I was up to my wrists in sewage sludge. Some of it had dried on my shirt as well. And I was just trying to clean the closet below Rose's sink.

I had opened dozens of stench traps in my life. Why my mother's was of a different design, I couldn't fathom. I hadn't meant to open it quite when all the water came already spurting into my lap. And consequently onto the floor. And into the cupboard below it.

Oh, well. The pipe was now clear. All that was left was just cleaning the closet below it, where there hadn't been a bucket, and I was done.

I rose and tried out the faucet, running water to the basin below, where it drained into the pipes in a beautiful whirlpool. Perfect.

I went out to clean myself by a tap on the outer wall where the garden hose was connected. I unplucked the hose and let water into the bucket that could have saved me from all the mess.

I could have used the shover. But it felt like waste of good water. The water inside the house came from the town and cost. It was purified and came hot as well. While the water of the garden hose came from a small lake uphill and was very much free. Also refreshingly unheated.

I enjoyed the late afternoon sun against my bare back as I walked, shirtless, to my car. I flung the used shirt to the backseat. I stood by the gray car, holding a clean shirt and sighed heavily.

A part of me wanted to get onto the driver's seat and just leave. Just call it a day. But I had promised Rose to stay because she was off spending the evening with Miss Fig and Daisy and just today Timothy's nephew would come to visit him. Rose wished me to be here, just in case they needed something.

Like a car, for instance.

Daisy had picked up my mother, so her car was still neatly parked by mine. And the licenseless Timothy couldn't use it. Rose would have let him. But Timothy had no idea how to start the engine. And this Nephew might know how to drive, or might not. But as Rose had never met him, she wouldn't let him have her car.

So I would be their personal chauffeur, in case they wanted one.

I leaned against the hood of my Toyota and crossed my arms over my chest, staring down the road to where Rose's garden lay, hidden by trees.

I hadn't yet heard any wheels grinding sand, so this nephew couldn't have come yet. Timothy, when he had let me in to see to the clogged sink, had been vague on how his nephew would come here in the first place, if he didn't have a car. By a taxi maybe?

Whatever the means however, he would need a vehicle. I would have heard it coming as I worked. Fixing a stench trap wasn't so noisy I wouldn't have heard them.

And suddenly I heard a motor.

I pulled the shirt hastily over my head, just in time to see a black motorcycle speed up the climb to the house.

Nettle put it sideways behind my car so it would be impossible for me to leave before she did. She took off her helmet and flashed me a radiant smile.

"I heard there was action happening here today," she said. "Someone new? So I came to check."

I nodded grimly. Nettle had been here often these past few days. And while she and my mother were on good terms, I didn't think it was because of Rose. She hadn't visited her this regularly last year.

It was the city boy that intrigued her.

And she wasn't the only one. There was much talk about Rose's new au pair. My father had asked me to bring him along to the Gnarled Duck, the local pub, one day. Because even Moth had his curiosity picked.

"He hasn't arrived yet," I told her.

"You sure of that?" She asked, staring behind me. "Or did I drive so fast I see things in twos?"

I turned around.

And cursed.

She was right. Timothy was just stepping onto the front porch while another man was holding the door for him. It seemed they intended to settle around the table there. Timothy was carrying a tea pan and cups. He lifted his gaze to us and said something to the other. The latter went on to set the table, while Timothy turned to greet us.

We went to him on the porch.

"When did he arrive?" Nettle asked before I could.

"A couple of minutes ago. We were just heating some water. Plume, my nephew, he brought some Oolong from Breasinghae."

"What's Oolong?"

"It's just a type of tea," Timothy explained for Nettle.

He drew a chair for her. "Please join us. Bramble as well. I'll get us extra cups."

Nettle smiled at him. Timothy smiled back at her. And she seated herself on the offered chair, while I chose a chair next to hers, opposite Timothy, who left us and went to find two more cups.

Then the nephew turned to acknowledge us.

