13. The Breakfast

Under a lightly falling snow, Sam knocked on the door to Micah's brownstone, shivering. He was still wearing the oversized tee he slept in under a school sweatshirt and a fleece jacket over sweatpants, his hair hidden beneath a fair isle patterned hat. Exhaustion showed in heavy smudges of darkness under his eyes. Snowflakes clung to the lenses of his glasses. Four steaming coffees in a drink carrier hung from one hand.

After one more knock, Julian opened the door with bedraggled hair and a sleepy squint. "Hi, Sam." He finished pulling a sweatshirt over his head, his wire glasses tipping off his nose. Fixing them, he added helpfully, "You look terrible."

"Thanks, Julian." Sam rubbed his eyes with his fingers behind his glasses.

The little wolf girl leapt down the stairs with a thud and clung to Julian's waist. Her hair was a scraggly mane over a gray tee that looked like it belonged to Julian, hanging down to her knees. She saw Sam and growled, an unnervingly frightening sound from a girl's throat, like she was in an exorcism movie.

"Oh. Uh. Hi, Fionna." Sam avoided meeting her eyes, since he'd read somewhere that wolves considered that a challenge. Weird to be trying not to dominate a four-foot-tall girl, but he knew she had the tendency to bite no matter which form she wore. "Is Andrew here?"

"No, I only have the wolf. Andrew is up in Lilydale with Micah. His mom's with a sponsor in Eagan, I guess."

"Oh…shoot. I really needed to talk to him."

Julian paused. "Yeah. I heard you blew it yesterday." He glanced at the coffees. "Apology caffeine isn't gonna cut it, kiddo."

Sam pulled out a chai and handed it to him. "I know. I'm going to try anyway."

"Andrew and Micah are fairly forgiving men," Julian told him. "But make sure you earn it."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Okay. Can you give me a call when they're back?"

Fionna gave him a long, serious look and then said, "Go up there."

Julian frowned at her. "Sweetie, Lilydale isn't meant for humans."

She lifted her uncanny golden eyes and frowned back at him. "I love Lilydale." Fionna gave Sam a bit of a challenging smirk. "You scared?"

"Er." Sam gazed down at her. She was so short, her face so pudgy and young, drowning in an adult man's shirt. But fearless. Totally, completely fearless. Unlike Sam. "I am scared of Lilydale," he said, nodding. "And I hurt Andrew and Micah, so…"

"I know." Fionna's bristly eyebrows lowering. "Dads are sad."

Sam's stomach dropped into his boots. He sighed and handed Julian the drink carrier. "All right, fine. I'll go talk to him at Lilydale. I just have to go get my car, and…hope that I won't get lost in the bluffs, or slip, or get charmed…"

Julian grimaced. "Sam, just—it's fine if you wait."

"Fionna will guide you." The faoladh puffed out her chest.

With a loud sigh, Julian set the drinks inside on the table with their keys tray. He sat on the bottom step leading to the living room and pulled on his snow boots. "Oh, let me drive you to Cherokee at least."

"Are you sure?" Sam blinked. "But…you and…that stuff…"

Julian shrugged. He pulled his jacket out of a slim and shallow closet and zipped it up to his chin. Fionna hopped around him with excitement, already in her boots and jacket because she'd been told so many times she couldn't leave the house in the winter without being properly dressed.

Julian explained, "From what I understand, Micah's been making some pretty positive changes up there. Besides, I'm not getting out of the car. I've got some shopping I can do up in that direction."

Fionna pulled on her wolfskin, making Sam sneeze so hard his hat fell below his eyes. The wolf heaved back and put her paws on Sam's shoulders, giving his cheek a wet kiss. Julian pocketed his wallet and then locked the brownstone behind them. Sam climbed into the passenger seat of Micah's fancy Audi, which still smelled like new car with a touch of stale brown sugar from the bubble tea shop. Fionna hopped into the backseat and snuffled around on the floor.

