"Mister Sky! Mister Sky!"

The two younger Hunter twins rush to greet me as I park my van in the drive and open the door, showing their little milk-white teeth as they laugh.

"It's Mister West," I say with mock sternness, using just a hint of my teacher's voice. "Sky is my first name."

Against my intention, the young pair appear chastened. Their smiles vanish and they stand side by side with bowed heads.

"We're sorry, Mister West," the taller one says.

"Yeah, Mister West," the smaller one agrees. "We din't mean to be diserpectful."

I smile and soften my tone. "I know. I only meant that you may call me 'Sky,' no 'Mister' needed. Just like in class, remember?"

They look up in unison, their strange, amber-gold eyes brightening.

"Daddy's not in trouble, is he?" Nico asks, his carefully hopeful tone as curious as his words.

I tilt my head to the side as I study him and his brother. Both have light brown skin of a warm, sun-toasted shade, and tumbles of little spring-like curls cover their heads. They're quite beautiful, though they resemble their father less than their older siblings do, perhaps taking after their mother, instead.

"Of course he's not in trouble," I say. "Why would he be?"

Nico shrugs and scrubs the ground with the toe of his sneaker. "Mama used to say it was his fault if we did something bad. And then she—"

His brother knocks his shoulder with his own and whispers, "Nico! We're not supposed to talk about her."

"I wasn't," Nico protests, knocking his brother's shoulder in return. "I was just saying."

"Well, don't."

Nico pouts angrily, and I get the sense he's the baby of the family, despite being at most a few minutes younger than his twin.

"Mums and dads don't always get along," I say, though I suspect 'didn't get along' is an understatement in this case. "My own mother sent my father to the lightless depths after he betrayed her and attempted to usurp the crown. Can't say I blame her, really."

"The crown?" Rio repeats skeptically. "Is your mom a queen, or something?"

"She likes to think so."

"Does that mean you're a prince?" Nico asks, eyes wide.

I smile. I've found it's generally safe to tell children the truth—even if they pass it along, adults will brush it off as fantasy—but it's best to be safe. It's hard to guess what petty things parents will take issue with these days. I imagine there are not a few who'd be up in arms if their child announced their teacher said he's a merman.

"My mother would say so." I open the back of the van and unload the paper grocery bag bulging with fresh ingredients and the little ice-chest packed with even fresher things.

"Is that for the 'pie-uh'?" Nico asks excitedly, trying to see what's in the bag.

I laugh. "Indeed it is—as promised. Now, will you two be a pair of little princes and help me with the door?"

They scramble to obey—and to catch glimpses of the vehicle's packed interior, which seems to fascinate them—before dashing after me up the walkway.

Throwing open the door, they rush inside, kicking off their shoes as they call for their father. I follow, toeing off my shoes at the threshold as well, and glance about the interior of the home. It looks as it did on my last visit, neat and tidy, with a faint hint of lemon in the air. Nico and Rio dash down the short hallway, bare feet pattering on the wood floor, and their father emerges from a door at the end.

"Hey—inside voices," he admonishes as the twins crowd around him excitedly. "What are you guys shouting about?"

They point towards me where I stand, bag and ice-chest still in hand.

"Sky's here!" they yell in unison.

Martin looks up and locks eyes with me; beneath my shirt, the amulet hums. I smile, as much at the promising sign as in greeting.

"Hullo!" I lift the bag a bit, being unable to wave with both hands full. "I hope you're hungry. I brought supper."

"Mr. West. You're early." He approaches, wiping his hands on a rag. A flush darkens the color in his cheeks and his hands tremble slightly. I find myself staring at his clothes.

"Just Sky, as I've said. I may call you Martin, yes?"

"Yes, of course. But you're a teacher: don't the children have to call you Mr. West?"

"No, I prefer Sky. I'm not one to stand on ceremony. What are you wearing?"

He glances down at the odd pink garment covering his front and frowns. "It's called an 'apron,'" he says stiffly. "It was a Father's Day gift."

"Ah, I see. Do you mind?" I heft the bag again, indicating that it's heavy.

"Of course." He takes it from me, glancing curiously at the contents as he leads the way across the living area to the kitchen and dinette. "You really didn't have to bring anything, you know."

"No? I thought it was customary to get to know one another over dinner, first."

He stumbles and nearly drops the bag. "First?"

"Yes." I frown, setting the ice-chest down and taking the bag back from him. "Before discussing business."

He rubs his brow and gestures as I begin unpacking the bag, laying the contents out along the countertop. "What is all this?"

"Ingredients, of course. Miguel tells me none of you have any allergies. Is he right?"

He shakes his head. "No. I mean, yes; no allergies."

"Excellent. And I hope you don't mind if I... raid your pantry?" I wave at the kitchen.

Perplexingly, he flushes again. Perhaps he isn't feeling well. "Of course. But... I'm not sure I understand. What are you making, and why are you here?"

Laying out the onion, garlic cloves, bell peppers, and roma tomatoes on a chopping block, I wink at him. "Paella."

"What?"

"We were talking about our favorite foods in the lower grades art class. Paella is one of mine. Rio and Nico said they've never tried it, so I offered to make it for you all."

Grabbing the largest skillet I can find, I set it on the stove over medium heat with a dash of olive oil. Turning, I find Martin staring at me with his lips slightly parted.

He blinks rapidly. "Uh... that's very kind of you, I'm sure. But Rio and Nico can't be the only kids who haven't eaten a particular Spanish dish before. Do you cook for all your students' families?"

Smiling, I select a suitable knife and begin dicing vegetables. "Only the ones that interest me. To be honest, I've been thinking about that day at the lake, and I wanted an excuse to see you again."

Martin turns aside, seized by a coughing fit.

"You... did?" he wheezes, when he's recovered.

I frown. I've had plenty of time to perfect my human manners across many different cultures, and although I still put my fins in my mouth now and then, I was fairly certain I hadn't said anything odd.

"Yes. I've an idea I think would benefit us both."

"What?"

"Dinner first," I remind him, and cast him another wink.

"Alright. But... at least let me help with something."

I shake my head. "No need. Paella may look flashy, but it's a simple dish, at heart. Not unlike myself."

He flushes yet again; perhaps he's wrong about those allergies.

"It only takes about an hour," I continue. "Should be ready just about the time Flora and Miguel get home. They have band practice today, don't they?"

A flash of suspicion lights his eyes, but he nods. "Yes, they do."

I smile. "Go on, then—take care of whatever you need. Leave this to me."

As if in answer, a gruff shout and a pair of high-pitched shrieks break the peace, and Martin runs a hand through his short, messy curls and sighs.

"Shit. It's the neighbor again," he says. "He hates the kids in his yard, and Nico and Rio keep going over there. Hang on while I deal with this. I'll be right back.

He scurries away, still clad in the pink apron with a large white heart sewn to the front. I look after him, a strange sensation troubling my chest. He's a bit odd, even by my standards. On the other hand, the amulet seems more certain than ever, and I'm bound to follow its lead.

For now.