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Instead of the darkness he had entered in his last dream, Inlé found himself once more surrounded by the goddesses of magic.
"Inlé!" the goddess in orange called. "Welcome back. We just finished the dance. Would you care for some food?"
Unfazed, Inlé answered with a shallow bow--a deep nod. "Yes, Lady, that would be very nice right now."
The feast was similar to that he had dined upon previously. The women ate with vigor, singing and laughing as they did.
"And how long will you stay tonight?" the orange goddess teased.
"I pray long enough to hear your name," Inlé answered. "And, perhaps, some advice."
"Well," she laughed, "I may be able to give you some small bit of advice. And, perhaps, my name," she giggled after a slight pause.
Over the meal, Inlé recounted his tale from when last he had seen the goddesses to the present. At first, only two listened. But by the end of his tale, which was oft interrupted, and repeated even more, all the goddesses listened and laughed, enjoying the story despite the stark monotone of its presentation. Questions were asked, demanding Inlé to remember further every occurrence, explaining everything twice and re-explaining it thrice more.
But once the goddesses had finished, Inlé was surprised--though none would notice--to find that they had pulled more descriptive information from him than he would have thought possible. Most then, having finished their meal, began clearing the feast away. The gold and silver pair began spinning a spell that, after a short while, began a magical re-enactment of the stories Inlé had told drifting over the fire, his voice softly rising from the crackling wood.
The orange goddess pulled Inlé away from the group, and they sat again on the side of the hill, stargazing. "Hmm," she began, "so he looks and sounds like you but you've only seen him in your dreams. But he sent you a note during school. Strange."
"It is," Inlé agreed. "Have you any advice?"
"Hmm," the goddess mused, "well be careful. Obviously." She thought for long moments, until an idea flickered into being.
"Ah! Take this!" She pulled a small something from some unseen fold, and placed it gently in his hand. In the way of dreams, this one little thing--the one thing Inlé tried to focus on--was beyond his ability to comprehend. He held it lightly as the goddess continued, "It should help, at least a little. I don't know how well, but that depends on what it is that you've come in contact with."
"Thank you, Lady."
"Ugh," the goddess groaned.
Unnoticing or uncaring, Inlé slid the item up his sleeve. "Well, Lady, thank you for this. Will it still be manifest when I wake?"
"Yes, of course," she answered.
"Then," Inlé said, "thank you again, Lady."
"I do have a name, you know," the goddess said, slightly perturbed.
"You do, Lady," Inlé vexingly agreed. "But, Lady," he jabbed, "I have not been made privy to it as of yet."
The goddess laughed lightly. "Oh, right."
"Does this mean, Lady," Inlé pressed, "that I will learn your name now?"
The goddess smiled, "Well, my name is"--she grinned as she noticed Inlé beginning to fade, beginning to wake from his dream--"a secret!"
Inlé, recognizing his changing state of consciousness, fought against waking as he slid up a dark tunnel further and further from the bright dream. At the end of the tunnel, he saw the goddess in orange smiling at him. She flashed him a peace sign and called to him, her voice echoing through the tunnel, "Heart!"
The last word echoing through his head, consciousness enveloped Inlé, and he opened his eyes to the new day.

As Inlé sat in class again, Mr. Selina came through the door behind him and stood beside his chair.
"Ah, Inlé," Mr. Selina greeted his student. "I see you came again today."
Inlé looked up at his teacher and replied, "Yes, sir."
"I'm glad to see I didn't scare you off yesterday," Mr. Selina said.
Inlé paused, then echoed, "Yesterday, sir?"
With a slight shrug, Mr. Selina answered, "The cryptohoplology and my catching you know gaelic."
"Oh, that," Inlé replied. "I do not care, sir."
"I'm glad, as I said. So was the book yesterday helpful, or was I right in saying you wanted something more ... specific?"
"You were right, sir. It helped very little."
"So," Mr. Selina began. "You did want something on the magical items, and not the stories themselves."
Inlé replied slowly, "Yes and no, sir." Seeing Mr. Selina's confusion, Inlé explained, "I want to know more about the treasures of the Tuatha dé Dannan, as well as refresh my memory on the various types of faerie, sir."
"Faerie, eh?" Mr. Selina said. "You do know a little, don't you?"
Inlé shrugged. "More than I would ever admit, sir."
Mr. Selina chuckled. "Well, then. I have something for you. Two somethings, in fact. See me after class, and I'll give them to you."
"As you say, sir."
Walking to the front as the class bell rang, Mr. Selina said over his shoulder, "Really, Inlé, you don't have to be so formal. Honor where due, and all. But don't overdo it, you know?"
"Yes, sir," Inlé answered, and class began.

After class, Inlé reported to Mr. Selina, who sat comfortable at his desk. "Inlé, I have these two books you may be interested in. Take a look."
He pulled two large, thick leather-bound books from a drawer and placed them on the desktop. One was red, the other blue, and their titles were scrawled across the covers in gold and silver, respectively.
Lovingly running his fingers over its cover, Mr. Selina identified the red book. "If you want the Four Hallows of Ireland, they're in here: 'Draoidheachd agus Inneal-cogaithean'. The Dannan themselves are talked about a little, along with all the other major players in here: 'Sìthichean'."
Inlé looked carefully at the books, then at their owner. "'Magic and Weapons' and 'Faerie'? Sir, where did you find things like these?"
Mr. Selina leaned back in his chair, hooking his hands together behind his head as he sucked an unlit cigarette. "Give me a little credit," he said. "As I said before, I'm very serious about these things. Sure, most people think it's trash, but I still believe. I can't stop myself, hard as I try."
Inlé stared impassively at Mr. Selina's relaxing figure. He paused, as his teacher tried to light the cigarette by sucking it into combustion.
"And if they were true, what then?" Inlé asked suddenly. "What would you do if you found it really was all the truth?"
A surprised look crossed Mr. Selina's face, and he dropped his feet off of his desk and leaned forward, resting his chin on the backs of his laced fingers. He wistfully smiled as he answered, "I'd believe."

At the end of the day, Inlé left school in deep thought. So wrapped up in his own thoughts was he that he didn't notice the group of boys gathering around him until he bumped into the chest of a scruffy redheaded boy who glowered down at Inlé.
Inlé took a step away quickly and apologized, "Beg your pardon, I was not paying proper attention to my surroundings. If I may ..." He tried to sidestep into a clear path, but the boy in front of him sidestepped in the same direction, and the two remained one in the other's path.
Inlé sidestepped again, to the same effect, then again, and again. Quickly tired of this, Inlé created a short pattern, then, once it was set, he said aloud, "Now to the right." As both stepped to their own right, Inlé and the redhead stood with cleared paths.
Inlé continued on his way, nodding over his shoulder. "My apologies again. Goodbye."
"Not so fast, punk," the boy behind him called, grabbing Inlé's shoulder. He spun Inlé around and glared into his face. "I heard you were giving my pal Tony some trouble. We don't like punks giving our friends trouble. Do we, boys?"
The group surrounding Inlé answered in the negative.
The boy grabbed Inlé's collar, pulling him forward. "So we thought we'd teach you a lesson. You got Tony unnerved, see? I don't like little punks doing shit like that. It's fishy. Like you got some shit on him he don't want you to talk about. No way you could take him in a fight."
Hanging from your shirt-front is not the most imposing position to find yourself in. Nevertheless, Inlé appeared more bored than upset at the prospect of being manhandled in such a way. "So you wish to beat me up?" he said slowly.
"Hell yes," the jock answered.
"And," Inlé continued, "you think Tony could 'take' me?"
"Hell yes," the jock repeated.
"Then why the crowd?" Inlé asked. "If he could 'take' me, could you not?"
The jock smirked. "Hell yes I could. But I don't want you running, either. And my boys here all want a piece of you, too.
"So we figured, why not just give you a good pounding, one and all, so you won't forget to keep your mouth shut? We could all get our own turn, but all at once is faster. Lucky you." The redhead punched Inlé in the face, spinning him into the mob.
Inlé fell into the crowd, and the dam broke. Suddenly fists flew all about him, and it was all he could do to regain his feet before avoiding furious punches and kicks. He dodged quickly, avoiding every blow with a grace that belied the complexity and difficulty of the task of avoiding twenty-odd assailants.
They were all in good shape, obvious athletes with well-kept physiques, but they seemed to have little training in fighting, and swung like drunks in a bar fight. Inlé anticipated the sloppy attacks' paths and simply made sure he was not in their way when they arrived. His hands slipped casually into his pockets as he flitted about the group, unable, at least, to slip to the outskirts of the group and run off.
From behind him, a metal bat slipped out of nowhere to connect squarely with the back of Inlé's skull. Supernovas erupted behind his eyes, and the earth leapt at his face. Through a deep tunnel, Inlé heard the redhead yell angrily, "Damn it, Greg! No weapons!'
A second voice, Inlé assumed it to be this 'Greg', answered, "Fuck that."
Consciousness returned swiftly to Inlé. Not so swiftly that he could avoid the second swing of the bat, but swiftly enough to allow him to catch in in his palm.
"So," Inlé said as he stood, holding the end of the bat. "Is this how you want to 'teach me a lesson'?" His fingers sunk into the thin aluminum of the hollow bat. He glanced briefly at the nondescript blonde who held the other end of the bat, then at the rest of the mob, momentarily cooled by the display.
"I do not enjoy fighting children. The best I can do is scare you senseless quickly. Killing you is annoying because I would get into trouble. But I warn you all," He ripped the bat from the hands of the boy in front of him, and tossed it roughly away. "The next of you to attack me with a weapon will not wake tomorrow."
His hands slid back into his pockets as the infuriated group redoubled their attack.

Inlé pushed the entrance door closed lightly behind him, calling, "I'm back."
"Welcome home, dear," his mother called from the kitchen. "You're having dinner with me tonight. No arguments, it's final."
"Fine," he replied, heading quietly into the bathroom.
Inlé dabbed at the back of his head with a red kerchief pulled from somewhere. When the blood was gone, he pulled a dark, viscous salve from his sleeve and daubed it roughly over the open wound. He hissed through clenched teeth as the salve hissed and popped, but it did its job. In a few seconds, his wound had closed.
"Dinner time! Come now, or else!" His mother called from the kitchenette.
"There in a moment," Inlé replied as he finished combing the salve into the toilet.

Inlé sat across from his mother, eating. "How is it?" she asked.
"It is very good spaghetti. Thank you." He took another bite.
His mother waited for him to continue. When he did not, she asked, "And how is school?"
Inlé did not look up from his plate as he answered, "Uneventful as ever. Nothing unusual."
Inlé's mother lightly stabbed her own plate, and left it in her spaghetti. "Inlé, we moved here so you could have a fresh start. No one here knows about the troubles you've caused elsewhere. Why not make some friends?
"You must be lonely spending all your time locked in your room."
Inlé looked up. "I have little need for friends, mother. I am quite satisfied with the situation as it stands right now."
"Inlé ..."
Having finished his meal, Inlé rose. He cleared the table as he said, "Mother. Thank you for the meal, as well as your concern for me. The meal was quite good.
"Please do not concern yourself over my actions, nor my social activities. They are of my own making, and I cannot stress enough the thought and value I place in my choices and actions.
"My decisions may seem at odds with your perspective of how a high school male should act, but rest assured that I do indeed have my future in mind. I do not merely act in a manner at tangent with the norm for attention or to stand out.
"I do seem to stand out. But at the same time, I am able to go through the school day with little interference from learning that which I am required. My grades will likely be perfect, and this will allow me to advance well to the next stage of my life."
Lightly kissing his mother on the forehead as he headed out the room, he finished, "Again, thank you for your concern. But I will be fine, rest assured," and walked back to his room without seeing the pained look that watched his back as it exited the room.