"Fionna," Julian said sternly. "Girl with seatbelt. Plus, Micah will kill us if his car smells like wet dog."

The wolf huffed, her tail thumping on the back of Julian's seat. Then she climbed out of her wolfskin and flopped onto the bench behind Sam, fumbling with her seatbelt until she got it to click. She kicked the back of Sam's seat a few times until Julian reached back and stilled her with a hand on her ankle. Fionna bent and licked his knuckle.

With a patient sigh, Julian reversed out of the spot in the lot behind the brownstones. They were past the Smith Avenue bridge before Sam would have wished it, fidgeting with the snap on his jacket sleeve.

Idling in the deserted park near the start of the Brickyard Trail, Julian glanced sidelong at Sam. "You almost got my son killed, Sam."

Tears came immediately. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Stillwater."

"Yeah, I know." Julian stared out the windshield, the wipers sweeping away the light fluffy snowflakes coming down. "You're a good kid. But as a human, it's very easy to make the wrong move when you're messing with all this magic stuff. You have to be a hundred times more careful than someone who's made of magic. Just keep that in mind."

"I don't even wanna be involved," he whispered.

Julian sighed, squeezing Sam's shoulder. "But you care about someone who is. I know how that goes."

"Thanks, Julian," murmured Sam, using his sleeve to dry his eyes.

"Just text me when you're back here and I can come and grab you."

Fionna threw open her door, pulled on her wolfskin, and leapt out with a happy yip before appearing at Sam's door with her tail wagging. Sam reluctantly climbed out of the car, waving at Julian as he drove away before awkwardly turning to the wolf. Fionna trotted off toward the trail, but Sam stayed where he was, wondering if it was too late to just go back and wait for the next time Andrew stopped in at Magic's.

Fionna stopped, tail down, ears back, eyes narrowed with annoyance. Her yellow gaze inspected him carefully. Then she ran behind him and shot between his legs so he fell forward and hit her shoulders, landing awkwardly across her back. She was barely big enough to hold him; he bent his knees and hooked his ankles together quite on instinct, desperate not to fall off or hurt the young creature. He had no time to hang onto more than a handful of her scruff before she split between the trees and took off into the woods with a happy growl rumbling between Sam's thighs. Hollering in disbelief and horror, Sam shortly decided to close his eyes.

When he peeked again, they were on no path, whipping through barren trees with startled deer bounding away from them. Fionna's head tracked the fleeing deer and Sam screeched, "St…stad! Or something!"

It seemed to be enough, and she turned her snout back toward the way ahead. In a moment, a large wall of ice smooth and almost as clear as glass rose above them. Sam gasped, head tilted back, squinting against the white sky. It looked like there was something growing along one top edge of the wall, impossibly leafy and green in the frozen depths of winter.

Fionna slipped through an arched opening in the wall, but Sam didn't come with her and crashed into the seemingly empty space. He yelped and tumbled off her back. It felt like he'd hit hard enough to make his nose bleed—more—but nothing came out on his jacket sleeve. He rubbed his face and sat at the gateway into Lilydale, completely alone, shivering on his ass in the snow.

Pulling on a sweatshirt, Micah knelt on their futon in Lilydale and brushed his lips against his fiancé's temple. Andrew sighed and tucked the blankets under his chin.

"I'm gonna put together a family meal," Micah murmured.

"Wake me up when I can eat," said Andrew, muffled against his pillow as he rolled onto his stomach. The blankets fell below his sharp shoulder blades and gentle curve of his spine. If Micah's resolve was even slightly shakier, he'd have slid those blankets down and followed the slope of Andrew's back with his mouth.

With a shake of his head, Micah grinned, kissed the ridge of Andrew's shoulder, and tucked him back in. There was nothing surprising about Andrew's reluctance to get up at dawn. They'd stayed up late the night before and Andrew had still kept Micah awake for a few hours with his restlessness.

