My breath was literally taken away as I stared at the man; he was stunning. I would not have been surprised if the rumoured beauty of the elves originated because of him.

Aubrey had stark cheekbones—high, elfin and delicate—eyes that were almost black, but with swirls of blues and purples that were entirely Fae; his lashes were long and thick doll-like. His skin was pure and white, like porcelain, and his hair was a perfect, silky straight of a deep, claret purple. Had it not been for my sharp eyesight granted from my vampirism, I may have thought it black. His lips were of a beautiful, slightly rosy shade; but their true attractiveness came from their natural pout and noticeable softness.

The only feature that was truly humanizing was his nose; it was crooked, as if it had been broken and healed multiple times.

I stared at him, he stared at me.

I do not know which of us was more shocked. I, at least had dressed up to be shocking; he was just that gorgeous.

Then again, I had no idea if this was his real appearance or if it was glamour. The glamour would certainly explain the colours and perfection in front of me.

“Mr. False, this is my brother, Aubrey Savage,” Oberon began.

Aubrey rose from his seat in a smooth motion; his voice was as deep sensual as his looks, “Please, join me.”

I would have blushed, except I was busy trying to swallow my tongue and not show my ever-hardening fangs, “Avery False, Mr. Savage.”

I held out my hand for shaking. My fangs were slowly going back down as I concentrated. God, this was embarrassing.

He blinked at my hand and then took it, raising it to his lips like I was a girl. My fangs drew all the way out and I bit my tongue. Despite my difficult situation, I shut down my face, schooling my expression to remain perfectly neutral; a vampire knows how to disguise emotions that could betray a weakness.

I took my hat off and sat down.

“Well, I have a party to attend. Don’t have too much fun, darlings,” Oberon’s voice sounded bored. Had this been a perfectly normal greeting? I was giddy with the thought.

For the first time in my life, I was glad I was not entertaining other vampires—my fangs had fully extended as a sign of my lust; another vampire would have offered to help.

But Mr. Savage just sat down and went back to his tea.

The maid returned, picking up the teapot in order to pour me a drink.

I waved her off, “I don’t drink tea.”

“Some coffee then, sir?” She asked.

I shook my head, “It never tastes very good coming back up.”

She looked confused which made me smile sympathetically. I flashed my fangs, and her eyes widened.

“B-begging your pardon, sir... but are you one of them vampires?”

“Gwendolyn that will be all tonight. Leave us,” Aubrey cut in before I could reply.

She curtsied and then literally disappeared. I cocked an eyebrow. Either she could teleport, or she was showing off invisibility.

I returned my attention back to the depressed fairy in front of me, forcing my mind to ignore his Adonis body, and instead focusing on his posture and manner.

If I could get my mind out of the gutter, I might be able to utter a few syllables of logic.

He had pinched lines around his eyes and there was a resigned set to his shoulders; the man was withered in his mind, and it showed. His eyes were a glassy calm mask that betrayed the truth—he had been hurting for so long, he had gone numb to everything. Oh, he still seemed to be functioning, but there was a broken void under the vague pleasantries.

Perhaps Oberon had been right to scoff at the idea of a psychologist; this was a wound that had been left to fester.

I had not seen anyone in this bad of a state since the Truthseeker.

I knew that I had the right medicine for such a task—laughter truly was the best medicine in the world—but Aubrey’s condition might have already turned fatal. I had to find out how bad it was.

“Well, I trust the—” He began; pleasantries were a sort of courtship when you were over three hundred.

“Mr. Savage, your sister would like me to cure you of the most dangerous disease known to immortals,” I threw it out deliberately, watching his reactions like a hawk while pretending to examine my fingers; I had glitter everywhere.

The disruption of the hollow customs got his attention, and he focused on me. A little confusion showed. Good; he was not totally beyond hope.

“I foolishly and arrogantly agreed, but I see now how rash that was.”

“You can tell from just a greeting?” He blinked.

“Oh, yes.” I ran my fingers down my shirt, feigning arrogance, “You see, I am the superlative Jester—King of fools and fool of Kings. I have served in the highest courts and lowest halls. I am without peer or equal in the practices of charlatans, gypsies, fools and cheats. I am the greatest joke that ever lived, and I can tell right now that you, my dear pixie, are a lost cause.”

He blinked again, his brow creasing in either confusion or annoyance—either was a good sign.

I had seen ancient creatures as bad—even one far worse—than he. They had seen too much, done too much and no longer took comfort from the universe. It had taken all my effort and a Chinese puzzle box to break the Emperor in; and then the Truthseeker—just remembering how far I had been forced to go for that one was painful.

By comparison, Aubrey was the biggest challenge I had faced since I was three hundred. I was much older now, but I was not kidding myself; it was not a simple task to resuscitate an old man.

Something inside my mind niggled at me—did I have the conviction to do this? Making another happy bares a part of your soul to them; it is consuming and dangerous because, when you confront depression, sometimes you yourself can fall prey.

What was motivating and fun and fantastic for others had become routine and cliché for me. I could not remember the last time I had genuinely laughed. It was the same question that reflected in Aubrey Savage‟’s eyes—when was the last time he had laughed for the silliness of living?

“I am a lost cause?”

“Yes, any fool can tell; no matter what joke I tell or song I sing, nothing will move you to so much as an iota of a smile. I mean, just look at these lines on your face—good God, man; you’re supposed to be immortal, but you look like you might be older than my Beetle’s albums! No, it is simply too sad to think about it; I cannot help you.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, rubbing my jaw like this was a real problem, “But this is a problem for me.”

