A final note, Mrs. President: I wrote this account up sans the commercial breaks, which did occur during the events but would disrupt the flow of my story.

Pafin didn’t know much about television, since he never watched any, so he had only a vague sense that being on TV was a good thing. He sat in the walnut chair in his best blue Elf costume, fingering his harp and trying to adjust to the light. Amaranth and Opal sat next to him in their semicircle, fidgeting. They heard their friends talking about TV a lot, but they only watched DVDs. They were more thrilled about wearing new velour dresses, Opal in green, Amaranth in purple, than they were to be on The Live Show. Amaranth wrestled with a tangle of yarn and wooden knitting needles.

Sandi, however, kept biting her lip and squirming in excitement. She sat closest to the show’s host, and gave him insignificant glances and grins every few seconds. She also waved to her parents in the studio audience. “Are we on the air yet?”

Perry Anderson pointed at an unlit sign, and then held up a finger. The sign blazed in red, and the audience cheered. He beamed at them and shouted, “Good evening, and welcome to the Live Show, and we are live from New York City! Tonight we have some phenomenons for you, making us the first program to have guests from Laconia! First, the three young girls who saved their school from magic by magic, then a half-Elf half-Eudemon musical prodigy, and finally real, mostly alive, good vampires.”

The audience clapped, and Anderson turned to Sandi. “Hello, Sandi Spiralli.”

Sandi nodded, appearing composed. “Hi.”

“First off, what made you decide to come to The Live Show instead of somewhere else?” Anderson smoothed out his black suit coat and shuffled his notes. His hair grayed at the temples, but the tons of makeup such people are subjected to kept his wrinkles from being noticeable.

“I don’t think this show is as much mindless drivel as the majority of broadcasting. I watch this regularly, because I think a basic right a free society is to hold unconventional views and satirize those in power, lest they abuse it.” Sandi fiddled with her white shirt collar, which poked out from under her only cashmere sweater. The sweater hung gray like her short skirt, and spiderweb-soft, like her black tights.

A brief silence fell over the studio, and then Anderson remarked, “They said you were smart.”

“They say a lot of things about me,” Sandi said. “Not all of them are complimentary, though I think the ratio of positive comments is greater these days.”

“How old are you?” Anderson’s swiveled his chair to announce to the camera, “In case you haven’t been following the news, Sandi is in sixth grade, and the only reason they won’t promote her higher is that they think it’ll ruin her social life.”

“I’m eight years old.” Her dirty-blonde hair had lightened from the shock of the Eudemon Incident, and it was now platinum, almost silver, which contrasted with her chestnut eyes. Though the surgery made her face slightly flatter than it used to be, and the color contrast struck the observer, she still only qualified as “plain”. Sandi sometimes wished they had made her pretty along with well, but perhaps life didn’t mean for someone to excel at everything.

“Have you been a werewolf all your life, or did something happen?” The on-camera portion of the studio was sleek and minimalist, with only the slim black desk facing the scaled-down chairs, and the letters TLS attached to a blue wall. By some trick of positioning, the producer managed to arrange everything so Anderson faced the kids, yet facing the audience, but the kids faced the audience too. It helped that the audience curved.

Sandi sighed. “Mr. Anderson, people keep making the same careless mistake. I’m not a werewolf. Being a werewolf is transmitted by bite, while being a shapeshifter is maternally hereditary. I made a chart to show the similarities and differences.”

She took it from under Anderson’s desk and held it up, a simple Venn diagram on white card stock, ignoring the astonishment she caused. “Amaranth did the lettering, because her pengirlship is much nicer than mine. A werewolf has to change form one night a month, and she loses her personality and becomes a demonic, homicidal beast. A shapeshifter never has to transform, but is very prone to it, because the changes are triggered by emotion. Grandma Selene was a werewolf, and the mother of a werewolf will always have shapeshifting children, because the fetus changes shape nine times when the mother does, and the ability remains latent until emotion becomes strong enough to overcome the physical barriers. Mom didn’t know she had powers until she was a teenager, but she deliberately changed when she was pregnant with me, and she taught me how to control it ever since I was little.”

Anderson held up a finger to pause her. “She changed on purpose?”

“Oh, she struggled with it for a long time, but she eventually decided it was best. If she hadn’t, I’d be dead today.” She looked at the other kids. “Are you going to talk to Puffin and the Jangoral girls now? You can’t ignore them and focus on me. They’re far more powerful than I am.”

Opal giggled. “We always fought about that. Sandi’s nicer since she went to the hospital. Can Amaranth go to the hospital too? I think that would improve her.”

Her comment caused a mix of chuckles and “Aww”s. Derrick Jangoral called out, “Sorry, Opalescent!”

After he finished laughing, Anderson rejoined, “Just one more thing, Sandi – do you feel people accept you?”

“Yeah. It’s too bad I had to save their lives before it was safe to be open about my identity. It shouldn’t be that way.” Sandi pointed at Pafin. “Interview Puffin. He’s fascinating.”