Barefooted, Micah stepped into the gray light and took a deep breath. He was truly unscathed, feeling better than he had since before he'd been stabbed outside Diana's house. Maybe the best ever. Whole, and hopeful, and home.

He went behind their shelter and up the crest of the hill over the kiln throne. Built over the kitchen structure was a triple bunk bed where the goblin triplets slept. Micah climbed into the low branches of the maple tree next to it until he could see their three bark-brown heads of hair poking out from their pillows and piles of blankets.

"Psst, Brynn. Uh, or Gwynn. Whoever's on the bottom bunk there." None of the goblins moved. "Gwynn! Spinn?" Frowning, Micah unwound his birchwood staff from his wrist and into his hand, sending the staff out to bridge the gap to the bunk bed until he gave the goblin on the bottom bunk a light poke. With a snort, the bottom goblin lifted their head. It wasn't Spinn, but Micah wasn't sure if it was Gwynn or Brynn. He had to figure out some distinguishing characteristic for the longer-haired siblings…

"Lord Heartwood?" mumbled the goblin. Their voice was high like a larksong, and made Micah think this was Brynn. The two beds above them creaked as they woke their siblings. "What's wrong?"

Micah pulled his staff back into his hand, which shifted his weight unexpectedly on the branch between his thigh and made him start to tip. He yelped; Brynn shot out of her bed toward him, but he spun his staff to his opposite side and caught his balance. Brynn slapped her hands over her face with a heavy sigh. Her siblings climbed down the posts of the bed like lizards and onto the branches of the oak. Spinn was still naked, but Gwynn wore a child's bikini. The triplets pinned him under their springtime-green gazes fresh as sprouts in soil.

"I have a favor to ask," Micah told them, dropping down from the oak tree and brushing bark and crispy moss off his legs. "I know it's early by Lilydale standards, but I'd like to put together a bit of a…communal breakfast for everyone."

"Maybe in four hours," Spinn grumbled, his lisp more pronounced in his sleep-slurred words. Brynn pushed him out of the tree with a vicious shove. He thumped onto his back in the dirt with a wail of protest.

"He doesn't speak for us, Lord Heartwood," Gwynn said hurriedly. He noticed a little scar over her lip when she spoke. "We should have an adequate selection put together within an hour." She bobbed in a little curtsey. Her hair was a bit longer than Brynn's, who climbed down to stand next to her and grabbed her hand. Brynn the Lark. Gwynn the Scar.

"No, no," said Micah. "You misunderstand. I want to prepare it. But I don't want to barge into your kitchen and start fucking things up without your knowledge."

"So I can go back to bed?" asked Spinn hopefully.

"You bloody little git!" Brynn squawked. She picked up a rock and was about to throw it at him but Micah blocked her hand and lowered it.

"Let him, that's fine," Micah laughed. "Are you guys from the British Isles?"

"Many years ago, when we were children. Like the Auburn Knight," Gwynn said, nodding. Micah loved that the Folk were all calling Andrew that now since their engagement. "Will you permit us to help you, Lord Heartwood?"

"If you insist," Micah said with a patient smile. "But Spinn really doesn't…" He glanced up past the oak, but the male goblin was already burrowing back into his bunk, his toes the last thing to vanish. Micah grinned, shaking his head as he ducked into the kitchen. He'd prepare Andrew's food last from the selection in the mini fridge labeled with a crude, but not inaccurate drawing of him as a fox that Spinn had drawn. The goblins put it up a year or so ago for storing human groceries for Andrew's consumption.

The goblin sisters lit the fire under the cauldron and began moving through cupboards and drawers with practiced ease, making it so Micah had to hurry in and focus so they didn't put him out of the job. By the time they had trays and platters filling the counters, Micah had cast off his sweatshirt and was damp with sweat from the heat of the cauldron.

He was frying two eggs and brewing tea for Andrew when Gwynn gasped and Brynn shushed her hurriedly.

