Constance, after waiting politely and being admitted by Dr. Dyrandulen's secretary, deposits her twenty-eight page report on his desk.

"Ms. Wylf," he says, unimpressed. He pulls a pipe out of his mouth. "I'm discussing your misconduct with the disciplinary committee right now. You may expect several sanctions, as well as a reclamation of the university material you stole."

"No theft was committed, as that report will explain." Constance tucks a misfit strand of hair behind her ear. She didn't have time to fix it properly after writing all day. She barely made it here before business hours closed. "The books and the book cart were all property of mine; a survey of the library will confirm it. The fae, of course, are thinking beings and therefore not property. Therefore the fairy tomes are rightfully mine."

He snorts. "The committee will have the final say on that."

"They will side with me. But that's not what I came here to discuss."

"Oh? Would you like to issue an apology?"

"I meant no offense to you, sir, so if I've caused any, then yes." She dips her head respectfully. "But I primarily came here to let you read the draft of my paper. I have a copy at home, as do Dr. Carulus and Academic Affairs, so you needn't worry about getting it back to me." Nor could he think to destroy or plagiarize it. His narrow, tree-bark face darkens, and she folds her hands in front of her. "I just wanted to give you the courtesy of seeing it before I put the finishing touches on it and publish."

He rises from his chair, towering. He should scare her, but she meets his eyes and waits politely. He is only human after all. "You," he says, "cannot publish a paper about your illicit... meanderings through the Library of Gifts."

"I respectfully disagree, sir."

"I'll have your job."

"You are welcome to do so. I've drafted up my letter of resignation if that would make it easier for you. I just need a pen to sign."

He puffs up—or tries to. He's too scrawny to do much more than sputter. "Where do you think you will be employed once we loose you from here? You're nothing but a two-bit entry-level instructor. There are ten of you on every street corner."

"I plan on publishing, perhaps speaking at some conferences. I also have three-hundred-and-sixteen fairies to release or rehome. My father had several contacts in the fairy trading business. I don't think it should be much of a problem."

He sneers. "You'd leave us for fairy trading?"

"I don't have to leave if you're eager to keep me." Constance nods amicably. "But it's early in the semester yet. Dr. Carulus has already reassigned my classes so I can tend to the fairy tomes. I'll be back next semester if you'll have me."

"I wouldn't have a smart-mouth like you if you got down on your knees and begged."

Constance shrugs. "That is your prerogative, sir. I'll leave my letter with your secretary." For she has a feeling Dr. Dyrandulen won't do her the courtesy of loaning her a pen. "If you have any further inquiries, you can address them to my lawyer."

His eyes narrow. "You have a lawyer?"

"I'll acquire one soon. Fairy trapping is a lucrative business. He'll be in touch. Good day."

With him white-faced and without words, she turns on her heel and leaves his office behind.

Marek laughs as she tells him the story over dinner. Rosaline tugs at his hair, annoyed he's paying more attention to Constance than her. With a crooked smile, he blows at her and she goes tumbling through the air. She sprays sparks at him, sticks out her tongue, then dives back into her book. Marek and Constance share a smile.

"So." He sobers, taking a drink of his ale. "Where will you go?"

"To the fairy tome merchants first. Then to a lawyer. Then... I think I'll do some traveling. I'd like to see my mother, and my brother and sister-in-law too. It's time I mended fences."

"That'll be good for you." His eyes drop, fingers tapping his mug as a wry twist takes his lips. "I guess we won't see much of you around at the ol' Inky Well, then, will we?"

"Well, I'll be back in town at least once to check on the library." Constance sips from her black lemonade, realizing it might be the last one she has for a while. "I want to make sure the fairies get treated fairly, and Dr. Carulus might want my help removing some more of them since I already have a rapport."

"You'd better make sure to stop by. Jamison's gonna miss you."

He jerks his chin at the boy behind the bar, who did not, in fact, burn it down and rather seems to have blossomed over the last few days. He's currently chatting up a pretty young girl while he pours her drink, and he hasn't even tripped or broken anything once in the hour Constance has been here.

