Chapter Twenty-four

The Feast of Christmas

We were to feast with elves!

The great hall was even more splendidly arrayed than it had been in the morning. Holly decked the doorways, and garlands of pine boughs, bound with red ribbons and hung with silver bells, decorated the walls and snaked their way about the back of each chair. Red-and-green-leaved poinsettias, as tall as small trees, stood here and there in giant pots covered in red foil. In the center of the hall, between the tables, stood a fifteen-foot blue spruce draped with tinsel and colored ornaments. Amidst its branches, a hundred shell-shaped oil lamps burned brightly, their lights twinkling against the glass of the ornaments.

The long oak tables were laden with delicacies. Tall green candles in gold candelabra burned brightly amidst overflowing dishes of roast beef, turkey, venison, wild boar, grilled salmon, and hunks of juicy baked ham. Mince pies and steaming bowls of candied sweet potato surrounded the meats, along with platters of breads, various cheeses, fresh fruit, and an array of unfamiliar elvish delicacies. Wooden troughs held large salads of fresh vegetables and herbs, and armies of porcelain pitchers offered a variety of dressings.

The merry company was decked out in their finest furs and satins, as was our little party of three. Mab, who had not brought any finery with him, was garbed in a handsome outfit of green and black velvet that had been loaned to him by some helpful elf. He wore it now, despite his complaints that he would feel more comfortable in his trench coat and fedora, and it suited him well. As for Mephisto, he was dressed in a splendid doublet and hose of blacks, greens, and rich earthy browns. Where he had gotten it, or what denizen of what supernatural abode had helped him to don it, I did not ask.

Garments had also been left for me: A Victorian gown with a dark green velvet bodice trimmed with silver satin, velvet panniers, and a skirt of jade green crêpe de Chine. A lovely concoction, and I longed to wear it. Were events to go awry, however, I would never have forgiven myself for having put aside the protections of my enchanted tea-dress while dining with elves. Reluctantly, I declined it. I did, however, put on the jewelry that had been provided: drooping emerald earrings, a matching necklace, and a set of jade hair combs.

A lovely elf maiden led us through the labyrinth of scents and noises to our seats at Father Christmas’s table. I was amazed, considering the august company present, when she placed us just to the right of our host—until I recalled that in elven protocol the most important figures sat at the center of the table, across from each other, while individuals of lesser worth spread out to either side, according to their station. By elven standards, the three of us were relegated to the table edge, a position of obscurity. Still, by European standards, sitting just beside our host put us at the head of the table. Determined to have a pleasant evening, I interpreted our position in the more favorable light.

Father Christmas wore an even more ornate version of the red and green velvet robes we had seen him in earlier that afternoon. At the far end of the table sat his wife, her jolly red face beaming with smiles, and a gown of autumn colors garbing her plump body. She waved to Mab and me as we took our seats, welcoming us cheerfully.

At the center of our table sat Alastor, the elf king, his antlers towering above the crowns of his lords. To either side of him sat the lords of the High Council. Lesser elves of note filled in the rest of the seats, save for ours and six seats across from the king, which had been left empty for the queen and her attendants. I noted with uncomfortable dismay that no place had been saved for Astreus. Apparently, he was not expected.

It disturbed me to sup with elves, so firmly had I been schooled in the evils of accepting fairy food. I knew the fare came from our host and hostess, and even Mab did not fear accepting food from Father Christmas. Yet I found the company so unnerving, I almost requested we be allowed to sit at the next table with the ice sprites and gnomes, both creatures whose natures I comprehended better than that of the cruel, quixotic, whimsical elves. But that would place us below the salt, a position inappropriate for our rank and station. Besides, the elves had been such pleasant company during the one occasion we had encountered them previously. Perhaps I worried needlessly.

Mab inclined his head toward me to make some comment, but his words were lost beneath a fanfare of trumpets. The queen of the elves and her ladies had arrived.

The elven queen glided between the tables. Layers of chestnut, white, and cream gossamer draped her lithe body, forming a high-waisted gown with long flowing sleeves and skirts which rustled as she moved. Her bearing was elegant and regal, but her face was that of a sixteen-year-old girl-child, delicate and fresh. Strings of diamonds, glittering like dew, decorated her auburn hair—or perhaps they were strings of dew that sparkled like diamonds. A golden tiara framed her lovely childlike face and glittered in the candlelight.