Micah glanced over his shoulder. Both goblins quickly looked away. "Sup?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, Lord Heartwood," squeaked Gwynn. "We'd heard you were left with a mark when you were resurrected, but it's more beautiful than I could have imagined."

"Oh?" He strained to peer at the green sunbeam veins that remained radiating from the pale pink athame scar. "All right then. You guys must have all been up late if you've already heard what happened."

"The Ruby Daughter came and went so fast when she was retrieving people that most of us who didn't go with her regret it deeply," said Brynn. She peeled another orange skin back with her sharp nails and pressed it into the orange squeeze so the pulpy liquid trickled into the mostly full pitcher underneath.

"Noted," Micah said with a slight smile. "Well, my gratitude is for all of you, not just the people who showed up at the restaurant. Hence, the breakfast." He finished Andrew's tray and then turned his attention to the coffee presses, picking up the large clay pot that stored the coffee beans. "Speaking of, could one of you get these beans ground for the presses? I think I should wake everyone."

Brynn and Gwynn nodded, elbowing each other to try to get to the pot first. Micah left them to fight with a smile and went back to the oak tree, peering past the roof of the kitchen toward the grove of trees where most of the Folk slept. He didn't want to fall all over himself trying to get to everybody's hammocks. But his idea was likely to work just as well. Focusing on his birchwood cuff and on the bark of the oak tree under his hands, he asked for the tree to wake up and gift him some leaves. The oak tree must only have been dozing, since the branches shivered almost at once, sprouting buds that unfurled into delicate, jeweled leaves that came off with a snick and floated down to orbit around Micah with a whisper-quiet breeze. Brynn and Gwynn froze amidst their fragrant billow of coffee grounds to stare at him with glittering eyes. Even Spinn reappeared from the bunk bed to stare at him.

"Breakfast is in twenty minutes, if you would be so kind as to wake the residents," he murmured to the leaves, which flitted off like butterflies to complete their task. A couple faeries sneezed, and several more squeaked in surprise. He wasn't sure this was going to be a wakeup style he could utilize twice, but it was worth a shot.

He and the goblin girls set out their meal swiftly on a flannel tablecloth laid over the log table near the fire pit. Not long after, Spinn deigned to join them. The table started to fill with sleepy-eyed sprites, yawning pixies, quiet gnomes, and nixies from the stream looking irritated, and Andrew, creeping up without a sound and startling Micah with lips on the back of his neck.

"I just woke up with a leaf up my nose, and I feel like that's your doing," Andrew said in a gravelly whisper, leaning against him, still radiating the warmth of slumber like a stone baking in the sun.

Turning to face Andrew and wrap his arms around his neck, Micah laughed and kissed the corner of Andrew's mouth apologetically. "It was an experiment, and like, it got results." He poked his thumb over his shoulder to the table, where every stump and toadstool was now almost occupied. Micah dropped his arms so he could give Andrew his cup of tea and sit him on a stump near the end of the table. He also leaned over and smoothed Andrew's bedraggled hair.

Ingrid slipped into the seat next to Andrew looking equally unkempt and bleary-eyed, swinging back her head with an accusatory glare at Micah as she fought her frizzy curls into a thick plait. But then she seemed to realize she couldn't fix it with anything, looking helplessly around the table with both hands on her hair, groaning wordlessly. Andrew slipped his hair tie off his wrist and held it out to her. She took it with a sigh of relief, secured her hair, and then glared at Micah again.

"God, all right," said Micah with a laugh as he put his hands up. Addressing the whole table of sleepy, quiet Folk, he said, "Not so early next time, I get it. But I'll be damned if I don't make communal breakfasts a thing. Breakfast food is the best."

"Here here," said Syabira, sounding very deeply sarcastic.

