“I decided I’d miss my cousin too much,” she told him, smiling at the hopeful look in his eyes.

Oh, he was a handsome bugger, no question. Maybe she should kick him out of the band so that they could start seeing each other.

Geordie

Whenever I didn’t stay at the mall after a revel—especially when Galfreya had specifically asked me to—I ended up carrying this pang of regret throughout the day. A kind of yearning that I could feel, but couldn’t quite define. Today was no different. She was in the back of my mind when I fell asleep, just behind my concern about the conversation I’d had with Hazel. Those thoughts absorbed me until I recalled that mysterious snatch of fiddle music I’d heard in the mall’s parking lot.

I slept deeply for a few hours, then woke suddenly to a feeling I couldn’t name.

Loss, I realized after a few moments.

I felt as though I’d lost something, but I didn’t know what.

It wasn’t until hours later, after I’d fallen asleep again and finally gotten up in the midafternoon to start my day, that I realized what it was: I felt no specific yearning to go back to the mall. To play music with the fairies. To be with Galfreya.

The need was noticeable only by its absence.

I grabbed a shower and shaved, then went through the pile of clothes lying on the foot of the Murphy bed, looking for something clean to wear. I had to do a laundry soon, no question, but it could wait until tomorrow or Monday. Right now I needed coffee and something to eat, and there was nothing in the apartment.

I got myself a take-out coffee and a muffin from the neighbourhood coffee shop to see me through, then caught the subway to my brother Christy’s place. I didn’t have to hope he’d have coffee on. Christy was addicted to the stuff, the same as me. He always had coffee on.

Coming in the door to his building, I met his girlfriend Saskia on her way out. She smiled and gave me a hug. It’s funny, I’m not much of a one for physical displays of affection, but it was different with Saskia—and not because she’s so attractive. If whoever it was that started the whole dumb blonde thing had met her, they’d have picked on brunettes or redheads instead. She was pretty and smart, a published poet with a social conscience and a huge heart. And somehow, when she hugged you, she didn’t seem to invade your personal space. She just confirmed your connections to the world around you. Or at least she did for me.

“Be warned,” she said when she stepped back. “He’s in a bit of a mood.” I raised an eyebrow.