By two in the morning, Joe's eyes were getting heavy. He was about to wake Chris—who after bits and pieces of restless sleep in tight quarters had Modified and disappeared beneath his pile of clothes—when Joe felt movement in his breast pocket.
"Cassie, are you awake?" He pointed his whisper toward his shoulder.
Her tiny hands pulled down the edge of the pocket and her head popped out. "Yes. The children are finally asleep, though."
"Do you mind keeping me company? I can drive a little longer if I have someone to talk to."
"All right."
Joe helped her out and placed her on his shoulder. She teetered for a moment and then sat with her legs dangling against the flannel shirt.
Once she was settled, Joe took in a deep breath that hitched and shook on its way out. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something anyway."
"Sounds serious."
"It is . . . but it's not. . ."
"Go on," she urged.
"Well, I can't believe I'm admitting this, but Chris was right. I'm sorry for what I said earlier about your past. I've met people who've had some pretty messed-up things happen to them. But how could what you've been through even compare, right? So when you're ready to talk about it, I'd like to be there for you, all jokes aside, of course."
"I appreciate the apology," she responded. "Honestly, I'm used to the inquiries about my past. The questions don't bother me anymore. The answers to those questions, however, are best left unsaid."
Since she didn't seem upset, Joe's jovial disposition returned. "Understood. Okay, Princess, we'll keep things light for the moment. Can I ask you something slightly less intrusive?"
"I . . ." She hesitated. "I suppose that would be acceptable."
"Brace yourself for this. How old are you?"
Joe had been meaning to ask her when the time was right, because he couldn't put an approximate number on her age, and that frustrated him. She looked like a mid-to-late teenager, petite even among the petite, but all other evidence—her language, knowledge, and poise—suggested otherwise. He thought fairies might age differently, too. Perhaps they lived longer or always looked young. Did they live forever? Die of disease or old age like humans did?
"That was a disappointing question," Cassie said, "but I'm not going to give you the opportunity to redeem yourself. I turned twenty on December 6th."
"Twenty whole years old!" he mocked. "And I thought you didn't look a day over sixteen."
He spied a subtle smile on her face in the rearview mirror even though she tried to curtail it by biting her lip. To him that meant she had a sense of humor. It was ever so slight, but it was there, and something he could work with. And then Joe started counting.
"So what's the difference?" she asked unexpectedly, just when he came up with the number.
He was confused, caught off guard, and that was a rare occurrence. "What difference?"
"What's the difference between our ages? I could tell you were doing simple math in your head."
How did she know that? "Was not."
"Yes, you were."
"Prove it," he challenged, but she didn't rise to it. "Fine," Joe conceded to end their stalemate. "You win. It's five years, seven months, and nine days. I turned twenty-five on July 15th."
"Twenty-five. It's no wonder you're infinitely wiser than I am," she retorted. "And how old is Chris?"
"That old man is turning thirty on January 6th. Do you want me to do the math on that one, too?"
"No, that's not necessary."
"Nine years and eleven months, exactly, making him way, way, way too old for you."
"That's not why I—"
"Sure, famous last words." He glanced at her in the mirror again. The dashboard lighting was faint, he didn't have his glasses anymore, and her face was a mere fraction of the size of his own, and yet it was perfectly discernable. She was blushing like a rose. But judging by her scowl and crossed arms, her pink face wasn't just due to embarrassment.
Joe decided to back off a bit. It was too much teasing, too soon, and she couldn't handle it. "Oh, don't be like that, Princess. I was just kidding. I'm sorry, and I promise I'll be nice."
"Famous last words," she mocked back at him and it launched an uncomfortable silence.
Eager to move past it, Joe grappled around for a new topic and seized the first thing that came to mind. "What were you doing in Pyxis when you weren't busy spearheading rebellions? Wait . . . sorry . . . is that too related to the questions you won't answer?"
"No, that's fine. I did what I could to survive. Mostly, I was—I am—a teacher. There are no schools for the underprivileged. I helped a number of families in exchange for a small fee or something they could trade."
"Did you go to school?"
"I learned what I could, where I could, from those willing to share. Mostly, though, I am self-taught. I spent a lot of my youth and early adolescence hiding in the Royal Library. Later on. . ."
Cassie trailed off while Joe was checking his mirrors. He glanced over his shoulder as well.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing, I hope. I just noticed a car behind us, and we all know what happened last time."
Cassie swiveled around for a better look. "Are they gaining on us?"
"To a degree, yes. Enough to worry? I don't know. I'll try to lose them," he said, flooring the gas pedal.