"Oh!" A voice said as Inlé entered his room. Queen Titania stood cheerily beneath the window.
Inlé closed his door quietly behind him, saying, "Queen, what are you here for today?"
"Oh Inlé, my dear, don't act so upset!" She pounced on him and hung from his neck as she answered matter-of-factly, "I came here to see you, of course! Mmmm. You smell so good."
"I smell as I should," Inlé said, trying to peel the petite queen off of himself. "Good Queen, please think of your station. It is unbecoming for you to be seen so."
"Station?" the faerie moaned. "I ran away to see you. And who's here to see us? Besides," she snuggled in closer despite Inlé's attempts, "this feels good too. Mmmm."
"Was this all you came here for?" Inlé asked.
"Of course!" Titania beamed.
Inlé sat on the edge of the bed, defeated, and patted the faerie queen's head. "Very well. I suppose this cannot hurt for a short bit." Titania purred her agreement and curled onto his lap.
When the sun began to set, Inlé shifted and said, "Queen, I believe it prudent that you return now to your kingdom. Your retainers will be worried, Highness."
"They're used to it," she answered. "Don't be a worry-wort."
"But is it truly safe to leave for so long? I am aware, good Queen, of the transience of alliances in the courts of Faerie. Your absence ..."
"Is proof of my power," Titania interrupted. "Those who see it as a weakness will make an attempt and fail, all others will be cowed by the concept that I am mighty enough to leave and gain standing."
"So even I am a calculated part of your politics," Inlé mused.
Titania chuckled. "Come now, Inlé my love. Don't think so highly of yourself. You are you, I am I, and we neither are the other's pawn. Therein lies the love."
She snuggled down and purred again. "Besides, I haven't been this comfortable since ... Never mind."
After a quiet pause, Inlé asked, "Is there anything I can do to help, Queen?"
Titania looked up at Inlé, blind with unshed tears. "Believe me, child," she said huskily, "this is enough." She rested her head back in Inlé's chest and sat silently.
This was the first time Inlé had heard Titania speak without the glib, energetic edge in her singsong voice. After a long pause, he said, "Very well. But we cannot make this habitual, highness."
The mischievous note returned to the queen's voice as she sang, "Then I'd best make the best of it!" and tackled him onto the bed.
Inlé slept that night on his bed. He had owned the bed for four years, but in all that time he had never before slept in it. The change gave Inlé a droll sense of security, a comfort he'd not felt in years. If only his dreams were as comforting.

Inlé found himself in the blackness once more facing his own image. It was grinning like a wolf, hungry for the thing before it.
"What would you say if I said I saw Titania today?" Inlé asked.
"Which one?" The copy replied uninterestedly.
"She came to me."
"Oh. Her," the copy said, suddenly more interested. "Shackin' up with an older woman now, are you? Don't let your date find out."
"So," Inlé said in realization, "You know everything up to a point, then only what you yourself observe. Hmm."
"Your point?" The copy asked flippantly.
"Now I need only find you."
"But can you?" The copy mocked. "And before I get to you?"
Inlé shrugged nonchalantly. "I do not know. We will see."
"Shouldn't you be getting back to your lady-friend?" the copy asked teasingly. "Don't want her to think you've gotten disinterested."
Inlé turned away from the mockery and asked as he walked off, "How can you be so like me and yet so very, very different?"
"Them's the breaks," the copy called after him. "Just hope I don't cause you too much trouble."

Inlé opened his eyes to find Titania sitting sadly on his chest. She was staring out the window at the full moon. "It used to be like this all the time, you know?" Titania said, thinking aloud. "Just the two of us."
Inlé lifted his head slightly, "You and the late king, Highness?"
Titania jumped in surprise. "Ah, Inlé! You're up! I thought you were still asleep."
Inlé sat up, sliding the Queen from chest to lap. Even then, his head was turned down to look at her face. "I give you my most sincere apologies for interrupting, Highness. I did not intend to intrude on your private musings."
"No," Titania answered. "That's fine."
She paused a moment, looking down, then said, "Obi and I, we were always together. He was a lot like you, you would have gotten along. Or hated each other.
"But either way, he was the only one for me, truly. And now that he's gone, it's still all just so ..." Her throat cracked as she tried to stifle the pain welling in her throat.
Inlé pulled her head tenderly to his chest. "Shh," he breathed. "I know."
"Silly boy," Titania scolded gently, "no you don't. And I hope you never ever have to." Titania sobbed quietly into Inlé's chest for the rest of the night, as he sat silent vigil, the anchor in a storm of sorrow.

Inlé sat in the hallway during lunch, hoping to get some small rest, having gone without the night before. But rest would elude him as the boy Jim, much to Inlé's disappointment, sat beside him.
Opening one eye, Inlé asked, "Does this mean you are to eat with me daily now?"
"Hmm. Maybe," Jim answered around a mouthful of pizza. "We'll see. Why, is that a problem?"
"Problem," Inlé echoed. "Perhaps. I have never sat with another student for meals. Atop that, you were told not to get involved in my affairs."
"You told me," Jim said, "not to get involved with the beef between you and the football squad. I didn't. And that's over now, right? I heard you sent them to the hospital."
"I sent them nowhere," Inlé said. "They took their wounded to the hospital without any command by myself."
Jim snorted. "Dude, beating the hell out of them is sending them to the hospital."
"The only one I attacked was the one called Greg. Then only because he struck me with a baseball bat." Inlé paused, then added after a thought, "And also with brass knuckles."
"What?" Jim said, pizza forgotten. "Dude, I've seen some of the jocks that jumped you yesterday. Some of them're pretty messed up.
"You don't have a scratch on you, and you mean to say that you, who they hit with bats and brass knuckles, are fine?"
Inlé closed his eyes, patience fraying, but outwardly placid. "Only one used weapons. The others were respectful enough in that sense. And yes. I am still in good health."
"Still," Jim said, "they're all beat to hell. But you didn't do any of it?"
"None whatsoever."
"Come on, don't tell me you weren't involved."
"I was most certainly involved," Inlé said. "But I repeat: those wounds are not my doing. The injuries to the group were relatively self-inflicted."
"It's true," another voice agreed. Looking up, Inlé and Jim saw the redheaded jock from the day before standing over them with a tray heaped with food. Jim was visibly surprised to see him, but Inlé appeared unfazed as the jock sat and continued, "Inlé's telling the truth. Much as I hate to admit it, he's out of our league.
"Seriously," the redhead said, biting into a thick sandwich, "he took two swings the whole fight. Everything else was redirecting our punches at each other."
Inlé interrupted, "But you stopped after the bat."
The redhead looked incredulously at Inlé. "Are you kidding? That surprises you? Shit, I was surprised the others kept at it. I know when I'm beat."
"Yet you still said you would repay me for the example I made."
"Of course," the jock agreed. "I owe you for that. But hell if I'm gonna get my ass handed to me by a guy half my size. Talk about dumping my rep." He took another bite from his sandwich, and there was a pause as he chewed. Then, with a surprised "Oh", he asked, "Is it okay that I sit here?"
"Sure!" Jim said cheerfully, seeing Inlé was disinclined to answer.
The jock nodded. "Thanks. Jock Caimbeul, by the way."
"A Scotsman, then," Inlé noted, closing his eyes once more. "You are welcome enough."
Jim turned to Inlé, looking hurt. "He's 'welcome enough', and I'm a 'problem'? That's cold, man. Which of us jumped you yesterday, again?"
"Two problems are as troublesome as one if they are dealt with simultaneously," Inlé lectured.
Sensing tension, Jock began to rise, saying, "I can leave ..."
Jim grabbed his arm. "No! Please, stay. He needs some normaling up."
"'Normaling up', huh?" Jock chuckled, returning to the floor.
The two ate in silence for a while as Inlé sat, feigning sleep.
After a while, Jim ventured, "So, Jock, you're a ... sports guy ..."
"Yeah," Jock interrupted. "I'm a jock. Jock the jock, laugh it up."
"No!" Jim said, hands up in appeasement. "That's not it!" he continued more nervously, "What I meant was, what do you do outside school sports?"
"Not much, really," Jock answered. "Dad works construction, and I help sometimes. I'm handy with a wrench, you know? Why do you ask?"
"Just making small talk," Jim said. "It's amazing how little this guy talks." The two looked at Inlé. If they expected him to defend himself, they were disappointed.
The two leaned closer together as Jock said conspiratorially, "Yeah, I'll bet. He's a piece of work."
"Right?" Jim agreed. "He seems like an okay guy, though."
They chattered on for the rest of the period, laughing together quietly as they playfully mocked their silent partner.

"I'm back," Inlé called on entering the apartment.
"Good," his mother called back. "I wanted to talk to you."
Meeting Inlé in the living room, his mother continued, "I'm going out tonight. I met someone shopping the other day, and he and I hit it off rather well."
"Giving up on Father, eh?" Inlé said expressionlessly.
"Inlé, please!" his mother cried, straightening her long, dark-blue skirt. "Your father has been missing for years. We don't even know if he's still alive. You know I still love him. With all my heart."
"But ... ?" Inlé coaxed.
"Exactly," his mother agreed. "But I need someone here while he's gone. You need a father figure around."
"This is not for me," Inlé argued stonily.
"You're right," his mother agreed again. "Like I said, I need a man around. Someone to keep me company, at least."
Inlé sighed. "Mother, I do not blame you, nor am I otherwise upset. You very much need company, as you said. And perhaps this man will be good for you. I am glad that you are not holding on too hard to the past."
Pouting, his mother said, "You sound so cold, saying it like that."
"Perhaps," Inlé agreed, walking his mother to the door. "Go on, I will be fine. I am used to being alone, so tonight will not be much different with you gone."
"But I'm usually right here for you if you need me," his mother worried.
"Do not worry, Mother, it is fine," he reassured her. "I will spend most of the night in my room. Do not worry, have fun with this ... ?" he gently elicited an identity.
"His name's Cecil," she said. "Well, not exactly. That's what he told me to call him. You'd like him."
"I am sure I would," Inlé said, softly pushing her out the door. "Now go, lest you be late meeting him."
Looking at her watch, his mother cried, "Ah! It's almost five thirty?!" She began to run down the hallway as she waved back to her son, "Bye, love! Wish me luck!"
"Luck," he replied. "And do be careful, mother." He watched until she was out of sight, then closed the door behind him.

Inlé stood in his room, watching the sun set. And set. And set.
When the sun finally passed below the horizon, Inlé retrieved the silver band from his wrist, stretched it to the height of a door against his bedroom wall, and stepped through into the forest by the pond.
At the lakeside, Inlé said, "I am here, as desired, Lady. Where, then, are you?"
"Here," the voice bubbled. A woman, nude, rose out of the water to the waist. Her long hair was tangled with reeds and other water plants, and hung down to enticingly cover her form. But for her mottled skin--it being the bruised, pastel blue-greens and white-pinks of the drowned--she would have looked human. Beautifully so.
"Ah, a fideal," Inlé said. "I might have expected."
"Yes," she answered. "I thought you might."
Inlé sat on the shore, looking straight out to face her. "So. How shall we complete this arrangement? You offer the pot, what have I to offer you?"
"Interesting boy," the fideal gurgled, "most decide what they have to offer before asking for the demand."
Inlé said, "I care little for such frivolities, as what I value is not that which you value. Knowing this, I let you set your terms."
"Yet this is no surrender," she slid ashore to sit beside Inlé, arms about her legs. "I see that you may well destroy one so low in the courts as myself with little worry. So my price must, I suppose, be reasonable ...
"Still," she continued, more closely inspecting him, "you are beautiful to my eyes ... You've yet to know a woman's love ..."
She mused to herself quietly for a few moments. "Ah, perfect."
"Have you then decided my fee?" Inlé asked.
Her smile was large and genuine--never a reassuring thing--as she said, "They say age ripens the wine, and you are delicious now.
"My fee, then, is this: When love have you known and so of woman, thus whence be lost, return you here for love of mine own bosom."
"And consider this," the fideal said, grabbing Inlé's chin and leaning in to kiss his mouth, "a down payment, lover." With that, she disappeared, replaced by a large, iron cauldron. Inlé had Coire Ansic.
Inlé stood and pulled two bands from his left wrist. One band was stretched out so that it was large enough to encircle the cauldron, the other was shrunk to circle the inside of forefinger and thumb. Inlé held the larger ring over the cauldron and the smaller rested on his upturned palm. As the larger ring dropped over the cauldron it rose from the smaller, a miniature of itself.
"Oooh, nice trick, lover," the fideal bubbled approvingly, unseen but still seeing. "Care to take me along, too? I promise to be good." She paused, then teasingly continued, "As good as you want, at least ..."
"Nay, Lady," Inlé answered, returning the rings to his wrist and pocketing Coire Ansic. "I would not remove you from your home."
"Very well," she said, in a forlorn echo. "But do remember me. I will keep in contact."

