As I watched helplessly, Al staggered upright, stumbling to a rack holding six bottles of white wine I hadn’t noticed before. At a loss, I turned back to Trent, immediately seeing his ears.

“This is elf wine!” Al announced loudly, and Trent frowned. “Oh, Rachel, this stuff is toxic. Knock you on your ass. Where are we?”

“Somewhere you shouldn’t be,” I said, frustrated. Trent had opened up to me, showed me something important and fragile to him, and I go and bring Al into it. That it was an accident didn’t mean anything. My gut hurt, and seeing my scrying mirror, I scooped it up and held it up to Trent so he could see himself.

Trent frowned at his red-tinted reflection. Then his eyes went wide and he grabbed the mirror from me, holding it closer, tilting his head to see. In the corner, Al began to laugh uproariously, the bottle of elf wine lighter than when he had taken it. “She gave you your ears back, little elf!” he said, and I cringed. The night had started out so nice, too.

“I’m sorry,” I said, miserable. “I thought that your ears were changed at the cellular level, genetically stunted. I didn’t know they had been surgically altered.”

“Pointy ears. Pointy-eared devil,” Al said as Trent held the mirror with one hand and felt his ear with the other. “This is good,” he added, squinting at the bottle. “Ha! It’s your label.”

I couldn’t tell what Trent was thinking, and I cringed when he finally met my eyes. “I can change them back . . .”

“No, this is fine.” He took a last look, then handed the mirror to me. “Um . . . I like it.”

He was lying, and I hunched miserably into myself. From the corner, Al said, “Want me to cut them for you?”

“No!” Trent exclaimed, then shifted on his feet nervously. “This is good,” he said as if trying to convince himself. “Ray and Lucy have natural ears. It’s fitting that I do, too.”

“You sure?”

He looked a little ill, but he was smiling. “Yes, I’m sure. Thank you.”

One foot cocked behind the other, Al leaned heavily on the counter and belched. “At least your hair will stop falling into your eyes with those huge wings of yours.”

I stiffened. “They are not huge,” I said crossly. “Trent, don’t listen to him. They’re just right. Seriously, I can fix them,” I said, reaching to touch them.

Trent’s hand on my wrist stopped me. “I like them,” he said, and I froze. Letting go, he retreated to his chair, sitting down and unlacing his dress shoe.

“What are you doing now?” Al questioned, listing heavily as he tucked another one of those bottles under his arm and staggered for the cot half hidden behind a curtain. “Seeing if your circumcision is gone? It is.”