Behind her came her ladies, each fairer than the last. Fragile layers of moss green and sea blue draped Undine’s slender form, and lilies adorned her blue-green hair. Behind her came graceful Sylvie, living butterflies perched upon her silvery locks. Lengths of sky blue, ice blue, and the purple of a brewing storm fluttered around her svelte body as she flowed forward. Floramel followed her, in a gown the color of orange blossoms, rose petals, and lilacs. Her dark locks were woven with exotic orchids. Gloriana’s gown imitated living fire, as tissue-thin layers of red, orange, and candle-flame yellow flickered around her fair form. Her crimson hair was arrayed with columbines, bird-of-paradise flowers, and wine-red roses. Last came the incomparable Iolantha, the gentlest and most compassionate of the elf queen’s ladies, dressed in gossamer of white and gold, her chestnut hair adorned with dogwood flowers.

As the elf queen and her retinue came forth through the hall, all rose. Mab, Mephisto, and I rose as well, and stood politely as they seated themselves. The elf queen took her seat, and regarded the gathered company with gracious mirth, her dark eyes sparkling as she prepared to speak. Then her eyes fell upon us, and all amusement died.

“Must we dine with Aftercomers?” she demanded archly in her sweet voice, her childish face stern beyond its apparent years. “Alastor, have them sent forth!”

I sat down abruptly, wishing I had sat among the ice sprites after all. Once, long, long ago, I had been thrown out of a feast. The humiliation still rankled, especially when I recalled the grating laughter of the French courtiers, how they had made merry over our plight as Father and I were dragged out, and dumped into the dirty straw outside the feast hall. It was soothing to remember that time had outstripped them, and they were all dead now. That succor would never heal this wound, should we be shamed before the immortal elven court. The elf queen had been charming to us the one night we had met under hill. I had not anticipated this reaction.

The king of the elves laughed. “What report will be given of our hospitality if we turn guests away during a blizzard, dear queen? Our host’s guests at that? We can hardly refuse them seats at our host’s own table.”

“The girl then, but not him!” Queen Maeve pointed at Mephisto.

“Whyever not? How is he different from any other mayfly?” King Alastor’s tone seemed solicitous, yet his gray eyes danced with cruel merriment. Queen Maeve drew herself up, her dark eyes snapping.

Before she could speak, Father Christmas’s deep voice boomed across the table. “He is my guest.”

“Well and good then, we shall move.” The queen started to rise, halted, paused, then sat again. Her color high, she stated flatly, “I shall not impose upon my subjects by asking them to trouble themselves. We shall remain, and endure.”

I focused my attention intently upon my plate, determined not to smirk. The events that had just transpired had not been lost upon me. The queen had begun to rise, but the king had not. Uncertain how many courtiers would follow her should she depart, she had decided that it was better to eat with Aftercomers than to risk losing a contest with the king over the loyalty of the court.

I was grateful for Father Christmas’s support. Our host’s open blessing and the tacit approval of the elven king, however, were not enough to buy us acceptance. None of the elven courtiers seated nearby spoke a word to us or even acknowledged our presence. Rather than make a fool of myself by attempting to discourse with them, I turned my attention to our host and listened with pleasure to his amusing retelling of the highlights of his escapades the previous night as he delivered this year’s gifts.

Snatches of conversation floated down our way. The elf lords spoke of battles fought and cruel games played upon unwary adversaries. Ivaldi described a journey into the bowels of the earth, the gem-studded splendor he had encountered, and a game of hurling played against the Nibelungs. Valendur, Carbonel, and Aundelair described conquering the unconquerable peak of Koshtra Belorn, and of what glory they had beheld while standing upon the icebound top of the world. Vandel told of a furious battle between a thousand of his best knights and the Sun. One by one his knights had fallen, until he stood alone. Yet, he had dealt the Sun a grievous blow before surrendering the field. Delling spoke of a fabulous pleasure palace of flower petals and thistledown held together by cobwebs and morning dew, while Fincunir entertained the king by recounting a chess game he had played against a mortal who thought himself invincible because he took his instructions from a machine.

Across the table, Floramel and Sylvie delighted the queen with tales of a changeling boy they had stolen and taught the elven arts of raising mushroom rings and calling fireflies; while Undine and Gloriana entertained with stories of their star-crossed mortal lovers, and of tricks they played upon the Wayfarers. Iolanthe recounted a conversation she had overheard between an angel and a water nymph.

