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set to work glamouring the most realistic high school transcript I could. I had to use the Internet search engine to understand the meaning behind the letter grades, and then I had to exercise restraint in choosing my own. When Taylor returned nearly twenty minutes later, I was reclining in the desk chair and admiring my work.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” he said, holding two plates in his hand as he shut the door. “My mom caught me and wanted me to eat dinner with them. We got into this whole big thing—here.” He held out a plate. From what I could tell, the plate held potato mash and corn.
    â€œI thought it was customary to dine with one’s family,” I said.
    â€œNot necessarily.” His tone had a defensive edge. “She goes to bed early, because she teaches, and my dad has a lot of late meetings.”
    â€œMeetings for what?”
    â€œOh, right.” Taylor tapped his fingers on the desk as if bored. “He’s a low-level employee at Benson and Wallowitz. It’s the city’s leading accounting firm.”
    â€œThat’s interesting.”
    â€œNot really. He wanted to be a marine biologist.”
    â€œTo study the creatures of the sea?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œFascinating. What happened?”
    â€œI did.” Taylor laughed, picking up the glamoured transcript. “You made this with Excel?”
    â€œI’m a fast learner.”
    He touched the page gingerly before handing it back to me. “This is really your first time using a computer?”
    â€œI told you it was.”
    â€œAmazing. Oh.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out something sharp and shiny. “I almost forgot.”
    Oh, Darkness.
    The fork glinted in the light, its tines taunting me. My thoughts began to race. My gloves were on the other side of the room. I couldn’t very well use wind to lift the utensil in front of Taylor. And then there was the little issue of putting iron in my mouth.
    Then again, many metals used by humans did not contain iron. But was it worth the risk? And the burn?
    â€œTaylor,” I said, my voice small and defeated.
    â€œWhat did I do?” He studied the fork for an answer. “Is it dirty?”
    â€œNo, it’s fine, it’s just … I can’t really use certain metals,” I explained, searching for words and failing. Would something so small be the thing to expose me? “I’m just—”
    â€œAllergic?”
    â€œAllergic.” I repeated the word, hoping he would take it as agreement.
    â€œWhat about plastic?” He slid the fork back into his pocket. He wasn’t mocking me or trying to make me feel foolish.
    What game is this?
    â€œThat would be lovely,” I said. A crow cried outside the window, and I glanced at the cell phones on the bed. “Take your time.”
    After he left to fetch the new utensil, I tore a corner off a small piece of paper and wrote the words Green, begin. Red, end. I wanted the instructions to be simple, and vague in their origins, in case the phone fell into the wrong hands. That way the interceptor would have no cause to believe it came from a faerie. I slipped the paper and one cell phone into the bag the phones had come in.
    Moving to the window, I let out a squawk, calling to the crow who lived in the tree. The bird left her post, gliding down to the windowsill.
    I held out the little blue bag.
    The crow fluffed her feathers, cawing pleasantly, and I whispered softly in an old fey dialect that animals could understand. “Take this to the marshes below the Dark Forest, to a marsh sprite by the name of Illya. Her wings are green and veined as leaves; her amphibian frame, spotted with black. You will know her by her eyes, cerulean around a golden iris. Unusual among her kind.”
    The bird dipped her head and took the bag in her beak.
    â€œThank you, friend.” Stroking her feathers with one hand, I dropped a glamour over the bag to