He wasn't a tall man. Maybe slightly younger than Timothy was, but definitely not a teenager. By his features he could have been younger, but he carried himself far too confidently to be underaged. He was wearing a white collared shirt and black trousers that were not jeans. If Timothy was lean, he seemed delicate. He was also immaculate. The shirt was clearly new and ironed. He was clean-shaven and his short, black hair seemed modeled, maybe with gel. The man sported a silver watch on his right wrist that showed as he offered me a hand to introduce himself. Were those cufflinks?

"Plume, Timothy's nephew."

"Bramble, Rose's son."

I grasped the offered hand heartily, while he hardly pressed. The gesture he offered was delicate, fitting a lady. I saw then the wooden high heels he was wearing. Despite them, he was still shorter than I was, though not by much. I found myself looking into dark eyes with the circles of contact lenses visible around them.

I gripped his hand as I would the hand of any man. Maybe just a little harder than was necessary. His hand felt smooth in my hard, callused grip.

I might have imagined it, but it seemed like his polite smile suddenly widened a fraction.

The hand I was pressing turned into iron.

Plume matched my strength with a strength of his own that I hadn't anticipated. He squeezed my fingers together painfully.

I tried to match the grip.

He put his free hand on my shoulder.

"Pleased to meet you, Bramble. I hope you have kept good care of my dear uncle. I am sure you have." He winked.

The squeeze became suddenly almost lethal. I thought my fingers would pop, one joint after another out of their sockets.

Just then Timothy pushed open the front door again, holding two mugs.

The pressure was gone and the deceptively fragile looking youngster turned to greet Nettle, kissing the back of her hand. The gesture was delicate, like both their hands had been made of butterfly wings. She almost giggled. But not quite. Just almost.

I tried my best not to grunt as blood returned to my fingertips.

Timothy drew out a chair for me.

"Tea?" 

He offered me one of the mugs he had just brought from the kitchen.

Timothy wore again a polite smile that could have hidden any emotion at all. He might have seen our handshake. Or as well not. He poured me a cup of brown liquid that misted slightly in the afternoon's slanted sunlight.

Plume sat to my right. He smiled warmly at me. Wickedly.

Under the table I massaged my right hand with my left one.

And what had Daisy said? That Timothy didn't have a family. So, who was this odd man? A friend? A lover? Why would they lie about a familiar tie?

"Oh, thankyou uncle!" Timothy had just reached out to pour his nephew a cup as well. Plume took it with a nod of his head. "Did I say the Queen sends her well wishes? I got the tea from her."

Timothy nodded acceptingly.

"Who is the Queen? A name?" Nettle asked.

"Just someone I know and Plume respects greatly. She is... she is quite the person. But her real name is Mo."

Plume leaned back in his chair and balanced on the hind legs, holding the teacup with both hands. I wished he would fall.

"I know who you are, Timothy has summed you up," Plume said to me. "But who are you? I haven't heard a word about you." He turned his head to Nettle.

"Me? I am just a friend of Rose's." She turned to look at Timothy accusingly. "Not a word?"

Timothy shrugged. "I had a lot to tell."

"Oh, yes, you did. You have met so many...people it seems."

"You have?" Nettle asked Timothy.

Again, Timothy shrugged.

"Sure. I have met you, and the librarian. And Rose, and Bramble. A few elves, too."

I sighed internally. So, Rose had told Timothy about the elves. Well, I was glad I hadn't been around when it happened. She and Fig were mad about them, so were half the village. I was really tired of hearing the old tales. And if Timothy was having fun pretending he believed some of it, then good for my mother, I supposed. Because I was done with the subject, as I had let her know.

"Elves?"

To my surprise, Nettle had leaned closer and was staring at Timothy intently.

"You have met elves?"

Timothy looked surprised by her reaction. He looked at me, and then exchanged a glance with his nephew. Plume shrugged.