Yet, all the while, no matter what the elves said, their conversations conveyed the feeling that they were really speaking about something else entirely, that their poetic words and stunning revelations were but a façade, a veil drawn across their secret meaning, which they communicated to each other by hints and innuendos no Aftercomer, unfamiliar with the intimate dealings of their court, could ever hope to comprehend. I found it eerie and bewildering.

Mab ate quietly and kept his mouth shut, but Mephisto was not so discreet. When the elves sitting near us would not speak with him, he began shouting his questions down the table toward the elven lords.

“Yoo-hoo, elf lords? Anyone know where Lord Astreus is?” he called gaily.

The bottom of my stomach fell away so violently that I grabbed the table, as if to keep myself from falling. While I was terrified for my brother’s safety, I also found myself listening attentively, as if something very important rested upon the answer. Chagrined, I tried to return my attention to my meal.

The elf lords regarded each other. Ivaldi Goldenarm, their craftsman, answered first. While as graceful and well-featured as any elf, he was the stockiest member of the council, his face rounder than his brethren, and his muscled shoulders wider. “A well-fashioned question, brothers. Can any here answer true? I know not where our absent brother tarries.”

“Oft doth wanderlust afflict him and rob us of his presence.” Delling looked to be no more than a youth, though he was as ancient as the rest. “Ever does he seek new vistas where nary a foot has trod.”

“The wind goeth where it listeth.” Carbonel Lightfoot offered a morsel of bread to the mink that lay curled across his shoulders. The little beast accepted it eagerly, its bright eyes darting about the hall. “So, too, our brother, be it to the secret home of the phoenix, or the gardens at the top of the world, where the wolves gather one night a century to watch the lunar snowdrops bloom, or to the far shores beyond the Walls of Night.”

“Many seasons have come and fled since last my eyes beheld him, either in truth or in the dark waters of my far-seeing pools.” Valendur the Dark’s eyes were black as coals, and his face held unearthly beauty. “Yet, all places do my pools reveal, except the Void and the Infernal Abyss.”

“Last time I saw him, we danced for joy. ’Twas during the great celebration we held in Forestholme, in Astreus’s honor, the one seven-year that Hell forgave our debt.” Delling lifted his fluted wine glass. “A toast to that wondrous day! And to our absent brother for arranging it. May we have many others like it!”

The elves raised their glasses and drank with the toast. I toasted as well, clinking my glass against Mab’s. It never hurts to be polite.

Before the conversation could resume, however, Mephisto’s voice cut across the table again. “King Alastor? What happens to elves who are tithed?”

Silence.

From the shocked expressions around the table, I gathered Mephisto had just committed some awful faux pas. Perhaps elves did not like to discuss the fact that they handed one of their number over to Hell every seven years. I could not blame them. Perhaps, the queen had been right to fear dining with Mephisto. The uncomfortable silence was broken by Lady Christmas, who called happily from the foot of our table for someone to pass the stuffed mushrooms.

Mephisto, fool that he was, would not let the matter drop.

“You didn’t answer my question, Your Majesty,” he shouted. “What does happen to elves who are tithed?”

“Shut up, Harebrain!” Mab growled through his teeth. “You’re going to get us all killed. Or worse … there are worse things than death that elves can do to people, you know.”

“Yes. I know,” Mephisto whispered back, his voice gravely serious. “Like tithe them.”

From further down the table, Aundelair the Cruel spoke. He was called the cruel not because of his treatment of others, but because of the harsh standard to which he held himself. He was famed for never having broken his word, no matter how dire the cost of keeping it.

“We do not speak of such things,” he said gravely, regarding Mephisto with his cutting blue gaze. Apparently, his brother Fincunir did not agree.

“What my brother hesitates to say is that, in truth, we know not.” Fincunir’s voice was light and mocking. “We know as little of the secret councils of Hell as we know of the will of long-abandoned Heaven. And if you believe talk of the tithe disturbs us elven lords, you should see how we scatter like frightened field mice at Heaven’s mention.”

Fincunir’s words brought frowns to the faces of several of his brethren; however, their efforts to chastise him were interrupted by a loud hollow booming that echoed from beyond the great hall.

“What is that?” Mab asked warily.