Inlé sat breakfasting when his mother walked into the kitchenette in tousled hair and a robin-egg blue bathrobe. "Good morning, Inlé," she mumbled, rubbing sand from her eyes. "Was everything fine, last night?"
"Of course, mother," Inlé answered, smoothly gathering bowl and utensils to set in front of his mother as she sat across from him. "And how was your date?"
"Fine, fine," she yawned. "He is a wonderful man. I think you'll like him?"
"I?" Inlé asked.
Looking up in mock-surprise, his mother said, "Oh, didn't I tell you? He'll be here at eleven. We're having a brunch. You're welcome to join us if you'd like."
"I think I will pass," Inlé replied, "but shouldn't you be getting ready? You have fifteen minutes until eleven."
"Ah! Why didn't you warn me earlier?" his mother cried, leaping from her seat and running for her room. "Oh, I'm going to have to just throw something together!"
Inlé finished his meal calmly, listening as his mother loudly fretted. He was putting his washed bowl away when their guest arrived as a crisp, polite knock.
"Mother, someone is at the door," Inlé said through the bathroom door.
"Can you get it, Inlé? I still need five minutes," she replied.
Inlé walked toward the door saying, "Coming. One moment."
"Have you seen the opal necklace?" his mother called. "It was your father's favorite ..."
"No, mother. I do not handle your jewelry. Choose another one." He got to the door and opened it.
The man at the door wore a matching dark grey set of slacks and blazer over a light grey shirt and a black tie. A large, black leather-bound book was cradled in his left arm, place held with the index finger. A glimmer of recognition lit in Inlé's mind just before he heard a familiar voice.
"Well, well," Mr. Selina said, "look who we have here."
Inlé met Mr. Selina's gaze emotionlessly. "Hello, sir. Are you here for something? My mother is expecting a visitor, so ..."
Peeking in from another room, Inlé's mother said, "Cecil! Hi, come in. Inlé, let him in," and rushed off to finish getting ready.
Following Inlé into the living room, Mr. Selina said, "Well isn't this a pleasant surprise. How are you, Inlé?"
"I am well, sir," Inlé replied. "And yourself?"
Mr. Selina sighed. "Well enough. Still won't talk outside english to me?"
"English allows all present parties to understand the conversation, sir," Inlé explained blandly as he gestured for his guest to sit, then stood beside his seated teacher.
"Inlé," his mother called from her room, "see if our guest would like a drink!"
"Yes, mother," he said. "Sir?"
"Thank you, but no," Mr. Selina said. "I should be fine. So does she know you speak gaelic?"
"There are many things," Inlé said, "my mother does not know. Is she aware that you smoke?"
Mr. Selina looked surprised, then said, "Hm. Well played. I suppose there are many things she need not know. Thank you for the warning."
"Be good to her, sir," Inlé said, "and we will work well together."
Their conversation paused for a moment, they heard something heavy drop in the other room. Inlé's mother said she would be out momentarily.
Mr. Selina resumed the conversation. "So how much doesn't she know about you?"
"And you?" Inlé returned.
"That's different," Mr Selina protested. "We met only a few days ago. She's known you since your birth."
"This is true," Inlé agreed. "But I am not what I was when she birthed me."
"All right, I'll give you that. So is there anything else I should know about her?"
"Whatever you do, do not mention my father. The subject is sensitive to her. If you wish, I can disclose the extent of my knowledge on the situation at another time."
Mr. Selina leaned back and began rifling in his inner breast pocket. "If she wants me to know, she'll tell me. I'd as soon think you parthenogenetic." He paused. "No offense."
"None at all," Inlé said. "And no smoking in the house."
"Ah!" Mr. Selina caught himself. He looked up at Inlé, "Maybe you should take them, just in case."
"I am still of minority, sir."
Mr. Selina held the cigarettes out. "I'm not asking you to smoke them, Inlé. Just to hold them to keep me in your mother's good graces. A favor? Please?"
Inlé slowly accepted the pack of cigarettes, and they disappeared up his sleeve. "Fine, but find another method next time."
"You think I want to give my students my cigarettes all the the time?" he asked. "Those aren't exactly free."
Inlé's mother walked into the room then, wearing a simple black dress and a necklace of roughly marble-sized opals. "Ah, you found it," Inlé said.
"I did. Hello again, Cecil," his mother cheerily greeted her guest.
Mr. Selina stood. "Ah, Emilia, you look lovely this morning. The necklace is exquisite."
"It's something I've had a long time," she said, blushing. "There are a lot of memories in these stones."
"Well then, sir, I will leave her in your capable hands."
"You know, Inlé, you needn't always be so formal with me," Mr. Selina said.
"As you say, sir," Inlé responded.
Confused, Inlé's mother asked, "Do you two know each other already?"
"We do," Mr. Selina chuckled. "Do you remember my mentioning I was a teacher? It appears your son is one of my better students."
"The better students?" Inlé's mother repeated, trying to hide a smile. "Well this is a pleasant surprise, to learn you know each other. Although, you must not pay much attention to my boy if you think he's one of the better students."
"I only say it because he's not wrongly answered a single question I've asked yet," Mr. Selina said.
Inlé's mother smiled proudly. "I'm glad to hear that," she said. Embarrassed, she turned and headed out of the room, saying, "I'll only be a moment longer, then we can leave."
"Take your time, Emilia," Mr. Selina assured. "The food will wait for us."
The men watched the entrance to the hallway as she left. Once she was gone, Inlé said, "One of your better students?"
"It makes her feel good and isn't too far from the truth," Mr. Selina said. "At least you know your stuff."
Inlé stood quietly impassive, continuing to watch for his mother's return.
Mr. Selina chuckled to himself. "That right there is what keeps you from being the best. You don't really participate so much as fill the seat with a brain. Participation, Inlé. I'm sure you could help me teach the class if you'd just use that mouth of yours."
"All right, I'm ready," Inlé's mother said, rushing in. "Are you sure you don't want to join us, Inlé?"
"Yes, mother, I am. Other activities demand my attention today. Perhaps another time. Enjoy your date. I will see you when you return," Inlé said. With a nod to his teacher, Inlé retired to his room.
As Mr. Selina and Inlé's mother headed out the door, Mr. Selina said, "That boy seems quite self-sufficient. Almost too much so."
"Yes," Emilia agreed. "He acts so aloof, even toward me."
"That may just be the age, I suppose," Mr. Selina said.
"No. He's been like this for years," she said, lost in thought. "One day, he was a regular kid, and the next, he was ... I don't know, different. Changed.
"I used to blame his father's disappearance, but it came after he started to ... Oh! Listen to me rattle on. Sorry, can we talk about something else?"
"Certainly," Mr. Selina said. "What do you like to read?"
They stepped onto the elevator, and the date began.

Inlé sat cross-legged in the center of his room, and read through the books lent him by Mr. Selina. The leather-bound tomes were thick, old. On opening them, Inlé was pleasantly surprised--though only a brief glimmer in his eye betrayed this--to find that they were originals. Or at least seemed to have been written before the printing press's invention. Cramped, spidery writing crawled across the page in small, uneven gaelic lettering. Old gaelic, not the modern manifestation.
Despite these apparent challenges, Inlé quickly read each page, poring over them as though devouring the information. Every minute, he turned to the next page, spending exactly thirty seconds, loving running his finger below the word he read without touching the page. Things this old were worth more than a diamond with a face as large as their covers. And were perhaps barely less rare.
The sun dragged by, climbing to the peak of its ascent, then began its slow fall to the far horizon. Inlé sat unmoving, save in switching from one book to the other. As he was finishing the second tome, he heard the door to the apartment close, as his mother's laughter echoed down the hall.
By the time he had risen and entered the living room, the two were seated on the couch, caught in lively conversation. The two sat close, but--Inlé noted--Mr. Selina remained at a gentlemanly distance. Inlé greeted the pair, "Welcome back."
"Inlé!" Emilia said. "Have you been here all day?"
"I have."
She stood quickly asking, "Have you eaten? What do you want to eat? I'll go make something, anyway." And rushed off to the kitchen.
Inlé called after her, "Mother, I am fine. Surely I am capable enough to feed myself."
"Capable to do something and having done something are not one and the same," chuckled Mr. Selina, now standing beside Inlé.
"You want me to lie to her?"
"Not at all," Mr. Selina answered, as the two stood, watching Emilia bustling about in the kitchen. "I just find it funny is all. You're cold, to be sure. But you're also more worried about her than yourself. It's sweet of you."
Impassively, Inlé said, "If ever you should repeat that statement, I may be forced to kill you, sir."
Mr. Selina looked down at the unmoving boy beside him in surprise, then grinned as he looked back into the kitchen, following the other's gaze. "I wonder sometimes how serious you are when you say such things."
"And no more gaelic in front of the woman."
"Bean?" Mr. Selina echoed.
"I mean it," Inlé said coldly.
"There," Emilia said, smiling. "A sandwich for you, Inlé. Come on."
Mr. Selina chuckled. "Best to eat it, she'll be hurt otherwise."
Inlé ate in silence.

