"Constance!" Marek calls as she reappears in the library. The smell of books and the afternoon light wash over her. Marek struggles against bindings made of weeds, which have sprouted up through the floorboards.

Constance hurries to him, but the fae block her path. She calls out, reaching through the crowd. "Marek!"

The courtier sighs dramatically. "Let him go, you idiot peasants."

"We didn't touch him!" they protest (surely thinking she's angry at them for breaking their earlier oath). "No, no, we did not."

She rolls her eyes and flicks a finger, and the binds dissolve (though the cracks in the floor do not). "This woman has won my favor."

A whisper of awe ripples through the little fae. Sharing equally disbelieving and curious glances, they crowd closer. Marek looks equally incredulous, and Constance nods at him reassuringly (or what she hopes is reassuringly). A sea of fae separates them, but he looks half ready to charge through it—probably to everyone's detriment. Constance nods again, gesturing for him to stay. He rocks on his heels but waits, eying the courtly fairy over her shoulder dubiously.

"Is there perhaps anything," Constance says, eyeing the courtier, "that you'd like to set to rights before I make my wish?"

"What? Oh. Here." She waves her hand and patches up the floor.

Constance, taking a quick breath, summons the well of patience she must occasionally draw up for her less-than-quick-witted students. She nods her chin at the ashes of the first locked-fae Constance talked to. "I was thinking more along the lines of life and death."

"Oh." With the same lackadaisical hand flip, the incinerated fairy's ashes put themselves back together, and he gasps back to life.

The other fae cheer (mostly. One boos, and another cackles most disconcertingly). The resurrected fairy does a jolly dance and falls down gibbering with joy at the feet of his queen.

"Yes, yes," she says, toeing him away. "Run along now."

Constance bites her lip (which she is very glad to have again) in order to hide a smile. She hopes the courtier will make a better human than she does a fairy queen. "Are you ready?"

"Of course I'm ready." The woman's hands go to her hips. "I'm the one granting the wish, aren't I?"

"Wish?" Marek asks worriedly.

Constance glances over her shoulder. "It's okay this one time. Trust me."

He tilts his head, as if deferring. His hesitation, though, makes her double check her work. She doesn't think the fairy will double-cross her, but it never hurts to be sure.

"Where's Rosaline?" she asks.

Marek comes forward to pass her the tome, and Constance opens it up. Little Rosaline zips out and flies around Constance's head before nestling in her hair.

"I'm glad to see you too, little one. Now, give me a hand if you will." Constance writes out a new protection circle spell (a bit more carefully worded than the one she wrote last time she was surrounded by fae). She tugs Marek into it to make sure neither of them get possessed or anything nasty like that when she makes her wish.

He eyes her, trying to figure her out. She just offers him a shy, mischievous smile back.

"My queen," Constance addresses. "I am ready to make my wish."

"Finally," the courtier sighs. "You are slower than the creep of centuries, Constance."

"I wish," Constance says, choosing her words carefully, "for you to be human again, returned to the same age you were before you became fae."

The courtier claps her hands, and thunder cracks outside. Blue lightning flashes, and Constance squeezes her eyes shut from the blast. When she opens them again, a woman not much older or shorter than Constance stands there, flesh and blood, with shoulder-length black hair. Tears drip down her cheeks, but their sorrow is undercut by a rapturous smile.

"Magic," she breaths, looking with wonder around the library as if seeing it with new eyes.

"Magic indeed," Constance agrees, twining her fingers through Marek's. He looks down at her in confusion, but she doesn't let go. After a moment, his fingers close around hers as well.

The next day, Constance marches triumphantly ahead of her cart of (unlocked) fairy tomes. She and Marek emerge from the library, just before sunset, while Dr. Dyrandulen is mid-Venting-Day-speech. He sputters at the disruption, and professors look at each other in confusion and fear. Some even scramble back, as if Constance were an escaping fairy or malevolent vision. A wide smile breaks out over Dr. Carulus's face.

Constance curtsies politely to Dr. Dyrandulen. "You may of course seal the library as you see fit, sir, but I don't think it will be causing anyone trouble anytime soon. Mr. Starke and I have collected three-hundred-and-sixteen fairies into these two-hundred-and-three tomes." Many of the fae, after watching Constance win over their queen, had flocked to her, and offered to double, and even triple, up on tomes upon realizing there weren't enough to house them all. (The queen herself slipped off many hours before, which Constance thinks is for the best).

"Much more work needs to be done of course," she continues, "but I estimate we've rehomed forty-percent of the fae population, including a fae courtier. The resulting decrease in leaking magic should be more than proportional." She curtsies to him again, then once to the other professors in the crowd. "Good day."

When she takes off again, Marek follows her with the cart, its wheels rolling merrily along the cobbles. The professors part as she passes, watching with wide eyes.

"Someone stop her!" Dr. Dyrandulen finally sputters. "She's making off with university property."

But no one moves, other than out of her way. Behind them, the Library of Gifts sits silent, and probably has done so most of the day. They must have wondered why; now they have their answer.

A clap starts up, and Constance blushes. She glances back to see Dr. Carulus is the one cheering her on, and other professors pick up with them. Her cheeks burn, but for once, she doesn't mind. She curtsies one final time before she and Marek spirit away.

"Well," he says when they reach her door. "Here you are."

She twists her hands, not quite able to meet his eyes.

"You... okay?" he checks after she hesitates.

Her eyes dart up to his, and she says in a rush, "Yes, and I know it would be polite to invite you in, and I'm sure you have a ton of questions—"

He raises a hand. "My only question is when are you coming for dinner."

She blows out a slow breath, shoulders sinking in relief. "Tomorrow. I need some time to think. I have a paper to write, and I need some sleep, and decisions to make and—"

"Konnichiwa. Tomorrow is perfect."

Relief courses through her again, and (to both of their surprise, she thinks) she finds herself offering him a quick hug. "Thank you," she says, pulling back before he's had a chance to return the gesture. "For everything."

His brow comes together. He points at the door. "You're not going to go in there and do anything drastic, are you?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow."

"Konnichiwa..."

"Can't you just take a thank you?" She snatches up the handle of the book cart. "Goodnight, Marek Starke."

Her back is turned as she fiddles with the lock to her door, but she can hear the smirk in his voice. "Goodnight to you too, Constance Wylf."

Then his footsteps are tapping away, with a whistle to match their beat. Constance pushes into her apartment, drags the books inside, and collapses on the couch.

She opens Rosaline's tome on the coffee table. "Say your goodbyes, Rosie," Constance yawns, snuggling into her cushions. "I don't think we'll be here much longer."

Rather than zoom around like she often might or try to pry the lid off the crushed mica bottle or get into any other amount of mischief, the little fairy comes and lies on Constance's cheek. Her tiny hand pats her skin.

"Love you too, little one," Constance murmurs.

What Rosaline gets up to after that, Constance can't testify to because she falls into the hardest sleep of her life.