I'll tell you all my secrets, but I lie about my past, so send me off to bed forevermore

How exactly do you respond to that? Well, I’ll tell you how I did. Flippantly. “Well yo’ momma got a glass eye with a fish in it!”

“I’m serious Miles. Although ‘fairy’ is kind of a misnomer. Realistically it’s a title we give to denizens of a… I guess you’d call it a dimension that sort of runs parallel to ours. There’s anecdotal evidence of Them crossbreeding with humans going back to before the Middle Ages, but any sort of hybridization is a rarity.”

“Lemme stop you right there. So you’re talking like Tinkerbell and shit, right? Sleeping in flowers and Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“It’s a little more nuanced than that. Disney’s Tinkerbell is closest to a traditional pixie; unintelligent pests that are sort of analogous to mosquitos. They drink way more blood though. Think more Tolkien than Barrie, although Barrie’s Tinkerbell was a psychotic little cunt.” She contemplated for a second. “Shakespeare actually got it closest.”

“Oberon and Titania? Spencer stuff ?”

“Yep. Elves, but they’re properly called sidhe or if you want to get really technical Aos Sí.” Anwyn pronounced it ’she’ and ’izshe’ respectively. “Also brownies and not the kind that sell cookies. They’re historically referred to as ‘trouping fairies’. Basically the upper class.

“But there are a number of solitary and unique critters out there too. Leprechauns, clurechauns, fear darragh, baen sidhe, and the like as well as some unique entities. And one of those is the gancanagh. What I think may be your father.”

I later learned that leprechauns make shoes and have nothing to do with cereal, clurechauns drink (yeah, that’s actually a thing), and gancanagh break hearts. Best description is that they’re basically Irish incubi. They have limited receptive telepathy and empathic projection, allowing them to say exactly what their target wants to hear. “And you, Miles, have a stunning sales record. Like impossibly so. Almost enough to make me think that it’s an inherited trait.”

I had always had a knack for closing a deal. I always knew what to say to get my leads to agree to whatever policy I was pushing no matter how ridiculous the premium or deductible was. I used to make a game of it in fact, picking one product and seeing how many I could move in a given week.

“Well, from what you’re saying I should also be a real lady killer too. Lemme say, my success rate has been incredibly average.”

“And you’ve put how much effort into it? Has a woman you’ve actively pursued ever shot you down?”

I wracked my brain trying to recall the last time I’d even made a pass at a woman. Hell, these days if you try to strike up a conversation with a stranger in a bar, you practically get accused of sexual ****. The last time I’d tried had been before the pandemic. The last time I’d done anything other than work had been before the pandemic.

My libido is as high as the next guy’s, but sex, or more specifically dating, has always been too much effort Most of the time it’s me, a computer screen, a Burning Angel video and a bottle of Jergens. On the rare occasion that I feel the need for company, I’ve basically just gone out and gotten it, usually for a couple hundred dollars. Still, try as I might, I couldn’t remember ever being turned down whenever I’d set my sights on non-professional company.

“Yeah, you may have a point. So… what exactly does this mean?”

“Beats the hell out of me, but it really doesn’t matter beyond the fact that you’re a congenital womanizer and work as an awesome battery.” She grinned fiercely. “Not too bad on the eyes either for an old man. Now this was a big load of shit to dump on you on your first day. Go home. Take a nap. I’ll expect you here at nine tonight. We have another service call. And for fuck’s sake, dress like you would if you were going camping.”

Well that was disturbing. “What is it this time? Werewolves?”

“Actually…”

(Title: “Tango til They’re Sore” by Holly Cole covering Tom Waits)