnant because she has this annoying habit of rubbing her stomach like it's about to fall off. When Chris is around, he often joins in. Isn't that sweet?" he added spitefully. 

She nodded once, slowly, and then dove back into her own thoughts.

Joe's eyes darted around the room while he waited. Torches in sconces, book shelves, rolled maps, a world globe on a shelf with fairy kingdoms marked rather than human ones, stone mosaic table with her dagger sitting there . . . ready and within arm's reach. . . .

Joe shifted his weight. He had to clear his throat to remind her that he was still standing there.

He eventually returned the crystal ball to its protective sack and presented it to Andromeda with both hands. "Do you want this back?"

"No," she said right away with her hand up. "Keep an eye on them for me."

He then cowered, afraid to ask, "Is that all?" He expected the worst—another assignment to test his worth, perhaps one that would require complete heartlessness. He despised his brother and his ex-fiancée, wanted nothing but the worst for them. He alone knew where they lived, how to get there, the password to the wormholes, and he could probably figure out how to destroy the Zone of Protection if he ever got ahold of Magical Mechanics again, the book presumably still in Hawaii somewhere. And Andromeda knew that he knew. But was he ready to open the floodgates on them? They lived among his family's longstanding allies . . . now Chris's allies. Andromeda would not likely pick and choose.

With her hand elevated on the armrest of her chair, she flicked her wrist and fingers. The unmistakable "get out" had Joe scrambling for the door.  

"On second thought. . ." she called to him. 

He paused and turned around, eyes wide. Oh God . . . here it is . . . the moment of truth. "Yes?"

"Leave your report on the table." 

Joe had to bite back the smile on his walk back toward her. He plopped the eighty-five hand-written, meticulously error-free pages down beside her dagger.

When he turned to leave for the second time and she could no longer see his face, the smile took over. Her request was the closest thing he would ever receive to a compliment for a job well done. 

As he walked to the stairwell, he realized why fairies would choose to be in Andromeda's employ. Her approval, though rarely granted, inspired a feeling of such triumph.

Joe returned to Ursa's chamber and invited himself inside. She was sitting at her vanity table, fussing with her hair when the lock clicked closed. Their eyes met in the mirror. "Are you ready to go out and celebrate?"

He tugged off his tie and started unbuttoning his shirt. "Why don't we stay in for a while?"

Before she could open her mouth and respond with the verbal foreplay she was so good at, he dragged her to bed by the ruffles of her dress.  His hands were quick to remove the most essential barriers. And then Joe let loose the wild child he always had in him, but rarely had the opportunity to unleash. He left even Ursa gasping to keep up.

⭐️⭐️⭐️