"I most certainly will." Constance takes another sip and finds to her dismay that it is drying up. Their meal will be over soon. "My lawyer will also be sending you your percentage of my sales."

"My what?" His eyes cut up to her.

She smiles over the top of her glass. "Now, Marek, you can't fool me into thinking you don't know what a percentage is anymore. You do math better than I do."

"That's not what I—" He holds up a hand. "I mean to say, I don't want to take your money."

"It's not my money. It's yours. Seconds earn a standard per-sale cut."

"I didn't do it for the money. Please, if you send me anything, I'm donating it to Jamison." His lips quirk, but their usual humor is strangely lackluster. Constance's brow knits. "Now, I unfortunately have customers to tend to"—he slides out of his seat—"but I wish you the absolute best. It's been a pleasure. Truly."

He offers her a hand, and she stares at it blankly. She blinks and blinks again.

"Are you..." Her head tilts. "Breaking up with me?"

"Breaking up? Constance." He runs a hand through his hair. "For the love of all that's right and true, you're leaving. You came in here to eat dinner, told me a funny story, and drop casual as can be that you're not going to be coming back any time soon. I'm thrilled for you, of course I am, but—" His face crumples as she bites her lip, and he holds out his hands exasperatedly. "Constance, what else do you want me to do?"

"Well." She brushes her hands off with her napkin and shimmies out of the booth. She smooths her dress down. "I know it's a lot to ask, which is why I wanted to lead with everything else. You're getting the money either way—"

"I don't want the money."

"—and I know you have a good job here, so I wanted you to be sure you knew I was coming back—"

He takes her shoulders. "Konnichiwa. Would you please tell me whatever it is you came here to tell me?"

She takes a deep breath. "It's just, I rather wondered if you might come with me. My itinerary is plenty flexible, so we could visit wherever you like, though you'll have to put up with me stopping to see my brother, and if I can keep my nerve, my mother—they're the only family I have left you know—and I thought you might be inclined to meet them anyway. And we won't have to worry too much about money, and maybe we'll find a town we like and we could settle down there, or come back here, or just travel if you like that better—"

"Constance Wylf, can I kiss you?"

"Please do."

He sweeps her up in his arms and spins her around. A few hecklers ooh and whistle at them, but Constance is so happy, she doesn't even mind. She leans back, breathless, but Marek only lets her go arms length. She doesn't mind that either.

"Aren't you worried about it being improper," he says, "us traveling together alone?"

"A bit," she hedges.

"Because you've never even invited me into your house." He snorts good-naturedly. "You didn't call me by my first name a week ago."

"Because we weren't..." she trails off, hoping he'll pick up the hint.

"Engaged," he remembers, brows rising.

And since it's only proper that he get someone's blessing, she adds, "And we'll be visiting my brother..."

"Soon, hopefully."

"First off, if you'd like. One of Father's old merchants lives there."

A stupid grin breaks across his face, and he spins her around again. She laughs, her lungs as warm and airy as if she were all filled up with light inside.

Marek calls over to Jamison. "I hope you enjoyed running the bar! I've got to go ask a man for this woman's hand."

"He won't say no," she assures him quietly.

"I wasn't worried about it," he murmurs back. "You talked that fairy into turning human. I'm starting to think you might be able to talk anyone into anything."

She glows with pleasure. Meanwhile, Jamison scratches his head. "How long are you going to be gone?"

Marek shrugs, twining his fingers through Constance's. She thinks they fit together pretty well. "A few months? Or twelve? Maybe forever?"

Constance giggles, giddy and lightheaded and hardly rational. She leans her head on Marek's shoulder. Maybe it won't work. Maybe her brother will talk sense into her. Maybe they'll run out of money and not find new jobs and be poor and miserable forever.

But she doesn't think so. Marek pulls her out of the bar, singing silly love songs and elbowing her when she doesn't join in the chorus until both their voices ring out over the streets. They sound drunk and ridiculous, and for once in her life, she does not mind what anyone else thinks. For this moment, and the moment after that, and hopefully the next one too, she is willing to pretend everything will be okay until confronted with facts that say otherwise.

And perhaps, even then, they will both go on pretending until their irrationality becomes reality, and in such a manner, they can live happily ever after.