The next day was the twenty-sixth, and Inlé went to see the psychiatrist. As he entered the waiting area, the blonde girl behind the counter was talking to the asian girl from school. When the receptionist saw him enter, she broke conversation and greeted him. "Ah! Mr. Zapfino, how are you, today."
Inlé walked up to the desk, reading the nameplate--Tanya--and said, "Well enough. And yourself?"
"Well enough," she cheerily mimicked him. "The doctor will see you shortly, please have a seat while you wait." She turned back to her friend and the two seemed to forget his presence. He sat and waited unmoving.
A few minutes later, Tanya called, "Mr. Zapfino? The doctor will see you now."
Inlé rose and walked toward the doctor's room. He passed his classmate as she headed for the door, leaving. Tanya was engaged with the man who'd just seen the doctor. The asian girl looked sidelong at Inlé as she walked past him, eyeing him with more than a passing interest. For less than an instant, her brown eyes seemed to flash orange, but the change went unnoticed by Inlé.
Inlé walked into the office, and greeted the doctor.
"Inlé, welcome back," the doctor greeted him. "How has your week been?"
Inlé moved to the long chair and told the doctor about his week, omitting those parts which the doctor would consider insane. When Inlé finished his brief disclosure, there was a long silence as the doctor digested the story.
"Two fights in a week, Inlé," the doctor said. "You don't sit still, do you? Not two months in school and already you have more enemies than friends."
"I do not even do anything," Inlé said, arm over eyes. "Things just come together as they do."
"So you say," the doctor agreed. "You don't instigate any of this?"
"Why would I?"
The doctor paused, then changed directions, "I'm somewhat surprised you're not in trouble for any of this."
"Why?"
"Well, for one, you put someone into the hospital." Then he added, "And he's in a coma."
"But he was one person in a group, and attacked with weapons," Inlé explained again. "What I did was nearly self-defence."
"Nearly?" the doctor echoed. He shook his head. "Regardless, the rest of them are a good deal worse for wear in your description as well."
"They did it to themselves," Inlé answered nonchalantly.
"And how do you feel about this relationship your mother is getting into?" the doctor asked, again changing the direction of the conversation.
"If she is happy with it, why should I care? She is my mother," Inlé said emotionlessly, "not my issue."
"Issue?" the doctor echoed.
"Child, ward. Sorry," Inlé apologized. "She is not mine to look after."
"She is still family, though," the doctor pressed.
"Of course," Inlé agreed. "But part of family is accepting the decisions of other members whether you agree with them or not. Am I wrong?"
"No," the doctor agreed reluctantly. "It seems I took you for more of the controlling type."
"If I were in control, things would be different, to be sure," Inlé said.
The doctor leaned forward. "How so?"
"I do not know," Inlé began. After a pause, he continued, "I would be normal, and would not need a psychiatrist, I suppose. No offense intended."
"None taken," the doctor smiled. "I can see what you mean. Why don't you tell me more about your childhood. What was your father like?"
"He was an archaeologist," Inlé said. "I did not see much of him, but whenever he came home, my mother would prepare special meals.
"He always brought home artifacts he had found. Ancient items from all around the world. Most of them were baubles worth nothing to anyone but an archaeologist, but some of the items were quite unique. The last thing he brought home was an opal necklace he gave Mother. Most of our things were left at the main house when we moved here, but Mother keeps the necklace with her."
"The main house?" the doctor asked.
"Yes," Inlé answered. "My father was well enough recognized that Mother and I could live off of the royalties for his dissertation and a few other published papers, which they use to teach in some colleges. The main house is where I was born, and is fully paid for now. It is a small house in Vermont, but we have not been there much since father disappeared.
"Mother works to keep herself busy, but the money she makes is basically for her luxury. She teaches at the University, which is why we live here now."
"Your mother is a professor?" the doctor asked.
"She is, in fact," Inlé answered. "She holds degrees in botany and geology. 'Flowers and the stuff they live in', she says. When I was younger, Mother told me of all the travels she and Father had together, researching at the same sites 'to gain a fuller understanding of man and how he fits into the schemes of the world'.
"This stopped when I was born, of course. Travel is hard enough without an infant. She had said we would begin traveling with Father when I reached thirteen, because I would be old enough to be able to keep up, but he disappeared before that could happen."
"If she was so well travelled, does she also have any writing published?"
"She does, in fact. But most of it is in the form of photo books of flowers and rocks from around the world. She has an eye for beauty."
"Now," the doctor began, "twice you've mentioned your father disappearing. What do you mean?"
"Father was studying what he called the 'hotspots' of the world, those places with mysteries surrounding them."
"Like Easter Island?"
"And Stonehenge, yes. He was actually on something of a vacation, you see. He wanted to write about those places, to uncover their mysteries, but no serious institution would pay him to research them, because they saw too little profit in it.
"Because of this, he spent a month every year at one of these places. He was alone more often than not, though he was capable enough and kept in touch regularly enough that no one could complain.
"And then, one day, he vanished near the Henge."
"Vanished?"
"That is the best explanation I can give. Tourists frequent the ruin, as you may know, and many of the tour guides knew Father, since he was there regularly. Between one group of tourists leaving and another group arriving, he had vanished.
"The vehicle he had driven over was parked where he had left it. His tools were left spread out before where he had been. The guide on duty knew Father well, and realized something was wrong when he saw the tools. Father was very particular, and would never have left his tools lying around, even for something quick like relieving himself. He was meticulous."
"And there is no chance he just ran off somewhere?" the doctor asked.
"None," Inlé answered. "He did not really have many places he could go.
"I said he had left his tools, and that is true. That may seem insignificant at first, but as I said, he was particular. Father disliked carrying anything in his pockets, and so had a special unfolding toolkit. It was a bag-sized wallet. All of his tools were in it. His various forms of identification, currencies both plastic and coin, his keys.
"The only thing he kept on his person was a locket Mother gave him when they were married. Whenever he came home, he took a new picture of her and put it in the locket, with a larger copy in his kit, alongside every successive picture."
"He sounds like quite the romantic," the doctor noted.
"True," Inlé agreed. "And very much in love with Mother. He always offered to give up the road and stay home with us. Mother always laughed and told him he still needed to be out in the world. She cried when he was gone--she still does, in fact--but she always let him go out. It meant a good deal to him, and so to her, that he could see the world he loved. He loved her more, of course, but even I could tell he needed the road.
"Anyway, he vanished within a thirty minute window, in an area where disappearance shouldn't be possible. Or at least probable."
"You did quite a bit of this yourself, around that time, did you not?"
"I did. The first time I had the dream I told you about was a month before he disappeared. He was actually with Mother when I got back from my first disappearance. It was the only time I ever saw him angry. He was livid that I had disappeared and abandoned Mother. In truth, I doubt my safety was even on his mind while I was absent."
"You think he cared so little for you?"
"I think he considered mother's distress of higher priority than my own safety, to be sure, but I do not think he was uncaring. He was confident I could handle myself at twelve. By my twelfth birthday, I had been taught this and that by him, so I was competent enough to survive on my own for a while."
"This and that?"
"Basic survival things, mostly. How to survive in the wilderness, including the wild cities. I had a manual I was to commit to memory that he added onto every time he came home. He even tested me on it. My physical capabilities were tested, as well. I needed to be strong and competent if I was to travel with my parents."
"It sounds as if he was training an adventurer."
"Well, he was a fan of Indiana Jones-type stories, and joked that his job was similar to those. I believed him as a child, though Mother scolded him for telling me wild stories. I wonder sometimes now how much of them was true."
"You'll have to tell me about them some time," the doctor said. He looked at his watch. "But, well, that's about it for today. Why don't you schedule another appointment for next month?"
Inlé sat. "Not next week?"
"Do you want to come that often?" the doctor asked.
"No, I suppose not," Inlé said, rising. With a nod, Inlé headed for the door. "Thank you for your time again, sir."
He went to the reception desk to arrange his next appointment. Tanya, sitting behind the desk, flashed him a smile as he approached.
"So is Sunday always good for you?" she asked.
"Yeah," Inlé answered.
Her smile vanished. "Oh no you don't! We played that game last time," she scolded. "You're going to give me something else this time, you got it?"
"Yeah," Inlé answered.
Tanya pouted. "Now you're just being mean ..."
"I apologize," Inlé said, "but honestly, there is little outside of school that I do. As such, I am mostly available. Sunday is, truly, fine."
"All right," Tanya said, more brightly. "So would you rather be in on the twenty-third or the thirtieth, then?"
"Either is fine."
"The thirtieth it is," Tanya decided. "Same time okay?"
"Yeah," Inlé answered.
She looked up then. "So we're still on for tonight, right?"
"Yeah."
"You could pretend to be interested, you know," Tanya scolded.
"I apologize," he said. "Is there anything I should do between now and six?"
"Do you know what movie you want to see?"
"I will watch whatever you want to. I have no preference."
Tanya made a pointedly unsurprised face. "Good, we can watch 'The Cabal' then. It just came out."
"Very well," Inlé said.
"Could you get the tickets ahead of time? I'll pay you back for mine," Tanya said. "I just don't want to miss it on account of it being sold out."
"Very well. Is that all?" Inlé asked.
"Sure. Try for the six fifteen showing. We can go straight there from here."
"As you wish," Inlé said, turning toward the door. "I will meet you here at six, then."
He left the office and stepped onto the street. After taking a minute to orient himself, Inlé began walking in the direction of the theater. He was almost to the theater when a voice called for him from an alleyway as he passed it, "Wanderer!"
He turned and stepped into the alley to face the thug now before him. The thug was of unremarkable build, dressed as a mob grunt: black clothing, leather jacket, and large sunglasses. Even its steel-grey, slicked-back hair would not have warranted much attention but for the pale grey face it capped.
Inlé asked, "You want something from me, Jack?"
This Jack, so different from the last, but still a petty messenger answered, "The Queen got your message, Wanderer. The King too."
"That was a week ago," Inlé said. "Have you been so busy?"
"Not so much, no," the Jack said. "The King, though, he don't like you blowin' him off like that. Writin' only to the Queen."
"Listen, you," Inlé began, "there are one hundred and eight independent realms of Faerie. Do you understand what that means?
"One hundred and eight different Oberon and Titania. Many of them are at war one with the other, or one of the two is dead. In some, both are simultaneously true. That I can keep your myriad realms together well enough to contact the one who hired me for a specific task is a wonder of itself.
"If it bothers your king so, tell him to contract me himself. Had he hired me, he would have been sent my confirmation."
"That's all well and good, you to say to me," the Jack said. "But it ain't my job to remember who's who. It's yours."
"Why am I even talking to you?" Inlé asked impassively. "You are only a messenger. What message does your lord send me?"
Thumbing over his shoulder, the Jack said, "He wants I should take you back to him. He wants to talk to you. Got it?"
"Now?" Inlé asked.
"You got it," the Jack answered. It turned and walked deeper into the shadows of the alley with Inlé following close behind.
"This had better be important," Inlé said.

"Six o'clock, right on time! You're almost boringly perfect," Tanya called to Inlé as she stepped out of the office. She had changed into a long yellow skirt and a beige blouse now, and was obviously ready to get going. "You got the tickets, right?"
Inlé stepped away from the wall and held them up. "Of course, you were specific enough. It is good that the theater is so close. But the showing you requested was sold out. We have forty-two extra minutes to wait."
"You know," Tanya sighed as she stopped in front of him, "most people would just say forty-five minutes. You know, round it off. You do know how to round, right?"
"Of course," Inlé replied. "I was." With that, Inlé turned and began walking up the street toward the theater.
Tanya looked startled, then quickly caught up. Beside Inlé again, Tanya queried, "So where are you going, exactly?"
"The theater, room twelve, the seats closest the entrance. If I continue at this pace, I believe I should arrive between six-o-eight and six-twelve, depending on the density of people within the theater proper and the position of the room in correlation with the entrance. Being unfamiliar with the theater, I cannot calculate beyond general speculation and what I saw when I retrieved the tickets. Was that exact enough?"
Tanya sighed again, and realized that she would probably continue to do so for the rest of the date. If 'date' was the right word. At this point, she wondered.
"Maybe, Inlé, I should try teaching you something about English. Do you understand what slang is?"
"Slang: a noun; a type of language that consists of words and phrases that are regarded as very informal, are more common in speech than writing, and are typically restricted to a particular context or group of people. Synonymous with informal language, colloquialisms, patois, argot, cant, and jargon. Slang includes 'substitute' vocabulary, grammatical distortions, and other departures from formal or polite usage. Is that the intended word?"
A baffled look crossed Tanya's face. "You know, you were able to pull that out way too fast. Do you practice that?"
"I do not. I simply under ..."
Tanya put up her hand and quickly said, "Stop! It was a joke. I didn't actually think you would do that. No one has that boring a hobby. It's just that--and maybe you're not aware of it--but you really have to calm down. If you're going to rattle something off like that, please at least let me catch the punch-line before you move on, okay?"
"Punch-line?"
"Ah, well, uh, never-mind," Tanya gave up. "Could we grab something to eat first? I mean, why wait for so long in the theater if we don't have to? What do you say?"
"I say what I say," Inlé said with all seriousness in his voice.
"Wow," Tanya groaned. "You really are clueless. Could you please talk less ... like you? Just standard, easy-to-understand, messed-up American English? You know, like everyone in school, say?"
"I can try, I suppose," Inlé said. "I apologize for confusing you."
"See, that's what I mean!" Tanya exclaimed. "Don't say 'I apologize', say 'Sorry' or something."
"Sorry?" Inlé sounded confused.
Another sigh passed Tanya's lips. "Fine, close enough. Where do you like to eat?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I ... don't do this often."
"Uh-huh. When was the last time you went out like this?"
Inlé paused, as if thinking hard, "A long time ago."
"Long like a few months? Be a bit more specific please."
"But you just said to ..."
"Just for this question, please."
"As you wish. It's been roughly five years, three months, and four days. There is a six percent margin of error based on level of specificity, and another eight due to potential memory error."
"See, that's what I like about you. You can say something like that with a straight face and not even realize it's unusual. I'm not sure if it's hilarious or terrifying."
"I don't understand, but thank you, I think."
"Well, if you don't know where you want to go, why don't we go to the Italian place over there? It's on the way to the theater, and it won't take long."

