The following dawn drifted unhindered through the warehouse skylights, passed beyond the smaller panes of Becca Novak's cottage, and its warmth kissed her bare back as she pulled up and fastened a pair of comfortably baggy overalls. A lacy, white bra followed, and she slipped her arms free one at a time to accommodate it, then repeated the procedure for her shirt. It wasn't a deliberate process, she simply identified a task and completed it with no concern for minor inefficiencies.

The right sock didn't match the left, but each had lost its mate somewhere and since they were both white and approximately the same length, she felt no need to throw them away. She spent a few minutes picking a knot out of her shoelaces, having kicked them off the night before without untying. It was a bad habit. It never occurred to her to break it.

She had more than a few of those but she kept them in perspective. Some were part of her, annoying but harmless. Others were defense mechanisms that she was only vaguely aware of. Mom had tried to fix her. Becca Sofija! she would say, rolling her eyes so hard they threatened to leave her head, but her irritation was always tempered by concern, and concern by love. She missed mom. She missed rock climbing and swimming in the lake behind the old house. That was before dad left. Before...

Abruptly, she remembered where she was. That wasn't the right word, but a sudden awareness of her surroundings made old memories dormant and colorless, replacing them with something brighter. Embers of excitement stirred as she savored the rare knowledge she'd been given: the existence of magic and storybook lands and the beings that inhabited them. She even had her very own prince, though that part was complicated.

She didn't mind that he had a girlfriend, but she was sorry that her joy had cost Katherine some of her own. It hurt Tom too, which was even less bearable, but when they kissed there was nobody else, just him and a shy, Midwestern girl who read too many books and liked the color purple.

The magic was almost as grand. She had held it in her two hands, called to it, and it had answered. It was terrifying, of course. Her only instruction came from a tome that whispered its secrets in wandering riddles. Instead of filling her mind with words, it planted ideas and watered them with paragraphs that pulled together concepts in exactly the right order. She couldn't pry knowledge out of it, but it helped her understand, even if the process was slow.

Once dressed, she passed the vanity mirror without a trace of interest and left the cottage, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Katherine and Rachel were already in the kitchen, sorting through the meager contents of Meridian's pantry.

"Sup girl?" Rachel asked, regarding the food with clear displeasure.

"Good morning," Becca beamed at her. "Is this what we have for breakfast?"

"This is what we have period. Fairy generosity didn't extend to grocery shopping."

"Don't listen to her, she's already had two cold bratwursts," Katherine said with a hint of disgust, picking at dry cornflakes left over from the campground. "I had higher hopes for magical food than burgers from Fatty's and cold cereal."

"The books all say if you eat while you're in the fairy lands, you can never leave."

Rachel snorted a laugh. "I think we're way past that, don't you?" Katherine shot her a lidded glare and smacked her arm. "I'm just sayin' it's not the food that's keeping us here."

"Keep it to yourself around Thomas. It's not his fault, and he's just as stuck as we are."

"I didn't say I wasn't grateful." Rachel shrugged and helped herself to what was left of the grapes. Katherine's demeanor shifted instantly.

"Mornings are still hard, aren't they?"

"Always. Feels like I'm splitting down the middle."

"Oh gosh," Becca reached toward her, then hesitated. She lacked the skills to offer comfort. "Should we get Tom?"

"Nah, I'll be okay, let him rest. I'd rather start making a grocery list," she gestured at the marble-topped bar. "This is pathetic."

Once they began writing everything down it became quickly apparent that their needs went far beyond food for the four of them, which was an impressive enough list since they had to start from scratch. While the kitchen and its appliances were extravagant, there were no plates or tableware, no pots or pans or containers for uneaten food, no butter dish or sugar bowl or even a lowly salt shaker. They needed bath towels, hand towels, and washcloths for the bathroom, paper towels and drying towels for the kitchen, dish soap, hand soap, body wash and shampoo, and an assortment of cleaning supplies. There didn't seem to be an end.

By the time Tom appeared the list had grown alarmingly long. He glanced at it briefly before routinely kissing Katherine, then Rachel and finally Becca. As always, his touch wiped away all evidence of the world around them and she forgot herself for a few blissful moments. Returning from that was hard. Almost worse than going without.

