Chapter 1

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This wasn't in my teaching classes. Like, not even my continuing education courses.

Two weeks later

It's a miracle I've managed to hold it together as long as I have.

Truly.

At the very least, I'm proud of myself.

Andromeda kicks her legs while she sits on her desk, surrounded by the other children. I'm busy setting up the printouts my class will need after recess ends. Beside me, Zahra grades journals and draws tiny animals next to each passing score.

Before Zahra was my assistant, Elsie graded in the back office where this school keeps the cots for the younger grades' nap times, the extra books that don't fit in any of the other library shelves, and the mandatory emergency first aid supplies. Elsie was an older woman who preferred the quiet of the back office when she started with the teacher who worked here before me. I only had her for a couple years, then she retired late, and I think it's been about three years since she passed now.

Unlike Elsie, Zahra can't stand being alone in that back room.

Since Zahra is my best—read as: only—friend, I know a few more details about her past than she supplied when she interviewed for this position in front of my school board.

Her life growing up was garbage, but for one reason or another, her mother got her diagnosed with schizophrenia. Nowadays, I think the diagnosis would be refined as mild auditory hallucinations.

Simply put, Zahra hears the voices of things that aren't there. She doesn't love being alone with them. Ever. Sometimes I joke and say they're the only reason she's an extrovert; she argues that she's so extroverted her brain had to make up friends whenever any were absent.

But we both know the things she hears aren't friends.

Some days she looks too exhausted to even pretend.

Lightning crashes across the sky, reminding me why my littles aren't playing outside during today's recess. No one wanted to dart through the rain and into the stinky gym building today. Nope. They all wanted to have story time with Andromeda instead.

My eleven children sit around their leader and hang on her every word as though she's the oldest kid here. She isn't. Not even close. But every school year comes with a queen bee, and she took the crown shortly after she arrived.

She chirps, "So, right now, the dryads are planting their sprouts in the woods near here—which is super exciting because that means next spring we might have a new baby dryad." Her legs kick, kick, kick as her kinky curls bounce, bounce, bounce. "You really never know when you're going to get a new baby dryad, but the current youngest dryad is hopeful."

"Why is she hopeful, pacifically?" Riley asks.

"Specifically, she's hopeful she'll get to raise a little baby. Dryads don't have soulmates or fall in romantic love. They also don't really have families with mommies or daddies. They consider one another as sisters. But the eldest of the copse says if a new baby comes in this next bloom, the youngest dryad may take care of it."

"Boringggg." Josh picks his nose and wipes it into the carpet before rolling onto his back and scrunching like a worm. "I thought we'd hear more about monster fighting."

"Hey, what is everyone dressing up as for Halloween?" Mia interrupts the flow of conversation, as she does, regularly. It's a habit I've been trying—and failing—to work with her on. "I'm going to be a unicorn."

"Boringgg," Josh complains again.

"Shut up! It is not!"

"What's Halloween?" Andromeda asks before the argument devolves into a fight.

I go still.

Even Zahra looks up from her sketch of a cat playing with a ball of yarn.

"You don't know what Halloween is?" Josh blurts.

While my littles explain the concept of one of the most common holidays in this entire country to Andromeda, I try not to picture myself wringing Pollux's neck. Again.

To be fair, I get the image stuck in my skull at least once a day lately. Usually about the time Andromeda comes to school. In the same outfit as always. Without a lunch. Unattended.

It's like my meeting with her father two weeks ago meant nothing.

Since then, all I've been able to do is confirm with Andromeda that I have her correct home address and resubmit the information to the proper (useless) authorities yet again. When I tried to ask if Andromeda had contact information for Willow, she simply told me Willow doesn't like her ringtone.

It's best not to call. Or show up. Except on movie nights. But only if I've been invited. And Willow doesn't really invite humans. Because Willow doesn't really like humans.

And, you know, Willow might think I'm human. Because Andromeda hasn't told her directly otherwise. Because Andromeda has been taught not to meddle in people's relationships. She's already played a main role in a story; now she's committed to being everyone's favorite side character.

Which, apparently, is difficult. Because her friend Pila exists. And, for context, Pila is the youngest dryad she mentioned a moment ago…

Some part of me understands that Andromeda is seven and fantasy stories like this aren't entirely unusual for a seven-year-old, but the commitment and the details are unlike anything I've ever seen before. It's all consistent. When any of the other students challenge her pictures, she doesn't get upset or insist she's right like a child fighting to have her fantasy story validated. She just…laughs a little. Like she knows the truth isn't something their objection can change. Sometimes, her eyes will sparkle, and she'll encourage the difference in belief.

Because belief is powerful for the fae.

And if someone believes something hard enough, they might just open up new wonders to explore.

She's always ready for new places and things to explore.

Once the kids have rambled about Halloween for what feels like an hour, but can only be maybe five minutes, Andromeda says, "Huh."

"What?" Riley asks.

"That seems dangerous." Andromeda's legs swing again. "Going door to door. Asking for things. Being encouraged to thank strangers. Feels very…plotted. I bet a devious faerie set it up."

"It's okay." Mia beams. "My mom checks the candy I get to make sure it's safe."

"Does she also check to make sure you still own your soul? It's dangerous to go around thanking strangers. Especially right now. An unseelie prince in a kingdom nearby has decided our prince wronged him. I don't know what he'll use in his favor or if he'll target humans."

Mia's nose squishes. "How come we have to be humans, but you're a faerie?"

"Okay." I stand before that comment starts something else. "Recess is over, littles. Please find your way back to your seats so we can start on a super fun project."