Description
Instead of the darkness he had entered in his last dream, Inlé found himself once more surrounded by the goddesses of magic.
"Inlé!" the goddess in orange called. "Welcome back. We just finished the dance. Would you care for some food?"
Unfazed, Inlé answered with a shallow bow--a deep nod. "Yes, Lady, that would be very nice right now."
The feast was similar to that he had dined upon previously. The women ate with vigor, singing and laughing as they did.
"And how long will you stay tonight?" the orange goddess teased.
"I pray long enough to hear your name," Inlé answered. "And, perhaps, some advice."
"Well," she laughed, "I may be able to give you some small bit of advice. And, perhaps, my name," she giggled after a slight pause.
Over the meal, Inlé recounted his tale from when last he had seen the goddesses to the present. At first, only two listened. But by the end of his tale, which was oft interrupted, and repeated even more, all the goddesses listened and laughed, enjoying the story despite the stark monotone of its presentation. Questions were asked, demanding Inlé to remember further every occurrence, explaining everything twice and re-explaining it thrice more.
But once the goddesses had finished, Inlé was surprised--though none would notice--to find that they had pulled more descriptive information from him than he would have thought possible. Most then, having finished their meal, began clearing the feast away. The gold and silver pair began spinning a spell that, after a short while, began a magical re-enactment of the stories Inlé had told drifting over the fire, his voice softly rising from the crackling wood.
The orange goddess pulled Inlé away from the group, and they sat again on the side of the hill, stargazing. "Hmm," she began, "so he looks and sounds like you but you've only seen him in your dreams. But he sent you a note during school. Strange."
"It is," Inlé agreed. "Have you any advice?"
"Hmm," the goddess mused, "well be careful. Obviously." She thought for long moments, until an idea flickered into being.
"Ah! Take this!" She pulled a small something from some unseen fold, and placed it gently in his hand. In the way of dreams, this one little thing--the one thing Inlé tried to focus on--was beyond his ability to comprehend. He held it lightly as the goddess continued, "It should help, at least a little. I don't know how well, but that depends on what it is that you've come in contact with."
"Thank you, Lady."
"Ugh," the goddess groaned.
Unnoticing or uncaring, Inlé slid the item up his sleeve. "Well, Lady, thank you for this. Will it still be manifest when I wake?"
"Yes, of course," she answered.
"Then," Inlé said, "thank you again, Lady."
"I do have a name, you know," the goddess said, slightly perturbed.
"You do, Lady," Inlé vexingly agreed. "But, Lady," he jabbed, "I have not been made privy to it as of yet."
The goddess laughed lightly. "Oh, right."
"Does this mean, Lady," Inlé pressed, "that I will learn your name now?"
The goddess smiled, "Well, my name is"--she grinned as she noticed Inlé beginning to fade, beginning to wake from his dream--"a secret!"
Inlé, recognizing his changing state of consciousness, fought against waking as he slid up a dark tunnel further and further from the bright dream. At the end of the tunnel, he saw the goddess in orange smiling at him. She flashed him a peace sign and called to him, her voice echoing through the tunnel, "Heart!"
The last word echoing through his head, consciousness enveloped Inlé, and he opened his eyes to the new day.

As Inlé sat in class again, Mr. Selina came through the door behind him and stood beside his chair.
"Ah, Inlé," Mr. Selina greeted his student. "I see you came again today."
Inlé looked up at his teacher and replied, "Yes, sir."
"I'm glad to see I didn't scare you off yesterday," Mr. Selina said.
Inlé paused, then echoed, "Yesterday, sir?"
With a slight shrug, Mr. Selina answered, "The cryptohoplology and my catching you know gaelic."
"Oh, that," Inlé replied. "I do not care, sir."
"I'm glad, as I said. So was the book yesterday helpful, or was I right in saying you wanted something more ... specific?"
"You were right, sir. It helped very little."
"So," Mr. Selina began. "You did want something on the magical items, and not the stories themselves."
Inlé replied slowly, "Yes and no, sir." Seeing Mr. Selina's confusion, Inlé explained, "I want to know more about the treasures of the Tuatha dé Dannan, as well as refresh my memory on the various types of faerie, sir."
"Faerie, eh?" Mr. Selina said. "You do know a little, don't you?"
Inlé shrugged. "More than I would ever admit, sir."
Mr. Selina chuckled. "Well, then. I have something for you. Two somethings, in fact. See me after class, and I'll give them to you."
"As you say, sir."
Walking to the front as the class bell rang, Mr. Selina said over his shoulder, "Really, Inlé, you don't have to be so formal. Honor where due, and all. But don't overdo it, you know?"
"Yes, sir," Inlé answered, and class began.

After class, Inlé reported to Mr. Selina, who sat comfortable at his desk. "Inlé, I have these two books you may be interested in. Take a look."
He pulled two large, thick leather-bound books from a drawer and placed them on the desktop. One was red, the other blue, and their titles were scrawled across the covers in gold and silver, respectively.
Lovingly running his fingers over its cover, Mr. Selina identified the red book. "If you want the Four Hallows of Ireland, they're in here: 'Draoidheachd agus Inneal-cogaithean'. The Dannan themselves are talked about a little, along with all the other major players in here: 'Sìthichean'."
Inlé looked carefully at the books, then at their owner. "'Magic and Weapons' and 'Faerie'? Sir, where did you find things like these?"
Mr. Selina leaned back in his chair, hooking his hands together behind his head as he sucked an unlit cigarette. "Give me a little credit," he said. "As I said before, I'm very serious about these things. Sure, most people think it's trash, but I still believe. I can't stop myself, hard as I try."
Inlé stared impassively at Mr. Selina's relaxing figure. He paused, as his teacher tried to light the cigarette by sucking it into combustion.
"And if they were true, what then?" Inlé asked suddenly. "What would you do if you found it really was all the truth?"
A surprised look crossed Mr. Selina's face, and he dropped his feet off of his desk and leaned forward, resting his chin on the backs of his laced fingers. He wistfully smiled as he answered, "I'd believe."

At the end of the day, Inlé left school in deep thought. So wrapped up in his own thoughts was he that he didn't notice the group of boys gathering around him until he bumped into the chest of a scruffy redheaded boy who glowered down at Inlé.
Inlé took a step away quickly and apologized, "Beg your pardon, I was not paying proper attention to my surroundings. If I may ..." He tried to sidestep into a clear path, but the boy in front of him sidestepped in the same direction, and the two remained one in the other's path.
Inlé sidestepped again, to the same effect, then again, and again. Quickly tired of this, Inlé created a short pattern, then, once it was set, he said aloud, "Now to the right." As both stepped to their own right, Inlé and the redhead stood with cleared paths.
Inlé continued on his way, nodding over his shoulder. "My apologies again. Goodbye."
"Not so fast, punk," the boy behind him called, grabbing Inlé's shoulder. He spun Inlé around and glared into his face. "I heard you were giving my pal Tony some trouble. We don't like punks giving our friends trouble. Do we, boys?"
The group surrounding Inlé answered in the negative.
The boy grabbed Inlé's collar, pulling him forward. "So we thought we'd teach you a lesson. You got Tony unnerved, see? I don't like little punks doing shit like that. It's fishy. Like you got some shit on him he don't want you to talk about. No way you could take him in a fight."
Hanging from your shirt-front is not the most imposing position to find yourself in. Nevertheless, Inlé appeared more bored than upset at the prospect of being manhandled in such a way. "So you wish to beat me up?" he said slowly.
"Hell yes," the jock answered.
"And," Inlé continued, "you think Tony could 'take' me?"
"Hell yes," the jock repeated.
"Then why the crowd?" Inlé asked. "If he could 'take' me, could you not?"
The jock smirked. "Hell yes I could. But I don't want you running, either. And my boys here all want a piece of you, too.
"So we figured, why not just give you a good pounding, one and all, so you won't forget to keep your mouth shut? We could all get our own turn, but all at once is faster. Lucky you." The redhead punched Inlé in the face, spinning him into the mob.
Inlé fell into the crowd, and the dam broke. Suddenly fists flew all about him, and it was all he could do to regain his feet before avoiding furious punches and kicks. He dodged quickly, avoiding every blow with a grace that belied the complexity and difficulty of the task of avoiding twenty-odd assailants.
They were all in good shape, obvious athletes with well-kept physiques, but they seemed to have little training in fighting, and swung like drunks in a bar fight. Inlé anticipated the sloppy attacks' paths and simply made sure he was not in their way when they arrived. His hands slipped casually into his pockets as he flitted about the group, unable, at least, to slip to the outskirts of the group and run off.
From behind him, a metal bat slipped out of nowhere to connect squarely with the back of Inlé's skull. Supernovas erupted behind his eyes, and the earth leapt at his face. Through a deep tunnel, Inlé heard the redhead yell angrily, "Damn it, Greg! No weapons!'
A second voice, Inlé assumed it to be this 'Greg', answered, "Fuck that."
Consciousness returned swiftly to Inlé. Not so swiftly that he could avoid the second swing of the bat, but swiftly enough to allow him to catch in in his palm.
"So," Inlé said as he stood, holding the end of the bat. "Is this how you want to 'teach me a lesson'?" His fingers sunk into the thin aluminum of the hollow bat. He glanced briefly at the nondescript blonde who held the other end of the bat, then at the rest of the mob, momentarily cooled by the display.
"I do not enjoy fighting children. The best I can do is scare you senseless quickly. Killing you is annoying because I would get into trouble. But I warn you all," He ripped the bat from the hands of the boy in front of him, and tossed it roughly away. "The next of you to attack me with a weapon will not wake tomorrow."
His hands slid back into his pockets as the infuriated group redoubled their attack.

Inlé pushed the entrance door closed lightly behind him, calling, "I'm back."
"Welcome home, dear," his mother called from the kitchen. "You're having dinner with me tonight. No arguments, it's final."
"Fine," he replied, heading quietly into the bathroom.
Inlé dabbed at the back of his head with a red kerchief pulled from somewhere. When the blood was gone, he pulled a dark, viscous salve from his sleeve and daubed it roughly over the open wound. He hissed through clenched teeth as the salve hissed and popped, but it did its job. In a few seconds, his wound had closed.
"Dinner time! Come now, or else!" His mother called from the kitchenette.
"There in a moment," Inlé replied as he finished combing the salve into the toilet.

Inlé sat across from his mother, eating. "How is it?" she asked.
"It is very good spaghetti. Thank you." He took another bite.
His mother waited for him to continue. When he did not, she asked, "And how is school?"
Inlé did not look up from his plate as he answered, "Uneventful as ever. Nothing unusual."
Inlé's mother lightly stabbed her own plate, and left it in her spaghetti. "Inlé, we moved here so you could have a fresh start. No one here knows about the troubles you've caused elsewhere. Why not make some friends?
"You must be lonely spending all your time locked in your room."
Inlé looked up. "I have little need for friends, mother. I am quite satisfied with the situation as it stands right now."
"Inlé ..."
Having finished his meal, Inlé rose. He cleared the table as he said, "Mother. Thank you for the meal, as well as your concern for me. The meal was quite good.
"Please do not concern yourself over my actions, nor my social activities. They are of my own making, and I cannot stress enough the thought and value I place in my choices and actions.
"My decisions may seem at odds with your perspective of how a high school male should act, but rest assured that I do indeed have my future in mind. I do not merely act in a manner at tangent with the norm for attention or to stand out.
"I do seem to stand out. But at the same time, I am able to go through the school day with little interference from learning that which I am required. My grades will likely be perfect, and this will allow me to advance well to the next stage of my life."
Lightly kissing his mother on the forehead as he headed out the room, he finished, "Again, thank you for your concern. But I will be fine, rest assured," and walked back to his room without seeing the pained look that watched his back as it exited the room.

