Page 85 of Fairies Never Fall

“If you know one of us, you know one of us.” Plato’s dark eyes glimmer with warmth. “Humans are the same.”

Even as I nod, despair creeps in. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, though. Even if I am capable of caring, I’ll never get the chance as long as I have to keep running.”

To my surprise, Plato’s smile grows. “Now you really sound like one of my siblings.” He leans over the table. “You’ve been here for a year. I don’t know everything about your circumstances, but maybe it’s okay to accept that youwantto behere. Syril’s gonna keep a room open for you as long as you being here works out with their plans for the community, and you’re safe at The Sanctum.” He gets up. “I’d better get back to the bar.

I watch him slide back behind the bar and greet Ezra by knocking their fists together. Ezra’s gaze seeks me out across the floor, and he winks.

I write Owyn Maddox from Ezra’s apartment. I wake early, as always — it used to be because of my nightmares, but now I just like to watch him sleep. Ezra snuffles and turns over, his arm splaying across the cover. His bare chest rises and falls gently.

I slide out of the bed and pull on last night’s clothes, tiptoeing down the hall. Felix is asleep on the couch, snoring loudly. He came in late last night, and I feel guilty — like I’ve usurped his time with Ezra, even though Ezra asked if I would stay the night.

Flashes of last night come back to me as I sneak past Ezra’s friend into the kitchen. I muffled my gasps in his pillow as he stroked us together, his harsh breaths in my ear and his hand around both of our cocks. The silence made a secret world just for us. I reached my peak staring into his eyes, his hand clamped over my mouth.

I shiver.

When I locate a pen and paper, I write something I hope is princely but not pompous. I fold the letter and slip out the front door. There are plenty of pigeons roosting in the eaves of Ezra’s apartment building — it’s a simple matter of summoning one and giving it adequate instructions.

Ezra reaches for me when I get back.

“Cold,” he mutters as I shed my clothes and slide back into the bed.

“Sorry,” I whisper. “I had to get something done.”

Ezra’s warm nose buries into the back of my neck and he sighs deeply as he drifts back to sleep. Am I overstepping? Almost certainly. I just hope both of them will understand.

“Thank you for coming.” I slide into the seat across the table from Maddox.

Maddox pushes his smudged glasses up his nose. He looks out of place among the gleaming fixtures and rich leather, his hair hastily thrown up, his amulet dangling from a ratty braided cord. Nonetheless, I find myself leaning in like he holds the answers to the universe.

“Of course,” he says distractedly. His eyes dart around the bar. “Wow, it’s been a long time since I was here. Syril’s really classed the place up.”

“I heard monsters sometimes come to you for help with human affairs. Things they might need while living in a human city that they can’t easily obtain without special knowledge.”

Maddox’s gaze snaps to me. “People come to me for a lot of things. It’s tough for a monster to give birth in a hospital and file a birth certificate, you know? The nurses might have questions. I’m not saying I forge anything, for legal reasons. But if itappearsthe paperwork is correct, bureaucracy will often just nudge them through the right processes to get what they need. This is strictly off-record, you understand.”

I nod quickly. “Of course. It’s that kind of problem I need help with. I want to procure housing.”

“For yourself? You’ll need a lot of documents — a bank account — you could probably pass for a sheltered twenty-something year old who’s never had a job until now…" he trails off.

“Not for me,” I tell him. “For a human.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “I suppose nothing changes, but someone needs to pay for it.”

“How do I do that?”

“Do you have the money?”

I set a bag down on the table and push it toward him. He tugs the drawstrings open and peers inside, and a string of curses leaves his mouth.

He closes the bag and sits back. “Does anyone else know you have this?”

“No,” I tell him, bewildered. “They’re family heirlooms — I kept them private. But they’re worth nothing to me now. They’re just gems. If they can be used for good, that’s what matters. Is it enough?”

“You could fund a small city with these.” He grimaces. “But you can’t just wave them around. You need actual money — human money. If I try to sell these, people are gonna start asking uncomfortable questions. I’ll have to set you up with a bunch of things… offshore account… tax status… find some private buyers.”

He trails off.

“But can you do it?” I press. I don’t understand half of what he’s saying. I just need to know it’s possible.

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