The room is spinning. Dazed his cheeks afire, John stares down at his lap. Where has he left Da’s pouch? He’s sure he had it just a moment ago.

As he tries to focus, the hobgoblin appears, leaving little beery footprints on the floor. It taps on the oyster shells, lifting them up and staring into them. John smiles at it, though his mind still frets over Jack’s words.  Does he really have pretty eyes? Or is that just something someone as friendly as Black Jack always says to a lost girl no matter what her eyes look like?

It does matter that she is a he though.

 Black Jack laughs as he follows John’s gaze. ‘Why are you looking at the food like that? Sweet thing, are you starving away beside me while I talk on and on? Too shy to tell me how hungry you are, or to grab the food yourself?’

Jack’s hand swoops down to take an oyster, so fast that the hobgoblin has to jump backwards to avoid being knocked across the room.

John gasps. He’s used to other people not seeing the faeriefolk, but he’s never seen anyone move quickly enough to surprise a hobgoblin. As Jack feeds him another oyster, John watches his hands, so lively and bold. Surely if anyone can guide him to where he needs to be in this raucous city, it’s this wild, brave boy. But will he still be friendly once he knows the truth? John needs to find out.

He digs his fingernails into his palms. ‘You’ve not asked my name.’

Jack grins. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to tell me.’

He forces himself to meet the quick green eyes. ‘My name’s … John, too. Like you. But just John, none of the extra bits you’ve got. It’s what I’ve always been, nothing else.’ There’s no reason to add that Ma and Jetta were the only ones who’d always used his real name.

Black Jack pushes himself upright. ‘John? Did I hear correct? John?  Not Jane?’

‘John. Not Jane.’

‘You’d have me believe you’re a boy?’ Jack’s eyes go wide, and then crease up in merry laughter. ‘You speak like a girl, you look like a girl, you smell like a girl, you taste like a girl, but you want me to call you John?’

John’s stomach flip at the words you taste like a girl, the heat rising to his face.

Black Jack laughs again. ‘And you blush more oft and prettier than any girl I’ve ever kept company with.’

John takes some quick breaths before saying, ‘If you use your eyes you can see I’m wearing boy’s clothes.’

‘I am using my eyes and I can see you’re a very fair maiden.’ Jack’s smile softens and he caresses John’s cheek with the back of his hand. ‘You're safe with me. Do not fret in that way, you don’t have to pretend with me.’

‘I’m not…’ John stares up at the beamed ceiling. ‘Not… not in the way you say I am.  I’m wearing boy’s clothes because I am a boy, and since I’ve been wearing them no one ‘til you thought I was a girl… apart from the ribbon seller, and that was only due to my hair falling out…’

With a deft movement Black Jack whips the cap off John’s head. For the beat of a butterfly’s wings, as his hair tumbles down his back, John is wearing a gown of rose petals, standing with a boy dressed in leaves. They’re on a wooded island, surrounded by the morning mist. All is silence. They look into each other’s eyes and know who they are.

Then he’s back.

From below comes the sound of revelry.

The hobgoblin floats up in front of John’s face, its eyes white starlight.

The hobgoblin normally gives him comfort. Right now though, John can no more look at the faerie than he can look at Black Jack. He wants to get as far away from the other boy as he can. He wants to never leave his side. It’s been less than a day, but he already feels like a stranger to the country lad who thought his life would become simpler when he reached London.