Armed with the two coffee presses, Micah went around the table filling the mismatched novelty mugs nestled among the plates of sweet rolls, eggs, fruit, and meat. Spirulina and Leif, more chipper than most of their neighbors, both held their mugs over their shoulders while humming their appreciation. When he felt there was adequate coffee available, he set down the presses and took the only remaining seat, which happened to be at the head of the table.

As he sat, Andrew took his hand and laced their fingers together with affection warming his mahogany eyes.

"I'm glad you're alive," Andrew said softly.

Throat tightening, Micah nodded and kissed the back of Andrew's hand. On his other side, Chamomile socked Micah in the shoulder before pouring half a bottle of champagne into her orange juice. The champagne wasn't included in the selection Micah and the goblins had brought down; she must have brought it from her hut.

"Sorry!" cried blue-skinned pixie, Thorn, buzzing over the kiln throne toward the table. "Sorry I'm late. I had to get this thing out of bed." Dangling from his hand by their collar was the chalky-skinned sprite, Wex, flailing their limbs futilely until Thorn dropped them near the table and they landed with a thud. Thorn pushed himself into a spot between the goblin triplets and goat-eyed Nox, immediately picking up a handful of strawberries and popping them into his mouth. Wex sat up with a scowl, slinking around the far end of the table, where some other pixies begrudgingly scooted to make a spot for the sprite.

"All good." Micah amicably raised his coffee mug toward Thorn. "I'm just happy to be around a table with all of you. Especially when my life came so close to ending last night." He smiled easily, though Andrew and Ingrid swallowed and stared at the table in the shared trauma of the memory. Micah glanced their way, his smile faltering. "I just want to make sure that the version of events you all collectively assembled includes Andrew and his mother as the cornerstone of the whole…uh, ritual?"

"We know," chirped Lina. "Don't worry, Lord Heartwood. Leif and I are already working on some songs about the Auburn Knight and his Druid Ma." She winked a bright, silver eye at Andrew. Leif started tapping a rhythm on the table and humming a low, serious tune.

Andrew straightened, blinking, a crease appearing between his slender red eyebrows. He glanced in their direction, held his breath puffed in his cheeks before letting it out in a pursed-lip sigh. Speechless.

Grasping Andrew's hand, Micah grinned widely. "I can't wait to hear it."

Fionna exploded into the northern end of the compound. She zagged through the grove of trees with excessively tight turns, kicking up snow and dirt with her tongue lolling out in delight.

"Fionna!" cried Leif, waving with both hands at the wolf. Beside him, Fionna's self-proclaimed Auntie, Cosmos, started to clap with excitement.

Heaving back onto her hind legs, Fionna scooped a full tray of bacon into her mouth and chomped messily, spraying bits and grease onto Chamomile and moth-winged Reave. The goblin triplets tittered. White-haired, charcoal-skinned Nox smiled patiently at her.

"Ew!" Chamomile gave her a shove. "Table manners, you beast!"

"Fionna, what are you doing here?" Andrew set down his teacup. "You were supposed to be with Julian."

When she finished chomping on the bacon and swallowed with satisfaction, Fionna pulled back her wolfskin. Dressed in a shirt belonging to Julian with her hair in desperate need of braiding, she picked up a pear and took an enormous bite out of it. Juice running down her chin, she said with the fruit stuffed in her cheek, "Brought Sam. So much fancy food! I want it all."

"You brought Sam?" exclaimed Andrew and Micah at once.

"He can't get in," Fionna added. She climbed onto Chamomile's lap despite the goblin's squawk of protest. Fionna made a grab for the mimosa flute and Chamomile snatched it out of her reach with a slap to her hand. Fionna whined mournfully, and Chamomile tsked and then gave her a glass without champagne in it.

"He can't get in?" Micah made a face. "I didn't do anything formal to the wall. Would it turn him away?"

"Did you want to see him?" asked Ingrid.

"Absolutely not." Micah sniffed and picked at a strawberry.

"Well, that's enough then." Ingrid shrugged with a satisfied smile.

