“Hmm.” She bites down on a string of licorice, then pulls it until it snaps. “My parents got married when they were my age—nineteen.”

“Wow…”

“Yeah … As soon as they left school. Mages get married young, but that’s really young. My mum says she knew what she wanted in life and didn’t see the sense in waiting.”

“My parents were in their late twenties,” I say. “My dad might have been thirty.”

“When did they get divorced?”

“When I was eight.”

She frowns. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” I rest an elbow on the back of the couch and pull one knee up, so I’m facing her. “You know how they always tell kids, ‘This divorce isn’t about you, it isn’t your fault’?”

She nods. “Yeah…”

“I remember thinking, Of course, it isn’t! Why would you even suggest that? Is someone out there pinning this on me?”

Penelope laughs, and for once, she doesn’t try to hide it. “Did your parents fight a lot?”

“If they did, I don’t remember. My dad was gone all the time, for work. And then, he was just gone.”

“Did they get remarried?”

“My mom did.”

“Do you like your stepdad?”

“He’s fine. My mom likes him.”

“Do they know…” She glances down at my arms.

I laugh. “Have I told my mom that I’m going to hell? No. She wouldn’t even let me play Dungeons & Dragons when I was a kid because she didn’t think Jesus would approve. This would be way too much for her.”

“So she doesn’t know you hang out with giants and fairies…”

“She does not.”

Penelope leans one shoulder against the back of the couch and refolds her legs, so she’s facing me. “Shepard…”

I push up my glasses. “Penelope.”

“Did you really go home with a fairy?”

“I tried.”

“What was her name?”

“Fey.”

She rolls her eyes. “That wasn’t her real name…”

“It’s the name she told me.”

“Why would a fairy name their kid Fey? That’s like a magician naming their kid Warlock!”

“If I ever see her again, I’ll ask her.”

Penelope gets another piece of red licorice, and spins it with one hand, watching the end whip around. “So you don’t keep in touch?”

“We do not.”

“Is there someone else you keep in touch with?”

I clear my throat. I’m looking at Penelope. At her messy ponytail. And her excruciating knees. She isn’t looking at me. “Is that you asking if I have a girlfriend?”

“Or a boyfriend,” she says quickly.

“I usually date girls,” I say.

“You usually date magical creatures—”

“I don’t have a girlfriend, Penelope.”

She looks at the wall. “I should probably add that to the list.”

“What was your boyfriend like?” I ask, before I can process how stupid it is to bring him up.

“Micah?”