"Oh!" A voice said as Inlé entered his room. Queen Titania stood cheerily beneath the window.
Inlé closed his door quietly behind him, saying, "Queen, what are you here for today?"
"Oh Inlé, my dear, don't act so upset!" She pounced on him and hung from his neck as she answered matter-of-factly, "I came here to see you, of course! Mmmm. You smell so good."
"I smell as I should," Inlé said, trying to peel the petite queen off of himself. "Good Queen, please think of your station. It is unbecoming for you to be seen so."
"Station?" the faerie moaned. "I ran away to see you. And who's here to see us? Besides," she snuggled in closer despite Inlé's attempts, "this feels good too. Mmmm."
"Was this all you came here for?" Inlé asked.
"Of course!" Titania beamed.
Inlé sat on the edge of the bed, defeated, and patted the faerie queen's head. "Very well. I suppose this cannot hurt for a short bit." Titania purred her agreement and curled onto his lap.
When the sun began to set, Inlé shifted and said, "Queen, I believe it prudent that you return now to your kingdom. Your retainers will be worried, Highness."
"They're used to it," she answered. "Don't be a worry-wort."
"But is it truly safe to leave for so long? I am aware, good Queen, of the transience of alliances in the courts of Faerie. Your absence ..."
"Is proof of my power," Titania interrupted. "Those who see it as a weakness will make an attempt and fail, all others will be cowed by the concept that I am mighty enough to leave and gain standing."
"So even I am a calculated part of your politics," Inlé mused.
Titania chuckled. "Come now, Inlé my love. Don't think so highly of yourself. You are you, I am I, and we neither are the other's pawn. Therein lies the love."
She snuggled down and purred again. "Besides, I haven't been this comfortable since ... Never mind."
After a quiet pause, Inlé asked, "Is there anything I can do to help, Queen?"
Titania looked up at Inlé, blind with unshed tears. "Believe me, child," she said huskily, "this is enough." She rested her head back in Inlé's chest and sat silently.
This was the first time Inlé had heard Titania speak without the glib, energetic edge in her singsong voice. After a long pause, he said, "Very well. But we cannot make this habitual, highness."
The mischievous note returned to the queen's voice as she sang, "Then I'd best make the best of it!" and tackled him onto the bed.
Inlé slept that night on his bed. He had owned the bed for four years, but in all that time he had never before slept in it. The change gave Inlé a droll sense of security, a comfort he'd not felt in years. If only his dreams were as comforting.

Inlé found himself in the blackness once more facing his own image. It was grinning like a wolf, hungry for the thing before it.
"What would you say if I said I saw Titania today?" Inlé asked.
"Which one?" The copy replied uninterestedly.
"She came to me."
"Oh. Her," the copy said, suddenly more interested. "Shackin' up with an older woman now, are you? Don't let your date find out."
"So," Inlé said in realization, "You know everything up to a point, then only what you yourself observe. Hmm."
"Your point?" The copy asked flippantly.
"Now I need only find you."
"But can you?" The copy mocked. "And before I get to you?"
Inlé shrugged nonchalantly. "I do not know. We will see."
"Shouldn't you be getting back to your lady-friend?" the copy asked teasingly. "Don't want her to think you've gotten disinterested."
Inlé turned away from the mockery and asked as he walked off, "How can you be so like me and yet so very, very different?"
"Them's the breaks," the copy called after him. "Just hope I don't cause you too much trouble."

Inlé opened his eyes to find Titania sitting sadly on his chest. She was staring out the window at the full moon. "It used to be like this all the time, you know?" Titania said, thinking aloud. "Just the two of us."
Inlé lifted his head slightly, "You and the late king, Highness?"
Titania jumped in surprise. "Ah, Inlé! You're up! I thought you were still asleep."
Inlé sat up, sliding the Queen from chest to lap. Even then, his head was turned down to look at her face. "I give you my most sincere apologies for interrupting, Highness. I did not intend to intrude on your private musings."
"No," Titania answered. "That's fine."
She paused a moment, looking down, then said, "Obi and I, we were always together. He was a lot like you, you would have gotten along. Or hated each other.
"But either way, he was the only one for me, truly. And now that he's gone, it's still all just so ..." Her throat cracked as she tried to stifle the pain welling in her throat.
Inlé pulled her head tenderly to his chest. "Shh," he breathed. "I know."
"Silly boy," Titania scolded gently, "no you don't. And I hope you never ever have to." Titania sobbed quietly into Inlé's chest for the rest of the night, as he sat silent vigil, the anchor in a storm of sorrow.

Inlé sat in the hallway during lunch, hoping to get some small rest, having gone without the night before. But rest would elude him as the boy Jim, much to Inlé's disappointment, sat beside him.
Opening one eye, Inlé asked, "Does this mean you are to eat with me daily now?"
"Hmm. Maybe," Jim answered around a mouthful of pizza. "We'll see. Why, is that a problem?"
"Problem," Inlé echoed. "Perhaps. I have never sat with another student for meals. Atop that, you were told not to get involved in my affairs."
"You told me," Jim said, "not to get involved with the beef between you and the football squad. I didn't. And that's over now, right? I heard you sent them to the hospital."
"I sent them nowhere," Inlé said. "They took their wounded to the hospital without any command by myself."
Jim snorted. "Dude, beating the hell out of them is sending them to the hospital."
"The only one I attacked was the one called Greg. Then only because he struck me with a baseball bat." Inlé paused, then added after a thought, "And also with brass knuckles."
"What?" Jim said, pizza forgotten. "Dude, I've seen some of the jocks that jumped you yesterday. Some of them're pretty messed up.
"You don't have a scratch on you, and you mean to say that you, who they hit with bats and brass knuckles, are fine?"
Inlé closed his eyes, patience fraying, but outwardly placid. "Only one used weapons. The others were respectful enough in that sense. And yes. I am still in good health."
"Still," Jim said, "they're all beat to hell. But you didn't do any of it?"
"None whatsoever."
"Come on, don't tell me you weren't involved."
"I was most certainly involved," Inlé said. "But I repeat: those wounds are not my doing. The injuries to the group were relatively self-inflicted."
"It's true," another voice agreed. Looking up, Inlé and Jim saw the redheaded jock from the day before standing over them with a tray heaped with food. Jim was visibly surprised to see him, but Inlé appeared unfazed as the jock sat and continued, "Inlé's telling the truth. Much as I hate to admit it, he's out of our league.
"Seriously," the redhead said, biting into a thick sandwich, "he took two swings the whole fight. Everything else was redirecting our punches at each other."
Inlé interrupted, "But you stopped after the bat."
The redhead looked incredulously at Inlé. "Are you kidding? That surprises you? Shit, I was surprised the others kept at it. I know when I'm beat."
"Yet you still said you would repay me for the example I made."
"Of course," the jock agreed. "I owe you for that. But hell if I'm gonna get my ass handed to me by a guy half my size. Talk about dumping my rep." He took another bite from his sandwich, and there was a pause as he chewed. Then, with a surprised "Oh", he asked, "Is it okay that I sit here?"
"Sure!" Jim said cheerfully, seeing Inlé was disinclined to answer.
The jock nodded. "Thanks. Jock Caimbeul, by the way."
"A Scotsman, then," Inlé noted, closing his eyes once more. "You are welcome enough."
Jim turned to Inlé, looking hurt. "He's 'welcome enough', and I'm a 'problem'? That's cold, man. Which of us jumped you yesterday, again?"
"Two problems are as troublesome as one if they are dealt with simultaneously," Inlé lectured.
Sensing tension, Jock began to rise, saying, "I can leave ..."
Jim grabbed his arm. "No! Please, stay. He needs some normaling up."
"'Normaling up', huh?" Jock chuckled, returning to the floor.
The two ate in silence for a while as Inlé sat, feigning sleep.
After a while, Jim ventured, "So, Jock, you're a ... sports guy ..."
"Yeah," Jock interrupted. "I'm a jock. Jock the jock, laugh it up."
"No!" Jim said, hands up in appeasement. "That's not it!" he continued more nervously, "What I meant was, what do you do outside school sports?"
"Not much, really," Jock answered. "Dad works construction, and I help sometimes. I'm handy with a wrench, you know? Why do you ask?"
"Just making small talk," Jim said. "It's amazing how little this guy talks." The two looked at Inlé. If they expected him to defend himself, they were disappointed.
The two leaned closer together as Jock said conspiratorially, "Yeah, I'll bet. He's a piece of work."
"Right?" Jim agreed. "He seems like an okay guy, though."
They chattered on for the rest of the period, laughing together quietly as they playfully mocked their silent partner.

"I'm back," Inlé called on entering the apartment.
"Good," his mother called back. "I wanted to talk to you."
Meeting Inlé in the living room, his mother continued, "I'm going out tonight. I met someone shopping the other day, and he and I hit it off rather well."
"Giving up on Father, eh?" Inlé said expressionlessly.
"Inlé, please!" his mother cried, straightening her long, dark-blue skirt. "Your father has been missing for years. We don't even know if he's still alive. You know I still love him. With all my heart."
"But ... ?" Inlé coaxed.
"Exactly," his mother agreed. "But I need someone here while he's gone. You need a father figure around."
"This is not for me," Inlé argued stonily.
"You're right," his mother agreed again. "Like I said, I need a man around. Someone to keep me company, at least."
Inlé sighed. "Mother, I do not blame you, nor am I otherwise upset. You very much need company, as you said. And perhaps this man will be good for you. I am glad that you are not holding on too hard to the past."
Pouting, his mother said, "You sound so cold, saying it like that."
"Perhaps," Inlé agreed, walking his mother to the door. "Go on, I will be fine. I am used to being alone, so tonight will not be much different with you gone."
"But I'm usually right here for you if you need me," his mother worried.
"Do not worry, Mother, it is fine," he reassured her. "I will spend most of the night in my room. Do not worry, have fun with this ... ?" he gently elicited an identity.
"His name's Cecil," she said. "Well, not exactly. That's what he told me to call him. You'd like him."
"I am sure I would," Inlé said, softly pushing her out the door. "Now go, lest you be late meeting him."
Looking at her watch, his mother cried, "Ah! It's almost five thirty?!" She began to run down the hallway as she waved back to her son, "Bye, love! Wish me luck!"
"Luck," he replied. "And do be careful, mother." He watched until she was out of sight, then closed the door behind him.

Inlé stood in his room, watching the sun set. And set. And set.
When the sun finally passed below the horizon, Inlé retrieved the silver band from his wrist, stretched it to the height of a door against his bedroom wall, and stepped through into the forest by the pond.
At the lakeside, Inlé said, "I am here, as desired, Lady. Where, then, are you?"
"Here," the voice bubbled. A woman, nude, rose out of the water to the waist. Her long hair was tangled with reeds and other water plants, and hung down to enticingly cover her form. But for her mottled skin--it being the bruised, pastel blue-greens and white-pinks of the drowned--she would have looked human. Beautifully so.
"Ah, a fideal," Inlé said. "I might have expected."
"Yes," she answered. "I thought you might."
Inlé sat on the shore, looking straight out to face her. "So. How shall we complete this arrangement? You offer the pot, what have I to offer you?"
"Interesting boy," the fideal gurgled, "most decide what they have to offer before asking for the demand."
Inlé said, "I care little for such frivolities, as what I value is not that which you value. Knowing this, I let you set your terms."
"Yet this is no surrender," she slid ashore to sit beside Inlé, arms about her legs. "I see that you may well destroy one so low in the courts as myself with little worry. So my price must, I suppose, be reasonable ...
"Still," she continued, more closely inspecting him, "you are beautiful to my eyes ... You've yet to know a woman's love ..."
She mused to herself quietly for a few moments. "Ah, perfect."
"Have you then decided my fee?" Inlé asked.
Her smile was large and genuine--never a reassuring thing--as she said, "They say age ripens the wine, and you are delicious now.
"My fee, then, is this: When love have you known and so of woman, thus whence be lost, return you here for love of mine own bosom."
"And consider this," the fideal said, grabbing Inlé's chin and leaning in to kiss his mouth, "a down payment, lover." With that, she disappeared, replaced by a large, iron cauldron. Inlé had Coire Ansic.
Inlé stood and pulled two bands from his left wrist. One band was stretched out so that it was large enough to encircle the cauldron, the other was shrunk to circle the inside of forefinger and thumb. Inlé held the larger ring over the cauldron and the smaller rested on his upturned palm. As the larger ring dropped over the cauldron it rose from the smaller, a miniature of itself.
"Oooh, nice trick, lover," the fideal bubbled approvingly, unseen but still seeing. "Care to take me along, too? I promise to be good." She paused, then teasingly continued, "As good as you want, at least ..."
"Nay, Lady," Inlé answered, returning the rings to his wrist and pocketing Coire Ansic. "I would not remove you from your home."
"Very well," she said, in a forlorn echo. "But do remember me. I will keep in contact."