"It's not that bad," Tom said once he scrutinized their shopping list.

"Uh huh," Rachel said. "You win some lottery I didn't hear about?"

"No, but I have twenty months worth of rent in savings from my scholarship."

Katherine gasped, "Thomas! You can't spend that, it's for school!"

"And lodging," he corrected. "Once we get our things from the apartment there won't be much reason to go back. We also have the bank card Miss Gold gave me. It doesn't look like any of us are dependent on the tea, so I won't feel too bad spending the money on other things we need."

"It's not a solution," Katherine insisted. "None of us has an income."

"We'll figure that out later," he said. "We need to work out a budget, then once Rachel and I get our laptops we can find something that'll let us work from home. After today, future trips shouldn't be quite so overwhelming."

After Tom picked a serviceable breakfast from the available food, he and Rachel left to survey the warehouse, identifying other needs before committing to their first trip back into the world without Fae protection. Becca stood and imagined the expansive cupboards full and organized, then placed the remaining food where it seemed to belong.

"Becca?" Katherine said quietly, and on some level the word registered, but it was attached to something else, something distant, and she didn't reply.

"Becca," Katherine repeated, a little more forcefully.

"Hmm? Oh! Hi... um... I'm sorry, I was just..." The warm tingling of a familiar blush crept into her cheeks. She didn't think it was embarrassment. It was more like shame, like being caught somewhere you weren't supposed to be.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm—I sometimes get lost in my head. I wasn't ignoring you, I just... I'm sorry."

Katherine cocked her head, smiling quizzically. "It's fine. I thought we could talk. We haven't had the chance yet, just the two of us."

"Oh, um..." Becca closed the cupboard and brushed at her overalls because it seemed like she should be more presentable speaking with someone who, with pale golden hair and a long, white robe, might have passed for an angel. "Sure, go ahead."

Katherine patted the bar stool next to her, and Becca tentatively, but obediently, mounted it.

"I wanted to apologize," she began.

"For what?"

"I wasn't very kind to you when we first met."

"So?" Becca said, but it was the wrong kind of word, or at least the wrong time for it, because Katherine frowned. "I mean it's just—I know why and I don't blame you. I think if the situation was turned around I would have handled it worse."

"It's kind of you to say."

"I'm not just saying. You had a good thing, you know, before..."

"I still do."

"But it's not... it's broken now. I broke it."

"What makes you think that?" Katherine asked, but Becca recognized the look. It's what people wore when they were about to say something clever.

Becca sighed, "You wouldn't be with someone like Tom if you weren't as nice as he is. Smoke was still coming out of his car when he tried to comfort me. Me. After I hurt him. Even though it was my fault."

"You never hurt any of us, and this isn't your fault," Katherine said, calming Becca with a gentle touch. "You didn't ask to be here any more than Rachel did. That's why I want you to know I'm okay with it."

"With what?"

"Everything. You being with Thomas, kissing him. You don't have to sneak around or hide to get what you need from him."

Becca gaped at her, confused. "I don't understand."

"I don't think I do either," Katherine smiled, and it seemed more genuine than it had any right to be. "What Thomas and I have is special and I have no plans for that to change, but I've had to adjust my expectations."

"Like magic?"

"Excuse me?"

Becca stalled, concerned that the words building up inside were the wrong ones, or didn't mean what she wanted them to. "We live in a bubble now," she said, "and the rules inside are different than the ones outside. They're changing our lives, maybe even our thoughts. We're different from the people we used to be, but the changes are still happening and we can't quite see what we're becoming."

Katherine pursed her lips, then nodded slowly. "It's a little frightening when you put it that way, but sure, I think it's close enough."

"I wouldn't have asked for this," Becca continued, letting the last of her meaning trickle out. "I mean I did ask Tom out, but that was before—I mean—I just thought you should know that I'd give it back if I could."

Katherine took Becca's hands and pulled her off her stool and into a hug. "I know, and that makes everything easier. Thank you."

