Eric meanwhile is more in awe.

He shoots Tom a glance. “Bet yours didn’t look this cool.”

"Did too. Blood everywhere."

Zanna kicks and leaps and spins and twirls and laughs, and laughs, and laughs. Finally the flames clear, and she stands there, a pair of grand red moth wings fluttering gently against her back.

Her father takes her hand again and kisses it. “Now I might want to know your name.”

Eric gets back to staring. 

"Zanna. Do you have any names you particularly like?"

“Father is one. Jack Morpho is another.”

Eric works up the nerve to approach Zanna and give her a good sniff. 

She curtsies. "It's nice to meet you properly, Jack. Though I've seen your work."

She still smells of snow and violets, but it's firmer, sharper. Like she's real now.

“You’re beautiful.” Eric regards her and Jack’s wings. “Your wings aren’t the same.”

“Clearly her mother’s blood has mixed into something new.”

Eric snorts. “Yeah—”

And then he starts fading in and out of sight, the iron edging of his wings glowing. “Stupid”—fade—“restrictions!”

“Poor changeling,” Jack remarks. “He always seemed like a fine boy to me.”

Eric looks desperately at Zanna. “You’re gonna come back and see me, right—”

Eric finds himself sitting in his classroom. The stuffy, chalk choked air makes him gasp. The scratch of pencils on all sides makes him scream and push his desk over. Nobody notices.

Zanna lands, perched on her own desk's tabletop, a few seconds later. "Course I am, dummy. I'm under oath, plus you're like, my only friend."

"Unkind," Tom says from beind Eric.

"Shove it, Tommy."

Eric’s so relieved he almost weeps.

He’s also amused. “Tommy? Why didn’t I think of that? Totally your name now, dude.” 

"Fuck you."

"Anyway, when does the Restriction refresh so we can go back to Fairyland?"

Eric sighs. “Three days.”