“They like each other,” Opal murmured. In response, Sandi held up her hand and changed into a paw, and then changed back. The crowd oohed at that.

“I’ll talk to him in a moment, Sandi. The audience wants to hear about you fighting the Eudemons.” Anderson loosened his red tie. “Opal Jangoral and Amaranth Jangoral, how do you feel about being famous?”

“Kind of dizzy,” Amaranth said. She had already had the enthusiasm photographed out of her, since she was the most beautiful of the three heroines. If she heard one more exclamation about her looking like an Indian princess, she would send ravens at them.

“What are you working on there? Is it a magic scarf?” Anderson asked.

“Kind of. It’s Mom’s kind of magic. You do it when you’re upset about someone or something.” Amaranth finished unsnarling the cerulean yarn with silver streaks. “You knit, and you think about how angry you are, and how upset and tired you feel. Then you think about something else, and do other things while you knit, like listen to music or watch scenery. Then you think about good things.”

Pafin sang, “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.”

Amaranth smiled. “Right. And then you finish making a scarf or blanket or headband, and you give it to the person who’s making you upset. If you’re not upset at anyone, give it to someone you love. If you’re upset about yourself, keep it.”

“And then what?” Anderson asked.

“Then you’re not mad anymore. All the feelings go in the thing you knit. The first time Mom tried it, though, someone dropped her knitting, and her feelings went crazy and she stabbed him with a needle.” Amaranth’s dark eyes remained innocent of saying too much.

One camera focused on Taylor Jangoral knitting in the audience. She sighed, smiled, and shook her mahogany-shaded head. “I’m better now. The girls won’t do that, I swear.”

“That’s magic?” Anderson asked.

“Yeah. But if you want something more exciting, you have to give me a hawk or something.” Amaranth clicked her needles, serene as a fed bird with no predators near.

Sandi clarified, “It would be best if you brought birds and snakes of your own, so you know they didn’t train them beforehand.”

At Anderson’s pressing of a button, handlers brought out a pigeon and a corn snake. Opal squealed and dove for the snake, taking it in her arms. Then she asked, “Why’d you have to give me the boring kind?” The snake sinuously wound about her arm.

“She likes rare, shiny, or deadly snakes,” Amaranth explained. “Her favorites are all three. What do you want me to do with the pigeon?”

“What can you do with a pigeon?” Anderson stared at Opal’s snake affinity with slight repulsion.

“I can make it fly to block the camera,” Amaranth said, and did so. “I can make it peck someone, but I won’t. I can keep it from going to the bathroom on things. I can do anything that doesn’t break natural laws.” She pointed at Anderson’s head, and the pigeon landed on it. The audience chortled.

Anderson tried to dislodge the pigeon, but it dug its feet into his hair. He blushed and shook with laughter. “Could you – could you make it leave, please?”

“I think it suits you,” Amaranth said.

“Please?”

“Okay.” The pigeon took off, and then settled on her lap. She stroked the gray feathers, and the pigeon cooed. “They don’t just listen to me; they like me, too.”

“I like your snake, but I wish you could meet mine. Those two rattlesnakes dying were so sad. They saved my life, but the Eudemon blood melted their faces, like it did to Sandi.” Opal whispered something, and the snake slithered across the table and slipped around Anderson’s hand.

“Um…” Anderson seemed a little lost, trying to disengage the snake. “Can you only control snakes?”

The snake slid to Opal. “I can do stuff with lizards, too. I wish I could have a Komodo dragon, because I could ride on it, but Dad says we’d have to feed it goats, and we don’t have enough money.”

“I think there’s laws, too,” Sandi remarked. “Are you please going to talk to Puffin now?”

Pafin strummed his harp. “It is fine. I have written a cantata in my head. Would you like to hear it? I would most likely need backup vocals.”

Pafin played his song, which caused to potted plants around the desk to burst into flower, and then Anderson strode to another part of a studio, a room with a couch and beanbag chair. Ferdinand sat perfectly still on the scarlet couch, and Rivki played with blocks at his feet. They both wore black. “Good to see you, Ferdinand Anghel.” He offered a hand.

Ferdinand shook it, with a pianist’s grip. “It was kind of you to have me.”

Anderson settled in the green beanbag chair, incongruous with his formal attire. “Let me get this straight. You’re Sandi’s grandfather.”

“Yes. I know my appearance would lead you to believe otherwise.” Before Anderson could ask his question, Ferdinand continued, “Yes, I know that you wonder how a vampire can have a grandchild. Contrary to myth, vampires can have children who are not vampires, but it is difficult. We also age, but it takes three times longer. Think of us as humans with a different diet and in slow motion.”

“And I suppose the whole thing about vampires being evil…”

“Well, there are evil vampires, about as many as there are evil humans. It’s just that the bad ones have such higher profiles than the good ones, because we have always tried for anonymity.” Ferdinand held up a paperback book. “While I’m here, could I mention that my new book, Sweeping the Puddles Away, is out? It’s about an intelligent, courageous diplomat’s daughter, born in Thailand and growing up in Beijing, and her family’s journey to the United States to find a cure for her disorder. Find it on a novelist?” Anderson asked, taking the book from Ferdinand’s pallid, hairless hands.