“How does my apathy affect you?”

“Well, my life depends on it.”

“What?” He frowned.

“I gave my word—on my life—that I could cure you.”

“Oberon would not take a life over this little matter. You are trying to deceive m—”

“Oh, no! Not your sister, silly pixie. It was to my Lord, and if you think Dante would let me live after such a disgrace, you are sorely mistaken,” I wrung my hat in my hands. “Seven hundred years, and now I’m fucked because of a suicidal fairy.”

“Are you trying to aggravate me?” He was sounding like it already; apparently they really did not like being called names.

“Don’t act like you can still get pissed off. I see that beaten, defeated look in your eyes. It’s pathetic, really. Did you know Dante Alighieri modelled the Harlequin character after me? I was the glory of Italy and France—God, and what have you done in the last seven hundred years? Moped around because a woman died? Did you hide in your room the whole damn time? I had a love, a shining glory of a romance; will I see her when I die?” I sighed, looking very upset; I was channelling emotions that I had not felt in a long time.

He had to believe this, the deception needed to be mirror clear.

“Why are you asking me? And don’t call me a pixie.” His voice rose to a threatening level then. Ah, indeed, the Jester had struck a nerve.

I twisted in my chair, mirroring his posture and position with an obnoxious air, “Pixie, elf, wildling, idiot, buffoon.” I poked the bear.

He lunged at me almost unexpectedly. Emotion flashed across his face, impossible to hide—anger. Anger is the enemy of apathy. If you can feel angry, you can feel; and if you can feel, you can heal. It is only when we have lost the last of our emotional connection that we are truly gone.

“Pixie, gnome, goblin—what was that...sprite!” I leapt to the other side of the chair, narrowly avoiding his wild attack.

The sprite comment must have struck a nerve because he reddened ever-so-slightly and lunged again. Apparently choking me to death was worth the effort for that insult.

“What are you, a child!?” He hissed.

I was standing on the coffee table, balancing lightly on my hands, feet dangling in the air.

“What are you, a child?” I mimicked.

I found, a very long time ago, that even the oldest of supernaturals hate to be mocked. I had driven vampires to a red-mist of frothing rage in fewer than three words on several occasions.

Apparently it worked on fairies just as well.

I had him chasing me in a lap of the room—around and around we dashed.

I knocked over small things, like the potted plants; ran up the walls and danced just out of reach across the ceiling. He was fast—almost fast enough that he could have caught me—but I was nimble and agile; he was predictable.

I laughed impishly as I threw a cushion at him to slow him down. He batted it away, darting around the armchair in time to cop another cushion to the face.

I flipped backwards as his fingers reached for me, landing on the head of the other chair with a grin, “Too slow, old man.”

“We’ll see about that,” He snapped, launching at me across the table; he knocked the teapot over without a second glance.

I shrieked and scurried off the chair, slipping around the side as he flew through the air. A savage grin pulled across his expression; he had me cornered between the coffee table and the wall.

I echoed his smile and slowly—deliberately—let my eyes fall to the contents of the table; it was not I who was trapped. He followed my gaze; his mouth showed confusion, then, what I liked to call ’manner’s horror’ as I reached for one of the cream cakes.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” I grinned, daring him to stop me; I was the naughty child, the bringer of mess to the court.

“I will kill you,” He cautioned. It was probably a nice coat he did not want ruined.

“Well, if I am to die, then it should be with some style... and I should make the crime worth it.”

I threw the cake, plucking it right off the plate in a lightning fast motion. The cake hit a surface, thin and invisible and rebounded back at me, smacking straight into my face with comic timing.

I wiped the cream out of my eyes with a disgusted noise. It had strawberry jam in the middle, I found.

Aubrey laughed. It was a soft rumble, a hesitant chuckle that bubbled out of him. It began with snort and huff, slowly clawing its way up his throat like a long dead thought.

Then, the sound roared out of him, his shoulders shaking. He wheezed like a smoker; he coughed, and that made him laugh more.

I tossed a bit of gunk from my face at him and he dodged with a delighted shout. He picked up another pastry and lobbed it. I ducked.

I returned fire with a tart and splattered caramel and custard down his shirt. He bellowed a jovial war cry and we circled, each holding the last of the pastries in hand like deadly weapons—slices of Fuji cheesecake held threateningly aloft.

It was a war of attrition.

He rushed me, laughing like it was actually painful; I was sure it was. His mouth grew into a wider smile as he smacked the edge of my ass with the cake. I squealed, but managed to get his thighs, even as I tumbled childishly over the table and fell. I messed the rug with my dirty clothing, and rolled as he followed me.

The classic comedies are always the easiest to enact, and often the most effective.

We battled now, barely using any strength as we tumbled together across the floor. I matched his seeking finger with mine and rolled him over. Again, a jolt of power surged down my spine.

I was shocked as I saw what was behind the perfection.

I was straddling his hips, my slim thighs locked on either side of his abdomen; our hands joined from finger-to-elbow, and his mulberry hair flew haphazardly around our struggling forms.

Aubrey Savage was glowing bright violet purple, like a halo or aura around him.

He pulsed with colour; his skin was glistening with life. He also smelled like honeysuckle and pears, sweet and lively.

His smile made all his face explode with reaction, like suddenly, the world around him brightened.

It actually felt like it did brighten.

I sucked in my breath, shocked by the laughter in his eyes.

Something must have shown on my face.

He read something in my expression that darkened his eyes from all that shining innocence to something that was primal and full of desire.

And he kissed me.