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“She knows, huh?” When he turned back, Heather’s gaze was sympathetic. “Is this the part where I say I told you so ?”

“You told me so,” Rai agreed, pouring more water. He turned back to the drawings. “She wishes no more of me. If she were to know I had purchased another…” An idea struck him, and he turned back to Heather. “Would you consider a trade?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Poppy will not allow me to buy more art. But I have the art I have already bought. And I much desire…” He swallowed.

“One of these drawings is a special memory to me. The hand. If I give to you one of the drawings I have already purchased in exchange for it, then I have not bought more of her art, and she may still sell it to others. I will not have stolen her renown. Will you do this for me?”

Heather’s eyes narrowed. “Which drawing are you offering? ”

He reached into faerie and twisted out the framed drawing of the hummingbird.

“It is the best of them all,” he said. “It is full of life, of Poppy. It holds the vitality of her soul. And…it is also a memory, a sweet one. I would not give it up, but…” He glanced back at the art on the wall, the drawing that was him as well as her. “Some memories are greater.”

Heather was frowning at the drawing in his hands. “Where exactly were you hiding that?” she asked suspiciously.

“It does not matter. Will you trade?”

“I shouldn’t,” she said, but she took the hummingbird drawing from him. “There was someone who asked about this one. It is one of her best. She just keeps getting better.”

“She is amazing,” Rai said, though his stomach twisted.

He had been such a fool. If he had found better words when he’d viewed his portrait, he would not have offended Poppy, or needed to reveal his lies to try to salvage things.

“I am certain it will sell. See how the bird seems ready to fly? It is safe and at rest, but in a moment it will be gone. There are flowers to drink from, songs to sing. She has captured its essence perfectly.”

“You,” Heather said as she slipped out from behind the counter, “could have a real career in sales.” She switched the hummingbird for the hand, bringing him the drawing he desired. “I don’t even have to change the name tag right away. It works for either of them.”

Rai ran his hand over the glass. “What did she name it?”

Heather smiled. “‘Flying.’”

Of course. Rai drank the last of the water, considered his hydration levels. He was well enough to make it back to his motel haven, he judged. “I must bid you farewell. My thanks for all you have done for me.”

“You’re leaving? Does Poppy know?”

“She knows I must go. The life of a traveling salesman is…” He did not know what it was truly like.

He dug back into his mental trove of motivational quotes, picked one at random.

“‘I do not fear the man who has practiced ten thousand kicks once. I fear the man who has practiced one kick ten thousand times.’”

He stood up straighter. Practice.

“Okay, Mister Non Sequitur.” Heather sighed. “What do you want me to tell Poppy about the drawing switcheroo?”

“Anything,” he said absently. “Tell her I switched them when you were not looking, or that I raged about the room breaking things, or that I was a foul-tempered beast when you would sell no more drawings to me, cast lightning throughout the shop, and swirled it away in a storm of magic, leaving the other behind in the rubble.”

“Wow,” she said with a laugh. “Drama much? I was thinking something more believable, along the lines of you being such a pathetic, lovesick droopy dog that I took pity on you. But if you want something more manly—”

“No need,” he said. “My award is in the mail.” He nodded curtly and exited, holding the door for a couple that was entering.

He thought hard as he flew to his motel.

His strength was flagging. The air was taking it; he could feel it fading with each beat of his wings.

But instead of exerting himself in a final burst to land outside his door, he set down on the far side of the parking lot, swirled his wings away and walked in the brutal sunlight across the space, up the stairs, and to his door.

Step by excruciating step, the afternoon sun sucking moisture out of him every inch of his progress.

He was dizzy and wobbling when he stumbled into the welcoming damp, but he was alive.

Though he had to admit, he was not well. He staggered to his tub, fell into it, and turned on the water, sighing as he soaked it up.

Practice.

He plucked his phone out of faerie, went to his bookmarks. Opened his favorite source for motivational quotes for salesmen. Scrolled up and down, searching for wisdom.

But they all said the same thing, when it came down to it.

Don’t give up. Make the sale.

Do what you think you cannot do.

He did not want to give up on Poppy. And yet he would also not go against her stated wishes, not ever again. He had been a fool, but he could learn. He had learned how to pretend to be a man. He had resources, he had time, he even had a brain, however foolish.

Perhaps he should learn how to be a man, with no pretense.

Perhaps…

He opened his last message from Poppy. Her last statement of what she wanted him to do. The orders she had given him.

We agreed that when you left, it had to be over.

There was his loophole. When.

Well, Rai would not leave at all. Then it would not be over.

Ofelia would understand when he explained it to her—or she would wash her hands of him forever— but either way, he had made his decision.

There would be no leaving. He would stay until he finally found a solution.

A solution that encompassed Poppy’s other requests, that he not contact her and not find a way around the phone number block.

There had to be such a solution, and he would find it, because he could not fulfill her other demand, to have a good life , without her.

He would solve the conundrum. He would do the thing he could not do.

As she had so kindly—if mistakenly—said, he was smart enough.

He just had to figure out how not to die.