Dropping his head, Andrew sighed and pushed to his feet. He glanced at Micah. "I won't bring him in, if that's what you want. But I would like to talk to him."

Micah took a slow sip of coffee and then added a drizzle of honey to his cup. "I don't know what I want. So I trust your judgment."

Leaning down with a hand on Micah's shoulder, Andrew kissed his temple and then his lips when Micah turned to him. "All right." Then he sank his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt as he picked his way toward the perimeter of the compound.

Micah glanced at Ingrid. "Can you help me with a project today?"

She shrugged. "If it's interesting enough."

He glared at her.

Meticulously spreading jam on a roll, Ingrid avoided looking at him as a corner of her lips quirked in a smirk.

Sam was still on the ground, feeling the snow seep into his pants and thinking it was a good metaphor for his current predicament. Then he heard footsteps crunch in the snow and he tensed up, wincing, waiting to be…charmed, or something, and taken in to be humiliated. Or beaten up by Chamomile, probably.

But he looked up, and it was Andrew. He still, oddly, looked more or less at home coming out of Lilydale, though he looked more stoic than usual. His sweatshirt hood obscured most of his hair except for a stray strand falling across his face. He was only wearing jeans and moccasins, which surprised Sam given the snowy weather.

Andrew didn't cross the threshold, standing inside the perimeter as if he knew Sam couldn't cross over. Gazing cooly down at him, Andrew punished Sam by remaining impassively silent.

"H…Hey." Sam managed an uncomfortable smile. "I went to the brownstone with coffee for you guys, and…since you weren't there, and Fionna was really pushy…" He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, Andrew, I…"

"Don't," Andrew said, sharply raising his hand. "If you try to justify yourself, I'm walking away."

"But I…"

Andrew squatted in front of him. "You blew it," he said. "I want to make that very clear. It all worked out, no thanks to you. But this will be difficult to forget. Especially for Micah."

Tearfully, Sam nodded. "I know."

"But since you're here…I'd like you to clarify some things."

He nodded again. "Anything."

"What exactly was your role in nearly murdering the love of my life?" The ice wall and Andrew were one and the same—cold, closed off, insurmountable. "For example, we know Cirrus got the vial from you."

Sam rose off the snow enough to brush off his soaked butt and wrap his arms around his knees. "The vial had been sitting in the apartment since you came home from up north. She saw it when she was hanging out up there with me. It was right after you yelled at me, and I was really angry. So I gave it to her." He dropped his head, swallowing an apology. "She said she wanted it for witchy shit. I figured she'd put it on a necklace to look cool or something stupid. I thought witches were fake."

As if it wasn't the first time he'd heard that recently, Andrew shook his head with annoyance. "Why? The Folk are real. Why would witchcraft be fake?"

Sam shrugged. "'Cause girls like Cirrus do it." He gave a faint and halfhearted smile.

"My mum was doing small magic my whole life, so I guess I just don't understand the assumption." Andrew thought about Micah asking the same question earlier this week, and then it had come from someone who'd grown up with magical beings. So maybe people just assumed magic was sparse, or something. But even Lilydale thrived with magic, though within sight of the sprawl of the city. It was proof there was magic everywhere. He rose from his crouch and looked over the whitened sky and barren trees. Within the next month, buds would appear on the branches, and the river would thaw and swell and flood the plains. After all of the dread and darkness the winter had brought him, Andrew was more excited than normal for the warmer months ahead.

"Andrew," said Sam, gentle, as he stood up as well and hugged his arms to his chest. "You really aren't a normal guy."

Incredulously waving a hand, Andrew scowled. "I swear—"

"That was the first thing I realized about you." Sam smiled. "You have a certain air about you. You always feel a bit blurred around the edges. You move a bit more gracefully than other people."

Andrew shifted uncomfortably. "Anyway."

"Right."

"Micah said you could come in if I wanted you to. What do you say?"