Rachel stayed behind with Katherine, who was still under the effects of the healing spell and the risks that came with it. Becca liked them both very much, but it was easier to hear her own mind when it was just her. Tom didn't count. He didn't confuse her the way most people did, and in some ways he made the cacophony of her inner dialog easier to manage.

She was in charge of the shopping list and made suggestions that were accepted without question, like the ethnic grocery where they could buy flour and rice in bulk, or the family-owned butcher shop across town, or the local farmer's market where vegetables were sold by the pound. After a final stop at a department store, they finished loading the Wrangler and set out to collect her belongings.

"Mike's working," she sighed, handing back his phone.

"Mike," Tom echoed, checking for traffic before exiting the freeway. "He's the part-timer who drinks all the Mountain Dew?"

Becca nodded. "He took my shift. I was on the schedule for today, but Sam fired me on Saturday for leaving the store. They've been trying to call me at home and Marlene told them she hadn't heard from me."

"Marlene?"

"My landlady. I wish Brenda was working. I know she doesn't like me very much, but Mike makes me nervous."

"I'll be there with you," Tom said and Becca smiled back, but she spent the remainder of the journey wringing her hands and staring out the side window. Mike was a varsity soccer jock, attending BAU on a NCAA scholarship program, and he had an unnaturally high opinion of himself. His aggressive flirting made many of the female customers uneasy, but he seemed to revel in Becca's discomfort, taking it as a sign that she was vulnerable to his charms. Other guys had hit on her, but they usually left her alone after a few minutes. Not Mike. He was either too stupid or too arrogant to quit. Becca secretly suspected it was both.

When they arrived, the office was busy with half a dozen customers. She didn't have to look at Tom to see his concern.

"You don't have to come," she told him. "I know you don't want another accident like me."

"You're not an accident."

"Yes, I am. I'm not feeling sorry for myself. Not all accidents are bad." She felt the blush rise in her cheeks like a reprimand. She ignored it.

"Let's just wait a few minutes," Tom suggested, but another car pulled into the lot and Becca shook her head.

"A lot of businesses use lockers to store extra inventory or old paperwork so it's always busy like this on weekday afternoons. We'll be waiting for hours. You stay, I'll be fine." She opened her door, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

Tom muttered to himself but he didn't follow as she crossed the parking lot and pulled open the glass doors. The familiarity of the office was unwelcome. It represented a too-recent past, routine and desolate, lacking both hope and purpose. In her last memories of that place, she'd been resigned to watching the first man she'd been attracted to in years turn his back and walk out of her life.

"One sec, babe," Mike's voice scratched the air. Not because it was raspy or hoarse, but it tore at suppressed memories. She shied away from its claws. Once the line had dwindled and the remaining customers were occupying themselves, he rounded the counter and stood closer than he should have.

"Kinda sucks, Sam kicking you out," he began, his eyes hunting hers.

"I guess." She stared past him. "Just give me my things and I'll get out of your way."

"Not so fast, pretty lady." He began to circle her, placing his body between her and the door. "Just because you aren't cut out for the job doesn't mean we can't be friends."

"Please just give me my phone." she demanded weakly, turning as he moved. He misinterpreted that too, believing he held her interest, but in truth she was a rabbit watching the wolf to see if it would pounce.

Mike nodded toward the shelves behind the counter, and she glanced behind her, catching a glimpse of the strap of her little beaded purse draped over the top of a small, cardboard box. In her moment of distraction he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, as if laying a claim to her body. Panic began to take hold, but something within pushed back like a big wave, giving her an unfamiliar strength. She stood her ground and pushed his arm away.

"Don't be like that," he said, moving closer still. "I just want to get to know you. We never had the chance while you were working here, and this might be the last time we see each other."

"Good," that strength said. She turned toward the counter to retrieve her posessions, but he grabbed the back of her overalls and pulled forcefully, nearly toppling her.

"You don't work here anymore, remember?" he said. "No customers behind the counter. You're going to have to play nice if you want your stuff back."

She steadied herself and was about to speak when she caught sight of Tom through the window and across the lot. He stood like a pillar just outside the Jeep, head low and staring, like a bull about to charge. The reminder of him, of his touch, of the power that coiled beneath his skin, welled up inside her and she finally returned Mike's stare.