"Your choice, uncle. You can lie, or tell the truth. I know you. You are capable of both. I don't mind either way."

"Well, that was helpful." Timothy set his cup on the table. He grimaced and stole a glance my way. Then he directed his words to the girl.

"Yes. I have been visited by two elves while I have been here. And I am not at all sure what they want or don't want of me. I have never met elves before and what I have seen is confusing at best. Why do you ask?"

Nettle stared. Then she narrowed her eyes.

"And is that now the truth, or are you lying?"

Timothy smiled.

"You want it to be true. That much is clear. Your turn to answer me, Nettle. Why does it interest you so much? Have you seen elves?"

Nettle looked at the table. She sighed.

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" Timothy asked.

Nettle was still looking at the table, obviously a bit embarrassed.

I jumped in to explain:

"It's a village obsession here, that there are elves in the woods. Most claim to have seen them. It's said that children go missing sometimes, taken by the elves. It's how adults make them not to wander. There are all sorts of stories and legends. Rose says her sister was taken by elves. She just died young and they buried her in the woods, Lily I mean. But my mother has spun the tale into a legend."

"Really?"

Timothy looked as intrigued as Nettle a moment ago.

"People talk of them? Like many people talk of them."

"Yes," Nettle said, obviously relieved now to see that Timothy shared her interest in the mythical beings.

"Many people keep carrying offerings to them. They can grant you almost anything, a good harvest or money. Treasures and divinations. They leave sometimes offerings on the shrines, too. And it is said... I mean... It is easy to see an elf, but you can't keep the memories. Unless..."

She shut her mouth. Then continued:

"So that is why I say that I might have seen them. I am not sure. Probably I have. I just can't remember. I might have even visited their realm in the mountains. And I still wouldn't know. Fig has been there. Almost certainly. She disappeared for a whole week when she was young and can remember nothing of where she was."

"That is kind of impressive," Plume said.

We all turned to him, but the delicate youngster just waved it off.

"I must tell all this to Aconite later. Please continue, Nettle."

Nettle blushed.

"You are taking me seriously, aren't you? Bramble doesn't believe in them. He thinks it's all bogus."

I snorted. Of course it was all bogus! Superstitions kept alive because people wanted to believe in fairies. And it was hard to lose a sister, as Rose had lost her, to suicide. Much easier to claim she went to the woods and became an elf someplace else.

"Of course we do!" Plume said. "Back at the capital it's vampires. And I have seen vampires, and so has Timothy."

I couldn't help laughing. Nettle sighed.

"I knew it. You were just teasing me. Nevermind."

After that we didn't talk of elves.

When evening settled, Nettle offered to take Plume back to the town of Grenbrea where he was staying at an airbnb. So I was watching with Timothy as she rose to the saddle and Plume settled behind her and wrapped his arms around the girl. I saw him whisper something to her that I couldn't hear. And then they were off.

"Are you worried?" I asked Timothy, for lack of anything else to say. "She didn't have a spare helmet."

Timothy shook his head.

"I am more worried for her, helmet or not. Plume isn't mortal. She would have to really try to hurt him and even then it would be difficult."

He turned to me. And eyed me up and down with those colorless eyes of his. I felt a chill travel up my spine.

"Is she all right? Nettle I mean. You have known her for a long while."

"What?"

But just then we heard more wheels on sand and Daisy's tiny peugeot came to view, struggling to get up the pathway.

"That was your nephew, wasn't it?" Rose asked once they arrived. She clambered out of the small car, thanking Daisy as she came.

"He was really handsome. Oh, don't look so shocked, my little child. You will always be the man of my life. Is he a model?"

Timothy shook his head.

Daisy rolled open the passenger window.

"Is he a human?" She asked from behind the wheel.

Timothy blinked, but he answered, absolutely seriously:

"I don't think he is."

Rose and Daisy laughed. Timothy smiled, but politely. He could have been thinking anything.