“That is a knocking at the Uttermost door, the door that opens upon the Void,” said Father Christmas.

“Do not heed it!” ordered the elf queen. Father Christmas frowned but said nothing.

More knocking came. Father Christmas nodded to the elven serving maidens in their pretty gowns of red and green. One rose and began walking toward the great archway that led toward the outer hallways.

“Open not the door!” commanded the elf queen. The elf maiden hurried back and resumed her seat.

Once more the knocking came. This time, Father Christmas himself rose to his feet. In a booming voice, he called out, “Enter, Man, and be welcome! Merry Christmas!”

“You fool!” hissed the queen. “You know not what you let …”

A dark cloud, as black as soot, billowed into the chamber, seeping between the tables at the far end of the hall. Amidst the blackness was a figure blacker still. My stomach tensed as I peered, seeking blood red eyes. Thank goodness I had worn my protective enchanted dress. But, my flute! I had left it in my room, assuming we were safe from Hell’s servants here. Would it be in greater danger if I ran for it or if I remained?

As the black cloud reached the tables where the candles burned, it vanished like mist before the sun, leaving behind a faint odor of dry ice. This was not the black substance that issued from Gregor’s staff, but a gust of unnatural black snow. As the snow evaporated, the figure standing in its midst became visible. I caught glimpses of gray fur and deep blue enameled leather.

So it was not Seir of the Shadows after all. Whom, then, did the elf queen fear?

The black cloud parted. Several people gasped, including the queen … and Mab … and me.

The figure who strode toward us was of a height and stature with the other elven lords. His handsome garments were of wolverine and silver fox inset with dark blue enameled leather, slashed with black satin. From his shoulders flowed a mirrored cloak with a tint of deep blue, the feasting guests and candlelight reflected in its surface.

Piercing gray eyes gazed out from beneath hair the color of storm clouds. His features were elven and aristocratic. Upon his head, where should have sat a crown of stars, was the silver and horn coronet I had seen resting beside the chain-bound door. Had Father Christmas opened all those chains with just his vocal invitation?

“It’s him!” whispered Mab. Rising, he rushed forward and knelt before the newcomer. “Lord Astreus!”

“Mab!” Lord Astreus gave a laugh of delight. His voice was a rich baritone, pleasant to the ear. Laying his hand on Mab’s shoulder, he said, “Rise, good spirit. I thank you for your homage. Return to your seat and enjoy this merry food and company.”

Mab came walking back, smiling to himself. Meanwhile, Mephisto grabbed my arm and whispered loudly, “Look, Sis! It’s your elf!”

My heart leapt at the sight of him. “So it is.”

King Alastor slid back his chair and turned to face the newcomer. His back was to us, revealing broad shoulders, dark hair, and a massive rack of antlers.

“A clever entrance, Astreus Stormwind. Most impressive, and one certain to inspire curiosity in your audience.”

Lord Astreus strode down the length of the hall and knelt before the elf king, his head bowed respectfully before his liege. Yet, there was a subtle gleam in his eye that ill matched his subservient pose. “Your majesty. It does my heart good to look upon your face again. I have dwelt too long in gruesome darkness and gazed upon much unfit for elven eyes.”

The elf king gestured, and Lord Astreus rose to his feet. The elf king regarded him in silence. Finally, he asked, “And where have you tarried, these three centuries, since last you danced with us at Forestholme? Come share with us tales of the sights you have seen and the far places you have journeyed. We have missed your counsel and your company.”

Astreus replied with knightly courtesy. “Sire, I have been about the business of the queen.”

King Alastor turned to Queen Maeve and quirked his brow. “Indeed? What pursuit is it you send my courtier about which keeps him so long from my side?”

“Lord Astreus teases, Sweet Alastor. ’Tis no business of mine,” she replied, the color high in her cheeks.

Lord Astreus regarded the queen. A smile born of something other than mirth curled at the corners of his lips, and something unrecognizable flickered in the depth of his eyes, which had shifted color from gray to storm black. “Indeed, your majesty is mistaken. For I would not tarry at such tasks were it not by your explicit will and order.”

Queen Maeve laughed sweetly. “’Tis a private matter, milord, of which I will speak to you anon.”

King Alastor inclined his antlers in assent. To the servers he called, “Maidens, bring a chair for our Lord Astreus, for he has the look of one who has traveled far and is need of rest and succor. Gentle lords, make room, that Lord Astreus may sit at my right hand.”