"This is what's going to happen," she said loudly, drawing stares from the customers. "You're going to remove your hands and stand aside while I take back what belongs to me. Then I'm going to leave, and once I walk out that door, you'll never see me again."

Mike's eyes betrayed him, flitting from person to person as he wilted under their scrutiny, but his pride wouldn't let him back down.

"Listen, you fucking retard," he whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear. "If you want to see any of that shit again you'll wait here until my shift is over, then we'll find someplace where we can be alone and I'll teach you how to ask nicely."

The innuendo blistered her skin with shame. She reddened and almost cowered as recollections of cold concrete, alcohol, and blood poisoned her mind, threatening to break her down. But something else ran through her fragile psyche, a glimmer of potency welling up through the cracks. For an instant she swayed on her feet, but not for feeling faint. It was like standing atop surging waves as the ocean lent her its might. She embraced the storm. Her fist lashed out like lightning, struck like thunder, and the momentum carried her over the counter in one agile leap. While Mike staggered, hands cupping his bloody nose, she gathered her box and ran back through the front door.

"You fucking freak!" Mike screamed close behind her, but she passed Tom, who hadn't moved—hadn't even twitched—and slid into the front seat of the Jeep. Something had loosened inside him and he radiated dark malevolence, the opposite of his rich passion, all of it focused on the man sprinting toward them.

"I think you better turn around and walk away," He warned when Mike drew near. His voice was cold, dispassionate, and filled with the echoes of her storm. Though Tom was taller, Mike was built like a fortress and he wasn't in the mood to back down.

"Fuck you, asshole, nobody hits me!"

"It looks like Becca just did. The nasal bone might be broken, you should have it looked at."

The power that had propelled her didn't abandon her body immediately, and she rose up above the passenger door, spitting accusations. "He told me I couldn't have my things if I didn't let him touch me."

"You lying whore!" Mike screamed.

Becca sensed a change in the air around her, the same feeling she got when she used the Fferyn.

"I told you to walk away," Tom said.

"And I said fuck off!"

Becca wanted to scream as Mike drew back his fist. Tom just stood there like a totem. She wanted to rush to him, defend him, but before the thought could fully form, a surge of pleasure and joy erupted at the base of her skull and coursed through her nerves.

"Oh god! Shit! Shit!" Mike shrieked as though his flesh had caught fire and he fell back, eyes shut and arms sweeping the air as if to fend off an assault. A dark stain spread down the front of his pants. "Please no! Oh god, I'm sorry!" he cried like an infant, then tripped and fell in his haste to retreat.

"Go suck a dick, Mike!" Becca yelled, spending the last of her storm-strength before it abated, then ducked shamefaced into the Jeep when Tom turned to her in surprise. He seemed almost serene as he settled in next to her.

"What did you do?" she asked. She could tell he heard her by the shift in his shoulders, but he didn't answer immediately.

When he spoke again, he only asked, "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she replied, accepting the change. The hostile emotions that had been unleashed found their peace and crawled back to their cage. "I've never hit anyone before. It hurts. I thought for sure he was going to punch you."

"I guess he wasn't as brave as he thought."

"Mike isn't brave, he's just stupid," she said with disgust. "But I've never seen him run away like that. You were amazing."

"Not compared to you," Tom said. "That was an impressive right hook."

Becca scowled, "He... he acted like he was doing me a favor. I'm glad you scared him. I'm glad I never have to go back." Tom nodded briefly in agreement, most of him still locked away in his mind. She understood. Her own angry thoughts trickled away as they began to move, as memory was consigned to drifting flotsam.

They reached their next destination in silence. When they stopped, Becca left the vehicle again, disappeared into the townhouse that had once been her home, and returned in three trips with trash bags full of clothing and books, and a desktop computer that had cost her several paychecks. Marlene, her elderly landlady, hugged her warmly and wished her well with bittersweet regret.

"You take care of yourself," she instructed as they hovered in the doorway, holding hands.

"You too, okay?" Becca answered seriously. "No standing on chars to clean the ceiling fans. Call me if you can't find anyone else."