An obligatory handful of sighs fill the room as my little humans drag themselves back to their desks.

Andromeda scoots off hers and has almost sat in her chair when I say, "Meda. Could you come here for just one second?"

Smiling, she makes her way up to my desk. "Yes, Ms. Role?"

"Sweetheart," I whisper, "please don't encourage the other kids not to thank people. It might upset their parents."

Her lips curl in a mischievous way. Leaning toward me, she whispers back, "You're lucky."

"I'm… Why am I lucky, sweetie?"

"My daddy isn't a bad unseelie. He behaved himself and didn't take your soul when you thanked him at your parent-teacher conference. And, yes, he told me about it. Practically chastised me for rambling about my adventures but not educating you on the importance of not thanking us. I'm pretty sure it's all he remembered after meeting you."

My stomach swirls, but far be it from me to pass up this rare opportunity to discuss her father. "Unseelie. Isn't that the term you've given to the darker faeries? While the seelie are the brighter, kinder, or more good ones?"

"In a sense. It has more to do with origin than moral code. Daddy is a good faerie. Me, too. Now I am, anyway."

"But you consider your father to be unseelie?"

Her brow puckers. "We're both unseelie. That doesn't mean we aren't good."

"Why are you both unseelie then?"

"It's what we're made of." Her head tilts. "Have I not mentioned it clearly before? Does it matter to you that we're unseelie? I've been doing my best to make sure things aren't too scary for you, haven't I?"

I search her blue eyes. "Yes, sweetheart, you've been good, but please don't teach the other kids to be impolite…by human standards. We can't upset their parents. Okay?"

Perfectly serious, Andromeda whispers, "I just want my friends to stay safe."

"I understand, sweetheart." I fix a smile on my face. "Thank you for looking out for them."

Worry siphons into her eyes as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, then murmurs, "Maybe Daddy should have taken your soul…" Her gaze drops. "If there's a holiday like this Halloween coming up…I'd feel better if he were keeping it safe for you." Touching my hand, she says, "Please don't thank the fae, Ms. Role. Not unless you love one enough to belong to them."

With that foreboding statement, she turns and wanders back to her desk.

?

I let a deep breath fill my lungs before I yell into the woods that rest behind the school outside the fence that houses our truly pitiful swing set and sand-less sandbox. It's a nippy October evening, with a chilled breeze and a beautiful sunset, but I want to pummel the decorative pumpkins I set up at the school's main entrances and exits.

"I'll have what she's having," Zahra notes as she stabs a thick straw into a cup of boba. Sucking a tapioca pearl up the clear plastic, she chews, swallows, and sets her free hand on my back. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't know what to do!" I rake in a breath, plunge my fingers into my curly hair, and wrestle with the rudimentary bun I locked the mass into this morning after I pulled off my silk night cap and undid all the flexi rods. The untamed poofs fall around my face in red chaos once I battle the scrunchie free. "Am I used to the systems failing me? Yes. Do I have a little girl who believes her father can steal souls? ALSO YES." I drag my hair away from my face and stuff it back into the hair tie.

"How do we know he can't?" Zahra offers, helpfully.

I glare at her. "I normally appreciate your sense of humor, Zahr, but right now? About this?"

She slurps, chews, swallows. "I'm just saying. It all matches up if you believe every single thing Meda's told us."

"Faeries aren't real. There is no faerie world. There are no seelie or unseelie fae. It's normal for little girls to have wild imaginations, and it's normal for brains to rewrite unspeakable things in a way that makes it easier to handle. The very notion that so many of her stories include monsters and nightmares that she credits herself with creating is concerning."

Zahra's gaze drifts. "I 'spose."

I sag. "You can't tell me you seriously believe her stories are real."

"I've spent my whole life being told I'm a liar, Kass. I like to believe kids, even when they sound insane. Because I know how that feels. I know what it's like when you start to believe you are insane because no one believes you." She tosses the long, dark part of her half-shaved hair back and looks at the sky. "Child Protection Services can't find her address. What if it's behind a glamour?"

This has to be one of her classic deadpan jokes. With me, Zahra's delivery is almost always monotone, inappropriate, and stuck in a Twilight Zone of is she or isn't she actually joking?

"You're kidding," I state, just as dryly.

"M'not," she slurs around the straw. "Listen, as the honorary kid from a bad home between us, I'm not concerned about the same textbook red flags. Meda's happy, and healthy, and fed, and clean, and I believe her. If you're worried, check out her address yourself. Coordinate a home visit. Consider a possibility that everything you believe…might be wrong."

I stare. A breeze teases her pitch-dark hair, causing it to float angelically against one round cheek and deep violet makeup.

As her sharp green eyes focus, it hits me. "Zahra."

Her nose crinkles. "Ew. Full name. Must be in trouble. Don't bother with reprimand. I'll see myself to the corner." She turns on her boot heel, but I catch her arm, freezing her in place.

The sound of a large tapioca pearl popping up her straw fills my ears.

"Please…please no jokes," I say.

"How dare you. I never joke. About anything. Ever."

"Do you think the voices you hear…are fae?"

Stillness wraps around us for too many long moments. Finally, she looks back at me. "Kass. That little girl hears the same words I do and has had entire conversations with invisible creatures that make sense. I don't think the voices I hear are fae. I know it." She shrugs my hand off her arm and turns, walking backward across the vacant playground toward the school building. "Take from that what you will. As for me and mine—" She smiles. "—I believe the kid."