“I just wish they wouldn’t make so many homes in my drywall,” I reply, half-joking.
Dr. Luten gives me a long look as she sips her drink — a coma-inducing mixture of syrups, foams, and non-dairy milks I can barely comprehend. Sensing judgement, I rush to add, “I mean, I think they’re cute, but they’re also pretty loud.”
“That’s because they communicate through song,” she explains. “They have an incredibly advanced language, actually. Studies have shown that they create new ‘words’ for unknown things, and that they pass them on to their flights.”
Aflightis a group of pixies, and the study she’s referencing is actually one she co-authored five years ago. It showed that pixies have a vocabulary, and that while different flights have unique songs, they also share enough common language that when two pixies from completely different groups meet, they can effectively communicate.
The reminder that they’re intelligent, if loud, little creatures makes me a little abashed. I rub my neck as I try to find a way to redeem myself. It’s too early in an interview to be so wrong-footed.
“I don’t love loud neighbors, but I’ve been a fan of pixies since I was a kid,” I tell her. “We have so many in the city. I loved to see them flying around the park.”
“They build their nests under slides sometimes,” she replies, nodding.
“And they’re in basically every holiday story and song.”
Dr. Luten cracks a serene smile. “That’s true. My favorite is the one where they steal cakes and leave their footprints in powdered sugar all over the house.”
“Well, we used to keep them as pets, right? With those claws and their brains, it was probably hard to keep them contained,” I say, shuddering a little at the idea of trying to keep intelligent little creatures out of my sweets stash. It’s hard enough to hide it from my mate, who barely even eats to begin with.
“Definitely. And that’s part of the reason we stopped keeping them as pets. Collectively, I mean. Some people still do.” She adjusts the collar of her white fur coat, her eyes drawn to the squabbling giants trying to negotiate with a massive Moon display determined to list to one side. “You can’t actuallykeeppixies unless you want to lock them in a steel box. They keep themselves. Pixietamers have to convince a flight to stay, and if they choose to go…”
She shrugs. After another sip of her drink, she asks, “Do you know the origin of all those stories? The ones where pixies get into the feast before Moonrise?”
“Uh…” I wrack my mind, but nothing comes up. “No? I figured it was just a regular enough occurrence that everyone could relate. You know, since there’s always so much food around at that time, and pixies were more common in homes.”
“Well, that’s true,” she agreed, “but actually it’s related to something a lot older than that.”
Intrigued, I shift a little in my seat. It’s not a large bench, so my attempt to get a more head-on look at her bumps my thigh into her hip.
It’s not a hard hit, and I wouldn’t think anything of it under normal circumstances, but I’m startled when a furious, high-pitched trill erupts from the furry depths of Dr. Luten’s coat.
“Um—” I don’t get a chance to ask her where it came from before the doctor continues, either oblivious or unconcerned.
“In many cultures, particularly in Eastern Europe, Scandinavia, parts of the Mongolian Steppe, and northern India, it was tradition to scatter flour or spices around offerings of food left out for pixies.” She walks two fingers in the air to mime tiny little steps. “While the pixies ate the food, they’d walk in the dust. In the morning, people would find their tracks and interpret them to predict their fortunes for the year.”
Briefly distracted from the sounds still coming from her coat, I ask, “Wait, people actually left food outforpixies? I thought they were always stealing the Moonrise feast.”
“Well, it’s probably tied to that,” she replies. “I’ve seen some theories that folks put out offerings at first because they thought it’d distract the pixies from the real prizes, and the fortune-telling came later.”
“That makes sense, I guess.” I pause, waiting for her to address the squeaks and whistles coming from her coat. She doesn’t. “Might even be a fun tradition to bring back if people have a pixie problem.”
“Pixies aren’t a problem,” she asserts. “People are the problem. We bred them to live close to us and send our messages, but the moment we figured out a different system, we abandoned them. It’s not their fault. Yes, holes in walls obviously aren't ideal, but homes with a pixie population actually have dramatically fewer instances of pests because they eat insects and don’t tolerate rats or mice.”
The sounds coming from her coat appear to have multiplied. Setting my coffee on the arm of the bench, I abandon all pretenseof politeness and gawk at her coat, which now appears to be moving.
Dr. Luten doesn’t seem bothered by it at all. She crosses one leg over her knee, her white boot bobbing up and down with an upbeat rhythm. “If everyone tried workingwiththeir pixies rather than trying to push them away, we’d all be better off,” she says, her calm voice a little firmer than before. Snorting, she jokes, “People might even be able to tell their future.”
I try not to notice, but it’s no use. I have to know. “Moira, I have to ask— What on Earth is happening in your coat?”
Looking a little surprised, like she can’t believe someone noticed the cacophony coming from her clothing, Dr. Luten pulls the collar from her neck.
Instantly, a little blue head the size of a pingpong ball erupts from the snowy fur.
I jump a little, taken aback by the dark compound eyes that fix on me. Tiny clawed fingers sink into the fur as it stretches upward, little nose twitching to get my scent. There’s an iridescent gleam behind the creature — a flash of translucent wings.
A pixie stares me down, judging my worth, as Dr. Luten says, “This is Puck. I rescued him from a trap three years ago, but he couldn’t be released because his leg was permanently damaged.”
Still holding her collar away from her chest, she dips her chin to peer down into the depths of her coat. “And then he bonded with Crumble, and next thing I know they’ve started a flight.”