“Thank you, Sire,” Lord Astreus replied. He glanced about the hall, breathing deeply of the aroma of the feast. As he looked over the assembled company, his glance fell upon me and passed on. I wondered if he recognized me, or if he even remembered the tryst he had made and broken. Probably not.

Unexpectedly, his gaze returned, fixing on me with dawning recognition. His dancing eyes were now as blue as sapphires.

“Miranda!”

“Trifle not with the Aftercomers,” declared Lady Floramel. “’Tis the queen’s wish that they be shown no favors, beyond that of being allowed to sup in our august company.”

Astreus halted. He cocked his head and gazed at the queen with eyes as silver as mirrored glass. Anticipating he would heed his queen’s will, I sighed with unexpected disappointment, which was quite foolish. After all, he was an elf. It was amazing he remembered me at all.

“Surely, Lady Floramel, you mistake our queen’s intent,” Astreus replied. “For no elf, be she maid or queen, would fail to honor the Handmaiden of Divine Eurynome, who is adored by all true elves.” Bowing toward King Alastor, Astreus continued, “Sire, I appreciate the favor you show me, but respectfully decline. Do not oust my brethren from their seats on my behalf. Let me sit, instead, beside this fair maid, and speak with my servant Mab regarding the fate of my people. For I have been long absent and would hear how they fare.”

“My lord, an elf lord supping with a mortal maid? ’Tis not done!” said Queen Maeve. Her voice remained girlish and sweet, but her young eyes were wintry. King Alastor regarded the queen, then Astreus, then me. His gaze was penetrating, as if he saw far more than mere appearances might reveal. As he examined me, a half smile on his lips, I noticed anew that the elf king was a comely man, well-favored, and much admired by maidens and matrons alike. He had a reputation for beguiling ladies who drew his regal attentions. As my Lady’s Handmaiden, I was immune to his charms, but I lowered my lashes demurely nonetheless.

Now I was most glad I had not chosen to sit among the ice sprites. Astreus’s defense of me more than made up for the elf queen’s slight! Yet, as I waited for the elf king’s decision, my initial delight faded. What motivated Astreus? Did he truly desire to dine in my company? A flattering thought, but rather unlikely, considering that he had not only failed to appear at the rendezvous he himself had solicited, a mere seven years after we had first met and danced, but also he had avoided my company at whatever Centennial Masquerade Mephisto claimed he had attended. More likely, this was some subtle stratagem meant to discomfort the elf queen, whom he seemed bent on needling. If so, I wished he would leave me out of his schemes. The elf queen was not an enemy I wanted to cultivate.

Finally, the elf king spoke. “I see no harm in letting our wayward lord sup beside Eurynome’s lovely handmaiden. He has been away so long on your behalf, my queen. Be merciful, and do not stand between him and his chosen amusements. Sit, Lord Astreus, dine, and be merry. When this feast is through, come to me, and we shall speak at greater length.”

Lord Astreus bowed. “It will be my pleasure, Sire.”

The queen frowned, and her ladies pouted, but there was nothing to be done. The elf king had spoken.

Victorious, Astreus came to stand beside me, his chosen entertainment. As he went to place a chair brought by a serving maid between Mab and me, he halted with some surprise. “Mephisto!”

“Astreus,” replied Mephisto. They gazed at each other solemnly, and a glint of something like hope leapt in Astreus’s eyes, changing their color to leaf green. Then, Mephisto gave his usual goofy grin, and the glint died away. Oblivious, Mephisto chattered on. “Good to see you again, Mr. Elf.”

“And you, my friend. I see the years have not changed you.” Astreus’s voice was tinged with sadness as he took his seat.

“Not at all,” Mephisto agreed happily. “Grape?” And he tossed a grape, bouncing it off the elven lord’s forehead.

Astreus caught the grape. “Ahh … so this is to be my welcome, is it? At least, I shall be able to say that my Christmas feast was not without its merriment.”

* * *

As the feast continued, the elf lord sampled the many delicacies and expressed great appreciation for the wholesomeness of the cuisine. His conduct increased my suspicion that he only chose to sit among us to displease the queen; for while he claimed he wished to sit beside me, he hardly spoke two words to me, directing most of his conversation to our host and to Mephisto. Yet, several times I caught his eyes, now a brilliant blue, resting upon me, and his golden hand casually brushed against mine as he reached for the candied rose petals and the glazed juniper shoots.