The headlights behind them became smaller and fainter until they disappeared.
Joe's eyes returned to the road ahead. "Paranoia. Sorry. Looks like we're fine now. Feel free to continue."
"Where did I leave off? Oh, education. Once I broke free from the shadow of the palace, I read everything I could get my hands on. All things. Prohibited things. I love learning . . . different viewpoints, new theories. It's the only thing I excel at."
"I'm sure that's not true."
"Perhaps, but without wings I could never do what others around me could. Also, early on, I showed no talent for magic, adding to Andromeda's mounting disapproval."
"Wait a sec. They . . . I mean she can use magic?"
"Beyond Modification, which certainly qualifies, it is a rare gift. Andromeda is among the few who can. For anyone else, it's forbidden . . . unless she grants the permission to study and practice it. She wants absolute power. Therefore, magic is reserved for her or for those who serve her interests."
"That's strange," Joe said while trying to recall his encounter with Andromeda. "I wonder why she didn't use it on us. She only used physical intimidation. Do you think it's the size thing? Does it work better if we're in her domain?"
"I know little of her magic or its limits."
"Truly terrifying. Do you think my father knows any magic?"
"Again, I'm not certain. If he does, he learned on his own or from his kind, and may have kept it a secret. If Andromeda knew or suspected . . . she would never allow a fairy-male, especially one she was married to, to overshadow her in any way."
Joe laughed. "Fairy-male?"
"Why is that funny?" she challenged. "I don't find the human words 'man' and 'woman' that amusing."
"I don't know. It's just so fairy-ish, I guess. What's a female called? Femairy?"
"No, fem-fairy."
"Ah," he said, holding up his index finger on his right hand. "I was close. Anyway, Princess, I don't think I can last much longer without sleep, even with your help. So, I think it's time to wake Chris."
"I could wake him for you," she offered.
Joe lifted her off his shoulder. "Yeah, why don't you? I don't want to hurt him or raise my voice and wake the twins."
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Cassie was placed upon Chris's pile of human-sized clothing. She rummaged around until she made a hole for herself. Careful of her foot placement, she lowered herself inside.
She crouched down, felt around for him with her hands, and listened closely to the sound of his breathing. When she located his shoulder, she shook it gently. "Chris," she whispered, but he didn't stir. "Chris," she repeated a little louder.
He woke up with a start and a gasp for air. She could feel his entire body tense with the hand she still had on his shoulder, which she only just realized was bare.
She removed her hand as abruptly as he had jerked away from the touch. "Sorry to wake you, Chris. Joe would like you to drive, if you feel ready."
"Oh . . . right." He sighed, perhaps to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts and rally some energy. And then there was movement and the rustle of fabric. "I forgot for a second what's real and what's not."
"I know what you mean. Sometimes the imaginary is more terrifying than the real."
"Yeah," he mumbled in exaggerated agreement.
When Joe pulled the truck over, Chris Modified to human size, redressed, and then they stepped out to switch sides. Cassie used the brief moment of solitude to climb underneath the passenger seat.
"Cassie? Are you still here?" Joe asked when he sat down.
Both doors clapped shut. The truck was in motion again soon after.
"I'm here. I'm going to rest," she called out.
Joe leaned forward and checked for her by his feet. "Where are you? You can take the seat if you want."
She didn't reply. She was fine where she was and needed some time to herself.
It seemed unlikely that Chris would come to her aid yet again, but he did just that. "Joe, this is all new to her, too. She probably needs some space to breathe," he said softly.
"All right. Offer still stands if you change your mind." With the springs over Cassie's head squeaking each time Joe readjusted his position, she was grateful to hear, "Chris, can you hold my shirt? The kids are still in the pocket." Then Joe's pant legs went limp as he Modified to fairy size.
Once Cassie believed he was asleep or at least comfortable and no longer able to see her, she crawled out from underneath the seat. She leaned against the edge of carpet by the door and slipped beneath the floor mat. Chris was the last thing she saw before closing her eyes. He was concentrating on the open road, his mouth closed, his face neutral, but his eyes were longing for something—or someone—far away.
The very nerve of Joe to suggest. . .
The last thing she or anyone else in their party needed was a romantic entanglement.
And besides, Chris's heart is probably the most impenetrable fortress in the history of man or fairy.
Cassie pinched her eyes shut as if attempting to expel any further introspection on the matter from her head. The truck was warm and dark, its hum, soothing, and Cassie, despite her mind-cleansing efforts, entered into a tangled array of memories—a dangerous place indeed.
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