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“Can we not let that one loose?” Emmy asked in a squeak.

Atta agreed, electing the quietest of the three live faeries. The one that had sat stoically as Sonder sketched its sinuous body. As Atta documented its sleep schedule. They’d been unsure what to feed the creatures for some time to keep them alive but had eventually found mild success with root vegetables and small rodents. The aftermath of the enclosures had not been pretty and Atta knew they would soon have to embalm these three.

The one who had stoically allowed itself to be studied, eaten with decorum despite obvious distaste, and had yet to make a sound, watched her carefully as she approached. There was something elegant about it. Dignified. Atta’s theories oscillated between thinking it was an evolved form of faerie or higher-up in some social ranking system amongst the Fae. Perhaps it was both. They’d exorcized it from their sixth Stage 4 patient, clamping off its near success.

The faerie stood still in its glass cage, and Atta watched in wonder as it clasped its tiny hands together, awaiting her approach.

“Prepare yourselves,” she instructed Emmy and Gibbs. “Black salt, Palo Santo, and your Wormwood and Tourmaline serum.”

She heard rustling and the clinking of vials behind her as they set up, but she did not take her eyes off the faerie, its too-wide mouth had curved in a smile.

Hello, daughter of many worlds.

Atta staggered back a step. No. That was in her imagination. She was exhausted, that was all. But a laugh echoed within her, vibrating in her marrow.

“How do you coax it out of the body?” Atta asked them.

“One of the Faerie Songs,” Gibbs answered.

“Good.”

“All right,” Emmy said. “Let’s get this bastard recontained.”

Inhaling deeply through her nose and pushing it out through her mouth, Atta wiped away the chalk ward on the door of the enclosure, lifted the latch, and stepped back.

“Bless you,”echoed across her thoughts before the faerie shot forward, pushing the door open and flying out into the dank cellar.

“Be quick,” Atta commanded as it flitted about, trapped within the centre of the room where the wards were drawn on the concrete. “This one is subdued, already trapped. You can’t slow down in a normal exorcism,” she instructed. “What do you use to subdue it to this point?”

“The salt,” Gibbs answered, his knees bent, ready.

“Then the Palo Santo,” Emmy said as she lit a smudge stick, the smoke and earth scent wafting to the ceiling, the faerie already hissing.

“Good,” Atta encouraged. “Next?”

But Emmy was already there, her syringe dripping. “Embalming.”

“Wait.” Atta held up a hand. “Which version?”

Emmy paused, her brow furrowed. The faerie somersaulted in the air, hissing, steaming, but Atta could feel its laugh in her blood.

“This was a Stage 4,” Gibbs recited, “but it’s subdued by the Level 4 embalming fluid, making it. . .” He thought for a second. “Stage 3. Level 3!” he declared to Emmy, who traded out her syringe with trembling fingers.

Her hand was still shaking when she encroached upon the chalk circle, close to the living, breathing faerie fluttering angrily at her eye level. Atta’s heart was pounding in her chest, and she knew her friends’ were too.

“Jar!” Emmy commanded Gibbs and Atta felt a bolt of pride shoot through her.

Gibbs was already there with a specimen jar filled with black salt, waiting.

Emmy darted forward and missed. The faerie chomped its teeth at her and she pulled her hand back, but then she growled and came forward again, shoving the needle in its abdomen. “Bastard,” she hissed.

Gibbs darted forward and scooped the falling faerie out of the air, slamming the lid on.

Emmy let out a little cheer and Atta jumped. “We did it!”

“Wonderful!” Atta clapped her palms together once. “Now, you need to transport it into a warded enclosure.”

Gibbs nodded too many times and approached the cage with Emmy. She drew the ward quite well and Gibbs said, “All right. On three.”