As we supped, it occurred to me that I might be safer here, among the elves, than in Ferdinand’s presence. Elves were dangerous, true, yet they were dangerous in a manner I understood. If one obeyed the rules and did not ask for favors, or eat their food, or accept gifts, all would be well. With Ferdinand, every step was unexplored territory. There were no rules to protect me or to tell me how to proceed.

As I ate, I could not help comparing the two men. Ferdinand radiated warmth and sincerity. I felt comfortable in his company, and found I could speak easily about nearly any subject. Astreus, on the other hand, was capricious and untrustworthy. Yet, there was something fascinating about him, something fey and light that lifted my spirits and made all manner of impossible things seem suddenly within my grasp.

I dismissed this, for the most part, as some quaint elfish trick. Yet whenever I glanced in his direction, I found it difficult to draw my eyes away, and when he caught my glance and smiled, I could have sworn the Northern Lights danced around us both.

* * *

As we waited for dessert, Astreus addressed Mab, who had been watching him in quiet adoration, and the two began to converse about old times. The elf lord was quick to laugh, his eyes crinkling with his mirth, yet Mab continued to treat him with the utmost awe and respect. As they discussed the Aerie Ones, Astreus asked how each one fared today. Mab answered as best he could. More often than not, however, it was I who provided the latest details.

Lord Astreus smiled into my eyes. “I see you know my people well,”

His gaze went to my head like sweet wine, but I did not care to be intoxicated. The sting of having waited for him for hours by the river, while the stars revolved and finally set, had never quite faded, and his smile now brought it into sharp relief.

“I like to think of them as my people,” I replied warily.

The mirth in Astreus’s eyes grew still, and they changed from sky blue to a colorless gray. His aspect changed as well, suddenly seeming more fey and unearthly. In a voice scarcely above a whisper, he asked, “Is that so? And yet, they served me freely. To you, they are but slaves.”

“They are not slaves,” I replied haughtily, taken aback. “They swore an oath.”

“Ah … oaths.” The corner of Astreus’s mouth curled cruelly. “And do you condone the imprisonment of living spirits, who toil and suffer because of words they cannot unsay?”

“They agreed,” I insisted.

Behind him, Mephisto had stopped eating mid-bite and had turned rather green. He began waving his hands about trying to get my attention. When I spared a glance his way, he shook his head desperately and mouthed, “Ix-nay on the O word.”

Meanwhile, Astreus spoke, “Perhaps they did. But, are they free to depart should they so wish?”

“They have agreed they would not,” I answered, annoyed by his tone.

“You elude my question: can they depart at any time of their own choosing?” Astreus’s tone was calm, but there was something terrible in his pale eyes, something that froze my blood, as if he had seen some sight so appalling that the horror of it now spilled out of him and contaminated me.

I eyed Lord Astreus cautiously. Was this the same carefree elf I had danced with on that summer’s night, centuries ago? Had this relentlessness burned in his eyes back then? Such intensity seemed out of place in an immortal creature. Last time, I recalled, he had been like the other elf lords: detached, lighthearted, unburdened by the cares of the world. Either something was very different, or the qualities I saw now were but a studied pose, or some trick of elven glamour. Either way, I decided to give him an honest answer.

“No. They cannot.”

“Then they are slaves, and you their slaver.”

“No!” I cried, refusing to back down. “They are voluntary servants who gave their word.”

“Is that the way of it?” His voice was now as soft as the breath of the Angel of Death.

Astreus stood and spoke in a voice that carried across the hall. “I fear my queen had the right of it: mortals are indeed unfit companions for elves. I have learned the error of my ways, and beg your pardon, your majesty.”

The elf queen smiled. “You are forgiven, Lord Astreus. Come, sit here beside me. Maidens, attend to him.”

Astreus strode away, joining the queen, while I stared down at my food, my cheeks afire. I knew now, without any doubt, he had deliberately not kept our tryst. As his laughter drifted down the table, mingled with that of the queen’s ladies, I wondered if he and his companions had sat in some nearby tree, laughing at the foolish mortal girl who had fallen prey to his charms. No longer hungry, I covered my dessert with my napkin and prayed the evening would soon end.