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were Jim’s band before Red Horizon—Celtic rock meets R’n’B. Seriously. They were terrible. Even Jim, with his charisma and sex appeal, couldn’t save songs from lyrics like “I want to make love to you to the beat of the bodhran drum.” Their website was a couple of pages, neon-colored, with flowers and a hippy-dippy theme. Matthew took one look at my puzzled face and tried to explain that the band had requested those colors and they were nothing to do with him or his web-design abilities. He was right about the lack of visitors: the last entry had been four years ago. Blondie18: OMG Jim you are sex on legs.
    And so on a Tuesday afternoon in the first week of May,Matthew and I posted the letter and the first Step online. I stood behind, peering over his shoulder, doing backseat typing.
    “My granddad talked about the fairies.” Matthew smiled back at me. “He was from a farm in Galway. He died years ago, but I remember he used to always leave a bit of milk in the end of a glass for the fairies, and he’d never finish his food, he’d leave a few bits. He said you had to keep them happy.” He shrugged his shoulders.
    “Looks like they were easily pleased with just a few leftovers.”
    “Yeah, I dunno.Some of that stuff is kind of nice. Thinking that there’s something else out there, that maybe it isn’t just this.”
    “Do you believe it?” I asked cautiously, and as the words slipped out of my mouth I knew I was unsure as to which way I wanted him to respond.
    “In fairies?”
    Slowly I nodded and bit my lip apprehensively.
    “Don’t look so worried.” He laughed at me. “I dunno, a lot of it is kids’ stuff now. The tooth fairy, leprechauns.” He shook his head. “But it didn’t start off like that. It used to be adults who were talking to fairies, like my grandfather.”
    “And was he a bit gaga?”
    Matthew did a look of mock disdain and grabbed his chest dramatically. “How dare you think that my ancestor could be gaga.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    “No, honest, he was fine. Still doing The Irish Times crossword every day until the end. I think it was just different then. There were more ghosts in corners and banshees wailing. Everyone went to mass because they were scared they’d end up in hell. It’s not surprising they believed in fairies.”
    “But now, like, you don’t believe in them now?”
    “They’re a nice idea, but they belong to another generation. A generation long dead.” He smiled at me. “Don’t worry aboutthis stuff. It’s harmless. You’re not performing any crazy sacrifices or weird religious things. Come on, she wants you to whistle to flowers. It’s grand.”
    “Yeah, you’re right. It is grand.”
    “Anyway, we’ve done our good deed for the day. Coffee?”
    I jumped up. “I’ll get it. I was going to swing by Marjorie’s desk to pick up that show reel.”
    I was happy to step away from the fairy chat, which was making me feel uneasy. Besides, Matthew made horrible coffee.
    Marjorie was three years younger than me, two years qualified, and one step away from robbing my job out from under me. She made no secret of her ambitions. Her steely determination would have been admirable if it was not in direct competition with my own meekly disguised self-promotion. She sat on the same floor as Matthew and me, but a few departments over. Her back was poker straight, she was neatly pulled into her desk, her sleek blond ponytail contrasting sharply with her all-black leggings and figure-hugging polo neck, highlighting her curves that often caused the cessation of work in the all-male production department, much to her delight.
    I idly approached her before picking up and absentmindedly fiddling with the stapler on her tidy desk. “Hi, Marjorie. How’s it going?”
    “Kate. Good, yes.” She eyed me perkily. “Busy, busy.”
    “Tell me about it,” I lied.
    “I’ve been put onto the porn account,” she said quietly, puffing out her ample chest, her