he answer to this, of course, is why not? In most of humanity’s other pursuits, “for adventure” and “for science” are deemed worthy rationales for behavior, and are those not simply gussied-up versions of why not? If Tenzing Norgay and Edmund Hillary didn’t require a treatise to explain their desire to mount Mount Everest, why should I have to justify my interest in interacting with faeries?

However (hypocritically) here is a reason for justifying my inter-est in interacting with faeries: they could teach us how to use light differently.

Now, obviously, humanity already has somewhat of an ability to use light, what with fire, light bulbs, disco balls, etc. I might even say that humanity has somewhat of an understanding of light: for example, that light travels as both a particle and a wave.

Aside for those unfamiliar with the basics of physics: My mother’s physics textbook tells me that light travels as both a particle and a wave. Physicists know it travels as a particle (like little grains of dust, which physicists call photons) because light travels in a straight line and then something called the photoelectric effect and by this point the book starts using words like diffeomorphism and I’m lost. However, a few pages later the book tells me that physicists also know light travels as a wave, because shining a light through two thin slits in a sheet of paper gives a light pattern on the other side just like overlapping waves in a pool. So yay, light can be two things! Aside concluded.

My hypothesis is that faeries are able to manipulate light’s dual nature, using waves to propel themselves forwards and particles to hide behind when they wish to remain unseen. I believe that the shadows of faeries I see in my kitchen (see Chapter 1) are not shadows of light unable to pass through the faeries but shadows of particles behind which the faeries are hiding, and further interactions with faeries will teach us how to use light in the same way.

From the other perspective, we can also assume that faeries are fascinated with some things that we, as humans, find quotidian. For example, I’ve recently discovered that faeries are particularly taken with the chemical reactions that combine heat and yeast. I realized this after encountering faerie footprints on a wide range of baked goods (obviously not on goods baked in my house, which is protected from faerie incursions; again see Chapter 1.) These tiny indentations are no wider than a cat’s whisker and no longer than a baby’s fingernail, but they indicate that, while baking, a faerie or faeries unknown have investigated the contents of the baker’s oven.

While I have been unable to perform any faerie baking experiments in my house, Mrs. Delavecchio has graciously allowed me the use of her oven, never once questioning me on exactly what I was trying to bake nor berating me for frequently burning my concoc-tions. Via these trials, I have determined the following necessary (but not sufficient) conditions for faeries to be attracted to baking:

1. the temperature of the oven must be such that rising is accomplished in no more than sixteen minutes and eight seconds;

2. no sprinkling of spices or sugar on top of the baking; for example, this means no cookies rolled in brown sugar and cardamom before baking;

3. no margarine or any other vegetable fat used in the recipe (which is probably a good idea regardless of faeries since butter always makes everything taste better);

4. no artificial dyes; and

5. what is baked must be a bright and attractive color. This is not as hard without artificial dyes as you might think. Boiling beets gets you either red or yellow dye (depending on the beet). Mashed blueberries get you blue. And then, primary colors achieved, the whole rainbow opens up for you.

Is baking magical or simply science? Is light interplay magical or simply science? I’m pretty sure the answers to these questions depends on your starting perspective: faerie versus human. Once we understand each other’s science, these, and many other things, may not seem magical at all.