Sam looked down, thrusting his hands into his coat pockets. "That's the other thing. I…don't think I want anything to do with magic anymore, to be honest."

Andrew raised his slender red brows.

"I'm sorry," Sam murmured. "I still want to be friends. I still love Magic's, linguistically confusing as that is at the moment. There's so many ways we can grow the company. But…uh…I just…I miss the days of you and me being boring nerds. I know that's not your life anymore, but I want it to be mine."

Andrew's brows rose higher. He remained in stunned silence.

"I have a programming friend who wants to work on some freelance projects with me, and I was wondering if we could work out a schedule so they can work in the shop with me if you're not going to be in."

Andrew leaned his head back against the ice archway and sighed through his nostrils. "You're breaking up with me," he deadpanned. It was only a very small quirk of his lip that gave him away.

Sam said, "I just get the feeling that Cirrus won't be the last person who tries to use me to get to you guys. So the less I know, the better."

Andrew met his eyes with some sadness in his own walnut-brown gaze. Anxiously, he took a small step forward over the boundary out of Lilydale as he asked, "W…Will you still come to my wedding?"

Sam socked his shoulder. "Duh."

"I was hoping you'd be my Best Man."

"I assumed so, since you don't have any other friends."

Andrew looked away with a bland frown. "Nevermind. I take it back."

Sam giggled. "I missed your neverending fountain of dry wit."

Snow fell gently on their shoulders and a soft breeze rustled the dry branches over them. Chickadees pecked at seed pods in a cluster of dead reeds. Weekend traffic was slow across the interstate bridge south of them, but the roads that wound around Pickerel far below were deserted. Sam marveled at the natural beauty of this sweet little spot, so wild, yet so close to humanity.

His thoughts drawn back to the approaching wedding, Sam asked suddenly with a tremor of guilt, "Does Micah even want me there? At your wedding. Around, in general. Or, just…alive."

"Not really." Andrew never danced around his point. "But you know him. He'll be very polite regardless. Nothing like me."

"I…I don't want to make him uncomfortable."

Andrew smiled faintly, but Sam wasn't entirely sure why.

Sam offered, "Maybe I can cook dinner next weekend. Get some time between us and this whole thing."

Andrew nodded. "Sure. That could be good. He wouldn't want to get between you and Julian, anyway. We know you've been a great support for him."

After a moment, Sam said, "Thanks for giving me the chance to talk."

Looking down at him as he nodded slightly, Andrew said softly, "Thanks for talking honestly."

Sam suddenly understood why sentimentality made Andrew so awkward. It took all his self-control not to clear his throat or comment on the weather under the intensity of Andrew's scrutiny.

Eyes glittering as if he knew it, Andrew said, "Well, I can walk you back to the road."

Chamomile appeared at Andrew's side.

Sam jumped. He felt his cheeks heat up. "Look…Chamomile. Hi. I…uh…"

Arms crossed, she interrupted, "Don't trouble yourself, Andrew. I can drop him back off at the brownstone. Don't want him to trip and fall in with any witches on the way back."

Sam grimaced. "Deserved."

"That was impressive wordplay," said Andrew with admiration.

Chamomile shot him a proud smile. "I thought you would like that." She took a viciously tight hold of Sam's hand, and then pulled him into the shadows with her.

When Chamomile and Andrew returned to the table, Micah poked the goblin's shoulder. "Found something out recently," he said.

"Good for you," said Chamomile around an enormous bite of omelet.

"My dad said you gave him something in the Redwoods that made his cravings more manageable." Micah took a sip of coffee.

Andrew straightened. "Hold on, what? He knows that wasn't a dream?"

Micah shook his head. "Yeah. He dropped that on me the night I slept in his room. Apparently he remembers everything about…everything."

Ingrid and Chamomile exchanged a look.

"Well," said Chamomile, "I didn't know if that remedy would do anything. There was no need to get your hopes up that it would. I think it brought him relief partly because it was immediately after he'd consumed Fae-spelled foods."