Inlé sat breakfasting when his mother walked into the kitchenette in tousled hair and a robin-egg blue bathrobe. "Good morning, Inlé," she mumbled, rubbing sand from her eyes. "Was everything fine, last night?"
"Of course, mother," Inlé answered, smoothly gathering bowl and utensils to set in front of his mother as she sat across from him. "And how was your date?"
"Fine, fine," she yawned. "He is a wonderful man. I think you'll like him?"
"I?" Inlé asked.
Looking up in mock-surprise, his mother said, "Oh, didn't I tell you? He'll be here at eleven. We're having a brunch. You're welcome to join us if you'd like."
"I think I will pass," Inlé replied, "but shouldn't you be getting ready? You have fifteen minutes until eleven."
"Ah! Why didn't you warn me earlier?" his mother cried, leaping from her seat and running for her room. "Oh, I'm going to have to just throw something together!"
Inlé finished his meal calmly, listening as his mother loudly fretted. He was putting his washed bowl away when their guest arrived as a crisp, polite knock.
"Mother, someone is at the door," Inlé said through the bathroom door.
"Can you get it, Inlé? I still need five minutes," she replied.
Inlé walked toward the door saying, "Coming. One moment."
"Have you seen the opal necklace?" his mother called. "It was your father's favorite ..."
"No, mother. I do not handle your jewelry. Choose another one." He got to the door and opened it.
The man at the door wore a matching dark grey set of slacks and blazer over a light grey shirt and a black tie. A large, black leather-bound book was cradled in his left arm, place held with the index finger. A glimmer of recognition lit in Inlé's mind just before he heard a familiar voice.
"Well, well," Mr. Selina said, "look who we have here."
Inlé met Mr. Selina's gaze emotionlessly. "Hello, sir. Are you here for something? My mother is expecting a visitor, so ..."
Peeking in from another room, Inlé's mother said, "Cecil! Hi, come in. Inlé, let him in," and rushed off to finish getting ready.
Following Inlé into the living room, Mr. Selina said, "Well isn't this a pleasant surprise. How are you, Inlé?"
"I am well, sir," Inlé replied. "And yourself?"
Mr. Selina sighed. "Well enough. Still won't talk outside english to me?"
"English allows all present parties to understand the conversation, sir," Inlé explained blandly as he gestured for his guest to sit, then stood beside his seated teacher.
"Inlé," his mother called from her room, "see if our guest would like a drink!"
"Yes, mother," he said. "Sir?"
"Thank you, but no," Mr. Selina said. "I should be fine. So does she know you speak gaelic?"
"There are many things," Inlé said, "my mother does not know. Is she aware that you smoke?"
Mr. Selina looked surprised, then said, "Hm. Well played. I suppose there are many things she need not know. Thank you for the warning."
"Be good to her, sir," Inlé said, "and we will work well together."
Their conversation paused for a moment, they heard something heavy drop in the other room. Inlé's mother said she would be out momentarily.
Mr. Selina resumed the conversation. "So how much doesn't she know about you?"
"And you?" Inlé returned.
"That's different," Mr Selina protested. "We met only a few days ago. She's known you since your birth."
"This is true," Inlé agreed. "But I am not what I was when she birthed me."
"All right, I'll give you that. So is there anything else I should know about her?"
"Whatever you do, do not mention my father. The subject is sensitive to her. If you wish, I can disclose the extent of my knowledge on the situation at another time."
Mr. Selina leaned back and began rifling in his inner breast pocket. "If she wants me to know, she'll tell me. I'd as soon think you parthenogenetic." He paused. "No offense."
"None at all," Inlé said. "And no smoking in the house."
"Ah!" Mr. Selina caught himself. He looked up at Inlé, "Maybe you should take them, just in case."
"I am still of minority, sir."
Mr. Selina held the cigarettes out. "I'm not asking you to smoke them, Inlé. Just to hold them to keep me in your mother's good graces. A favor? Please?"
Inlé slowly accepted the pack of cigarettes, and they disappeared up his sleeve. "Fine, but find another method next time."
"You think I want to give my students my cigarettes all the the time?" he asked. "Those aren't exactly free."
Inlé's mother walked into the room then, wearing a simple black dress and a necklace of roughly marble-sized opals. "Ah, you found it," Inlé said.
"I did. Hello again, Cecil," his mother cheerily greeted her guest.
Mr. Selina stood. "Ah, Emilia, you look lovely this morning. The necklace is exquisite."
"It's something I've had a long time," she said, blushing. "There are a lot of memories in these stones."
"Well then, sir, I will leave her in your capable hands."
"You know, Inlé, you needn't always be so formal with me," Mr. Selina said.
"As you say, sir," Inlé responded.
Confused, Inlé's mother asked, "Do you two know each other already?"
"We do," Mr. Selina chuckled. "Do you remember my mentioning I was a teacher? It appears your son is one of my better students."
"The better students?" Inlé's mother repeated, trying to hide a smile. "Well this is a pleasant surprise, to learn you know each other. Although, you must not pay much attention to my boy if you think he's one of the better students."
"I only say it because he's not wrongly answered a single question I've asked yet," Mr. Selina said.
Inlé's mother smiled proudly. "I'm glad to hear that," she said. Embarrassed, she turned and headed out of the room, saying, "I'll only be a moment longer, then we can leave."
"Take your time, Emilia," Mr. Selina assured. "The food will wait for us."
The men watched the entrance to the hallway as she left. Once she was gone, Inlé said, "One of your better students?"
"It makes her feel good and isn't too far from the truth," Mr. Selina said. "At least you know your stuff."
Inlé stood quietly impassive, continuing to watch for his mother's return.
Mr. Selina chuckled to himself. "That right there is what keeps you from being the best. You don't really participate so much as fill the seat with a brain. Participation, Inlé. I'm sure you could help me teach the class if you'd just use that mouth of yours."
"All right, I'm ready," Inlé's mother said, rushing in. "Are you sure you don't want to join us, Inlé?"
"Yes, mother, I am. Other activities demand my attention today. Perhaps another time. Enjoy your date. I will see you when you return," Inlé said. With a nod to his teacher, Inlé retired to his room.
As Mr. Selina and Inlé's mother headed out the door, Mr. Selina said, "That boy seems quite self-sufficient. Almost too much so."
"Yes," Emilia agreed. "He acts so aloof, even toward me."
"That may just be the age, I suppose," Mr. Selina said.
"No. He's been like this for years," she said, lost in thought. "One day, he was a regular kid, and the next, he was ... I don't know, different. Changed.
"I used to blame his father's disappearance, but it came after he started to ... Oh! Listen to me rattle on. Sorry, can we talk about something else?"
"Certainly," Mr. Selina said. "What do you like to read?"
They stepped onto the elevator, and the date began.

Inlé sat cross-legged in the center of his room, and read through the books lent him by Mr. Selina. The leather-bound tomes were thick, old. On opening them, Inlé was pleasantly surprised--though only a brief glimmer in his eye betrayed this--to find that they were originals. Or at least seemed to have been written before the printing press's invention. Cramped, spidery writing crawled across the page in small, uneven gaelic lettering. Old gaelic, not the modern manifestation.
Despite these apparent challenges, Inlé quickly read each page, poring over them as though devouring the information. Every minute, he turned to the next page, spending exactly thirty seconds, loving running his finger below the word he read without touching the page. Things this old were worth more than a diamond with a face as large as their covers. And were perhaps barely less rare.
The sun dragged by, climbing to the peak of its ascent, then began its slow fall to the far horizon. Inlé sat unmoving, save in switching from one book to the other. As he was finishing the second tome, he heard the door to the apartment close, as his mother's laughter echoed down the hall.
By the time he had risen and entered the living room, the two were seated on the couch, caught in lively conversation. The two sat close, but--Inlé noted--Mr. Selina remained at a gentlemanly distance. Inlé greeted the pair, "Welcome back."
"Inlé!" Emilia said. "Have you been here all day?"
"I have."
She stood quickly asking, "Have you eaten? What do you want to eat? I'll go make something, anyway." And rushed off to the kitchen.
Inlé called after her, "Mother, I am fine. Surely I am capable enough to feed myself."
"Capable to do something and having done something are not one and the same," chuckled Mr. Selina, now standing beside Inlé.
"You want me to lie to her?"
"Not at all," Mr. Selina answered, as the two stood, watching Emilia bustling about in the kitchen. "I just find it funny is all. You're cold, to be sure. But you're also more worried about her than yourself. It's sweet of you."
Impassively, Inlé said, "If ever you should repeat that statement, I may be forced to kill you, sir."
Mr. Selina looked down at the unmoving boy beside him in surprise, then grinned as he looked back into the kitchen, following the other's gaze. "I wonder sometimes how serious you are when you say such things."
"And no more gaelic in front of the woman."
"Bean?" Mr. Selina echoed.
"I mean it," Inlé said coldly.
"There," Emilia said, smiling. "A sandwich for you, Inlé. Come on."
Mr. Selina chuckled. "Best to eat it, she'll be hurt otherwise."
Inlé ate in silence.