Marlene looked down suddenly at Becca's hands then shot a suspicious glance at the Jeep. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"What?" She followed the old woman's gaze to where her thumb brushed against an ornate, silver ring on the third finger of her left hand.

"Congratulations, dear. Your boyfriend is a lucky, lucky man."

"Oh gosh, it's not—I mean," she began, then decided the truth would sound like a much bigger lie, so she just smiled and they hugged again. "Thank you for everything, Marlene. And do whatever you want with my old desk, I don't need it anymore."

"I'll make sure it finds a good home. Go now, don't keep your young man waiting."

The grin didn't leave her on the way back to Meridian while coherent thoughts began tangling each other into messy ideas, and Tom remained too lost in thought to carry a conversation. When they stopped at a red light, before catching the highway back into Redgrove, she watched a couple out her window, waiting in a sheltered bus stop, mittened hands overlapping. The image was sweet, like a motivational poster, but it stirred up the tangles in her mind and knotted them around a single idea. Like most things in Becca's life, it was easy to see, but hard to describe.

"Tom?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you like me?"

He stalled, and she recognized the look of someone trying to piece together words that wanted to come out in all the wrong ways.

"You had to kiss me for the first time on Saturday," she said, "so we've only been together five days. I mean living together, not—you know what I mean."

He nodded. "That sounds right."

"So, do you like me?"

"You just pointed out that we've been kissing for a week."

"Don't tease, you know what I'm trying to say. Do you have feelings for me?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but that same look crept across his face and he paused, then started again a few minutes later when he was more sure of his answer.

"I think so."

"I don't know either," she said. Part of her was lying, but saying something different wouldn't have been more true. "I was crushing on you when I asked you out, which was weird, but I know why I did it now. I mean you're good looking, it wasn't just..." She exhaled slowly. "I wish it wasn't so hard to say what I'm thinking."

"It's okay," he chuckled. "I'm keeping up."

"Good because I'm stuck. Inside, I mean. I don't make friends very easy and I haven't made any new ones for a long time, not since I moved out here after mom died."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Thanks, but I didn't say it to make you feel bad, I just meant... when I moved in with my dad and his wife last year I didn't even get along with them. Dad doesn't know how to handle me. I think he feels guilty for not being there when..." She cleared her throat. "Well, Lydia was always jealous so she didn't like having me around to remind her that dad was married before. I only moved out in April and all I've done since then is work and school, and when I have the time I read or play games. Anything else I might have wanted, like having friends, seemed too far away to keep wanting it. Then you kissed me and everything changed."

"I'm sorry—" he began, and something like rage closed her ears to the rest. He was trying to apologize. For magic, and fairies, and... a chance to love.

"You know how you can want something," she interrupted, "and you're so obsessed with it you can't think about anything else, then one day you get it and you don't need to want it anymore. Then you stop thinking about it, and pretty soon it's not on your mind at all. The thing you couldn't live without ends up in a box at the bottom of your closet."

"Sure."

"That isn't happening. The going away part. I still want it—all this—like I don't have any of it yet, but here you are sitting next to me and I've cast literal spells and met real fairies. It's like opening the same present every day and even though you know what it is it's just as exciting as the first time. It feels so big I can't possibly use up all that joy in one lifetime. I want to think that's what it's like to fall in love."

"Becca, I—"

"But I don't think so," the words continued, reluctant to withdraw after having been given so much freedom. "I think the love must be beneath it, the place where you finally land. It's something stable and strong that can hold all that joy and keep it steady. That's what made me ask, because it takes time to build something that strong. Old people get it. They'll tell you if you listen. I think that's why the excitement isn't going away, because inside I feel like I've known you for ages and ages instead of just a few days."

They spent most of the trip back without speaking but Becca didn't mind. She knew it was a lot—she could barely hold it all in—and Tom was dealing with even more than that. She wasn't really looking for an answer. He had shown her more compassion than she'd felt since tracheal cancer took mom away. He even turned loose a power that terrified him just to protect her

"How's your hand?" He asked as they neared the river. She kneaded her sore knuckles and smiled with honest gratitude.

"Better, thanks."