Micah could feel everyone's eyes on him, but his focus was fixed on Chamomile. "Well, whatever you did worked. So thank you. He's much better off without such an enormous addiction."

The table of Folk fell silent but for Spirulina's uncomfortable cough. Near her, Wex let out a conspicuous groan. The goblin triplets nudged shoulders and elbows into each other. Nox widened their goat eyes, and Leif stared pointedly at Wex.

"This again?" growled Wex. "I'm trying to enjoy my meal."

Andrew's eyes narrowed, shifting down toward the opposite end of the table as he lifted his teacup to his lips.

"Sorry, what part of this conversation makes you so sick?" Micah's voice was steady enough to thread through the eye of a needle.

The atmosphere of the table shifted. Fionna whimpered and slipped under the log, jostling Andrew's ankles as she sat on his feet in her wolfskin.

Wex muttered something and glared at their knees.

"I asked you a question." Micah narrowed his eyes. The bark along the sides of the log table trembled, sharp twigs sprouting forth with an audible snap. Fear rippled through the Folk around it. Spinn fell off his toadstool, Thorn catching him by the scruff of his collar.

"Your obsession with the wellbeing of humans is nauseating," Wex exclaimed, their eyes flashing.

Andrew started to rise, hand going to the hilt of his seax. Micah pressed on Andrew's shoulder and got to his feet himself.

"I am half-human," Micah said, rolling back his shoulders, his mulberry leaf necklace slipping out from the collar of his fleece pullover. "I will always concern myself with humanity."

"Then maybe you don't belong here," Wex spat. They hunched over their plate, curling their spindly fingers into fists so their knuckles poked out like spikes.

Micah hummed curiously, scrutinizing the Folk at the table with their colorful faces and diverse features. Few looked alike, and none looked like Micah, not even Ingrid. In that sense, Wex was correct. Micah stuck out. But everyone was looking at Wex and him in such a way that it left no doubt in Micah's chest as he said with a slight smile, "Actually, Wex, I think you'll find you no longer belong here."

Wex's green eyes snapped to Micah's face. A red grape flew across the table and struck them in the cheek so they yelped in alarm. Across from them, Syabira made no attempt to disguise herself as the perpetrator. Thorn followed suit, pelting Wex with a bread roll, which Spinn picked up, tore into pieces, and distributed to his siblings to throw at Wex again.

"You need to leave," said Micah. "You and whomever else intends to continue distributing our foods to humans no longer have a place within the walls of Lilydale."

Wex's mouth dropped open. "But you can't—" Their head swung toward Chamomile, but her face was impassive. Their head swung toward Ingrid, whose squared shoulders and low eyebrows were completed by the deep frown on her mahogany lips. Fear opened Wex's features as they began to argue again. But then Brynn struck them with a sweet roll. Syabira threw an apple, hitting their sternum with a thwack. Leif picked up a goblet of honey mead and splashed its contents over the sprite so they screeched and jumped to their feet.

"Bye," said Micah brightly. "Hey, Fionna? Andrew? Why don't you see that they cross the threshold."

Fionna shot out from under the log table with a snarl, making more than one faerie squawk in terror as she snapped at Wex's ankles. Wex took off, a streak of white painting its way toward the cobblestone fence with Fionna in pursuit and Andrew stalking after them with his black iron blade drawn.

Micah watched them disappear past a naked lilac bush with his lips quirked in a satisfied smirk as he sat back at the head of the table. "Boy. Issuing decrees sure dries out the mouth, huh?" He plucked Chamomile's mimosa from her fingers and downed it in one gulp while she stared at him with her pink lips parted in an awestruck grin.

He glanced at Ingrid. "What's that look for?"

Shaking off her stunned paralysis, Ingrid lifted her fruit-dappled wine and called to the table, "To Lord Heartwood!"

Calls of, "Here, here!" echoed down the table, and then the usual chatter of the Folk resumed.