The next day was the twenty-sixth, and Inlé went to see the psychiatrist. As he entered the waiting area, the blonde girl behind the counter was talking to the asian girl from school. When the receptionist saw him enter, she broke conversation and greeted him. "Ah! Mr. Zapfino, how are you, today."
Inlé walked up to the desk, reading the nameplate--Tanya--and said, "Well enough. And yourself?"
"Well enough," she cheerily mimicked him. "The doctor will see you shortly, please have a seat while you wait." She turned back to her friend and the two seemed to forget his presence. He sat and waited unmoving.
A few minutes later, Tanya called, "Mr. Zapfino? The doctor will see you now."
Inlé rose and walked toward the doctor's room. He passed his classmate as she headed for the door, leaving. Tanya was engaged with the man who'd just seen the doctor. The asian girl looked sidelong at Inlé as she walked past him, eyeing him with more than a passing interest. For less than an instant, her brown eyes seemed to flash orange, but the change went unnoticed by Inlé.
Inlé walked into the office, and greeted the doctor.
"Inlé, welcome back," the doctor greeted him. "How has your week been?"
Inlé moved to the long chair and told the doctor about his week, omitting those parts which the doctor would consider insane. When Inlé finished his brief disclosure, there was a long silence as the doctor digested the story.
"Two fights in a week, Inlé," the doctor said. "You don't sit still, do you? Not two months in school and already you have more enemies than friends."
"I do not even do anything," Inlé said, arm over eyes. "Things just come together as they do."
"So you say," the doctor agreed. "You don't instigate any of this?"
"Why would I?"
The doctor paused, then changed directions, "I'm somewhat surprised you're not in trouble for any of this."
"Why?"
"Well, for one, you put someone into the hospital." Then he added, "And he's in a coma."
"But he was one person in a group, and attacked with weapons," Inlé explained again. "What I did was nearly self-defence."
"Nearly?" the doctor echoed. He shook his head. "Regardless, the rest of them are a good deal worse for wear in your description as well."
"They did it to themselves," Inlé answered nonchalantly.
"And how do you feel about this relationship your mother is getting into?" the doctor asked, again changing the direction of the conversation.
"If she is happy with it, why should I care? She is my mother," Inlé said emotionlessly, "not my issue."
"Issue?" the doctor echoed.
"Child, ward. Sorry," Inlé apologized. "She is not mine to look after."
"She is still family, though," the doctor pressed.
"Of course," Inlé agreed. "But part of family is accepting the decisions of other members whether you agree with them or not. Am I wrong?"
"No," the doctor agreed reluctantly. "It seems I took you for more of the controlling type."
"If I were in control, things would be different, to be sure," Inlé said.
The doctor leaned forward. "How so?"
"I do not know," Inlé began. After a pause, he continued, "I would be normal, and would not need a psychiatrist, I suppose. No offense intended."
"None taken," the doctor smiled. "I can see what you mean. Why don't you tell me more about your childhood. What was your father like?"
"He was an archaeologist," Inlé said. "I did not see much of him, but whenever he came home, my mother would prepare special meals.
"He always brought home artifacts he had found. Ancient items from all around the world. Most of them were baubles worth nothing to anyone but an archaeologist, but some of the items were quite unique. The last thing he brought home was an opal necklace he gave Mother. Most of our things were left at the main house when we moved here, but Mother keeps the necklace with her."
"The main house?" the doctor asked.
"Yes," Inlé answered. "My father was well enough recognized that Mother and I could live off of the royalties for his dissertation and a few other published papers, which they use to teach in some colleges. The main house is where I was born, and is fully paid for now. It is a small house in Vermont, but we have not been there much since father disappeared.
"Mother works to keep herself busy, but the money she makes is basically for her luxury. She teaches at the University, which is why we live here now."
"Your mother is a professor?" the doctor asked.
"She is, in fact," Inlé answered. "She holds degrees in botany and geology. 'Flowers and the stuff they live in', she says. When I was younger, Mother told me of all the travels she and Father had together, researching at the same sites 'to gain a fuller understanding of man and how he fits into the schemes of the world'.
"This stopped when I was born, of course. Travel is hard enough without an infant. She had said we would begin traveling with Father when I reached thirteen, because I would be old enough to be able to keep up, but he disappeared before that could happen."
"If she was so well travelled, does she also have any writing published?"
"She does, in fact. But most of it is in the form of photo books of flowers and rocks from around the world. She has an eye for beauty."
"Now," the doctor began, "twice you've mentioned your father disappearing. What do you mean?"
"Father was studying what he called the 'hotspots' of the world, those places with mysteries surrounding them."
"Like Easter Island?"
"And Stonehenge, yes. He was actually on something of a vacation, you see. He wanted to write about those places, to uncover their mysteries, but no serious institution would pay him to research them, because they saw too little profit in it.
"Because of this, he spent a month every year at one of these places. He was alone more often than not, though he was capable enough and kept in touch regularly enough that no one could complain.
"And then, one day, he vanished near the Henge."
"Vanished?"
"That is the best explanation I can give. Tourists frequent the ruin, as you may know, and many of the tour guides knew Father, since he was there regularly. Between one group of tourists leaving and another group arriving, he had vanished.
"The vehicle he had driven over was parked where he had left it. His tools were left spread out before where he had been. The guide on duty knew Father well, and realized something was wrong when he saw the tools. Father was very particular, and would never have left his tools lying around, even for something quick like relieving himself. He was meticulous."
"And there is no chance he just ran off somewhere?" the doctor asked.
"None," Inlé answered. "He did not really have many places he could go.
"I said he had left his tools, and that is true. That may seem insignificant at first, but as I said, he was particular. Father disliked carrying anything in his pockets, and so had a special unfolding toolkit. It was a bag-sized wallet. All of his tools were in it. His various forms of identification, currencies both plastic and coin, his keys.
"The only thing he kept on his person was a locket Mother gave him when they were married. Whenever he came home, he took a new picture of her and put it in the locket, with a larger copy in his kit, alongside every successive picture."
"He sounds like quite the romantic," the doctor noted.
"True," Inlé agreed. "And very much in love with Mother. He always offered to give up the road and stay home with us. Mother always laughed and told him he still needed to be out in the world. She cried when he was gone--she still does, in fact--but she always let him go out. It meant a good deal to him, and so to her, that he could see the world he loved. He loved her more, of course, but even I could tell he needed the road.
"Anyway, he vanished within a thirty minute window, in an area where disappearance shouldn't be possible. Or at least probable."
"You did quite a bit of this yourself, around that time, did you not?"
"I did. The first time I had the dream I told you about was a month before he disappeared. He was actually with Mother when I got back from my first disappearance. It was the only time I ever saw him angry. He was livid that I had disappeared and abandoned Mother. In truth, I doubt my safety was even on his mind while I was absent."
"You think he cared so little for you?"
"I think he considered mother's distress of higher priority than my own safety, to be sure, but I do not think he was uncaring. He was confident I could handle myself at twelve. By my twelfth birthday, I had been taught this and that by him, so I was competent enough to survive on my own for a while."
"This and that?"
"Basic survival things, mostly. How to survive in the wilderness, including the wild cities. I had a manual I was to commit to memory that he added onto every time he came home. He even tested me on it. My physical capabilities were tested, as well. I needed to be strong and competent if I was to travel with my parents."
"It sounds as if he was training an adventurer."
"Well, he was a fan of Indiana Jones-type stories, and joked that his job was similar to those. I believed him as a child, though Mother scolded him for telling me wild stories. I wonder sometimes now how much of them was true."
"You'll have to tell me about them some time," the doctor said. He looked at his watch. "But, well, that's about it for today. Why don't you schedule another appointment for next month?"
Inlé sat. "Not next week?"
"Do you want to come that often?" the doctor asked.
"No, I suppose not," Inlé said, rising. With a nod, Inlé headed for the door. "Thank you for your time again, sir."
He went to the reception desk to arrange his next appointment. Tanya, sitting behind the desk, flashed him a smile as he approached.
"So is Sunday always good for you?" she asked.
"Yeah," Inlé answered.
Her smile vanished. "Oh no you don't! We played that game last time," she scolded. "You're going to give me something else this time, you got it?"
"Yeah," Inlé answered.
Tanya pouted. "Now you're just being mean ..."
"I apologize," Inlé said, "but honestly, there is little outside of school that I do. As such, I am mostly available. Sunday is, truly, fine."
"All right," Tanya said, more brightly. "So would you rather be in on the twenty-third or the thirtieth, then?"
"Either is fine."
"The thirtieth it is," Tanya decided. "Same time okay?"
"Yeah," Inlé answered.
She looked up then. "So we're still on for tonight, right?"
"Yeah."
"You could pretend to be interested, you know," Tanya scolded.
"I apologize," he said. "Is there anything I should do between now and six?"
"Do you know what movie you want to see?"
"I will watch whatever you want to. I have no preference."
Tanya made a pointedly unsurprised face. "Good, we can watch 'The Cabal' then. It just came out."
"Very well," Inlé said.
"Could you get the tickets ahead of time? I'll pay you back for mine," Tanya said. "I just don't want to miss it on account of it being sold out."
"Very well. Is that all?" Inlé asked.
"Sure. Try for the six fifteen showing. We can go straight there from here."
"As you wish," Inlé said, turning toward the door. "I will meet you here at six, then."
He left the office and stepped onto the street. After taking a minute to orient himself, Inlé began walking in the direction of the theater. He was almost to the theater when a voice called for him from an alleyway as he passed it, "Wanderer!"
He turned and stepped into the alley to face the thug now before him. The thug was of unremarkable build, dressed as a mob grunt: black clothing, leather jacket, and large sunglasses. Even its steel-grey, slicked-back hair would not have warranted much attention but for the pale grey face it capped.
Inlé asked, "You want something from me, Jack?"
This Jack, so different from the last, but still a petty messenger answered, "The Queen got your message, Wanderer. The King too."
"That was a week ago," Inlé said. "Have you been so busy?"
"Not so much, no," the Jack said. "The King, though, he don't like you blowin' him off like that. Writin' only to the Queen."
"Listen, you," Inlé began, "there are one hundred and eight independent realms of Faerie. Do you understand what that means?
"One hundred and eight different Oberon and Titania. Many of them are at war one with the other, or one of the two is dead. In some, both are simultaneously true. That I can keep your myriad realms together well enough to contact the one who hired me for a specific task is a wonder of itself.
"If it bothers your king so, tell him to contract me himself. Had he hired me, he would have been sent my confirmation."
"That's all well and good, you to say to me," the Jack said. "But it ain't my job to remember who's who. It's yours."
"Why am I even talking to you?" Inlé asked impassively. "You are only a messenger. What message does your lord send me?"
Thumbing over his shoulder, the Jack said, "He wants I should take you back to him. He wants to talk to you. Got it?"
"Now?" Inlé asked.
"You got it," the Jack answered. It turned and walked deeper into the shadows of the alley with Inlé following close behind.
"This had better be important," Inlé said.

"Six o'clock, right on time! You're almost boringly perfect," Tanya called to Inlé as she stepped out of the office. She had changed into a long yellow skirt and a beige blouse now, and was obviously ready to get going. "You got the tickets, right?"
Inlé stepped away from the wall and held them up. "Of course, you were specific enough. It is good that the theater is so close. But the showing you requested was sold out. We have forty-two extra minutes to wait."
"You know," Tanya sighed as she stopped in front of him, "most people would just say forty-five minutes. You know, round it off. You do know how to round, right?"
"Of course," Inlé replied. "I was." With that, Inlé turned and began walking up the street toward the theater.
Tanya looked startled, then quickly caught up. Beside Inlé again, Tanya queried, "So where are you going, exactly?"
"The theater, room twelve, the seats closest the entrance. If I continue at this pace, I believe I should arrive between six-o-eight and six-twelve, depending on the density of people within the theater proper and the position of the room in correlation with the entrance. Being unfamiliar with the theater, I cannot calculate beyond general speculation and what I saw when I retrieved the tickets. Was that exact enough?"
Tanya sighed again, and realized that she would probably continue to do so for the rest of the date. If 'date' was the right word. At this point, she wondered.
"Maybe, Inlé, I should try teaching you something about English. Do you understand what slang is?"
"Slang: a noun; a type of language that consists of words and phrases that are regarded as very informal, are more common in speech than writing, and are typically restricted to a particular context or group of people. Synonymous with informal language, colloquialisms, patois, argot, cant, and jargon. Slang includes 'substitute' vocabulary, grammatical distortions, and other departures from formal or polite usage. Is that the intended word?"
A baffled look crossed Tanya's face. "You know, you were able to pull that out way too fast. Do you practice that?"
"I do not. I simply under ..."
Tanya put up her hand and quickly said, "Stop! It was a joke. I didn't actually think you would do that. No one has that boring a hobby. It's just that--and maybe you're not aware of it--but you really have to calm down. If you're going to rattle something off like that, please at least let me catch the punch-line before you move on, okay?"
"Punch-line?"
"Ah, well, uh, never-mind," Tanya gave up. "Could we grab something to eat first? I mean, why wait for so long in the theater if we don't have to? What do you say?"
"I say what I say," Inlé said with all seriousness in his voice.
"Wow," Tanya groaned. "You really are clueless. Could you please talk less ... like you? Just standard, easy-to-understand, messed-up American English? You know, like everyone in school, say?"
"I can try, I suppose," Inlé said. "I apologize for confusing you."
"See, that's what I mean!" Tanya exclaimed. "Don't say 'I apologize', say 'Sorry' or something."
"Sorry?" Inlé sounded confused.
Another sigh passed Tanya's lips. "Fine, close enough. Where do you like to eat?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I ... don't do this often."
"Uh-huh. When was the last time you went out like this?"
Inlé paused, as if thinking hard, "A long time ago."
"Long like a few months? Be a bit more specific please."
"But you just said to ..."
"Just for this question, please."
"As you wish. It's been roughly five years, three months, and four days. There is a six percent margin of error based on level of specificity, and another eight due to potential memory error."
"See, that's what I like about you. You can say something like that with a straight face and not even realize it's unusual. I'm not sure if it's hilarious or terrifying."
"I don't understand, but thank you, I think."
"Well, if you don't know where you want to go, why don't we go to the Italian place over there? It's on the way to the theater, and it won't take long."