“I’ve used pseudonyms, and I’ve tried to be out of the public eye. This time, though, since the Elves have come, we need people to be aware of the Magics among them, and realize that we are not a threat, and we have a lot to offer. I don’t want Rivki to grow up in shadows.” He ruffled Rivki’s black hair.

“Speaking of shadows, do you have trouble with light? I notice you’re all covered up except for your head.”

Ferdinand shaded his eyes with one hand and extracted a contact lens with the other, revealing a bloody iris. “The Inventions section of the OMHI came up with these. More specifically, a clever woman named Sarah Tuft made the design. The contact lenses are treated to darken according to vampire preference. They also double as disguises, to make the eyes appear normal. My eyes were blue when I was all human.”

“ ‘All’ human?”

“My daughter, Dianne, always said, ‘Dad and I are sort of human.’ And I think this is true. What is it to be human? Is it physical, or is there a psychological component?” Ferdinand put the lens back into his eye, which watered. He dabbed at it. “My eyes are rather sensitive to everything, not just light. I burn easily, and get terrible headaches, but light is not immediately fatal.”

Anderson crept up to Rivki. “Hi, Rivki.”

Rivki put the block down and looked at him through his sunglasses. “Hi.”

“Do you have anything to say? You’re on TV.”

“Oh. I like movies better than TV.” Rivki looked at Ferdinand before gazing at the TV show host again. “Would you like to see my teeth?”

“Rivki, no showing off,” Ferdinand remonstrated.

“I would love to see both of your teeth, actually, if that’s all right.” Anderson pondered the small, pale child before him. “Where did Rivki come from? You said vampires don’t have to have vampire children.”

“Let me clarify: vampire fathers do not have to have vampire children. Vampire mothers must. The reason you don’t see many is that they are pregnant for three years, before which most women would abort, and their labor is very difficult. Rivki’s mother died in childbirth.” Ferdinand picked Rivki up and pulled him onto his lap. “I’m going to start taking Rivki to church with me, now that people know what we are.”

“You go to church?”

“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Ferdinand declared, proud of his status.

“I knew they did baptisms for the dead. I didn’t know they did them for the undead.”

Ferdinand pointed at Taylor Jangoral. “Taylor converted me. That woman could convert anyone. When she was threatened with death, and had no idea what was happening, and was surrounded by beings that wanted to eat her, she sang hymns. She thinks I saved her, but really, she saved me.”

The crowd ate this up. Cute kids and a man finding God – it was perfect for any talk show. Someone shouted, “Hug him!” The rest of the audience took it up. “Hug him! Hug him!”

Taylor tripped over to Ferdinand and embraced him. “No one could ask for a better father-figure.”

Ferdinand squeezed her. “No one could ask for a better daughter-figure.”

She went back to her seat, and Anderson beamed again. “Do you have any other family, aside from your descendants and your surrogate relatives?”

“I have a sister in Pennsylvania, but her husband and children have never met me. My mother disapproved of what I became, and disinherited me after I married a werewolf, and threatened to do the same if my sister told anyone. She visits me every once in a long while.” Ferdinand sighed like an autumn breeze. “Sandi is named after my sister Cassandra, but we always called my sister Cassi.”

“Have we got a surprise for you,” Anderson declared. “Bring them in!”

“What?” Ferdinand’s grew to the size of marbles when he saw five people come in. The first was a stout, fiftyish woman with brown hair and eyes, who looked a lot like him. A man of several years older followed, looking embarrassed, and two young men and one young woman trailed after her.

Cassandra Anghel Knight enveloped Ferdinand in a hug. “Big brother doesn’t look so big anymore.”

Ferdinand wept upon letting go. “They know?”

“I told them once they believed in the news of the Elf refugees. Can we stay in Laconia for a month or two? The kids have to go back to school and work in a week, but Winter just retired. We might even move into Laconia, who knows?” Cassi spoke to Rivki. “Hi! I’m your aunt.”

Rivki stared, and then buried his head in Ferdinand’s chest. “Weird people,” he muttered.

Winter Knight shook Ferdinand’s hand. “I’m sorry we kept away from you. Cassi’s mother told us you were locked up, crazy or something.”

“I would have told them otherwise, once she died, but would they have believed it? Kids, this is your uncle Ferdinand. You’ll love him.” They came to tentatively shake his hand.

“I think we’re going to have to stop here,” Anderson said, “So, Ferdinand, do you have any words to sum up the change the Fantasy Coup has brought you?”

Ferdinand kissed Rivki on the top of the head. Tears still scrolled down Ferdinand’s cheeks. “I think I do. When I’m very emotional, I tend to speak in quotes. This comes from an old hymn, not LDS but sometimes used by us: ‘No more a stranger, nor a guest, but like a child at home.’”